Friendship

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

Willow stood transfixed by the gun practically shoved up Principal Snyder's nostrils.  Despite Buffy's penchant for violence--and hence, Willow's close association with it since she had met the Slayer--guns were not familiar to her.  Up close, they were frightening and very, very real. 

Willow looked past the gun to Snyder.  He did not seem to be bearing up well at all.  His reddened troll-like grimace betrayed his outrage; however, stark terror kept his normally abrasive mouth closed.  Apparently, his mean-spirited, petty person had met his match in a .44 Magnum.  <I almost feel sorry for the little troll.> 

She shifted her gaze to the short, grim-looking white man holding the gun and then idly drifted past him to the sunlight streaming in through Snyder's office window.  <One thing is obvious--they're not vampires.> 

The black man cleared his throat.  "Ms. Rosenburg?" he asked politely.  Willow turned back to him, lifting her brow inquisitively.  It seemed almost surreal that he should speak; she had almost settled into analyzing this as if it were some sort of dream. 

He smiled, flashing her two brilliant, even rows of gleaming white teeth.  Willow stared, both bemused and somewhat comforted that the smile reached his eyes.  Otherwise, his expression would have been extremely predatorial.  <He's got great teeth.> 

"I'm sorry, but we're going to have to ask you to come with us,"  he stated in a soft-spoken Southern drawl that Willow instinctively wanted to trust.  The melted-butter quality of his voice and his genteel manner contrasted greatly with his chosen profession--bad guy.  <Which is what I should remember!> 

Willow measured her words carefully before responding.  "Why?" she asked.  "Who are you?  And what do you want with me?" 

His smile flashed again like a strobe light.  "My name is Mike."  He extended his hand, nodding towards his companion with the .44 shoved into Principal Snyder's nose.  "And that's my partner, Peter." 

"All of your questions will be answered in short order," Mike assured her.  Willow automatically took his proffered hand.  It was warm and uncallused; his fingers were long and shapely.  She nervously glanced over at Peter while Mike grasped her hand in a amiable handshake.  <This is absurd!  I'm shaking hands with a gunman!> 

"Ma'am," Peter nodded his head slightly in her direction.  His straight face never broke free from its seemingly perpetual scowl.  The gun in Principal Snyder's face never wavered.  Willow still could not get over the fantastic quality of the whole encounter.  <How can anyone possibly be shorter than Principal Snyder?> 

Willow looked back to Mike as he released her hand.  "Peter, you're making Ms. Rosenburg nervous," he observed.   "Why don't you be polite and let Principal Snyder breath through his own nostrils instead of through that barrel?"  A meaningful glance accompanied his suggestion. 

"I'm sure Principal Snyder didn't really mean anything with that nasty height crack,"  he continued, sending a penetrating stare directly through Snyder.  "Did you, Principal Snyder?" 

Cowed, Principal Snyder shook his head as vigorously as he could manage with a lethal weapon pinned to his nose.  "No." His voice quivered pathetically.  "I'm sorry." 

"Sorry, Mike," Peter apologized gruffly.  He removed the gun from Snyder's face and stepped back slightly.  He did not, however, put the weapon away.  Snyder exhaled in relief; his balding forehead already turning lobster red by his boiling temper.  Willow felt a twinge of disbelief.  <It's like he's already forgotten about the gun behind him!> 

Mike smiled in acknowledgment of Peter's cooperation.  His attention turned back to Willow.  "Our employer has sent us to request the pleasure of your company this evening.  If you would be so kind as to accompany us."  Mike made a polite gesture towards the door. 

"You must be nuts!"  Willow exclaimed, unable to believe that he expected her to politely cooperate with her own abduction.  Willow winced as soon as the words popped out of her mouth.  <I must be nuts!> 

She flinched, expecting an immediate and violent response to her outburst.  <I've got to learn to control my big mouth!  Especially around armed wackos!> 

Instead, Mike looked hurt.  He pressed his hand, palm-down, to his chest miming a 'Moi?' gesture.  He smiled deliberately and shook his head slightly.  "I assure you that I'm not, Ms. Rosenburg."  Mike managed to sound sincerely injured by her accusation.  "Willow. may I call you Willow?"  he asked. 

