Pairing: Willow/Angel
Rating: PG (this part)
Spoilers: season one
Disclaimer: Joss owns Willow and company.
Distribution: Want. Take. Have. Just tell me about it.
Feedback: Please! It makes me write faster.
***Much Thanks to Michelle who beta-read this faster than the speed of light***
E-mail: soteria730@yahoo.com
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~Part: 1~ Promenade
It was early still on a Friday night, but late enough that no one should be out walking alone, or in this town, at all. But it was the end of the first week of school and this little girl would most definitely go to the Bronze. She didn't have a date, rather she had a hope- a hope that a certain someone would also want to celebrate the first weekend of the school year at the small town's only teen hang-out. It was dark out though and she should really have been more careful. She always looks both ways before crossing the road, but was so caught up in the conversation she was having with herself that she was oblivious to the fullness of the moon and the movements in the shadows.
"Things may be looking up. I mean, freshman year of high school is always icky for everyone, right? And it's only the first week of sophomore year but already this is better than last year, so the tenth grade might not be that bad after all," she argued to herself with enthusiasm.
The petite redhead was oddly animated and she waved her hands about in an awkward fashion as she spoke. She wasn't speaking loudly, but there are creatures out at night who can here much softer sounds than those she was making.
"Xander wants me to tutor him in math and he's been so sweet lately. Ooh, and today we made fun of Cordelia at lunch. Jesse had to go to history class during lunch because he forgot his homework again, so it was just Xander and I and a very special session of the I-Hate-Cordelia Club."
Her big green eyes grew bright in joy but suddenly fell dimmer. Every emotion that she felt seemed to flash through those eyes.
"I feel bad about enjoying lunch so much because Jesse wasn't there but it wasn't like I was all 'Yay! Jesse's not here!'. It was just nice to spend some quality time alone with Xander."
Her large green orbs glistened again and in their luster, shamed the moon. A mysterious stranger in the shadows silently made this observation and hesitantly followed the young girl. As much as he was a mystery, she was an open book- walking alone at night and carrying on a spirited conversation with herself without a care in the world and entirely oblivious to the presence of the man who stalked her from a distance. Who is he? He had spent nearly every waking moment of the past 100 years asking that very question. Suddenly he found himself asking a new question: "Who is she?"
"Well, not "alone" alone. More like alone as in the crowded noisy cafeteria. But still, it counts. I mean, I had his undivided attention. Well, I suppose that technically speaking Cordelia had our attention but still, he was talking to ME."
She turned the corner and found herself at the entrance to the Bronze. Her escort skulked back into the shadows and she concluded her conversation in a quieter voice.
"Yes, today was a good day. I'll even forgive myself for the two problems that I missed on the math quiz. But of course, I'll still do the extra credit. I mean, just cause it's a good day, that's no reason to get all cocky."
He watched her enter the club and was so very tempted to follow her. He didn't want her to notice him but he didn't want to take his eyes off of her. Sunnydale was a dangerous town and the Bronze was like an all-you-can-eat buffet for the local vampire population. Angel really wished that the slayer would show up already. He felt that, on his own, there was very little he could do to protect the citizens from the soulless demons running rampant on the Hellmouth. But right now he wasn't worried about saving the world or even the town. He just wanted to make sure that this one girl's heart continued to beat.
~Part: 2~ Day-Dreaming
Willow was having a good day. She really was. She had been seeing Xander and Jesse several times a week at the Bronze. It was so exciting to finally be old enough to have an extracurricular social life. Not that there were tons of pressing social engagements on Willow's calendar. Heck, she didn't even have a calendar. What she did have was an unspoken agreement with Xander and Jesse. They met at the Bronze every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday evening. They never really did anything. They just hung out, reveling in the atmosphere of the bronze. Sometimes Xander and Jesse attempted to dance or hit on girls, but this didn't bother Willow because she knew that they'd always come back to their table and find her again, either because the music had stopped, they'd been laughed off the dance floor, and/or they'd been rejected by girls.
