Friendship

Note: Text enclosed in < > represents thoughts or feelings. 

Willow awakened gradually, shrugging off the cotton gauze haziness ensnaring her mind.  Her sleep, heavy and dreamless, clung stubbornly to its prisoner, not wanting to surrender her mind to waking. 

Physically, she felt well rested, however her body's physical demands made themselves well known.  Her bladder burned and sloshed like an overfilled waterskin, creating heavy uncomfortable pressure against her uterus and kidneys.  She felt a cloud of gloom form at the thought of confronting Angel over an issue this sensitive.  <This is going to be awful...> 

"Angel?"  Willow croaked groggily, her eyes fluttering open as she suppressed a yawn. 

She was alone on the bed.  A soft light emanated from under a closed door across from the bed, accompanying the distant hum of a ceiling fan. 

Willow rolled over, glancing absently at the clock.  Her eyes bugged out of her skull in panic and disbelief.  <OH, LORD!  10:00am!  I'm missing school!> 

Fear tightened her chest like a heart attack.  Willow broke into a cold sweat, desperately trying to control her turmoil enough to focus.  She rolled frantically across the bed, creating massive turbulence with her reckless movements.  She tumbled off the edge, plunging a short distance to the floor. 

A loud thump resounded as she crashed to the floor.  She landed heavily and shifted her stance to a crouch, on toes and fingertips, ready to explode forward in an irrational burst of undirected energy. 

Attracted by the noise, Angel jerked the bathroom door open.  He emerged swiftly, nude except for a short black towel knotted precariously at his hip. 

He paused within the doorway upon seeing her, lowering his head to gaze at her with calculating, cold intelligence that froze her blood.  His stance, relaxed, limber, belied the deadly predatory grace of a natural killer. 

Willow felt something human, mortal within her soul quicken, repulsed and reviled, raptured and reduced before such savage inhuman...angelic...demonic...beauty. 

<Unnatural!  He's not natural!> screamed her soul.  Her heart thudded heavily and her next breath became an indrawn constricting pain around her labored heart. 

A darkness, a thought, not her own, seemed to answer, <A demon is but a fallen angel...> 

The darkness coiled, constricting her heart, cutting off her life, her light.  <Angel, Please...Please...let me live...let go> begged her soul in a silent scream. 

The darkness held tight, then unfolded, withdrew, letting her go... 

Willow remained still on the floor, recovering from the terrible fear, the coldness that had touched her soul and then set her free. 

"Willow?"  Her name, so softly spoken, broke the weird, compelling trance.  Willow stared up at Angel, seeing only confusion and concern in his eyes.  <What happened?!> howled through her mind. 

Willow shook off the spell-like haze her mind had drifted into, hastily shoving the troubling images, impressions aside.  <Spooky...> 

She pushed them deep into her mind and locked them away, not wanting to confront, examine such things.  Abruptly, reason and panic returned. 

"I'm late for school!"  Willow squeaked, envisioning weeks of detention.or worse!  <...Principal Snyder's office!...Gulp!...Expulsion!> 

Angel started, gazing at her with mild disbelief over the source of her hysteria.  Then he smiled, chuckling in a deep, masculine expression of amusement that made Willow quiver with outrage. 

She sprang forward, propelling herself like a sprinter towards him in a determined rush for the bathroom. 

Startled, Angel stepped out of her way as Willow barreled past him into the bathroom.  She restrained a dangerous impulse to give the towel's knot a firm tug on her way by, taking it with her. 

She turned to see him blink, open mouthed in astonishment, as she slammed the door closed in his face.  Willow pushed the lock into place with an audible click. The bathroom air, still hot and thick with steam, made the small room into a hothouse. 

"Willow!"  Angel finally recovered his voice.  "Open the door," he demanded in a firm tone, as if addressing a recalcitrant child. 

"No!"  Willow cried, her injured response twisting her voice piteously.  "You're laughing at me!"  her accusation carried the weight of a murder charge. 

"My clothes are in there," he insisted, his tone still firm, demanding.  Willow sniffed, her resolve stubbornly hardening at his continued persistence. 

A pause, then Angel's tactic suddenly changed.  "Willow?" He coaxed, no longer demanding.  His voice, wrapped in dark velvet, her name honey on his lips.  "I'm sorry.  Please?" He pleaded softly, conjuring images of other things begged for, drawing forth a warm melting in her abdomen that left her trembling...<No! No!  Not fair!> 

Willow didn't reply, leaning heavily against the door for support, courage.  She clung desperately to her resolve, skittish fear and uncertainty keeping her locked in the bathroom.  A very small, brave part of her wanted to open the door and go to him, to entrust her heart to him.  <No, please, I don't want to be broken again,> whispered her heart. 

Angel sighed, a sorrowful sound that made Willow long to rush out and beg forgiveness for her seemingly irrational behavior, her insurmountable fear...<Stop it!  School, remember!> 

Willow waited for him to speak again, however, only silence greeted her straining ears.  <Has Angel given up on me already?> 

A bitter surge of disappointment swept her heart at being discarded, tossed aside, so easily.  <But then that's nothing new...> 

Willow turned to face the foggy mirror, wrapping her arms around herself in a self-pitying hug.  A single tear spilled down her cheek.  The mirror revealed only a vague outline of her reflection in it's clouded surface.  <Ghost girl....> 

Angel's clothes sat in a neatly folded pile nearby.  Willow fingered them longingly for moment, before shoving the misery aside.  <Enough with the teenage angst...> 

To her boundless relief, an unopened package of toilette paper sat on the countertop, next to a clean folded towel, a new toothbrush and a tube of tooth paste. 

