AtCS - Fever

Fever

"What's going on?" Harry yelled into the phone, but no one was answering. She had heard a crash and shouts but that was all. With the cordless phone still in her hand, she scrabbled out of bed and began throwing on her clothes. She was almost dressed by the time Angel came on the line.

"Harry, are you still there?"

"Angel! Yes! What happened to Francis?"

"He collapsed. Listen, we're over at Cordelia's apartment." Angel quickly gave her the address. "We have a little T'Pari girl here who has been running a high fever and can't keep anything down. We were hoping you might be able to help but now Doyle's fainted and he's burning up himself."

"Get Francis into a cool bath, I'm coming right over. How old is this T'Pari girl?"

Around four or five, we think."

"Has it been a couple of days? I'm thinking Khualah fever, maybe?"

"I don't know much about demon illnesses. We were kind of hoping you could help."

"Well, T'Pari and Brachen are both susceptible to Khualah. Have you tried ginger?"

"No. Should we?"

"Definitely. If you don't have any ginger capsules, try ginger ale in the meantime. If they respond to the ginger, that's a good indication that it's Khualah." As she spoke, Harry pulled on her shoes. "Francis should have known better than to be around a child with Khualah. It's highly contagious. Then again, he always made a point of ignoring his demon heritage. I'll get a few herbs that should help and I'll be there as soon as I can. Cool bath, now. Get that fever down."

She hung up before Angel could say anything more.

Angel: the Cyber Series

"Fever"
Written by Ellen and Cleo Calliope

Edited by
Tammy Green

Produced by
Cleo Calliope

Based on the characters created by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt, and the series produced by Mutant Enemy,
Inc., Greenwolf Corp., Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, in association with 20th Century Fox Television. No
copyright infringement intended, no profit received from this work of fiction. Story copyrighted © 2001 Cleo
Calliope, AtCS, and Prosephone's Lyre Productions.

This story may not be reprinted or presented in any way without express permission from the author and notification
of the AtCS production staff.

Thanks to author Harry Turtledove for the ginger idea!

Ginger, Angel thought, trying to use the thought to keep his rising panic at bay. Doyle lay on the floor, as still as if he were dead. Angel had to concentrate to see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His complexion was pasty, and his face was already shining with sweat.

Cordelia had barely slept in the last three days and as she knelt beside Doyle, her wan, exhausted face seemed to crumple in despair.

"Angel, this can't be happening. A human can't catch a demon disease, right?"

"I don't know," Angel answered honestly, coming to kneel beside her. He reached out to stroke the damp hair off Doyle's forehead, without really noticing was he was doing until he touched Doyle's skin. Angel winced. Doyle and Cordelia always seemed warm to him but now Doyle's skin was so hot it burned.

"He's all sweaty now, just like Dinah is," Cordelia observed. "Could it be the same thing? Will I get it next? Can you take care of all three of us if I do?"

"Cordelia, you have got to calm down," Angel said, hoping to stem Cordelia's rising hysterics and to keep himself focused. She was usually so calm and collected in an emergency. She could keep her head in the most difficult circumstances. But the combination of exhaustion and stress was taking its toll on the girl. "Harry's on her way," he said firmly. Hoping to get back the Cordelia he knew. "She suggested a cool bath for Doyle... and do you have any Ginger Ale?"

Cordelia looked blank. "Ginger Ale? Why?"

The refrigerator door opened. A bottle of ginger ale and a glass seemed to fly into Angel's waiting hands.

"Thanks, Dennis. Harry suggested ginger ale for both of them. She thinks she might know what this is. Now let's see if we can get Doyle awake enough to be able to drink some of this."

Angel lifted Doyle into a sitting position but his head still sagged. Angel couldn't risk Doyle inhaling the soda, so he reluctantly put aside the bottle and glass, for now. "Cordy, please run another cool bath. I'll get his clothes off and get him into it."

"All right." Cordelia seemed relieved to get an instruction that made sense. She touched Doyle's damp forehead once with a gentleness Angel would have thought foreign to her before Dinah came into their lives, before scrambling to her feet.

Angel heard the water start to roar in the bathroom as he lifted Doyle. He passed Cordelia in the hall. "I'm gonna check on Dinah," she muttered, exhaustion laying heavily on her.

"Try to get her to drink some of that soda," Angel said. She nodded and turned back toward the kitchen as he carried Doyle into the bathroom.

Angel settled Doyle down on the floor and began tugging off his shoes. He could hear Cordelia talking in the other room. The only responses she seemed to get were little whimpers and sighs from the child.

"Here, sweetie, why don't you try to drink some of this. Come on... that's good... let's try a little more, okay?"

Angel concentrated on Cordelia's voice and on working buttons and zippers, trying hard not to notice that Doyle was complete deadweight or that his skin was softer than Angel would have thought. He paused for a moment before removing Doyle's boxers. Maybe he ought to leave them on, for modesty's sake. Of course, it wasn't as though Doyle had any other clothes here at Cordelia's place to wear. Finally, Angel tugged them off with a silent apology to his friend.

He lifted Doyle and laid him carefully in the cool water. Doyle didn't even flinch at the sudden temperature change. Angel let the water run for a little while longer before turning it off. He kept one arm around Doyle's neck, supporting his head above the water. He grabbed a washcloth off the side of the tub and used it to bathe his face and neck.

He could hear Cordelia's heartbeat, as she stood in the doorway behind him. Finally, she came slowly into the room.

"Need some help?" He could hear the embarrassment in her voice.

"Cordelia," he said without turning around, "if he comes to and sees you here, he'll probably pass out again from shear embarrassment. Why don't you wait in the living room until Harry gets here? I can handle this." He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

"Uh, sure. Because you've done this, like, so many times."

"Cordy. Go." As Angel spoke, Doyle stirred, moaning a little. Cordelia went.

"Doyle," Angel said softly. "Doyle, can you hear me?" All he got in reply was another moan. "Doyle. Come on, wake up."

Doyle's eyes moved rapidly beneath his lids and Angel couldn't help but think that this would be a really bad time for him to have a vision. "Doyle? Doyle, come on, please wake up." Angel wiped the cloth over Doyle's face gently, cleaning away the sweat.

Finally, Doyle's eyes opened a little ways. "Ang'?"

Relief flooded Angel. "Yes, I'm right here. Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?"

"It's nothin'," Doyle slurred, his eyes slipping shut again. "It's jus' a little warm in 'ere..." He trailed of.

"Doyle?" He didn't respond.

Damnit!

This couldn't be happening. Angel remembered the dizzy spell from the day before and cursed himself for not realizing that Doyle was sick. It stood to reason that an illness that could affect Dinah could also affect Doyle. He should have thought. But instead he'd just blithely accepted Doyle's assures that he was fine. He should have known that Doyle would ignore any possibility that he might catch it. There were times he went too far in his determination to pretend he was entirely human.

"Doyle," Angel said, uncertain whether the half-demon could hear him or not. "You're going to be fine, okay. Then I'm going to kick your ass for being such an idiot."