It was a fun little pattern because after the rejection, the three of them would have great fun verbally thrashing the socially superior guys and girls who took such pleasure in humiliating them. This conversational undressing of enemies is known well and practiced widely with high school students everywhere. Ultimately, they always had fun. So, even though it was only 1:00 PM and Willow still had two more hours of class, she was in an excellent mood because today was Thursday and tonight she would gather with the guys at the Bronze.
She would be able to drool over Xander and laugh at his and Jesse's immature but always entertaining antics. Basically, she was looking forward to doing the things in life that made her the happiest. So what if she was currently watching a slide show in health class. It was only a matter of time (time that could easily be passed by day dreaming of Xander's oafish grin) before Willow would be laughing it up with her best friends and basking in the hope that was youth and the happiness that was rare simplicity. Willow was in a good mood . . . but she would end up having a bad day. She just didn't know it yet.
Neither did he. He was asleep. He was having his typical roller coaster ride-like dreams. One might expect that a demon who was cursed with a soul simply to be punished and tortured by his own wrong-doings for eternity would have dreams so endlessly graphic and grotesque that every rest would be interrupted with bloodcurdling screams of protest. That wasn't however what Angel's sleep was like. His dreams were like the journey of a man who drifted down a stream on a peaceful day, under a glorious blue sky and actual epidermis-warming sunshine. Angel's sleep began in bliss. Always.
He'd dream of his mother's marmalade, his sister's tree-climbing tendencies, his favorite song. He was at peace at first. Then the pace picked up and he found that the stream of his dream held water white with rage. He'd shatter the marmalade jar and be beaten. He'd fight with his sister and steal her slippers. He'd torture a bound and gagged servant to the sounds of the waltz that was being danced to only rooms away. All notions of peace that sleep had duplicitously given him were corrupted, just as he was. Pleasure became punishment, joy became jealousy, and beauty became barbarity. These dreams were his history. They were not unduly graphic or overbearing. They were realistic. They were his reality. They were not confined to the actions influenced by his demon. They probed through every corner of his essence. The dreams were all things he kept locked up inside.
When he woke he always knew that they were the perfect punishment. They showed him what he'd had, what he'd taken for granted, what he was deprived of, what he destroyed, and what he'd never have again. It was after these dreams that Angel knew what he was. He was a walking time capsule. He carried the past with him but could never be more than a shadow of influence on the world in which he now lived. He was a tactile phantom, waiting for some girl, some slayer, to come and give him purpose, to be his messiah, to order him and put him to work. And the worst part was that Angel was waiting for her because of guilt and a desperation that over time he had learned to keep dulled in some distant crevice of his consciousness.
Angel didn't want to be a warrior. He didn't want to undo his wrongs. He couldn't. He simply wanted to be a man again. He wanted to be more than the sum of his past. He wanted to be able to walk hand in hand with the redhead he followed and religiously protected. He didn't want to be her silent savior. He wanted to touch her face. He wanted to be her friend. He wanted to sense more than centuries and the nagging urges of the demon that would not let him simply end the suffering that was his existence. As he slept that day, Angel had no idea that he would soon have an answer to his prayers. Only she wouldn't be the righteous, brazen messiah that he anticipated. The prayers of this fallen-asleep Angel would be answered appropriately by the parallel of his deepest desire. Angel, who so wanted to simply be a man again would be saved by a simple girl becoming a woman.
~Part: 3~ The Laws of the Night
Willow was walking her normal route to the Bronze. It was a path that would seem eerie to some, being that segments of it weren't very well lit and were a bit off of the main road, but it never bothered Willow because she knew it so well- like the back of her hand. Willow had always loved walking at night. She felt free and unbound by all of the commitments and responsibilities that greeted her on the insides of building during the daylight hours. She had heard about bad things happening to girls who were out alone at night but Willow was careful and it wasn't really a very long walk. Jesse and Xander would usually walk her home. She only needed to make it to the Bronze in one piece. It was simple really. So why tonight did something feel off?
