Best Kept Secrets: The Rosenberg Archives (Entry 27 -Part 4)

Author: Kate

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: While I have taken the liberty of adding a few characters of my own creation, all of the original BtVS characters and their world belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and The WB. The lyrics for "Every You Every Me" belong to Placebo. All are used without permission (I'll return them all unharmed) and no copyright infringement is intended (like most that post, I'm broke, so please don't sue).

Spoilers: All 3 seasons of BtVS, BtVS season 4/Angel season 1 implied.

Summary: Well, it's now early into the year 2048 and Aishling Rosenberg is still hard at work creating a formal archive out of a vast collection of letters, stories, research notes, etc. that her grandmother, Willow, left behind when she died. We're currently revisiting events that took place in Sunnydale in August of 1999...

Distribution: My site and few others. If I haven't already given you permission to post it, please ask first. :)

Feedback: Is there an author out there who doesn't enjoy getting feedback?

Author's Notes:

1) I know it's been a *long* time between posts... *sigh* Writer's Block sucks!
2) No actual Willow or Angel in this part, just a few references... but they'll be back soon, I promise!!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Like the naked leads the blind. I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind. Sucker love I always find, Someone to bruise and leave behind.

All alone in space and time. There's nothing here but what's here's mine. Something borrowed, something blue. Every me and every you. Every me and every you, Every Me...he ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Giles exited his tiny kitchen carrying a cup of freshly brewed tea. He had over filled the cup and sipped at it, mumbling a curse to himself as his tongue was scalded by the near boiling-hot liquid. He made a quick stop at the dining table, snatching yet another jelly donut from the rapidly dwindling box of a dozen such delights that had been offered to him as a bribe. Giles then headed for the comfort of his easy chair, where he sat back down to continue his study of the sleeping form on his sofa.

The loud knock on his front door had occurred at just past 7am. Giles was more than a bit perturbed about having been rousted from his bed at such an early hour on a Sunday, the official 'day of rest'. But, seeing as he did reside upon a Hellmouth, perhaps that term could not be applied here.

"I'm coming," he called out as a second knock was made. Obviously he hadn't been heard because that rap was shortly followed by a whole succession of knocks which increased in both volume and frequency.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming!" Giles shouted this time as he tied the sash of his robe tight about his waist and made his way quickly toward the front of the apartment. The knocking did not cease until he threw the door open.

"This had better be a bloody emergency or I'll--"

The threat died on his lips as he took in the sight before him. The young man standing on his threshold looked as though he'd been through a war, or at least some sort of heated skirmish. He was deathly pale; dark purple rings beneath bloodshot eyes attested to his lack of sleep. The boy was shaking from head to toe, a result of shock Giles feared and he quickly ushered the youth inside, steering him toward the sofa to get him settled before he had the chance to pass out while still standing.

The boy let out a small cry of pain when his elbow bumped the armrest. That was when Giles noticed the swollen hand he was cradling against his chest, and the box tucked beneath his arm.

"Xander, what on earth happened to you?" Giles asked, his initial anger having been quickly replaced by concern for his young friend.

"Oh, this?" Xander replied flippantly as he glanced down at the hand Giles was staring at. "I, um, hit a brick wall."

"You did *what*?" was Giles astonished response.

"Yeah, well, he felt like a brick wall. Just as dense, ya know?"

"Who? Who on earth did you hit hard enough to do that kind of damage to yourself?"

Xander didn't answer him. Instead, he let out a shuddering sigh and leaned back into the sofa. He winced as he carefully pulled the box out and thrust it toward Giles.

"These are for you. Jellies. Your favorite," he said sheepishly as he made his offering. "I... I need your help, Giles."

"Xander," Giles sighed. "A bribe really wasn't necessary. You know I'll do--"

"Yes it is. Because I want your help, but I don't want you to ask a lot of questions. I only want you to answer mine."

"Well I really think that you ought to tell me just what happened, who you've been fighting with before I--"

"Never mind. I shouldn't have come here," Xander sighed angrily as he started to rise.

"No, no, I'm sorry," Giles said, trying to appease Xander and to let him know that he could in fact rely upon Giles to help him in anyway he could. After all, the Watcher owed him at least that much for the friendship and aide he had given to the Slayer over the past three years.

"Of course I'll be of assistance, no questions asked."

Xander fell back down onto the sofa with a groan that sounded of both defeat and relief. He was really too exhausted to leave and he was desperate for help.

"So, what is it that I can do for you, Xander?"

"Tell me everything you know about reincarnation."

"Reincarnation? What's sparked your interest in that particular topic, if you don't mind my asking?"

Xander shook his head. "No questions, remember."

"Yes, quite right. Forgive me." Giles spoke in an even tone that belied his underlying annoyance at the boy's refusal to share any information. He was equally annoyed with himself and his never ending need to delve into people's secrets. Prying was a wonderful trait for a Watcher. It was not such a good thing when simply trying to be helpful friend.

"Give me just a few minutes to toss on some clothes and to fix a pot of tea. Then I'll tell what I know."

Xander nodded then closed his eyes. Giles feared that he might fall asleep and so he attempted to make small talk, calling out from his bedroom as he dressed.

"I take it you've only just returned from your summer excursion?"

Xander simply grunted.

"Does that mean your journey wasn't all you'd hoped it would be?"

"Well, G-man, let's just say the 'open road' isn't as open as I thought. My stretch looked a lot like here, only with an adult version of the Bronze."

"Ah, yes quite," Giles mumbled, not quite understanding the boys description. "That's too bad. But perhaps it was learning experience all the same. When did you return?"

"Last night... no, it was the night before. The days have gotten kinda blurry..."

"I see. Have you seen any of the others yet? Willow? Or Oz? Buffy, you know is with her father. But she's do back in a day or so."

"Willow..." Xander mumbled, sounding a bit disoriented.

"You've seen Willow then?" Giles asked on his way to the kitchen.

"Oh, yeah," he drawled, "You could say that."

Xander sounded angry and hurt when he responded, piquing Giles' curiosity all the more.

"That would have been quite recently then. Last night, perhaps?"

"Uh-huh. Last night," the boy grumbled.

"She didn't have anything to do with your altercation, did she?"

"If you mean, is she the reason why I busted my hand, the answer is yes."

"Was she in some sort of danger? Has she been hurt?" Giles asked as he moved quickly back out into the living room to confront Xander.

Xander looked wrothy as he thought back on recent events. His lips were drawn into a thin, tight line, barely suppressed anger clearly visible in his eyes. Hate. He seemed to be exuding a great deal of hate. Then suddenly it all melted away, as though his resolve had crumbled. A single tear slid down his cheek and he brushed it quickly away.

"No. No she's okay. She's... she's safe."

Giles let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that. But the chap that you hit, was he--"

"Questions, Giles."

"Ah, yes... No questions."

Giles strode back into the kitchen, snatching up the bakery box to take with him and using his heavy steps to express his ire. He returned a few minutes later carrying a try that held a pot of tea, two cups and a plate with half a dozen jelly donuts on it. He filled a cup, grabbed one of the delightful confections and settled himself into the chair opposite the sofa.

"Well then, I suppose I should just get to it. Reincarnation, quite a fascinating topic..."

Giles rambled on for well over an hour. He was honestly delighted to see that Xander was in fact very interested in the subject and actually managed to ask some intelligent questions. He was even more surprised by Xander's own insightful comments on the topic at hand. It wasn't until Giles had finished up with most of his factual data and had drifted off into some storytelling that Xander succumbed to his exhaustion and drifted off himself... into sleep.

And now Giles found himself staring at the sleeping boy and wondering for the hundredth time just what had transpired earlier. What had driven Xander to his door? Whom had he hit? And why the sudden need to learn so much about reincarnation?

His reverie was short lived, however, interrupted by yet another knock at his front door. With a heavy sigh, Giles quickly made his way to the door before any further knocking could wake Xander.
 
 

A rather tall, slender figure stood before him. They were well hidden beneath a long black cloak, with the hood actually drawn up in spite of the warm weather. Their back was turned toward him, as if they were poised to flee, but Giles caught a glimpse of red hair peeking out from under the hood.

"Willow?" he asked, prompting the person to turn and face him.

It was not Willow.

Giles was momentarily speechless as he gazed upon the woman before him. She was young, in her early twenties, no more, and devastatingly beautiful.

She threw back the hood on her cloak, and Giles could see that her hair was indeed red, like Willow's and yet something about it seemed very unnatural. Awash as it was in bright morning sunlight, it was easy to see that it had more different shades of red and copper and gold than he had ever seen in one head of hair. Yet it was all too obvious that the effect was natural, not the work of some hairdresser. That's what made it so unnatural.

The woman smiled at him warmly, and though her eyes were hidden behind a pair of small dark sunglasses, he could see them sparkle, almost glow in fact.

"I-I'm sorry. I mistook you for..." Giles finally managed to stutter out, though he still could not complete his thought.

"Someone else?" the woman added for him, laughing softly as she did so.

"Quite."

"Another witch, perhaps?" she teased him, knowing that he really wasn't catching just what it was she said.

After a few more moments of slack-jawed gaping, Giles shook his head to clear it and found his voice in the process.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, I've been quite rude," the woman responded. "I'm looking for Rupert Giles."

"I'm Rupert Giles."

A playful smile lit up the woman's face.

"Actually, I already knew that you were." She leaned in closer and in a conspiratorial whisper she added, "I was just trying to be polite."

"Have we met?" Giles asked warily, though he was more than a little bit intrigued by her actions.

"No, we've not ever met in person before, but I do believe you know who I am."

She removed her sunglasses at that point and Giles found himself gazing into a pair of eyes the likes of which he had never seen before. He was instantly mesmerized. Any coherent thoughts he'd possessed were lost.

The woman laughed at him again. It wasn't a mean or mocking laugh, rather it was gentle, knowing laughter.

She shut her eyes, effectively setting Giles free from the trance he had fallen under.

When she reopened her eyes, and looked back at the Watcher, he appeared to have gathered some of his wits about him.

"Just what is it that I can do for you?" he asked.

"I need your help," she replied.

"Well, yes, join the club," Giles mumbled, as he pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose for just a moment.

"Excuse me?" the woman asked, a trace of anxiety in her voice.

Giles let his glasses fall back into place so that he might better study her face when she spoke. He then expounded on his previous statement.

"That seems to be the order of the day, my providing assistance to wayward individuals who are, for some unknown reason, flocking to my door on what would otherwise be a beautiful, restful Sunday."

"I'm sorry to disturb you, and were it not a matter of the utmost importance, I would never have done so."

"Well, what is it then?"

"I- I have reason to believe that your Slayer and her closest friends are about to participate in events that they are not prepared to handle. They're about to undergo changes that they are not ready for. In fact, I fear that for some of them, it has already begun."

"Xander..."

Giles had spoken the boy's name on a mere whisper and yet the woman had obviously heard him.

"Yes, Xander would be one of them," she said with a slight nod of her head. "Is he the one who's already come to you?"

