Chapter 12 – Pasts, presents and futures

For an instant nobody moved, the stillness in the room underlined by the stunned silence that greeted Lorne's words. Fred was the first to shake herself out of the frozen moment and rush to his side. She knelt beside him and wiped his face with a tissue.

"Oh my God, Lorne. What's happened to you?"

"Same as happened last time, Honeybunch. Don't fuss. It'll pass in a day or so. At least, the nosebleeds and scary eyes will. Can't say the same for the migraine." Lorne patted her hand in thanks and turned to Angel. "Does this make things any clearer? Because I don't think I'm up for any encores."

"This is all wrong. You don't get like this after a reading." Angel ignored the question and his brow creased with concern. He indicated Lorne' face. "Does this look like anything familiar to you guys?"

Wesley spoke for the first time since Lorne had entered the room. "Cordelia's visions."

"Factor in a writ large in there," agreed Gunn.

"Keep me in the loop, why don't you?" complained Spike. "Cordelia had visions?"

"You're missing the point, guys. Cordy's gone. How come Lorne is reacting this way? " Angel asked before turning back to Lorne "Are you seeing anything at other times? Any times when you're not doing a reading?"

"Angelcakes, you didn't listen to me. I told you these things started back at that meeting. The one where Spike first mentioned Connor. That was about the time that . . . "

"About the time that Cordy died," whispered Fred.

Angel moved to Spike's desk and ran his fingers across the files that Gunn and Wesley had brought to the meeting. He turned slowly and faced the others.

"It's about time everyone was brought up to speed, but first, we should do something for Lorne. Fred, how about giving him some of those pain killers Connor's so keen not to take?"

Fred took Lorne's hands away from his eyes and held them gently in her own. "Is the pain really bad?" she asked softly.

Lorne closed his eyes against the light and nodded.

"These pain killers contain morphine. You'll sleep for hours if I give you any."

"Well, he's in no state to read our meddlesome mage," said Spike. "I vote we let the Green Man get in a few zeds. Gives us the opportunity to extract the info out of Ethan the old fashioned way. What d'ya say, Charlie Boy? You up for a spot of action?"

Spike indicated the door with a jerk of his head and swiftly crossed the room to make his exit. Angel stepped into his path and blocked the way.

"I need Gunn here for a while. He has things to tell the others. And, while I don't have any objections to you working Ethan over, I'd like you to be here to hear what Gunn and Wes have uncovered."

Spike raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No objections to a spot of violence on a human eh?"

"He forfeited the right to any consideration as a human when he sided with evil – and put my family in jeopardy," snarled Angel. He stepped to one side and addressed the others again. "That doesn't just mean Connor – or Spike," he added, glancing sideways at the younger vampire. "It means all of you. Ethan's actions have somehow created two different time lines. Gunn found something . . . " Angel waved at the files on the desk. "The floor's yours, Gunn. Fill them in. I'll make us all some coffee."

Fred looked up in alarm. "Two different time lines? How? I mean, it's always been discussed as a possibility every time a choice is made. That would mean an infinite number of different universes - well strictly speaking it's more to do with black holes than with individual choices, but then Hawking's recent paper on dark matter, where he concedes his earlier work may have been flawed . . . And I'm babbling again, aren't I?" She looked from one concerned face to another. "It's OK, I'm still just a little confused. Must be the gaps in my memories. Do you think if I take some of these I'll have them back when I wake up?" she asked Lorne as she handed him some pills.

Lorne smiled weakly at her. "It's not worth the risk, sweetness. Vulnerable people plus drug cocktails. Not a pretty result."

"Besides, we need your brain power intact to help solve the conundrum," added Gunn. He took up a folder from the desk, opened it, then closed it and put down again. "Bottom line. There are two different files on Connor here at Wolfram and Hart. They're identical up until the moment whatever happened between Spike and that demon in the bar."

Connor looked at his father, opened his mouth to speak and closed it again as Angel raised a finger to his lips.

"From that moment, the files diverge. The one relating to this . . . time-line, for the want of a better word, is full of detail. The other is full too, but it's locked to us – what it's full of is just blank paper." Gunn looked across to where Wesley sat watching Fred as she helped Lorne settle more comfortably on the sofa bed Connor had so recently vacated. "Wes was looking into the details of the scholarship but I discovered that it didn't exist before Spike became corporeal again."

