~Prologue~
Willow awoke to the sound of her own moaning and was jolted further awake by the searing pain in her muscles, her groin, and most of all, her back, which felt like someone had scraped the skin off and poured hydrogen peroxide on it. She lay on her stomach, the sheet beneath her face uncomfortably hot, the air above her cool and dry. The syrupy orange sweetness of betadyne solution assuaged her nostrils and almost made her gag. Nasty stuff. She turned her head to a cooler spot on the bed and came face to face with Angel sleeping as far away from her on the king-sized bed as he could. In the candlelight the dark circles underneath his eyes looked like purple bruises, his face pale like parchment paper. For once, he didn't look gorgeous or foreboding in that sexy way Buffy loved. He just looked like a toddler wiped out after refusing to nap for three days.
"Angel," she said, wincing at how raw her throat felt.
Nothing registered in her brain. It was like a black void, but with dangerous thoughts swarming below the surface of whatever was blocking her. She felt the mental barrier someone had set up for her- Angel?- and didn't want to test it. Whatever he was protecting her from must be terrible if it took magic to suppress the memories. The block was like an emotional painkiller, numbing her mind, leading her into a sweet oblivion of jumbled thoughts not clear enough to grab hold of, like picking up a handful of Jello.
"Angel," she tried again, this time a little louder. Her arms felt heavy and she couldn't move them without twitching her back. He opened his eyes and sat up, jostling the bed and giving her the start of a throbbing headache. She groaned and closed her eyes for a second to quell the nausea.
A cool washcloth relieved the heat emanating from her forehead, slid blissfully down her neck and down to her wrists. The sputtering of the candles and the rough trail of the cloth against her skin were the only sounds. Her brain liked the silence.
"Why are you blocking me?" she asked, her eyes still closed. Angel paused for the briefest moment in his slow wash of her extremities and answered honestly.
"You were in too much emotional trauma to fight the fever and I didn't want you to die."
Willow tasted that thought like a tiny sip of wine, swallowed. Went down okay, tight against the roof of her mouth though. Something bad obviously happened, and she got sick, and Angel was taking care of her. But why...
"Don't think too much, love," Angel chided her, using the endearment that rolled off his tongue the first time she'd woken from a nightmare and thrashed about inconsolably. She wasn't thrashing anymore. If anything, her stillness was to avoid moving her body, which was still a big mess. His eyes flickered over the raw skin on her back. Finally healing. Huge wine-colored bruises remained on the inside of her thighs and stomach, and the twin puncture wounds at her neck would probably scar into tiny white circles. But she was alive, and when her body was a little more together, he'd deal with her mind.
"I'm in a lot of pain," she announced. Funny how that thought slipped through the mental block. "All over my back. And inside me, down... Angel. Angel!"
Willow rose up on her hands, leaving her head down. She lacked the energy to pick it up but she wanted to see what damage had been done to her. Why did she hurt there? What the hell happened? Why wasn't she in a hospital?
Angel put the washcloth back in the bowl and eased her back down on her stomach. He smoothed the hair off her neck and guiltily met her demanding gaze. She nodded at him, addressed the magical block.
"Take it down."
The command, given by a weak and helpless Willow, was nonetheless spoken by a woman fully in control of her mental faculties. Angel sighed and pressed his hand to her forehead, murmuring the words to break the fortress of protection he'd erected around her battered psyche.
She didn't scream like he thought she would. Just uttered one short wail of grief and buried her head in the mattress. A few moments later she picked her head up and pierced his heart with her haunted green eyes. She picked out a faint dried blood smell underneath the medicinal ones and decided to start there. It conjured up spotty images that might not be real; she couldn't tell.
"What's the death count? And don't spare me."
"Oz was first, in wolf form. Faith went down trying to save Cordelia. Didn't. And Buffy..." Angel choked down a sob and quenched the fire of his anger long enough to answer Willow's question. "Buffy was ambushed by more than twenty vamps. Xander died trying to save you- single gunshot."
"Giles?" Willow whispered.
"He's alive. Not quite sane. He's in the hospital probably for good."
"Am I alive?" Willow wanted to know. She couldn't feel her own heart beating, but she was breathing. Yet, there were those two little puncture wounds stinging on her neck.
"Yes. You begged me to kill you, but I wouldn't listen." Angel let the pride seep into his voice. It was the only sure decision he'd made since deciding to dust his murderous childe four nights before, staking him where he stood zipping up his pants as Willow lay ravished and broken on the ground.
He could not fathom why Spike chose Willow, out of all of them, to kidnap and torture. The most logical choice would have been the slayer, but instead Spike went after Willow and messed her up as much as he could before drinking from her. Angel could not figure that one out. But answers would come eventually. Mourn now, think later.
"Thank you," Willow breathed, clutching his hand. Half of her howled in despair and demanded she take her own life to halt the pain ripping through her heart like a train barreling down the tracks. The other half was so grateful to be alive and not alone she felt like dancing. She could overcome, she could heal, she could rise above. Eventually. Right now, there were more immediate needs to see to.
"Are you gonna lose it now?" Angel asked apprehensively. Before he'd put the magic barrier into her mind to numb the pain, he'd done little else than try and comfort her hysteria. Steeling his nerves for another night of her screaming, Angel rolled onto his side and cupped her face in his large hands. He couldn't speak as the tears rolled down her face, little rivulets of grief to wet his hands. They mourned together, rocked by the earth-shattering events, shaken by death and blood and defeat, wearied by their bittersweet existence.
The story of their lives, now intertwined out of love and necessity, was far from being over.
~Part: 1~ Party Girl
Saturday Night. Date night.
Angel lurked consistently in the main room of the huge casino for a full week, but this night he noticed more couples than usual, all shapes and sizes. Ruefully he realized that the old vampire habits still ran strong, though he hadn't fed off a human since he'd regained his soul. Still, he noticed people's size first, then their sex, their race, their clothing, their style. Vampires were not picky when it came to feeding. But they had their likes, and Angelus had a penchant to feed off the small and the helpless.
Angelus no longer.
But the thoughts were still there. Swallowing the guilt he'd never be free from, Angel steered his thoughts back to the reason for him being in the casino in the first place, the mission that pervaded every thought for nine years: finding Willow.
Nine years was long enough to mourn Buffy and all her friends, put them to rest in his heart even as they rested in the ground. But Willow's abrupt disappearance from his life was in some ways worse than death, for there was no closure, no last goodbye, no peace. After two years of fretfully searching for her, he'd caught a lead that might be true, but it turned out to be fruitless. All the leads after that were fruitless, except for this one. And he hadn't even been looking!
