Title: The Memory of Heroes
Author: Ellen
Spoilers: Through "Hero" with an alternate ending.
Summary: This is a sequel to my short fic "The Blue-Eyed Child of 
Longing," in which Rieff made the sacrifice in "Hero," instead of 
either Doyle or Angel.

Note: This has been slightly revised since it was posted to some of the
mailing lists.

Disclaimer: All things Buffy and Angel belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant 
Enemy Productions, Warner Brothers and/or Twentieth Century Fox. I 
don't own 'em and I'd treat 'em better if I did.


1.


Doyle was struggling so fiercely in my grip on the platform when Rieff 
cried out that if Angel hadn't arrived in time to help me, I would not 
have been able to keep him down. It took both of us to hold him while 
Rieff did what had to be done.

When Rieff screamed, I felt Doyle's body shudder, too.

"No! It should have been me," he moaned.

"If it was you'd be dead, you idiot," I hissed, as the brilliant light 
ebbed away, leaving us in near-darkness.

I was stretched out awkwardly, half on top of him, with Angel on his 
other side, as the shadows filled the sudden silence. Each one of us 
stared at the other, just beginning to get a sense of what had 
happened.... and what had almost happened.

"There are worse things," he muttered.

"Oh, yeah? Well, listen, you jerk, if you think you were going to get 
away with asking me out and then killing yourself, think again. You're 
not getting off the hook with me that easy."

Angel said gently, "It's finished now. Everyone's safe."

He sat back slightly, but he was still holding Doyle down, as I was.

"Rieff saved his people, and us. He turned out to be the promised one 
after all, the one that he didn't believe existed. You gave him that 
chance, Doyle, but it was his choice to take it."

Below us, we could hear one of the demon-people crying.

Then Angel bent close to Doyle and vamped out into his game face, 
growling, "And don't you ever, ever, pull a stunt like that on me again, 
do you hear me?"

Returning to his normal face, he went on, "I need you. Even Cordelia 
here needs you."

"Hey, speak for yourself," I protested, but not too hard.

None of our words seemed to be reaching Doyle. He was just shaking his 
head, with a hopeless look on his face. Under my hands, which were still
pressed against him, pinning him down, I felt his body trembling.

"Rieff was so young."

"Hello, you're not exactly Angel's age yourself, " I objected.

"And I would guess that you still have a job to do here," Angel added. 
"So, tell me. If we let you up, can we trust you not to punch either one
of us?"

Doyle tried to smile, but couldn't. "No point. It's too late now. It's 
over."

I rolled aside slowly, carefully, reluctant to let him move away from me.

"Not by a long shot, it isn't," Angel corrected, helping him up. "You're
here for a reason, same as I am. Looks to me like the powers aren't 
finished with either one of us yet."

"That little girl..." Doyle sighed as he stood up, looking down to search
the shadows below for the child who was crying.

"She's alive, Doyle, and so are the rest of them. They will be telling 
stories about Rieff for generations."

"Doesn't help her now, does it? She's lost the one she cared about most."

I thought: but I haven't. I didn't say it out loud, though. Instead, I 
argued: "And if he ran away, like he planned, and one of you caped crusaders 
here threw your life away instead, would she be any better off? Not to 
mention unimportant people like, for example, me."

"Now he will always be a hero to his people, and to her," Angel pointed out. 
"There's something to be said for that."

"Yeah, well, maybe." Head down, shoulders sagging, Doyle was the picture of 
gloom.

Quietly, I took his hand, folding my fingers around his. Even that didn't 
seem to get through. I don't think he even noticed.

"If I hadn't brought him back here, he'd be alive now."

"And either you or Angel would be dead," I reminded him sharply.

"He's found his destiny, Doyle, and it would seem that we haven't completed
ours."

Angel put a hand on Doyle's shoulder again, and this time Doyle looked up.

"Don't you think I know how you feel? Who was it that you just knocked 
aside like a novice? I'm not planning to forget that any time soon, you 
know."