"He arrived here about two hours ago in quite a state. What's going on?" Giles demanded.

"What did he say to you? Was he hurt in any way?" the woman asked with great concern.

"Physically he's a little worse for ware and his emotional state is questionable."

The woman let out a heavy sigh and hung her head, as if in shame.

"I'm sorry," she cried softly. "I seem to have failed him once again."

"Just what the hell is this all about? How do know me and what do you know of the Slayer?" Giles snapped.

When the woman looked up at him there were tears in her eyes and Giles instantly regretted having been so harsh, but he was growing more confused and annoyed by the minute.

"Perhaps we could discuss this inside?" the woman begged.

Giles stood to one side of the doorway, giving her room to pass him and enter.

She let out a small sob, a sort of strangled hiccup that was followed by what Giles thought was a very derisive laugh, not in fitting with the current situation. He studied the woman in silence, trying to determine just what the laughter meant. The laughter died away and she spoke.

"I'm afraid you'll have to offer me something a little more formal, Mr. Giles."

"Excuse me?"

Her laughter was outright sardonic this time and a smile that bordered on cruel twisted her pretty pink mouth.

"Nope, that won't work. Try again," she countered with a sneer.

It was a combination of gestures that Giles had seen before, on more than one occasion. The memories of those times and the creature whose habits she seemed to mimic made him shudder. Angelus. But surely that's not the image this woman had meant to bring to mind. He had most definitely misread her behavior, hadn't he?

"I beg your pardon?" he gasped as he unconsciously took a step further back into the safety of his apartment.

The woman let out an exasperated sigh, truly amazed that the famed Watcher before her actually had the capacity to be so dense. Or perhaps not. He did instinctively step away, didn't he? Ah, well, either way the truth had to come out sometime soon or she'd never be able to fix that which desperately needed mending.

"I can't enter your home until you invite me in."

"Are you telling me that you're a--"

"Vampire? Yes, Mr. Giles, that's precisely what I am. Now, are you going to invite me in or am I going to have to--"

"That's impossible! You're standing out there in the direct sunlight!"

"And if I continue to do so for much longer, I fear that the fair skin I favor is going to take on a bit of a tan."

"Who are you?" Giles forced out the question from between tightly clenched teeth.

"Aoífe."

"Oh dear god!" His tone was hushed, but it was clearly a gasp of astonishment.

An amused smirk worked its way across Aoífe's face as she watched the Watcher try to process that crucial bit of information.

There was a time, during his early years with The Council, when Giles had been fascinated by all that he had ever heard or read about the vampire that this woman claimed to be. He drew on the memories of all the vague but haunting descriptions of her physical appearance. Her hair, her eyes, her stature, all fit perfectly. Missing was the heavy Irish brogue he had come to expect, and yet he easily dismissed that detail, seeing as how he knew firsthand that Angel had long ago lost or given up his native pattern of speech. Still, Giles thought, with a slight cock of his head, it was rather disappointing.

A very small number of Watchers in the past had made reference to her appearing during daylight hours. However, those reports were believed to be the rambling of madmen since each of those poor fellows had made such journal entries right after having barely survived encounters with the likes of such vampires as The Master (whom his own Slayer had destroyed), Darla, even Angelus. Most had lost their Slayers in the battle.

The few diary entries made by more stable watchers were also disregarded because Aoífe was very powerful witch. That was common and accepted knowledge. Surely, the journalists had written, it was within her power to cast some sort of protection spell. Sadly, no watcher had yet to discover such a spell, and fortunately neither had any vampire. That left others believing that perhaps she had simply used her magic to weave an illusion, making it appear as though she was before them during daylight hours, when if fact she was not.

Still, the myths regarding the origins of Aoífe's clan were such that if they were to be true then it would be quite possible, befitting if fact, for her to be able to walk in the sunlight.

Yes, Giles had to admit to himself, this woman could very well be who or what she claimed to be.

"See, I told you that you know who I am," Aoífe said with a sly smile.

Still, there was the fact that but a handful of rumored sightings had been recorded since she was last seen for certain in Galway, 1753. [Tsk, tsk... the Watcher missed making any connections with those facts.]

"But The Council believes that you are--"

"Dead?" she chimed in. "Well, now, technically, I am."

"You know very well what I mean, young lady," he snapped.

"Now Rupert," Aoífe started, her tone of voice condescending, her use of his given name meant to emphasize just who really was really the elder in this situation.

"You, sir... you, of all people, should know not to judge a book by its cover. I'm older than half of the dusty old tomes in your library!"

"So you say," Giles answered in a very clipped tone, obviously put off by her attitude and ignoring his own somewhat unpredictable reactions to her presence.

"Look," Aoífe said with a sigh and a slight shake of her head, "I can prove to you what I am..."

And with that she gave him a sly grin, her lips parting seductively to reveal her fangs.

They're actually beautiful, Giles thought as he stared at her elongated and inhumanly sharp canines. They were like something from a Hollywood version of the creatures, not the mouth full of ragged fangs he was used to seeing among Angel and his kind. And remarkable, none of her other human features shifted, her human face was not replaced by that of the demon within... Hmmm, perhaps her eyes are glowing a bit more than before...

Aoífe caught the look in his eyes and she realized what silent comparisons he was probably making. The smirk left her face as she started to speak again.

"I am not one of them!" she stated firmly. When she was sure she had Giles' attention, she continued.

"That little display was to let you see for yourself part of what I am. It didn't prove to you who I am. I'm not sure that I can. I could recap the story of my life for you. If you chose to believe that the tale is not a work of fiction, I'm sure you'd find it to be quite fascinating. But we both know that the parts of the story you actually recognize will be the facts that are common knowledge for people who travel within the circles we do."

She paused, as though searching for some thought, some tangible evidence that she might provide him with. Her eyes went round for an instant as the proverbial light bulb went on.

"I have but one thing left to show you that might give you enough peace of mind to make you comfortable with the notion of inviting me into your home."

Aoífe unfastened her cloaked and shrugged it off.

Giles was treated to the sight of a pair of lean legs that seemed to have no end. The woman had lush feminine hips, a slender waist, ample breast... all of it nicely packaged in a simple emerald-colored silk slip dress. But the one thing about her appearance which literally took his breath away was the large silver Celtic cross which hung around her long neck and rested on her chest, just above her bosom.

Before Giles had a chance to respond, his thoughts (an odd mixture of the lust-filled and the awe-inspired) were interrupted by the sound of someone behind him letting loose a loud, broken sob.

He looked back toward the living room to find Xander standing just a few feet away. The boy's expression could best be described as heart wrenching. It appeared as though someone had just ripped the lad's heart out and he was now being forced to wear it on his sleeve.

"Aoífe," he managed to cry out softly, choking on the word.

Giles looked back and forth at the two young people standing on opposite sides of his threshold. He watched in abstract wonder as crystal pink tears started to spill from Aoífe's eyes, eyes which even as he watched changed from their previously indescribable shade of green to a deep, rich moss-like color. He looked back at Xander. Tears were now streaming down his face and he made no attempt wipe them away.

As his head continued to turn from side to side a few more times, the Watcher was completely baffled by the pain and the love that visibly flowed between the pair. Finally the realization that Xander had spoken the woman's name broke Giles out of his trance.

"You know this woman?" he asked the young man, incredulously.

Xander tore if gaze away from Aoífe. He stared down fixedly at the floor in front of his feet for a few moments before giving a brief nod of his head, raising it to look first at Giles, then back at the woman from his dreams.

"Yes. She's my wife."

"Oh, bloody hell," the Englishman groaned.
 
 

Giles stood off to one side of the livingroom, doing his best to be discreet. He was torn, trying to quickly decided between acting in his capacity as a long-time Watcher or behaving like an English gentleman. If the woman seated on his sofa truly was the legendary Aoífe, then he should be observing her closely so as to be able to later make a record of all that he saw. And yet, it was very plain to see that the emotions between her and Xander ran deep. They kept expressing their love for each other and they were suffering from some terrible mutual pain. A big part of him said they should be left alone to work things out.

He eventually opted for a combined course of action. He would eavesdrop, tactfully.

The Watcher stepped forward, moving almost silently. He made his way quickly toward the tray he had left out earlier, and picking it up, commented softly, "I'll make a fresh pot of tea."

Aoífe smiled up at him gratefully.

"That would be very nice."

Giles seemed to be rooted in place. He was watching her stroke the hair on the head buried in her lap.

After Xander's startling revelation, Giles wasted no further time debating the pros and cons of inviting yet another vampire into his home. Instead he spoke the words which allowed Aoífe to enter.

She had nearly bowled him over as she ran into the apartment and threw herself into Xander's open arms. They clung to each other for a few minutes, then she gently pried herself loose, took a hold of the boy's hands and led him toward the couch. She sat down. Instead of joining her on the sofa, Xander had thrown himself at her feet and started to beg her forgiveness for some unnamed wrong.

For a few minutes, as Aoífe tried to calm the distraught boy, Giles thought that perhaps what he was encountering nothing more than some sort of strange coincidence. It would be very easy to believe that Xander had simply made some terrible mistake while he was away this summer. Perhaps thinking he was in love with this woman, The boy had married her, then for some reason abandoned her. As for her name, well Aoífe was a fairly common Irish name. A very old name, yes, but as was the case with many such names in numerous cultures, its popularity came and went regularly. But there was no denying what she was. Giles had seen her fangs with his own eyes, had looked into her eyes as they had shone with that unmistakable preternatural light. And now there was no way to discount the blood-red tears that were falling from her eyes, staining her pale cheeks.

Before heading off to the kitchen, Giles reached into his back pocket, withdrew the handkerchief he always kept there, and offered it to Aoífe.

She accepted it graciously, mouthing as silent "thank you." Giles gave a slight nod of his head in return and walked off.

As he quietly puttered about in the tiny nook, the large pass-through allowed him to listen to the conversation that the young couple engaged in.

"Oh, god, Aoífe, my love, I'm so sorry... he's so sorry for having hurt you, at the end, for having rape--"

"Shhhh," she crooned as she quickly put her fingers to his tear soaked lips. "Don't say that. That's not what it was. I--"

"But I hurt you so much, I was mean and spiteful and--"

"You were in pain. You were heartbroken. You feared I was going to leave you. I knew all that at the time. You hurt me no more than I allowed you to. I... I wanted you to hurt me. I felt as though I was betraying you and for reasons I can't tell you, even now... especially not now."

Xander was sobbing uncontrollably, crying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over again.

"Please stop, stop that now," Aoífe pleaded with him.

His litany of pleas ceased, but his crying did not. For a long time it was the only sound coming from the room and Giles couldn't help but wonder just what was going on. Where were their thoughts taking them?

Xander was trapped once again in that part of his vision where he was forcefully taking his wife. Pounding into her, biting her, lashing out at her with his words before tossing her aside.

