Angel/Doyle, NC-17, Strawberry Fields, 4/?
You know, it's allkirbycrow's fault that I am even writing this. It was just supposed to be a little PWP to entertain me, and I gave her a peek. SHE is the one who suggested it could be longer. And lo, it is. Sigh....
Title: Strawberry Fields, 4/?
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: So not mine. Not even vaguelly mine. (Gee, it's only taken me what, four years to write Angel and Doyle? Not dating myself or anything.) Apologies to the Beatles from whom I stole the title.
Summary: Set after Bachelor's Party, with the slight AU of Doyle not getting the 'Save Buffy at Thanksgiving' vibe yet.
~~*~~
For the inexperienced eye, it was difficult to tell the difference between brooding and boredom. Both had the same expression, gazing into the faraway, and the same posture, although the brief game of solo paperclip football was probably a clue. Since the brief but intense debate on whether a pencil could be used as a toy was completely internal, most people would never see the difference.
In the end, it was determined that it was too close to a stake for true enjoyment.
Doyle had been gone that morning when he woke but Angel wasn't worried; he'd be back eventually and then Angel could try the new recipe he'd found yesterday in the newspaper. He seemed to recall being quite fond of scones when he'd been alive, although he wasn't entirely sure. Spending a few centuries not eating did make cooking a little more complex. He was completely absorbed in the puzzle of the scone recipe, not brooding, although again, most people would never guess the difference.
And then there was Cordelia, who saw neither as she burst into the office. "Angel! I need you to-get off the floor? What are you doing down there?"
He didn't dignify it with a response, just righted his chair and sat back down. Cordelia, never one to spare the dignity of others, raised an eyebrow at him. "Spider senses offline today?
"I thought you guys liked to compare me to Batman."
"Excuse me if my geekatude isn't tuned to the right station for you. Now, I need you to do something for me." She straightened up and cleared her throat, her cue for 'paying attention mode'. Angel tried to look interested, though he suspected that interested was yet another expression of his that looked rather like the others. Just as well if she couldn't tell the difference between interest and wariness. If this was another of her auditions it paid, with interest, to be prepared.
Even so, the sight of her throwing herself back against the doorjamb, moaning and writhing, rubbing her hands over her hips and thighs, was unexpected. She finished with a loud, moaning chorus of, "Yes, yes, yes!" throwing her head back as she slid down to the floor.
Angel stared.
Cordelia bounced to her feet and looked expectant. "Well, what did you think?"
"I-" Angel couldn't seem to close his mouth enough to form a coherent answer. Was it normal for women to test out their fake orgasm skills with their guy friends before-he didn't even want to think about it. That was it, this past week had been entirely too strange. There must have been a spell and he had fallen into an alternate Hell universe where everything had to do with sex.
It was a step up from the last Hell he'd visited, he had to admit.
"Angel! I'm trying out for the new Herbal Essences commercial today," Cordelia told him impatiently.
Of course she was. "And that is?"
"Shampoo?! God, don't you ever watch TV? I've got a great chance for this one, look at this." She swung her head with practiced ease so that her hair fell in a sweeping cascade over one shoulder. "I've got the perfect hair for it. Oh, God!" She looked suddenly horrified. "Do you think if you get the spot, you actually have to use the shampoo?"
"Do people really think all vampires are bisexual?" He hadn't meant to ask that. Angel was very sure of it. He'd meant to nod politely whenever Cordelia required it and hope that she never needed more than a yes or no answer, and to make a mental note to never try Herbal Essence shampoo. He certainly never meant to ask Cordelia anything that would add to the weird sex aura that had been hanging around the office, even if the question had been sitting in the back of his mind since the night before.
She stared at him and Angel was somewhat bemused to see he'd actually managed to shock her. In all too brief a time, she recovered enough to say, "You're not?"
"Cordelia!" Current issues aside, he didn't really think he seemed all that bisexual. How did bisexual people seem, anyway?
"Well, you always dress so well and your hair! I mean, if you were rich, sure you'd look that good but considering you don't have a reflection, we're talking serious effort. Plus, there's that whole Interview with a Vampire thing."
"The what?" he asked, bewildered.
"And you know that Louis and Lestat were so doing it. Straight men so do not suck on the necks of other straight men even if it is for a snack."
Angel stared at her.
"You!" She stabbed an immaculately-painted incriminating finger at him. "You were going to eat that guy on the swim team before."
