Title: A Gift
Author: Megg
Rating: PG
Summary: Doyle is reborn.
 
 
Angel tapped gently on the door. "Cordelia?"

"Go away."

"Cordelia ... there's, uh, there's someone here to see you."

"Go away," Cordelia repeated. "I want to be alone."

"Cordelia, you've been alone for the past week and a half. It's not healthy, you 
need to come out of there."

"No I don't," Cordelia argued. "I have a bathroom in here, and you bring me 
food. I'm fine."

"Rent is going to be due on your apartment soon, you know," Angel reminded her 
gently.

"Don't care. Dennis can pay."

"He's a ghost, Cordelia. Now, why don't you come out? See the sun?"

"You don't see the sun and you're fine."

"I don't have a choice, Cordelia."

"That's not what I was told before h-he d-d-died," Cordelia choked out, 
beginning to sob.

She collapsed to the floor with her back to the door. "Angel, it's not fair! 
It's not fair ... he was brave and strong and wonderful and ... I ... I loved 
him ... Angel, I loved him, and I didn't tell him, and he didn't know ..."
"Shhh," Angel whispered through the door. "He did know. He did know."
"No he didn't!" Cordelia cried, beating her fists against the door. "He didn't 
know. He didn't."
Angel began looking around for a pin. He had let her keep herself locked in the 
room for ten days now -- he would leave her a tray of food three times a day in 
front of the door and return later to pick it back up.
He knew she needed time to move on, and that perhaps sleeping in his room, in 
his sheets, would help her.
He had been fooling himself, it was only making it worse, and now there was 
someone at the door, waiting to talk to her.
Angel finally came up with a hair clip, working the dull end through the bedroom 
lock until he heard it click and he was able to twist the knob and open the 
door.
The sight of Cordelia, in a heap on the floor, curled up around his jacket, 
sobbing, was enough to make him nearly cry. 
"Cordelia," he whispered. He reached out to stroke a hand through her hair. "Oh, 
Cordelia ..."
She looked up at him with teary eyes. "I could have, Angel," she whispered. "I 
could have loved him. All the way, I could have."
"I know ... I know," Angel answered. "And he knew. He did know, Cordelia. When 
you ... die, or go to another dimension, things are blurry at first. But on your 
way - in limbo, I guess you could say - everything clears up. Everything. You 
can remember."
"Remember what? I never told him!"
"And you can sense what someone is thinking and feeling. Trust me."
"How do you know?" Cordelia asked spitefully.
"Buffy," Angel whispered wistfully.
"Oh. Oh ... Angel, I'm sorry ..."
"Shhh. No apologies. This isn't about me. I'm going to be just fine. This is 
about you, and whether or not you're going to be okay."
"No." Cordelia shook her head tearfully. "No, I'm not."
Angel gently pulled Cordelia to her feet. "You have a visitor."
"Oh, God, Angel, I can't talk to anyone. Not now, not now!"
"Normally, I'd tell them to leave - it's not someone I'm particularly fond of, 
either. But, Cordelia, you can't close yourself off like this. You just can't."
A fresh wave of tears hit Cordelia, and she rested her forehead against the cool 
wall, letting her tears stain the wallpaper. Finally, she sniffled and turned 
her head slightly to look at Angel. "T-Tell them th-that I'll be right out," she 
said in a thick, emotionless voice.
Angel nodded, turning to leave.
Cordelia took a deep breath and dragged herself into the bathroom. She splashed 
several handfuls of cold water on her face, but finally gave up on the notion of 
looking more presentable. Who cared, anyway?
She grabbed a rubber band at the last moment, deciding to at least pull her 
tangled mass of hair out of her eyes and into a messy pile on top of her head.
Before leaving the room, she picked up a photograph and kissed the cool glass. 
"Wish me luck, me love," she whispered in a fake Irish accent, smiling faintly 
at the picture.
*****
Both Angel and the visitor glanced up when they heard Cordelia thump out of the 
bedroom and into the main room of Doyle's apartment, clad in a pair of sweat 
pants, thick socks, and a white T-shirt that had belonged to Doyle.
Cordelia sniffled, running her hand across the nose. "Hi ... Wesley?" She shook 
her head, hitting the side of it gently. "Crazy ..." she murmured.
"Hello, Cordy," he said in his regular accented voice. "How are you holding up? 
