Friendship

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

"Suicide!"  Buffy exclaimed, her eyes widening fearfully.  "Willow, that's not the answer!" she rushed to convince her friend.  Buffy's manner was subconsciously aggressive as she seized Willow's arms, practically hauling the other girl off of her feet.  Few things scared Buffy as much as the insubstantial specter of death.  It was an enemy she could not defeat through any amount of brute force, or sheer skill.  Death had come for her recently and the thought of losing Willow to it frightened and angered her beyond reason.  In her determination to make her point, Buffy wound up shaking Willow like a bottle of Italian dressing. 

"Bu-ff-y!"  Willow stuttered, grabbing her friend's forearms for stability.  She was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet to absorb the impact.  "That's not what I meant!" she explained, lying through her teeth.  Quite the contrary, that's exactly what she'd been considering.  Buffy's vision seemed to point in that direction, as did Willow's own sense of right and wrong.  Inwardly, she quailed at the very thought.  But when she forced herself to confront suicide as a viable option from a purely analytical standpoint, it seemed reasonable and logical.  She'd save the world from the Hellmouths, she'd save Angel from death, and she'd escape an eternity of being trapped in a sixteen year old body.  <I wouldn't have to watch everyone I know age and die.  Everyone that I will know...> 

Willow shuddered, feeling ill.  It took all of her strength not to show her fear.  Trying to calm the Slayer, she projected a soothing sense of serenity into Buffy's mind.  "I need to see the vision to see if there's anything there that might be of use to us tonight," she explained hastily.  "I need to know if there's a hint or a clue in there somewhere that might help us win."  Winning to Willow meant saving Angel's life.  Saving the world in the process would be a nice bonus.   <Buffy's vision MUST be tied to my Prophecy.  Why else would she be having it, if it wasn't.?> 

"Oh."  Buffy calmed down and stopped trying to shake Willow's teeth out.  Willow landed back on her feet with a jarring crash.  "You scared me for a second there," Buffy apologized.  "Sorry."  Gently, she let go of Willow's arms, patting them apologetically before releasing them.  Buffy's general jumpiness was perfectly understandable.  She was stressed out and immensely tired, having been deprived of sleep for most of the week by one thing after another.  She still looked frail and wan, with dark circles under her eyes, an unhealthy pallor to her complexion, and limp hair. 

"Willow," Buffy began hesitantly.  "I want to apologize for the way I've been behaving lately."  She swallowed, looking uncertain and pushed further into the uncomfortable subject.  "I've been having certain issues."  Willow nodded encouragingly and lightly patted her friend's arm.  Somehow, she was well beyond being angry with Buffy anymore.  <Things have simply gotten too complex to waste time muddling everything up further with pointless anger.  I'm not entirely happy with Buffy for how she's behaved, but condemning her isn't going to change anything.> 

"What happened between you and Xander?" Willow questioned softly, directing the conversation towards their absent friend.  "And just out of curiosity, where is Xander?" she queried, feeling somewhat reluctant to hear the answer.  Her reluctance stemmed from equal parts nervousness and fear.  <Surely, he's not so angry with me about Angel that he'd let it keep him away.> 

"Xander and I just weren't working out," Buffy replied.  "We're too good of friends and it just didn't feel right."  She shrugged.  "I didn't use him on purpose, I swear.  It's just.  well, he was there and I needed someone to lean on."  She looked pretty unhappy and Willow guessed pretty easily that all was still not well between the Slayer and Xander.  "Xander's at the hospital." Buffy finally supplied.  "His dad got into a car accident." 

"Is he ok?"  Willow asked, becoming concerned.  She'd known Mr. Harris most of her life and liked him a lot.  <I hope he's not seriously hurt.> 

"We don't know yet," Buffy said, sighing.  She took her friend's hand.  "He said he'd be here as soon as he could.  Xander would have been here, if he could have, Willow.  He told me to tell you that he loves you and to be careful."  She smiled faintly.  "And if anything happens to you, he's going to hold me personally responsible for not slaying Angel when I could have." 

<Good old Xander.>  Willow laughed, a tight, strangled laugh at Buffy's feeble attempt at humor.  "Come on," she told her friend.  "Let's go outside."  They left the bathroom, when Willow stopped abruptly outside of the bathroom door.  "Oops," she muttered.  Buffy looked over at her quizzically.  "Forgot something," she mumbled with a blush, and hurried back into the bathroom.  The door dropped slowly closed behind her, leaving Buffy chuckling alone in the empty hallway. 

"So," Buffy said nervously, shifting in her seat on the bench outside of the library.  "What do I need to do?" 

"Just relax," Willow instructed her, feeling somewhat nervous herself.  "Umm.  think about your dreams and try to open yourself up to me.  Don't try and control their flow or you might suppress something."  Within Buffy, Willow sensed an immensely strong will.  "You were able to keep Lothos and the Master from taking control of your mind in the final fights with them, so you'd probably be able to keep me out pretty easily," she added tentatively.  She began to reach telepathically for Buffy's mind. 

