The Archives (Entry 4)

Author: Kate

Rating: NC-17 overall (some entries as mild as a G)

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. All are used without permission (I'll return them all unharmed) and no copyright infringement is intended (like most who post, I'm broke, so please don't sue).

Summary: It's the year 2047 and Aishling Rosenberg has recently discovered that her grandmother left behind a vast collection of letters, stories, research notes, etc.

Distribution: You want it, it's yours, just let me know where it's going to be living.

Feedback: Beggars can't be choosey, and I'm begging, so. . .

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Entry No. 4

[It was a dark and stormy night. . .]

<Ha, ha. Very funny!>

The entry was quickly deleted. Granted, it was going to be a dark and stormy night. It was the year 2000, Christmas Day was coming to an end, and the National Weather Bureau had winter storm warnings posted all up and down the California coast. Too bad the inclement weather was going to manifest itself in the form of high winds and freezing rain. It would have been so nice to have snow again. But a repeat performance of the Miracle Snow of ‘98 wasn’t really required this year. The person that wonder had been worked for was sleeping soundly in his old room deep within the Crawford Street mansion. She always made it a point to stay with him in the big, gloomy place whenever he was visiting Sunnydale. Heck, she even stayed there alone sometimes. She wasn't afraid of the place anymore and occasionally enjoyed the solitude. She'd never admit to it, but when she was there alone, she almost always slept in his bed. She suspected he knew, anyway.

[Beginnings. Moments in time filled with wonder and fear. Just how much of each emotion is felt varies from person to person, and from one beginning to the next. And while the beginning of one thing does not necessarily herald the end of something which came before it, a new beginning always ushers in change.]

The young woman sat back in her chair and read the words she had just inserted into the new document. A pained look fell over her face as she stared at the computer screen. She let out a heavy sigh. This, whatever it was, wasn't starting out as well as she had hoped. She read the paragraph a second time, and a third. She snorted in disgust then couldn't help but shake her head ruefully. In the otherwise sparsely lit room, the bright light from the computer display made her hair shine like freshly polished copper as she continued to twist her head from side to side. She glared at the screen and began to practically growl in frustration.

<Okay, Will, abstruse much? And what's with the walking dictionary bit? Abstruse? Couldn't just say vague or cryptic? Too damn much time spent in the company of one verbose librarian/Watcher and a certain well-versed vampire.>

Large, strong hands suddenly came to rest on her shoulders and began to gently massage the tense muscles that lay beneath their fingertips. There was a time when his unanticipated touch would have made her bolt from her chair and squeak with fright. Now, she caught herself pressing her shoulders further into his grip. <No, bad Willow. Stop that!> He was distracting her and he knew he wasn't supposed to be sneaking up on her, so she tipped back her head, redirecting her glare. As her flashing green eyes locked-on to his soulful brown ones, her intruder quickly removed his hands from her body and held them up in much the same way that one might do if they found themselves at the working end of a loaded gun.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, bowing his head slightly and casting his eyes d own. His hands fell limply to his sides. "I shouldn't have touched you without asking."

Willow spun around on her computer chair to face him. Without raising his head, he brought his eyes back up to meet hers, the pain in them clearly visible even though they were half hidden by his dark lashes. Willow shot him with a look of pure exasperation and he took a few steps backward.

"Puh-leeze!" She sounded so completely disgusted by his apology. This little scenario was getting so old. Willow knew that he was still hooked on his need for punishment and his tendency toward self-flagellation was turning out to be a really hard habit to break. He was like a junky for pain and this was one of his hits. Despite all the progress he'd made over the past year, he was still an addict and would find a fix anywhere he could, even if it meant the pain had to be self-inflicted.

"Angel, you know that's not it. You can touch me anytime you want to. Well no, but I'd never shy away from your touch. At least not since you saved me from that wacky watcher and the Glove of Myhnegon thingy because sure there was a time when your touch would have meant major wiggins I mean after that little encounter we had in the school hallway and the whole hand around my throat growling in my ear fangs near my jugular thing and I'll stop now." Willow had caught sight of Angel shudder as she was rambling on and realized that she was doing more harm than good. She paused briefly, then finished with her reprimand. "You're just not supposed to sneak up on me! You said you would work on that."

His head shot back up. Real surprise shone in his eyes.

"But, I did," he said earnestly. "I made lots of noise, honest."

He seemed so sincere in his belief that he'd been noisy that Willow now felt a bit guilty. Maybe he had made some noise. Maybe she'd just been too lost in her own thoughts to hear what little sounds he had offered her as he approached. And there was something about his appearance that was different.

<Oh God.> She groaned silently and her heart began to ache as her mind finally registered just what it was that Angel was doing, what made him look different.

