Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Darla/Angel in the most roundabout sort of way, and a very-much-so Willow/Angel
Summary: What’s killing Darla in ‘The Trial’ isn’t her heart—it’s her soul.
Spoilers: S5 BtVS and S2 AtS
Distribution: STTEOT (http://www.redssoulmates.com), Bite Me… Please? (http://willsvamps.topcities.com), Fanfiction.Net (http://www.fanfiction.net), UCSL (http://www.dymphna.net/ucsl), Temptation Embraced (http://www.1freespace.com/temptation), Near Her Always (http://www.nearheralways.com) and my own site, *blurry* (http://www.iceblur.dot.nu). Do you want this? Just ask.
Author’s Notes: For her birthday, Susi (of STTEOT) issued a challenge:
write her a birthday story that was Willow/Angel with smut, angst and romance
(Spike can be their knight in shining armor, but not paired with Willow—that’s
a no-no). The story has to be three chapters at least. Here’s my attempt
at making her happy.
She sat, still and silent, before the vanity in the dim motel room. A clouded and cracked mirror was the focus of her attention; though it had been what seemed like hours since the last flash, she waited patiently.
As she waited, she studied her reflection deliberately—it had been so long since she’d seen it, after all. Four hundred years and still surprises.
Darla examined the stiff blonde hair and pouty lips with indifference; she noted the still-pale cheeks and cautious dark eyes framed with thick lashes. The straight nose and high forehead were next. Nothing much seemed to have changed.
The wristwatch given to her by Wolfram & Hart ticked gently on the vanity. It was almost hypnotic, almost enough to loll her to sleep, almost enough to make her let down her guard and miss the flash when it came, but Darla managed to keep her eyes trained steadily on the mirror, waiting.
Always, waiting…
And suddenly, after the darkness had become all-encompassing and all of her hearing trained on the delicate watch gently ticking, the flash came.
It came suddenly through the black—bright, glaring light, shining so whitely her vision glittered with tears. The soothing ticking of the watch disappeared beneath the great silent roar that overtook her, and Darla rocked dizzily on the bench in front of the vanity in the midst of the flash. Then her rolling eyes managed to focus on her reflection, and the brilliant light dimmed to a glow and the roaring to a purr.
There, writhing in the mirror where her reflection should be, was a girl—no, a young woman, long and slender. The stranger hugged herself tightly, clutching at her abdomen as she doubled over. She screamed without sound, and her chapped lips cracked and bled. Darla watched her, transfixed, until the same pain this girl was feeling swept inside *her* and tore her open from larynx to diaphragm.
Darla fell to the floor, tearing with short-nailed fingers at her stomach, screaming with a hoarse throat for the torture to *stop*, for it to end, she’d do anything for it to end. The flash took over again, sweeping over and under and through her, blinding and deafening, but Darla could still hear her own pleas entwining with the strangers’, and then it all went black.
When Darla woke, she was not alone, and the pain had not left.
She clawed at the worn carpet on the floor of the motel room and managed to somehow get to her hands and knees. She crawled to the vanity and pulled herself up just far enough to look into the mirror.
Though the hair was still blonde, shoulder-length, stiff from a little too much blow-drying and spray—though the eyes were still dark blue and framed with thick brown lashes—though her pout was still fully functional, her skin still pale, her nose still short and straight and her forehead high—she was not alone in her reflection.
“Get out of my head!” she screamed at the mirror. Her voice barely rasped above a whisper, so hoarse was it from her earlier screams.
And from within the dark depths of Darla’s eyes, Willow Rosenberg wept.
A candle on the desk next to Willow’s laptop glowed softly, flickering dangerously close to the end of the wick. Buffy bent down to inspect it and found that the candle had apparently been burning for hours—wax had melted all around it on the desk and even dripped down to the carpeting on the floor. The Slayer’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Willow never let her candles burn unchecked.
There was a flapping sound. Buffy’s head jerked up, but to her relief the quiet disturbance was only a curtain being blown by the wind from an open window.
The bed was made neatly, the pillows plumped and Willow’s worn teddy bear propped between them. Willow’s favorite pair of sneakers were tucked just under the bed.
The closet doors were closed tightly; the usual clutter on the dresser had been straightened. The laptop in Willow’s desk was shut, the light on the back pulsing. The only thing out of place in the meticulous room was the candle.
But where was Willow?
Buffy opened the closet door with a slight tug and looked inside. All of her best friend’s clothes were hung primly on plastic hangers, and extra clutter packed into boxes and stacked on the shelf near the ceiling. Buffy’s eyes lit on Willow’s chest of magic supplies nestled in the corner and dragged it out into the room.
A particularly forceful flick of her fingers popped the delicate lock on the chest, and Buffy slid her fingers under the top of the chest and lifted it off. On top of carefully labeled bags of herbs, faceted bottles of unknown potions, archaic volumes of lore and spells and a dangerously sharp athame was a ‘Hello Kitty’ mini-notebook marked “MY PLANNER” in Willow’s tiny script.