He made a face. "I remember that, he tasted like spoiled anchovies."
"Okay, being friends with a vampire has made me understand that on occasion we will talk about repulsive things. You can talk about drinking blood but the moment you start telling me about the bouquet, we are so finished. Oh, and you dressed more like an eighties hair band when you were evil, so that right there gives you the whole, 'oooh, I'll sleep with anything' vibe."
Like a poorly dressed savior from embarrassing conversations, Doyle wandered into the office, tossing his coat on the chair inside the door. He looked well rested and freshly showered, and smiled easily at them both as he poured a cup of the dubious coffee. Angel resisted the urge to knock it out of his hands before he could poison himself with it once again. He really did need to make sure Cordelia knew CPR. Doyle raised the styrofoam cup in a sort of mock toast. "Hey, all."
It was a shame that Cordelia didn't recognize a savior when she saw one. "Doyle, do you think all vampires are bisexual?" Cordelia asked seriously as he took a drink.
Doyle promptly inhaled his first sip. For the first moment, he couldn't even cough, struggling to inhale enough air to expel the caffeinated strangler. He was an alarming shade of red when he finally got the first cough out and he fumbled to set the cup on the small table before he dropped it, splashing hot liquid over the back of his hand. Angel lunged forward and rescued it before it could do any more damage, shoving it back on the counter.
"Cordy, get him a glass of water," Angel ordered, relieved when she didn't argue.
Doyle was wheezing more than coughing, going from red to more of a maroon shade as he tried to suck in a breath. Angel hovered next to him anxiously, finally giving him a firm slap on the back that nearly sent him to the floor. With a barely managed glare, Doyle backed away, still coughing, holding out his burned hand to keep Angel back.
"Water!" Cordy darted in between them and thrust the glass at Doyle, sending a shower down the front of his clothes. He snatched the glass away and downed it, and finally the coughing fit dwindled into pained breathing. Doyle wiped sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand, glaring at them both.
"Next time I'm choking to death?" he rasped. "Let me die, yeah?"
Angel looked away, embarrassed. "Right."
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Cordelia dismissed it with the wave of a hand. "Well, what do you think?"
"What do I think what?"
She rolled her eyes. "It nearly killed you and you don't remember? Are all vampires bisexual, duh?"
"Oh." He looked uncomfortable and glanced at Angel, who tried for an innocent look. If he wasn't careful, he was going to go through his entire repertoire of expressions in one day. "I never much thought about it. Mostly they just turn to dust when we meet 'em, we don't really chat often." His expression turned thoughtful. "I did see Interview with a Vampire, though."
"Oooh, and Louis and Lestat were sooo doing it!"
"No, I thought it was Louis and the other fella, um, the Antonio Banderas guy."
"Of course they were, but Louis and Lestat did it first."
"Is this a movie?" Angel interrupted, loudly.
Cordelia glanced at him. "Actually, it's a book but they made it a movie."
"Wonderful. Having lived as a vampire and around other vampires does give me a little perspective on this so maybe you should, I don't know. Ask me?"
"You're the one who asked me!" Cordy snorted, flopping into the chair in front of the desk.
"I asked if you thought they were bisexual, not if they were."
"Well, are they?"
"No!"
"Oh. Cause I always thought that Spike was sort of..."
Angel squirmed. "Spike is sort of-"
"And Drusilla was creepy but she liked eating girls."
"Dru's different, she--"
"And you, what about you?"
"Me?"
"Even Doyle said he thought you were attractive."
"Now wait a second," Doyle sputtered, not at all pleased to be brought back into the conversation.
"Are you bisexual?" Cordelia asked with great interest.
"I-" The phone rang and cut him off. Cordy squealed and ran to answer it. Angel buried his face in his arms and thanked the Powers That Be for small favors. He peeked out over his arms to see Doyle standing in front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest and looking rather pissed.
"This is your way of not telling Cordelia?" he hissed, shooting a wary look at the outer office where Cordy was chatting with what sounded like one of her Cordettes.
"It was an accident?" His voice was muffled into his sweater.
Doyle blew out a loud breath, gave his cup a coffee a disgusted look before tossing it in the trash. "Could we not have any more accidents, please?"
"Right." Angel remembered something and lifted his head to look at Doyle with a faint grin. "You think I'm attractive?"
