Old habits die hard. Angel was feeling really guilty. Guilty, because he felt like he'd caught up on a week's sleep, and even felt like breaking out into a cheery whistle. Magic. He hadn't truly known before why it was so addictive, but he did now. He shouldn't have liked what had happened, he should be very angry at Willow for putting him in that position, but a little devil kept appearing him on his shoulder every time he thought it, reminding him. He'd found it a very agreeable position. Willow was warm, soft, lovely, and his best friend in the entire world. They talked for hours in chatrooms, through Instant Messages, e-mail, the phone when all else failed. She was closer now to him than anyone else had been in a long time.
But romance wasn't something he did well. He was good at rape, murder, teasing, one-night stands and turning very suddenly into a bloodsucker. Maybe it was just that experience was lacking. <Maybe you're afraid. ...Afraid of what? Of yourself. Of what is going to happen to her if you do get romantically involved.> He could now, presumably, be able to consummate a relationship, but could he handle more than friendship emotionally? He didn't know.
Aside from the lapse, he had seen a decrease in her casting. The magic was still a problem, but he was confident Willow would right herself. Their friendship was helping her, he knew. They both depended on it. If he tried to take it to another level, and it didn't work... Could he be able to cope with helping her sink back into witchcraft?
He hoped that one day, with his help, Lady Laurel would be gone for good.
But Laurel had her own ideas about taking a backseat.
********
"Angel?"
"Hi, Willow. I was hoping you'd call." She paused.
"...Could you come over? I think... I think I'm having a problem."
"Five minutes."
********
It took him less. He used his key to let himself in quietly, in case there were intruders. She wasn't in the kitchen, or in the living room, or in the hall... The spell closet door was open strangely enough, but Willow wasn't inside. He peered into the bedroom. She lay over the same red satin sheets, head buried in a pillow. "...Willow? ...You okay?"
"Fine." She stretched languidly, rolling onto her side amongst the pillows. "How are you?"
"...Okay. You sounded upset on the phone."
"Yeah. I was summoning. I thought I got caught with part of the bastard inside of me, thought I needed your help. I exorcised it on my own. I was just overreacting."
A million horrible images danced through his head. He squelched them quickly. "You're okay?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm just peachy. Buzzin', a little. Have a seat." When he looked around for a chair, she patted the edge of the bed. "Come on, Angel. Don't be shy. You weren't shy earlier."
"Earlier I didn't have control." He didn't move. "You shouldn't be summoning. There's no reason to. We've talked about this."
"Of course there is." Angel had seen her dressing gown before; what he hadn't seen was the witch wearing Only the dressing gown. "It's fun. Gives you such a high. I would teach you how to do it, but then, I figured you had issues with demons." One foot was idly tracing circles on the pooled sheet, exposing most of her thigh. "Have a seat. You're being all proper. It's making me nervous."
Angel shook his head. "I'm not even going to try and talk to you when you're like this. Call me in the morning, when you've sobered up."
"It is the morning, technically speaking. And I'm not drunk."
"No, you're playing with magic. I want no part of it." He was fighting to hold back game face. "How could you? Things were going so well. I'm leaving." He moved for the door, jumping back slightly as it slammed in front of him. The knob wouldn't turn. "Willow. Open the door." Now he was getting scared.
"I don't think you really want me to. I think you want to play with me. Won't you play with me?" Her hands went to the tie on her gown.
"No, Willow, let me go." He tried staying calm, and didn't stare, except out of the corner of one eye. "This isn't funny. You tricked me into coming here."
"...You could just let yourself enjoy. Would that be so hard?" She pouted, tugging teasingly at the robe. "I could make it so you couldn't resist. Would that make it more fun for you?"
"Don't do what you're thinking of doing, Willow. Don't!" He backed up a step, running into the wall. Part of him was aching to join her there on the bed, to lie in her arms until they couldn't tell what day it was anymore. But the rest of him knew that there was no recovering a friendship after something like that happened. "That would change things between us forever."
"Then I'll make you forget, if you want me to."
"No, Will--" He clapped a hand over his eyes as she opened the dressing gown. "--ow. Open the door."
"...Fine. If you're going to behave like a scared little rabbit. Go, then. But--on one condition." She smirked. "I want a kiss. One little kiss, that's all. On the lips."
"Willow, I didn't come here to play games."
"One kiss, I promise, and I'll open the door."
"You promise?"
"I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die." He looked at her eyes for one long minute, seeing only her own soul lurking in the depths.
"Put on your robe." He didn't look downward, true to gentlemanly form.
"...Okay. Ready." She rose to her knees, closed her eyes, and waited.
He stood at the edge of the bed. He would either have to pull her across it, or... Angel waded out a foot amongst the dark satin, hearing it rasp faintly in the dark. He leaned over, one knee on the bed, before halting once again. "Willow, I don't think--Wah-" In one fluid movement, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body flush against his. "Just kiss me." She said huskily, pressing her mouth against his. Angel's arms instinctively wrapped around her waist, caught off guard. For a brief second, he drank in her lips, filing the memory of the kiss away for a lonely night.
Before he knew it, her robe was open and his hands had found places he'd been trying not to think about since he first saw Willow. He suckled down her neck, while the redhead did a valiant job of unbuttoning his shirt. He pushed the robe off her shoulders, leaning Willow back. But it was the low moan in her throat that startled him.
Ever see a Sports Highlights show when they replay in slo-mo an especially heartbreaking fumble?
He dropped her.
He DROPPED her.
The side of her head hit the nightstand.
"Oh, God, Willow, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to--I didn't--" He pulled the sides of her robe closed, backing off. In a panic, he tried the doorknob. It was still frozen. The witch sat up, holding her forehead. A trickle of blood snaked down her cheek. "Y...You're bleeding. Here..." He took the corner of his shirt in hand, advancing.
"Stop." Her body shook with silent sobs, product of the entirety of the last few hours. She wouldn't look at him, holding her hands over her face, physically trying to hold in the outburst in his presence. "Just go."
"Willow--"
"Go! Get Out! Just Get Out!!" The door swung open, but Angel wasn't leaving yet.
"Listen to me. I care about y--" Her hands came suddenly away from her face, her tears mixing with the blood from the nasty gash.
"Maybe you didn't hear me. I said," She straightened, rage apparent on her face. Something none of the Sunnydale gang had ever seen before. "GET! OUT!"
The world went dark.
********
He registered the smell of freshly turned dirt and dead things. Normally, he could see in the dark, but this was total blackness. It took a moment to figure out.
<I've been buried.> He could hardly move in the dirt. <Buried? How did I get buried?> Angel's head was still clearing. The ground was softer to the west of him, so he dug that way, eventually pulling himself into the dim light of a streetlamp.
As if crawling out of the wet ground wasn't enough, he was summarily kicked and beaten six ways from Sunday when he hit the air, eventually landing against a tree, screeching as a stake came his way.
"Angel?!" A surprised voice called. Metal glinted off her uniform. A badge. He looked up, dazed and confused.
"...Buffy?"
"Angel? My god, what're you doing crawling out of grave? What're you doing in Sunnydale?"
"Hang on a minute." He snapped, wiping the grime out of his eyes. <Sunnydale? What... > "New York..."
"Oh, well, sure, pencil me in on the waiting list." She put the stake away. "Are you all right?"
"I don't know... One minute I'm in New York, in bed with Wi..." He trailed off, guiltily looking away as he realized who he was speaking to. His legs felt like Jello, and Angel was sure he was bleeding.
"You and Wills?" Buffy's mouth dropped open. "Oh my god." Then a smile broke out. "Oh My God!" She squealed, grabbing his hands. "You and Wills?! That is so great. I can't believe it! How's Willow doing? Well, now I know she's doing fine, obviously, it's practically wink-wink nudge-nudge time over here, is she in town with you? This is such a surprise, when did you guys get into town?!"
"No, Buffy..." He spat a blade of grass out of his mouth. "I just... Calm down! Five minutes ago, I was in New York... And Willow and I are not involved, we're just friends--"
"You don't have to hide anything from me. I'm happy for you guys."
"Buffy! Listen! Five minutes ago, I was talking to Willow in New York. Suddenly I'm buried in the ground..." His face fell. "Oh shit. Oh, shit!" He sank down against the bark of the tree.
"What?"
"She transported me. I... we... had an argument, and she transported me to Sunnydale." Buffy's expression was puzzled. "With magic. I can't believe she would do something like that."
"What's going on?"
"Willow... she's out of control." A frustrated tear leaked out the corner of one eye.
Buffy sank to her knees in the wet grass. "Tell me."
********
"Something's wrong."
Willy shot the lanky transvestite a withering look. "Gee, ya think?" He wiped down the bar as they both watched Laurel wander across the dance floor towards the employee lockers. "Jesus Christ. She looks like a zombie."
"Yeah. Much as I hate to disappoint her clientele, I think I'm going to make her go home. She's been seeing some new guy recently. I wonder if he's been beating on her."
Willy scoffed. "She's a dominatrix. I'd be more worried about him."
