Friendship

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

Willow caught up with Sean in the ballroom.  She arrived in time to see the furious vampire hurl Giles' journal into the fireplace.  It landed atop a carefully constructed pile of unlit logs.  With a short, violent thrust of his arm, Sean reached for the journal.  His hand twisted into a claw and Willow saw a bolt of light leave his hand.  Abruptly, the logs spontaneously caught fire; the journal was consumed in a glorious blaze of fire and light. 

Willow skidded to a surprised halt behind a plush red velvet, L-shaped couch.  "DAMN HIM!"  Sean swore, spinning to face Willow.  Nervously, she eyeballed his hands.  Fearfully, she prepared to dodge, but he made no motion to set her ablaze.  Still, Willow sidled nervously along the couch, unable to stand still after *THAT* little display.  <PLEASE don't set me on fire, Mr. Nice Vampire... Sir...> 

Sean threw up his hands in disgust.  "THE SLAYER!"  His voice conveyed equal parts disbelief and rage over his brother's audacious treachery.   "He needs to see a psychiatrist!"  He informed her with angry sarcasm. 

Willow met Sean's gaze, trying to gauge the volatility of his mood.  Based upon the wild light in his eyes, she deemed it wisest to remain silent.  She glanced nervously at the fireplace; to her relief the journal was already charred beyond recovery.  <Good!  Just in case he changes his mind.> 

"Why must he always be so contrary?"  Sean spun again and paced rapidly away from her, continuing to rant and rave.  "He was born into this world feet first and he's been doing things backwards from day one!" 

Deciding it best to simply ride out his temper tantrum, Willow hesitantly eased around the couch and sat down.  She leaned back and immediately sank into the soft, comfortable cushions.  She sighed with appreciation and kicked her feet up onto the couch in order to recline.  <I'm beginning to appreciate this life of extravagant luxury...  It kind of grows on you.> 

Sean lapsed into silence but continued his agitated pacing.  Willow watched him whiz by, absently worrying her lip again.  <He's sure not taking this well... I wonder if this is going to change everything about him wanting to help Angel...>  He passed her again and again, doggedly trying to wear a trough in the white marble.  <Or holes in his shoes. Whichever comes first.> 

Sean turned to her, still upset, but no longer enraged.  "If he brings the Slayer here Willow, I guarantee that things *will* get ugly," he stated calmly.  His words were a promise of violence arising from powers unleashed beyond her comprehension.  His eyes held commitment to his words. 

For a brief moment, Willow felt his control flicker and she sensed the dormant power awaiting his command.  Raw mystical energy coalesced about him like matter caught in a powerful gravity well.  Then, as suddenly, he regained control and concealed himself from her senses again.  "I don't want violence, but I won't betray my Family to the Slayer."  Sean sounded resigned to the anticipated conflict.  "Even for my own brother." 

"Angel isn't bringing Buffy,"  Willow reassured him with calm certainty.  Speculative interest sparked briefly in his eyes and he studied her with renewed curiosity.  His rigid, combative stance relaxed, however, as if he accepted her words at face value.  Inwardly, Willow chastised herself.  <I've got to watch what I say around him!  He's perceptive and smart and he won't miss anything.!> 

He hesitated, torn with inner turmoil.  Willow held her breath until she saw the tension leave his frame as he reached a decision.  "Then, that..."  Sean gestured sharply toward the fireplace.  "Never happened."   Sean turned away from her to watch the fire burn.  "What Angel does in the Hellmouth is his own business," he added quietly. 

Willow stared compassionately at his hunched shoulders; they seemed bent under an enormous burden.  Her eyes traveled back to the fire.  <Atlas and the world on his shoulders...  Or is this more a classic case of conflicting loyalties torn asunder...?> 

"May I use the lady's room?"  Willow asked meekly.  Her thoughts drifted longingly to her "guest" toothbrush in her "guest" room. "In my room?"  she qualified.  She scrunched her face, absently working her mouth; it still tasted sour from when she'd thrown up earlier.  <YUCK!  Angel isn't going to want to kiss me hello while I taste like this!> 

"Certainly."  Sean sounded withdrawn.  He kept his back to her.  Willow sat still, waiting.  Finally, Sean glanced back at her inquisitively.  His eyes questioned her continued presence with curiosity. 

