***

Angel tapped his fingers irritatingly against the table with Willow's laptop sitting open in front of him.  Cordy had left some ten minutes previously with Doyle, insisting she had to see him to the airport.  Since Doyle's flight didn't leave for another couple of hours Angel decided to have another go at her computer while he was left alone.  And he was getting really pissed.  The files he wanted to open, those of her journals, were still locked away from him.  He couldn't work out the password.  Deciding to use another tact he did a file search for all files created one month after he left Sunnydale, the date that the password changed on her journal, thinking that might help.  Tapping his fingers he waited, finally a list was presented and a number of the filenames surprised him.  Angel.  She'd named files after him.

Frowning he glanced at the filenames and their directory, her Spell folder.  Moving through the list he counted them, at least 15 files with his name and a number. They were mixed amongst other files, those of her journal and various cleansing spells ~ well he assumed they were cleansing spells since they were named Cleanse.  Sighing he opened the first file with his name.

It was the soul restoration spell, or rather part of it.  He scrolled down through the original text and the translation.  Nothing odd there, except the fact that Willow had found it necessary to put it in a separate file.  He closed down the file and opened the next.  Frowning he scrolled down through the words, at first thinking he'd reopen the previous file.  Again it was the spell, the same section, but the first few lines were missing.  Leaning forward, he looked closely and could see nothing odd about it.  He moved on to the next file, the same words leapt off the screen, again with a few lines missing.  And so he worked through the files, growing more confused with each file he opened until he reached the last, it contained eleven words of the spell, repeated over and over again.

"It is written, this power is my people's right to wield." He read, leaning back in the chair.  "What does that mean, Will?  Why do you need to repeat it so many times?"

Shaking his head, he closed down the files and checked out the files labelled Cleanse.  As the filenames suggested they were cleansing spells, meant to cleanse the mind, body and soul.  Scrolling down he found that each of the spells had notes at the bottom, generally a date and the word unsuccessful.  As he read over the spells, ranging from simple cantations through to complex rituals, he wondered why Willow would require so many and what she was trying to cleanse.  Cursing silently he closed the files and went back to trying to open the journals, trying any and every name and number that may be important to Willow.

Three hours later Cordy came back and saved Willow's laptop from being massacred by an extremely frustrated vampire.

***

Spike had worked it out.  Let her sleep for twenty minutes and then wake her up.  At a pinch she could sleep for half an hour after that he couldn't wake her, the nightmares were too strong and intrusive, she was lost to them.  It was playing havoc with his own need to sleep.  At first it had been fun, watching her scream and cry out.  Begging, god he hadn't heard a human beg for so long, he really missed it.  And had it not been for the physical marks and the torment she went through on waking he would have let her dream, but he couldn't.  He doubted that Angel would believe him that dreams had caused the marks and although he considered his life pathetic, pathetic was the best way to describe living in his arch enemies bathtub and drinking pigs blood from a novelty mug, it was still a resemblance of a life and he wanted to keep going at least until he could get some kind of revenge on all of them.  Which he didn't think was likely if Angel came back and Willow was covered in marks ~ he'd be dust in a heartbeat.  So he watched, waited and woke her after she slept for twenty minutes.

"Willow, come on little girl, wake up," Spike shook her shoulder, trying to rouse her.  She was always so hard to wake, probably because she was exhausted emotionally and physically.  As she mumbled incoherently and tried to brush his arm away he wondered what it was that she dreamt about.  She refused to talk about them, tears welling in her eyes if he pushed. Although he didn't really care he was just curious.  "Wake up and talk to me, pet.  I'm bored with no bloody telly to watch."

She was just starting to wake up when he heard footsteps on the stairs.  Turning his head he caught a glance of the little half demon that was running with Angel.  Doyle saw Spike manhandling Willow and made a mad dash at the blond pushing him off the bed.

"What do you think you were doing?" Doyle hissed quietly at the stunned blond, who was angrily pushing himself off the floor, flexing his jaw in irritation.

"What the bloody hell did it look like I was doing?"  Spike asked loudly, brushing himself off.  "Trying to wake her up."

"She's sick, she needs to sleep," stated Doyle, checking that the redhead was still asleep.  Behind him Spike pursed his lips and smirked.

"You think mate?  Fine, let her sleep," he waved Doyle off with his hand and strolled over to the couch, glancing at the clock wondering if she had woken enough to escape the dream.  He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Please," she mumbled, her legs kicking out at the quilt, pushing it back.  Doyle, who had started to explain the situation in Las Vegas to Spike turned and looked at her.

"What was that?" he asked Spike.  Smirk growing Spike clasped his hands behind his head and waggled his eyebrows.

"The reason I was trying to wake her up," he stated calmly.  Doyle shot him a frown before walking over to the redhead, cupping her face surprised to find her sweating.

"Willow?" he asked, watching in horror as she began to scream and thrash on the bed.  He backed away from her; the screams became louder, her hands reaching out clawing at the air, her face a mask of pain.  Shaking himself he rushed forward his hands reaching out to shake her gently, trying to wake her.  She struggled against him and he felt something start to burn under his hand.  HE pulled his hand away from her arm, revealing a raised welt mark.  "What is going..."

