Chapter 10: Choices

Author's thanks at end.

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'Choice has always been a privilege of those who could afford to pay for it.'

- Ellen Frankfort

X

The radio was on and a ruffled Italian voice cut through the room, frightfully revealing the death of five people the previous night and one the very same morning. Counting Kennedy that made seven, and thus the civilian count was already larger than Angel should have liked.

It was early evening and dusk was in the air. For the last half hour and counting, Buffy had been on the phone with the local council, and though Angel found her Italian vastly improved, the conversation still demanded heavy repetition on her front. Still, he suspected that the denial factor played in there somewhere.

There had been no sign of either Willow or Xander and Angel did not know whether to feel relief or worry at this. Giles was turning page after page in a frantic and hassled manner, sweat springing on his brow in his desperate search for any useful information among the 'shit-load of gibberish' as had been his own words upon entering the room an hour earlier. Wesley was walking to and from the adjacent study, always a book in hand, which he more often than not would dump on the table under Angel's nose.

Following their somewhat one-sided conversation earlier, neither of them had mentioned their bleached blonde friend again and Angel was relieved of it, though he knew he would have to talk to Buffy about it sooner rather than later.

The despairing tone in Giles' voice cut through his brooding.

'Oh God!'

'What?'

Wesley came marching into the room but looked up upon hearing Angel speak. 'What?' he echoed.

In response Giles looked up at Angel, his eyes hard. 'Helhesten can shift between being insubstantial and of physical form, correct?'

'Yes,' Angel acknowledged, wondering where this was going.

'According to these texts,' Giles tapped a single finger upon the yellowing pages, 'Helhesten will be reawakened in its shadowy form. In its search to regain the lost souls, it will burn the soul out of its victims until it reaches the state where it can shift between a ghostly spirit and – and a physical demon.'

'Which it has now accomplished,' Wesley said ponderously, slumping down in the chair next to Angel's.

'Yes,' Giles said, 'but the demon will not stop. It will persevere with it's – it's murderous pursuit until it can no longer change the complexity of its being. It will, in other words, be stuck in physical form and -'

'We could kill it,' Angel finished dully.

'Exactly.'

Wes jumped to his feet and had taken two steps away before he spun on his heel, walked back to the table and slumped down in his chair once more. 'All that is necessary is to give it time enough...' he murmured.

Angel fiddled absent-mindedly with the book before him, his muddled thoughts running in smaller and smaller circles. 'No,' he said.

He could feel the two ex-Watchers' gazes burn a hole in his forehead.

'No,' he repeated. 'That won't do.'

He knew they exchanged a look but he told himself he did not care.

'Angel.' Wesley used the same tone as he would opposite a child who claimed that two and two made thirteen. 'The only other possibility would be to attack it randomly or to search for ways to trap it in the book once more -'

'Then we will do that,' Angel said decidedly.

'Though the chances of success in such a scenario are slim to nonexistent?' Giles flashed him that standoffish look that could drive anybody insane.

'Even if the chances of success were nonexistent.'

'You think that fewer people will die if you go and get pummelled by this thing?' Wesley glared at him but Angel met his gaze unblinkingly. 'Let's just assume – assume – that we succeed in trapping it in the book again, it will only be temporarily. Moreover, there are no records of anyone having ever succeeded in killing Helhesten, so we wouldn't know whether it would work at all.'

'But it could,' Angel argued stubbornly.

'Theoretically, yes,' Giles admitted, 'but on the other hand, virtually everything is possible in theory.'

'And -' Wes began.

'Look, Wes, I can't sacrifice people like that!' Angel shot his friend a desperate look. 'I can't look at the situation and think that yes, the demon will kill twenty people but waiting with killing it might save another fifteen. I can't!'

Giles sighed in agitation. Angel ignored him.

'Not when there is a chance that I might be able to stop it, and if it takes me with it, well, then that's how it must be. You say you don't know what will happen if we try to take its head off. Well, there's a lot we don't know. How powerful it is going to be when it regains physical form is another. I can't risk it. Choice is just a privilege I don't have this time.'

Angel kept eye contact with his friend until Wesley looked away with a soft sigh.

'Okay,' he said. He got to his feet, picking up the book that lay flung open at Angel's left hand. 'Mr Giles and I will continue the research and hope and pray that something will turn up that could prove of use.'

