E-MAIL: Ciderbreak@aol.com
SERIES: Path Less Traveled #11
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and the WB own all BTVS characters. No infringement implied.
DISTRIBUTION: Charity's site, Fever of Fate.
FEEDBACK: If you love me.
WARNING: Sweetness is over. Now, back to our regularly scheduled angst!
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Fires don't always start with a single spark.
The fire that killed Buffy Summers in Angel's dream was a huge explosion from its inception. It never began with a lone match, a trickle of flame leading to a cartoon powder, a little ball of fire on the end of an arrow. No, from the onset it was a huge bonfire of a blaze that cropped up out of nowhere and charred the slayer alive until her throat constricted with smoke and she couldn't scream or cry for help, just thrashed around and died as the fire raged, consuming everything around her.
The dream was the same every night the entire month of March. Angel called Giles, warned him, even called Buffy and mentioned it to her. That reception was a little icy as she informed him that as the slayer she was prepared to die. He hung up, too cowardly to confess that it was he who wasn't ready to let her go. That the dream might not be prophetic but instead a reaction to denying his own heart.
Angel couldn't move on with Willow while the love of his unlife died horribly in his dreams every night.
Willow accepted that fact calmly, being in no rush to fall in love with Angel. His dreams of Buffy woke him screaming nightly, hands pressed to his face while he sobbed like a child and Willow tried to soothe him to no avail. The fear was too tight to let in reason. Angel learned he could go an entire week without sleep and feel okay. Inevitably, though, he would doze off and the dream would begin.
"I'm going to go insane," Angel said in terror at three a.m. Willow smoothed the sweaty hair off his forehead and pressed a dixie cup of warm blood into his hand. The dimness of the apartment in the middle of the night couldn't even touch the dark night of his soul. "I'm going to go insane and then you'll be bonded to a drooling madman."
"You already drool," Willow pointed out and Angel hastily wiped a red spot from his chin. This was completely humiliating.
"Now I know how Drusilla felt when I kept killing off her family members. Its not too hard to wear down a person when you know their weaknesses."
Angel flopped over and put his head in Willow's lap. At least here was some comfort, some balm to his gaping wounds. Yet she didn't jump in with a sunny comment or an encouraging word, which surprised him as he was sort of hoping for a little dose of optimism.
"I think you're right," she said wonderingly. "Angel, what if someone is sending you these dreams on purpose? To- to unman you, or make you insane, or to keep you off the path of hunting down whatever killed Grayson and Doyle."
"Why not you too?" Angel reasoned. "They could just as easily attack you."
Willow didn't point out that she suffered enough just seeing him in agony every time he closed his eyes to sleep and bore the brunt of the after-effects as well. His short temper was back, he became even more fastidious about the apartment, the demons he vanquished got wailed on first, there were no more romantic dates at the Dolphin Striker, no sweet dances in the candlelight. Willow wanted him to be whole as much as he wanted it. If he thought his state didn't affect her, that it was only happening to him, then he had a lot to learn.
"I suffer enough," she allowed.
"You're right, I'm sorry. Do you really think this could be an attack?"
"You do have a string of people in the world who hate you. Or, hate Angelus. Or, hate you when you were pretending to be Angelus but were really-"
"Willow."
"Well, you get the idea. You don't lack for enemies."
"Who can send dreams? Karl?"
"What, Karl the Fear Demon? No way. I got a letter from him through Frank and he's doing well in the fifteenth dimension. He has a steady girlfriend named Gretchen he met at chess club! See, I told him he'd find someone."
"You're so prophetic," Angel said dryly, smiling into the cotton fabric of her nightgown. Her thigh was warm beneath his cheek through the thin cloth and he closed his eyes, thankful for her continued presence in his life. She was real. She was tangible. She was not on fire.
"Hey, maybe I could be apprenticed to Frank as a counselor for the Underworld," Willow suggested thoughtfully.
"I always pictured you as a physician for the Underworld. There are so many creatures, so many different types of demon and monster and ghoul and supernatural presences that aren't evil, just trying to make their way in this world. You could spend several lifetimes studying and researching and get really good at healing different entities. I mean, you'd hardly have to advertise. I meet up with enough things that go bump in the night on a regular basis, and they know people who know people. And then with the really evil ones, you could spell them so they couldn't turn and kill you or your family, and-"
"Woah!" Willow said, sliding her hand down to his mouth to silence him. His detailed daydream for her life floored her. Doctor of the less-than-human? Willow privately wondered if the US government already had a program like that going. Heck, if she could get her itchy hands on the Initiative's database…
"Just a thought," Angel said, proud that he'd stumped her.
"Okay, my career later. Who else has something on you, someone who hates you enough to try and drive you insane?"