"Don't you want to send an escort with me or something?"  Willow chirped, feeling inane to be reminding her abductor that she required supervision.  <I mean, there's no telling what kind of havoc I might wreak, if left to my own devices...!> 

"Only if you don't remember the way?"   He inquired politely.  Willow shook her head, no she had not forgotten.  Sean met her eyes levelly.  "Trust is a two-way street.  I'm old enough to know that much."  He turned back to the fire.  "It cannot be received if it is not given." 

Feeling confused, Willow silently stood and wandered off, heading for her room.  <Damn!  He's good!> 

Sean still occupied the same spot when Willow returned to the ballroom fifteen minutes later.  He stood rooted to the white marble floor, gazing raptly into the fire.  Willow chose to ignore him, figuring that he would speak again when he was ready. 

She settled comfortably back onto the red velvet couch and sighed with weary pleasure. <Lord, but I'm tired!>  Her attention drifted to the fire then upwards to a large oil painting displayed prominently above the mantle.  The painting instantly captivated her. 

It was a portrait of two young men and a young woman.  Willow recognized Angel, dressed in 18th Century finery, and Sean, similarly attired, seated to his left.  The young auburn-haired woman seated between the two brothers looked to be all of sixteen.  Willow sighed wistfully.  <She's stunning!  I wish that I could have known her...> 

"Is that Megan?" She asked with wonder, pointing to the young woman.  Sean turned, as if being drawn about and out of his reverie by the power of her voice. 

"Yes."  Sean's voice softened with a poignant sadness as he followed her finger and glanced back at the portrait of her many times removed grandmother.  "It was painted shortly before everyone died."  He said flatly, turning his gaze back to her.  Sean crossed his arms across his chest and balanced precariously on his heels,  looking tired and drained.  Willow found herself feeling sorry for both him and Angel.  <What nightmares they both must have to live with.> 

"What was she like?"  Willow asked mildly.  She kept her tone gentle, not wanting to stir up unpleasant memories, yet curious about this woman who'd been her ancestor. 

"She was young and spirited, a real hellion when angered.  All of that changed after our family died."  His tone mutated from sad to withdrawn as his emotional channel changed.  "Angel may not have succeeded in killing her, but he certainly murdered her spirit."  Sean suddenly sounded emotionally removed, as if they discussed something as banal as the weather. 

Willow stared at him, aghast at the turn the conversation had taken and thrown off-balance by his brutal honesty.  <I guess I'm not ready yet to know everything about Angel.> 

"Afterwards, Megan was dead inside... like an automaton."  His voice remained deliberately detached.  Curious about the sudden change, Willow met his eyes; they were resigned, not removed.  <As if he long ago accepted this matter and has grown accustomed to it...>  "Angel's rampage decimated our entire immediate family, with the exception of Megan.  She was the only one I managed to save." 

Willow hesitated, uncertain of what to say. .  A moment later, his words sank in and she glanced at him with renewed disbelief.  "But...!"  Willow protested with big eyes.  "According to the history books, she was visiting an uncle in Normandy when... that. happened." 

Sean met her eyes with mild curiosity, but without real concern.  "Really?"  He didn't seem to care that she'd practically accused him of lying.  "Odd, I remember it differently."  He shrugged.  "But, no matter.  She lived and that's what counts."   Sean turned back to the fire, effectively ending the conversation. 

Willow studied his back, then lapsed into deep thought again.  <Technically, Sean is as much my ancestor as Angel is...  And all of the other Kindred and their descendants are my relatives.>  It left Willow with bizarre, unresolved feelings of kinship and, strangely, belonging.  Thoughts of family brought her attention back to the complex and confusing contraction of Kindred, Phoenix Contracts, and vampires wanting the Hellmouths closed. 

"So, why would the Kindred want the Hellmouths closed?"  Willow asked absently, beginning a conversation by voicing a thought that she hadn't intended to speak.  Then, she winced.  <Blabber Mouth!!  He didn't know that I knew that...!!!  NO...!!!  WAIT...!!!  He did!  Mike told me that in the limo, but I didn't believe him at the time!> 

He moved closer and settled himself on the couch near her feet.  Willow pulled herself up in order to sit using the couch's armrest to prop up her back.  He sent a sly sideways glance her way.  "I didn't know that you read Latin."  He commented mildly. 