He began carefully wetting Doyle's hair hoping it would help draw the heat away from his body. He didn't know if any of this was doing any good at all but Angel simply didn't know what else to do while they waited for Harry.

Doyle began murmuring jumbled and unintelligible phrases. After a short while he fell into silence again, having not responded to any of Angel's attempts to reach him.

Angel fell into a pattern of keeping Doyle's face and neck damp while avoiding paying attention to the body beneath the water or the soft hair brushing against the arm supporting Doyle's head. Occasionally, Doyle would wake up but he wasn't lucid enough to understand where he was or what was happening. Which, Angel supposed, wasn't entirely bad. It saved them both some embarrassment.

It seemed like forever before he heard someone knocking on the front door. He could hear the voices out in the living room. Harry's clipped tones interspersed with Cordelia's sleepy replies. He could have heard what they were talking about, but he didn't bother.

Harriet Doyle breezed in with Cordelia not too far behind. Angel glanced up at her and saw that she held two glass bottles in her hands.

"Harry," Angel greeted her. "Thanks for coming over."

Harry's voice was crisp and businesslike, as she kneeled down beside him. "Is he conscious?"

"He's been fading in and out."

Harry touched Doyle's forehead. "Fever's still high, I see. And he's been exposed to the T'Pari girl?"

"He's been helping Cordelia to take care of her."

She made a face, pushing her hair out of her face in a frustrated gesture. The curls frizzed out in every direction, she'd clearly ran out of the house without bothering to pull a brush through it. "If Francis weren't so oblivious, he would have known he'd catch it himself. Khualah is very common in the hybrid population. Of course, like any other childhood illness, the adults always take it worse than the kids do. And he never had it as a kid since he grew up with his mother."

"Harry," Angel began in a warning tone, knowing that Cordelia was still standing in the doorway, but Harry wasn't listening. She was shaking some powder from one of the bottles into her hand.

"Let's get this into the bath water. Since he's not conscious enough to drink anything, at least he can bathe in it." She sprinkled the power into the bath and it dissolved almost immediately. Angel couldn't see what good it would do that way but he wasn't going to argue with Harry when they had asked for her help. The pungent scent of ginger and other spices he wasn't so familiar with filled the small room.

"Francis," she called softly. "If you can hear me, you're an idiot, but we'll get you through this." Harry sighed. "What was he trying to do? Impress Cordelia with his noble self-sacrifice? He was a fool to take that kind of risk."

Even though Angel had been thinking along the same lines himself, he couldn't help but bristle at Harry's statement. "He didn't expect to catch it," Angel said, a little more sharply than he intended. He softened his tone before he went on, still very aware that Cordelia was listening. "And Cordelia doesn't know his... medical history. Why don't you close the bathroom door?" Angel offered. He could only hope that Cordelia was too out of it to make sense out of what Harry was saying. This wasn't the way for Cordelia to find out about Doyle's secret.

At that moment Doyle shifted slightly against Angel's arm and Cordelia was forgotten. Doyle groaned and murmured something. His eyes fluttered open for a moment, but he focused on nothing. He groaned as they closed again.

Harry leaned forward over the edge of the tub. "Francis? Can you hear me?"

His eyes opened part way. "Harry?"

"I'm here, Francis."

"You are? Where's here?"

"Don't worry about that," Harry soothed. "You're going to be fine. Do you think you could drink something?"

"Oh yeah. Sure." His voice slurred, and seemed to fade.

"Try to stay with us for a few minutes, okay? We'll get you something to drink."

Angel could hear Cordelia whispering at the door, "Dennis! Another glass of ginger ale, please?" Angel tried to move an unresponsive Doyle into a more upright position. In another moment Cordelia handed the glass to Harry before quickly backing away from the tub, to stand near the door again.

"Don't nod off again quite yet, Francis. You'll have plenty of time to rest." Harry sprinkled another powder from one of her bottles into the glass. "Keep propping him up, Angel. Let's see if we can get this safely down."

"We can try," Angel said.

"Francis, come on," Harry coaxed. "Sit up a moment, have a nice cool drink."

"What is it?" Doyle muttered, not really trying to sit up on his own. "Somethin' good?"

"Drink up and find out. Come on, now." Harry pressed the glass against his lips, and Doyle managed to drink. After a few swallows, he turned his head aside.

"Awww, Harry, don' try to trick me." Doyle's voice had a faraway, dreamy sound. "Tha's just pop, is all..."

A brief look of annoyance crossed Harry's features and Angel wondered for the first time if Doyle's drinking had had something to do with why she'd left him. "Just because you don't taste it, doesn't mean there isn't a little something extra. Drink up, now."

"Why d'ya want me to drink? Ya never want me to drink." His voice had taken on a child's petulant quality, which Angel had never heard from him before and he seemed to be having trouble focusing on either of the two people leaning over him.

"Enjoy it while you can," Harry said dryly. "Come on now, drink it down."

Doyle managed a few more swallows before then his head lolled to the side. Harry pulled the glass away as Angel steadied Doyle in the tub.

"Well, he did get most of it. Between the antibiotic, the ginger and these other herbs hopefully the fever should come down soon. If not..." she avoided meeting Angel's gaze, then forged on. "Is the T'Pari girl in the only other bedroom here?"

"No," Angel answered.

"Dinah has her own room," Cordelia said. "She just in my bed at the moment because she was feeling so bad."

"I'll watch Francis for a few minutes," Harry said. "It's probably best if you two move the child back into her room and change the sheets on Cordelia's bed, then we can put Francis there. In his current state, he'd only roll off the couch. Just do the best you can to keep the two of them from re-infecting each other."

Angel found it remarkably difficult to let go of the half-demon as Harry slipped her arm beneath Doyle's neck to take Angel's place supporting him. Angel released him and stood, reluctantly following Cordelia back into her room.

Dinah lay still and quiet in the bed and while Angel wanted to believe that her stillness was a good sign, he just didn't know. He stepped past Cordelia and reached down to carefully lift the little one up. She stirred a little as Angel lifted her. Sighing softly, she groggily wound her arms around his neck making his heart ache. He couldn't remember the last time a child had know and trusted him. As soon as they settled Dinah back into her own bed, she was immediately asleep again, if she had fully awakened at all.

Then he helped Cordelia put fresh sheets on her bed. When they returned to the bathroom, Angel moved quickly to take his place again beside Doyle.

Harry sighed as she relinquished him to Angel and sat back on her heels. "As much as I'd like to I can't stay the night here, Angel," she said, obviously not happy about it. "I'm presenting a lecture in the morning at the International Society for Subterrestrial Studies Conference. I wouldn't recommend moving Francis yet, but someone should stay with him at all times."

"Don't worry. I'll stay with him," Angel promised. A pack of wild Kratalus demons couldn't have driven him away from Doyle that night.

Harry nodded. "Even if he does still have that martyr complex," she continued. "You know, you should have kept him away from the little girl while she was sick. I know Francis can be stubborn, but Khualah is dangerous for adults, and as much as Francis likes to pretend..."