The newspaper photo was black and white but captured the curve of her chin and the deep widow's peak in her hair, the big eyes with their downcast lashes. In it she danced with a tall and handsome man at a lavish fundraiser for children with AIDS, but the caption simply read "Las Vegas socialites celebrate at fundraiser." Careful prodding of the prideful reporter furnished Angel with spotty information about the woman in the picture. Her name was "W. Morgan" and she owned the opulent hotel and casino in which he now lurked, among her other investments. The reporter knew she was incredibly wealthy and lived a life of philanthropy but could not give Angel any insight into her private life. It seemed that Willow Morgan, in her new life, kept privacy among her finest assets.
After nine years of praying she was alive, Angel felt content to just catch a glimpse of her. If she'd wanted him in her life she wouldn't have run away from the mansion in the bowels of despair, leaving him to worry incessantly in a way that had him headed towards joining poor Giles in the sanitarium. If only he could see her, know for sure that she was the slim woman in the photograph. Then maybe he could sleep through the night.
So he lurked in a dimly lit corner by the ATM machine where he had a direct view of the private staircase. Two guards flanked the base. Only one person came up or down freely and Angel had no use in a servant bringing up meals for two. He wondered about that. Did she live with the man in the picture? Was she married? He furtively kept an eye on the polished oak steps and its plush burgundy runner, hoping that she would descend, spot him, and run into his arms. It was a soothing fantasy.
At midnight he had an engagement in the high stakes poker room where he'd won $10,000 the previous night. Choosing not to flaunt his wealth or use it to attract a swarm of young woman garnered him the respect of the staff and a modicum of privacy. A discreet man in an immaculate black uniform visited his corner from time to time, checking to see if he needed anything. Angel finally took pity on the man and ordered a glass of the finest scotch.
"Everything is prepared for your game tonight, sir. Will you require anything else?"
"No. Thank you."
"Very good, sir." The man moved away briskly, leaving Angel alone with his fiery drink. His expensive suit chafed against his skin, long unused to such binding fabrics. He longed to retreat up to his plush suite and strip down to his T-shirt and a comfortable pair of pants, but then he might miss Willow, an unconscionable thought. The formality required of him to maintain his façade of an ultra-rich business man was laughable. If they knew who he was.. what he'd seen, done, hell, what he really had for dinner, the guards would toss his backside out on the glittery sidewalk.
In his peripheral vision he detected movement on the staircase and his lips twitched in delight. A little girl not more than six or seven years old crept down the staircase looking for all the world like she was going to a fancy party. As much as a child could be dressed to kill, this one tried.
Her skirt was black satin and knee length, but flared out in a childish style. Similarly, the fabric of her clingy shirt was red velvet but had long sleeves and a girlish scoop neck. Yet she carried herself with as much poise as she could as she slowly reached the first landing. Amused, Angel watched her view the night's bustling activity. Though children were not allowed in the gambling areas, she could plunk down on a step and watch relatively undisturbed.
He continued to watch in amazement as she hiked up her skirt and slung one leg over the polished brass banister, jumping easily to the carpeted floor below. He watched the guards wink at each other as she tiptoed past them, gracefully slipping to the wall and hurrying over to his area of the floor. She was headed straight for him.
"Hello," she said and climbed up on the padded stool next to him, flashing her most winning smile. Her top two front teeth were missing, which made her baby incisors stand out more than normal. Angel tried to hide his grin by sipping his scotch, but failed miserably. She was so proud of herself for "fooling" the guards that he couldn't point out that not only had they noticed her escape but were watching her like a hawk.
"How did you manage to get by the guards?" he asked, putting false wonder into his voice. She warmed to him immediately, scooting her stool a little closer. Unlike most children he'd known, this one did not fidget. You could have balanced a cup of hot tea on her properly crossed legs.
"I'm very fast and very quiet," she boasted. "Mama says if I don't draw any attention to myself she'll turn the other way when I slip downstairs. Saturday nights are so busy and colorful that I just couldn't help myself."
"You like the slots?" Angel deadpanned.
"Poker's my game," she replied, equally straight-faced.
They observed the patrons in companionable silence. Angel wondered if the little wit next to him could be Willow's daughter. She hardly resembled Willow with her carefully upswept hair, dark as ripe cherries. Her eyes were several shades darker and fringed with long, curling lashes. An excited flush rosied her cheeks that looked softer than silk and matched her glossy lips. Angel doubted she wore makeup, but she might have applied a little bit of lipgloss. A bittersweet rock pinged off the hardness in his soul when he wondered if this was how Cordelia Chase played dress-up as a child.
The man returned to collect Angel's glass on a tray and did not show surprise at his young companion.
"Would you like another scotch, sir?"
"No, thank you. But I believe my companion might be thirsty."
"Miss Alexa?"
"Shirley Temple, please, Michael."
"Right away," the man promised, the shadow of a smile lighting up his eyes. This little girl clearly had everyone wrapped around her little finger.
"Well, now you know my name. Can I know something about you in return?"
"My name?" Angel guessed. He liked this game. Even if she wasn't Willow's daughter, she was a welcome diversion from endlessly watching an empty staircase.
"No. I would like to know why you folded the second hand in last night's game when the man with the mustache couldn't have had a better hand than you. His tells were so obvious and you let him win three thousand dollars, which you didn't need to do. He was already sure of himself when he entered the room, and you were so calm you could have easily outsmarted him in every hand. I watched on the monitor. You took ten thousand when you could have taken thirteen. Or more."
"Your mother lets you stay up and watch high stakes poker?"
"She lets me do whatever I want," Alexa claimed.
Angel chose to ignore that obvious stretching of the truth and decided to explain his reasoning to her.
"Last night's game was not about winning money, it was about diplomacy. Do you know what that is, Alexa?" Angel asked when her face squinched up.
"No."
"Diplomacy allows you to win people over to your side without offending anyone and still come out on top. It's not a fight for power, but it does put you in a good position to get you what you want. I wanted to establish my credibility as a cards player so that tonight's game will yield a bigger purse and I'll get to play with some serious men. Sometimes you need to take a loss in the beginning to reap a higher reward later." Angel could see that she was trying to wrap her mind around that concept.
"So, you were just buttering them up so tonight you can beat the pants off them," she translated.
"Pretty much."
Alexa smiled up at him.
"Happy now?" he asked. She giggled and nodded emphatically.
"I couldn't get to sleep for a long time wondering. Mama said that you looked like a smart man and probably had everything all figured out. I think she knew I'd try and come find you tonight, which was easy to do since you've just been sitting in the same place all night."
"I like to watch," Angel murmured, dying to ask who her mother was.
Alexa grew silent as Michael approached with her drink, accepting it gravely, her expression matching Angel's. Just two discreet visitors to the fantastic sights and sounds of Vegas.
"Your mother owns the hotel. Does she ever come downstairs?" Angel asked lightly.
"She's not feeling well. She had a migraine since last night and had to lie down in the dark with a cool cloth over her eyes. It's nothing serious. Stress, probably." Alexa sounded a little worried underneath her perfunctory answer. Angel thought that sounded like Willow. Indeed, now the little girl looked longingly towards the staircase, hoping to catch a sight of her mother. "Tell me your name," she said brightly, trying to change the subject.