"I'm a woman of many talents,"  Willow informed him dryly.  "Guess you should have removed that dictionary when you deleted the Internet software, huh?"  She boasted impulsively, with a touch of smugness.  A moment later her hand flew to cover her mouth.  <Drat!  This takes the cake!> 

Sean's eyes lit with wry humor.  He laughed softly with good-natured amusement.  "Damn, but you're good!"  He ended his observation with a sensual chuckle.  "I knew that you'd be too good for Angel."  His voice slipped into a velvet sheathe.  "Come to Europe with me.  I can give you the world."  He gestured expansively, but his eyes were teasing.  Nonetheless, Willow felt her pulse take off like a racehorse. 

"NO!"  Willow blushed furiously, horrified by her treacherously feminine response.  "Thank you," she added more meekly.  "I'm happy with Angel!"  <Darn it!  He's teasing me on purpose!  WHY do I have to blush?!  Buffy would have said something sassy and blown him off!!!> 

"Ah well,"  Sean's words emerged on a deliberately wistful sigh.  "It is to my loss."  He gave Willow a sexy grin that alluded to an outrageously flirtatious side of his nature she'd not yet seen.  <And don't want to see!  Time to get this conversation back on track!> 

"So?  Care to explain?"  She inquired pointedly again, with an arched eyebrow.  "Just about every other vampire I've ever heard of wants them open." 

Sean sighed; his flirtatious mood morphing into exasperation.  "Kindred aren't other vampires."  He informed her with casual arrogance.  "Among other things, we have considerably different lifestyle preferences, philosophies, and priorities."  Sean sent her a level look that held more pride than the U.S. Marine Corps. 

"That doesn't answer my question!"  Willow stated bluntly, annoyed with him for dancing around the question and somewhat irked by his haughtiness.  "Why?"  she demanded again. 

"Why not?"  Sean shot back, leaning forward.  "Why must all vampires want the same thing, share the same objectives?  That's the kind of unimaginative, linear thinking that Watcher propaganda encourages."  His look challenged her to rise above the limitations of what she'd been taught.  His eyes implied that *she* was capable of far more. 

"Watcher propaganda?"  Willow asked warily, mentally envisioning a slick political machine manned by dozens of tweed-clad Watchers.  <With publications like, "What To Tell Your Slayer When She Wants To Date A Vampire".  Or, "Do Vampires *REALLY* Lack Souls?"...!!!> 

Sean nodded.  "Watchers don't like Slayers--or anyone else for that matter--to think for themselves.  Free thought encourages dissension in the rank and file."  Sean cocked his head thoughtfully.  "Although, I've never understood why they do it that way.  It is ultimately to the Slayer's disservice, as She winds up being unprepared for the unexpected and dies as a result." 

"'Think like your prey.'"  Sean quoted.  "That's what Angel always told me and I put great stock in his advice.  He's among the best hunters that I've ever known."  His eyes and words held worlds of hidden meaning.  "That's why I gave up killing; to get inside of his head, to see things from his perspective so that I could increase my chances of finding him."  Sean leaned back, his hand forming an emphatic fist.  "THAT's what they should teach the Slayer." 

Willow swallowed, not liking the tone the conversation had taken.  Mentally, she leapt immediately to Buffy's defense.  <And it's not true...! Completely, anyway...!  Buffy is a perfect example of a free-thinking Slayer!  Why she and Giles are always arguing... OH!> 

<I'll bring this up with Giles later...>  Willow frowned, wondering why Sean couldn't just answer the question without being cryptic.  <Sheesh, he's acting like Angel!>  Finally, she decided to hazard a guess based upon what she knew about him.  <And them.> 

She changed the topic, putting the conversation back on track.  "Kindred are mostly spoiled, lazy aristocrats, right?"  Willow managed to keep her eyes wide and innocent, despite her snide tone.  <No more than he deserves!> 

Sean shot her a disgruntled look, then slowly a wry smile emerged and he laughed softly.  "Right."  He agreed with self-deprecating humor.  Willow mentally scored a point for herself, then graciously erased it.  <In light of the fact that at least he can laugh at himself.!> 

