Angel moved amongst the shadows of the club as the deep bass beat pulsed through the floor and walls. He had been in LA long enough to know that the regular patrons of this particular club were demons, vampires and other nightmarish ghouls that fed off the human suffering of the mortals. Mortals. He mused over that. Most of the humans here were the lost souls discarded by humanity and an embarrassment to society. Many were barely more than children, young adults who had somehow lost their way. No one would care if they didn't come home tonight. No one would mourn their loss or even identify the mutilated bodies as they lay on the cold shelves of the morgue. No one would care because there was no one to care.

His eyes fell on a tiny figure seated at the bar. Red hair hung loosely, cascading in greasy strands, falling across a face that was tilted down, concentrating on the drink wrapped in pale small hands. Angel couldn't see the face of the girl, but her stance, her hair was alarmingly familiar. Hesitating he stayed in the shadows, watching her, waiting.

A good-looking blonde approached the bar next to her and ordered drinks.

"And another for the lady here thanks." The blonde turned to smile at the girl. "You look sad for a person who holds such beauty."

Willow didn't even bother to look at the guy. She had heard better lines, she had heard worst. It all meant nothing to her. Weather or not they believed what they said, it was all lies to her. She looked directly into the mirrored walls of the bar at her reflection. There and only there was the truth as she saw it. Pale face, hallowed cheeks, dark shadows under her eyes, all framed by a flaming red rag of hair and most frightening of all were the eyes. Once so bright, clear and brilliant were now clouded and blood shot. The sound of the blondes voice bought her out of the reverie she had been in.

"Let me put a smile on that pretty face. I can take you to heaven…if you let me…" he smiled, his hand rubbing the small of her back.

"I've been in hell to long to even vaguely remember what anything else is like." Her voice was hoarse and low.

"Well, let me show you how to get out of the pits of hell." He whispered into her ear, nibbling the lobe. For the first time since he sat next to her Willow turned her head to face him, allowing her eyes to roam over him. Licking her lips she gave a small shadow of a smile.

"Why don't you find yourself a nice whore and fuck off!"

Angel stumbled back deeper into the shadows. He had recognized the voice the first time she had spoken. When she turned her head to show her face it confirmed his suspicions. But the face had changed so much and that comment! Never in all his time at Sunnydale had he ever heard Willow use the word "Fuck", that coupled with the physical change in her appearance shocked him to the core. What had happened to the girl he knew? He continued to watch in puzzlement as she finished her drink and left the blonde and the bar behind and headed out of the club. He could do nothing but follow.

He stayed far enough behind to be concealed from her. She walked on oblivious to his presence. He studied her carefully from his vantagepoint. She had lost weight and appeared to be little more than skin and bone. This alone disturbed him but her clothing did nothing but add to his concern. Although the night was almost unbearably hot she wore a long sleeved top matched with a short black skirt and knee high leather boots. This outfit combined with the heat of the night should have bought out a sweat, but she seemed to be shivering.

He was walking closer to her, barely three steps behind her. He could feel the heat of her body, hear the blood pounding through her, the rhythmic beat of her heart. But he could also sense pain, fear, depression and a need. A need that was so strong her body seemed to be screaming for release. Release. He stopped letting his eyes follow her figure as it slipped into the doors of a cheap hotel. Noting the name of the hotel he turned and headed back to his office.
 
 

The clock in the office showed it was close to 4 in the morning.

"Giles, its Angel."

"What?" asked the bemused English voice at the other end of the line. "Angel? Where are you? What on earth is so important to call at this god forsaken time of night?"

"I need some information. Where is Willow?" he asked. The question was met with a long silence. "Giles?"

"Willow? I don't…I mean to say…well…I have no idea Angel." Came the hesitant reply, voice full of anguish.

"What do you mean Giles? What happened? When I left she was with you guys, planning on going to college there and everything! What happened?" he repeated the question, quiet desperation creeping into his voice. This was not good.

"Sometime after you left, she decided that she had made a mistake and that she was going to accept a position at a college in Boston." Giles explained.

"So she is meant to be in Boston?" Angel queried.

"Well, she never made it there. It's difficult to explain what happened. Why are you asking?"

"I'm pretty sure she's here, in LA. Giles, I haven't approached her yet. I thought I'd see if I could find out what happened. She seems different, really different." His mind flashed back to the scene in the club and the girl he had followed earlier. "So, you better tell me what you know."

"Is she alright? What is she doing in LA?" Giles began a barrage of questions that Angel couldn't even try to comprehend.

"Giles!" Angel practically shouted down the line, frustration venting in the tone of his voice. "I can't tell you anything. Like I said I only think I saw her. I haven't even spoken to her and she certainly wasn't aware of me. I need you to tell me what you know, so I know what I might be dealing with."

"Oh, yes, well." Angel could hear Giles fumbling around on the end of the phone. "I suppose the place to start is at the beginning…Unfortunately I am not sure where that is. After you left, the main concern, anxiety was of course Buffy. I mean, you can imagine the emotional turmoil involved when Buffy realized you had just left…"

"I realize that Giles, but I really think it was best for all parties concerned. I would have thought that you would have been the first to agree with me." Angel sighed, Buffy's pain was understandable but at the moment his concern was for Willow.

"Oh, no. I didn't mean to insinuate…What I mean to say is that Buffy's emotional turmoil seemed to take precedence over everything else, or rather everyone else. Willow seemed fine at first, perhaps tired and a little more quiet than usual, but with my attentions focused on consoling and lessening Buffy's pain…Well perhaps I overlooked Willows needs. Willows behavior did nothing to imply anything unusual. As I said she appeared to be merely tired and withdrawn – I perceived it to be nothing more than a mild case of nerves with regard to her impending entrance into college and perhaps a reflection of the events that had taken place. If I had only been more attentive…" Angel could hear regret and hesitation creep into Giles voice, something he had rarely heard the British stickler use. "A few weeks after everything started settling down, I began to notice that Willow was constantly fatigued. When I questioned her, she merely shrugged it off to doing too much and not getting enough sleep. A few days later she fell asleep while helping me with research. I thought it best to let her sleep – it soon became apparent as to why she hadn't been sleeping well. She began to talk in her sleep, obviously some sort of dream, well nightmare really. I watched her for a short while until it became apparent that she was in the midst of a horrendous dream and I tried to wake her…Angel what happened next shocked me to say the least. I thought once she was awake she would regain control. Waking her seemed to send her deeper into whatever the dream was about. She wouldn't let me near her, she continued to scream and cry, backing herself into a corner. After she calmed down she wouldn't say anything to me, she just wanted to go home."