<He's breathing for me.>

Her stern look was replaced by one which reflected the self-reproach she was now faced with. She should have noticed that he was breathing. As soon as Angel had entered the room, it was something that should have registered in her subconscious, along with the small noises he had most certainly made. That's what she was supposed to be working on, her observation skills. Obviously, she had just as much work to do as he did.

It was Willow's turn to apologize.

"I'm sorry. I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings. I let myself get too caught up in what I'm working on. I didn't hear you come in."

Willow hoped that the look she now offered Angel displayed at least some of the remorse she felt. With a heavy sigh, Angel stepped toward her again.

"Well, maybe I really didn’t make that much noise. Please forgive me. I'm an old dog learning new tricks," he said.

"And I'm a new dog trying to learn some very old tricks. I guess we both need to practice, practice, practice." Willow smiled then and all the love she had for him came shining through. Angel gave her one of his crooked half smiles in return and shook his head, marveling at this woman who was his friend. He didn't think he'd ever know just what it was he had done to deserve Willow, but he thanked his God every day for the blessing.

Willow watched with rapt wonder as Angel actually drew in a deep breath and then exhaled, sighing again, but in contentment this time. And he continued to inhale and exhale, unevenly, sometimes too deep, other times too shallow. It made her think of a toddler learning to walk and that made her want to giggle. She liked the way the careful breathing put a little color in his face, and she knew that the controlled burning of his blood added a touch of warmth to his skin and that could be nice, too. But then there were times when he would pause for too long before drawing the next breath. That gave her the wiggins. It was just so unnatural, almost worse than his not breathing at all. To watch him breath for a while and then just stop, but not pass-out or something, well it just made his whole un-dead state of existence so obvious. It was a serious reality check. Still, Willow was pleased that he chose to practice this ritual with her and would never have dreamed of pointing out that one flaw. At least not at this early stage. He just needed to work at it for a while.

"And I see, old man, that you're relearning some tricks, too," she said, wanting Angel to know that she had noticed his breathing.

"Yah, well let's just say that whoever came up with saying 'old habits die hard' only knew half of the story. Sure, some habits take a long time to break. Others pass away easily enough, it's resurrecting them that's a struggle."

They both laughed softly at Angel's expense and then Willow turned back to her computer and the insurmountable task she had laid out before her.

Just as she was about to hit Ctrl-Alt-Delete and scrap what she had, Angel came up behind her once again and put his hands back on her shoulders. This time Willow closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax under his touch. She moaned softly as his fingers began to work their magic on the tight muscles in her shoulders and neck.

<Mmmm, where did he learn how to do this so well? Oh good goddess, Will, don't ever ask. You might not like the answer. Just sit back and appreciate the fact that the knowledge was acquired and is being put to good use. Yah, just shut up and enjoy it. . .>

"So, what are you working on?" Angel asked as his thumbs pressed firmly into a particularly hard knot of muscle at the base of Willow's skull. There was a slight pain as he did this, but the release of tension which followed the discomfort was so welcome, it made Willow shudder.

"Are my hands cold?" Angel mistook her physical expression of pleasure for a shiver.

"Oh, no . . . " Willow sighed. "They feel wonderful. Too good, in fact. You're distracting me. And I really need to get started on this before I leave for England."

"And this is?" he queried again as he leaned over her shoulder and began to read the words displayed on the screen.

"A bit cryptic, don't you think?" he remarked. "Coming from you, I should take that as a compliment," Willow countered his critique.

"Touché."

"I know it's vague. But that's how everything feels right now. My whole world seems to be hazy by day, and by night it appears to be cast even deeper into shadows than it usually is. I know something big is coming, but I have no idea what that something is. There are a lot of changes in store for everyone I hold dear. And inside me, there's this voice that keeps calling to me, insisting that I write it all down, that I keep records of the things that I see but which others seem to miss. I've felt this way ever since I met Buffy and learned all about the Hellmouth. All those things that I believed to be the stuff of nightmares, well I found out that they're real. Then I met you and learned that the bad things aren't always as bad as they appear to be. And you taught me that good people are not necessarily pure or innocent. Please don't be hurt or take offense. I'm not just referring to you, or only to vampires. Take Giles, for example. At one time I would never in a million years have believed that 'Ripper' was a part of his past. But I'm not that naive anymore. No one is inherently good. We all have the potential to be truly evil. Geez, just look at the alternate universe Willow. That’s what I would be like if I were turned and left without my soul. That’s what’s inside of me. Buffy tried to tell me that wasn’t true, that the vampire that becomes is not a reflection of the person that was. But I heard you start to contradict her, to say that wasn’ t really the case. She cut you off pretty darn fast, too, thinking she would spare me. Spare me from what though? I already knew the truth. The demon may take your life, banish your soul and strip you of your morality, but it can’t give you any aspect of your personality that you don’t already have. It can only work with what’s already there. I’m right, aren’t I? Sure I am. We’ve already talk about that. I know that we don't always have a say in how we'll turn out. Who knows what cards we’ll be dealt? Sure, there are choices we must make in our lives, but there's just a whole lot of dumb luck, too. And now there's no going back for me. Just like you and Buffy, I’ve seen the darkness in this world and it’s changed me. I can’t ever forget it’s there. Xander and Cordie, they'll move on. They'll be able to lead lives that don't revolve around the supernatural. They'll be more cautious, that's a given, but they're not driven to follow the same path I'm heading down. Then, ever since the night of Aoífe's show in New York, it's been stronger, the desire to collect data, to ask questions and hold on to the answers I receive. And now, with the call from Giles and his request for me to go to London with him, well, it's almost overwhelming. And I'm rambling again. See, I can't even explain to you what it is I'm trying to do, what I need to do. So how am I supposed to do it? Can you tell me that?"

