Second Chances
Chapter 5


by Calliope and Ellen
Fan fiction based on the WB television series Angel. All characters from the series are the property of 20th Century Fox, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, David Greenwalt, Kuzui/Sandollar et al. All original characters from Calliope's An Angel Among Us are the property of Calliope.


Abby held her cell phone up to her ear and plugged up the other ear with one finger to keep out the noise from David Nabbit's Christmas party. "You made sure she didn't need to be changed before you put her to bed, right?"

"Yes. I have it under control, Abby Catherine." Lindsey reassured her over the phone. "Kathy's fine. She's sleeping...well...like a baby. And you, you're supposed to be having a night off, remember?"

"I know, I know..." Abby sighed. "After all we've been through. I can't help but worry about my baby."

"Our baby." Lindsey corrected.

Abby smiled slightly. "Yes, our baby."

"Now, I want you to have fun, okay?"

"Well..." Abby looked over at her friend sitting on the couch moping. "It'd be a lot easier if I could get Cordy to cheer up."

"She's still thinking about that Artie guy?"

"Yeah."

"Do you really think he's your friend Francis?" Lindsey asked.

"I do." Abby said firmly as she kept her eyes on Cordy. "I think she's having a hard time accepting that it's him."

Lindsey let out a slight laugh. "If memory serves, I didn't exactly have an easy time accepting that it was you when you first came back."

"I remember." Abby said - remembering the night she came to him, trying to prove who she was with a kiss.

"I'm glad I did though." Lindsey added. "Glad to have you back, too."

Abby smiled. "I'm glad to be back, sweetie. And that we have this amazing second chance."

Lindsey cringed - thinking of all he had done wrong, including his own feeling of responsibility for Abby's murder. "I'll make sure I do things right this time."

"I know you will. I know you'll set things straight." Abby said, she observed Cordy take the last sip of her eggnog and then just stare down into the empty cup. "I just wish I knew how to set things straight with Cordy and Francis."

"Abby Catherine." Lindsey said, warily. "They don't need your help. Let them work this out themselves."

"But they do need some help. I mean, if you could see how sad Cordelia is here, you would want to help her too."

"I would want to cheer her up and that's all you should do." Lindsey retorted. "They don't need you to play matchmaker. Remember what happened last time you tried to put people together?"

"Who?"

"Uh...Billy Braddox and Celeste James." Lindsey reminded her. "Remember, the school dance and you talked her into asking Billy out but it turned out he was interested in her brother? Oh, God. What a fiasco that was!"

Abby put one hand on her hip. "That was over ten years ago! And I had no idea he was gay!"

"The point being," Lindsey explained. "Your judgment in these matters isn't exactly stellar. Besides the fact that you cannot be absolutely certain that this guy is who you think he is."

Abby sighed heavily as she watched Cordelia mope on the couch. "No, I suppose I can't..." She thought for a moment and then smiled. "Unless..."

"Unless, what?"

"Ummm...I have to go, sweetie." Abby told him. "Lots of partying to do, don't you know!"

"W-wait! Abby?!" Lindsey said worriedly. "Unless what?!"

"Bye!" Abby quickly hung up the phone and made her way over to Cordelia.

"Hey." Cordy said sadly.

"So..." Abby plunked herself down beside her friend. "Having fun, yet?"

"Oh, yeah...tons..." Cordy said half-heartedly.

"Funny, you don't look it." Abby said.

"Oh, well you just caught me at an off time." Cordy explained. "You should have seen me when you and David Nabbit were burning up the dance floor earlier." Cordy turned her head to Abby. "I wouldn't have said you'd have been strong enough to dip him like that."

Abby laughed slightly. "Well, I'm stronger than I look. So are you."

"Oh, yeah...I'm a regular Samson..." Cordy shrugged. "Well, if Samson was a girl...and I don't know anybody named Delilah."

"You know someone named...Artie." Abby said. "And Francis."

"Oh, don't you even start with that again!" Cordy said indignantly. "He is not Francis! Uh, I mean Doyle! He's not Doyle, he's just some weird demon guy with weird demon powers to make you think he's somebody he's not."

"You said he made you remember something that never happened." Abby reminded her. "Francis asked the Powers That Be to show him what might have happened had he not died that night."

"I don't want to talk about this." Cordy said, starting to tear up.

"I'm sorry but I really think we need to." Abby insisted. "It's the only way we will be able to figure out if this guy really is Francis."

Cordy shook her head slightly. "I just...it's not him, Abby. Doyle's dead. The things he showed me are never going to happen. We'll never get a second chance."