'Thanks,' Angel said and meant it. Pushing the chair out, he got to his feet and walked to the stairway. The fact that some outlandish demon was on the loose did not mean the vampires and the remainder of the Italian underworld, literally taken, took a vacation, and seeing that he had no intentions of letting Buffy patrol as long as Helhesten was out and about, he had decided to take the hunting gig.

Angel paused before the plain façade of the closed front door, busily stuffing his waistband and the pockets in his black jacket with stakes, knives and phials containing holy water.

'So, are you jumping ship?'

He spun on his feet. Buffy stood in the door leading to the study, her blonde locks pulled back in a tight pony tail and her face was pale. She had flung her arms around her upper body in a hug and her brown eyes searched his face questioningly, a hesitant, tense, edge to her voice.

'Thought I'd be of some use and take the patrolling tonight,' he said. She nodded, biting her lower lip uncertainly. Something in his stomach was squirming uncomfortably. 'I'm sorry.'

Buffy's gaze darted upwards and met his again. 'I know,' she said.

'I – I didn't mean to -' It was important that she understood this. 'I would never hurt Willow or Kennedy...'

She stepped closer, tilting her head back to look up at him. 'I know,' she repeated, softer, trustingly.

Angel swallowed. He had to tell her...

'There's something you have to know -' he began but was cut off by Giles' bellow from within.

'Coming,' Buffy shouted back, turning her face back to Angel's. 'What?'

The words were darting to and fro within Angel's mind, refusing to be strung together in a sensible sentence. Spike was alive, or well, un-dead, and was coming to help them fight Helhesten, Angel had known this all along though he had not told her when she had been so honest with him; the person who lost his sanity was his son, whom he had pretended did not exist when talking to her, and yes he knew it was wrong but he had still lied to her. He wondered how she would react if he rambled that off.

'I'm sorry,' his mouth said again, and his legs turned and took him out into the night, whilst his head spun and surged with all the things he had once again left unsaid.

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The vampire's body slammed against the brick wall and stone fragments and dust rained down over them. Angel's arm shot out to block its punch and he brought his knee up into its crotch. It hissed in pain, its clenched fist flying wide of his face and he spun on his feet, delivering a violent kick that sent the demon scrambling into the wall at the opposite side of the alley.

Something in Angel's head was spinning and he could not seem to focus on the fight at hand. The burning anger and frustration he felt at himself was making him punch and kick harder than usual, delaying the moment where he would shove his stake into the other vampire's chest and the fight would be over and he had not given vent to the raging fury within. His barely healed shoulder throbbed with each sudden strike and his hip was screaming at him, but he closed his mind to it, revelling in the pain that pounded through his body. He had even allowed his opponent to land a couple of punches across his face, willing the pain to distract his thoughts from the sickening realization of what his coming there had resulted in...that he had killed Kennedy. He wanted the rush, the pain, wanted instinct to take over and drown out the immense self-loathing and disgust that swelled inside him, screamed at him and clouded his thoughts.

As the vampire struggled to regain its footing, Angel stepped closer, flicking out a wooden stake from his belt, and he had raised his arm for the blow when something slammed violently against the back of his skull and he stumbled.

Whirling his body around, a second blow struck his jaw and his hip collapsed under the pressure, sending him crashing to the ground. Trusting his instinct rather than his vision, which was still too blurred to show anything more distinct than blotches and slightly darker blotches, he rolled away and the dustbin that had been thrown at him shattered against the tarmac. Darting to his feet, he surveyed the three vampires, two males and a female, that circled him warily, unarmed but for the piece of wood one of them wielded as a homemade stake.

Without as much as a growl he charged at them, soundless and lethal, and the small male crumbled to dust with a yell that was drowned out by the black-haired female's furious scream. She lashed out at him, her nails leaving four bloody trails down Angel's cheek and he growled, feeling his forehead stretch as he morphed. He swung at her but she dodged his blow and the male used Angel's momentary inattention to deliver a ferocious kick to his face. Angel reeled as the alley disappeared in swimming darkness and flashing lights, but swiftly jumped aside as a hissing sound reached his ears and the vampire's rough stake grazed his shoulder, its wielder thrown off balance by his missed thrust. Closing his grip on the smooth wooden object, Angel shoved his stake into the vampire's chest and it gasped in pain before its form dissolved in a grey cloud of ash and dust.