"Ok, I'll try," Buffy murmured softly.  "But most of my dreams aren't very pleasant," she warned. 

"That's fine," Willow soothed, focusing.  She began to receive dark, unpleasant emotions from Buffy.  <Which makes sense.  She did say she was having a lot of nightmares.> 

The outside world began to fall away.  Flashes.  Memories.  Feelings...  Blue eyes, Dark eyes, Angel eyes.  The Master's lair...  The Master had his hand wrapped cruelly about Buffy's throat.  She swung up an arm to knock his hand away and then turned to run.  The Master held his hand out toward her, freezing her with his will.  Slowly, he forced Buffy's own body to betray her.  Like a puppet, she couldn't command her own movements.  He approached her from behind and reached up to remove Angel's jacket.  She was panting hard with fear and fighting his control with everything within her, but it wasn't enough. 

The foul monstrosity leaned closer, to speak directly into Buffy's ear.  "You tried.  It was noble of you.  You heard the prophecy that I  was about to break free and you came to stop me.  But prophecies are  tricky creatures.  They don't tell you everything."  He paused and Buffy shuddered sickly.  The vibration of his voice was like having a sewer roach climbing around in her eardrum.  He disgusted her and terrified her.  "You're the one that sets me free!" he whispered, gloating over his triumph.  "If you hadn't come, I couldn't go.  Think about that!" 

Despite everything, Buffy was still frozen with fear.  The Master waited a moment longer and then turned his ugly face into her throat.  He bit her at the base of her neck and drank.  Then, for reasons inexplicable to this day, he let her go.  "OH, GOD!" the Master roared, practically orgasming.  "THE POWER! 

Buffy crashed to her knees.  She was swiftly losing consciousness.  Her last waking memory was of the Master speaking.  "And by the way..." he informed her.  Buffy toppled face down into a pool of foul, rank water.  "I like your dress."  Blackness... 

Willow shuddered, sick with sympathy and sorrow.  Gently, she began to direct the flow of the mind meld, trying to sort through Buffy's nightmares.  They were many and varied.  Abruptly, Buffy was kneeling in the mud in the graveyard.  Above her hovered a severely wounded Angel.  "You tried to kill me!  You let me die!" Buffy whispered the accusation.  She was reeling in shock.  <Is this another nightmare...?!  Is it real...?!  Did I just try to kill Angel...?!> 

Angel's hands moved slightly, subconsciously reaching for her.  Buffy panicked.  She couldn't let him touch her right now.  She wasn't in control; she'd hurt him, almost killed him.  "Stay away from me!" she warned, her voice cracking with fear.  She said the first thing that came into her head, thinking only of fleeing.  "I don't want you following me!  I don't want to see you anymore!" 

Angel flinched under the blow.  "I'm sorry," he croaked.  His voice was harsh, almost broken.  Slowly, he began to retreat.  His eyes continued to beseech her to let him come back.  Buffy knew full well that he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss the pain away.  If she'd let him, he could have made everything better.  <Better's not the answer.  I need to put the Master's ghost to rest before we can be together again.  Until then, I need to keep everyone I love at a safe distance so that no one else gets hurt.> 

Angel looked miserable and being so cruel nearly broke her heart.  He looked like a beaten puppy dog.  He'd traveled a fair distance from her and still hadn't managed to turn away from her.  "I won't follow you anymore," he promised.  "I'll stay out of your life."  With that, he finally turned and strode swiftly away.  Buffy saw him pause only long enough to cast her silver cross away.  She knew from the way that he moved that all of his strength went into that throw. 

Numbly, Buffy watched Angel retreat, disappearing like a wraith into the shadowy night.  Once he was gone, she went to retrieve her cross.  A sinking feeling hit her stomach when she realized that it had landed on a fresh grave. 

Willow and Buffy were weeping in each other's arms by the time the vision passed.  "Never mind free flow!"  Willow sobbed, hiccuping.  "Think about the Prophecy vision!  I don't have any Kleenex out here and we're getting all runny."  Buffy nodded in fervent agreement, her head bobbing energetically. 

The mental landscape shifted, flying by with dizzying speed.  Then, her vision surfaced out of the ocean of memory.  Angel...  Giles in an ambulance, paramedics desperately trying to restart his flat-lining heart...  Guillaume standing nearby, watching...  A burning bird...  Angel...  A Phoenix tattoo...  A column of fire and a burning figure emerging...  Angel yet again...  And Willow raising a dagger to her wrist and slashing it... 

Willow jerked away from Buffy, tearing herself out of the Slayer's mind.  She ended the meld with a quick mental snap and turned away.  Buffy was left gasping in shock at Willow's rude and abrupt departure.  "I've seen enough," Willow grated harshly.  "Come on," she gestured, hurrying away from her friend.  Her stomach growled, reminding her that it was empty.  "Let's get something to eat." 

I was appalled and was too bewildered to do or say anything.  With a mocking smile he placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did so: "First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions.  You may as well be quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!" 

