TITLE: Phoenix risen
AUTHOR: Lady Raven      
DISCLAIMER: Doyle, Cordelia and Angel belong to Joss Whedon and 
David Greenwalt.  They must be punished.  Greatly and slowly.  The 
phrase 'Christmas tree ornament of death' was coined by Tara O'Shea.
SPOILERS: 'Heroes', and rumors beyond.
RATING/CONTENT: PG
SUMMARY: One way to bring Doyle back.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: 1) I haven't seen 'Heroes' yet, so this might be a 
little inaccurate, but has been re-written slightly after reading several 
summaries on the net.  2) This is one of several stories about how to 
bring Doyle back; unless a specific story is mentioned in the future, you 
can choose whichever one you prefer. 
3) The haunted bridge is purely from my own imagination (though I'm 
now thinking about using it in another story) but the tale about Mrs 
Walker is a real Hollywood legend.  However, I can't remember the old 
magazine I read about her in, so if anyone knows the location of the 
house or other details, get back to me!
4) The Melbourne Cup takes place in October; the Sydney-Tokyo Cup is 
run in Sydney during February or March (I think!).

*

PHOENIX: a magical bird who, every five hundred years, lays a single 
egg before immolating itself.  The resulting fire hatches the egg, and the 
phoenix is reborn from the ashes of it's death.

*

Los Angeles has many ghosts.

From the famous 'Mrs Walker' that lives in a Hollywood mansion, and 
makes sure that all light fittings that meet her approval never need 
dusting, to an abandoned railway bridge that many street people claim 
has a benign ghost sharing their living space underneath.

Since sailors generally tend to be a superstitious bunch, it's natural that 
there are many tales about ghosts of and near the sea, dating back to 
Davy Jones' locker, and even before that.  However, on the docks of LA 
a new legend has sprung up, since the last days of 1999.

A freighter ship is permanently berthed at the furthest end of the docks.  
Rumor-turned-legend states that the same day the ship returned from it's 
last mysterious trip, it was abandoned by the captain and it's crew, who 
claimed it was haunted. It's captain and crew are still around, but the only 
information anyone can get out of them is that the ship was perfectly fine 
before that last trip.  No one will say anything about where that last trip 
was to, or what the cargo was.

The ship shows signs of neglect now, but it remains, despite the demand 
for docking space in LA.  No one will board the ship, and those who dare 
to come close report hearing a faint noise, like the echo of a dying 
scream.  Those few people always come away strangely humbled, which 
might explain why the ship isn't on any tour, despite Los Angeles being 
the world capital of hunger for what's new.

And that is the legend of the 'Quintessa'.

*

In a deserted freighter berthed at the end of the LA docks, a scream 
echoed hoarsely through the air.  If an observer-someone *really* down 
on their luck-had been present, they would have seen a bright light that 
resembled flames, materialize above a faded scorch mark on the floor.

They also might have seen a figure form in that light, stretched out on the 
floor as the light dissipated.

The figure was revealed to be a man in his mid-to-late twenties, who had 
stopped screaming in agony and was now groaning in pain.  The man 
rolled onto his back, and held his head in his hands.

//I've never had a hangover this bad before.  What the hell was I 
drinking? //

Sage-green eyes opened and blinked, as the man recalled what had 
happened moments before.  

//Delia!  The Scourge! //

He sat up hurriedly, moaning as a fresh wave of pain rocketed through 
his skull.  He rubbed his temples and waited for the wave to recede.  He 
looked up and blinked at the empty hold.  Something was bothering him.

"Not that I'm complainin' or anythin'," Allen Francis Doyle asked no one 
in particular, "but aren't I supposed t' be dead or somethin'?"

*

Doyle staggered off the ship, leaning on the wall all the way for support.  
He'd been unable to stand unaided, having to crawl to the wall first. 
When he jumped onto the dock, he knocked the wind out of him and had 
to rest for several minutes, until the world went back to spinning at it's 
normal unperceptible rate.  Supporting himself on various walls, he made 
his way several blocks, until he reached a slightly better neighborhood 
where he actually managed to hail a cab.  He fell into the back seat, and 
gave the address of the office.  Angel and Delia would show up there 
sooner or later.