"She didn't say what the dream was about?" Angel was puzzled, how could a dream terrify someone so much?

"No. You can imagine my concern. I thought it best to ask Buffy and Xander, but they also thought that she was okay, just tired. I again tried to talk to Willow, but she declined to discuss it. As a last resort I called her parents, who said that she had been having trouble sleeping but she was going to see her doctor about it." Giles seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before he continued. "She became very withdrawn, exceptionally nervous and emotionally distraught…but she wouldn't tell us anything Angel. Nothing. Within a month of my witnessing her nightmare she announced she was taking up a position at a college in Boston. She left a few days after that and within a week she was reported as a missing person."

"That was six months ago Giles," Angel barely whispered into the receiver.

"I know. I had…well, with her state of mind I was concerned that…" he left the sentence hanging and Angel knew the implications of the statement. Giles thought that Willow was dead. Nightmares wouldn't destroy a person as much as this. Turn her from her friends. Friends to wrapped up in their own worries to notice a young girl loose herself. Angel looked down at his desk and the name of the hotel he had seen her enter.

"Okay, Giles. You know nothing else? She wasn't asking about anything? Doing any personal research? Nothing happened that you know of?" Angel scrambled for some type of clue that might help him.

"No, I have reconsidered every conversation we had, her interactions with everyone, every comment she made. I have gone over everything and each time I find less and less to offer any guidance or explanation as to what happened." Giles voice was quiet and full of sorrow. "If it is Willow…help her if you can Angel and tell her we miss her."

"Okay…Don't tell anyone we had this conversation Giles. No one." Angel was concerned, he didn't want the Scooby Doo Gang coming to the rescue when he didn't even know what he was dealing with. "I'll let you know what happens."

"Don't let her get hurt Angel." With that comment Giles rang off.

Angel put down the ‘phone. He didn't know what to make of it.
 
 

PART 2

Angel leant back in the chair, closing his eyes. The scene at the club replayed through his mind. Her words, her actions, her hair, everything. It left him feeling sick. To think that Willow could have changed so much in such a short period of time. Perhaps more so, to think that whatever was happening, she was totally alone. Angel knew what that was like; he had nearly a century of suffering, completely devoid of any support. He opened his eyes, no longer wanting to see the painfully vivid image of despair and his thoughts fell once more to the name of the Hotel. Picking up the phone he dialed information and then the number. An undeniably perk female voice answered, brightly announcing the name of both the hotel and herself.

"Hi, this is James Harlow from the Blaze Club." Angel said, pausing to consider how to get the information he needed. "We had one of your guests leave her wallet here, a red-headed girl…"

Before Angel could even think up a plausible excuse as to why he didn't know a name the receptionist willingly supplied all the information he needed.

"Oh, that would be Jenny in room 28. She's the only redhead here. So quiet though, I wouldn't have thought Blaze would be her type of thing. But you know what they say – it's always the quiet ones! I can put you through to her room if you like?"

"No. That's okay. I just need her details so we can send her wallet over in the morning…unless she is only staying there for the night?" Angel was suddenly relieved to find a receptionist in LA who didn't mind giving out information.

"Oh no, she'll be here. She's paid up until next Tuesday, so I can't imagine her going anywhere. And it's not like she'll need her wallet – she never goes out during the day, stays in her room. I guess she's a bit of a night creature." The receptionist laughed down the line.

"So it's Jenny room 28?" Angel checked the information.

"That's her!" the receptionist cheerily replied.

"Well, thank you for your help." Angel didn't even wait for a reply before he dropped the hand piece back down.

‘Night creature’, that comment hit a raw nerve. Angel knew that there was no possibility that she had been turned. He had clearly heard a heart beat, heard her breathing. Glancing at the clock, he reasoned the sun would be up soon and that no more could be done that night. He wrote a brief note to Doyle leaving explicit instructions to call every doctor in Sunnydale regarding Willow Rosenberg, but under no circumstances was he to involve Cordelia. As he read over the note he wondered if there could be a medical reason for Willows situation. At this point of time he was open to all possibilities.

Dropping the note off at Doyle's office, Angel made his way up to his apartment above the office. Flipping on the stereo for a distraction of his thoughts, Angel went through his routine of feeding and then showering before retiring for his rest. Rest seemed to be the last thing he could get. Angel spent the time tossing, trying to get comfortable. The small amount of time he spent sleeping he dreamt of Willow. Holding out her hands begging for him to help her, but she stayed elusively just out of his reach until she was consumed by a blackness, her scream waking him, letting him return to his tossing.

***

"Anything Doyle?" Angel looked at him, hoping there was something.

"Dr Jacobs, prescribed sleeping pills. Anxiety induced insomnia. That's it." Doyle handed Angel a facsimile of the information. Angel scanned it quickly, looking for anything that could have been missed. There was nothing.

"Damn it!" Angel swore softly in his frustration.

"So," Doyle sat down. "You going to tell me what's going on?"

"I can't tell you anything because I don't know anything." Angel passed a hand over his eyes, rubbing at his forehead. It was another hour before he could go out and look for her. Even if he found her, he didn't know exactly what he was going to do He looked up to see Doyle staring intently at him. "Willow is a friend…she needs help."

"How do you know that?" Doyle asked calmly. Angel grimaced and told him briefly of the previous nights events.

"And if she doesn't want your help?" Doyle questioned. Angel stared at him; he had never even considered that to be a question. The look on Angels face was enough for Doyle to know to stay out of it. Getting out of the chair he made to leave. "Okay, I've got things to do."

"Thanks," Angel acknowledged as he reached the door. Another hour, it seemed a lifetime.

****

Angel had been standing outside the hotel for close to two hours. He had searched the clubs and cafes in the surrounding area without finding any sign of Willow. This was his last possibility; there was the chance she hadn't left her room yet. He turned to walk back up the street when he saw her walk through the doors of the hotel and out into the street. Relief washed over him. There was no question in his mind that this was Willow. He fell into step behind her, unsure of what to do now.

Angel watched her. She was wearing the same outfit as the previous night. It was almost painful to watch. Her hands and other exposed skin were as white as bleached bone. Her hair still hung in strands and she appeared to be totally oblivious to what was happening around her. She seemed so tiny, so fragile, and so very alone.

"Willow," Angel spoke softly, barely two steps behind her. At the sound of his voice she stopped, her head snapped up and he could see her shoulders tense. He stepped forward and called her name again. "Willow?"

Her breath was coming faster and she turned her head slightly. Angel was relieved, she recognized his voice. That was a start. She swung around to face him; her features set in a twisted grimace.

