E-MAIL: Ciderbreak@aol.com
SERIES: Path Less Traveled Story # 7
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and the WB own all Buffy characters. No infringement implied.
DISTRIBUTION: Charity, FoF, my soon-to-be-ready site.
FEEDBACK: If you love me.
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Willow woke up smelling roses and thought she was dreaming. A tiny smile formed on her lips and she opened her eyes to see a vase on her bedside table with thorny green stems poking down into the water. Fully awake now, she raised herself up on one elbow and incredulously followed the stems up to the dozen pink blooms. Roses. Softer than her skin, fragrant like nothing in dreamland, accompanied by a folded white piece of paper with her name in Angel's scrawl on the front.
She sat up straight, tucking her legs underneath her, and reached for the note.
"Willow. I wish I could be there to watch your face light up when you see the roses and I hope the expression doesn't fade when you find out they're from me. Your pain last night touched me in a significant way as I realized for the first time how alone you truly feel, despite Doyle, Cordelia, and my lackluster efforts to include you in our lives. The roses are to say thank you for giving me an undeserved second chance to be your friend. You're adept at research, extremely intelligent and creative, thoughtful, and I love your sense of humor, bizarre in its logic though it may be. And, as you are not destined to die an untimely death, I think I am beginning to understand why the PTB chose you for this journey. Angel."
"Well, I'll be darned," Willow whispered aloud, reading the words again to make sure she hadn't missed a "but" in there anywhere. "I didn't know you could be that incredibly mushy, Angel," she said louder, sensing him lurking around the corner. He stepped into view, almost blushing.
"I came down to get a book. Hope I didn't wake you."
"I'm awake. I have flowers," Willow said, a smile lighting up her whole face. Angel filed that away for future use. Not all girls loved flowers, despite Cordelia's insistence. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. And I'm not incredibly mushy."
Willow spared him the teasing of rereading his note aloud and instead got out of bed, shrugged on her robe, and padded barefoot into the bathroom. Angel was gone when she emerged, showered and ready to embrace the day. However, there was no mistaking that something had changed in their relationship. Giles' letter was like the final blow to any vestiges of hope that the bonding could be erased. Thankful Angel took it so well, Willow thought of a gift she could give to him to further their new and tentative friendship.
Angel found the gift two days later when he went into his online account to find their financial status so Cordelia could pay bills. The number of zeros in the account was impossible. The bank obviously made a mistake when he'd deposited the last payment check from the "poodle woman," as Willow called the last client. Before he could pick up the phone and report the problem, Doyle appeared over his shoulder and shouted his disbelief in Angel's ear.
"One million dollars?! Angel, what did y'do, kill someone?"
"No," he said curtly, inching the chair away from him. "It's obviously a mistake. I'll call the bank."
"Well, isn't it in our favor? Shouldn't we get to keep it?" Doyle said hopefully as Angel dialed the bank.
The man on the phone informed him that a direct deposit had been made that morning by Microsoft, Inc. and gave him the check number, assuming Angel only wanted to confirm the deposit.
"No, you don't understand, I think it's a mistake. I don't have any dealings with computer companies," Angel tried to tell the man.
"Well, sir, the transaction was made between Microsoft and your wife. Perhaps her business dealings got into your work account by mistake? I will check on this matter immediately."
"Wait!" Angel said, before the ultra-polite man could put him on hold. He hated on-hold music more than he hated lawn ornaments. "Wait, I just remembered that my wife," he stressed the words for Doyle's benefit, "and I recently decided to combine accounts. I just didn't know it would happen so shortly after our decision. Thank you for checking, Mr. Trent. There's no problem."
"Very good, sir. Have a nice day, and feel free to call me at this extension if you have any further questions."
Angel dazedly hung up the phone and turned to Doyle, speechless.
"Where in the hell did Willow get a million dollars?" Doyle mused.
"I have no idea, but let's go."
"Where are we going? Shopping? You know Cordy's gonna flip when she finds out you're a millionaire." Doyle pulled his jacket on and followed Angel out of the office.
"Sunlight," Angel said, tilting his face to the sky.