"I'm not going anywhere with you people," Willow stated bravely, ignoring his question.  It took all of her self-control not to shrink in fear when Mike raised his hand.  Instead of striking her he gestured towards Peter and Principal Snyder again. 

Peter reached into his pocket and removed a much smaller weapon which he pointedly displayed to Willow and Snyder.  Then he put his hand holding the gun back into his pocket and kept it there.  He put his larger weapon away in a shoulder holster under his jacket. 

"Willow,"  Mike looked her squarely in the eye.  "We're going to walk out of here toward the front of the school.  Peter and I are both armed and if this doesn't go smoothly then someone will get hurt."  His steady tone softened to a more reassuring one.  "You're a smart girl and I'm sure you don't want innocent people getting shot.  If you cooperate then I promise you that no one will be harmed." 

Willow felt tears threatening.  Her lips tightened in fear.  She didn't want to go with them, but to be responsible for innocent people being killed. <I'd feel guilty even if it was only Principal Snyder.> 

"Do you agree?"  Mike asked gently. 

Willow nodded consent.  <I have no choice. I'll just have to hope that Buffy--or Angel--can rescue me eventually...  Or maybe, I'll just rescue myself!> 

"Good." Mike smiled, pleased..  "Willow, you walk beside me," he instructed.  "Principal Snyder, stay next to Peter."  Mike's tone darkened, becoming threatening.  He directed a deadly stare at Snyder, letting him know that he meant business.  Snyder paled under his gaze. 

Mike's lips pulled back into a predatorial smile.  "Just remember Principal Snyder,  Willow is indispensable to us.  You, however, are not.  If you're smart and don't cause us any problems then you will make it out of this alive.  If you're not."  He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. 

Principal Snyder nodded and stood shakily.  He wobbled out from behind the desk.  Peter followed closely behind him.  Mike gestured for Willow to move toward the door.  He paused to open it before beckoning her through.  Willow walked out slowly, being careful not to make any overt movements that might be misinterpreted and get her shot. 

They passed Ms. Sander's desk.  Mike flashed her a flirtatious grin and winked.  "Good day, Ms. Sanders.  I hope your knee feels better." 

The secretary glanced up from her task and responded with a bashful, blushing smile in return.  "Thank-you, Mike.  I'm sure it will!" 

The trip through the administration office went quickly and smoothly.  No one else disturbed them; in fact, Willow observed people deliberately avoiding Principal Snyder.  <It's like we're wearing leper robes!> 

They walked out of the office and Mike indicated for Willow to keep moving straight forward to the parking lot.  To her boundless surprise, Giles' tiny Citroen was parked by the curb with the engine running.  <They stole Giles' car!  I CAN'T believe that anyone would steal Giles' car!> 

Mike opened the passenger door and slid the front passenger seat forward.  He gestured for Willow to climb into the backseat.  She glanced doubtfully at him one last time, still aghast that they possessed the poor sense necessary to steal a CITROEN.  He sent her a conspiratorial smile that seemed to collaborate with her opinion of their get-away vehicle. 

Willow finally bent to stick her head and upper torso into the car.  A dark-haired, dark-eyed man in yet another dark suit sat behind the steering wheel.  Willow climbed into the back over a pile of books and settled behind the driver's seat. 

Mike climbed in behind her, "Nice choice of a getaway vehicle, Vincent," he complimented dryly. 

"Hey!"  Vincent spoke with a thick Italian accent.  "There wasn't all that much available in the faculty parking lot."  He paused, thinking.  "Besides, this one had the keys in the ignition." 