Angel turned Willow and her chair to one side, so that he might squat down in front of her. Looking deep into her eyes, he tried to see just what it was that she was feeling. After a few minutes of intense scrutiny, he smiled at her and tucked an errant strand of hair back behind her ear. Then he took her small, delicate hands into his own big, strong ones, using the contact to offer her the moral support she so desperately needed.

"Willow, it's just your destiny calling to you," Angel spoke the words gently, hoping he could calm her before she became too distraught.

It was so obvious to Angel just what it was Willow was supposed to do. He simply didn't know why she chose to deny it. She couldn't really be that oblivious, could she?

"And just what might that be?" she asked. A note of trepidation was audible in her voice but her eyes told him that she already knew the answer to her own question. Those sparkling emerald orbs revealed her fear of the truth. So he spoke the words for her. "You've been called to be a Watcher."

"WHAT?" Willow practically shouted the word at him, as though the use of volume would somehow make her attempt at incredulity that much more believable. "Why on earth would you think that? I've not even applied for a post within the Watcher's Council. I. . . I. . . YOU!"

Willow pulled her hands away from Angel's, and struck out at him. It was really nothing more than a violent shove, but she pushed at him with such speed and force that Angel ended up sprawled on his ass while the casters on her chair sent her wheeling across the room.

While she was trying her best to feign ignorance, Willow's little act was just so ludicrous that before he could stop himself Angel was laughing at her. Out loud no less, not just to himself. And while under most circumstances, Willow would have been thrilled to have been the cause of his mirth, at this moment she was anything but. The look she gave him told Angel that if he didn't shut his trap soon, she would inflict real bodily harm.

Now it was his turn to put on a bit of an act as he slowly rose to his feet and presented her with a look of mock indignation. He even winced a little as he brushed the dust off the seat of his black pants.

"Oh, spare me!" Willow drawled.

"That's what I thought I was doing by saying aloud just what it was you've been thinking," Angel replied in all seriousness.

Willow was instantly contrite. For a moment she looked as though she might cry. Then her resolve face slid firmly into place.

"I don't want that to be my destiny."

"Oh, like what we *want* really holds any weight against what fate has in store for us. Come now, Willow, you know better than that."

"But, Angel, I'm really not sure that I want to be a member of the Council. I don't know that I could handle the task of overseeing a Slayer. And I-"

"Willow." Angel cut her off. He said her name softly but firmly. She was well on her way toward another bout of incessant babbling and had to be stopped. They needed to talk. Really talk. There was so much that he needed to tell her. For while he was no more privileged with a knowledge of what the future held than Willow was, Angel had, over the past few weeks, become painfully aware of just what her role was to be when these events played themselves out.

"Can we talk now?" Angel asked, hoping she had overcome her need to ramble on.

Willow gave a quick nod of her head, then stood up and began to push the chair back over to its rightful position beside the computer desk. She felt, rather than heard Angel leave the room. And that was good. Not "good" because he'd left. She knew he'd be back momentarily. Willow was well aware of what time it was. Angel had most likely just risen before coming in to see her. When they were together, he always made it a point to say "good morning" and to talk for a while before he took care of the "necessities". Willow always thought it made him feel a bit more "normal". So she was quite sure he'd only gone off to feed and would return shortly. No, the fact that she felt him leave was good because it meant she was focusing again, tuning back-in to him and to her surroundings.

By the time Angel returned, Willow had shutdown the computer and the only light in the big old mansion came from the fire which burned within the large marble monstrosity that was the centerpiece of the great room. While Angel always loved the warmth of a roaring fire, he had, for a number of reasons, come to dislike this particular fireplace. Acathla had stood before it. Hell had spit him right back on the same spot. He and Buffy had carried on a number of conversations, both pleasant and painful conversations, while seated near by. With a shrug of his broad shoulders, he put aside those thoughts and continued moving into the room.