Immediately his heart began to beat faster and he felt humanity seep into his sometimes lifeless body. The powers of humanity were arbitrary unless Willow was bodily present or he specifically asked for them. Perhaps in time they'd be inherent and he wouldn't have to ask. But for now, he stepped cautiously into direct sunlight, still amazed he didn't catch on fire. Doyle opened his mouth to make a new crack on how pale Angel looked but thought better of it. His boss was on a mission.
"Don't tell Cordelia a thing," Angel ordered Doyle as they drove towards campus. "She needs to make her own way in this world and if I help her at all it will be anonymously. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," Doyle said. "But can we at least grease some influential palms? I know of a few shady characters who wouldn't mind having their debts paid off for future favors into the-"
"Doyle."
Doyle wisely shut up until they found Willow.
She was sprawled out on a blanket on the quad, surrounded by the remains of lunch and a pile of textbooks. She lay on her stomach with her feet up in the air, one leg swinging back and forth in time to whatever music she listened to on her CD walkman. Angel paused for a second, noticing with pure male appreciation how the sunlight made her auburn hair gleam richly and how her position drew the front of her shirt down a little bit… Noticing Doyle notice the same thing, Angel gave him a stern look and continued forward.
It was a beautiful day in LA, 80 degrees, big puffy white clouds in the sky like on the campus brochure. Willow wasn't the only student taking advantage of the weather that day. The wide expanse of green grass was peppered with students reading, talking, playing frisbee, and moving from place to place. For Angel, moving among them like a human was a treasured gift.
Willow looked up when a shadow fell over her Latin book.
"Angel! And Doyle!" she said a little too loudly, then sheepishly pulled off her headphones. "What brings you to campus for the very first time since I've been attending here for over a month?"
Angel wouldn't let himself feel guilty for that or he might not have the courage to confront her about the money.
"One million dollars," he told her bluntly, shocked when she laughed.
"Did you see Austin Powers?" she asked him. "No, 'course not. Forget it. So, were you surprised?"
"That's an understatement."
"Oh, not a good surprise?" Willow patted the blanket beside her and the guys sat down. She rolled over on her back, staring up into the impossibly blue sky. She was too comfortable to sit up and be lectured.
"Where in the hell did you get that kind of money?" Angel wanted to know.
"I sold a software package to Bill Gates he's been drooling over since my junior year in high school. I thought it might help our financial situation if we could invest the money. Eternity is a long time to be a private investigator without a license and sporadic paying customers."
Angel digested that, saw the truth in it, and moved from anger into amazement. She did that for him?
"You did that for me?"
"No, I did it for me. I really want to redecorate the kitchen and the bathroom and start paying for my own education so I'm not in debt to my parents. And, okay, I did it for you too. For our life. Together."
"That's one hell of a wedding present," Doyle chimed in.
"We're not married!" Angel and Willow snapped in unison.
"Okay."
"We're not. Wow, Willow, you know Bill Gates? And you sold something for a million dollars? That's quite an accomplishment."
"Four million, actually, but most of it is tied up in investments and stock options. The money in your account is for us to live on, for my education, and to help people in need."
Willow finally turned her head and looked at Angel looming over her. He was very pasty looking in the sunlight, and a light breeze blew across his skin, making him blink and squint a little. His hair was not messed up, though. Typical guy. He looked proud, not angry, and a little impressed. That made her happy. Angel wasn't easily impressed.
"So, now that you're both here on this beautiful day, wanna quiz me in Latin?"
"No way!" Doyle said, jumping to his feet. "I think I'll take a look around, see if there are any co-eds in need of a little tutoring in Gaelic."
"Lose the jacket," Willow advised, then waved as he left whistling a ballad she didn't recognize.
"I can quiz you, if you want," Angel offered. Smiling gratefully, Willow handed him the text and got comfortable.
It was a beautiful day.
End Part 1
Doyle sauntered off under the pretense of meeting college women, but in actuality his destination was that of a stairway. He perched on the top ledge, swinging his legs and looking for all the world like he was just hanging out, enjoying the sunshine. Anyone who gave the scrappily dressed half-demon a second glance would notice that his sparkling blue eyes fixed not on the entire pastoral scene below him, but on one couple in particular.
Doyle watched Angel shift comfortably into position on the soft blanket, propping the Latin grammar book on one raised knee while the other arm gave him leverage on the ground. Willow's head rested just beside his hand, so close, actually, that some of her silky red locks brushed his skin and made him jerk his hand farther away. She still lay on her back, one hand resting on her stomach, the other raised and bent over her head.