"I wasn't saying anything,"  Mike held his hands up in front of him in a portrayal of innocence as he sat down in the rear passenger seat.  He grimaced,  pulling a book out from under him and holding the book up to examine its cover.  "An Introduction to Conjuring, Summoning and Demonology."  Mike briefly surveyed the pile of books between him and Willow.  Titles included such distinctive pieces as "Necronomicon:  Fact or Fiction?" , "Serial Killers of Our Times", and a King James Bible. 

Mike discarded the book in his hand on top of the pile of books.  He shook his head in exasperation.  "Sunndydale--it's full of weirdos." 

Willow found herself nodding in agreement with him.  <If only you knew!> 

Meanwhile, Peter climbed into the front passenger seat, leaving Principal Snyder standing on the sidewalk alone.  Peter pulled the car door shut as the Citroen pulled away from the curb.  Principal Synder's final words reached Willow as they sped away.  "MISS ROSENBURG, YOU ARE EXPELLED!!" 

Willow felt her heart sink.  That last salvo of Snyder's completed a long list of catastrophes in her cursed life.  Xander and Buffy,  vampires following her, this abduction...  <And now I'm never going to get into a good college...> 

Giles' little car putted out of the parking lot and down the street.  It reached its absolute maximum velocity of forty-five mph, creaking and groaning under the added weight of four passengers.  At any moment Willow expected bits of hull to begin peeling off from the pressure.  <Like in Star Trek!> 

Fortunately, the ride was brief.  Willow sat in mute fear, clutching her book bag like a security blanket.  She deemed it best to keep her mouth shut during the journey.  <There's no telling what these people are capable of and I have a tendency to speak first, think later.> 

She worried about her parents and her friends.  Everyone would be frantic when this latest abduction was discovered.  <*This latest*...  As if being kidnapped is perfectly normal for me!  The second I get back from one, I'm off on another...!!> 

They traveled less than two miles from Sunnydale High before Vincent turned off onto a side street and pulled into a parking garage.  They parked next to a white stretch limo.  The customized license plate read "Daytimer1". 

They piled out of Giles' vehicle, walking toward the limo.  Willow noticed Vincent carrying a sheath of papers in what looked like Giles' handwriting.  Suddenly, the supposed coincidence in their choice of get-away vehicles seemed decidedly... odd. <I wonder what...?> 

Mike opened one of the limo's rear doors, his gesture directing Willow to climb in.  Vincent and Peter disappeared into the front seat.  A dark glass plate separated the front seat from the back.  She was alone in the back with Mike.  She heard the doors click as they locked and glanced nervously over at them.  They were the kind that could only be unlocked from the front seat. 

Willow chose the seat bench facing forward; another seat across from her faced back.  Mike sat down beside her; not close enough to be intimate, but close enough to be uncomfortable.  She scooted as far over from him as she could go, running into the door, while Mike watched her retreat.  She was relieved when he did not comment, or follow. 

The limo began to move, leaving the parking garage and heading out into traffic.  Willow glanced around, silently taking in her surroundings.  The limo was nice.  It had a plush dark brown interior, and boasted such amenities as a tv, a miniature refrigerator and a mini bar. 

Willow curled up into a little ball in the far corner, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.  She attempted to merge with the upholstery.  Her stomach rumbled loudly again, with a sharp painful jab in her gut.  Against her will, her eyes began to tear up.  The hunger, on top of everything else, was just too much. 

Willow sniffed loudly, drawing Mike's attention.  He glanced over at her.  "Hey!"  He snatched a couple Kleenex from the car's built in dispenser and offered them to her.  Willow hesitated, then took the proffered tissue. 

"What's wrong?" he asked. 

Willow stared at him in disbelief before exploding.  "YOU ARE NUTS!!  YOU KIDNAP ME AT GUNPOINT!  GET ME EXPELLED!  AND YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT'S WRONG?!"  Willow's outburst bowled them both over.  Mike gaped at her while Willow tried to sink into the upholstery again.  <I just yelled at a man with a gun!  Again!  When will I learn?!> 

A tear spilled over.  "I'm scared," Willow whispered meekly.  "And hungry!"  Her voice quavered. 