"Spike and Drusilla."
"Spike is in Sunnydale, permanently neutered. Drusilla, I don't know. Wasn't she in Brazil?"
"She wouldn't have to be in the states to curse me like this."
"Who else?" Willow said with a shudder. Spike she could handle. He even had a mild crush on her. But Drusilla creeped her out big time. Big wiggins.
"Whoever wants me to stop looking for the reason Doyle and Grayson are dead."
"Any luck in that direction?"
"Hardly. Aunt Linda is missing from her home in Lynwood and she was my only link. How's Amanda holding up?"
"She's okay. I think she's feeling a little out of place with her friends. They just want her to move on and she can't, not without knowing who killed her boyfriend. We talk once a week, whether you've found anything or not."
"I want to give her peace of mind."
"You want your own peace of mind."
"Yes."
"I think we're on the right track," Willow consoled him. "We should have guessed this earlier."
Angel turned his head and looked up at her with plaintive eyes.
"Can you do a spell to help me sleep? Please, just this once?"
Willow nodded and hid her eagerness. She had a whole arsenal of sleep-aid spells and since the maelstrom, her spells hardly ever went haywire. Of course, this could also be because she stopped using them for personal gain, but no matter. She'd been waiting patiently for Angel to ask for her help.
"Close your eyes," she ordered him. The first spell was a simple incantation so ancient it didn't even require ingredients. It was more of an orison, really, a simple plea that sounded like a blessing. She had the Latin memorized and ready to go since the second night he was plagued with the dream. This time, she even knew how it translated.
"That's nice," Angel murmured. "I will lie down and sleep in peace, for the Lord my God makes me to dwell in safety."
Willow was surprised he translated so quickly. She didn't think Judeo-Christian prayers were a vampire's forte. Then again, maybe pre-vampire Angelus was devout.
Unlikely.
Still, she didn't care if the spell came from the Bible or the Tibetan book of the Dead. It worked famously, which was all that mattered. She left him sleeping soundly and dreamlessly for the rest of the night and didn't have the heart to wake him until noon the next day. He needed the rest.
End Part 1
Out of the gloom, into the sunshine. Willow breathed a nice deep breath of ocean air and stretched out on her beach blanket. The second day of April dawned cloudless and hot after a cool and rainy March. She skipped her afternoon classes and drove Angel's convertible down to the Santa Monica pier to relax with the other slugs on the beach. Everyone seemed to be soaking up extra sunshine like they'd been deprived for years.
Rock music wafted over to her little patch of sunshine and she welcomed the noise, welcomed the laughter from the children a few blankets over and the shouts from the two men playing frisbee in the shallow surf. If the day continued so perfectly she might jaunt over to the ice cream vendor and splurge on a lemon Italian ice.
Willow applied sunblock liberally all over her body, especially considering more skin than usual was revealed with the bikini Buffy sent her in the mail. The attached note urged Willow to "embrace the wild side." The fabric was a bright, happy orange, Willow's favorite color, not neon but more on the magenta side. That was about as "wild side" as she could get.
Well, not counting the silver belly-button ring she added to her stomach a few weeks past, which was a secret between her and Amanda. She couldn't believe she was showing it in public, but then again, no one on this beach knew her.
Groaning, Willow cautiously lowered her sunglasses and glanced around. That thought was sure to bring someone she knew. She'd jinxed a perfectly nice beach bum day.
Miraculously, the beach remained full of strangers.
For about an hour.
"Willow!" came a strong voice from her left that sounded happy to see her. She whined softly and picked her head up, waving the person over. It was Amanda wearing shorts and a halter top carrying glittery sandals in her hand. Her toenails were painted bright pink to match her fingernails and the shirt she wore. She bounced over to the blanket with some of her characteristic energy and plopped down on the sand at Willow's feet.
"Hey, Amanda."
"Angel said you'd be here if I couldn't find you on campus. He said I should be the one to tell you the good news."
"What good news?" Willow said, less than enthused. She loved Amanda, she really did, but she just wanted to be alone.
"Angel is being plagued with nightmares."
"I know, and it's not good news."
"They're being sent by an outside source. Something called a Markwood. I don't know, some evil something-or-other. It's like a hit-man for the sleep cycle. He wants you to come home right away so you can help him research it."
"What are you doing all the way down in Santa Monica on a school day?" Willow wanted to know. A Markwood? What the heck was a Markwood? A demon? A pestilence? A ghoul of some kind? Whatever. It could wait.
"Willow, it's four o' clock. School's out and I'm bored. I want to help. Anyway, Angel says he needs you."
"Why didn't he come and get me himself?" Willow wanted to know. Wasn't very nice sending the poor girl all the way out here on the sketchy bus system to do his dirty work.