"Well, here you are. I was wondering where you got to." Willows words shocked Angel. "You've been so quiet…I almost missed you. And you offer so much to miss, don't you?" a smile quivered on her lips. Angels brow furrowed, trying to take in what she was saying. "I mean where would I be without your loving support? Your encouraging words? Your razor sharp wit? Where would I be Angel? Are you here to tell me it's alright, to offer your comfort? To open your arms once you've made me face the reality of my life…only to laugh at me when I…"

She stopped her speech, looking at him with sheer hatred. It was the intensity of that hatred which alarmed Angel. Never had he seen so much anger and pain in those green eyes, confusion and anguish.

"Willow, I…" he didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure what she was saying.

"You can just go to Hell." spat Willow bringing her hand up and slapping Angel hard across the face. The crack of her hand on his flesh seem to reverberate around the alley. Willow stepped back, her eyes wide in panic. She stared at him for the briefest of moments and then looked down at her now flaming red hand.

"Willow," for the first time Angel reached out and lightly took her arm, trying to read her face through the mask of shock.

"Angel?" Willow kept staring at her hand, swaying on her feet slightly. It was almost like she had been the one to be slapped. She looked back up into Angels eyes. "No, no, no! You aren't real! You can't be!"

Before he could even answer she began to desperately fight against his hold on her arm, causing him to grip her other arm. A scream of pain left her lips as she lashed out at him, using her nails, feet and teeth. She was like a wild animal in a cage.

"Willow," Angel almost bellowed her name as he attempted to still her flaying body. She managed to free one of her arms and threw herself bodily at Angel knocking him slightly off balance. It was enough for Willow to break free and turn to run.

"Willow!" Angel launched himself and caught her wrist, spinning her back around.

"No, please no." she begged, her eyes full of unshed tears. She scrambled back from him as far as she could, twisting her wrist trying to gain her freedom. Angel stared at her, shock plainly visible on his face. He could feel the skin on her wrist start to tear under his grasp as she continued to struggle. Angels mind spun, if he let her go she would run, if he didn't let her go she was going to hurt herself.

"I'm so sorry Willow," he whispered to her as he bought his free hand up to her throat and squeezed.

***

"Angel?" Doyle questioned as the vampire walked through the office doors with a small unconscious redhead held firmly in his arms. "What the bloody hell..."

"Is Cordy here?" asked Angel, glancing around the office as he carried Willow toward his apartment.

"No, she's left already," he replied following. "I take it this is your 'friend'?"

Angel didn't even bother to answer as he gently laid her down on his bed. Taking his eyes off her for a moment he glanced down at his shirtfront, it was saturated from her sweat. Sitting down on the bed Angel let his hand cup her face, his fingers stroking the clammy skin, the heat she was generating was tremendous.

"Willow," he called softly. "Come on Willow, wake up."

Angel was concerned. She was obviously running a fever, while her breathing was laboured and accompanied by an unnerving rattle. The ashen skin under his hand was clammy, her eyes were ringed with dark circles and she was nothing more than skin and bone. But the worst thing for him was her torn, bruised wrist and the bruises that were beginning to form about her neck, bruises that matched his fingers - bruises that Doyle had noticed.

"Jesus, what happened to her?" he asked quietly.

"She's burning up, we need to get her temperature down." Angel looked at Doyle as he moved to take off Willow's boots, ignoring his question completely. "Go run a cool bath."

Without hesitating Doyle moved toward the bathroom. Angel tossed the boots aside and moved to pull Willow's shirt up. As he lifted the shirt his eyes fell on a large gash that ran diagonally across her sunken stomach. Frowning he gently pushed the shirt up, the gash continued down under the waistband of her skirt, it was a deep weeping cut, the skin was red and inflamed especially where the waistband had rested.

"What happened Willow?" he whispered to the unconscious girl. Gently sitting her up, so her head rested against his shoulder, he pulled off her shirt and bra before laying her back down. Narrowing his eyes he took hold of her arm, twisting it slightly - a similar gash marked the lower part of her arm and was bleeding profusely. Grabbing her abandoned shirt Angel pressed it against the wound, hoping to still the flow of blood. Letting his gaze rest for a moment on her pale face he shook his head before returning his attention to her arm. Removing the shirt to look at the wound he noticed a number of pinpricks littered about the joint - instinctively he knew that intravenous needles made them. His hand strayed to her other arm gently moving it to reveal similar marks. "Damn it Willow, what the hell is going on with you?"

Keeping a firm hold on her shirt he continued to undress her, quickly removing her remaining clothes. As his eyes roamed over her wasting body he knew that she was fighting an infection and by the look of it she was loosing. The needle marks nagged at him - she was obviously using drugs on a regular basis, whether they were prescribed or not he needed to know what and she needed medical attention. Gathering her sweat covered body up in his arms he moved into the bathroom as Doyle was turning off the water.

"Well the tubs full..." he started to say.

"I want you to call a doctor - get them here as soon as possible." Angel said as he slowly lowered Willow into the bath, wincing as she didn't react to the cool water.

"If she's sick you should take her to the hospital," stated Doyle.

"Call a doctor," Angel repeated, his voice low and menacing. "She isn't going anywhere."

Angel was only just aware that the little man had left the bathroom, he could hear his voice making the needed call. Shifting slightly he grabbed a face cloth from the edge of the bath and started to wipe Willow's face. The blood from her arm was staining the water, but his main concern was getting her temperature down.

"He's on his way." Doyle said, standing by the bath. "I'll go back up to the office and wait for him."

"Thanks," Angel murmured as he continued to wipe the cool water across Willow's face. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, even in the cool water. Once more his eyes roamed over her emaciated body, she looked nothing like the girl he had left in Sunnydale months ago. Doyle was still talking to him, but Angel wasn't listening. He could hear the words, but they made no sense, the only thing he was aware of was Willow as he held her in the water, his free hand sponging her face. He watched in quiet desperation as her blood stained the water. Closing his eyes against the sight before him he rested his forehead on his arm. A soft moan escaped her lips and Angel swung to look at her face. "Willow? Come on Willow, wake up for me."

He got no response. Carefully he lifted her bleeding arm from the cool water and lightly ran his fingertips through the blood before raising them to his mouth. The sweet tang of her blood was soon replaced with a pungent aftertaste. Repeating his actions he allowed the taste to roll around the tip of his tongue, his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"Opium," he stated quietly. He continued to bathe her clammy face for another ten minutes before letting the water drain from the bath. Wrapping Willow's still unconscious form in a towel he took her back to his bed and unable to stand the sight of her wasted body anymore he grabbed one of his t-shirts, slipping it over her head, it was far too large and hung just above her knees but it did the job. Her arm was still bleeding so Angel grabbed the towel and sitting next to her used it to stem the flow of blood. His hand reached out to stroke her face, trying to break through the darkness of unconsciousness.