"Sure you don't want to go to LA County General?" the driver asked.  
"You look like you just came back from the dead."

"You'd be surprised," Doyle chuckled tiredly.  "No, mate, I just want t' 
go home."

Doyle laid his head back, closed his eyes, and promptly fell into 
exhausted sleep, only to be woken by the cabbie's loud complaining 
when they reached the building.  Doyle fumbled for and found his 
wallet-still safe in the inner pocket of his jacket-and tossed a couple of 
bills at the man without looking.  When the cabbie took them, Doyle 
laboriously climbed from the car. When the taxi screeched off, Doyle 
absently realized he must have given the driver the two fifties but 
couldn't have cared less.

Doyle stumbled into the building, catching himself on the wall next to 
the cage in the lobby.

"I say, are you all right?"

Doyle turned his head to see a toff looking at him in concern through a 
pair of glasses.  His suit, jacket buttoned up as far as it would go, was 
immaculate and his hair was plastered down within an inch of it's life.  
The voice had a public-school English accent.

"Just a bit battered, that's all.  Tryin' t' get upstairs."

"Angel Investigations, I take it?" the toff asked.

Doyle looked at him suspiciously, and nodded.

"Well, I'm just headed that way myself," the toff remarked, gesturing to 
the elevator.  "Shall we?"

Doyle accepted the stranger's supporting arm, and they went into the 
elevator.  As the ancient piece of machinery rose, Doyle asked, "So, you 
have a case for the agency, then?"

The toff shook his head and gave a lofty smile.  "Oh, no, I work here."  

Doyle's puzzled frown was interrupted by the characteristic wheeze as 
the elevator doors opened.  He followed the toff out the elevator.  His 
companion strode into the office as if he owned the place, calling Angel 
and Cordelia's names.

"Go away, Wesley," Cordelia's voice said flatly.  "We're closed, 
remember?  I'm brooding, and when Angel comes back we're going to 
cry a lot and get stinking drunk."

The toff-Wesley-sighed and asked, "But Cordelia, there's a gentleman 
here who obviously has a case for us!"

Doyle saw Cordelia come out of the inner office, dressed head to toe in 
black, hair hanging down carelessly.  She started, "Look, sir, I'm sorry, 
but this is a very bad time.  If you came back tomorrow-" Cordelia broke 
off in a gasp as she saw him.

Doyle drank in the sight of her, before noticing a few odd things.  There 
were dark circles under her eyes that he was sure hadn't been there 
before.  He'd heard Cordelia say several times that dressing totally in 
black, except for eveningwear, was completely passe.  Then he saw that, 
unless the blast had affected his vision, she wasn't wearing even a speck 
of makeup.

This had all taken a few seconds.  Then Cordelia whispered, "Doyle?" in 
the voice of one who has seen a miracle, yet is afraid to believe.

Doyle gave her his best grin, and replied, "Hey, Princess."

Then the breath was knocked out of him, as Cordelia sprang across the 
office and threw herself at him.  When they hit the floor new starbursts 
of pain blossomed up and down Doyle's back and in his head, but he 
didn't even notice, because Cordelia was kissing him and he wasn't aware 
of anything else in the world.  

He couldn't feel the hard wood of the floor under his back and head, or 
the muscle aches that hadn't gone away yet.  All he could feel was the 
warm, exquisitely curved body laying full length on top of his, and 
Cordelia's warm soft lips against his.  When she slipped her tongue into 
his mouth and rocked her hips against his, Doyle knew he was dead after 
all, because he was in heaven.

He could hear an English voice yammering at the very edge of his 
consciousness, but paid no attention until it spoke Angel's name.  With 
great reluctance, he dragged his lips from Cordelia's, to find his partner 
crouching beside them on the floor.  Angel was looking at him oddly too, 
and as he sat up with Cordelia on his lap, Doyle started wondering if 
things were even stranger than he thought.

"Cordy?" Angel asked.  "Is it really him?"

Cordelia nodded, smiling, as she replied, "He even smells exactly right.  
No shapeshifter can copy scent."

Doyle knew that things were even stranger for sure, when Angel yanked 
him into a hug so tight his ribs grated.  Angel didn't let go until Doyle 
squeaked through lack of breath, and Doyle saw tears flowing freely 
down Angel and Cordelia's faces.

