Title: The Watching Room Author: Cedar Email: hvandewall@yahoo.com It was done. He had done it. And now the fire was too much to bear. Doyle let go. A great gaping mouth of unconsciousness came and swallowed him into peaceful darkness. Then it spat him out again. He opened his eyes to an ordinary white ceiling. "Huh. Really thought I'd kicked it tha' time" "Oh, you did." Startled, he turned towards the voice. "What's that again?" "You're definitely dead." Sitting ten feet away on a low green velvet chair was a slim dark-haired woman in a short purple dress. The face was vaguely familiar, though the voice wasn't. "Ah. That explains why I dunna feel like the human torch anymore." A new realization hit him. "Doesn't explain why I'm naked." The woman chuckled. "Damn. I'm in Hell, aren't I?" He covered his eyes with one arm. "Go ahead, get on with torture. Really, though, I thought the dyin' a hero thing might give me a bit'o grace, you know." "What would you rather be wearing?" "Just my regular kit would be lovely, thanks." He was dressed before he finished the sentence. Experimentally, he sat up, and looked himself over. Jacket, slacks, bowling shirt… "Better?" "Much. Thanks." "Funny thing about the Irish, they can turn such lovely colors when they're embarrassed." "Funny thing about me, I like to know a lady a bit before she sees me in my altogether," Doyle snapped back. "We'll get to that. Want a chair?" "I suppose so." "Picture one." The deep leather chair in Angel's apartment popped to mind and then appeared. Doyle picked himself up and settled in with a sigh. "Always liked this chair. You know, wit' a pint of Guinness in hand, I might reconsider, call this heaven." The woman motioned to his right. A small table with a full glass sat within reach. "An' that would make you the heavenly host?" "An angel I'm not." Unconcerned, Doyle sipped his pint. "Alright then. I know one thing for certain. You're dead." "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock." "Yea, but I also know how you died. I've had a very unpleasant vision of you havin' your neck snapped by a friend o'mine. In his de-souled era, o'course." "So you do know." "That much yeah, but not your name." "Jenny Calendar." She offered a hand. He shook briefly and returned to his chair. "Alan Francis Dolye. I've been goin' by the just the last bit these days." He took another swallow of Guinness. "You know, I'm thinkin' it must have been high time for me to pass on." Jenny eyed him quizzically. "And why is that?" "'Cause anyone as calm as me about something as weird as this - they've seen far too much in their time." "You have seen too much. But the calm is just shock. The horrible reality of your life being over, the anguish of being yanked away from those you love and unable to comfort or protect them - those will hit you soon enough." Doyle set his glass down with a thud. "Now, see, I'm becomin' unclear on the whole heaven/hell thing again." "That's understandable. This is neither." "Oh, I get it." Doyle left his chair to pace. "This is limbo isn't it? I'm bein' judged here, right? You coulda at least warned me, you know, to watch the language or limit the drinkin' or whatever!" "Judgement is over. If you'd got a thumbs down you wouldn't be here. Now sit down and calm down." Jenny gave him her best stern look. Doyle sighed and returned to the chair. "You were a teacher, weren't ya?" "Yeah." A sad smile came and went on her delicate face. "It's been awhile now. Did you see that in a vision too?" "No, heard it in your voice. I did a bit of teachin' myself, long time back." "Maybe we can compare notes some time. For now, let me do the lecturing, okay? I'm supposed to be here to explain things, make it easier for you, and I haven't done a terrific job so far." "Should I be takin' notes?" "This isn't the sort of stuff you forget." Jenny paused, lounging back in the chair. Another table appeared beside her, with a glass of red wine. For a moment she sat sipping it, apparently collecting her thoughts. "I don't know much about the powers that judge us or brought us here. I can assume they're the source quite a few things we can't explain, your visions included." "Sadistic lot, they are." Doyle grimaced. "Well, let's say that making things easy isn't their first priority." Jenny shrugged. "It's hard to judge a power that exists so many levels above your own plain. What I do know is what they value." "So far I'd have to guess comfortable seatin' and alcoholic beverages." Jenny grinned briefly. "I mean on earth. See, they consider that we've been given two great gifts in human life: the ability to make choices, and the capacity for love." "Free will and compassion. Tha's it?" "Those are the universals. They've been granted to everyone on the planet. How you use them, that's what makes the difference." "Difference in what, exactly?" "Judgement. Make too many choices out of fear or anger, love only yourself, limit the freedom of others, and you've squandered the gifts, proved yourself unworthy of them." "Then… to Hell with ya?" "Only in the most drastic cases. As it turns out, the Buddhists were a lot more accurate in their cosmology than the western religions." "Care to translate for the lapsed Catholic in the audience?" Jenny paused a moment, long enough for a notepad and pencil to appear in her hands, and began to sketch as she talked. "Look, existence is arranged like a ladder, rungs going up and down. Each rung is a sort of… plain of existence, a lifetime of sorts. I don't know how many rungs there are… thousands at least. When your life on earth ends, you are judged. If you messed up, your choices are taken away. You go down the ladder, the number of rungs down dependant on how badly you did. You get another chance, another life, but each rung down… the deck is stacked against you a little more, and you've got fewer chances for happiness… or enlightenment… or whatever. Anyway, you can still make your way back up, unless you drop off the bottom of the ladder altogether." "And tha's Hell?" "That's Hell. No way out. Unless you're Angel, apparently, which is yet another mystery I'm not in on." "And if ya protect freedom and are kind to animals and all that?" "You move up." Jenny doodled a few arrows on the pad. "Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot." She drew a long arrow, smiling at Doyle. "I'd say your final performance got at least a 9.7 from the panel of judges." "So I get a new life?" "A whole new existence, not necessarily like this last one. New game, new rules. But you will be dealt a hand at least a bit better than last time around. And, since you used your choices reasonably well, you also get one last decision, to make at your leisure." "That bein'?" "To stay here, or walk through that door" Jenny gestured across the room to an arched wooden door. "An' what's behind door number only, then?" "Your next existence." "An' what's here?" "Not a terrible lot, honestly." Jenny sat back in her chair. "Good seating. Any clothes you want, not that you have a reflection to admire them with. Any food or drink you like, not that you'll feel either hungry or thirsty while here. You can read or write, but it will disappear and you'll forget it when you're done." Doyle noticed the pen and notebook were gone "Heck, you can do some knitting if you want, but…" "Let me guess, it vanishes when you finish?" "Got it in one." "An' you've been here for how long?" "Little over a year and a half now." Jenny sipped her wine again. "Why then?" Doyle stared at her in growing impatience. "Ya have a whole new life waiting for ya, woman, and ya sit here in this, this…" "Place out of time." "Place out of time?" Doyle slammed his drink down and jumped up to stand over Jenny. "For a bloody year and bloody half. By the gods, WHY?" Jenny looked up, her eyes suddenly snapping with anger. "Because you walk through that door boyo, and you can't look back." She stood up, toe-to-toe with him. "A new existence means you forget entirely about the old one. And those people you left behind? You MIGHT see them again, IF you all eventually make it to the top of the ladder in a couple of THOUSAND lifetimes. 