Raising his eyes Angel looked at the female, whose yellow eyes widened in fear and anger. Then, moving ever so slowly, she bent down and retrieved the piece of wood from where the other vampire had let it fall. Angel arched an eyebrow at her.

'I feel obliged to tell you I have no problem with beating women like you,' he told her in the rasping growl that was his voice whenever he was in his demonic visage, inclining his stake in her general direction to further his point.

'Va' in malora!' she snarled and dashed forward, thrusting the stake towards his chest in a stabbing motion. He blocked the attack with his own stake, pushing her arm sideways, but she spun on her feet, using the motion to propel her body around for yet another strike and this time he was forced to take a quick step backward to avoid her stake getting impaled in his chest. She did not give him a moment to regain his balance but swiftly closed the distance between them, her lashing strikes not reserved for his chest alone but flying for his face, arms and neck.

Angel's arm shot out and closing his fingers around the wrist that held the stake, he tightened his grip before giving a quick twist of his hand that was followed by a sharp crack and the vampire's wail. This was cut short by Angel's stake lodging itself in her chest.

'We all will,' he told the pile of dust at his feet. 'We all will.'

He glanced indifferently at the gash in his left shoulder. Though it was nearing an inch in depth there was hardly any blood where the stake had sliced through the muscle, and looking at the wound, it struck Angel it was healing slower than usual.

'That's not good,' he muttered for himself, carefully fingering the pale skin that shone silvery white where it was struck by the thin seam of the moonlight that fell between the flat roofs of the adjacent buildings. He had gone more than a week barely eating and it was apparently not doing wonders for his physique.

The sudden eruption of brawling noises cut through his glum musings and he looked up. Sidestepping the dust pile, Angel strode along the alley, placing his weight carefully on the right hip that still throbbed in pain, until he could look down the small sideway that ended blindly some twenty yards down and wherefrom the racket originated.

It was a bit like walking onto the set of the Matrix only this was real.

And the single figure in the long black coat was not doing kung-fu as much as he was simply pulling every dirty trick that was not in the textbook, egging them on with laughter, scoffing and unabashed cheering.

Merely two steps down the alley, a good thirty metres from the scuffle, Angel paused and leant back against the brick wall to watch Spike go.

The three vampires were circling him like a pack of hyenas, growling, snarling, and attacking with random, uncontrolled fury, while he met them with punches and kicks, moving his limbs with inhuman speed so his shape was blurred by the long, black coat that ran well underneath his knees. His attackers were not left behind the wagon either when it came to doing as much physical damage as possible regardless of the scraps they received in return, yet, the blows had very little effect on the bleached blonde vampire and soon two of his tormentors had crumbled to dust at his hands. The third scuttled away from him, but Angel saw Spike's hand shoot out and his fingers closing around a handful of its hair, yanking it back, and with a powerful jerk he wrought the head of the body. Angel winced involuntarily, as the remains of the demon drizzled between Spike's fingers to join the larger pile of dust at his feet.

Spike let out a short sigh and gave a small shrug as if to loosen the muscles between his shoulder blades. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his face, baring a single fang. 'I love doing that.'

Angel did not move from his shadowed spot by the alley wall.

'So you're back.'

Spike's face turned to him as though he had known Angel to be there the entire time, slipping into his human visage in the process. 'Noticed that, did ya?' He began a thorough rummage through his pockets, fishing out a single cigarette which he placed between his teeth, carefully lighting it, before raising his eyes once more. 'I must say, it is a jolly happy welcome committee. I'd kinda hoped for those nice flags they wave around at the airport to go with the cheering.'

Ignoring the comment, Angel turned to leave the alleyway, the stench of rats and old sewer tearing painfully at his nostrils. This did not perturb Spike who nonchalantly fell into track beside him.

'So, what's with the comedy mask, Peaches?'

'I'm just ecstatic to have you breathing down my neck again,' Angel grumbled, striding over the scattered remains of the shattered dustbin, determined not to let Spike see the slight limp in his walk.

Spike exhaled and faint grey smoke danced briefly before his face before it melted into the shadows cast by the slanting buildings. 'And what can you answer to that admirable attempt at sarcasm?' he commented dryly.