"Not much point in rememberin'. All I did by it was to get somebody else 
killed."

"I will remember. I know what you meant to do, and so does Cordelia."

I nodded silently, keeping his fingers close in mine.

"If either one of us was supposed to die tonight, we would have. Tomorrow 
they'll have some other job for us to do," Angel said softly. "We have a 
long war ahead of us. Call me selfish if you want, but if I'm still going 
to be here, then I'm glad that you'll be around to help me. Now, let's get
out of here."

We were mostly silent as we made our way back to the office, leaving behind 
us the sound of a child crying.


2.


There was no talk of going home. Back at the office, Doyle went straight to
the bottle, and wouldn't sit down until he had it firmly in one hand and a 
glass in the other. I sat down next to him, trying to figure out what to 
say, while Angel busied himself doing something or other that he came up 
with in order to leave the two of us alone.

"Hey. Look at me," I finally ventured. Nothing too bright or original 
there, but I had to start somewhere, didn't I?

Doyle glanced at me, but the smile barely touched his lips before he looked
away, back down into his glass.

"Do you have any idea what it would be like for Angel and for me right now
if you had your way and did the hero thing? Because I don't think you 
have."

"You're a tough lady, princess. You'd get along just fine without me."

"Well, aren't you and Angel just two peas? You men just love to make the 
decisions for us, don't you? Is this some kind of an Irish-guy thing? 
Because I'm getting kind of tired of this crap, you know. Oh, let's turn 
back time. Oh, yeah, here's something even more fun than that, oh goody, 
how about this? Let's kiss the girl and then commit suicide, shall we? 
Nothing traumatic there."

Finally, he laughed. "It wasn't exactly like kissing you made me want to
kill myself. Don't make it sound like - "

"Don't make it sound like what? Like you were going to disappear on me? 
Because you were. Right after you did the truth thing, it was going to 
be meltdown time. And, as far as the 'kiss and die' bit goes? Let me 
clue you  in on this. The 'die' part of it, I didn't exactly 
appreciate."

"Eh, well...." He took another drink.

"Doesn't change the fact that a boy's dead because of me. A boy who had 
a life left to live."

"And you don't? Gee, thanks."

"Y'know, not everything's about you, Cordelia."

"What I know," and I emphasized it, "is that you and Angel both wanted 
way too much to be the hero. That kid? He was going to run away, right? 
He would have lived with that for the rest of his life. If he ended up 
doing the right thing, it's only because he learned from watching you."

"Some lesson."

"It did the job. While you two were busy squabbling like retards over 
which one of you was going to die, he took care of it. And you know what? 
I'm not going to pretend to be sad about it, because those were 
his people and that was his decision."

"Hmmmpph."

I picked up his hand, the one that didn't have a glass in it, the one 
that was lying limply at his side. I turned it over, and let my fingers 
run across the palm and the wrist. He shivered a little at the touch.

"Hey, wow, look, a pulse. So sue me if that doesn't exactly upset me."

Gently, he pulled his hand away, and put it around his glass, twining 
his fingers together.

"Will ye drink a toast with me, then? To Rieff, who was the true hero 
tonight."

"I'll make a little change in your toast, if you don't mind." I stood up 
to pour myself a little taste, and then positioned myself directly in 
front of him, where I could look at him straight-on.

"To heroes."

"Whatever," he muttered, as our glasses clinked. I stood for a moment in 
silence and watched him take a long, melancholy swallow.

"Okay, get real here. Can't it be enough for you that you were willing 
to do it? Because it's way more than enough for me."

He met my eyes at last, with a rueful look, but at least there was some 
warming there.

"I'm glad somebody's happy tonight."

"Oh for God's sake." I grabbed the glass out of his hand, put it down, 
and then put my hands on his face. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"The answer to your question."

"What question?"

"You are such an idiot," I said fondly, brushing a few strands of hair 
off his forehead before I let my hands slide. "The only thing I regret 
is, one less thing left for me to bust on Xander about."