"Harry," Angel interrupted, trying to stop her, but she kept on talking.

"...that the demon side of his family doesn't exist, it won't go away just because he ignores it."

Angel winced, hoping that Cordelia, fiddling with blankets and sheets in the hall just outside, hadn't heard or hadn't understood what Harry said. Unfortunately, that was very unlikely on both counts. "Harry, go on home and get some sleep. Thanks for coming over and bringing the herbs, especially in the middle of the night like this. If you have a presentation in the morning, you need to get yourself home and get some rest."

"Yeah." Harry pressed the back of her hand against Doyle's forehead again. "The fever might be coming down but it's too soon to tell. If he gets worse, you can call me again, no matter what time it is. I'll give Cordelia my cell number. I think you can take him out of the tub now."

Harry looked back toward Doyle again. He was still slumped against Angel's arm, apparently unconscious. She brushed her fingers lightly against his cheek.

"I'll look in on the little girl for a minute, but then I'm going to have to leave. I know you two will take good care of Francis, at least until he wakes up and starts fighting you every step of the way."

Of course, we will. Who do you think took care of him after your ex-fianc� nearly ate his brains? He kept his mouth shut and reminded himself that he liked and respected Harry. God, he must be more tired than he thought.

"Uh, yeah," Cordelia said from the doorway when Angel said nothing. She led Harry out of the bathroom and cast Angel an odd look as she left.

Angel ignored her and turned back to Doyle. He hit the drain switch and allowed the tub to empty a bit before reaching in to lift Doyle out. He laid him carefully on the bathmat and grabbed a couple of towels to dry him off. Angel made sure to keep the towels between his hands and Doyle's skin.

Harry was right. He should have insisted that Doyle stay away from Dinah while she was sick. This was his fault. He allowed Doyle to put himself at risk for no reason other than his obsession with appearing human to Cordelia. Why the hell hadn't it occurred to him that a demon illness could be just as dangerous to Doyle as it was to Dinah? They were both mixed bloods after all.

Angel finally grabbed Doyle's boxers and slipped them on to him, assuring himself that he hadn't looked. Doyle was going to be extremely embarrassed when he learned what had happened tonight.

Angel paused as he re-hung the towels when he heard the front door open and shut. He spared a moment to hope that Harry was able to get enough sleep for her presentation tomorrow, before he turned his attention back to Doyle. Slipping his arms under Doyle's shoulders and knees he lifted him easily.

Cordelia met him as he carried Doyle out of the bathroom. She looked a little dazed.

"Umm, Cordelia?" Angel found himself tongue-tied as he tried to think up a logical excuse for what he knew Cordelia had to have over heard. "About what Harry said..."

"Doyle shouldn't have been here with Dinah at all, should he?" she interrupted. "Since he's part-demon and all?" Cordelia glared accusingly at Angel. "You knew that all along, didn't you?"

Angel found himself both relieved and disappointed that Doyle's secret was now out. He had wanted Cordelia to know, but at the same time he had liked being Doyle's sole confidant.

"About the half-demon part, yes. That he would catch what Dinah had, no, I didn't know that."

I should have though, he added silently.

"Half?" Cordelia squeaked. "I was hoping it was maybe, like, a quarter or an eighth or something..."

Angel shook his head, still holding Doyle's unconscious form cradled in his arms. He pulled the man somewhat closer, feeling oddly like he had to protect him from Cordelia. "He didn't want you to know," he added unnecessarily.

"Well, duh. I figured that one out all by myself." Cordelia stared at Doyle for another moment, and then sighed. "Go ahead and put him in my bed. I'm going to spend the night in Dinah's room with her."

Angel nodded, as he carefully lay Doyle down and covered him with the light sheet. "You need to get some sleep, too."

"Yeah, but I can't just leave her alone."

"Of course."

"Once he's well enough to get a piece of my mind, he's gonna wish he died."

Angel repressed a smile. "Try to get some sleep, Cordelia. I'll stay with him."

"Just what I always wanted. A vampire in my bedroom and a half-demon in my bed," she grumbled. She pulled something out of her dresser, then went into the bathroom to change, as Angel pulled her vanity chair over close to Doyle and sat down.

A few minutes later, wearing a conservative pair of pajamas, Cordelia returned to the bedroom and dumped her dirty clothes in the laundry hamper.

Cordelia hesitated for a long moment at the foot of the bed.

"Angel," she finally asked quietly. "Do you think..." and then she stopped.

"Do I think what?"

"Never mind. I'm too tired to talk about it now. Maybe tomorrow." She turned away and then paused at the door. "Goodnight," she called behind her.

"Goodnight," Angel replied. Then Cordelia was gone and Angel was left to closely watch the rise and fall of Doyle's chest.

If he concentrated, Angel could hear the three sets of heartbeats in the apartment. He watched Doyle carefully for any change and listened to the quiet sounds as his family slept around him.

* * *

About an hour after Cordelia headed to bed Angel changed the water in the bowl by the bed and fetched a clean washcloth from the hall closet, wondering vaguely if he ought to be disturbed by the fact that he knew where Cordelia kept her clean linens in the first place. He sat on the edge of the bed and tried his best to keep Doyle's fever from rising any higher, though it didn't seem to be lessening any.

The half-demon's sleep was uneasy. He shifted back and forth between his human and demon features and moved restlessly. Sometimes he seemed to come awake � at least he opened his eyes � but he never responded when Angel spoke to him. He would soon slip back into sleep, occasionally mumbling unintelligible phrases.

Doyle seemed to quiet slightly around dawn, but still shifted without any apparent pattern or reason.

Angel nearly dropped the washcloth when he heard a gasp from the doorway. He turned quickly to see Cordelia standing there, staring in horrified fascination at the figure in the bed. Angel turned back with a sinking feeling and looked at Doyle. Angel had never found Doyle's other face frightening or particularly ugly. On the other hand, it was all too easy to understand what he must look like to Cordelia.

"Ugh," she said, quietly. "What happened?"

"It's not unusual for half-demons to have the ability to take either human or demon form, but because he's so sick he can't control his appearance at the moment. So, he's been sifting back and forth. He... doesn't like his demon form much though."

Angel watched grimly, feeling a certain shame on Doyle's behalf as Cordelia stared, fascinated in spite of herself. "No wonder. It makes your game face look like one of the Power Puff Girls."

"Gee, thanks."

Cordelia ignored him and moved forward until she stood on the other side of the bed.

"Better remind me, the next time I say one of his shirts are ugly, what ugly really is."

Angel was often annoyed with Cordelia, but he rarely felt the urge to yell at her. This was one of those few times. Couldn't she the beauty of this form? Was she that blinded by her, undoubtedly, speciesist upbringing, that she couldn't even try to see beyond the few anatomical differences between Doyle and herself?