"Wake up for me, Willow," he whispered to her, his fingers stroking her gaunt cheek. "You're safe Willow, nothing can hurt you now."

From upstairs he could hear voices making their way through the office, Doyle's Irish brogue mixing with a typical Californian well-to-do accent.

"So what do we have here?" asked a rather non-descript looking doctor.

"Angel, this is Dr Inger and Dr Inger this is the young girl I was telling you about," said Doyle, ushering a man into the room.

"I appreciate you coming," said Angel, standing up to shake the man's hand. "She has a fever, an infected wound and it's gone into her lungs."

The doctor looked at Angel suspiciously before turning his attention toward Willow.

"Let's have a look, shall we?" he said moving forward. He began to do a thorough examination of her. Talking in explanation the whole time. "This is a nasty cut," he stated looking at her arm. "Infected, should have been stitched when she first did it..."

"There's another on her abdomen as well," Angel added, watching as the doctor lifted the shirt to examine the gash on her stomach.

"Mmm..." he murmured as he bought her arm up to rest near her stomach, the wounds formed a straight line. His thumb ran across her elbow, pulling the skin taunt. Picking up a small torch he checked her pupil response. Sitting for a moment, he seemed to gather himself before turning to Angel. "How long has she been unconscious for and what is she using?"

Angel saw Doyle shoot him a "what the bloody hell is going on look".

"She's been out for about 20 minutes and it's opium."

The doctor raised an eyebrow in question. "Opium? Why would a young girl want to use opium - I thought these kids would want something to speed them up, not slow them down."

"What do you mean?" Angel asked.

"Opium slows down the thought process, relieves pain, said to do many things - Coleridge use to take it in the form of laudanum, when his thoughts ran away with his sanity. Mind you that's English poets for you," the doctor's laughter was soon cut off by the scowls on both Angel and Doyle's faces. He continued his examination. "Do you know how much she took and when?"

"No." Angel's reply was short and flat.

"Well we should get her to a hospital."

"No, she isn't leaving here." Angel again stated. He wanted her there with him, it almost seemed that it was where she belonged.

"It won't be pretty, you don't know how long she's been using. The greater the dependency the worst it will be."

"She stays here." Angel stated.

"Would she better off at a hospital?" asked Doyle quietly.

"She would be more comfortable. Nursing staff to look after her, oxygen to help her breathe easier and an IV so we can keep her fluids up until..."

"We can do that here. She stays here." Repeated Angel.

"Angel, maybe it's best if we take her to a hospital," Doyle tried to reason with the glowering vampire. "If she needs help..."

"She stays here. I can give her whatever she needs." Angel stated once more, his eyes momentarily flashing gold with anger. "She stays here and that's it!"

"Of course if you think that's best," the doctor said reaching into his bag to pull out various bits and pieces. "I can stitch this up, won't help much now it'll leave a nasty scar. I can also give her some antibiotics to help with the infections - both her cuts and the secondary lung infection. You do realise what you'll be up against? With the withdrawal I mean? Like I said, it won't be pretty - could last from a few days anywhere up to a week, depending on how great the dependency is."

"We'll manage." Angel spoke calmly.

The doctor shrugged and concentrated on his handiwork. "Well keep her away from knives I don't want to be stitching up another one of her botched attempts."

"What do you mean?" Angel frowned at the comment.

The doctor looked up from the stitches he had just finished in her arm and pulled her arm next to her stomach, lining up the cuts. "The fall of the incision, the depth, the angle - she did it herself, no other possibility."

Angel backed away from the bed. The Willow he had known would never have considered suicide an option and yet here on his bed was evidence of how much she had changed. He couldn't believe it. "No, you're mistaken."

"I'm sorry...I thought you knew," the doctor offered returning to the job of stitching the wound on her stomach.

Angel moved further back from the bed, watching as the doctor quickly worked.

"So what is this about Angel? You said she was in trouble not some little suicidal junky." Doyle asked.

"I don't know Doyle but she stays here."

"Okay, okay I get the picture - she stays here." Doyle raised his hands in a mock imitation of surrender before shaking his head and looking back at the redhead. "Do you know anything?"

"Not really. Giles mentioned something about nightmares...but this..." Angel paused shaking his head in disbelief. Before he could continue the doctor interrupted him.

"Well, I've done what I can, the rest is up to her. Like I said it's not going to be pretty." The doctor was packing away his things. "She'll probably wake up in a few hours, that's when the fun will start." Shaking his head the he looked toward Angel and Doyle. "You'll need to keep her fluids up, which will be difficult, and try to keep her temperature down. I've left some shots of antibiotics, keep them in a cool place and administer them every second day...I take it you do know how to?"

Angel nodded. "A few hours? What if she doesn't wake up?"

"She'll wake up. She hasn't OD or anything," he shot a glance at Willow before picking up his bag. "The stitches will have to come out in about 10 days. If you have any questions or something happens you have my number. Good luck."

"Uh yeah, thanks," said Doyle as he motioned toward the door. "I'll fix you up and see you out then."

Angel didn't even acknowledge the doctor as he left the apartment. He moved back to the bed and sat watching Willow. He couldn't understand what had happened. Sighing he picked up the small vials of antibiotic and the needles and syringes that the doctor had left behind and went to put them in the fridge. On his way back to the bed he picked up Willow's abandoned clothes and boots. The boots rattled. Frowning he threw the skirt and top into the bathroom before turning the boots upside down and shaking them. A key fell out of one and cash out of the other. Picking up the key he turned it over in his hands, it was to her hotel room. Putting the key aside he picked up the money, at least five hundred in fifty dollar notes, narrowing his eyes he wondered if it was from a stash of money Willow had or if she had earnt it. He didn't really want to think about that - there weren't a lot of professions, apart from prostitution, for young girls with drug habits. He turned his attention back to the key; perhaps something in her room would give him an insight as to what was going on with her. He gripped the key tightly in his clenched fist as Doyle walked back into the room.

"So..." Doyle hesitantly said. "What now?"

"You stay here while I go and get her stuff." Angel stood up and kicked the boots aside. "I shouldn't be long."

