Pairing: Doyle/Angel
SPOILERS: "Bachelor Party," "Lonely Heart," vague ones for
almost everything else.
SUMMARY: Trying to help the hopeless.
DISCLAIMERS: Everybody here is from _Angel_ and belongs to
Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Inc., Greenwolf Corp., Kuzui
Enterprises/Sandollar Television, and 20th Century Fox Television.
No infringement intended.
NOTES: Thanks to Small Woodinat Creature for advice and the
closed captioning assurance that it's "Allen" not "Allan."
Summary inspired by Cordelia's favorite mangling of the Angel
Investigations slogan. I'm just defining it as "without hope"
instead of "pathetic."
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"Shreds"
By Viridian5
11/29/99
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"Well, this makes it final then," Doyle said, his voice thick with emotion, as one of his hands stroked the folded divorce papers while the other gripped the pen so hard it should have snapped.
Angel didn't know what to say. He supposed he was still in shock from all he'd recently found out. Doyle had promised the story of his life someday; Angel had just assumed that he already knew the basic shape of it and only needed specific details. He'd been completely wrong.
What Angel knew about Doyle now changed everything.
//24? How could he be so *young*? He's not that much older than Buffy.// When Doyle had said that the clubs of today had little to do with the pubs of Angel's youth, he'd said it with such casual authority that Angel had assumed he'd known it first-hand. He felt like an old soul, and Angel had no knowledge of a half- demon's life-cycle. //Neither does Doyle, I'll guess.// To Angel, finding out that Doyle had been married and once lived a normal life paled in comparison.
It made Angel feel more protective but also more certain that he should back off. He'd felt guilty about it before; now that he knew how little life experience Doyle actually had he felt as if he'd taken advantage somehow, like some perverted older man leading a child astray. //Another child.//
//He thinks he wants me even if we can't ever consummate a relationship or even let me get too happy with him, but how can he know what he really wants and needs? He admits himself that he and Harry married too young, which means he has a tendency to let his passion get away with him. I have to be responsible for both of us. No matter how much it hurts.//
Doyle finally put the pen down and stepped away from the table, backing into Angel, and stayed there, close. He shivered a little and wouldn't let Angel see his face. "This isn't just the official end of a marriage, y'know. This isn't just me agreeing that she's better off without me even if I do love her to distraction. This is me letting go of the last shred of the life the person I used to be had made for himself. I mean, Harry left me, but we were still official- like. I never let myself think about that past, so everything was almost okay.
"But now that guy I was is really gone. And... he was a good guy, far better than me anyway. Better than 'just Doyle,' half-breed screw-up." Doyle sighed. "Allen Francis Doyle, rest in peace."
"So you didn't deal very well with finding out about your demon half. But you're still the person you were, still alive; you just know more about yourself. You can still change things. Maybe it's too late to get Harry back, maybe it isn't, but it's never too late to try to pick up the pieces of your old life if that's what you want."
Doyle shook his head but didn't turn to face Angel. "Sometimes I still wake up in the morning with a smile because I don't remember the last few years, and I'm still a happily married man who loves his job. Harry's not in bed with me, but I figure she just got up early. So I'm going through the lesson plan for the day in my head when it hits me that I pissed it all away. And then I think, maybe I can get it back. And then I think, there's no way in hell that will ever happen."
Filing away that clue about lesson plans just in case Doyle didn't drop any other tidbits, Angel asked, "Why not?"
"Well, there's that whole demon face thing. If I lost control--hell, just sneezed--and spiked out... Sure, the kids would find it funny after they stopped freaking out, but if only one told Mommy and Daddy what Mr. Doyle did in class today, it would all be over."
"Most people don't believe in demons."
"They wouldn't have to. Parents are more vigilant than ever today. They bring that kid to a psychologist, and the next thing you know they're convinced that I did something so horrible to the students that their traumatized minds made me an actual monster to try to explain it. There aren't any substantiated cases of ritual Satanic abuse, but a few kids unintentionally coached by their therapists can lead to a trial that takes years and destroys the lives and reputations of the accused. Maybe the truth comes out eventually, but the damage is already done and for good. What?"
It was like someone else sometimes spoke from Doyle's body. A highly educated someone of authority who was accustomed to being listened to. Angel gained a better idea of what was lost that day when Doyle first manifested his demon self at 21 and couldn't handle it.
It made him hurt for Doyle even more. "I'm listening."
"I mean, I understand wanting to protect your kids. How couldn't I? I wanted some of my own once. I wouldn't even be able to blame them for it."
"That's--"
"What? Unfair? That's not even the half of it." Doyle's hands gripped his elbows to hug himself. "Now I can also worry about getting a vision and treating the kids to the sight of their teacher having a seizure before their very eyes. How's that for traumatizing the kiddies?"
"Doyle--"
"Don't get me wrong: I'm a card-carrying member of the Pity Party. It's just that there are other factors involved that stop me from going on with my life. I can't just raise my self-esteem and land normal employment."
"You're not--"
"But even aside from the demon thing, I'd have trouble getting my old job back. I can see it now: 'Well, Mr. Doyle, we see you took a few years of sabbatical. What did you do with that time?' 'Oh, I consorted with minions of the underworld and tried to drink myself senseless.' 'Do you have any references?' 'Yeah, One-eyed Lou and Arahkijziban will both tell you that I'm untrustworthy and a flight risk. Oh, and I'm sure they'd be much obliged if you'd tell them my current address.' Having my heritage kick in started ruining my life, but I finished it."
Angel finally managed to get a sentence in. "You sound almost proud of that."
The shivering got worse. "I believe in being thorough. Besides, you're one to talk. You spent nearly a century living in alleys hunting rats after the gypsies gave you a soul and a conscience. You stayed away from people completely after you left Sunnydale. You punish yourself in your ways so let me punish myself in mine." Doyle swallowed hard. "I need a drink. If I'm gonna do a wake, I should do it right."
"No." Angel grabbed Doyle by the shoulders as he began to move away and stopped any further struggles by pulling him into a tight hug.
"Let me go." But Doyle had already melted into Angel's hold.
"No, I won't. Yes, I tried to keep away from people when I settled in LA, but you wouldn't let me get away with that."
"It was my job."
"Maybe it started that way, but I think it became personal for you."
"Ha! Shows what you know."
"You're a terrible liar, Doyle. Your face always gives you away."
"In more ways than one." Doyle sounded utterly defeated.
Angel rested his chin on top of Doyle's head, torn between a smile and a sigh at the soft whimper his gesture had elicited from the smaller man. "It's a good thing. Cordelia's not the one who keeps me connected to people, the one with the humanizing touch; it's you."
"The irony is killing me, I assure you." Doyle tried to pull away again and failed again. "I'll be fine, Angel. Harry will take the papers, marry her happily demonic guy, and never come back to see me. Makes it easier for the both of us. I'll just shove this down and refuse to think about it ever again. I'm good at that, you know."
//You shouldn't have to be.// "I know."
"I just need time. Alone."
//I'm just another thing he can't have.// Feeling helpless, Angel let go. "You know that whenever you need me you can--"
"Yeah. Thanks, man. See you later." Doyle took his coat, the papers, and a bottle of whisky with him as he walked out. But a moment later he came back. "Later came sooner than you thought, eh? I do mean that thanks, you know. Thanks for listening to me bitch and moan," he said with a small, shaky smile, affection in his eyes. Then he left again.
//I'm not helping him. I'm not helping him at all.//
**********************THE END***********************
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