Angel didn't like parties.
He had attended parties, and he had been impaled with hot pokers, and between the two, the hot pokers still held a narrow lead.
Cordelia and Abby had more or less talked him into attending David Nabbitt's Christmas party. He had suggested that he might watch Kathy instead, but Lindsey and Abby still weren't ready to let the baby out of their sight. He couldn't blame them, he supposed.
Still, as between changing diapers and a Christmas party, he found himself looking forward to soiled diapers. Maybe if he delayed long enough in getting back to the office, something would happen to relieve him of the obligation to attend the party.
A small apocalypse would be nice, one that would be finished by morning.
He took his time, but sooner or later, he had to face up to the inevitable.
The office door seemed to be in front of him far too soon, and beyond that, he knew, party time loomed.
With a grimace and a shrug of resignation, he let himself in to the office.
As he walked in, Cordelia looked up with an angry expression on her face. "It's about time! Where have you been?"
Before he could answer, he noticed that there was a stranger in the office, sitting on the floor. He automatically tensed, and then relaxed somewhat as he picked up on the stranger's non-threatening posture.
He was sitting with his head buried in his hands, looking rather like Doyle after a vision. Now where had that thought come from?
He had been trying so hard not to think about Doyle.
Angel's glance moved to Abby, who was sitting on the couch with Kathy on her lap. Abby smiled at him, apparently not sharing Cordelia's anger. "You have company."
"So I see."
The stranger looked up from the floor, and Angel recognized the breed of demon immediately. So, maybe that was why he had suddenly thought of Doyle. It was probably some kind of subliminal suggestion in his mind, at the sight of the same kind of demon that he would always associate with Doyle's death.
"You're a Lister," he said curtly.
"So I've been told. And you're Angel." The voice wasn't familiar, but something in the speech pattern was.
"What can I do for you?"
"Now that seems to be the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question." The Lister demon smiled tentatively at him. "I think I've been sent...."
"Don't say it."
The Lister blinked at him, startled. "Don't say what?"
"Never mind. Go on."
"Well, that seems to be the problem. I know I'm supposed to come here, to find you. But I seem to have lost track of the reason why." He tilted his head quizzically, in a strangely familiar gesture. "That, and a few other things, like some fairly big pieces of my memories."
"I don't think I can help with that." Angel found himself feeling defensive, for no apparent reason. Maybe it was how strongly this Lister reminded him of Doyle. He didn't want to remember Doyle. It was too painful, and he resented the reminder.
"Not only that," Cordelia put in, "He even remembers things that didn't happen."
"What?" Angel looked at her in confusion.
She shrugged, a sour expression on her face. "Don't ask me to explain it, 'cause I don't understand it either. He did something to me though."
"Did what? Are you all right?"
The demon on the floor protested, "I didn't mean to do anything, really!"
"Yeah, well, you did it anyway, whether you meant it or not," Cordelia shot back, and then turned to Angel. "I'm all right. He just totally ruined my day, that's all. But I'm used to that by now."
"What did he do?"
"I told you. Remembered things that didn't happen. He's got some kind of flukey power thing and he made me remember them too."
"I don't understand."
"Join the club," the Lister muttered.
"What kind of things that didn't happen? And how did he make you remember them?"
"When he touched me. Like a vision, except it wasn't." Cordelia shivered.
"What kind of things?" Angel repeated, more gently.
Cordelia hesitated, looking haunted, then spoke reluctantly. "Doyle things. Doyle things that didn't happen."
Feeling lost, Angel looked toward Abby, who was still sitting serenely with the baby in her lap. "Abby? Did he make you remember things that didn't happen, too?"
"No. But I didn't touch him. I don't think he meant to hurt Cordelia, though."
"I didn't," the demon agreed softly. "Truly, I didn't. I would never want to hurt Cordelia."
"You stop that!" Cordelia flared at him. "You never met me before today. Stop talking like you know me! And if you dare call me princess again, I'll hit you!"
Angel stared at the two of them. "What's going on here?"
"I don't know. I really don't, but I think I'm here so that you can help me find out," the demon answered softly, his eyes still on Cordelia.
