The Wand
By Shea Akers
All rights reserved.
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sign_of_Dragon@email.com
all Angel characters belong to joss and his crew.
PG: mild violence, blood


	"Angel, I am much better stayin' back here. Y'know, make sure no 
one steals the car." Doyle said, trying to avoid the old vampire's eyes.
	Angel chuckled, and his eyes lowered into slits. He said deep and 
low, "Doyle. You got us into this mess by messing with that stick 
thing-"
	"Wand." Doyle corrected.
	"Whatever! You're going to help get us out." Angel continued. He 
grabbed Doyle's sleeve and pulled him into the building. 
	Inside, the atmosphere was calming, despite the danger lurking 
around. Sweet music played in the richly furnished halls while 
expensive crystal chandeliers lit the hallways in an eerie, yet pleasant 
blanket of light. Doyle rubbed his hands over a tabletop, his fingers 
squeaking across the smooth wood finish. "Reminds me of how m'mom used 
t'clean."
	Angel raised an eyebrow as his only response. The two moved down 
the hall slowly, expecting the worse. Suddenly a man's voice 
called out to them, causing the two to jump. "Good Evening gentlemen. 
Welcome to the Manor."
	Angel turned around searching the hallway. "Over here, Angel," 
Doyle said.
	Angel turned. Doyle looked down in almost shame as Angel's anger 
grew. The man had a knife against Doyle's throat. Angel stood up 
straight, biting back his vampiric urge to lunge at the man holding 
Doyle hostage. The man laughed. His fingers tensed around the knife,
betraying his cool exterior by showing pieces of how nervous he actually
was. Angel quickly assessed that this was not the man with the Wand 
Doyle had lost. The Wand was of Midgard creation. It was buried deep in 
a burial ground when it was discovered by archaeologists.
      It was soon stolen and Doyle somehow won it off a guy on a bet. 
For the two weeks that Doyle had the Wand, his visions never came; he
merely knew the future. Angel had never seen Doyle happier. He was rid 
of his blinding migraines and then he lost it. Angel could feel the 
power radiating off of Doyle when the Wand was in his possession. The 
same power was not radiating off of the man. The man spoke up. "You 
must be the Angel that everyone is talking of! Saving the souls! Good 
job, chap, but it is my turn to yield the power!"
	"Are you insane? I have no power!" Angel hissed. 
	"No power?" laughed the man, "I can feel your power on my skin."
	"It's because he's a-" Doyle started but the man tightened the 
knife, causing Doyle to choke. 
	Angel tensed. He cracked his knuckles and grinned like a Cheshire 
cat with an evil side. His face morphed into a frightening mixture of 
anger and vampire, reminiscent of his days as Angelus. Angel approached 
the man. "Leave him alone."
	"Doyle?" said a small innocent voice.
	The men all turned to see Cordelia standing at the end of the 
hall. Her hand was to her mouth in a horrified gasp. Angel's face
quickly transformed back into his human form. Cordelia began to walk 
towards the group when the man tightened the knife again, causing
some blood to drop. "STOP!" yelled the man
	Cordelia screamed. "Let him go!"
	Doyle's eyes turned down to the floor, shame flooding them once 
again. The man in one swift motion threw the knife at Angel, striking 
Angel in the shoulder. He pushed Doyle aside and lunged at Cordelia. 
Doyle watched in terror as he saw the man wrestle Cordelia to the 
ground. Doyle leapt to his feet when all of a sudden a blinding pain 
spider-webbed from the back of his head to his temples. He fell to the 
ground, gripping his head as images bombarded his mind. There was a girl.
A fire. And the name: Lyn.
      What seemed like an eternity later, Doyle opened his eyes. Angel 
was by his side, lifting him up. Doyle shook his head. "You all right, 
Doyle? I've never seen you have a vision like that." Angel asked.
	Doyle stood up, brushing his clothes off. He stared at the dead 
body of the man. He looked up at Angel, who had already removed the 
knife. Doyle's stomach churned. Guilt. It was in the center of his soul. 
He didn't care about himself. He cared about Cordelia. "How's Cord-"
	"Cordelia? She's sitting in the car. She's a little shaken up, but 
otherwise fine." Angel said, but looking away, avoiding Doyle's eyes.
Angel wasn't going to tell him that Cordelia was a nervous wreck. The 
man was quicker than he was and hurt Cordelia more then thought. 
      Cordelia was sitting in the car, crying, doors locked, hugging her 
knees to her chest, feeling more violated and alone than she has ever 
felt in her entire life. They didn't even have a name for the emotion 
she was feeling. If anything, she was just plain scared.
	"And it's all m'fault." Doyle said, barely above a whisper.
	"Doyle, don't do this." Angel said.
	Doyle laughed bitterly and turned and walked away. "Why not? I 
couldn't protect myself. I couldn't protect Cordelia. I lost an object
that has given me some relief from my life and I go and screw everythin' 
up! You tell me that I did a good job! Pat the ol' Lap dog on the head."
	Before Angel could respond, Doyle left the Manor. He walked in the 
cool night, the horizon gleaming slightly in the white of day. He 
wrapped his jacket tighter around himself. He approached Angel's car. He 
could see the shaking mass of Cordelia in the back seat. She was crying. 
Doyle's fists clenched. He whispered to himself, "Look what you've done! 
You've destroyed an angel."
	Doyle quickly wrote his vision down. He placed it beneath the 
windshield wiper, feeling Cordelia's eyes on his back. He sighed and
left.