Willow was sitting before the fire, curled into a little ball, arms wrapped tightly around her shins, knees tucked up under her chin. She was staring intently into the flames and he thought he'd caught unaware for the second time that night. He purposefully moved toward her in stealth mode, but then she turned to look at him and Angel was instantly frozen in his tracks. Her simple beauty took him by surprise once again, and he was, he thought with a chuckle, quite literally left breathless. The perfect ivory skin, slightly flushed by the heat of the fire; green eyes flashing with each spark & flare they reflected; silky red hair shimmering in the firelight. And then, as if someone were putting together a jigsaw puzzle right before his eyes, Angel saw the pieces fall into place, one by one, and the similarities between his best friend and his new lover became so plain to see, he wondered how on earth he'd not seen them before now. It was remarkable. They could have been sisters, or at the very least, cousins. And with that thought firmly implanted in his brain, so much more of what he felt was to be Willow's destiny suddenly made sense.

<He's so smug, he thinks he's got me again> Willow had thought as she felt him draw near. He was deliberately moving in silence and Willow let him play his little game for a few more paces. In the end, victory would be hers. Just as he stepped into the semicircle of light cast by the fire, she turned her face to watch him as he continued to approach her. <Busted!> she gloated to herself. But Angel came to a halt. His sudden lack of movement had at first confused her, but as Willow watched the play of emotions across his face, she was quietly amused. His expressions were as easy to read as an open book. Shock, admiration, mild lust, wonder, awe, shock again, followed by amazement, then lastly, some sort of odd resignation. <Geez, sometimes men are so blind!>

"Don't even try to tell me you never noticed how much Aoífe and I look alike? I know you can’t possibly be that obtuse."

“I’m sure I must have seen it, but I never made the connection until now. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t . . . ” With a shrug, Angel just let his thoughts trail off from there.

Willow shook her head slowly and began to laugh at him. It was gentle laughter, not meant to mock him but simply to let him know that even if he was a vampire, in Willow’s eyes he was still a man and as such, he was susceptible to the same strains of ignorance and stupidity which plagued all of the male population, human and nonhuman alike. Then she decided to continue to lighten the mood and she teased him a little more.

“Well, you are *old*. Maybe you need glasses!” She was laughing hard now, and started to do that little snorting thing she did when she laughed too much.

Angel just glared at her, trying to look as though he was not amused by her jibe. When she heard him start to growl softly, Willow knew it was time to stop having fun. Forcing her laughter to subside, she patted the floor beside her, beckoning him to join her before the fire. He stared at her for a moment longer as she uncurled her body, stretched like a lazy cat, then situated herself in a more open position.

He came forward then and sat down beside her. Willow hadn’t even noticed that he’d been carrying two glasses of wine until he proffered one. She accepted it and they both sat for a few minutes, sipping their wine, staring into the flames, simply enjoying the companionable silence.

Angel leaned forward and put his half empty wine glass down on the hearth. Then he pivoted on his butt so that he sat facing Willow. With his back now to the fire, his entire body was outlined by a halo of a golden light. Willow let out a gasp as the sight before her caused her to recall the memory of a scene from his not so distant past. It wasn’t a scene she’d witnessed herself, but rather one she’d heard about and later seen in a drawing. Angel, standing before the statue that was Acathla, his entire body surrounded by the glowing force of the vortex created by the awakening demon. It had all taken place right here in this very room. And there was that big old sword stuck in Angel's gut, glowing with a power all its own. His one hand was extended so beseechingly, the intense pain and utter confusion he felt were clearly visible on his face. And for the umpteenth time, all Willow could think was “Oh, God, poor Buffy.”

No, not “poor Angel”. Never “poor Angel”. Willow had come to terms long ago with the fact that although she felt bad about the poor timing of the restoration ritual, she honestly never felt any remorse with regards to his trip to Hell. He’d gotten just what he asked for. Restoring Angel’s soul just as Acathla was coming to life had only made things harder for Buffy. But in the end, Buffy had done what was right and Angel got what he deserved. And not simply for what he had done as “Angelus”. After all, Willow knew Angel and Angelus were one in the same. And both parts of him felt that they’d been cursed. Willow never thought of his soul restoration as a curse. It was a gift. And one with which he had been way too careless. She would never understand how someone who had walked this earth as long as he had, would not have taken the time to learn as much about that “curse” as they could. Was he really so caught up in all his guilt and sorrow? Had Buffy’s love so completely overwhelmed him that he lost all ability to think beyond the “here and now”? Carpe diem? What the hell had they all been thinking? And for him to have never questioned what would happen if the burden of his suffering was lifted? Well, that was almost unforgivable. So, as far as Willow was concerned, Angel’s time in Hell had been well earned. She knew that was an extremely harsh sentiment. She prayed every day that she would never have to experience the kinds of torment he suffered. But, from what little Angel was willing to tell her about his time in that other dimension, Willow surmised that he really never got any worse than what he had given. The saying “What goes around, comes around” seems to hold true, even when you’re in Hell. All in all, it had been a growth experience for him. Willow didn't expect he'd be making any of those same mistakes twice. It had been a very *painful* growth experience.