It was almost made the last five minutes worth living to see the flush of embarrassment sweep over Doyle's face. "That was...er...sorry I ran out on you this morning," he said hurriedly, fingering the front of his damp shirt. This one had a sort of beige paisley design that was a kind of ugly not normally seen in the light of day. Not that Angel knew much about that. "But I figured even Cordelia would eventually notice I'm wearing the same clothes day after day."
"If it has to do with clothes, she is sure to notice," Angel agreed, still looking at Doyle's shirt and wondered about the red one. He didn't recall him wearing it much before, how often did Doyle circulate through his shirts? Just the bright red against such pale skin, the right contrast of color to his eyes, so enticing--Christ, was he sitting here mooning over one of Doyle's shirts?
They really needed a client.
Doyle was slouched back in his chair with his eyes closed but he opened one a slit when Angel stood up to glance outside the door. Cordelia was still chatting, her back to them and, somewhat self-consciously, Angel shut the door. Now he had Doyle's full attention, suspicious as it was.
This was infinitely worse than fighting any kind of demons, even the slimey ones. "How did you sleep last night," Angel blurted, trying to keep his voice low. Was he even allowed to ask here in the office? They'd never discussed any rules, hadn't discussed much of anything really. Just a mostly unspoken agreement to go along with the visions.
But how could they not talk about it? Angel wasn't sure he could do that, not when he couldn't even stop thinking about it. He'd scented Doyle a bare second before he'd walked in the door, the mixture of shampoo and deodorant so oddly familiar, though Angel couldn't remember when he'd learned it. If Doyle wanted to forget during the day, Angel could never fault him for it, but he wasn't sure he could do the same.
"Slept like a baby," Doyle said easily, shattering all his worries with a single sentence. "Not a peep of a vision. In fact," Doyle stretched and his joints popped faintly. "I think I slept better last night than I have since I started having visions. What kind of mattress do you have?"
"A Serta, it came with the bed frame. Do you think the visions mean a, um," Angel suddenly found the tiles floor very interesting, "An every night thing or just-"
"I don't know," Doyle looked at him steadily. "If you want to test it-"
"No," Angel said hurriedly. "I just-I just don't want to make this harder than it already is." He held his hands out in a vague gesture of helplessness.
"Doubt you could. Look, I know I've been a prick about this-shut it, and let me talk," he said when Angel would have protested. "But I really do appreciate that you're helping. You could have said no."
No, I couldn’t. Angel would never say it to him, never wanted to see the brightness of his eyes dimmed with guilt that he knew Doyle would feel. It was all right, he could do this and he'd never tell Doyle how badly he wanted to push him over this desk right now and see those same eyes shining so briefly with lust before they closed tightly like they always did, just before he came.
Instead, Angel kept his gaze on the floor and asked, softly, "What do you see when you have a vision?"
"Aside from my brain turning inside out?" Doyle tried to laugh and it faded into a sigh. He crossed his arms over his chest as if he felt a chill.
"The first time I had one, I thought I was dying," Doyle said softly. "Some kind of stroke, maybe..." he trailed off with a shrug that held a wealth of some unknown emotion and Angel could almost seem him pulling inward, hiding something as he settled for partial truth. "I see pictures, flickering like some kind of strobe light but it's more than that. I don't see the names, you know, the addresses, the information. I just know, like it all tumbled into my head like candy into an empty piñata. I hate it, it just hurts so much but sometimes, for just a second it's like-like touching something perfect." His voice shook and Doyle raised a trembling hand to his head. "But it hurts, it…hurts…hurts!"
His eyes widened, glazed over as they looked at something Angel could never see. Every time he saw this, he could only watch uselessly and hold Doyle, careful to keep him from hurting himself, and he hated it, that as much as he tried to help he was partly responsible for causing this very pain.
"Some kind of demon," Doyle gasped, "I couldn't see much about 'em, just robes and this wicked sharp knife. They're making a sacrifice for something and they have a little gal and her mom all ready for the first cut."
"Did you see where?" Angel asked urgently.
"Yeah, I got the crossroads but we got more problems than that. Angel, this ritual is on the roof of some building."
"The roof?"
"In the day." That would hinder things a little, unless he didn't mind fighting and bursting into flames at the same time. Doyle gave him a weak smile and slapped him on the back. "Don't worry, we'll think of something."