"My name is Angel."
Alexa's dark eyes grew wide and she checked both the monitors and the guards before leaning close to him. Her hair smelled like apple shampoo and her breath was warm in his ear as she whispered conspiratorially.
"You- you're not a vampire, are you?"
Her voice was breathless. She was hoping and fearing he'd say yes, and then she could climb into his lap and hug him like she'd always wanted to do, rest secure in his arms forever.
"Do you believe in vampires?" Angel asked carefully. This was definitely Willow's daughter. Willow had probably found someone to love, had that man's child. The thought galled him and unearthed feelings of irrational jealousy.
"Oh, yes," she nodded. "I have to. I don't have a Daddy like my friend Jessica because Mama said he was dead. But one day I asked her if his soul was in heaven and she confessed that my Daddy is a vampire. But he's not an evil one, he's a good one. And he's very gentle, and kind, and his name is Angel. And Mama said if I ever run into such a man I'm to bring him immediately to see her because she'll have to explain how it is."
"Explain?" Angel was mystified. He'd never touched Willow romantically. He'd cared for her while she was sick and wounded, and he loved her, and had thought about what might happen between them in the future if he ever entered her life again, but to his knowledge he had never, ever made love to her. And then he started to grow angry at her for telling this poor, fatherless girl a fairy tale instead of the truth.
"Please, please..." Alexa wormed her hand inside his jacket and pressed against his chest, feeling for a heartbeat. Dumbfounded, he let her come to the realization on her own, not expecting what she'd do next. She climbed from her stool onto his lap, tucked her head under his chin, slid her little arms around him, and squeezed as hard as she could. When she looked up into his stunned face it was with shining, watery eyes that had a near-worshipful look to them. Angels' heart constricted, realizing for the first time why she didn't resemble her mother. Alexa was the spitting image of him. Impossible. But, oh, God, if there was any way, any way at all...
"Alexa, vampires cannot have children. It's- hard to explain, uh... I'm not your- I can't be..."
"Come. Come with me. Mama can explain everything, I promise. Daddy, please." Alexa tugged at his sleeve and his heart simultaneously. He obediently got up and followed her past the bingo room, across the floor through the dollar slots. As they approached the base of the private staircase, a gunshot boomed louder than the bells and clinking of coins, louder than the laughter and genial conversation, louder than the cheers and groans. A few women started screaming over near one of the blackjack table, which was quickly surrounded by guards with little white ear pieces and smooth men in tailored suits keeping the area clear. A guard Angel hadn't seen before tried to pull Alexa away from him, but she attached herself to his leg like a stubborn dryer sheet.
"Alexa, you have to come with me. Mother's orders." The man was dressed like the others, black suit and burgundy tie, a little ear piece tucked behind his left ear. Angel memorized his ugly face with its five o'clock shadow and aquiline nose.
"I don't know you," she said loudly. "I will not go with you! Daddy, help!"
Her voice was scared, but well-trained. The "I don't know you" was obviously a practiced statement. Points to Willow for training her daughter about strange guards giving her commands.
"Damn it, little girl," the man growled, taking a swing at Angel. He neatly ducked and sent his powerful fist into the man's angry face. Were not Alexa wrapped around his leg tighter than any manacle he could have beat the man into the ground. He trembled with the primal need to protect her.
"Let go," Angel commanded curtly, relieved that she obeyed. He swung her up into his arms and raced to the stairwell as the fake guard was apprehended by half a dozen real guards serious about their duty to serve and protect.
Angel took the stairs two at a time. He had no idea where he was going. He just needed to get Alexa far away from the chaotic scene below. Had the gunshot been real or simply a diversion to kidnap the daughter of W. Morgan? The little girl in his arms was not crying but silent with fright. Angel stopped running when he was sure they were only ones in the private wing and sank down onto a couch in a walled alcove. He held Alexa tight to his chest until her panicked breathing slowed, which was quite awhile. She did not cry, though she trembled like a leaf before a thunderstorm.
"Hey, love," he soothed her, settling her back to see her face. "You okay?"
"I want my Mama," she answered quietly, her lower lip finally beginning to quiver.
Angel immediately picked her up, thinking absently how sweet it felt to hold her, how heady the gift of her trust. He followed her directions to Willow's private suite of rooms and nearly started to cry himself when they rounded the corner. Willow paced the hallway in her nightgown and robe, several discreet guards talking at once on their walkie talkies. That she was frantic was easy to see, one hand holding her aching head.
"Mama!" Alexa cried, wriggling to be let down. Angel lowered her to the beige carpet and was amazed at how fast she moved. Willow sank to her knees and enveloped her daughter in a tight hug as Alexa started to cry from delayed fear.
"Shh, it's okay. Mama has you safe, it's okay. I promise, it's okay." Willow soothed her hysterical child and nodded to the guards. One of them remained at Angel's side, waiting instructions from his boss, who would not be hurried from her task. The others disappeared down the hall, scurrying off on errands previously discussed. Security was about to be severely tightened in the hotel. Angel moved closer and prayed he wouldn't be kicked out. Not now. Not now, when his only friend in the world stood three feet from him holding a sweet little girl claiming to be his own child.
Alexa's wails slowed into little hiccuping sounds and realized who she was forgetting.
"Mama, this is my Daddy. This is Angel. He came and he saved me." She twisted in her mother's embrace but did not leave it, raising wet eyes to look adoringly at Angel. His heart melted into a little pool of goo, charmed into liquid. The guard could have ran a stake through his heart and he wouldn't have sensed it coming. That naked vulnerability scared him but he was not willing to lose it. Alexa's outlandish claim was scientifically impossible and he didn't care.
"He does that," Willow answered carefully, braving a look up at Angel. He sank to the ground and held out his arms to both of them. Alexa readily snuggled against him, sighing into his chest. Willow closed her eyes. Tears escaped from underneath her lashes and she let out a harsh sob when she felt his hand wiping them away. For nine years she longed to feel his comforting touch and see the love shining from every pore in his body. Friendship, to be sure, and maybe something more born out of history and situation. Willow didn't know.
She did know that she had a long night of explaining to do, a security breach to deal with, and serious safety ramifications downstairs.
"I love you, Willow," Angel said and meant it. She nodded, her throat too tight to answer. His lips lightly brushed her forehead before he snaked out an arm and drew her into their first family hug.
Not exactly how he'd imagined their reunion. Then again, Willow was perpetually full of surprises.
~Part: 2~ Family Man
"Alexa, stop asking questions. I have a headache."
Angel raised his eyebrows in surprise at Willow's curt tone of voice. The three of them were taking refuge in Willow's bedroom after the veritable plague of guards subsided. It was a large room decorated in peaceful beiges and greens, with bulletproof glass and childproof furniture. Angel noticed a doll on top of the PC and the remnants of a tea party covering the coffee table by the television. He tried to imagine his fingers curling around those tiny cups and failed. No way.