She pushed that off feeling to the back of her mind. She reasoned that she was just a bit nervous because she was starting out for the club a little later than usual. She had a new outfit that she wanted to wear. It wasn't nearly as tight or revealing as the clothes that most girls her age wore at the Bronze, but for Willow it was a bit bold: Green v-neck top with short sleeves and a brown silky skirt that came down to her knees. She loved the outfit and had been summoning up the courage to wear it ever since she'd gotten out of bed that morning. So, she had spent a little longer primping herself for tonight's gathering at the Bronze and it seemed a little darker than usual but still, everything was okay. The feeling that she had that something was amiss was quickly chalked up to paranoia. Later, she would regard it as intuition.
Willow was cutting through the park, along the bicycle path when she saw the boys walking in the opposite direction. They were loud and some of them had bottles so maybe they were also drunk. She immediately recognized their voices and knew that they were from her school. At least one was in her homeroom. Being her shy apprehensive self, she moved farther to her right as she hoped to walk right on by them without soliciting a put-down or a crude gesture. As she passed the boys they didn't say a thing to her. If anything, their drunken laughter quieted down a bit and Willow began to think that her plan had worked. "Good," she thought, "just keep walking." And she did but all too soon it became clear that their laughter had not dulled to sobriety, it had dulled to drunken whispers. Willow became aware that they were following her and that's when the whole world seemed to halt and resume movement only at a hideously slow and torturous pace.
"It is Thursday. Isn't it?" Angel thought as he doubled back towards his obsession's home. He had waited outside her house for half an hour and then become worried that she had left early and he had missed her. So, he made his way to the Bronze in search of the only woman in his world. Over the past few weeks, ever since that first night that he saw her, Angel had followed his redhead on all of the nights that she went to that cursed club. He so didn't want to go in there at first but his desire to learn more about this girl, this Willow, motivated him to overcome his antisocial hesitation. In no time at all, he'd adjusted to skulking in the shadows of the club and letting every vampire he encountered know that the little redhead was his. Humans mostly didn't notice him. He was a real pro at blending in. Only other vampires were aware of his presence. He generated a great deal of attention by staking claim on a little human girl who hadn't even been properly marked.
In a way, it was a stupid thing to do. If the slayer came and found out that he had been obsessing over this girl and letting other vampires live on the condition that they'd steer clear of his territory, well, it could very well bring about an altercation with the slayer that Angel really didn't want to have. Still, he was reassured by the knowledge that most of the vampires in Sunnydale knew to leave his Willow, his waking-dream, alone. So why was he suddenly panicking because he couldn't find her at the Bronze?
As Angel neared the park his heightened senses began to perceive certain troubling sounds. These sounds were troubling because they were the sounds of muffled cries and whispers. When a vampire attacked someone, that person usually screamed and was swiftly drained. The human wasn't really conscious all that long and didn't get a chance to make much noise. Plus, the vampires usually got off on the struggling and screaming anyway so in a town without a slayer, there really wasn't much reason for predators to subdue the whimpers and cries of their prey. At least, there was no reason for demon predators to do so. Angel ran.
~Part: 4~ Come In
She had been cold and he'd brought her a blanket. She had been thirsty and he'd brought her a drink. She'd wanted to be left alone and he'd stepped outside the door. But he hadn't left. And she'd never had to say a word. It was as if he knew her so well that he need only study her face to see the workings of her mind. He wasn't a normal person though. Maybe not even human. She kinda thought that he might be an angel. She closed her eyes and couldn't help but remember.
Those boys had followed and then surrounded her. She remembered what they'd said, not to but about her. She was cute. She had hot little breasts. She was definitely a virgin. She was little. Was she too young?: "No, man. She's in my homeroom. I know who she is. It's okay. She's our age." It was like there was a scratch on the record of her thoughts. She kept hearing it: "I know her". "I know her". "I know her". He knows me. So it's okay?
There was a hand over her mouth and she tried to bite it but only succeeded in slobbering all over the boy's fingers. So some guy shoved his gym socks in her mouth. She couldn't scream or think, all she was aware of was the disgusting taste of sweaty feet and the sensation of her body being pushed to the cold ground. She was pinned roughly, two of the five boys holding her arms to the ground and another two holding her legs down. She thrashed against them but four medium to large high school-age boys against one Willow was far from a fair fight. She heard the sound of a zipper and the fifth boy's hands were pushing up her skirt. This was a nightmare. It had to be. But then she knew she was awake because what happened next was something she couldn't have possibly dreamed.