***

The room was pretty typical of the cheap hotels around the area. Dirty marked walls in the usual boring beige with matching carpet littered with cigarette burns and stains. Angel sighed and looked about the small barren room. Bed, wardrobe, the usual bedside table with a bible shoved into the shelf, minuscule bathroom - it was depressing. More so was the fact that apart from a pair of jeans, shirt, jacket and two pairs of wet knickers hanging off the shower cubicle Angel had found nothing. Well that's a lie; he had found a small stash of opium, which he'd flushed down the toilet.

"Damn it!" he screamed slamming the wardrobe door shut, only to have it swing back open, the mirror on the door reflecting the room. He turned his attention to the double bed, neatly made. Frustrated he wanted to beat the crap out of something and the perfectly made bed was just begging for it. A feral scream of pain and anguish left him as he tore at the pillows and bedding before lifting up the mattress and flinging it against the locked door. In a final act of anger he kicked the base moving it slightly before he sunk to the floor, burying his head in his hands. "Damn it all to hell."

Biting the inside of his lip he rolled his head back and opened his eyes to stare blindly at the mirror. There, in the shadows beneath the base of the bed, was a silver coloured object. Angel stared for a moment before turning around and pulling Willow's laptop out from under the bed base.
 

***

Angel made his way back to the office through the late night crowds of partygoers. The laptop, jeans and jacket, the only things he took with him from Willow's hotel room, were all hidden beneath the vast folds of his own coat. Pushing open the doors of the office he walked toward the stairs that led down to his apartment. Doyle's soft brogue drifted up to him, he listened waiting for Willow to reply to the silly questions being asked. There was nothing but the sound of her ragged breathing. As he walked down the stairs he paused briefly at the base of the stairs watching as Doyle continued to ask nonsense questions and stroke the damp hair of the still unconscious redhead.

"No change then?" he asked hopefully, taking her few items from his coat and laying them down on a chair. Doyle jumped off the bed in surprise.

"Jesus, I wish you'd make some noise mate. No, she's still...well wherever it is she's at."

Angel looked at the shadow of a girl lying on his bed, so tiny and fragile, her body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. He reached out and cupped her clammy face, she was starting to burn up again, and parts of the t-shirt were already darkening with sweat. Sitting down beside her still figure he let out a soft sigh of despair.

"Go home Doyle. Call Cordelia in the morning tell her to take the week off."

Doyle glanced at the items on the chair before turning his attention back to the couple on the bed. Leaning against the wall, he thought for a moment. He wasn't too happy about this girl and Angel's silence. Sure his boss was one of the most uncommunicative people he knew but there was something else going on here. He'd noticed the rapidly darkening bruising that marked her neck and wrist, and closer inspection showed more finger shaped bruising on her upper arm - he knew that she had struggled against Angel, perhaps even tried to run, which made her little more than Angel's prisoner, even if she did need help. Her physical appearance and condition did nothing to ease his discomfort over the situation, in short she was one fucked up little kid and then there was her reported psychological torment.

"I'm not leaving, you'll need help," he stated determinedly.

"I don't need your help, I can handle this by myself."

"By yourself? How do you see that? I mean what's really going on here?" Doyle clenched his jaw in frustration as Angel remained quiet, his attention fully focused on the little redhead. "The bruising, Angel. How'd she get it?"

Angel shifted uncomfortably on the bed, the slight action confirming Doyle's fears that he had been the cause of it.

"Yeah, great way to help, try and strangle the girl," Doyle shook his head.

"I had no choice."

"No choice? What she wouldn't listen to you so you decided violence was a good alternative?"

"This is not your concern so stay out of it."

"No, no it isn't my concern man, not when you go all psycho over some little junkie you use to know...you know flowers are the traditional way to show someone you care..." Angel suddenly moving off the bed, looming above his slight form cut off Doyle.

"Willow saved me, restored my soul, she risked everything to do that. I...Angelus could've so easily destroyed her, yet he didn't, so I won't standby and let drugs or dreams or whatever the hell is going on with her do it now. Even if that means keeping her chained to me for the rest of her natural life."

Doyle gawked for a moment, partially shocked by Angel's words and emotions, but more so from the determined pained expression on his face and the flashes of gold that highlighted his eyes as he spoke. Blinking a few times Doyle held Angel's gaze. "Well that's going to make for an interesting, or should I say arresting, life."

"At least it will be a life," Angel stated. Doyle raised his eyebrows in a mocking question of 'will it?'. A soft whimper from the bed drew Angel's attention back to Willow. Sitting down he felt her forehead and frowned at the ever-rising temperature. "Go home Doyle, ring Cordy, both of you take the week off."

"No way man," Doyle was becoming unnerved by Angel's obsessive behaviour toward the girl. Sure Angel had been "protective" of his clients, even having them sleep at his apartment for their own safety, but never to this extent. Mentally Doyle shook himself, this girl was an old friend of Angel's, someone he held in high regard and it was obvious she needed help. But that did nothing to help the feeling of unease that was building in him at the moment. She had been unwilling, Angel had overpowered her, what if she woke up and wanted to leave? What if Angel lost even more control? The various scenarios played through Doyle's mind as he watched Angel fetch a wet cloth from the bathroom and sponge her sweat-covered face. "No, you need help...and don't try to convince me otherwise. I can be errand boy; I mean do you have anything here suitable for her to eat? No, so food, what else will we need?"

Doyle began to pace the room, soothing his disturbed thoughts with the sound of his ramblings.

***

"Come on, Willow, wake up for me."

"No, don't listen to him." Willow fought to stay in the comfort of the dark place she was in.

"Wake up Willow, your safe now."

"It's a dream stay asleep and the nightmare will go away."

"I won't let anything hurt you Willow, come on wake up for me."

"He'll hurt you, he has before. Remember what he's done?"

"Willow, come on," a cool hand cupped her face, the physical sensation dragging her into that world, away from the safety of the darkness that had comforted her. She fought it, struggled against the hand on her face, against the voice that was urging her to come into his world.

"No," she kept her eyes closed and turned her head away from the cool hand.

"Willow, that's it, wake up."

"What are you waking up too?"

The hand found her face again, another held her hand, and she struggled to keep her eyes shut, uncertain of what she would see.

"Is she awake?" it was a soft Irish voice, similar to the voices she had heard so many times before, similar to the voice of Angelus when he was younger.

"Willow."

There was his voice again, so soft, so enticing, urging her into his world. Briefly her eyes fluttered open, settling for a moment on dark chocolate brown orbs that were so hauntingly familiar to her.

"No, please no," she whispered shutting her eyes again, trying to desperately head back to the quiet darkness that she had been drawn out of.

"Come on Willow, come back to me."