He snatched his jacket off the chair and followed Angel out into the main office, muttering under his breath. "Never thought I'd be happy to have just a plain vision."
~~*~~
end part 4
Title: Strawberry Fields, 4/?
Author: Keelywolfe
Series: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Doyle
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: So not mine. Not even vaguelly mine. (Gee, it's only taken me what, four years to write Angel and Doyle? Not dating myself or anything.) Apologies to the Beatles from whom I stole the title.
Summary: Set after Bachelor's Party, with the slight AU of Doyle not getting the 'Save Buffy at Thanksgiving' vibe yet.
~~*~~
For the inexperienced eye, it was difficult to tell the difference between brooding and boredom. Both had the same expression, gazing into the faraway, and the same posture, although the brief game of solo paperclip football was probably a clue. Since the brief but intense debate on whether a pencil could be used as a toy was completely internal, most people would never see the difference.
In the end, it was determined that it was too close to a stake for true enjoyment.
Doyle had been gone that morning when he woke but Angel wasn't worried; he'd be back eventually and then Angel could try the new recipe he'd found yesterday in the newspaper. He seemed to recall being quite fond of scones when he'd been alive, although he wasn't entirely sure. Spending a few centuries not eating did make cooking a little more complex. He was completely absorbed in the puzzle of the scone recipe, not brooding, although again, most people would never guess the difference.
And then there was Cordelia, who saw neither as she burst into the office. "Angel! I need you to-get off the floor? What are you doing down there?"
He didn't dignify it with a response, just righted his chair and sat back down. Cordelia, never one to spare the dignity of others, raised an eyebrow at him. "Spider senses offline today?
"I thought you guys liked to compare me to Batman."
"Excuse me if my geekatude isn't tuned to the right station for you. Now, I need you to do something for me." She straightened up and cleared her throat, her cue for 'paying attention mode'. Angel tried to look interested, though he suspected that interested was yet another expression of his that looked rather like the others. Just as well if she couldn't tell the difference between interest and wariness. If this was another of her auditions it paid, with interest, to be prepared.
Even so, the sight of her throwing herself back against the doorjamb, moaning and writhing, rubbing her hands over her hips and thighs, was unexpected. She finished with a loud, moaning chorus of, "Yes, yes, yes!" throwing her head back as she slid down to the floor.
Angel stared.
Cordelia bounced to her feet and looked expectant. "Well, what did you think?"
"I-" Angel couldn't seem to close his mouth enough to form a coherent answer. Was it normal for women to test out their fake orgasm skills with their guy friends before-he didn't even want to think about it. That was it, this past week had been entirely too strange. There must have been a spell and he had fallen into an alternate Hell universe where everything had to do with sex.
It was a step up from the last Hell he'd visited, he had to admit.
"Angel! I'm trying out for the new Herbal Essences commercial today," Cordelia told him impatiently.
Of course she was. "And that is?"
"Shampoo?! God, don't you ever watch TV? I've got a great chance for this one, look at this." She swung her head with practiced ease so that her hair fell in a sweeping cascade over one shoulder. "I've got the perfect hair for it. Oh, God!" She looked suddenly horrified. "Do you think if you get the spot, you actually have to use the shampoo?"
"Do people really think all vampires are bisexual?" He hadn't meant to ask that. Angel was very sure of it. He'd meant to nod politely whenever Cordelia required it and hope that she never needed more than a yes or no answer, and to make a mental note to never try Herbal Essence shampoo. He certainly never meant to ask Cordelia anything that would add to the weird sex aura that had been hanging around the office, even if the question had been sitting in the back of his mind since the night before.
She stared at him and Angel was somewhat bemused to see he'd actually managed to shock her. In all too brief a time, she recovered enough to say, "You're not?"
"Cordelia!" Current issues aside, he didn't really think he seemed all that bisexual. How did bisexual people seem, anyway?
"Well, you always dress so well and your hair! I mean, if you were rich, sure you'd look that good but considering you don't have a reflection, we're talking serious effort. Plus, there's that whole Interview with a Vampire thing."
"The what?" he asked, bewildered.
"And you know that Louis and Lestat were so doing it. Straight men so do not suck on the necks of other straight men even if it is for a snack."
Angel stared at her.
"You!" She stabbed an immaculately-painted incriminating finger at him. "You were going to eat that guy on the swim team before."
He made a face. "I remember that, he tasted like spoiled anchovies."