He didn't have a chance to finish his question as Spike brushed the little Irishman aside, physically lifting Willow's struggling form from the pillows and shook her hard, screaming her name.

"You can't do that," insisted Doyle, shocked by the vampires rough handling of the girl.  Spike shot him a deadly glare.

"It's the only way," he stated, knowing he spoke the truth.  He turned back to her, shaking her roughly, calling her name, urging her to open her eyes and wake up.

***

Doyle was struggling to stay awake.  It was his turn on 'waking duty' as Spike had laughingly labelled it.  Just over seventy-two hours since he got back from Las Vegas, he was starting to wish he'd stayed there.  Willow's nightmares were affecting everyone.  Neither he nor Spike had slept and Willow herself was terrified to do so.  She had spent most of her time wandering about the apartment like some ghostly spectre, silent, pale and drawn.  Occasionally her body, suffering from exhaustion, would simply collapse and they would find her huddled in a sobbing heap.  Other times she would lock herself away from them physically, her arms wrapping about her thin body, rocking herself, unable or unwilling to respond to them.  When she fell asleep it was becoming increasingly difficult to wake her, the dreams would claim her quickly, and it was difficult to pull her back from that dark place.  The consequences of those dreams were damning, her body was covered in marks, raised welts that wept, handprints and finger shaped marks were scattered all over her.  Even the lightest touch from either of them would cause her pain.

Doyle shook his head, if opium gave her some type of release from the nightmare of this existence then he could understand it.  He glanced up at the bed, Spike was asleep with Willow wrapped in his arms, for some reason she seem to find it easier in his arms, but still she was struggling to stay awake.  Doyle sighed and stood up, planning to go over to talk to her when the phone rang.  He made a detour to answer it.

"Hello?" he asked slurring slightly from lack of sleep.

"Doyle? Have you been drinking?" it was Angel.  Doyle had called once when he got back to LA, leaving a message that everything was fine.  He had decided not to mention the nightmares to Angel, not wanting to distract him from the crisis at Las Vegas.

"Nah, just a little tired.  How's everything with you?" Doyle asked rubbing at his eyes.

"Good, we've finished," Angel replied calmly.  He had stopped the demon, destroyed both it and the club, in the greatest fire Las Vegas had ever seen.  He's demon had revelled in the violence, in the brutal bashing that Angel had bestowed on the demon, leaving him a broken and bloodied mess but still alive even as he threw the wine over his bleeding form and tossing a match to set it alight.  He'd then torched the whole club, casually walking away whistling a happy tune.

"Good," mumbled Doyle his head dropping forward.  "That's really good."

"Are you sure you haven't been drinking? Because you sound drunk," stated Angel.

"Nah, just..." he was cut off as Willow's muffled scream sliced through the air, jolting him awake. "Oh Jesus."

"What was that?" Angel's voice rang through the phone.  Doyle glanced at the bed and Spike slowly waking up, Willow screamed out again, loud and blood curdling.  "Damn it Doyle what is going on?  Who's screaming?"

"Ahh...it's the TV," offered Doyle, watching as Spike shook the redhead, calling out her name.

"Is that Willow?  Damn it Doyle answer me," demanded Angel.

"Yes, she's been...the nightmares that Giles guy told you about, they're real," Doyle stated.

"We'll be there in two hours," stated Angel and slammed the phone down.

True to his word Angel stormed through the doorway of his bedroom a few hours later and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the bed.  Doyle was laying across the bottom, snoring softly while Spike had his arms firmly wrapped about Willow, his chin resting on the top of her head and Willow was sound asleep.  Slowly he moved forward and leant over Spike to cup Willows face, she was cool and sleeping soundly.  Suddenly a fist collided with his jaw and sent him reeling back.  Clutching at his jaw he met the accusing blue gaze of his childe.

"What the..." Angel began only to be cut off by Spike's fist crashing into his face and his weight tackling him, sending them both flying from the room and crashing into a brick wall.  Angel twisted, throwing Spike aside and got to his feet, readying for Spike to strike out again.  "What?"

"You're a bloody prick," Spike spat, circling him, waiting to get a clear punch in.  He saw an opportunity and took it, landing blow after blow and receiving as many as he took.

"Hey," Cordelia's angry voice cut through the two vampires brawling.  Spike spun, distracted by her voice but enraged enough to strike out at her. Angel caught him, pulling him back, but still his knuckles caught her jaw sending her spinning.  Both of them screamed out simultaneously in pain, Spike falling to his knees clutching his head, while Cordelia clutched her jaw.  Angel took the opportunity and pinned Spike to the floor before glancing up at Cordy.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, his knee digging into the back of Spike's neck causing him to growl.  Cordy flexed her jaw and scowled.

"I think so," she muttered.  "Note to self never come between brawling vampires."

"Go wake Doyle and make some coffee," ordered Angel, putting even more pressure on Spike's neck.  Cordy looked at her boss, there was no way she was going to argue with that order.  Turning on her heel she left him alone with Spike, who was growling and struggling beneath him.  "Now, do you want to tell what that was all about?"