Sheila crossed her legs, white glitter platforms matching her dress. "Not this guy. He's a positive beast." She tapped the cigar into the ash tray. "I think I'll wait to see what she's wearing. If she picks the mesh, I'll be able to see. If she picks the full catsuit, I'll make her strip and show me herself." She shook her head. "Sometimes I just hate men."
"But you are one."
Blink. She flicked her cigarette ash at the bartender before walking away.
"Make that all the time."
********
"Flight 42, now boarding at Gate 7. Flight 42, now boarding at Gate 7..."
"That's me. Thank you."
"Don't thank me, thank Xander."
"Xander?" Angel hadn't seen the man in years.
"How do you think I managed to get you a ticket on an hour's notice out of L.A.X.? Come on, I'll walk you up there." Buffy smiled. "Xander can do things like that, where he is. He has friends everywhere. I don't know why, but there's something about an Armani suit that transforms him into an amazing businessman. You know, even if we don't talk that much anymore..." She smiled. "Friendship. It's the reason I'm alive today. But then, you know that."
"Flight 42, boarding at..."
"You should go. Oh, by the way, here." Buffy pressed something into his palm. "Goodbye, Angel. ...She'll be okay. I know."
"How?" He wasn't sure of anything.
"Because I have faith in both of you. Now, you... go get her." She pushed him towards the gate, waving. "Good luck, Angel! Call me!" He lost Buffy, waving cheefully, somewhere in the crowd.
It wasn't until he was seated in the first class section of the plane, somewhat to his bewilderment, when he opened his palm.
The Claddaugh ring shone bright as the day he'd purchased it. He fit it onto his pinky for safekeeping, settling in and trying to let the in-flight movie distract him.
********
"Honey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"But, Laurel... Sweetie, you really don't look well."
"I'm not going home, don't bother asking." She didn't feel any embarassment at Sheila seeing her naked, and knew she suspected something was going on with Angel. That's partly why she was changing into the skimpiest outfit she had.
"I see that gash on your forehead. Did he hit you?"
"No."
"All right. Fine. But don't you be one of those stupid girls that let themselves get hit. You deserve the best, honey."
"No I don't." She slammed the locker door, cinching the leather bra behind her.
"Let me help."
"I can do it, Sheila."
"Fine. Fifteen minutes, room 4."
"Can't wait." Laurel tied her boots, checking her hair for a few minutes before heading out. It was no good to arrive before the victim. And she was in the mood to give the performance of a lifetime.
End Part 7
Bell, Book, and Candle.
...well... more like... Lighter Fluid, Salt, Matches.
He was ready.
The jewelry was loaded into boxes, as were many of the books. Some of them went straight into the fireplace, though, crackling with furious anger as years long magic research went up in smoke. Her clothes went into boxes.
He winced, took a deep breath, and formatted her hard drive. Then he pried her computer apart and made sure no data could possibly be recovered. All her disks went into the fire. Her files went into the fire. Angel saved her passport, social security card, birth certificate, a few other official documents.
Her clothes' pockets were searched, any arcane contents burned. He threw out a couple of outfits in the interest of making Willow a normal person, but deemed it wrong to burn anything that wasn't threatening. Most of it went into boxes. The moving van outside was staffed by a crew that knew they were getting triple their usual pay, plus a bonus.
The bed went, the tables went, the dresser went, the reproduction of 'Sunflowers' hid it's head. He burnt as many herbs as possible, scattered a fine layer of salt over her floor, scoured her walls with handfuls of the snowy white grit, and removed all her candles, throwing them away. The bedroom was purified.
Just one room left. He dismissed the moving van. They would go on ahead and continue with their instructions.
Angel picked up another handful of the coarse rock salt, heading for the closet.
********
"Tonight felt like it would never be over." Willow rested her cheek against the cool locker door. Appointments had run long, most of the men, beligerent. They never tell you when you first start as a Dom that guys who're submissive can also be very demanding. And whiny. Boy, were those little pissants whiny. Stuff like 'How is *that* supposed to hurt?' and 'Last time I was here, there was this other girl, she looked much more attractive than you, by the way--'. It was annoying. She knew it was only their way of trying to incite the Dom into 'punishing' them, but dear God, why can't people just come right out and tell you to hit them as hard as you can on the toes?
This toe thing... The toe thing really didn't make any sense to her. Whatever floats your boat, she guessed. Besides, the toe guy was only a semi-regular visitor. More frequent strange ones were Marshmallow Man, called that not because he was overweight, but because of what he liked to do with them. Then the guy they called 'Pierce'. He practically wore his own restraints in his skin, probably took home the world record for piercings.
Eventually, it all came right down to not really bothering her. She liked to strut around in high heels, she liked bondage, a fair amount of light torture. But mostly the control part.
She finished changing back into relatively normal clothing, hitting the cold night air with a shiver, and idly wondered exactly where Angel had ended up. Willow felt a little guilty about it; but wasn't worried. He was a big boy, he could take care of himself.
********
What he was about to take care of was her apartment.
The closet door stuck. He nearly had to go for a crowbar, which was rather odd. It had previously swung out easily. This time, his vampiric strength fought for every inch it opened. It was as if something was holding the door shut. Finally, with a mighty tug, it ominously creaked to the wall and stayed there.
If it was possible, and it wasn't by any law of physics he knew, the empty room was giving off steam. A thin sheet of it rose against the air outside the room, seperating his vision from the inside.
His hand snaked back, a clump of rock salt poised.
The closet hissed in warning.
The grains flew, glittering, through the air, hitting the wall of steam with little fiery flashes and combusting airborne into nothing. Angel stared in disbelief. This wasn't magic he'd seen before. It was amazingly powerful. The rest of the salt went the way of the first handful.
He had planned to dispell the circles and burn the place out.
Instead he returned to the living room. He would consult Giles later about the circles. Angel sat down heavily on the stool near the door. It was the last real piece of furniture in the house. In a few minutes, a soft click alerted him to the opening of the lock.
He stood in front of the door as it opened, looking down on a startled Willow. Her mouth opened as if to say something. To buy himself some time, he leaned in, kissing her heavily. She didn't return; but didn't pull away, either. His lips crossed her cheek to nibble on her ear as her hands rested on his shoulder.
"Angel... how did you get b..." Something else occured to her. "Where's all my furniture?"
"Willow?" He looked deeply into her eyes. "I love you. Remember that." He took one more quick kiss, which she cut off quickly.
"Angel, I--" Her hands raised in alarm as he covered her mouth and nose with the cloroformed rag. Angel could feel magic gathering on the back of his neck, but the smell was too much for the girl. Her eyes glared at him accusingly from over the rag. He felt awful. This was Willow. "I love you, Willow. I love you..." She fainted dead away into his arms.
********
"Hullo?"
"Giles?"
"Yes, who's this?"
"It's Angel, not much time to explain. I need your help with a spell. And I need to know what you can dig up on complementing circles."
"R-r-r-right. ...Ahh, what sort of spell?"
"...Sort of an anti-magic spell."
"Let me consult my books..."
********
Willow's eyes fluttered open as cool liquid was brought to her lips. She drank heartily, head swimming. "...Angel?"
"I'm here, Willow."
"What... what are you d..."
He was pained to do it, but the spell wasn't finished. The chloroform consumed her again. Angel lowered her onto the bed. The room was as near a replica of her bedroom as he could arrange the furniture to be. This one was somewhere in the middle of upstate New York, a nice, secluded area.
He dialed the number he'd dialed eight times in the past five hours.
"Giles? It's me again. Are we set on a spell?"
"Y-yes, this should be suf--"
"Good. Let's begin."
*******
Willow rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands, looking around at her bedroom, all in order. She was very groggy, though. Instinctively reaching out for the magic she knew would be there to help her wake up, Willow arched a brow.
And the strangest thing happened.
Nothing.
End Part 8
She woke up in a puddle of drool.
Not a pleasant thing. In fact, never a pleasant thing. You wipe your face off the second you get up. It's a given, an established tradition. Willow's senses were kicking in slowly. First, she'd noticed the drool. Second, she'd wiped the crust off her eyes. Third, she moved to another section of the pillow. And so on.
Then came another shocking bit of realization. The room was perfectly quiet. Willow woke up. She could always hear the constant buzz of magic around her, coming off her room in waves. It was a talent she'd had without knowing, one that blossomed shortly after her powers were given full reign over her life. Experimentally, she reached out with a psychic finger and prodded the energy she knew had to be there. <...What?>
No magic. She tried again. Still no magic. Dimly, her mind began to sense a barrier of some sort. It was close, and very powerful. Her eyes drifted around the room. Willow noted, with some surprise--but mostly panic, that it wasn't her own. Her furniture was there, but this place had carpeting, no runes, no magic books... Flashes were coming to her. She'd gone home, it was dark.... <Angel. ...Angel was there...> Her head hit the pillow again, dizzy without magic and from the enormity of betrayal. Willow idly went to rub her sore neck, when her hand hit resistance.