"I'll pass on that one, if you don't mind," Angel said, proud that none of his brief anger showed through. Cordelia would get used to it, he thought, and his anger was slowly replaced by weariness. She loved Dinah. Fussed over what to dress her in, bushing her hair and telling her how beautiful she was. She saw the beauty in Dinah, she'd learn to see the beauty in Doyle as well. He knew her well enough by now to be sure of that. It was just that her utter lack of tact meant that her initial shock would result in some decidedly unkind phrases just now. Maybe it was all for the best that Doyle was unconscious for this.

Angel was drawn out of his thoughts when Doyle twitched in his sleep and moaned softly.

"Is he having a nightmare or something?" Cordelia asked, obviously concerned.

"It's just the fever," Angel replied. "If we can get him to sit up, maybe we can get him to take some more of the herbs that Harry brought."

"Yeah okay." She hesitated. "Do you think it's okay to touch him?"

"I'd suggest staying away from the face right now," Angel responded dryly. "Go get a glass of ginger ale and put some of those various concoctions into it. I'll see if I can get him to wake up enough to sit up and drink."

Cordelia nodded and left the room, with another backward glance toward Doyle.

Gently, Angel touched Doyle's shoulder. Doyle flinched away from the touch at first, and then the movement subsided.

"Doyle," he called softly. "Doyle, wake up."

A garbled groan was the only response.

Angel slipped an arm under Doyle's shoulder and lifted up a little. "Doyle, wake up. I need you to wake up for a minute, alright? Doyle?"

This time his red rimmed eyes did open and he stared up at Angel in confusion. Angel wasn't sure if he even recognized him at all.

"Doyle?"

Finally he whispered hoarsely, "Ange'?"

Relief flooded through him. It was the first time all night that Doyle had seemed to recognize him. "Yeah, it's me." Angel reached behind Doyle and pushed the pillows up against the headboard, then propped Doyle up against them.

"I'm dreamin'," Doyle said softly.

Angel smiled slightly. "No, you're not."

"I gotta be dreamin'. Because I think I'm in bed with you, so I must be."

"Actually, you're in bed. I'm just sitting on the side," Angel said defensively, and then blurted out, without conscious thought, "you dream about that?" "All the time. 'Cept for when I'm dreamin' 'bout Cordy." Doyle smiled in vague manner, and then seemed to become aware of his own face. He put a hand up to his cheek, and winced as his fingers encountered the spines. "Except that I don't usually dream about being in demon face, so I guess that makes this one a nightmare, yeah?"

"No, it doesn't," Angel answered, still somewhat stunned by Doyle's admission.

He's delirious, Angel reminded himself. It doesn't mean anything. He doesn't know what he's saying.

Angel was thankful for Cordelia's return. This time she barely batted an eyelash at Doyle's still demonic visage.

"Now, I know I'm dreamin'," Doyle said, his head lolling back on against the headboard. "Maybe it is a nightmare? 'Cept if it was a nightmare, you'd be screamin' and runnin' away, and you're not. So I guess it's a good dream, after all, yeah?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She stepped up beside Angel and handed him the glass of ginger ale.

"Cordy, you don't belong in this dream," Doyle murmured. "You never both show up in the same dream. Someone's gotta leave."

"Well, excuse you," Cordelia snapped.

"You can go back to sleep in a few minutes," Angel promised, amused. "Just drink this, and then you can sleep."

"I dreamed that Harry was here, and she was givin' me something to drink, too," Doyle went on, in a conversational tone. "Why are all three of you in the same dream? Tha's just creepy."

He shook his head sharply and his face reverted to its human form. He reached out for the glass, and Angel handed it to him.

"So, what happens if I drink this, man? Do I get tall or small?"

Angel laughed. "Your name's not Alice."

"I vote for tall," Cordelia added brightly. "Drink up."

"Y'want me to get taller, then? Taller an' bigger? I think I like this dream." Doyle obediently drained the glass, then grimaced. "Ugh. Tastes frickin' awful. You'd think I could make it taste better, in a dream."

The glass began to fall from his hand and Angel caught it before it spilled what was left.

Doyle watched, bemused. "Nice reflexes. Vampire reflexes, yeah? Wish I had those..."

He blinked up at Angel as the vampire lifted him up, so he could rearrange the pillows before laying Doyle back down. "It's a sweet dream, boyo. Think it's gonna last awhile?"

"I think you're going back to sleep," Cordelia answered decisively. Angel could hear the smile in her voice and it warmed him.

"But I'm already sleepin'." He grinned at her; his face still flushed with fever, his eyes bright.

"That's the only reason you're here, yeah? Either of ya," he said looking back toward Angel. Doyle reached out his hand toward him. Angel caught it and was surprised when Doyle tried weakly to pull him forward. Angel acquiesced and Doyle brought the captured hand to his check. "Cold," he murmured. "Tha's nice."

A lump rose in Angel's throat.

"Go back to sleep," Angel said softly.

"Mmm-Hmm." Doyle turned slightly so that Angel's hand was trapped between his cheek and the pillow, one hand curled lightly around Angel's wrist.

"What if he goes all demony again? You're hand is going to get skewered." Angel glanced up at Cordelia in some embarrassment.

"Instinct still works," he said, softly. "Even when the mind doesn't."

"Are you sure?" Cordelia whispered back.

"Did you notice any scars on Harry?"

"Well, no."

"It'll be alright. Go back to bed, Cordelia. It's still very early."

She nodded. "Why don't you lay down, Angel. There's plenty of room."

Angel shook his head. "I'm alright."

Cordelia glared at him. "Vampires need sleep too. I know you don't need as much as us poor mortals but you still need it. Lay down and get some shut eye."

"Cordelia..." Angel started.

"My house, my bed, my rules," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I have enough to worry about without worrying about you, too."

Angel couldn't help but smile just a little, touched by the sentiment. "Alright. I'll try to get a little sleep."

"Good. Lay down," she said when Angel still hadn't moved.

Angel sighed. He swung his legs up onto the bed and laid down beside Doyle, careful not to pull his hand away from where Doyle still had a loose hold on it.

Cordelia nodded, satisfied, and with a lingering glance at Doyle, she turned toward the door. Then stopped and turn back again. "Okay, I'm disturbed. I just ordered you into my bed with Doyle. This is so wrong on, like, so many levels." Angel chucked. "Goodnight Cordelia."

"Night. Or morning. Or whatever it is."

He stared across at Doyle for a long time. His face was so warm as to be slightly uncomfortable against Angel's cool skin but he grew used to it after a while.

He listened to Doyle's heartbeat and soft breathing, and was rather surprised to realize that he was drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Too much coffee and not enough sleep gives the world all kinds of jagged edges. Harry knew that she was far too wired as she arrived at the International Society for Subterrestrial Studies Annual Conference, almost but not quite late for her own presentation. She was running on caffeine as she gathered her notes and headed for the podium.

She had originally written the paper that she was presenting while she was still engaged to Richard, although she had revised it quite a bit after the bachelor party incident. "Assimilation of Demon Subcultures into Human Society" might have sounded like a dry topic to some but it still had a vivid intimacy for her.

