Chapter 2: Deal with a demon.

Angel dropped his eyes from Spike's, closed them and buried his head in his hands. As he watched, Spike was reminded of the awful moment he'd watched Buffy jump to her death; the time when he had openly wept in front of her friends, too traumatised to hide his feelings from those who'd shown him nothing but contempt. Spike had never seen Angel like this before. He felt ill equipped to deal with Angel's sudden loss of emotional control.

He's coming apart, Spike realised; the shock felt almost physical, as if he'd been punched. Perhaps Angel feared for someone he loved very deeply? Nothing else could account for allowing him to witness this slide towards despair.

Spike panicked. "Is it Buffy? What's happened to her?"

Angel was unable to reply, lost again to the numbing dismay that overwhelmed him.

Spike frantically scanned Angel's desk for clues, for anything that might indicate the source of Angel's fear. 1950s clock and penholder . . . T.V. remote . . . empty video case . . . framed photographs. He picked up one of the pictures. It showed Cordelia, smiling directly at the camera, flanked by a goofy, grinning Angel and a serious, straight-faced Wesley.

Cordelia. Could it be Cordelia?

Spike opened his mouth to articulate the thought but stopped as his attention was drawn back to the video case beside the remote. He reached for the controls and, just as his thumb was about to connect with the play button, felt it jolted out of his hand. It skidded across the desk and clattered to the floor.

In the same instant he heard Angel snarl, "That has nothing to do with Buffy . . . and absolutely nothing to do with you."

Spike braced himself for the blow he expected to come next, but it never came. They were interrupted by a knock on the door heralding Wesley's entrance to the room. Without pausing, Wesley strode over to the TV and switched it on.

"You should see this."

News' reporter faced the camera, a microphone in his hand. "As you can see behind me, the whole campus has been cordoned off. The number of bodies taken away for post mortem so far is nine, but the police estimate that there may be as many as twenty more inside the student accommodation block. This particular building is reserved for students in their Freshman year at the college." The camera panned over his head to show paramedics carrying a stretcher bearing a body bag to the nearest ambulance waiting outside the building. "There is no explanation for what took place on the second floor," continued the reporter. "All we know is that all the victims are male. Someone, or some thing appears to have ripped their bodies to pieces."

"A large-scale demon attack coming so soon after Eve's memo. It can't be co-incidence. What do you think, Angel?" Wesley looked away from the TV, at Angel still slumped in his chair, eyes downcast, seemingly oblivious to the news broadcast. Surprised by Angel's lack of reaction to the images on the screen, and sensing something else was wrong, Wesley crossed the room, stopping mere inches away from the silent vampire. His foot came to rest on something on the floor beside the desk.

He froze as the video clicked to life. Lilah's voice.

"Hey Ace, if you're watching this, then I'm dead, - still. Sorry, couldn't resist, always wanted to use that line. Guess I'm unique in that I got to use it after I died. Seeing his big day must have come as a pleasant surprise? Believe me it took some time to persuade the Senior Partners to let me do this for you. I just thought you might need a little reminder why it would be best if you didn't do anything that might jeopardise his future."

Guilt and anguish flooded through Wesley at the sound of Lilah's voice. He dared not look at the screen.

"That part where he talked about 'helping the helpless'; the conviction that he's doing the right thing. - Got to me, right here. - Gosh, forgot, -you can't see me, hand on heart here. - I digress. - The idealism of youth, so easily corrupted."

Wesley risked a glance at the screen. It was blank, save for the Wolfram and Hart logo in the top left corner.

"Let me just refresh your memory. The Special Client; you know, the one who appears in the Special Client's file? Keep your nose clean where he's concerned. You know what will happen if you don't. You don't? OK, I'll spell it out, directly from the relevant clause in the fine print of the contract you signed."

Wesley struggled to keep his attention on what Lilah was saying. His mind was reeling, fighting to remember. He shot a look in Angel's, direction but he remained motionless, his face betraying nothing of his emotions.