"Okay, being friends with a vampire has made me understand that on occasion we will talk about repulsive things. You can talk about drinking blood but the moment you start telling me about the bouquet, we are so finished. Oh, and you dressed more like an eighties hair band when you were evil, so that right there gives you the whole, 'oooh, I'll sleep with anything' vibe."
Like a poorly dressed savior from embarrassing conversations, Doyle wandered into the office, tossing his coat on the chair inside the door. He looked well rested and freshly showered, and smiled easily at them both as he poured a cup of the dubious coffee. Angel resisted the urge to knock it out of his hands before he could poison himself with it once again. He really did need to make sure Cordelia knew CPR. Doyle raised the styrofoam cup in a sort of mock toast. "Hey, all."
It was a shame that Cordelia didn't recognize a savior when she saw one. "Doyle, do you think all vampires are bisexual?" Cordelia asked seriously as he took a drink.
Doyle promptly inhaled his first sip. For the first moment, he couldn't even cough, struggling to inhale enough air to expel the caffeinated strangler. He was an alarming shade of red when he finally got the first cough out and he fumbled to set the cup on the small table before he dropped it, splashing hot liquid over the back of his hand. Angel lunged forward and rescued it before it could do any more damage, shoving it back on the counter.
"Cordy, get him a glass of water," Angel ordered, relieved when she didn't argue.
Doyle was wheezing more than coughing, going from red to more of a maroon shade as he tried to suck in a breath. Angel hovered next to him anxiously, finally giving him a firm slap on the back that nearly sent him to the floor. With a barely managed glare, Doyle backed away, still coughing, holding out his burned hand to keep Angel back.
"Water!" Cordy darted in between them and thrust the glass at Doyle, sending a shower down the front of his clothes. He snatched the glass away and downed it, and finally the coughing fit dwindled into pained breathing. Doyle wiped sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand, glaring at them both.
"Next time I'm choking to death?" he rasped. "Let me die, yeah?"
Angel looked away, embarrassed. "Right."
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Cordelia dismissed it with the wave of a hand. "Well, what do you think?"
"What do I think what?"
She rolled her eyes. "It nearly killed you and you don't remember? Are all vampires bisexual, duh?"
"Oh." He looked uncomfortable and glanced at Angel, who tried for an innocent look. If he wasn't careful, he was going to go through his entire repertoire of expressions in one day. "I never much thought about it. Mostly they just turn to dust when we meet 'em, we don't really chat often." His expression turned thoughtful. "I did see Interview with a Vampire, though."
"Oooh, and Louis and Lestat were sooo doing it!"
"No, I thought it was Louis and the other fella, um, the Antonio Banderas guy."
"Of course they were, but Louis and Lestat did it first."
"Is this a movie?" Angel interrupted, loudly.
Cordelia glanced at him. "Actually, it's a book but they made it a movie."
"Wonderful. Having lived as a vampire and around other vampires does give me a little perspective on this so maybe you should, I don't know. Ask me?"
"You're the one who asked me!" Cordy snorted, flopping into the chair in front of the desk.
"I asked if you thought they were bisexual, not if they were."
"Well, are they?"
"No!"
"Oh. Cause I always thought that Spike was sort of..."
Angel squirmed. "Spike is sort of-"
"And Drusilla was creepy but she liked eating girls."
"Dru's different, she--"
"And you, what about you?"
"Me?"
"Even Doyle said he thought you were attractive."
"Now wait a second," Doyle sputtered, not at all pleased to be brought back into the conversation.
"Are you bisexual?" Cordelia asked with great interest.
"I-" The phone rang and cut him off. Cordy squealed and ran to answer it. Angel buried his face in his arms and thanked the Powers That Be for small favors. He peeked out over his arms to see Doyle standing in front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest and looking rather pissed.
"This is your way of not telling Cordelia?" he hissed, shooting a wary look at the outer office where Cordy was chatting with what sounded like one of her Cordettes.
"It was an accident?" His voice was muffled into his sweater.
Doyle blew out a loud breath, gave his cup a coffee a disgusted look before tossing it in the trash. "Could we not have any more accidents, please?"
"Right." Angel remembered something and lifted his head to look at Doyle with a faint grin. "You think I'm attractive?"