"And hell on earth would probably ruin the genteel and luxurious lifestyle that they lead.?"  Willow continued with her supposition.  Sean nodded encouragement.  Willow stopped however, frowning faintly.  <Still. certain things just don't jive.  Like, Darla and pre-"curse" Angel, for instance...> 

"For one thing, it would most certainly ruin my stock portfolio," Sean informed her seriously.  His deadpan delivery left Willow staring back at him feeling somewhat perplexed.  <He's worried about his STOCK...?!  We're discussing hell on earth and he's worried about MONEY?!  Is he serious...?!> 

"Seriously."  Sean smiled faintly, perceiving that she did not know to take his humor.  "The Hellmouths being open would greatly interfere with our plans."  Willow perked up, sitting straighter.  Keen interest shone in her eyes.  <AHA!  Finally!> 

"Which are?" She prodded with intense curiosity. 

"To enjoy immortality," Sean's gesture encompassed the luxury of his surroundings and life in general.  "That would be impossible to do with the Hellmouths open.  Demons tend to be destructive."  Willow snorted in response.  <Understatement!> 

"What about ruling the world and all that?"  Willow asked, still skeptical.  "Is just 'blending in' really enough?"  <Although, they *do* seem to be really good at it, considering how little Giles knows about them...> 

Sean looked at her oddly.  "You'd be surprised how much we do control, from the shadows."  As a afterthought, he added.  "Our Clan founder was notorious for his perversions *and* for maintaining a high public profile.  As a result, he wound up dead at the hands of his victims' families." 

He folded his hands thoughtfully, his words dropped off in intensity and volume.  "The surviving Kindred learned from his mistakes.  We went into hiding and became more closely knit.  We entered into a compact with our descendants whereby they protect us from harm during the day and we protect them at night." 

"What about Darla?"  Willow asked.  "She was serving the Master, trying to open the Hellmouth." 

Sean's eyes flashed with hatred at the sound of his sire's name.  "Darla was a traitor," he hissed.  It was clear from his tone that he found few things more despicable than traitors.  Willow cringed, remembering him naming Angel traitor.  "She betrayed Guillaume to follow the Master and to live among the Others.  Guillaume came to Angel and I on the night we arose and offered to bring us into the Clan.  I accepted.  His intervention saved me from winding up like one of Them." 

"And Angel didn't?"  Willow asked, even though she knew the answer in her heart. 

"No, Angel didn't." Sean conceded.  His eyes filled with unresolved remorse.  "He lived among them for over a hundred years, before he finally came home."  He focused upon her with an intensity that was unsettling.  Willow shifted uncomfortably.  <We're talking unhealed wounds here...>. 

"And she seemed like such a nice person," Willow commented dryly, weakly seeking some humor in the uncomfortable topic. 

Sean's expression closed up, concealing his hurt away from sight again.  "Did you know her?"  He managed to look mildly surprised. 

"Not personally.  She tried to kill my friend's mother."  Willow informed him.  "Angel staked her in the back with an arrow."  Willow added, thinking perhaps *THAT*, at least, would be well received. 

Sean looked more than pleased; he beamed.  "Good for Angel."  He purred with such satisfaction, that Willow squirmed.  <I think that I may have just gained Angel some forgiveness for his Slayer indiscretions...!  At least, I HOPE...!!> 

"Sean?"  Willow glanced down at her lap nervously.  "What's causing the threat to Angel's life?"  She wanted to avoid asking, but the question was preying upon her peace of mind.  <Maybe now that he's in a good mood, he'll tell me.> 

He withdrew again, like a jittery hermit crab.  "I'm sorry, Willow.  We should wait until Angel gets here to discuss that."  His gaze settled meaningfully upon her ankle.  "I've said more than enough to upset you already."  He added with a grim undertone.  His eyes said, 'End of discussion.'  Willow ground her teeth in frustration and opened her mouth to argue with him. 

Someone cleared their throat.  Surprised, Willow looked up to see one of Sean's armed guards standing a respectable distance from the couch holding a first aid kit.  Sean extended his hand and the guard handed him the kit.  "Thank-you."  Sean dismissed him with a polite nod of appreciation.  With careful concern he indicated Willow's ankle.  "May I see your injury?" 