"Well, can't you find out some other way?" Cordelia demanded. "Because I really don't need this. I wanted to be happy today. I wanted to go to the Christmas party, and be happy. Is that so much to ask?"
"No. It's not too much to ask."
"Then why did you have to take it away from me?" Cordelia stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving Angel looking bemusedly at the demon on the floor.
Abby said, "Whatever she saw, it really shook her up."
"All I can say is, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened when I touched her, or why. Maybe you can...."
"Maybe I can throw you out of my office before you upset my friends any further," Angel said harshly. "I'm not a demon psychologist. If you're suffering from amnesia, too bad. I don't have any cure for that."
"Can we at least give him something to eat before you make him leave?" Abby asked. "I don't think he's had anything to eat in a long time."
"I'm not a demon soup kitchen, either."
"Angel, man, I ...."
Hearing the subtle lilt coming through in the Lister's voice, Angel blurted furiously, "And stop sounding like Doyle!"
"But...."
Angel approached the demon, taking hold of his arm to lift him to his feet. "Not another word," he snapped.
The demon winced with pain at Angel's grip, and looked at him with wide, stricken eyes. "I....."
And then, as Angel's hand closed over the demon's arm, the baby began to wail, and something flashed white in Angel's mind.
And he remembered.
"Let me tell you a little bedtime story."
"But I’m not sleepy."
"Once upon a time there was a vampire. And he was the meanest vampire in all the land. All the other vampires were afraid of him, he was such a bastard. Then one day he’s cursed by gypsies. They restore his human soul. And all of a sudden he is mad with guilt. You know: ‘What have I done?’ You know, he’s freaked."
"Okay. Now I’m sleepy."
"Yeah, well, it’s a fairly dull tale. It needs a little sex, is my feeling. So sure enough: enter the girl. Pretty little blonde thing, Vampire Slayer by trade. And our vampire falls madly in love with her. Eventually the two of them, well, they get fleshy with one another. Well, I guess the technical term is perfect happiness. But when our boy gets there, he goes bad again. He kills again. It’s ugly. So when he gets his soul back for the second time, he figures hey, he can’t be any where near Miss-Puppy-Thighs without endangering them both. So what does he do? He takes off. Goes to LA. To fight evil and atone for his crimes. He’s a shadow, a faceless champion of the hapless human race."
"Stop it!"
Angel released the Lister's arm, letting him fall awkwardly back to the floor. "You have no right to that memory. Get out of my mind!"
As the Lister fell back, Abby lifted the baby and stood up swiftly, cuddling the crying Kathy as she walked toward Angel, who was still staring in horror at the demon.
"Angel. It's all right." She sounded almost as though she were reassuring two children, as she approached the vampire. "Don't shout. Look, you're upsetting the baby."
Abby caught at Angel's arm, and he started to push her away, then stopped himself.
"Abby. Please, don't."
"What?"
"I really don't want to be touched right now." He stepped aside, still looking at the Lister on the floor. "You. Whoever you are. You had better have one pretty damn good explanation for what just happened. And don't waste my time talking about amnesia, because I don't buy it. What are you? How did you know what he said to me? There was nobody else there."
The Lister was silent for a long moment, as Abby tried to soothe the baby. Then he said slowly, uncertainly, "I think.... I think I was there. But I'm not sure."
"Well, I am. You weren't there. The only ones there were Doyle, and me. So where are you getting that? From my mind?"
"I don't think so."
"That's no explanation at all."
"I know that. I don't have an explanation."
Abby broke in. "Maybe I do."
Both of them looked at her in surprise. "What?"
Instead of answering the question, Abby sank to the floor next to the Lister. Kathy's sobs had diminished to indignant hiccups, as she watched her mother.
"Artie - you did say your name was Artie, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I think it is."
"When you came in, you thought you knew me. You thought you knew the baby, too. And Cordelia."
"I'm not sure."
She looked at him intently. "Does the name Francis mean anything to you?"
Without thinking, he smiled. "Well, of course it does, darlin'. Still my name, ain't it?" Then he stopped, with a confused expression. "No. No, my name is Artie. I'm almost sure of it."