Aoífe was thinking about just how very different this scene was from any of the versions that had played themselves out in her mind. She had been certain that she would also be begging for forgiveness. Forgiveness for having chosen her immortal life over the one she had shared with him. Begging pardon for having laid with Uriel, even if it was only in her dreams. Seeking forgiveness for having fallen so quickly in love with Uriel. And even worse yet, for falling so deeply in love with Angelus, at first a man she barely knew, then a creature of hell she had freely given herself to all the same.

But in the 'here and now,' forgiveness was not what she wanted. To ask for it would be tantamount to denying the love she felt for all three of the men in her life. She would not dishonor them in that way. And she could not betray her own heart but lying to her husband. To do so might hurt him less in the moment, but in the long run it would leave them both without any sense of peace, without the much needed closure that they had both been seeking for centuries.

Aoífe knew then what she had to do. She simply had to say the words aloud. Her forgiveness, that's all he needed and his soul would be set free.

"Oh, Suibhne (Sweeney), mo muirnín (my beloved), I forgive you. I forgave you long, long ago."

Her words sank slowly in. Xander gazed up into her face, his tears eventually coming to a halt. A wry smile then worked its way across his mouth, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I'm not really him, you know?"

"You're right, Alexander. In this place and time you're not."

"Xander," he corrected. "My friends call me Xander."

Aoífe bent down and placed a kiss on his forehead. She was practically beaming with joy when she looked back him. She knew just what it truly meant for the boy before her to offer his friendship to a vampire, regardless of the fact that said vampiress had been his wife in a previous life.

"Then Xander it is," she said with a very soft feminine giggle. She was suddenly aware of the fact that his hands where wrapped about her legs, his fingers pressing into the space between the backs of her thighs. Now that the past was behind them, it was an unsettling touch.

She pointedly glanced down and Xander's eyes followed. His hands were swiftly pulled away.

"Oh... oh, man... I'm sorry...I-I--"

"That's okay, Xander. It's not like you've never touched me there before," she teased him with a wink of her eye.

The poor boy turned an almost impossible shade of red and scampered away from her. She felt badly for having played with him like that when she saw the way he winced and then cradled his injured hand.

"Let me take a look at that?" It wasn't really a question, it was a command. Her voice was gentle, but Xander knew instinctively that she would not take 'no' as an answer.

When Giles came back into the room, carrying the tray now laden with fresh tea and home baked cookies (a treat from Willow, baked just few days ago when she had been bored and missing all her young friends), he found Xander now seated on the sofa beside Aoífe. She was carefully examining his hand.

"Well" she sighed, "I'm afraid at least one or two of the bones are slightly fractured, but they'll heal very quickly. Mr. Giles? Would you be so kind as to retrieve my cloak?"

"Humm? Oh yes, my pleasure," he replied as he set the tray down on the footstool the sat before his easy chair.

After he handed the long black wrap to her, Aoífe dug into one of the hidden pockets and brought out a small bottle made of cobalt-blue glass. She rose and walked over to the tea service. Uncorking the tiny bottle, she poured the contents into a cup, then proceeded to fill it the rest of the way with tea, a lot of sugar and a large dollop of cream. The cup was then delivered to Xander.

He eyed it very warily, shaking his head as he did so.

"Umm, I don't think so... the last time a witch handed me a cup of tea everything got really weird!"

"Oh please, Xander," Aoífe said with an exasperated sigh. "I'm a much better witch than Willow! Now drink it."

She gave him the same 'resolve face' that he'd seen his childhood friend don hundreds of times.

"Wow," Xander gasped. "You look just like Will."

Aoífe just shrugged and gave an off-handed reply.

"Yeah, well, good looks run in our family."

"Oh, bugger me," Giles moaned, whipping off his glasses, closing his eyes and firmly pinching the bridge of his nose. "What next?"
 
 

Remarkable," Giles whispered in awe as he sat on the floor beside the sofa and watched Xander's hand heal right before his very own eyes.

"Just what was in that bottle?" he asked, turning toward Aoífe, who was now seated in the chair across the room, sipping from a cup of tea. "Oh, some herbs, a shot of good Irishwhiskey, afewdropsofmyblood. These cookies are very good!" To emphasize the last part of her response, Aoífe held one up then munched on it.

Her words had been spoken quickly, all running together in a manner that reminded Giles of something Buffy called "Willow-speak".

Aoífe could have chosen to lie to him, but she didn't. She'd spoken the truth, only in her nervousness she'd tried to gloss-over the words. Giles had to admire her honesty even as he was mentally preparing to berate her for having introduced even the slightest amount of her blood into Xander's system.

"I know what you're thinking," Aoífe whispered. "You're appalled that I would use my vampiric blood in such a way. Well, I'm sorry, but I don't give a damn about your sensibilities. I wasn't about to simply sit here and to watch that poor boy suffer when I have the ability to cure what ails him, physically anyway."

"Your blood has healing powers?" Giles asked, putting his initial reaction aside and focusing instead on the more 'scientific' aspects of what she'd done.

Aoífe nodded to the affirmative, then gave a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders.

"Combine it with the right ingredients, recite the proper incantation over the mixture. Child's play for a practiced witch.."

"And a shot of whiskey is part of the brew?" Giles asked with a small smirk on his lips.

Aoífe laughed, just as he'd meant for her to do. She had a beautiful laugh, Giles had noted earlier.

"Naaaa, the Irish was just to help knock him out," she shared on a giggle.

"I see," the Watcher chuckled. He tipped his head in Xander's direction. "Works like a charm."

And such a radiant smile, the Englishman though to himself as he watched a playful grin light up her face before she replied.

"Especially when the intended is an impressionable youth who rarely imbibes!" she tittered.

More of her melodious laughter. It was infectious. Giles joined in.

Hell, any man could fall for her, even if she was a vampire. She was intelligent, witty, gorgeous, oh my yes, sexy as all get out and-- Damn old man, put those thoughts to rest!

"Have no fear, Mr. Giles," she said in a very hushed voice. "I'll not seduce you." There was a long dramatic pause then she flashed him a lascivious smile. "At least not today."

Oh my lord, were those her fangs I just caught a glimpse of? A shiver (of fear or of desire - he would never truly be able to say) ran down the Watcher's spine. He unconsciously removed his eyeglasses and intended to clean them, as was his habit when nervous or deep in thought. But searching through each of his pockets, he couldn't seem to locate his handkerchief. The next thing he knew, Aoífe was squatting down beside him, offering him a hankie of her own.

"You were kind enough to give me yours earlier, remember? I'm afraid it's stained now, so please, take mine."

He had to swallow hard before he could speak.

"Why, thank you," Giles managed to say, accepting the neatly folded piece of cloth. Unfurling it, he took note of the fact that it was made of a fine Irish linen. The letter 'A' was embroidered in one corner, a simple Celtic style lettering had been used. The delicate scent of her perfume rose up from the cloth, tickling his nose.

Realizing just how long it was taking him to accomplish such a simple task, Giles wiped his lenses clean in record time and quickly put them back on. He then neatly refolded the handkerchief and held it back out to her.

"No, you keep it," Aoífe said as she rose and moved a bit further down the length of the sofa. She joined Giles on the floor, sitting with her back resting against the couch, Xander's feet behind her head.

"Thank you, again," the Watcher murmured.

"You're quite welcome. You can tuck into your journal between the pages on which you write about this, our first meeting. Something to show all those stuffy old codgers in London, make them rue the day they demoted you, and for something so... so asinine! You, sir, are without a doubt the best Watcher that archaic organization has ever had and how do they repay you for your hard work and sacrifice? They take your Slayer from you, or your title anyway, because I don't think they could ever separate you from her, she'd never allow that. Then they send some sniveling whelp to take your place and cut you off from the support system they're meant to provide. Damn fools! What, did they honestly think? That you were just going to stand by and watch as--"

"That's quite enough," Giles broke in. He was well aware of the events that had transpired in the past. He was a bit startled to discover that Aoífe knew of them, as well.

"You're right, Mr. Giles, forgive me. It's just that the injustice of the whole situation still raises my ire. Damn fools, will they never listen to reason? Sometimes I think you can talk to them until you're blue in the face and still not--"

Giles interrupted her once more.

"It's Rupert, please. Call me Rupert."

"I'm ranting, aren't I?" Aoífe asked, lowering her eyes as a blush of embarrassment colored her cheeks.

"A bit," Giles replied. "You-you can blush?" he asked in wonder.

Aoífe's cheeks turned an even deep shade of pink as she looked back up.

"It's one of the unfortunate side effects of having a pulse," she remarked sarcastically.

"You have a pulse?!"

"Why yes, my heart beats, the blood in my veins circulates, though it does not regenerate. I breath too, which burns the blood more quickly but it warms my body."

"So, your kind has retained some of their humanity?"

"No, not really. There are a few aspects, but for the most part it's magic. We use some very ancient practices to appear to be alive in the human sense. It's not so hard to do. We don't have two completely different faces to put on. Aside from the fangs, and some damned annoying unnatural eye coloring, what you see is what you get. It's just that without the magic we would be as pale as you're used to seeing a vampire be and cold. So very, very cold." The last few words were mumbled, and Giles apparently didn't catch them, or the sad tone in Aoífe's voice as she spoke them.

"Hmmm, interesting," the ex-librarian commented, obviously stuck now in 'research mode'. "I don't believe that I've seen them used before."

"Yes, well," the vampiress sighed, "I would think that the only kind of vampire you've ever encounter before is Angelus and his breed. They don't use the tricks. After all, for the most part they love in the darkness. It's easier to hide the pallor of your human visage when you walk in the shadows. Besides, their also quite vain. They actually prefer their demon form and aside from Angelus there's not a one of them that wishes they were still human."

"One of the side effects of having his soul restored, I assume?"

Aoífe didn't answer Giles right away, and he studied her in silence, catching the far-off look in her eyes. It seemed as though just the mere mention of Angel's name had drawn her thoughts elsewhere. But soon enough she blinked rapidly and looked back at Giles.

"Ah yes, his soul," she said in a slightly breathless way. "His soul, all their souls... that's what's brought me here today."

"Do tell," Giles urged.

And she did.

Aoífe recounted for the Watcher the dream which she had, the dream she shared with Xander, Willow and Angel. She did edit out the more intimate details. There really was no need to share the opening sequence of the dream with man before her, who in turn might share it with The Council and god only knew who would see it after that. But she did tell him the full story of her turning, using what Uriel had told her to fill in the parts she'd 'slept' through. Aoífe tried to explain to Giles just who everyone had been, and more importantly who now possessed which soul.

He tried to press her for more details, such as why she had chosen to be turned at that time, what role was everyone meant to play here in the present, but those were secrets she could not share, at least not yet. To be honest, she wasn't even sure if she had the correct answers to his questions.

"I'm sorry, Rupert. I wish I could tell you more. All that I am sure of is that everything is happening too soon and too quickly. Most of those involved are still children. The Slayer already carries enough weight around on her small shoulders. I see no need to add to her burden any sooner than is necessary. Xander's role will most likely be minor, but the support he lends to his friends is still essential to all of their well-beings."