"Gud evuning!" 

Startled, Willow nearly leapt out of her seat located in the far rear of the stacks.  Her hands, heart, and Bram Stoker's 'Dracula' floundered and flailed at the lusty drawl of a cheesy Hungarian accent in her ear.  Angel's deep, powerful purr awakened every nerve ending in her body like a siren's spell. "Permit me to say you look delicious upon this fine evuning, my Darling."  With this, he casually spun her about in her chair to face him and pulled her into his arms.   Willow, still utterly surprised, let herself be lifted without even a murmur of protest.  <!!> 

Gold fire cracked and sparked as they touched.  Willow's aura wavered intensely as their bodies came together.  She saw a huge grin flash by before he kissed her.  His body and mouth plastered against hers, molding her to his whim.  His lips pushed her mouth open and his tongue invaded her hungrily.  He dominated her in a manner purely sexual, and purely male.  Willow found herself being dragged off her feet, supported only by his arms.  <...Angel's back...!!!> 

With an excited squeal, she joyfully wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in his hair.  She was so thrilled to see him that she couldn't manage more than remote embarrassment at being caught reading such romantic folderol as Dracula.  She knew quite well that vampires weren't really romantic, but she'd been enjoying the fantasy anyway.  She'd been hiding in the far rear stacks of the library, trying to avoid receiving yet another long-winded lecture from Giles on her new duties. 

Angel seemed to be in exceptionally high spirits.  His mouth was hungryand demanding on her own.  His tongue stroked hers in a demanding rhythm that awakened every sleeping cell in her body.  She sighed deeply into his mouth and moved her tongue against his with enthusiasm.  <Well, most vampires aren't romantic...> 

When his mouth finally separated from hers, it was only to pull her closer, into a tighter hug.  He still held her suspended in his arms, arms that were strong encircling her, never wavering in their steadiness or their strength.  "If I'd known you liked the Hungarian accent, I would have endeavored to please you before now," Angel informed her dryly, unwilling to let the opportunity to tease her pass.  His words were muffled against her hair and he finally dropped the atrocious accent.  "Frankly, I've never understood what women see in that guy," he complained with heart-felt indignity, off-handedly indicating the novel.  Willow suspected that Angel still wore that maddening grin and began to wonder what was up.  <Something must be going on for Angel to be so...  well, chipper...> 

"It's not the accent," Willow managed to choke out, fighting back unshed tears.  "It's the cape," she informed him, sniffing heavily.  Unlike Angel, she hovered emotionally on the verge of giggly hysteria.  Angel sensed her impending emotional hysteria and his manner morphed from teasing to comforting.  With reverence and abiding affection his cheek settled against the top of her head.  For a moment they remained like this, savoring the simple joy of being together again.  Angel was home again.  Despite herself, Willow felt tears beginning to well up as her throat tightened.  <This is it.  I've got maybe an hour before the transformation is complete...  ...and Angel dies...> 

Slowly, Angel began to draw slightly away from her.  Her feet settled on top of his and his hands came up to cradle her face.  His head tilted slightly as he peered into her watery eyes.  "Is it really?" he questioned gently, his dark eyes warm with love, pain and humor.  Willow nodded, swallowing against the painful tightness of her throat and he sighed wistfully.  Still trying to cheer her up, he kept up his gentle teasing.  "It would figure," he complained with a faint smile.   "Vlad Tepes, Christian Visconti, all of the 'Greats' wore capes..." 

Willow sniffled again, sucking in a deep breath.  Angel was so perfect, so dear to her that the thought of losing him, his company and their nearly perfect union broke her heart.  With a soul-rending sob, she began to cry.  The sobs were torn from her involuntarily, against her will.  She mumbled something incoherent about love and fairness which Angel didn't understand.  Her gold glow dimmed, growing darker with her outpouring of melancholic emotion.  <Great!  Now my glow reflects my moods!!  I'm never going to be able to keep anything secret...!!> 

"Hey," Angel murmured, roughly pulling Willow back into his arms.  "What's wrong?"  He cradled her head lovingly against his shoulder, her body in his arms, and let her pour out her grief into him.  Naturally, his mind found its way into hers, seeking to protect and to comfort her.  <Are you upset with me over Buffy...?>  Fear and guilt laced his thoughts. 

"Tell me about it," he urged, trying to encourage her to share.  Angel feared that she was suffering because of his inability to simply stop loving Buffy on command.  It frightened him even more that she might shove him away, or that he'd damaged her fragile ego.  Worst, was the possibility that she'd compared their own love to his and Buffy's and found it lacking.  For Angel, the two loves were incomparable, each being wholly different from the other.  Buffy was distant, forbidden, unattainable.  Willow equaled love, acceptance, the end of his loneliness.  She was the center of his being, his anchor, his home. 