Angel protested, "Abby, don't encourage him. This .... this is cruel, to Cordelia, to all of us."
"Angel, I've seen some things I wouldn't have believed a few years ago, and I know you have, too." Abby stood up, moving back to the couch. "I don't pretend to understand it either, but the memories that he's passing along, well, they must belong to Francis. There's no other way to explain it."
"How would he get Doyle's memories? And Cordelia said there were some things that never happened. How would he get memories of things that never happened?" Angel shook his head. "None of this makes any sense."
"I don't know. I think Francis did see some things that never happened, though." Abby gazed thoughtfully at Artie. "He insisted. He had to know."
"Had to know what?"
"Had to know what would have happened, if he hadn't died." Abby smiled briefly. "Strictly against the rules, of course, but Francis was often an exception."
"That still doesn't explain how someone else would get his memories!" Angel turned and began to pace the office. "It's not like somebody just picked up a wallet with somebody else's identification cards in it. You can't transfer memories from one person to another."
"Isn't that what Artie just did?" Abby pointed out.
Angel was angrily silent.
After a moment, Artie said quietly: "I'll leave, if you want. But if I could have just a small bite to eat before I go, I would really appreciate it."
Abby stood, carrying Kathy. "There's some instant soup in the other room. I'll heat up some water."
Angel shot her a panicky look, clearly not wanting to be left alone with the Lister demon, but Abby chose to ignore it. "I'll bring out a cup of instant chicken soup in a few minutes," she called over her shoulder as she walked out.
Artie smiled. "Chicken soup. That would be wonderful. Thanks."
After a long, awkward silence, Angel finally asked: "What did you show Cordelia?"
Artie didn't answer at first. Angel glared at him. "What did you show her?" he repeated. "Whatever it was, it upset her. What was it?"
"It was a Christmas party." The voice belonged to Cordelia, who was standing in the doorway. Angel couldn't resist a feeling of relief. "Great timing on that one, huh?"
"A Christmas party?"
"Yeah. Except Doyle was there with me. How about that? Just one little problem with that. Doyle was dead before Christmas. It never happened. And there were other things too, which I am not even going to talk about."
Artie repeated, "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."
"Sorry about what? Sorry that Doyle is dead? Sorry that you had to remind me of him? Sorry that you showed up here in the first place?" Cordelia demanded.
"I'm sorry that you're hurting," Artie answered. He stopped himself in time, before saying anything further.
Cordelia just stared at him for a moment, then turned to Angel. "I heard a bit of what Abby was saying. Do you buy that?"
"I don't know yet what to think," Angel responded.
Abby came out with a steaming mug of instant soup in one hand, the baby in the other. As she approached Artie, he reached out for the cup, so that she wouldn't have to bend down.
"It's hot," she warned. "You need to take it by the handle."
Awkwardly, she transferred it to him, accidentally scalding his fingers slightly in the process. Although he flinched, he was careful to make sure that the hot surface of the cup never touched Abby's hand. Then he put it down in a hurry beside him on the floor, shaking his burned fingers.
Kathy let out a small sob of protest.
Angel had not missed the exchange. Without speaking, he went into the office kitchen himself, returning with a washcloth soaked in cold water. He handed it to Artie without a word.
Artie gratefully wrapped his fingers in the cold washcloth. "Thanks, man." He then gazed longingly at the steaming cup. "Oh, that smells good. I hope it cools down soon."
"So, why haven't you been eating?" Angel reluctantly asked.
"I've been traveling cross-country, by freight train. There's no restaurant car in those."
"For how long?"
"A couple of days, I think. Time is a little mixed up for me right now."
"And before that?"
"All I remember for sure is waking up and knowing that I had to come out here, that I had to find you. The rest is all scrambled." A thought seemed to occur to him then and he looked hopefully at Angel. "Speakin' of scrambled, do you do eggs?"
Cordelia laughed sharply. "Remembering something else that never happened?"
"Right now I can't tell the difference."
Angel watched Artie closely for a moment longer. The movements, the expressions that flickered across his face, the way he spoke sometimes... it was as though there were two people sharing one body.