"Willow's role in the future will be large. She is, unbeknownst to her, one of my direct descendants, and one of Angelus' as well. But I can block the memory of this dream and make her forget, for a time, all the transpired this weekend. What I can't do is put a stop to the other ancestral dreams she's started to experience. They are a part of what we are. She's a supernatural creature in her own way, Rupert. She has the potential to become an even more powerful witch than I am, if she is properly trained and nurtured. Had her line not been lost so long ago, she would have become part of our coven at a very tender age. I tell you now that I hope she shall still accept her calling when the time comes."

Aoífe looked away then, struggling to decide if she should tell Giles what her other wish was. Honesty. That would be best. He could better help Willow if he had more facts to work with.

"I prayed that I would find her soon. It's nearly time for us to choose a new member for our inner circle. I..." She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "I wish to make her my Childe."

"Your child?" Giles asked, momentarily confused. Then she saw the 'light come on' and watched his anger rise.

"Y-you want to turn her?! Don't... Do not think for even a moment that I'll just stand by and let you make my Willow into--"

" 'My Willow'? Inappropriately possessive, don't you--"

"Yes, my Willow. Damn it. They're all my children in a sense and I will do all that is within my means to keep them safe and to--"

"Rupert, Rupert, please," Aoífe cut him off gently. She smiled at him warmly and turned her head from side to side.

"I only said it was a hope of mine. My clan does not go around turning women against their will. They are our family, our blood, our loved ones. It is a special calling, one that the chosen must accept freely. You know too little about my kind to make any sound assumptions. But I am willing to educate you. I will tell you all that I know about the origins of my kind, I'll share with you stories from my own life if you will promise me one thing in return."

"And just what might that be?" he asked skeptically.

"I want to help them, Rupert. I've already cast a spell over Xander that will suppress his memories of the last forty-eight hours or so. My husband's soul is finally at peace and it is now Xander's alone. Some of the memories from his past life will still be there. Only they'll resurface slowly, at a later date and over a much longer period of time. The dreams will come again, only the next time they come, all of the hurtful memories will have been erased. It will be more like watching old home movies, pleasant reminders of a life well lived. For Suibhne was an amazing man. His love was deep and true. He lived and died with honor. I think you can see that in Xander, can't you? I'm sure you've been able to look beyond his smart-mouthed banter to see the man inside."

Giles nodded in answer to her comments and Aoífe continued.

"I'll do the same for each of them. Cast the spells. All but The Slayer. I'll keep an eye on her, but I'm reluctant to suppress her dreams. Her prophetic ones are essential to her work. And the ones she shares with Angelus are... well, they have their purpose. Besides, I don't think that she's been plagued by the same dream the other three had. My little girl was but a child of three at the time of my Becoming. She witnessed a horrible event, it was a vicious slaughter to say the least. But she lived to work through those memories. She had nothing to regret or atone with regard to those events. My daughter did however die at a very young age. Her destiny had not yet been fulfilled. Perhaps it simply wasn't her time. Maybe God planned all along for her to become a Slayer. Look at how strong and brave she is in this life. I'm so proud of her, as I know you are too. And there is still much for her to do. She'll live long, Rupert. Never fear that God shall take her before you."

"You speak so easily of God," he said, fascinated by yet another aspect of Aoífe's unique nature. "I never knew that vampires could be... religious." He pointed to the cross laying on her chest, her flesh unmarred by its touch.

"Again, you compare us to them. We never lose our soul, Rupert. I dominate the demon which animates my immortal body, it does not control me. We have been kissed by an angel. My kind was born out of love, a very sad, twisted love, but love all the same. Angelus' kind was created during a moment of desperation. Their demon is pure evil and full of hate. They despise God for having taken their paradise away from them and giving it to lesser creatures, to humans."

Aoífe paused once again to study Giles and his reaction to her words.

"You really are a historian at heart, aren't you?" she laughed.

"I'm fascinated, to say the least."

"Yes, I can see that. Well, I was raised as a pagan. Most of the old ones still embrace only the pagan beliefs. I didn't join the Catholic Church until the mid-sixteenth century. I'm not sure what drew me to it, other than a need to express my beliefs in a more mainstream way. I still practice the old ways, but I also love all the time-honored rituals of the Roman Catholic faith. There's a kind of comfort to be found in the continual practice of such rites. I feel sorry for Angelus. He's lost his ability to seek solace in the church of his youth. And that's a shame. I think it would help him to adjust to his new life if he could find his God again."

"Well, it would seem that he's had at least a century in which to--"

"No, that hundred years was spent in a poor excuse for hell on earth, a hell those damned gypsies created and which he chose to perpetuate. He wandered about in a state of denial, until he was led to the Slayer. Even then, the little bit of good he did was done for her, not as a way to work toward his own redemption. He loves her, for all the right and all the wrong reasons. But I'm straying off topic here and--"

"Good Lord, you're in love with him!" Giles exclaimed.

Aoífe flushed anew and a pained expression clouded her pretty features.

"I've been to Hell for him, Rupert," she choked out. "What do you think?"
 
 

A lone tear slid slowly down her right cheek. Angrily, Aoífe swiped it away.

"I'm sorry," Giles said sincerely. "I didn't mean to pry. I--"

"It's just in your nature, Watcher. It's part of what made it easier for you to accept your calling. But enough about me for now, and no more talk of Angelus, other than to say that I need to leave here soon and take care of those last two spells. It's getting late and I want to get up to the old mansion while Willow and Angelus are still asleep. It will be easier to--"

"The Crawford Street mansion?" Giles asked hastily. "You mean to tell me that Angel is back in Sunnydale?"

"Why yes, I thought that Xander told you--"

"Oh, no. He left that little bit of information out. In fact, he refused to discuss any of the actual details that pertain to what's happened over the last few days. Damn boy, all he--"

"All he wanted to do was get help. For himself and for Willow. I'm sure you can appreciate that. And you know he could care less about Angelus. I'm sure that by not mentioning his presence in town, Xander was honoring Willow's wishes, or perhaps exercising some adult moral standards."

"Moral standards? What could have..." Giles let the question go unfinished. He was too busy sorting through all the possibilities that had suddenly come to mind.

"You say that Willow and Angel are at the mansion? Together?"

"Yes."

"And that they are sleeping?"

Aoífe cast her eyes down and nodded. Giles cleared his throat before forcing himself to ask the next question.

"Together?"

"Yes." She answered him without hesitation and she looked at Giles straight in the eyes as she did so.

"You're telling me, in not so many words, that they have been intimate."

"Yes."

The poor man suddenly went as pale as death.

"You-you keep calling him 'Angelus'. Does that mean he's lost his soul yet again?"

"Oh lord, no! Why would you think that?"

She was cut off by the look of relief that fell over the Watcher. Suddenly Aoífe was furious.

"Oh that's right," she growled. "I forgot that you all call him 'Angel' when he's 'good' and only call him by his given name when he's 'bad'. That's sort of cruel, don't you think? The man won't use the name his own mother gave him because your records have forever associated it with a demon."

"He is a demon," Giles snapped back, "As are you."

"Touche," the witch hissed.

She took a few deep breaths in an attempt to reduce her anger before she spoke again.

"I'm sorry for the confusion. I've always called him by the name his mother gave him. Hell I was there when she--"

Aoífe abruptly stopped speaking. She had neither the time nor the desire to start telling Giles tales of her shared past with Angelus. All those details would be revealed in time. More importantly, Angel had a right to know about them before anyone else did. Still, she felt compelled to address some of the terrible misconceptions they all had with regard to Angel's curse.

"I just find it utterly amazing that you've never bothered to research the true nature of his curse." She shook her head in disgust. "But I suppose it's only fair to say that the dumb ox is as guilty of that short-coming as you are. He tends to wear that damn albatross about his neck like it's something to be proud of." "Are you telling me that you don't think his punishment is just?"

"Oh, please," Aoífe drawled. "The vampire committed unspeakable crimes against mankind. It deserves to suffer far worse than it does. Would it make you happy to know that it got a good helping of pain and torment during its time with Acathla? But while walking on this earth, which suffers more? The demon or the soul? And is Angelus' soul deserving of such punishment?"

"I know very little about the man's past," Giles openly admitted. "But I have witnessed the vampire's behavior. By only the Grace of God and the strength of my Slayer, I lived to tell about it. I confess that my judgement is a biased, to say the least."

"I applaud your candor, Rupert. I will be equally as honest by telling you that I don't know the full story of his past either, even though I was actually there for parts of it. I don't know exactly what it is he did that makes him continue to live under the curse. He could simply destroy himself. An even easier way out would simply be to loose himself again in the Slayer, give up that soul he's straddled with and let the demon roam free. He chooses to do neither of those things. I won't even venture a guess as to why. What did the man do to make him believe he is worthy of such punishment?"

"The young Irishman was a wastrel," she went on to say. "He was privileged to have been given a good education but he let it go to waste. Angelus drank too much and was a foolish gambler. He whored around constantly. On occasion, he would steal from his father in order to continue to indulge in his vices. He participated in his fair share of barroom brawls, but he never killed a man. He stopped going to church, which is something every well brought-up Catholic was expected to do 'til the day they die. But he never dallied with magic or the like. So, tell me Mr. Giles, does his soul deserve to suffer indefinitely for those petty crimes? Was your young life lived any better?"

"Evidently, you know it was not," Giles replied.

"You're correct. I do know all about your past and your ill-fated dabbling into the black arts. But you moved past that. You grew up. You were offered the chance to do some good in this life, to make amends, and you took it. Doesn't Angelus deserve the chance?"

"I'm sorry, but I've already told you that I have very mixed feelings on the subject," the Watcher replied honestly.

"As well you should. I don't even know how I feel about it most of the time. I fell in love with Angelus while he was still human, and I have hated the demon just as much as you do. There was a time when I would have staked him on sight."

"You said 'hated'... past tense."

In return for that comment, Aoífe gave Giles a very contemptuous chortle. She spoke from between clenched teeth, a scornful sneer on her lips.

"After you've spent a few centuries living with him in the void that is Acathla's domain, we'll talk about that fine line between love and hate. Until then, let's--"

"You were being literal earlier?" Giles nearly shouted, he was so shocked. "When you said you'd gone to hell for him, you meant it, in the physical sense?"

Aoífe didn't answer him. Instead, she drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms about her shins and bent her head, hiding her face from the Watcher's view. She didn't make a sound, but Giles could see her shoulders begin to shake. She was crying. The normally reserved Englishman was at a loss. He very much wanted to go and take the girl into his arms, to offer her some comfort, but he felt that would be incongruous. Much as he hated to see her so upset, he really didn't know the creature before him and he didn't know why she was suddenly crying. Were they tears of sorrow? Tears of pain? Did she cry for herself or for the demon/man she was in love with?

Without saying a word, Giles rose and proceeded to take the tea set back into the kitchen. He took his time cleaning the dirty dishes, drying them slowly then returning everything to its proper place. When he finished that task, he returned to the livingroom.