He expected a negative reaction from her though.  In fact, Angel felt that Willow was entitled to anger, jealousy, fear; even hatred towards him for daring to love another was not beyond plausible expectation.  Willow, however, instinctively shied away from her own dark emotions.  She was prepared to accept and forgive such things from Angel, but not from herself.  Instead, she rushed to dismiss the possibility.  <It's not that at all...  I don't feel jealous of Buffy... I feel bad for her, that's all.  Nothing ever seems to work right for her...> 

Angel deemed it wisest not to respond.  He had his own thoughts on the subject and Willow's denial, but he kept those to himself.  Instead, he continued to soothe Willow, encouraging her to open up to him.  Willow found herself babbling over the link.  <I have you and she doesn't.  So, I don't have any reason to feel jealous.  I'm just feeling...  I don't know...  Guilty for stealing you from her.  Scared.  Really, really weepy...  What if I can't break the link...?  What if I fail...?  What if breaking the link doesn't destroy the spell like we think it will and you die anyway...?> 

"There are no givens in life, Willow," Angel replied cryptically.  Only Willow had access to his mind and understood exactly what he meant.  He wasn't being so cryptic after all; there really were no givens in life.  His lips found her again in a kiss as sweet as honey.  "So what are you doing back here alone?" Angel murmured distractedly into her mouth. Their mouths separated slightly in an open mouthed kiss that allowed him to speak.  Their lips continued to cling, never parting company completely.  Their bodies swayed together like dancers. 

His burgeoning good mood was returning, now that the emotional hysteria was past.  Angel was becoming immensely aroused by her closeness, and the incredible draw between them caused by the link.  <They shouldn't have left you alone.  It's dangerous.>  His thoughts held disapproval despite the heat rising between them.  Angel always concerned himself first with her safety; everything else was secondary. 

"Buffy was with me," Willow gasped as his hands grasped her buttocks firmly.  "She went to get us sodas.  We were back here because I told everyone that I wanted some priv--!!"  His fingers suddenly dug in appreciatively into her derriere and Willow found herself being lifted.  "Angel--!!" she whimpered, desperately trying to keep her voice down.  <What are you doing...?!> 

He chuckled softly.  "You haven't figured *that* out yet?" he asked with an impish grin and a suggestive eyebrow waggle.  He looked damned sexy and through the link she sensed his arousal spiraling out of control.  Finally, she understood the source of his hyperness.  The mystical energy emanating off of her in waves was affecting him, giving him a sort of natural high.  Her behind settled on the table and Angel continued his passionate assault on her mouth.  His hand found and coveted her breast through her dress.  <Did you know that you're glowing Willow.?  I'm wondering if I could make you glow brighter.?> 

The pure wickedness inherent in his suggestion made her quiver from head to toe.  Her thoughts strayed to broom closets and tabletops.  She sensed Angel was far enough gone into the passion that he might just take her right here, despite the risk of discovery.  His hand left her breast and crept down her thighs seeking her skirt.  His very lack of control abruptly struck her as indefinably, innately wrong.  She began to grow frightened at the implication.  <Angel's always under control, except when he's under the influence of outside forces.  This may be the spell's way of tricking him into draining me.> 

"Angel," Willow gasped against his mouth as he began to lift her skirt.  The word was smothered by his mouth.  He didn't seem to hear her.  Passion ruled his mind, his heart, his every instinct.  Willow sensed a subconscious impulse to bite driving his passion, hidden beneath the veil of lust.  His demon wanted to live and feared destruction.  It would do anything necessary to survive, even killing her.  His mouth dropped to her throat and her fear turned to blind terror.  "Angel, you're scaring me," she whimpered softly, as his tongue caressed her tender flesh.  Normally, her trust in him was implicit and his mouth welcome, but things were hardly normal between them right now.  Telepathically, she thrust her terror into his mind like a weapon, showing him a reflection of his own subconscious motivations.  <Angel, please stop...> 

Her fear dulled his ardor faster than a kick in the groin.  Desperately, he thrust the impulse to bite aside, emotionally flipping over and crashing hard to avoid the terrible mistake that would destroy them both.  He shuddered, reeling with shame, guilt and brutal self-condemnation.  His arms locked around her tight, and he yanked his face out of her throat.  With one brief squeeze, he let go of her and stepped back, beginning to withdraw completely from her heart, her mind and her soul.  He was shutting her out as completely as if they were strangers.  One mistake had destroyed his faith in himself again. 

Their eyes met and in them Willow saw more self-hatred and misery than she'd ever imagined possible.  Hope was dying in his eyes.  She couldn't--wouldn't--allow it.  Mentally, she threw herself after him, forcing her way back into his mind.  Physically, she threw herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her knees around his waist.  She clung to him like a monkey, refusing to let go come hell or high water.  Angel balked, trying to thrust her out of his mind, but she refused to go.  <I love you, Angel.  It was just an impulse, let it go.  It's not like you acted on it...> 

He lacked the strength to refuse the unconditional love and forgiveness she offered.  His arms slowly closed around her, lending support.  Slowly, he stopped trying to push her away and allowed himself to accept her love.  After a moment, he realized that his own impulse to run was wrong, a bad habit learned from years of maintaining emotional distance and isolation.  From the depths of his soul, love as deep and as abiding as her own was returned.  His face settled against the top of her head in an unconditional surrender of the heart.  <I love you, Willow.  I'm sorry.  I should know better.  I should be watching myself like a hawk right now...>  Self-blame and self-condemnation threaded his thoughts. 