I heard about your loss."
Cordelia's eyes blazed. "Did you? From who?"
"I ... uh, the Watcher's Council."
"How do they know?" Angel asked suspiciously.
"I ... uh, I suppose they've been in contact with The Powers That Be, although 
I'm not actually certain." Wesley shrugged, slouching against the wall, much to 
the surprise of Cordelia and Angel.
"Oh." Cordelia nodded, reaching for a box of tissues from the table and sliding 
down to the floor. 
"I'm very sorry," Wesley told her.
She shrugged, dabbing at her eyes. "Thanks."
Angel reached down to pull Cordelia back to a standing position, allowing her to 
lean heavily against him. "Do you want me to ask him to leave?" he whispered in 
her ear.
She looked from Wesley to Angel, then shrugged and shook her head. "It's okay. 
Thank you."
"So ... uh, are you two ... uh, together?"
Cordelia frowned. "No! It's too soon after ... it's too soon," she finished 
quickly. "I ... I don't know ... I couldn't."
Wesley looked pointedly at Angel. "Would you mind if I talked to her for a few 
minutes ... in private?"
Angel looked to Cordelia, and only after receiving her nod of approval did he 
remove his arm from her and exit the apartment.
"So," Wesley said.
"Yeah, so ... how've you been?" Cordelia asked graciously.
"Good, and yourself?" Wesley winced as soon as the question had left his mouth. 
"Oh, Princess, I'm sorry ..."
Cordelia shook her head, a tear trickling down her cheek. "It's okay," she 
murmured, her voice muffled by a scrunched up tissue.
"He wouldn't have wanted you to be sad," Wesley told her comfortingly, pulling 
her into his arms. "He loved you a lot."
Cordelia shook his head. "No, h-he couldn't have ... not with how ..."
"You acted? He knew it was a ploy. Not at first, but I-he did know, Princess."
Cordelia looked up at him wearily. "He-he called me 'P-Princess'."
"You were his Princess," Wesley said warmly.
Cordelia shook her head. "My dad used to call me Princess, but he didn't mean it 
in a good way. 'Cordelia Catherine Chase, stop being such a Princess'. I-I 
didn't tell anyone that ... they thought he just bought me all those close 
because I was Sheldon Chase's only daughter. B-But ... he just wanted me to 
leave him a-a-alone." She started crying again in earnest.
"That's not what Doyle thought of you," Wesley told her honestly. "He considered 
you to be his Princess, his goddess sent from above. He loved you when he first 
saw you, and he never stopped. Even though he never thought he had a chance with 
you, even when you were mean to him, he never stopped loving you. And he never 
stopped hoping. 
"At the pier, when you told him to ask you out, he was ecstatic. When you 
accepted him for his demon sign, he reveled in it, willingly taking the slap -- 
he felt so guilty, Cordy, for not telling you. All he wanted in life was to love 
you. And for you to love him."
"Oh, God, Wesley, I did! I did, I loved him, so much, I didIdidIdidIdidIdid," 
Cordelia rushed out tearfully. "I could have loved his demon side, too, because 
it was HIM, it was part of HIM."
Wesley kissed the top of her head. "Thank you, me love."
Cordelia gasped and sobbed at the same time, raising her eyes to look at him. 
"W-What? H-How do you know all this? Why ... why d-do you keep talking like 
that? Why? WHY?! This some kind of cruel torture?! HAVE I NOT SUFFERED ENOUGH?! 
They sent you here again, didn't they? They sent you!"
"No. NO! Cordelia, listen to me. Cordy, please." 
She shook her head fervently.
Wesley shook her gently. "Princess, please, listen to me! It's ... it's me," he 
whispered.
"What do you mean, it's you?! Of COURSE it's you! Damn you, Wesley, stop playing 
games!" She jerked away from him and began to run, sprinting out the door and 
down the stairs, banging desperately on Angel's door, out of breath.
Angel opened the door to find the mess that was Cordelia waiting there. She 
instantly collapsed into his arms, wailing, "He's lying, he's imitating Doyle, 
he was sent, he was sent, he wants to hurt me! Angel, don't let him hurt me!"
"Cordelia? What are you talking about?" Angel was honestly, desperately worried 
that she had gone over the edge.
At that moment, Wesley appeared at the door. "Please, let me explain," he 
pleaded.
Cordelia shrieked, cowering behind Angel, clutching his shoulder. "Don't let 
him, don't let him!"
Angel pulled away from Cordelia and stood face to face with Wesley. "What is the 