"This is all very well," a peevish voice broke in, "but could someone 
please explain to me just what is going on?"

All three looked up at Wesley, and Doyle was shocked to see Angel 
*grinning* as he said, "Wesley Wyndham-Price, meet Allen Francis 
Doyle."

Wesley's mouth opened and shut like a goldfish a few times, before he 
sputtered, "But I thought he was dead!"

Angel and Cordelia looked at Doyle, and Cordelia said softly, "We 
thought he was, too."

Doyle looked back at them and said, "Well, I thought I was goin' t' be, 
too. Any ideas why I'm not?"

Wesley interrupted, "Not that this isn't wonderful news, but perhaps we 
could sit down on actual seats?"

Cordelia hurriedly climbed off Doyle's lap, and when Doyle groaned as 
he moved, Angel and Cordelia helped Doyle up and to the couch.  As he 
sat down, Doyle caught the unmistakable scent of leather, and looked 
down to see the couch had turned into a very comfortable and classy 
three-seater covered in black leather.  As Cordelia and Angel sat on 
either side of him, he looked up and saw that the windows had been 
tinted darkly.  While all the other furniture was in the same position, it 
had all been replaced as well, with a sparkling cappucino machine in the 
corner behind Cordelia's desk.

"What happened t' the office?  It didn't look like this last night.  And 
where did this guy come from?" Doyle asked, nodding at Wesley.

"Well, there's something we should clear up first, in case you're not 
aware of it," Wesley remarked, and handed Doyle a newspaper from 
Cordelia's desk.  Doyle looked at the headlines.  Then he looked at the 
date, and his jaw hit his lap.

"It's been SIX MONTHS!"

"To the day," Cordelia said, holding onto his arm.  She was sitting so 
close to him, her breasts were pressed against his side, and Doyle could 
feel his blood starting to move to places that didn't really need it right 
now.  "We were going to have a six-month anniversary Irish wake."

"We?"

"The two of us and Harry - Kate was on duty tonight," Angel explained.

"Harry?" Doyle asked.  He was fairly certain his ex-wife would be sad at 
his supposed death, but getting together with Angel and Cordelia?

"We have lunch once a fortnight," Cordelia explained.  "I've worked 
miracles with the woman's dress sense."  She looked up and told Wesley, 
"Call her!  She's number three on my speed dial.  Tell her she has to get 
over here right away." Cordelia turned back to Doyle and said, "She'll be 
thrilled."

Doyle took another look around the office, and said, "The place looks 
great.  Business must have really picked up."

Angel smiled and said, "Yeah, it has, but the office came from a different 
source.  Remember your double bet on the Melbourne Cup and the 
Sydney-Tokyo Cup?"

"Yeah, with that Hydrolysis demon friend of mine who moved to 
Australia," Doyle nodded.  He turned to Cordelia and grinned, as he 
explained, "It was 250/1 odds, but how could I not bet on a horse named 
Princess Cordelia?"  Doyle's expression became wondering, as he asked, 
"She actually placed?"

Cordelia smirked, and said, "She won, Doyle.  Both races.  You won 
$25,000."

Angel smiled and added, "After we cleared your debts, Harry, Cordy and 
I kept $200 each to get a keepsake of you, and we used the rest to re-
decorate the office."

"So what did you guys get as keepsakes, then?" Doyle joked, to keep his 
mind off his pounding head.

Angel went into his office, and came out with a bottle.  He put it into 
Doyle's hands, who looked at the label and gasped.  This whiskey was 
famous; the better restaurants sold it by the glass.

"We were going to break it open tonight."  Angel looked at Cordelia and 
added, "Harry should be here any minute now; let's go wait for her, 
Wesley."

Wesley looked up, and asked, "Why should I-"

"Now, Wesley," Angel insisted, and grabbed his arm and dragged him to 
the elevator.

Over the sound of the elevator wheezing it's way down, Doyle asked, "So 
what did you get, Princess?"

Cordelia nodded over at the chair behind her desk and said, "Well, I took 
one of your jackets, because I knew it would go great with a skirt I had at 
home, and then got boots to match."  She looked back at Doyle and bit 
her lip, before telling him, "I also got this."

