Part One

Angel woke slowly, contentedly. He reached across the bed to hold the warm body of Willow Rosenberg, but felt only the cool cotton of wrinkled sheets. He brought his head up quickly, glanced at the clock on Willow's side of the bed. Five in the morning.
"Willow?" he asked groggily.
He was alone in the darkened bedroom.
He climbed out of the warm bed, uneasiness settling in his stomach. He'd had eighty years of waking up alone; Willow had spoiled him the past six months.
He slid his pajama bottoms over his well-chisled body and walked into the main body of their spacious LA loft. Through the sliding doors (He had to have been the only vampire in history to agree to live in an apartment where the main wall was made almost entirely out of glass; specialized drapes had had to have been ordered and they cost a small fortune but the look on Willow's face when she first saw this place had been enough to make him agree to anything.) he could see the beautiful curves of Willow's back, the straight fall of wine-colored hair spilling over her shoulders, the line of her jaw as she looked out over the city, leaning against the balcony. Pink streaks were just appearing over the horizon, but the smog was shaping up to be a record that day, and he figured he had at least fifteen minutes.
He stepped out onto the terrace, and placed his hands on the small of her back. She leaned into him happily, but said nothing. He kissed her neck slowly.
"Come back to bed," he said in a sleep-thickened voice.
"Mmm, in a minute," she said, tilting her head to give him better access. She shut her eyes and sighed.
He slid his hands around her waist protectively and leaned his head against her. "What's wrong, Willow? Can't sleep?"
She turned in his arms and rested her cheek against his bare chest."I don't want to talk about it," she said, not coldly, but sweetly. "I just want to. . .be here right now."
"Willow?" he asked, unsure of whether or not to pursue it,
"Please?"
His arms tightened around her and he kissed her, his tounge setting a soothing rhythm in her mouth. Line of fire began in various places of her body.
"Well, if you don't want to talk. . ."
"Let's go back to bed."
***
Willow was sleeping tenderly but deeply when Angel got up to feed. While she claimed it didn't disgust her, Angel did not like to eat in front of her and usually did so while she wasn't home or in the room. He knew it hurt her that he hid this intimacy from her, but he felt shame when he showed his true nature before her. She had learned to respect his privacy.
While he soothed his hunger, he riffled through the 'Willow-nests' left on the counter. Fliers, books, keys, trinkets she got from Happy Meals(? he saw nothing happy about paying three dollars for a mini hamburger and greasy fries. . .he would never understand American cuisine) and various pieces of junk mail. It amazed him that the IRS couldn't catch on to exactly how much money he had in Swiss accounts but Mastercard sure as hell could. . .
One letter was stuck on the bottom of yesterday's pile.
He didn't know why it cought his eye: it was in a plain envelope, addressed to Willow in her mother's slanted and meticulous penmanship. Since they had moved away, Willow recieved a letter a month from her mom, the first line of which was usually read before the whole thing was thrown in the trash. The first two had had checks of pitiful amounts of money; Willow sent her a copy of their last bank statement and those had stopped.
Willow had never kept one of them before.
Feeling only minutely guilty he removed the letter and scanned it.
It was not a personnal note; it was legal papers from a Sunnydale firm.
They were divorce papers.