Buffy opened the notebook and flipped to the last page that had been
written on. There was a short list of things to do:
12:00 Take laundry out12:30 Pick up mandrake and basilisk blood from Magic Box
1:15 Pick up Orb from Willy’s
2:00 Remind Xander about meeting @ Giles’, 6:00
2:30 Groceries—remember MILK this time!
3:15 Anchor Angel’s soul
6:00 Meeting @ Giles’
Buffy gasped, covering her open mouth with a small hand. <Anchor
Angel’s—>
She threw the notebook back into Willow’s trunk and got to her feet.
Where did Willow usually perform spells? She obviously hadn’t tried the ritual in her bedroom, as nothing was out of place except that candle. She’d probably left it burning, thinking she’d be done with the ritual quickly.
But if Willow had stuck to her schedule—and Willow *always* stuck to her schedule—she’d begun the anchoring *hours* ago. Buffy checked her watch. 8:30 PM.
What had gone wrong?
Buffy swallowed nervously and ran out of the room, slipping slightly on the just-waxed corridor floors. She skidded to a halt right outside the girls’ showers. Willow had done a couple of spells in the bath- and shower-rooms before—something about space, and acoustics, and water lending magical energy. Buffy burst open the door and froze.
Willow was sprawled, unconscious, inside a circle of brightly burning candles. Next to her there were several toppled glass bottles, a mortar and pestle filled with ground something-or-other, and a shattered Orb of Thesulah.
“Willow?” Buffy rushed to her friend and stopped again. She had no idea what disturbing the circle might do.
Willow shifted and whimpered as though she were in pain.
“Oh, God, Willow,” Buffy murmured, and ran back out to the hall to find a phone and call Giles.
She just hoped she wasn’t too late.
“STOP!” Willow shouted hoarsely, and desperately pushed against her opponent as fire blazed through her mind.
Darla stopped, and Willow paused, breathing heavily, and tried to examine her surroundings. Dark, grim, smell of stale—blood? Motel room. Willow grimaced. “Where am I?”
Her vision spun abruptly, and she found herself facing a mirror, staring at Angel’s beautiful sire. “You’re in my head, youngling, and I don’t like it one bit.”
Willow could only shift her grip on the precarious mental hold she had and try to get used to having someone else in control of her every move.
It wasn’t quite as easy as it sounded.
“You’re dead,” she could only stammer. “Angel staked you—years ago, he staked you. I *saw* it!”
“And I *felt* it,” Darla replied with a smile. “But apparently someone decided I was needed. Here.”
She sounded so disgusted and so sad at the same time. Willow cursed her sympathetic personality as she extended reassurances. “But, you’re human, right? You can rebuild and stuff.”
Darla managed a most unladylike snort. “Please. Rebuild? Start a life? I don’t *want* to. Do you know what it’s like to have done the things I have and to *care*?”
“Angel said something almost exactly like that when we were all first meeting him,” Willow whispered.
Darla sneered at her own reflection, toying with her hairbrush. “I sound like poor, weak Angelus, then? That’s just lovely.”
“He’s not weak!” Willow said hotly.
“Ooh, did I push someone’s buttons?” Darla asked. “Sorry.” She very clearly was not.
They sat in front of the smoky mirror in sulky silence for a long while, until Willow said: “Why don’t we—”
“Don’t finish that thought,” Darla interrupted. “I know what it is, and I don’t like it.”
“You think I like it?” Willow shrieked. “Can you imagine what that would be like? ‘Hi, Angel,’ I’d say, if you even let me take control for five minutes, which I doubt you would… So, ‘Hi, Angel’, I’d say. ‘Look, uh, I’ve got myself in this predicament, see. I’m not Darla—well, I am, sort of, but I’m Willow too, stuck in Darla’s body. Why? Gee, I don’t know. It might have something to do with the fact that I just did a really advanced spell that permanently anchors your soul. Why did I do something so risky? Oh, it’s this huge crush I’ve had on you for about five years now, sorry I landed us in this great stupid mess—’”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Darla rolled her eyes. “And we will *not* go to see Angel, because I don’t want to be near him.”
“What are we going to *do*, then?” Willow asked, her voice a low hiss.
Darla shifted a little on the hard seat in front of the vanity. “I don’t know,” she said.
A pregnant pause, and then Willow said: “Ah.”
They both decided to remain silent as they contemplated their options, of which there weren’t many. Darla sighed and dug a cracked tube of lipstick from her handbag. She pulled off the top and slowly smoothed the bright red color over her mouth.
Willow exhaled heavily. “Darla, you’ve got a great pout, but that shade of red is *really* not your color.”
Darla’s mouth twitched. “I know,” she replied. Willow could feel the amusement coursing through her mind. Carefully, Darla picked up a tissue and wiped the lipstick off.
“I guess we’d better get out of here,” Willow said. “Go *anywhere* else. It doesn’t matter who’s looking for us—your Wolfram & Hart or Angel—they’ll find us here.”
Darla agreed. “Let’s get gone.”
They sat, staring at their reflection for a moment longer, until the door to the motel room rattled.