"It's ok," she soothed.  "My transformation is affecting you through the link.  Messing with your moods."  She shook her head, understanding now how careless they'd been.  "Course, your darker impulses don't help matters much either," she chided him gently.  "Normally, they're fun, but this really isn't the time!" 

Oddly, it occurred to her that she'd just passed on an opportunity to kill herself, thus saving Angel, and closing the Hellmouths.  <Instead of stopping him, I could have pushed him over the edge.  Apparently, for all my thoughts of noble sacrifice, the truth is that when push comes to shove, I want to live...> 

"Yes, ma'am," Angel replied obediently, his smile returning suddenly.  Another power surge pulsed off of Willow and passed through the link into Angel.  The link channeled energy that would have dissipated otherwise directly into the tattoo.  He involuntarily hit another upbeat mood swing in response.  The phenomenon was better than Prozac for curing depression. 

<It's giving him a happy...!!>  Willow giggled in spite of herself, while carefully observing the play of mystical energy, the link, and Angel's mood.  The effect was interesting, to say the least.  Instead of experiencing pain or discomfort as she neared the final stages, he seemed to be growing stronger.  <And more playful..!!.  Hmm...  Interesting.  The spell seems to be collecting residual energy that I'm giving off naturally, without actually draining me...> 

<Speaking of final stages...  To the business at hand!>  Abruptly, Willow pulled herself away from Angel, sliding down his body to land on her feet.  He eased her to the ground.  "Come on," she commanded.  "I want to break it now, before it gets any later.  Sean called over two hours ago to say that Guillaume is on the move."  She seized his hand.  "Let's sneak out through the back.  I don't want the adults knowing.  They might try to stop us or interfere." 

"Where are we going?" Angel asked, as she dragged him around by the hand.  Around, about, and directly into a whole lot of trouble in the form of a petite Slayer.  They turned and came face to face with an irate, disapproving Buffy.  Willow slammed to a halt.  <Drat!  I wanted to do this alone...!!> 

"Yes, just where do you two think you're going?" the Slayer demanded.  She stood with her hands on her hips, sprouting a road block attitude.  Her manner clearly advertised that they would have to go through her, to get past her.  "And to do what?" she asked suspiciously, continuing with her interrogation. 

"U-u-mm..." Willow stammered, turning red.  "That is, we were just..."  Her thoughts turned over into a confused jumble and she felt as timid as the proverbial virgin sacrifice before the proverbial dragon.  It was nearly as awkward as being caught lip-locked in a serious smoochie by a parent.  To top it off, her embarrassment was inexplicable, as they'd been doing nothing wrong.  <At least, not right this second...!!  OH, GOD!!!  How much did Buffy see...?!  How long has she been standing there...?!> 

Luckily, Angel managed to maintain his aplomb.  His hand tightened on Willow's supportively and he offered Buffy a brash, cryptic smile.  "We're gonna spank our inner moppets," he supplied helpfully.  His head assumed a roguish tilt.  "Wanna come?" 

Willow, Angel and Buffy stood atop the roof of the building which housed Sunnydale High's library.  They'd gained access to the rooftop via the stairwell and a well placed shoulder against a locked door.  The September air was chilly, but the night itself seemed huge.  The sky above was clear and distinct in an unnatural way that served to emphasize their insignificance.  The stars shown with timeless brilliance which even immortal Angel couldn't begin to comprehend. 

"Is this right?" he asked as they walked towards the very center of the roof.  The trio slowly spread out into a triangle of equilateral sides; Willow in the lead, Angel and Buffy on either side behind her.  Willow gazed at the sky and mentally reached outwards, inspecting and testing. <I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, just that it needs to feel RIGHT...> 

It took Willow a long moment to analyze her surroundings.  She examined her surroundings psychically, trying to figure out exactly what she was seeking.  The indefinable 'what' remained a mystery, but she knew she felt the rightness in her gut.   "Yesss..." she exhaled the word on a long breath.  "This is right." 

Willow turned and offered Angel her hands.  He stepped forward, closing the distance between them and took her proffered hands.  Buffy shifted uncomfortably, watching them.  She no doubt felt left out, like a third wheel.  "Try and make this fast guys, ok?" she muttered quietly.  "The adults are gonna wig if they find out that we're missing." 

"Do me a favor and keep a stake out," Angel muttered darkly over his shoulder to the Slayer.  "In case I revert to type."  His words landed with an ugly sploosh into embarrassed silence.  Willow and Buffy both were shocked speechless with his harsh bluntness. 