Spike struggled uselessly for a moment, growling and biting his tongue.  Sighing in frustration Angel reached forward, grabbed his head and slammed it into the floor.

"Little boy blue," growled Spike.  Angel froze for a moment, memories flashed through his mind, vivid and clear.

"What about it?"

"Don't play the fool with me," spat Spike, closing his eyes, ashamed that he had let his sire affect him, invoke so many emotions. "You told her, how else would she know?"

Angel stood up and grabbed the back of Spike's shirt lifting him off the floor.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Willow," Spike snarled at him.  "She called me little boy blue."

Angel's face fell and he took two steps back from his childe.  He shook his head, frowning.

"I didn't," he stated quietly, moving back so he could observe Willow's sleeping form.  He swung back to look at Spike.  "She called you little boy blue? Are you sure?"

Spike raised his eyebrows.

"Am I sure? Well let's see," he tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling his eyes darting about before dropping back down to frown at his sire.  "She's screaming her head off, I wake her up and oh yeah she calls me little boy blue."

Angel at any other time would have backhanded Spike for his sarcasm, but something unnerved him.

"She was dreaming?" he asked.

"Yeah," Spike muttered, wondering how much more specific he had to be before Angel got the word picture.

"What of?"

"Bloody hell I don't know, little girl wouldn't say but..." Spike paused, remembering the A that had marked her chest, it was still there but fading.  Angel glanced at him over his shoulder.

"What?"

"Go look at her chest," Spike shrugged.  Angel hesitated a moment, wondering what Spike was playing at, then strode over to the bed, slowly inching up the shirt she wore.  It was there, a fading mark, red and angry the letter A.  Angel stared for a moment, his hand hovering above it, his fingers finally brushing across it, tracing the outline.  Suddenly he spun round and charged at Spike, sending them both crashing to the floor, pinning him down.

"Did you do that?" he roared, slamming his head back into the floor, beneath him Spike struggled uselessly.

"Hello?  Neutered!" he screamed back.  Angel was suddenly pulled back and off him.  Spike looked, shocked to find the little Irishman trying to settle Angel.

"He didn't touch her Angel," Doyle stated and looked between the two vampires.

"Then how?" Angel asked, distraught.  He knew the mark and knew that only Angelus could do it, Spike didn't have the artistic flare to carry it off or do it in such detail.  "Tell me that Doyle."

"She dreams, Angel, and the marks...they just come up," Doyle explained, his eyes pleading for the vampire to calm down.  "Spike, he's had nothing to do with it."

"She dreams?" he asked indignantly and swung around to look at her, she was still sleeping even through all the chaos and shouting.

"She has been...I don't know what's going on," Doyle stated.  "About an hour ago she stopped, fell asleep and that was it."

"Dreams?" Angel asked, calming down and focusing.  He needed to know what was going on.  "What sort of dreams?"

"Bloody hell, she doesn't say," Spike shouted at his sire.  "She wakes up screaming, confused and in pain."

"Nightmares, Angel," Doyle stated quietly, backing up Spike.  "And she won't talk about it."

Angel ran his hand across his eyes and walked back to the bed.  Sighing he sat down and reached out to stroke her hair.  His thumb caressed her pale cheek, brushing the dark circles that ringed her eyes.

"Willow," he spoke softly, he was vaguely aware of Doyle and Spike moving forward, watching him.  His arm snaked about her waist while his other hand cupped her head lifting her up to him.  "Willow."

Her eyelids fluttered and her body twitched slightly.  Doyle and Spike exchanged looks, she had never been that easy to wake up.

"Come on, Willow, wake up," he urged, cradling her in one arm while the other hand caressed her face.  Moaning softly her eyes opened, bloodshot from lack of sleep and the tears she had shed.  She struggled for a moment, trying to focus on him.  He smiled down at her, his fingers still stroking her face.  "Hello Willow."

"No," she whimpered, cringing away from his fingers, trying to push him away.

"Shhh, Willow, it's okay I'm here," he reassured her, his arms tightening about her struggling body.

"No, please no," she cried out, her voice hoarse.  "I can't...I..."

"Shhh, it's all right I'm here, you're safe," he frowned gathering her closer to him, rocking her in his arms.  "Nothings going to hurt you, Willow. I promise."

"Angelus," she breathed against his ear, causing him to hold her tighter to his chest.  He held her, rocked her until she stopped struggling, stopped crying and fell back asleep.  And still he held her close.  It wasn't until Doyle touched his shoulder that he loosened his hold on her.

"She needs to sleep Angel," he said quietly.  "Let her sleep."

Carefully he laid her back against the pillows, pulling the quilt up, covering her, wrapping her up, protecting her.  He turned and looked at the two sleep deprived individuals before him.

"Get some sleep," he told them before walking out to his car and retrieving Willow's laptop.  Quietly he made his way up to the office, plugged in the laptop and pulled up the journal entries.  The message enter password flashed on the screen.  Slowly and carefully Angel typed in the name Angelus, closed his eyes and hit the enter button.  The computer beeped, announcing that the password was successful.  "Fuck."
 

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