“What—?” Darla whispered. “We were just about to go!”
They sat frozen in Darla’s petite body for a long moment, watching the knob shake—apparently whomever was on the other side of the door wasn’t overly patient—until the door finally opened.
Lindsey stepped in, frowning slightly. Darla and Willow stared at him, half-relieved and half-dismayed.
Lindsey turned and handed the manager of the motel a tight wad of cash.
“Little bastard,” Darla hissed. Willow chuckled grimly and agreed.
The manager darted a glance at the icy young woman perched on the bench before the vanity and fled.
“You’re a hard one to find,” Lindsey commented.
Darla’s body fainted, and Willow darted home.
“Buffy!” Giles’ normally calm voice seemed flustered due to Buffy’s distress. “Did you find Willow?”
“I found her,” Buffy said, nodding. The tears fell faster.
“What’s wrong?” Giles’ voice climbed a pitch. “She isn’t—”
“She’s not dead,” Buffy said. “I don’t know *what’s* wrong with her. She did—she did a spell and she’s out cold, and I don’t know what to do…”
“Okay, Buffy, calm down,” Giles said. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll send Xander and Spike over right away to help you.”
“I’m at the dorms,” Buffy said. “The third floor, girls’ showers. *Please* hurry.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Giles said, his voice strained. “And, Buffy… can you tell me what kind of spell she was doing? What ingredients were involved?”
“She was anchoring Angel’s soul,” Buffy told him hoarsely. “But the Orb—the Orb of Thesulah—”
“Yes?” Giles waited tensely.
“It smashed. And not from her falling on it, either, and I *know* that’s not supposed to happen.”
“Oh, my,” Giles said. Buffy heard him fade a little as he turned away from the phone. “Willow’s dorm, Xander. Quickly!”
“Oh, Buffy,” he said, returning to her. “You haven’t disturbed the circle, have you?”
“No,” Buffy said. “Did I—I wasn’t supposed to, was I?”
“No, no,” Giles said. “I haven’t the slightest—I’ll go with Xander and Spike,” he said, amending his words. “I don’t know how we’re to move her safely. We’ll be there in a moment, Buffy.” He paused. “Buffy?”
“I’m here,” she said.
“I don’t like to ask this of you, but… call Angel. Ask him if he knows anything.”
“Can do,” Buffy replied, forcing cheer into her voice. “I’ll check on Willow and then I’ll—I’ll call him.”
“Good,” Giles told her, distracted. “All right, we’re leaving now, Buffy. We’ll be there as soon as is humanly possible.”
“Okay,” Buffy said, and hung up the phone, wincing as she realized her super-human grip on the plastic had cracked it considerably. “Geez.”
The Slayer quickly retraced her steps to the girls’ showers to look in on Willow, who still lay collapsed in her circle of slowly burning candles, the shards of the Orb of Thesulah beside her.
Buffy gracefully sank to her knees on the floor just outside the circle. “Oh, Willow,” she whispered. “Please, *please* be okay.”
Then she remembered her task, and she reluctantly rose to her feet again
to call Angel.
“You know, he’s been down in that cellar a long time…”
Wesley looked up from his own brown study. “I keep hearing a ‘chuck-a, chuck-a’ sound… What is he *doing* down there?”
Cordelia snorted and started her pacing again, gesturing with her hands as her ire grew. “How should I know?” (Here she rolled her eyes.) “He barely says, ‘Good morning’ and ‘Get me a glass of blood’ anymore.”
Wesley nodded, his eyes following Cordelia’s movements. “I know.” The former Watcher sighed and looked as if he was considering taking off his glasses and cleaning them with a handkerchief. Thankfully, he refrained. “He’s just so distraught about—”
“*Don’t* say Darla,” Cordelia snapped. “I am *sick* and *tired* of hearing about Darla. If I hear the name Darla *one* *more* *time*…” She ground her teeth together. “And, he’s not ‘distraught’. He’s obsessed! I thought you were going to be a man and talk to him about this…”
Angel sighed and leaned against the inside of the basement door, listening to his colleagues argue. He didn’t like worrying them—or, in the case of Cordelia, pissing them off—but he was torn. And understandably so, if he did say so himself. Abandoning his sire, whether or not she was actually still a vampire, was unthinkable for him.
Angel sighed again, and then tensed as he heard the dryer skip in its warm chuck-a chuck-as. The thing had malfunctioned once and shrunk a whole load of black socks! Angel wasn’t sure if he could go through that kind of trauma again. He silently slipped down the basement stairs to stand by the machine and glare at it. Hopefully that would make a difference.
The dryer gave one last defiant chuck-a and then ground to a halt. Done! Angel beamed and fetched the laundry basket, still keeping an ear strained to hear the conversation upstairs.
“It’s how men *talk* about things in England!” Wesley was saying, sounding mildly offended.
There was a pause, and then Cordelia muttered, “Shhh! Listen, it’s stopped.”
Darn. Now he was going to *have* to go upstairs.
Angel shoved his warm clothing unceremoniously into the basket, stomped ill-naturedly up the stairs, and entered the lobby to the sound of the telephone ringing.