One member of the audience was particularly attentive. His gaze never left Harry's face and Harry found herself struggling not to become ruffled. Not that she wasn't used people looking at her while she gave her talks, but his gaze was so intense, and... well, Harry was betting he was the only member of the audience not on Viagra. And he was kind of cute.

"Any questions?"

The tall, elegant-looking stranger raised a hand, and Harry reminded herself to breathe. "Miss Doyle," he asked in a cultured British accent that was just too hot. "Is it fair to conclude, then, that no matter how assimilated into human culture they may be, demons will continue to behave in the traditional manner of demons?"

Suddenly annoyed, Harry flared back, "I'm not sure what you mean by 'the traditional manner of demons,' sir. My point, if you were following, was that demons behave in much the same manner as human beings. I'm sure you're not positing the theory that human beings are incapable of violence?"

"Of course not, but �"

"Like human beings, demons are capable of the full range of behavior. If I have learned anything at all from studying demon culture, it is that demons are far more like us than we like to think. Like us, they are capable of both good and evil."

"Do you deny then that demons are biologically and genetically predisposed to violence?"

Harry felt rather let down. Why had she thought that just because he was younger and cute he might have a more open mind? "All demons, across the board? I do deny that. There are considerable variations among the demon species and subcultures. Demons generally are sentient beings, although some are more intelligent than others. Certainly demons are capable of violence, but for them, as for us, volitional action remains a conscious choice, not a programmed response."

"What about vampires?" someone else asked, and Harry grimaced. She could almost hear the grizzled old man patting her head as he asked.

"Vampires are outside the scope of my studies. However, I am aware of at least one documented case of a vampire with a soul and the capacity to make moral choices. If you're looking for a general conclusion about all vampires, however, I'm not the one to ask."

After the question and answer session, which Harry was more than happy to cut short, she began gathering her papers together. She looked up to see the tall British stranger approaching the podium. "Excuse me, Miss Doyle?"

"Yes?" she asked, a bit abruptly. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, here. Illness in the family."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," and oddly enough, he really did look sorry. "Can you spare just a moment?"

Harry's tone softened. "Just a moment, then. Let me just make a phone call first, alright?"

"Fine. I'll wait." He stepped back a little, courteously.

A gentleman, Harry thought. Wow.

She pulled out her cellular phone and punched in Cordelia's number, while the Englishman waited.

After several rings, she heard Cordelia's voice.

"Good morning." The voice attempted to sound chipper, but failed dismally.

"Cordelia, it's Harry. How is Francis doing? And the little one?"

From the corner of her eye, Harry noticed the stranger snap to attention at the name 'Cordelia.' Frowning, she wondered if she should be talking to this person at all, if he recognized the name of one of Angel's friends. Angel had no shortage of enemies in this city and some of them could pose a threat to his friends as well. She tried to keep her voice down as much as possible.

"He's still out," Cordelia answered. "Dinah woke up a little while ago, but she's still not really with it."

"Are either of their fevers down?"

"Dinah's is a bit. So's Doyle's, we think, but he only wakes up for a few minutes at a time and then passes out again. It's kind of hard to take his temperature without choking him."

"I'll stop by later. Call me back on the cell phone if there's any change."

"All right."

Harry put the cell phone back in her bag, and gave the stranger a wary look. "You had another question?"

"Yes. Miss Doyle, I'm sorry if I was rude." And again, he did look genuinely sorry.

"That's all right," Harry assured him. "But I really am in a hurry. My ex-husband is rather seriously ill, and, well... is there anything else I can do for you?"

"You mentioned the vampire with a soul. I'm familiar with that case myself, and I was wondering how an ethnodemonologist like yourself happened to be acquainted with the matter."

"Before I answer that, who might you be, and why are you interested in that case?"

"Oh!" He appeared a little flustered. "My apologies. I had intended to introduce myself before you made your phone call. I'm Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

Wesley extended his hand, and Harry took it, somewhat reluctantly. "Pleased to meet you," she said, trying not to notice how nice his hands were. "Are you on the faculty of one of the universities?"

"I'm afraid not. At the moment, I am on my own, as a demon hunter. Hence my interest in your subject."

"A demon hunter? Like a bounty hunter?" Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Meaning that you kill demons?"

"Well, yes... that is," Wesley flushed a little and dropped his gaze, like a guilty little boy. "I haven't actually killed any," he confided, as though that were a bad thing. "I tracked one to Los Angeles some time ago, but then I lost the trail. In any event," he straightened, meeting her eyes again. "It so happens that I'm already acquainted with the only known vampire with a soul."

"Are you?" Harry's voice was cold. A 'demon hunter'? No wonder he had such a bad attitude about demonkind. She wondered if he felt the same about vampires, souled or not, and what his opinion on the subject of half-demons would be. In her experience demon hunters would kill anything that even looked a little odd without stopping to ask questions.

"I met Angel some time back in Sunnydale. Have you?"

Harry hesitated, but realized that there was no point in withholding such easily available information. The Angel Investigations agency, along with its staff, was already becoming fairly well known in the community, and anyone who chose to ask could easily locate Angel and his co-workers.

"Yes," Harry said reluctantly, "I have. My ex-husband works with him."

"Really?"

"And I take it that you know Cordelia, as well?" Harry asked.

Wesley looked shocked. "Pardon me?"

"Don't bother with the innocent look. I noticed you recognizing the name."

"Well, ahhh, it's not all that common a name these days." Wesley seemed embarrassed and looked away again. Harry could have sworn she saw him blushing again.

"Yes, well," Harry said. "I do know Angel, and Cordelia as well. Was there anything else?"

"So Cordelia is... with Angel these days?"

Inwardly, Harry sighed. First Francis, now Wesley. Sure, Cordelia was pretty, but why did all the guys fall for her. "She works for him. If you mean something of a more personal nature, I believe that her interest is elsewhere. Now if you don't mind, I really should go."

"Elsewhere?" Wesley had a slightly stricken expression. "Cordelia is ... ahhh.... involved?" he asked forlornly.

"I think that's something you should ask her yourself. It's not for me to say. Excuse me, please." Harry hurried off, leaving Wesley staring at her.

When she had left the room, she pulled out her phone again and redialed Cordelia's number. Damn, why did every guy she found attractive turn out to be a dud or a danger? It wasn't as though she liked guys in leather and chains or anything. Just terminally bad dressers with puppy dog eyes. It simply wasn't fair.

When Cordelia answered the phone, Harry asked quickly, in a low voice: "Do you know a Wesley Wyndham-Pryce?"

* * *

When Cordelia got off the phone, she returned to the bedroom. Angel hadn't slept long and was again sitting by Doyle, watching him.

"Wesley's in town and asking questions about you. Should we be worried?"

"Wesley?" Angel laughed. "Why should we be worried about Wesley? Was that Harry on the phone?"

"Yes. Wesley approached her at this conference or whatever it is, and was asking about you."

