Title: Lessons In Life 3: Aches And Pains

Author/pseudonym: Lyric

Fandom: Angel

Paring: Angel/Doyle

Rating: PG-13

Status: New

Archive: WWOMB, all others, please ask.

Series/Sequel: Part of the 'Lessons in Life' series.

Disclaimers: Angel and Doyle have never been mine, and they never will be. *sigh* ^_*

Notes: Due in large part to all of the wonderful encouragement I have received, I'm moving right along. This part takes place the day after 'Inhibitions'.

Summary: Doyle isn't feeling so good...

Warnings: hurt/comfort and m/m UST abound.

LESSONS IN LIFE 3: ACHES AND PAINS

It was mid afternoon when Angel finally emerged from his apartment and into the upper office. He had spent most of the day deep in thought; contemplating new developments and past mistakes.

Ok. He was brooding.

Angel knew he was a brooder, and made no real effort to hide that from the people he met. He couldn't help it. Having your soul and conscience restored after a century of being a heartless and brutal killer, emerging after decades to finally find what seemed like the one perfect love, losing your soul again because of that love, being killed, delivered to hell, and then sent back, would breed a slight case of brooding in you, too.

Today's case of brooding was brought on by Doyle. It wasn't the first time the Irishman evoked a hearty round of brooding, Doyle had instituted himself in Angel's thoughts since the first time they had met. Angel was instantly drawn to him, and that draw grew into attraction.

Angel was no stranger in hiding his feelings from others. It took some time before he felt comfortable showing Buffy how he felt towards her. However, despite their love, there were many feelings that he had chosen to keep secret.

As far as his developing feelings for Doyle, Angel was always prepared to keep them well hidden. He was doing it for as much as his safety as for Doyle's. His curse stunted any future relationships with the promise of the loss of his soul whenever he reached his 'perfect moment of happiness'. Pursuing any sort of relationship would be futile, and would only lead to frustration and disappointment. So, knowing this, Angel had resolved himself to spending the remainder of his life alone.

Before Doyle and Cordelia, he had even planned to spend it without friends; convinced that he brought the people who cared for him nothing but pain. However, as time went by, Angel allowed himself the indulgence of their companionship and friendship, accepting that not even he could go on completely alone without losing his final few ties to humanity. Even as his feelings for Doyle grew beyond simple friendship, Angel was resigned to recognize his limitations and live by them.

He simply had no other option.

His resolve, however, was shaken by last night's events. Hours later, he could still feel the the warm imprint of Doyle's body pressed against his own. Last night, when he finally managed to drop off into a short sleep, husky laugher followed him into his dreams.

When he had woke, he looked over to find himself alone. The sheet that he had placed over Doyle, was crumpled at the end of the couch. Angel had felt irrationally hurt at first, but then he shook it off. His friend probably didn't want to wake him, so Doyle had left him to rest. After all, Doyle was only crashing on the couch because he drank too much and passed out. It wasn't like the two of them had spent the night tangled together on the bed, exchanging soft wet kisses, exploring one another's body as they made slow passionate love--

Oookay. No need to go there.

As he approached the office door, he could hear the voices of Cordelia and Doyle already inside.

"Well, I would feel more sympathetic if only this wasn't completely and absolutely your fault. Anyway, I thought you were some kind of divine messenger or something. Shouldn't you spend a little less time, how should I say this, totally drunk off your ass?"

"I think you're getting me confused with Roma Downey; it's the accent, it throws people off. Now, would you please pass the aspirin?"

Angel entered the office and saw Cordelia and Doyle sitting together at the small table. Angel noted that Doyle must have went home and came back, since he was wearing a different set of clothes then he had on last night. He had changed into a green shirt, that seemed to play with the color of his eyes; enhancing the green overtones so they seemed more a vibrant green then a bright blue --

--say, looks like the water cooler is a little low....

"Hi, Angel." Cordelia said.

"The water cooler is low."

She looked at him for a almost a full ten seconds before replying,

"What?"

He gestured over her shoulder towards the cooler in question and said,

"Um, it looks like we need a refill."

She looked at him for another ten seconds before turning her head and rolling her eyes.

"Sure, whatever."

Then, in in a lower tone that he was almost not suppose to hear, she continued, "It's not like he spends that much time around here drinking _water_."

"Hey, Angel."

He turned toward the direction of Doyle's weak voice, and it was then that he got his first real look at the half-demon. Doyle was hunched slightly over the table, with his right hand supporting his head. His blue/green eyes were actually pretty bloodshot, and the corners were pinched in painful discomfort.

"You look completely awful."

Well, not completely.

Before Doyle had a chance to respond, Cordelia jumped in with a mock cheerful tone, "Surprise! Doyle's hung-over!"

"Listen, could we please get off the subject of my drinking for a while? Let's just talk about something else, you know? Like, well,...the, um,...that, uh, cooler is looking a bit empty."

Cordelia threw up her hands.

"Aurgh! What is the obsession with that stupid water cooler today? We _have_ a faucet, you know."

"Oh god, not now..." Doyle suddenly gasped.

He shot out of his seat as his hands clutched the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip. His already bloodshot eyes shot open as wide as they could go, and small beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead.

"Vision time!" said Cordelia, but she was unable to keep the worry out of her voice or expression.

With a strangled cry, Doyle suddenly flew back, hit against the back wall, and slumped to the floor. Angel was at his side in an instant; kneeling between his legs and gripping the smaller man's shoulders in a feeble attempt to offer him some small comfort as Doyle trembled beneath his fingers in pain.