Abby sighed slightly. She hated seeing her friend in pain but knew it was the only way. "Does the name Kevin mean anything to you?"

Cordy's mouth dropped and she turned back to Abby. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Francis told me." Abby said softly. "He said you and he would have had a son named Kevin."




Artie ate the scrambled eggs that Angel had prepared, while Angel watched him in awkward silence. Angel had emerged from the kitchen to find everyone but Artie gone.

"Where is everybody?"

"They left for the party. Thought you wouldn't mind, seein' as you don't much care for parties, and all."

Once again, Angel was jarred by the contrast between the familiar speech pattern and the unfamiliar voice. Angel had simply handed Artie the full plate and the silverware, seeing the young demon's eyes light up at the sight of food.

Now, while Artie devoured the eggs, Angel found himself watching every movement closely. He wanted to believe that something of Doyle was alive in this stranger, but he had been deceived and disappointed far too often in his long unlife. It would be all too likely for any one of Angel's enemies to use his memories of Doyle as a weapon against him.

What he couldn't figure out was how anyone else would have access to those memories.

Finally, Artie finished the eggs. Angel took the empty plate and cutlery without comment, and returned them to the kitchen. When he came back to the waiting room, Artie had moved to the couch.

"Feeling a little stronger?" Angel asked.

"Much. Thank you."

"What do you remember about why you're here?" Angel asked abruptly.

"Very little. I know that something happened to me a couple of days ago, but everything's mixed up in my head. It's like I'm two different people at the same time, and I haven't sorted it out yet. I'm hoping that I was sent here so that we can help each other."

"Help each other?"

"Yeah. Maybe you can help me figure out who I am and why I'm here. This thing with sending my memories to other people, it's all new to me. I'm not sure how it works. I think maybe I'm here because there's something I'm supposed to do, something that was left unfinished. Something to do with the Scourge, I think .... But it's not clear."

"The Scourge?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know. Maybe. They just disappeared after you ... after Doyle died. I don't know why."

"Do you think they're coming back?"

"I don't know. It never made sense to me that they would just disappear. What do you remember about the Scourge?"

Artie looked Angel straight in the eyes, his gaze haunted. "Do you really want to know that part?"

"Yes."

"It's gonna hurt," Artie warned.

Angel snapped back, "Tell me something I don't know."

"I don't know what that would prove," Artie said ruefully.

Uncomfortably, Angel seated himself on the couch, as far from Artie as he reasonably could. Artie noticed the distance, with a wry half-smile, but said nothing about it as he extended his hand to Angel. "Don't say I didn't warn you. I can't really control this too well. It just kind-of flows out of me, you know, all by itself."

"I already picked up on that."

Reluctantly, Angel took the offered hand. "Show me what you remember," he said harshly, as their hands touched.

Even before he had finished speaking, there was a white flash and the images began to flood into his mind, but this time, the perspective was different. It was no longer Doyle's face that he was seeing, during that last conversation.... It was his own.

He tried not to flinch, tried not to show any reaction, as he watched through Doyle's eyes. At the moment when he experienced Doyle kissing Cordelia, he dropped Artie's hand. "No more. I don't need to see the rest."

But the scene continued to play in his mind, even after the contact had ended. Angel stood up and moved away from Artie. "You can stop it now. I don't need to feel him die."

"I can't stop it. I don't know how."

"Find out how!" Angel swayed on his feet as the sensations continued to flood through his mind. He was climbing onto the Beacon, surrounded by the burning white light, pulling.... He was overwhelmed by the intensity of the pain, and staggered.

Vaguely, as though from a great distance, he heard Artie saying, "I'm sorry," but most of his senses were overloaded by remembered agony. He found himself falling, and repeating like a child: "Make it stop!"

As he fell, Artie stood to catch him, and then suddenly, as soon as Artie's hands closed over his arms, it was over.

Angel stared at Artie. "You did it. You stopped it."

"Did I?"

"When you touched me again. That's when it stopped."

"Oh." Artie guided the still unsteady Angel back to the couch. "I'm sorry, man, I really didn't know how to do that."

Angel shook his head, trying to clear it. "If you can project that kind of pain at will, that could be quite a weapon."

"I suppose. Hadn't thought of it that way."

"Give me a moment." Angel paused to recover a little, then went on, "Can you choose what to send? Is it whatever you're thinking about at the moment?"

"I guess so. Like I said, it just happens. But, yeah, it does seem to be whatever I'm thinking about."

"Try for something that doesn't involve agonizing pain, all right?"

"Check." Artie frowned thoughtfully, trying to sort through the confusing whirl of memories. "I think I've got something else with you in it. Are you ready, or do you need a few more minutes?"

