Note To Self

Author's Name: Kate Holly & Ciderbreak

Classification: Willow/Angel

Disclaimer: While we may have added a few new characters of our own creation, all of the original BtVS/ANGEL characters and their world belong to Joss Whedon and everyone else who has got their fingers in his scrumptious pies.

Spoilers: (any episode your story mentions, even if it's already aired): BtVS Season 4/Angel Season 1... nothing specific really, just general info

Summary: A little blast from Angel's past shows up in Sunnydale and Willow is tricked into telling her where Angel can be found. Ah, but a vision from Cordelia says it may not be Angel who's in danger. Now it's up to Angel to protect Willow while the two of them try to put remove one more of Angel's bad memories.

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~Part: 1~

Nothing but a monsoon outside the dorm window. Sheets of rain attacked the flimsy glass which fogged in the confusion of air conditioning and outdoor humidity. Willow raised a finger to the blurry window and drew a little game of Hangman. Her fingertip came away cool and wet and she rubbed it against her thumb before returning to the game to make the slashes for the mystery letters.

It did not seem irregular that Hangman was her first window-drawing choice. Fist-animals with paw prints and benign tic-tac-toe games were too far removed from her adult life. Hangman. Part fun, part macabre. Pretty much summed it up.

"S," Willow said to herself, shook her head, then drew a head in the waiting noose. Her face was stern and deliberate as she continued playing the game. She could win or lose. It was entirely her choice. It was solitaire for a rainy day.

In the end, she lost. Her stick figure dangled upon the windowpane in a garish rigor-mortis. Willow cocked her head, a stringy piece of bright red hair falling over her eye as she scrawled her name across the top of the picture. She brought her index finger to her mouth and sucked on the cool digit, the clammy, thin taste of glass reminding her of childhood. Big girl glasses, mercury thermometers, marbles hidden underneath her tongue as contraband for Xander.

WILLOW.

The letters at the top of the pane dripped into the drawing. She turned away, not sure if the name marked her as the artist or the victim. It was close to her current predicament, the moral dilemma that had her wasting time on a Thursday afternoon instead of doing homework.

She should call. Call and tell. Simple, really. Big bad out to get one of her friends, she knew how to stop it and they had to act fast. In normal Scooby Gang language, it could be solved like a sitcom in a half-hour with two commercial breaks. Unfortunately, it was a little more complicated.

The "soup of the day" was a vampire. Small, dark-haired, female, pretty brown eyes and adolescent. Around thirteen or fourteen years in age, according to appearances. Willow surmised the girl was much, much older. Stake through the heart, right? Unfortunately again, the girl claimed to be Angel's sister. Real or from vamp lineage, Willow didn't know. She'd had the misfortune to bump into the girl at the Bronze. Willow opened her mouth and inserted her foot-both feet, actually, giving away precious information. After the confrontation she realized she'd been under a mild hypnotic spell, the kind Drusilla used to be so eerily fond of. That fact didn't assuage Willow's guilt and now the little girl with the long incisors was headed for Los Angeles to find her "brother."

Willow could just tell Buffy, the Vampire Slayer could jet off to LA with Giles, the two of them could team up with Angel and his crew, slay the creepy-sweet girl and return home before classes on Monday.

Willow didn't want to tell Buffy. They had a violent super-killer named Adam on the loose. Plus, things were heating up between her and Riley relationship-wise and adding a dash of Angel to the mix would definitely be disastrous. Giles was preoccupied with the Adam thing and also the further adventures of the Initiative, who still continued to patrol the streets of Sunnydale. They were too close to the slayer, too close to knowing everything the Gang tried to keep secret.

Resting her head on an orange throw pillow, Willow wearily closed her eyes. Too many secrets.

A few minutes passed in silence. The rain pelting against the window couldn't even drown out her dilemma. If she told Buffy, things got more complicated. If she called Angel, he might not believe her. She'd also have to hear his voice, that calm and quiet voice that would melt her heart. And she'd have to tamp down that incessant little crush again.

Scoffing at her juvenile attitude, Willow rolled over onto her stomach and grabbed the cordless. It took a few bouts with 411 to acquire Angel's number, but after a few moments she heard the phone ringing. Her heart hammered in her chest like she was about to ask a boy out on a date. Inwardly, she tried to stop the adrenaline, but the meeting with the girl vampire was too fresh in her mind and she only hoped Buffy wouldn't be mad about the decision.

"Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless."

"Uh, is Angel there?" Willow asked, a little taken aback. The voice on the phone was cheerful, polite and British. In fact, it sounded a lot like Wesley Wyndham-Price, for some strange reason.

"Yes, just one minute. May I tell him who is calling?"

"No," Willow decided on the fly. She didn't even stammer. Good girl.

"All- all right, let me see if he's available."

There was a quiet scuffling on the other end of the phone and Willow visualized the receiver dangling on the cord while Wesley- or whomever- went to get the boss. Leave her hanging. She almost laughed.

"This is Angel."

The voice was mellifluous, intense, purposeful. Willow came close to swooning and shook her head, giving herself a stern look in the reflection of the glass.

"Angel? It's Willow. We need to talk."

~Part: 2~

"Angel? It's Willow. We need to talk."

The young witch's words were crisp and clear and rang out in Angel's mind. For a few harrowing moments, the vampire's un-beating heart was gripped by fear, the fear that the inevitable day had finally arrived. The Slayer was dead.

"Angel? Are you still there?" Willow prodded, attempting to discern the cause of the long pause at the other end of the line.

It was then that the purposeful tone of her voice registered in Angel's mind. Willow was calm and collected, to the point of almost being un-Willowy. That realization provided Angel with an instant sense of relief and a new reason for concern.

If Buffy had fallen, Angel was quite certain that it would have been Giles, her Watcher, who would make the fateful call. Unless he too had been slain. In which case, Willow would certainly be anything but calm and collected. Distraught and broken would be more like it.

No, Willow most definitely had her wits about her. Whatever the reason for her call, it had to be serious, it had to be business. This girl - no, this young woman - with whom he had shared so much and yet so little, had not even sent him a brief note (or in her case, probably an Email) since his departure from Sunnydale. They'd barely spoken during his short visit at Thanksgiving. Granted, she had tried to inquire as to how his life was going, but Angel had been preoccupied with the worrying about Buffy's safety (and the guy he'd seen her talking with) to even give Willow a courteous reply.

Angel silently cursed himself for his lack of tact. He supposed he had no one but himself to blame for Willow's lack of communication. There, at the other end of the line, was the one person in all the worlds who had been willing to risk life and limb to recast the spell which restored his soul and he had not seen fit to give her the time of day, much less to stop and chat, or to even send her an occasional letter.

Willow had, in the past, admonished him for a similar crime. He had been treating Buffy in what Willow considered to be a less than attentive manner and she had called him on it.

Even now Angel could hear the angry red-head's biting words echoing in his mind just as they had reverberated throughout the old Sunnydale library.

"And you!," Willow had spat at him. "I mean, you're gonna live forever! You don't have time for a cup of coffee?!"

Angel vowed then and there to at least make an effort to keep in touch with Willow, whether she chose to respond or not.

"ANGEL?! Are you there?" Willow's voice squawked in his ear, some of her composure obviously slipping.

All that time Angel had been staring out the window with an unreadable expression on his face. To the casual observer it would appear as though he was simply holding the line, listening to some Muzac perhaps, and gazing out at the rain while he waited. Had Wesley or Cordelia stepped back into the outer office, they would have seen the far-off look in his eyes. They, his friends, would have known he was lost in thoughts of the past, and that was not of the good, as Buffy would say.

Angel had to focus on the phone call. If Willow had dropped a dime, what she had to say must be important.

"I'm sorry. I'm here. What can I do for you?"

"Angel, I..." Willow hesitated for a moment. Angel heard her take a deep breath then exhale it before continuing. "I think I've done something bad, really bad. I didn't mean to, but I did."

Angel had to catch himself before he let loose with an amused chortle. Willow? Do something really bad? Figure the odds, the vampire thought.

"And just what is this terrible thing you've done?" he asked her, his evenly spoken words belying the humor he thought he'd find in her explanation.

"I told your sister where to find you."

Okay, so he'd thought wrong. There was nothing funny about what Willow had just said.

"My sister." Angel's response did not come out sounding like a question. It was a simple statement and it added to Willow's growing sense of dread.

As far as Willow could tell, being over a hundred miles away and having to base all her assumptions on nothing more than the tone of his voice, it didn't seem as though Angel was the least bit incredulous. She didn't know if that was a good sign or not.

"I know it sounds really crazy. I mean some girl claiming to be your sister and all, especially since Buffy told me how you... ahhh... how your family had died. When I first started talking to the girl I had no idea what she was, let alone who she was. I was really surprised when she mentioned your name, and I couldn't figure out how she would know you and that scared me, but before I knew it I-"

"Willow," Angel tried to interrupt her rambling commentary before it went on much longer, but to no avail.

"-was telling her all sorts of stuff, like how I knew you and how you'd been living here in Sunnydale but that now you're in LA and-"

"Willow!" He practically shouted that time.

Her babble came to an immediate halt. She remained silent, leading Angel to fear that he'd frightened her. He took advantage of the momentary hush, glaring back out at the rain pelting the streets of the grey city as he tried to calm his frazzled nerves before speaking again.

"Please, Willow, just tell me what you can about the girl," he asked gently, hoping to sound concerned, not angry.

"Well there's no need to be condescending!" The suddenly irate witch snapped at him.

Okay, Angel sighed inwardly, that didn't go well. Note to self: don't ever again use that tone of voice with Willow. Feeling honestly contrite, Angel was quick to apologize.

"I'm sorry. That's not what I meant to do. I... it's just that you were right. This is not good. I need for you to tell me about everything you remember about your encounter with this girl."

"See, I knew it. It's bad. It's really bad, isn't it?" Willow's confidence was wavering, her resolve to act bravely and maturely was crumbling.

"It's nothing I can't handle," Angel reassured her. "Give me all the facts."

"The facts. Okay. I can do that."

Again with the deep breathing at Willow's end of the line.

"All right," she sighed. One more deep breath. "I stopped by The Bronze last night, for old time's sake. I was supposed to be meeting Xander and Anya, but as usual, they were running late. Again. I mean, what is it with demons and sex anyway, 'cause I personally don't understand it, and ohmygosh, that was so not what I meant to say. I...I--"

"Willow, it's okay. I get it." Well, no, I don't, Angel thought ruefully. But that was beside the point.

"Okay, so anyway, no Xander and Anya, but I thought I'd hang around for a while anyway. You know, take a little walk down memory lane, have a nice big mochaccino, get giddy and live vicariously through my often absent friends and..."

Angel was soon having a hard time following her story. What was it with the young women of this era? He wondered. Buffy, Cordelia, now Willow - each at times prattled incessantly in some strange tongue that was as difficult to decipher as an ancient text and twice as frustrating because it often required an immediate response on his part.

"...and well, the band wasn't very good, but I guess I'm a bit biased. Still partial to Dingos even if they are on an indefinite hiatus 'til Oz comes back. Still, I had my java and..."

Willow's words were fading in and out, almost like they were being filtered by a subconscious part of Angel's brain. He supposed it was a self-preservation device. After spending so much time of late in Cordelia's company, Angel knew that one could walk away reeling from the effects of trying to absorb and process all of her conversations.

However, at the moment, Angel couldn't fall into that safety net. Any minute now, Willow was going to get to the 'important parts' and if he wasn't careful, pertinent details where liable to get lost among the seemingly endless flow of words.

The vampire sighed, running his fingers through his already tousled hair. He was feeling all of his 246 years as Willow droned on.

"...it was pretty crowded. A lot of the college guys do venture in just to play a few games of pool and…"

Angel shook his head in mild dismay. He couldn't recall Willow ever having talked so much, at least not to him. He began to ponder the possible reasons behind her current behavior. Was she simply nervous? She hadn't sounded nervous at the start of their conversation. Perhaps non-stop chattering was Willow's way of coping with her fear. That made some sense. After all, if she had in fact met his 'little sister'... well, no sane person would walk away from such an encounter and not be scared. Although, if Angel's memory served him well, which it usually did, Willow normally got very quiet when in stressful situations, not talkative.

Too much caffeine, maybe? No, it was only mid-afternoon on a Thursday and Buffy tended to frown on Willow drinking hi-test on school days. But then again, if Buffy hadn't joined Willow at The Bronze the night before it meant that she was busy elsewhere, perhaps too preoccupied to keep tabs on Willow's coffee consumption.

Or was it something else entirely? No Buffy, no Xander, no Anya, and had he heard her say something about Oz being gone? Maybe Willow was venting on him because she was just plain lonely. What a sad thought. Angel mulled over that notion, his lips now drawn out into a thin, tight line, his brow furrowed. Someone like Willow should never be lonely.

Angel's thoughts were turning melancholy. He found himself fascinated by the patterns that the raindrops where creating as they slid down a grimy window pane. Dragging the phone with him, Angel stepped closer to the glass, something he couldn't normally do during the daylight hours, but the unusually heavy cloud cover was completely blocking the sun.

He reached out with one finger, pressed its tip upon the cool glass and began following the tiny rivulets of water. Then he realized that the last time he had stood so close to that particular window, he had been able to see his own reflection mirrored by the glass and the bright morning sun. Later that same day, he had gazed upon Buffy as she stood beneath that blazing orb. Her hair had looked so beautiful, like gold glistening in the light of the afternoon rays.

Angel suddenly wondered what Willow's hair would look like under the same conditions. Like shimmering red silk, he told himself. And her eyes, well they would most assuredly sparkle like the matched-set of flawless emeralds he had hidden away with all the other treasures he 'kept for a rainy day'.

A rainy day? Wasn't that what he had at the moment?

The sound of Willow's voice was coming back to him, the words were once again taking on meaning. Angel knew that while he was daydreaming he must have interjected an occasional "Uh-hunh", a well place "Hmmm" or two, for the young woman had barely stopped to breath once she'd started to talk.

"So, I wandered around for a few more minutes..."

Angel now knew the cause of the glassy-eyed look Xander often wore when he spent time with his 'female buds'. It was auditory neural over-load!

"...and that's when I saw her, sitting all alone at one of the little tables."

"Finally!" Angel's mind cried out. For a split second he panicked, thinking he had said the words aloud. He actually let out an audible sigh of relief when Willow continued without missing a beat.

"I've got to tell you, Angel, I really had no idea that she was a vampire. I mean, for one thing, I didn't know you guys made them that young. And did that come out sounding kind of harsh?"

"No, Willow, it's okay. Go on." Please was the unspoken plea Angel added to his reply.

"She's very pretty, a petite brunette. Deep brown eyes that look... well... they look a lot like yours. But she looks just like your average high school freshman, only... maybe... paler. Definitely paler than most. But pale is in now, for girls anyway."

She thinks I'm too pale. That was Angel's instant and somewhat dejected thought. What about Oz? Oz is pale. Willow must like pale. Or she just likes Oz, who happens to be pale. And what the hell am I doing? Angel couldn't help himself. His mind just seemed to keep drifting. Was it Willow? Was she having this affect on him?

That was a ridiculous thought. Angel had been in Willow's company on numerous occasions. One phone call, and a dire one at that, could not possibly be responsible for his odd contemplations. He couldn't afford any distractions at the moment. Willow's tale demanded his full attention.

"What else do you remember?" Angel prodded, hoping that if she provided more details he might be able to refocus on the problem at hand.

"She was dressed a lot like Cordelia used to dress in high school."

Now we're getting somewhere, the haggard vampire sighed with relief. A few words of encouragement to spur her on...

"That's good, Will. Tell me more."

"Her outfit wasn't outdated or faddish. More like classic chic. Definitely not your stereotypical vampwear. No gothic theme or somber colors."

She doesn't like the way I dress? Damn it, stop that!

Perhaps it was the weather. That seemed like a plausible excuse.

He'd been out most of the previous night, running about in the pouring rain, tracking what Wesley had led him to believe was a Röetem demon, one of a salacious breed that had been appropriately dubbed the pedophiles of the demon world. This particular one had developed a lust for human children. As a rule, Röetems were solitary creatures and relatively docile by nature except for that pesky sexual perversion thing. It should have been an easy kill. It wasn't.

Soaking wet and tired to the bone, Angel had walked into a small nest of Lodims instead. He had to remember to talk to Wesley about being more careful with his translations. Yes, time was often of the essence, but mistakes like the one last night could get one or all of them killed. It so happens that Lodims were quite the opposite of Röetems. They were vicious little pack monsters who lived for the thrill of the kill.

Twelve decapitations and one good pair of leather pants later, Angel stumbled back out into the rain and trudged home. Gee, just imagine what it would have been like if it had been a large nest, Angel reflected wryly.

It was nearly dawn when he fell into bed, and he only managed to get about three hours of sleep before he awoke to the sound of more rain. He started his day in a very dour mood. It was still raining, and his disposition had gone from a nice steady sullen into a state of flux.

"Angel?" Willow spoke his name very softly but it immediately pulled him out of his reverie.

"I was just thinking. Keep going."

"Okay, like I said, she was sitting all alone at the table, and since seats were scarce, I decided I would ask if I could join her. She said yes. I sat down and we started to talk. I asked her if she went to Sunnydale High, and she said no. She spoke with an Irish accent, so I though that maybe she was an exchange student. I asked-"

"A brogue? You're sure it was a brogue and not an English accent?"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure. I've been hanging around Giles and Spike long enough now, and this girl... well she sounded just like that angel on the TV show. Did you use to talk like that?"

Willow's inquiry caught Angel off-guard. For some odd reason, it stung. But he couldn't very well not respond to her question.

"A long time ago, yes."

"Wow, it's so pretty. I bet you sound really neat when you talk like that."

"Ta be sure," Angel replied without thinking.

Willow's next question was barely audible, a pained whisper.

"She's not really your sister, is she?"

"No, Willow. She's not. My sister died a long time ago."

"Then who is this girl?"

"A sorry imitation of the original."

"Did you... did you make her?"

"No."

Willow could sense that was all Angel would say. No further explanation, no more secrets revealed, he was pulling his 'cryptic guy' routine.

There was silence at both ends of the line for a long time. Finally Angel broke that silence with a new question.

"What made you go over to her table?"

"I told you, there were no seats," Willow replied. "Or at least I don't think there were," she hesitantly added. Now was not the time for her to keep secrets, now was the time for Willow to lay all her cards on the table. So, she took a nice, deep cleansing breath and continued.

"She looked sort of sad and... well... lonely, like I felt. She worked some kind of magic, I'm sure of it. I felt like I needed to protect her, to make sure that she wasn't really there by herself. It seemed logical at the time. After all, we both know that the streets of Sunnydale aren't Disneyland at night. Even if you know how to protect yourself from the blood-sucking portion of our population, there's still Adam to worry about."

"Adam?" Angel asked.

"Oh, yeah, he's our latest homicidal maniac of the non-vamp variety. Sort of The Initiative's version of Frankenstein. Buffy and Riii...eally, it's a long story. But don't worry, Buffy can handle it."

Angel caught the slip and bristled. Riley. That was the guy he'd seen Buffy talking to back in November. Was he helping Buffy now? Were they dating? Don't go there, Angel, don't torture yourself. Were they lovers? Too late.

"I'll have to take your word for it," Angel said brusquely.

"Maybe I should have just gone to Buffy with this," Willow countered quickly, her curt phrasing making Angel angry this time, instead of leaving him feeling guilty for having barked at her.

"Perhaps that would have been best," he snarled.

"Well, just what was I supposed to say to her? Hey, Buffy, you'll never guess who I met at The Bronze last night!" Willow's voice was dripping with sarcasm. Her uncharacteristic surliness took Angel by surprise. It also fed any number of his mixed-up emotions and led him to be equally acerbic.

"You could have simply told her that there was a new vampire in town. Slayer hunts, Slayer slays, problem solved." He was practically growling. That wasn't a good sign.

"I know that! But she said she was your sister! And she looked so much like you, I got confused. I-I didn't know what to do. What if what she said was true? I didn't want to be responsible for doing something that might hurt you."

With each word Willow spoke, Angel's anger slipped away.

"Besides, Buffy's my best friend and I suck at the lying thing. I panic and nearly blow it every time you ask me to keep a secret from her. I just don't like doing it."

The guilt was back now. He had in fact asked that Willow cover for him on more than one occasion and Angel knew that he shouldn't have been cross with her. It wasn't Willow's fault that some of the things she said rubbed him the wrong way. She would never deliberately pick at the newly-formed scabs that covered his emotional wounds. It wasn't in her nature to be cruel. No, what she said hurt him for reasons that were his alone. He'd made his choices, now he had to live with them.

"Willow, you did the right thing in calling me," he offered carefully, hoping that he sounded sincere, not condescending. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"I just keep putting my foot in my mouth, don't I?" Willow whispered apologetically.

"It's not your fault. I have no right to expect you to skirt certain issues simply because they involve Buffy. It's just..." His voice had gotten softer and softer, his words eventually trailing off.

"It's tough being separated from people you love. I know. And it hurts to think that they may actually be moving on and living their lives without you."

Willow's statement was insightful, too insightful.

"Oz left you?"

A derisive little laugh came from her side of the phone.

"He... he met another werewolf, here in Sunnydale. A she-werewolf and... stuff happened. He ended-up killing her, or well, Wolfy-Oz did anyway. Then he left. Said he needed some time to be alone, to get in touch with his other side. No one's really heard from him since."

"I'm sorry, Will."

"Yeah, me, too. About you and Buffy I mean."

For a few moments, neither Willow nor Angel felt the need to say a single word. A companionable silence fell between them. But nice as it was, it couldn't go on forever.

"Back to work?" Willow asked in a somewhat chipper voice.

"Yeah, good idea," Angel mumbled, not really wanting to leave the comfort zone he had just shared with Willow.

"So, what's next?" Willow asked. "What more can I tell you?"

"You're certain she's a vampire?"

"Oh yeah. The Bronze is only good for small talk. I asked if she was a foreign exchange student, you know, because of the accent and all, and she no, that she was just in town to try to find her brother, 'Angel.' Warning bell symphony. When I went to leave, that's when she put her hand on my arm. She touched me... and she was... cold."

Luckily, Willow couldn't see Angel wince when he heard the disgust in her voice as she said the word 'cold'.

Angel knew all about cold. He often craved warmth in much the same way that he knew Buffy and Willow craved chocolate. The big difference between them was that for Angel the end result of giving in to a craving wasn't just a few extra pounds to work off at the gym.

It had been a very long time since Angel had opened up and really talked to someone. The closest he had come was when he'd told Doyle about his day with Buffy, the day that never was. So maybe it was the rain and his isolation that led him into a brown study every time Willow made some comment that even vaguely pertained to him personally.

Focus, focus, focus. That had to be his new mantra. Focus, focus, focus. Surely Willow had more to tell him. The pieces were all starting to fall into place. The physical description, the brogue, the fact that this girl had asked for him by name, called him her brother. Still, he needed to be sure.

"So, her hand was cold?" Angel asked, trying to determine if that was the only piece of evidence Willow had based her assumptions on.

"Yeah, and not just in a 'the A/C's on too high' kind of way. Plus, there was more. I mean, cold hands don't really prove that a person is a vampire. Sometimes I walk around with fingers that feel more like icicles than fingers and, well, your hands aren't cold, they're cool. I mean they're nice. You have nice hands. Big and strong and nice."

"Thanks, Will, " Angel chuckled.

So, she thinks my hands are nice. Wonder what else she's noticed. What other parts of me does she thinks are nice? Does this girl have any idea what her words are doing to me? Am I so pathetically lonely that I'm taking a simple compliment from a friend and making more out of it than I should?

"You're-you're welcome." Willow's faltering response came out like a warm breath being blown in his ear.

It in no way helped squelch Angel's ungoverned thoughts. But it did give him a whole new interpretation of their background conversations.

She's got a crush on me! Why didn't I ever notice that before?

Angel gave a little start when Willow spoke again. Her voice was a bit too loud, and Angel suspected that she was as self-conscious about their last exchange as he was.

"When she grabbed my arm, I looked back to see what she wanted. Then our eyes locked and she said 'What's the matter, Willow? Don't ya trust me?' So I said 'no.' She just shook her head and laughed at me."

" 'Come now, wee witch, sure enough I won' hurt ya.' " Willow mimicked the Irishwoman-child, with a pretty good brogue, Angel thought.

"The next thing I knew I was sitting there telling her anything she wanted to know," Willow confessed. "All about how Buffy's the Slayer, how you have a soul and you helped us while you were here, well, most of the time anyway. Soon I was blabbing about how you're living in LA now and helping people there. She kept asking more and more questions and I kept answering them. I got to the story of how Buffy found out that you're a vampire, and how you guys went head to head at The Bronze. She seemed to find it amusing, looking around while I talked. But when I told her that you'd killed Darla, she freaked. She vamped out, right there in the middle of the club. It was only for a few seconds, but it was long enough for me and it broke whatever spell she had me under. I jumped out of my seat and grabbed the cross out of my purse, but by the time I turned back around she'd done that thing that you always do."

"And what thing is that?"

"You know, one minute you're there, then a person looks away for just a sec, and -poof- you're gone."

"Oh, that thing."

"Yeah Mr. Stealth, that thing."

Angel chose to ignore Willow's not-so-subtle barb.

"So we don't know if Fiona has actually left Sunnydale," he said.

"Well, if she really is just looking for you, and thanks to me now knows where you are, can't we assume she's on her way to LA? Fiona? That's her name?"

"I suppose so. And yes." Angel answered Willow's questions in the order in which they had been asked.

"It's pretty."

Angel grunted, then Willow thought she heard him sigh before saying, "I suppose she was pretty once."

"She's still pretty," Willow told him, thinking it might make him feel better.

"Not to me."

Willow would swear later that she had heard every emotion that Angel felt expressed in those three words. Pain, guilt, anger, frustration.

Of course she had no way of knowing that one little vampiress was not the cause of all his distress. Angel was wondering when it would stop. When would shades from his past stop coming back to haunt him? First Spike and Drusilla, more recently Penn. But at least they were his own creations. He had good reason to feel responsible for them. But now, were his sire's remaining spawn going to start tormenting him as well?

One thing was certain, this little blast from his past would soon be found and quickly put down. It was something he should have done long ago, 245 years ago to be precise. He hadn't even had a soul then, but still he'd known that creating Fiona had been wrong. Very, very wrong.

"What do we do now?" Willow asked.

"I'll take it from here, Willow. I'm sure what you said is true. Fiona is just looking for me and is probably long gone from Sunnydale. Just to be on the safe side, I want you take all the usual precautions and maybe lay low until you hear from me. And it wouldn't be such a bad idea for you to let Buffy know what's going on. I don't want her to come here. There's no reason for her to do that. But she should know what to look for in case Fiona is still lurking about Sunnydale."

"Okay, Angel. Now that I know she isn't your real sister, I can tell Buffy, no problem."

"That's good, Will. If you need me for any reason, just call, day or night."

"Yeah, you guys help the hopeless, right?" Willow said, trying not to giggle as she repeated the corny slogan. She was hoping to end the call on as light a note as possible

"That's us, champions of the downtrodden and protectors of the meek, regardless of their origins." Angel chuckled. "Cordelia's still trying to get used to that last part," he added, trying to further brighten Willow's mood at his new friend's expense.

"Oh, I bet she is." Willow laughed. It was a melodious sound. Angel liked hearing it. When this was all over, he would have to call her again, just to talk and make her laugh.

"I'll be in touch," Angel reassured her, and himself. "As soon as this is done, I'll call and let you know. Until then, you take care."

"I will. And Angel?"

"Yes?"

"Please be careful." And with that said, Willow broke the connection.

Just as Angel hung up the phone, the sound of Cordelia's sometimes petulant voice drew his attention toward the back office.

"Well, it's about time!" she griped.

Angel looked up to see Cordelia holding an ice pack to her forehead as Wesley practically carried her into the outer spaces.

"You had a vision," Angel said, his voice full of concern.

"No..." Cordelia drawled caustically. "I just couldn't go one more minute without being back in Wesley's arms. Yes, I had a vision, you dork!"

Angel rushed to her side and help Wesley lead her to a chair.

"God I want a drink," the still-suffering brunette groaned. "Do you think this is why Doyle drank so much? Do you think that a perpetual stupor helps numb the pain? I mean I would be so willing to-"

"Cordelia, the vision. What did you see?" Angel demanded as gently as possible.

"Oh, Angel," she moaned, now looking very frightened and vulnerable. "It was Willow."

"Oh my," Wesley chimed in.

"What about Willow?" Angel asked, pressing for more information.

"I saw her," Cordelia said. "Well, flashes of her anyway, mixed with flashes of what has to be the youngest member of the Fang Gang that I have ever seen. Aaaaand... aaahhh, ouch."

Cordelia had to stop speaking for a moment as a fresh wave of pain washed over her. Seeing her suffer hurt Angel more than she knew.

Angel went to the small refrigerator they had in the office and then returned to Cordelia's side with a bottle of cold designer-label water, one of her favorites.

"Thanks, Angel," she sighed before taking a long pull on the bottle. She tried to speak again, but her voice caught in her throat and she took another sip of water.

"It's okay. Take your time," Angel tried to comfort her.

"I don't think we have much time," Cordelia replied, fear evident in her voice.

"What is it, Cordelia? What else did you see?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, then slowly shook her head as if trying to clear it. When her eyes reopened, uncertain brown met unfathomable brown.

"It wasn't what I saw, Angel. It was what I felt. Magic," she gasped. "A lot of really powerful magic zipping around in my head."

Right before her eyes, Angel seemed to shut down. His expression was suddenly so closed that Cordelia hadn't a clue as to what he was thinking or feeling.

Cordelia cringed as she said, "It's bad."

"Yeah, Cordelia, it's bad," Angel replied.

"Oh dear," Wesley sighed forlornly. "What shall we do?"

Angel rose quickly to his feet.

"We'll do whatever we can to keep Willow safe," he stated in his usual take charge manner.

"Are we going back to Sunnydale?" Wesley inquired.

"No, I can't do that," Angel answered, sounding perturbed by his own decision. "I promised Buffy that I'd keep my distance. Sunnydale is her town."

"Oh, and god forbid you should step on Buffy's toes even if it is because one of her best friends is in danger," Cordelia stated with as much venom as she could muster in her current somewhat incapacitated state.

"Cordelia," Angel growled menacingly.

"What?" she whined. "All I'm saying is-"

"Don't."

"Angel," Wesley interjected cautiously. "I'm afraid Cordelia may have a point."

Angel looked on, glowering as Cordelia sat back with a look of smug satisfaction on her face.

"Now children," the ex-Watcher said smartly, attempting to chastise both his employer and his fellow employee. "All I meant to imply was that if Willow truly is in danger, I don't see that we have any other option but to go to her aide."

Angel turned on him so quickly that Wesley gave a little jump and stumbled back a step.

"Sure we do," the Boss said.

"An-and just what might that other option be?" Wesley stammered.

"I'll just have to convince her to come here," was Angel's confidently delivered alternative plan of action.

"Great..." Cordelia drawled. "Just what we need around here. Another misfit."

Wesley mustered-up a good deal of indignation and said, "I resent that remark."

"You resemble it, you mean," Cordelia spit back at him. Then she turned her own icy glare on the large vampire that loomed before her.

"Oh, puleeze..." she drawled, this time with even more sarcasm than she'd used earlier. "A vampire with a soul, a reject Watcher, an unemployed psychic actress, and now a stuttering witch. All we need are a few more players and a bird in a fruit tree and we can write our own song."

"Willow doesn't have a speech impediment, does she?" Wesley said, frowning at Cordelia.

"Look, Cordelia," Angel ground out. He was close, so very close to saying something he would later regret. And that's just what Cordelia wanted him to do. Taunting him was her way of getting him to open up when she felt he'd gone into Hermit Mode. "You saw the vision. Do you honestly think Willow can handle this threat without... us?" He'd almost said 'without me,' but at the last instant had thought better of it. It made him feel uncomfortable in ways he didn't want to think about.

Cordelia's shoulders slumped and she looked past him to the rain outside. When she looked back up, her eyes were very round and moist, and her lower lip quivered slightly. But true to form, she recovered her composure quickly and expounded on her last statement.

"No, Little Miss Teen Bloodsucker looked scary. I mean, she was creepier than that little freak Claudia in that Anne Rice movie, except that the fanged teenybopper in my vision wasn't a blonde. And what's up with that anyway?" Cordelia asked Angel with all her typical aplomb.

"What's up with what?" Angel was completely lost.

"You male vamps and your thing for blondes? I mean, that Darla chick was blonde. Spike hooked-up for a time with- and I shudder- Harmony and then there's you and our bottle-blonde Slayer? I was just wondering, what's the deal?"

Angel turned and stalked into his office, closing the door soundly behind him.

For a few minutes he leaned against the door, trying to determine just what he would say to Willow, what lie he'd fabricate to entice the little witch to come to him.

He didn't want to scare her, but he needed her to act fast, to get out of Sunnydale as soon as possible. Angel was about to become Willow's self-appointed guardian. He wanted her there, in LA, safe in his arms before the sun could set and rise again.