Finally, the body stilled slightly as the vision seemed to fade. This was the first time Angel had ever seen Doyle receive a vision while he already had a pre-existing headache, and he knew that this wasn't going to be good. Cordelia, who was crouched behind him, must have shared his thought, as the two of them watched their friend with concern.

"Doyle? Doyle, are you okay?" he asked, forcing calm into his voice.

Doyle was gasping for breath, but his eyes focused on Angel when the vampire spoke. Their eyes locked, and Angel wanted to cry out himself when he saw the oceans of agony there. He had never seen his friend in so much pain. He hated it. He hated not being able to do anything to stop the wetness that was brimming in the corners of Doyle's strained eyes, or the perspiration that was now a fine sheen over Doyle's entire body.

"Doyle, what can we do?" he desperately whispered.

Doyle looked at him for a moment longer, turned his head slightly, and promptly threw-up on Angel's lap.

"Gross!" yelled Cordelia as she leapt to her feet.

Angel merely patted Doyle's back as the half-demon coughed pathetically.

"Oh God! I think I'm going to puke, too! That was totally yuck!"

Angel rolled his eyes at Cordelia's ramblings.

"Cordelia! Could you please just get a damp towel or something?"

That seemed to snap her attention back to Doyle. The concern returned to her face, and she even had the good grace to look a little embarrassed.

"Right. Sorry. I'll be right back."

"Sorry, 'gel." said Doyle weakly.

"Don't worry about it. How's the head?"

"Unfortunately, still attached." he gasped.

He was still reeling in agony. Angel's hands move to cup Doyle's face in a gentle grip.

"Cold hands." Doyle said with an unsteady and strained laugh.

"Sorry."

He moved to pull them away, but Doyle managed to reach up and stop him.

"No...feels nice..."

Angel merely nodded, and continued to cradle the face between his hands. Wanting to do something, his fingers began to rub small soothing circles on Doyle's temples. It seemed to work, as Doyle relaxed just a little, but his body was still tense with pain.

"Doyle, you need to lie down for a while. I'm going to take you downstairs, and you can rest on my bed." Angel told him in a soft voice.

He received a weak nod, but even that small movement caused Doyle to flinch in pain. Angel slid one arm around his shoulders, as the other one reached under his legs. Doyle, sensing his attention to pick him up, began a whispered protest.

"No, I can walk."

It seemed being in complete agony didn't diminish Doyle's stubborn Irish pride. Angel considered insisting, but didn't want to waste time arguing. Instead, he support Doyle as he slowly got to his feet. Once he appeared steady, Angel wrapped one hand around his waist as Doyle placed his own arm around the vampire's shoulder. Side by side, they began walking toward the elevator.

They nearly crashed into Cordelia as she retuned.

"Towel!" she exclaimed, holding up said towel.

Doyle expelled a shaky breath, shut his eyes, and rested his head against Angel's shoulder.

"Not so loud, 'delia..."

"Oops! Sorry!" she whispered.

They continued their walk and the three of them got onto the elevator. Cordelia sniffed the air, and said,

"Maybe we should take his clothes off before we put him to bed."

Doyle managed a small grin.

"Sure. Pick now to start gettin' fresh with me."

"I was actually referring to the fact that you happened to be plastered in puke, Retard." she replied with a soft voice that held no harshness, only gentle humor.

"Lucky for you, most of it got on Angel."

Doyle's pale skin flushed at that, and Angel rubbed his shoulder to assure him he wasn't angry.

Cordelia got out of the elevator first, and went to turn down the bed. Doyle started to undo his clothing, but it was evident that the pain from his massive headache was placing a hindrance on his every movement.

After a second of indecision, Angel pushed his hands aside and took over the task. Doyle sighed his gratitude. Once finished, Angel concentrated on getting him to the bed, and tried to distract himself from the sight of Doyle in nothing but boxer shorts and socks.

Wow. He kept himself in really good shape for a smaller guy. He wasn't in the least bit scrawny, instead, he was almost all lean and sleek muscles. It was a shame that Doyle insisted on keeping himself hidden under all those layers of loose clothes--

"Sarah. Sarah Kingston."

Angel was startled out of his wandering thoughts by Doyle's gasp as the half-demon began to lay back against the soft pillows.

"Who?" Cordelia asked.

"My vision. She works at Hathaway's Diner."

"Anything else?" Angel asked.

"Just the feeling that she is going to be in a lot of trouble. Go."

"I'll go look up the diner's address." Cordelia said getting up and looking at Angel, "You might want to change before leaving."

With that, she walked to the elevator. Angel looked back over at Doyle's form on the bed. He had closed his eyes, and it appeared that he was finally getting the rest he needed.

Angel turned and quickly stripped off his wet black jeans and threw them in the hamper. He stood for a second in his black sweater and boxers, and remembering Cordelia's comment about intimidating people with his black-on-black look, pulled the sweater over his head as well.

Walking to his wardrobe, he slipped into black jeans similar to the pair he had removed. He selected a dark blue button down silk shirt that, after fastening the buttons, he left loose and untucked.

Dark, sure, but at least it wasn't black-on-black.

He picked up his coat and began walking out. Just before he left the bedroom, he turned to spare one last look at Doyle. He was met with a pair of half-lidded eyes that were watching him with a soft wistful smile.

And Angel couldn't help it. He returned the small smile for a moment; and just for a moment, brooding was the farthest thing from the cursed vampire's mind, before he turned and left.

End