	"Angel, do you know how many Lyn's there are in this world? Let 
alone this city?" Cordelia complained, slouching in a chair. 
	Angel looked up at her for a moment, examining her. No matter how 
much makeup she put on, it still wouldn't hide the dark circles beneath 
her eyes. She was a good actress considering the act she was putting up 
now. Angel was sick of it. She needed to talk. He took her small hand in 
his own. It was trembling and very cold. "He's been gone for three 
days."
	Cordelia's face shattered for an instant and then was covered up 
by a face of fatigue. "I know."
	"I think it's time we found him."
	Cordelia's face left the deep fatigue and was covered in annoyance 
and anger. "If he wants to come back, then he'll come back, but I'm not 
busting my butt for someone who ditches us and what we've both built."
	"You can't honestly mean that." Angel said.
	Cordelia's face still portrayed her deep anger, but her eyes gave 
away her facade. She knew that she missed Doyle. She knew that it wasn't 
Doyle's fault for her assault that night. She knew that he blamed 
himself and would probably not come back, unless he was drunk. "DRUNK! 
That's it!"
	"Cordelia, I know you're going through rough times, but alcohol is 
no way-"
	"Not me, Angel! Doyle! Doyle's probably drinking off somewhere… 
Irish people do that a lot I think."
	Angel smirked. "I resent that comment." He stood up, offering his 
hand, "Lets go."
	Cordelia took his hand and the two friends left the office out 
into the night, with a few locations in mind.
	
	"You see… she's a beauty! The girl is the amazin' girl! She's got 
this personality that could charm the pigs into the butchers!" slurred a 
slightly less sober Doyle. 
	The woman sitting next to Doyle raised an eyebrow in disinterest. 
She sighed and got up and left Doyle in his chair.  Doyle sneered,
mumbling about how he was strong without her. He scanned the room. It 
was now slowly moving. The people didn't dance as fast. The drinks
were slowly poured and time seemed to halt. Doyle laughed to himself, 
"You're piss drunk, m'boy, your granddaddy would be proud."
	He sat in the corner, away from the bar. His drinks were served to 
him. He knew the owner. Doyle had been sitting her since the night he 
almost got his friends killed. He hadn't had another vision. At least 
that was something to be thankful for. The visions hurt more, as of 
late. He was unconscious during the one where Cordelia was raped. "She 
wasn't raped, Doyle, She was merely touched a little too much."
	Doyle's fist clenched, smashing the glass in his hand, the shards 
cutting deep into his skin. A couple near by was sprayed slightly by the 
alcoholic drink. The male of the couple stood up. He marched over to 
Doyle and lifted the drunk Irishman up. The man hissed into Doyle's
face. "You got beer all over my date!"
	"Good morning sir! Consider it an improvement!" Doyle responded, 
his speech slurring again.
	The man's eyes widened in rage and he punched Doyle's face, blood 
dripping from his now freshly bruised nose. Doyle moaned in pain as the 
manager came over. The man explained that Doyle was being a nuisance. 
Minutes later Doyle was attempting to walk down the street, a napkin 
touching his nose. Doyle looked up at the full moon. "Dearest moon, I 
would like to ask you a favor. Could you please help out Cordelia? The 
girl doesn't deserve the crap I've given her. She's better off as a 
movie star or somethin'… I dunno anymore… You've plagued me enough! Was 
it enough to make me half freak, half human? Was it enough to give me 
frickin' migraines everytime you want to talk to me!? You've made me a 
coward! I almost killed my friends!"
	Doyle turned towards the street again. He looked up and saw the 
dock. A sick smile spread across his face as he hobbled over to the 
nearest dock. Doyle mumbled to himself, "Dearest moon, thank you for 
showin' me the way. I won't ruin their lives anymore!"