With a full-blown migraine headache Willow had managed to quell the false gunshot scare in the casino, hover over the police while they questioned her daughter about the would-be kidnapper, dispatch two fierce-looking men to secure her wing of the hotel and juggle her worried staff like a veteran circus performer.
Angel just held Alexa on his lap and watched.
"Mama's gonna lose it soon," Alexa predicted, untroubled from being snapped at. She'd grown sleepy by three a.m. and snuggled in a fleece blanket with her head on Angel's chest. She insisted on calling him "Daddy" and he didn't contradict her. Neither did Willow.
The staff looked shocked but wisely stayed silent on the matter. Their employer was kind and generous but severely private. Only a few of them even knew she had a daughter, much less knew the paternity of the child. Anyone walking past Alexa and Angel together would notice they looked alike; Alexa had Willow's quirky round face, but her mannerisms, dark hair and eyes were all Angel.
Angel heard the last of the staff leave the outer reception area and waited for Willow to collapse.
"One more thing," she muttered, shrugging off her bathrobe to reveal a short, dark green satin nightgown. She was in too much pain to care about how appealing- or unappealing, with the dark circles and scowl- she looked. She found a forgotten glass of water and her prescription meds that she'd been about to take before they informed her of the chaos downstairs. Placing the pill as far back on her tongue as it would go, she gulped down the entire glass of water with her eyes fixed on the bottom of the glass like a child.
"Still hate swallowing pills?" Angel asked sympathetically.
Jarred by the compassion in his voice, Willow just stared at him. A memory like icewater flooded her brain. When she'd lain on her stomach at Angel's home, her back twisted beyond recognition with stripes and bloodied welts from Spike's cruelty, he'd tried to ease her pain with normal methods. Trying to swallow the medicine he picked up from the pharmacy resulted in her gagging and nearly throwing up all over the bed. Finally, she broke down in tears and he went back to the store and stocked up on liquid Tylenol. It was not her finest moment. Then again, had Angel ever seen her in a fine moment?
Willow couldn't stop her mind from "going there." He'd seen her open and bleeding on the floor of a forest. He'd stopped her from killing herself out of insanity, probably kept her from going over the edge more times than she could count in those first few weeks after the slaughter of her entire support system. He'd cared for her while nightmares raged her slumber, while she couldn't even stand from bruised flesh and injured muscles, when she could do nothing but scream and cry in pain. He'd bathed her and helped her use a bedpan without complaint. He changed sheets wet from sweat, blood, and vomit when she remembered fully everything that had transpired in the forest. He never once lost his temper, never once raised his voice to chide her, goad her, pressure her into healing before her battered soul could handle it.
"Yes," she answered simply.
Alexa cuddled in Angel's lap like a cat in a patch of sunshine, curling one porcelain arm around his neck, the other clutching a stuffed rabbit and tattered baby blanket up next to her ear. Willow softened a bit and smiled.
That was Alexa's own little quirk with the blanket, but Willow remembered that Xander used to hold his blanket the same way, before deciding that big boys don't have security blankets. Had she positioned the satiny edge above her baby's ear and unconsciously started the habit? Or had Alexa unknowingly taken on a trait of her namesake? Years of motherhood surged together in bits and colors, swimming around in her head like a school of minnows undulating with the tide.
"No one is allowed in this bedroom except Alexa. If you keep the drapes closed you should be fine," Willow told Angel. She heard her business voice emerge and mentally kicked herself. He deserved far more than a emotionless delivery. Angel nodded politely, patient as ever, and kissed the top of Alexa's head.
"Go to sleep, Willow," Angel prodded her when she swayed on her feet. Stress poured off her shoulders like wax from a tilted candle. She walked over to the overstuffed chair he sat in and kissed Alexa goodnight.
"Night, Mama."
"Goodnight, Alexa."
Awkward moment. Kiss Angel, too? Ruffle his hair? Smooth his twisted shirt collar? Willow just walked away and slipped underneath the covers.
"You're not a dream, are you, Daddy?" Alexa whispered. The whirr of the air conditioner and the hum of Willow's elaborate computer system in the corner provided a steady lullaby for her but he stroked her hair lightly, wishing desperately for her to fall asleep in his arms so he could just watch her sleep. His sigh came out like a hush.
"No, baby, not a dream."
"You'll be here when I wake up?"
"Right here."
"Promise?"
"Yes."
She lifted her face up for a kiss goodnight and Angel obliged, holding himself back from covering her little face with kisses. He didn't know how to win the trust of a six year old or make up for six years of unexplained absence. She knew what a vampire was but Willow could not have told her the complete truth or she'd be hiding under the bed in abject fear, not snuggling him.
Alexa was asleep in seconds after he kissed her. Angel gave in to his desire and watched her, peeling the fleece back slightly so he could marvel at the way her chest rose and fell, hear her deep breathing, trace the lines of her face and the pulse in her neck. His daughter, very much alive.
When she got too heavy he put her in bed with Willow, who slept fretfully on her stomach.
Their brief time together was etched into his brain as a permanent piece of artwork. She'd been delirious for most of the time, crying out in terror for Spike to stop hurting her. Her grief was nearly tangible and even in true sleep she was subject to misery, waking up with nightmares. And always the same phrases on her lips: "I'm sorry, I couldn't do it, It's all my fault, don't hurt me, please..."
He still didn't understand what the hell was going on.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Clear green eyes, free from pain or worry, were the first thing Angel saw when he woke up.
"Hey."
Willow smiled at his monosyllabic greeting, the first real smile he'd seen so far. It made him fully awake.
"Hey yourself, daysleeper," she teased and handed him a coffee mug with the name of the hotel emblazoned on the side. "Uh- that's not coffee," she added as he brought the mug to his lips.
"Thank God."
Willow sat back on her heels and waited for the interrogation. She wore an orange shirt under her favorite pair of overalls and had her long hair in a loose braid. It was an outfit she could feel herself in and not be intimidated. Angel finished drinking, resisted the urge to lick the rim, and folded his hands.
"So," she began, and stopped.
"So."
Willow's eyes quickly traveled over his tousled head, muscular arms and broad chest and his morning eyes that were dark and glowery, just like Alexa's after a nap.
Similarly, Angel drank in her bright red hair and lithe figure. Her bust was bigger than the last time he'd seen her and she crossed her arms over herself when she saw his gaze linger there in pure male appreciation.
"Well, you try having a baby," she defended herself with a rise of her chin.
"Yeah." Angel found a smile. "Just out of curiosity, how did that happen?"
Willow took a deep breath. The ten-million dollar question.