Spike shifted from his perch on the edge of the desk. "Time going wonky? Just when I came back with all systems functioning so to speak? Does that explain why I get the feeling I should never have been brought back in the first place?"

"It's not you being here that caused the problem," said Angel. "I can't believe I just said that," he added with a wry grin in response to Spike's look of disbelief. "It's what Ethan did when he started acting for Jenoff and set up the Rayne Foundation, that seems to have set things in motion. What did you unearth, Wes?"

Wesley slowly got to his feet and turned to face the window, his back to the others to prevent them seeing anything on his face that would betray the fact that he was about to withhold information from them. "The Rayne Foundation was set up for the sole purpose of bringing Connor into Wolfram and Hart. The profile drawn up for the recipient of the scholarship ensured that only Connor would be acceptable. The terms of the scholarship were made so attractive that Connor would be unable to resist the conditions it offered. That, of itself gave me cause to be suspicious but it was the name of the Foundation that led me to dig a little deeper. I'd heard about Ethan from my time as a Watcher in Sunnydale and my contact with Rupert Giles. I gave Giles a ring . . . " Wesley shot a glance over his shoulder at Angel. "I know your relationship is somewhat strained at the moment, but we'd been in contact earlier, when Spike first appeared out of the amulet." Wesley turned back to the window again. "Giles filled me in on Ethan's background and . . . " Wesley paused, unsure how to proceed with the next part of his exposition without revealing the full prophecy. " And as I was working with some of the scripts on demons, a message appeared on my computer screen."

"A message?" asked Angel. "You mean an email?"

"No, not an email. The screen went black and the message appeared on it, out of nowhere."

"Let me guess," said Spike. "It wasn't a reminder to put out the rubbish tomorrow."

"More of a reminder that tomorrow means very different things in different time lines," replied Wesley. "It urged me to look more closely at demons known as The Old Ones."

Fred left Lorne who was now sleeping peacefully and moved to stand beside Wesley. "Do you know where this message came from?"

"No," replied Wesley glumly, "I was more concerned with finding Ethan. I didn't think to try to trace its origin."

Angel handed both of them a mug of coffee. "Do you think you and Wes might be able to track down the messenger somehow? Can you . . . What's the word? Hack your way through?"

"I think so," said Fred. "Knox showed me a way into files I didn't even know existed. It'll be good to focus on something I can get to grips with." She put her untouched coffee on the desk and touched Angel's arm. "What about Connor?"

Angel looked at his son. "Got even more questions now, huh?"

"Master of the understatement, your Pa," Spike explained, throwing an arm over Connor's shoulder. "How's about it Unc. Want to join me and Gunn to find out some of the answers in the mailroom closet?"

"Not a good idea, Spike," said Angel, alarmed by Spike's invitation

"What? You think he's too delicate to witness that? Haven't you been listening to what he's been through?"

"Angel's right," said Connor.

"You wimping out as well? It's not as if you'd be in any danger. Makes a bloke ashamed to call you kin," Spike snorted.

"It's not that I can't take it. It's just . . . that's not part of who I am now." Connor paused, turning Spike's words over in his head. "Wimp?" he said indignantly. "If I'm your Uncle how about showing a little respect for your ancestors?"

Spike chuckled. "You are a chip off the old block. The Old Man's always telling me that."

Angel gave Connor a lopsided grin. "Thanks. Gunn, would you and Spike go and see what you can get out of Ethan without killing him? And Fred, go with Wes and see what you can do about this mysterious messenger. I'll stay here and keep an eye on Lorne and spend a little quality time with Connor, if that's OK with you?" he asked smiling.

Gunn unlocked the closet and pushed the door open.

"You can come out now," he called. "Game's over."

Ethan peered cautiously round the door. "Oh and here I was having so much fun. No one found me in here. What do we play next?"

Spike grabbed him by the collar and yanked him into the mailroom. "Story time, mate. Now . . . " he kicked Ethan into the middle of the room. "Sit!" he ordered, pointing to a chair. "Are we sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. Once upon a time there was a nasty little weasel called Ethan Rayne, who grew tired of playing with the wee folk and thought he'd move into the big time. "

Spike stepped back and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he did so. "You want to add the next part? Or do I need to draw some pictures in blood for you first? Your call."