He noticed with a slight smile that Cordelia and Wesley had both sprung to incongruous positions behind the reception desk and were studiously ignoring him.
The phone rang again.
“Is one of you going to get that?” he asked blandly.
There was a mad dash for the phone. Cordelia, always the victor when she got aggressive enough, picked up the phone with a smug look at Wesley and spoke. “Angel Investigations…” Her eyes widened, and grimace crept across her features. “Ah. Wanna talk to… No?” Angel shot a glance at Wesley, who shrugged but mouthed “Who is it?” exaggeratedly to Cordelia.
She rolled her eyes at him and mouthed back, “Buffy.”
Angel raised his eyebrows. Why was Buffy calling? Nothing much was happening, either in Sunnydale or in L.A.
Cordelia put her hand over the receiver and turned to Angel. “Buffy says Willow tried to anchor your soul permanently, and did you notice anything strange or do you know why Willow’s currently unconscious?”
Willow had tried to anchor his soul? “Uh… no. She’s unconscious? Is she okay?”
Cordelia rolled her eyes again and brought the phone back to her ear. “He says no, he doesn’t know anything and he wants to know if Willow’s okay.”
She listened for a second and then her eyes widened. “Oh, my… Oh. Really? No, go ahead.”
“She says it looks like the Orb of Thesulah exploded from the inside, and then she said she heard something, and she’ll be right back,” Cordelia reported. She kept her ear to the phone, flipping a pen worriedly between two of her fingers.
“Buffy…! Is everything okay? She *is*? That’s great!” A huge smile graced her features, but then the smile was quickly wiped away and the corners of her mouth twitched. “You’re joking. What? No, it’s just that we’ve been having some problems with that same girl lately… Yeah, sure.”
“Buffy says Willow woke up, which is good, but she’s babbling about Darla being inside her head, which is bad. Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Cordelia’s eyebrow ascended to its highest, most commanding level, but Angel had nothing to tell.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Right on cue, Gunn kicked in the front doors of the hotel and charged excitedly in. “I found Darla! And it wasn’t easy, but you said keep looking, and my wide-ranging knowledge of L.A.’s low rent motels finally paid off.” He shoved some photos into Angel’s slack hand and then paused.
“Geez. Who died?” Gunn asked. His hands went to his hips as he looked around.
Cordelia turned back to the phone. “Buffy, we might have just gotten something. Call you back, okay? Yeah. Yeah, we should! Good luck with Willow. Love to everybody. Yeah. Okay, ’bye.”
“Good job,” Angel was saying to Gunn. “The Royal Viking Motel?”
Gunn nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Conveniently located mere *steps* from skid row. I guess she’s not living off Wolfram & Hart anymore.”
Angel shuffled through the photos, agitated. “And not by their choice, is my guess…”
“What do you think they’ll do if they find her?” Gunn asked, leaning towards the door.
“Let’s get there first and *not* find out,” Angel said. “And I wanna know what she—or they—are gonna know about Willow, too…”
Wesley rushed to get Angel’s coat. Angel took it and drew it on with a flourish. “Let’s go.”
“Good luck,” Wesley told Angel and Gunn seriously.
“*Call* if you find anything,” Cordelia added. “We need to find out what’s going on.”
Angel nodded once, and then he and Gunn were gone.
“So,” Cordelia said in the silence that followed, “Buffy wants to do
coffee. That’d be nice, don’t you think?”
Willow sat up shakily in her circle. “I’m a little… confused. But, yeah, okay. Mostly.”
“I—uh—called Angel,” Buffy said tentatively.
Willow’s head snapped up so quickly that Buffy was surprised her friend didn’t get whiplash. “You *what*?”
“I called Angel,” Buffy said, sounding hurt. “You did the restoration for him, after all; I thought he might know something.”
“If I did the spell right, he shouldn’t have felt anything,” Willow said dazedly. “Oh, Goddess. Shut *up*!” she added.
“I didn’t say anything,” Buffy protested.
“Not *you*,” Willow said. “*Please* be quiet.” That last comment obviously included Buffy, so the blonde crouched impatiently outside Willow’s circle as Willow drew in on herself, her eyes darting everywhere.
The minutes passed. Buffy twiddled her thumbs and hoped Giles, Xander and Spike would hurry up. Finally she said, “You said something about Darla earlier, Willow. What was that?”
It took a while for what Buffy had said to register, and then it took a while for Willow to answer. “Angel staked Darla five years ago,” she said blandly.
“B-but you said that…”
“You probably misheard,” Willow commented matter-of-factly. There was an underlying note of condescension that Buffy didn’t like at all. The Slayer frowned.
“Wanna get out of your circle, Willow? I was worried about you.”
“What? Oh,” Willow said. Muttering under her breath, she blew out every candle with one breath for each, moving counter-clockwise. Then she stood and stepped over the low wall of melted wax. “There we go,” she said with forced cheer. “All done.”