meaning behind this?"
"Angel, it's me. Doyle."
Angel looked from Cordelia, who was a crying heap on the floor, to Wesley, who 
was looking at him with begging eyes. "Get out."
"No, no, Angel, man, please!"
"GET OUT!" Angel bellowed.
Wesley looked towards the heavenward, whispering, "O mo Dhia, a chionn 's gu 
bheil Thu cho math, tha mi a 'toirt gaoil Dhuit le m'uile chridhe, agus air do 
sgath-sa tha mi a' toirt gaoil dham choimhearsnach mar dhomh fhin." 
Angel stopped short. "What?"
"O mo Dhia, a chionn's gu bheil Thu cho math, tha mi-"
Angel cut him off. "Irish Gaelic."
Wesley nodded quickly. "Act of Love prayer."
Angel pointed to a chair. "You have three minutes to explain." He tapped his 
watch.
Wesley nodded quickly, sitting down. "I was killed, as you saw."
Angel motioned for him to continue.
"I was in limbo, for a little while. I actually spoke with the Powers ... they 
were pleased with my doing something 'heroic', they said." He shook his head. 
"It wasn't heroic. It was just what had to be done.
"Of course, my body was charred by then ... but, see, when someone does a good 
deed, and dies for it, and it's not their time, the Powers have the option of 
intercepting. Which they did."
"And they allowed your soul to take root in another person's body," Angel 
realized. "But ... Wesley ..."
"He died," Doyle-in-Wesley's-body informed them sadly. "It was pure coincidence 
that I ended up in his body. The Powers allow me to be reborn, but I can't be 
choosy about bodies, and they aren't either. Wesley ... he had returned to 
Sunnydale per request of the Council to speak to Rupert Giles."
"Vampire?" Angel asked, although his eyes were on Cordelia, who was slowly 
picking herself up off the floor to come over and listen.
Doyle shook his head. Rather, he shook Wesley's head. "No. He was hit by a car 
crossing the street."
"I still don't get it," Cordelia whispered. "If he was dead, how was his body 
... livable?"
"I fully replaced it. He died, but I was allowed to be in it. That's how it 
works -- the previous owner must be fully ... gone, first. And he was." Doyle 
shook his head. "When I opened my eyes, I was so disoriented. The impact of the 
switch had caused me to temporarily lose memory of everything. I looked down and 
saw myself in a strange body, with rapidly fading bruises and cuts. There was a 
crowd of people gathered and a dented car by me, and everyone kept asking if I 
needed help. I got up, and I ran. I ended up in an alley, and I stayed there for 
a good day and a half, just remembering. Once I did, I came here. And ... here I 
am."
"So ... is it all ... you?" Angel questioned.
Doyle shook his head. "There's the body difference, of course, and then there's 
the little bit of Wesley still left in me. Mostly a different vocabulary and a 
constant craving for scones." He turned to Cordelia, his eyes misty. "And you."
Angel took that as his signal to leave the room, which he did quickly.
Cordelia looked at the man in front of her, the man with Wesley's looks and 
Doyle's soul, and began to sob again. "Oh, God ..."
"Hey, Princess, don't cry. Don't be upset. Besides the fact that someone had to 
die for me to have this body - although I didn't cause it - I'm not. This has 
been a gift. A wonderful, miraculous gift." He knelt in front of her. "And I 
love you. I was too afraid to tell you before, and that was my biggest regret. I 
love you, Cordelia Catherine Chase, forever."
Cordelia finally collapsed against him, her tears wetting his shoulder. "Oh, 
God, Doyle, I love you too. I always have. And I always will." 
Doyle tilted her chin up. "No more tears, me love. If this is how we ended up, 
it must be fate." He kissed her very gently, yet still lovingly, letting her set 
the pace.
When they broke apart, she smiled slightly. "Now I know for sure that it's you."
"There is a bright side to things," he told her with a smile. "Now the height 
isn't a problem, and I don't think the money is either."
"It never was," she whispered, hugging him tightly. "It never was."
He smiled. "Good. Because until I learn how to sign my name 'Wesley 
Wyndham-Price', and figure out just what my bank account number is, I can't get 
any of that money."
Cordelia shook her head. "Don't care about the money. Just care about you."
"The feeling's mutual, Princess. The feeling's mutual." On that note, he pulled 
her into his lap so he could give her a proper I-missed-you kiss.