Of course, in all fairness to Angel, it was easy for Willow to hold fast to these beliefs while her friend now sat safely across from her. Had he never returned from his little sojourn to Hades, she might have felt differently.

Willow was once again pulled from her thoughts by the touch of Angel’s hand. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying, until she felt him begin to gently brush away her tears. His finger tips were actually hot as they moved across cheeks. His continued breathing and the heat from the fire were apparently producing the effect Angel desired. But Willow found herself longing for his cool touch, the one which was natural to him. It was one of the things that made him different, that made him special to her. Would he understand that if she tried to explain it to him? At this point in time, no. The fact that he was forcing himself to breath again was proof of just how badly a part of him still longed to be human again. But Willow knew that longing would end someday. Did she want to be around when that day came? She really wasn’t sure.

“You know, Will. . .” Angel’s voice was soothing. It seemed to reach out and caress her in much the same way his fingers did. At least that hadn’t changed over the past few weeks. The sound of his voice still had all the same, rich qualities she loved. Sometimes she liked to do nothing more than close her eyes and just listen to him talk to her, to get carried away by the sound of his voice. Willow’s eyes slowly opened when her addled brain finally processed the fact that Angel had stopped speaking. He was smiling at her, love shining in his eyes, just waiting silently for her to focus her attention. He was playing the role of the patient teacher, waiting for his pupil to stop fidgeting before he would continue to tell his story or teach his lesson.

“Sorry,” Willow whispered, a ‘cat caught eating the canary’ smile touching her lips.

“Pay attention, little one,” Angel chastised, before he continued his speech. He knew she disliked that term, ‘little one’, but it always got her attention.

“When I said you were destined to be a Watcher, I didn’t mean you were necessarily going to grow-up to be a tweed wearing purveyor of prophecies and a keeper of dusty tomes. And you’re right, you wouldn’t do well with a Slayer as your charge. That’s not where your strength lies. If a formal position within the Watcher’s organization is what you want, that’s great. But there are all different kinds of Watchers. I’ve just recently learned myself that even within the Council there are many types of Watchers. And the Council has numerous branches. Not all of them are dedicated to the Slayer and her duties. You may find your niche in one of them.”

Willow was nodding her head in agreement. Much of what he said, she had already learned from Giles or come to realize on her own.

“I guess what I’m most afraid of, Angel, is making a life-long commitment at the age of twenty. If Giles forwards my petition to the Council and I’m accepted, I’ll be bound to them and the duties they assign to me for the rest of my life. God, I’ll be just like Buffy. No, that’s not true, and it ’s an injustice to Buffy to compare my situation to hers. She had no choice. She was called. I, on the other hand, am a recruit, a volunteer even, and I can just walk away from all of this now, if I want to.”

“You’re wrong, Willow,” Angel said adamantly. “You were called. Holding a formal seat on the Council is immaterial. You are a Watcher, even now.”

“How do you know that?” Willow gasped in complete disbelief.

“I can *feel* it.”

Willow knew he spoke the truth. She could also “feel” it. The fact that she and Angel were often so in-tune with each others feelings went way beyond the bounds of their budding friendship. They were connected in some way on a much deeper level. She could “feel” that, too.

“Well, just who am I supposed to watch? I'm sure it’s not a Slayer. Is it you?”

Angel shook his head, his expression a bit distant, as he searched his mind for the right answer. Suddenly, he let loose a little snort, and then that annoying smile Willow always associated with his “cryptic guy” routine slid across his lips. He’d found the information he was looking for, but the look he gave Willow, said he wasn’t going to share.

“No,” he replied with a chuckle. “I think they’ve already got that covered.”

“Well, then who?” She was truly baffled and becoming very frustrated.

To make matters worse, Angel apparently knew that answer as well, but refused to tell her. He casually leaned back on his elbows, stretching his long, lean frame out beside her. His expression was becoming more smug by the minute and Willow wanted to slap it off his face, she was growing so perturbed. His gaze slowly traveled along the length of her body, from head to toe and back up again. Then he just lounged there with an “I know something you don’t know” look on his face.

Angel was really enjoying himself. He loved to play with Willow and she was usually willing to play along. Okay, so maybe he was pushing it just a bit this time. After all, they were in the middle of a very serious conversation. Oh, but ever since he’d met the “other Willow”, he knew what lurked below the surface of this “good girl”. If his Willow just let go of a few of her inhibitions, she could be *so* very good at a lot of the games he liked to play. And, no, they were not games of a sexual nature. Well, not all of them anyway. Besides, he and Willow had already explored that aspect of their relationship.