Mike hesitated briefly before recovering his composure.  Then he leaned forward and touched the speaker switch, "Hey, Vincent?" 

"Yeah, Boss?" 

"We're stopping for lunch.  If we pass a.Burger King,"  Mike hesitated and glanced at her questionably.  Willow nodded frantically while staring at him in astonishment.  Her stomach grumbled again.  "Then pull off into the drive through." 

"Sure thing," Vincent complied.  "There's one up ahead on the way out of town." 

"What would you like?"  Mike asked in an aside to Willow. 

Willow crossed her fingers; this seemed to good to be true.  "A Whopper Value meal?"  she asked. 

Mike chuckled softly.  "Order us two Whopper Value meals," he instructed.  He turned his head to her again.  "Anything to drink?" 

Willow hesitated for a moment.  <What the heck!  Go for the Gold!>  "A chocolate milk shake?"  she squeaked. 

"And two chocolate milk shakes," he finished.  Willow nearly returned his impertinent smile for the first time.  <Maybe he's not so bad after all...  Wait a second!  What am I thinking?!> 

Mike released the switch and beamed at her.  "Anything else?"  he asked, obviously pleased to have almost coaxed a smile from her. 

"How about an explanation?" Willow decided to take a chance and ask.  <After all, he did promise to explain...> 

Mike settled back and began in steady, even voice, "First, let me offer you the Clan's formal apology for how this has been handled up to now."  Willow blinked; this was quite unexpected.  Mike offered her a reassuring smile and continued.  "I promise no one wants to hurt you.  In fact, you're among family."  He gestured at himself. 

"What do you mean?"  Willow asked, not comprehending. 

"I'm your fifth cousin," he elaborated, looking vastly amused.  Willow's jaw dropped.  Despite herself, she reflexively glanced at his coffee-colored complexion. 

Mike threw back his head and laughed heartily at her reaction, drawing an even more embarrassed flush from Willow.  She dropped her eyes, staring down at her lap. 

"It's ok," Mike chuckled.  "I see that reaction a lot."  He continued, giving her time to recover her composure.  "Sean was furious when he leaned that Roger sent the Childer after you.  Especially after it became apparent that Angelus is involved." 

"~Angel~,"  Willow corrected absently.  Mike's eyebrows lifted slightly.  "Who's Roger?" Willow asked the first of a dozen questions popping through her head. 

"Roger was the gentleman whom ~Angel~ almost beat to death.  And sent back to inform us that the Hellmouth is his territory... "  He trailed off before adding significantly, "... and you."  Mike shook his head at the irony.  "Roger gets six of our youngest killed and survives himself. There's really no justice." 

The memory of Handsome's vicious face leering into hers made Willow shudder.  <The vampire from the park...>  "Was?" she asked distractedly, wondering at his choice of past tense.  She averted her gaze, hoping to hide her reaction from Mike.  Fortunately, he did not seem to notice. 

Mike flashed her that bright smile again, but Willow caught another brief glimpse of the predator lurking beneath his charming facade.  His eyes hardened like ice.  "As I said," he shrugged.  "Sean was most displeased." 

"Who is Sean?"  she asked, sighing in relief.  Willow relaxed as the implications of that last sank in.  <Roger is no more...> 

"Sean is our boss,"  Mike smiled again, his gesture encompassing himself and the other occupants of the car.  "We take our orders directly from him." 

"You keep saying 'we'?"  Willow stated uneasily.  "You serve. vampires willingly?" 

"Certainly,"  Mike brushed off her discomfort.  "We are all Family," he explained, making it sound quite simple.  "Our ancestors treat us well.  They take care of us financially and protect us from harm.  Sometimes, they bless one of us with immortality.  In return, we guard them during the day and serve them." 

"But how can you trust them?!"  Willow burst out, unable to contain herself.  "They're monsters!" 