Aoífe was now occupying the space he had recently vacated. She was sitting beside Xander's head, stroking his hair while the boy slept on. Giles couldn't help but smile as he watched the lad trying to move further into her touch, nuzzling that part of her arm which lay so close to his face. The Watcher had to admit that he was somewhat jealous. Something inside him instinctively knew that her touch was a wondrous thing.

Still feeling a bit stiff after sitting on the hard floor, Giles opted for the easy chair this time. Once she sensed that he had settled himself, Aoífe turned toward him.

It was plain to see that she had most definitely been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks, splotchy. Gripped in her free hand was his once white handkerchief, now stained with the blood of her tears. When she spoke, her voice was raw from having choked on her sobs.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off on you like that. It's just that when you feared Angelus had lost his soul simply because he'd had sex, I was taken aback by your ignorance. I just find it so hard to believe that it was a mere slip of a girl who first realized that it was not the sexual aspect of his relationship with the Slayer that caused him to loose his soul. His 'moment of true happiness' was not found in his climax. Regardless of how good the sex is, coming is nothing more than the release of physical sexual tension."

"It was the intimacy and the love that Angelus and the Slayer shared that was his undoing. If she hadn't been so young, if he hadn't been such a gentleman, they might have had sex dozens of times. Or they could have never slept together and he would have eventually lost his soul anyway."

"Angelus' soul was taken from him the moment he looked into her eyes and saw nothing of his past. All he saw was a future with her, a future that was never meant to be. It was a future he could be a part of only if he denied who and what he is. And without a second thought for the consequences, he did just that."

"So, you see, you need not fear that he's sexually active again. You do need to worry about every other aspect of his relationship with the Slayer. The intimacy they once had was lost when she was exposed to the vampire without the soul. Trust is another big issue for them. Beware, both of those things can be rebuilt over time if the love is still there."

"Angelus' time in hell changed him. He was returned to earth with no explanation given. He was lost and confused, making him an easy target for The First. You, yourself, helped to get him through that ordeal and he came out of it with a better understanding of why he was brought back, what it is he has to do to make his peace."

"He won't be staying in Sunnydale. I'm sure the Slayer's presence in LA is what drove him back here. Not enough time has passed since they separated. They still love each other deeply, and always will. But they're not meant to be together in this life. They need to live apart to fulfill their destinies. I fear that they shall be tested many times in the years to come. They will be offered the greatest of temptations, and I can only hope and pray that they find the strength to resist."

"And now I've said more than I ever intended."

"I didn't come here today to talk about myself. It was never my intention to speak at length on the subject of Angelus. I really don't give a damn about the collective dream. I'm sorry, but I've been living with them for over a thousand years. I'm now a bit jaded when it comes to communal dreams. They have a purpose to serve, but they can be a royal pain in the ass. But I'm glad that I was able to help Xander. That was a nice bonus."

Aoífe drew in a deep breath and then blow it out loudly. Going threw the motions helped her to prepare for what she was going to say next.

"What I really came here to do is to put a halt to the budding relationship between Willow and Angelus. They're not meant to be so close, at least not yet."

"I can sense that they both know this already. I simply want to help them along. I think you can see that it would best for all concerned if none of them remembers what took place here this weekend. At least not for a good long time."

"Xander would be miserable, forced to keep secrets from people he loves. Not that he wouldn't willingly do so for Willow's sake. However, over time, covering for Angelus would really eat away at him."

"Willow is simply too young and too inexperienced to take on the burden of being bonded to a vampire for the rest of her. Just the physical aspects of that sort of relationship would be too much for her at this point. Vampires are extremely sexual creatures. We use sex like humans use words. We hurt each other with it, we heal each other with it. It can be a form of punishment, a show of dominance, a display of submission. It's the way we mark what is ours, recognize our favored childe and claim our mate. Add to that all the emotional baggage that Angelus carries around right now and poor little Willow would be lost in no time."

"As for Angelus, well he has got to stand on his own two feet. He needs to be alone, at least for a time. He cannot live among his own kind. He does not know how to live among humans. He needs friends in his life right now, not lovers. And while I'm sure that Willow will come to be one of his closest friends, they must build that relationship slowly and without the use of the bond I fear they've created."

Aoífe paused then, looking deep into Giles eyes as though trying to determine if she'd said enough or perhaps too much. The latter, she feared, heaving a heavy sigh before continuing to speak.

"I know that I've taken up a great deal of your time telling you all that I have. I did so because you are a Watcher, it's your duty to observe and to make a record of all the supernatural goings-on you encounter. The more information you have to work with, the better you can do your job. But more importantly, I need for you to watch over them. I know that you genuinely care for your Slayer and her friends. And I trust that you no longer wish Angelus any ill-will."

"If for some reason my spells do not hold, there may be a whiplash-like effect and the memories of not only this weekend, but of their entire past lives will flood their minds. They'll be devastated if no one is here to help them cope. Are you willing to do this for me? For them?"

"Of course," Giles replied reassuringly. "You know that I will."

"Thank you," Aoífe said on a whisper.

She was exhausted, but there was still so much left to do and so very little time remaining. It was mid-afternoon already. She needed to make her way to the mansion, speak with Willow for a moment, then cast her spell over the girl and send her on her way before Angelus rose at sunset. And then Giles was speaking and after that--

Giles was speaking? Aoífe had been so lost in thought, his soft-spoken words had not registered immediately.

"I'm sorry," she apologized with a odd cocking of her head, much like Buffy was prone to do. "Were you speaking to me?"

'Like mother, like daughter' was Giles' silent comment on what he saw. How bizarre.

"Is that all you're asking of me?" he patiently repeated . "To simply watch over them?"

"Ahhh, yes! You're referring to my earlier offer?"

Giles nodded.

"If all goes well, then yes, that's all you'll need to do. But if for some reason I fail to cast the last two spells before sundown, I'm quite certain you'll have another visitor tonight."

"Angel?"

"Yes."

"You can't cast your spell over him once he's awake?"

"No. To do so would mean that he would see me, just as Xander did. But Xander is very young and he's human. It was easy for me to work my magic on him. Angelus is much older and in the course of his existence as a vampire he has acquired a great deal of knowledge with regard to witchcraft. He would offer a great deal of resistance."

Giles heard her rather believable explanation, but he also saw the way her body tensed and how her eyes seemed to glow. Fear. He could see her underlying fear.

"But those aren't the only reasons, are they?" he prodded gently.

Aoífe studied her hands for a few moments, then shook your head and in a show of resignation, she sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that day.

"He can't see me yet. If I were to reveal myself to him at this point in time, the results would be disastrous. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?"

"All right," Giles readily agreed to her request, sensing that she would not expound on her statement even if pressed to do so.

"I said I would tell you the story of my life," Aoífe said, restating the terms of her offer. "And that I would share with you all that I know about the beginning of my kind. What I'm offering you is a story for a story."

"What do you mean?"

"Angelus may come here seeking your help, just like Xander and I have done. And he too will offer you something return."

"And what might that be?"

"What's the one thing you've been dying to ask him since you learned he'd come back?"

It was Giles' turn to cast his eyes down, suddenly feeling quite ashamed of his morbid curiosity. He knew Aoífe was watching him closely. He could feel her eyes upon him. But he was a Watcher, damn it! It was his duty to ask such questions, no matter impolite or insensitive they might seem.

Giles steeled himself, put on his best stoic face and looked back at her.

"What was it like... What was his hell like..."

"That's right Giles. And to keep Willow safe, he's willing to share those memories with you. It matters little to him how much he'll suffer while he does so. All that's important to him is that he can somehow obtain your word that you'll look out for her."

Giles had to think for a while before responding to what Aoífe had just said. He needed to do a little soul-searching in order to decide upon a course of action that would benefit all parties concerned. Once he'd made his decision, he spoke.

"If I find that he is sincere, then I will do as he asks and will accept nothing from him in return. Angel has always had Buffy's best interests at heart, often fighting her to the bitter end when she has on occasion pushed him to the wall. If he treats Willow in the same manner, I'll honor your request and welcome your offer. But be warned, if I think that he'll harm her in any way, I'll stake him right here in my own livingroom."

"I have a Dust Buster, you know," he added jokingly, trying to lighten the somber mood.

Aoífe gave Giles a wry smile.

"Fair enough," she said. Then she stretched and rose gracefully to her feet.

Giles had to envy her perpetual youth. He had a hard enough time getting out of the easy chair after sitting in it for so long. If he had remained seated upon the cold wooden floor, he'd be a near cripple by now.

Aoífe gathered up her cloak and headed toward the front door. Giles followed close behind to see her out.

"Well, Rupert, I suppose this is 'good-bye', for now."

Her black wrap was draped over one arm, but she extended her free hand to him and he quickly took it in both of his own.

"Won't I see you again?" Giles asked, his disappointment easy to hear and plain to see.

"Of course you will," she assured him. "I just don't think that I will be returning to Sunnydale anytime soon. I don't think it would be wise. Unfortunately that means most of my sharing shall have to been done by way of written correspondence and telephone calls, if that's acceptable to you?"

"Of course, however you see fit to do it will be fine."

"Perhaps we can still meet in person, from time to time. I have a home in San Francisco. Maybe we could meet there?" Aoífe offered, a warm smile lighting up her face once again.

"I'd like that," Giles said, blushing slightly at the thought of spending more time alone with her.

Aoífe stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, put her sunglasses on and started to make her way across the courtyard. About half way through she turned back toward Giles, who was still standing in his open doorway.

"Who knows," she taunted him, "maybe someday we'll meet in London. You can show me all your old haunts, and I can show you my even older ones!"

The sight of her left the Watcher nearly blinded. A picture of her dazzling smile, the bright glint of sunlight off her fangs and the fiery glow of her hair was forever burned into his mind. Giles waited until the last melodious note of her laughter faded away before he closed the door.

Suddenly feeling very tired, he leaned against the strong wooden surface for support. As he began to think back on all that had happened thus far that day, he unconsciously removed his glasses and started to clean them. The now familiar fragrance, that was uniquely Aoífe's, soon reached his nose, and all his thoughts seemed to scatter. Giles looked down and smiled when he saw her hankie in his hand.

"Tuck it into my journal... Indeed!" he mumbled to himself.

I think not, was his silent thought. This little treasure is going to be well hidden amongst my socks!

*********

[Willow...]

Someone whispering her name, trying to wake her.

[Willloooow...]

But she was in the middle of a dream, one of those very rare dreams that come in Technicolor, with surround sound. She was not about to leave so soon.

Willow looked about her dream scape. She had been transported to place she had never been, yet she knew where she was. She was in Ireland. She took in the lush green hills in the background, the rocky beach at her feet. In the near distance stood a cottage that she somehow knew was a recent addition to the landscape despite its aged appearance. A quaint little white-washed stone building with a slate roof. Slate wasn't as pretty or authentic looking as a peat-roof would have been, but it was more practical, especially on a house built so close to the sea.

She turned in her dream, no longer looking inland, instead gazing out at the sea. She caught sight of him, a few yards away and she couldn't keep from smiling.