He also didn't want to start analyzing all the new feelings he had for the witch. There would be plenty of time to do that after this crisis had passed and she was safely returned to her home and her friends. Determinedly, Angel went to the phone on his desk and dialed a number he'd never used before but which he had memorized anyway.

She answered after the third ring. "Hello?"

"Willow? It's Angel. I need you to come to LA."

~Part: 3~

Buffy Summers walked through the open door in a euphoric daze and flopped down on her bed with a contented sigh.

"How was the study session?" Willow taunted her with a huge smile.

Buffy sighed again in response, sitting up and searching for the right words. She totally missed the fact that an open suitcase lay on her roommate's bed, partially filled with clothes and magic supplies. The rain still poured down outside, which made being indoors cozy. Willow was playing the new Dido CD and had it programmed so she could hear the Roswell theme song between each other track. The college moment washed away the dark side of her life, the slayer side, for a brief moment and she gloried in the peace of it.

"It was so amazing, Will. Riley… I never… with Angel…" Her backpack dangled from one hand and her hair was mussed, shirt untucked and belt entirely missing.

"Never with Angel what?" Willow wanted to know. The slayer usually had plenty of words when she was dishing about guys. Coming back from an obvious lovemaking session nearly speechless was definitely a milestone.

Buffy got up and shut the door, leaned back against it. Willow straightened up and made a little hurry-up motion with her hands, and Buffy grinned and moved to sit on Willow's desk. Girl talk. It was the best part about living together. Well, the third best part, after not having to hide her slayer identity from Willow and the fact that neither of them snored.

"Just now, with Riley… he's so sweet, and thoughtful when we're together."

"Your pleasure comes before his?" Willow guessed.

"More than that," Buffy enthused, lowering her voice even though there was no one around to overhear. "I orgasmed during sex."

"Can you really use 'orgasm' as a verb?"

"Not before, not after, but during. And he didn't have to masturbate me to do it."

Willow was about to bring up another grammar point but stopped mid-protest when Buffy's words started to sink in. Her eyes widened and she leaned forward, speaking a little breathlessly.

"Really? How? Oz never could."

Buffy was blushing, making her seem aglow with love for Riley. All the Cosmo articles in the world could not have prepared her for that particular pleasure. If she'd had the opportunity to be with Angel more than that one time, she might not be so enthused about Riley's prowess, but such as it was…

"Riley didn't even have to touch me once down there. I think I was just really keyed up and he was in control enough to take his time. It was amazing. It's so intense, Will, I totally lost control. And he's pretty big."

"Bigger than Angel?"

"No one's bigger than Angel. The man is a freakin' clydesdale."

"Buffy!"

"Well, he is. I'm sorry. Maybe it's a vampire thing."

"Please tell me that far-away look in your eyes is about Riley and not a certain bleached-blonde vampire, or I will throw up on your shoes."

"Relax, Will, it's all Riley."

"Well, good." Willow grabbed her "to do" list and scribbled on it with a rainbow gel pen. "Note to self: orgasm during sex."

Buffy laughed, happy that her best friend was able to share in her joy despite her own more despairing romantic loss. There was no jealousy in Willow's face, no bitterness or hint of complaining. Knowing that she approved of Riley meant so much. It was one thing to be civil to your friend's boyfriend, but the fact that Willow and Riley were friends made it a lot more peaceful. Willow even confessed that she helped Riley conspire to get Buffy's attention at a party long before she even considered him as date potential.

Spontaneously, Buffy threw her arms around her best friend. The slayer's force was a little much and they toppled onto the bed, sending the suitcase to the floor.

"Oops! Sorry. Didn't know my own strength."

"It was a power hug," Willow soothed her. "No problem."

"What is all this stuff?" Buffy asked as she picked up a pink quartz and tucked it into a shoe where it wouldn't break. "Are you going home for the weekend? I thought your parents were in Latvia researching sheep or something."

"Genetic cloning in farm animals. And yes, they are. I'm going to LA."

"For the weekend? Why?"

"I don't have Monday classes except my independent biology study. Angel has this whole private investigator thing now and he needs a computer system up and running. I have a whole bunch of software I wrote for Giles - you know, that Demon database thing? Angel just took me up on the offer."

"Oh." Buffy carefully folded Willow's favorite fuchsia dress with the Indian designs on it. Then she folded a shirt. "I suppose it makes sense to have someone trustworthy. You'll be really helpful." They finished picking up the clothes and she hefted the suitcase back onto the bed.

"Are you still in love with him?" Willow asked bluntly.

"I don't know," Buffy said honestly. "I just don't let myself go there. It can't ever be anything. And I love Riley, I do… and we can have the kind of future Angel wanted for me to have in the first place."

Willow's countenance was sympathetic. She changed the subject artfully.

"So, is Riley passed out in his room now?"

Buffy found her smile again and used it at full wattage.

"He needed a nap. Poor baby."

~~~*~~~

The sky over LA was a smog-like gray, overcast but not raining. Willow stood with her back to a wall at the transit station near the airport and hoped she'd see Angel any minute. He'd said there would be someone to pick her up but when she got off the bus, no one was waiting except an old woman who only spoke Spanish and a college-aged guy who was there to pick up his boyfriend. She pulled her purse to the front and clutched the handle of the small suitcase with both hands. It might be time to invest in one of those trendy camping backpacks with all the pockets, but Willow felt silly owning hiking gear because she couldn't remember the last time she hiked. Well, unless you counted that trip into Breaker's Woods with Giles and Buffy, tracking a demon that turned out to be just an owl.

Still, one wild goose chase didn't change her status as a non-hiker.

She heard the growling of a motorcycle engine and turned her head a little, trying to look disinterested. Motorcycles were scary. They were dangerous. And just the tiniest bit sexy, but Willow shook that thought away and stared at the ground to avoid eye contact with the driver of the sleek black bike. He'd parked and was now speaking to the guy behind the wire grid at the ticket counter. They were too far away for her to eavesdrop.

"Willow?" came a voice. A distinctly chipper, British voice that sounded for all the world like Buffy's ex-watcher, Wesley Wyndham-Price. Which was impossible, because…

"You're in England," she blurted out, as Wesley stepped into view holding his helmet. He wore black leather pants, a matching jacket, a black button-down shirt, and boots. His wire-rimmed spectacles and crinkly blue eyes were still stodgy and Watcher-y, thank goodness.

"I assure you, I am entirely in America," Wesley smiled. "It's good to see you."

"Did Cordelia dress you up?" Willow asked, frowning. She still could not get over his outfit.

"I wish," Wesley muttered. Their eyes met as he blushed and she grinned.

"It's good to see you too, Wesley. Even if you are all leathered up. Ooh! Are we going undercover?"

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, but this is normally what I wear when I'm out fighting evil on my motorcycle, bringing hope and beauty to a world of…" Wesley stopped speaking when Willow looked like she was about to burst out laughing. "Well, let's get you home, shall we?"

"Where's home?" Willow asked. Wesley took her suitcase and gallantly stepped between her and the street while they walked the short distance to his bike.

"You'll be living with Angel during your stay. Cordelia's place isn't far from the office but there's construction, so there's traffic, and we can't afford to waste any time with this situation we're in." Wesley strapped her suitcase to the back of the bike with a couple of bungee cords and helped her climb on. "Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?"

"No."

Wesley gave her a quick passenger lesson and started the bike. Willow, who had previously placed her hands gently at his side, leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding on for dear life. A light rain began to fall as soon as they got on the road and by the time they reached Angel Investigations, Willow was drenched.

Meeting Angel soaking wet and shivering was not her idea of a classy entrance. She barely had time to say hello to him before Wesley interrupted, sounding his apologies to Angel and to her, again, even though she'd told him to stop saying he was sorry. The man liked to grovel. It was kind of endearing. It would be downright cute if she wasn't cold and cranky and dripping water on the green linoleum.

"Wesley." Angel held up a hand and the man stopped. He was no less wet, though his leather did a better job protecting him than Willow's khakis.

"C-can I go change?" Willow pleaded.

"Yes. Absolutely. Wesley, there's a list of contacts on the desk. I want you to call and see if any of them have seen Fiona in the past 24 hours. Be discreet."

"I'm the soul of discretion," Wesley promised. Angel gave him a look that ensured he'd better be.

Angel led Willow down the stairs, carrying her suitcase and trying to ignore the way her pants clung to her legs like a sausage casing. According to Cordelia that look was 'in.' On Willow, it looked damn enticing. Of all the girls he'd fantasized about, Willow was the only one that came with a string of guilt attached. Maybe it was because as Buffy's best friend, he knew she would never 'go after' him. Maybe it was because she seemed so sweet and safe and helpful and he could never take advantage of that. Maybe his ego was just swollen from knowing the red-headed witch had a crush on him and came to LA as soon as he asked.

Willow smiled gratefully at Angel when he placed her suitcase on the tiled floor of his bathroom, but did not feel like chatting. She closed the door and sat down in a chair that sat next to the sunken bathtub. It was a fairly elaborate bathing chamber, considering the understated décor of the bachelor pad. She noticed artwork, weapons, books, antiques, dark leather furniture, a symphony of browns and maroons, subtle blues and golds in the threads of the oriental carpet. The place smelled spicy, like incense, and was incredibly neat. Well, of course. Angel was never a slob. The mansion, the one time she'd been there taking care of him last year, was spartan in its decoration save the bedroom, which was filled with a gothic opulence. She still wondered what it would be like to sleep on sheets made of satin.

Angel hadn't told her to hurry. He was mellow, quiet, perfect attitude for a rainy day. Willow decided to take a full bath and turned on the faucet. The sound of the rushing water was soothing. She slumped back in the chair, smoothing her pruned fingertips against the sodden material of her pants. No mirrors meant she didn't have to see exactly how much she resembled a drowned rat.

Stripping down, Willow decided on a post-bath outfit. She opened her suitcase and pulled out tights, a reddish-orange skirt that touched her ankles, and a matching red sweater with beadwork in primary colors covering the bottom hem and trailing up to her breasts in rivulets of fire. It was bright, cheerful, and incredibly comfortable.

She sank into the hot water with a grateful sigh. The shivers left her body almost immediately and she leaned her head back against a towel, watching steam rise up from her cool skin. It was nice to be outside of Sunnydale. Nice to be away from Xander, Giles, Buffy, schoolwork, and the memories of Oz. Trading daily pressures for a hunt for a rogue vampire wasn't a fair trade off, but at the moment Willow could care less. All she knew was a tub of hot water and silence.

~Part: 4~

When Willow finally emerged from the bathroom, she was greeted by soft strains of classical music.

How very 'Angel' she thought, as she padded silently across the apartment on stocking clad feet. If he was aware of her approach, Angel gave no indication. Willow found him sitting in a large, brown leather chair, his eyes never moving from the book laid open in his lap.

"Bach?" she asked.

"Yes," Angel replied, looking up at the sound of her voice. Willow thought he appeared to be a bit startled. Was it because she'd actually managed to sneak-up on the old vampire or because she had correctly identified the composer of the music?

"Brandenburg Concerto No. 2," he added.

"Well, I'm pretty good at guessing who wrote it, but I'm not quite that good."

"I do have a slight advantage," Angel chuckled. "I've been listening to the classics a lot longer than you have."

All of the uneasy feelings that Willow had been feeling with regard to staying with Angel, alone, in his apartment, melted away under the warmth of the smile he offered her. She smiled back as she settled down on the couch.

"Yeah, there is that," Willow snickered. "And I suppose that when I'm two-hundred and forty plus years old, I'll be able to rattle off all the hits of the late twentieth-century."

Willow feared she'd offended her host when Angel's smile faded quickly away and was replaced by a rather dour expression.

"That doesn't sound like a very good idea," he stated sternly. "No self-respecting immortal would ever admit to actually remembering anything by Men at Work."

Angel laughed aloud, albeit softly, as Willow's eyes went round with shock. Then she burst into riotous laughter.

"Oh my god, Angel!" Willow gasped, sucking in large quantities of much needed air as she wiped tears from her eyes. "You made a joke!"

"What? A vampire's not supposed to have a sense of humor?" asked a much amused Angel.

"No, no, it's not that," Willow managed to say between small fits of giggles. "I mean Spike makes with the wise cracks all the time. It's just that you... you're usually so--"

"Stoic?" Angel offered.

"I was going to say quiet," Willow countered.

"You mean laconic."

"No, I mean soft-spoken," the red-head snapped. "And don't put words in my mouth."

"I'm sorry. I..." Angel's face showed signs of an internal struggle. He was obviously searching for just the right words. But how does one find the proper phrasing to admit that they are uncomfortable in the company of someone they want to claim as a friend?

The worst part for Angel was that his discomfort also stemmed from her physical presence.

He couldn't very well tell her that the subtle scent of her lavender bath products still clung to her skin and that he found it more than just a little alluring. Nor could he confess to having been thrilled to have caught a quick (and thankfully undetected) eyeful of her as she had made her way across the room. Only a blind man would have missed the way Willow's long, flowing skirt fell beautifully over her hips and swirled about her long, lean legs as she walked. Or the way the pretty beading on her sweater innocently accentuated the swell of her breasts.

No, those were not the kinds of things that a man would say to a woman he hoped to forge a friendship with, a woman who was best friends with the first woman he ever loved. Could love be that mutable?

"Me, too," Willow whispered.

Angel was startled out of his reverie. She too, what? Suffered from inappropriate thoughts?

"You too?"

"I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I guess I'm just nervous about being here. I mean, aside from late night research parties, it's not like we ever really hung out when you were in Sunnydale. Now here I am in LA and we're going to be working together and sleeping together for the next few days and..."

Willow blushed furiously and became quite animated as she attempted to clarify her previous statement.

"I mean sleeping together as in under the same roof, not as in, you know, sleeping together."

"That's okay, Willow. You really didn't need to explain it to me."

Willow's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red. What on earth had made her say that? This was Angel, Buffy's Angel. Well, he used to be anyway. Now there was Riley and Willow supposed that changed some things a bit, but still... Sleeping with Angel. Ugh. Of all the foot-in-mouth things to say.

"You know, I have to admit that I'm a bit nervous too," Angel said, trying to ease some of Willow's discomfort with a confession of his own. "I don't get many visitors."

"But what about Cordelia and Wesley?" Willow asked, picking at imaginary lint on her skirt, giving Angel only the most furtive of glances.

"Cordelia? And Wesley? Visitors? Interlopers is more like it," Angel chuckled.

Willow's head shot up and she looked at him, hard, trying to gauge the true connotation of his words.

"They're my friends."

"That's nice," Willow sighed, a full-fledged smile back on her face.

"Yes, it is," Angel admitted openly. "And I'm being a terrible host. Can I get you anything? There's not much in the kitchen. My so-called friends clean me out on a regular basis, so we'll need to do some shopping later. But I do have tea and shortbread cookies."

"Cordelia's baking?" Willow asked warily, trying not to sound too frightened.

Angel laughed again. Willow came to the conclusion that she very much liked that sound.

"No, mine."

"And that's supposed to reassure me how?"

Angel's hands flew up to cover his un-beating heart.

"Willow," he groaned, feigning wounded pride. "I may not need to eat, but on occasion I still enjoy the taste of something other than O-positive."

"Yeah, I knew that," Willow chimed in brightly. "I've seen you drink stuff, you know, other stuff than... I just didn't know that you could cook."

"I'm good at eggs."

Angel rose from his chair and headed over toward the kitchen area. Willow followed and took a seat at the table while Angel set about making the tea and putting out a plate of cookies. Her eyes followed him. She'd admired the soft grey sweater he was wearing. The sleeves and waist were long and loose but it fit snugly across his shoulders and chest. His strong, broad shoulders and expansive, well-defined chest, that tight butt in those black pants and geez, Will, lusty much?

"So, how's life in Sunnydale?" he asked as he puttered about.

"Interesting, as always. Demons to battle, vampires to slay. The usual there."

"And college life?"

"Pretty good so far. A few unexpected surprises, things lurking beneath the surface, if you know what I mean." Willow stopped speaking and Angel turned to see a sad expression on her face. He wondered if she was thinking about Oz.

Angel was just about to question her on the subject when Willow shrugged her shoulders, gave him a brave smile, then resumed speaking in a much brighter voice.

"I got to test out of most of the introductory courses. You know I got credit for them just by passing the tests. And I'm taking a few independent study classes. That's good. Frees up my time for world-savage when I'm needed."

As Angel set the tea on table and took the seat across from Willow, she continued to tell him about what Xander and Anya were up to, about Giles and his latest run-in with Ethan Rayne. She told him a little bit about The Initiative and Adam, their contribution to the hellish population of her hometown. But Willow skipped telling him about Spike and what The Initiative had done to the bad boy-turned-fuzzy bunny. She wasn't sure how Angel would react to that information. For more obvious reasons, she avoided bringing up Buffy and Riley, at least for the time being.

Having finished with her update, Willow sipped her tea slowly and munched on a few cookies. She found herself fascinated by watching Angel consume a few of the delectable delights himself. He caught her staring.

"I told you they were good," he teased.

Willow just smiled and nodded her head as she bit into another cookie.

"So," she mumbled around her mouthful of food, a few crumbs sticking to her lips. Angel wanted to lick them away. Down boy. "How's life in LA?" Willow inquired.

Thank god, something else to do with his mouth. Talk.

"Good. It's... good. No Hellmouth, but a big city with enough evil to keep me busy. Keep us busy, I should say, because Cordelia and Wesley really are part of a team."

"A team, like The Scooby Gang. Wow, how did the three of you hook up?"

Now, this was nice. Catching up on current events, sitting quietly, just talking with another person in a manner that wasn't really work related. When Angel had first sat down at the kitchen table, he couldn't help but recall the last time a young woman had sat opposite him sipping tea. Memories of a not so distant past day flooded his mind, but they were quickly replaced by the sight of the lovely girl before him. Her lustrous red-hair was worn in a new short style he found very attractive, her eyes boldly meeting his as they spoke to each other, huge emerald-colored windows through which he could see Willow's intelligence, her interest in him, her caring nature.

For a few brief moments, Angel longed to tell Willow all about his lost day with Buffy. He wanted her to understand the type of closure he had placed upon his relationship with the Slayer. But he quickly gave up that idea. Angel couldn't bear the thought of placing that burden on Willow. Much as he wanted to share that part of his heart with her, he knew that the knowledge would not only alter their budding friendship, but it would change Willow's relationship with Buffy as well. And that wasn't fair.

Angel started with more recent events, telling Willow about how he and Wesley had crossed paths. Then he went on to tell her about how he'd first run into Cordelia and how he ended up employing her. Though he had to admit that he'd been talked into that by Doyle.

"Doyle? Who's Doyle?" Willow asked out of simple curiosity, but regretted doing so when she saw the light dim a bit in Angel's eyes.

"He... he was friend. But he's gone now."

Willow knew instantly what Angel meant by 'gone'. Gone meant dead.

"I'm sorry," Willow whispered.

"It's okay, Will. He died a hero."

Willow let the silence settle comfortable around them while Angel took a brief trip down 'Memory Lane'. The astute witch could sense that the vampire was still struggling to deal with his loss. Whoever Doyle had been, he must have come to mean a lot to Angel in a very short span of time. It wasn't very long at all before Angel composed himself. Still, there was a strange quality to his voice when he spoke again, an odd mixture of sorrow and amusement.

"He did leave a little something behind, so he won't be forgotten." With a wry smile he added, "Especially not by Cordelia."

Willow arched a quizzical, yet perfectly shaped brow at him. Angel explained about Doyle's gift from The Powers That Be, and how he had passed that 'gift' on to Cordelia just before he died.

"Poor Cordelia," Willow sighed without the usual sarcasm that colored her words when Cordelia Chase was the topic of conversation. She honestly felt badly for the other young woman. The fate that had been bestowed upon her wasn't one that Willow would have wished for anyone, not even a narcissistic, haughty ex-prom queen.

"She's actually taking it quite well," Angel said.

Willow shot him a look.

"Okay, I suppose 'well' isn't how she's taking it, but she's handling it and she... Cordelia's grown-up a lot over that last few months. She... she's still tactless a good deal of the time, still spends a lot of time in her "Me World", but she's a very honest person, brutally honest at times, and I like that. She says what she thinks, what she feels. I know where I stand with her."

"What does she see?"

"The monster in the man," Angel replied frankly.

"I- I meant in the visions," Willow stammered.

In all the years that they'd know each other, they'd barely spoken to one and other, and now Angel was being so open that Willow didn't know what to make of his behavior. No, she liked it. She liked it a lot. Too much, perhaps. He was so at ease with himself, with his surroundings, with her. Communication gaps aside, Angel was now talking to her as if she was a close friend and she liked that, too. She also liked just looking at him. Angel wasn't hard on the eyes, that's for sure.

Willow heard Xander's voice in her mind, replaying a conversation from the past. His words mixed with the sounds of The Bronze, Dingos playing in the background.

"Well, he's buff!," Xander had commented peevishly. "She never said anything about him being buff!"

"You think he's buff?" she had asked, quite innocently at the time.

Now as Willow sipped her tea and stealthily ogled Angel from over the rim of the large mug, her more mature mind, fueled by raging female hormones, thought, "Oh yeah, he's buff!"

"He's a very attractive man! How come that never came up?" Xander's voice asked.

Attractive? Can you say understatement? Ageless beauty was more like it, figuratively and literally. Willow wondered what Angel's hair felt like. Was it as coarse as it appeared to be in that style, or would it actually feel silky if she mussed up the spikes? Were his large hands rough and callused or soft and smooth? And those lips! Where they really as ripe as they looked? What did he taste like? And the sight of him laying sprawled in a bed would surely be a--

"Vision?" Angel's voice broke into her daydream.

"What?!" Willow squeaked. She couldn't have said that last part aloud, right? Right?!

"Lost you for a minute, there." Angel noted her flushed face but chose to ignore it. "Well, from what I've been told, the visions are flashes of images. People in trouble, demons rising, places where events are about to take place. And Cordelia also says that she feels things, like fear, anger, pain, supernatural powers."

"Does she get them often?" Willow asked, concern for the other young woman evident in her voice.

"Often enough," Angel answered. He wasn't about to tell Willow that Cordelia's last vision had occurred just hours ago and had included her. He saw no point in frightening the witch more than she already was. He knew who and what they were up against. Fiona was a force to be reckoned with, but Angel was confident he could protect Willow and take care of his 'little sister' once and for all.

Willow shuddered at the thought of such images and sensations being forced upon her. It was one thing to cast a spell, to choose to call upon the forces of nature and the powers of the supernatural. To be at their beck and call was a very unpleasant thought. Willow looked forward to seeing what kind of woman the vacuous cheerleader had become. Willow had seen glimpses of her courage while they were in high school, but Cordelia's new role in Angel's life seem to go far beyond the one she had played as a Slayerette. Seems they had all grown-up a lot over the past few months.

~Part: 5~

Bach stopped playing about halfway through Willow and Angel's tea time. Willow found she missed the soothing background music. Angel was busy washing the dishes so she took the liberty of choosing the next... record? Angel still had records?

"Angel, you have records?" she called out.

Angel clinked the last cups into the dish drainer and came over to her. He leaned against the wall, looking attentive.

"I remember a couple years ago I was in a store and saw something this shape." Willow held up the record and something fluttered out of the sleeve. She bent down to pick it up. "I thought it was vinyl making a comeback, but it was really the invention of laser discs. Made me feel all old."

Angel remained silent as she turned the piece of paper over in her palm and gasped. He'd forgotten about the aged piece of paper he'd tucked into the sleeve and was pleased to see the excited look in Willow's eyes as she read aloud.

"Angelus, I hope these new compositions please you. Your servant, Frederic."

"Chopin," Angel confirmed. "He sent that note to my box before one of his concerts and I tucked it into the record sleeve years later as a reminder. I would have killed him, but his blood was weak anyway."

"Liar. You were a sucker for beautiful music."

"Beautiful music, beautiful art, beautiful women..." Angel's voice trailed off as he reached out a finger and traced the bead design over her belly. He let her see the desire in his eyes and was pleased that she leaned into his touch rather than away from it.

He didn't know what game he was playing. He didn't know if it was even a game. Before she came to LA, Willow was in a little box marked 'friend of Buffy.' He knew little about her besides her loyalty, her intelligence, and that she might have a crush on him. Meeting the flesh and blood reality forced him to open the box and admit he hardly knew her at all. One minute she'd be blushing over a Freudian slip, the next minute she'd be correctly analyzing the state of his heart and the next minute she'd be staring at him with eyes that did not belong to a child.

It wasn't fair to test her. He shouldn't touch her like that. Shouldn't fantasize. He had no intention of falling in love with her. Denying the unforseen attraction was another matter. Frankly, he was sick of denial.

"So, what now?" she asked, her voice shaking a little. "Uh, research?"

"I suppose we should go up to the office and see if Wesley found any leads."

"That sounds like a plan."

"But first I'd like you to take a look at something I have down here," Angel added.

"All right," Willow replied cautiously, the tone of Angel's voice making her a bit apprehensive.

"I'll be right back." With that Angel turned away and walked off toward his bedroom.

When he re-emerged from his room, Angel found Willow wandering slowly through the livingroom space. He watched her from the alcove for a few minutes, taking in the way she moved from place to place, shelf to shelf, gently touching a statuette, cocking her head to one side as she gazed upon a picture, softly sighing as she ran a long, delicate finger along the spines of his old books, taking in the titles and knowing intuitively that they were all first editions of literary classics. Willow eyed his collection of medieval weapons that were mounted on the wall. Then she trembled and wrapped her arms tightly around herself.

Angel knew that somehow Willow had felt his presence because she didn't turn to face him, she simply spoke.

"Your apartment, it's--"

"Gloomy?" Angel quickly interjected.

Willow spun around, miffed. He'd done it again, put words in her mouth. Angel bowed his head, forced to look away from the weight of her stare.

"You always think the worst, don't you?" she chastised him gently. "I was going to say that in spite of its subterranean location, it's really much nicer than the mansion. It suits you, Angel. I like it. I feel safe here."

"I saw you shudder and I assumed--"

"I was just shivering. It's a little chilly in here."

"I'm sorry," Angel mumbled as he quickly went to the thermostat. He was amazed to see that the temperature in the apartment was hovering at about sixty-five degrees. To a living, breathing human being that was a bit cold for a rainy day in southern California.

Willow was sitting on the couch when he came back. Angel was glad to see that she pulled the throw off the back and had wrapped herself in it.

"It should warm up in here in no time," he told her with an apologetic smile.

"Thanks," Willow replied, hoping he would know that all was forgiven. She pointed to what looked like a large leather book that Angel had tucked under his arm. "Whatcha got there?"

"Pictures."

Angel sat down on the sofa next to Willow and laid the book between them, resting a part of it in each of their laps. Willow realized then that it was a folder of some sort. The leather cover was well worn and the strings to bind it were in need of replacement, fraying and crumbling as Angel carefully untied them. The leather crackled as he lifted the top cover and opened the portfolio.

Angelus' drawings. Willow would have recognized his work anywhere. Images of the ones he'd left for Buffy and Giles were forever burned into her mind.

Angel flipped through them quickly, obviously searching for one in particular, but Willow grabbed a hold of his hand to stop him. He shot her a puzzled look.

"Don't," Willow whispered. "May I look at them, all of them?"

For a moment Willow thought Angel was going to refuse her request. His brow furrowed as he took on a very pensive look. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"Please?"

Angel knew instantly that anytime Willow looked at him that way, he could deny her nothing. There was no fear or repulsion in her expression. Not a hint of morbid curiosity. He saw her heart in her eyes and it was full of love. Friendship love, to be sure, but any affection was welcome in his opinion. Cordelia and Wesley were not given much to coddling his heart.

He nodded and slid the entire folder into her lap.

Willow carefully turned back the pages until she reached the first drawing. Then slowly she gazed upon them, one by one. She was amazed by what she saw, an occasional awe-filled gasp slipped past her lips.

The drawings didn't appear to be in any sort of chronological order. They were portraits, each one of them a wonderful rendering of a vampire from Angel's past.

Drusilla was there, drawn a number of times in all her usual lace and ribbons. Spike, captured in outfits from days long gone. Spike, with his hair long and pulled back in fancy bows. That was excellent blackmail material.

There were portraits of Darla, first in garb that Willow would have placed in the late 1700's and then a few pictures of her in fancy ball gowns. Next came a drawing of Angel's sire in a Japanese kimono, followed by a few nudes.

"They're so beautiful," she sighed, admiration filling her eyes.

Angel had to swallow hard to push down the lump that had formed in his throat, and even still his words were raspy.

"They are," he replied. "Or were," he added, acknowledging the fact that some of the subjects in his portfolio no longer walked the darkness of the earth.

"Why is that?" Willow turned to look at Angel as she questioned him. "Why is it that so many of the Masters are so very beautiful?"

Angel shook his head slowly as he thought of an answer to her unexpected question.

"I don't know, Willow. Maybe it's because beauty is drawn to beauty while at the same time evil seeks to perpetuate itself."

Willow's eyes locked onto Angel's. They searched for something, some meaning beyond his words, some truth that he had hidden inside him.

"Do you think that's all there is to it?"

Angel thought for a few more minutes before speaking.

"No. Pure evil has a beauty all its own."

One of Willow's hands came up to cradle the side of Angel's face. For a minute or so, she softly caressed his cheek with her thumb in an absent-minded fashion. She was still staring into his eyes and Angel felt as though she might see all the way into his soul. Then Willow's hand fell away and she smiled at him in way that told Angel she was pleased with his answer.

Willow turned her attention back to the pictures in her lap. The next portrait she uncovered was of a man she couldn't identify.

"Who's this?" she asked.

"That was Penn," Angel answered simply, with no real emotion in his voice.

"You sired him," Willow stated bluntly.

"Yes." Angel was surprised and intrigued by her assumption. "How could you tell?"

"The eyes," Willow explained. "He has a wild look in his eyes. Not mad, like Drusilla, just sort of... frenzied, a little deranged. You used to look like that sometimes."

"Did I?" Angel chuckled, delighted with Willow's forthright comments. No one had ever really spoken to him that way, talked about the differences they saw in him with and without his soul, other than commenting on the obvious things, like his murderous deeds. It made him feel safe and welcomed. Not two familiar feelings.

Willow shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry."

"No, don't be. You're right."

"Thanks," Willow muttered as she turned over a few more pages, finally coming to one of Fiona. She let out a small hiss.

"Is that the girl you saw in The Bronze, Willow?"

"Oh yeah! Her hair is a different style now. And she dressed like a Cordette."

Angel conjured up an image of a shiny red sports car, then Willow's actual word registered and his original vision was replaced by one of Cordelia in a high-fashion dress and heels. He couldn't imagine Fiona dressed in that style any more than he could imagine Willow in one of Darla's ball gowns. It did not fit.

Willow spent a few minutes studying the pictures of Fiona while glancing over at Angel every so often.

"You do look a lot alike."

Angel just nodded.

"Does she look like your sister?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Angel said as he leaned over and pulled a page from the very back of the folder. He reverently laid it down beside the portrait of Fiona.

"Wow, they could have been twins!" Willow gasped.

"That's just what Darla thought. That's why she turned Fiona."

"Why would she do that?"

"Just one more of my sire's lessons in un-life. We..." Angel took a deep breath, steeling himself for Willow's reaction to the tale he was about to tell. "Darla and I were laying waste to an orphanage outside of Dublin. It was a birthday party of sorts-- the second anniversary of my turning. But when I came across Fiona, I saw the resemblance to Kathy, my sister. She couldn't have been more than fourteen years old, maybe younger. I refused to have anything to do with her. Darla admonished me for my sentimentality.

"It was more than that, Willow. Trust me. I had no reservations about killing my own sister. To kill her look-alike would have been a treat. Something about the girl just wasn't right. But Darla didn't feel it and I wasn't about to try to explain it to her. She was my sire and I was too arrogant to lower myself to having to address her as such. If she was going to treat me like a child, I was going to play the role of the petulant Childe to the hilt. I stormed out of the orphanage and headed for the nearest pub.

"I didn't see Darla again for two days. When she finally came strolling into the pub I'd chosen for the night, she had Fiona in tow. She pushed the little vampire into my lap and told me that if I wasn't careful, ghosts from my past would haunt me always. If she only knew how true that would be...

"Anyway, Darla walked out of the pub and out of my life. I was left with a fledgling Fiona, so I set about making her new life an extension of the hell she'd lived in before Darla turned her. But she was still just a child. The crueler I was, the tighter she clung. I hated her and she adored me. After about three months I'd had all I could take and I abandoned her. Set her up for a fall, actually. The last time I saw her, she was trapped inside a church with a small mob moving in on her.

"For the first time since I was turned, I was alone. I made my way to Scotland. Darla found me in Glasgow nearly six months later. At first she seemed thrilled. Then she got around to asking the whereabouts of my 'little sister' and when I told her I'd left Fiona behind in Dublin, she was furious. But I knew how to pacify my sire and soon I was forgiven and my 'little sister' was a fleeting memory."

Angel stopped talking and Willow finally let out the breath that she had been holding. The story wasn't nearly as bad as she thought it would be, but she was well aware of the fact that Angel had edited out some parts. They were probably too ugly or too painful to share.

"So, was that the last time you saw Fiona?"

"I assumed she was dead, Willow. As far as I know this is the first time she's come looking for me."

"Why now?" It was a rhetorical question.

Willow looked back down at the pictures of Fiona and Kathy, studying them as she pondered her own question. Angel watched her, silently wondering what thoughts were floating through her ever-active mind. He almost cringed when he saw that she had picked out a small detail on both pictures. The index finger of her right went down to the lower right corner of Fiona's portrait, while the index finger on her left hand went to the corresponding corner of Kathy's.

"Did you draw both of these pictures?" Willow asked.

"Yes."

"How come all the vampy pictures are signed with an 'A' but Kathy's is signed with an 'L'?"

Angel took the portfolio away from Willow, carefully arranged all the portraits inside, then closed the cover and retied the ribbons.

"Liam. My name was Liam."

And with that said, Angel rose from the couch, portfolio in hand, and walked back toward his bedroom. A few minutes later he came back out, empty handed. Actually his hands were thrust deep into his pants' pockets and Willow thought he looked more than a little bit uncomfortable.

"Let's go up to the office and see what Wesley left for us. Then we'll go out and get a bite to eat."

Willow gave him a sly smirk, hoping she might lighten his mood back-up. Angel wondered what she found so amusing then his exact words came back to him. Instead of making things better, Willow only managed to fluster him. Now he was the one with the blushing and the stammering.

"For you, that is," Angel hastily amended. "We'll go get you something for dinner. You must be hungry by now."

"Ummm, Angel, I got it," Willow said with a casual wave of her hand, as if she was brushing aside their awkward moment. Then she repeated the words he'd said to her earlier. "You really didn't have to explain it to me."

She gave Angel one of her biggest, warmest smiles as she stood up and walked toward him. Willow was glad to see his shoulders relax and to see a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

"You always were the smart one, Will."

"Yeah, well, the smart one didn't pack a second pair of shoes, so let me go see if my squishy ones are semi-dry."

She started to walk past Angel, heading toward the bathroom to retrieve her water logged shoes when he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward his bedroom.

"Wait," he said as he dragged her along. "I think I have something better!"

He had a huge smile on his face as he pushed Willow down to sit on his bed.

"A-ha!" he shouted from within the depths of the wardrobe.

"A-ha what?" was Willow's leery response.

"A-ha these," Angel said, standing before her with a pair of beautiful red silk shoes.

"Angel." She reached out a tentative hand and fingered the exquisite embroidery on the toe of each shoe. The colors were exotic and would match her outfit perfectly. She was very pleased. It was a great outfit, even Buffy said so, and she knew she looked good.

Brazenly, she leaned back on her elbows and lifted her feet. Angel knelt before her and slowly slipped on the first shoe, hoping that they would fit Willow's slender feet. He sighed with pleasure as it slid on easily and stayed on properly.

"Ummm, Angel?"

Willow gazed down at him, her eyes large and somewhat glassy. Her color was high again as a delicate blush colored her cheeks. He was beginning to like that.

"Yes, Willow?"

"Why do you have a pair of women's shoes in your closet?"

Angel laughed heartily and Willow's heart fluttered. The change in the tempo of that beat didn't go unnoticed by the vampire and he was secretly thrilled.

"They were payment from a client," he explained, once his laughter had subsided. "She was Japanese. A kijo had been terrorizing her for a long time and I took care of it for her. She didn't have money to pay for my services, but her pride dictated that she must offer me a token of thanks. She gave me what she had to give."

"They're lovely," Willow sighed.

"I'm glad you like them," Angel said as he slipped the second shoe on Willow's stocking foot.

Perhaps Angel's hands did linger a little longer than necessary on Willow's ankle. And maybe the way he caressed her calf before pulling away was a tad bit too personal, suggestive even. It was flirtation, plain and simple. To acknowledge it would call a stop to it. Angel didn't want to stop because the feelings she awakened in him were not threatening to his soul. Willow didn't want to stop because it had been a long time since a man noticed her.

Angel rose smoothly. Willow never took her eyes off him. She loved to watch the fluid, graceful way he moved. Ever the gentleman, he offered Willow his hand. She took the proffered hand without hesitation, letting Angel pull her to her feet. That same hand then found its way into the small of Willow's back and guided her toward the elevator.

If they navigated their feelings carefully enough, they'd be able to prevent the past from wrecking the future.

~Part: 6~

"Find anything?" Angel asked Wesley as he entered the outer office. Wesley handed Angel a piece of paper with his left hand and finished scribbling something with his right.

"There," he said as he finished, and turned his attention to the duo before him. His face brightened as he saw Willow. "Willow, you're looking better!"

It was an honest compliment, free from guile and flirtation, but Angel still speared Wesley with a territorial look. His friend didn't catch it, thankfully, and Angel shook off the irrational feeling. The last thing he needed was to let his lust for Willow come to fruition. His soul probably wasn't in danger - he didn't love her - but slaking his thirst for intimacy with Buffy's best friend was not the most diplomatic thing to do.

"Thanks," Willow answered, smoothing down her skirt.

"There is a club called Moonglow that might be helpful," Wesley told Angel, gesturing to the piece of paper. "Cordelia had a vision."

"Where is Cordelia?" Willow wanted to know.

"Early audition for a commercial tomorrow; something about sanitary products. I didn't pry."

"Good thinking," Angel commended him.

"Will we find Fiona there? What are we going to do once we find her?" Willow asked, but Wesley held up a hand. He stood, ready to recite what he knew. It was endearing in a nerdy, ex-Watcher sort of way.

"Moonglow is an elite theme club. Tonight's theme is 'color'. I dare say, Angel, you might want to change clothes before you go. Whether you find Fiona or not, you'll need to blend in."

Willow stifled an unladylike snort at the thought of Angel fitting into the club scene.

"Do you own anything besides black?" Wesley added innocently.

This time Willow's snicker went unchecked.

"Stop gloating," Angel commanded Willow. "Wesley, I want you to go home. If Fiona knows I'm in LA she will track me here and I don't want you to be food tonight. Don't argue. She's dangerous."

"Of course she is," Wesley agreed. "You taught her everything."

"Just lay low," Angel repeated himself. Wesley's observation about Fiona was true and he'd said it without malice but the words still stung. His fault. More pain in the world because of him.

"If you need help with research, I'm at your service, no matter how late…" Wesley trailed off. It struck him that Willow, as a novice witch, was more than capable to help Angel. A small piece of jealousy hit him between the eyes and he straightened proudly. Well, she'd be leaving in a few days. He wouldn't be usurped by the little fire-headed girl, Angel wouldn't allow it.

"I'll call if I need you," Angel promised.

"Right then." Wesley nodded goodbye to them and hurriedly left the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Wesley's jealous of me," Willow said immediately.

"Cordelia isn't a threat to replace him. You are."

"If I lived here."

"If you lived here."

"So," Willow said, tearing her eyes away from his, "Do you have anything besides black?"