She was wearing a collar. It had to be a collar. The witch pulled herself forcefully out of bed and over to the mirror. The sight that met her was as strange as the room. Her face, without magic, looked sallow. Her skin was deflated, stretched taught over bones. Willow knew she barely ate anymore, sometimes 'helped' herself out in the bust department... But this couldn't be how she really looked. Couldn't... <Did I do this to me...?> The collar was firmly locked around her neck. It was a thick gray metal kind fastened with a padlock, one she'd seen on a couple of club members. It radiated a personal magical vacuum. All dominance issues aside, she was worried.
The window into the room was locked and barred. It was also three flights up. The only other exit was the door in. It looked to be made of good, solid oak. The redhead put her eye to the crack of the door and saw four bolts, equalling four locks, connecting the door to the wall.
Her eyes caught a covered tray sitting near the door. It had a small white note.
"Willow... Please eat something. I'll explain later. --Angel."
********
"Angel?!"
"...Yes?"
"I'm trying not to freak out here. What're you doing? I got a frantic call from Giles, telling me all sorts of wacky things and saying he can't get through to you--"
"I put him on call block."
"So?"
"So what?"
"What's going on?!"
"...How much did he tell you?"
"Enough to be fucking--pardon my French--worried. When I started this, I hoped for the best, so that if Willow needed anything, she'd know we were here, I did not tell you to kidnap her!" Angel sat calmly down in a kitchen chair. He'd had all his calls forwarded to the house, but hadn't remembered that he would get calls from work about loose ends in addition to shouting slayers and screeching watchers. He had called Giles back after the spell had worked, and had tried to be honest with the man. Perhaps his genuine concern for Willow hadn't quite been received as he'd hoped.
"Of course not. This isn't about you."
"...Is it about you? Do you have some bizzaro thing for locking Willow up?"
"No! It's not about that at all."
"But you do have a thing for her. A really big thing, from what I'd thought and hoped. Geez, I really could see you two together. Willow needs someone to love unconditionally, and so do you, if you'd just admit it, you big crybaby."
"Buffy, are you crying?"
"No!" He thought he heard a sniffle on her end. "Let her go, Angel. She can take care of herself. She's Willow."
"I think that's been our excuse too long. That's why, when she needs help, she's convinced she can do it herself. But this time Willow can't do it by herself. She needs my help. I know she does. I even think, deep down, she really wants it."
"But Angel--"
"I'm not letting another person I love die. I won't. I'm going to save her, with or without Giles' and your support. Even if I have to make her hate me before it's over."
"...It's illegal, Angel. I have to do something about it. I'm a cop, I can't just let this one go by, not when Willow's my best friend."
"Best friend? Maybe you should've called her more often." The insult hadn't meant to be there, but it was. "You of all people know about bending duty to suit your own purposes."
"ANGEL!!!" Thundered the witch from upstairs, using more lungpower than he'd known she possessed.
"Was that Willow?!"
"I have to go, Buffy."
"Don't you hang up--"
"I have to go!" Click.
********
She counted the locks. There were four. Made things difficult. Willow had arrayed herself on the bed in a 'you touch me, you lose a testicle' kind of way. It involved muted snarling and poised fingernails. He came into the room, looking a bit sheepish. The witch turned McGuyver noted that if he was in the room, he couldn't lock the door behind him. The locks didn't have faces on her side of the door, so picking them was out of the question. She'd either have to figure something out with the window, or go through Angel himself, physically. Difficult. But not impossible.
"How long have you been awake?"
"Not long." Grr.
"You haven't eaten anything."
"I'm not hungry." It was a lie, but it was a confident lie. She'd never felt this hungry before in her life! It was as if the magic had gotten rid of hunger, too.
"You should still eat something."
"I'm. Not. Hungry. Do I have to spell it? I can, you know. My faculties aren't that far gone." She snapped. "Why did you do this?"
Angel sat down on the edge of the bed, pocketing the key she'd had a careful eye on the whole time. Even if she had it, it probably wouldn't do any good. Still. Options open. "I notice you didn't ask what was happening, or if I would take off the collar."
"I'm a quick study."
"Then you know what it's for?"
"See previous statement. What are you trying to accomplish? The second I get out, I'll just go back to using magic again."
"Who says you're getting out?" His face was deadly serious.
"What..?" For a minute, his intentions seemed much different than friendly.
"You're getting out." He contradicted, the expression not changing. "But not until you've gained some weight. Not until you've lived without magic for awhile, seen what it's like to be thinking like yourself."
"This is me."
"No, it's not. That confidence? That's magic. Those looks? Magic. That biting wit? Magic. You have nothing real." Her face bled cold fury. "That's not even your anger. It's all an illusion, and incomparable to the kind of incredible warmth and loveliness you radiate when you're not trying to be Laurel. You have your brain and your heart without magic. You have the world, more than anyone can give you. You can do real things, good things, without it." He leaned in closer. "I know how Willow thinks, how she really feels. You want to know what she's thinking?"
"No."
"I'll tell you anyway. She's thinking that she wishes she'd done something real with her life, instead of creating this fantasy place. She's thinking it would be so much better if she'd kept writing stories and had a degree on the wall. Maybe become a watcher."
"You have no clue who I am."
"No? There's still time to quit, Will."
"You talk like I'm on crack or something."
"I'm forcing you to give up magic and get healthy again. We can do whatever you want, I can get you whatever you want, movies, food, whatever, but I'm not going to let you on your own until I can trust you."
"Take it off, Angel. I don't like this." The command was forthright. Backed up by her intense skill, it would have sent demons screaming out of the room. Yesterday. Today, it was worth little.
"I'm sorry, Willow." Angel stood up, gazing down with nearly parental disapproval. "This is the way it has to be." He took the key out again, moving towards the door.
"I'm not going to eat." <Ha. That stopped him.>
Angel froze. He hadn't even considered something like that. "Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not. See, I have this strange allergic reaction to people who put me in prison."
"Willow..." Soulful eyes blinked back at her. "Grow up. Have some soup." He was out the door just before she began pounding on the other side, screaming for him to let her out. All his instincts said to get in there and beg forgiveness. But now wasn't the time for instincts. Now was the time to think about Willow's wellfare.
********
"It's a beautiful idea, Laurel, I just don't think putting it into practice is... Dear God." The old man looked stricken into the old closet. He thanked the lord for inventing the elevator, or he didn't think he'd ever have reached the girl's apartment. "You... You did this?"
"Yup!" She giggled, bouncing into the room. "Isn't it great? I always heard about how spells can be amplified using magic circles and stones, certain conditions, right? But I found out that you can get different effects if you have one a circle and give the other one a special shape. Triangles and circles are great for protection spells, squares seem to inhibit--"
"That's got... thirteen sides?"
"Sixteen. Anyway, Trapezoids didn't seem to do much of anything, that was until I cast a locator--"
"Laurel!" Zion shook his head. "This is a bad, bad idea. How long have you been experimenting with this?"
"A couple of days."
"Young lady... there is a reason why magicians don't use more than one circle to cast. Has no one informed you of this?"
"Yes, but I thought--"
"Laurel! You are powerful. You are. But power goes hand in hand with corruption. You will become too dependent on magic, especially when it seems so readily available. Magic will run your very life. Until you break. You will be 'playing' one day, and you will be turned into something hideous, that's happened often, or possessed, that's even more frequent than a mutation. If you must keep channeling, do it without circles. That requires more difficulty and is better for training. In a real situation, one cannot rely on the exact alignment of circles to save them. They can rely on it to burn them out." One eye was taken by glaucoma. The other peered owlishly from bushy white brows. "Have you ever seen a burned out witch before? They have offended the gods, perhaps nature herself, and are burnt into the raw elements from which they came. You have such potential, Laurel." Zion turned, tapping his walking stick on the ground as he went. "Erase this." The cane tapped on the wall.
********
"Yes, Zion." Willow rolled over, muttering in her sleep. Angel hadn't moved for an hour. It was the beginning of the fourth day, and she hadn't eaten. Plates had been stacking up on the table by the door. All untouched. The entertainment center he'd brought up was gathering dust. If he came in while she was awake, she started throwing things at him until he physically stopped her, and then Willow would get really disturbing. The other night, she'd asked him if he remembered the time they were five and played Barbies, and then said something about trying to drink Ken's blood. He had the feeling she'd confused him with Xander. Angel reluctantly dragged himself out of the room, locked the door and went down to make dinner.
Scratch marks covered her neck around the collar. While she was asleep the second night, he'd had nightmares of Drusilla slicing his neck, and had gone in with nail clippers, chopping off up to three-quarters of an inch of red-tipped nail off her fingers. The stubby ones she had now weren't low enough to be painful, but couldn't break skin if they tried.
It was Drusilla's voice that would come to him. She was so beautiful, so lovely in her day. There was an invisible halo around her at all times. God had surely meant for her gift to help the world. Pity he'd left her among a family Angelus was convinced did as much psychological damage as he had. The same scene kept replaying in Angel's mind.