Sure, each thought the other was very attractive and at times, sexually appealing. They’d experimented with those feelings. They’d even gone so far as to test the waters and found them to be like the waters of a mountain spring, pure and refreshing, exhilerating but ultimately cold. They discovered that there was no “sparkage”, as Buffy would say. It had been a wonderful encounter, a memory Angel would cherish always. He loved Willow. But he was not in love with Willow, and she had confessed to feeling the same way toward him. They wer friends. Cirumstances had lead them to share a moment of passion, but they remained friends.

No, most of the games he had in mind were of a much different and at times dark nature. But for now he’d have to settle for the little games they played. Like the one he was enjoying now. Just watching her watch him watch her and wondering how long it was going to take his brilliant little hacker to figure out for herself that which was quite literally as plain as the nose on her face! Angel still couldn’t believe that he’d missed the resemblance before this evening.

Willow was fuming now. A Watcher? Watch who? All she was doing was watching him watch her and it was really starting to piss her off. And Angel knew it! His expression was moving from smug to gloating. In a deliberately provocative manner, he started to chew on his lower lip. <Was that a hint of fang!?> Then he had the nerve to start poking her with the big toe of his bare foot, like the small nudges would help push her along the way to her conclusion. She retaliated by pinching the soft flesh on the pad of his offending toe. She pinched it *hard* between her nails.

He immediately pulled back his feet.

“Ouch, what was that for?” he cried, trying to feign innocence. Willow just glared at him, her green eyes practically glowing with fury.

Angel was far enough into his game, that he actually stuck out his lower lip in a pout as he sat up, nimbly bent his leg and drew his foot up toward his face so he could inspect for damage.

“Better be careful next time,” he warned. “You almost drew blood.”

Having said that, he glanced up at her, his mischievous eyes peering out from beneath his strong brow. And this time she definitely saw fangs, a whole mouth full, as he ran his tongue across his upper lip in a most lascivious manner.

“Nasty old vampire! Leave me alone!” she whined.

Angel decided he’d played long enough. He scooted forward on the floor, and crossing his legs Indian-style, just like Willow had, he sat directly in front of her, their knees touching. Then he took her hands in his and looked deep into her eyes, establishing a kind mental of link between them.

“Close your eyes now, Willow, and relax. Then, tell me what you see.”

With his gentle touch, all the anger Willow had toward Angel faded quickly away, and she complied with his request.

At first she saw nothing. Then slowly, images began to form in her mind. She could see what Angel saw, feel what he felt when he compared her with Aoífe. It went so much deeper than just the visual similarities. Angel knew that they had much the same temperament. Both women had strong, natural wiccan powers, powers they’d *inherited*. They had such similar tastes in everything from art to, well, their “outstanding choice in vampire companionship”. Willow was tempted to slug him for that boastful little thought, but decided against breaking the link they had. And yes, the physical resemblances between her and Aoífe were too strong to be considered coincidental.

Willow’s eyes popped open, huge and shiny and reflecting her new found knowledge. Angel visualized a light bulb coming on over her head and a smile lit up his face. Willow now knew what his thoughts were.

“Angel, you don’t just think we look alike, you think we’re related, don’t you?”

“That’s my girl!” he said proudly. “Yes, I believe you are a direct descendant of Aoífe.”

“And by virtue of that, am I supposed to be *her* Watcher?”

“In some round-about-way, yes.”

All Willow could say was "Wow."

It made Angel laugh. It was a very typical "Willowesque" response. And that was good. He just sat back and let her "process her data".

<I'm a Watcher? Does Giles know? I'm Aoífe's Watcher? Is that even possible?>

Well, it would sure explain a lot. Like why she had always been so willing to give Angel the benefit of the doubt, accepting him when no one else did. Well, no one besides Buffy, but Buffy accepted and loved Angel in a way that was very different from how Willow felt.

Sure, there was a time when she'd lusted after him, in secret, of course. Hell, just look at the guy! He was a major hottie. Willow didn't think there were very many women living (and probably most of the not-so-living ones, too, for that matter) who could look at Angel and not be tempted to at least let their minds wander to a place filled with naughty thoughts. Let's be honest here, not very long ago she had let more than just her mind wander. Luckily, nothing had happened between them. Maybe it wasn't luck after all. And actually *something* had happened between them. They had made love. Once. And that could be considered something. Oh, yah, it was something, all right. The sex had been fantastic. At the moment, it had been what they both wanted, what they had needed. But in the long run, it wasn't what they were looking for. To try and hold on to that moment, to the make more out of it than what was there, felt wrong. Willow knew they weren't meant to be together that way, as lovers, as mates. Angel had known it, too. Still, now, whenever they were together, there was this strange connection. It was like some sort of a link between them, when they chose to acknowledge its existence. And the more time they spent together, the more natural it seemed and the more in sync their thoughts and emotions became. And that made sense, now.