'How about some pointed and meaningful silence?' Angel suggested, stepping into the brightly lit street.

'Nah,' Spike took yet another drag of his cigarette, his eyes scanning the length of neon signs and retail buildings. 'The whole too-dim-to-string-a-sentence-together stuff really works a lot better for you.'

Without a glance at his companion, Angel turned down the virtually abandoned sidewalk. 'And I was just wondering why it was I didn't miss you.'

'That's sweet,' Spike said and Angel could hear the grin in his voice. It was strange, but now, walking down the street, exchanging the half-hearted affronts that had become custom between them, he did feel calmer than he had done, well, since the episode with Buffy in the room, but that was also the only time he had actually come close to feeling at ease during this infernal trip.

Still, the fact that it was Spike of all people who should be the cause of a moment of spiritual peace, that just went beyond Angel's comprehension.

'So how far did you get before you passed out in a bar, and someone stole the car because you forgot to take the keys with you?' Angel shot the bleached blonde a sidelong glance, admiring his own attempts at conversation. A thin seam of blood had formed a dark trail against the alabaster skin of the other's face, winding along the characteristic cheekbones from the eyebrow that was already healing.

'And there goes the car again!' Spike's hand did a flippant move so the fuming cigarette danced dangerously close to Angel's leather jacket. Angel's leather jacket which now came with a ruined sleeve. First the duster and now this; clearly the trip had not been a good idea considering the health of his attire.

He shot Spike what he hoped was a withering look. 'Meaning?'

Spike's swagger became slightly hurried as he struggled to keep up with Angel's long stride. 'You always return to the bleedin' wheelbarrow...don't tell me you've still got your knickers in a knot 'cause I got to take off with it!'

'So someone did steal it?' Angel turned down the street to his left. Here no neon signs cast their synthetic light across the tarmac, but the dark shadows fell as a result of the yellow light that spread from the tall lampposts at either side of the road.

'No, they soddin' didn't,' Spike grumbled.

'So, what?'

Spike took a deeper huff of his cigarette, the stub glowing briefly in a fiery orange before it died to ashen grey once more. 'Well,' he began, his voice muffled by the cigarette clenched between his teeth. His left hand reached up and took it delicately between his fingers. 'Apparently the way to get the Suit Squad all twitchy over here is to park in a bloody fountain on the main square. Didn't like that one bit, the poor things.'

Angel could not help but smile. 'I can only imagine.'

The stub of Spike's cigarette scorched his fingers and he winced. Running the toe of his boot over it a couple of times he looked up at Angel, who had paused to watch the show unfold. 'So, why am I here?'

Angel knew Spike was being serious, which was a rare occurrence, but he just could not help himself. 'See, I've been asking myself that question for a hundred-odd years.'

The other vampire pulled a face. 'Tossing nonce.'

'You're here because I'd rather see you play the human torch than Buffy,' Angel said sombrely, deciding it was hardly the time for desultory insults.

Spike looked at him with an interested expression on his face; whether it was genuine or feigned, Angel did not know. 'Some kinda mythical sacrifice?'

Angel cocked his head slightly. 'In your case I think they'd call it long-term pain relief for relations and friends.'

'It's good to find you in good cheer, Peaches,' Spike said merrily, ignoring Angel's snide remark.

'Yeah, you too.'

A second cigarette had materialised in the other's hand. 'So what's going on?' he asked again.

'The demon you released upon the world has proven to have a knack for its career choice as a serial killer.'

'Was that the one you had a cat-fight with?' Spike's eyes scanned Angel's face, lingering by the scratches that ran down his cheek, and though they had already healed, Angel knew that the proof was still there in the form of four dark trails of dried blood.

He shot Spike a fleeting glance. 'No,' he said. 'That was just a vampire that didn't feel like getting staked tonight.'

Spike gave a short nod and sighed. 'Whatever happened to the 'punch, hit, wallop' approach of the olden days?'

'I know,' Angel acknowledged with a sigh.

'Or,' Spike added ponderously, waving his cigarette around in an aimless manner, 'maybe we are finally getting the American Spirit: booze, women and violence.' His brows contracted in thought. 'Though, you had that pinned down pretty good 'couple of centuries ago...'