"Please..." She sobbed hysterically, clutching the rags of her dress. Blood ran down her trembling chin. "Please... I want to be a good girl..." He'd lashed out for her leg, entirely self-satisfied that she jerked away from him, still backing up. The basement floor was cold, but she didn't try to get up. She just kept scooting backwards, her feet and hands numbly propelling her much more slowly than if she got up and ran, but she was unwilling to turn her face away from the grinning vampire. "I do!...God save us... God save us..." Tears flowed down her shaking cheeks, pushing their way between her tightly-shut lids. Her back hit the wall suddenly, Drusilla realizing through complete terror that there was no where to go.
Angel bent to one knee, creeping just inches from her face. He wiped away a tear gently, doing his 'Preacher's' voice. He'd kept two distinct voices throughout the whole of her breaking. He would speak gruffly when their encounters were in the outside world. But he always met her with gentility in the confessional when she'd come. "Awwh. Is the little girl crying? Tsk. We canna have that now, can we?"
She started at the gentle voice, the one she trusted, despite the fact that it was faceless and kept telling her she was going straight to hell. Drusilla ventured to open one eye. "My dear, why're you so upset? Surely this isn't the place for it. You should be in church." Through the mists and haze of her mind, she saw him. The Father. The only one who looked out for her soul. He was just as beautiful as she knew he'd be.
"Father... are you an Angel?" Her hand moved to touch his jaw.
Angelus leaned into her touch. "Why, you are a smart girl. You've figured it out. The Lord has sent me to you. I am your Angel, Drusilla."
Tears of joy washed down her chees, clearing away some of the blood. She leaned forward. "Oh! Oh, I knew... I just knew I wasn't--if I kept trying to--God would forgive me for the bad things I see. ...Have you come to take me away?" The last was a desperate plea.
Angelus smiled his gentle Preacher's smile, and took her hand in his. "My dear, Heaven has opened it's arms and waits for you." Her smile was radiant, as if her soul was already ascending without waiting for death. "But what's this?" She met his eyes briefly, then shrieked horribly at the invasive stab of two fingers under her skirt. Drusilla closed her legs and shook in violent fear as the Angel held the two fingers up into the air. They had blood on them, from where she'd just been ravaged for the first and last time. "Tsk, tsk." He punctuated his sentences with them, spattering a few drops more onto her blouse. "You've been spoiled." He reached over, wiping his fingers disdainfully across her lips.
Drusilla spat, quaking. "F-father. I did'na mean for... I did'na know..." She clutched the bloody skirts to her, curling into a fetal position.
"You allowed yourself to be spoiled?! You've laid with a man?!" She shook her head to the negative, hyperventilating. "Whore. Whore!"
Her hands darted to his mouth, covering it. "N-no, please, Da will hear you--please!"
"Whore!" Angelus shoved her roughly against the wall. "Whore! Wh-o-re!" He stood, calling to the town. Most of them had been slaughtered at the beginning of the night's festivities, including her 'Da'. She pushed herself from wall, laying at his feet, kissing shoes that had slogged through mud, excrement, and blood that night.
"Please! Mercy..." She sobbed. "Show mercy, Father... I beg forgive--I beg forgiveness..." He waited until her sobs had quieted somewhat, and crouched down, lifting her face.
"Do not cry, my child. I forgive you."
"...I will go to Heaven?"
"No." He morphed back into game face, snarling in gutteral speech. "You come with me." Her screams echoed in his mind.
Angel remembered draining her, forcing her lips to his wrist. He remembered every word. Every single word. Enough to drive him mad. Willow's heart would just give out, eventually. She had the inner strength to sit there in front of stacks of food and not eat a thing.
End Part 9
He grabbed what he'd been preparing, a bowl of stew, some bread, cheese, fruit, a soda, milk, tea, vegetables--Angel had been overpreparing in case he hit on something she really liked and she ended up eating it--put it on a tray, and headed up the stairs. He knocked on her door, just to let her know he intended to come in.
"It's open. Oh wait, it's not."
He unlocked the door quickly, moving in and shutting it behind him. Willow smirked at him from her usual spot on the bed.
"You're looking amazingly coherent."
"I had a long nap."
"So I noticed."
"Spying on me again? Technically, I am your prisoner, you can just come in and watch me if you want."
"Wouldn't want to impose." He pulled a card table up to the bed, laying out her meal. Willow, with concentrated effort, rolled her eyes in the other direction. "Here." She was startled as he tucked a napkin into her shirt collar, spreading it out over her chest. "For crumbs. I hate to sleep in crumbs, and I don't want to try and seperate you from those sheets you love so much."
"Ha. Ha." There was a measured silence between the two Ha's. On a scale of sarcasm, it was a ten.
"Come on, Willow. Eat. You haven't eaten in... how long? ...It's not hard."
"...I'm not hungry." The hollowness in her eyes deepened. There was some sort of reaction going on beneath. What kind of reaction, he couldn't tell. "Take it away."
"You're not Ghandi, Willow."
"Do me a favor, Angel. Don't talk to me."
"All right..." He straightened up, opening a small bag she hadn't noticed before. "Last chance. Eat something?"
Mutely, she shook her head.
His jaw set. "...I don't want to do this, Willow. Remember that."
*********
Angel untied the last knot holding her down without difficulty. She ate silently, some of the meal still dribbled over her chin and down her shirt.
"I'll leave you alone now." He edged out carefully. The door swung shut.
Willow obediantly shoveled forkful after forkful of the meal into her mouth, not caring what she ate, or how much. He'd literally forced her lips open, shoving food down her throat until she choked on it. She'd tried to flail, bite, kick, sceam, all to no avail. His strength was more than her jaw muscles could take. Her throat hurt, and so did her neck, where he held her head against the headboard, two fingers prying her lips open. She bruised so easily without magic.
Ten minutes later saw her bent over the toilet in the adjoining bathroom, throwing up the better portion of the progress she'd made. Dry heaving followed.
Her only relief that night came in finally being able to cry her eyes out in relative comfort, confident that Angel would not disturb her until he let plenty of time pass. The cold tile floor soothed. Willow's thoughts were barely coherent. From the other side of the seemingly thinnest wall she'd ever known, magic swirled in the prettiest of colors. Almost as if it was calling, singing to her...
In a few minutes, she dragged herself up and went back to what little food remained. It wasn't so bad, being the victim. It wasn't. Why did she keep bursting into tears?
This wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. She'd done everything right, everything everyone had told her to do until she met Buffy. Then they'd told her doing everything right was wrong. So she'd starting doing things wrong. But that was wrong too. Then, she'd thrown everyone's opinions of herself completely away, and started doing everything wrong. And it felt so right! Right and wrong were abstracts that didn't make any sense anymore.
"Angel's right... you can't just go around using magic for everything... but it's not right for him to hold you here..."
Wrong. Right. Right. Left. Left. Behind. In front. Beside. Away. Near. Far. Close. Open. Shut. Down. Butter knives, table legs, patience... stakes...
********
He crept in quietly, in case she was asleep. When Angel didn't see her anywhere, he felt a panicked tightening in his chest. Then he spotted a foot hanging out of the bathroom door. Stepping inside, he crept forward. She lay on the bathroom floor, breathing evenly against the tile, eyes blessedly closed.
"...Willow?" He whispered. She didn't stir. The vampire moved to scoop her into his arms, when she woke very suddenly, darting away from his grip. Green eyes burned holes through his heart, and from this angle, he could see why. Finger-shaped bruises dotted her neck. His hands. His hands had done that. He was nearly overcome by a wave of shame.
"I tried to eat." She rasped. Keep him happy... we must keep him happy... not expecting. "I-I did eat. A little."
"I'm glad." She shook like a leaf, but he knew if he tried to help her up now, it would be a most unwanted invasion. "...It keeps your strength up. You could really use that right now. ...I'm not going to keep you here forever, you know. I am going to let you out. Don't go giving up, now. I'm not giving up on you." Angel wanted her to react, but knew he couldn't force it. "You hear me?" She nodded a fraction of an inch. "Good. ...I-is there anything I can get you?"
Her voice shook. "Aspirin."
"Aspirin?" Angel repeated.
"...h-headache."
"Oh. Yes, yes, of course. Aspirin. ...I'll have it for you. Anything else?" She shook her head no. He rose to full height. "Okay. Aspirin it is. I think I'll bring you home some ice cream too. What's your favorite flavor?" She squeezed her eyes shut.
"...I guess we'll go with vanilla, then." Angel stared down at Willow. "Right. I'll be back soon." She heard him leave.
"Not soon enough. Bastard."
********
Buffy sat amid the stacks of paperwork and wanted to cry her eyes out. Vampire activity was at an all time low and all she could do was sit by the phone, tensed to spring.
But none of the bad people were here. They were all in New York. And her best friend was still in trouble. Maybe even more than before. She couldn't be sure of Angel's intentions. They seemed good, but what did he do that didn't seem good? What if Willow's spells had done something to him? What if Willow herself was evil? Why weren't they calling?!?! The pencil in her hand snapped. The Slayer laid her head down on her hands in exhaustion.
