DOYLE?:

^{Coming back from the dead should be something to celebrate. It was a miracle, wasn’t it? To be pulled back from a hell dimension, to have a heart beat once again. In Doyle’s case, however, it was the opposite. Being brought back here had brought him nothing but nightmares and a conflict of emotions. His memories were gone, lost somewhere he couldn’t find and in their place, all he could remember was his time in the pit, the torture he’d had to endure, the screams and the terror.}

^{The people responsible for his uprising, Wolfram & Hart, told him a vampire was to blame. Angel, or Angelus, whichever. That he and his band of side-kicks had hunted Doyle down and killed him, all for the sake of winning an investigation. At first, he’d believed them. Had even had a showdown with the caped crusader himself a few weeks ago. He’s starting to remember things now though. Little flickers here and there.}

         ^{Laughter. Friendship. Cordelia.}

^{It’s not enough for him to grasp onto, but it’s enough to have him questioning the lies he’s been fed. It’s enough to bring him here, to Angel Investigations, looking for answers. The hotel was quiet, an eerie silence that had him wondering if someone was even here.}

                  ^{“Hel’o?”}

       “Angel Investigations, we help the– -”

       The too-familiar slogan cuts off mid-sentence, COLLAPSES, dying a terrible death somewhere in the back of her throat. Hazel eyes are wide as saucers, drinking in the sight before her the same way a man in the desert gulps down his first sip of water. It can’t be real, can it? After all, she’d seen it herself; the man before her jumping to his death, recklessly, thoughtlessly sacrificing his own life to save the rest of theirs. “Doyle, you…” Her words die yet again, a million thoughts rocketing around TOO FAST for her to catch on to any of them. Her entire being is torn between running straight into his arms and killing him herself – and the longer she stares at him, the more each of them become equally appealing options.

       And yet, no matter how much she tries to shake it, there’s still another nagging thought in the back of her mind, brought on by far too many years of justifiable paranoia and hanging around the undead. Maybe this isn’t REALLY him – maybe it’s some demon, or hellbeast or whatever, out to kill Angel ( and her in the process ) by using Doyle’s form to drop their guard. She doesn’t want to think it; in fact she HATES herself a little bit for thinking of it at all. But after everything she’s been through before? Better safe than sorry.

        So, rather than acting on either impulse, she instead inches toward the nearest heavy object she can find ( a stapler, OF COURSE ) fingers lightly curling around cool metal as she finally brings herself to finish a coherent sentence. “What – how are you here?”