Willow, he'd called her Willow. What was this, what was going on? As his hand continued to stroke her face her body responded, joining her mind in leaving the darkness that had protected her. She ached all over. It hurt to breathe, her lungs burning with every struggling breath she took, her arm and stomach throbbed, and there was a blinding pain behind her closed eyes. This was how she often woke up to reality, her body aching, her head throbbing.

"Willow," it was Angel calling her name.

Slowly she opened her eyes, taking in a deep breath, her lungs screaming in agony. She twisted her head, her eyes focusing on him. The face hadn't changed at all, dark eyes, pale skin, a dark mass of spiky hair, but his features wore a mask of concern, his eyes full of anguish. Blinking a few times she glanced away from him and took in her surroundings. A softly lit room, brick walls, foreign and strange. Her eyes fell on a little man with dark hair and stunning blue eyes that were fixed on her.

"Willow," Angel called to her softly, drawing her eyes back to his. She swallowed, pain marring her face at the action. He turned to Doyle. "Get some water."

"Angel?" her voice was barely audible, a harsh and scratchy whisper, but music to his ears. Turning back to her he smiled. Her eyes widened in fear and she panicked, trying to scramble away from him. "Angelus!"

"Willow," he called his arms snaking around her body, stilling her movements, lifting her up off the pillows. Her whole body trembled. "Willow, it's ok, it's me Angel."

"Angel?" she sobbed against his shoulder, her body still shaking in fear, adrenaline fuelled blood pounding through her system.

"It's okay, Willow, you're safe now," Angel held her, trying to soothe her fears, rocking her gently in his arms. As she choked on sobs, she began to cough. "Shhh, it's okay, you're safe. Shhh."

"Angel? Is she okay?" Doyle walked back in carrying a glass of water.

Angel pulled her away from his shoulder, his hands cupped her flushed face, forcing her to look at him. "Willow, who am I?"

She struggled to break free of his hold, twisting against his hands, closing her eyes, refusing to look at him. She bought her hands up to pull at his arms, her eyes flying open when she touched his cool flesh.

"Willow," he shook her lightly, holding her gaze. "Who am I?"

"A...A...Angel," she hiccupped painfully. Angel closed his eyes in relief, she recognised him, acknowledged who he was. That was a start. He released her face, one hand snaking around to hold the nape of her neck. She was looking wildly about the room, gasping for breath.

"Willow, look at me," Angel demanded. "Where are you?"

"I...I...I was in LA?" she questioned, gulping in air, her lungs burning, causing her to cough again. Angel caught her chin and tilted her head back.

"Why are you in LA," he asked after she stopped coughing.

"Angel," Doyle held out the glass of water to him. Sighing Angel gathered Willow back into his arms, she struggled half-heartedly bawling her hands into fists against his chest before he shushed her and took the water from Doyle, holding it up to her lips.

"Take a little bit," he urged her gently. As she sipped her body continued to shake uncontrollably in his arms, her lungs rattling with every breath. He managed to get her to drink the whole glass and handed it back to Doyle. Running his fingers through her hair he rocked her against him, trying to still her trembling body. "Why are you in LA?"

"I...I don't know...I can sleep here," she murmured as he continued to rock her, lulling her back into the darkness. "Are you going?"

"What?" Angel asked, not understanding the question.

"I think she wants to know if you're going to leave?" offered Doyle, frowning at the insignificance of the question.

"I'm not going to leave you, Willow. I'll be here when you wake up," he cupped her face, his thumb tracing her prominent cheekbone, she was already asleep.

"So," Doyle let the word hang in the eerie silence of the room and put the empty glass down on the bedside table, watching as Angel continued to rock Willow. "What now?"

"We wait," Angel sighed, letting his fingers run through her tangled hair.

"She called you Angelus," Doyle stated.

"She was disorientated," Angel made the excuse, although it had disturbed him. He needed a distraction; so he could gather his thoughts, think about what she had said. Was it all merely drug and fever induced ramblings? He didn't know and he didn't realise he was still cradling her sleeping form. "Did you call Cordy?"

"Ah, no," Doyle stated picking up the bedside phone and dialling her number.

"Cordy, how are you?"

She didn't know why she had come to LA. What had she said about being able to sleep? What did that mean. Angel brushed her sweat-dampened hair from her forehead.

"Yeah, what? No it's not that early...of course I know what time it is...well I wanted to catch you before you headed off...a shower...dripping water all over the floor...I'm sorry, I've got to know, are you naked?"

She had called him Angelus; her eyes had filled with fear, more than he had ever thought her capable of. She was scared of him, of Angelus. Closing his eyes a thousand images flashed through that darkness, the eyes of those he had tortured for his own fun, and his demon growled. Strange, that was the first he'd been aware of his demon for the last few days. Shaking his head he looked down at the tiny girl in his arms.

"Well I had to ask...naked and shower generally go together...no that's not why I called...I'm getting to it...no that's just it, take the week off...no, with full pay..."

Send her away. It was a thought that came from the demon and he shook his head. Of course the demon would say that, she had been the one to cage him, given him back his soul.

"Nothings going on...nah Angel just needs to catch up on his brooding, he's heard about a new technique...yeah, ok...so, do you need someone to scrub your back? Hello? Cordy? Hello?"

You can't help her; send her back to her friends, far away from here. Angel frowned, his demon was whispering, quietly putting forward the suggestion. Usually the demon screamed his demands, rattled his cage and fought hard and dirty. Not this quiet prodding. He tightened his grip on the sleeping girl.

"She stays here," he growled. Doyle looked up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, we've been through that...she stays," Doyle tilted his head and watched as Angel stroked the tangled red hair. "Well Cordy won't be in till next week."

Angel nodded, staring absently at Willow, the brief conversation running through his mind. Sighing he eased her back down onto the pillows, reluctantly surrendering his hold on her. Cupping her face he was surprised to find it cooler, moving he took hold of one of her hands, again it was cool. He leant down and grabbed a light blanket from the foot of the bed and pulled it up over her. Reluctantly he stood up and motioned for Doyle to follow him to the kitchen.

***
 

"So?" Doyle asked sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs. "What are we waiting for?"

Angel leant back against the kitchen bench, his eyes still fixed on Willow, asleep in his bed. Crossing his arms he shook his head. "I don't know...for the drugs to get out of her system...for her to dream...I don't know."

"Did this Giles guy say what she was dreaming about?" asked Doyle, frustrated by the lack of knowledge.

Angel shook his head. "She wouldn't say."

"Great," Doyle sighed, shaking his head. Glancing about the small kitchen his gaze fell back to Angel still intently watching Willow. "So what makes you think she'll let you in on them?"