"We may terminate this contract, or any part hereof, for cause in the event of any default by You, or if You fail to comply with any contract terms and conditions, or fail to provide Us, upon request, with adequate assurances of future performance. In the event of termination for cause, We shall not be liable to You for any debt or service not accepted, or for the continuing maintenance of any Arrangement of any kind, be it mythical, magical or economic, made pursuant to this contract and You shall be liable to Us for any and all rights and remedies as provided by Brehon Law, including payment of the Honour Price by means of Progeny's Blood."

The television was silenced. Angel, his eyes averted from both Spike's and Wesley's querying gaze, had risen quietly from his chair, hit the standby switch and returned to his seat. There was a slight shift in his features. He'd smelt Wesley's fear and was focussing his attention on his reaction to Lilah's voice.

Wesley had another flash of recall. Progeny's Blood. - Something about a baby. He died a little more inside. - Honour Price? The memory was snatched away, leaving just the raw emotions; guilt, shame, failure. He rewound Lilah's words in his head. How had it begun? 'Special client.' Wesley didn't know anything about any special clients. 'Brehon Law? What on earth was Angel thinking of, signing a contract with those terms?

"You didn't read the fine print?" he said finally.

"Skimmed it. How was I to know the all-improved-version Champion would show up and complicate things?" muttered Angel, waving an arm in Spike's direction. "The probability of someone killing the demon's son was about a million to one before he re-materialised."

Spike squared up to Angel, who had risen to his feet. "Hey! Didn't ask to be here. Thought I'd done my bit back at the Hellmouth. Was quite content to stay dead. Wish I had."

"Could help you out with that."

"Please don't start all that nonsense again," warned Wesley. "Look where it led last time. This isn't the time for feuding with Spike. We have a bigger problem to solve. You weren't the only one to receive a memo from Eve. Each of us has been reminded of the terms of our employment. Things are changing, Angel. Departmental staffs are beginning to question our authority. We have to work quickly to stop whatever's been set in motion. Judging by that news item, it's the Slaughter of the Innocents all over again. We need to work together if we're to make any progress."

Angel reflected for a moment, then stepped away from Spike. "What do you suggest?"

"I suggest you ask Gunn to start work studying the contract you signed, particularly that clause. It needs interpreting. And, when he's done with that, he might move on to the ones to which the rest of us agreed."

"The contract, right. Good place to start."

"And you might dig out the Special Clients' File."

"Special Clients' File. On it."

Wesley headed back to his office, calling out as he did so, "I'll see what I can find on Brehon Law. And Spike, I'll need as much detail as you can give me on your demon."

Spike decided he'd play nice for a while and was about to follow him out of the door when Angel's voice stopped him.

"Wes's right. We need to work together on this," he said grudgingly. "You owe me that much."

"Don't owe you a thing," replied Spike. "You're the one sold his soul to the devil without putting his reading specs on."

Angel ignored the gibe. "Yes, you do." His voice was firm, steady, and free of the hatred he'd expressed earlier.

Spike turned, considered the change in Angel's attitude for a moment, and made his way back to one of the crimson chairs in the centre of the room. "I'm listening."

"This Honour Price involves my progeny."

"Oh, and that would be me I suppose? What do you want me to do? Hand myself over willingly before we know exactly what's involved? Bugger that."

"Will you never learn to stop interrupting? You're not the only person I sired."

"You mean Dru?"

"Not Dru. There is another."

Spike was intrigued, and more than a little hurt; of course it couldn't be concern for him or Dru that had Angel so worked up. There had to be someone else; someone who meant much more to him than either of them.

"It's a long story and I'm not going to bore you with all the details, but I have a son, a human son."

"That's not possible!"

"So everyone kept telling me at the time. But it's true, I have a son and I had to give him up." Angel paused, struggling for control. "It was the only way I could save him. The contract with Wolfram and Hart gave him an entirely new identity. No, more than that, a new life -with a new family. He has no memories of who he really is – who he was."

"When did this happen? How?"

"Darla happened."

"Darla? Yeah, right!" snorted Spike.

"Look, I told you it's a long story. I'll tell you over a drink." Angel went to one of his cupboards and pulled out a whiskey bottle and two glasses. He held the bottle up towards Spike. "Powers?"

Spike raised an eyebrow. "The wages of sin, mate. Pour away."