'Till then, they're lost to you, you hear me? GONE!" Doyle stood his ground. "They're lost to me now! But I'm supposed to sit in this damn boring room with just my memories? Broodin', worryin', drinkin' a spot of tea I'm not even thirsty for? That's no bloody choice at all!" Abruptly, the anger drained out of the slim woman, left her paler and sadder than before. She dropped back into her chair. "That's because, once again, I haven't explained this very well." She motioned Doyle back to his chair, but he remained standing, glaring down at her. "Doyle. It's not just memories. Watch." As she pointed to the wall opposite the door it blurred, wavered and began to refocus itself in new and familiar lines. "My apartment?…" Doyle squinted as the picture cleared up, revealing a man and a woman moving through an untidy room, dim with sunlight straining to pierce the drawn blinds, but not succeeding. "Listen," Jenny said. "Angel, what are we going to do with all this junky…stuff?" Cordelia gazed at an open drawer of slacks. "Give it to charity." Angel went on laying things in boxes. "Charity wants these things?" She held up a handful of colorful shirts. "Its not that bad." At her disbelieving look, he shrugged. "I'm not saying I'd wear them, but…" "Well, duh, like they'd fit you?" Cordy began to fold the shirts into boxes with a care that belied her tone. She glanced back as Angel began going through the closet. "Hey! Not that!" Angel looked at her quizzically, holding up a slightly battered leather jacket. She took it from him, turning away. They stood in silence until Angel saw her shoulders start to shake. Even as he stepped towards her, however, Cordelia slipped the jacket on and whirled back to face him. "Okay, what next?" "Cordelia…" "Look, it totally goes with this outfit, okay?" Her eyes dared him to contradict her. After a moment of silence, he nodded. "You're right." "As usual." She crossed to sit on the bed and opened the drawer to the night table. "Pictures." Her voice had gone suddenly flat. "Old ones?" Angel walked towards her. "Yeah." "Maybe we should sent them to Harry…" Angel reached her and looked down at what she was holding. "Oh." "I've been wondering what happened this. I wanted to add it to my headshots… my yearbook picture, to show I even look good impromptu." "Apparently he thought so." Cordelia slammed the drawer closed, shoved the picture in her pocket and headed out the door. "Cordelia, wait." She whirled back, swallowing hard. "I can't do this, Angel. It's too... Not… yet, okay?" He looked around, and rubbed a hand over his face. "Neither can I. Let's go back to the office." Cordelia nodded. "See you back there." "Wait, you're going alone?" "It's day. Sunburn time for you, remember? And if you think I'm going through the sewers with you, you're more Neanderthal than you look." She marched out. Angel looked once more around the apartment. "You told me to get to know the people I saved. Care about them or I'd lose my soul. What about when I care and I can't save them? I'll lose my sanity." Defeated, he leaned against a wall. "Look at me, I'm already talking to an empty room." Angel shook himself and slipped out, locking the door behind him. And then the wall was just a wall again. Doyle sunk back into his chair, shoulders slumped. "An' that was supposed to make me feel better?" "No. It was supposed to help you understand why some people choose to stay here. We're not ready to let go yet. There's still love back there. And… there remains the possibility that you can help them." "How?" "If you're watching, and they call on you, in the belief, or even hope, that you can help them, you can send them your knowledge, your emotions, for comfort." "And how often does that happen?" Jenny sighed. "Not nearly enough. When Willow used my spell to restore Angel's soul, that was the deepest I've been. I actually possessed her. I managed to leave her the little Wicca I knew, and give her my love." Jenny eyes looked past Doyle, beyond him. "I've slipped Rupert a few 'inspirations' and some small comforts." She returned her gaze to him. "I got through to Buffy twice, but only barely. I even managed to tip off Xander once in the magic shop." She grinned, then considered. "You don't actually know most of these people, do you?" "Not personally, but I've gathered enough to keep up." Doyle leaned back. "So, now, I can stay here and watch, maybe help out if they ask for me, or I can walk through the door and forget about all of that life. Tha' the way of it?" "That about sums it up." "Not much of a choice, is it?" "The Powers like to flavor their gifts with a liberal dash of pain." "Cordelia once told me if she'd been given my gift, she'd return it." Jenny chucked. "That girl's much more practical than anyone gives her credit for." "She's a lot more everythin' than anyone gives her credit for." Doyle leaned back, remembering her last great smile at him, and their only kiss. He took a deep breath and turned back to Jenny. "I'm not ready to forget her. And if there's any chance I could still be of some use…" "I know." Jenny reached across, took his hands. "I know it feels. The door will still be there when you want it." "So, now what?" "Well, you can have another room, all to yourself. Or, since we keep an eye on some of the same people, we could both stay here." Doyle nodded, and glanced around the room, considering. "Could we change the décor?" "What do you have in mind?" "This." A picture of a cozy Irish pub formed in his mind, then in the room. "Nice." Jenny leaned back, sniffing the air. "Peat fire's a nice touch." "Door on one end, fire and a bar on the other, and a wall each for viewin' purposes." "Looks good. But the next redecoration is mine." "Fair enough." Doyle leaned in, lowered his voice. "Now what I want to know is…can we watch them all the time? I mean…" Jenny grinned at him. "Well the shower is a little blurry but…yeah." She leaned back, voice serious, but eyes still twinkling. "I mean, it's a vulnerable time… you never know when they might… need you." Doyle nodded