~~~*~~~

The line to enter Moonglow wound around the block. The air was charged with excitement, telling them this was a hot venue. Flashes of strobe lights battered the floor-to-ceiling windows three stories up, but no music seeped out of the thick oak doors. The rain had stopped after dinner, leaving the night air moist and windy. Willow clutched Angel's hand and tried not to look fearful as they approached the door. This was definitely a situation Buffy would have been able to play to the hilt; flashy, popular dance club, a sinfully handsome man at her side, nefarious deeds to uncover and possibly slay. Willow felt as useless as a houseplant.

Angel exuded control and power Willow hadn't seen much of in Sunnydale. He usually skulked around behind Buffy, silently saving the day a few times, coming up with books or other mystical items. Other than that, she hardly saw him. She didn't know how he and Buffy spent their time, and her best friend was more apt to brag about Angel's skill in kissing than his skill in talking.

Here in LA, things were vastly different. She first noticed it when Wesley came to pick her up at the bus depot. The ex-Watcher acted as though Angel was a god struck down from the heavens to atone for his wrongdoings. As Willow watched Angel pointedly ignore the line and head right for the doorman, she disagreed. His name belied the devil inside.

"What manner of creature?" asked the doorman. It was a strange question. Angel had his hand on his ID card and let that arm fall to the side. He glanced at the line: all humans. Yet the doorman looked very pale, as though thousands of sand particles fused together to form his skin, stopping one chemical short of glass.

"Vampire," Willow answered for him. At least she could do that much. "And, uh, witch."

The doorman grabbed her wrist and stamped it, then did the same to Angel and waved them inside.

"What kind of club caters to the undead?" she wondered. Usually they were so secretive, hiding underground, away from the maddening crowds. This was very strange.

Angel had never heard of a place where his status as a "creature" gained him access to a hot nightclub. Even his usual rumor sources hadn't mentioned this place. He was beginning to think they all assumed he knew it existed.

They walked along a silent corridor with deep red walls, following another couple. The oriental carpet runner swallowed their footsteps. The couple in front of them was stereotypical LA: young, blonde and well-toned. They confidently led the way, talking in excited tones about the band.

They had traveled about half the required distance when Willow noticed that the twosome strolling in front of her wasn't as stereotypical as she'd first thought. They were vampires, vampires who were now wearing their demonic faces with casual indifference.

Willow looked to Angel, wordlessly asking for an explanation for their behavior. The answer he gave her was a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. And yet, the closer they drew to the door at the end of the hall, the more he felt it - the magic. It whispered seductively to his inner demon, speaking of freedom and the pleasures to be found in abandon. Angel felt the urge to give up his human guise, as the couple in front of him had done. He thought it best to fight that compulsion, at least for the time being. For now, he wanted to keep from adding to the anxiety he could already feel coming off of Willow in waves.

They had to stop at an ornately carved set of doors that looked like they'd been taken from a 15^th century church. Another bouncer came through a smaller side door and gave them a practiced speech.

"No feeding on humans unless they allow it, no feeding on supernaturals unless they allow it, no feeding on each other unless you're willing to be caged for show. Anyone interested?"

The vampire in front of Willow raised his hand and gave his name to the bouncer.

"Right, we'll find you. Have a good night."

The doors opened.

A vast foyer stretched out before them with black and white checked floors in an MC Escher style. The large space was lit by blue lights placed haphazardly on the walls and floor. The blue lighting made all the shadows appear the same color gray. Willow was having a hard time trying to figure out how this could pass for a "color" theme, when most everything in her vision looked like a murky fishbowl.

Magic warped the stairwells so they went in every direction like a maze for the guests. One of the staircases obviously led straight up to the dance floor, because they could see a crowd of people pressed against the balcony, drinking and laughing at the people trapped on the stairs. They also heard dance music - loud, pulsating, erotic rhythms provided by a live band with plenty of drums. The ceiling was frescoed with a brilliant dome of stained glass over the dance area.

"You been here before?" the vampire guy asked Angel.

"First time."

"They change the stairs every time. Part of the charm. There's willing food up top, though, so don't give up."

"Vampire groupies?" Willow asked. She thought of Buffy's friend Ford and his lonely pals searching for romanticism they'd never find.

"No, slaves. Groupies. That's funny."

The guy smirked at Willow's naivete, clapped Angel on the back, and pulled his date closer as they tried the staircase nearest them. Moments later they were walking upside down over Angel and Willow's heads, chattering to each other about taking a wrong turn.

"I could try a spell to unmask the stairs," Willow offered. "I don't actually know one that would work, but…"

"I doubt your magic would work here. They've probably got shields against it. Everything seems to be under control."

"Under control? There are humans enslaved in a vampire catering business and you call it normal? I thought vampires weren't picky about their food."

"If you had money and prestige and time to kill, would you eat at McDonald's every night?"

"No, it would get boring."

"Exactly. Vampires live a long time, Willow. The world gets dull and we have to spice it up. I've never seen a club this elaborate, but I'm not surprised it exists. You saw how long the line was outside. Did you see any poor people in that line? No, only stupid rich kids with money to burn. They'll think this is all fake thrills, Hollywood hype. They'll believe what they want to believe and close their eyes to the truth, all for a little fun and danger."

Mid-speech, Angel had vamped out and now looked at her with yellow eyes. The ridges on his forehead cast unusual shadows down his face, his hungry-looking face. Willow felt his palm roughen against hers and guessed there were claws, or at least longer nails capable of doing some damage.

He looked great tonight. He'd chosen red as his color so they'd match. He still wore black pants and boots, but his shirt was a deep ruby-colored silk with matching buttons and the pants were leather. The silver of his neck chain matched his belt buckle and the claddagh ring on his finger. In his true face, he looked colorful enough to fit in with theme night.

"I trust you," Willow said softly. The music pounded in their ears but he heard her and surprised her with a swift, hard kiss to her lips. He didn't open his mouth but she felt the unfamiliar press of fangs for a brief moment and was powerless to stop the stab of lust that shook her to the core as she mewled in the back of her throat. He answered with an unconscious growl and pulled away, deeply searching her eyes for the truth.

Even as a vampire, she wanted him.

That realization shocked them both. Willow brought her fingers to her lips where he touched her as though the kiss was a palpable thing. For Buffy's sake, she should deny the attraction. Yet, Angel wasn't forthcoming with apologies or regrets. It was possible, Willow reflected, that he saw her as an attractive woman and had finally got past his "I must embrace celibacy forever" hang-up. That would be nice.

Angel pulled her to a set of stairs set in shadow and closed his eyes as they climbed. Willow did the same. She didn't count steps, didn't notice any turns, just walked steadily upward, holding Angel's hand. Her heart thudded against her ribcage. She didn't fear Angel. She sort of feared what she'd see when they gained access to the dance floor. Was it true slavery? If so, would she be able to stomach the injustice or blow their cover? Was Fiona here? Was she behind this whole club? Was that the reason she was looking for Angel - to make him help her with the cruel abomination?

"Willow."

Willow opened her eyes and saw they'd reached the landing. Several staircases emptied out onto the dance floor from different heights. There was one that seemed to spiral up to the ceiling. It was the main centerpiece of the club. Fake moonlight shone directly down the center of it, casting pale blue light on the couples entwined on the steps. They'd reached a spot by the bar and Angel dragged her into a corner before anyone noticed them.

"We're just watching," he told her. She nodded and wrapped her arms around her middle.

It wasn't a pot-luck, as she dreaded. It looked like everyone was having a good time. Over the band, Willow heard talking and laughing and watched people dance and hang out. In every way, it was the club scene. Single women endured lame pick-up lines at the bar, young men strutted their stuff on the dance floor, the band was one decibel too loud, little white holiday lights trailed over potted palm fronds and fica trees, votives graced every table. Everyone was dressed in garish colors and there was a station set up where people could paint their faces or other body parts. A man passed Willow whose face was painted orange with purple spots. The monsters and creatures fit in with the humans in a seamless blend of near-humanity.

Strobe lights flashed over the crowded dance floor. Tiny mirrors reflected the light towards the floor to ceiling windows that looked over the street. You couldn't really see anything from the street except for the light show but it was obvious from the inside that the lights were purposefully showy. They drew the eye towards the dancing and the two cages suspended over the middle of the floor. In each cage a vampire fed from a human in a slow, erotic way that could almost pass for dancing.

"I never knew feeding could be so… delicate," Willow ventured to speak. She'd had enough observation.

"That's not feeding, that's foreplay."

"Oh."

"Those guys in the cages probably drained a human before they got in there. They might not even be taking blood from another human. It could be a vamp, or some other demon. The couples on the stairs look more realistic."

Angel turned her shoulders to look at the huge spiral staircase. She'd sort of been avoiding that centerpiece. At the Bronze, there was the "make-out corner." She'd even been in it a few times with Oz, and once with Xander on the sly. The staircase at Moonglow did not compare. It was wide enough to accommodate groping couples and people walking up and down. It was lit by the one "moon" light from above, which made the colors dull on purpose so that blood would appear to be a decoration. Indeed, if she squinted she could see a few vampires feeding in non-delicate ways. If you wanted sex, you could have it on the stairs. She wouldn't say it was an orgy, per se, but there was definitely public nudity. Several lines were crossed. Willow was suddenly glad that Buffy wasn't there, for the slayer could not have stood and watched vampires do such things without killing them, and that would definitely blow their cover. As her eyes followed the stairs all the way to the top, she wondered about the legality of the club. She wondered if the people on the stairs were slaves. She wondered what it would be like to climb up to the top with Angel and… well, that was an interesting thought.

"I can't believe the cops haven't shut this place down. I can't believe this is so… public."

"I think it's masked," Angel surmised. "No way the people having dinner at the tables could eat with the scent of so much blood around. If they don't believe in it, they won't see it. It's a simple twist of faith."

"Twist of fate?" Willow asked. He wasn't speaking loud enough. His next sentence was spoken directly in her ear and she jumped. His fingers tightened on her shoulders in response.

"Twist of Faith. It's a spell used to blind people to the truth. I haven't seen it used this way before, but that's capitalism for you. Owners must be making a mint. Humans come and are excited, they think it's the band or the lights so they come back and each time, the veil is lifted for them just a little bit more until the excitement wears off and they're just left with the nightmare of reality. Such a slow realization might turn people mad. I bet they watch for the regulars to crack and somehow enslave them to provide entertainment for the stairs, to do the menial labor and other things."

"That's sick."

"That's creative. I almost fear the mind behind it. Sure as hell isn't anyone I know."

"You don't think it's Fiona?"

"I doubt it. She might visit here, but she's no mastermind. Do you want a drink?"

"Sure."

Angel took her hand and they wound their way over to the section of tables, where it was a little quieter. As soon as they sat down a waiter appeared and took their drink orders. Angel ordered Willow a soda.

"Is that all, sir?"

"For now."

The waiter smiled, baring a baby set of fangs, and vanished.

"So you're telling me the couple sitting next to us probably doesn't see the huge staircase? Or the fact that the couple next to THEM is practically having sex on the table?" Willow said dubiously.

"You're a quick study."

"I'm seriously wigged," Willow admitted. "Can we just find some clues and get the hell out of here?"

"You don't want to try the staircase?" Angel suggested, his face deadpan.

Before Willow could utter a scathing retort, the waiter placed the Coke in front of her and spoke to Angel.

"There are more… private places to entertain your guest, if you'd like. Just follow the bar around the corner and walk straight through the waterfall."

"Thank you," Angel said, slipping a folded bill into the man's hand. "Well," he said to Willow once they were alone, "I guess we know where to start looking. If there really are "private rooms" around here, there must also be offices and storerooms."

"Hidden passageways? Magic tunnels?" she said sarcastically.

"No, not with this architecture."

"I was being sarcastic."

Angel leaned his forearms on the table, made the game face vanish, and looked at her with human eyes again. He imagined he could taste the fear in her blood and forced himself to ignore that side of him. She wasn't taking the club very well. Something bugged her about the place and he doubted it had to do with public indecency. Even now, she played idly with the straw in her soda and refused to look up at him.

"Willow, what's wrong?"

"Angel, this magic is dark. Seriously dark. It crawls up my skin like ants and makes me want to curl up under this table and quietly go insane. I don't like the fact that I can see everything. I want to be an unsuspecting human who doesn't see the blood or the magic or the fucking. That honest enough for you?"

Angel scooted his chair closer to her and pulled her onto his lap, coaxing her head onto his chest. The last time he'd held her she'd been afraid - afraid of him, as Angelus, threatening to kill her. The demon inside him recognized the taste of her fear and wanted to exploit it while the man fought to subdue her, bring her into submission without breaking her spirit. He didn't have a lot of practice with it.

"I hate it here."

"Shhh."

"I want to go home. I'm scared."

"Shhh. Focus on me, not the club."

"I can't!" Willow protested, pushing against his chest. He trapped her hands, lightly stroking the top one. She was like a moth cupped in his hands and he needed to remember that fragility as he calmed her down. If she cracked, he might not get her out alive.

Angel lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers, minimally connecting. She trembled in his grasp and almost started to cry.

"I will not let anything hurt you," he whispered against her mouth. "You are safe with me. You said before that you trust me? Well, I need you to trust me now. Start breathing slower."

"What?"

"Your heart is racing. I can feel your blood speeding through your veins and it excites me, so you need to calm down. Just breathe."

Willow obeyed without arguing. It was hard to breathe in the scent of blood mingled with sex and that dark, spicy stink of magic. Tucking her head into Angel's chest, she breathed in the scent of his maleness instead, rubbed her face slightly against the red silk and wondered if his chest would feel as soft.

Angel captured her lips again, pleased that she was distracted enough to wind her arms around his neck. He kissed her softly, just closed mouths learning the different pressures and contours of each other. It wouldn't help her any if he tossed her onto the table and lifted her skirt, as much as he'd love to do that. The lust between them was strong and still unspoken, but he knew she could willingly be seduced. He just didn't know if he could handle the loss of her going back to Sunnydale. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman friend he could trust, talk with, even make love to without jeopardizing his soul. What he felt for Willow was not deep, abiding love for all time. That was saved, tragically, for the one woman he could never be with. Willow was like a gift from the Powers That Be, a shot of springtime into his eternal winter.

Willow let him keep kissing her long after she'd calmed down and regained her inner focus.

~~~*~~~

"Waterfall!" Willow blurted out, reluctantly pulling back from Angel's arms. For a moment Angel ignored her random outburst, dazedly staring at her mouth as though he couldn't believe he'd just been kissing her. Damn thoroughly, too. After she'd calmed down, their chaste kissing got pretty heated. She was trying to move off his lap into her own seat, which finally got his attention.

"What?" he asked.

He looked so darn helpless Willow couldn't help but smile. It had been a long time since she'd distracted a man so much he couldn't keep track of the conversation. A tiny, wounded part of her was healed. Angel was definitely Mr. Control, so the knowledge that she had him wrapped around her little finger was definitely a good ego push.

Angel quickly regained his senses and noted her proud little smile. He couldn't begrudge her the victory - he was hard as a rock and she knew it was because of her. Hell, she'd been rubbing up against him for the past… God, he'd lost all track of time. They'd kissed so deeply he could still taste her in his mouth and he wasn't quite ready to switch gears. Willow, on the other hand, had no problem multi-tasking. She was babbling away about the back rooms and some waterfall.

"Let's go!" she pressed him, tugging on his hand.

"Just - wait," Angel said in a quiet voice. Standing up and investigating behind the scenes with an erection the size of the Washington Monument was not in the game plan. He felt like a randy schoolboy and it chagrined him to know he could compare himself to Xander. If Willow left and gave him a moment alone, he could will it away. Think of anything besides her tasty skin and helpless kitten sounds. She was an incredibly good kisser, but she didn't have any sense of how to gauge his response nor how to respond in kind. There was a lot he could teach her.

Angel groaned. So much for thinking other thoughts.

"They'll see what they want to see," Willow reminded him. She stood up and started walking purposefully towards the illusion of a waterfall between the stage and the end of the bar. Angel had no choice but to follow and try not to make eye contact.

The waterfall was about ten feet high and started from the ground up, defying gravity. Willow knew it was all fake, and scoffed at the blue lights behind it and the jungle of ferns around it. The tropical illusion was masterful if you believed it was real. To prove her point, there was a group of girls with their dates squealing about the cold spray and trying to avoid getting their expensive shoes wet.

Willow didn't blink as she dragged Angel through the magic cascade of water. The humans nearby didn't even see her. They only saw each other and had no idea that a witch and a vampire walked through the mirage. Willow was more than impressed with the way the Twist of Faith really clouded people's brains. Privacy and secrets were possible in ways they could never imagine out in the real world. If she'd been bolder, a little more worldly, she would have dropped to her knees under the table and taken care of Angel's reluctance to stand.

Behind the waterfall, another long hallway stretched before them with the same thick carpeting and dark red walls with a mahogany baseboard. Candles lit their way and the muted sounds of the band added a throbbing tempo to the exploration. Willow still led the way, her hand still holding Angel's. She paused at one of the doors, her hand on the doorknob.

Taking one of the candles from its holder, Willow opened the door and pulled Angel inside with her. The single flame showed them a room about the size of a dorm-room single with deep purple walls, a gold-painted border, a low couch upholstered in gold and purple brocade, plush carpet, a free-standing full-length mirror, and a small ottoman that matched the couch. Willow lit a few more candles that sat waiting in wall sconces and along a small shelf near the mirror.

"There isn't anything in here," Angel said impatiently. "It's just a room. Since we're back here, we might as well snoop around and try to find out some real clues about this place." Frustration on many levels laced his words, but Willow had no intention of moving on to Scooby Gang stuff. In the darkness, Angel missed her small hand moving directly towards the crotch of his pants and he let out a small yelp when she made contact.

"I'm not brazen enough to do this in front of God and everybody," she told him with a smile, "but I'm not a tease, either."

"Willow."

He meant to apologize for his all-too-human reaction to kissing a beautiful woman in a place surrounded by single entendre. He wouldn't lie and say that he didn't want her, but for the sake of future chaos in their friendships, he should really put a stop to this. Willow's beauty and maturity blind-sided him, but now he knew her a little better and ought to cease tormenting himself with yet another pleasure he should not indulge in. It was on the tip of his tongue to say these things when the tip of her tongue lashed out and licked him through his pants.

All that came from his lips was a single groan.

How did she get on her knees? He hadn't even noticed. Her hair gleamed, dark red in the candlelight as she looked up at him, slowly pulling down his zipper with one hand and undoing the top button with the other. He expected to see something in her eyes that asked him for permission. 'Can I do this? Is this right? Are you okay with this?' All he saw was desire and happiness. One of her fingers traced the line of hair from his belly-button to the top of his underwear. When had she lowered his pants?

Angel reached down and tickled the skin behind her ear. She gave a little chuckle and licked him again, this time through his black satin boxers. The fabric clung to his skin where she'd licked him and he thought she looked surprised. It was a fleeting glimpse, and he couldn't really tell in the candlelight and from the angle. When she carefully pulled the shorts down to his feet, her mouth fell open in shock and this time Angel was sure of her surprise.

"You don't have to do this," he finally choked out.

"I want to do this," she said with certainty. Before he could launch into a discourse, Willow touched the very tip of her tongue to the very tip of his penis, and saw out of the corner of her eyes Angel's hands clench into fists. Encouraged, she opened her mouth and lowered it around the head of his cock, snaking one hand between his legs to feel his heavy sac. Saying he was larger than Oz was a gross understatement. She could barely open her mouth wide enough to receive him, much less engulf all of him, like she could do with Oz.

Angel was pleased that she seemed to be out of her element. She was not the best he'd ever had. However, she wasn't afraid to suck him hard, or vary the strokes on his balls, or use her supple hands on his base while her mouth worked the top of him. It was as though she was rediscovering the joy of doing this and wanted very much to please him, which excited Angel more than if she'd been touted as the best courtesan in the world. Angel added his own moans to the sound of her eager sucking.

Her mouth around him was very warm and very wet, no comparison at all to his hand in the shower. She couldn't deep-throat him, but the quick flicking of her tongue against the sensitive spot on the head increased his pleasure and soon he found himself aching to come, yearning so badly to plunge all of himself into her and lose control for the first time in a very long time. They hadn't exactly talked about courtesy, though. She'd just sunk down onto the plush carpet and started going at it, which meant he needed to at least be enough of a gentleman to let her off the hook before it was too late.

"Baby, if you don't let up you're going to get a mouthful."

Willow laughed around him, the vibration broke his control. He let out a hoarse cry and shot a steady stream of semen into her willing mouth. She swallowed quickly and thoroughly, sucking so avidly he thought he might yell louder than the lead singer of the band back in the club. Willow wiped him dry with the hem of her sweater and re-dressed him again. It seemed his limbs weren't really functioning.

"That was fun," Willow enthused as she stood and hugged him, trying to get him to smile.

"I can't believe I said that," Angel sputtered as his senses started coming back to him.

Her laughter warmed his heart and he had to join in, mocking himself before she got the chance.

"Of all the unromantic things to say in the moment," he groaned, and kissed the top of her head.

"At least you managed to form a complete sentence," she said encouragingly. There was only the tiniest bit of mocking involved. "Now, what were you saying before about there being nothing in this room?"

Angel looked around at the room again, amazed to see there was another door behind the mirror. It was painted the same color as the wall so he'd missed it when they first entered. Now he could clearly see a crack where it opened up into something - another room, perhaps?

Willow tried to jimmy the door open but it wouldn't budge, locked tight against intruders. Angel jerked the door open using quite a bit of force, revealing what could have been a small walk-in closet, if it were filled with clothes instead of books. From floor to ceiling, the room was filled with books, papers, file folders, sticky notes, and more than a few magic supplies. Willow counted eight species of fernwort and two orbs of thessula. A small writing desk sat squished against the back wall between a filing cabinet and a tiny sink.

"Sheesh!" she said indignantly, pocketing one of the orbs. "People just leave their orbs lying around like this. It's just not right."

"Willow," Angel said, "I think there's more in here to be worried about than a few mystical objects."

"Yeah, well, you didn't perform a spell with one of these, so just… oh, hey, look at this!" Willow picked up a fine gold chain with a chunky sapphire pendant. "Pretty."

"Why is someone locking up their messy office? And why is it off of a room anyone can gain access to? It's just too easy. I don't like it."

"It was locked," Willow reminded him. "You had to strain to open the door. And besides, I doubt couples who come in here pay much attention to anything besides each other. You didn't even notice the door when you first came in here."

"And you did?"

"I felt something magic coming from behind this door and it felt different from the twisted stuff out in the club. More like a protection spell or something. Probably to reinforce the locks. I mean, yeah, we're not gonna save the world from a freak asteroid shower with this stuff, but it seems like a pretty good place for a bad guy to hole up and do research undisturbed. Who's gonna think to look for clues in one of the boudoirs?"

Angel grunted, which was about as close to an agreement as Willow would get. She started rifling through the papers on the desk and he did the same in the filing cabinet. They both kept coming up against the same themes: transpossession, magic, vampire physiology.

"Well, whoever did this is really organized. There are notes here from 1823," Angel said, his head in a file.

"Let's grab the recent stuff and get out of here," Willow said nervously. She put the stolen orb of thessulah back on the shelf. "I think I just read something about vampire mind control and I don't want to get caught by the beastie in charge of this office."

"Agreed."

They left the club in a very normal way. Willow stopped in the ladies' room, Angel chatted with the bartender while he waited, they waved to the vampire couple they'd come in with, and sauntered, arm-in-arm, back down the winding staircase and out the front door.

"No way we just got out of there undetected," Angel muttered as they drove away in his car.

"Yeah, but it's a hot night for business, so they won't mount a huge offensive against us tonight. We'll have enough time to figure out what's going on, right? Oh, and don't forget the whole Fiona thing. Cordelia's vision was way off. That creepy club had absolutely nothing to do with your ex-sister."

"We'll see, Willow. We'll see."

~Part: 7~

Willow was dumbfounded. The speed and ease with which Angel surfed the Internet was amazing. As soon as they had returned to his office, Angel had fired-up the desk top computer and systematically worked his way through each of the bookmarked sites, looking for anything that had to do with trans-possession. In just the few short months since he had left Sunnydale, Angel had apparently become quite the NetGuy. Angel had tapped into sites she didn't have. Willow was actually a smidgen jealous. There was even a demon data base! Giles would love that, if she could ever convince the ex-librarian to give computers half a chance.

She must have oo'd or harumph'd one too many times while watching over Angel's shoulder because he leaned back in his chair with an exasperated sigh and asked her if she'd like to drive.

"Sorry," Willow said sheepishly. "It's just... You used to be such a computer illiterate. And... Wow! Look at you now!"

Angel's laugh was a cross between the sardonic and the amused.

"What? An old dog can't learn some new tricks?"

"You're more like a domesticated lion," she murmured in his ear before gently nipping at the lobe.

Angel didn't get the chance to pounce on her. Willow was already half way to the elevator by the time he'd re-gathered enough of his scattered wits to even attempt a rejoinder.

"Where are you going?" Angel asked, disconcerted by her actions.

"To change into something more comfortable," she purred, knowing very well what he would think and thoroughly enjoying the chance to tease him. "Then I'm going to grab my laptop and bring it up here. Two surfers are better than one."

With that she pulled the gate closed and the lift descended. Angel knew he'd been caught slack jawed when he heard Willow's gentle laughter echoing in the elevator shaft.

Inwardly, Angel groaned. Willow's lips and teeth on his ear aroused him physically, but her behavior had aroused his curiosity as well. Just what the hell were he and Willow doing? Playing some not-so-innocent games while facing some very real danger, that's what. And if they weren't careful, they'd end up getting hurt.

What had happened back at the club wasn't really their fault, Angel told himself. There were extenuating circumstances, forces at work beyond their control. The magic in that place was unlike anything Angel had ever experienced before. Surely that had played a big part in their reactions to each other. He had only meant to comfort Willow. She in fact had initiated much of what took place. Willow was beautiful and his physical response to her was only natural. Vampire or not, the man in him was far from dead.

Willow had taken Angel completely by surprise in the purple boudoir. She was so straightforward, so sure of her actions and her desire to please him. Only a fool would have turned down her offer.

Willow pondered similar thoughts as she quickly shed her clothes. Smiling as she set aside her new shoes, she remembered the delight Angel had found in giving them to her.

He really was a strange creature, she mused. Tight-fisted and withdrawn one minute, open and generous the next. Willow decided she liked Angel's layers, at least in small doses. Spending time with him was like a roller coaster ride. Slow, nerve-wracking climbs followed by breath-stealing drops, hairpin turns taken at breakneck speeds. But Willow knew her own limitations and she never rode the roller coaster more than once or twice a year. The physical aspects of the attraction were exhilarating. But mentally and emotionally, a perpetual ride was more than she could handle.

Willow impatiently tugged on a pair of sweat pants as a wave of petulance washed over her. What was wrong with her anyway? Who said she had to confine herself to mediocrity? As it was, she'd already used up one of her E-tickets. Going down on Angel had been thrilling and ultimately satisfying to her. She had never before acted as she had in the club, so brazen, so overtly sexual, so... so... slutty? Oh dear God, what had she done?

The supernatural energy all around them was unlike anything she had dealt with. Surely it played its part in reducing her inhibitions to an all-time low. Willow was honest enough with herself to admit that she was attracted to Angel, even lusted after him at times. Still, never in her wildest dreams or basest fantasies had Willow ever imagined herself dropping down to her knees before Angel and pleasuring him with her mouth. It had to have been the magic... Right?

Willow pulled on a little white tank top, layered an old cardigan sweater over it, and yanked on a pair of thick, wooly socks to keep her feet warm. She snatched up her research supplies and headed back up to the office.

Had Angel and Willow been willing to delve just a tad deeper into their psyches and compared mental notes, they would have discovered two other factors that affected them even more than the magic had: a lack of physical intimacy in their everyday lives... and sheer loneliness.