Abruptly, Willow recovered her outrage.  "Why do you always do that?" she demanded angrily.  The question popping out of her mouth without accompanying thought.  Angel cocked a sardonic eyebrow, wordlessly requesting elaboration.  "Why do you always put yourself down when what you've accomplished is nothing short of miraculous?" she asked, her voice rising.  "Why do you accept all of the blame for something the demon did?"  Willow snarled this last at him, feeling almost inclined to violence.  Her automatic instinct to defend him, even from himself, was swift, sure and overwhelming. 

"Because," the word emerged on a soft snarl.  "What you perceive as 'demon', I perceive as part of myself."  He leaned in closer to her, his eyes boring into hers for emphasis.  Their hands remained tightly locked.  "I CANNOT distinguish a difference.  I CANNOT tell where 'demon' starts and 'Angel' ends."  Angel could have won a snarling contest with her any day of the week.  Willow rocked back, astonished at his vehemence.  He relented instantly, folding in on himself again. Willow rocked forward.  <This rollercoaster of body language we're on is really starting to get to me...!> 

"Umm, guys...?"  Buffy asked.  She received no response.  Bemused, Buffy looked on, watching her best friend and her ex-beau bickering. They seemed to know each other intimately and to have forgotten that she existed.  Willow and Angel were wrapped up in their own private little world again.  Jockeying for dominance, Willow narrowed her eyes to aggressive slits.  She deliberately leaned forward, miming his movement of moments before.  Naturally, it didn't work.  Angel refused to give ground, so their foreheads collided with a sharp crack.  Willow winced. <Ouch!  My, he has a hard head!> 

Ignoring the pain, she pressed her face nose-to-nose with his.  "WELL, MAYBE I COULD!!" she growled back.  Their lips met and Willow yanked her hands out of his.  She grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him into a hard kiss.  He responded, welcoming her tongue's invasion like an old friend.  They kissed for a moment, before she forced herself to pull back.  "IF," she puffed, panting.  "You would invite me ALL of the way in." 

She waited expectantly while he mulled THAT over.  He knew damn well what she meant.  Willow wanted access to the part of his mind he always kept hidden from her, his darkest impulses and a hundred and sixty years of suppressed memory.  Angel didn't mull for very long, and to her astonishment, he didn't even ask why.  "Go ahead," he murmured, dropping his shields and leaving himself defenseless.  "But make it fast," he grumbled gruffly.  "There are things I'd rather be doing than wasting our time dwelling on me." 

Willow rolled her eyes and stepped into his mind without hesitation. She moved swiftly, lest he change his mind.  Their minds merged easily, individual barriers melting as their identities mingled.  Sometimes Willow thought that they could stay like this forever.  By now, she was extremely familiar with the landscape of his mind, and the essence of his being, good and bad.  She sank like an anchor through the levels of his mind, gradually gaining access to his hidden memories.  Such horrible memories that he could barely stand to examine them himself, let alone show them to her. 

Willow didn't flinch away as Angel expected, but instead treated the unpleasant memories as bits of data, to be examined and processed.  She was swift, precise and careful with his feelings as she sorted through his mind.  She deliberately took great pains not to pass judgment upon him or to display even the slightest sign of rejection.  Angel accepted her for herself, completely and utterly; she intended to extend him the same courtesy.  Much of what they shared, what made them so much alike, was their mutual need for acceptance.  Willow's compassion was the very foundation of their relationship.  The remainder was built from love, trust, profound respect, admiration, humor and so many other little things they now held in common.  <Not to mention lust...!!!> 

Her minute scrutiny was torture for him, but he endured it with patient suffering.  Angel recognized and acknowledged the need to lay himself bare before her like this.  Most of his attention was focused upon remaining still, open, and under control.  He didn't speak to her directly, but responded passively to her invasion.  Willow was amazed with his self-control.  She was certain that if their roles were reversed, she herself would balk and run.  Trying to be considerate and sensitive to his feelings wasn't easy though, given the urgency of the situation.  <I'm reaching for the link and your demon now.  I want to see how they're connected.  Try not to panic.> 

A mental noise, which could be most closely approximated to a grunt, returned to her.  <Just like a caveman vampire!!  Hey, Angel, do you suppose that there were Neanderthal vampires...?>  Angel refused to take the bait or to even dignify that with a retort.  She could tell from his thoughts though that any vampire not Kindred equaled Neanderthal in his mind.  Willow sighed and reached even deeper into his essence, farther than she'd ever gone before. 