Through the group of boys that held her down and huddled round her, there burst a creature that was nothing short of magnificent. It was tall and darkly dressed. It's face was human, but beastly. There was something macabre about the shade of his skin that was evident even in the darkness. His face had more curves than that of a human and he growled and clawed like a wild animal. Willow watched in awe as this dark angel effortlessly slashed at the boys who had been her captors. When the boys were all either unconscious or running away as fast as they could he turned to her and their eyes met. His eyes were the deepest amber she'd ever seen and she was transfixed by them as his face altered and Willow was left staring with eyes that could not have opened any wider at the face of a beautiful man. His eyes were no longer amber, they were now blue.
It was when Willow looked in those blue eyes that the reality of what had happened to her and what had nearly happened to her came crashing down on her. She began to tremble. She felt the tears. Her body began to convulse. He knelt over her and removed the socks from her mouth. She had been choking on them but she hadn't even noticed it when he arrived. He was looking at her with unmistakable concern and there was still an underlying hostility to his stance. He was ready to pounce on any creature or person who approached. But there was no one else around. Just Willow and this strange man. She looked away from him and opened her mouth not knowing what words she could possibly utter. She finally returned to his eyes and said with more sincerity than he had ever before witnessed in his long life, "thank you".
Angel had not known what to do after the boys had fled. He wanted to hunt everyone of them down and rip them to shreds. But he remembered his girl and he turned to her. Those eyes. Those eyes that he had so thoroughly studied in the past had never before been directed at him. He knew that he should say something. But he was left speechless. She was choking. He removed that wretched ball of socks from her mouth and fought hard not to growl. He had nearly regained his composure when she did one simple thing that forever changed his world. She had seen with her very own eyes what he was, what his true face looked like and yet bestowed upon him her gratitude, her honest sincerity. She said "thank you" and nothing else.
So he picked her up and carried her home. She wasn't afraid of him. Whatever he was, he wasn't like other man. He was a stranger but he was also a friend. She didn't question how he knew where her house was or how he knew that her parents were away. The only words he spoke were when they reached her house. He asked if he could enter her home. Willow's voice was small but certain, "Yes. Please. Come in". And he did.
~Part: 5~ Too Late
Angel stood outside of Willow's bedroom. He leaned against the wall and studied the photographs that hung there. Some were portrait pictures of a young redhead in pigtails and fuzzy sweaters, others were snap shots of the same exuberant girl laughing and playing with two boys about the same age. He thought they looked like younger versions of the two that Willow hung out with at the Bronze. Obsessing over Willow's every gesture and expression from the shadows of the Bronze, Angel had been insanely jealous of the two boys who were fortunate enough to be a part of her life. He would be both angry and relieved when they'd wonder off to hit on other girls, leaving Willow alone at their table. He decided almost immediately that he didn't like them. They took his Willow for granted. And well, hell yes, he was jealous!
But studying the photos on the wall and remembering the way that those boys made Willow laugh, Angel thought that maybe he'd missed something. Maybe those boys were good for her. Maybe they should be here now instead of him. Maybe they could help her in ways that he couldn't. After all, he was just a phantom. A tremor of frustration surged through him. He was a shadow. He had carried his redhead in his arms tonight and still, he hadn't touch her. Just like he hadn't protected her from those assholes in the park. Yeah, technically he'd gotten there "in time," but Angel knew better than that. He'd known better the minute he'd looked at Willow's trembling body on the ground with that disgusting sock stuffed in her mouth. He'd known that he'd really been too late.
This is what he was thinking when Willow walked sheepishly out of her bedroom and into the hall. She was caught in an odd mix of emotions. She was traumatized. She felt disgusting, dirty, and terrified. Everything looked foreign one moment and overwhelming the next. She wanted to be alone but the thought of being alone left her quivering. She wanted to take a bath, but at the same time, the polite girl inside of her kept saying that she needed to be a good hostess to the nice man, well, man-like creature, that had saved her.