Doyle looked at the hand she showed him, and froze.  A gold claddaugh 
ring shone on the ring finger of her left hand.  "You know what it 
means?" he asked, his voice choked.

Cordelia nodded.  "Harry showed me the one you gave her, she keeps it 
in her jewelry box.  Angel still wears one too, for Buffy.  My two best 
friends are Irish, and so is the man I wear it for."

Doyle gazed into her eyes, only half-believing what he saw there.  
"Please tell me it's me, Delia."

Cordelia cupped his face in her hands and told him, "I didn't know 
whether I would wear it forever, but I knew I would wear it a very long 
time.  Just before you..." Cordelia swallowed hard before continuing, 
"You told me that you wished you could have known whether your other 
face was one that I could have loved."

"And?" Doyle asked, barely breathing.

"Absolutely.  I could love anything, as long as it was on you." 

Doyle's head was still pounding, but his heart was pounding even more, 
now, as Cordelia brought her face to his.  They stayed frozen for a 
second, her breath mingling with his, before Doyle kissed her.  It was 
even better than the last time. 

Doyle's arms slid around Cordelia's waist, to bring her closer, and heard 
her moan.  The sound sent a lightning bolt of need through him, and he 
promptly slid his tongue into her mouth.  Her mouth was hot and wet and 
silky, and everything he'd dreamed it would be. His blood ran hot as her 
tongue entwined his in return, welding their mouths together as their 
hearts had been without either of them knowing. 

When they heard the elevator wheezing again, announcing Harry, Angel, 
and Wesley's return, they pulled away reluctantly, gasping for breath.

Cordelia frowned and said, "Doyle?  When I said 'anything', I actually 
meant 'anything except those disgusting Hawaiian shirts'.  Can we work 
on that?"

"Anythin', Delia, anythin'," Doyle said, happier than he'd been in a long 
time, despite the fact that just about everything ached.

Cordelia was absolutely right about Harriet, who gave Doyle a hug that 
rivaled Angel's, before asking, "So how did you show up alive, now?"

"That really is the million-dollar question, isn't it?" Angel said, in one of 
his famous understatements.

*

It took another two months to answer that question.  

Angel and Doyle worked their connections on the street and in other 
cities.  Cordelia got in touch with all the ex-clients who knew about the 
supernatural, as well as the people they'd saved from the Scourge.  Harry 
worked all the contacts she'd made in her field, in conjunction with Giles, 
with whom she promptly became close personal friends.  Wesley, once 
Doyle was given a clean bill of health, went back to the Watchers with 
the intent of 'changing the system from within'.  He eventually persuaded 
the Council that the Scourge was really too dangerous to have running 
around loose, and was allowed the use of their resources.

*

The office was crowded, every chair in use, and it still wasn't enough.  
Giles was in Angel's desk chair, Wesley in Cordelia's, and Harriet in 
Doyle's.  Kate and Anya were in the client chairs, while Willow and 
Xander had ended up on the floor.  Buffy was perched on the arm of the 
couch, feet on the cushions next to Angel.  Cordelia and Doyle were 
sitting so close together there was enough room.   

Spike had stayed in Sunnydale to mind the store-and avoid Angel, who 
he thought might still hold a grudge about the whole turning-him-over-
to-be-tortured thing.  Angel thought that putting up with Harmony for so 
long and getting V-chipped by the Initiative was punishment enough.  
But he wasn't going to tell Spike that anytime soon.

Angel had brought out the keepsake whiskey, and everyone nursed a 
glass.  As Doyle gestured with the hand that held his, he nearly spilled 
the amber liquid on his white linen shirt.  Cordelia had banned loud shirts 
from his wardrobe, and he'd agreed.  However, his retro leather jackets 
were not to be touched.

"I don't believe it," Doyle said, Irish brogue thick with disbelief and 
shock.  "You're tellin' me I survived the blast and ended up six months 
later because of *shoddy wire*?"

"It was more than that, Doyle," Wesley said, in a lecturing tone.  The 
Englishman still irritated Doyle a great deal, but he was trying to work 
through that.  Wesley had been a good friend to Delia when she needed 
one, and that got him a lot of points in Doyle's books.  "As we've 
managed to find out thanks to our pooled sources, a high-placed member 
of the Scourge was dipping into the till, so to speak-embezzling."