"He's in the car."
"What car?!" Now Willow was on her feet, scanning the crowd and the parking lot. She'd taken the convertible, so what on earth was he driving? Amanda was too young to drive. Visions of grand theft auto danced in her head. Or maybe Giles trekked from Sunnydale with the wonderful news? She wouldn't mind seeing him. The last time she'd seen him was before Christmas at the fated pow-wow meeting in his condo.
"I don't know. Come on, hurry. Want help folding the blanket?"
Willow sighed, facing the unavoidable. She pulled on her cut off jean shorts with the Indian embroidery and dutifully followed Amanda up the stairs, down the boardwalk, and into the parking lot. Angel stood against the side of a cherry-red convertible, his arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face.
"Surprise!" Amanda shouted. She hugged Willow around the waist, then grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the car. Willow was dumbfounded.
"Angel, what is this?"
"It's a car."
"I know it's a car. Whose is it?" Willow asked as she shifted her beach bag and blanket onto her hip.
"It's yours."
"You bought me a car?"
"Not just any car. A RED car. You said if you could have any car in the world you'd get a red convertible with a CD player and tan seats, remember? Like two weeks ago I asked you? Well, it was on purpose so Angel could surprise you! For your birthday!" Amanda beamed.
"My birthday was in late January," Willow murmured.
"I didn't know that," Angel said. "I missed it, and I want to make up for it. Do you like it?"
"What about the- the Markwood?"
"Oh, it's all real. We made a picnic and we're gonna drive up to a secret spot I know in the hills and talk all about strategy and stuff," Amanda said. "You're going to drive."
"I'll come back for my car later," Angel said. He looked beseechingly at her and Willow snapped out of her shock and screeched.
"I HAVE A CAR!"
Her very own car. A red one. Convertible. With tan seats and a CD player. She cast one last longing look at the surf and tossed her stuff in the back.
"Let's go!"
"Hooray!"
"The Markwood really is a threat," Angel said in a low voice when Amanda ran around the other side to hop in the backseat. "I invited Amanda to be in on the conversation because I think she might be helpful in pin pointing the exact location of this particular evil. The spell needs to be cast by a virgin. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. Most location spells are specific. Do you know how to kill it once we find it?"
"Bare hands should do just fine," Angel said in a steely voice that chilled her down to her toes. She nodded, dumbly, and pulled the car door open. The brand new car smell reached her nostrils and she sank gratefully into the buttery leather seat.
They drove for over an hour and only needed to go 20 miles, thanks to rush hour traffic. Amanda kept the conversation light and kept Willow laughing, which was a good thing considering the dinner conversation was sure to be heavy and sedate.
Angel listened to the two women talk and wondered if this is what it would be like to be married to Willow and have a teenage daughter. He was certainly old enough to have sired a child, and Amanda was fast securing a place in his heart. Her buoyant spirit in the face of adversity reminded him of Buffy and she was just as stubborn. He liked the way Amanda looked up to Willow as a mentor and worshipped him like an older brother even knowing he was a vampire. Would it feel this good to be a father? Could it feel even better? Angel didn't know if his aspects of humanity included the ability to father children, but if he had a guarantee that the kid would be as likeable as Amanda James he'd strongly consider it.
That freaky bit of information barely phased her. In fact, she even teased him, saying he better not use it as an excuse to get out of trying her cooking. A plate of chocolate chip cookies were on the counter at the time and he made a very big deal out of taking two and sneaking a third. Angel wondered if she would freeze up in the sight of his true face, or any other real calamity. But like a child of the millennium, she took everything in stride.
She chattered away to Willow about school and her parents and what Willow should wear on her next date with Angel. They'd had to come clean and confess they weren't lovers, explain about the bond-for-life and a little about Buffy. Amanda was hurt at first but bounced back and began a relentless matchmaking campaign that never ventured over the line. Her meaning was clear, though. She wanted them together.
"Angel, do you like Willow's belly button ring?"
"It's pretty. I like her tattoo better."
"Oh, yeah, 'cause you're from Ireland. What's your last name? My friend Sabrina says she's Irish but her last name is Finkelstein. She's full of it."
"Donegan," Angel muttered. It was a long time since he'd spoken that name aloud and Willow smiled.
Another secret revealed. Strange Markwood thing aside, with the car surprise and Amanda's picnic, the day that began with a night terror was shaping up to be nearly idyllic. Like a Hallmark card.
"I packed blood in a thermos for you, Angel. It should still be pretty warm."
Well, sort of Hallmark.