Angel was having a grand old time, almost frolicking in the waves, if you can believe that! Willow wasn't sure what brought her more joy, seeing him so carefree or seeing him so healthy-looking. Granted, his skin was still very pale, but now there was a hint of something golden, like the color of blanched almonds. All except for those places that sun's rays fell flat upon; his shoulders, the edges of his collar bones, his nose and brow. Those places were bright red.

He waved to her and she waved back. She was suddenly very conscious of her state of undress. She was nude in fact, and she knew Angel was too. They were skinny-dipping, of all things, naked as jaybirds under the late afternoon sun. Very late afternoon for the sun was setting. Willow could see the huge red-orange ball starting to slide into the ocean before her. She had to laugh to herself because she was sure she could hear it hissing.

Angel was just treading water now. And blatantly staring at her. Even at this distance, Willow could see the shameless gleam in his eyes. She could feel the heat of her blush as it colored her cheeks. Luckily the sunburn she too suffered from would hide it. Still, she started to move quickly into the ocean, hoping to soon be far enough out that the depth of the water would hide her nakedness. After all, it was one thing to parade around for him while they were indoors, with the curtains drawn. It was something all together different to be exposed like that out in the open.

Willow slowly waded out toward him, rising and falling, having to jump to stay above the surge of the incoming waves. She made it out past the breakwaters and the going got a little easier. She could just sort of roll with the waves at that point. But in her struggle get past the rougher water, she'd lost sight of Angel. Now he was nowhere to be seen. She turned a full 360 degrees, and still no Angel. She was just starting to panic when a pair of cold hands slid around her waist from behind.

Startled, Willow let out a squeal and tried to swim away. Angel simply tightened his grip on her and pulled her in toward him. He slid his hands up, cupping her breasts, drawing her in until her back was pressed against his chest. He was teasing her nipples with the palms of his hands. The little buds were already pebbled and highly sensitized from their exposure to the cold seawater. All it took was his extremely gentle caress and shockwaves of desire traveled along her nerves from her breasts to all the other erogenous zones on her body. Angel seemed to know where each and every one of those was located because his hands soon moved away from her chest and lazily wandered about to play in those places as well.

Willow's hair was piled atop her head, pinned there to keep it from soaking up the salt water she was floating in. And while the style did as it was intended to do, it also afforded Angel full access to her neck. He took advantage of that fact, gnawing lightly on the corded muscles that ran up the sides of her neck, kissing the tender spots just behind her ears, nibbling at the lobes. He was nipping with his fangs! So, Willow thought contentedly, the demon has finally come out to play.

The vampire was deep into his foreplay now, his mouth being the center of his pleasure. His kisses had turned hungry. His lips were getting greedy, sucking in more and more of her soft flesh, pulling harshly on the large blood vessels in her neck. He was lapping at her skin with his tongue and his bites were bordering on painful. Willow made no attempts to stop him. Instead, she encouraged his wanton behavior but tipping her head as need be to give him even better access to her neck, by letting whispered sighs and moans slip from her own lips. She tangled her fingers in his wet hair and held him to her when his mouth covered a spot that she found to be particularly pleasing, keeping him in place until the gluttonous demon became bored, his growls of frustration vibrating into her skin before he'd tear his mouth away and move on.

Meanwhile, Angel's hands were busy preparing her to please that part of him that was still human and all male. One hand was moving in small circles on her lower belly, gently stoking the fire that had been lit, while the other set of fingers combed through the curls of her sex, one occasionally slipping between her nether lips to stroke her clit. Light, teasing caresses followed by hasty retreats.

All of his ministrations made for a wonderful mélange of sensations. Pleasure blended smoothly with pain. A ravenous hunger mixed with a slowly building desire for sexual release. The ocean added it's own ingredients to the blend. Bracingly cold water surrounded them and yet their bodies burned, both from their fading sunburns and their rising lusts.

Willow could feel Angel's erection nudging her backside from time to time as it bobbed in the water. She moved her hands back, sliding over his hips, back along the curve of his behind until she was cupping a cheek with each hand. She used her hold on him to bring their lower bodies together, wriggling her bottom until his hard-on was seated nicely along the crack of her ass.

A deep, sensual groan poured from Angel's lips, flowing like hot liquid into her ear, oozing down her neck, then beginning a painfully slow drip all along the length of her spine until it pooled in the small of her back. The sensation was so exquisite it brought tears to Willow's eyes, tears that slid silently from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks. Tears that Angel slowly licked away as he slid his hands between her thighs, parting them and lifting her higher in the water as he prepared to enter her from behind.

[Willloooow...]

No! There it was again. That voice, whispering her name, drawing her away from her wonderful dream.

[Willow, dúisigh (wake up).]

Damn it! Slowly but surely the persistent voice was pulling back the warm blanket of sleep under which Willow just so recently crawled. And the worst part was not that Willow was being forced to leave sleep behind but that she was going to leave her dream and move back into reality.

[Pleeeease, Willow...]

The voice was more like a gentle purr than human voice. At first Willow thought that it was Angel, whispering in her ear. That waking thought both pleased and annoyed her. She really wanted to get a few hours of sleep before she headed home, but the thought that Angel wanted her enough to wake her so soon made her feel all warm and tingly inside.

[Come now, little girl, time's running out.]

Rather than actually hearing the words, Willow felt them resonating in her head. As she continued to wake, she realized that it was not Angel speaking to her. He was in the bed with her, but he was soundless and motionless. Angel was asleep.

He was laying behind her, spooning Willow's body with his own, one of his arms draped casually over her waist. The way he'd positioned himself was an unconscious display of his protectiveness, his possessiveness, and his newfound sense of ease. He was comfortable enough in her presence to allow himself to sleep so close to her body. Willow was pleased. Much had been accomplished in a very short time, despite all the hurdles they'd had to overcome.

She loved the way his large body felt as it was pressed up against her own. Just like the silk sheets on the bed, the patches of his skin that touched hers absorbed her body heat and became warm, while the other areas remained cool. When Willow shifted her position, his warm spots met her slightly cooler ones and vice versa. She could actually feel his chilled flesh soaking up her heat, rising in temperature until it matched hers exactly. It was a very unique sensation, something she'd never felt while in Oz's arms, would never feel in any other man's embrace.

Suddenly plagued by a morbid sense of curiosity, Willow carefully rolled over. She didn't want to wake Angel. She wanted to watch him sleep.

Buffy had once told Willow that watching Angel sleep was disturbing. She didn't elaborate, not with words anyway. In typical Buffy-style, she had just smiled a quirky little smile, then had shuddered, frowned and simply shrugged her shoulders before moving onto another topic of conversation. But her comment had left Willow curious, to say the least, and she now had the opportunity to see for herself what it was like to watch Angel while he slumbered.

He truly slept the sleep of the dead. Cold. Pasty. No breathing. No heartbeat. And absolutely the most peaceful expression Willow had ever seen Angel wear now rested upon his handsome features. All that was missing was the somber suit and, in his case, a set rosary beads to interlace in his fingers and he'd be ready to lay out.

Willow realized that her train of thought was sort of gruesome but the situation she found herself in was just so very surreal.

Angel wasn't really dead, as in not living. He simply existed in a different state from her. His body no longer needed to function as it once did. It was now a vessel for the demon that resided within and it had been altered to meet that entity's needs. Willow then found herself wondering where did the man, the human end and the demon begin? Which was the more intimate act for him, sliding his sex in hers or sinking his fangs deep into her flesh?

For someone 'not of the living', Angel sure knew how to please a partner who was. Willow was getting turned-on just thinking about how it had felt, both his lovemaking and his bite. There was no way that a 'dead' person could touch her and make her feel so alive. Unfortunately it was that thought which led to one which was even more atrocious than any of her previous thoughts. If his body was dead, and hers was most assuredly very much alive, did that make her a necrophiliac?

Willow shuddered, then started to giggle, the high-pitched, nervous laughter of someone who knew that they were teetering on the edge of sanity. She started to think about just what color suit he would look best in, then realized that was a really stupid thing to ponder, since when his time finally did come, Angel would be laid to rest in an urn, not a casket.

Ah, the old notion that vampire's sleep in a casket. Just mentioning that would irk Angel. She knew he hated all the stupid stereotypes that had been ascribed to his kind. They had never actually discussed the subject, but Willow had seen the way Angel had either shuddered or rolled his eyes in disgust whenever Xander mentioned one.

Willow's tittering was bordering on maniacal as macabre erotic visions began to fill her mind.

Angel rising slowly, leaving the satin-lined confines of his wooden resting place behind, but not before gently closing the lid. He moved toward her just as deliberately, his every motion smooth and seductive.

She was stationed on a kneeler at the side of the casket, and she was praying. Praying not for her lover's life, but for his touch.

Angel was behind her now, his legs straddling hers as his knees came down to join hers on the padded leather cushion of the genuflecter. His arms went about her waist, his hands coming up to join hers on the book rest. She could feel his erection poking at the small of her back as he leaned forward to look over her shoulder. Willow's hands were clasped in prayer, but he made swift work of prying them apart and intertwining his fingers with hers. It was done gently and was such a loving gesture that Willow turned her head to smile up at him. Angel swooped in and captured her lips with his own. She moaned into his mouth as he deepened the kiss and started a slight rocking of his hips. Willow quickly brought both sets of their hands up to her breasts and together she and Angel fondled them.

Then she was suddenly laying upon the closed casket. The highly polished surface of the lid was smooth and cool beneath her, Angel's body was smooth and cool atop her. And he was taking her right there on top of his coffin. "Willlooow..."

This time Willow was almost relieved to hear the voice calling her name. It effectively pulled her away from what had to be some of the most disturbing thoughts she'd ever had. Disturbing, that was Buffy's exact word. How true, how true.

"Willow, come now. I know you're awake!"

Willow started to panic as it suddenly dawned on her that the voice wasn't coming from inside her sleep addled brain, but was instead making its way to her ears from somewhere out in the great room. But before her fear had a chance to grow, Willow was enveloped in what she could only describe as a psychic hug. She was instantly calmed.

"Please, let's not wake Angel," the sweet feminine voice said. "Come on out and see me."

Willow carefully got out of the bed. She tucked Angel in, then went and stole his robe from the foot of the bed. She quickly donned the maroon silk garment, which was about four sizes too big but made her feel safe, simply because it was something of his that she could have near her.

Suddenly knowing that this was the last time she would see him for a very long time to come, Willow studied Angel's sleeping form for a few minutes before moving to place a soft kiss on his temple then turning toward the door. With her feet still bare, she padded silently out of the bedroom and quickly made her way to the great room.

Willow wasn't scared when she saw who was waiting for her, but she was most definitely shocked by the sight of the woman standing before the fireplace. She all but ran to close the distance between them. When Willow stopped, they were standing nearly toe to toe. Without giving a second thought to her actions, she reached out and placed a hand on the woman's cheek.

"You're here," Willow gasped. "And you're real," she added, her voice filled with awe.