Nodding absent-mindedly, Angel turned down the larger street leading to the hotel. 'Not too big on the violence, though...' he mumbled pensively.

''Cause your dad beat you,' Spike concluded with conviction. Angel could not help glaring weirdly at Spike at that comment.

'He didn't -'

'Oh come on! It's hardly nothing to be ashamed off.' Spike took another heavy drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. 'I mean, I turned my mom and had to stake her while she was coming onto me, and see how normal I turned out anyway!' He beamed at Angel, who was uncertain as to whether the comment had been meant in earnest or not, so resorted to shoot the other a stiff half-smile that felt more like a pained grimace.

'The symptoms are all there,' Spike went on. 'Unsocial, tactless, sudden spurs of violence, low self-esteem ,' his eyes scanned Angel's appearance, 'abysmal dress sense -'

'Are you done?' Angel snapped, though he could not get the proper stinging edge to his voice.

'- easily angered and with smart replies having a tendency of becoming recycled.'

'It's 'It's hardly anything' or 'It's nothing', by the way,' Angel said, taking advantage of Spike's need to stuff his cigarette between his lips and the resulting short-lived silence.

Spike blinked at him. 'What's that, Peaches?'

'You can't use the double negative,' Angel explained. 'It's grammatically incorrect.'

Spike cocked a scarred eyebrow at him. 'You don't say?' he said wryly. 'Where're we goin'?'

'To the hotel,' Angel said. 'We can't let you walk into Giles' living room looking like a bloody pulp with legs – it's so nice and clean you see.'

Spike smirked. 'Very well, Captain Forehead, lead the way to your humble abode. Not that you look a bleedin' tad better yourself,' he added gruffly.

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When Spike's excitement had dulled following their rather untraditional way of entering Wesley's room by crawling up walls and prying it open from the outside, it did not take them long to get cleaned up, though it required some forceful arguing from Angel's front to make Spike change his blood- and sweat-stained shirt for one of Wesley's extra. In return, Spike offered Angel one of his spare blood-bags, which he had assured him he had collected the same morning from a very nice, ask-no-questions butcher.

'If you don't eat something,' the younger vampire had argued, 'your face will no longer be white but bleedin' grey, that won't work with the hair and we all know what a tragedy that would be.'

'When you start to notice things about my appearance that extends beyond my outfit and my hair, you become quite scary,' Angel had replied but nonetheless accepted the offer.

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They walked along the dark streets and Angel told Spike, who was smoking again, of Helhesten and of Kennedy's death, he told him that neither he nor Wes had mentioned his resurrection or the tiny detail that he was dropping by for a visit. And Spike walked beside him, silent, listening, and from time to time spectres of smoke would dance in the vague light cast by the lampposts as he exhaled slow breaths of smoke. Angel knew he was uneasy, could almost smell his discomfort even though the younger demon's face remained expressionless and did nothing to betray what he felt. Angel wondered whether the fear was to do with Helhesten and the subsequent destruction they had caused by releasing it, or whether it was more personal; whether it was to do with seeing Buffy again.

He really did not want to go down that track.

'Is she taking a toll?'

Angel cast a fleeting glance at his companion who was demonstratively looking straight out as he walked. A strange freezing feeling erupted somewhere around his midriff. 'What would you know about it?' he countered brusquely.

Spike held out his hands, palms up in mock defence. 'Down, pops; my ex dropped me for a fungus demon once, remember? I'm practically a veteran on all aspects of problematic relationships.'

'Sounds wonderful,' Angel remarked, feeling too bad to even bother feigning sarcasm.

'So what's the deal?' Spike pressed. 'Not all wedding dresses and red roses?'

'We're good,' Angel brushed him off. 'Worry about your own entrance.'

Spike let out a breath of smoke through clenched teeth. 'I've got it narrowed down to charging into the front lounge on my pearly white steed or swinging to the rescue in loincloth only. What do you think would be the most wow-inspiring?'

'Stepping out of a veil of bluish white smoke with a pop?' Angel suggested, glancing at the other's anxious face, where a soft ridge had formed between his dark eyebrows. Spike's hand was moving the cigarette rhythmically up and down, to his mouth, suck on it, down again. To his mouth, suck on it, down again.

