"The good fight, yeah? You never know until you've been tested. I get that
now."

The words rang out though the hull of the ship, followed by the sounds of a
vampire hitting the floor of the ship.

"Too bad we'll never know... if this is a face you could learn to love."

Doyle turned, ready to plunge head long into the now glowing beacon. He was
only a few feet from the ledge, and as he took the first step he could see the
beacon glowing brighter.

The second step, and its whine pierced his ears.

The leap.

Time seemed to stand still.

And then it did.

"Nu-huh, I don't THINK so." A female voice rang out.

"This is *SO* not the way it's gunna happen." Agreed another voice, eagerly.

Doyle looked around him, and then down. And then wished he hadn't. The whole
room was deathly still, frozen in place, and he found himself caught in mid
air, half way to the beacon, which had stopped its shrill whine.

"What the Fu---." he started.

"Careful, this is a TV-14 show. Gotta watch the language."

Doyle craned his neck, trying to look at the voices coming from behind him.
Back on the gangplank he saw a group of women, all in black, leather trench
 coats, all looking upset, and all watching him.

"What," he said, trying to keep his calm, "is goin'n on?"

A woman with long blond hair and reflective, wrap around sunglasses stepped
forward, obviously the leader of the group. She had a dark light which seemed
to come from behind her, and an echo which seemed to resonate with power in her
voice, "We're the Watchers...sort of. That is, we like to watch."

Someone in the group behind her snickered. One woman in the front opened her
mouth, but the leader held up a hand for silence, "Freudian slip, Selynne.
Leave it alone."

Another spoke up though the crowd "Recently, we've been watching YOU, Allen
Frances Doyle, and we've decided we don't this little scene," she motioned to
him in mid air, "and how its playing out."

The rest of the group made murmurs of agreement.

"We've decided" the leader continued, "That we don't want to watch this...this
climatic, heroic end. You deserve better. She," the woman pointed at Cordelia,
"Deserves better. And damn it, we just plain DEMAND better!"

Again the others agreed, louder this time, and with a few of the women shouting
out in agreement.

"But...who'da bloody 'ell *are* you?!? And can I PLEASE get down from the air
now? On the beacon to finish this, or on the platform with ya, either one is
nifty wi'f me."

"Oh yes, how rude of us. Pardon."

There was a flash of light, or maybe it was darkness, and Doyle found himself
back on the platform beside Cordelia, who was still frozen in horror, looking
towards the beacon as she had been before the Watchers had arrived.

"Okay, then, as I said..."

"Who are ye?"

"Oops again, your pardons. My Bad. I'm Torra." The woman made no movement, but
Doyle had the strange sensation that he was supposed to bow. "These are my
Girls: Sonya, Skye, Linny, Celeste, Prism, Selynne, Mel, and Fallen Angel.
We're residents of LA...although I doubt you've ever run into us on the
street." Torra grinned at some joke that she knew he would not understand.

"Okay, introductions over, now back to the 'why' part..."

Torra nodded, "You see, we don't like how this is going."

"Yah," he nodded, "Ye said that part earlier."

"Well, we've decided to do something about it. We've watched a good many die,
and many, many more just...leave the cause for one reason or another. And we,"
she gestured to the group, "Are tired of watching. We've decided to take a more
active roll in The Cause. You are the Chosen One. *We* choose you. You will be
our Banner. Our showpiece. Our Figure Head if you will. We shall shout your
name proudly, and guard you, making sure you are kept safe from as much harm
are as we are able to protect you from.

"Now mind you, some stuff, we can not stop. You can be shot, stabbed, and
sometimes minority tortured, but as long as it's not a fatal, we may not be
able to prevent it. Others you care for may get hurt, but we cannot withhold
your emotional pain. You may be forced to work with very, very annoying people,
and we can not always kill them, but we will try."

The women, some whom barely looked more then girls to Doyle's eyes, all stood
up striate, showing obvious pride in their devotion.

"Well, that all sounds good ta me." Doyle grinned, still a bit apprehensive,
but trying to hide it.

"However..."

He looked at Torra with a seed of dread in the pit of his stomach, " 'Owever
wha'ah?"

"However, we have a price." She shook her head sadly, and brushed her
fingertips over his jaw, "We are sworn to protect you from whatever pain we
can. And you are hurting. You hurt every time you look at Cordelia and she says
something mean to you. You hurt every time you are unable to tell her a full
truth. You hurt every time you are unable to tell her how you feel about her.
That has to stop, and only you, Doyle, can stop that."

He frowned, trying to make sure he understood her properly, "So, what'cher
say'n is to save me life, 'n ta keep me safe fer 'da rest a me life, all I've
gotta do is hook up 'wid Cordy?"