Angel was bound to Aoífe, bound by her love for him, a love which had endured through the ages in this world, and transcended space and time to follow him into another world. Not that he knew that, yet. Poor Angel was helpless. It was part of his destiny to be with her. He was in so many ways, powerless and could do nothing but love her in return. And whether they knew it yet or not, it was a binding that went way beyond the love those two felt for each other. Willow knew this because?

She was also bound to Aoífe, bound by blood. Angel was correct in his assumption. Willow was related to Aoífe. That knowledge just felt right. And she was a very direct descendant. Willow was now quite certain that if she sat down with Aoífe, the two of them would have little trouble drawing a very straight line up their family tree (of matriarchal lineage, of course) from "point Aoífe" to "point Willow".

So you see, Angel to Aoífe, Aoífe to Willow. And now Willow to Angel. It made Willow sad to think that the connection she shared with Angel had only developed in order to help her in her new role as a Watcher. She wasn't even sure she wanted the job, anyway. And to think that what she felt toward Angel was only a by-product of her newly discovered relationship with Aoífe, well, that felt really wrong, too. Willow loved Angel. He was her friend. Up until a moment ago, she was sure Angel felt the same way, and she had believed that what he gave her he gave freely. She liked to think that the friendship and the love came without strings attached. Now she was starting to see otherwise.

Maybe she could just ignore her calling, turn her back on her destiny.

<Yah, that's it, I'll be destiny free!>

Willow suddenly felt she was being very petty. Those were Buffy's words. How many times had she heard Buffy voice her desire to be free from her destiny, to be able to lead a normal life? Of course, with all they'd seen over the past few years, Willow didn't think she or Buffy could accurately define a "normal life". And Willow felt a bit guilty. After all, it wasn't like she was being called to be The Slayer, for goodness sake. All she was destined to do was spy on a member of her own family and take notes! Okay, that might be over-simplifying the job description of her new position, but that was the gist of it.

Willow took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and calmly accepted her calling.

<I'm a Watcher. Wow. So, could someone, anyone, please tell me just how do I go about being a Watcher?>

She had to shake her head and laugh at her own poor humor. She knew that Giles would set her on the best path for her formal education and they'd have a lot of time to talk about it on their flight over to London. She also suddenly knew that a certain little demon with which she had yet to become acquainted, would be paying her a visit soon to offer up his advice on how to go about performing her new duties. And some pointers on how to handle Angel. Like she couldn't do that already?

In the mean time, she had plenty to keep her busy. New Year's Eve party coming up. January 1, 2001 - the true start of the next millennium. The trip to England that she still had to shop and pack for. Then there were still all these thoughts buzzing around in her head, thoughts she still needed to download. And lastly there was that whole Angel/Aoífe/Willow triangle thingy to think about. What was up with that anyway?

An image suddenly popped into Willow's mind. A very vivid, very sordid image. It involved all three of them and one of the ancient rites of Spring. She could actually feel the blush begin to creep up her body, coloring her bright crimson from head to toe. Willow quickly squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to believe that if she couldn't see Angel, then he couldn't see her and there by could not question the feverish flush her body now wore. But closing her eyes only made things worse. She could see everything so much clearer now. . . their bodies intertwined, naked, three sets of arms with hands that were touching, probing, feeling, pleasuring, six legs entangled with one another, parts of one body disappearing into another body, lips meeting, tongues dueling, mouths busy sucking and nipping and licking and tasting only to turn and seek out another mouth with which to share the flavors that had been collected.

<Oh, sweet goddess, where did this vision come from?>

The analytical part of Willow's brain tried to come to her rescue, even as that part of her mind which was purely carnal tried to shut it up so they could enjoy the show! This would be the part in a cartoon where the main character has a little angel perched on her right shoulder and a little demon on her left.

<Relax, Willow,> her angel said. <Keep in mind that two members of your group are vampires. And you've read enough about them to know just how depraved they can be.>

<Oh, please,> sighed the little devil, as he forced a yawn. <Do we really have to bring up "Evil Willow" again? Let's face it, we all know that this Willow has got the potential to be just as debauched as any blood-sucking demon she has encounter so far.>

<Now don't you listen to him, sweetheart,> cooed her cherub. <He's just a silly little devil who's trying to trick you into thinking that what you're seeing is something naughty. Remember, it's all just part of a very old rite.>

<Yah, right. Face it, she looked hot. She felt hot! Were we really supposed to buy that little miss innocent act. "Oh my, will you look at those." That's just what you wanted. You wanted him to look.>

<Oh my,> gasped her little angel. <We did catch him looking, didn't we?>

<Oh yah,> her devil sneered. <He was looking, all right. Looking long and hard when he thought no one was watching him.>

<Oh, like he can't accomplish that on his own. I mean, come on , we all know he was doing more than just looking *long* and *hard*, he was long and. . .>

Willow actually tried put her hands up to cover her ears, as though she could somehow block out her inner voices, but something held them down. And all the while, the torrid scenario just kept playing on in her head. And it just kept getting better. Worse. She meant worse. The end of the ritual was drawing near. Their lovemaking was reaching a frenzied pitch as they approached the climax of the rite. <And their own climaxes.> Willow couldn't keep that thought from slipping out. She didn't even know it, but she was panting as she continued to view the scene in her mind. She and Angel and Aoífe were fucking and feeding and so very close! Oh, yes, fucking and feeding and....