Part Two

When Willow woke up, heavy depression had settled in her chest, and she snuggled back down into the covers.
"Willow." She heard Angel's voice at her back.
"Hmmm?" she asked, rolling over. She spotted the letter in his hand. "Oh."
He sat down at the edge of the bed. "Were you going to tell me?"
"Eventually. Way to read my mail."
"You're one to talk. Halloween '98. I believe the snooping you did about me in the Watcher's Diaries led to your dying, Buffy losing her memory, and some good old-fashioned Spike havoc."
"Well, if you want to be negative. I didn't technically die, you know."
"Willow."
"I know, issue at hand." She sighed. "You're going to make me talk about this, aren't you?"
"It's not healthy to bottle this up. It eats away at you. . . I should know. . ."
"Yeah, cryptic guy, let's start digging around in your traumatic past and annalyze everything."
"We aren't talking about me."
"Isn't that convienient?"
"I find it to be, yes."
Willow fell back into the pillows. "You're impossible."
He lay down next to her, stroked her cheek. She closed her eyes and relaxed in the intimacy and safety of her situation.
"I suppose you're going to give me some song and dance about how this isn't my fault?"she asked.
"I don't think it is."
She opened her eyes. "Yeah, I'm just unreasonably paranoid."
"I didn't say that."
Willow swallowed hard. "Oh, Angel," she whispered as tears spilled out of her eyes.
"Come here," he said, drawing her close. He stroked her hair as she emptied herself on the front of his white shirt. "Ah, Willow." He kissed her eyelids. "It's not your fault. It's theirs."
"And I just had nothing to do with it? Wake up, Angel."
"Willow, calm down. Were they ever really happy?"
"What do you mean?"
"They're both very selfish people-- you yourself have admitted that, don't give me that look-- and I doubt their marriage was ever out of true affection for each other.
"So they just stayed together for twenty years, because. . .?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. They were probably planning to get diviorced as soon as you moved out anyway."
Willow wiped her eyes. "I don't think Mom was in on that plan. Did you see how she signed it?"
Angel's features hardened. "Yes, I did." He looked down at the paper.
"Just thought you might be interested, dearest," was scrawled across the bottom in angry letters.
"She blames me," Willow whispered.
"Let her. It's not your fault."
"I miss them," she said suddenly. Angel held her tighter.
"Do you want to go back?" he asked tenderly. She shook her head.
"I've worked hard to have a life with you, Angel. I'm not going back there to have it all destroyed." she sniffled. "Although, maybe. . .?"
"Hmmm?"
"We could send a fruit basket."
She smiled as Angel's chest shook with laughter.
***
Willow walked down the darkened streets of Los Angeles with her arm around Angel's waist-- and her left hand in his back pocket.
"That tickles," he informed her when she put it there.
"I imagine it does."
"Let's see how you like it," he countered, only to discover she was wearing a very pocketless dress. "Okay, fine, I see how it is," he said, nodding ruefully. "Payback's a bitch, though."
"I'm counting on it."
They had fallen into a compainionable silence then, Willow enjoying the feeling of his corded muscles beneath her fingers and the comforting weight of his arm around her shoulders.
"Quiet night," he said.
"Indeed."
He sighed contentedly and drew her a little closer.
"Not that I'm complaining," he said, kissing her lightly.
"Perish the thought." Willow examined the watch on his wrist. "Well, it is almost four. I think if we wanted to, we could go home."
"One more vampire, then?"
"Sounds fair."
"How about that one over there?"
***
"Mmmmm, wait a minute," Willow mumbled against Angel's lips. He gave a slight growl as she pulled away.
"What?"
"I forgot to get the mail when we left."
He sighed, exasperated, and pulled her back. "Fat lot of good getting the mail's done for us lately."
"An-gel."
"Fine," he said, making a show of pouting.
"Thank-you," she said, leaping up from the couch.
She returned two minutes later, waving a letter triumphantly in front of him. The stationary was Watcher Council letterhead.
"You see," she said, settling herself comfortably in his lap. "It's a Giles-letter and you would have missed it all just to--"
"What does it say, Little One?" he asked, stroking her hair. "Willow? . . .What's wrong?" he inquired as she sat up.
"It's not from Giles."