Torra smirked, "No, you must tell her how you FEEL. Weather you two end up
together is entirely between you two. Not to say we wont add our two cents in
now and again, but we cannot control it; only you and she can. But it would
hurt us if it fails. And it would hurt you again, as well."

He nodded, thinking carefully, "So you don't know if she'll return my
affecti'ns, 'den?"

Torra shook her head sadly, "We can not foresee that...but we can hope."

Doyle nodded, "Well, Hope's gott'n me 'dis far, man, who 'm I ta doubt now,
eh?"

A rousing cheer went up from the crowd behind them.

"VIVA LA DOYLE!"

The cheer was quickly taken up by all.

"VIVA LA DOYLE! VIVA LA DOYLE! VIVA LA DOYLE!"

Torra smiled widely, and clapped her hands once.

"Too bad we'll never know... if this is a face you could learn to love."

Doyle took one last longing look at Cordelia before turning towards the beacon,
only to see a large group of women already draped on it, each clinging to a
different side, and each with rather large construction tools in their hands.

The women worked furiously, hitting it with hammers, hand axes, screwdrivers,
hacksaws, and Makita® Drills, demolishing the large beacon of death in moments.
It went up in a flash of bright, painful light, and all in the ship hand to
turn to shield their eyes. But even as Doyle raised his arm to block the light,
he thought he could hear the faint cry of, "Viva La Doyle!" echoing in the
stillness.

Afterwards everyone merely stood, staring.

"Did you just see what I just saw?" he finally asked.

She looked up at him, "Yah, we ALL saw it. I mean, geeze, the Beacon just
exploded! And YOU were about to jump on it and get yourself killed! How DARE
you!" She slapped him hard.

Shaking his head to clear his mind of the slap, he blinked, "No, I mean...you
didn't see....all those..."

Angel finally made it back up the ladder, pulled back his fist, and punched
Doyle hard, "Don't you EVER do that again, Doyle!" Angel growled, "I thought
you were gunna die."

"Yah man," Doyle sighed as Cordelia helped him up to his feet again, "I thought
I was gunna die there too. So...none of you saw 'em?"

"Them who?" Cordy asked.

Sighing, and smiling slightly, Doyle shook his head, and rubbed his sore jaw,
"No one, Princess, nev'a mind. So...are the Listers safe?"

All three looked down at the huddled masses.

"They look it." Cordelia ventured.

"Then we're delayin' their departure. Let's get off this ship 'n let 'em set
sail for peace a'for 'da Scourge figure out d'are Big Ball O' Death did'n work
'n come back ta finish us off, eh?"

Angel nodded, "Good idea. Come on."

As they turned down the gangplank Cordelia stepped close and slid one arm
around his waist. Neither commented on it. Both reveled in it.

After saying their goodbyes to the Listers, apologizing that neither of them
turned out to be their Chosen One, and wishing them luck, the three stood on
the docks, watching the old, iron ship pull away.

"We did good here today." Angel told them.

Doyle smiled down at Cordelia, "Yah, man...we did." Then to himself, he thought
with a smile, "With a little help."

Before anything else come happen, he turned to look Cordelia in the eye, "So
Princess, I don't suppose you might be 'ungry after all d'is, world ya? Maybe
we could...ya know...catch a bit ta eat, maybe?"

She looked him over, "I don't know, you aren't going to jump in font of any
busses to valiantly save some cockroach or other on the way, are you?"

Doyle grinned widely, "Cross me heart."

Cordelia smiled and it seemed to light up the night, "Then I'd love to...and
your buying."

Doyle felt his grin melt into a smile, "An'a'thing Princess." Leaning forward
he brushed a gentle kiss across her lips before she could pull away, "For you,
an'a'thing."

As the three friends walked away, a group of shadowy figures took their place
on the docks.

"Owww! That light really hurt." Linny sighed.

"And it totally fried my hair!" Sonya complained, holding up the offended,
singed ends, "See!"

The others laughed.

"It'll grow back." Torra held up her own hair, which was past her knees, "and
grow, and grow, and grow, and..." she winked. "Besides...we did good."

The other's all murmured agreement.

A drunk who was hidden in the shadow of a building watched, and as he watched,
he blinked hard. One moment, a rather large group of strange, though rather
cute, women had stood before him, and then, in what appeared to be a sudden
flash of nothingness, they were gone, only barely heard evil laughter, insane
giggles, and ever so faint 'Viva La Doyle's" could be heard.

Shaking his head, the man took one last drink from his bottle before pouring
the last of it out on the ground. "Been drinking this gut rot too long." He
decided, shaking his head.

And with that, the docking bay of the Quintessa was silent for the rest of the
night. And indeed, with the guardianship of the new Watchers, for much, much
longer then that.
 
 

                FIN