"I wonder what he's doing in L.A. Well, if he wants to find me, it's not difficult, even for him. I'm not exactly hiding these days."

"That's true. Harry said he introduced himself as a 'demon hunter.'"

"Hmmm. Maybe he broke with the Watchers Council or maybe he just wants to make it sound that way. Either way, I wouldn't lose any sleep over it."

Cordelia approached the bed. Doyle was still unconscious and unmoving. If Angel hadn't been sitting there, keeping watch over him, she might have panicked at how still he was.

Angel read her expression and assured her, "He's breathing normally, and his heartbeat is within his normal range. This unconsciousness is probably a good thing, just his body healing itself."

"If you say so. He's so quiet, though." Angel thought so too, but he wasn't about to say anything about that to Cordelia. She needed to concentrate on Dinah, she couldn't afford to worry over Doyle too much.

"It's a change, isn't it?" he offered, with a slight smile.

"Yeah. I don't think I've ever seen him when he wasn't talking."

"That's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black."

"Meaning?" Cordelia huffed.

Angel could help smiling. "Just saying."

"Whatever, Mr. I'm-too-broody-to-ever-open-my-mouth. Some of us like talking." There was a moment's pause until she spoke again, her tone shifting from teasing indignation to serious concern. "You really think he'll be all right?"

"Yes, I do," Angel said, surprised to find that he really did think so. "He'll get through this."

"Harry says he's stronger than he looks," Cordelia commented. "Of course, that's not hard since he looks like a total wimp." She sighed. "I can't believe he would actually risk getting this sick, or maybe even dying, to help me with Dinah and not tell me about the whole demon thing."

"He was afraid to tell you."

"Afraid?"

"Yes, afraid that you'd reject him."

"Like I hadn't rejected him already? I've rejected him a dozen times. What would one more time have mattered?"

"It would have mattered to him."

"Enough to die for? Not that that's going to happen, of course." She glanced toward the bed with a fierce look. "He wouldn't dare die now and deprive me of the chance to ream him out, but good."

Angel smiled. "Sounds to me like a good enough reason to survive."

"Dinah will be alright too, right?"

"I'm sure of it." Angel gazed at the still figure on the bed, and Cordelia saw the tenderness in his expression. "They'll make it. There's too much unfinished business for them die now. And we need them."

"Yeah. Well, in Dinah's case anyway. Speak for yourself, with Doyle."

"I am. Just not only for myself."

Cordelia opened her mouth to protest again, then shut it. She hesitated for a moment, then said quietly; "I don't know what you'd do without him. How would you know what evil to fight, if he wasn't here?"

Angel swallowed past the lump in his throat. "We're survivors, Cordelia," he answered finally. "I'm sure that if we had to, we'd figure something out. But I'd rather not have to try."

"Same here," Cordelia said. Then she rallied her spirits and grinned at Angel. "And if you're real good, I won't tell Doyle that you were checking him out in the bathtub."

"I wasn't," Angel sputtered. "I was very careful not to..." He trailed off as Cordelia's grin grew.

"Uh-huh. He thinks you're hot, you know."

Angel's jaw dropped. After a moment, he was able to pull himself back together. He turned away from here, back to Doyle. "Not funny," he said.

"Who's joking? He told me so."

Angel shook his head. Watching Doyle's face to make sure that he was asleep and couldn't hear this ridiculous conversation.

"He said," Cordelia persisted, "that he was attracted to you. Well, a little attracted anyway."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Give it up, Cordelia." The whole idea was absurd. "He talks about you all the time," he said, quietly.

"So?" But thankfully, Cordelia didn't push it and a moment later they heard Dinah calling for her. Cordelia was gone in a moment and Angel pushed what she had said to the back of his mind. Doyle was obviously interested in Cordelia; not that Angel had any high hopes that that relationship would work out. However, one never knew about those kinds of things. Maybe they could make something work between them.

He set to work again with the washcloth, trying to cool Doyle's face and neck.

* * *

Cordelia hurried into Dinah's room to find her sitting up, tears filling her eyes. She rushed to her side and, sitting down on the edge of the bed, she gently urged her back against the pillows.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"You went away," Dinah whispered plaintively. Cordelia felt a stab of guilt.

"I just went into the other room, Munchkin. To see Doyle and Angel. I didn't go away." She smoothed Dinah's hair back from her face.

"My mamma went away."

"I know," Cordelia said. "But I won't, not ever."

"Promise?" Dinah's wide silver eyes gazed up, at Cordelia and she found herself blinking back tears.

"I promise," Cordelia choked out. She leaned down and kissed the little girl on the forehead, remembering the first thing Dinah had ever said to her.

Are you going to be my mamma now? Cordelia looked down into Dinah's trusting face and finally knew the answer.

"I know your old mamma went away," Cordelia said softly. "But I'm your mamma now and I'll always be here, okay?"

Dinah nodded. "Okay."

* * *

He was having a nightmare. There was no question about it.

Doyle was looking down a long, dark hallway. He could see Angel and Cordelia at the other end, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't get any closer to them. They didn't see him, and they didn't hear him when he tried to call out to them.

Time had passed, although he wasn't sure how much... and they had changed.

Through the darkness, from a vast distance, he could see Angel leaning over Cordelia, in a threatening pose. Cordelia was glaring fiercely back at him. They seemed to be arguing over a book and it wasn't a friendly argument. Cordelia was trying to hide it, keeping up a front of false bravado but there was fear as well as anger in her eyes.

She looked older. Her beautiful long, dark hair was gone, now cut short and streaked, and her face was marked by weariness and far too much pain. She and Angel were looking at each other like... like enemies.

"No," Doyle tried to call out, but he couldn't hear his own voice.

He knew they couldn't hear him either. They were so very far away...

Somehow, he knew why they couldn't hear him. He knew it as surely as if this were a vision from The Powers. He must be dying. The Powers must be playing one last cruel trick on him, then. It would be just like them to show him what was going to happen after he was gone. Another thing that he couldn't change.

Angel and Cordelia couldn't hear him, because he was going to die... because, for them, he was already dead.

"No!"

* * *

At Cordelia's urging Angel had lain back down beside Doyle to try and sleep a little more. He had only just drifted off when Doyle's sudden cry started him awake.

Angel sat up startled. He quickly grabbed Doyle's shoulders, trying to calm the half-demon's thrashing. Doyle's eyes were closed and his face was once again bristling with spines.

"No!" he rasped desperately. "No!"

"It's all right, Doyle. It's all right," Angel repeated, in a reassuring voice, but Doyle didn't seem to hear him.

Cordelia rushed in a moment later. "Is he okay?" she demanded.

"He will be, he's just having a nightmare." Angel felt Doyle's forehead, and bit back a curse. "The fever's up again though. We're going to have to get him to drink some more of that stuff Harry brought. Could you make up another glass?"

"Coming up." She hurried out of the room and Angel continued to try and calm Doyle.

"Doyle? Doyle, listen to me," Angel said, softly, still holding him down. "You need to wake up. You're having a nightmare. Doyle, you have to wake up."