"Come on," Doyle muttered to himself. He checked his watch then squinted to the sun, as if that would help the time move along more quickly. All he got were a few blue sun spots for his trouble. Unbeknownst to Angel, Doyle's Vision that morning involved a student at UCLA. He deemed it unnecessary to mention that to Angel when he found out they were headed to campus anyway. He didn't want anything to distract Angel from the very pleasant task of helping Willow study.
Not that Latin was a pleasant subject. Doyle taught third grade in his distant past, where dead languages were not required. Yet, Willow needed the knowledge for her degree and it couldn't hurt to have one more translator in the house besides Angel. Contentment for both of them could be found in the quiet friendship offered by books. Painless in its efforts, studying together could only bring about a deeper relationship. Doyle smiled as Willow flopped over on her stomach and Angel couldn't take his eyes off her neck. The vampire would not dare bite her, but the fact that he wanted to was a good sign. Twisted, but good nonetheless. Doyle enjoyed watching this slow and gradual friendship develop, although Cordelia railed about it in private, maintaining that Angel should just "get over Buffy already" and accept what the fates decreed.
Doyle knew it was not easy to forget your first love, much less open your heart for a new one.
Doyle straightened, trying to see through the trees to where the prophesied event would occur. His view blocked, he concentrated on Angel's reaction to the sudden gunshot and the hysterical screams that followed.
Without hesitating, Angel threw his body over Willow's, his arms protecting her head. Confident the shot was an isolated event, he stood up, pulling her with him and automatically placing his body in front of hers. Doyle saw her lips moved and knew she was protesting something, but Angel kept a tight grip on her hand to prevent her from going to the scene. Instead, he unconsciously mimicked Doyle actions, watching the crowd for the individuals running away from the scene rather than towards it, checking for suspicious individuals.
Doyle already knew the owner of the gun from his Vision and spotted the guy running in a crowd towards the student union, where he would be apprehended by-
Doyle nearly fell off the stairs when a huge, strong-looking woman stepped out from behind a weathered oak tree, grabbed the guy by the back of his jacket, and stopped his retreat. She whispered something in his ear and the man turned around and walked, zombie-like, back towards the crime scene. If it was a crime scene. Doyle hear sirens, heard screams, but the Vision hadn't mentioned an actual death toll. One gunshot could mean anything.
"One gunshot could mean anything," Angel said to Willow. "You will not leave my side until we know what's going on, is that clear?"
Willow hated herself for loving his protective attitude. She should be strong, independent, ready to look any evil in the face and then spit on it. Cowering behind the tall guy in the menacing outfit wasn't exactly heroic. Still, it was sweetly comforting to press her face between his shoulder blades and grip tightly to his hand. She could obey now, feel sheepish later.
It was still a beautiful day in Southern California with the weather and the atmosphere unmarred by the introduction of hostility to the picture. Everyone could taste the evil, though, and it brought the chaos to a fever pitch.
When Doyle reached the grass the entranced perpetrator was only a few yards away, reaching into his coat for the weapon. His face appeared blue as though he'd been asphyxiated and drool dribbled down his chin. Still, he purposefully moved forward with his eyes fixed on Angel and Willow, who were turned the other way to watch the parade of police and campus staff who rushed to the scene and held back throngs of frightened students.
"Angel!" Doyle shouted in warning, sprinting faster than an average human towards his friends.
Only on television does tragedy happen in slow motion.
For Willow, the worst scene of her life flashed in a few horrible seconds as a terribly shocked-looking student stopped in front of her, choked out an unintelligible string of vowels, and pulled a gun out of his jacket. His eyes were dead already, beginning to decay and smell like sulfur. His hand did not falter on the trigger, but the screaming body that hurled himself through the air and made contact with the bullet was not Angel, for whom the shot was clearly meant.
It was Doyle.
End Part 2
"NO!" Angel and Willow cried simultaneously as Doyle and the blue-faced guy stumbled to the grass in a mix of limbs and spurting blood. Angel dragged the guy off of his friend, barely hearing the renewed screams of the crowd and the voices of the rescue workers headed their way. Doyle was still alive, but barely, as Willow knelt by his side in the grass and checked for a pulse.