"Huh? What are you talkin' about?" he asked as I slid back onto the 
couch next to him, with my hands still resting lightly on his shoulders.

"Men. They may be vampires, they may be half-demons, but they're still 
dense. Did it ever occur to you, even once, that being dead might not be 
the only way to get a date?"

He laughed. "Judging by some vamps, it has its value."

"Well, I have a ghost at home already. Been there, done that."

His eyes widened in mock-horror. "You and Dennis?"

I drew back one hand long enough to punch him lightly on the shoulder 
closer to me. "Just friends. Nah, I was just thinking that the next time 
I see my dork of an ex, I'm going to have to shut up about that demon 
girlfriend of his, that's all."

"And why would that be?" He was watching my hands, which had come back 
to rest on his shoulders, but he was still making no move.

"Because, no more secrets. That's our deal, right?" I leaned forward and 
kissed him lightly, getting the taste of alcohol from his lips and not 
much else. Funny, I never thought I'd be the one trying to get a 
response out of him, instead of the other way around. "Oh, I've got an 
idea! You know those bumper stickers that say, my lawyer can beat
up your lawyer? Maybe I could say, my demon's better than your demon?"

"Stop it, Cordelia. That isn't funny."

Pulling back slightly, I gritted my teeth in frustration. "What isn't 
funny is that you're still sitting here pulling all this 'Oh, I wish I 
were dead' crap. I'm not here to feel sorry for you, because, you know, 
that just doesn't do it for me, and I would really like it if you would 
stop whining and just kiss me again."

"Would you, now?" I couldn't read the expression on his face; it seemed 
to be wavering somewhere between pleasure and pain.

Finally he pulled me close, but the kiss that he started broke up into a 
sob, his mouth twisting under mine. He held on to me and bent over, 
shaking. His eyes were still dry, but he was gasping like he couldn't 
breathe.

"It's all right," I whispered, wrapping myself around him as tightly as 
I could.

"No," he choked, "It's not all right.... Not right now, anyway."

"Then it will be. It will be."

"Ah God, I hope so, Cordelia. I do hope so."

We just held each other for awhile, not speaking, but I wasn't going to 
let go. Not now, not ever.


3.


"OK, you're the brooding expert," I said to Angel, early the next 
morning. "How do we pull Doyle out of this blue funk of his?"

"If I knew, would I be the brooding expert?"

I laughed. "Point."

Angel gave me an appraising look. "I still think you're our best chance 
of pulling him out of this."

"Hey, I practically started taking his clothes off last night, and got 
no reaction. I don't know what else to do."

"Where is he now?"

"Good question. He sneaked out of here last night after I fell asleep on 
the couch. Otherwise I would have dragged him home with me, kicking and 
screaming, if I had to."

"That makes an interesting picture."

"I'm serious. I'm worried about him."

"So am I."

"OK, let's start looking. Shall we start with his place?"

"Fine. I'll meet you there."

Angel went off to take his underground route to Doyle's apartment, while 
I went around by the sunshine way. Trouble was, the sunshine was only on 
the outside.

The apartment was a disaster. Furniture was up-ended, at least one 
mirror was broken, and glass was scattered everywhere. There was no
sign of Doyle.

When Angel arrived, he sniffed suspiciously. Uggh, vampire senses, 
gross. He looked around the trashed apartment, and finally bent down
to pick up a scrap of cloth. It was a faded, raggy old handkerchief,
splashed with blood.

"Not a lot of blood," he said after awhile. "My guess is, he cut himself 
breaking something. I don't get any other scents, just his. There may be 
a few splashes of blood outside, but..."

"But they would be outside, and it's a sunny morning. Yeah, I get it. 
I'll try to track him if I can." Too bad I was never a Girl Scout.