"I time traveled. Back- back in time, which is usually what you do when you...and I sort of, uh, I kind of seduced you. Not YOU you, a-a pre-Angelus you. It was spontaneous, of course. But then I had Alexa, so it turned out to be good."
Angel didn't know whether to start yelling or grab her by her shoulders and kiss her senseless. The onslaught of every emotion imaginable felt like a salty ocean wave crashing down on his head in the middle of a desert. Willow worried her lower lip between her teeth and had an apprehensive look on her face. Angel was expressionless.
"Are you mad at me?"
"Not yet."
"Want a second cup of, um, not-coffee?"
"Hell, yes."
~Part: 3~ Science
"But- but I categorized everything. With little color tabs," Willow pouted.
"Willow, I'm a vampire. I hardly need to be convinced of the supernatural."
Angel refused to sit in front of the boxes of notebooks and rifle through them. Her research was indeed color coded but he had little interest in the mechanics of what she did. His interest lay in the why, as his thoughts drifted to the little girl across the room who built skyscrapers out of Lincoln Logs.
"Tell me why you did it."
"I was scared," Willow said, somewhat defensively. Angel listened patiently for her to continue. "I wasn't thinking straight, Angel. I thought what happened was all my fault. My time travel research was just waiting to be tried out, and I thought if I could stop you from being turned, you never would have turned Spike and he never would have..."
Her voice faltered but Angel could fill in the blanks. Never capture the Oz-wolf and send us all on a wild chase into the cemetery that night. Never make us follow the trail of blood till we saw the carcass of what used to be Oz hanging from a tree. Never set that huge army of vamps on us, never scurry you away to beat you senseless, tear the skin from your body and rape you heartlessly while you screamed in fear and the woods stank of the blood of your loved ones.
"What Spike did was not your fault."
Willow ignored that and kept talking, fueled by the elation of finally being able to confess the contents of that first trip backwards in time.
"It was stupid, Angel. I had no clue what kind of fire I was playing with, but I was so hurt and troubled I didn't give a damn. You were in a pub celebrating a friend's birthday. I joined in the festivities, caught your eye, got more than a little drunk and we went upstairs. When I woke up in the morning you had left me a note with little doodles of leaves and flowers around the edges, saying you'd taken care of paying for the room. That was it. I didn't even get a chance to warn you about Darla before the time tunnel sucked me back to the present. Alexa was born nine months later."
Willow ventured a glance upwards. Angel looked shocked.
"Just give me a minute," he asked, not unkindly. He wracked his brain but had no recollection of spending a night with Willow before he met Darla. Like she said, they were both drunk and he might not have remembered even if he was sober.
Hardly a fairy tale.
"You made me frantic," he told her bluntly. "I searched everywhere..." Angel stopped. The speech was prepared and memorized: Give her hell for throwing his world into confusion like a snow globe falling off the coffee table. He'd fantasized about her reaction for years. Sometimes she broke down and begged for forgiveness, other times she yelled right back at him. Every scenario failed to bring satisfaction.
She consumed his thoughts. Trying to forget her had been as impossible as standing naked in the sunshine. And now there were no cleverly scripted scenarios with theme music and back lighting. No perfect direction for his angst-ridden screenplay. Just Willow sitting cross-legged on the carpet in her overalls smelling like pear body lotion with tears in her eyes. Like she was silently pleading with him to-
To what? To just suck it up and deal? Just forget the utter misery he'd been through the past nine years? Casually accept missing the birth of his own daughter? Forgo explanation and become a permanent fixture in her carefully disciplined life? Inwardly, he shook his head and called himself fool. It was typically arrogant of him to assume he knew her inside and out. Like a spotty friendship and two weeks of nursing suddenly gave him instant and complete access to the inner workings of her entire mind and heart.
"What do you want from me, Willow?"
"Everything."
Unmindful of the taut silence that stretched like glue between her parents, Alexa chattered away to her blocks and told them silly stories of how one day they might grow up to be a famous casino. Angel watched her guileless play and for the second time since he'd met her was reminded of Cordelia.
He smiled.
"What?"
"When I saw Alexa all dressed to kill last night I thought, 'that's what Cordelia must have been like as a little girl.' And the way she says exactly what she's thinking? Very Cordelia."
Willow warmed to the subject of her daughter.
"She's goofy like Xander, especially in the bathtub. You should see her with whole fleet of plastic ships. She makes up these miniature battles, attacking the soap with imaginary cannons. Xander and I used to do that when we were kids."
"She's named after him."
"He was my best friend, Angel." She looked away, not willing to elaborate. Angel slipped his large hand into hers and she squeezed it gratefully, finding a measure of peace in its strength.
"It honors him," Angel nodded. "Tell me more."
"She holds her blanket like Xander, too, up over her ear. I don't know if I taught her those things or if she just paid attention when I told her stories in the womb. It's like she took a little bit of everybody, but don't ask me to explain it."
"Maybe they gave the best of themselves," Angel suggested. Willow smiled.
"Maybe."
A few minutes passed in silence. Then Angel stood and pulled Willow up with him, not letting go of her hand.
"We have a lot to catch up on," he told her firmly. "But I think we should get out of Vegas and lay low till they catch whoever was behind the attempted kidnapping. You can't stay cloistered here forever."
"And go where?" Willow scoffed. "This has the best security money can buy."
Do you trust me?" Angel countered. That question alone was a bigger gamble than any high stakes poker game.
She made one of her 'disbelief' noises and rolled her eyes.
"This is not melodrama. Do you trust me?"
Willow looked for and found the earnestness in his piercing gaze. She did not doubt his integrity because he had always shown her love and security. And yet danger lurked in the back of his eyes that stirred up fluttery moth wing feelings in her chest. His stare deepened until she blushed from the heat of it, drawing his passion for trust inside herself.
"Of course I trust you."
"All right."
If Angel was ecstatic, he did not gloat about it, though he was sorely tempted to take her in his arms and kiss those trembling lips and erase the glint of doubt in the back of her mind.
"Pack for a few weeks."
"Where are we going?" Willow asked.
"I haven't been entirely lazy the past nine years. A little college town in Colorado knows me as 'that quiet writer from up the creek.' I'm eccentric but very nice to my neighbors, so no one will think twice if I show up with wife and kid in tow. Especially one who blushes as prettily as you're doing right now."
Willow almost pointed out that she was blushing because he was now circling her waist with his hands and pressing his thumbs into her abdomen. She stared at the sculpted soft pinkness of his lips and tried to remember her torrid night with him.
"I can't remember," she frowned, and then blushed harder for realizing she'd said that out loud. Angel swallowed hard. Romance was not on his agenda of reconciliation. Funny how plans always changed at the last minute, though, ushering in wild spontaneity. Before she had time to think he lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers in the lightest of kisses. The fluttery feelings moved a little further down in her belly and she breathed in sharply, about to deepen the kiss, craving for more of him.
Unfortunately, they had a very curious audience.