~~~*~~~

Angel stood up and stretched. He'd been seated in front of his computer for over an hour. He was tense, had been even before he started researching. Now he was stiff and his eyes hurt from staring at the monitor. Angel couldn't fathom how people spent hours upon hours surfing the web. Then again, this was probably another one of those times when being a vampire did not work in his favor. Having the eyesight of a nocturnal predator wasn't conducive to spending extended periods of time staring at obnoxiously bright, glaring web pages.

Angel walked back toward his own office where Willow had set up her research station. He got as far as the door, then stopped, taking advantage of the fact that Willow hadn't sensed his approach. Angel crossed his arms over his chest and propped himself up on the door frame. He could spare a few minutes to study Willow while she worked.

The flaming-haired witch was sitting in "The Boss' Seat", her long legs somehow folded Indian style and tucked into the meager space between the arms of the chair. Her laptop was up and running, her fingers flying over the keys as she gazed intently at the small plasma screen. Occasionally she would stop typing long enough to pull a pencil from behind her ear and jot down some notes without ever looking away from the monitor.

Willow wasn't looking for any kind of commitment from him; she had no apparent desire to hear words of love pass his lips. She seemed content with the comfort and affection he offered her. Plus, there was her underlying sensuality to consider. He'd never appreciated it before - hell, he never knew it existed until this weekend. And basing his assumptions on events which took place earlier that night, Angel believed that just like him, Willow simply craved sexual stimulation and release from a source other than her own hands.

That last thought caused Angel to experience a small twinge of guilt. At the club, they had both been aroused. But when all was said and done, he had been the only one to come.

A small smirk tugged at the corners of Angel's mouth as he replayed the memory. As soon as time and circumstances allowed, he would most definitely have to return the favor. But for now, there was much more work to be done and all his brown study was getting him was another hard-on that he had better will away before she noticed.

Reluctantly, Angel pushed himself away from the door and with a few long strides came to stand behind Willow. It was now his turn to peer over her shoulder as she worked.

"Find anything?"

"Not much," Willow sighed. "You?"

Angel gave her a dispirited grunt. She took it to mean no.

"The few references I found to trans-possession were all pretty vague and not one of them had anything to do with vampires. Grr," she growled. "This is so frustrating."

"It's okay, Willow, we'll find something soon, I'm sure."

It wasn't until Willow pushed herself further into his touch that Angel realized he was playing with her hair. It was so silken, the lustrous vermilion locks sliding smoothly through his fingers. He could spend hours just enjoying that simple, erotic sensation.

"Thanks for E-mailing me all those URLs," Willow managed to blurt out. She had to concentrate. Now was not the time for more sexual high jinks. It was time for some serious research, research which seemed to be yielding nothing useful.

"You're welcome," Angel purred, not helping her to stay centered on work at all. "I thought you'd like them. I could smell your drool," he teased.

"Pfft!" Willow protested, pulling her head away from his hands. "My little green-eyed monster might have been rearing its ugly head, but there was no slobber involved."

Both of Angel's hands came to rest on her shoulders, his fingertips gently caressing the sides of her neck.

"You mean to tell me that you weren't salivating, even just a little bit, when I opened up that demon database Cordelia found?"

Willow's feet hit the floor. She spun her chair around so quickly that she almost knocked Angel over.

"Cordelia found that one?!" she gasped. Angel laughed at the pained expression on her face, his fingers moving slowly up along her jaw line and slipping back into her hair.

"This is so not funny," Willow sniveled. "How did this happen? How did I lose my status as Number One NetGirl? It's this big city living. You guys have a cultural edge over me now."

"Sure, Will, whatever you say," Angel replied patronizingly. This was fun, this little bit of banter, and it relieved the tension between them, sexual and otherwise.

"Yeah, well, I didn't drool."

"Hey now, witch, remember what I am," Angel said in low, gravely voice, taunting her just a little more. "I have very keen powers of observation."

"Sorry, Mr. Smarty-Pants Vampire, but there are only two things right now that would make me drool."

"And what would they be?" Angel asked jokingly.

He instantly regretted asking that question as he watched a salacious smile slide across Willow's lips. When she spoke, her words came out sounding slick and moist and warm, much like melted butter would sound if it made a sound.

"A nice, big box of Godiva chocolates set out before me, each decadent little morsel silently begging me to eat them."

An unneeded breath caught in Angel's chest. Damn, but she was a tease! And she had paused, waiting patiently for Angel to speak. She was forcing him to ask for more. So much for relieving sexual tension. He was hard as rock again.

"What else?" he managed to choke out.

"The thought of kissing you again."

Well, research was shot to hell! Willow had her hands on the back of his thighs and was pulling him toward her seated form. He hadn't even felt her touch him until she'd applied more pressure in an effort to get him to move. And the closer he got to her, the further up his legs her hands slid until his knees pressed up against the edge of the chair and Willow's hands cupped his ass. Angel saw her eye the bulge in his pants and then lick her lips. No way, Angel thought. No way was he going to let her do anything more to him before he had the pleasure of tasting her first.

But now was not the time. The clock was still ticking. An unknown danger was moving in on them, getting closer with each passing minute. The threat to Willow's safety was still a mystery and yet still very real. Angel wanted nothing more than to give into his desires, but not if the cost of a few minutes of pleasure might be Willow's life.

One of her hands shot out from behind him and made a bee-line for his crotch. He caught it before she had the chance to make contact. If she had, he would have been lost.

"Research," Angel ground out from between tightly clenched teeth.

"That's what I'm doing," Willow said innocently.

Did she have any idea of her allure? Did it come naturally to her or was it something she had worked at? Angel truly doubted it was the latter. Willow wasn't the kind of woman to develop intricate seductive ways to snare men. If all that he'd seen so far was Willow using her innate female abilities sans manipulation, just imagine the natural talents in her that he could nurture and refine.

Willow had stuck her lower lip out, pouting. It was too much, too tempting. Oh hell, what harm could one quick kiss bring?

Angel swiftly squatted down between Willow's knees and planted his mouth firmly down over hers. Her lips parted willingly and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, running it over the hard, smooth surface of her teeth, coaxing them to separate so that he could delve deeper and stroke the roof of her mouth.

It didn't take Willow long to recover from his attack. She kissed him, exploring his mouth, tickling the insides of his cheeks. Willow started stroking his canines, tentatively at first, then more aggressively, causing the nerves in those highly-sensitive hidden fangs to tingle with the desire to elongate. And while Angel could fight that urge, he had little control over the other part of his body that was expanding, becoming painfully swollen in the confines of his tight leather pants.

Angel's 'one quick kiss' was turning into something else. He and Willow were hungry, starting to devour each other's mouths. He'd have to break the kiss soon. He wanted to move on to ravishing other parts of her body. Willow's nails clawed at his back. Somewhere along the line she had unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hands inside. For the second time that night she had loosed an article of Angel's clothing and he had been complete unaware of her actions until after the fact.

It was Willow who broke the kiss, panting as she leaned her forehead against his. She stared deep into Angel's eyes as she caught her breath. She saw his desire, which made her inner battle that much more difficult. Willow wanted to keep kissing him. She wanted to keep touching him. She wanted to push him hard and have him fall to the floor so she could fuck him right there in his office. No one had ever made her feel so powerful and feminine at the same time. She was drunk on the intoxicating blend. But part of her rational mind ranted and raved about putting a stop to all this fooling around before someone got hurt. 'Fiona's still out there,' the little voice howled. 'She's lurking and plotting God only knows what.' The creepy teen vamp was after Angel and Willow should be doing everything that she possibly could to keep him safe, not sitting around with her tongue down his throat!

Angel's lips were on hers once more. No tongue this time, just gnawing on her lower lip before sucking on it.

"We should stop," she mumbled.

"Mm-hmm."

And he did stop kissing her. Well, kissing her mouth, anyway.

Angel chuckled as she whimpered over the loss of his lips, but his laughter ended and her mewling darkened into a moan as his mouth came down on her throat. He quickly sought out one of her pulse points and nearly came in his pants as he suckled on the pounding flesh beneath his lips.

Willow's fingers tangled in his hair as Angel's hands went to work. He slipped them inside her sweater and cupped her breasts. His thumbs moved back and forth over her nipples which rose and hardened under his touch. No bra, less hassle. Nice, very nice.

Angel decided it would be best if he released the skin of her neck before he left a mark. Can't have Willow returning to Sunnydale with any visibly marred flesh, now can we? Besides, he'd found a better place to move his mouth to.

Angel parted her cardigan, then swiftly lashed out and ran his broad, wet tongue across one of her breasts. He leaned back to survey his work. The thin cotton of her tank top was soaking wet where his tongue had been and it clung to her, making her already erect nipple stand out in relief. He gently blew on the moist fabric and watched Willow shiver as the cool sensation stimulated her. Her head was thrown back, her lips parted and her breathing ragged. With a sudden sense of delight, Angel realized that he could probably make her come by simply continuing to play with her breasts. What fun!

"A-A-Angel?" Willow managed to stammer out his name, broken as it was by her hitched breathing.

"Yes?" His reply was a whisper-soft growl rumbling out from deep in his chest. Willow shuddered in anticipation. To prolong the inevitable, she thought she should stall a little. Angel was going to make her come, but she didn't want him to rush it.

"Research," she said, biting down hard and mimicking the tone of voice he had used just a few minutes ago.

"That's what I'm doing," he crooned back her.

"You'd use my own words against me?" she gasped, feigning disbelief.

The gleam in Angel's eyes down right licentious. He knew she was trying to stall, but he didn't continue the game.

"I won't rush it, I promise."

Before Willow could respond, Angel swooped in and captured her other nipple, drawing it into his mouth, sucking softly on it for a while before gently rolling it between his teeth. The little moans and groans that his actions elicited from Willow were like music to his ears. It had been a while since he had heard anyone's voice, other than his own, vocalizing the pleasures of the flesh.

Willow was almost completely lost now. Angel was so very good at what he did to her and he hadn't even touched her below the waist. She was so wet that she was sure she'd soaked not only her panties, but the crotch of her sweatpants as well. She hoped the scent of her arousal drove him crazy! Then they'd see who was the one drooling in the end.

Willow shrugged off her sweater, determined to be the only one who did any of the undressing that night. Next she tugged off her tank top, carelessly tossing it aside as she bared her torso. In less time than it took for her heart to beat, Angel's cool hands and lips were on her chest. Goose bumps rose on her flesh and her nipples tightened to the point were they had begun to ache.

Everything he was doing was wonderful, but it just wasn't quite enough. Willow slid down in the chair. Her thighs fell open a bit wider and before she lost her nerve, Willow took a hold of one of his free hands and pushed it down between her splayed legs. Angel started to pet her through the moist fabric of her pants. Her hips rolled and she arched up into his hand. Oh, yeah, that's better, much, much better. She was getting close, so very close.

Angel was starting to go into sensory overload. The sight of Willow's chest, flushed and covered in a fine veil of perspiration, rising and falling faster and faster as her climax drew near. The taste of her skin, the tang of perspiration, the smell of her body lotion, the strong fragrance of the fluids her sexual arousal had produced. Then there were the sighs, the moans, the whimpers, all increasing in frequency and volume as she got closer and closer to her release. The pounding of her heart echoed in his brain and vibrated through his lips. He could feel the blood coursing through her. He knew instinctively that even the tiniest of capillaries within his mouth's reach was swollen almost to the point of rupture, flooded with her sugary, warm essence. And as he continued to suckle Willow's breasts and stroke her mound, Angel knew that her blood was getting sweeter by the minute.

"Oh God, Angel, I'm going to come," Willow cried.

Suddenly the temptation to sink his fangs deep into Willow's soft breast and taste her as she climaxed was too great. Angel abruptly pulled away. Willow wailed in protest.

Hurriedly, Angel tugged Willow's pants and panties off and pulled her off the chair. He pushed her down onto the floor, raised her knees, parted her thighs and buried his face in her crotch. It was safer that way, better to taste her honeyed juices than to even contemplate sampling a single drop of her blood.

Willow hissed as Angel gently parted her outer lips and ran his tongue from her anus up to her clit. One pass, two passes, three passes and then she was writhing beneath him. Angel stopped and raised himself on one arm. His free hand slid up her naked body, his cold fingers skirting over her hip, dancing across her belly, tickling her ribs, slipping through the valley between her breasts. Then he held his hand up before her face, his first two fingers extended.

"Suck on them, Willow."

"What?"

"Suck on my fingers. I want you to make them warm."

Willow knew in an instant just what he had planned for her next and as he pressed his long, strong digits to her lips, she eagerly drew them into her mouth. Now Angel was the one to let out a groan as Willow laved his fingers, sucking on them like she'd done to his cock earlier. Angel could barely restrain the urge to tear open his pants, whip out his raging hard-on and pound her into the floor. But suppress it he would because this time was for Willow and Willow alone.

Angel felt the heat from Willow's mouth moving up his fingers and spreading out into his hand. Her job was done - and done damn well, too - so he quickly withdrew his fingers before she could torment him any further. Then he moved back down between her legs.

Slick with the moisture from Willow's mouth, one finger slid into her. Oh lord, but she was tight! Either Oz had been small or they hadn't made love very often. Whichever the case, the werewolf had been one lucky creature to have been allowed to slip into so snug a glove. Tight and hot and wet and grasping. All Angel could hope for was that before Willow left she'd grant him the same privilege. He was pulled out of his reverie when Willow thrust herself into his hand.

Angel looked up at her with a bemused grin on his face.

"I told you I wouldn't rush it."

"Please, Angel," she whimpered. "Haven't you teased me enough?"

"I'm sorry, Willow," he said sincerely. "That's not what this is about." Angel then pressed a kiss deep into her inner thigh.

"Keep going," the frustrated witch demanded.

"I will. I will," Angel reassured her. His finger started to move within her, and Willow let out a sigh of relief.

Angel studied her face carefully as he began a gentle exploration of her most intimate flesh. He was searching for that small, elusive spot which, when caressed properly, would bring her great pleasure. He was trying to gauge her response to his touch, to use her sighs and moans and the cute way she gnawed on her lower lip to determine just how close he was getting to hitting the mark. It really wasn't a very difficult task. When Willow threw back her head, let loose a guttural moan and arched her hips, Angel knew he'd found the spot.

With the pad of his finger, he massaged it gently for a minute or two, then added his talented tongue to the assault. He avoided touching her clit directly, instead circling around it a few times with the tip of his tongue before pulling back to look upon her face once more. Willow was starting to pant again and Angel was reveling in the effect he was having on her. He was more than happy to indulge Willow in this manner. After all, she had gone down on him and it seemed only fair that he should get to lavish her in the same way.

Angel slowly pulled his finger out of her only so that he might add a second one and increase her pleasure. Then he truly began to make love to Willow with his mouth and hands. With slow, steady strokes he slid his fingers in and out of her, mindful to return to the slightly raised patch of tissue after every third or fourth stroke, to press on it firmly as he passed over it or to pause for a moment or two and caress it. All the while Angel's mouth moved about, nipping lightly at her inner thighs, running his tongue through her dark, auburn curls, which at that point were glistening with all the fluids being smeared about.

Willow was on the verge of begging. She has been wrong to presume that she could in any way, shape, or form drive Angel as crazy as he was driving her! What the hell had she been thinking? He was a 247-year old vampire for goodness sake and she'd had all of one previous lover!

Buffy'd never mentioned any of this! Had the Slayer never done this with Angel? Had they really only made love that one time? Had they done any of these other things together? Oh God, did it really matter? Even if Buffy had done a complete confessional about Angel, Willow wouldn't have been able to comprehend it. His tongue inside of her felt indescribably good. Oh well. Buffy was with Riley now and the cute soldier seemed quite adept at fulfilling her needs. After all, he'd made Buffy come without either of them having to touch her clit with their fingers. That was one more thing Willow wanted to try. "Note to self: orgasm during sex." She'd already added it to her 'to do' list and Willow always accomplished everything on her 'to do' list. If she was very lucky, perhaps the gorgeous, sexy man who currently had his dark head nestled between her thighs might be willing to do the honors. She was sure he'd be up for the challenge. "Up for the challenge"? Very punny there, Will. Buffy had been right about one thing. The vampire was hung like a horse! Willow began to imagine just what it would feel like to slowly sink down onto that large, turgid piece of cool, silky flesh.

Willow was well aware of the fact that she was letting her mind wander. But she had to do something, anything to distract herself from the incredible sensations threatening to consume her or she'd go insane! Her only other choice was pleading for release. Angel had her wound as tight as a new yo-yo and Willow was afraid she might shatter when he finally let her go. Oh, but she wanted to go, she needed to go. Soon. Yeah, supplicating herself was definitely an option. She'd been standing on the edge for too long now. It was time to jump off. Begging would be good now.

Willow didn't even recognize her own voice when she spoke, it was so harsh and full of need.

"Please. Please make me come!"

Angel was shocked by the sound of Willow's voice. Was that desire or distress he heard? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that she was begging and he didn't know how to react to that. Yes, he had heard plenty of begging in his day. After all, he had all of Angelus' memories forever stored in the grey-matter they shared. Hundreds of women had pleaded with Angelus... some begging for mercy, others petitioning him to hurt them just a little bit more. No woman he'd bedded in his mortal days had ever begged Angel for anything. The only other lover he had been with since then was Buffy and begging was not her style. But Willow wasn't really 'begging' begging. It was more like an entreaty, a cry for help. She wanted satisfaction but she didn't want to give it to herself.

"Please," she sobbed.

Angel realized that Willow was teetering atop that thin wall which divides pleasure and pain. She had left it up to him to decide which way she would fall.

One quick kiss. That's all this was supposed to be, right?

With that thought in mind, Angel placed a soft kiss on Willow's lower belly, then brought his lips down and closed them around Willow's distended clit. He sucked on it gently and she went tumbling off the wall, falling into a wave of pleasure.

She cried out his name as she climaxed.

For Angel, that simple act was so intimate it caused him to shudder uncontrollably and to spill himself in his pants. He collapsed, resting his weary head on Willow's tummy. Even the things in his life that were supposedly uncomplicated were complicated.

They continued to lie there on the floor. Neither one of them spoke, though Willow's fingers did find their way back into his hair and she stroked it lovingly, occasionally scratching his scalp lightly with her nails. Angel found the silence and her actions to be especially soothing. Unfortunately, after just a few minutes, Willow was forced to break the silence.

"Ah, cold hard floor becoming an issue," she ventured to say.

Angel didn't grumble or sigh. He only placed one more wet kiss on her belly, then he rose and gathered up Willow's discarded clothing. Once she was dressed, Angel sheepishly told her that he needed to excuse himself.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said. "I want to take a quick shower."

"A cold one?" Willow asked teasingly.

He looked her straight in the eyes and said, "No."

It took a moment for the meaning behind his reply to sink in. When it did, Willow's eyes flew open wide and she blushed furiously.

"Oh," was all she managed to say before he turned and walked to the elevator. She watched Angel disappear from her sight as the carriage fell and murmured, "Wow, I never even touched him."

What Willow didn't realize was that she had.

~~~*~~~

When Angel returned about twenty minutes later, he found Willow sitting on the small battered sofa in the outer office fast asleep. She had obviously been trying to go through the stolen papers when exhaustion claimed her because they were lying on the floor at her feet. Angel gently moved her so that she reclined on the couch, then quickly gathered up all the scattered sheets and Willow's notebook, as well. He took them over to Cordelia's desk and started sorting through them. He efficiently organized all the loose pages into neat little piles: one for trans-possession information, one for anything that dealt with vampire physiology, a third pile for the miscellaneous magic notes. Once he was done with that, Angel turned to Willow's notebook.

He glanced briefly at the notes she had written on the open page, then he carefully turned back the page to see if there were any other notes of importance.

All he found was some of Willow's personal communiqué; a few scribbled paragraphs that obviously pertained to one of the classes she was taking. Another page held a spell, and she had taken the time to draw a pretty border of ivy around the words. For some reason, that brought a smile to Angel's face. He chuckled aloud when he came to the page with "To Do List" written across the top. The laughter died on his lips as his eyes fell upon her last few entries.

~ Remember to bring spell books to LA.
~ "Note to self: orgasm during sex."
~ Don't forget laptop.

Orgasm during sex? Now just what did his impish little witch mean by that?

Before Angel had much of a chance to ponder the question he had asked himself, he heard a heart beating. A heartbeat other than Willow's was coming from the hallway outside his office. It was nearly 3am, and the dentist next door didn't bring in emergency cases at that hour. No, the people who entered the building between midnight and 5am were headed for Angel Investigations. Helping the hopeless didn't have a time restriction.

Just as Angel rose from behind the desk to go and investigate, the front door opened and a very beautiful, long-legged blonde sauntered into the room. Angel's immediate thought was that she appeared to be anything but hopeless. The woman was too poised. She seemed relaxed and confident. She was well dressed and tastefully made up, her long white-gold hair pulled back neatly and held in place with a single silver clip at the base of her skull.

"Can I help you?" Angel asked.

"Yes and no," the woman replied enigmatically.

The vampire refused to be baited. He didn't like to play word games and so he scowled at her. She didn't seem to be at all put-off by his behavior. In fact, she just shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and moved a bit further into the office.

Something felt wrong, something about the woman was off. She was human, of that much Angel was sure. Still, even humans could pose a threat and Angel quickly moved himself between Willow and this mysterious stranger.

The woman seemed to be waiting for Angel to speak again. When he did not, she spoke instead.

"Well, I suppose it's not really yer help I'll be wantin'," she said, her words rolling out on a soft, Irish brogue.

Warning bells began to sound in Angel's head.

"Just what is it that you do want?"

"Now, now," she chastised, shaking her head in dismay. "For shame, Liam. Is that any way ta be greetin' yer long lost sister?"

~Part: 8~

Angel peered at the adult standing before him with her icy blue eyes and platinum hair. This Nordic-looking woman was not Fiona. And yet... there was a part of him that tingled in the presence of another vampire, especially a vampire he was related to. He felt it whenever Spike was in town, he'd felt it when Penn started reliving his tortured past, and he felt it now. It had to be Fiona. If he closed his eyes, her accent brought him back to the dank orphanage where Darla first dragged the little girl into the night air. He remembered her glossy brown curls, her pouting mouth, her rosebud cheeks that soon lost the blush of youth and drained of all warm blood.

"Fiona?" he whispered. He could not trust his voice to rise above a whisper. How was it possible? Had she transformed herself into this Barbie look-alike to hunt? To tease him? To scare him?

"So, you recognize me." The pleasant lilt of his homeland was gone.

From the shadows stepped three enormous bodyguards. Even if Angel had Wesley and several crossbows, there would be no stopping their brute strength. The guy on the left looked like a pro-wrestler. Angel stopped inching towards Willow and let his hands fall to his sides. The only weapon he had was himself. Could he forcibly make them all leave without any damage coming to Willow? Probably not.

"You've taken something from me again, brother," she whined.

Angel swallowed. His first desire was to slap the petulant child out of her and take a long draw of blood from her neck. The aftertaste of her blood would linger in iron sweetness and then she would annoy him by cuddling on his lap. Disgusted, he closed his eyes for a moment until the instinct vanished.

"Fiona, what are you up to?" he wanted to know. That was the first of about a thousand questions, but he needed to know her motive. For some naïve reason, he thought she would obey.

"Your consort stole my research. I am going to kill her, take back my notes, and then leave. Is that a clear enough purpose for you?"

Angel growled and slipped into game face. The overprotective measure was not lost on Fiona and she smiled, immediately shifting her eyes to where Willow slept soundly on the brown vinyl couch.

"What does she taste like?" Fiona asked as though Willow were an item on a menu. Angel answered automatically. He should have protested the question but he was so used to hearing it from other vamps that he didn't think. Fiona had a cultured palate, thanks to him. Before he abandoned her in Dublin they used to play, "taste the origins." Everyone passing through the city tasted different and Fiona liked to guess where they were from by the way their blood tasted in the back of her throat.

"I haven't tasted her," he admitted. "Probably sweet and thick."

"You've tasted some of her though," Fiona noted. She frowned. "Not all of her. Not her blood. Why? Oh, is she a virgin? Are you going to turn her? Can I help?"

"She's not a virgin and I'm not going to turn her."

"You would willingly take up with another man's leavings? I thought you better than sheltering a whore, Angelus."

Angel roared, which woke Willow up and caused the bodyguards to flank their mistress.

"Oh my goodness," Willow exclaimed, stumbling to her feet. She still wore a tank top and sweatpants, her red hair static from the plastic couch and her face flushed with sleep.

"She's pretty," Fiona remarked. "She'd be prettier without all that gushy blood inside her."

"Angel, what's going on?" Willow whispered.

"Angel!" Fiona echoed. Her laugh was like breaking crystal pendants. "Is that what she calls you? Are you her savior and her knight, or just the man who services her?"

"Enough." Angel's voice was colder than Willow ever remembered Angelus's being. Even Fiona lost some of her bravado and backed down.

"You give me back my research and I won't have my men kill your girlfriend," Fiona bargained. A playful smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "I must say, I thought your girlfriend was that Slayer character. True love and all that. Splendid body, blood like the fountain of youth, probably. Remember that Slayer we ate in Dublin? That was just before you left me, a little girl, all alone to face a mob of devout Catholics, wasn't it? Well, as you can see, I've found a way to grow up."

"Is that why you're in LA? Research?" Willow ventured.

"No, I'm in LA because my club is making me incredibly rich. You think this body is the only one I can transform? People will pay thousands of dollars to see if the grass is greener." Fiona closed her mouth abruptly, as though she'd said too much. Willow wasn't satisfied. There had to be more to the story. Why did she come herself to retrieve the notes? Why didn't she just send an army of ugly thugs?

Angel gathered up the pile of yellowed pages and stuffed them into a new manila folder. He tapped it against his hand and narrowed his yellow eyes.

"I want some answers, Fiona."

"No," she said arrogantly, and with a flick of her hand, the three thugs rushed Angel. Willow screamed and was immediately thrown to the ground. She picked her head up to see the violence occur in a very straightforward and purposeful manner, made all the more creepy by the lack of music. In the movies, there was always a soundtrack. In real life you could hear fists connecting with body parts and bones crunching and blood splattering onto the ground and she never got used to it. Angel was doubled over now, clutching his leg, and Willow swore she saw a splintery arrow sticking through his back dangerously close to his heart.

Willow did not understand why Fiona was collecting some of Angel's blood, but she was sure of what she saw. The cap to the plastic cup was yellow like a medical specimen container. Fiona's Nordic visage immediately began to shimmer like a heat wave. Willow thought it might be her own blurred vision doing funny things; after all, she'd just been thumped on the head and thrown to the floor, but after a few seconds Fiona was Fiona again. A young brunette wearing a smart tailored suit and makeup to try and hide her baby face.

"Let's go," she said to her guards. The voice was childlike again, coming from a smaller chest, younger vocal cords. Willow was helpless to stop her from taking the manila folder. The thugs stopped beating Angel and left him on the floor like a raccoon recently run over by a car. His blood trickled out of several wounds, the biggest of which was a gash in his leg where a piece of white bone jutted out like a loose tooth.

Obviously, making a mad dash for the stolen notes was not the top priority.

"Oh, God." Willow slipped on the blood when she tried to stand. On the desk was a pair of scissors which she used to cut Angel's pants away from the wound. Too much blood to really see anything. Also, there was a thick splinter making a home near his lung and that worried her as well. A few inches to the left-

Angel was still in vampire form.

Willow cut his shirt into ribbons and pulled it off. The bare chest that once had given her sensual shivers now gave her shivers of fear as she saw rivulets of blood heading south from the wound. His silver chain looked tarnished by the blood. Swiftly, she pulled the splinter from the wound and was relieved that it came out clean. She did not relish the thought of having to probe the ugly hole for errant pieces of wood. Angel wadded up his shirt and pressed it against the hole. It was the almost identical spot Faith had struck him with an arrow the year before. Hopefully this time there would be no poison.

"I can't call 911," Willow said to herself.

"They wouldn't be much help anyway. I'll be fine by the time they get here."

"Even from this?" she scoffed, pointing to the bone protruding from his thigh. "It's a clean break. What do you want me to do, push it back in?"

"Yeah, and then tie it together. I won't need stitches but I'll need help keeping the wound closed. And I'll need blood. As fresh as you can get it from the butcher as soon as possible."

Willow's hands were already stained bright red and sticky as honey. She had been sarcastic about "pushing it back in" but apparently Angel was not joking. Her fingers slipped on the metal handle of the scissors but she managed to cut her tank top into one long strip of soft cotton. It would work better as a bandage, but she didn't have much choice. Angel shouted in pain when she pushed on the bone. It slid into place with a sickening crunch and the skin closed over it, making it easy for her to tie the material around his bare thigh. Now her chest and her hands were spattered with blood.

"I look like a Jackson Pollock painting," she said irreverently, not smiling. Angel smiled, though, pleased that somewhere in all the chaos her sense of humor had not entirely fled.

"Call Wesley for the blood. I don't want you to leave," Angel instructed. Willow nodded. How many more minutes before she could downstairs, throw up, and shower until all the blood was scrubbed away from her skin?

Angel lay back on the floor and closed his eyes, concentrating on his body and the strange way it always healed itself. Only a beheading or a wooden stake through the heart could kill him, but the other stuff still hurt like hell.

Willow wiped her hands on her sweatpants before picking up the phone.

"Wesley, Angel's been hurt. We're at the office and he needs blood. Fresh blood, as soon as you can get it. Hurry."

She hung up on Wesley's questioning voice. Didn't he know what "asap" meant? Willow had no patience for people who rambled during a crisis moment.

"Willow, go get cleaned up."

"No way. What if they come back? I'm not going to leave you alone on the floor."

"Do you want Wesley to see you half undressed?"

"Oh." Willow crossed her arms over her breasts protectively. She'd forgotten.

"Besides, your blood is the closest thing to morphine I could have right now and I won't feed from you if I don't absolutely have to." Angel was brutally honest and it made her tremble.

"I wouldn't mind," Willow said in a small voice. Yes, that's how far she would go for this man. This man, this vampire, this friend. He didn't drain Buffy completely. Surely he wouldn't take all of her blood either?

"I don't want to feed from you like this. I'd hurt you."

"Does it always hurt?"

"Yes. But I can make you feel--- ah, Willow, just get out of here."

"But-"

"Now!"

Even coming from a man in pain, the word was a command. Willow scrambled to her feet again and left a trail of bloody sock prints all the way down the stairs.

~~~*~~~

An hour later, Wesley arrived with fresh pig's blood which revived Angel. Once he shuffled off to bed, Willow and Wesley spent a long time scrubbing the office floor. The bucket of warm soapy water was now a dark red and they'd used four rolls of paper towels due to a lack of sponges or rags. Just when they thought they were done, one of them would see another speck of blood somewhere, like the underside of the desk, and they'd set to work again. It was important to get the room clean, though. Blood, even his own, was not a safe scent for Angel to have in the office.

"My back is killing me," Willow groaned. "They never show the janitors on NYPD Blue doing this."

"It's better than having to listen to Cordelia complain about cleaning it up," Wesley pointed out.

"Still the same old Cordelia, huh?"

"Actually, no," Wesley said. "She's much changed. Life in LA isn't easy for her. Angel and I enjoy her company most of the time. She is an essential part of the team."

Willow bit back several sarcastic comments because Wesley sounded so earnest. She sat back on her heels and changed the subject.

"Maybe a few scented candles will help the smell?" she suggested.

"Excellent. You go down and fetch some. But not the vanilla ones, it'll just make everything smell like a birthday cake massacre. I'll finish up and did I see your laptop on the couch?"

"Once a Watcher, always a Watcher. Yeah, I managed to copy over some of Fiona's notes. See what you can make of it. All Angel and I could figure was that she has learned how to do some body invasion. Playground stuff for vamps. The thrill of the Other. It doesn't last very long, apparently. But I saw her collecting some of Angel's blood. Now, he's not her sire but he's sort of connected to her in some creepy family tree way, so that might be a clue."