seriously. "You're absolutely right." Title: Ask Not For Power Note: Set about a month after Doyle's death "Sometimes it's just too sad to watch." Jenny turned away from the wall. Doyle turned to see, noted Buffy and Willow's darkened dorm room. Buffy was asleep, but Willow's eyes were open, staring into the distance, tears running down her face. Doyle sighed, speaking to the picture. "He still love's ya, kiddo. It's just he'd rather live without ya than have his demon hurt ya. But it's tearin' him up too." "You say that as if you understood him." Jenny looked in surprise at the man sitting beside her. "I do." Doyle shook himself and turned to face the woman with whom he shared this helpless watching game. "I told ya about Harry." "Of course." Jenny looked at him with sympathy and decided a subject change was necessary. "Thanks again for watching Oz for me. I filled my quota of people I could focus on when it was still 'as Willow goes, so goes my nation.' Never thought I'd need a separate channel to see him." "No problem. I'm sure that the 'five earthly creatures' limit is hard on most folks, but it seems I haven't got many friends." "It's quality, not quantity, that counts here, Doyle." He thanked her with a brief grin. "Anyways, what with you keepin' an eye on Angel, I only need the three - Cordelia, Harry, and me mum. All of whom are sleepin' just now, so it's a bit dull. This way, I get my fill of depressin' music every night." Doyle motioned to the blank wall opposite the Willow image, which shimmered, then cleared to show Oz, strumming a guitar. Both he and the rough cabin he sat in front of were dwarfed by the surrounding woods. "Plus I still have a choice left in back up." "Keep that one if you can - we may need it." Doyle nodded. "So, mystery of the Powers number one million an' seven is: why are we allowed to watch each other's screens here? I mean, if there's this daft limit in the firs' place…" Jenny shrugged and turned back to watch her wall as Willow dried her eyes on a plush monkey and started to get out of bed. "At a guess, the Powers like cooperation almost as well as caring." "Ya mean, we get points for learnin' how to share? Suddenly I feel like a primary schooler." "That and we behave better." Jenny squinted at the image of Willow as the pajama-clad girl slipped a box from under her bed. "Meanin' what?" Jenny glanced back at him, eyebrows raised. "Have you watched Cordelia shower yet?" "Uh, no. I mean, it felt a bit…intrusive, ya know." "Yeah, it should. But it didn't stop me when I first got here. I was met by my uncle, when I showed up. He filled me in but… well, suffice to say he wasn't my most favorite person just then, so I asked for a private room, thank you very much." "And then you, ahhh..." "I kept an eye on Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Angel periodically. But I watched Rupert ceaselessly, and pretty damn intrusively." "An' you don't anymore?" First my conscience got to me, and I didn't do it nearly as often. But since you've been here?" Jenny grimaced. "It's bad enough with just me invading his privacy, plus I have to admit to someone else how low I stoop. So I behave better. And so do you." Doyle wandered to the bar, poured himself a cup of tea and laced it liberally with whiskey. "More options, more angst and guilt. Sounds like a Powers-That-Be operation to me." He looked back at the wall. "What's she doin'?" "Another spell. Oh Willow, be careful…" Jenny gazed at her favorite student, worried. "She has no idea how powerful she really is. I wish she'd let Rupert help her." Doyle made another cup of whiskey-laden tea, and handed it to Jenny. "From what you told me, she got pretty well burned last time. She's smart enough to learn from her mistakes, don't ya think?" Together they watched as Willow set up her next spell in the chilly dorm bathroom. Sitting inside a ring of lit candles, Willow set out her ingredients and, after a few moments of concentration, began her chant. "Elendil, Fahawra, Gominee I petition you, the Goddesses Three I ask not for power, only peace A moments comfort, an hour's cease Of pain, for hope rekindled to me As I will, so mote it be." She set three full dishes in front of her, closed her Eyes and made an offering movement with both hands. The flames flickered, rose and the bowls were abruptly empty. Willow opened her eyes and stretched, feeling suddenly sleepy. She gathered her things and went back to bed. "Oh, well done, Willow" Jenny breathed. She sat back in her chair, and smiled at Doyle. "That just might work. She did it perfectly." "Who did she call to? What's with the bad verse?" "She called on the Three Comforts. They're very powerful, in their way, and very kind. But they're totally unpredictable. So you have to word your requests carefully, and hedge your bets. The three like rhymes - even bad ones. And she even got the offerings right." "What, exactly, did she offer them? I saw flowers, and a bit o' rock and… brown pebbles?" Jenny sat back and chanted "Earthstones for Elendil, Flowers for Fahawra, Grapes for Gominee." She grinned. "That much everyone knows, but Willow did her homework and brought their absolute favorites: rose quartz, fresh jasmine, and Raisinets." "Raisinets?" "Gominee likes her grapes with chocolate. The goddess has taste." Jenny looked back, noting that Willow was now asleep in her bed, the candles and bowls dropped haphazardly on the floor. "I wonder what they'll do." "Greetings" said a strong, rich voice. Jenny and Doyle whirled to face its source. They saw a tall, ageless woman wearing draped clothing, her power and elegance slightly diminished by streaks of chocolate on her hands and lips. "Gominee?" Jenny seemed too stunned to continue, so Doyle jumped in. "Uh, hi. Welcome to our, um, pub." There was a pause. "Can I get ye anythin'?" The woman inclined her head. "A napkin, perhaps." Doyle handed her one from the bar. Gominee wiped her hands and face, and motioned to the slumbering Willow. "She has asked for comfort. We have chosen you to give it. You have an hour." Jenny found her tongue. "How…how much can we tell her? About the afterlife, and the watching, and well, this?" She indicated the room around her. "You may tell her that you can see. And what you have seen. And how you can be contacted." Jenny nodded. "But what about the afterlives? The levels? Or what this place is?" Gominee's face went stern. "Do not make of her a prophet." "Why not?" Doyle was less than pleased. "Knowin' there's life after death an' all, that's fairly comfortin', I'd say." "Prophets are always feared, ridiculed and persecuted." Gominee handed Doyle the chocolate-stained napkin. "We like her." She smiled slowly, and then was gone. A moment later, Willow materialized on the floor. Naked. "Shit." Jenny closed her eyes and pictured Willow in the flannel pajamas she had worn to bed. She gave a sigh of relief when she noted Willow was clothed and turned to glare at Doyle when he let loose a long whistle of approval. "Hey, exactly the same thing happened to you boyo." "Yea, but no way did I look tha' good." Doyle was spared