The dark half of Angel's nature protested the invasion and he moved to squelch it.  For the first time, she closely observed his intimate interaction with what she called demon and what he considered part of himself.  This darkness was intrinsic to his identity.  With dawning realization, Willow recognized that its removal would fundamentally change who and what Angel was as a person.  Ultimately, she understood that he was right; there was no perceivable division between 'demon' and 'Angel'.  His demon was a distinguishable, but inseparable part of him. <So much for destroying the demon and breaking the spell!  Damn!> 

Frustrated, Willow turned her attention to the link, that powerful bond which held them together spiritually.  She filtered past all of his memories to his very essence, his soul.  His side of their link was rooted in his soul.  Willow intuitively understood that it would be easiest for her to examine his half of the link impartially.  She could view him with far more detachment and objectivity than she could view herself in this manner.  Too many levels of her own mind held hidden pockets of shelved emotions, grief, guilt and pain.  All of the feelings she'd shoved aside to be dealt with later.  <And later's not now...> 

The binding was powerful and deep, tying together their respective souls.  The link drew its strength from their individual souls, both of which were innately strong.  It powered itself by drawing upon who they were as people.  It reinforced itself and grew stronger as their feelings for one another grew.  Viewing it in close proximity, it seemed to Willow that its primary function was to hold them together. Channeling energy from Willow to the tattoo seemed almost a secondary function.  <Breaking this is going to hurt, especially since neither one of us really wants to let go, deep down.  It's going to feel like losing a spouse, only worse.  Angel is a part of me now.> 

Slowly, she drifted around the link, through it, up and down its length.  What puzzled Willow the most was its seemingly innocuous nature.  She couldn't find the bad part, the curse, that would eventually destroy Angel.  It wasn't actively causing him, or her any harm at all.  <At least, not yet.  Maybe that part only activates once I've completed the transformation.  So that Angel would have up until the very last moment to succeed in draining me without being impaired by the curse.  Maybe the part that will destroy him lies within me, not within him...> 

Willow returned her attention to quiet Angel, who was patiently waiting for her to finish ransacking his soul.  "I think that I can unweave," she murmured.  Angel tensed expectantly, but Willow shook her head no. "But not yet," she explained.  <It's time to ask him...  Now or never...> 

Angel opened his mouth to ask why, time was running out.  She cut him off harshly.  "Has it occurred to you that having the Hellmouths closed would probably do the world more innate good than an Immortal Watcher would?" she demanded.  She clobbered him with the blunt, probing question and scrutinized his honest gut reaction. 

Angel nearly panicked, instinctively wanting to lie.  He despised even admitting that it had crossed his mind that Willow's death might do more good than her life.  "It occurred to me," he confessed reluctantly. "And I rejected it flat out.  You may be willing to sacrifice yourself for the 'greater good', but I'm too selfish.  That's not a sacrifice I'm willing to make."  Nearby, Buffy shifted uneasily, overhearing his words.  Angel and Willow were oblivious to her presence, having forgotten that she'd accompanied them here. 

Angel shook his head with firm, adamant denial.  "There's no justification good enough to excuse the sin of sacrificing an innocent to bring about something so nebulous," he asserted.  Their gazes were locked, but their true communication took place on a much deeper level. "And the personal cost to me is too high.  It would destroy me Willow. Everything I've fought to become would be gone.  I'd rather die; I'd PREFER to die." 

"I could force you," Willow stated bluntly.  Her assertion was harsh and true.  Deliberately, she tightened her mental hold over him, using the link to control him and bring him in line with her will.  Angel was easily as strong willed as Willow.  However, he had a weak spot, a vulnerability.  His demon wanted her dead and to live.  Easily, she snatched control of his evil side away from him, binding it to her own will.  Angel's soul and will were strong, but his demon's were not.  It was a weak creature, slave to its own passions and lusts.  It was easily manipulated and it was an inseparable part of him.  Angel froze in shock; he couldn't risk fighting her for control of it without endangering them both. 

"Let go, Willow," he pleaded.  Willow had enough control over him that she could indeed command him long enough to force him to drain her, if she so chose.  Fear struck his soul like a cancer.  She'd hit upon the one thing that terrified him beyond words, more than even death.  He'd lived in dread of being turned back into a puppet, subject to another's whims and will.  He felt violated, and cringed with revulsion, waiting to see if she intended to force him into the heinous action.  However, he made no move to fight her.  Angel forced himself to remain submissive to her will, to trust blindly in their love and her integrity.  He refused to fight her or to believe for even a moment that she would do this to him. 

"But it would be for the best," Willow whispered, tears spilling over. Buffy edged even closer, preparing to rip them apart at the least sign of movement from Angel.  Indecision about whether to interrupt now, or to let them work this out was tearing the Slayer apart.  Willow kept crying.  She hurt so much and simply wanted the pain to go away.  <Can't you see that...?> 

"You can't.  You're not cruel enough," Angel replied.  His reply held steady conviction and blind faith.  The moment was one of life and death.  A moment of choosing between right and wrong.  Abruptly, Willow relented and released him.  He was right, she couldn't.  Her breath expelled on a broken shudder and she slumped against Angel.  His relief was palpable, almost a living entity.  He caught and held her, gathering her small form against his body with reverence.  He glanced up, straight into Buffy's eyes.  With a sharp jerk of his head, he indicated for her to keep her distance.  Buffy hesitated, then stepped back. 

"Not ever," she promised, vowing from her soul.  "We're in this as partners and as equals," she conceded, hoping that Angel would be able to forgive her for what she'd almost done to him.  She forced herself to say the words aloud, as much for herself as for him.  "I'm sorry.  That was wrong of me.  Even if I think it would be the best decision, you have the right to say no."  Willow hung her head in shame. 