"I just want to begin by saying that none of this was my idea," Ethan said, turning to face Gunn. "You should know. You deal with them. You know just how unreasonable they can be once you sign up for the perks."

Spike frowned. "What's he on about?"

"Nothing," replied Gunn. "Quit stalling, Ethan, or I'll let Spike do what he's aching to do to you. Hit him, Spike, just to give him a taster."

"Thought you'd never ask." Spike aimed a single blow at Ethan's head, taking care to pull his punch to ensure he remained conscious.

"Aaaargh!" screamed Ethan. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," snarled Spike. "But let's start with your involvement with Jenoff."

"It wasn't Jenoff who hired me. It was Eve. She asked me to head up the Foundation to make sure some kid came into the firm. They told me it was a way of keeping Angel and his team tied into the firm."

"What was in it for you?" asked Gunn, "apart from a pile of cash and comfy living quarters."

"It's my vocation. I'm duty bound to make the lives of hypocritical do-gooders a little more uncomfortable, wherever I can."

"Stop side-tracking," said Spike, hitting him again. "Or I'll be duty bound to hit you again, only harder."

Ethan rubbed his chin. "Hey! You nearly broke my jaw. I need that to talk. And I'm not side-tracking You need to hear the reasons why I did what I did . . ."

"What we need is to know what you did and who you did it for. And what you need is to tell us the truth or I'll let Spike work off some of the aggression he's already feeling towards you," said Gunn.

"If I tell you, without explaining, how can I be sure he won't kill me afterwards?"

"Because I'm one of those hypocritical do-gooders you've got a down on," growled Spike. "My conscience wouldn't let me kill a human, even a snivelling excuse of one like you. But . . ." Spike smirked menacingly, "I can't vouch for my Grandsire on that one any more. He's traded his white hat for a grey one by the sound of things."

Ethan blanched and began to sweat. He looked round the room for a possible means of escape. There were no windows and only one door, and Spike stood between him and that exit. He swallowed and appealed to Gunn. "Look, we're both men of reason. Can't you give me something to work with? Some guarantee that when . . . if I tell you what you want to know, that I won't become a victim to the vampire's tendency to solve problems through violence?"

"Lucky for you we work as a team," replied Gunn. "If it comes down to a vote, Angel 'd be outnumbered on any move to snuff you out. We'd probably just have you shipped off somewhere where you could do the least harm."

Ethan considered this for a moment and wiped the sweat from his eyes. "Where should . . . where do you want me to start?" he stammered.

"How about the time Jennoff entered the equation?"

"Jenoff was already a client when Angel took over as CEO. The original plan was that Connor would enter the firm through the Foundation scholarship to make sure Angel wouldn't renege on the contract. Jenoff approached me because he wanted revenge on Angel for something, I'm not too sure of the details. Well, to be honest, I'm not interested in the details."

"Get on with it," growled Spike. "We haven't got all night."

"All right, put your bumps away. It's ironic, really, you were the one who provided the opportunity for Jenoff to exact his revenge."

Spike rumbled threateningly and took a pace forward. Gunn placed a restraining hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

"I knew exactly when the envelope containing the amulet would arrive and I inserted the clause about the Special Client into Angel's contract to coincide with the precise moment your ghostly self materialised."

Gunn frowned. "You inserted the clause? How? It looks like the original contract to me. Angel's signature is on it."

"Anything's possible with magic," replied Ethan. "Without magic I couldn't have carried out the final part of the plan. It was when Spike became corporeal that I got him and the right demon together."

"That night in the bar," said Spike softly. "I remember . . . "

"Tell me again why 're we going to fight?" asked Spike groggily.

"For the hell of it." The demon was suddenly sober. "Can't you feel it, the blood singing in your veins?"

Spike pushed his chair back and swayed up onto his feet. "Can't say as I do. Not yet at any rate. Been out of ciruc . . . circlul . . . cirlcl … out of it for a while. Anywho, got no quarr'l with you. 'cept you could prob'ly bore for England. And your taste in footy teams is woeful – Spurs!" he snorted derisively.

The demon watched closely as the drunken vampire clutched the edge of the table for support; knocking some of the many glasses he'd acquired in the past two hours onto the floor. Time to step it up a gear, he decided.

"I heard you'd gone all soft. Time was you didn't need a reason for a good scrap. Heard you'd let some bint castrate you."