Angel gave Willow a smile with promise and stepped away to open his arms to his spritely little dark-haired daughter who watched them with wide eyes.
"Alexa, come here. We're going on a little vacation."
~Part: 4~ Fireworks
Willow took the wheel first which gave Angel a chance to climb in the backseat and hang out with Alexa. His black Ford Explorer with drastically tinted windows sped up the Interstate to his home in Cedar Valley, a place he described as private and serene. Willow didn't care if he lived in a hole. She just hoped the hole had more than one bedroom.
Leaving the hotel was remarkably simple. Willow informed the staff she was leaving on vacation and headed off into the sunset. Theoretically. The police were hot on the trail of one Byron Mead, the man they believed to be the mastermind behind the attempted kidnapping.
When Willow confessed she'd suspected Byron Mead all along, Angel wanted to turn the car around to hunt down the bastard himself.
"He's delusional, Angel, but I don't think he would have hurt Alexa. He worked at the bank where I kept all my stock certificates from investments I went back in time to make. They were in Alexa's name, but only Byron noticed she hadn't been born at the time of the initial investment. My bad luck he'd seen one too many low budget sci-fi movies and guessed about the time travel. It sort of pushed him over the edge and he started obsessing over the idea, hounding me for information. If the police get him in custody we have nothing to worry about. He's a widely known lunatic, but not a smart one. We're not talking Lex Luthor, here."
As they passed the endless expanse of hard earth and scraggly sagebrush balls of the desert surrounding Las Vegas, Willow turned her attention to the conversation in the backseat. Alexa had her serious voice on, mimicking her mother's business tone, demanding to know if Angel was going to leave. Angel assured her that he would never leave her, that no one could ever keep him away from her.
Willow thought.
Irrationally, she felt pin pricks of jealousy. Angel was besotted with his daughter. There was no way Willow could get him to agree to a joint custody situation. And secretly, she wished he was equally enamored of her. His soft kiss the other night promised more, but he'd been strictly friendly since then and Willow tossed the moment over her shoulder like a superstitious grain of salt. A momentary lapse in sanity. An overwrought emotional thing. Receiving the shock of a lifetime would not be a catalyst for falling in love. Would it?
Thinking back to the days pre-Alexa, Willow remembered Angel's tender care of her. There were no romantic edges to his love for her. He just saw her as a friend. His lover's best friend, incidentally, which ejected her from all romantic possibilities and into the "just like a sister" role. But maybe nine years of mourning Buffy had closed the gap a little. Angel hadn't made any staunch "I will never love again" statements, at least, not out loud. And technically, she was his best chance at love or happiness.
Yes. There was the small matter of his soul and its permanency. How could she work THAT into casual conversation, assuming they ever had an exchange that wasn't fraught with double meaning and angst? "Oh, by the way, I found out that the Romani curse can't ever be broken if the spell was cast by a virgin. Pass the salt."
And what if he then wanted to do more than just kiss her?
And what if Angel witnessed one of her nightmares? Granted, she'd been mercifully free for about six months but the mere sight and presence of Angel brought back clear images of Spike again. She'd dealt, she'd cried, she'd been through all the counseling available but nothing could erase the cruel twist of his lips taunting her as she lay on the ground and battled for consciousness.
What if Angel found out why Spike had come after her in the first place?
They arrived at the large log cabin at sunset. The last vestiges of orange and gold swiped the darkened expanse but did not pierce the land with brightness. Nevertheless Angel walked swiftly up to the covered porch and unlocked the door. Alexa followed close to him and Willow lingered a bit to crane her neck up at the house.
The log cabin faced the long dirt road and was flanked on either side by three oak trees. They provided the only shade until conservation land cropped up a thousand acres away on the other side of the winding river. The back and side of the house enjoyed a wide view of the mountains rising above more state-owned property. It would never be developed, Willow sighed happily. No billboards or discount stores would ever mar the primal holiness of the majestic peaks and dark green forest. The wind danced with the scent of wildflowers and clean, fresh air. Yeah, she could live here.
The house itself was rough hewn logs and furnishings out of a magazine spread in "Log Homes Today" with handpainted tile, marble countertops, a fieldstone fireplace and sturdy furniture in masculine plaids.
"I didn't decorate," Angel stated the obvious. "I hired someone and told them to use as many local craftsmen as possible in decorating the house."
"No wonder they love you," Willow teased as Alexa ran out of the kitchen and pounded up the stairs.
"They also believe that I suffer from a rare condition that leaves me allergic to sun. It- it explains why I decorated the master bedroom the way I did."
"Heavy drapes?" Willow guessed.
"And then some," Angel allowed. He had a vivid image of his bedroom the way he'd left it, the navy brocade curtains with the gold braid covering the balcony doors, the huge canopy bed made up with the velvety comforter and satin sheets, little dust covers swathed over the many candle holders and sconces. He'd have to switch the sheets to cotton before Willow could be comfortable in the July heat. And that kicked another image into play of Willow stretched out languorously on the blue velvet, naked, her fiery red hair spread out on the dark pillowslip, her eyes darkened and beckoning him.
"Woah," Angel grunted, feeling a part of him stir out of hibernation.
"Daddy, where's my room?" Alexa's impatient voice floated down from the second floor balcony that looked into the great room. "Hi, Mama! I'm up here!" She waved both hands, pushing her stomach against the wooden railing for balance.
Angel took the stairs two at a time and led Alexa to a small bedroom meant for an adult guest. There were breakable lamps and vases placed here and there, oil landscapes on the walls, and a color scheme of reds. It resembled the hotel room and he wanted her to have a little girl's room. Light colors, dolls, more stuffed animals than anyone could count. He'd seen Christmas shoppers laden down with toy store acquisitions; he knew what kids were supposed to like.
"Oh, I love it!" Alexa crooned, standing up on the bed so she could inspect the closest painting without touching it. She carefully removed two throw pillows and replaced them with her rabbit and her baby blanket. "Mama, can we pick flowers for the vases?"
It was on the tip of Angel's tongue to offer to redecorate the room, take her shopping to buy as many flowers as she wanted. Willow stopped him with a look that kept his tongue from moving.
"Are there kids to play with? Are we gonna stay here forever? I like it here. Mama, you know what?"
"What?"
"This house is just like I built yesterday with my Lincoln Logs."
That had been a casino, not a house, but Willow nodded enthusiastically. Alexa thanked Angel politely and went to look out all of the windows.
"In an hour the town will be having fireworks," Angel said quietly, for Willow's ears only. "I would like us all to go together."
Angel did not want to usurp Willow's parental authority. Alexa, for all that she was a millionaire, was remarkably unspoiled. She spent most of her time playing make believe or building things and quieted down rapidly when Willow spoke to her in the "parent voice" when she got whiny or sassy. Angel wondered if he had a "parent voice." Little girls instinctively pushed boundaries that he would have let fall. Willow rarely gave in, though, and Alexa seemed satisfied and would eventually forget about it and move on. Firm discipline was not as bad as he thought. Hard to administer, though. He'd have already bought Alexa half the world if she'd asked for it.