********
"It's just ice cream. It's just ice cream. It's not a life or death decision." There were thousands of selections. Ben and Jerry's, Breyers, Godiva, Edy's, Starbucks, all sorts of weird brands had sprung up. Years ago, he remembered seeing a small ice cream section. If you wanted vanilla, you picked up a carton labeled 'Vanilla'. Not trippy-dippy-whammo-vanilla-riffic or something like that. Did Willow even like vanilla? Maybe she liked chocolate. He was torn.
It wasn't the ice cream. He'd had to cut off his life-lines to the outside world. No Buffy, No Giles, no distracting work, and especially... no Willow. Oh, sure, he saw her every day, but not in a friendly way. And he'd gone way too far with his inexperienced brand of 'help'. He might as well have beaten her, for all the good it did either of them. Leaving bruises... He hadn't felt this guilty since he'd first gotten his soul back.
He knew then. He had to let her out. He had to. He wasn't helping, he was hurting. He'd let her out. Be damned the consequences. If she burnt him to ashes the second he took off the collar... he would welcome it. That's what he'd deserve. He never should've started something he didn't know how to finish. Never.
"Young man?" He turned to find a small grey-haired old lady standing next to him. She smiled, reached beyond him, grabbed a carton of Chunky Monkey (tm), and patted him on the shoulder. "Life's too short to look so sad."
Angel looked down at her.
He didn't bother with the ice cream.
********
"Willow? Willow!" He called from the first floor, keys in hand. His hands trembled at the door locks, eventually undoing all of them. It was a mixture of excitement and nausea at the same time. The vampire had resolved to let her out.
The door swung open to another empty room. He stepped inside? "Willow?" He looked in the bathroom. No Willow. He'd begun to freak out once again when he saw her small frame in the corner of the room. "Willow? ...Are you...?" She looked up at him.
"...I... fell down. Couldn't... get back up." Her breathing was labored, stringy hair hanging in her eyes. Maybe the withdrawal had just now seriously set in.
"Here... let me help you--" He bent down, arms outstretched.
Her face took on a violent twist. Angel saw this a brief second before a stabbing pain overtook him. Willow's hand arched up, holding a sharp wooden object, propelled with all her remaining strength.
He faltered back, startled by the intrusion. Willow slithered out from under him, sprinting for the door. She didn't pity him. The thin stake had been meant for his heart. At the last second, she'd put it straight through his neck. Blood spurted in waves as the vampire fumbled for the offending object. He rallied quickly, removing the object and shaking off the wounded haze just in time to hear the last of the locks clicking into place.
An anguished cry was muted by the large tear in his throat.
**********
Willow was a rational person. She could tell when she was hyperventilating; that was now. The door's locks had slid into place easily. Now what she needed was her strength back. Furiously, she jammed key after key on the ring she'd snatched from Angel into the collar's lock. Each in turn was rejected. Willow screamed in frustration and began trying each of them again.
A noise behind her alerted her to the fact that Angel wasn't down for the count. A loud banging sounded from behind the door. He was trying to break it down. "Shit." The banging sound paused, replaced by an even louder banging on the wall next to the door. Plaster sprinkled like snowflakes from the ceiling as the wall began to crack. The vampire was coming through, wound or no. "Shit. Shit!" She turned, moving across the house, finding the stairs quickly, but taking them slow. Willow was dizzy from exertion; falling would only end things more quickly than they began.
Reaching the downstairs, she peered outside. A car! The keyring she still grasped held a key marked 'Ford'. She fled the house through the window, not bothering to take time to find the key that would open the front door.
"As far away as fast as possible... as far away as fast as possible..." She climbed into the car, the law-abider in her sorry she didn't have a working liscense with her. It started. "Praise the Goddess!" The Bronco burned rubber down the driveway.
Willow was thinking ahead. If the damned collar was sealed magically, even a pair of bolt cutters wouldn't free her. She could have it unlocked magically; but Zion and the others wouldn't help. She'd have to go to the only place she knew was left.
The circles called.
********
He looped a ripped piece of those damn red satin bedsheets around his throat, just to stop the bleeding. Angel listened, hearing the sounds of jangling keys outside. He tried to call out, to tell Willow he'd been coming there to let her go--
The collar key was in his shirt pocket. He had to get out there before she accidentally sliced her head off with a hacksaw, or did something even more drastic.
The damn door. It was solid as a rock; he'd made sure of that himself. A bad move, when you're the one trapped inside. It took even blows from his shoulder, didn't creak a bit. When a chunk of old plaster tumbled down from the ceiling, he had another idea. He began chipping away at the wall with all his strength, employing several handy objects. Within a couple of minutes, he'd worked a vampire-sized hole into it, hearing the sound of squealing tires downstairs. Angel flew down the stairs, zipped across the first floor, dove out the window, and watched the tailights fade impossibly in the distance.
"...Willlow... Where are you going..?" He staggered, the hole in his throat almost healed. He'd fed right before he'd left for the store. "Okay, Angel, think. Think. If I were Willow, where would I go?" He pressed his palms to either side of his forehead. "...Where... would... I ...go...?"
The vampire snapped to attention. "Home."
End Part 10
Rain slicked down on the glass windows in sheets. The inhabitants of the run-down little diner were happy to be indoors, grasping piping coffee while their trucks took the storm. Mae refilled cups, scrubbing the grime off her hands onto her grubby apron. She was startled out of her internal monologue by the wet squeal of tires into the lot.
A small, shivering woman made her way into the diner, red hair plastered against her forehead. The storm had apparently caught her. It wasn't surprising; it seemed to have sprung out of nowhere. She took a seat on a barstool.
"What can I get ya, honey?" Mae whipped out her notepad, not that she needed it. She was a born waitress. Not the rich, nobby kind of waitress, but the kind that would be happy winking at truckers and keeping track of fifty orders at once.
"Uhh..." Willow put her hand in her pockets, coming up with a crumpled dollar bill and a quarter. "How much is a cup of coffee?" Mae scooped up the proffered dollar and quarter.
"Cuppa coffee and a piece of pie sound good to ya?" The waitress winked. Willow managed a tentative smile.
"Thank you. ...Say..." She tried to keep her head down, distract attention from the collar that still hung around her neck like a weight. "M-miss?"
"It's Mae, honey. What's on your mind?"
"Uh... w-where exactly is this? I m-m-mean, this diner? How far from ...New York?"
Mae blinked. "You're a couple hours out of New York. You're in Vermont."
"V-vermont?" The waitress nodded, leaving Willow alone with her thoughts. Vermont? Angel had kidnapped her and taken her all the way to Vermont? ...Or maybe she'd just driven the wrong way. It had been a long while before Willow had realized she didn't know the way back home. And now she was spending the last of the change she'd found to buy something to keep her warm and conscious. She was almost out of gas and in Vermont. Worse, there was no one she c---
The pie and steaming cup of coffee arrived. Willow looked up at the waitress she'd formed a strange sudden connection with. "Do you have a phone I could use?"
"...It's in the back." Willow took a long pull of the coffee, just to warm up, and headed for the phone. Mae refilled her cup.
She twirled the cord around her fingers, glancing around, half expecting Angel to show up growling at her. "Collect call from Willow Rosenberg." The operator read off to the answering party. She held her breath, nearly shouting for joy as she was put through. "...Xander?"
********
"Listen, buddy, no one's coming all the way out there in this weather, emergency or no. You wait a little while, we'll have a taxi for you. Until then..."
"But it's an emergency! You don't understand--"
"I don't care if somebody's dying. You need a ride that bad, you call the cops, not me. Our drivers aren't gonna die just cause you're in a hurry, buddy."
"...Just... send the taxi as soon as you can. Please."
"Sure thing, mac." Click.
Angel threw the receiver in the direction of the phone, growling. His neck had cleared up quickly, thank god. He'd tried to follow Willow on foot at first, realized how stupid that would be, then he'd called four cab companies and one of Doyle's old associates to try and get a ride. They offered no help.
Slipping on his leather jacket, Angel moved for the side of the road. If he had to stop a car with his bare hands, he would.
A nagging voice in the back of his mind wondered why he was still following Willow. He was resolved to let her go, wasn't he? ....Maybe he wasn't.
********
Willow watched the sheets of rain, looking briefly at her watch which wasn't there. Xander had been happy to hear from her, more than happy, ecstatic. He seemed lonely, distant. But he'd been more than happy to say thank you by sending a car for her. The Harris name, if not very legal ones, had connections.
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head as a large black stretch limo showed up. A man got out, coming into the diner. He took one look around, approached Willow, bowed gallantly, and crooked his arm. "Miss Rosenberg?" The stranger continued at her strange look. "Mister Harris sends his deepest regards." The witch took his arm without another word, letting herself be escorted to the car. He held an umbrella over her during the journey.
The heater was on and it was practically tropical in the car. She luxuriated in the warmth of the backseat, before snapping to attention.
"Miss?" The driver had rolled down the separating window. "Where would you like to go? Mister Harris said absolutely anywhere."