Cordelia returned quickly with the requested glass.

"I'll try to get him awake enough to drink," Angel said.

"How are you going to do that? He's way off in demon la-la land."

Angel didn't answer. The only thing he could think of at the moment was one thing he really didn't want to do. Unfortunately, he couldn't see that he had that much of a choice. Propping Doyle up in a sitting position, Angel lightly squeezed his shoulder. Doyle winced, and tried to flinch away.

"Hey! You're hurting him," Cordelia protested.

"Just a little, to get his attention. Don't worry, Cordelia. You know hurting Doyle is the last thing I want to do."

"I know. I'm sorry, it's just..."

"I know," Angel assured her.

Doyle opened his eyes blearily but didn't seem to be focusing on either of them. He was staring off into space behind them, as though he could see something that they could not. "Don't hurt her, Angel! Please, princess, don't look so scared."

Angel started. "Nobody's hurting anyone," he said. Doyle was dreaming about him hurting Cordelia? Did he really think Angel capable of that?

"Me, scared?" Cordelia scoffed, moving closer. "As if. I don't do scared any more. Doyle, can you hear me? I'm way past all that. I don't get scared, I just get even. Right, Angel?"

"Right." Angel had no idea what he had just agreed to. He extended his hand toward Cordelia for the glass and she gave it to him. He tipped it against Doyle's lips, while still bracing him upright with his other arm. "Come on, Doyle. Wake up and drink this."

Doyle shook his head violently, reverting back to human form, but his gaze continued to go past them. "I didn't want t' leave you," he muttered. "Don't hate me for dyin'."

Angel heard Cordelia gasp behind him. He pushed away his own horror and concentrated soothing Doyle. He spoke in a calm voice, not entirely sure who he was trying to reassure more � Doyle, Cordelia, or himself. "Shhh. Nobody's dying, and nobody hates you. Come on, you need to drink this."

After a long moment, Doyle seemed to notice the glass and opened his mouth. He took a few gulps, then started to cough. Angel quickly pulled the glass away.

"Is he choking?" Cordelia asked anxiously.

Angel listened closely to Doyle's breaths and was satisfied that the liquid hadn't entered his lungs. "He'll be all right."

Doyle coughed twice more, then sank back, his eyes still open but still not appearing to see either of them. Whatever it was he was seeing seemed to frighten him. "No," he murmured again, beginning to shake. "No. Tha's not the way it should be."

Angel set aside the glass and took Doyle's face in his hands. He leaned in very close and tried to force Doyle to look at him.

"Doyle, we're here. Nobody's going anywhere. You're not dead, I'm not going to hurt Cordelia." Angel's voice faltered over the last part. "Come on, Doyle. I need you to come back to me."

Finally, Doyle seemed to become aware of someone hovering over him. "Angel?"

"Yes, I'm here. So is Cordelia."

"Am I dead yet?"

"No," Angel said vehemently. "Don't say that. You're all right. You're not going to die."

Doyle eyes remained unfocused and his trembling hadn't subsided. Angel smoothed his damp hair back, and leaned in closer.

"Doyle, listen to me. You're not dead. You're safe here, with me and Cordelia."

"Not there anymore..." Doyle mumbled incoherently.

"It doesn't matter. You're where you belong, with your family. You're alright."

For the first time, Doyle's eyes seemed to focus on Angel. "Angel... you ain't mad?"

Angel shook his head, relief flooding through him. "No, I'm not angry."

"Nobody's mad," Cordelia added. She had moved around the bed to sit on the other side. She reached out then to take one of Doyle's hands. He turned his head to look at her and Angel relaxed his hold on his face, his hands sliding down to rest against the half-demon's throat, feeling as it pulse began to slow from its previous rapid rate. "Although I will be later for you scaring us like this," she added.

"Princess?" Doyle murmured, in some wonder. "Your hair... it's still the same..."

"Well, of course it is."

"Don't ever cut it, eh?"

"Why would I cut my hair?"

Doyle's eyes closed slowly. "Dunno..." he muttered vaguely. "Angel?"

"Yes?"

"Everything's okay, yeah?" Doyle looked up at him, searching his face.

Angel swallowed. "Yes, everything's fine. Just rest now."

"Don' go anywhere, 'kay?" Doyle said, his eyes slipping closed. "The tunnel was so long, an'... I couldn' get to ya..."

"I'm right here, it's alright," Angel said. He was beginning to feel rather like a broken record, but it seemed to calm Doyle as he slipped back into sleep.

"What was all that about?" Cordelia asked softly.

Angel shook his head. "Just a nightmare," he assured her.

He pressed his hands against Doyle's sweat soaked face, and let out a sigh of relief. "I think..." he paused.

"What?"

Angel took his hands away from Doyle's face before laying them gently back. "I think maybe his fever has gone down a bit."

"Really?" Cordelia asked.

"I'm not sure," Angel admitted. "But I think so. We'll have to wait and see. He seems quiet now, at least."

After another moment, Cordelia drew her hand away from Doyle's and slipped out of the room, back to Dinah.

Angel stayed where he was, listening to Doyle breath and wondering if Doyle often had nightmares that involved Angel hurting people. Did he really trust him that little? Somehow, Angel couldn't quite believe that. When Doyle had needed reassurance that everything was all right, he had turned to Angel. That meant something, right?

"I'm not going to hurt any of you," Angel assured him.

* * *

"The fever's definitely down," Harry said, when she stopped by later that afternoon. "Has he come to at all?"

Angel nodded, but it was Cordelia who answered. "For a few minutes, but he was totally delirious. He was talking about me cutting my hair and Angel being mad, or something. Completely out of it."

"Did you get anything into him today?"

"He did drink a little of the ginger ale with your herbs and moldy stuff." Cordelia grimaced.

"How about the little girl?"

"Dinah has been awake a few times and was even able to keep a little bit of soup down." Cordelia looked inordinately proud as she related Dinah's progress.

Angel listened to the conversation with only a little interest. He had moved back to the chair by the bed and sat now watching Doyle sleep. Harry's eyes darted back and forth between Doyle and Angel. Cordelia had told her that Angel hadn't left the room since Doyle had fallen ill. If she hadn't known Angel was a vampire she would have begun to worry about his health.

"How much longer will Doyle be out of it?" Cordelia asked.

Harry shook herself out of her thoughts. "It's hard to say for sure, but he should be starting to come around by tomorrow. Keep me posted on what's happening with him. Let's go have a look at Dinah."

"Sure. So, you ran into Wesley?" Cordelia asked as she led Harry out of the room.

"I did. Tell me about him. Can he be trusted?"

"It depends." Cordelia looked away and Harry noticed that she seemed just as embarrassed as Wesley had been.

"There was something between you and Wesley, wasn't there?"

"That is all just so past-tense, but, yeah, I liked him. He liked me. Lots of liking going on, but not much else. I was still in high school, you know. That was back in Sunnydale, before I came to LA."