He could relate to that. Sometimes it felt to him like the soul and the demon within him were much the same, two creatures who were one and yet, were not.
"You don't have to leave," Angel said finally. "If you were sent to us to figure all this out, then I suppose we'll just have to do that. There must be an answer."
"Yeah, well, you can hit the books if you want," Cordelia said. "Abby and I have a Christmas party to go to, as soon as Lindsey shows up. I'm not going to let anybody spoil the party for me, no matter how hard you try." She scowled at Artie.
He sighed, thinking better of saying anything at all to her, and turned to Angel instead. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet. I don't know if I can help you. The scrambled eggs I can manage, though."
The Lister on the floor broke into a broad grin. It was so much Doyle's smile, on this unfamiliar face, that the sight gave Angel an odd chill.
Some people would use the expression 'someone walked over my grave,' but it didn't much suit him, having long since left his grave behind. Besides, it wasn't even his own grave that he was thinking about.
Doyle had never actually had one, either.
Trying to shake off the feeling, Angel headed for the kitchen, leaving Cordelia and Abby with the demon who reminded him so much of Doyle.
Artie reached for the still steaming cup of soup, hunger overcoming caution as he lifted it to his lips. Scalded by the first sip, he immediately put it down with a frustrated grunt of pain.
"Ow, dammit!" He pressed the wet washcloth against his mouth, and as he did, the baby began to cry again.
Abby kissed Kathy's head. “Shhh…sweetie…it's all right…calm down.” She bounced her lightly as she looked at Cordelia and Artie. “I don't know what has gotten into her today. She never cries like this.” She shook her head and looked at her bawling child. “Daddy's going to have fun looking after you tonight.”
“Lindsey's not coming to the party?” Cordelia asked, still frowning at Artie as he blew on his steaming cup of soup.
“No. We can't take a 15 day old baby to a Christmas party.” Abby explained. “And we can't leave her with a sitter…not after almost losing her.” She sighed and caressed the dark hair on the back of her baby's head. “I don't know what we would do if we lost her.”
'Lost?' Artie thought as he watched the mother and child for a moment. In his head there was a quick flash of a dining room with a long table. Abby, hugely pregnant, ate her dinner hesitantly as an older man sat at the other end of the table. There was something evil and crazed in the man's cold blue eyes as he watched her eat and look sadly out a window onto the snow-topped mountains.
“Don't worry darlin'...” Artie muttered.
“What?” Abby asked, still bouncing her child lightly in an attempt to soothe her. “Shhhh….now…”
“Nothin'.” Artie quietly tried a sip of his soup.
“Well, anyway.” Abby turned back to Cordelia. “Lindsey is taking the baby while we're at the party. He said he wanted to give me the night off.”
“Oh,” Cordelia said, surprised. “That's sweet of him.”
“Abby?” Lindsey burst into the room. “What's wrong? I could hear her crying all the way down the hall.”
“I don't know.” Abby told him. “Just cranky I guess.”
Lindsey held out his arms, “Let me see her.” He gently took the baby from his wife and kissed the child softly on the top of her head.
“Shhh…it's all right…Daddy's here…” Lindsey whispered. “It's all right, cupcake.”
Abby glanced over at Cordelia, smirking. Cordelia just raised an eyebrow in response.
“What?” Lindsey asked. “What was that look for?”
“Nothing.” Abby turned to get the baby's carrier.
“What's wrong with our little pumpkin?” Lindsey asked again as he cradled and rocked his baby in an effort to soothe her.
“Nothing,” Abby insisted. She picked up the pouch and turned back to her husband, marveling at how quickly he had quieted their daughter down. “You certainly have the touch.” She smiled at him. “Many a night I've been thankful for that.”
Lindsey smiled at her. “Oh, have you?”
Abby smiled back at him, blushing slightly as she realized his meaning.
“A-hem!” Cordelia interrupted. “Other people present!”
Abby and Lindsey looked over at her, and Lindsey suddenly noticed the somewhat uncomfortable-looking demon sitting on the floor, blowing on what looked like a cup of soup.
“Hello.” Lindsey looked at him oddly. “And you are?”