"Could if I wanted!" Spike exclaimed. "'snot like I can't any more. Could knock you 'to the middle of next week, one hand behind – thingy - back." Spike's head snapped up. "Bint!" he roared. "You don't get to call her that, you, you . . !"

Spike launched himself across the table at the demon and crashed into an empty chair. He lay, stunned for a moment, then got to his feet shaking broken glass and chair debris debris from his hair. He swung round unsteadily, morphing back into his human features as he did so.

"What? Where'd he go?" he asked searching the room with bloodshot eyes.

The demon beckoned him from a barstool next to the exit. "Missed! You really are off your game aren't you?" he taunted.

Spike crossed the distance between them in a single leap, drawing his fist back as he did so and aiming it at the demon's head.

"Ow! Hey! What d'you do that for?"

A man Spike had never seen before let fly with a series of blows that knocked him to the floor. As he watched from within a drink-induced haze, the room erupted into the kind of bar brawl usually reserved for old black and white cowboy movies on late night cable TV.

Spike pulled himself back to as close to an upright position as he could manage and searched the room again for the cause of the mayhem.

"Coo – eee," called a voice from behind him. "Looking for me?"

Spike glared over his shoulder and the demon responded by blowing him a kiss. Spike kicked himself into the air and spun sideways, striking his tormentor with his foot as he did so. As he landed back on two feet, a broken bottle struck him on the back of the head, and he passed out.

The bar lights burned the back of Spike's eyelids as he struggled back towards consciousness. He squinted and covered his eyes against the glare, groaning softly and rubbing the back of his head where the bottle had struck.

"Where is he? I'm gonna kill him when I . . ."

"You already did that," a voice whispered into his ear. "I'd hi-tail it out of here before the family arrives if I were you, vamp. Things are about to get ugly."

Spike looked up into the barman's face. "What? Killed? I didn't . . ."

The barman pointed at the demon's body lying under the table beside where he'd fallen. Spike crawled forward.

"Neck's broken," he murmured. "I don't remember breaking his neck." He continued rubbing the back of his head and staggered to his feet.

The barman pushed a sheet of paper into Spike's hands. "Give this to your Boss," he said.

"What is it?" asked Spike trying, unsuccessfully, to focus on the columns of small print.

"The bill for the damage."

The bar was wrecked; tables were overturned, the floor was covered in broken glass and awash with spilled alcohol. Several human customers lay bruised and unconscious amid the debris, while others wandered around dazed. A slight, dark-haired man slipped, unnoticed, through the shadows and out of the door.

"It was you," said Spike. "You were the demon who started the fight. How'd you do it?"

"A simple glamour was all that was needed," replied Ethan. "One of my better works, I must admit, although I could never master the American accent."

"But, how did you arrange for Jenoff's son to be there at precisely the right moment?" asked Gunn.

"You are losing the perks aren't you?" Ethan sneered. "Haven't you worked it out, either of you?"

Gunn and Spike stared at him blankly.

"Oh give me the challenge of Ripper any day, I'm dealing with cretins here."

Spike moved closer and pushed his face within inches of Ethan's, changing into vamp face as he did so. "Well this cretin has had enough of your mind games for one night. Just tell us what you did."

"I didn't do anything," whimpered Ethan. "Honestly. Except for playing the part of the demon, I had nothing to do with his killing. He was already dead when I followed you to the bar. The plan was flawless, right down to your MO on the body. All I had to do was provoke you into a fight and place the body in the most incriminating spot during the height of the melee. "

"And then stand back and enjoy the consequences of your little set up?"

"Well, that was the one flaw. I never intended to fall into your hands. It's a weakness of mine. I always stick around too long to gloat."

"Don't know about you, Chuck," growled Spike, "but this little trip down memory lane has made me peckish. Are you sure I can't just have a little snack here before we report back to the gang?"

"Sorry, against the Boss Man's orders," said Gunn. "Besides, you don't want to spoil your appetite on something as unpalatable as this snake do you? We'll just lock him up here for the time being. I'm sure Wes will come up with a more suitable long-term destination for him . . . eventually."

Spike grabbed Ethan by both arms and propelled him towards the closet.

"Eventually?" yelled Ethan. "You can't just leave me here. You have no right to do that. I'm human."

Spike hurled him through the door and slammed it shut. "Should've thought about that before you signed on with the Senior Partners, mate," he shouted over Ethan's screams of protest.