Buffy surged forward delightedly to hug her friend, but Willow was noticeably stiff in her arms. “Wills? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Willow said tensely. “She just doesn’t like you, that’s all.”
Buffy stepped back to look Willow squarely in the eyes. “Darla *is* inside your head, isn’t she?” she asked. “That’s why you’re being so… mean. That’s Darla coming through. We have to *do* something!”
“Oh, no,” Willow whimpered, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Her body’s unprotected…”
“What?” Buffy said.
“Did you call Giles?” Willow asked. “I need to—you were right to call Angel. I should talk to him too. He needs to know about this, so he can protect her when we’re not there.”
“*We*?” Buffy said incredulously. “*We* are not going to go protect some psycho vamp-girl—” She paused. “You didn’t mean we as in, me and you, did you,” the Slayer said slowly. “You meant—when you were unconscious, you were in *Darla’s* head?” Willow nodded. “And—and—now the both of you—you travel *back* and *forth* between each other?”
“Look, Slayer, it’s not like this is some kind of fun vacation,” Darla snapped with Willow’s voice. “I don’t want to be here, and she doesn’t want me to be here. We both want this to be *over* *with* without getting Angel involved!”
“You stay away from him,” Buffy said to Darla. “Don’t you go near him.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Darla said to Willow, aloud. “She thinks I want to hurt the boy. I don’t even want to go *near* him!” she added to Buffy. “Get me out of this stupid human body and I’ll go.”
Loud voices could be heard from the hallway. Buffy dashed to the door of the showers and pushed it open, yelling, “Guys! In here! She’s awake, but we’ve got… a problem.”
Xander dashed valiantly in, saw Willow standing in the middle of the room, and swept her into a gigantic hug. “Oh, God, Wills, I’m so glad you’re okay…” He backed off a bit when her body was limp in his arms, and held her at arms’ length so he could look into her eyes. “Oh my… Willow’s not alone in there.”
“I say, Xander, that is *most* far-fetched,” Giles said, looking to Buffy for support. When he saw the grim look on her face, his own face paled. “Don’t tell me—”
“I’m right, aren’t I,” Xander said. “Willow? Can you hear me?” The redhead in his arms blinked and smiled hesitantly.
“Xand, you might want to let go… She doesn’t like strange humans with their hands all over her.”
“Who’s in there with you?” Xander asked, sounding scared.
“Same bloody question I was about to ask,” Spike commented from the doorway. He strode forward and peered into Willow’s eyes. “’Allo?”
“Oh, no, it’s you!” Darla exclaimed, dismayed. “What on earth is this silly boy doing here?”
Spike’s eyes widened. “No way,” he gasped. “That’s impossible.”
“Spike? Who is it?” Xander asked, tugging on the vampire’s duster sleeve.
“It’s my great-grandsire, for Christ’s sake,” Spike hissed. “Get out of there, you bitch!”
“Watch who you’re calling names, little boy,” Darla growled. “I *own* you. Back off.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Xander said, stepping between them. “I’m sensing some tension here. What say we talk it off?”
“Xander, *Darla’s* in Willow’s head,” Buffy murmured.
“Dar—Angel’s sire? The one he *killed*?” Xander yelped.
“Why do people keep bringing that up?” Darla asked, sounding affronted.
“This,” said Darla to her ‘roommate’, “Is getting *bloody* tiresome.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Willow hissed in reply.
They were in a darkened room—a small office, it looked like, though the furnishings were expensive. “Wolfram & Hart,” Darla muttered. “They brought us back. Damn that Lindsey.”
“It’s kind of creepy not knowing where your body’s been,” Willow observed with a shiver.
“Yeah, and this isn’t your body,” Darla snarled. “I hate this. I hate *you*!”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Willow pointed out, hurt. “And I’m trying not to think thoughts that damn you and your sire and *his* sire and that one’s sire, and all you’re doing is being *rude*!”
“Sorry,” Darla said, slightly cowed. “Over four hundred years of doing and saying whatever you want kind of ingrains itself into your system.”
The door to the small office they lay in opened, and Lindsey’s handsome face was silhouetted by the light from the room beyond. “You’re awake,” he observed.
“He always was a smart one,” Darla snickered to Willow. “Yes, I am,” she said aloud. “What do you want?”
“We didn’t want to capture you,” Lindsey said, shame-faced. “I was just sent to ask you to come. But you fainted, and I didn’t want to leave you there.”
“How sweet,” Darla said. She took complete control, shoving Willow to the back of her mind, so that she wouldn’t get dizzy while walking. She rose calmly from the couch and made her way across the room to where Lindsey stood. “Well?”
“And how is Ms. Rosenberg?” Lindsey asked. “Are you tight for space in there?”
Darla’s eyes widened, and Willow took the opportunity to push her way to the front, squished next to her hostess. “I’m fine, Lindsey, thank you,” she said. “Now, where were we going?”
“To my office,” Lindsey said. “This way, please.”
A walk down a very long corridor and a quick elevator ride later, Darla and Willow sat, ankles crossed demurely, on the couch in Lindsey’s office. The couch here was much more comfortable on the one they’d woken up on, Willow observed, but decided to keep quiet.