"Manhatten."
********
Angel had spent exactly three minutes pacing up and down the floor of the house, before putting on his jacket and slogging through the mud towards the nearest highway, determined to get a lift. The storm tossed debris at him and made the vampire lose his footing more than once, but Angel was determined to make it back to Manhatten before Willow got there.
Headlights cut through a section of the storm. The vampire moved into the center of the road, holding his hands apart. The car saw him just in time, skidding to one side of the road. He ran to the passenger side of the car.
"Hi." A strange little man stared back at him from the front seat. "Where are you going?"
"Ermm... Trenton."
"Great! You can drop me off somewhere on the way." Angel jumped into the car. The little man scratched his head and turned up the radio volume, hoping the hitchhikker wouldn't try and kill him.
********
"Send my regards to Mr. Harris." She told the driver, smiling broadly. "Tell him I will be in touch."
"Of course, Miss Rosenberg."
Willow didn't bother to correct him. She was home and relatively dry. The driver hadn't said anything, but she knew how dark the bags under her eyes must've looked. Her fingers felt like they were trembling as she made her way into the building. It took a few seconds longer than usual to turn the doorknobs.
She burst out of the elevator, nearly sprinting to her apartment. A terrible fear gripped her heart as she remembered she didn't have a key with her, but vanished as the knob turned cleanly under her fingers. He hadn't locked it. What a dork. She wouldn't make the same mistake, and snapped the deadbolt into place.
The witch crept silently through her place. It had literally been gutted. Almost nothing remained. Little crumbly piles of salt were scattered over the floor forlornly. Her fists were unconsciously clenching and unclenching. It was almost a larger trespass than spiriting her away, to destroy her things, to take them, what she'd spent her lifetime collecting and creating.
The bedroom was worse. All the circles had been scrubbed away. No books. No powders. No incense. Her index fingers hooked underneath the bulky collar, tugging.
The closet.
********
"Turn here." Simon, the little man in the driver's seat, was terrified. He'd always gone around Manhatten, around as much of New York city as he could get. He blamed his bad driving on timidity and poor peripheral vision.
He'd already lost both side mirrors.
"Okay, stop." Angel gripped the seat. "Pull in here. Not there! Here!" Simon swung his car onto the sidewalk, severely upsetting a few drug dealers on the corner. Angel hopped out. "Thanks for the ride." He gave a little wave and ran off in the direction of Willow's building.
********
The door felt oddly warm. The heat was off in the rest of the apartment, sending little clouds of steam spiraling off the frame. The witch could feel a crackle behind the door. Magic. Why hadn't Angel destroyed this too?
"Guess some people don't understand that salt isn't a magickal cure-all. ...Now I'm talking to myself out loud."
She'd spent days without magic, countless hours listening to Angel lecture about how summoning was evil. Screw it. Willow was going to do this.
No. Not Willow. Laurel, damnit. "All my old friends come back and there goes good old Wills, back into her pidgeonhole." She could call about her job tomorrow. It didn't reallly matter. She had money saved.
Her hand pressed flat against the door. Her breath held. Now or never. Make a choice. Be sad Willow, be victorious Laurel.
As she pushed the closet door easily open, she wondered if she wasn't someone else entirely.
********
Angel took the steps four at a time, something he could only do while extremely focused. He had tired of waiting for the elevator for three seconds, and was taking out some of his aggression in the climb.
He flew down the corridor, coming to a stop at her front door. He tried the knob. Locked. Had he locked it? It seemed natural enough. But what if Willow was already home? He peered underneath the door, saw no light. She must not be here. But then, where?
********
The steam curled around the wooden paneling like a swarm of insects. It rippled and curved in the tiniest of waves, swirling around her feet and over her shoes. She kicked them off, followed by her socks, her blouse, and after a hesitant moment, everything else she was wearing. Willow shivered. The room seemed to have dropped several degrees since she entered it. The steam was higher, too. It licked at her knees, reaching upwards in little tendrils. Kicking it off, she held her breath, stepping without harm into the complementing circles.
The mist cleared around the circle, not surprisingly. The magic was so focused here she could reach out and take a bite of it. The part of her neck under the collar tingled. The witch stretched her arms wide, taking a firm stance with her feet apart. The cold was even worse here, bringing goosebumps out all over her body.
She stretched for what seemed like ages. The tension filled her from toes to fingers, her mind focused on reaching the power that was buried behind the collar's wall. Eventually she Zoned. That was what she always called it. The point where you are so set on your objective that your eyes close and you can no longer see anything but a pinpoint of sharp black surrounded by muted darkness--and then you can't see anymore. You forget. Your ears become swaddled in deafening cotton, muting all sound. Next to go is taste, then smell. And you go numb.
Willow's fingers became loose, curling in a hanging position from the weight of gravity. Her elbows bent slightly. It was as if a wave of relaxation went through her. The witch's head drooped, her body swayed, almost toppling over. It looked as if she was being held up by an invisible force.
She reached out to the magic with every fiber of her being, every scrap of willpower and genius stretched against the confines of the collar. Finally, she had no more fight to give. Willow went back into herself, trembling in rejection and helplessness. She couldn't get it off by herself. Even with the circles. A few tears snaked down her cheeks. "...Won't someone help me..."
The witch quietly forced her eyes open, licked her lips, and wiggled her fingers. She always made sure everything was working properly after she zoned. Willow shook out her entire body, from her head down to her--
Toes. She couldn't see her toes. The steam had thickened. It wasn't even so thick as mist. It was smoke thick, flowing along the walls, overhead, across the floor. It had moved into the circles while she wasn't looking, white-gray fog licking it's way up her thighs. Willow looked towards the door.
The door wasn't there. All the walls looked the same, covered in sheets of the smoke. She pulled her feet towards where she thought the door was. They would barely budge, slogging heavily through the fog. It was like the fog was sucking at her feet. There was nothing wet about the situation, it was just a terrible pull. Her hand went out to the door, only to be caught by several outstretched tendrils of smoke. They pulled at her fingers. The entire room was lit a dim blue. She recoiled from the wall with all her strength, only to have the fog underfoot trip her over. Willow landed facefirst on the floor. The floor that didn't quite seem to be made of wooden paneling anymore.
It reached out with thousands of tiny hands, trying to engulf the witch. She pushed herself up on her hands, hurriedly standing. The smoke kept pulling at her from below, concentrating itself on her feet. Willow raised her arms, forgetting in her terror that the ceiling was teeming with the fog. It caught her hands roughly. The witch realized she must still be standing in the circle. The fog was stronger between the two of them. It lashed her hands towards the ceiling, the opposite pulling at her from the ground.
The witch shrieked, her hands being pulled above her head, feet pulled below. Her own magickal rack. The fog left the walls, swirling closer around her. Willow struggled to pull her hands from the ceiling, gasping for breath. The smoke revolved, creeping further down her arms, holding her there.
Willow opened her mouth and screamed bloody murder.
********
Angel had just been pacing down the corridor when he heard it. Willow. That was Willow. He took off back to her room, battering his shoulder against the door repeatedly. This was going to leave a mark.
********
The thing struck.
Whether it was smoke or fog or something completely foreign she didn't know. It forced it's way down her throat, prying open her mouth. Fog pushed into her nose and the little air ducts in her eyes. It traveled into her stomach and lungs. It invaded her ears, shot up between her legs, working into her entire system.
That which had once been Willow Anne Rosenberg thudded against the floor.
Angel burst into the closet, bewildered to find her clothes in one corner and Willow herself naked in the center of the room, laying sacrificially across the circle. He flushed slightly. "Willow? Willow?" She didn't respond. He tilted her head towards him, pulling open an eyelid. She was breathing. She looked okay, except for the position she was in. Very cold, though.
Ignoring any physical thoughts, he scooped her up and carried her out of the closet, bewildered as to where to put her since he'd moved everything out. Angel awkwardly slid out of his jacket and wrapped it around the small girl, cradling her.
Her head flopped back for just a moment. The collar fell to the ground, snapped in two.
End Part 11
Angel chewed his nails like they'd never been chewed before. It was a weird habit he'd picked up since being a vampire, frightfully easily, since they healed almost the second you bit them. He'd been holding a bedside vigil. She hadn't moved more than a hair's breadth in a day, except to breathe. That kept him going. She wasn't dead yet.
He looked strung out. Hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't done much but pace around the room, willing her to wake up. Giles had left on some sort of Watcher's conference, and Buffy had been hysterical when they'd talked. He had been tempted to get her out here, just to take some of the burden off his own shoulders, but in the end, he'd decided it was best if he stood over her alone.
For the seventeenth time in the past hour, Angel sat down dejectedly. He laid his head in his hands, rocking back and forth. "Willow... please wake up..."
"Angel?" He blinked into his hands, sure that the voice was a hallucination. "Angel?" She clutched the sheets to her chest. "...I have a headache..."