"I knew I could trust you," he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her. To her eternal shock, he forgave her easily and without hesitation.  The kiss was sweet, pure, timeless.  They'd just crossed the last possible hurdle to total trust; it was now an implicit and unshakable thing between them.  "Now break the link," he ordered, taking charge. 

"Yes, M'Lord," she replied with the tiniest hint of sarcasm.  However, she scurried to obey him.  Through an act of pure will she summoned all of the power that lay at her command.  She and Angel were one in mind, body, and soul.  The boundaries between ethereal and earthly began to break down under her subconscious control.  Magical energy sparked and crackling about their joined figures.  Gold fire leapt towards the sky from them, rising upwards in a column of righteous energy and Willow felt the universe at the edge of her senses.  For a moment, she was one with pure power, pure glory, heaven.  The link began to unravel at her command. 

Then, rudely, another mind defiled the sanctity of their union.  An infinitely powerful entity raped their link.  Willow screamed in agony as evil beyond comprehension joined with them.  Angel also howled in defiance and fury, changing over into his demonic form.  The Hellmouth spoke and ALL heard. 

"I am ancient beyond old, The Evil which lies beyond.  I am Malfeasance and Decay, Depravity and Hatred.  I reside in the souls of All men and your world will NEVER be free of my taint." 

With that, the Hellmouth emitted a rancid belch, spewing forth malicious mischief in mystical waves.  The earth heaved in protest as the noxious emission passed through it.  Deep within the earth's bowels the maw to Hell cackled madly.  Faults shifted, cracking, and the earth quaked.  Sunnydale and most of southern California shook.  Deep in the earth, beneath the library, a gas line snapped in half like brittle straw. 

Willow lost control of the spell.  The negative psychic energy radiating from the Hellmouth disrupted her concentration.  Moments before she succeeded in unweaving Guillaume's handiwork, a massive amount of malignant energy hit both her and Angel's patterns.  The spell spiked out of control and all of the energy Willow had channeled into it hit her in a vicious backlash.  She screamed in agony, feeling Angel also doubled over in extreme pain.  Rashly, she threw the energy away from herself, redirecting the flow outwards at random.  <.have to protect us.> 

Seconds later the pain began to subside.  She became aware of her own body lying limply on the roof top beside Angel.  Urgent hands seized her shoulders, shaking her.  "WILLOW!" Buffy screamed.  "ANSWER ME!"  A palm struck Willow's cheek in an open handed slap.   "DAMMIT!  WAKE UP!" Buffy shook her again.  Beginning to respond, Willow felt her eyelids flutter.  <Hurts...> 

"She's ok." Angel's voice came from nearby.  "Here."  He took Willow away from Buffy, picking her up like a child.  "We've gotta get out of here," he told the Slayer urgently.  Willow felt the world spin.  "Do you smell that?" he demanded, trying to recall Buffy's attention to the present. 

Brief silence.  "Yeah," Buffy replied, a renewed edge of panic creeping into her voice.  "The building's on fire." 

Movement.  "Come on," Angel shouted.  "We're going to have to jump!" No response came from Buffy.  A moment later, the world spun dizzyingly by; Willow and Angel were falling.  <Freefall.> 

They hit the ground with a smooth landing.  Angel bent his knees, letting the impact pass naturally up and through his frame.  Buffy landed beside him a moment later.  Willow stirred slightly, beginning to regain her senses.  Then, it hit her.  <Flames, fear, pain, burning.> 

"ANGEL!"  Willow came to life screaming his name.  Her eyes were wide with blind terror and she began to fight him like a wildcat, struggling to get free.  Confused, Angel tried to contain her struggles while trying not to hurt her.  Willow was blind to everything but the fire and the fear of those trapped inside.  In her mind's eye, she could see them and feel with them.  "MY PARENTS, GILES.!!!"  she shrieked at the top of her lungs. 

Abruptly, Angel understood.  A wordless glance passed between him and Buffy.  Swiftly, he set Willow down a safe distance from the blazing inferno that housed the library  "We'll get them out," he promised.  "Stay here."  He gathered Buffy with a glance and together they charged back into the building.  Operating as a team, they disappeared into the flames. 

In frantic desperation, Willow began to pace.  Her movements were wild and undirected, nearly frenzied.  With preternatural awareness, she could only watch helplessly as her parents and Giles tried to make their way out of the blazing building.  Panting, she tried to focus, tried to force some sense of calm, of equilibrium. 

A gentle hand touched her shoulder lightly.  "Hello, Willow," he greeted her softly.  His voice, rich and warm, resonated with ancient power. 

Willow froze.  "Hello, Grandfather," she replied a moment later, her words stilted with fear.  With casual dread, Willow turned to stare up into Guillaume's cold, pale blue eyes. 
 

Excerpt Quoted from: Bram Stoker's Dracula. 

Christian Visconti was borrowed from Anya's story, "Necessary Alliances".