"It's safe?" Willow had to ask.
"Yes." Angel was a little hurt. he wanted to tell her. It seemed arrogant when he thought of it like that, but it was the truth. No one, but no one, would ever lay a hand on his wife or his daughter.
Woah, again. His wife? Where the hell had that come from?
"All right," Willow conceded. "Alexa, wanna go see some Fireworks?"
"YEAH!" The exuberance of a child was the best encouragement for his ego. She skipped over to Willow, waiting instructions with a mostly patient look on her face.
"Find a bathroom, okay? And thank your Daddy, because it was his idea."
"I love you, Daddy," Alexa enthused and ran out the door to find a bathroom. Angel swallowed hard, rooted to the floor. His hands clenched in fists and angry tears flooded his eyes. Willow was surprised. She thought he'd be grinning like an idiot to hear those words from his daughter and instead he looked like he was about to punch his fist through the wall. She took one step closer to him and waited.
"She loves a monster, Willow," he finally managed. Vulnerability laced his quiet words and like the last whiteness of a camera flash, Willow's jealousy faded away.
"Oh, no, Angel, she loves you. W-without condition. All her life I've told her how big and kind and strong you are. I told her the truth about what a vampire is and how you're the only good one. She understands like a child, but it's still a truthful understanding. What are you afraid of?"
"I'm afraid she'll grow up to understand what a monster I am. Was. What demon still courses through me. I don't want to lose her."
"Tell me."
He sighed, ran one hand through his spiked hair.
"I imagined her dating and nearly slipped into game face," he confessed, disgusted with himself. Willow let out a little breath of laughter and cupped his face in her hand, made him look at her.
"That's normal."
"It is?"
"Oh, yeah. You'd welcome death before you let anything happen to her."
"It's fucking intense," he blurted out, and glanced guiltily at the door. "Sorry."
Willow laughed in earnest and stepped away from him.
"I'll help you figure it out. I had six years to adjust to parenting. You've had two days. So far you're doing great."
"I am? Good. I mean, thanks."
Angel knew he looked helpless and hated it, but he trembled at the thought of making parenting mistakes. Willow made a mental note to add the "every parent fails" conversation to their list of topics.
Cedar Valley held their fireworks presentation behind the football stadium at the local college. Donations frayed the cost of the show and local snack vendors made a mint selling fried dough, cotton candy, soda, fresh lemonade, and glow in the dark necklaces you could snap on and off or twirl in the air.
Willow insisted they buy a skinny box of gray metal sticks called "sparklers." Angel wondered what the big deal was until she pointed out a little boy writing his name in the air with one. The stick crackled with starry sparks. Just explosive enough to have a hint of danger, sparklers were a favorite part of the Fourth of July for Willow and she wanted Angel to join in it with her.
To any casual observer they were just another Cedar Valley family out for the night. Angel was stoic and quiet, quick to open his wallet to pay for the box of sparklers and to donate to the cost of the celebration. Willow guided her small charge in and out of the crowds, cautioning her against picking stuff up off the ground and pointing out interesting sights. The child of the family was in high spirits, reveling in the charged energy of the night and the heady feeling of holding hands with both parents.
Nobody could tell from the outside that the father was a vampire, the mother was a witch and the daughter had been conceived in 1757.
They spread their blanket with other families on a grassy swell of land away from the main section of bleachers. Angel smiled when both Willow and Alexa lit their sparklers using magic instead of matches. Like mother, like daughter. they danced together in the dark like carefree gypsies, hair streaming like flags behind them, sparklers held aloft until Alexa made friends with a girl on the blanket next to theirs and began to make a town out of used up sparkler sticks.
Willow gracefully sunk down next to Angel on the blanket. When she smiled at him, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. She was bewitching him without using actual witchcraft. Her love and light seeped into his heart like a fast IV drip, turning into the balm to heal his wounded soul. Oh, God, how he hoped.
"What's that look?" she inquired lightly, her heart skipping a beat. Playfully, she pushed at his arm.
Angel couldn't lighten up; he was moody by nature. His wit was dry as pollen, though, so he took a twisted delight in shocking her with his honesty.
"It's the 'I want to kiss you so hard you can't breathe' look."
"Oh!"
Needless to say Willow felt empty when he didn't follow that statement with actions. It must have showed up on her face because Angel sighed heavily.
"I love you, Willow. And it has nothing to do with Alexa. I want you and need you equally, incredibly. But I can't start something I can't finish."
"Oh, but you can finish," she said before her brain could filter that thought.
"Don't tease me," he growled.
"A little while ago, quite by accident, I found out that because I was pure when I cast the Romani curse on you, your soul is permanent. Evidently there are more than a few advantages to being a virgin witch."
"The hell you say."
"It's true," Willow pressed on, oblivious to the deadly fire lurking behind his eyes. "You don't have to worry about losing your soul."
He cut her off with a downward cut of his hand, a maelstrom of fury rising in his heart. His eyes blazed with anger.
"Got any other surprises for me?" he spat bitterly.
"Angel..."
"I don't think there's anything else you could possibly tell me that could be any more shocking than that. I feel like my whole life is out of control. Two days ago I was alone and now I have a daughter and a wife and a permanent soul attached to this walking corpse."
"You do Not have a wife," Willow hissed indignantly. Angel had the grace to look ashamed. "And there's still a lot you don't know, so lay off. You're scaring me." Angel softened immediately.
"I'm sorry. Come here," he said tiredly, reaching for her. She pulled away and held up one hand to push him away. If he touched her in love, she'd fall apart in front of all these people. The control she'd worked so hard to maintain all these years would crumble into pieces if she let him touch her.
They sat in miserable silence, speaking only to Alexa until the colorful blooms were done barraging the night sky with unearthly eruptions of short-lived beauty.
~Part: 5~ Alchemy
It was hard for Angel to adjust to the fact that his soul was permanent. He realized that testing it would be impossible- he'd just have to trust Willow. And after putting Alexa to bed, he believed her wholeheartedly.
He carried her sleeping form up the stairs with her baby fine hair tickling his bare arm. Willow assured him that she'd sleep through the entire thing, but he doubted that when he sat Alexa down on the edge of the bed and her head lolled forward, smushing her face into his chest. Willow smiled at his discomfiture and took pity on him, showing him how easy it was to undress a sleeping six year old who'd spent an entire day traveling in a car and then stayed up late watching a fireworks celebration. Together they saw her into a short summer nightgown with a blue ribbon running through the eyelet lace and Angel tucked her in with trembling hands. Happiness, true happiness without a trace of guilt sung in his blood like the headiest elixir.