"Angel, saw a huge amazon," Doyle choked out, a trickle of blood accompanying the words out of his mouth.
"Hang on, Doyle," Willow soothed him. "Help is on the way."
Blood covered everything and it was hard to tell where the exact wound was, but Angel guessed it went straight through the heart. The sticky red liquid flowed so quickly through Doyle's clothing and splattered their skin like a kindergarten painting. Doyle twitched uncontrollably and Willow started to cry, knowing he was going into shock and wondering who was crying so loud.
"Bond not strong enough to mindcall ya," Doyle gasped as he looked at Angel. Then he turned to Willow and tried to smile, but failed and coughed up more blood instead.
"Oh, God, Doyle," Willow whispered. "God." It was a plea.
"Love casts out fear," he murmured in a raspy voice, still looking at Willow.
She remembered later on how the pain fled from his eyes and was replaced by a deep peace, but in the moment all she knew was that his head fell to the side and he died in Angel's arms. When the EMT reached them, seconds too late, Willow felt herself roughly shoved to the side. She landed hard, hitting her forehead on her book bag and crying out sharply. The arms that steadied her, dragged her to the base of a neighboring oak tree had to be Angel because the sobs that emanated from his deep chest were the same ones she heard on the roof the night they were bonded.
Angel trembled all over. He hadn't experienced physical grief in semi-human form and had trouble breathing. He was conscious only of the scene playing over and over again in his mind. Doyle's voice, the guy pointing the gun, and then Doyle taking the shot with a flying tackle. What was the Amazon? And what did he mean about the bond not being strong enough to mindcall?
The bark of the tree dug sharply into Willow's back but she welcomed the pain. It connected her to reality, as the prone form of Doyle surrounded by helpless medical technicians could not be reality. It just could not be real.
"Are you okay?" said an unfamiliar voice. "Were you shot?"
Willow drew Angel's head down to her shoulder and scootched up against the tree. The voice belonged to a police officer with three assistants trailing him.
"No, no, we weren't shot," Willow told him. "Everything sounds funny," she added, frowning. Too many loud sounds pierced the air and the sirens were the most pervasive. Now the day smelled like blood and freshly mown grass and a hint of sulfur. Doyle's voice greatly disturbed her when she remembered his last words. They sounded like a typical horror movie scene where the person dies a grisly death, choking on his own fluids; so stereotypical. She never knew it was really that dramatic and violent. In silent shock, Willow watched the scene unfold a few feet away from her as the medical personnel carted Doyle away in one ambulance and the mysterious killer away in a second vehicle. Was he dead as well? Would he never stand and face justice?
"Stay right here," the officer ordered her. "We're going to help. Just don't move."
"Okay," Willow answered. Where could she go? Angel's weight pinned her down and his hysterical cries didn't seem to be abating. She wrapped her arms around him a little tighter and tried to think of something comforting to say but words were so far beyond her. A shiver ran up her spine when she realized Angel stopped crying but his face was still buried in her neck. His harsh breathing and tense muscles told her what he didn't-he needed to feed. Not from hunger, not to kill, but from an innate sense that told him to find succor in the instinctual habit of a vampire.
"Willow," he whispered as his human visage shifted and she felt the new ridges bump her skin. He nuzzled his mouth against her neck but she adjusted him down further, below her collarbone to the top of her breast where no one would see twin holes scabbing over.
Willow pressed down on the back of his head and hissed through clenched teeth as he slid his fangs into the forgiving skin. More blood, coursing through her to him this time and it seemed to weep, if that was possible. A lifetime's worth of mourning souls wailed through that blood. Willow felt that was a more fitting chorus to Doyle's passing than blasting sirens and screams of the unaffected. She clasped Angel to her and watched with bright eyes as the ambulance made its way off the grass and zoomed down the road without its lights flashing. That meant there was no emergency, no chance that if they hurried they could save his life. She knew that from watching ER but it seemed like an awfully short time to work on the victim. Still, she reasoned, the crowd of bystanders grew every minute…and was that a press van?
Only seconds passed since the officer demanded she stay put and Angel only nursed for less than a minute before retracting his fangs. His heartbeat started again, erratically, and he sucked lazily at the sluggishly bleeding wound with a normal mouth. Willow blushed bright red to find his hand on her breast and bucked beneath him to move him away. Angel shook himself out of shock, picking his head up and looking around to see who had seen him feed. No one appeared to really care about the quiet couple at the base of the tree when there were a dozen hysterical witnesses all trying to get the attention of the police force.