"I'll find some aspirin." He was at her side in a flash, but careful not to get too close, wary of the unfortunate dynamic their relationship had taken. She looked beautiful, even laying prone amongst the pillows. Willow was almost as pale as the pillows. His hesitation was gone as her eyes fluttered closed. Angel seized her by the shoulders, shaking her. "Willow. Willow! Willow, wake up! Wake up..." Her eyes blinked open.
"Angel..." She rasped. "I'm tired." Her head fell back. One of his hands moved to cradle it.
"Willow. Willow--you've been asleep for three days. A friend of mine--a doctor, a special one--was here. He couldn't find anything wrong with you." Willow was trying to pay attention, Angel knew how attentive she always was, but was having serious trouble. Her eyes kept wandering away. "He wanted me to take you to a hospital, but I was afraid to move you..." And afraid to give you over to a bunch of doctors who don't believe in silly things like 'magic', and was scared to leave you alone, and was terrified I wouldn't ever see you again...
Her gaze fell away again. "Willow? Stay with me. You want something to eat? You want to eat something?" He repeated, trying to get a rise out of her. She seemed very disoriented.
After a moment, her eyes wandered back to his. "Water." Her dry lips smacked against one another.
"Water. Okay. Okay, water. We'll go get some water." The vampire wrapped Willow snugly in the bed sheet, swinging her easily into his powerful arms. He got to the apartment's kitchen without much confusion, using the back of his wrist to flip the tap on. "...Cups, cups..." Angel cursed himself. He'd been moving her things back inside--all the things he hadn't burned, that is--but many of the boxes were yet unpacked. "Here." He propped Willow on the counter carefully. "I'm going to find a cup. I'll be right back." Grimacing at her glassy-eyed stare, he turned towards the living room.
A box marked 'tools' revealed assorted kitchenware, and the victorious Angel sprinted back towards Willow triumphantly, coffee mug in tow. At the sight of her, he dropped the coffee mug, not noticing as his bare feet were cut on the shards scattered over the linoleum.
Willow's head was in the sink. It was stoppered, and filling with water quickly. Her red hair floated out, wraith-like, on top of the water. In one smooth, and almost cruel motion, Angel seized the back of her head, dragging the witches' head up into the air where she continued to slurp what she must not have realized was air instead of water. "Willow. Stop."
Her eyes fluttered open once more. "Thirsty. Thirsty!" He released her head, more out of shock that she'd shouted than anything else. Angel watched with morbid fascination as she ducked her head, inhaling gutfuls of water. A few seconds later, he heard a 'glub' sound. In good nurse fashion, he pulled her back up out of the water, pulling a lock of hair from her mouth and looking for any other sign of life. Willow stood mute, fast asleep.
Angel sighed, unplugged the sink, and put Willow to bed again.
*****
"Buffy..? It's two o'clock in the afternoon." Oh, right. That's only late by my schedule.
"Angel. Hey. I'm sorry to sound a little disjointed--What? Yes! Jesus Christ. Scuse me.--No, that wasn't to you, Angel. I'm at work. Listen. I was taking a nap on my lunchbreak, and I--I had one of those dreams. I so don't get it, I hardly have them at all anymore, and usually they're the product of indigestion--but I digress."
"Buffy, slow down."
"You should've been there--I was taking a nap--" The volume of her voice lowered considerably. "--on red sheets, and I rolled over--Willow was there, sleeping--suddenly her eyes fly open, and she's attacking me--I think she was a vampire, but it was like I was powerless--and what was really weird was--you were sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth, like you were going insane--actually, that's not the weird part. The weird part was where everyone in the old gang was watching Willow kick the--Holy Shit! Richter!--"
"Buffy?! Buffy, what's wrong?!"
"--Sorry to scare you like that. Nothing. Richter's this bastard in narcotics. He just came by to spill coffee on me. Spaz. Anyway."
"So what happened?"
"Willow takes out this big old sword--That reminds me, never get Giles on the subject of phallic dream imagery, he's got issues--"
"Buffy."
"--Right, right--And she's about to stab it through my chest, when she suddenly turns and goes after you, and--"
"...and?"
"And... she kills you."
"Um."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry. I guess hoping you'll 'sleep tight' would be a little futile now, wouldn't it?"
"...What's it supposed to mean?"
"I don't know. That you're in danger?"
"Oh, golly, I hope so."
"You sound grumpy."
"I was sleeping."
"Sleeping?"
"Willow woke up this morning long enough to eat a sandwich--and a block of cheese, and a loaf of bread, and some frozen peas... and I think a can of baking soda. It's non-toxic, right?"
"Right."
"Yeah. So I thought if she's getting better--she is eating, after all--I thought if she was getting better, that I could afford some sleep."
"Angel, can I ask you a personal question?"
"Of course, Buffy."
"What if Willow hates you enough to want you dead? For what you did."
"...then..." He blinked, scratched his head, and was honest. "She has every claim to me. She anchored my soul permanently... and I've hurt her beyond imagining in return."
"That's not true, Angel."
"I know. ...I'm going to sleep some more, Buffy."
"Okay. ...Don't sleep too soundly. If she wants to go all eye for an eye on you, then we're going to have a little talk first. And if I'm not mistaken, you Mister--sure as hell owe me something in the life department."
He managed a chuckle that sounded good-natured. "Buffy. I'll talk to you later."
"All right. Bye, Angel."
Click.
End Part 12
For the third time that day, Angel brought the kit into Willow's bedroom. A thermometer to check her temperature--still holding strong at 97.5--a damp cloth to clean the sleep from her eyes, a tongue depressor, a penlight to check her eyes, and another of the countless magic books he'd ordered shipped to the apartment to see if he could diagnose the illness. If it could be called an illness. She actually seemed to be improving. Willow lay there, but less like death than she had been since the whole ordeal began. Her breathing was stronger now, and Angel could swear he saw eyelids flutter occasionally.
His thumb pushed open her lips, pressing the thermometer into her mouth. Despite the completely necessary nature of the activity (to him, anyway), he couldn't but help feel invasive. It's a strangely intimate thing, to put your fingers into another person's mouth. Even with a kiss, the parties are on equal footing. But now, with her unconscious...
"Yep. 97.5." He wiped the thermometer on the towel, replacing it in the case. "Looks like you--Christ."
Two bright, shining eyes stared into his own.
"Willow?"
********
"Flight 672, now boarding at Gate Three..."
Buffy checked her watch. Perhaps it was wrong to have used the tracer on Angel. She'd been playing it cool, as if she fully understood what the vampire was doing. If he didn't move until she got out there, then everything would work out. She and Giles were too busy fighting the latest world-threatening demon for her to leave. Now, however, she was on her way to see for herself what things were happening in New York.
"The White Zone is for the immediate loading and unloading of..."
And besides, she thought. If there's nothing to worry about, I'm going to get some shopping done.
********
"Willow?" He breathed. She was awake; looking much improved. Angel pulled back, giving her ample room. She coughed slightly.
"Angel." The hacker sat amidst pillows and heavy comforters, awkwardly pushing herself up onto her elbows.
"Willow--careful!--careful." She floundered. He instinctively darted forward, supporting her back so she could sit upright. He was next to her on the bed, holding her almost in an embrace. Guilt and shame were all he felt. "I'm sorry. Here." Angel adjusted the pillows behind her to help her sit up, his eyes not meeting hers. "Do you want anything..? Coffee, water, food, a-aspirin, anything--" The vampire began to rise, but stopped as he felt a soft hand clasp his own.
"Wait." Her voice was barely a whisper, but it stopped him. "Look at me."
He choked. To his dismay, the stab wound had not scarred at all. "I don't think I can, Willow. I hurt you so--"
"Shhh." He saw her place her index finger to her lips, out of the corner of one eye. "Look at me."
Tears streaked his cheeks without his bidding. It was a quality unique to his relationship with Willow. She had always wanted him to cry, needed him to open up and hurt in front of her. The worst he could do was close down. He owed her this much, and forced his eyes to look directly into hers. She smiled softly, pulling his hand to her heart, placing the palm flat over it.
"Angel... I know everything you are. Won't you let me in?" She leaned away from the pillows, closer to him.
"I'm so sorry, Willow." Those were all the words he could get out. His hands shook in a wholly unmanly way. He felt a chill in the room.
"Then let me really know you, Angel. Let me inside." Her left hand kept his palm over her beating heart. The hacker's right hand carressed his cheek.
"I d-I don't know what you're asking." He recoiled from her touch, loathing his still heart.
"I need your strength, Angel. I need you." There was pleading in her eyes. "Help me. Please help me?" He nodded, slowly at first, then vigorously, drawing her small body against his horridly still chest, wishing to God and Satan below that a heart would beat inside it. He would give his life for Willow. She was so warm, almost scorchingly so. The room was cold, so cold...
Something was wrong. He felt sick; a spinning feeling. Like he was falling. Like he'd lost a lot of blood--
"Poor Angel." Willow sing-songed. He looked at her in bewilderment. She snuggled closer to him, pulling him onto the bed next to her. Her eyes glowed like those of a cat, and her tongue flicked out, licking her suddenly scarlet lips hungrily.