	"Which way did he go?" Demanded a tired and angry Vampire named 
Angel. 
	"The drunkard?" responded the manager. 
	"For heavan's sake, you run a dance club and bar! Be a little more 
specific!" Cordelia burst out.
	The manager nodded in apology. "Are you friends?"
	"Yes." Cordelia said, placing her hands on her hips.
	The manager looked at the two and sighed, letting them the 
information. "Doyle, you mean? He was here. For three days. He drank up 
his bar tab! He got into a fight, so I had to let him go. I had pity on 
the poor guy. Something about a beautiful woman…" The manager looked at 
Cordelia and smiled, "And he was right. He left about fifteen minutes 
ago."
	"Where did he go?" Angel asked again, this time with a little more 
venom.
	The manager gulped under Angel's intense glare. "He went towards 
the docks. Way back, we used to work and sometimes sleep there. He's 
probably reliving his past or something."
	"The docks? You lived near fish?" Cordelia exclaimed.
	The manager shrugged, "They're surprisingly warm."
	Cordelia turned in disgust. She grabbed Angel's arm. "Let's go, 
shall we?"
	The two left towards the Docks.

	"This little piggy went to the market… This little piggy went 
home! I like Pigs." Doyle mumbled as he sat over the dock, staring down 
at the pitch black waves. He could hear them crashing against the legs 
of the pier. He heard muffled voices calling his name, but it didn't 
matter. Doyle looked somberly down, remembering his problems. He was 
running away because of the voices, because of his friends, because of 
his fears. He had lost everything but his pain. Doyle looked up at the 
sky. He tried to stand up. He laughed as he felt his body teeter. He was
drunk, and obviously found humor in it. "Damn the torpedoes and Full 
speed ahead!" Doyle shouted before he tipped over the pier. 

     A voice yelled in protest and hands grabbed Doyle's jacket. Doyle 
waved good bye to the ocean as he was pulled back from the edge. Doyle 
looked into the eyes of his savior. "Angel?"
      "It's about time we found you, Doyle, you're coming home."
	"I can't, Angel… Cordie hates me." Doyle mumbled.
	"No, she doesn't. She's here too." Angel said, pointing to down by 
the ground. 
	Doyle tilted his head as Angel helped Doyle walk. Doyle's eyes 
focused on the girl smiling that he was found. When they reached her, 
Cordelia lifted Doyle's other arm around her shoulder and the two helped 
Doyle to the car. Doyle looked up at Cordelia and smiled, "my princess…"
	He then promptly fell unconscious, the alcohol taking its final 
toll on the man. 

	"I said what?" Doyle asked, leaning back into the sofa.
	Angel chuckled. "You talked about how you liked pigs."
	"My god! I must have looked like a fool!" Doyle moaned, covering 
his face with a pillow.
	"I will neither deny nor confirm that statement." Angel 
responding, laughing out loud. 
	Doyle's face suddenly lost all humor, as his features dropped deep 
in concern. "Did you find out who Lyn was?"
	Angel shook his head. "Nothing. I need a place, Doyle, can't you 
just get another vision to help me out?"
	"Oh yeah, that's right, I ask for this job. I call these things 
voluntarily! I can control them! If I could do that, than Cordelia 
wouldn't have been hurt!" Doyle hissed. 
	"You're yelling." Angel said matter of factly.
	Doyle opened his mouth to protest but then clamped it shut. It was 
true, he had been touchy around the topic. Doyle rubbed his face with 
his hands. He said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I just 
don't know how to handle it."
	Angel stood up and crouched down by the stressed Irishman. "Doyle, 
handle what? You haven't done anything wrong."
	Doyle raised his eyebrows and laughed. "I thought maybe in your 
200 something year reign you'd gather some intelligence! I hurt 
Cordelia…"
	"No, you didn't. That man did, and now he's dead. Doyle, I'm not 
good at this stuff."
	Doyle stood up and grabbed his leather jacket, flinging it over 
his shoulder. "I've got an appointment."
	Angel watched Doyle leave the room. He sighed and turned away. 
Doyle would get over this. It just took time. Guilt would eventually 
leave, right? Suddenly Angel had an overwhelming sense of hypocrisy. 
Doyle slammed the door behind him.

PART ONE: FINIS