Darla was seething at Willow’s attempt at seizing control. Though the younger woman hadn’t succeeded completely, they were each equally balanced, which did tend to make them each dizzy.
Lindsey coughed. “We’re waiting for Holland,” he said in the awkward silence that permeated the room.
“I should have guessed,” Darla said with a sneer.
“Who’s Holland?” Willow asked her.
“Bastard in charge of this place,” the blonde replied. “You’ll hate him, just wait and see.”
Light footsteps could be heard in the hall, and Lindsey fidgeted with a piece of paper. “What happened to his hand?” Willow asked.
“Tell you later,” Darla said. “The fun’s about to start.”
“Thank you for coming in,” Lindsey said formally.
Darla snorted softly. “Did I ever have a choice?”
“Good question,” Willow told her.
Lindsey’s drawn face looked slightly hurt by Darla’s casual remark. “Of course,” Holland interrupted, entering the room. He nodded to the hulking security guard at the door who quickly left.
Holland sighed and shifted the large envelope he held in his hands. “We would never force you to do anything against your will, Darla. Ms. Rosenberg.”
“I see what you mean,” Willow whispered to her hostess. “He looks like someone’s grandpa, but he kind of exudes something that makes you want to run away.”
“Anti-pheromones?” Darla suggested. “It wasn’t my *will* to be here in the first place,” she said coldly, aloud. “I never asked for this life.”
Holland gave her a smile that sent chills down Willow’s spine. “But no one ever does! God doesn’t give us a say in these matters.”
“Please,” Willow snorted. “The Goddess,” she said, interrupting what Darla was about to say, “Isn’t the one who brought her back!”
Holland raised an eyebrow at Willow’s usage of both ‘the Goddess’ and ‘her’, and then realized who was speaking. “Ms. Rosenberg. Good evening. And, true…”
“Move over,” Darla said to Willow, and then to Holland: “So. What do you want us to do *now*? Go back to him…? It won’t matter even if we did. None of us have… anything.”
“You misunderstand,” Holland said, almost gently. “We didn’t invite you here to discuss Angel.”
“This is about *you*,” Lindsey said. Darla gave him a sharp look, but his dark features were unreadable.
“You’re not our prisoner, Darla, Willow,” Holland continued, with a glare for his employee. “You are, however, our moral responsibility.” He leaned forward to hand Darla the folder he’d been fidgeting with earlier.
“Morals?” Willow repeated dubiously. “They haven’t got any morals.”
“Willow, shh,” Darla said. She took the folder and flicked the catch open with a fingernail, then tilted it slightly so the files inside would slide into her hand.
“No doubt,” said Holland, “You have little memory of your first weeks with us. No one ever really recalls their first days of life… But that’s when these were initiated.”
Willow’s eyes darted quickly over the printouts her hostess held, her own mind rapidly processing what she read. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “Oh… Darla, do you know what these *mean*?”
“Why don’t you *tell* me instead of stuttering like a fool?” Darla demanded, and then outwardly blanched as Willow whispered their fate into her mind. “Oh, no…”
“… are prepared to deal with this situation any way you see fit,” Holland was saying. “It’s up to you… we just thought you should know.”
“This can’t be real,” Darla muttered hoarsely. “Explain these at once!” Even as a victim, her voice was commanding.
“Your soul… wasn’t attached to your body, ever, after you were turned,” Lindsey said quietly. “There’s a sort of recycling system, as far as we can tell, for souls. When vampires are made, their souls get shelved somewhere, but the older they get, the more irretrievable the souls become. By the time you were staked, I guess the PTBs figured there was no way you would ever recover your soul, so it had been sent out to be used again… by Willow.
“Once you were staked, the soul became a permanent fixture to Willow—you could say it was super-glued in, guaranteed. But when you were brought back… there’s only one soul allotted to each person, *ever*. Darla came back around May, Willow. Have you been feeling…”
“Stretched thin?” Willow supplied timidly. “Kind of… I thought I was just tired.”
“The restoration you just attempted only sped the process up, you understand,” Lindsey continued with a nod. “Sooner or later, your soul would have gotten too tired to be stretched between two places, and one of you would have snapped into the others’ body, just like you are now. It’s just—the anchoring of Angel’s soul puts your own soul in a very precarious position. I suppose it just got ‘loose’ enough to snap back to Darla’s end.”
“But…” Darla looked helplessly at the different diagnoses she held, scanning them over and over again one after the other. “We’re going to be skipping back and forth between each other’s bodies *forever*? I’m going to be stuck with this *infant* until I die?”
“Or until we both go insane,” Willow said softly. “Never thought I’d
go this way…”
Angel leaned against the threshold and sniffed slightly. “No… But she was. And not long ago; scent’s still fresh. A *lot* of fear…”
Gunn made a face as he glanced back at his employer. “I don’t envy that particular talent, not based on what I’m getting with just my standard issue human smeller…” He took another step into the room and grimaced at the dirty bedspread. “Man. Not *even* for free cable TV, you know what I’m saying?”