Jenny's wrath only because Willow chose that moment to open her eyes. "Buffy? Morning now?" The small voice was groggy with sleep. Then she sat up, saw Jenny. "Ms. Calendar? But… you're dead. Oh, are you a ghost?" She looked around. "A ghost with a…pub." She spotted Doyle. "And a boy ghost, drinking ghost tea." Her eyes widened. "Am I a ghost? A dead ghost? Okay, panic time." Doyle grinned at her. "Do you always ramble like tha', darlin'?" "Umm, yeah. Unless someone stops me. Who're you?" "I'm Doyle." He helped her into his chair, and Jenny pulled hers up next to it. "Wait, working-with-Angel-Doyle? But… you're not dead. Oz met you." Doyle winced, and Jenny put a comforting hand on his back, "Doyle, get Willow some tea, will you? Willow, you called on The Three for comfort, and they asked me… us… to give it to you. There's a great deal to explain, and we only have an hour, but I think you will find it comforting. And hopefully you can use it to bring comfort to others." Jenny smiled lovingly at the bewildered girl in front of her. "That's one of your many talents, after all." The phone was ringing. Her job to pick it up. And they needed work, even though there was one less paycheck now… Stop it. "Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless." "Cordelia?" "Giles? What are you…is everybody okay?" "We're fine. But…Willow's had… an experience. About which I think she ought to talk to you. And to Angel." "Okay…whatever. Giles, put her on." "Oh, no, she's on her way down." "To LA?" "Yes, she took the bus this morning, and is scheduled to arrive in…let me check…in about an hour." "Giles, what's going on?" "Willow had a…dream. And we're trying to determine if the information she received is accurate." He paused, then asked, carefully, "Cordelia, the other young man who was working with you…" "Doyle." "Yes…is he…still about?" "He's dead Giles." Cordelia's voice had gone cold. "He is? Then…Willow may be right. Oh my." "Giles, what the HELL is going on?" "I, I think I'll let Willow explain." "Giles, don't you dare go all cryptic on me. We lost someone we needed down here and if you have any information you better damn well tell me." Giles' voice gentled. "I'm sorry, Cordelia. You…you cared about him." "What Giles, you thought I was to bitchy to care about anyone but me? Well, Doyle saved my life, and Angel's more than once, and he was always around and alright, he had the fashion sense of a…" Giles interrupted, his voice kinder than before. "Cordelia. I am truly sorry. But I think…what Willow has to tell you might be comforting, for you and for Angel, so… just let her explain. I assure you it is not a portent of doom." "Fine. I'll be expecting her." Cordelia hung up and went downstairs to wake her remaining partner in world-saveage. Willow rung the bell, listened as the footsteps tapped down the hall to the door. "Hi, Cordelia." She looked the same, Willow thought, except…sadder. "Hey." She cast an eye over Willow's outfit. "Looks like you've traded Sears for Salvation Army these days. I don't know what's worse. Angel's waiting back in the office." Cordelia turned and led the way. Actually, Willow looked the same, Cordelia thought, except…sadder. Willow trailed into the office and took the client's chair Cordelia waved her towards. "Hi Angel." "Hello Willow. Giles said you had some information for us. About Doyle." "Who you never met." Cordelia's voice was sharp. Willow nodded. "I know this is weird, but I think I met him yesterday." At their looks of disbelief, she went on. "I mean, in a dream, kind of. See, I've been having trouble sleeping since…since Oz left." "Wait, Oz left where?" Cordelia was entirely confused now. "What for? Why does no one tell me these things?" Willow bit her lip, then took a deep breath. "Short version, Oz met another werewolf. A girl. When they were wolfy, they… had sex." She took another breath. "Then she came after me, and Oz killed her." Angel was startled. "As a wolf or as…himself?" "They were both sort of in between. But he was afraid the wolf would hurt someone else so he…left. But he's okay. I found out he's okay. He did it so I would be safe and it's not like he's dead or anything…" Willow trailed off as she saw Cordelia stiffen. "Willow, are you thinking of finding a point anytime soon?" Cordelia's voice was brittle, and Willow suddenly realized what she'd said. "Oh, Cordelia... I'm sorry, I just forgot…" Angel leaned forward, impatient. "Forgot what exactly, Willow?" "That Doyle's… Look, I'll start again okay? Not sleeping, so I cast a spell. I called on Elendil, Fahawra, and Gominee." "The Three?" Angel looked surprised. "Yeah. I asked for comfort. Not power. I've messed up with the power thing before. It was…bad. Anyway, I finally got sleepy, and when I woke up I was in a…pub." "Okay, you call on demony people for comfort and they send you alcohol? Did they miss the public service announcements? "Cordelia, I wasn't alone there. Ms. Calendar was there, and a guy who introduced himself as Doyle." "Jenny Calendar? And Doyle?" Angel was confused. "Willow, what did he look like?" "Attractive." Willow blurted. "Did I say that? I meant…healthy, fine." "Willow? Specifics. For identification." "Dark hair, light skin. Sharp features, soft green eyes. Leather jacket, Irish accent." "You thought he was attractive?" Cordelia was somewhere between pleasure, annoyance and jealousy. Angel sighed. "Not the point Cordy. Willow, tell uswhat they said." "…And just before I left, I said I was afraid it would seem like a dream in the morning. And Doyle said he'dgive me something to tell you that I wouldn't know otherwise, so I could prove that…" "That you weren't just dreaming." Angel rubbed a hand over his eyes. "What did he tell you Willow?" She paused, remembering the exact words. "He said, 'tell them it was worth it, to kiss the heroine, and play the hero.'" Willow looked straight at Cordelia, compassion in her eyes. "And he said 'Tell Princess that she's a stunner in that jacket.'" She turned to Angel, unconsciously imitating Doyle's accent. "And 'tell Mr. Obvious he's not talkin' to himself in empty rooms anymore." There was a long silence. "So I guess all that makes sense to you guys, huh?" "Yeah." Angel shook his head. "I've got a guardian angel." "And its Doyle." Cordelia looked back to Willow. "All right witch-girl. How do we contact him?" "I have a few ideas. But…let's call Giles. He'd know better and…" "He'll want to do some contacting of his own." Angel closed his eyes against a familiar wave of guilt, then turned his gaze back to Willow. "Once again, your magic and Jenny's knowledge combine to give me gifts I don't deserve." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Self-absorbed much? Look, you not being evil and Doyle being available over WiccAT& T is good for the rest of us too, so there will be no guilty-broody crap here." They glared at each other a moment, and then, to Willow's amazement, both softened, and shared a rather sad smile of understanding before turning back to her. "Well." Willow cleared her throat. "I'll just…borrow your phone?" "…Giles, how about the Book of Symple Magiks? It's number 75 or so… Yeah, that's it. Can you read it to me again?" Willow held the telephone against her shoulder and took swift notes. "Okay, got it. Now, do I grind the herb or… Burn it? Of course, silly me. Yes, of course we'll be careful. This is only about the simplest spell ever. Yeah, okay. And Giles… good luck, okay?" Willow hung up. "Angel, do you have any rosemary?" "Downstairs." Angel rose and headed toward the elevator. "Cordelia, we're closed up here?" "Yeah." There was silence as they entered the elevator. "So…who goes first?" "Cordelia" Willow said, without hesitation. The others looked at her in surprise as they entered Angel's apartment. "It's just… okay, we know that you can contact the person who's watching you. But Doyle's sort of watching Angel over Jenny's shoulder. He can see you but maybe…" "He can only talk to the five on his list." Angel nodded. "And we'll assume that Jenny is currently…busy." "With Giles." Willow sent a brief prayer to the goddess on the Watcher's behalf, then looked around the apartment. "So, rosemary? Also matches, and something to put it on while it burns." In minutes, they were ready. Cordelia sat at the table, rosemary on a plate in front of her. "So, I light this, then read, this" she held up Willow's notes, "then…" "Close your eyes and concentrate on Doyle." "Got it." Cordelia lit a match and set the rosemary alight. "From my world to thine, From your time to mine. Alan Francis Doyle If in that place you remember me As I will so mote it be." Cordelia barely had time to close her eyes before a voice lilted through her brain. "Hi Princess." "Doyle?" Willow and Angel heard the whisper of disbelief, and leaned closer. "You were expectin' someone else maybe?" "Jerk." Cordelia sniffled briefly. "Where are you?" "Dinna that Willow girl tell ya?" "Yeah, sort of…" "I canna tell you more than that." "Well…fine. More importantly, visions! Ow! Why? Why me?" "I dinna mean to do that to ya Cordy, an' when I realized I had… time was runnin' short." "So you kissed me because you wanted to, right? Not just pass them off?" "Princess, I'd been wantin' to kiss ya since our very first insult." "Well…good. And they did save my life, sort of." "I saw. The nerve of that demon, biddin' you so low." "And trying to pop my eyes out." Cordelia was silent for a moment. "I miss you." "Oh Princess, I miss ya too. But… I'm watching out for ya." "Doyle, speak up, I can't hear you" "This is… tiring, Cordy." "But… this isn't enough! I'm not done!" "Ya don't have to be." Doyle sounded breathless. "Just try again a little later, huh?" "Okay, okay. Bye…" But Doyle was gone. Cordelia opened her eyes. "Well? What did he say?" Angel had sat across from his assistant at the table. "You couldn't hear?" Willow shook her head. "We only heard your half of the conversation." "Well, he says it's tiring for him to talk…but I can call again later." Cordelia smiled at Angel, the first real smile he'd seen from her since Doyle's death. "You think I'll be any good at a long distance relationship?" Title: Manifest Destinies Note: Set two months after the end of Ask Not For Power Jenny opened her eyes and sat back in her chair, breathing heavily. "Wow, that just never gets any less exhausting, does it?" "Not really. Worth it, though." Doyle smiled and handed her a glass of juice. "Absolutely worth it." Jenny thanked him with a smile and sipped. "So who called for ya?" "Willow. I gave her an Oz update and some tips on casting with on-line covens." "And is she bein' careful these days?" "Not so much as I'd like. But at least she asks for help sometimes, and that's a plus." "Yeah. Nice to be needed." Jenny looked worried. "Actually, it's not really a good idea for them to need us. Good as it feels…sometimes I think we're just making it harder. I mean…Giles…" Doyle sunk down in the chair next to her. "Has a whole lot of free time these days, too much of which he's spendin' with ya. And Cordelia. I should be helpin' her get on with her life and instead I'm just fallin' further in love with her." "And she's returning the favor." Doyle's face lit up. "Do ya really think so?" Then he sighed. "Which is exactly the opposite of helpful." He looked beseechingly at Jenny. "I'm not good with avoidin' temptation." Jenny shook her head. "It's not your fault, really. She was starting to care about you, then you pull a hero and end up as her guardian angel. How's a girl supposed to resist?" "She's supposed to have someone who can hold her when she's upset. And stand between her and the evil when it comes after her." Jenny shrugged helplessly. "She's happy. You're happy. She lives with a ghost and works for a vampire. Maybe this is as normal as her dating life can get right now. I wish I believed the Powers would come after us if we screwed up." Doyle was startled out of his reply by a white-draped woman materializing in the room. "Gominee?" "Wow." Jenny muttered. "Fastest response I ever got from the Powers." "I come with a request." Gominee intoned. She raised a graceful hand to point at Doyle. "Leave." "Me mum used to give me requests in a voice like that." Doyle reminisced. "Always sounded like orders to me." Gominee shook her head. "It must be your decision. But the Powers ask you to walk through the door to your next existence." "Why?" Jenny stood to face the goddess. "He's barely been here three months. Whereas I…" "In your next existence, time is of little consequence. You may go when you will." Gominee once again turned stern eyes on Doyle. "You are needed in your next time. Now." "What if I'm not ready to forget my last life and move on? What if I'm in love with a girl down there, and I have a vampire who asks me to identify LA geography, and my mum still needs help with her tax forms? Where am I so much more vital than I am now?" Gominee just shook her head. "I could not tell you that, even if I knew. I am only a messenger. But I can tell you this. Every day you delay puts them in greater danger." "Puts who in greater danger?" "Those you cared about in your last life. Their peril grows by the hour." "How do you know?" Doyle demanded. "I have been told. Now you have. We cannot force you to go. We cannot tell you what will come after. We can only give you the warning, and the request. Leave." After the last word, Gominee shimmered, and was gone. Jenny dropped her face into her hands. "Be careful what you wish for, for you may surely get it." "I'm puttin' them in danger." Doyle began pacing the room. "I need to leave them to keep them safe." He looked at Jenny with anguished eyes. "Didn't I already go through this bit?" She moved to him, put her hands on his shoulders, held his eyes. "You did. Like a hero. Wasn't it worth it?" "Yeah." He swallowed. "Every hour I stay puts them in more danger, huh?" "That's what the Goddess said." "Then I guess I better just…" he looked at his wall, ran through the pictures, sound off. His mother was napping, Harry was teaching an anthropology class, and Cordelia was lecturing an amused Angel about something. Doyle turned his eyes back to Jenny. "Tell them