"You're not helping here Doyle," stated Angel, not even bothering to look at him.

Doyle frowned. "What?"

"You said you were here to help," Angel tore his eyes away from Willow to glance down at Doyle before pushing himself off the bench and opening the fridge. He winced at the sight of blood and apparent lack of real food. Reaching in he pulled out a bag of blood and went about readying it to have. "I can't tell you things I don't know. So if you are just going to sit around asking me questions I can't answer or if you aren't going to help then you can leave."

Angel took a sip of his blood and fixed his eyes on Doyle.

"Well...I..." he was flabbergasted. "Of course I want to help."

"Good. First you'll have to get some things, like food, toiletries, clothes..." he paused for a moment, his eyes roaming over the outfit Doyle was wearing. His retina's winced at the mismatch of colours and textures. "Don't worry about the clothes, I can get her some things later when she needs them."

Doyle didn't notice the insult toward his dress sense. He was too worried about another word in Angel's demands. His face paled and his eyes widened in fear. "Toiletries? What do I know about women's toiletries? What does toiletries mean anyway? Shampoo, conditioner...man I am not going anywhere near what else could be described as women's toiletries."

Angel sighed and finished his blood. Shaking his head he examined the empty mug and smiled to himself. It amazed him how Doyle could face demon's, Cordelia after she was rejected following endless auditions and himself before his morning coffee, but the idea of women's toiletries terrified him.

"You just need to pick up the basics for now," said Angel, rinsing out his mug. Turning around he saw Doyle sitting at the table cradling his head in his hands, he moved to squat down next to him. "Doyle, is it a vision?"

"Yeah of me being humiliated by asking a sixteen year old girl about toiletries," Doyle moaned.

"We'll make a list, you won't have to ask anyone about anything," he grabbed a pen and pad and sat opposite so he could still keep an eye on Willow. "Okay, food," he paused, the pen hovering above the clean sheet of paper. Frowning he looked up at Doyle. "What did your mother feed you when you were sick?"

Doyle raised his head and looked at the confused vampire. Reaching across he took the pen and paper away and shook his head, a soft smile creeping across his lips. "You've been dead too long."

Nearly an hour later, and several arguments over the best type of Jell-O and soups, they had devised a list of 'basics' they were both happy with. Angel's main concern, apart from food, was trying to make things easier for Willow, her coughing and difficulty breathing worried him so the list included various chest rubs, oils and medicines to help ease her discomfort. He had also added a number of items of clothing, including underwear, much to Doyle's horror.

"Toiletries and now underwear," Doyle muttered. "The things I do for you."

"She's waking up," Angel muttered quietly, standing up and heading to the bedroom. Doyle twisted in his chair, getting up and following as he walked toward the bed and Willow's still form.

"How do you know that?" he frowned, looking down at the unconscious girl.

Angel reached out and stroked her hair, it was damp from sweat, and he pulled the blanket away from her.

"Her temperature is up again. I need you to get me a towel, wet it with cold water and bring me a dry one as well," Angel looked up at Doyle before turning his attention back to Willow. Silently he cursed himself, he should have stayed with her, he would have been able to tell when her temperature started to rise.

"Here you go," Doyle handed him a towel, another held in his hand. "Now what?"

"We sponge her down, the cool towel should help bring down her temperature," Angel stated, gently sponging at her sweat covered face, neck and arms. Doyle moved down to her legs, repeating the process. Suddenly her legs drew up and she tried to curl herself into a ball, her hands striking out at Angel's as he continued to sponge her down.

"What's going on?" Doyle asked, as Angel rolled her onto her back and tried to keep sponging her.

"We just hit the start of the withdrawal," murmured Angel. During his time living on the streets he had seen many people go through this, he never thought he would see the girl lying on his bed go through it. "Willow? Can you hear me?"

Although she opened her eyes, she didn't answer him. Her body started to jerk, her legs and arms striking out at him. Doyle stood up, unsure of what to do. Angel leant forward, holding onto her shoulders, trying to still her movements.

"Willow, come on answer me," he demanded, leaning the weight of his body partially on hers to try and still her movements.

"Angel?" she questioned, her eyes barely focusing on him. She clutched at his arms, her head rolling back into the pillows as a cry of pain left her chapped lips.

"It's okay, Willow, I'm here," he reassured her, loosening his hold on her slightly, one of his hands straying to stroke her hair.

"Oh god, Angel, I hurt," she moaned, her body contracting in pain.

"I know, Willow. Everything's going to be fine," Angel had no idea if she heard him. Her eyes rolled back and she cried out again, her hands clawing at him, legs kicking out. Cursing the affects of drug withdrawal Angel, tried to hold her still, worried that if he just let her go she would hurt herself more. The whimpered cries of pain soon became screams as her body ached for the drug it had become so addicted to. So loud and painful were those screams that neither Doyle nor Angel heard office door upstairs.

"Okay, so what are you two up to now?" Cordelia asked as she came down the stairs. She quickened her pace as she heard the screams and was soon standing in the entrance of Angel's room. "Oh my god, what is going on?"

Angel twisted on the bed. Cordelia's jaw nearly hit the ground as she stared.

"Willow? Is that Willow?" she asked in horror, wincing at the cries and screams that were wracking the redhead.

"Get her out of here now," Angel spat at Doyle, who didn't hesitate in grabbing the brunette by the arm and dragging her back up the stairs.

"Is that Willow? What is she doing here? Why is she screaming? My god what is going on with her?" Cordelia asked watching the ongoing struggle over her shoulder until Doyle managed to get her up the stairs, effectively blocking her view. "Is this why I suddenly have the whole week off? What is going on?"

"That's what we'd all like to know," stated Doyle, releasing her arm and sitting down in his usual comfy chair opposite her desk.

"Well what's that meant to mean?" Cordelia arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in question, her hazel eyes demanding an explanation. Sighing, Doyle told her all that he could.

"So what you guys were just going to keep me in the dark? You don't think I wouldn't have noticed Angel getting a roommate?" Cordelia huffed, crossing her arms and turning away from Doyle.

"It's not like that...well...okay, I don't know what Angel is planning. To tell you the truth I don't think Angel knows what he is planning," Doyle frowned as Cordelia turned back to him. "He's just really adamant that she's staying with him."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "So you're saying that at the moment she's going through some sort of drug withdrawal? I mean are you sure you have the right person, Willow Rosenberg?"

Doyle pouted and nodded. "Why do you find that so unbelievable?"

He leant forward, eager for her to answer. Cordelia narrowed her eyes and shrugged.