Aoífe smiled at her warmly, then turned her face and put a light kiss into Willow's palm.

Flustered, Willow pulled her hand away. The echos of her words were still hanging in the air between them, and Willow could now hear how ridiculous they sounded.

"I mean you're really here," she amended.

Aoífe let out a soft chuckle, her smile growing wider, her head bobbing in response to Willow's stating of the obvious.

"Yes, I'm really here."

"Why?" Willow demanded, knowing instinctively that the ancient witch standing before her would never have come to Sunnydale unless something was terribly wrong.

"What? No 'Hello Aoífe, it's so nice to meet you'?" quipped the vampiress.

Aoífe hadn't really meant her for her reply to be an admonishment, but Willow being Willow took it as such. She turned bright red and stammered out an apology. "Oh, gosh, I-I'm s-so sorry! I didn't mean to be rude, it's just that I... I..."

"You want to protect the people that you love," Aoífe finished for her. "You want to keep them from harm and save them from further pain."

"Yes," the worried girl answered bravely.

"Any one person you'd like to see spared more than any of the others?" Aoífe challenged Willow.

Instead blushing more deeply, as Aoífe had expected, the young woman before her went pale. Willow looked down at the stone floor beneath her feet, and nodded yes. Then she began to tremble. Aoífe quickly reached out and pulled Willow into her embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around the girl as she buried her face in Aoífe's shoulder and started to cry.

Aoífe tried her best to comfort Willow but she was doing a lousy job of it. In a very real sense, she was feeling everything that Willow felt and that was making it very hard for Aoífe to function. The girl was her direct descendant. Now that the missing branch had been found, if you carefully followed it back up their shared family tree you would see that Willow was actually Aoífe's closest living relative. Granted, almost forty generations separated them, but they were still bound to one another so tightly that while they were this close, Willow's emotional outpouring was causing Aoífe a great deal of physical discomfort.

"It's all right, Willow," Aoífe whispered soothingly. "Angelus has a way of bring out the lover and the protector in both of us. That is when he's not inciting us to kill him."

Willow must have heard the veracity in Aoífe's words, because she seemed to find some humor in them. Her sobs turned into giggles and she disentangled herself from Aoífe's arms. Pulling back, Willow sniffled, wiped her face on the sleeve of Angel's robe, then offered Aoífe a small smile. But it swiftly faded and Willow became deadly serious.

"I've wanted to stake him," Willow said honestly.

"I know. I have, too," Aoífe replied with equal candor. "He does terrible things without his soul."

"But with his soul, he's worth dying for," Willow whispered, her voice horse with emotions she could barely control. She looked at Aoífe, stared straight into her eyes and added, "Though I don't know that I'd have the courage to go to hell for him."

"How do you know that?!" Aoífe gasped.

"Angel told me. He dreams of you constantly, remembers the things you did for him while he was there. And damns himself for the things he did to you."

"Oh, dear god," the vampiress cried softly.

"It's all very muddled, I think," Willow went on to explain. "It's like he only relives bits and pieces of that time and of other times further in his past. He can't see your face, though, and that haunts him. It's torture for him, actually, and I'm afraid it will slowly drive him mad."

"No, no, no..." Aoífe murmured the word over and over again, as if her spoken denial might somehow alter the facts.

"Why aren't you with him?" Willow inquired. "I know you love him, you must. And he loves you, he just doesn't realize it yet. And you could be with him in a way that Buffy and I can't. You could make it right."

"No, I can't. Not yet. Angelus has to find himself first. He has to make himself whole before..." Aoífe's words faded away, the last of them left unspoken.

"Before what?" Willow prodded.

Aoífe just shook her head.

"It's too soon," was all she'd say.

Willow nodded in response. For whatever reason, she knew just what Aoífe meant by that. It was how she felt about everything that taken place since she had arrived at the mansion on Friday night. Had it really only been just over a day since she and Angel started whatever it was between them?

"It has stop now," Aoífe said firmly.

"What do you mean? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to try to put everything on hold, at least for a little while."

"How?" Willow queried. "You can't change what's already happened."

"You're right. I can't turn back the clock. Only The Powers That Be have the ability to do that. But I have some very powerful magic at my disposal and I can make you all forget. I've already cast a spell over Xander, so when he wakes he'll have no memory of the dream, or of finding you and Angel together. Most of it will come back to him someday, but by then you and Angel will be the closest of friends and I think that Xander will have learned to accept that relationship. Perhaps he'll even come to accept Angel on a personal level, forging a friendship of their own."

Willow smiled at that last thought. "That would be nice."

"Yes, it would."

"Are you going to do the same thing to me and to Angel?" Willow asked.

"I'm going to try, but dealing with you two is a bit more complicated. You know who we all were, Willow. What you don't know is who you are."

The last statement both frightened and excited Willow. Ever since she'd gotten over the initial shock of seeing Angel laying on the wet stone floor of the courtyard toying with the rats and had found the nerve to approach him, Willow had been plagued with the feeling that she wasn't who she always thought she was. At first she attributed it to learning of her parent's deception. Later, as she found herself craving Angel's blood and his bite, Willow knew that it was something much more than simply having been lied to for entire life. Or perhaps that's exactly what it was, only the lies went way beyond her parents hiding their knowledge of the Hellmouth's existence. Willow also had to take into account the dream she had shared with Xander and Angel, and all that it implied, all that it meant if it was an actual memory and not simply a dream.

Now Willow was standing with a woman she didn't really know but this woman knew her, knew secrets about her that once revealed would answer many of the nagging questions floating about in Willow's perpetually busy brain. Or would they simply complicate things further?

"Who am I?" she asked.

"You're Willow."

"Big deal," was the girl's derisive retort.

"It is a big deal. It's a very big deal!" Aoífe countered emphatically.

Willow just sighed and rolled her eyes. Aoífe couldn't believe that Willow had no knowledge of the power she possessed.

"You're a natural born witch, Willow. You are one of many in a very long line of witches. Had it not been for the fact that one of your ancestors turned her back on her calling and disappeared from my sight, you would have known that and been practicing your craft from early childhood."

Willow looked honestly shocked by what Aoífe had just told her.

"You mean that my mother, and my grandmother are witches?"

"The potential is there, Willow. In their cases it just went undeveloped."

"Wow, that would explain why my Mom went all wiggy that time and tried to burn me at the stake."

"Excuse me? She tried to do what?!" Aoífe asked, not quite sure she'd heard correctly.

Willow just shrugged non-chalantly, as though witch burning was an everyday event in Sunnydale.

"It was nothing really. I mean she didn't even know what she was doing, it was this whole Hansel and Gretel demon thingy. Pretty mild stuff, actually, for a Hellmouth."

"You've seen a lot, haven't you?"

"Oh, yeah," Willow drawled.

"In the future you will have to be very careful, Willow. Others may come, other demons, other witches who will sense the power within you and they will try to exploit it. You must trust Giles. He knows what you are and will help you to develop your talents. You must trust his judgement. It will be hard at times, because you won't remember any of what I'm telling you now. Just do as you've always done and follow your heart. So far, it's guided you well."

"But just what has my foolish heart gotten me into this time?" Willow asked wearily.

"Your heart is anything but foolish, Willow. It has given you the strength to survive here on the Hellmouth, the courage to stand by The Slayer and help her to battle the forces of darkness. That foolish heart of yours helped you to overcome your fear of a werewolf and to love him as much as he loves you."

"Gee, that's all well and good," Willow snorted sarcastically. "But let's look at what it's made me do now! I've spent the last thirty-six hours betraying the same two people you just mentioned. What kind of a heart makes a person cheat on her boyfriend with the love of her best friend's life?"

"The kind of heart that has felt Angelus' pain and understands that he must be healed regardless of the personal costs to his healers. It is a heart that has now led you to become the first consort to a vampire who is destined to be the greatest of his kind."

"Angel's consort!? No, no way! You're lying!" Willow shrieked.

"So, little girl, you know what a vampire's consort is?" Aoífe asked, trying hard to keep from laughing at Willow's reaction to the news. Willow was exceptionally smart and yet at times she could be so very obtuse.

"I've done my fair share of reading and research," Willow said defensively. "And I know that there's no way I'm Angel's consort. Their... their just old legends and myths. The stories are nothing more than rumors. And even if they were real, Angel would never do that to me."

"Oh, consorts are very real, Willow. And he would do that. The demon in him would do it in an instant if it served some real purpose. And no matter how unwittingly, it's just what Angelus has done, even with his soul. It was inevitable. For reasons neither one of you can even fathom at this point, it's a necessity. But as with everything else, the bond was formed too early and unfortunately it's going to make it that much harder for me to pull you two apart and keep you that way until the time is right for you to be together."

Willow's eyes were huge round orbs that clearly displayed the fear and abhorrence that were welling up inside her. She was shaking her head wildly back and forth.

"No, it's impossible," the frantic girl hissed. "There's just no way. He wouldn't, he wouldn't do that to me. Angel loves Buffy, and he--"

"Willow, it's not what you think," Aoífe interjected reassuringly. "There's so much about the relationship between a vampire and its consort that you don't understand. But I promise you, when the time is right, it will be okay. You'll have learned all that you need to know. When you and Angel are together again in this way, it will feel right and natural. I promise you, it will."

Willow didn't say anything more, she just kept shaking her head in disbelief and stumbled backward toward the couch. She sank down into the cushions, buried her face in her hands and started to cry. Aoífe let her weep until the tears would come no more. When Willow looked back up her, the girl had a look of resolve firmly set on her features, and Aoífe knew it was time.

Aoífe held her hand out to Willow beseechingly.

"Come, I've fixed you a small snack. Why don't you eat it while we talk some more?"

"That sounds really good, thank you," Willow said with a smile. She blushed, a pretty shade of pink, as she added, "I am pretty hungry. I sort forgot to eat since I got here."

"I'll bet," Aoífe kidded her, knowingly. "Lucky girl," she mumbled under her breath as she stepped forward, took Willow's hand and pulled her up off the sofa.

She began to lead Willow across the great room, but the girl started to pull her in a different direction. Aoífe stopped and looked at her questioningly.

"The kitchen is the way," Willow said, pointing in the right direction.

"I know," Aoífe replied. "But I set the tray out in the garden."

"Oh?" Willow was confused. "B-but it's daytime, the sun's out there."

"Yes, that's why I set it there. It's really quite a lovely day and--"

"But you... you're... you... how did you get in here?"

"Willow!" Aoífe gasped, surprised that the girl didn't know the answer to that. "This is Angelus' home, it's a vampire's liar, I'm free to come and go as I--"

"No, no, I mean the sun! You're a vampire. How could you go out into the sun?"

Aoífe sighed heavily and rolled her eyes in dismay. Here we go again, she thought.

"Let's just say that I'm not like Angelus and leave it at that for now, okay?"

Willow just nodded, dumbfounded, and let herself be led out into the courtyard.