goodbye for me? All of them, when Angel calls… And Cordelia…" She gave him a swift, hard hug. "Don't worry. I'll tell them why. I'll tell them you were a hero. Again." Doyle returned the hug. "Thank you." "No problem." "I mean, for everythin', in the past coupla months…" "I know." Jenny let go and smiled at him. "It's been a pleasure having a fellow educator around." He gave her a half grin, squared his shoulders, and walked to the low arched door. He opened it and then was gone. Jenny collapsed back into her chair, gazed around the room, then spoke out to the sudden emptiness. "I'll miss you, Doyle, damn your valiant hide." Arthur heard the knock on his office door but did not look up from his laptop. "Come in?" The door opened. "Oh, hello Alice." The deceptively grandmotherly-looking woman was officially his secretary. She was unofficially his legal assistant, link to the world outside the courtroom, and probably his closest friend. Not that he had overly many of those. "Your lunch came." She placed a few boxes on his desk. "The usual salad, bread and juice, plus an order of corned beef hash?" She smiled at him quizzically. "Your tastebuds longing for your homeland?" "Somethin' like that." He smiled back, exaggerating his lilt. "Any interestin' calls, darlin'?" "Eight more potential clients, begging you to take their cases." "And?" "And I told them that the illustrious Mr. Arthur Ferris Doyle is not taking any new clients in the foreseeable future, because he has decided to devote all his considerable talents to a single case." She raised her eyebrows. "About which no one, including his loyal secretary, has any information." "You're safer knowin' as little as possible, Alice." "I received death threats during both the Brightman and the Hertzheimer cases. You'll recall I was nearly run down two years ago during the Andros fiasco. Working for the man who exposes and prosecutes the country's most corrupt lawyers and law firms carries a risk." She grinned at him. "You know what a rush it gives me." Arthur rolled his eyes. "You look like your biggest thrill should be creatin' a new kind of lemon bar, but you thrive on death threats." He leaned back in his chair, staring at the tiny grey-haired woman as if measuring her, then nodded, decision made. "I will tell you Alice, and soon. But not today. This case is… different. I have to get my thoughts straight." She nodded briskly. "Fair enough. But make it soon. I'm getting bored. Do you know how much time I spent on the 'net yesterday?" Arthur smiled again. "Sounds torturous. Sorry to put you through that. Go home, Alice. Take the rest of the day off. You can use it to invent a new lemon bar." "Hah! I'll attend the early tae-bo class before my self-defense students arrive, you mean." Alice turned back to him just before she shut the door behind, waving an admonishing finger. "Now eat your hash before it gets cold." Arthur ate his lunch as he listened to Alice leave. Gazing out the window, he watched her walk away from the building, and closed the curtains. Then he pushed his other face to the surface. Now a blue-green, spine-headed creature, he used the demon strength to lift one of his file cabinets and pull a file from a shallow well underneath. Replacing the cabinet, he returned to his narrow-featured and dark-haired human visage, opened the curtains and sat in a shaft of sunlight, examining the file marked "Wolfram and Hart." "Today's goal" he murmured, "Identify the girl." A few months ago an auction had been held, and an associate at Wolfram had been the high bidder on one 'seer.' His sources indicated she had escaped their clutches. Arthur needed to know how. And if she had learned anything about her purchasers in the process. He found the blurred photo he'd received. As he gazed at it, he heard a voice, his voice, say "But tha's Cordelia!" And suddenly in a torrent, in a moment's vicious cascade, came the memories. Then he passed out. He clawed his way back to consciousness, and sat in his chair a moment, breathing heavily. Then, under the force of a habit the new part of his brain mocked, he pulled his laptop to him and began recording details. Alan Francis Doyle, called Francis, born August 8th, 1973 in Wexford, Ireland. Raised by his mother in an impressive bit of single parenting. A friendly, happy child though always a bit controlling and old for his age. Excelled in school, skipping a year and beginning at the University College, Dublin at age 16 on a full scholarship. Acquired teaching certification at age 19, began instructing 10 year olds in Galway. While there he met Jane Harriston, called Harry, an anthropology student from California on a foreign exchange program. They were married at 20 and moved to Santa Cruz, CA so Harry could finish her last year of college. August 8, 1992, at the age of 21, the demon manifested for the first time. Mother, horrified, confirmed that Francis' previously unknown father was indeed a Brakken Demon. Francis began drinking heavily and violent mood swings became common. Harry and Francis remained together for most of another year, but finally she gave up and left. At 23, Francis, now called Doyle, moved to LA. It was in this year that he first met another Brakken Demon, who requested his assistance in escaping from the Scourge. He refused and only days afterwards received his first vision. The next four years were devoted to drinking, gambling and learning all the ins and outs of the seedier, more demonic side of life. Lack of ability to help those in his visions only contributed to his downward spiral. His sanity was occasionally in question. August 8th, 1999 Doyle received both a vision and a command from the Powers the Be. A warrior had come. Doyle was to find him and use his visions to find those in need. For four months helped the warrior - Angel - with both his visions and knowledge of the city, and fell in love for the second time, with a teenager named Cordelia. November 30, 1999 Doyle died saving Angel, Cordelia and a boatload of half-demons from the Scourge. "That's quite a life you had, Alan Francis," Arthur muttered to the new part of his brain. "Yeah? Well let's just get yours down on paper, Arthur Ferris" it replied. Arthur Ferris Doyle, born August 8th 1973 in Wexford, Ireland. Raised by his mother in an impressive bit of single parenting, considering that the child manifested as a demon on his first birthday. Arthur learned to control and hide his demon before he turned four. A teacher described him as brilliant, just, honest, obsessive and ruthless - he was 7 years old. He spent his early teens leap-frogging grades and searching for his father. Having found him, Arthur spent the year of 1986 on the Outer Hebrides with members of his father's clan. At 16 he entered the University of Edinburgh, planning to take a degree in archeology and pre-history. The fall of his second year at University his mother was struck and killed by a drunk driver while visiting relatives in California. The driver, a wealthy and politically connected man with excellent legal staff, was sentenced to under a year of prison