Angel nodded his understanding and entered the room, standing slightly hunched as a reaction to the low ceiling. “…She chose this neighborhood for a reason.” Off Gunn’s startled expression, he explained. “Motel’s a public accommodation; she doesn’t live here.”
“I wouldn’t call it living, neither,” Gunn muttered. Angel’s cell phone rang shrilly. The vampire cursed and started patting his pockets.
“Where *is* it? Ah… Gotcha.” He flipped the cover open and pressed ‘talk’. “Cordy?”
“Angel.” She sounded upset, even through the slight tinny tone the phone lent to her voice as well as the static.
“What’s wrong?”
“Buffy called. Willow *was* awake, but she collapsed, and now she’s out cold. She said Darla’s *in* *her* *head*, Angel, and before, when she was unconscious before, she was in *Darla’s* head here in LA. I don’t know how, or why…”
“I’ll take care of it,” Angel said stiffly. “Bye.”
Cordelia’s protests were quickly silenced by the pressing of the ‘off’ button; Angel shoved the phone back into a pocket and turned to Gunn. “I’ve got to go. Go back to the hotel, start researching body-switching, anything like that.”
“What’s going on?” Gunn wanted to know.
“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Angel muttered. “I’ll meet you at the hotel later.”
Then he was gone.
“How does he *do* that?” Gunn cursed. “Stupid vampiric vanishing acts…”
“Honey, I’ve seen *way* worse than this,” Darla retorted. She pushed open the cheap screen door. “Okay, maybe not *way* worse…”
The bar was dark, dingy and surprisingly reminiscent of their motel room. The cracked and clouded mirror at the back of the bar was clear enough to make it obvious that quite a few of the patrons were vampires; the rest were mostly unidentifiable.
“I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” Willow said tearfully. “If we were in my body, we could…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Darla said, almost comfortingly. “But… you don’t want to be a vampire; I do. And once we get sired, the soul won’t have a place *here* anymore; it’ll snap right back to you, and we’ll all be happy. Kind of. I suppose.”
“Let’s just do this before I loose my nerve,” Willow said, with more conviction than she felt.
“Yeah,” Darla said. “Let’s.” She moved forward into the bar, swinging her hips ever-so-slightly but managing to attract the attention of all of the male—and some of the female—patrons. “Show time,” she said, almost a prayer, before she sat gingerly on a dirty barstool and waited.
Their winner came right over. “Could he be *any* dorkier?” Willow murmured, amused. Darla gave her a mental flick but allowed herself a smile. “Hey there,” she said, trying to sound bored.
“Hey,” the vampire said, obviously thrilled that she’d made the first move. He sported the ugliest mullet that ever saw daylight—or moonlight, whatever—and a dark brown leather motorcycle jacket with some suspicious-looking stains on it. He bared yellowed teeth and grinned.
“Oh, that’s repulsive,” Darla told Willow, but said with a lump in her throat, “That’s great, really. *Very* threatening.”
The vampire preened. “Getting to you, isn’t it? It’s funny, when I was human I never really had much luck with women.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Willow said with a roll of her eyes. “Be *quiet!*” Darla told her, and forced a smile. “Hard to believe,” she said insincerely, and the vampire shrugged modestly.
“I had kind of a skin condition…”
“Mmm,” Darla said with a grimace.
“But now,” the vampire said, not to be stopped, “… Something about the teeth, I guess. Chicks go crazy for it.”
“What chicks are these?” Willow sighed. “Geez, they must be desperate.”
“Don’t,” Darla giggled. “I’m trying to warm up to him.” Straightening her face, Darla continued: “You’ve got girlfriends everywhere, I imagine.”
“Heh,” the vampire said unintelligently, batting his eyes. “Mostly, I just kill ‘em. Dump the bodies.”
“How romantic,” Darla snorted.
“You’re losing it,” Willow said. “He needs sympathy. I can do sympathy.”
“One try,” Darla cautioned. “Don’t lose this one. Remember our plan.”
“That must be very lonely for you,” Willow told the vamp, sticking out her lower lip the teeniest bit.
“Well,” the vampire said in his best long-suffering tone, “We’re a lonely sort, we creatures of the night. Doomed to walk the earth, that kind of deal.”
Willow raised her eyebrows, struggling not to burst out laughing. “How long have you…”
“…Been an eternal child of the darkness?” the vampire finished for her, warming up to the question. He paused for effect. “Since ’92.”
Darla gasped, dismayed. “*Nineteen* ninety-two?”
The vampire was obviously very proud of himself. He sighed reminiscently. “Hard to believe it’s already ‘last century’.” He punctuated the emphasized words with hand quotes, an aren’t-I-so-funny laugh, and a snort that would have put Steve Urkel to shame.
Willow had to extend all of her control to stop Darla from bolting. “And in all that… time,” she said through clenched teeth, “You’ve never considered making yourself a mate?”
“How do you mean?” the vamp asked, confused.