"I'm on it."

"I may finish the nap I started earlier."

"All right."

"You don't mind? I hate to slack off the book learnin'."

Wesley's face softened and he smiled warmly. She'd done more than enough work tonight, that was certain. Going undercover at the club, finding the research, attempting to decipher it, then getting attacked and watching Angel beat nearly to death was definitely enough mayhem to warrant a nap.

"Get some rest. In the morning, Cordelia will be here and the four of us will sort everything out."

Willow rose, her knees cracking, and moved slowly to the stairs. Exhaustion swiftly sunk into her bones and she wobbled a little. Would she even make it to her bed before sleep claimed her?

"I'll bring the candles up later."

"If Angel needs help, give a holler," Wesley said. Already he was moving towards the laptop, a purposeful look on his face. Whatever Willow had managed to pilfer could be cross-referenced and matched and turned upside down until they figured out what Fiona was up to.

~~~*~~~

In Angel's apartment, Willow flopped face down on the couch, one arm dangling over the side. Her limbs ached and her thoughts whirled in her mind like a ferris wheel out of control. She was too tired to check on Angel in the bedroom so she called out, her eyes closed and her voice slightly muffled by a pillow.

"Angel, you okay?"

Silence. Willow let out a small whine of despair.

"I find I'm unable to move my body, so if you could just grunt or something so I don't have to get up, that'd be swell."

A low chuckle at the head of the couch made her gasp and flop onto her back. Angel rested his arms on the back of the couch and grinned down at her.

"Feeling better?" she said in a growly voice. He could tell she wasn't mad, just tired and not in the mood to talk a whole lot. It was sort of cute. There were dark smudges under her eyes and a streak of his blood on her forehead. Her skin was pale but she didn't look sickly, just wiped out.

"Much. You'd be more comfortable in the bed."

"Yep." Willow closed her eyes and made no attempt to move.

"Willow."

"Nnngh."

"You'll sleep better in my bed, but I can't carry you. Come on, get up."

With a dramatic sigh, Willow rolled off the couch and crawled the few feet necessary to the bedroom, then hauled herself onto the bed and yanked the covers over herself.

"Not moving again," she stated.

"You don't have to," Angel assured her.

She was already asleep when Angel laid down beside her.

~Part: 9~

Angel carefully made his way through his apartment. Where he was coming from, he couldn't say for sure but he was headed back toward his bedroom, back to the bed in which his new lover lay fast asleep. He moved with his usual grace, smoothly, silently slipping from one space in time to the next. He was being especially cautious because the lighting in his apartment seemed to be dimmer than usual. Even with his vampiric eyesight it was hard to focus and he feared he might inadvertently bump into something, make too much noise, wake Willow too soon.

He didn't want her wake up just yet because she needed to rest. And he wanted time to find something... something special to give to her, something more than a simple pair of shoes, something that would be both a suitable token of thanks for all the she had given him thus far and a permanent reminder of the friendship they were building. Actually he knew just what he was looking for and where it could be found. It was hidden in the very back of the same wardrobe which had housed the slippers he had given to her earlier.

It seemed to be taking him far too long to reach his destination. But in the mean time, as he made his way slowly but surely to the bedroom, Angel used the passing minutes to think back on just what Willow had given over the past few years.

As a young girl of only sixteen, she had continued to include him within her circle of friends even after she had learned just what he really was. She had invited him into her home, worrying about the repercussions of being caught with a "boy" in her room when instead she should have been focusing on the dangers inherent to inviting a vampire into what should have been kept as a safe haven. Willow had found the wherewithal to restore his soul. Most recently, in the course of the last few hours, she had given him pleasure and then allowed him free access to her body, and in doing so she had given him the first rays of hope, a hope that there might be some sort of love out there waiting for him, a love that wouldn't rob him of his soul and destroy his world, their world.

"Ah, but aren't those moments of physical pleasure particularly enjoyable to recall?"

"Oh, yes they are," Angel replied on a wistful sigh.

"Mmmm, and it's not even the cumming that's the best part, is it?"

"No, no it's not," he admitted freely.

The memories of the small things often aroused him most. It was the feel of her long, slender fingers sliding down the front of his slacks, searching for and finding his hard length of flesh for the first time. It was the heat coming off the palm of her hand as she cupped him, an otherwise scorching heat made subtle by the layers of fabric which separated his skin from hers. It was the way in which she had boldly bared her breasts for him, the faith she had shown in him when she allowed him to suckle on her neck. It was the way in which she had so eagerly parted her thighs for him.

"And she tasted so damn good, didn't she?"

Angel's voice was thick with lust when he groaned, "Yes."

The flavor of her honey was still in his mouth, mixed now with the twang of his own blood which had flowed from his lower lip that split open when he was beaten.

"Oh, but wouldn't that mouthful be even sweeter if it were mixed with her blood instead of my own?"

"God, yes," Angel cried out. "I wanted to drink from her!"

Angel stopped dead in his tracks, and panicked, he slapped a hand over his mouth. For a moment he was paralyzed by fear. Then he realized that he hadn't actually shouted out. In fact, he hadn't spoken a single word aloud. The voices he heard were only inside his head. That knowledge did little to assuage his rapidly growing anxiety.

How had it happened? When had he let his guard down? Why was he suddenly so weak?

Angel was disgusted by the fact that his thoughts with regard to Willow and what they had done together had been so crude. But it was far from the first time that he'd expressed some of his baser feelings and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He was, after all, a demon. By nature he was a malevolent creature, even if his black heart had been tempered by a soul. Under normal circumstances, his conscience fought to keep his dark-side repressed. However, current conditions where far from what Angel had come to call "normal" and he found himself lacking the strength to wage a war against mere thoughts. There had already been so many small battles since Willow had arrived, skirmishes of both the physical and the emotional variety and they had added-up, leaving him too weary to put up much of a fight against what came naturally to him. With a heavy sigh he let his hands fall down at his sides, his shoulders slumped, he looked as dejected as he felt.

"They are simple pleasures, right? The texture of her hair, the smell of her skin, the way her lips feel when they're pressed against mine, all soft and plump, so silky under my tongue. And speaking of tongues, oh Lord, the way hers felt as it slid up and down my cock. Mmmm, and how 'bout when I got to cum in that moist, warm mouth of hers?"

"Enough," Angel ground out.

"Is it enough? Will the simple pleasures ever be enough? Or do I want more? Wasn't I the brave soul this evening, throwing caution to the wind, testing the limits of my curse? Brave soul? Very punny... Just how far can I go before I set myself free again? Will I get to make love to her before I lose her?"

"I won't lose Willow."

"Or will I? I've lost Buffy. What I am saw to that, just as surely as did the clause in my curse. And what if I manage to keep the witch safe from Fiona, will I lose her anyway? Is Willow ever truly safe when she's with me?"

Before he could catch it and lock it away in his heart for safe-keeping, one crystal clear memory flashed through Angel's mind and he began to weep bitterly over its loss.

"Oh God, it was more than a "simple" pleasure, more than just sex. Willow cried out my name when she came and the satisfaction I derived from that had me spilling my seed in my pants like a schoolboy."

Angel shook his head in wonder over that turn of events. The building of his new relationship with Willow was at once so effortless and yet so complex. Nothing was as simple as it had first seemed. And too much thinking led to bitter notions.

"Or should I say that she shouted the name I most often go-by these days? Willow knows my birth name now. That was a bit of information I'd not even shared with Buffy. But no one will ever again cry out my true name. I set that aside so long ago... cast it off when I lost my humanity. Which is as it should be for I am not that man nor shall I ever be again. Why would I even want to be? Oh the paradox of my existence that I should be a better man as a demon then I ever was as a mortal."

Angel's thoughts were definitely turning morose and in his state of physical and mental exhaustion he was beginning to feel a tad maniacal. Semi-crazed cackling laughter reverberated through his entire body, chilling him to the bone before leaving him feeling hollow as its echoes died away. Angel's hands where clenched into fists at his sides. Tears of rage and frustration suddenly streamed down his face following the same tracks that his recent tears of pain and loss had created.

"So much for those first few rays of hope. They were as short lived as the lives of my human lovers. Everything is fleeting. Will nothing or no one ever be mine to hold on to?"

When his crying stopped and his vision cleared, he looked about, momentarily disoriented. What was he doing? Where was he going?

Oh, yes to his rooms. He was headed toward his rooms. He was going to collect his little witch and take her out on the town!

He strode purposely toward the heavy oak door that was now only a few paces away. He stopped before it, and pushing aside his waistcoat he couldn't help but admire the rich brocade cloth from which his vest had been cut. His gaze drifted down to the well-tailored breeches he wore, and he was pleased to note that his boots had not yet lost their shine. He smiled to no one but himself. Modesty had never been one of his strong suits, and now vanity was by far one of his minor sins. He was well aware of the image he presented, even if he himself could no longer look upon it. He was quite certain he looked fine.

"Damned fine indeed!"

He withdrew a key from the watch-pocket in his vest and proceeded to unlock the door in front of him.

One small oil lamp with its wick turned down low was the only source of illumination in the sitting room. Heavy damask draperies were drawn tight over the two large windows, blocking out the light of the full moon as effectively as they blocked out the sun.

The only sounds to be heard were coming from the street below. That was a good sign. No yapping or yammering tonight, but this time it had taken five days to make it so. Chuckling malevolently, he headed toward the bedroom to see just how the tiny vixen had accomplished the feat on this go 'round of their little game of "Starve 'Til It's Gone".

When he entered the room, he discovered that the bed was unoccupied. He wasn't particularly worried by the apparent absence of his new playmate. A bit perturbed, perhaps, for he had left her with a set of strict instructions, and staying in the bed had been one of them. Still, he knew she would never have gone so far as to leave him. For that crime he would most assuredly hunt her down and kill her. No, she was simply hiding from him.

"So, me pretty, it'd be a game of hide and go seek that yer up f'r this evenin'," Angelus called out softy. "Well, I'm all f'r the games, darlin'. And to be sure, I always win, don't ya know?"

He sat down on the side of the bed, then laid back. He closed his eyes and focused his attention and his senses on the space which made up their small two-room suite.

He could smell it now, the blood. But this blood was repugnant, totally unappealing to his discerning palate. Still, its scent was the second good sign of the night. It meant she hadn't simply set her latest pet free, she had fed upon it. That knowledge brought a wicked smile to Angelus' face. He was three for three in their hunger game, and he so loved to win.

A pet! What self-respecting vampire kept a pet? Certainly none he'd encountered thus far, and he'd be damned if he'd allow the youthful vampiress he'd been shackled with to do so either. Granted, a part of him could understand why she kept bring the strays home. She was still very much a child. The demon within her was ageless but her body and mind had been that of a young teen. All the memories her demon acquired and absorbed were an adolescent girl's.

Annoyed by his moment of near pity, Angelus reminded himself that turning the petite brunette had not been his idea. In fact, he had wanted nothing to do with her, and his aversion had not been due to the strong resemblance she bore to his real sister. It was the power he'd felt radiating from deep within her.

Magical power, the energy of a natural born witch. But she'd never been properly instructed on how to harness that potential, so it laid dormant. And that was decidedly a good thing. Angelus had his fair share of encounters with witches, the last being a supposedly dead one at that, and the memory of her power was still fresh in his mind, even though that encounter had taken place a fortnight before he was turned. No, he'd see to it that his new little "sister" was kept clear of anyone who might teach her how to awaken the magic within her because along with the power he had also felt the evil. He and Darla may have stumbled across the girl in a Catholic orphanage, but something or someone had touched her and left behind a malignancy even he feared.

"Darla," he snarled, trying to rid his mouth of the bitter taste just thinking of her brought to it. He was still furious with her even after the score of days that had passed. But undying anger was a means of covering up the pain and confusion her desertion had caused him. He still hadn't been able to figure out why his sire had left him, why she had thrust upon him the onerous task of caring for her latest childe. Was this just one more of her lessons? How had one little slip of girl come between them?

It would seem as though Angelus' treatment of his charge was a way of venting his feelings toward his sire. As he tormented the fledgling, Angelus would tell her that Darla was to blame for her new lot in life. Darla had been her sire, not he, but obviously there was something terribly wrong with her if her new "mother" had left her so soon.

In all actuality, it was Angelus' hidden fear of the girl that drove him to treat her as cruelly as he did. Had she been pure and innocent when Darla turned her, he probably would have favored his "sister", spoiled her rotten in fact. Instead, every chance he got, Angelus saw to it that her new life was more of a living hell than her mortal one had been. The fact that she apparently worshiped him, despite the ill-will he wished on her, the torture he subjected her to, only vexed him all the more. She dutifully followed wherever Angelus led, eager to please him. What lessons he deemed fit to teach her, she learned quickly and she put the newly acquired knowledge to good use. The only point thus far that she had fought him on was the bringing home of stray animals. But after this third time being forced to eat her pet or go hungry, Angelus was quite certain she'd not be fetching a new pet any time soon.

For Angelus, tormenting the childe was both an amusement and a trial. She was after all a demon trapped within the body of a child. In many ways that made it easier to smite her. There were countless ways in which he could exploit her size and gender, her apparent age. But at the same time her vulnerability took part of the edge off his enjoyment.

Still in all, educating her was a unique experience, so unlike the training he'd given to any of the vampires he'd sired thus far. Perhaps that's because each lesson he taught her was more than just an instruction on how to live her new life. It was a painful demonstration of all that she could never even hope to have!

She possessed all the same hungers he did, but the body she inhabited hindered her ability to satisfy the cravings of her demon. Forever and always, her deepest desires would only be partially fulfilled at best; the desire to hunt, the desire to kill, the desire to feed, the desire to fuck.

The last thought should have put another smile to Angelus' lips, but it instead disturbed him greatly. There was the unsettling fact that she had been turned while on the very brink of womanhood and her budding sexuality was something that had not been addressed. Just how would the little thing deal with her demonic carnal cravings once they started to surface? He most assuredly wanted nothing to do with that aspect of her education. Much as he enjoyed fucking, just thinking about a sexual relationship with a child was disgusting, even to a demon as diabolic as himself.

No, he would keep to toying with her in other ways. For almost three weeks now he had focused on her need to feed. When she behaved as he wished her to, Angelus would allow her to hunt and feast.

"Well," he chuckled to himself, "if ya can call it huntin'!"

The tiny vampiress has thus far been limited to killing only other children. Her physical size was a major factor. She might never be a match for a healthy, full-grown man, unless she in some way tricked or bewitched him, and Angelus would never allow her to spellbind anyone! She would someday be able to handle a woman, but her mind still lacked the knowledge required to facilitate such a kill. No, since Darla had left her with Angelus, all the girl had fed on (aside from her ill-fated pets) were children.

Children were easy fair. She could relate to them. She would play games with them, lure them away from their friends and family. Oh, and often she befriended them for a short time before she gave into her hunger and drained them. Angelus reveled in the pain that caused her. She had no companions other than himself. Angelus kept her from associating with other vampires. Besides, she would be an outcast among her new kind anyway. Most of the males would have simply abused her, and that was his job! The females might have taken her under their wings, but Angelus would allow her no measure of comfort other than what he stingily gave her.

Ah, but in spite of his pupil's misconduct this evening, Angelus was feeling magnanimous. And he was bored. Perhaps tonight he'd teach her how to lure in something larger. She'd soon learn that no other human blood tasted as sweet as the blood of a child, but there were other bloods to be had, each with their own unique merits. Perhaps a teen just a wee-bit older than herself. Their raging hormones always made for a tasty treat, the flavor boarding on what might compare to being spicy.

Angelus let out a growl of frustration. All this thinking about food was making him hungry. It was time to seek out his diminutive protégée, then head out. The night was o' wastin'.

He rose swiftly and gracefully from the bed and surveyed the room, wondering just where the tiny wretch was hiding.

"Aye, now sweetlin'," he called softly, his voice oozing with contrived kindness. "'Tis time to end yer game."

No reply of any kind.

"Fiona, luv," Angelus crooned. "Come out, come out wher'er ya are..."

As the echo of Angelus' sing-song voice faded, pathetic whimpering could be heard coming from inside the large wooden wardrobe that sat in one corner of the room. Three powerful strides carried Angelus across the room and he quickly drew open the doors to the cabinet. In one corner lay the carcass of a small dog. The dark vampire was pleased to see that it had not simply been drained, it had been torn apart. Its vital organs were all missing, having been consumed for the blood that was found within them, and most of the larger bones that were scattered about no longer contained any marrow. Since the fledgling had gone almost five days without any blood, Angelus had expected to see no less. But it was what sat in the other corner of the closet that really thrilled him.

Angelus didn't think it was physically possible for her to curl herself into a tighter ball. It was as if she seemed to think that if she made herself small enough, he might not see her. She was a quivering ball of porcelain flesh wrapped in blood-encrusted linen. The huddled mass was half hidden beneath a veil of long, dark hair, hair which he himself had washed and combed, tightly braided then bound. That it was now untethered and fell loose all about her was proof again of just how defiant she had been this time around. First she'd left the bed. Secondly she'd mussed her hair. Did the idiot childe not know by now that she would be punished for her acts of disobedience?

"Fiona!" the large, glowering vampire barked. "You'd best be gettin' yer sorry self outta there, afore I haul ya out!"

The childe did as she was told and crawled out of the wardrobe. She stood before Angelus with her head hung low, her face still hidden behind a cascade of hair. Angelus grabbed a hold of that hair, pulled it up and away from her face then continued to tug it back, forcing her to look up. The delight he found in seeing the fear in her eyes was almost enough to make him forgive her for misbehaving. Almost, mind you. But he'd not reprimand her at that point in time. To let her transgressions go unpunished for a short period would leave her off-balance, perhaps offer her a false sense of hope. And watching that hope crumble as he beat her later would make his revenge that much sweeter.

For the time being, Angelus just sighed heavily and shook his head in disgust. She was dressed in only her bloomers and a petticoat, both were blood stained. Her hair was a rat's nest and whatever blood hadn't fallen on her underclothes had ended up smeared all over her pale white flesh.

"Well, looks as though I've got me work cut out f'r me if we're to go out this evenin'. At least this time ya had the good sense to not ruin yet another of the pretty dresses I get ya."

"I-I'm s-sorry, Angelus. I-I-I was hungry. I'll not be doin' that again, I promise ya."

Angelus abruptly reached one hand out toward her, meaning to caress her cheek with more of his mock tenderness. He had to bite his own tongue to keep from laughing when Fiona flinched, preparing for a blow that wouldn't come. Yet.

"Now, now, wee thing," he drawled. "Ya done nothin' that can't be put right."

He released her hair then proceeded to savagely tear the thin cotton garments off of her. She trembled for a few moments but dared not to move to cover herself. Angelus eyed her petite, nude form until Fiona started to squirm under the weight of his stare. Like the predator that he truly was, Angelus slowly circled the girl, once, twice, coming to stand behind her on his third round. He stepped in close to her and used his fingers to start untangling her hair. Once that chore was done, Angelus grabbed a fistful of her long chestnut-colored locks and hauled her over to a wooden stand which held a basin of water, a wash cloth, and a towel. He pushed Fiona's hair over her shoulders so that it covered her budding breasts, then he began to roughly scrub her back clean.

Much to her credit, the little demon managed to remain motionless, drawing blood from her own lips as she struggled not to whimper and not to fidget. Fiona's stoicism only worked against her. The sound of her silence rang in Angelus' ears and her submissiveness only angered him and made him rub harder. He was close to drawing blood when he realized that would defeat the purpose of this cleansing. With one hand he rinsed the red-tinted rag he was using to bathe her, while with the other he pulled her hair back once again. He then stepped around to stand in front of the naked girl, intending to make her front-side as clean as her back-side.

Just as he was about the start scouring the rest of the blood off of her, Fiona's composure slipped and before the cloth-covered hand ever touched her, a sigh full of longing passed through her lips.

"You'd like that, wouldn't ya?" Angelus growled as he pulled away. "You'd like f'r me ta touch ya the way a man touches a woman?"

Fiona's head hung low once again.

"Aye," she whispered.

"Na why would I be wantin' ta do a thing like that?"

Fiona's head shot up and the look on her face unnerved the incensed vampire before her. Her large brown eyes had gone round and were moist and full of sincerity.

"I-I could touch ya too, Angelus. I could be pleasin' ya, the way I've seen ya doin' f'r yerself."

"I'd never be wantin' the likes of your wee hands on me!" he spat. "No man ever will!"

Angelus took pleasure in watching Fiona's hopes shatter. And it was just enough hedonism to help him shake-off the disturbing mental pictures her offer had inspired.

"Enough of this nonsense now," he growled. "Finish gettin' yerself tidied up, be puttin' on a pretty dress. Then ya best be gettin' that dead critter outta me rooms! I'll be back f'r ya in one hour. If I'm pleased with what I see when I return, I'll be takin' ya back out with me and maybe I'll even be teachin' ya a new game."

With that said, Angelus stormed out of the suite. The bang of the heavy wooden door as it slammed shut woke Angel from his dream with a start. He was panting, gasping for breath that was technically unneeded and yet desperately longed for. And for the first time since he went before The Oracles and asked them to petition The Powers That Be to take his mortality away from him once more, Angel woke up feeling warm. The uncommon sensation added to his state of confusion as did the soft kisses and gentle words of comfort that were being pressed into the back of his neck.

Angel was having difficulty sorting out where reality had left off and his dreams had taken over. And just which plain was he on now?

Carefully working his way back through quickly fading memories of dreams which were themselves memories, Angel reached the point where he clearly remembered laying down in his bed with Willow.

She had already been fast asleep when he first settled in the bed. After a few minutes, he made to leave, but woke Willow in the process. She insisted that he stay. At first he had protested, saying that he needed to go up to the office to help Wesley. Willow had called him on it, stating firmly that the ex-watcher would come and get them if he was in need of assistance. To bolster that argument, the sly fledgling witch put on a face that Xander called her "sad puppy" look, one of her most convincing "faces". Ranking just below her "resolve face," "sad puppy" included a matched set of beseeching emerald orbs and a lower lip that wasn't quite pouty, but was definitely quivering. Angel caved instantly.

Willow knew that once she fell back to sleep, Angel would be free to do as he pleased, so she made him promise to lie-down on the bed with her and rest for at least an hour before deserting her. The "deserting her" line was a low-blow, but it did the trick. Angel promised to stay with her.

She had then crawled beneath the covers, and much as Willow wanted Angel to join her under the blankets, she didn't force that issue. She had offered. He had declined, giving Willow her first good look at Angel's own "resolve face". Angel climbed onto the bed, laying rigidly down on his back at a respectable distance from Willow. She "harumffed" at his untimely display of chivalry, and as soon as Angel was settled, she scooted over and closed the gap between them. Willow stretched one arm across his waist, searched for and found his hand, then interlaced her fingers with his. She fell asleep holding his hand, her forehead resting on the outer curve on Angel's shoulder.

The last sure thing Angel remembered doing before he fell asleep was gazing down at Willow while she slumbered. He recalled thinking that she looked so serene and had wondered whether he would ever again know that kind of peace without having to pay an exorbitant price for it as he had in the past.

"It's okay, Angel, it's all right now. It was only a dream. It'll be okay. I'm here, it'll fade..."

The soothing voice, coupled with the surprising strong arms that held him so close, did calm Angel quickly. And as he returned to a state of equilibrium, he soon became aware of the long, lean leg that was draped over his own thigh and the hips that were pressed into his behind. Willow was spooning with him.

At some point after Angel had fallen asleep, Willow had obviously done at least two things. One, she had divested herself of the sweat pants she had been wearing when she first crawled into bed. Secondly, she had managed to move his dead weight about, pulled that covers out from under him and then buried them both beneath sheets and the comforter. Willow's body had acted like a radiator, warming everything under the covers, creating a cocoon-like space. They must have slept for quite a long time because Angel noticed that there was no longer a marked difference between the temperature of his skin and that of Willow's.

Instinctively, one of his hands moved down to caress the feminine thigh that was resting on his body. It was bare! Without giving the act much thought, Angel slid his palm up Willow's leg to see just how far her nudity went. She let out a girlish giggle as his fingers slid under the elastic band of her panties and tickled her rear end.

"Guess you're feeling better," Willow quipped.

Angel nodded as he grabbed hold of one of her hands, drew it up to his mouth and placed a firm kiss into the underside of Willow's wrist, relishing the feel of her pulse-point throbbing against his lips. He laved that spot for a few moments then nipped at it gently before curling Willow's arm down with his own, stopping when her hand came to rest above his non-beating heart.

"Want to talk about it?"

Angel shocked them booth by immediately saying, "Yes."

He disentangled himself from Willow and moved up to sit in the bed with his back resting against the headboard. He then hoisted the sleepy red-head up and positioned her so that she was sitting between his splayed legs, her back resting again his chest.

As Angel tried to collect his thoughts and decide just how much he was going to share with Willow, he absentmindedly played with her short bright auburn hair. Actually he was combing it in much the same way he'd combed Fiona's hair centuries ago. But his fingers slid unhindered through Willow's silken locks in spite of the small tangles that sleep had put in them and he silently gave thanks for the difference. Angel had never wanted Fiona in his bed but he very much wanted Willow to remain there, at least for a while, and perhaps to visit it again from time to time.

Willow could sense Angel's growing anxiety. He may have offered to share his thoughts willingly enough but his actions spoke loudly of an underlying fear. The perceptive young woman was sure that the main cause for Angel's hesitation was due in large part to his fear of rejection. If he revealed too much of his past, too much of his dark side, would Willow turn away?

Willow spoke quietly as she reached up to capture Angel's fidgeting hands and to still them by pulling them down and laying them upon her belly.

"I've read a lot about your past in Giles' books. I've actually seen you when your heart was stone-cold evil. I remember very clearly what it felt like to be held by you when you had murderous thoughts in your mind, my murder. But I have also seen you risk your own life to save others, to save me. And I now know what it's like to be held by you when your heart is filled with love and your mind is lost in thoughts of pleasure."

Angel's arms tightened around her waist, and as his forehead came to rest on the back of her head Willow felt one cool tear splash down on her shoulder.

"I may not always like what you have to say," Willow continued honestly, "and it might sometimes take me a little while to process what you've told me and to put it into perspective. But I won't ever stop being your friend because you've chosen to share a part of yourself with me, even if it's a part I don't particularly like. If anything, it may just make me love you more."

A few minutes of silence followed Willow's short speech. Finally, Angel took a deep breath and began telling Willow about his dream. Without going into too much detail, he told her about some of his methods for "educating" Fiona. He certainly wasn't about to elaborate on the physical aspects of his torture techniques. When it came to the emotion side of the situation, there really wasn't much to say that hadn't already been said when he had shown her Fiona's portrait, but he wanted to make sure that Willow truly understood how he had felt during his time with the little vampiress because those emotions colored the feelings he had now.

He started by telling Willow about his feelings toward Darla and how they effected the way in which he treated Fiona.

"I had grown to adore her. She was my Sire, but more than that, Darla was my lover and my best friend, as strange as that may seem to you. For two years we never left each other's side. Until the night we came across Fiona and my fear of that small girl's untapped magical powers led me to walk out on my Sire. I had never done that before but I honestly thought she'd come after me, just as I had always gone after her. The few quarrels we'd had in the past ended quickly, were put to rest in a matter of hours. When she didn't show up at the tavern later that night, I drank myself into a near stupor and kept myself in that state until Darla finally showed up three days later, dragging Fiona along with her. Then, as you already know, she left me. My Sire left me and I had no idea what I'd done to drive her away. I was confused and deeply hurt and I didn't like feeling that way, so I turned to anger instead and I vented all my frustrations on Fiona.

"Small as she was, Fiona was still created with the potential to one day be a Master. And yet in many ways I treated her worse than I had ever treated even the lowliest of minions. You've seen how cruel I can be, you witnessed the venomous rage I unleashed on Buffy. Well, just try to image me bestowing the same kind of wrath upon someone who was, for the most part, utterly defenseless.

"Fiona was a fledgling. For the first few weeks she had neither the strength nor the knowledge to protect herself, let alone to fight back. To make matters worse, she seemed at first to be a true masochist at heart. She apparently fell in love with me, but I made damn sure I nipped that in the bud. The tighter she clung to me, the harder I lashed out until I finally broke her. Then all that was left was one demon's lust for another and I denied her that satisfaction as well. I wanted nothing to do with her in a sexual way. Actually, I'd never wanted anything to do with her. Period.

"Anyway, with her love for me crushed and my adamant refusal to let her into my bed, things between us got very ugly, very fast. It was only three months after Darla left us together when I'd finally had enough and wanted to be rid of her. I didn't however want her blood on my hands, so to speak. Fiona was still another of my Sire's childer and I didn't want to kill her myself for fear of losing Darla forever if she somehow found out what I'd done. So instead, I set Fiona up. I saw to it that she fell into the hands of an enraged mob of Catholics. Not a good place to be if you were a vampire in mid-eighteenth century Ireland. Then I gleefully turned and walked away, without ever once looking back."

Silence descended again upon the couple in the bed. Angel had paused to steel himself for what he still needed to say. Willow just sat patiently waiting for him to begin speaking again. She had easily absorbed all that Angel had told her thus far. There wasn't much of it that had been new, aside from him telling her about his sick little starvation game that involved Fiona's poor pets. Can you say "eeww"?

A few minutes passed then Willow chanced a quick glance at her watch. It was already four in the afternoon on Saturday and if she wanted to help Angel find Fiona and get herself back to Sunnydale by Sunday night, she was going to have to try to prod Angel into finishing up with whatever it was he was trying to tell her. But then as she shifted to get more comfortable and snuggled back into Angel's arms, Willow thought that perhaps having to stay in L.A. for few extra days might not be a bad thing. She was thoroughly enjoying her current position. She had loved the things Angel had done to her with his hands and with his mouth, and as her butt brushed up against the parts of his anatomy that were found between his legs, she flushed as they twitched and she couldn't keep from wondering what great things Angel could do to her with those! So, Willow chose to stay quiet for a little longer and to just bask in the warmth of his embrace.

"Willow, I know you know what kind of creature I am. But do you know who I am?"

"You're Angel," was Willow's instant reply.

"Look at me," Angel commanded brusquely.

When Willow hesitated, the vampire growled at her, "Turn around and look at me."

The witch moved down on the bed, climbed out from between Angel's legs and then turned to face him. What she saw didn't frighten her in the least, but the sight before her instantly confirmed a suspicion Willow had been harboring for a very long time.

"Who am I, Willow?"

She reached out her hand and the vampire sighed with relief as she ran her fingertips over the pronounced ridges on his face. Willow stared boldly into Angel's eyes, taking note of the fact that they weren't the same chilling gold color she remembered. Now his eyes were a rich honey hue. It was as if the soul he possessed had warmed them. Or perhaps his feelings for her altered their appearance. Either way, it was a welcome change, a change that took away all her trepidation.

"You're Angelus."

Angel smiled at her as he shifted back into his human visage.

"That's right. And what am I?"

"You're a demon with a soul."

"I don't want you to ever forget that, Willow. Especially when we're together, most especially when we're intimate."

Willow blushed deeply at Angel's alluding to the fact that she and he would be together again, together in a sexual way. As always, Angel was thrilled by her response to him and before Willow knew what was happening, Angel had cradled her face in his big hands and had swooped in to kiss her. She parted her lips eagerly and let his tongue slip into her mouth where it played happily with hers for a minute or two before they broke the kiss.

Angel grew hard as he watched Willow unconsciously lick her lips, doing her best to capture the taste of him that lingered there. He fought down a growl of frustration that threatened to make itself heard. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to strip naked, remove the remainder of his lover's clothing then recover their bodies with all the heavy blankets, re-burying them both in that warm, comforting place. Once they were properly resettled, he wanted to make slow love to the woman before him for hours on end. But what he wanted was totally irrelevant. What he needed to do was finish telling Willow what was really on his mind.

Between Angel's kiss and his mercurial moods, Willow's nerves were on the edge, her skin tingling. She could practically feel the tension rolling off of him in waves, so many different types of tension that she wasn't sure which one to focus on. Angel made that decision for her when he hauled he back into his lap, setting her down so that she was straddling his thighs and still faced him. Then he started talking again.

"I've told you about the past. Now it's important to me that you understand how I feel about Fiona today. I won't let her hurt you, I don't want to see her hurt anyone, but..."

Willow could see the internal conflict projected out through Angel's eyes as his voice faded-off. She watched as his tongue flicked out to moisten his lower lip. She knew it was a nervous habit and wondered if he was aware of the fact that he did it. Most likely not, for Mr. Control would have suppressed the tell-tale practice long ago if he knew about it. Willow then watched Angel's Adam's Apple bob up and down as he swallowed convulsively. He was really nervous and Willow suddenly thought she knew why.

"You're going to let her do it!" Willow gasped.

"NO!" Angel replied vehemently. "I just told you that I'm going to do my best to see to that she doesn't hurt any more innocent people. Which is just what she's been doing. I'm pretty sure that all those slaves we saw at the club are the by-products of her attempts at performing this trans-possession ritual. I don't knew where everyone's parts go... what part of Fiona takes up residence in the new body? If it's the demon, then why wasn't she a vampire when she arrived here in that other body? And where does the soul from the stolen body go? Whatever metaphysical changes take place, the end result is that the host is damaged. They end up mad. And I want to stop Fiona before she can do that to anyone else. But... if... if there was some other way for her to grow-up, some way to make her own body mature without involving anyone else, I'd be tempted to turn a blind eye in her direction."

"But why? Because you feel guilty about what you did to her all those years ago?"

"No, that's not why," the vampire answered honestly. "I sired Penn, and I made Drusilla who in turn made Spike. All the vampires I created... the human lives that they have sucked dry are added to my tab along with those I killed myself. The crimes of those vampires I have reason to feel guilty for. But I didn't sire Fiona and I won't be held culpable for all the death she has caused. If I were to feel personally responsible for every human life that another vampire takes, I'd go insane. It would be like expecting you to take on the burden of guilt for the crimes that man commits again man. And as for the way that I treated Fiona when she and I were together, well I don't feel guilty about that at all. In the over-all scheme of things, what does it really matter if one vampire torments another?

"Willow, you must keep in mind that while Fiona may look like a teen-aged girl, she's not. She's a vampire who has developed all of the same appetites that any other vampire has. She wants to hunt and to feed and, pardon my language, she wants to fuck."

"You think that Fiona is doing all this just because she wants to have sex?"

"Yes, I think that's her main reason. But Willow, what I'm trying so hard to make you understand is that when it comes to certain aspects of her existence, I can now empathize with Fiona. I know what it's like to have urges you can't act on, to have desires that must go unfulfilled. I'm pretty sure that Fiona was abused while she was still a mortal. After she was turned, when her demonic sexuality started to bloom, I refused to let her into my bed nor would I allow her to take anyone else as a lover. In case you haven't figured it out yet, vampires are very sexual creatures. Humans are too, civilization has just forced them to repress their sexual nature. But for us, there is no question of propriety. Sex is almost as important to us as feeding. For a fledgling vampire to be denied sex is as criminal an act as rape is to a human. And now, for centuries Fiona has probably had to settle for partners that were either clumsy school children or perverts. I don't think that she's ever had an actual lover, someone with whom she had a long term relationship of any kind. I can empathize with her plight because I know all too well what it's like to crave a level of intimacy I can never have again."

"So Fiona's trying to grow-up so that she can find a lover? And you'd be willing to let her do that?"

Angel let out a very heavy sigh. He realized that what he was attempting to explain was a bit twisted. He just wasn't sure what more he could say to Willow to make it any easier for her to grasp.

"Of course not. I said I'd be tempted to look away. Only I can't allow myself to give in to that temptation. No matter what body she inhabits, Fiona will still be an evil, soulless creature. For that reason alone I'll have to destroy her. But I'm going to need your help, Willow. I'm going to have to draw on your strengths, and I don't mean just your magical powers. I'm going to need to rely on your courage and conviction. Of all the people I've known over the years, you and Buffy have the clearest, most natural sense of what's right and what's wrong. Buffy's not here, so if my own judgement gets clouded, I'm going to need you to make decisions for me. Can you do that?"

Could she do that? Could Willow make the same kind of life or death decisions that Buffy and Angel made on a day-to-day basis? How could she be sure that her own judgement wasn't colored by her past experiences with love?

Suddenly Willow realized that was what it all boiled down to... colors and love.

Without a soul, Angel's life had been black and white. And red, lots and lots of red...

Now his world was made up of innumerable shades of grey, just like her own. But Angel was first and foremost a vampire, even with his soul, and everything he'd said to her indicated that he was still battling his basic instincts, that he still longed for the days when everything was simply black or white. So, despite the fact that Angel had been roaming the earth for centuries, Willow was the one who had more experience when it came to selecting the proper shade of grey. They both knew that it was often the most subtle difference between one shade and the next that determined right from wrong but Willow was the one who had the ability to select the correct one. And why was that so? It was because her young life had in fact been colored by her past experiences with love. But it hadn't solely been colored in black and white and red. Willow's life and loves where made up of a veritable rainbow of colors and she would be able to draw on the strength and energy found in those vibrant hues. She would be able to rely on her love of life and on the love that she and Angel now had for one another.

"Yes, Angel. I can do that. I can do that and much more..."

~Part: 10~

"So then I said, ‘Angel, no one else screams like that.’"

"And what did he do?"

"He listened to me, for like once in his life, and put down the crossbow. Good thing too, because I was right and he’d almost shot poor Wesley through the heart."

"Wow."

"Yeah, we’re all about teamwork now. Like this."

Cordelia gestured around to the racks of clothing and beamed at Willow.

"Shopping?"

"Oh, absolutely. I’m not gonna get my hands dirty with that creepy little vamp baby running around collecting Angel’s blood, but I can use my considerable skills in other, more productive ways. Like helping you find something that doesn’t make you look nauseated. Here, try this on."

Cordelia handed Willow a sleeveless dress in a blue-green color. Willow refrained from pointing out that fighting Fiona might be slightly more worthy than a morning at the mall; Cordelia was so happy in her assigned task.

There had been a sticky moment of awkwardness when Angel called Cordelia into his office, handed her a wad of cash, and told her to take Willow shopping for clothes. His explanation was logical-most of her things were wet, bloody, or torn, and she needed to stay for a few extra days. Cordelia was a little bowled over by the generosity her boss was showing towards Willow and more than surprised that Willow just sat on the edge of Angel’s desk like she belonged there. No love lost between the two girls in high school, but this was the real world. And, Cordelia decided, shopping was a perfect bonding opportunity to let bygones be bygones.

They’d gotten essentials first; underwear, a tank top and shorts to sleep in. Now Cordelia was determined to dress Willow in something that showed off her figure, hence the suggestion of the dress.

"I don’t know," Willow said as she held the dress up to her. It wasn’t revealing, but it was certainly less baggy than most of her choices.

"Well, I do. Try it on. Angel said you’re not going to be in the crossfire anymore, so it’s not like you have to wear overalls."

Cordelia smiled when Willow emerged from the dressing room. The dress was comfortable and brought out the color of Willow’s eyes behind her long lashes.

"It fits," Willow grudgingly allowed. "Need I remind you that I like my overalls?"

"Need I remind you that Angel’s still a man, and if you’re going out with him you might as well look nice. What?"

"Nothing." Willow blushed, feeling her cheeks go more than red.

"Oh, please. Like I didn’t notice Angel couldn’t keep his eyes off you this morning? If he falls in love with you and gets in that happy place, I’m not staying in this hemisphere long enough to say I told you so."

"He’s not in love with me," Willow tried to explain. How to explain the need they shared? It wasn’t primal, it wasn’t fairy tale. It was just… necessary for them to be together. Friendship and more than a little comfort. Of course she wanted him in all the ways you could want a man, but there was no mistaking where his passions lay. Buffy Summers was written all over the wall of his precious soul and Willow had no desire to replace her. Their dalliance could hardly be mistaken for that tragic love-til-the-end-of-time thing Buffy and Angel had bubbling underneath the text.

"It’s like you’re vacation for each other. If you don’t take it when you can, you burn out and get cranky like Wesley."

"Sort of," Willow said, vacillating between trying to explain further and daydreaming about taking vacation with Angel, maybe in Europe…

Blushing anew, she fingered the locket Angel had clasped around her neck that morning. It was obviously an heirloom, kept polished and nestled away in a velvet cloth until he saw fit to give it away. She felt honored to receive it, though she wondered why he’d given it away. It was a lover’s gift. Technically, they weren’t. Though that position could be argued, considering the tension they’d released and the pleasure taken and received.

"I so do NOT want to know where your mind is right now. Come on, let’s go before you change your mind."

Willow obediently followed Cordelia through the check out line and back into the mall, carrying her other clothes in a nice shopping bag with pale green stripes. Cordelia suggested she wear the dress home. It would please Angel, so Willow agreed. They’d almost made it to the exit when they were stopped by mall security.

"Excuse me, ma’am, but I need to ask you to come with me."

Willow looked up into the face of a stern looking man in uniform and instantly knew he was not employed by the mall. She couldn’t say HOW she knew, exactly, just that something in the pit of her stomach knotted up and made her take a step backward. The man, who wore the dark green vest of a mall employee and carried a gun, was staring her down as though she’d drawn a piece on him.

"Is there a problem?" Cordelia asked, rifling through the bag for her receipt. "We paid for the dress."

"Cordelia, it’s not about the dress." Willow was proud that her voice didn’t reveal how scared she was. She couldn’t stop looking at the guy’s black, piggy eyes. He was creepy in a supernatural way. Not a vampire, obviously, since it was broad daylight and sunshine streamed through skylights everywhere on the upper level. But certainly evil, if the goosebumps on her arms were any indication.

"I hope there won’t be any need to make a scene," the man said, hand inching towards his gun.

"Cordelia, why don’t you take this stuff back home? I’m sure everything is fine. I’ll call you later."

Cordelia heard the fear in Willow’s voice. It was a quavery, determined sort of breathiness she’d heard countless times before. They’d battled more than a few evils together "back in the day." She clicked onto survival mode and remained casual.

"Sure, no problem. I’ll call you."

Cordelia walked slowly away from Willow, refusing to let herself look back. Rounding the corner, she stepped up the pace a little and then started running towards the nearest payphone. She was out of breath when Angel finally answered, able to blurt out one sentence:

"Angel, they took Willow."