time. Arthur switched his degree program to the legal field, finished his degree and went to Stanford Law School, his new ambition to ferret out corrupt lawyers and bring them down. August 8th, 1992 Arthur moved to LA to intern with a prominent firm. By the end of the year, theirs was the first he'd exposed for corruption. He spent the next five years building a practice that earned him the respect, fear, and usually, hatred, of everyone else in his profession. irony. The only person he trusts, is his secretary, Alice Monahan, but she is still currently unaware of his demon half. November 30th, 1999 Arthur began refusing all new clients in order to concentrate on what he considered would be his biggest case, one for which he was uniquely suited. He plans to destroy the firm of Wolfram & Hart. Allan/Arthur shoved the chair away from the desk and ran his hands over his face. "Lovely. Now on top of the half-man/half-demon business I've a dual personality as well." He took several deep breaths. The two sets of memories were both a part of him, and they were…meshing. He could feel the ease with which he was becoming a single person with two lives, and both Allan and Arthur were howling in with the terror of finding their unique identity slipping into another's. "The Powers." Allan/Arthur bolted from the chair. "Damn them. They did this. I may have been just a messenger, but by the Gods, they'll give me answers." Wrenching open a drawer, he grabbed his keys, then paused and removed a small wooden box. "A gift…" he flipped the box open, gazed at the ancient coin inside. "A Goddess for their thoughts." He snapped the box closed and headed for the Post Office. A flash of energy, a burst of light, and he was hurled inside. "We speak only to warriors." The male's voice was cold and bored. "Yeah? Well I'm feelin' like a fight just, now, so tha's okay then." Allan/Arthur pulled himself to his feet. The female silenced them both with a wave of her hand. "You are expected, mortal." "Really? Well, since you're so polite an all, I've a bit of a hostess gift for ya." He tossed the box to her. She caught it, twisting the box gracefully before opening it. "Pallas Athene" She smiled, lifting the coin, gazing at the image imprinted in the ancient metal. "Goddess of wisdom and justice. A valuable friend, and a dangerous enemy." She caught the blue-green eyes of the man in front of her. "As you are." "Thanks, but which one of us, huh?" "Fool." The male passed his hand in front of the coin, and it vanished. "You are one." "Yeah, I'm in one body, I get that bit. How?" "But you are not one body. You are ONE." "Okay, still not clear on that point." The male sighed. "Of course you're not. Mortals. You are one soul. From two dimensions. The only real difference between you is the date of your first manifestation. One soul, two lives. We have merely rejoined them." "Why?" The female smiled slightly. "You were needed." "Oh yeah? In which dimension?" "In both. In all." It was the female's turn to sigh. "It is so dull explaining to mortals." "Well, I apologize for the tedium of it all, I'm sure. But whose damn dimension am I in now?" "We combined them." "You COMBINED them?" The male snorted. "As if it were difficult. They differed only in you. Once you were dead in one, the task was all but complete." "Wait. Wait just a damn minute. Once I was dead? You arranged that? You killed me off so you could do some freakin' dimensional shiftin' for your own amusement?" The female's voice was death cold now. "You were given a chance to atone for your weakness. You died a hero. And now you are returned. Yet you complain?" The male was simply sarcastic. "You think we find it amusing? The prosaic twists of your tiny lives? There is an imbalance. Unsurprisingly, it will take the small knowledges of both your lives to bring equilibrium. Go, messenger." First the light blast this time, then the energy. Allan Arthur Francis Ferris Doyle was slammed out the portal into a wall and lost consciousness for the second time that day. "One soul, two lives" That was the phrase that returned him from the comfortable oblivion. Alan Francis was gone. So was Arthur Ferris. Only Doyle remained. One soul with the memories of two lives. Two minds now merged into one. And that mind had a splitting headache. "Cause the bloody Powers couldn't just ask a fella to leave polite-like." Doyle grimaced and hauled himself to his feet. He gazed around the dim room beneath the Post Office building and wished he had remembered his briefcase - there was aspirin in the side pocket. Wincing, Doyle started up the stairs to his car. As he settled himself behind the wheel it occurred to him that it was nice to have a car. Being the Doyle of mixed dimensions had its advantages. He had a safe, sensible car. He could remember a happy undemon-haunted childhood. He had a secure, spacious apartment. He had insider knowledge of every club, bar, gambler's haunt or magic shop, demon haunted or otherwise, in the LA area. He had a thriving law practice. He had a mother who was still alive. He had enough savings to live and run his business for at least three years. And he had friends who cared about him. Or they had cared about him, three months ago. And Doyle suddenly realized that what he didn't have was any memory of what Alan Francis had done with himself in those three months. He stepped on the accelerator. "I'm going out to get more rosemary." Cordelia pulled open the desk drawer that held her purse. Wesley turned away from the file cabinet he had been reorganizing. "Cordelia, perhaps you ought to wait just a bit?" "Forget it." "Cordelia…" Angel leaned in the doorway of his office, his eyes worried. "What Angel? You want me to pick you up something?" "Cordelia, it's only been a couple of hours." "Angel, I've tried three times, and Doyle hasn't answered. I'm going to get more rosemary, then you can try Ms. Calendar and find out why." She towards Angel, grabbing the sweater on the table near his office door. "Maybe he's just…busy?" "Of course. Recall the time his mother injured her foot?" Wesley offered helpfully. Cordelia shook her head. "I remember. And it was because I got a little worried that time…" "Worried?" Wesley raised an eyebrow. "You threw a tantrum of cataclysmic proportions." Cordelia ignored him and continued. "Doyle and I decided that I'd try him every day at 11:30 am and if he couldn't talk then I'd call back later." "Cordelia, it's a tenuous communication with the beyond, not a local telephone call." "Well, duh, Angel. And I can usually remember not to burn stinky herbs when I use my cell phone. Now…" She was interrupted by Wesley once again. "Hush! I believe we may have a customer." Cordelia glanced out at the car that had pulled up in front of the agency, then shrugged dismissively. "No way. That guy's headed for Dr. Folger's office." "However do you know that?" She rolled her eyes. "Wesley, that's a late-model black Volvo. The safest, most boring car made. In it will be a man looking for a periodontist, not a supernatural private eye." She turned her back on the door, looking at Angel