From Doyle's building, I started walking around each block. Even in broad 
daylight, there were alleys that I would have avoided, if I 
weren't so worried about Doyle. As for blood spots, there was so much 
dirt on the sidewalks and in the streets that without a vampire's nose 
to help me, I didn't have a prayer of tracking him that way. Even I 
could smell the stench coming from one alley as I approached. Homeless 
people, ewww. Hesitating, I peered down the alleyway. There was someone 
moving in the shadows.

"Uh, Doyle?" I called out tentatively. Someone grabbed me from behind, 
but luckily the only thing strong about him was his smell. I kicked and 
elbowed back, hard, and whoever it was fell back. As I whirled around, 
the old man held up grimy hands in a gesture of surrender.

I felt my lip curling with disgust as I faced him. "Hey. Seen a drunken 
Irishman with a bleeding hand staggering around here lately?"

The grimy hand gestured forward, into the alley. Whoa boy, this was going 
to be good. Wish I had a crossbow and maybe a stake or two.

Things crunched under my feet that I didn't want to see as I moved 
cautiously forward, tensing at every shadow. Too bad I couldn't
find a handy manhole and summon Angel up out of the sewers. I could have 
used the help, and it wouldn't have made the odor any worse. Someone was 
huddled in a nondescript heap against the wall. It could have been any 
bag lady from any street, but I had to check. My nose was adjusting a 
little now, able to tell that this one smelled more of alcohol, rather
than of layers of old dirt and urine like the other guy. Gee, keep this 
up long enough and I might actually get good at it.

Yeah. Right. No thanks.

The huddled figure finally moved a little, enough that I could see the 
face in the shadows, enough that I could see him looking blearily back 
at me.

Yep.

Check.

"One drunken Irishman with a bleedin' hand, comin' right up. Would you 
like a side of whisky w'that?" he whispered.

"Remind me," I said icily as I bent down to help him to his feet.

"Remind you of what?"

"The next time I make a fool of myself trying to seduce you, remind me 
of this. Get up. How much blood have you lost?"

"Not enough to die, I'm afraid," he answered sadly.

"On your feet." I hauled him up, not gently, and headed off to find a 
cab to take us to the office. Once there, I managed to get him 
downstairs to Angel's place.

While I was struggling to get his socks off, Angel returned.

"Help me with this cretin, would you?"

"Why, Cordelia, your vocabulary's improvin'....." Doyle said dreamily.

Over his head, I looked at Angel. "Cold shower?"

"Won't hurt," he agreed, and took charge of Doyle for a few minutes.

When I heard the yelps that followed, I smiled. Although Angel's not big 
on mirrors, I'm sure it wasn't a very nice smile, either.

Angel returned Doyle to me not much later, wrapped in a large bath towel. 

"Your turn."

"Has he barfed yet?"

"Not yet," Doyle responded, and started to heave.

"I think it's still your turn, Angel," I said hastily, backing off.

"Gee, thanks."

I went into the kitchen for awhile. I was sitting with a cup of tea, one 
of the things that I've learned to like since all of this weirdness 
began, when Angel returned with my towel-wrapped package.

"I think he's done throwing up now."

"Nothin' left to lose," Doyle muttered, head hanging.

We settled him in a chair, thoroughly cocooned in his towel, while Angel 
made breakfast.

After a few more incoherent moans, Doyle finally lifted his head. 

"Smells like..."

"Eggs."

"Lord have mercy," he groaned.


4.


"You ready to talk yet?"

"Do I have a choice?" Doyle asked.

"Not really," Angel said.

The two of us sat on either side of Doyle, who was now shedding the 
aroma of cinnamon mouthwash.

I had gone out to pick up a light robe for him to wear, so that I 
wouldn't be too distracted. The problem was, the robe matched his eyes 
way too well, and I was distracted anyway. Good color sense can have its
disadvantages.

Doyle put on his brightest, most charming smile. It didn't work on 
either one of us... at least, not that I would let him notice.

