Friendship

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

"...and make sure you girls get to bed at a decent hour," Willow's mother lectured. "Don't forget that tomorrow's a school day." 

"We will mom," Willow assured her mother, cringing inwardly at how easily the lies popped out of her mouth. "I love you," Willow offered, in penance for her sin. 

"We love you too, Dear," her mother responded, blissfully ignorant of Willow's deception. "Bye." 

"Bye," Willow set down the phone again. She pinned Angel with an accusing stare, "You're a bad influence on me." 

"Probably," Angel smirked smugly at her, making Willow's palm itch to wipe it from his face. 

Willow stood there, too timid to approach the couch, watching Angel watch her. She swallowed, realizing her throat and mouth were still painfully dry. <Another awkward moment, in a long life of them.> 

"Can I get you something to drink?" Angel asked, sensing her unease. "I have soft drinks and bottled water..." 

"Water, please," Willow sighed, wishing she possessed the confidence to slink over to the couch and give Angel some of his own back. <That would show him.> 

Angel rolled to his feet in a smooth, lithe motion, heading toward the kitchen. "Ice?" 

"Yes, please," Willow deliberately watched while he passed her, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tattoo Buffy had mentioned. 

It was larger then she had imagined, covering almost his entire right shoulder blade. 

"Nice tattoo," Willow edged over to the couch and sat down. <Nice shoulders.> 

"Thanks," Angel turned on the kitchen light, revealing a modern kitchen. A huge stainless steel refrigerator dominated the otherwise modest room. 

"I tend to forget it's back there," Angel pulled open the refrigerator door and reached in. A small bottle of Crystal Geyser emerged in his hand. 

"Where did you get it?" Willow asked, kicking back on the couch. She inhaled, enjoying the strong smell of leather. 

"London, 1888," Angel's terse answer alerted Willow to another mood swing. This time she felt prepared to roll with the flow. <I'm getting good!> 

"It's called The Phoenix Contract," Angel opened a cabinet, pulling out a tall glass. "It's actually a revered mark of honor," Angel's voice, laden with sarcasm, floated out of the kitchen. 

"Oh?..." Willow perked up, becoming genuinely intrigued. "What does it mean?" <This sounds good!> 

"It's a long story," Angel sounded reluctant. He turned back to the freezer for ice. 

"We have time," Willow sat up so she could see him better. "Pleassse?" she pleaded, striving to look as cute as she could possibly manage. "Pretty? With sugar on top?" 

Angel emptied the water bottle into the glass. He stared at her for a long while, considering. Willow could see a silent battle of trust, distrust being waged in his eyes. 

Angel walked over and sat on the couch beside her. He silently offered her the water glass. 

Her heart fell. <Distrust won.> 

"Thank-you," Willow accepted the glass, staring down into the melting ice. She took a sip of water and tried hard to fight back the tears stinging her eyes before he could notice them. 

A tear slid free... 

"This happened pre-curse," Angel warned, catching the tear with his finger. He brushed his hand across her cheek, smoothing her hair back. 

"It's ok," Willow responded to his touch, turning her face into his hand. She easily separated Angel from Angelus. <Like two different people.> 

"You shouldn't do that," Angel seemed to pick up on her thoughts. His eyes pierced hers, driving his message home, "Angel is Angelus." 

"But with a soul," Willow argued, feeling protective. "You're too hard on yourself--you can't help what you did before." 

"I can't be hard enough," Angel's voice was rough. To Willow though, he seemed to accept some of the comfort she offered. Her spirits lifted. 

Willow set her water glass on a coaster. Then she looked to him hopefully. 

Angel reclined on the couch, drawing Willow with him. 

Willow shifted, now uncomfortable. Her left arm was being crushed between them and her neck was crimped. She took several moments to rearrange herself; various positions just didn't work. Finally, she stretched out onto her side and rested her chin on his chest. 

"Are you through?" Angel cocked a satirical eyebrow at her. He settled an arm around her shoulders. 

"Actually..." Willow poked his chest, "your chest is hard. May I have a throw pillow, please?" 

Angel's eyes narrowed, his mouth compressing into a thin, dangerous smile. He reached behind him and jerked out a pillow, slapping it down on his chest. 

"Is My Lady pleased?" he asked silkily. 

Willow took the pillow and propped it under her chin. <He looks ready to bite.> 

"Yes, Quite." Willow directed a haughty stare at Angel, waving her hand pompously, "You may proceed." 

Angel gave her a final stern look and drifted into the story. 

"In 1888, London was practically a Hellmouth," Angel began softly. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing gently. "Vampires lead by Guillaume--their Master--were waging a vicious battle against the Slayer." 