"You should be careful who you invite in."
He passed out.
********
Steam licked the corners of the bedroom.
A forceful blow struck the side of his face, knocking Angel conscious.
"Wake up!" It took some effort to roll his head towards the voice. Willow sneered down at him, a fury in appearance and in manner. She straddled his midsection, fingernails scratching patterns in the skin of his chest. They faded slowly. He groaned softly as she raked her nails across his midsection. He tried vainly to protest, but was having trouble making the simplest of movements. Angel looked at the smiling Willow accusingly.
"Back to reality, eh?" She rolled off his stomach, moving towards the packed boxes on the floor. "It's a shame to let someone like you go to waste." Willow cackled, digging through the boxes. She came up with several pairs of nylons. "Oh, don't look at me like that!"
Angel took a measured breath. "Who..?"
"Am I?" The siren tossed her head back, moving towards him. "The one that got there first. You should have seen it." She kicked at a clinging swirl of mist around her feet. "There was a line around the block. Well, metaphorically around the block. That girl abused us for years, that is until we figured out a way to get through." She hopped up onto the bed, straddling his chest again. He vaguely raised his arm against her. Willow knocked it away, wrapping a section of nylon around his wrists, binding them. "Such a powerful little thing. But ultimately confused. Come along, Angel."
She grabbed him by the wrists, using all her strength to get him absolutely nowhere. He lay there, an infuriatingly stupid look on his face. "Well, get up. I haven't got all day." She paused. "Actually, I have, but I'm feeling a bit cruel and impatient. Get up!" The demon rolled Willow's eyes. "Vampires. Ye gods."
His head was beginning to clear, but he still felt like hell warmed over. "Wh... Where are we going?"
"I'm not going anywhere, honey. Unfortunately, you are. I promised the others I'd find vessels for the lot of them." Her eyes flashed a muted scarlet. "You should thank your girlfriend, not that you'll ever see her again. She's set up a neat little posession booth. We'll have a fountain of demons flowing out of here in no time. Not that New York will notice. Are you deaf? I said, Get Up."
Many things occured to Angel at this moment. He went with his first impulse. "No."
This seemed to take her aback. "...No?" She asked, softly and deliberately. "No?"
He had no idea how she managed it, but suddenly he was on the floor on his stomach, head throbbing from the kick that had just been delivered to it. Angel groaned in pain.
"Oh, now will you look at that?" Laurel stalked around him, choosing once again to use the vampire as a chair. He groaned as she kneed him in the side. "Look at how much of your hard-earned energy I used up with that little stunt. I might just have to siphon more. And of course, we all know how highly unpleasant that little eventuality is. Get up."
"...You're sitting on top of me."
"Ha, that should make it easier for you." The demon laughed, swinging herself off his back. Angel was not amused, and was considering his options at this point. The telephone would do absolutely no good, there weren't any handy blunt objects... "Oh, I do apologize." She wiped her eyes. "Succubi humor." She reached down, fingers more like talons, ripping into the flesh of his arms. "Come on. Make this easy on everyone. Get up and get into the closet, and we won't have anymore problems."
"Not a chance." He caught her wrists, exerting himself almost to the point of blacking out. All it did was remove her hands briefly, and earn him a blow to the right ear.
"Fool. I suppose I'll have to do this with force." The vampire clawed his way towards the nightstand, only to feel his strength being sapped before he reached his destination. His veins burned with a desire to feed--it was a natural reaction to becoming extremely weak or wounded--but he could move even less than before. He was just so tired.
"And aren't we the smart one?" He was pulled to his feet by a very angry demon, yanked upright by Willow's formerly delicate hand. It was covered in his own blood. "Don't you fall asleep, now. I need you conscious for the transfer to take properly. Be a good vampire." She dropped him once again to the floor, taking ahold of one hand and dragging him to the bedroom door.
The mist swirled around his heavy eyelids.
End Part 13
Undead man walking. Or rather, dragging along the ground behind a succubus with a brooklyn accent who seemed to be about to give him over to some demon or other. Wow. Angel congratualted himself on his brevity.
In Willow's first step, he thought about the good times they'd had together. Watching movies, having too much coffee, walking around in the park at night. It had been a beautiful, if short stay in New York. He felt his cheek scrape against the scuffed hardwood floor.
He remembered the first time he'd met her--how it was always centered on Buffy. How is Buffy feeling, who is Buffy hanging out with, so on. Little things came back, like the night he went and visited her bedroom, the time she confronted him in the library. The time she held him in her arms and made him feel like everything was going to be okay... somehow.
His own boorish behavior. Storming into the club, acting like an overprotective lunatic, forcing his way into her life, kidnapping her! And why did he do it? Out of some sick sort of responsibility and debt? Maybe a redemption? If he could save Willow, then maybe he could finally forgive himself a few of those sins that never seemed to be wiped clean, imbedded permanently into the slate of time.
Or do I love her?
The closet door loomed in the distance. It seemed a mile away, yet the vampire was aware it had to be closer than that. His fingers grabbed at the floorboards. The demon kept pulling him along.
I don't love Willow. I don't. It's too easy an excuse. Love isn't something to be confused with a simple emotional bond. It can't be love. It's because of Dru, his family, the countless others... himself. It came down to pure selfishness, working for Willow to benefit his own soul, not out of caring for her, but to ease his own pain. My own pain. My pain. ...That's how it had started, anyway. Now it was a giant jumbled mess of strings. The closet door was much closer.
All his unlife, he'd honed his vampiric skills. And for what? To fail when the best of his friends needs him the most? ...Or did she ever need me? I was never something she wanted... always inviting myself over, always initiating the conversation... Forgive me, Willow, for everything I did. I wanted... I needed... I...
With some sort of inner pilot light lit, Angel reached out, grabbing hold of the door jamb. He looked like something out of a bad slapstick comedy, Curly nyucking his way out of an awkward situation. The succubus hissed, shifting her grip to his left leg, trying her best to force him away, pulling him towards the closet.
"Let--oof!" He kicked outward with his right leg, every muscle in his lower body burning with the effort. It landed just below her knees, knocking her over. The succubus sprawled onto the floor, bumping her head on the doorframe.
Okay--plan time. Plan. Plan? Plan! Oh, come on, PLAN! Anything!
Right! Get up, open the closet, push the demon in, burn down the building--
Um, Angel?
Yes?
Keep in mind, you have certain physical limitations right now. Not that you're not strong or anything...
Oh.
Hey, I've got an idea! Why don't you roll into the spare room and lock the door? Lacks panache but buys you time.
Angel lunged into the spare room, managing to rip the binding off his wrists. The demon was upright as he threw his weight into the door, sending the much lighter demon reeling back into the hall. He fumbled with the door, locking it tightly. He then moved a chair under the knob, and looked around the room. Telephone!
...Who ya gonna call?
Good question.
There wasn't anyone in the area who was really willing to lay their life on the line for Angel, and anyone he called, he was endangering. The vampire soberly replaced the receiver, sitting down on one of the moving boxes that had been thrown into the guest room. It had always been about two people--Willow and Angel. He'd be damned if he would rope anyone else into a private matter. This would be resolved today. And if he ended up losing his soul over it... maybe that's what he had deserved all along.
His head snapped up. "Wha...?" Had he just heard...?
The doorbell.
*******
The front door flew open, a disheveled-looking Willow falling into Buffy's arms.
"Oh, thank the goddess you're here, Buffy!"
"Wills?" Her best friend looked like a shadow of her former self. She was impossibly skinny and her makeup had run all over her face. "What's going on? What's happened to you? Where's Angel? Is he here?" Officer Summers asked rapid-fire questions, trying to piece together a story out of her sobbing friend. "Willow, you're bleeding." She reached out, the smaller girl flinching at her touch.
"It's nothing--"
"Did Angel do this to you?" Willow looked confused for a moment, then nodded shamefully, staring at her feet.
"I am so sorry. Buffy, he--he--"
"Shh, Wills, it's okay."
"He's like a crazy person. He started stalking me, wouldn't leave me alone." She sobbed. "And he started getting violent... I was trying to leave, I managed to lock him away... Oh, Buffy." She cried, hanging onto the Slayer. "I tried to call, I really did. But every time he'd get s-so, s-s-so angry at me."
Buffy gripped her friend in the kind of bear hug only a slayer can give. "Shh, shh, it's okay. Where is he? Is he still here?"
Willow nodded. "H--he's down the hall..." The redhead's breath caught. "In the closet."
Buffy nodded. "You wait here, Willow. I'll go."
"No!" She covered. "I mean... things got rough. Some of my magic went haywire, there's mist all over the apartment... anyway, I know things are going to be okay now that you're here, Buffy. And what kind of friend would I be to desert you?"
"Okay. Follow me. Stay right behind."
"You know you can trust me, Buffy."
The Slayer arched a brow slightly. Willow was definitely different. "When we are out of here, we are going to have a long, long talk. And when did you get an accent?"
Willow shut the door behind them.
End Part 14