Angel sat back and observed Willow's pale, stricken face. Her arms wrapped around her chest and she took measured breaths and refused to look him in the eye.
"I'm sorry for-" Angel said, low, wishing he'd exercised more self-control. Nothing in his carefully ordered life was in his control these days. "Willow, look at me. Look at me, love, please."
The unconscious endearment snapped her head up and they locked eyes. Doyle's words echoed in both their heads.
Bond not strong enough to mindcall you.
"Excuse me, folks?"
The moment was lost.
"I'm Officer Bradley. I'm sorry for your loss, but I need to ask you a few questions about what just happened."
Willow nodded dumbly and patted the ground beside her. Angel took a place next to that and they sat in an awkward triangle. Beyond the tree someone put Willow's things in her bag, folded up the blanket, and set them aside.
"First of all, are you in any need of medical attention?" Bradley asked, eyeing the blood that liberally covered both of them.
"No, none of this blood is ours," Angel answered. "We're just in a little bit of shock. Where did they take Doyle?"
"LA General. Is that his name, Doyle? Is he a student here?"
The "few questions" turned into an hour-long process which ended with Officer Bradley making them both traipse to the hospital to identify the body and then to police headquarters to make formal statements. By that time, Willow was exhausted to the point of passing out and Angel was furious. He snuck in a phone call on his way back from the bathroom, calling the one person who knew how to neatly slice through this type of red tape.
"Kate," Angel said curtly when she answered the phone.
"Angel, how can I help-"
"I'm down at the 12th precinct with Willow, answering questions about the shootings at UCLA this afternoon. We're both key witnesses and I cannot be in the spotlight, do you understand? I don't know how to get out of here."
"I'm on my way."
Willow marveled at the beautiful blonde cop who appeared on the scene and craftily maneuvered them out of the interrogation. She raised hell when she found out they'd been without food and water for hours after witnessing the traumatic death of their friend and then gave Officer Bradley more hell for dragging the interrogation out so long. She ignored his pointed comments about her sticking her nose in where it did not belong. She threatened and cajoled and mocked until he was properly chastened and more than intimidated.
"Is the perpetrator deceased?" she demanded finally. "Is he?"
"Yes," Bradley admitted, "And there are over a hundred witnesses that saw him murder both Alan Doyle and Hannah Martin. It's a closed case. We just need accurate details-it's a school shooting, Detective Locksley, and the media will want answers from the LAPD."
"You have more than enough answers to make your statement, and I'm sure you will do so while keeping Willow and Angel's names out of the press, is that correct?"
Bradley appeared genuinely hurt that she would have to ask that. It was obvious that the couple in front of him had no wish to make any comment whatsoever about the tragedy to the world at large.
Kate beckoned Willow and Angel with one hand and started to walk away. They quickly followed, both slightly in awe.
"On behalf of the LAPD, I'm sorry," she said kindly when they were out of the bustling office and into a side corridor. Her blue eyes gleamed with soft compassion. "Go home, eat, sleep. I'll find out where they have your friend and leave you a message at your office so you can make any arrangements."
"Doyle wished to be cremated," Angel interrupted. "He has no family to notify except us and Cordelia… fuck."
"Would you like me to handle the arrangements?" Kate offered.
"You would do that?" Willow asked. She nodded.
"Please," Angel said, nodding. "We'd really appreciate it. I don't think we can handle another public appearance right now."
"I'm all over it," Kate promised. "Now, go. Take care of yourselves. And Angel? I'm truly sorry for your loss."
"Thank you."
Kate Locksley did more than take care of the cremation of Alan Francis Doyle, she also managed to keep Angel and Willow's names completely out of the media in the few weeks of minor publicity that followed. She had no say in the fact that it made Doyle look like a lonely drifter, but the public eye focused on the family and friends of the other victim, who had been a sophomore biology major and a member of the honor society.
Angel, Willow, and Cordelia spent the weeks nearly in silence, watching the news coverage and mourning their friend in various ways. Kate personally delivered the small urn to the office and they scattered the ashes off the coast of Monterey one evening when the tide was low and the air was hot and still.
Then they moved on.