"Okay, point one," I began. "For some totally obscure reason, which it 
may take me the rest of my life to figure out, both Angel and I happen 
to be glad that you're alive."

"Point two," Angel continued. "It's fairly clear that here, with us, is 
where you're supposed to be. The same appears to go for me, for whatever 
reason. Otherwise one of us would be nothing more than a happy memory by
now."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot to be said for the memory of heroes. Makes 
yer faults kind of disappear, when you're looking back, don't it?"

"Point three," I went on, ignoring this, "If you're going to do whatever 
it is that you're supposed to be doing, it would go a long way to help 
in doing it, if you weren't so busy trying to suffer that you can't do 
the work that the powers have picked you out to do." I turned to Angel. 
"Did that make any sense? I think I rambled too much there."

"You're doing fine," he encouraged me. "You can start on point four, 
too."

"Point four," and I leaned as close to Doyle as I dared, "You never did 
finish asking me out to dinner. Now that we're past all of that 'I've 
got a secret' junk, I think it's about time we figured out the rest."

"The rest?"

Angel did his best imitation of benevolent paternal beaming. It didn't 
work too well. His face isn't suited for it. But he came close.

"What Cordelia is trying to say," he intoned, "is that the two of you 
have been dancing in circles around each other way too long -"

"Hey," I interrupted indignantly, "That wasn't the way I was going to 
put it."

"And if the two of you don't start going out together, and get started 
on the business of making each other happy instead of crazy for a 
change, I will personally lock you both in the elevator with nothing 
whatsoever to drink until you do, because all the games that you've been 
playing are really starting to annoy me."

"However, that brings us right along to point five," I hastily put in, 
"which is -"

Doyle leaned forward and kissed me, right in the middle of point five. 
He still tasted of cinnamon mouthwash. I didn't mind, actually.

"You were saying?" he finally asked, after awhile.

"No fair," I muttered. "Angel, you take over point five, I can't think 
straight."

"Point five," said Angel. "Since you apparently need a babysitter, you 
have two choices. You can move in with me, or with Cordelia. I have a 
pretty good idea which one you would prefer, but you do have an 
alternative in case the idea of living with Cordelia is just too 
terrifying for you to take right now."

Doyle's face, which was inches from mine, took on a peculiar expression.
"Now, wait a minute here. This is both of you, together, askin' me to 
move in with Cordelia? Doesn't seem right somehow. Not at all the way a 
fella should be movin' along in the normal course of his relationship 
with a pretty girl. Having the boss tell ya to move in with the lady, 
that isn't right at all. It's not romantic. It takes all the adventure
out of it."

"I think you've had enough adventure for awhile," I pointed out. "Why 
don't we jump over the next few times when you get drunk and disappear, 
or nearly get yourself killed, and skip right to the good part?"

"Now that's a novel idea. Never thought of that one."

Doyle looked from me to Angel, and then back again. "You two are really 
serious about this?"

"Absolutely," I insisted. "Either you stay here with Angel, or you stay 
with me. I've had enough of looking for you in smelly back alleys. I 
want to know that you're safe. If you don't want to stay with me, at 
least I want to know where I can find you."

"We're not budging on this one, Doyle," Angel put in. "It's a done deal. 
The only choice you have is, here or there."

Doyle reached out a tentative hand to touch my face, as if he'd never 
seen it before. "I don't know what t'say. It doesn't seem real somehow, 
y'know? I still feel like I'm not supposed to be here."

"You're here because you're needed. And wanted," Angel added.

He put a hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to go on.

"Would it be so scary if we did find out the answer to your question?" I 
asked softly.

He looked blank for a moment, then realized which question I meant, and 
a flush crept over his face.

"I didn't expect to find out," he responded slowly. "I figured I'd just 
be a memory. A memory is easy to love, y'know?"

"So are you," I whispered, drawing the strength to say it from Angel's 
silent support.

I felt a circle closing, and knew that we were whole again, as I took 
his hands in mine.

"So are you."


---------------------------------------------