She briefly surveyed the room.  Black shower curtain, black towels, black rug, black accessories.  <Wait!  I'm seeing a pattern here!>  Willow suppressed a small sigh of disdain.  <Men are SO unoriginal!> 

A sudden, soft rap on the door made her jump out of her skin.  Willow turned, heart in her throat, glaring angrily at the door as if it had bitten her. 

"I'm leaving a clean shirt on the door jamb," Angel's even, moderate tone subtly suggested that he understood her need for space.  <Guess he's decided to humor me.> 

"When you're ready, come out,"  Angel patiently informed her, leaving the decision up to her. 

"But we are going to talk,"   these last words left no doubt that they would, inevitably, speak of last night, even if he had to wait outside the door for days. 

<That's what I'm afraid of...> 

Willow glanced down at herself, gasping in horror at the huge, dark red stain on the front of her blouse.  <Ruined> she thought with disgust. 

Hastily, Willow stripped off her clothes and proceeded to shower and clean up.  Afterwards, feeling cleaner and almost normal again, she eased open the door and peered cautiously through the crack. 

Angel wasn't lurking just beyond the portal, waiting to pounce as she had half-way feared.  Instead, a long-sleeve, white linen shirt hung on the doorjamb.  She snatched up the shirt by its collar and shoved the door shut with haste. 

Willow dressed, pulling on her underthings and skirt, then paused to hesitantly examine the shirt.  She awkwardly fastened the front buttons with trembling fingers.  It was much too large for her tiny frame--the sleeves hung far past her fingertips, as did the tails past her derriere. 

She experimented with rolling the sleeves and tucking in the shirt.  After several moments of primping, Willow was finally satisfied that she looked presentable, if not chic. 

The mirror remained too fogged for her to see herself.  Willow brushed out her wet hair, delaying for as long as she could until tension finally drove her from the bathroom.  <Time to face the music...> 

Willow eased cautiously out of the bathroom, peering about for Angel.  The bedroom was empty so she padded barefoot across the carpeting to the bedroom door. 

The door was partially open and Willow was surprised to hear her name spoken in the other room by a distinctly familiar female voice. 

"-Willow?"  Buffy's tone arched with tension. 

Willow eased forward into the hall but the muffled male response was pitched too low to for her to catch his words. 

"Stop beating around the bush!  Answer the damn question!"  Buffy demanded, her voice spiraling higher with her shortening patience, her rising temper. 

"Stake me or put that thing down,"  Angel's irritated response carried clearly down the hall this time, making Willow start with fear for him.  <Stupid!  What is he trying to do, get himself killed?> 

"I will if I have to,"  Buffy's threat brought some control back into her voice, tightening her grip over her emotions, and perhaps, her weapon. 

"Then prove it,"  Angel's sneered, daring her. 

Willow had heard enough.  "Buffy!" she cried, rushing headlong down the hall before Angel managed to provoke the Slayer into killing him. 

Buffy stood in the middle of the room facing Angel, her crossbow leveled at his chest.  He could not have dodged the bolt if she fired.  Angel looked tense, angry, and Willow felt a palpable tension between them the moment she saw them. 

At the sound of Willow's voice, Buffy turned, lowering the crossbow towards the floor. 

Willow flew across the room and Buffy caught her up in a fierce hug, silently communicating her joy and relief at seeing her friend alive and unharmed.  After a moment they separated, Buffy stepping back to thoroughly inspect Willow. 

Buffy's perceptive gaze took in Willow's bare feet and wet hair, recognized her skirt from school the day before, and finally, fastened accusingly on Angel's shirt. 

Willow flushed, turning various shades of pink before settling on a deep crimson.  She dropped her eyes towards the ground, wanting to sink into the carpet and disappear. 

Buffy's sharply drawn breath set off a mental alarm.  A moment later, she grabbed Willow's chin, tilting her head up enough to expose her throat.  <OH, GOD!  NO!  I forgot!> 

"Did he bite you?"  Buffy's narrow gaze and soft purr bespoke a rising, dangerous predator.  Her eyes pierced Willow's, making it impossible to lie. 

"It was more like a nibble!"  Willow squeaked.  Buffy ground her teeth, starting to turn, raising the crossbow again. 

"Buffy, No!"  Willow panicked, seizing the Slayer's arm.  "Please, he didn't hurt me,"  she pleaded, desperately thinking, searching for some way to save Angel. 

A burst of inspiration stuck.  "Angel was drunk last night!"  Willow's confession rolled off her tongue, before she could think. 

"I...I...took advantage of him,"  Willow stumbled over the ugly words, recoiling emotionally, but relieved to finally have the truth spoken. 

"I seduced him,"  she whispered, determined to accept responsibility for this mess before she got Angel killed. 

Buffy and Angel stared at Willow, mouths hanging, speechless.  Buffy's crossbow dropped from her suddenly numb fingers to the floor. 

The shocked silence dragged...