It was almost made the last five minutes worth living to see the flush of embarrassment sweep over Doyle's face. "That was...er...sorry I ran out on you this morning," he said hurriedly, fingering the front of his damp shirt. This one had a sort of beige paisley design that was a kind of ugly not normally seen in the light of day. Not that Angel knew much about that. "But I figured even Cordelia would eventually notice I'm wearing the same clothes day after day."
"If it has to do with clothes, she is sure to notice," Angel agreed, still looking at Doyle's shirt and wondered about the red one. He didn't recall him wearing it much before, how often did Doyle circulate through his shirts? Just the bright red against such pale skin, the right contrast of color to his eyes, so enticing--Christ, was he sitting here mooning over one of Doyle's shirts?
They really needed a client.
Doyle was slouched back in his chair with his eyes closed but he opened one a slit when Angel stood up to glance outside the door. Cordelia was still chatting, her back to them and, somewhat self-consciously, Angel shut the door. Now he had Doyle's full attention, suspicious as it was.
This was infinitely worse than fighting any kind of demons, even the slimey ones. "How did you sleep last night," Angel blurted, trying to keep his voice low. Was he even allowed to ask here in the office? They'd never discussed any rules, hadn't discussed much of anything really. Just a mostly unspoken agreement to go along with the visions.
But how could they not talk about it? Angel wasn't sure he could do that, not when he couldn't even stop thinking about it. He'd scented Doyle a bare second before he'd walked in the door, the mixture of shampoo and deodorant so oddly familiar, though Angel couldn't remember when he'd learned it. If Doyle wanted to forget during the day, Angel could never fault him for it, but he wasn't sure he could do the same.
"Slept like a baby," Doyle said easily, shattering all his worries with a single sentence. "Not a peep of a vision. In fact," Doyle stretched and his joints popped faintly. "I think I slept better last night than I have since I started having visions. What kind of mattress do you have?"
"A Serta, it came with the bed frame. Do you think the visions mean a, um," Angel suddenly found the tiles floor very interesting, "An every night thing or just-"
"I don't know," Doyle looked at him steadily. "If you want to test it-"
"No," Angel said hurriedly. "I just-I just don't want to make this harder than it already is." He held his hands out in a vague gesture of helplessness.
"Doubt you could. Look, I know I've been a prick about this-shut it, and let me talk," he said when Angel would have protested. "But I really do appreciate that you're helping. You could have said no."
No, I couldn’t. Angel would never say it to him, never wanted to see the brightness of his eyes dimmed with guilt that he knew Doyle would feel. It was all right, he could do this and he'd never tell Doyle how badly he wanted to push him over this desk right now and see those same eyes shining so briefly with lust before they closed tightly like they always did, just before he came.
Instead, Angel kept his gaze on the floor and asked, softly, "What do you see when you have a vision?"
"Aside from my brain turning inside out?" Doyle tried to laugh and it faded into a sigh. He crossed his arms over his chest as if he felt a chill.
"The first time I had one, I thought I was dying," Doyle said softly. "Some kind of stroke, maybe..." he trailed off with a shrug that held a wealth of some unknown emotion and Angel could almost seem him pulling inward, hiding something as he settled for partial truth. "I see pictures, flickering like some kind of strobe light but it's more than that. I don't see the names, you know, the addresses, the information. I just know, like it all tumbled into my head like candy into an empty piñata. I hate it, it just hurts so much but sometimes, for just a second it's like-like touching something perfect." His voice shook and Doyle raised a trembling hand to his head. "But it hurts, it…hurts…hurts!"
His eyes widened, glazed over as they looked at something Angel could never see. Every time he saw this, he could only watch uselessly and hold Doyle, careful to keep him from hurting himself, and he hated it, that as much as he tried to help he was partly responsible for causing this very pain.
"Some kind of demon," Doyle gasped, "I couldn't see much about 'em, just robes and this wicked sharp knife. They're making a sacrifice for something and they have a little gal and her mom all ready for the first cut."
"Did you see where?" Angel asked urgently.
"Yeah, I got the crossroads but we got more problems than that. Angel, this ritual is on the roof of some building."
"The roof?"
"In the day." That would hinder things a little, unless he didn't mind fighting and bursting into flames at the same time. Doyle gave him a weak smile and slapped him on the back. "Don't worry, we'll think of something."
He snatched his jacket off the chair and followed Angel out into the main office, muttering under his breath. "Never thought I'd be happy to have just a plain vision."
~~*~~
end part 4