"Is YOUR ~Angel~ a monster?"  Mike shot back, point blank. 

"NO!"  Willow exclaimed.  She stopped, staring at him as his point sank home.  "But he's different!"  She finished lamely, not willing, nor able to explain Angel to him. 

"Kindred are different too,"  Mike smiled patiently, graciously patient with her lack of understanding.  "Look, Willow. I'm sure that other than Angel, all of your contact with vampires has been with the Morlocks." 

Willow stared at him, puzzling over his reference from "The Time Machine" by H.G. Wells.  <And what exactly are Kindred?> 

"Sorry,"  Mike apologized.  "That's what most of the younger Kindred call the vermin who dwell below ground," he elaborated. 

"So. Kindred?"  Willow raised her eyebrows questioningly.  Mike nodded; it was the correct term.  "Are the same as The Laval?"  Willow hazarded a guess.  She courageously strove to keep her face expressionless and not let any of her confusion show through.  <The last thing I need is to reveal just how totally clueless I actually am!> 

Mike's eyebrows shot up at the reference.  It was a word an outsider would have used.  "Angelus really has kept you in the dark, hasn't he?"  he questioned, sounding immensely surprised. 

"OOOHHH, you could say that!" Willow murmured, mentally tightening the noose on Angel's neck.  His tight-lipped reserve had really landed her in trouble.  <I refuse to chalk this one up to 'natural caution'!  Or 'he's just not used to sharing'!  Or 'maybe it was a small oversight on his part'!  Sheesh!  He didn't even 'fess up to being Laval--Kindred--while we were discussing them!> 

Mike took her silence as an opportunity to finish his explanation.  "Look, Willow--I know that this doesn't make much sense to you right now, but you need to trust me.  Kindred and Morlocks are as different as day and night."  Willow listened in incredulous silence.  <He seems to sincerely believe this...> 

"Kindred are civil."  Mike explained.  "They have no interest in opening any of the Hellmouths and destroying the world."   Willow kept listening, deliberately keeping her lips sealed.  <OH, REALLY?!!  So how do you explain Darla?!  Or Angel...  before?> 

"I won't sugar coat this or lie to you," Mike continued to gently explain his propaganda to her.  "They are still vampires and they need blood to survive.  But they aren't brutal like the Morlocks." 

"Sooo, I'm supposed to take your word that Kindred are a kinder, gentler breed of vampire?"  Willow asked.  Mike nodded, pleased to see she finally understood; her dry sarcasm sailed right over his head. 

He smiled.  "I've been chosen myself to be brought across next year," he informed her proudly.  Willow gasped, aghast at his naiveté.  <He's brainwashed...  or mad!> 

"I don't want to be a vampire,"  Willow stated bluntly, trying to get a handle on his matter-of-fact acceptance of these vampires.  <He's so casual about this!  Like it's an honor!> 

"That is no longer an issue," Mike gestured dismissively.  "Angelus has formally claimed you for himself.  No one is going to embrace you, especially now that it is evident that Angelus is your consort." 

Willow blushed.  <They think Angel is my...?!  Lord Oh Lord!!> 

"By Kindred tradition, one must best Angel in a duel in order to win you.  Most would not be all that eager to challenge one of Guillaume's grandchilder."  Mike paused and winked.   "And your consort has quite a fearsome reputation himself,"  he added. 

Willow kept right on blushing while trying to grapple with this flood of new information.  <Guillaume--he was the former Master of London that Angel mentioned last night.  Does this mean that Angel is descended from him?!> 

"So, if that's true, then why am I being nabbed?" she asked. 

"Because of Angel," Mike supplied.  "Sean has been searching for him for almost eighty years." 

"What difference does Angel being involved with me make?" Willow inquired, even as she began to connect the dots.  <They're setting a trap... with me as the bait!> 

His next words scattered her thoughts to the four winds.  "A big one," he said.  "You see, Sean is Angel's brother."