"Well, Willow was never really that sort of girl. I mean she is the ultimate good girl - good grades at school, helping out with fighting the greater evil of the world, quiet and mousy...except for the boyfriend stealing thing..."

"Boyfriend stealing? Whose boyfriend did she steal?"

"Oh...um...that isn't important. I can't believe she'd do drugs, it's just so not her."

"You were her friend then?"

"Me? Friends with Willow? Not really, just by association - it wasn't like we'd go shopping together or chat much. You have to understand, I was a cheerleader, I had social responsibilities and high expectations, Willow was more...academic. She wasn't really the type of person I would hang out with by choice."

Doyle closed his eyes and shuddered as the sounds of the screams worked their way up into the office.

"She sounds like she's being murdered...how long has she been here for?" Cordy asked wrapping her arms about herself and glancing back towards the stairs.

"Angel bought her in last night. I don't know how long she's been in LA for, although we know she's been here since the night before last," Doyle followed Cordy's gaze. "Sit down, we may be here for awhile."

It was 'awhile' during which Cordelia filled Doyle in with the history of Willow Rosenberg. The more he heard, the more confused he became. Like Cordy said, she didn't seem to be the type to do drugs. But there was the proof downstairs. Lying beneath the cool body of Angel was Willow, her body fighting against Angel, fighting for the drug to feed its addiction. After what seemed like hours, it was barely half an hour, the office once more became quiet, except for the soft murmurs from Cordelia and Doyle as they talked. The intercom buzzed and Angel asked them both to come down and meet him in the lounge room. He indicated them to sit down before turning to face Cordy.

"Cordelia, I clearly heard Doyle tell you not to come in for a week, so why are you here?" Angel asked her. Cordelia threw her arms up in the air and rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me? Out of the blue you say take the week off, without any explanation," Cordelia tilted her head at Angel. "I just knew something weird had to be going on. I had no idea it involved Willow though. Have you called the gang in Sunnydale..."

"Nobody knows she is here, nobody will know. Do you understand?" Angel glared at her. Cordelia narrowed her eyes and looked at him before turning to Doyle.

"What is his problem?" she asked. Doyle shrugged.

"My problem, Cordelia, is..." Angel bit his tongue. He was going to say her, but he thought better of it. Closing his eyes for a moment he gathered his thoughts. "Willow is sick, she is staying here with me until she is completely recovered. During that time you will not say anything to anyone, especially anyone from Sunnydale. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly. Now wouldn't it have been easier just to have told me in the first place?" Cordelia smiled at him. "Why..."

Doyle cut her off placing a restraining hand on her arm. He shook his head. "Don't ask questions, it's not a good time."

Angel silently thanked the powers that be for sending him Doyle, he didn't think he could handle Cordy's questions at the moment; he was more concerned with getting back to Willow.

"Cordy you can go with Doyle, he's doing some shopping," Angel instructed as he turned on his heel and left the room.

"Great, shopping - does it include shoes?"

***

By the third day Angel was quietly confident that the drug that had been poisoning her system was no longer a concern. He had spent just over 72 hours watching her, helping her as best he could. Seventy-two hours of a vicious circle of pain and confusion. When her body was tormenting her, making demands for its addiction, she would cower away from him, her knees curled up to her chest, arms locked about them, rocking herself, whimpering softly. It was at these times he wanted to hold her, soothe her, calm her, end the torment. But he couldn't. She seemed most lost during these periods, terrified of him, screaming if he tried to touch her, so he would sit back and wait. Wait until her body's demands became too much and she fell into a fitful and fevered sleep. Then he would hold onto her, reassure her with words, his cool body soothing her fever. After a fevered sleep she would consistently wake up and be sick, her stomach would jettison anything he had been able to get her to drink and eat. Then followed a period of semi-consciousness, often spent trying to get her to drink and eat, and then she would once more fall into the darkness of unconsciousness only to wake a few hours later in agony.

After seventy-two hours of that, Willow fell asleep. Her body was still fighting infections and was still fevered, but not as badly as before. Angel often spooned in behind her, stroking her hair, his cool body soothing her fever. Every few hours he would wake her, make her drink water and eat, then soothe her back to sleep.

For 48 blissful hours Willow slept, occasionally she would dream - nothing more than silly nightmares that were soon soothed by Angel whispering soft words of reassurance - but there were no traces of the terrifying nightmares that Giles had been so explicit about. During that time Angel had spent a few hours fooling about with her laptop, puzzling through the various passwords she used and searching her files for information. Most of the files that he wanted to look at were secured with passwords - words he couldn't figure out, even though he had a long list of possibilities that had opened up many of her other files. Mostly he was trying to open her journal entries, the password had been her name until she started dating Oz, then she used the werewolf's name but after graduation the password changed again and so far Angel hadn't been able to figure it out. Still, he had time.

Or so he thought until Doyle had a vision.

"Los Vegas and we were all there. Some demon's running a club, the stakes are high, generally life," Doyle stated.

Angel shook his head. "No, I can't go, I can't leave Willow."

Doyle clenched his hands into fists and growled at the ceiling of the office. "So what, we just ignore this and hope it goes away? Let this demon keep killing people off like it doesn't matter?"

"Angel, I don't want to sound cruel or anything, but do you have a choice?" Cordy asked. "I mean isn't this what you are meant to do? Save people, you know your whole working for redemption thing?"

"She's got a point man, you know these things," Doyle pointed to his head and waggled his eyebrows. "Just don't happen. Look I understand you don't want to leave her, but you can't ignore this."

"I can't just leave her be herself," Angel protested.

"Fine. She's sick, we're in LA city of part-time employment, hire a nurse," Cordy suggested. Doyle stared at her in shock. Cordy frowned at him. "What?"

"Nothing, that's just really good idea - I was about to suggest to take her with us," Doyle shrugged.

"Oh sure, take someone who's as sick as Willow to Los Vegas to fight bad guys. You haven't woken up yet, have you?" she asked sarcastically.

"I can't hire a nurse. I can't bring in an outsider." Angel stated, pacing the office floor. He knew they were right, they would all go to Los Vegas, no matter what.

"Well, fine Angel. What do you suggest? Do you know anyone who has had nursing experience?" Cordy put her hands on her hips. Angel glanced up at her. "See you don't, so just get over it and hire a nurse."

"I have to make a phone call. We'll meet up here tonight at eight," Angel picked up the phone and dialled. "Hi Giles, put Spike on."

Cordy and Doyle looked at each other and mouthed 'Spike', both aware of the fiasco of him being neutered and living with Giles.
 
 

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