"What?!" Absently, Willow pulled her skirt up enough to expose her injured ankle and turned it so that the cut was exposed.  Dried blood and bits of tissue still clung to the gash.  "How did he know to bring it?!"  She indicated the first aid kit with confusion. 

Sean touched a fingertip to the outside of the wound, tracing it lightly.  Willow barely resisted the impulse to shy away from his gentle touch.  Excited, shivery chills ran up her spine and goosebumps rose on her flesh.  <Calm down!  Just because I see a hamburger doesn't mean that I can't control my impulse to take a nibble.  That same is probably true of vampires. I hope!> 

"I'm a telepath, of limited abilities."  Sean informed her absently.  "It runs in the Family."  Willow's creepy feeling peaked.  <That does it!>  Her foot ran away from his hands.  Sean watched it withdraw under her skirt with a crooked smile.  "That might become infected if it's not cared for properly," he chided.  "Angel's already going to be unhappy enough as it is that I let you get hurt." 

Gently he patted the couch cushion near his hand, as if encouraging a small animal out of hiding.  She hesitated, confused by the haywire signals flying up and down her nervous system.  One impulse yelled 'Run!' and the other to 'Calm down'.   "Well. ok."  Willow's foot slowly slid out from under her skirt again.  Sean's hands captured her ankle gently.  He opened the first aid kit and he began to clean her wound. 

"There's a sensitive subject that I need to broach but I don't wish to panic you..."  Sean hesitated, considering her.  Willow stared back at him with renewed wariness.  After a moment he began.  "The women of our Family tend to be extremely sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of others.  Men also, are somewhat more gifted that normal, but not nearly as much so..." 

He trailed off, watching her expectantly.  He looked prepared for another pot-and-pan-caliber temper tantrum.  Willow squirmed, feeling fearful and trapped.  <This is NOT what I wanted to talk about with him...!> 

He applied an alcohol-soaked cotton pad to her ankle; the sharp stinging brought tears to her eyes.  He continued.  "I personally have a theory that this very "sensitivity" is what drove some of these women mad. You see... I believe that they were "too" sensitive but not properly trained, or perhaps even unable, to control their abilities..." 

He sucked in a sharp breath and visibly pushed himself forward over an emotional speed bump.   "Megan went mad.  My mother was mad."  His voice shook with repressed grief.  Sean ignored the emotion in his voice, seemed almost unaware of it.  "Both of them were perfectly sane until their late teens."  Willow felt sick dread drop on her stomach like a lead weight.  <Am I going to go...?> 

"Mad?"  Willow whispered, horrified.  <I'd rather eat tadpoles!> 

Sean removed the cotton swab and opened a bandage.  "Megan just broke and stopped responding."  He carefully avoided her eyes.  "My mother was 'touched'.  Some said she was a saint and others a witch.  She obsessed over angels.  She 'saw' them, spoke to them, and named her first child for them..."  Sean cast her an ill glance. 

He gingerly positioned the bandage over her cut and lightly pressed it into place.  He continued with his story, not seeming to need any further encouragement from her.  "She had the most enchanting and powerful singing voice that I've ever heard.  She could sing down the entire castle and at night she'd do just that...  She'd go up onto the roof and enchant the entire night with her voice." 

"Singing for *them*."  Sean shook his head in disgust.  He crumpled the Band-Aid wrapper and sent it soaring towards the fire; it disappeared into the flames.   "She made our lives hell.  We couldn't go out *anywhere* in public without drawing whispers and stares.  Angel and I endured constant ridicule.  I used to wish she would die."  Sean turned to her, his eyes appealing for understanding.  "Can you imagine, a five-year-old wishing mommy dead?" 

Willow shook her head, no.  <I couldn't even begin...> 

"Angel and I sometimes snuck up on the roof at night and screamed at the angels to go away and never come back."  To Willow, it seemed that that five-year-old was still there, inside of Sean, still screaming.  <Dear God, he *knows* about me and he thinks that I'm going to go mad...  That's why he's telling me this...!!!  It *has* to be why...> 

"I've wondered about his name." Willow mused aloud, inwardly shaking.  <Angelic one...> 

"Mother claimed Angel was blessed," Sean snorted derisively and met her gaze cynically.  "Angel's life has been anything but blessed." 