"Was she pretty?" Willow asked inanely, clinging to his hand. 

"Slayers are always pretty," Angel responded absently. "Juliana had long ebony hair and expressive dark eyes," Angel's voice mellowed with memory. "She was tall, graceful, elegant. A real lady." 

"Juliana liked to use fire--it was her favorite weapon," Willow could sense fondness, admiration in his memories of Juliana. "She burned down huge sections of London, destroying vampire and mortal alike." 

"She sounds dangerous," Willow commented, disliking the admiration creeping into his tone for this...pyromaniac. 

"She was dedicated," Angel defended her. "And fast," he added, absently touching a scar on his rib cage, not too far from his heart. 

"You had a thing for her, didn't you?" the accusation popped out of her mouth. 

"Yeah," Angel admitted, grinning suddenly. 

Willow's small fist connected with his ribs in displeasure. 

"What can I say?" Angel captured her wrists, holding them against his chest. He chuckled softly, "She was hot." 

"So what happened?" Willow didn't want to dwell any further on this 'hot' pyromaniac. 

"She died," his grin vanished, released by regret. Angel closed his eyes, "Unfortunately, I was faster." 

"Oh." Willow didn't know what to say. 

"Yes, 'oh'," Angel opened his eyes. Willow saw self-hatred, anger flickering there again. 

"Guillaume was quite pleased with me after that," Angel continued, disgust still evident in his voice. "I became one of his favorites." 

<Jimmine, Angel cheer up! This happened over a hundred years ago!> 

"So, a short time later when he learned of a prophecy-" 

"OH GOD, NO!" Willow moaned, melodramatically. She jerked one of her wrists free, slapping it to her forehead in mock agony. "Not ANOTHER one!" 

Angel gave her a ~look~. <Be silent little one, before I silence you.> 

Willow made a point of sealing her lips. 

"This prophecy," Angel continued sternly, "predicted the death of the Immortal Watcher-Merrick-sometime late in the 20th Century." 

Willow snuggled against him, pleased. <And silent.> Her interruption had achieved the desired result--wiping the self-contempt from his eyes. 

"The Watcher finds and trains the next Slayer. As one passes, the next is called," Angel recited. His voice began to drop off in volume, becoming harder to hear. 

Willow suppressed a yawn; she knew the rant. 

"The Watcher is a mystical office that bestows immortality upon its holder," Willow inched up his chest, cocking her head in order to hear better. <He's not used to talking so much.> 

"The same way a Slayer gains supernatural powers?" she guessed. 

Angel nodded. 

"So you're saying Giles is immortal?" Willow launched a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Somehow, I'm feeling disbelief." 

"I'm getting to that," Angel slid both of his hands under her arms, gripping firmly. He suddenly pulled her off the couch, draping her bodily over his chest. Willow squawked in surprise. 

A pleasurable shudder ran through Willow's body. <This is heaven.> 

"There's a transition period between Merrick's death and the next Watcher being called," Angel's hands began kneading her back. "Merrick trained select mortals to help him watch--and to fill the gap when the time came." 

"Angel," Willow sighed, drifting off under his soothing ministrations, "please get to the point?" 

"I was chosen to kill the Watcher." 

Willow nearly fell off his chest. 

"Giles?!" Willow shouted, eyes bulging. She sat bolt up-right on his chest. "You're supposed to kill Giles?!" 

"Giles and any Watcher that comes along," Angel snickered at her over-reaction. He sat up and Willow found herself sitting astride his lap. 

"Does Giles..." Willow gasped as Angel slid her closer, pulling their bodies together intimately. "Know?" she finished, weakly. 

"Are you kidding?" Angel chuckled, leaving a line of butterfly kisses down her face. His hands kneaded her lower back suggestively. "Giles is enough of a wreck as it is, without adding that." 

"But you wouldn't, right?" Willow's last coherent thoughts exploded like soap bubbles as his hips rocked against hers. She moaned, her hips bucking desperately between his hands. 

"Have I ever mentioned that I have a neck fetish?" Angel whispered, his voice rife with sinister intent. His mouth reached the bottom of her jaw. 

"Angel?" Willow gasped the plea, a nervous knot in her stomach. She tried to pull away, but his strength and her own treacherous body overwhelmed her. 

"You have an exquisite throat, Willow." Angel's silky purr held a dark malevolence that sent stabs of fear through Willow. Angel buried his face deeply in her neck. 

"Angel?" Willow gave in to the fear, her breathing becoming irregular, jagged. She began struggling as panic swept through her, but he was too strong. "Please? " she begged, her voice trembling as she felt his mouth on her skin. 

And his fangs grazed her jugular...