Part Three

Angel grabbed one of their black bags off the conveyor belt, then checked the itenery the Council had sent them. They didn't have to be back in Dublin for two days. . .he had a feeling Giles had something to do with the lag in schedule. He reminded himself to thank the younger man when they met up with him, and felt a shiver of anticipation at visiting the people he hadn't seen in four years.
His family.
Or as close as he had to it.
He found himself lost after his soul was restored. . .he wandered Europe for over half a century, each new town bringing fresh memories of his sins. Confused and broken, he inveivitably found himself back home. . . . .Ireland.
He breathed deeply, and through the canned air of the airport terminal he could smell it. . .
<home>
Green grass, dewy air. God, he had missed it.
He had missed them to.
Fifteen years ago he had stumbled, basically starving, into a pub/ inn in a small town about fifteen miles outside the city limits. It was a Sunday evening; the place was closed. . .
And in shambles. Chairs over- turned, register broken open, bottles busted. He had sniffed the air tenuously. There was feral smell hanging about-- unmistakenable.
Vampires.
He growled and stepped it, glass crunching beneath his boots.
He remembered walking towards the back, hearing a low moan. . .
"Angel, that one's ours." Willow's voice was like a bucket of ice, cooling the heat of anger that was rising in his chest.
"Huh?" he said stupidly as a hanging bag rolled past.
"Where were you?" Willow asked, stepping over the belt to chase her luggage. "Off in LaLa land?"
"Must of been," he said distantly.
***
Angel was distinctly quiet all through the cab ride out of the city. Willow lovingly studied0 his jawline, sillouetted against the velvet sky. His face was slack with awe as he stared at the rolling hills and she thought she saw tears lining his eyes. She reached out and took his hand. He squeezed it tenderly but didn't break away from the window.
***
Lost in thought and memories
<katherinescreamingjesusmaryandjoeseph>
Angel didn't hear the cab driver's question until Willow answered.
"Uh, America, California. He's originally from Galway, though."
"Ah, here to visit family?"
She felt his body tense for a moment.
"I guess you could say that," he replied, in brogue.
She gaped at him, suprised. He grinned and shrugged.
"What did you say that address was again?"
"1515 South Abbey."
"Across from St. Pete's?"
"That's the one."
"Haven't been there in years, but Mr. Mugavin and me da were school mates."
"You don't say?"
"Mmm, sorry to hear about him passing."
Angel tensed again. Willow, expectently, felt confused. "So was I. He was like. . .a father to me."
He was about to say brother, but, given his apparent age, that might have seemed a bit unusual.
"This is it, sir."
Angel climbed out of the car, happy to stretch. He tipped the driver generously, and went around the back to help Willow with the luggage.
As they were lifting bags out, the front door to the pub opened and a teenage boy, maybe a year younger than Willow, stepped out. He had a broom in one hand and a white apron tied around his waist. He began sweeping the front steps without so much as a glance at them.
Angel looked as if he's seen a ghost.
"Patrick?" he gasped. Willow looked from her lover to the boy and back. Angel was laughing now, gasping almost. "Paddy!" he said rushing up the steps.
The boy looked up, suprise written clearly on his face.
"A-Angel? Uncle Angel?" he said in disbelief as the vampire swept him into a big hug.
"Paddy, Paddy, Paddy! God, you've grown!"
"Ma! Ma! Come see who it is!"
Angel turned to a flabergasted Willow, an arm around the boy's shoulders.
"Willow," he said proudly. "This is my godson, Patrick Angelus Mugavin."

Part Four

Willow found herself thrust into a mass of confusion. All around her, Irish voices chipped in amazement, blending together in laughter.
"What in the world. . ."
"It's about time, you bastard. . ."
"How was your trip. . ."
"What did you bring me . . ."
"Must be exahausted. . ."
"Catch up on. . ."
and finally:
"Whose this?"
The inquiry came from a middle aged woman with fading brown hair and a kind face, staring mischeveously at Willow.
Angel looked at his lover, face filled with happiness, and said proudly: "This is Willow."
The news sent up another cheer and more laughter. The woman reached out and took her arm.
"I'm Coleen Mugavin. Poor dear, this must be overwhelming to you. And knowing our Angel, he hasn't explained one word of it to you."
***
A half an hour later found Willow settled comfortably in the Mugavins' warm but spacious kitchen with a glass of wine in one hand and Angel's palm in the other.
"It's good to be back," Angel said contentedly to Coleen's husband, Kevin.
"It's good to have you," he said hospitably. "We were beginning to wonder if you'd fallen off the face of the earth. Haven't heard from you since Christmas."
"Has it been that long?"
"It has."
"A lot has happened since then."
"Obviously," he said, gesturing to Willow.
Angel smiled.
"Fifteen years, he lived with us, and I can count on one hand the number of times the silly bastard has smiled, and here he is, ginning like a goddamned Chessy cat! Can you believe it, Col?"
"Who are you and what have you done with Angel?" the woman replied, teasing.
Willow wondered if she was talking to Angel or to her.
"A LOT has happened," he said, grinning wider.
***
As the first ruby streaks were appearing over the sky, the Mugavins, whoever they were, were filled in completely on the events of the past year, beginning with Buffy's death and ending with the letter from the Watcher's council.
"And that's why we're here," he finished, spreading his hands on the table.
"Quite a story," Kevin said dryly. Coleen leaned over a squeezed Angel's hand, but offered no words of comfort. Willow decided she liked this woman.
"Angel," she whispered softly, pointing out the window.
"Ah, silly me, let's get you to your room before I'm fixing Angel hash for breakfast," the lady of the house said. "I'll vampire- proof the house this afternoon."
***
Willow lay down on the soft bed and felt exhaustion wash over her. Jet lag was not being her friend tonight.
Angel slid into bed next to her, and she happily wrapped her arms around him. She settled her head on his bare chest and felt his hand automaticaly reach up and stroke her hair.
"Mister," she said. "You've got a lot of explaining to do."