Aoífe took a seat on the side of the table that was in the shade, but Willow's seat was bathed in sunlight. It was late in the afternoon, so it wasn't too strong and Willow enjoyed soaking up its warmth after so many days of rain and too many hours spent within the cold walls of the old mansion.

The repast that Aoífe had set out consisted of an assortment of fresh fruit, cheeses and fresh breads. There was also a very large glass of orange juice, one of Willow's favorites. Aoífe was more than a little bit relieved to see the girl quickly polish off the entire glass, since that was what she had slipped her potion into.

As Willow ate, Aoífe explained a few more things to her, trying to be as honest as she possibly could without telling the girl more than she needed to know. In a waking state, Willow wouldn't really remember any of what she told her, but on a subconscious level some of the knowledge would help. For example, she told Willow that she could not stop some of the dreams. The dreams Willow had which dealt with her emerging powers of witchcraft would continue to come, but the memories of them would not stay with Willow long after she awoke. Aoífe also told her that the dreams of her time as Máthair would persist. But in an attempt to make Willow more comfortable with that fact, Aoífe shared with the girl a few of her fonder memories of the ancient witch who had been her sire.

By the time Willow had her fill of both food and stories, it was plain for Aoífe to see that she was already falling under the power of her spell.

"It's time to get dressed and go home now, Willow," Aoífe said, smiling brightly at the young witch sitting across from her.

"Okay," was all that Willow said in her semi-dazed state.

Both women rose. Willow turned immediately toward the entrance to the house, but Aoífe quickly her put her hand on Willow's shoulder and stopped her. She looked long and hard at the girl, then smiled even wider, very pleased with what she saw. Then she drew Willow into a hug and as she embraced the other woman, Aoífe made her a solemn vow.

"Angelus loves you, Willow. And I love you. I promise you that we'll both do everything within our means to see to it that you and your friends come to no harm."

"He loves you too, you know," Willow whispered into Aoífe's ear.

Aoífe pulled back to study the girl's face, amazed to see that Willow had full faith in her words.

"Well," Aoífe sighed sadly, "I'm afraid he'll hate me long before he ever comes to love me."

Willow shook her head and let out her own small sigh of despair. Aoífe put on her best false-bravado face and shrugged.

"We shall see, won't we?"

Willow's head tipped to one side, her face skewed by a very quizzical expression. She was falling deeper under the spell and Aoífe's words weren't really registering any more.

"Go, now Willow."

Aoífe placed a quick kiss on Willow's cheek then steered her toward the door. Once Willow disappeared into the shadows of the old mansion, Aoífe turned and began to climb the stairs which lead out of the garden.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Angel awoke shortly after sunset Willow was gone. He was relieved to discover that she had in fact done what she had said she would do. She had left him so that he would not have to be the one to turn and walk away. Again.

Angel reached over and picked up the pillow that Willow had been sleeping on. He let it drop on his face and then held it there, tightly.

To the casual observer it would have appeared as though Angel was trying to asphyxiate himself. To one in the know that would seem to be a rather silly assumption. Vampires don't breath and cutting off one's oxygen supply would have little effect on their well-being. But smothering himself is just what Angel was trying to do. He wanted to be enveloped by the scent of Willow that still clung to the pillow case. He wanted to drown in the memories of the time they had just spent together.

Deep breath in and hold it. Mmmmm... Willow.

Angel had always thought she was very pretty. Something about her reminded him of the girls from his youth. He used to ascribe it to her natural appearance. Willow normally wore very little make-up, simple hair styles, clothes that were anything but haute-couture. Okay, so maybe she could use a little help in the clothing department, the style-conscious vampire thought. The idea of selecting clothing for her in the future excited him. He could dress her, and then undress her. Hmmm... Nice.

But Angel did not recognize only Willow's physical attributes. He wasn't a hormone-driven teen, although he was probably even more sex-starved than Xander. Until recently that is, Angel speculated with a smug smile on his lips..

No, even if he was just as horny, Angel was still older and wiser than most of the males Willow associated with. He could readily see that she was bright and smart. Everyone could see that. But, if one was astute enough they would discover that she had a keen sense of humor, full of wit. Those closest to her usually missed it. Buffy and Xander rarely got the joke because intellectually Willow outclassed them. And her wisecracks generally went right over Giles' head because socially he was on a different page all together from the teens. Their witticisms often referenced aspects of pop-culture that Giles wasn't exactly up to date on. Of course Angel was also guilty of that shortcoming. But at least he had been making an effort to acquaint himself with some of the icons and events from the past few decades that seemed to shape the youth of the late '90s, just so that he might be able to hold his own when he spent time with Buffy and her friends.

Angel also acknowledged that he was drawn to Willow's innocence, her compassion, her capacity for forgiveness. Unfortunately, his demon had found those qualities equally appealing, but for very different reasons, and those memories momentarily blackened Angel's otherwise light mood.

"That was then!" Angel growled at himself as exhaled the breath he'd been holding for so long.

He quickly inhaled again, and Willow's soft, soothing smell filled him, comforted him.

"This is now," he sighed. He removed the pillow from on top of his face, tucking it beneath his head instead. He could still smell Willow, the aroma was simply subtler, gently wafting up from the pillow.

Yup, this is now.

Angel had snatched the pillow and buried himself in it because it was something they hadn't shared. It had absorbed only Willow's essence, while the sheets all about him held a virtual plethora of odors. Being a self-proclaimed sensualist, Angel used those smells to help sort through his thoughts.

So, what about now?

Well, now Angel had seen parts of Willow that he'd never seen before, literally and figuratively. Now, in Angel's eyes, Willow was captivatingly beautiful. She had shared so much of herself with him and in doing so she had helped Angel to find some of himself, parts of his life that had been lost or forsaken for a very long time.

Angel took a third deep breath.

He could pick out the perfume from the fabric softener Willow used on the sheets. There was the general smell of her body, just like that found on the pillow, only not as concentrated. And Angel could pick up traces of his own scent as well, something that was normally blocked from his senses (as is the case for all creatures, even humans or we'd go around all day smelling nothing but ourselves). But because his scent on the sheets was so different from hers, it stood out.

Angel was pleasantly surprised to find that his smell was somewhat appealing. He'd often worried that he might smell, well, kind of dead. Maybe musty or moldy or stale. Or equally as disturbing, he imagined that he might smell like the blood he consumed. Instead he discovered that his scent was very manly, a bit on the earthy side, perhaps, but with definite warm, spicy undertones. It certainly wasn't offensive. He thought it was decent. Coming from a creature that had a "thing" for perfumed soaps (he refused to admit that it was an obsession) and was highly attuned to odors of any kind, that was a compliment.

Then there was the smell of their lovemaking. The redolence of his emissions, of Willow's perspiration and feminine fluids. The very unique fragrance they created together when they had sex. All of the scents combined and left Angel with a very satisfying feeling.

He stretched lazily, an erection begging for attention slapping against his belly. A stupid smirk slid onto his face. He was tempted to touch himself. He opted for linking his hands together and putting them under his head. Staring up at the ceiling, seeing very little in the darkness, simply because there was little to see, Angel reflected some more on his lovemaking with Willow.

Wonderfully fresh images filled his mind. He was able to create vivid visuals, little mental moving-pictures if you will, of his cock slipping between Willow's lush, coral colored lips, disappearing inside the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. Actual physical sensations followed the visuals. He recalled the feel of her slick inner walls, gliding over his sex as he slid into her. Hot and silky, they had welcomed him, then wrapped him so tightly in their embrace that he once he had buried himself to the hilt, he couldn't move again for a long time, fearful that he would spill his seed instantly if he did. He remembered the sound of her sighs, which in turn caused him to moan even now. He balls where getting heavier by the second, his cock was throbbing. Still, Angel's hands remained behind his head.

Masturbating to those thoughts would have been enjoyable, but now he knew that self-gratification wasn't his only means of release, so he chose to savor the sexual tension instead. At least for the time being. He could whack-off later if he had to.

Actually, Angel did more than simply relish his current state of arousal, he upped the level of sweet torment by thinking about those things which had thrilled the demon in him. The unmitigated joy he experienced when he had sunk his fangs into the blood-swollen flesh of her mons. His balls began to tingle, his sac constricted.

Next came the memory of the exquisite pleasure that accompanied the horrific pain Willow had inflicted upon him when she bit his chest. One of his hands did move then, but only as far as the nipple she had assaulted. It was still tender even after almost two full days had passed. Earlier Willow had kissed the wound lovingly. A faint bruise that matched the pattern of her teeth still marred his pale flesh. Angel traced it with his fingertips, remembering how Willow had recently done the same thing, only she had used the tip of her hot little tongue. Then she had nipped at the peak of his nipple, which Angel now pinched in an attempt to mimic her actions. It wasn't quite the same, but added to the rest of his salacious thoughts, it was enough to get him off. With a harsh grunt, then a long guttural groan, Angel climaxed.

So much for jerking-off later, was Angel's sardonic thought as he wiped his cum off of his belly with a corner section of the top sheet. By letting himself come in bed, rather than someplace "neater" (like perhaps the shower?) Angel had just added one more chore to the already long list of things he needed to do before he headed back to LA later that night. Now he'd have to remake the bed and launder the linens. He was still too much of a gentleman to leave that task for Willow. After all, it was his home and his bed, even if of late she spent more time in them than he did. To leave Willow with a clean bed was the least he could do.

Angel sighed loudly.

It was getting late. He should have been hauling his sorry behind out of bed and getting to work on that growing list. But alas, he was still delighting too much in his contemplations to muster-up any real desire to move on.

Angel reflected briefly on the very last time he and Willow had made love.

Once they had settled back into his bed, the urgency that he had felt out in the livingroom was gone. No longer having to fear the sun's arrival, no longer desperate to reach his climax before that accursed orb's hurtful rays incinerated him, Willow and Angel could slow down, begin anew. They talked for a short time and they agreed that their last time together should be different. Perhaps simply slow and tender this time? After all, they were going to create another memory, one they could both treasure. And they did just that.

Now Willow was gone and Angel had nothing but those memories to hold on to.

For a few minutes he gave some serious thought as to just how he knew for certain that Willow was gone. That she wasn't in the bed with him was obvious. Angel's vampiric senses told him that she wasn't in the general vicinity of his room. Of course the mansion was too large for him to detect the presence of someone or something that might be hiding in an area beyond the reach of his senses, but Willow had no reason to be in stealth mode, and the rooms she frequented most often where all well within his scope.

No, it was much more than that. Angel was certain that she had made it home safely and was at that moment catching up on some much needed sleep. He could feel Willow's aura, actually pinpoint her presence on the fringes of his cognizance. Thanks to the dream he had shared with Xander, Angel knew that the connection he felt to Willow was in part do to their shared past. But, loath as he was to admit it, the link was now very similar to the connection he used to share with those he sired. Angel had to face the fact that their actions over the course of the last forty-eight hours had strengthened the pre-existing bond, altered it even. He was afraid that the old stories weren't nonsense after all. He was afraid he'd made Willow his consort.

It was that fear that finally motivated him to get out of bed and get on with his un-life.
 

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