End Part 2
Willow hated the waiting. She sat in a hard-backed chair by the stairs and looked at her watch every two minutes to see if time moved any faster than the last thousand times she checked, which, unfortunately, it didn't. Angel promised to be back by dawn and dawn was ready to greet the world in less than an hour. How long did it take to obliterate a Markwood, anyway? They only needed to be beheaded with a sword, nothing unusual. No ritual burial, no chanting. Just a quick, neat, simple beheading.
She turned and looked to the wall where Angel displayed his swords and sent up a little prayer that the missing sword would do its job.
The dark apartment grated on her nerves like squealing brakes on a rainy night. Now that Angel could handle sunlight, "it just itches", maybe they could move above ground instead of cowering in the windowless cave like moles. Or maybe she should just redecorate. The bathroom could stand to be bigger, maybe with one of those whirlpool tubs. And new kitchen counters, maybe in a cream color instead of the pallid gray, would brighten up the room. And new paint.
Not even the thought of wrecking Angel's dark décor with an infusion of orange and red could calm Willow's nerves. She just sat in the chair with her eyes on the stairs and the elevator, not knowing which he'd choose. The elevator was more fun, the stairs were more practical.
Suddenly, Willow heard a rustling at the back of the room, near her bed and the curved bookcase that held all his leather-bound books. Her heart thundered in her chest and she started breathing a little heavier to compensate. The noise came from the grate that led into the Underground, and it could be Angel.
It could also be an intruder bent on raping and pillaging.
"Willow, it's me," Angel called, his voice muffled through the metal door. She rushed over to unlock it and bend the trapdoor open and Angel reached up, his hands splattered with blood and scrabbling to find purchase on the wooden floor.
"Did you kill it?" she asked breathlessly, ineffectually helping him out of the basement and onto the floor. Angel immediately stood and backed away from her, gesturing to his sodden clothing and blood-smeared skin.
"He's dead," Angel told her grimly. She knew just by looking at his haunted eyes that there was a little more to the story but it could wait until after he'd showered and changed. More waiting.
Angel hated having to put clothes back on after his shower. Willow had snuck into the bathroom while he was showering and removed his messy work outfit and placed clean clothes on the vanity, but all he wanted to do was dry off, crawl into bed naked and sleep for a week. Oh, blessed, uninterrupted, serene sleep. Unfortunately, Willow had her "share" face on which meant he needed to give her at least the bare bones report.
"The Markwood was hired by someone, he didn't know who. I did torture him to get him to talk, but he really didn't know. He did say that whoever it was said that I needed to be stopped before I ruined a very large plan, so I'm assuming it has something to do with the investigation into Grayson and Doyle's deaths. The Markwood also said that if the dreams didn't drive me insane, he would have started attacking you at night. I'm so glad that didn't happen."
"And then you killed it."
"Then I killed it."
"Good," Willow said, vastly relieved and a little angry that someone would purposefully set out to drive Angel batty. It was one thing when it was a speculation, but knowing the motive behind the deed grieved her. Could not the man have a moment's peace?
"Did you wait up all night?" he asked. She nodded and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, her limp hair and slumped shoulders. It hit him, finally, that she must have suffered as much as he did with the nightly terrors that plagued his dreams. Cursing himself for a fool, Angel drew her close and hugged her tightly. That felt right, felt safe and comforting. It was like coming home.
No. No, Buffy was home. Buffy was light and truth and his entire heart.
Willow closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of Angel's clean soap, the expensive shampoo he treated himself to, and the freshly-laundered t-shirt. His arms were large and strong around her and his heartbeat was faint but steady. He was a bulwark of strength to her in times like this when she felt so insecure in the world. Security, at least a small measure of it, felt tangible with her head tucked in the soft place between his neck and his shoulder.
Life was such a fleeting thing, relationships not to be taken for granted. Willow was content enough to be his friend, not sure she trusted him enough to be his lover, but knew that either way she would force herself to be grateful for him, grateful for his presence. The hours of waiting, wondering if the Markwood won the battle were too strenuous for her to face alone. She needed him to come home.
"I am home," Angel murmured sadly to himself. Willow stiffened, thinking he'd been in her mind again, but no, the mindspeech was locked down. Why did he sound so sad about it, then? She had been ecstatic to see him pop through that grate, no matter how messy and disgusting he looked. Why didn't he feel the same sense of peace and rightness?
"I love you," Willow confessed softly. He probably didn't deserve her love after everything he'd been and done, but she was learning that love wasn't something you earned.
Angel kissed the top of her head and held her tighter. He did not reciprocate the words, but gritted his teeth because he wanted to. His heart knew it, his brain had been screaming it for weeks, but his memories of Buffy haunted him and he couldn't shake the dreams. However, he knew that the moment the words left his lips he would carry her over to his bed and make love to her, and he was not ready for that.
The Markwood may be obliterated, but there were still other demons to excise.