with a mix of bossiness and pleading. "I need to talk to Doyle." "I'm here, Princess." Cordelia's eyes snapped shut. "About time you answered! Where have you been?" There was a startled pause. "Well…dead." "Well, duh. Wait just a minute." She opened her eyes, beamed at Angel. "He called." But Angel was staring past her. He took her by her shoulders, gently turning her around to face the man who had walked in the door. "No. He didn't." "Doyle?" Cordelia's voice came out whispery. "Since when are you visible?" "Visible?" "And since when do you wear Hugo Boss suits?" she added, with an increase in both volume and astonishment. "You might say it's a new side of my personality comin' out." "Oh. You look good. I mean, as ghosts go." "He's not a ghost." Angel's voice held both certainty and pained confusion. All eyes turned to him. "The living blood pumps through his veins. Demon and human mixed. I can smell it." "Okay, ewww." Cordelia wrinkled her nose at him, then turned away as realization set in. "Doyle?" She walked slowly across the room to him, reached out a tentative hand. "You're really…" "Alive?" He took her hand gently, then swiftly, awkwardly, kissed it. "Yeah." She flung herself into his arms and stayed there, both of them oblivious to all else until Wesley cleared his throat uncomfortably. Cordelia pulled back slightly and Doyle glared at him. "Who in hell are you?" Cordelia stared at Doyle. "That's Wesley. You know that. Oww!" Cordelia recoiled as Angel hauled her away from Doyle, stood between them. "Who are you?" Angel was nearly growling with anger and grief. "Angel, man, it's me. Doyle." He reached to put a hand on the vampire's shoulder. "Doyle's dead." Angel grabbed the smaller man's arm, turned it to expose Doyle's hand. "And he didn't have a Brakken initiation mark on his palm. And he knew Wesley because he's been watching us, all day every day, for the last three months, sitting in some supernatural sports bar with Jenny Calendar." Doyle looked up at his friend, made no move to free himself "A bar huh? And wit' company? Sounds like my kind of afterlife." His green eyes went even softer than normal. "I don't remember bein' dead, Angel. I remember the night of the Scourge. And the next I know I wake up sharin' a body with myself from another dimension. Cordelia shoved Angel over slightly, looked at Doyle herself. "That makes a kind of sense that…doesn't." "Most operations of the Powers follow that principle." "The Powers sent you back?" Angel wanted to believe, was hating himself for looking into the eyes of a friend with suspicion. "Yeah. The little I understood of what they told me is that they needed two of my lifetimes, from different dimensions, in combination, to settle some kind of imbalance. So they killed me off in one timeline, merged the dimensions and popped both sets of memories into the body left alive." "The higher powers altered two dimensions for you?" Wesley was stunned. "This is…this is unheard of." "I think I'm still confused." Cordelia shrugged, pulled Doyle to face her. "I think I don't care. You're alive again? And you're in a body that looks like you, except better dressed? And you still…want to ask me out to dinner? "If you'll do me the honor." Doyle smiled at her, looked to Angel. "The Powers had a purpose for me, so they sent me back from the afterlife to finish what I started. Any of this sound familiar?" Slowly, softly, the vampire smiled. "I think I can relate." He placed a hand on Doyle's shoulder. "Welcome back home." The three old friends stood in the office in perfect contentment. Until Wesley cleared his throat again. They all glared at him. "Excuse me. Mr. erhmm…Doyle. What is your actual identity, in this new, created dimension?" "Professionally, I guess I'm Arthur Ferris Doyle, attorney at law." He shrugged. "I'm also the reincarnation of Alan Francis Doyle, visionary and assistant demon hunter. Mostly, I'm just Doyle." "I'm the visionary, these days." Cordelia poked him. "Not that I'm not going to do my best to give you that gift right back." Angel gave a sarcastic grimace. "Just don't make me watch you trying." "And I'm the assistant demon hunter" Wesley added, "but, an attorney, named Arthur…" "My God. I've heard of Arthur Ferris Doyle." Cordelia looked at Doyle with dawning respect. "He's goes around taking on like, evil law firms, and grinding their bones to make his bread. That's you?" "Yeah. It's less fun than this job was, I'll tell ya that." Suddenly he stopped, considered, then slapped a hand to his forehead. "By the Powers, I'm an idiot." "What did you do now?" Cordelia asked in a tone of resignation that made him chuckle. "Arthur Ferris Doyle is gatherin' evidence with which to destroy the firm of Wolfram and Hart." Angel smiled again, and this time his grin was feral. "Were you really?" He glanced at Wesley. "Lock up, will you? And Cordelia, set the answering machine. We're all going downstairs to talk. I think we've found Doyle's Power-given destiny." Somewhere, in a place out of time, Jenny Calendar raised a glass of wine in salute and watched them, smiling through a haze of tears. Epilogue That night Doyle and Cordelia sat on the soft leather couch in his apartment, looking over the skyline. A not-quite-comfortable silence had settled in the room. Doyle was the first to break it. "So princess, ya didn't forget me entirely when I was gone?" "No." She threw him a look of not-quite-mock annoyance. "But I had two months of conversations with you which your mind seems to have misplaced." He grimaced. "I imagine the Powers don't want me rememberin' what the afterlife is like and blabbin' about it to everyone alive." "Well, they never let you tell me much about where you were when you were…wherever you were. So you're probably right." "Well, if we didn't talk about heaven, what did we chat about?" Cordelia shrugged uncomfortably. "Lots of things." "Such as?" "You inflicting the visions on me. How they got me kidnapped and nearly blinded. How hard Angel was to work with when you were gone. How annoying Wesley can be." She paused. "How much I missed you." He shifted, slid across the couch to sit next to her, and ran a hand softly through her hair. "Well?" "Well what, Princess?" "Did you miss me too?" "Cordelia, darlin' as far as I remember I was only away from ya for about four hours." "Oh." "Which is much too long, if ya ask me." "Really?" Cordelia's smile glowed out at him. She glanced around the meticulously neat art deco apartment. "Does the Arthur Doyle have a, a girlfriend or anything?" "All told, Doyle has one mother, one ex-wife, one adored grandmotherly secretary, and one male friend who happens to be a vampire. He is also totally crazy about a gorgeous aspirin' actress. He smiled at her. "And that's about it." There was a not-quite-comfortable pause. Then Cordelia smiled. "Three months ago Doyle gave the actress their first kiss. She's about ready for their second." Doyle swallowed, hard, then nodded. He framed her face with his hands, covered her lips with his own. The warm silence that filled the room this time was entirely comfortable.