Harry nodded. "He's rather cute. When you get past the whole thing about being pompous and totally infatuated with his own opinions," she rushed to add at Cordelia's odd look. "So, was he a demon hunter then? How does he know Angel?"

"Okay, I guess I'd better tell you the whole story." Cordelia took a deep breath, and began.

* * *

By late evening, Doyle seemed to be sleeping normally, and Cordelia insisted that Angel take a break and get some sleep himself. "Don't try to tell me that vampires don't need sleep, either, because I know better."

"Far be it from me to argue with an expert," Angel sniped back.

"Do we really need to have this argument again?" Cordelia asked.

Angel closed his eyes and sighed. He really was tired. "Alright, I'll sleep for a little while. He sat back down on the bed, but Cordelia shook her head.

"Not this time. You'll just end up watching Doyle and not sleeping. Go catch some Zs on the couch."

Angel drew the line at this. There was no way he was leaving Doyle until he knew he would be alright. He shook his head.

"I'll sleep in here." And his tone brooked no argument.

"Why do I try to reason with a vampire?" Cordelia demanded of the Universe at large. "It's like herding cats."

"Whatever," Angel said, laying down. He tried to stay awake but was asleep before Cordelia left the room.

Cordelia stood over the sleeping pair and sighed. When the hell had her life become so totally wacked that these two and a mini-demon were her family? Oh, and a ghost. Couldn't forget about Phantom Denis. It just didn't make any sense. And why did the pair of them sleeping look cute? And why did it make her feel better to know that they were both safe and sleeping peacefully? It probably meant she needed help, big time.

She heard a sound in the doorway and Cordelia turned to see Dinah standing there in her pajamas and clutching her little stuffed rabbit.

"Hey there, munchkin," Cordelia whispered, careful not to wake Angel or Doyle. "I thought you were asleep already."

"Couldn't sleep." Dinah pointed at Doyle. "Is Doyle sick, too? Is he gonna be okay?"

"He'll be fine, just like you. He got sick, but he'll get better."

"Are you sure he's not ... going away?"

Cordelia caught the wistful look on Dinah's face. Cordelia scooped her up and hugged her tightly. "I know it's scary when people are sick," she whispered. "But it's going to be all right. Doyle isn't going away. He'll be fine, just like you."

Dinah whispered back, "He's just like me?"

Cordelia paused before answering realizing that there was more in that question that was apparent. "Yes, he is."

"But he looks like you, and the people on TV."

"Well, I guess you could say that." Cordelia paused before going on. "But he doesn't look like me all the time. He has another face... a demon face."

Dinah's eyes widened. "Really? Like me?"

Cordelia shook her head. "No, not like you. His is definitely not pretty, but it's not scary either," she rushed to add.

Dinah was looking past her at the bed in curiosity. "That doesn't scare you does it, Munchkin?" Cordelia asked.

"No!" Dinah giggled. "Nobody scares me. Well..." her voice dropped, and her smiled faded. "Nobody here," she amended.

"That's my girl. Come on, I'll tuck you in so you can get some sleep too."

* * *

Angel woke again a few hours later, to see Doyle watching him from across the pillow with bleary eyes. "Ange'?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Doyle!" Angel's face lit up at the sound. "How are you feeling?"

"Where?" Doyle asked, but Angel understood.

"You're at Cordelia's apartment."

Doyle's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"You came down with the same fever that Dinah had, but you're going to be alright. Everything's fine now," Angel soothed.

"Don't patronize me!"

"Hey, you must be feeling better, then. A few hours ago, you couldn't have handled that many syllables at once."

Doyle bit his lip, and glanced towards the door where they could hear the television out in the living room. "She knows, doesn't she?" Angel didn't pretend to misunderstand.

"Yes. But she's handling it. You can expect a lecture or two about keeping secrets, but it's not going to change anything. Do you feel well enough to sit up on your own?"

Doyle started to lift himself to a sitting position, and then grimaced, as a wave of dizziness hit him. "Maybe not."

Angel sat up and helped Doyle up far enough to lean against the headboard. A rather flat glass of ginger ale was sitting on the bedside table. Most of the herbs in it had already settled to the bottom, but Angel handed it to Doyle anyway.

"Here, see if you can manage a little of this."

"What's that crud at the bottom of the glass?"

"Some stuff Harry brought over for you. It seems to be working."

"Kee-rist. Harry was really here? I thought that was just some kind of dream or something."

"She was really here. Drink up."

Doyle made a face at him, but obeyed. When he reached the sediment at the bottom, though, he started to choke and Angel quickly took the glass and set it back down on the table.

"Is Cordy really mad?" Doyle asked, when he got his breath back.

Angel paused before answering. "No, not as much as she thinks she should be. She's been worried about you. We all have," Angel added.

Doyle looked uncomfortable, but didn't answer directly. "What did I say when I was out of it?"

"Not much. You a nightmare and thought you were dead. Then started giving Cordelia advice about what not to do to with her hair. For the most part though, you just slept."

"Hair advice from beyond the grave. Could go down well in this town."

Angel grinned. "Possibly, but you're not going to be the one giving it."

"I could give hair advice," Doyle insisted a little drowsily. "By the way, mind tellin' me how long we been sleepin' together?"

After the confusion and concern of the last twenty-four hours, Angel had nearly forgotten to be embarrassed about their sleeping arrangement here. It came flooding back and he gave a nervous chuckle. "You've been out of it since you collapsed last night. You couldn't be left alone, but Cordelia was about to have a fit if I didn't try and get some sleep."

They fell silent for a moment. Doyle's eyes began to drift shut, and Angel smiled. He reached over and helped Doyle to lay back down. "Rest now. I'll be here."

"Tha's good," Doyle murmured as he closed his eyes.

Angel continued to watch him, long after his breathing had returned to the steady rhythms of sleep.

Cordelia stuck her head in a few minutes later. "Hey there," she whispered. "I thought I told you to get some sleep."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Doyle woke up for a minute. He was coherent and I got him to drink some more of Harry's herbs.

Cordelia grinned. "Great! I'm about ready to go to sleep. Do you think he'll be okay for the night?"

"The fever has stayed down for hours, so he should be fine," he whispered back. "He's past the crisis now. He'll probably be wide awake by morning."

"Mmmmm. Then I guess tomorrow he'll be on the couch, so I hope he enjoys this one last night in my bed." Cordelia smiled drowsily, as she grabbed her pajamas and headed back to Dinah's room.

She paused in the doorway. "Oh, and Angel?"

"Yes?"

"Go. To. Sleep."

Angel quirked an eyebrow. "Who's the boss in this group anyway?"

"My house, Angel," she reminded him.

"Yes, I know. Your house, your rules." Angel sighed, but he couldn't help but smile. It had been a long time since he had been surrounded by family. It was a good feeling. "I promise to get some sleep. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Cordelia called back softly as she left. A moment later the light on the table beside him turned off.

"Goodnight to you too, Dennis," Angel whispered.

He lay back down and went back to watching Doyle breathe.

Fade Out

Closing Credits