'What am I going to say?' he exclaimed, a shrill edge to his voice. ''Hey, pet, I'm back from the dead just like Nancy-boy there. Wanna go for a beer'?'

Angel bit his lower lip nervously. 'You might want to leave out the beer part.'

A small, white van was parked before the house and Angel felt a quick pang of unease, until he realized that someone had had the ingenuity to call for pizzas. A small man in a white uniform climbed back into the vehicle and the engine went on with a roar, the van taking off down the road to reveal the spiked iron fence and the closed wooden door behind it. Spike was approaching it with as much enthusiasm as had it been a pool of Holy Water he had to cross. Angel marched on, ignoring Spike's increasingly slouching pace. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he paused to lean against the sturdy fencing and stare expectantly at Spike, who reluctantly joined him before the door.

'It's not the end of the world,' Angel tried.

Spike shot him a withering look. 'No, Peaches, this is much worse.'

Angel silently agreed.

Stabbing out his cigarette, Spike raised his fist and knocked resolutely on the door's hard surface. A strained second or two passed in silence before the ruffled sound of movement in the hall reached Angel's ears.

'It's me,' he called out, and the sharp snap of the door being unbolted followed and it was pulled open. Angel saw Spike shift uncomfortably but nothing happened from within as Xander's form disappeared into the study again. The younger boy had apparently not the greatest desire to speak with him, Angel mused, as he stepped through the door, for only to remember that Spike could not enter.

'Come in,' he tried uncertainly, not too sure it would work. Spike stepped forward but still found his passage blocked. He raised his eyebrows mockingly at Angel.

'Any other bright fads?'

'Can we come in?' Angel yelled and Giles voice answered from the other room, disinterestedly and spontaneously, which told Angel that the question had not struck the older watcher as strange.

'Of course you can come in!'

Angel pulled off his jacket, ignoring the slight prickling this caused around the wound and heard Spike close the front door after him. He crossed the small corridor in two long strides and pushed the door open. Wesley was standing with his back to them, facing the bookshelf, his head bowed as his hands frantically turned page after page in the withered volume he held in his hands. Giles was still consumed in the Book, a fuming mug at his right hand and Xander and Buffy were both seated at the table, searching through three books at once, with a slice of pizza in one hand. There was no sign of Willow and Angel's stomach squirmed in guilt and shame.

He stepped into the room and Spike paused beside him.

'Angel,' Giles murmured, 'you're back. That's good. I think I might -' Then he looked up and his mouth slid open in astonishment. 'Good lord!' he whispered.

Xander's eyes travelled to Spike and he dropped the slice of pizza though his mouth remained open. But it was to Buffy Angel looked, and he saw her eyes widen as an array of emotions sped across her pale face, all gone too swiftly for him to read.

Spike looked at her, and there was a strange expression on his face, something between doubt, pain and sorrow, and it looked as though his cheekbones protruded more than usual from his defined face.

'Hi, luv,' he said quietly.

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A/N: 'Va' in malora' roughly translates as 'go to Hell' which explains Angel's reply: 'We all will'.

Author's Thanks:

Wesfan1234 (thanks so much! Willow was especially hard to write in that sequence, I don't know how many drafts and rough copies I've got that didn't work:-), AngelicDreams, spangelover, legolasgal, nimwen, shahid (Oh thank God, I was afraid I had lost you! I know Wesley's character takes the more bookish turn in this part but I just felt it was necessary for the story. In past chapters he showed he had changed, but I feel that as a character, he is mature enough to know when his skills as a researcher is needed and I wanted to show that. Still, thanks for the feedback and I promise there is some Wes-action to come :-), a2zmom (thanks so much :-) I really thought about how they would react to the death of yet another person close to them, and though it was hard to write, I'm really glad you liked it!), stephanierb (Yay, new reviewer! Thanks so much for your review! I'm a BA shipper as well, and am shocked every time someone says Buffy belongs with Spike – I just can't see it. Well, glad you're reading and liking!).

Also thanks to: Tariq, Edgechick816, urangel, Leni, Violet SS, Gwenyver, CF, David Morris, I hope you are still reading :-)

Distribution: I always forget this one. If you want it, you can have it. I'd just like to know where it goes.

Long chapter this time. Next chapter: tempers flare and Wes and Willow get down to some controversial magic use...

Please review:-)