“Lindsey,” Abby said, “This is Artie.” She looked back at the demon. “Did you remember your last name?”
Artie nodded. “Abromawitz.”
“Why would he not remember his name? And what kind of name is Abromawitz for a demon, anyway?” Lindsey asked.
"I'm half-human," Artie objected, and then with sudden doubt, amended: "I think."
“He seems to have a bit of amnesia or something,” Abby explained.
“I'm leaning more towards the 'or something' myself.” Cordelia said, still annoyed.
“Well anyway,” Abby continued, “I just opened the door and there he was looking all confused and-”
“Wait a second.” Lindsey looked back at Abby. “You opened the door for a strange demon?”
“I didn't know he was a strange demon.” Abby told him, then quickly corrected herself. “And he's not that strange, he's just lost…and…I think he's Francis.”
“Francis.” Lindsey said skeptically. “As in, white light and wings Francis?”
Artie choked on his soup. Cordelia leaned over and walloped him once, hard, on the back. She seemed to enjoy it.
As Cordelia readied for another blow, Artie turned toward her and shook his head frantically. Watching the two of them with a bemused expression, Abby said, "Yes.”
“That's not possible.” Lindsey watched Abby fold her arms and raise an eyebrow. “Okay, well…it's possible…but it's just not…probable.”
“Why not?” Abby asked. “You don't know how these things work.”
“Well, for one thing if your friend Francis had been reborn, shouldn't he be in diapers right now?”
“Not necessarily,” Abby said. “The Powers That Be do as they please. If they wanted Francis to be returned in this body then that's how he'd be returned.”
Lindsey sighed, seeing he wasn't getting anywhere with his slightly stubborn bride. “I wish you weren't so trusting, honey. Just because this guy said he was Francis-”
“Hey,” Artie interrupted. “I never said I was the white light and wings guy.”
“Will you all stop talking about him!” Cordelia yelled, frustrated. “He's not Doyle. I don't know who he is but he's not Doyle. Doyle is dead. I was there, I saw him die.” She looked accusingly at Artie, not noticing how Lindsey flinched at the words.
“Cordy, I'm sorry, honey. We'll stop talking about it now.” Abby looked over at Artie worriedly, as Cordelia abruptly turned away from him, holding back the tears.
“Let's just get out of here. Let's go to the party. Angel can stay and cook eggs for our demon 'friend'," and she shot a venomous glance at Artie, "who isn't Doyle.”
"I'm sorry…" Artie said again, sadly. The look on Cordelia's face hurt him more than he could understand.
“Are you sure you're up to it?” Abby asked.
Cordelia nodded and sniffled slightly. “I need to get out of here. Away from…” She glared at Artie slightly, “things…”
“Well that makes two of us…” Abby said as she stepped back over to Lindsey. “I am looking forward to this night off.” She held open the baby carrier for Lindsey to place the baby in the pouch.
“I don't need that.”
“Yes you do,” Abby insisted. “You can't carry the baby and the diaper bag without it. You might drop her.”
“I'd never drop her!” Lindsey said, put out.
Abby held open the pouch and insisted. “You're wearing it and that's final.”
“A little hen-pecked, are we?” Artie muttered, wondering why the phrase seemed so familiar.
Cordelia nodded slowly as she watched them. “You ain't kiddin'.”
Lindsey placed the baby in the pouch and begrudgingly slipped his arms into the straps. Seeing the baby was settled up against him, he motioned to Abby. “Okay. Now hand me the diaper bag.” She grabbed the other bag and helped him sling it over his shoulder. “There, ya happy?” he asked.
“Yes…” Abby said, smirking at the sight of her suit-and-tie-clad husband with a diaper bag slung over his shoulder and a baby strapped to his belly. “Very…” she said, trying to control a giggle.
“Okay then.” Lindsey said smiling, and wondering what she thought was so funny. “Have a good night off, baby.” He leaned closer. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.” Abby smiled and took his face in her hands as she kissed him, then grinned at Cordelia. "Let's go!"
The flashback sequence is from the Angel episode "City of," teleplay by David Greenwalt and Joss Whedon.
Background graphics set by 
Full Moon Graphics