~~~*~~~

Willow knew that if she screamed, fought, or refused to cooperate, she’d be bleeding from a gunshot wound the very next second, so she let the false mall security guards push her into the back of a van and take her to a street she remembered very well.

The club. Moonglow. Fiona.

In the middle of the day, the front of the building looked very different. No garishly dressed patrons waited to gain entrance, no flashing lights or muted bass thumpings emanated from the second story. Indeed, if not for the ornately carved wooden door and darkened windows, Willow could imagine she was going into the lobby of a bank. Just another visitor to one of LA’s beautiful buildings.

"Look casual," her captor ordered gruffly as they walked towards the door and the van drove away. Willow ignored him, choosing to square her shoulders and attempt to look unfazed. Surely Angel would come to rescue her, whether it was a trap or not. All she had to do was keep from freaking out until after everything was safe.

Unless Angel was already inside, hurt, or trapped, or worse. There was no reason to assume he had the upper hand. Dangerous thoughts licked across her mind like a high candle flame, trying to reach the part of her brain where terror resided. She firmly clamped a sensible attitude down on her imagination and tried to stick with the facts. Willow was used to Buffy charging in to save the day with Giles to explain everything afterwards. Angel would simply take Buffy’s role, and Wesley would be Giles. Everything would be fine.

Inside, Willow was a little shocked to see the black-and-white checked floor of the foyer replaced by a striped design that made her eyes go dizzy. She was aware of the guards flanking her on either side, and heard other footsteps coming towards her, but was too mesmerized by the floor pattern to concentrate. The white and black lines seemed to swirl around her feet, red back-images tricking her eyes, and she realized belatedly that she was falling to the ground. Somewhere to her left, Fiona laughed.

~~~*~~~

When Willow regained consciousness, she found herself stripped bare with her arms tied to the legs of the table she lay on. Her legs were unfettered so she scooted up and sat with her knees to her chest, frantically looking around for a way to escape. Her dress and underwear were piled neatly-neatly-on an ottoman. That would solve the small nakedness problem. Even in her panic, she realized she’d spent a fair amount of her visit to LA unclothed, in wet clothes, or in bloody clothes. Making an internal vow to put on her favorite blue overalls as soon as she returned to Sunnydale, Willow arched her neck to see her wrists. They were bound by rope, which was in turn duct taped to the table legs.

The room was large and decorated to look like a dungeon with faux stone walls, cobbled floor, wall sconces, and torture instruments so ancient Willow doubted even Angel would be able to define all of them. The temperature in the room was cold enough for Willow to see her own breath, an air conditioning trick from the vent in the far wall. The twisted scraps of iron that hung on the wall opposite her gave her pause. They did not look like fun. Neither did the new, state-of-the-art restraints embedded in the ceiling. If everything was such a mix of new and old, why had they resorted to duct tape and rope to bind her, and not even bothered to tie her ankles down?

Willow hoped it was because Angel was trying to rescue her and had caused a disruption.

Willow opened her mouth to utter a magic spell to try and loosen her bonds. She was shocked when no sound came out of her throat. She tried again, clearing her throat first, getting a glob of spit to swallow. Nothing. She couldn’t speak. Her throat didn’t hurt, and she didn’t see any blood on herself, so it wasn’t from a wound. Obviously, magic was at work.

After a few minutes, the bare table chilled her backside and she shifted onto her hip. Were they planning to kill her slowly from exposure and hypothermia? Her fingers and toes felt numb, her teeth were chattering, and her shoulders ached from being tensed up, but after an hour in the room she was too cold to release them down into a natural state. She thought of the calm abduction scene from the mall, cursing herself for not screaming then when she had the lung power. Still, Cordelia had probably gotten to a phone, which meant Angel was probably on his way.

Probably. In the middle of the afternoon on a sunny day. She’d have to pray for sewer access.

After another hour alone in the room, Willow was almost relieved to hear the door being unlocked. Knowing her fate would be better than freezing to death alone… unless such was her fate, in which case she’d see how long she could last without going unconscious.

"Take her temperature," Fiona’s childish voice ordered, and large hands clasped over Willow’s head as someone stuck a thermometer in her ear, which beeped after a second.

"She’s cold enough," a happy voice reported. "We can start the ritual."

Willow turned her head to face the person who’d taken her temperature, and saw a fresh gash on his cheek that had just recently begun to clot. Her heart soared. Had Angel given him that wound?

"Any last words?" Fiona giggled. Willow scooted even closer to the edge of the table, writhing her hands behind her. The bonds held fast and she didn’t like the maniacal look in Fiona’s eyes. She appeared positively gleeful at the same time, like a child on her way to the fireworks. "No? I thought not. Well, you can just lay back down, and we’ll start the ceremony. Ever wanted to be a vampire, Willow?"

Willow screamed soundlessly, desperately looking towards the dark hole of the door as she was dragged back down to the icy table. She kicked and struggled, unmindful of the three vampire guards ogling her nakedness. Her fighting was to no avail, and her ankles were secured to the table with more duct tape.

"I think I’ll explain exactly what I’m doing, so I know you’re comprehending it all. Wouldn’t want you to have a muddled mind through all this. It would be hard to interview you for my notes if you didn’t get it."

Fiona hopped up onto the table next to Willow and swung her legs back and forth.

"I shall become you," Fiona told Willow simply. She ignored Willow’s frantic shaking of her head and mouthing ‘no.’ "Oh, yes. I’ve spent most of my life being useful, learning about science and magic and how they blend together. Years of research and failure. My temporary successes at body-switching have frustrated me so much that I nearly gave up, until my dear brother came to LA and I figured out the missing ingredient-his blood."

Fiona continued the discussion in a friendly voice that made Willow feel even colder. The glint of madness in her dark brown eyes was more frightening than the sharp and deadly ornamental daggers that were being placed on a tray next to the table.

"Of course, Darla’s blood would have been prefect, but the blood of someone in my family line will work fine. It was so easy to obtain, since he was too busy protecting you to look out for his own sorry flesh. Then all I needed was a body to permanently occupy, and I thought, why not that redhead? You’re near my size, after all. I’ve no wish to become a supermodel or pro-wrestler. I just want a woman’s body instead of this-this baby shell."

Fiona snatched up one of the daggers and traced it around Willow’s breasts.

"On the small side. Everything else is in good shape, though. And there’s the added bonus of Angelus being in love with you."

Willow shook her head in denial. Whatever she had with Angel was simply friendship, not the world’s greatest undying love. They’d comforted each other in a time when both needed assurance and love, and finding that without condition was rare, but it wasn’t true love. Fiona could never understand the difference and for one brief moment, Willow felt pity for her. Then she remembered the sharp point of a knife near her heart and regained the anger that was keeping her from crying her eyes out.

"Well, whatever you call it. He wants you. That’s close enough. Even I’m not insane enough to try to tackle the Slayer that knocked him upside down last year. No, witchy woman’s fine. So, we’ll start, then? You understand? That’s why I had to chill your blood, get it close enough to my body temperature. I’ll just be taking your body, not your soul. You’ll just sort of drift aimlessly about in my body for eternity, unable to speak or move past the point of a robot. It’s a very unfortunate side effect. There are still some glitches in the system."

"Fiona, the henna," said one of her lackeys, handing her a jar of pungent, amber-red liquid. Fiona dipped a small paintbrush in the jar and swirled it around.

"Homemade liquid henna I’m just a regular Martha Stewart of the vampire set. With this I can trace energy lines, which are unique with each person. Yours are intricate, but that’s probably due to all your powers as a witch, both realized and unrealized."

Willow submitted to the painting, her nose filled with the thick scent of henna. She kept her eyes focused on the door. Where was Angel?

It took Fiona a full hour to paint the lines all over Willow’s body, by which time Willow was shivering all over. She was sure her lips were blue, and she could barely feel her hands and feet.

"This will be my favorite part," Fiona promised, reaching for the dagger. She picked it up, tested the sharpness of the point, and looked at the supply of wicked knives. Her guards stood at the ready liked whipped dogs. "Be ready to hand me a new one when I ask for it. I’m not going to cut her shallowly enough to scar; don’t want my new body all marred, so I’ll need a new knife every couple of lines, to be perfect. I want it to be perfect."

Willow arched her neck and screamed a quiet scream when the razor-sharp blade started cutting into the dark henna line on her shoulder. Fiona was meticulously slow, never pressing any deeper than the first layer of skin. She drew only the thinnest line of blood as though she’d been practicing for this her whole life, which Willow suspected she had.

"After I trace all the lines, we’ll do the incantations and smear Angelus’s blood with yours, which I shall then ingest, and perform the magic needed to complete the ceremony. Oh, come on, Willow, don’t cry. Aren’t we having fun?"

"I am now," came Angel’s voice from the doorway. The next sound was one of Fiona’s guards exploding into dust from a bolt to the heart. The second guard used the third guard as a shield for the next bolt, then ducked underneath the table, ostensibly heading for the open door. The crossbow clattered to the ground where Angel tossed it as he came fully into the room, blocking the door behind him before Fiona or the last guard could escape.

Willow watched Angel drag the guard out from under the table and rip his head off. He met her eyes after he performed that act, and her shiver had little to do with the cold that time. His eyes glittered with dark fury. It wasn’t directed at her, but Willow still felt afraid and knew that if she could speak, she would have whimpered. Watching Angel be so deadly, so dangerous, brought her out of her shock and into a place of real fear. Fiona had all the knives, including the one that was pressed underneath her left breast, poised to stab her in her rapidly beating heart.

"Let her go," Angel growled, turning his attention away Willow's trembling body, trying to focus solely on Fiona so as not to be distracted by both Willow's visible fear and her nudity.

"Oh, I think not," Fiona drawled. "It took me a very long time to collect everything I need to make my transformation permanent. And perfect. You have excellent taste, my dear brother. You do think your new lover is perfect, don't you? This beautiful fiery hair, eyes the color of the finest emeralds, and this body? Mmmmm... nice."

Angel watched Willow shudder as the vampiress ran a petite, cold hand along her side, down across her bare belly, over her thigh. His eyes locked with Willow's. He prayed that she could see how badly he wanted to tear Fiona limb from limb for the way she was touching her. He could see the fear and the disgust in Willow's eyes and it was tearing him up inside. But Fiona saw his pain and anger too and she preyed on it.

"Or is she just a stand in for the one you really want and can't ever have? Is your witch here nothing but second best to the Slayer you'll always love?"

"What would you know about love?" Angel spat.

"Well now, you know what it's like to love and to be loved, even as a vampire. You also know what it's like to have to walk away from love. But have you ever had it taken from you?"

To make her point, Fiona pressed the knife she held to Willow’s heart a little bit deeper, causing Willow to whimper. Angel roared in anger and started to advance on Fiona.

"Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Angel stopped dead in his tracks. There was no mistaking the lethal intent in the small vampire's voice.

"Good boy," Fiona purred coyly. "You see, much as I like Willow's body, I don't have to have Willow's body. Any body will do at this point. In choosing hers, there's just the added bonus of getting back at you by picking one you've had and obviously enjoyed so much."

Angel's eyes narrowed and he glared her, pressing his lips down in a thin, tight line so as not to tell Fiona anything that she didn't already know. Willow unfortunately was shaking her head in denial.

"Oh, what is this?" chirped Fiona. "You mean you really haven't fucked her yet? My, my Angelus, what a gentleman you've become. Well, gee, maybe when this is all done, I'll let you have what you want so badly but are too chivalrous to take. Perhaps, if you just stand aside now, I'll let you be my first lover."

"Never! I'll never want you, no matter what you look like."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Now that's not exactly the best way to win my affections." Fiona sighed dramatically then shrugged. "You never were much for courting the ladies in the old days. Just love them and leave them, right? And as I recall, you left most of them dead."

Willow was eyes were closed. She was crying silently now. Fiona's words where hurting her more than they disturbed Angel. But that was the point, wasn't it? To get at him by tormenting someone he cared about. Would he ever be able to love anyone without fearing that they would be hurt by some aspect of his past?

"I've changed." Angel silently willed Willow to look at him, to see the love in his eyes so that she would know the truth of his words.

Angel felt his heart leap in his chest when Willow opened her eyes and looked straight at him. In her sparkling, tear-filled eyes was faith in what he said and faith that he would do everything within his means to save her. She had faith in him. That was a gift Angel was not used to receiving on a regular basis and its mystery never failed to floor him.

Dark eyes then met with darker still across the short distance that separated them and for a long time they were both as silent as Willow. Physically, they'd reached stalemate. Now the only cards Angel had left to play were emotional ones.

"It doesn't have to be like this," he told Fiona, softening the tone of his voice and carefully avoiding any inflection that might make him sound condescending or 'older'.

"No, my brother, you're wrong. It has to be just like this. You saw to that."

"Please, let Willow go. I'll help you. Together we'll find some other way for you to-"

"Together?!" the shrill little voice cried. "You wanted nothing to do with me, even before I was turned. Now all of sudden you want us to be together? You just told me that still don't want me, you'll *never* want me. You want her! You want what's inside of her!"

Angel cringed inwardly when he heard Willow gasp as the tip of Fiona's knife dug deeper still.

"Fiona, I can't change the past. I know you've lived a lonely life. I-"

"Lonely? No, I haven't been lonely. I've been alone. I know about what's happened to you, so I know you know the difference between lonely and alone. I was never introduced into our elite society, I have been an outcast for all these years, even longer than you have. That nasty soul of yours makes it a bit difficult for you to be among your own kind, but it has allowed you to live among the humans, to earn their trust, their friendship, even their love. The only company I have kept has been with the minions I created myself. Feeble minded, all of them, because I could never hope to best them physically. I had to rely on my wits to control them. And not even a single one of them has ever really cared for me. I was their sire, their mistress, nothing more."

Angel said nothing. There was nothing he could say. He had wronged her greatly. Even as one soulless vampire to another, the way in which he had treated her was unjust. But there was nothing he could do to change that now. It would be best for both them if he simply destroyed her.

"Mother never even came to look for me. Why is that, Angelus? Did you tell her I was dead?"

There was such pain in Fiona's voice that Angel once again felt truly sorry for her. In many ways, she was still a child. He and Darla had really been the only family the young orphan had ever known.

"I assumed you were. I-"

"Well, of course you did," was Fiona's soft retort, more chilling than her angry words. She was once again calm and collected. When she spoke, her words seemed full of understanding and... was that pity?

"What else could you think, darling. After all, you set me up yourself and you are a self-proclaimed master of games. Who would have thought that I'd ever escape that mob? But when it comes to certain aspects of our existence, you did teach me well. Survival of the fittest and all that. The men in that crowd may have been bigger and stronger than me, but I was much, much smarter. Thank you for that. For leaving me alone so often with nothing but your precious books for company. They opened up a whole new world for me, a world full of the knowledge that can be found in print. I became a voracious reader. That's how I found the spells that I'll use here today. I know, I know, you always tried to keep me away from the magic. But what can I say, I can be an obstinate child at times. Remember?"

"I'm sorry, Fiona. What I... what I did to you, it was wrong. It-"

"Oh, please! Spare me your apologies. They're a bit late in coming, and besides, you don't really mean them. You would just as soon stake me as try to ever make things right between us."

Angel knew Fiona was past the point of being broken and talked out of killing Willow. If he let her escape she would simply find another host body and continue to terrorize the world. If he lunged across the table to rip her throat out, the dagger would surely slip between Willow’s ribs.

"Undo the curse on Willow. Let her speak," Angel asked. When Fiona threw her head back to laugh, he inched a half-step closer.

"Why not?" Fiona decided, and spoke words of a dark, sticky magic that poured out of Willow’s mouth in a brown swirl. Willow coughed, tried out a timid whisper, and then shut her eyes on a rush of tears. At least she had the power to speak again. Not that she had anything to say. What could she possibly say that could help the situation? She knew Angel’s dilemma and as much as she wanted to be noble and tell him to kill the conniving bitch, she didn’t want to die.

"Good," Angel said.

"Minor victory," Fiona shrugged. "I still have the upper hand. And furthermore…"

Fiona made the fatal mistake of babbling happily, bragging about her discoveries and her careful planning of the whole situation, including the eventual plan to stake Angel. Her pride was so elated to finally have one up on her brother that she ignored the sound of tentative footsteps in the hallway. Angel heard them and knew it was Wesley and possibly Cordelia, both ignoring his edict to stay in the car. Fiona’s lackeys would have made a great clatter and tried to rush him from behind. Wesley would creep along in his soft leather shoes. Thank God for disobedient British ex-Watchers.

Angel slowly inched one hand along the side of his leg until his fingers were visible to Wesley, who was armed with the crossbow he’d given him "just in case" and possibly a very large supply of wooden stakes. He held up three fingers and then tucked them in one by one. On "three" he ducked and heard the very welcome whizzing of a bolt leaving the bow. It struck home a second later, followed by the very familiar screaming explosion that left a pile of dust where Fiona once stood.

The grim satisfaction in his soul wasn’t anywhere close to joy. In that one moment of Fiona’s dusting, he relived every time he was ever cruel to her, every taunt, every aspect of torture. Feeling the effects of the Romani curse, Angel let his heart mourn yet another one of his huge failures. Truly, the world would be a better place without her in it.

Angel jumped to his feet with the grace of a cat and turned to thank Wesley, who smiled sheepishly.

"Cordelia has the car running. We should hurry, before Fiona’s boys discover the ritual isn’t going as planned. Oh, God, Willow."

Angel turned and focused on the garish stripes of henna trickling over her naked body, the puffy red stripe that ran from her shoulder to her elbow, the look of spiritless terror in her eyes and the bluish tint to her skin. Wesley acted one second before he did, grabbing the nearest dagger and using it to slice through the tape on her ankles while Angel freed her hands.

"It’s okay, Willow, you’re safe now, I’ve got you," Angel crooned as her sawed through the thick layers of gray tape and rope.

"Tape is off the table, but I’ll leave it on your skin and peel it off slowly, in the car. I’m not going to rip it off and take your skin with it," Wesley told her, folding the flaps of tape on either side of her ankles in on themselves. She gratefully closed her legs, thankful neither of them was making an issue of how humiliated she was in this position. Angel finished with her wrists a minute later, and helped her sit up. Wesley retrieved her clothing and dressed her like an invalid since she couldn’t close her fingers around anything nor work the zipper on her dress.

"I like the dress," Angel murmured as he picked her up in his arms. She laughed a little. It felt good to laugh. She’d either laugh or start crying, and something told her that now was not the time to have a breakdown.

"Th-thank you," she said, reaching out to Wesley with one hand and resting her head against Angel’s shoulder. Wesley patted her hand and then tiptoed to the door, checking for vampires. The coast was clear. Ironically, Fiona had ordered all the vampires in the building to stay away from the dungeon for six hours so she could perform the ceremony. It allowed them to escape down into the sewers and up into a covered parking garage one block away, where Cordelia waited with the black Plymouth.

"Oh my God, what did they do to Willow?" she exclaimed when Angel put her in the backseat and climbed in next to her.

"Torture," Wesley answered. "And she’s probably experiencing some low-grade hypothermia."

"Hospital, I’m on it," Cordelia said.

"No, just t-take me home," Willow protested. Her three friends all started to argue at the same time and she held up a shivering hand to stop them. "I just need t-to be warmed up. Th-they ask q-questions."

"True," Wesley agreed slowly. "Angel?"

"Whatever. Hurry."

"My pleasure," Cordelia said with a smile, squealing out of the parking garage and heading towards the office building.

~Part: 11~

Angel caught Cordelia’s worried gaze in the rearview mirror and silently told her to drive a little faster. She was already driving like a maniac, zooming in and out of traffic, down side streets he hoped weren’t part of a war zone, and narrowly missing pedestrians and telephone poles alike. Still, now that Fiona was dust, an eerie panic had settled over Angel’s soul and he wanted to get back to his safe, dark apartment as soon as possible.

Willow was a complete mess. Henna stains leaked and smeared all over her skin, which was tinged blue from the cold. The one knife line Fiona had managed to make had crusted over into a tiny, puffy welt from her neck to her elbow like a long, stinging paper cut. Since Angel had no body heat to warm her up, she huddled against Wesley while Angel carefully peeled the duct tape off her ankles.

Wesley met Angel’s eyes over Willow’s head and quietly offered a suggestion.

“Want to rethink the hospital option?” he asked his boss, who removed the last piece of duct tape with grim satisfaction and started rubbing Willow’s feet.

“No,” Willow answered immediately, burrowing her head into Wesley’s neck.

Chastely, Wesley kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms more tightly around her. He glanced out the window and saw that Cordelia was already rounding the corner of Barstow and Fleet. Two more blocks and they’d be in the parking garage, just in time to escape the dawn.

“I want to walk,” Willow informed Angel, who picked her up in his arms as soon as they got out of the car. Wesley and Cordelia bounded up the stairs two at a time, hollering down promises of tea and blankets as fast as they could prepare them.

“No.” Angel hated denying her, but he doubted her legs could carry her out of the parking garage, up the stairs to the office, and down into his sub-basement apartment. And even if she did manage to move on her own, it would take forever.

Willow twisted around in his arms, trying to get down. She was getting feeling back in her hands and feet and the prickly pain threatened to make her start crying. She needed to hang on long enough to warm up, then get in the shower and try to wash off the pungent henna. If Angel carried her up the stairs like a knight in shining trench coat, she’d fall into a big weepy mess all over the place.

“Angel, I can walk. Put me down.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to add an expletive to the end of that command. With an annoyed sigh, Angel set her on her bare feet and let go of her waist. She staggered a little, legs buckling slightly, but hung on to the railing and managed to make her knees bend and take one step. Angel walked beside her, seething with impatience.

“It’s getting the blood flowing again,” she reported breathlessly. It also hurt like hell, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Fiona was dead. They won. The feeling of victory trickled into her soul and gave her the courage to make it up the stairs, down the hall to Angel Investigations.

“I turned the heat on downstairs,” Wesley said when they came through the door. He wrapped Angel’s bedspread around her, surreptitiously feeling the pulse in her neck.

“I’m alive, Wesley,” she informed him wryly.

“Much stronger than in the car,” he reported back. “Now. Downstairs with you until you stop shaking, and then you can go in the bath. Cordelia’s making tea; she’ll help you when you need it.”

Angel stopped himself from growling at Wesley only because of the urgent look in the ex- Watcher’s eyes. He forced himself to let Willow in the elevator alone, watching the shining red hair descend into his rooms below.

“You need this,” Wesley said calmly as soon as Willow was out of earshot. He handed Angel a large container of pig’s blood and turned his back discreetly so Angel could feed. “Just let Willow be alone for a little while. She’s gone through quite an ordeal.”

“She needs me,” Angel argued, seeing Wesley’s shoulders tense up.

“You need her,” Wesley corrected him. “Willow needs to warm up, then get in the bath and cry her eyes out without worrying about you and how you’re feeling.”

Angel knew Wesley was right. It really pissed him off. He wanted to be the one to ease Willow out of her dress, swath her in blankets, watch her skin turn back to pink. Finishing the blood, he slipped back into the guise of a human and faced Wesley.

“I saved-“ Angel began.

“You’re not her savior, Angel,” Wesley said carefully. “You’re her friend. Right now, you’re letting adrenaline do all your thinking for you. Believe me when I say that it won’t kill you to wait a half-hour, let her get her bearings, before you go down there.”

“I want-“

“It’s not about what you want,” Wesley interrupted again.

Angel growled low in his throat but ceased when Wesley didn’t back down. Fine, he’d wait. Admittedly, he needed Willow because the whole ordeal was creeping back in on him, too, and he needed her comfort. Needed her breathy laugh and tentative smile. Needed to be inside her, melding into one being for a moment so they could heal. It had been a long time since his heroic efforts had saved someone he cared about, and he’d forgotten how crazy and muddled his heart felt after such an adventure. But he could wait.

Footsteps on the stairs an short while later surprised both men, who were watching the elevator. They both relaxed tense shoulders when Cordelia smiled and flopped onto the couch by the door.

“The doctor says you can go in now,” she quipped.

“What?”

“Go downstairs,” Cordelia said exasperatingly to Angel. “She’s done freaking out, thank God.”

“Thank you,” Angel muttered, and headed for the elevator. He dimly heard Wesley mention something about ordering dinner-breakfast-for everyone in a few hours, but he was focused on reaching the basement and didn’t respond.

His lair was a bit of a mess. Cordelia hadn’t cleaned up the makings for tea and his bed was stripped of its blankets, which now lay in a heap near the bathroom door. Angel knocked on the door when he heard a small splash.

“Willow, it’s Angel.”

“Come in,” she replied wearily.

Angel opened the door and smiled. The lights were lowered and Cordelia had taken all the candles he owned and lined them up on the sink, the edge of the tub, the toilet seat; anything with a flat edge in the room had a candle or two. All the flames flickered from the wind when Angel shut the door.

The bathtub was shielded by a folding screen, and the candles around the tub silhouetted Willow against the light fabric. Angel moved a couple of candles off the toilet cover and sat down, leaning his forearms on his knees. He kept his eyes away from the screen to give her privacy, but his first thought was to fold up the screen, strip, and join her in the tub. Having her so close was drawing out his instinctual need for comfort, something he kept locked down most of the time. His partners, though loyal, were not Angel’s choice for someone to hold when the world kicked his ass. Buffy was eternally off limits. That made Willow a blessing he never expected and he ached to be in her arms.

“The henna barely came off,” Willow announced. “I still have those ugly lines all over me. Cordelia said it will take a while to fade. How am I going to explain this to Buffy and Xander?”

“Tell them the truth.”

“Let’s burn that bridge when we come to it, okay?” Willow paused, then chuckled. “I’m feeling better, by the way.”

“Cordelia said as much. Body temperature back to normal?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Angel’s turn to pause. “Do you need anything?”

“I want to see that you’re okay. Are you okay?”

“No,” Angel said. The word came out weakly and he almost stuttered. A small hand tinged with amber lines came out and pushed the first panel back. He immediately grasped the hand and squeezed it, closing his eyes on a rush of tears. “I’m sorry I let her hurt you,” he said miserably.

“Well, you weren’t standing over me helping her choose the knives,” Willow said cheerfully, trying to make him feel better. He just groaned in response.

“A lot of things are my fault, and I feel sick when innocent people get hurt because of things I did in the past. But when those innocent people happen to be my friends… God, Willow. I’m sorry.”

“If I forgive you, will you stop beating yourself up about it?”

“Eventually.”

“Well then, you’re forgiven.”

Angel brought her wet hand up to his lips and pressed cool lips to the back of it.

“I suppose I should get out of the tub now,” Willow sighed. “I’ll have to borrow some warm clothes from you.”

“Absolutely. I’ll go-“

“D’you think you can help me stand? My legs are kinda wobbly.”

“Oh, sure, anything.” Angel missed the mischievous glint in her eyes. Willow gripped his arm and pulled herself up in the tub. Rivulets of water coursed down her body, which was thankfully back to its original color and warmth.

“Pretty ugly, I know,” she said, squeezing water from her red hair.

“Not bloody likely,” Angel muttered darkly, his eyes taking in her beauty. She wasn’t ashamed of her nudity, which meant she trusted him. He helped her out of the tub and wrapped a thick towel around her. She shook her head and they heard the sizzling of a few candle flames being put out.

“I mean the lines. This is not how I wanted to get a henna tattoo.”

“I hardly noticed,” he told her honestly.

“What did you notice, then?”

“Just you.”

Willow let the towel fall to the floor, then leaned up and kissed him, resting her hands on his shoulders for balance. Angel crushed her in his arms and growled possessively when she opened her mouth, her warm tongue darting in to mate with his. The kisses were wet, sloppy, two souls desperately seeking succor and release. Willow whimpered when he playfully bit her lower lip. His shirt buttons came undone easily and she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Luckily, it didn’t land on a candle. His pants weren’t so lucky, catching on fire a little bit, so she quickly tossed them in the tub. Laughing, he divested himself of his boxer shorts and socks, then let Willow look her fill. Candlelight was the best lighting they’d ever had together, and it was not without male pride that Angel stood still for her inspection. She reached a hand towards his face, drawing him closer to her.

“I need…” Willow began, but Angel kissed her, effectively cutting her off as he lowered her to the thick, dark green rug on the floor. Passion flared up between them so intense it was almost palpable in the steamy air. Impatiently, he parted her legs and thrust into her, shocked to realize she wasn’t as ready as he was.

“No!” Angel exclaimed as she cried out in discomfort, digging her fingernails into his shoulders.

“Angel,” she whispered plaintively. He immediately pulled out of her, his member softening and his heart curling up in a tortured ball inside his chest. He stretched out beside her and laid a trembling hand to the side of her face.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I thought… fuck. Willow, I’m sorry.”

“Me too. If I’d known you needed me that badly I would have invited you into the bathtub with me.”

Angel ducked his head guiltily and rested it on her damp shoulder. She scratched the back of his neck and was glad he missed her wince when she shifted on the rug. No denying it, Angel was well-endowed, and having him carelessly enter her like that was sure to hurt. It had been ages since she’d been with a man and she was only used to Oz, who was comparatively much smaller. Not that size mattered. Much. Still, the moment could be salvaged, if she wanted it to be. Willow felt Angel drawing away from her emotionally and knew it was time to call him back. Sex was never perfect, not even with a gorgeous vampire who saved her life. With a little more communication, they could continue to enjoy the candles and the warm bathroom. There could be mutual pleasure and mutual comfort, the latter of which Angel needed above all else, Willow suspected.

“Angel,” Willow said, running her hand down the side of his body and back up again. Angel raised his head and looked at her with tortured eyes, wordlessly telling her how wretched he felt for hurting her. “Angel, I’m not mad at you.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know. Maybe we could try again and you could show me what you did mean?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Angel kissed her, leaving his eyes open until the last second. Her lips were soft and yielded to his, pressing eagerly against his mouth with infinite tenderness. Soft and gentle, that’s how he would take her this time. Not forcing his own ardor on her, demanding she help him find the release he needed. He shuddered at remembering the horror of sliding into her warmth yet finding it hard, too tight, not nearly wet enough to contain him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so selfish and it would plague him because Willow was not the kind of woman to punish him for it. Perversely, he could let go of the guilt if he was subjected to a little humiliation, a little pain of his own. The instinct for that was purely reminiscent of Angelus and his trysts with Darla, Drusilla, countless other vampire lovers who would never forgive him for not paying attention to them.

Yet even for Willow’s courage, spunk, and boldness, there would be no harsh games. He’d never see her don the costume of her doppleganger and mean it.

“You’re holding back,” Willow pouted. She licked her lips and stretched languidly on the plush carpet. “Why?”