Part Five

Angel sighed, but not deeply.
"I owe you an explanation."
"A very belated explanation, I might add."
"Do you want to hear this or not?" he asked, tugging her hair gently.
"I'm listening."
"Twenty years ago, I was isolated and alone--"
"Imagine that."
"-- and I decided to come home. . .to try and cope with my sins. I caused a lot of destruction in this world, Willow, but most of it was here. It took me a very long time to come back."
Willow stroked his chest softly, hearing his voice catch. He remained silent for a few moments.
"I don't know what made me come here, but I found myself in this town one night. It was Sunday and evening mass had just let out. I stopped a man and asked him where I could find a room, and he pointed me here."
Again he paused, lost in his past.
"The pub was closed, but they had a vacency sign in the window so I entered. . ."
*** In the past ***
Angel stepped into the darkened bar room slowly, the smell of blood light in the air but tangible. He listened, heard ragged human breathing coming from the back. He traced it, walking quickly but quietly across broken glass.
In the store room an old man lay gasping, propped against a wine rack. Blood trickled down his neck. Two vampires were on the other side of the room, looting the safe.
Angel cursed in Gaelic and they spun, grins ready.
He felt his fangs slid home, the burning sensation of human visage slid away.
When he had taken care of business and the floor was considerably dustier than usual, he helped the man to his feet.
"Angelus," he had stated simply before passing out.
***
"He was a retired Watcher . . .one of the few that knew about the restoration spell, and, more importantly, considered it redemption.. I took him to the hospital, where Kevin and Coleen showed up not much later. They had gone out for ice cream after mass, newlyweds. . .
"They invited me to stay with them for as long as I was in town, and I accepted, mostly becuse with Jakob hurt, they needed help. I ended up staying a while, even though being part of a family again. . .It was painful at times, to stand on the outside of that. When Patrick was born, they invited me to be godfather. I began to feel accepted again. But instead of allowing myself contentment, I could only berate myself for what I had done to my own family. They all gave me my space, understanding that I was going through a dark time, but none of them really knew how bad it was. Except for Jakob.
"He died five years ago. Afterwards, I. . .ran away, to be honest. I felt like a stranger in a house that had once been home, and with six kids, Kevin and Coleen barely had the energy to argue with me. I kept in touch with them mostly. Except over the first year, before. . .before Whistler found me. And of course, during my souless phase. But now. . ."
She didn't speak.
"Willow?"
"Angel," she said sitting up and facing him. "You know everything about me. You know my nickname for Xander, and my first turtle's name, and why I have a scar over my right knee, because I told you. I understand there's a lot of stories in 240 years, and you aren't crazy about talking about Angelus's glory days, but this is important and it's recent and *you should have told me*. I need to know. . .stuff about you." She looked at him, trying not to be hurt but failing.
"Oh, Willow," he said, drawing her into his lap amd burying his face in her hair. "I'm sorry."
"I know," she said, heart-melting. She kissed his neck, nipping gently. "Angel?"
"Hmm?"
"Make love to me."
"Gladly."
 

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