<Feeding?! No. No feeding! Feeding is not allowed. Feeding is bad,> her mind cried.

Angel let out a groan. He'd been caught and he knew it.

Suddenly Willow realizes just what was going on. Angel had never released her hands. Just like in the vision, Angel's real fingers were now interlaced with her own. And hers was most definitely not the only ragged breathing echoing in the cavernous room.

As Willow began to close off her mind and to lower the curtain on his little peep-show, Angel's grip on her hands tightened like he was holding on for dear life. He knew she was pulling away and the dream Angel began whispering desperately in her ear.

<Oh, no, Willow, stay. So close. Don't leave me. Please.>

Her eyes flew open then and she let the sparks fly!

Angel flashed her a sheepish grin. "Nasty demon, " she hissed as she yanked her hands from his grasp.

For once, in all the time that she's known him, Angel didn't appear to be hurt by her remark. He actually seemed to sit up a bit straighter and now he was the one who wore the "cat and canary" smile. Only he was much larger and more dangerous looking than any bird consuming feline she'd ever been close to. And she knew it was not a little yellow bird that he wanted to eat. Eep.

"You may not look the part, buddy, but you are most definitely a dirty, old man!"

Angel jumped to feet, then bowed at the waist, deeply and dramatically.

"Why, thank you m'lady.”

If she'd had something other than her wine glass near by, she would have thrown it at him. But she didn't, so Willow had to make do with rolling her eyes and shaking her head as a show of her disapproval.

He just smiled at her and Willow started to melt. She just couldn't hold onto her anger. She was confused. Angel had sort of invaded her privacy, but wasn't she the one that let him enter in the first place. She compared it inviting someone new into your home. Sure you knew that they were going to come in and look around, but you didn't expect them to go snooping in your closets. Willow was also honest enough with herself to admit that most of the thoughts she'd had were her own. Angel had only added fuel to the fire. And maybe she was more than just a little flattered by his response to their little co-authored fantasy. Most surprising of all was that Angel had let down his guard, without her having to push him. He had just opened up and shared some of himself with her. <Some of his naughty self, at that!> Willow couldn't help but blush again at that thought, and decided it would be best if they just made light of the whole situation. She looked directly at Angel and gave him a wry smile.

"You know, Angel, you have certainly added a new meaning to the phrase 'reach out and touch someone'."

They both laughed nervously.

Angel extended his hand to her graciously. Willow placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her gently to her feet.

"What now?" she asked cautiously.

"Now we eat," he replied as he flashed he another wicked smile. "And when we're done with dinner, we'll talk some more."

Willow and Angel both laughed wholeheartedly as they made their way, hand in hand, toward to kitchen.

It was just after midnight when Willow began to boot her computer back up. Angel had gone off to do what he always did when he came to Sunnydale, patrol with Buffy. Their Christmas dinner had been delicious, at least for Willow. While Angel done a wonderful job helping to prepare much of what was served, he seemed to play with his food more than he ate any of it. Except for the chocolate chip cookies Willow had baked earlier. He devoured at least a dozen of them. <What's up with that?>

And dinner had been quite. Just the two of them, which was nice after having had such a crowd over for Christmas Eve dinner. It gave them a chance to talk some more. And after dinner, they sat for while in front of the fireplace once again, and let their minds wrap around each other. Angel was a perfect gentleman this time, even when Willow failed to keep all of her naughty thoughts to herself.

Now Willow was back in front of her computer, waiting patiently for all the programs to load. She shivered a little and grabbed the blanket she had wrapped herself in, pulling it tighter. It was starting to get cold and damp in the room even with the extra logs Angel had thrown on the fire before he’d left. Sometimes Willow enjoyed going out on patrol with Buffy and Angel. But tonight, as she listened to the wind howling and the rain beating down outside, she was very glad she'd been left behind. The front had started to move in only about twenty minutes ago, but had quickly whipped itself into one hell of a storm. Willow knew Angel wouldn't really be bothered by it, other than getting up soaked to the bone. But poor Buffy was going to end up a popsicle if they stayed out too long. Willow silently prayed that all the stupid vampires in this town had enough sense to stay buried or keep to their lairs on a wet Christmas night. Well, all with the exception of one, and she just hoped he hurried home soon.

Her computer finally finished coming-up. Willow opened WordPerfect and formatted a new document. She paused for a moment, thinking about how to start. Then a smile lit up her face and she began to type.

[It was a dark and stormy night, a most auspicious time for a new beginning. . .]

End Entry Four

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