"I'm ready. Then after you start sending, try touching me again to stop it, and see if that works."

"Okay."

Artie took a deep breath, and put a hand briefly on Angel's arm again, then pulled it away. There was a flicker of white light, and Angel was watching himself on a rooftop, with a rock in his hand, smashing the Ring of Amarra. As Angel saw the ring disappear, Artie touched Angel's arm a second time, and the memory ended.

"Hey, I think that actually worked!" Artie exclaimed.

"Yes. I think it did." Angel was silent for a long moment, then stood up and began to pace, leaving Artie sitting on the couch, watching him.

Finally, Angel said: "I still don't know if you're really Doyle, but you do have his memories. Does that make you him, or not?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I. There's more to a person than what he remembers."

"Yeah."

"Do you remember anything as Artie?"

"A few things, not much. It's more like remembering things that happened to somebody else, you know?"

"Yesterday, I would have said that I know exactly what you mean. Right now, I'm not sure if I know anything any more." Angel stared at him, frowning. "I didn't know Doyle very long, but he was my friend."

"I know. You even went to the oracles." Artie's eyes seemed to lose focus, his face going blank as he searched for the memory. "She told you, 'If that is so, then so shall it ever be.' "

"And I don't know of any other way that you could know that, unless you really were a Child of the Light like Abby. Do you have any idea what happened, or why it is that you're here?"

"Not clearly, no. Only that I was sent."

"Yeah. By the Powers that Be."

"Right."

They looked at each other for a long moment, saying nothing. Then finally, Angel returned to the couch.

"Whatever part of you is Doyle...." He began, then hesitated.

"Yeah?" Artie prompted.

"There was a lot that he ... that you ... I'm not sure which word to use here, but there was a lot left unfinished."

"I'm getting that."

Angel looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting Artie's gaze. "I'm still not sure about this whole thing, but I do want you to stay around, until we figure it out. I've missed him.... you.... whichever one applies here, take your choice."

Artie smiled slightly, but it was a sad smile. "I know. I'm remembering how much I ... he.... wanted to come back. But it was supposed to be impossible."

"Abby said that you, that he - this is incredibly awkward."

"Say 'he,' then, until you're sure. I don't mind."

"All right, I will. Abby said that Doyle asked to see what would have happened, if he hadn't died. I've always wondered that myself."

"It worked out for the best," Artie assured Angel. "You've saved a lot of people who would have died otherwise, and you will save more. It was the right thing at the time."

Angel shook his head emphatically. "No. There had to be another way. From the moment it happened, it has always felt wrong to me. I've seen a lot of people die. Some of them I've killed, and I've regretted it later, but it was my guilt, my responsibility. This was different."

"Maybe the Powers did find another way, then. Maybe they planned it all along, and they never let the rest of us in on it. It would be their way."

"It would."

Angel smiled, and Artie could see some of the tension leave his body. "So, does Artie Abromawitz drink? Because now might be a good time."

"Well, I won't argue with you about which one of us it really is, but now that I've had some food, which I very much appreciate, is that bottle still in the file cabinet where you put it when you moved to the new office?"

Angel stared. "That was after he died, how .... Oh. You were watching."

"Did a lot of that, yeah."

"It's still there. I was keeping it."

"Wouldn't you think that ... well, he, if you like ... would feel more honored in the drinking, than in the keeping?"

"Maybe."

Angel went to get it. He had just returned to the waiting room with the bottle and two glasses when the office door opened, and Cordelia stormed in.

She took one look at what Angel was holding, and off she went. "Oh, no you don't! We don't even know for sure if it's Doyle yet, and you're busy plying him with whiskey? Getting him drunk won't make him Doyle. Put that bottle away."

"I'm not trying to 'make' him Doyle, Cordelia," Angel said mildly. "Aren't you supposed to be at David Nabbitt's party?"

"I was there. I got bored. End of story. I want to talk to him," and Cordelia pointed at Artie, "And I want him as coherent as he can be. Which isn't very. So don't go getting him drunk."

"No need to talk about me like I'm not here," Artie objected.

"I'll talk about you any way I want, once I figure out who you are." Cordelia swept over to the couch and glared down at Artie. "Abby told me that Doyle did ask The Powers That Be about what would have happened if he hadn't died."

Artie winced. "Do we have to do this again?"

"If you're for real, show me the rest of it." Cordelia sat down next to Artie, then looked over at Angel. "And you can go get another glass."

With a faint smile, Angel left the room. Cordelia extended her hands imperiously toward Artie. He made no move to touch her.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Don't you think you've seen enough already?"