"She's so beautiful," he whispered reverently. And then looked at Willow. "I guess she takes after her mother."
"Ha! She looks exactly like you and you know it," Willow said, rolling her eyes.
Hurt by her reaction to his honest compliment, Angel excused himself and left to raid the kitchen for drinks and maybe a snack. Willow took her time upstairs, leaning defeatedly against the doorjamb to the master bathroom. She wanted nothing more than to fill the roman tub with hot soapy water, soak her aching muscles and wash her hair, which smelled faintly of fairgrounds and burnt-up sparklers. Angel was waiting downstairs for The Talk, which in her head had capital letters and loomed like a towering shadow.
They sat together in front of the cold fireplace, Willow in an oversized chair and Angel perched on the matching ottoman. They drank out of matching green pottery mugs, iced tea and o-neg, respectively.
"Start anywhere. I want to know it all," he said, the urgency in his dark, foreboding eyes belying his solicitous tone.
"There's so much."
"For starters, you can tell me why you're 29 years old and you don't look older than the day you left me. Well, much older," he amended with a furtive glance to her chest.
Willow scoffed inwardly.
"Weird side effect of time travel. Your body gets confused and locks down the aging process. It's a fountain of youth! Er, with out the actual fountain."
"And no one's noticed? Your hotel staff? Friends?" Angel pressed the issue. He also wanted to know what kind of company she kept or if she was a recluse, like he.
"The inner circle of my hotel staff is paid well to be discreet. Most of the time I'm with Alexa, and she hasn't noticed. Or maybe she just thinks that's the way mothers are."
Angel smiled out of one corner of his mouth and Willow nearly melted to see that sexy grin turned her way.
She smiled back, lowering her long lashes and doing nothing to diffuse the heat riding high on her cheekbones. She was reminded of his Freudian slip at the fireworks when he'd called her his wife. What would it be like to be married to Angel? Willow knew she could love him, but time travel, endless youth, and innumerable riches seemed more possible that the two of them making things work.
She may as well turn iron into gold.
"Tell me more," he urged, the smile vanishing behind his cloudy demeanor. With a nervous laugh, Willow stared at her stubby fingernails and threw the question back at him.
"What's on your mind, Angel?"
"You're on my mind," he answered truthfully. "I'm so overwhelmed with all this. I'm mad at you for running away and letting me think you were dead. Did you know your parents had the FBI looking for you? I'm mad I had to attend six funerals alone and grieve alone and cope alone when I could have leaned on you for support. I'm mad that I can't remember sleeping with you, no matter how drunk I was, but I'm even more mad that I missed six years of putting my daughter to bed. What the hell happened to make you so distrustful of me? Or was it just aftermath of what Spike did. Were you that traumatized?"
"You know I was," Willow said in a small voice.
As big as the great room was with its exposed beams and lofty windows Willow felt cold walls move in on her. She felt the familiar drowning claustrophobia that preceded an anxiety attack. She closed her eyes, tried to breathe steadily, and focused on the clusters of little red dots that swam beneath her closed lids, growing and vanishing to leave new dots in their place.
"Tell me," Angel pleaded, reaching for her hands which she surprisingly drew away and clasped to her chest.
Fear rose up in her throat, effectively silencing her. Oh, gods, he was going to stop loving her. He'd leave her. He'd take Alexa and leave and never come back if he found out that all those deaths were her fault.
"I love you," Angel confessed, his heart breaking.
Willow's green eyes shot open and locked with his, assessing the truth of that statement. He seemed earnest enough, but what about Buffy? What about love eternal? Was she just a consolation prize, fitting in because she happened to be the mother of his child? Did he love her out of duty, out of despair of being alone?
"How?" she asked. "As a friend? A mother?"
"I love you," he said again, lovingly, stress on "you." It was obvious that there was more construction work needed before he could swoop her up in his arms, carry her up to his bed and make love to her until dawn.
Damn.
"I want to believe you," Willow told him in a ragged voice. "But I can't? you haven't seen me in nine years. How can you love me that quickly?"
"I've loved you long before two days ago, Willow," Angel smiled. "I loved you first because you were Buffy's friend. Whoever she loved, I loved. You were so shy then, like a colt just getting bold enough to stand. And during the two weeks I cared for you, I loved you for being my only friend in the world. Your presence was enough to keep me from greeting the dawn. And all those years I searched for you and prayed you were alive, sneaking into your parent's house to look through your stuff, maybe find some clue as to where you'd gone, I let myself get mad at you so I could forgive you for leaving. I practiced forgiveness till it came out my ears but it wasn't enough. I needed you in the flesh to touch and hold and vow to protect forever."
"I don't deserve that," Willow whispered. Her throat was thick, her chest too heavy with the pressure of holding back tears.
"If everyone got the kind of love they deserved, we'd all be miserable. Love is about noticing faults and looking past them, loving someone in spite of imperfections. Buffy taught me that. You are such an incredible woman, Willow."
Willow did not trust her voice to speak so full of emotion was her heart. Angel sat back and clasped his hands, leaning his elbows on his knees. And then he sighed, sounding dejected.
"Maybe I just need to go away for awhile," he suggested lamely. Willow was about to protest vehemently when an anguished cry came from above them.
"Daddy, no!" Alexa wailed. "Don't leave me!" Her little feet pounded down the stairs as fast as they would carry her, her nightgown a filmy white blur against the shadowy darkness of the cabin.
"Alexa," Angel began, loud enough for her to hear. She ran right past the opening to the great room and headed for the front door. Angel was on his feet when the front door slammed shut and he cursed, running after her with Willow on his heels.
"She won't go far," he assured Willow, even as he had nightmarish images of Alexa falling into the river or stumbling on a stick and crashing headlong into something sharp or hard. And then there were the supernatural things that went bump in the night to think about, which Angel refused to think about.
"Alexa," they called in unison when they reached the front porch and its animal kingdom of moths and beetles drunk on the porch light.
No answer.
"Alexa! Come out this instant!" Willow called in her parent voice. "Daddy is not going anywhere, I promise."
The thwap of a beetle against the screen and the flutter of bug wings was their only answer until they heard a muffled scream coming from the side of the house near the river. Angel vaulted over the railing and sprinted towards the noise, his feral eyes adjusting immediately to the dark. Willow followed at a slower pace, her heart palpitating with fear. Angel was far ahead of her now, his focus on that tiny helpless cry that seemed so far away.
Fate turned her head at the right moment to see a red Ford truck parked facing towards the dirt road, parked back in the woods where it wouldn't be noticed. One non-dusty spot on the hubcap reflected the porch light and allowed her to notice the entire vehicle. And she knew in her heart that she had severely, probably fatally underestimated Byron Mead.
She stopped in her tracks as she heard a huge splash in the river, two men shouting, and her daughter screaming her head off like she'd been taught to do in an accident. Praying for mercy, Willow ran towards the river.
"ANGEL!"