Finally, the feeling of filth prevailed and she decided to take a bath. "Umm. I'm gonna get cleaned up," Willow said softly. It was so calm and quiet in the house and she didn't want to break that spell. It broke. "Thank you," she blurted out. She has been doing that ever since he got her home. She just kept suddenly blurting that out. In her mind, it couldn't be said enough. "If you want me to go . . ." Angel questioned.
"I don't."
He knew the answer even before she said it. He was relieved that she wanted him to stay but her spontaneous thank-yous were proving a bit unnerving, especially since every time she said it, he knew that she meant it. Angel hadn't had this much personal contact with a human in ages. And Willow, she was his goddess. She was the one and only celebrity on Angel's planet. He has been eerily captivated with her from the beginning. If he'd owned a camera, he probably would have plastered his walls with photos of her. She had no idea what she was to him . . . and this probably wasn't the best time to confess to being her stalker.
The phone rang. Willow remembered Jesse and Xander and her insides sank. Damn! She was going to have to deal with the real world. Or, maybe this confused haze was the real world. How could she know?
"Hello," she said, picking up the phone at the end of the hall.
"Hey, Wills!" Xander spoke cheerily. Willow could hear the sounds of the Bronze in the background. The sounds of music, yelling, and laughter. She hated laughter. "We were worried, Will. You're way late. Like, Godot's more punctual."
"Sorry, Xander. I, uh, fell asleep," she lied, willing herself to retain control of her emotions while she was talking to him. It wouldn't do any good to start sobbing incoherently on the phone right now.
"I just woke up," she continued.
"Oh, are you gonna come out to the Bronze? Or, Jesse and I could swing by your place. We could study if you didn't want to Bronze-it." Oh, God. Willow really didn't want to hear any of those words: 'Jesse', 'study', 'Bronze.' She felt sick to her stomach. A few tears ran down her face as she tried to sound normal: "No thanks, Xand. It's too late. See you tomorrow."
Another wave of nausea ripped through her. Damn! She'd brought that one on herself. 'Tomorrow'- as if she was actually gonna go to school and see those boys and act all fine. She wasn't fine. Life wasn't normal. She couldn't pass those guys in the hall!
Xander had been talking.
"Bye, Will."
"Bye, Xand."
"Later." He hung up.
Willow looked down to the other end of the hall and her teary eyes met with Angel's face. Then the sobs broke. So did Angel's heart . . . and it slowed him down. He rushed to comfort her but by the time he reached the other end of the hall, Willow had already bolted into the bathroom and shut the door. He was too late. "Again," he whispered.
~Part: 6~ History
The water was bubbly and warm and it felt nice. Willow closed her eyes and thought that she might just be able to drift off to sleep in this cozy warmth. The fragrant vanilla bubble bath inundated her mind with pleasant sensory memories: baking a birthday cake with her mother, the cinnamony smell of Xander's house during the holiday season, her grandmother's faint perfume. It was a good smell and they were good memories. The happy pictures flitted in front of Willow's closed eyes like a slide show. Where she was right now was a pretty good place to be, Willow thought.
But then the water began to cool. Warm comfort became lukewarm, and then finally cold. Willow opened her eyes to turn the hot water on again. Then she froze. The bubbles that originally filled the tub and covered her skin had dissipated and Willow was left with a crystal clear view of her body: her legs, thighs, pelvis, stomach, arms, and breasts. She saw all of this skin and it occurred to her that it should all look white. She had very pale skin. She'd seen herself naked before, so she was sure of it. Her skin should all be white, but it wasn't. In some places, it was a purplish blue. Why was that?
An "Oh," so soft it was nearly silent escaped from her mouth and Willow remembered the events of the night. She remembered why she'd gotten in the bathtub to begin with and that those pleasant memories were not the present reality. They were very much the past. Studying her bruises carefully, Willow could remember every touch, every grip, that resulted in one of those bruises. Then she remembered having that sock in her mouth. She stood straight up in the bathtub, jumped out, grabbed her toothbrush, and, dripping water all over the floor, proceeded to brush her teeth. . . over and over again.