"How many women went mad?"  She asked timidly, noxious worry gnawing a hole in her stomach.  <Should I just ask if I'm next...?  But what if he doesn't know...?> 

"Megan, my mother."  His lips soundlessly formed another name.  Sean blanched and shuddered, almost looking ready to cross himself.  "There have been so many others..."  He met Willows frightened eyes and abruptly pulled himself together.  "I'm sorry for upsetting you," he apologized gently.  His dark eyes were sympathetic and supportive.  "But you need to be warned.  In all that time there have been very few women born who could control their abilities." 

"Could one of them help me?"  She breathed the words, grasping desperately at the ray of hope that he offered. His words confirmed conclusively for Willow that Sean did indeed knew about her telepathic abilities.  However, she was too frightened to care.  Mentally, she remember the casual disregard with which she'd "attacked" Mike in the hallway.  <I've been opening myself up to risk impulsively, as if my ability is a new piece of software that I'm beta testing...!> 

"Your Grandmother Jenna was one."  Sean shifted his position to face her more fully.  Willow felt her heart crash under the icy weight of disappointment.  <My Grandmother Jenna is dead...>  She'd never met her grandmother, because her mother and grandmother had a falling out many years before Willow was born.  Her mother had run away from home at a very early age and married Willow's father.  <They didn't speak for years.  And when mom tried to contact her, she found out that grandma was already dead.> 

As an afterthought, he added.  "Tanya is another."  Sean sounded disgusted as he said his wife's name.  His tone was forbidding.  "However, I wouldn't trust her with your mind, for any reason."  Willow shuddered in agreement, remembering the ice in that woman's eyes.  <Neither would I...> 

"Sean, I don't want to go mad."  Willow's eyes filled with tears as they pleaded with his for help.  A thought occurred to her.  "Is Grandma Jenna a vampire?"  She asked, feeling desperate enough to wish that dreadful fate upon her own grandmother.  <That's a horrible thing to think...!> 

"No."  Sean stated flatly, removing all hope again.  "Jenna turned Guillaume down flat."  His tone became more reassuring.  "If you're lucky though, then you've inherited her mastery.  I'm sensing that you're awakening seems to have left you in control."  He hesitated, before offering.  "Don't take this the wrong way, but I might be able to teach you how to protect yourself." 

Willow stared at him silently, completely and utterly mistrusting his offer to help.  She felt completely drained and exhausted far beyond the limits of her reserves.  Sean saw her distrust and gave up without further discussion.  He sighed and stood up.  "We'll wait for Angel to discuss this."  He sounded tired and resigned himself. 

"If he wants to talk," he muttered ominously, under his breath.  Sean pulled a comforter off the far armrest of the couch.  "Lie down and take a nap,"  he ordered.  Willow numbly complied and Sean draped the comforter over her prone form.  "I'll let you know when Angel gets here." 

"Ok."  Willow yawned again and closed her eyes.  A moment later she was sound asleep. 

"Willow?"  A large hand buried in her hair gently massaged her scalp.  Willow's eyes fluttered open. 

"Angel?" She mumbled sleepily.  An eager smile full of girlish pleasure parted her lips. 

Angel leaned down to lightly brush her smiling lips with his own.  He pulled back slightly, hovering on her breath.  His tongue coaxingly touched her upper lip, seeking entrance.  "Invite me in, Willow." 

Willow smiled happily and extended her arms to him invitingly.  She opened her mouth for him, but he didn't take it.  "Angel?"   Hurt clouded her eyes, welling up as tears, and her lower lip trembled with the fragile vulnerability of a young woman's uncertain heart. 

"Say the words, Willow."  Angel commanded her with his eyes and his voice.  His raw power subdued her will and his possessive gaze quieted her fears. 

Willow obeyed.  "Come in,"  she invited.  <Come into me.>  "Please?"  She pleaded softly, licking her lips.  She subconsciously lifted her mouth slightly in an ageless and wholly feminine beckoning. 

"Good girl."  Their mouths joined.  Angel thrust his tongue deep into her, rewarding her.  His tongue probed her hungrily as their mouths made love.  Willow moaned contentedly and let her world dissolve into his.