----------

The bottle was half-empty and the light was totally gone from the sky. Angel and Spike sat side by side, their glasses freshly replenished. Wesley had abandoned his attempts at getting Spike to his office to brief him on the demon. After his third phone call, he'd decided that if the two vampires were able to spend hours in one another's company, talking without attempting to kill one another, it was probably worth the wait.

"So, how come we never got to hear about any of this over in Sunnydale?" asked Spike. "Didn't you think Buffy had a right to know? Or were you worried how she might take the news?"

"It was a difficult time. What with trying to save the world from Jasmine and the Beast, things were complicated." Angel studied the contents of his glass. Why did Spike always do this, bring everything back to his relationship with Buffy?

"They always are. Doesn't explain why you didn't tell her."

"Jesus, Spike. – One-track-mind. Pour my heart out to you and all you can think about is . . ."

"Had plenty of opportunity before the snatch happened. So why didn't you?"

The same old Spike, taking any opportunity to bring everything back to his own obsession. "Just let it go will you?"

Spike had no intention of dropping the topic. He was on his feet, pacing, angrily round the room. "What? You afraid she'd stop loving you? Afraid she'd hate you when you told her you had the one thing you can never give her?"

Angel's glass shattered in his hand. "You don't understand," he growled.

Spike came to a halt in front of Angel and glared down at him. "Oh, I think I do Angel. You wanted to keep them both. You wanted to go on playing happy families here in L.A., knowing that the love of your life was fighting the good fight in Sunnydale, still loving you."

Angel slumped back in his seat, the urge to fight draining out of his fingers with the remaining shards of glass.

"Perhaps you're right. Who knows? What's done is done. Too late now to undo it. Anyway, there's no point in telling her now is there? He's not mine any more." Angel looked up at Spike. "Neither of them are mine any more."

Neither of them! Spike's anger evaporated. He sat down and turned Angel's story over in his mind. "Still don't get it," he said after a few moments of reflection. "Why'd you do it? Why sell yourself to Wolfram and Hart?"

"Have you ever loved anybody so much that you'd do anything to give them a chance at living a normal life?" Angel glanced at Spike and understood his glum, silent response immediately. "I love my son above everything else, Spike. Darla told me he was the only good thing we ever did together. And she was right."

Spike was quiet for a second or two, thinking of Buffy. For once his quippy-muse deserted him. It took a moment for him to recognise the emotion he felt, unaccustomed as he was to feeling it, but it was pity; pity for Angel. Now Spike knew the reason for the earlier breakdown. So where did he fit in any plan Angel had to save his son again? And what about the others? "But this mind-wipe thing," he said, voicing his concern. "It'll turn out badly. These things always do. Means justifying the end? It's a slippery slope."

"I know. I can handle it." Angel raised his head and looked Spike straight in the eyes. "They must never know."

Spike nodded, reluctantly. He'd heard that before, a lifetime ago, and remembered how it had ended.

"Are you going to help me?"

Spike didn't need to consider his reply for long. Angel might deserve all the resentment he'd thrown at him for turning him into a monster, but he didn't deserve punishment for turning his son into the twisted boy he'd become in Holtz's hands. "I'll help, Angel. But only 'cos it's you who's doing the asking this time." Spike's expression brightened, " When do I get my own office?"

----------

The feeble rays of a winter sun were filtering their way through the blinds. Spike had left long ago to find Wesley. Angel pressed the pause button and stopped the video at the place where he'd always stopped it before Wesley's accident with the remote, on Connor's smiling face. Angel had previously felt only joy, tempered by a sense of loss at that smile, knowing his son was safely in the bosom of a normal family. Connor, in his graduation robes, had just delivered the Valedictorian speech on the platform at Eagle Rock High. He had spoken of a scholarship that would help fund his studies to further his ambition to work for the Court of Appeal in The Hague, championing the cause of Human Rights. Angel didn't know if he deserved the feeling of pride that welled up inside when he listened to his son, but for the time being he took comfort in the knowledge that Connor was safe; he'd accepted a place at Cornell.

So why do I feel so uneasy about these killings at USC? Angel turned to his computer and searched for the updated information. He scanned the list of victims' names. Connor's wasn't among them.