“I won’t hurt you this time, I promise.” Angel thought the conversation was over and licked a drop of water off the side of her neck. To his dismay, Willow pushed at his chest and then sat up, shaking her head. Her hair was still wet and started to curl under at the edges.

“I want you as much as you want me, I just needed a little more preparation, that’s all. You won’t break me.”

Angel decided it would not be a good idea to confess that breaking her would really soothe the demon inside him, but she must have seen something in his dark, glittering eyes because she shrank away from him just a bit. He laid down on his back and stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows flicker there.

“You want to break me?” she whispered, unable to hide the confusion in her voice.

“Part of me… I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. But when I did, I immediately expected you to hurt me back. I think-I think I’d feel better if you did.”

“Is this how you and Buffy-“

“Has nothing to do with her,” Angel said. He swallowed her name, used the pronoun. This was about Willow. It truly had nothing to do with the Slayer. “I want you, Willow. I want you for a lover as much as a friend, and I know you understand what I mean by that. But after everything that happened today, I'm a little raw and it’s harder to control things like the way my body responds when I picture sliding into you and coming apart in your arms.”

“Oh.”

Willow thought for a minute, then laid back down and curled up against him.

“So, if I treated you harshly and deliberately hurt you, instead of just loving you like a friend, you’d feel better about what happened with Fiona today?”

“What?”

“It’s your burden to bear, Angel. I can’t take that away from you. But just because things weren’t perfect in our lovemaking doesn’t mean you have to shut down and think you need to be treated like-“

“Like a vampire.”

Willow was furious and without warning, straddled his waist and pinned his wrists above his head. The flames flickered in the sudden shift of wind and her hair curled down to frame her face, making her eyes dark. Angel felt his body respond and licked his lips in anticipation. She bent down, kissed his mouth once, and leaned back up. The brief pressure on his wrists and waist made him groan a little in anticipation, but he didn’t say anything. She’d had time to cry her eyes out, let the panic ebb away. He’d only had a mug full of blood and a tense half-hour of waiting. This was his way of losing control, getting insecure about being both man and monster. While he suspected Willow understood, he doubted she would let him give into baser urges.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Willow promised.

“I wish you would,” he told her honestly.

“You don’t want me to know that side of you, Angel.”

She was right, he really, really didn’t. Letting down all his guards would bond them in a way neither of them could commit to. Willow wasn’t the love of his life. She was his friend, a willing lover, a wonderful woman, and nothing more. Sharing the darkest parts of his soul was not wise, with her anyway. Buffy would have understood. She had the power to break him and put him back together again with a glance. She’d know how to hurt him without destroying the fragile friendship, how to punish him without debasing him too much. Buffy knew the line between pleasure and pain, but as much as it pained him knowing he could never explore those things with the slayer, it certainly did not mean he had to force Willow to go to a place she didn’t want to go.

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“As long as we’re clear on that,” Willow said with a smile. She let go of his wrists and sat up, stretching her arms above her head. He covered her small breasts with his hands and felt her nipples harden under his palms. She looked down at him, then moved his fingers to the tips of her breasts, inviting him to tease her there.

Angel obeyed, brushing the pad of his thumb over the puckered aureoles. His hands aroused her, his mind envisioned her wearing a leather corset and a garter belt. Hell, she’d never have to know.

Willow felt herself grow wet, finally, and together they lowered her body on to his. He slipped in easily this time and they both hissed in pleasure.

“I told you, I just needed a little time,” she grinned.

“Hell,” Angel swore, digging his thumbs into her hips. She was still tight, her wet channel squeezing him without the aid of any inner muscles. Obviously, it had been a while for her, or Oz was a smaller man, or both. Angel hardly cared. There was a beautiful woman sitting astride him, wanting to bring him pleasure he didn’t deserve. He was crazy with the need to move, but it was all up to her. Angel ran his hands up her torso to her breasts again, circling the erect nipples, then whispering back down her skin to the place where they were joined. The dark shadows in his mind evaporated while he watched her above him.

Willow raised and lowered herself slowly, barely recognizing the little gasps and cries she was making. He stretched her insides with his girth that reached deep inside her, connecting them in the promise of fulfillment. One of his fingers stroked her clitoris, but his eyes roved over every part of her, enjoying the pleasure on her face the most. He began to move his ass in small circle underneath her, adding to the sensations that threatened to undo her. The familiar building feeling, the swirl of pleasure, the rush of wetness from the core of her came upon her like a gentle wave and she nodded to Angel. He strained upwards as she cried out, sinking down to capture the cool semen that spurted inside her as she lost control and bent forward, mashing her mouth against his in a desperate kiss. Angel folded his arms around her. He remained inside her until he softened and slid out, feeling the mix of their juices spill from between her legs to moisten his thighs as well.

Willow rested her head on his chest. It was strange not to hear his heart beating. Strange, but not bad. She’d be sore for a day, though, from using muscles she didn’t normally use. Maybe Angel would help her convalesce and…

“What are you thinking about?” he interrupted her reverie.

“Doing this again,” she admitted. “Not now-I’m sore and hungry for actual food, believe it or not.”

“I think Wesley was going to order takeout.”

“Oh, good. Not as good as finally having sex with you, but a pretty close second.”

“I’m honored.”

“You should be! I haven’t eaten in a day and a half.”

Angel chuckled and kissed her with a small twinge in his heart. It would be hard to let her go back to Sunnydale with this new friendship and intimacy between them. He got them both to their feet and reached for a washcloth.

“Mind if I take my time cleaning you up?”

“I guess food could wait a little longer…”

~Part: 12~

Angel's car cruised along the Pacific Coast Highway, its shiny black exterior a perfect compliment to the moonlit ocean the road paralleled. Traveling a bit faster than the posted speed limit, top down, radio turned up, full moon above, strong smell of the ocean wafting in on the wind that whipped through the car; it was a fabulous night for a drive. Willow was glad that Angel had insisted on personally escorting her back to Sunnydale.

They had argued about her travel arrangements as they left the restaurant where they'd had dinner.

"You really don't have to, you know." Willow decided that didn't sound forceful enough. "In fact, I don't want you to. I would better if you didn't." She almost flinched when Angel narrowed his eyes.

"I insist."

"B-but I can just get back on the bus and then-"

"No."

"Angel, please..." the exasperated red-head sighed. "It's getting late. You'll-"

"There's plenty of time for me to drive you to Sunnydale. I can even make it back here before dawn if you stop arguing and just let me take you home!"

"Oh, so you want to take me home now?" Willow teased, leering at her new lover playfully.

The vampire was flustered, to say the least, especially since Cordelia and Wesley were standing within earshot.

They had all shared a chaos-free meal at Wey-Lu's Chinese restaurant down the street once Willow felt revived. Angel made her wear one of his warm pullovers and watched her all throughout dinner for signs of shock to appear, but none did. He was sure that the realization of everything that had happened would hit her once she got back to Sunnydale. In the event that she started processing the events sooner, he didn't want her to be on a creaky old bus with no one around who cared about her.

Willow had thoroughly enjoyed spending time with all of the members of Angel Investigations. It still amazed her to see just how much Cordelia and Wesley had changed during their short time in LA. She had no doubts that Angel had been the driving force behind much of their personal growth, but she'd never tell him that. He was so set in the notion that he brought doom and gloom to other's lives, that to point out he had a positive influence on his new friends would only make him self-conscious, maybe make him retreat.

Conversation throughout dinner had been light; lots of tales to tell of demons slain, lots of easy-going banter and playful jibes. It was fun right up until the moment when Angel decided to inform everyone of that he would be driving Willow to Sunnydale. The way in which he'd voiced the decision let his employees know that the matter was not open for discussion. The boss had made up his mind. There would be no dissuading him, regardless of what their personal opinions on the subject were. Yes, for once even Cordelia saw that 'discretion' was the keyword for the moment.

That left only Willow to argue against Angel's making the trip and it was an argument she wasn't going to win, even with her 'Resolve Face' set in place. But she was still giving it a try as they waited for the valet parking attendant to bring Angel's car around.

"Listen, Angel, there's really no reason for you to make the trip. You can just drive me to the bus terminal if that-"

"No, Willow. Look, I saw the way you were still shaking when we first got here."

"That's only because my knees went weak when you put your hand on the small of my back."

"Oh," Angel whispered glumly, a frown marring his fine features. Then he saw the gleam in the witch's eyes and the true meaning of her words sank in. "Oooh," he purred, a sexy grin pulling up one corner of his mouth, Angel's own eyes twinkling now.

He wanted so badly to kiss her just then, but present company wouldn't look kindly on such a public display of affections. In fact, his kissing Willow, right out there in the open, would probably scare the shit out of his associates.

Willow could practically feel Angel battling the urge to touch her. That led her to thinking about all the 'touching' she could do while he was occupied with the task of piloting her home. He'd be helpless, for a few hours at least, completely at her mercy. She'd just have to be careful not to distract him too much. Crashing his car on the way back to Sunnydale would not be a good thing.

"Haaah-okay," she sighed dramatically. "You win. Let's go."

A smug smile slid all the way across Angel's face. Willow bit back a snort. The poor man had no idea what he was in for.

"I'll drive you both home first," Angel said, turning to Cordelia and Wesley.

"No. That won't be necessary, Angel," Wesley replied. "We'll simply hail a cab."

"If you're sure-"

"Oh, puleeze," Cordelia drawled. "Would you two just go already!"

Quick hugs and promises to keep in touch were exchanged. Angel silently slipped Wesley a few folded bills. Thanks was given with a brief nod from the Englishman.

"I'll see you both tomorrow," Angel said as he led Willow toward his waiting car. This time he enjoyed the way she trembled when he put his hand on the uppermost edge of the curve of her behind.

Now they were about thirty minutes outside of the big city. The lights of Los Angeles had faded away. The road was dark, save for the headlights of cars and the light from the moon. Traffic was sparse and they whizzed along. Jazz music was pouring out of the radio, another pleasant discovery for Willow.

"You can change it if you like," Angel offered when he first switched on the radio. "Cordelia always does," he sighed. "As soon as she gets into the car."

Willow declined. "No. It's nice. I like it." She couldn't help but wonder if Buffy knew that he liked jazz music as well as classical. She was starting to think that she was learning a lot of things about Angel that Buffy didn't know, would maybe never know. Willow's satisfaction was bitter-sweet.

Angel kept casting half-hooded glances in her direction. It was making her uncomfortable.

"What?" she finally asked, sounding a little neurotic.

"Your hair... it's-"

"A mess, I know," Willow sighed, trying to comb it with her fingers. It was a lost cause. The wind just kept whipping it about. "I'm sort of between styles. I cut it over the summer, but it felt too short. Now I don't know what I want to do with it."

"Actually, I was going to say that I love it. It looks... wild. The breeze blowing it all around, the moonlight reflecting off of it. It.. it looks.. primal."

Primal. The word just sort of dripped off Angel's lips. It made Willow think of wanton things like sex with him and what his bite might feel like.

Angel's eyes were focusing on the road as he navigated the car through a series of twists and turns. PCH was a beautiful scenic route, but at night, if one wasn't paying attention, it could be treacherous. He'd just made it around the last curve when he felt the small hand slide into his lap. He looked down to see that Willow had unbuttoned the lower half of his shirt and pushed it open.

"What are you doing?"

"Being wild and carefree. Wanna join me?"

Before Angel could answer her one way or the other, the witch made quick work of undoing his belt and had just as swiftly unfastened the button on his trousers.

"Willow..." The vampire growled softly in protest, but before he could make a move to brush her hands away, Angel had to concentrate on the next set of curves in the road. Or at least try to concentrate. It wasn't an easy task, not with the slow, steady rasp of his zipper being drawn down, then the cool rush of air against his silk boxers as Willow parted his pants. The small button on his shorts was the next thing to go, then the little vixen slipped her hand inside his fly. She was moving it about carefully, searching, trying to find where he'd tucked himself.

It wasn't long before Angel gave in. As soon as the car made it to the next straight- away, he raised his hips so that she could free his erection. It was getting too damn tight in there anyway!

Angel shuddered when his cock was finally exposed. The combination of the cool night air and Willow's hot hands on his torrid flesh was exquisite.

She had one hand resting on his abdomen, palm out, fingers only partially curved around him. The fingers of her other hand ran lightly up and down the length of him. She hadn't uttered a single sound since starting her assault. Angel took his eyes off the road just long enough to take in the look of fascination that graced her face.

"Do you like what you see?" he inquired. Another quick glance revealed a sudden blush colored her cheeks.

"It-it's... well, it's different," Willow stammered. Angel groaned when he caught her nervously lick her lips. "It's just that Oz was cut, and well... you're not."

Angel chuckled at her observation.

"Circumcision wasn't really the practice when I was born."

"Oh yeah," Willow giggled self-consciously. "I knew that."

Angel kissed her then, slowing the car and doing his best to keep his eyes on the road as his tongue swept through Willow's mouth. He had to stop kissing her to steer through a turn. His mind was racing, trying to recall whether or not there was a turn-out coming anytime soon, a place where he could safely pull off the road. He'd never taken a woman in a car before and the thought of doing so, with Willow no less, brought on a feeling that was quite uncharacteristic for the vampire. Angel felt lightheaded. No, it was more than that. The old blood-sucker felt down right giddy!

He pressed own on the accelerator, hard, and the car lurched forward. Willow threw her head back and laughed, a rich, throaty sound. She was relishing their increased speed and Angel's enthusiasm.

The rear tires squealed as the car slid around the next curve.

"Maybe we should slow down a little," Angel said sheepishly as he braked the car and tried to give Willow a serious look.

"Spoil sport." She pouted.

Angel sighed and shook his head. It was going to be a long drive. But the night was dark. There were no headlights coming up behind them and the last car to pass them in the opposite direction had done so over ten minutes ago. Angel saw no need to tuck himself away anytime soon, in spite of what he'd said to Willow.

Willow took the fact that Angel made no attempt to re-dress himself as a good sign. Maybe all he really wanted her to do was to slow down. Not that she'd been moving all that fast, but when one was contemplating going-down on the driver of a car that was traveling down one of the most hazardous highways in the U.S., it was best to proceed with caution.

She stopped stroking him, then moved that hand south to caress his sac. She hoped that her tender ministration wouldn't excite the man too much or too fast, instead creating a dull ache that he could still focus around.

Angel hissed as Willow gently rolled his firm globes about with her fingers. He took one hand off the steering wheel and casually draped his arm over Willow's shoulder, pulling her closer to him. They had reached another relatively long patch of straight if somewhat narrow road and the vampire once again lifted his hips.

"Take them out, Willow."

She gingerly lifted Angel's heavy sac and freed it from the confines of his pants. When he sat back down in his seat the gentle upward pressure of the fabric under his balls was a welcome sensation. Willow's warm fingertips teasing the upper surface was a sheer delight.

Angel's red-headed lover was again silent. All he could hear was her steady breathing, the metronomic beat of her heart, the soft woosh-woosh of the blood coursing through her body. She was so quiet because she was studying him, his body, scrutinizing his 'assets'.

Willow hadn't really had a chance to just look at Angel before. In the club her actions had been swift and purposeful. And again in his bathroom everything had happened so fast and there had been other people waiting for them to re-emerge from Angel's subterranean dwelling. But now there was no need to hurry. Willow could look to her heart's - and lust's - content.

She had already made note of how different his... his... 'manhood' was from Oz's. She had felt the difference, the way his length and breadth had stretched her, filled her in a way that her one other lover never could. Her further investigation had revealed that all of Angel's package was large. She supposed that was to be expected. Angel wasn't a small man; it stood to reason that all of his parts would outsize Oz's. But size wasn't the only difference. Even by nothing more than the light of the moon, Willow could see that his coloring was different, too. The skin of Oz's sac had been bright pink. The flesh covering Angel's gonads was a dusky rose color, a beautiful contrast to the rest of his alabaster-like body.

While she was lost in thought, Willow had turned over the hand on his lower belly and was lightly scratching at the wiry, ebony curls that surrounded his... his... Her mind was grasping for the right word again. She was surprised to hear herself thinking out loud.

"Penis is such a clinical word, but all the other names for it seem like they'd either sound so crude or like something out of silly romance novel."

Angel chuckled again and placed a quick kiss on Willow's forehead to put her at ease.

"So don't call it anything at all," he whispered, his voice deeper than usual, full of longing. "Just touch it." And she did.

Willow could see just the very tip of his bulbous head poking out the foreskin. She wrapped one hand around the base of him and ran it slowly up to the top. Then she pushed back down, gently pulling the foreskin along with her. It was fascinating to watch the way the additional skin thinned and stretched as it slid back to reveal the whole head of his... cock. (There, she'd said it! Well, thought it anyway.) This part too was a dusky color, like his sac, only a bit more on the mauve side. Willow thought it was amazing how so much of Angel was so very pale while other parts - his hair, his eyes, his most private and sensitive parts - were dark. And sensual.

"Willow?" Angel's voice was equal parts sigh and growl.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, distractedly.

"There's a small town a few miles ahead," the vampire stated as matter-of-factly as possible.

"Really?" Willow responded, feigning a casual interest in his comment. There was a long uncertain pause before her traveling partner spoke again.

"There... there used to be a lovely little bed and breakfast there, right on the beach."

"Why, Angel?" the witch gasped, trying hard to play the role of ingénue. "Are you asking me to sleep with you?"

Another pregnant pause then Angel finally ground out, "Yes."

Willow already knew her answer to Angel's question, even before he'd finished trying to ask her without ever actually asking her.

To hell with school, she thought. To hell with pining away for Oz. She was sick and tired of feeling lonely and unloved. And to hell with all the somewhat guilty feelings she had whenever she thought of Buffy. Buffy was her best friend. But Angel was also her friend now and if Buffy were to find out about what happened between Willow and Angel the Slayer would understand. More importantly, Buffy loved Angel so much that she would never begrudge whatever solace he could find, regardless of whose arms he found it in.

The best part was that if they did stop, Willow knew she would have more time to spend with Angel, more than just the short time they had left in the car before they reached Sunnydale. If Angel wanted to find a place then they were sure to spend the entire following day dozing and making love in the safety of that darkened room, waiting for the sun to set again before continuing their journey back to her hometown.

"Willow?" There was a hint of fear in Angel's voice.

Poor man, Willow thought as she pondered his reaction to her silence. He didn't know she'd only been daydreaming, or nightdreaming, or whatever you called it when you daydreamed at night. The silly vampire probably thought she was weighing the pros and cons of accepting his invitation. Cons? As if!

"Let's stop," Willow said, smiling warmly at Angel, trying to ease his nerves.

"Really?"

"Really."

A huge smile lit up Angel's face. Willow was amazed at how easy it was to please him. He asked for so little and yet he gave so much without ever expecting anything in return.

Part 13

Willow sat cross-legged on the queen-sized bed while Angel took a shower. She'd showered first and pampered herself with the lavender body wash provided by the small Bed and Breakfast. It removed a lot more of the henna stain then her earlier bath, but she'd still need to come up with an excuse for the scrape on her shoulder and the other bumps and bruises. There was still a fair amount of adrenaline in her system and she hoped it would help her stay up all night. They'd already told the owners that they preferred not to be disturbed during daylight hours. Angel had greeted the owner by name and had a discreet conversation with him while Willow looked at the books in the small library downstairs. Now she was skimming through a book on ancient Irish legends and waiting for her lover to finish showering so they could enjoy the view.

Jim, the proprietor, had taken them to the top floor of the house. It was a private floor with its own bathroom and locked entrance. Obviously the honeymoon suite, this large set of rooms covered the entire length of the house. The bed sat directly across from the balcony. Willow had opened the doors and pulled back the sheer curtains to reveal the damp, dark night outside. The candles she lit were unscented, their wicks trimmed neatly. Everything about the room was well kept, from the thick carpeting to the polished sheen of the bookcases and the plump pink roses in a vase next to the bed.

Angel exited the bathroom with his hair perfectly messed up and a towel knotted around his waist. He walked barefoot over to the view and held his hand out behind him for Willow to join him. The sounds of the ocean drew him into silence and he didn't speak. Listening to the patient, constant curl of the surf helped him focus, relax. It was sort of like meditation in that way, only without the specific focus on emptying your mind. Angel's mind was pretty full of thoughts, most of them involving the redhead sitting on the bed, but his heart wasn't troubled with guilt about Fiona. He still carried the heavy weight of his soul with him, but the agony of that one incident in his past was lessened somewhat.

"Just a second," Willow entreated him. "I'm making a list of things I need to do when I get back to Sunnydale."

That jarred Angel's memory and he dropped his hand back by his side and turned to face her. A breeze licked up his bare back and cooled the water droplets there, making him shiver a little.

Angel thought Willow looked especially pretty, all pink from her attempt to get stain-free and attired in a simple cotton nightshirt that must have been an old favorite because the original pattern was barely visible and it was threadbare in places. All the 'right' places, if Angel did say so himself. Her hair was drying in damp waves around her face, which was bent over a notebook in concentration.

"Did you do everything on your other list?"

"What other list?"

"The one you brought with you to LA."

Willow blushed and looked up at him. His face was unreadable and she decided to go for the quick, painless little white lie.

"Pretty much," she said, and tossed the notebook over near her suitcase. "There, I'm done. How's the view?"

"Nice. Not as good as orgasming during sex, though," Angel said nonchalantly.

Willow stopped mid-stride and blushed even harder. He knew.

"You weren't supposed to see that! When did you see that?"

"Your notebook was open during our late-night study session. I wasn't sneaking, I promise."

"Well, it was just a joke," Willow explained nervously. "I didn't come to LA with... with designs on you or anything."

Angel nodded gravely.

"It didn't mean anything."

"Okay."

Willow crossed her arms and looked around the room, trying to find something to distract her. She was uncomfortable, and the little joke she'd shared with Buffy now made her feel foolish and vulnerable, exposed as though she'd done something wrong. On the other hand, even after all she'd fooled around with Angel during the weekend, she couldn't honestly say she could check that item off the list.

"I'd like to be the one you experience that with," Angel told Willow bluntly, sending a chill of anticipation through her. Her cheeks still held a faint blush when she joined him at the balcony, but she gave him a quirky smile and then playfully slapped his behind.

Angel chuckled low in his throat and drew her into his arms for a searing kiss. There was heat enough, he supposed. After all, it had been what, almost two hours since they'd last touched each other? He couldn't get enough of her. Couldn't reach his fill of her smile, her comfort, her adorable stubbornness and the taste of her skin at the base of her throat. He moved his mouth to that spot, his favorite spot on her, and lapped at the hollow there, reveling in her contented sigh.

He realized that he could probably have her wanting him in less than three minutes, but that wasn't what he wanted. They needed a little more intimacy, a little closeness that didn't have to do with touching. Reluctantly, Angel pulled away and walked across the room to where his clothes lay in a neat pile.

"Angel?"

Angel pulled on his pants and shrugged on his dark gray shirt, facing her while he buttoned it up.

"You won't be ready if I rush you," he said quietly. "Let's relax a little, talk. Do you play chess?"

"Only checkers."

"I could teach you chess," Angel offered, moving towards a table that had a checkered board stained into the maple.

"I like to play games I can win," Willow said honestly, coming over to the sitting area and plopping herself down on a very squishy couch. "But I'm all for talking. What do you want to talk about?"

Angel joined her on the couch, sinking into the cushions at the other end and pulling her feet into his lap. It was a great suggestion, he knew that much. Cordelia was always pointing out "Men Don't Listen" articles from magazines in her not-so-subtle attempts to get him and Wesley to fall in line. The problem was that he wasn't much of a talker. Philosophy, sure. History, politics, demons, eternal torment, no problem. Looking at Willow's earnest face and remembering their whirlwind weekend, he had no idea what to say.

"Uh," Angel faltered. "Well…?"

"Do you really think the ritual Fiona was going to perform would have worked? Theoretically speaking, do you really think she'd figured out the cure for vampirism through body switching? I mean, is there any other cure?" Willow saved him with a long question that led them into an hour long discussion about the entire weekend. They processed Moonglow's dangerous appeal, Fiona's desperation, her whole history with Angel, and ended with the finer points of making love on the bathroom floor.

"That's a good segue," Angel noted mildly, realizing for the first time that at some point during their conversation he had started massaging Willow's feet and calves. She was practically turning to putty under his hands. The events of the past few days had been laid to rest. They were both now relatively relaxed. It was time to move on.

Angel captured one foot and pressed his thumbs firmly into the red-head's high, delicate arch. Her toes curled instinctively. The pleasurable sensation he created caused her to shudder.

"That feels nice," Willow sighed, her voice almost ethereal yet full of such warmth that Angel felt her words caress him in much the same way as the ocean breeze that filled the room.

The vampire's thumbs moved up to the ball of her foot, then he started pressing down at the base of each toe. Soon he was concentrating on only one spot, a small bundle of nerves hidden between her big toe and the one beside it. Her body's response to his ministrations took Willow completely by surprise. Each time Angel pressed down, Willow felt her womb contract, a gentle tightening of the muscle followed by a sweet release when the pressure he applied was removed. Before long, the sensation spread, her clit began to ache when he pushed on her foot, it throbbed when he stopped.

Willow thought it was all utterly exquisite, an erotic stimulation she had never experienced before. She could feel herself becoming moist and slick, and Angel had touched no other part of her than her foot!

The demon chuckled as he watched his lover press her thighs together, squirming on the couch as he continued his gentle torture. It was a soft laugh full of smug male satisfaction and the sound was not lost on Willow. She snorted at him and tried to glare at him disapprovingly, but there was no hiding the lust that had darkened her eyes.

Angel quickly bent his head and captured her big toe in his cool mouth. He nipped at it playfully, sucked it lewdly as he gazed up at Willow from under his brow.

"You are a wicked man," the witch purred.

"And you are a delightfully sensual creature."

"Am I?" Willow asked, her voice full of wonder and uncertainty.

"No one's ever told you that before?"

"No," she confessed on a whisper. "Oz and I... well we never really talked about the things we did... what we--"

"Oz is still very young, Willow. But I'm sure he knew what a treasure he possessed. He just didn't know how to say what he felt."

Willow pulled her feet out of Angel's lap. Before he could protest, she was straddling his thighs, situating herself in his lap. Her hands felt so soft and warm as they slid around his neck on their way to the back of his head. Her fingers worked their way into his hair. The light scraping of her nails on his scalp made a chill crawl slowly down Angel's spine until it collected in the small of his back and caused him to roll his hips. His head fell back and Willow wasted no time before placing her hot, moist lips on his neck. She pressed kisses all over his throat and face, then settled down to kiss him seriously. Angel's mouth opened under hers when Willow caressed his lips with the tip of her tongue, and they both sighed contentedly as she deepened the kiss.

Angel was being remarkably passive. His hands had slid up under Willow's nightshirt, but they rested quietly on her lower back. His tongue played with Willow's, but only because she had invited it to do so. He had no intentions of taking control of the kiss, his sights were not set on a leading role in any of their foreplay. Angel had erred in that area once already, literally plunging in before Willow was ready for him. He would never make that mistake again. This time he would let his new lover set the pace, her would learn from her, even if he might spontaneously combust in the process.

Willow wasn't sure what to make of Angel's submissive behavior. She was kissing him, but he wasn't really kissing her back. His hands were on her yet they were chastely placed and motionless; he made no attempt to pull her into his embrace. After that one gentle upward press, his hips had not moved again. Why was he holding back? Was he simply giving her the freedom to explore, to do whatever pleased her? How far did she have to go in order to elicit a response from him? Her question was answered when Willow pulled away from Angel's mouth, pushed aside the collar of his shirt, and then gently bit into the tender curve of flesh where the neck meets the shoulder.

An instant later Willow was holding on for dear life as Angel carried her across the room, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs wrapped around his hips. Angel had one large hand firmly planted on her rear end while the other had moved to her upper back and was presently pressing her chest to his. There were only two thin layers of cloth between them and every time Angel took a step one of Willow's nipples brushed against one of his hardened nubs. It was a wonderful little jolt of sensation, much like sticking your tongue across the terminals of a 9-volt battery then quickly pulling it away.

Oh, yeah, it was nice but it wasn't nearly as delightful as the feel of Angel's pant-clad erection pressing into Willow's mound each time he shifted his hips to bring the next foot forward. And as for him not kissing her, well so much for that! He was plundering her mouth now and Willow thoroughly enjoyed the spoils of his pillage, relishing the flavors that filled her mouth, the taste that was uniquely Angel's, the faint trace of mint toothpaste. The mental picture of a vampire brushing his fangs almost made her giggle, but the thought of tasting blood in Angel's mouth squelched that urge and she silently praised both Angel, for his fastidious behavior, and the makers of Crest.

Angel stopped in front of the doors to the balcony, broke the kiss and carefully set Willow down on her somewhat shaky legs. She was trembling slightly and staring intently down at the floor.

"Are you okay?" he asked with genuine concern, stepping up closer to her just in case he had to catch her before she could fall.

Willow nodded her head then looked up at Angel with doe-like eyes and a tremulous smile.

"Yeah, I'm okay. A little nervous, and well... the things you make me feel, they're kind of overwhelming. I've never felt like this before."

The vampire took another step closer so that he now stood toe-to-toe with his lover. He tenderly ran the backs of his fingers across her cheeks, brushing away the few tears that had fallen.

"I know, Will. It's all pretty new to me, too," Angel admitted honestly.

"New to you?" Willow gasped. "But you...you're--"

Angel cut-of her words with a gentle kiss, followed by softly spoke words.

"You're new to me, Willow. And what we're doing here, well it's something I haven't done in a very, *very* long time. We're not just living in the now or reacting to circumstances beyond our control. We've made a conscious choice to put the rest of the world on hold for a few hours and to be together. And I have to say that scares me."

"Are you afraid of losing your soul?"

Angel wagged his head and flashed Willow a rueful smile.

"No, it's not that. It's something worse."

"Worse than reverting to Angelus? What could possibly be worse than that?"

"Being alone again."

"Oh, Angel!" Willow cried as she threw her arms as far around the vampire's large frame as she possibly could. "You're not alone," she murmured into his chest as she held him tight. "You have Cordelia and Wesley..."