"So what's that got to do with the Christmas Tree Ornament of Death?" 
Buffy asked.

Harry took up the story.  "This member-the only name we ever got was 
'Volkor'-was supposed to get a bomb expert to make up the explosive 
sections, and supply platinum wire.  However, to cover up the gap from 
the money he'd stolen, he built it himself, using copper wire.  But he 
wired it wrongly, and the cheap wire couldn't handle the magickal 
energy.  The combination of the two, plus the way Francis' body jarred it, 
caused a secondary event-a time vortex, that deposited Francis in the 
same place physically, but six months later time-wise."  

She looked at Doyle soberly, and added, "You were incredibly lucky.  I 
can only think that one of the Powers likes you.  If you hadn't been lying 
on the beacon - even standing next to it - the vortex would have missed 
you... but the explosion wouldn't."

Doyle shivered, pulling Cordelia close.  The light glinted off the gold 
claddaugh he wore, matching Cordelia's - they'd decided to wait a year or 
so before discussing marriage.  After all, Doyle and Harriet had married 
at twenty, and look how that turned out.

"So what happened to this Volkor guy?" Xander asked.

Buffy grinned evilly.  "Remember when we needed to distract the 
Initiative, when that Council member came to town?"

The Initiative had managed to get in touch with the Watcher's Council.  
Some members of the Initiative high command thought that using the 
Slayer as a test subject would help advance their cause, and a certain 
Watcher's Council member thought that the Initiative would take care of 
that troublesome Slayer who had dared to repudiate them for their 
treatment of her.

At Xander's nod, Buffy continued, "I made sure Riley got the 
information about Volkor.  They had never got their hands on a demon 
like him before, so half the members went chasing him.  The 
representative got stood up and left in a huff."

"By that time," Giles finished, "Travers' double-dealing had been found 
out by the Council.  Even the Council members who had supported him 
until then agreed that matters concerning a rebel Slayer should be dealt 
with strictly internally.  Now, of course, there's quite a different attitude 
towards Buffy, and Slayers in general."

He nodded at Wesley, who beamed with pride.  Even Xander had to 
admit he was justified.  Wesley had led the Wyndham-Prices and several 
other highly regarded and old Watcher families into a quiet revolution, 
persuading several Council members that it was time for a change of 
style.  Several others had been forced to resign, and the rank and file of 
the Watchers had more power than ever before.

"Not to mention," Buffy grinned even wider, "Riley and his pals got a 
bunch of stuff about the Scourge out of Volkor.  The Initiative now sees 
them as some kind of mother lode.  With any luck, they'll kill each other 
off.  In any case, it will make the Initiative a lot weaker when the time 
comes to take them out."

That time would come, Buffy had determined that.  Spike and Willow 
had managed to break into the files, and gotten full details of their 
experiments, shocking the entire Scooby Gang into realizing that these 
'demon hunters' were no better than the things they hunted. 

Buffy raised her glass, saying, "Here's to successful campaigns!"  After 
everyone drank, she leaned forward and kissed Angel deeply. Cordelia 
and Doyle, Xander and Anya, and Giles and Harry followed suit.

Riley Finn had himself wrecked his tentative relationship with Buffy two 
months before Doyle's return.  Professor Walsh had ordered him to assist 
her in hypnotizing Buffy, in order to gain information about the 
mysterious 'Slayer'; all Walsh had succeeded in doing was breaking the 
block placed on certain memories.  Once Buffy remembered her day with 
the human Angel, she'd stormed to LA and used every method short of 
true happiness to persuade him that they belonged together and should 
stay that way, living in different cities regardless.  

After several conversations with Angel, Harriet realized that during her 
research for her doctorate she had found a demonic ritual that could be 
adapted to anchor Angel's soul.  He and Buffy now visited each other on 
alternate weekends.

Doyle looked up from where he'd been kissing his own lover, then raised 
his glass and said, "I've got another one.  To white-collar crime and 
shoddy construction; may it save us all at one time or another!"

A round of laughter came at that, and the rest of the whiskey followed.