"No, I don't think I've seen enough already. If you expect me to believe any of this, you're going to show me the rest. And if you claim to know me, you know enough not to waste time trying to change my mind."

"All right, princess."

"And don't call me that until I'm sure you have the right."

"I could really use that drink first," Artie said hopefully, but Cordelia shook her head.

"No way. You showed me Doyle sneaking a drink at the Christmas party that never happened. What happened next? Where did we go from there?"

"If you must know...."

With a resigned sigh, Artie took Cordelia's hands gently in his.




"You drink too much."

"I know, princess."

"Don't tell me you know. Do something about it."

"It's not quite so easy as that."

"Doyle, this is L.A. There are support groups for every kind of addict and dependent in the world. For all I know, there may even be a Demon A.A. It's not like you're the first guy in the world who ever had a problem."

"You don't understand."

"Then make me understand. Explain it to me."

"You of all people should understand, darlin'. When I'm drinkin', I don't have to think, how many people are dead now, when Angel could have saved 'em?"

"You tried to take his place, Doyle. You tried. He wouldn't let you."

"If I had just moved a little faster that night...."

"You'd be dead."

"Yeah. And Angel would still be here. And the world would be a better place."

"Not for me."

"What are you sayin' to me?"

"If you'd get your face out of the bottle long enough, you'd figure it out."




Artie released Cordelia's hands, then touched her again, gently, to bring her out of the memory.

She blinked for a moment, disoriented, and then whispered, "That's not all of it. That's not enough."

"Isn't it?"

"No, it's not. I need to see the rest."

Reluctantly, he took her hands again.




"It's our wedding day, I'm already starting to show - "

"No you're not, princess." Doyle's voice was slurred as he attempted to interrupt her.

"I am too, and here you are, falling down drunk. You think you can get out of it, don't you? You think if you drink enough today, I'll call off the wedding. That's what you think, isn't it?"

"Maybe."

"Well, get over it. I'm marrying you whether you like it or not. I don't care if you get yourself so drunk that you have to crawl to the altar and say your vows into the floor. You are going to show up and you are going to marry me and this baby is going to have a name and a father. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly."




Cordelia felt Artie's light touch on her shoulder again, bringing her out of the memory once more. Angrily, she flared, "Stop interrupting! We're not finished! I want to see....."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I want to see my son."

Artie hesitated, and then with a decisive expression, reached out to stroke her face gently. She stiffened, expecting the white flash. When it didn't come, she snapped at him, "What are you playing at?"

"I wasn't sure whether or not I could touch you without sending you a memory. Guess I can."

"Well, stop guessing and get back to sending."

"Cordelia...."

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded.

"It only makes it hurt worse, you know. Why don't you let me tell you?"

Cordelia hesitated, then said grudgingly, "You can tell me, but that doesn't mean I don't still want to see it for myself."

"What I saw.... What Doyle saw, if you like...." His hand fell away from her cheek, and he pulled back slightly, bracing himself.

"Go on."

"You were married for three years, then you broke up over the drinking. You weren't enemies, it was more or less a friendly divorce as these things go, but you didn't see each other much. I .... He .... never got over not having moved fast enough to save Angel. Every time somebody died, I ... he thought it was his fault." Artie's voice fell off for a moment, then resumed with an audible effort. "He stopped visiting Kevin. He stopped calling, he stopped writing, he didn't bother much about eating, or care too much where he happened to pass out, and one day when Kevin was six years old and had already forgotten what his father looked like, well, he just ... stopped living. "

"Oh, my God," Cordelia whispered. "No, that can't be true."

She reached out to touch Artie's face, her mind seeing Doyle's face there instead.

"I wouldn't have allowed it," she said fiercely. "I wouldn't stand for it. No way."

"Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we just can't make things come out the way we want them, princess." Artie picked up her hand, holding it lightly. "Are you sure now that you want to see it for yourself?"

"No. No, I don't need to see the rest. It didn't happen that way."

"That's right. It didn't happen."

"He didn't die like that. He died a hero. That was what he wanted."

"That was what he wanted," Artie echoed gently, still holding her hand, but not sending anything to her.

She stared into his face for a long time before she spoke again, and when she did, it was in a tone of decision.

"That was what you wanted."

She let him see the new certainty in her eyes, and then, awkwardly, she put her arms around him. "Seems to me, I owe you a hug."

Artie laughed softly as he accepted the hug, and returned it. "What, just a hug?"

"Well, I'll hold off on the punch in the nose that I also owe you, for giving me the visions. But you've got a rain check on it. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he repeated softly, holding her. "Thank you."




End of Part One
To Be Continued?