Angel suddenly found himself standing at arms length and staring into Willow's 'Resolve Face.'

"And you have me!" the witch stated emphatically.

"What we do here may change things between us."

"Angel, the relationship we have now is nothing like the one we had just three days ago. This is something we both want. The changes that come out of our making love again can only be good ones. This is about solace, an expression of friendship and of love. But not a romantic kind of love. I'm not ready for that again and neither are you." Willow had begun pacing back and forth in front of the open doors. She stopped after a few circuits and stood with her back to Angel, looking out at the night. When she felt a bit calmer, she spoke again. "The butterflies in my stomach have got nothing to do with how I feel about you, Angel. They're fluttering wildly because of how you make me feel... physically. The things you do to me, the way you touch me... such simple touches and yet the effects are so intense. I've only been with Oz. You're an experienced lover, Angel, and I'm just afraid... that I won't... measure up."

"I'm not comparing you to anyone else, Willow. I just want to please you and find my own pleasure in your body."

The red-head turned to face him. The wind blew her hair into her face, but she made no move to brush it away.

"Do I?" she asked. Angel's response was a quizzical arch of one eyebrow. "Please you? Do I please you?"

"Come here."

Willow hesitated for just a moment then walked slowly over to where Angel was standing. He took hold of one of her hands and placed it, palm down, over his erection, then covered her hand with his own, so she couldn't pull away. He wasn't as hard as he had been a few minutes ago, but it was enough to let Willow know that he was still aroused. The seductive sound of his voice whispering in her ear had the witch trembling once more.

"Do you feel that? That's what just being alone with you often does to me now. And it's all your fault, Willow. Ever since that night in the club, I can't stop thinking about the way your mouth felt, the things you did to me with your lips and your tongue."

Angel was moving her hand now, using it to slowly stroke himself.

"I... I..." Willow was speechless. //Oh God, why can't I stop stammering and spit out a coherent thought? Maybe because I no longer have any?//

"Now say my name," Angel demanded.

"What?"

"Just say my name."

Willow wasn't sure what it was her lover wanted. But then he bent his head down and kissed the side of her neck. As he carefully sucked some of her tender skin into his cool mouth, the sigh fell naturally from her lips.

"Angel..."

Willow felt the column of flesh in her hand get harder. Angel was no longer leading her, she was caressing him of her own volition. She took note of the fact that his cock was not only harder, but it had grown thicker and longer as well. And Angel was purring in her ear again.

"You see, that night on my office floor as you came on my fingers and my tongue, you shouted my name and you made me come without even touching me. Now, every time you say my name a certain way, I start to twitch and grow hard. So don't ever, ever think that you don't please me."

"But those are all such--"

"Simple things? You said it yourself, Will, it's often the simple touches that yield the most erotic responses. A single word can drive me insane."

"I... I don't know. I--"

"Yes you do, or you wouldn't be as responsive as you are. I told you, you're a very sensual creature. It's all on a level you're only starting to tap into. Don't be in such a hurry. Let it come naturally. Do what feels right, what feels good."

So Willow did just that. It felt right to slide her hand down lower so that she could fondle Angel's balls. And it was good to feel his sac tighten, to hear him groan before he pulled her hand away.

"I also said don't be in such a hurry," he growled playfully.

"This infinite wisdom of yours," Willow asked as she put both her hands to work unbuttoning Angel's shirt. "Does it come from having lived for hundreds of years?"

Angel used one of his hands to comb through his lover's wind-mussed hair. With the other he was slowly teasing her nipples into taut little peaks.

"No, it comes from being with someone who truly cares about you. Someone who worries more about the pleasure they can give their partner than about their own enjoyment."

And it was a hiss of pleasure that Angel gave up as Willow's warm lips closed over one of his own nipples. His fingers were still buried in her hair and he held her head to his chest, hoping she would see it as a sign to keep doing what she was doing. She did. Willow suckled and laved, nipped and gnawed. Each gentle bite, every moist caress sent a shock to Angel's groin. When the delightful sensations became too much, when Angel's balls started to tingle, he released his hold on Willow and silently begged her to move on. She traveled as far as his other nipple and proceeded to give it the same treatment she had lavished on the first. But before too long she was moving again, dropping gracefully to her knees and turning her attention to Angel's navel.

//Christ Almighty, how did she know?//

Angel nearly lost his self-control when he felt his lover's blunt teeth gently tugging at the soft flesh surrounding that highly sensitive dimple in his belly. Once he was squirming under her lips, Willow's used just the tip of her hot tongue to probe deeper and deeper into that indentation. Angel was sure that by now there was a wet spot on the front of his trousers from all the pre-cum the witch's actions had brought forth, but he didn't much care. What he really wanted to do was to drive his cock into her mouth in much the same way that she was poking her tongue into his navel. Again, Willow must have somehow read his mind because she was fumbling with the button on his waist band.

Angel hauled Willow back up so fast that when he set her down on her feet she was dizzy. And a bit unnerved because she didn't know what she had done wrong.

"Don't you want me to... I thought you liked it when I--"

"Not tonight, Willow." Angel's sexy grin helped ease the tension between them. "At least not yet."

"Oh..." the witch sighed. Then she swallowed hard as she tried to get out her next words. "Okay... what... what would you like me to do?"

"Stay," Angel commanded. He then proceeded to walk through the suite turning off every electrical lamp that had been lit. That left only the few candles Willow had lit earlier to provide illumination for the setting. It was soft and warm and romantic. It would take the edge off of what Angel wanted to do next.

The vampire pulled the small wooden chair out from under a little desk in the corner of the bedroom area. He carried it across the room and put it down half way between the bed and the balcony doors, positioning it so that once he sat down he would be facing Willow. Angel slowly removed his shirt and hung it neatly on the back of the chair. He stood before the chair and turned to look at Willow.

Angel had to work hard to keep a smirk off his face when he saw his lover was nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The way she was gnawing on her lower lip made him want to devour her mouth for he knew firsthand just how sweet she tasted and he was jealous of Willow's own teeth and tongue. The witch couldn't seem to meet his gaze dead-on, but the quick glances she sent his way were more furtive then they were shy and it was making him hard as a rock.

Willow hadn't a clue what Angel was up to but as soon as he started moving around the room she was captivated by his actions. It wasn't so much what he was doing but the fluid way his body moved while he did it. It went beyond Buffy's cat-like grace. It was the economical way a person who has lived in the same skin for 240-plus years, and is damn comfortable in it, would move. No excessive motion, no wasted energy, purposeful from the first movement to the last. It was sexy as all hell and Willow found herself getting hotter with each step Angel took. By the time he had finished relocating the little chair and turned to face her, bare-chested, Willow was squirming in an attempt to discreetly apply some friction to the now moist juncture between her thighs. She had to bite her lip to keep from moaning when she saw the hunger in Angel's eyes. She felt a deep, feminine satisfaction in knowing that she was the one whetting his appetite.

The vampire didn't say a word, he just continued to look at the witch until she broke under the weight of his stare.

"S-so, what now?" she whispered.

"Now we get comfortable," Angel replied. He then proceeded to unbutton his pants and lower the zipper before taking a seat.

When he sat down, the fly of Angel's trousers parted and Willow had a nice view of the line of dark downy hair that started a few inches below his navel and ran down to the top of the even darker patch of curls that was mostly hidden from her sight. Off to the left, Willow spied an exposed section of his erection but it was, for the most part, still tucked inside his pants. When she looked back up, there was a frown on Angel's face.

"What's wrong?"

Angel's voice was warm and smooth as melted butter, and the sound of it coupled with the words he spoke made Willow's innards feel as though they'd instantly liquefied.

"Your night shirt is blocking my view. Would you take it off please?"

Oh, yes! This was something she could do for him. She'd bared her chest for him before and remembered quite clearly the gleam in his eyes after she had done so. This was something... simple.

Angel was pleased to see that Willow did not hesitate to comply with his request. A great sense of relief washed over him as he took note of the fact that her fingers were not trembling as her hand went to the first button. He wanted to excite her, not frighten her or push her too far, too fast.

As she undid one button after another then slipped off her nightshirt, Willow watched Angel's lips break into a grin of delight. The cool air on the bare flesh of her shoulders and midriff gave her the goosebumps, or was it due to his hot look?

Standing before Angel clad only in her panties made Willow's stomach clench. But when she realized how much he enjoyed looking at her, she forced herself not to start squirming again. A brisk breeze continued to blow in through the open doors and the ocean air tingled on her bared breasts, it made her nipples pucker and peak. Willow had the urge to raise her hands and cover herself to stop Angel's bold gaze from raking her. But she refrained from such a childish gesture. Instead, she threw her arms out in a very brazen manner and slowly turned full circle.

"You're lovely," Angel sighed. "In the candlelight, your skin has a pearly luminescence. "

Willow's little strip-tease had not made her blush, but with the vampire's gently spoken compliment she felt her cheeks flush.

"I'd like to sketch you sometime, if that's not asking too much."

Those words made Willow's heart pound in her chest. The thought of having her picture tucked away in that ancient portfolio with all those wonderful drawings Angel had done of the people who at one time or another had meant so much to him... Well, it pleased her more than she could ever say. So her reply was a simple, "Yes."

There was no way Willow could have missed the look of wonder in Angel's eyes and she knew just what he had been thinking. He had prepared himself for her to say no. He had thought that she would remember only the pictures he had drawn in Sunnydale. She certainly would never forget them but now she had also seen some of his other work, she had seen the way he had drawn his subjects with such care and reverence, and always so much passion.

Willow gave a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders.

"I'd very much like to see how I look in your eyes."

Angel held his hand out to Willow and she walked slowly over to where he sat. She took hold of his proffered hand and placed it on her hip as she stepped between his splayed thighs. Both of Angel's cool hands came around her and slid up her back as he pulled Willow in.

Angel felt the goosebumps rise again on Willow's skin as his hands slid upward. When he reached the base of her neck, she shuddered, a strangled groan caught in the hollow of her throat. His greedy lips closed in on that most revered spot, sucking it gently as he pondered his new lover's reaction to his touch.

Buffy had always felt so hot in his hands, under his body. Sometimes it seemed as though that heat was meant to ward him off, a physical manifestation of the proverbial fire with which he had played. Was there anything more unnatural, more wrong than a vampire mating with a Slayer? Was it true? Had their relationship been doomed from the start?

All Angel knew for certain was that his soul had cried out for Buffy so he had thrown all caution to the wind and claimed her. The first tie had been made when he spilled his dead seed deep inside her sacred body. Buffy herself had made the final knot when she let him feed from her, the scar on her neck forever marking her as his just hours before he had turned and walked out of her life.

Where did that leave him now? Vampiric law said he was bound to his mate until one of them ceased to exist on this plain. And yet Buffy's life was not governed by those rules. She was free to move on while he was... trapped. Yes, more and more often, as he went about living his new life in LA, Angel felt trapped by his ties to Buffy. There was no doubt that he still loved her beyond all reason, but his fidelity made for a very lonely existence.

The ends of Willow's silky hair tickled the backs of Angel's hands, pulling him from his brown study.

Ah, but a vampire and a witch? What could possibly be wrong with that? Willow wasn't hot to his touch. She was warm, so very warm. In that warmth Angel found a kind of peace, a sense of contentment that he hadn't known for quite some time. Here, with Willow in his arms and beneath his lips, Angel thought he could find that solace she had spoken of earlier. A relationship with Willow might someday break his heart, but his soul would always be safe.

After suckling her neck for long time, Angel finally pulled his mouth away. Willow whimpered at the loss and the vampire looked up to see a frown forming between her brows. Her lips pouted, parted and rosy. Unable to resist, Angel put a hand on the back of her head and bent Willow down and took them, brushing their moist, soft velvet with his mouth. He slipped his tongue inside to explore the slicks surfaces of her teeth, to rediscover the sweetness of her mouth. Willow moaned, a muffled sound of pleasure and mounting desire.

Every little sound Willow made was fueling Angel's own fire and try as he might it was becoming increasingly more difficult to remain seated, at least with his raging hard-on still trapped within the confines of his pants. What he wanted to do was free his erection so he could comfortably continue toying with the lithe red-head in his arms. He just needed to distract her for a moment.

"Oh my God!" Willow gasped when Angel's mouth found her breast.

"It's a little too late for prayers." He chuckled, his breath teasing her erect nipple. Willow didn't catch the sigh of relief Angel let out as he freed himself before quickly moving his tongue over to circle her other breast, shooting quivers of liquid heat to her loins. "Do you like this?"

"Yes," she hissed as she felt the flow of more wet, slick heat between her thighs. Arching her back, she thrust her breasts toward his mouth. Her hips gyrated seemingly of their own volition.

Angel's fingers slid under the waistband of Willow's panties and she thought he was going to remove them. She thought wrong. He took a hold of the elastic band and yanked her panties up higher. The end result was that the silk fabric bunched-up and was pulled tight. The back part of her panties was wedged in the crack of her behind, and when Willow squirmed a delightful pressure was applied to her mons. Every time she wriggled, she mewled. Every time Willow mewled, Angel's cock throbbed.

Willow's warm hands were exploring Angel's upper body. His skin was cool at the moment, the night air having long ago whisked away the warmth that would have lingered after his shower if they had quickly crawled under the covers. But that warmth would return again soon enough. Her own body heat and their sexual passion would see to that. Willow marveled over the fact that his flesh was so smooth and he bore very few scars for a man who had lived as long and as recklessly as Angel had.

She felt the strength in his arms, shoulders, neck and back. She tickled the fine smattering of hair in his underarms. Her fingers lavished praise on the broad expanse of his chest, paying special attention to his sensitive, tawny nipples, lightly caressing, carefully scratching and scraping, gently tugging until the nubs were hard and stood out from his body almost as boldly as his cock did. She loved the way the well defined muscles in his abdomen tensed as she ran her fingers over them, and she simply adored the fact that his belly was still a little soft, the flesh around his navel a bit poochy. It would make a perfect pillow, a wonderful place to lay down her head and sleep, the smell of their lovemaking all around her, his cock, laying soft against his hip, just inches from her lips. Oh but his cock wasn't soft now. It was hard as stone. She knew that because she had wrapped one of her hands around it. She drew that hand up, wrapped her thumb and forefinger around the tip, then gently pushed back Angel's foreskin.

The head of his cock was fully exposed and with a few painstakingly slow pumps, Willow coaxed forth some pre-ejaculate. The fluid was crystal clear and glistened in the candlelight. She swept her thumb over the tip, collecting her prize before it dribbled away.

Angel couldn't stifle the lusty growl that built up inside of him the instant Willow stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked his pre-cum off of it. What he could do was fight the urge to toss her down and pound her into the floor. To distract himself, Angel set about roving the skin of Willow's belly with his mouth. Willow felt the cold trail of Angel's tongue lingering on her skin which felt hot by comparison. She felt the ocean breeze swirl around her body and turn the fine sheen of perspiration into a cold veil. Yet this cold was not unpleasant, rather it served to remind her of how warm her skin truly was. She had been so lost in the wintry feel of her lover's body, she had forgotten about her own radiant temperature.

Without question or warning, Willow peeled off her panties and tossed the damp scrap aside. Then ignoring the fact that he was still partially clothed, she straddled Angel's legs and placing one hand on his shoulder for support, she sank slowly down into his lap. She still held his cock firmly in her other hand and probed at her entry with the tip of his member. He growled her name in protest, but it was easy to cast his objections aside when she felt the velvety smoothness of the skin stretched over the hard muscle that was so close to filling her.

Willow arched against Angel, her hips moving restlessly. The silken feel of her was more than he could bear, yet he forced himself not to move. Muscles straining, sweat beading his forehead and chest, he held himself immobile. More than anything he wanted to bury himself in her. It was obvious that Willow was thoroughly aroused. Her actions were screaming louder than any words she could ever utter. But Angel knew that if he took her then and there, sitting on that chair, he wouldn't be able to bring her to a climax without touching her with his fingers.

Angel tried to divert his lover's focus (and his own) by nuzzling her neck, leaving kisses in his wake. He also went back to fondling Willow's breasts, concentrating on her nipples. Big mistake. The witch rolled her hips and sank further into his lap. He penetrated her, barely entering her...

//Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Wet, and warm, and I want this, I want this so badly!//

...and then quickly withdrawing.

Willow lamented the loss. "Angel?"

"Warm, so very warm," he murmured into the side of her neck as his hands breezed over her shoulders, feather soft down her back, fingertips just barely grazing the soft curves of her rear end.

Was she too hot? Is that why his hands only skimmed over her flesh? Did she scald him? Is that why Angel hissed through clenched teeth when he first entered her? Or did he revel in their differences like she did?

"Angel, please..."

With a groan he entered her in one long thrust. They moaned together as he rested, deeply imbedded, for just a moment before he began a long, slow rhythmic stroke. Willow may have been on top, but she let Angel set the pace, his hands on her hips as he guided her motions, controlled her rise and fall.

It was madness. It was sheer bliss. It was heaven. It was all going to be over too soon and without the ending that Angel had originally planned when he first read Willow's "Note to Self"!

He continued to glide in and out of Willow but his strokes became slower, slower, slower still and shallower, until on the sixth stroke he slipped out of her completely.

"That was cruel," Willow sobbed, her face buried in the crook of his shoulder.

"I'm a demon, Willow." He gave her an audacious smile when her head shot up. "It's in my nature to be cruel."

Her little fists came down and beat on his chest in a playful manner. "Evil, evil man," she chanted.

Angel's hands slid into her hair. He used his hold on her vermilion locks to tug her face forward and kiss her breathless. As Willow struggled to catch her breath, Angel stood-up and deposited her once more on her own two feet. He removed his pants, folded them neatly on the crease and laid them over the back of the chair with his shirt.

Willow had a wonderful view of Angel's naked ass as he held her hand and pulled her over to the bed. Her free hand had a mind of its own. It reached out to caress one well-formed cheek and was promptly swatted away.

Willow "hrrumphed".

Angel turned on the witch with all the grace and speed inherent to a predator and caught her with her lower lip sticking out. That lip was trapped between the vampire's teeth before his pouting lover had a chance to suck it back in. He nipped at it, drawing a little blood which was covetously whisked away by his tongue. That same tongue was then plunged deep into her mouth. They were a lip-locked mass of tangled limbs stumbling blindly along as they kissed and devoured and touched and fondled. They nearly toppled over when they collided with the bed.

"Climb into bed," Angel instructed.

Willow scrambled onto the cool, crisp sheets. Finally, Angel would stop teasing her and give her what she wanted. But he didn't join her. He was standing at the foot of the bed staring at her. Willow thought that perhaps he was waiting for an invitation, so she beseechingly held her arms out to him. Angel shook his head. Something about his stance made him suddenly appear sexier, more domineering than he'd ever been with her.

"Lie back and bring your knees to your chest," he ordered. "Point your toes toward the ceiling and support your legs with a hand on each calf."

Willow moved to the very top of the bed, settled onto her back, and after a moments vacillation, she followed the rest of Angel's instructions. The position he demanded of her lifted her bottom off the sheets, exposed everything to his gaze, left her open, vulnerable, wanton. Angel stood framed by her raised, spread legs like a stallion about to mount a mare, erection jutting, his hungry jet eyes locked on her face. When his nostrils flared, Willow knew for certain that he could actually smell the heat she felt trickling into her sexual core.

Angel slid onto the bed and started to crawl toward her. Willow suddenly felt as though she was being stalked and she found herself teetering somewhere between fear and giddy anticipation. When Angel reached her, he settled between her thighs, resting back on his heels. He took hold of her ankles and tenderly placed her feet down on the mattress. Willow's legs were still wide open but the whole situation didn't feel quite as decadent as it had when her heels where in the air.

Angel licked his lips. His lover looked deliciously sensual, her breasts swelling, nipples stiff and dusky, her hair a crimson veil around her flushed face. Her legs, still splayed, revealed the pink petals of her sex, parted as though eager for his probing tongue and hungry prick. It was all he could do not to fall on her like a man newly released from prison.

Willow watched as Angel leaned forward and parted his lips. His pointed tongue reached out to touch a spot on the inside of her right knee. A chill ran up her spine as he lapped at her skin, tasting her in a very rapacious manner. Angel drew a deep breath, pulling in her scent as he grazed his lips down the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Musk with a hint of salt tickled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply once more, savoring the aroma of Willow's escalating arousal. When he discovered a particularly sensitive spot, the vampire paused, biting gently at the twitching muscle beneath his lips. Willow gasped sharply, sending an urgent pulse pounding through his cock. Angel smiled against her leg and kept going, edging his head between her legs. He was now looking down at the petals of Willow's sex, half concealed by her downy bush. He stirred through the fine auburn hair with one finger, tracing the line between her fragile lips, careful not to push inside. Not yet, not yet.

Angel stretched out, laying on his belly, supporting his upper body on bent arms. His cool breath was gusting over Willow's damp curls. As she stared down at the dark crown of her lover's head, the witch started to shiver with anticipation.

[Lick.]

A quick pass of his tongue over her outer lips, just barely touching her, nothing more than a tease, followed by another wave of cool air being blown across her moist flesh.

Willow whimpered.

Angel smiled up at her with eyes that crinkled in the corners then dipped his head once more.

Shivering turned into all out shuddering as Angel's talented appendage touched Willow again, pushing inside to explore the delicate tissues, absorb the flavor of Willow, start slipping in and out so that more moisture would be brought to the surface, making her slick and ready to take his yard deep inside her.

The brush of Angel's short cropped hair along Willow's inner thighs was like a silken caress. She could feel his well-muscled shoulders pressing against her legs, but it took her lust-addled brain a few minutes to process the fact that his shoulders were warm. His fingers were warm too, his breath was becoming balmy and his tongue... well, his tongue was almost hot on her most sensitive flesh.

A harsh little cry was torn from Willow's throat as her nervous system was bombarded with starbursts of pleasure. Angel had found her clit. He pushed two of his large fingers up inside her, stroking her tight inner walls while his skillful tongue swirled and flicked the tiny distended bundle of nerves that was the key to her sexual satisfaction. Angel's lips closed to suck briefly, then there was a gentle almost-bite, followed by another flick of that talented muscle in his mouth.

Willow realized that she was moaning and tried to stop. All she managed to do was switch to whimpering as her lover slowly slid his fingers in and out of her core, never letting up on his oral assault. His free hand reached up, brushing along her side to find her breasts. Rough fingers caught her nipples to gently pinch and roll the hard, tingling tips.

Angel felt Willow's thighs start to twitch and pulled his mouth away, though his strong fingers continued to pluck and play.

"Bastard!" Willow spat, unable to think of any other word.

Smug laughter reverberated in the vampire's chest as he sucked carefully now, his mouth drawing at the witch's needy flesh for only a few seconds before releasing it again.

"Angel, please," she gasped.

"Please what?" he rumbled. And licked.

"Please," Willow whined. "I need..."

A gentle bite. She quivered. Lifting his head, Angel pressed his cheek against the inside of her thigh and looked at her. "What do you need, Willow?"

"You... AH!... I need... you."

"You need me to do what?" He twisted one nipple with exquisite care.

"I need you to... take me. Ride me. God, Angel, please!"

Ride me, she had said. Ride me. That one simple phrase, so very uncharacteristic of Willow, almost snapped Angel's self-control. Willow started to pant like a bitch in heat when she saw the golden light flash deep within Angel's eyes.

"Are you sure you want *me*?" he croaked.

"YES!" It was a scream.

With a single, fluid move, Angel heaved his big body upward.

Hunger threatened to make his features shift. His eyes were shut tight and a thin layer of perspiration soon coated his skin as Angel struggled to keep his true visage hidden. He could feel his lover's vulnerable human flesh pressed so trustingly against his own when all the while a part of him wanted to treat her brutally, didn't care if he hurt her. The rich sexual smell of his partner surrounded him, there was no escaping it now. It wasn't just coming off of Willow in waves, it was drifting up from his lips, soaked into his fingers, floating about in his own mouth. And he could taste her there, too. Taste her saliva, and her honey, and the blood he had stolen from her lip.

"Oh, Angel," Willow cried. "You're so warm."

Yes, so warm, his witch was so very warm. Not hot. Not threatening to consume him. Just simply, blessedly warm. Within seconds the battle was won. Angel mentally beat the hell out of his inner demon and locked it down tight. His eyes opened just in time to watch Willow reach out with one finger extended and catch the large drop of sweat that was sliding down the center of his chest. He inhaled sharply as she brought the finger to her lips and sucked the droplet away. He was trembling with desire for her by the time she leaned up to lightly kiss his lips, and he could hold back no longer when he felt her tongue dart out to swipe at the salty dew that clung to the soft stubble above his upper lip.

Angel reared back on his knees and took his thick sex in hand. He moved between Willow's legs, braced a muscled arm beside her hip. Aimed himself. And thrust.

Willow threw back her head and screamed at the sheer animal pleasure of it, at the shattering sensation of that huge organ ramming into her, giving her just what she so desperately needed.

"Yes!" Angel growled, coming fully down over her, staring into her face. "That's it Willow. That's what I want from you. That's what I'm going to take."

He began to thrust, his powerful hips working as he stroked between Willow's wet, clamping walls. She writhed under him, feeling the silky skin of his chest brushing her nipples, his belly rolling against hers as he rocked.

"God, Angel," Willow moaned, "I've never felt..." The pleasure was mounting with every strong thrust. Now it was Willow who feared she would combust. He was winding her tighter and tighter and it seemed she was going to explode. Desperately she hunched up against him, wrapped her legs around his hips and dragged him even deeper.

Angel ground into her, circling around his hips as plunged into her. His teeth clenched. His bunching shoulders loomed over her.

It seemed hours that Angel maintained a steady, pounding rhythm, propelling them forward. Willow begged for release. Angel increased his pace, then changed the angle and depth of his thrusts. Madness soon over took her. With each movement of his body, Angel pushed her further into passion until her orgasm overtook them both and provoked his. He cried out her name as his back arched and he gave a shout, pouring himself into her.

Willow wept.

She heard the sounds of someone crying but didn't recognize it was her until she felt Angel's trembling hand on her face, wiping away the tears. He was still joined to her, limp and soft but still joined. Willow pulled at his slick shoulders until he acquiesced and let his full weight rest on her. It was awkward; he buried his face in her neck, his back was arched a little, his arms wrapped around her, but Willow thought nothing could feel more complete than cradling her lover in her arms. His weight and strength were obvious. He could crush her, kill her, rise up with violence and overpower her with a single fist. Instead he trembled and rested peacefully on top of her. She breathed shallowly, the scent of their incredible lovemaking thick in her nostrils, and slowly stroked his back, ran her fingers through his crisp hair, rubbed her cheek against his.

She now understood why Buffy had floated into the room on a cloud of bliss that day. The rare, powerful feeling barely had words to describe it.

After a while, Angel slipped out and Willow brought her legs together, gently pushing him off her body. He curled up around her and growled when she tried to leave the bed.

"I have to…" Willow began awkwardly. The practicality of the wet spot was on her mind, but Angel drew her against his chest, spooning her and tracing the delicate curves of her ear with his fingertip.

"Just be with me," he whispered.

Willow smiled and relaxed.

"Too many thoughts in here right now," Angel said, tapping her temple. "You can clean up and be practical and find words later. Right now, just lay in my arms and let me teach you about silence."

His tone was light, invitational, and Willow closed her eyes and let her other senses reign. Her mouth tasted like Angel. Her eyes took in the beauty of the room but then rested on the bottom sheet of the bed, which had pulled off the corner and bunched. The scent of spilled seed, sweat, her own dripping moisture, faint candle smoke, the faraway salty drench of ocean and wind perfumed with the flower garden out back all swirled together. Willow counted each different smell, making the end result into a memory she would never forget. As for sounds, something electrical in the inn hummed softly in the wall, but the crash of the surf pervaded her senses. She understood how the sand felt.

Somewhere in all the listening, Willow fell asleep. When she awoke, Angel was across the room, hidden in the shadows to watch the sunlight dapple her nude form. She sat up, breathed in deeply of the scent that still clung to the room, and rubbed sleep out of her eyes.

"Good morning," he greeted her.

"I fell asleep," she stated. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

Angel chuckled, making Willow relax. He wasn't disappointed. If anything, he was beginning to look a little greedy, like he could take advantage of her "transgression" in some way.

"While you shower, I'll order breakfast and change the sheets."

Willow ruefully held up the wrinkled corner of the limp bottom sheet and tugged it further off the bed.

"Poor little sheet," she murmured, wrapping it around herself in a late attempt at modesty. Angel rolled his eyes a little and folded his arms, daring her to leave the bed as she was. Willow blushed, amazed she still had the ability after what they'd shared, but slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. Angel's low, appreciative whistle followed her and she shut the door on a laugh.

When Willow emerged from the bathroom, clean and refreshed, the balcony doors were shut and the curtains drawn. Angel had his back to her and was draining the contents of a mug of what she assumed to be blood. The bed was newly made, a tray of food, coffee and orange juice awaited her on the chess table, and the clock said it was only 9 a.m.

"I guess we have a pretty long time before it gets dark enough for you to drive me back to Sunnydale."

Angel finished breakfast and turned to face her, his human mask at the fore.

"Observant."

"And after breakfast, I was thinking I might want to lounge naked on that couch and have you sketch me," Willow said in a very casual voice, padding towards the food on the table. There was a croissant with her name on it.

"After which I suppose I'll have to ravish you again," Angel sighed, mimicking her tone of voice.

"If you must," Willow said happily. She bit into the croissant and leaned back into the squishy couch cushion. Angel stood and watched her, unconsciously licking his lips. "Or you could ravish me now, and after, and throughout the day so we don't have to stop at another inn on the way home."

Angel was at her side in a heartbeat, licking the buttery crumbs off her fingers and working a hand inside her robe to squeeze and caress her soft skin. Willow sighed and pulled his head up so she could kiss him. She couldn't find any words to tell him how she was feeling, but she hoped her kiss would communicate everything he needed to know.

Maybe later, she'd get her brain working again. There was no rush. They had all day.

END

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