When Willow had first gotten into the bathtub, Angel had stood out in the hall and listened carefully, but after the water began to run, very few sounds came from behind the bathroom door . She had been in there a long time and he really didn't know what to do with himself. He kinda wanted to explore her room and gather more priceless insights into who his beautiful Willow was during daylight hours. But, it would have been wrong to do so. Right?
Angel mulled about in her room and decided that it would be okay to look at the things that were out in the open. After all, if something was out in the open, it couldn't be that private. She had lots of books. He knew it! She was very smart. He found a stack of school papers on her desk and began sifting through them: A+, A+, A+, A+, A+, A+. She was very, very smart. There were tests from chemistry and pre-Calculus and papers for English and history. Angel smiled. She was interested in New York at the turn of the century and Celtic mythology. Boy, could he tell her some stories. But, best of all, she loved Emily Dickinson. "The literature of happy loneliness," Angel thought. He knew it well.
Reflecting on all of this new information about Willow, Angel announced to himself, "She's perfect." Everything about her, from the major to the minute, was flawless or so endearingly flawed that it made her even more perfect. How could someone like Willow even be possible. "And why is she still in the bathroom," he thought out loud. He was worried and frustrated and he wanted to do something, anything, to comfort her, though what, he didn't know. Then, his sharpened senses picked up a quiet "Oh," from the direction of the bathroom. It was the kind of sound one might make when pricked with a needle and, following the silence, it seemed strange. A few more minutes passed and there weren't any new sounds, but then Angel senses were attacked by an unmistakanle scent: blood.
~Part: 7~ Of Emily Dickinson
Angel rushed down the hall and shoved open the bathroom door. As she heard the door open, Willow turned around, toothbrush in hand, and momentarily froze in shock. Her shock was nothing to Angel's. Directly in front of him, only a few feet away, stood his Goddess, Willow, dripping wet and completely naked.
A tempest of sensations rushed through him. First there was shock at the sight of so much skin, then lust as he took in the shape that was Willow, then anger as he observed the bruises marring her pale skin, and finally reverence at her luminous perfection - a perfection that he had been mistaken to previously believe he could comprehend. Angel mentally erased the bruises and focused on the ghostly ivory of her skin, the natural blush that bathed her in rosiness, her pert pink tipped breasts, the daintiness of her stomach and waist, the dark, wet redness of her curls, and the length of her exquisite legs.
Willow stood motionless and Angel eventually noticed the toothbrush in her hand. The bristles were red with blood. "Oh," he thought. He forced himself to shut the bathroom door, depriving himself of the sight of her. He leaned against the closed door and slid down to the floor, shutting his eyes and resting his head in his hands. As Angel attempted to process the sensations swimming in his body - the tingling in his groin and the pulsing in his lifeless heart - the lines of a certain poem sped through his mind:
I've got an arrow here; Loving the hand that sent it, I the dart revere.
Fell, they will say, in "skirmish"! Vanquished, my soul will know, By but a simple arrow Sped by an archer's bow.
"Bull's eye," he whispered.
On the other side of the door, Willow, too, was crumbled on the floor, with her back against the door. What had just happened here? Well, duh! He saw me naked- stark naked, naked as a jay bird, in my birthday suit! And I just stood there. Why? I didn't even try to cover myself up. I stood there and let his eyes do that roaming thing with my body.
It was like I suddenly had no will of my own. Oh, God! I honestly believe that I would have stood there naked for hours if he had kept his eyes on me like that. What is he? "He's the moon and I'm the sea," Willow thought, as she recalled the poem that only a few weeks ago, she had committed to memory:
The moon is distant from the sea, And yet with amber hands She leads him, docile as a boy, Along appointed sands.
He never misses a degree; Obedient to her eye, He comes just so far toward the town, Just so far goes away.
Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand, And mine the distant sea,- Obedient to the least command Thine eyes impose on me.
"Obedient to the least command thine eyes impose on me," she whispered, closing her eyes.
On the other side of the door, Angel's eyes bolted open.
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