“Well,” Darla said, pushing past Willow to try once again, “Isn’t it true that some vampires choose a mortal, someone they can sire, someone who, too, will walk those lonely nights…”
Willow smiled at the wistfulness in Darla’s voice. Despite her reluctance to go back to him, Darla had truly loved Angel when he had been the great Angelus.
“…Hunting with them… Feeding with them…” Darla paused and licked her lips, giving the vamp her best sexually-loaded stare. “*Joining* with them…”
There was a pause in which the vamp considered and Willow applauded Darla’s handiwork.
Then: “Nah. That’d just be weird.”
Darla’s shocked reaction left her reeling, so Willow had to jump to her defense. “ ‘Weird’? It’s *mythic*!”
* * *
A whole lot of pouty smiles, sex appeal and I’m-so-much-stupider-than-I-look lines later, Darla and Willow finally managed to maneuver the eighties Joe Dirt wannabe into the back alley.
The vampire, obviously nervous, tried to dissuade them once again. “How do you know I won’t just kill you here—drain you and leave your body?”
Inside their mind, Willow and Darla exchanged nervous glances. Darla just shrugged and sighed resignedly. She took a deep breath, ran her tongue across her teeth, grabbed the vamp’s shoulders and kissed him soundly.
“Ew!” Willow moaned.
“You’re telling *me*?” Darla gagged. “I don’t think he’s brushed his teeth since he was turned!”
“I think you’re being optimistic,” Willow said, rolling her eyes. “Wait, *what* did he just say?”
“… Probably mention that I’m not real clear on how this works…” the vamp coughed discreetly.
“What.” The flat word was *not* a question.
“Well…” The vampire squirmed a little. “I never actually *did* this before. And, I was kinda out when it happened to me…”
“Weakling,” Willow scoffed.
“Child,” Darla said with a sneer. “I feel like such a grandmother—‘in my day, people stayed awake during their sirings, and their sires *taught* them things…’”
“Are you sure you want to do this? We could find a proper BDSM vampire club and get turned by someone who’s a good century or three old…” Willow offered.
“Nah,” Darla said. “I want to get this over with.” She took another deep breath and told the vampire impatiently, “I’ll walk you through it; drink. When you feel my heart start to slow, stop.” She gently pulled down her collar and bent her head back to bare her neck.
“Oh, Goddess, Darla, *please* change your mind…” Willow whimpered. “Don’t let this idiot sire you…”
“There’s nothing else we can do,” Darla hissed. “We have to get this done!”
“Darla, he doesn’t know what he’s doing—he’ll make you a *minion*, for God’s sake, he’ll invoke Right of Sire and make you screw him for hours—he’s got a *mullet*, what are you doing with a guy who has a mullet—”
“Do you want to *live* or not?” Darla yelled, and pulled the vampire towards her.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Willow muttered. “Oh *no*…”
And then the vampire’s stupid face froze centimeters from Darla’s slender neck, shocked, and exploded into dust.
Willow breathed a deep sigh of relief along with her hostess before they realized who, precisely, was their savior.
Angel.
“What the *Hell* do you think you’re doing?” they screamed together, and Angel gave his best oh-no-what-did-I-do-wrong-now-but-please-don’t-kill-me look.
“Saving you…?”
“Oh, no, Darla,” Willow hissed. “Think of what you just said.”
“Oh—” Darla whispered as she realized her mistake. “*Oh*…”
“We?” Angel repeated slowly. “Willow’s in there?”
“Oh, shit,” Willow gasped. “Oh, shit, he knows.” She opened her tightly clenched eyes to find Angel holding Darla’s face in his big hands, peering cautiously into her eyes. “Willow?”
Willow winced. “Hey, Angel.”
Angel’s eyes widened, and a smile spread across his handsome features. “You’re really in there? You’re okay?”
Willow rolled her eyes. “Yes, Angel, I’m fine.”
“Then…” Angel straightened and looked around at the grungy alleyway. “What the *Hell* are the two of you doing out here?”
“We were doing what we had to do,” Willow said coldly.
“What is *that* supposed to mean? This isn’t what either of you want.”
Darla scowled. “Just because we had a *thing* for a hundred and fifty years, don’t presume you know me.”
Angel blinked. “I’m assuming that’s Darla.”
“Darla, honey, could you have said anything sillier?” Willow asked. “That sounded unbelievably petulant.”
“I don’t know!” Darla yelled. “All I wanted to do was *die* and he ruined it! He always ruins it!”
“Darla, I don’t know what you’re doing, trying to get some guy with a… did he really have a mullet?” Angel asked. “He had a mullet. I don’t know what you’re doing, trying to get some loser with a mullet who couldn’t possibly be more than, what, ten? to turn you? You really want to be made by some creep in a filthy alley? That’ll never happen.”
“*You* were made in an alley, if I recall,” Darla muttered, shrugging out from under Angel’s hands.
“That’s not the point,” Angel said. He sounded as if he were pouting.
“What *is* the point, Angelus?” Darla demanded. “What is his problem?” she demanded of Willow.
“I haven’t the slightest,” Willow replied. “I mean, he’s really pissed. He must really love you, you know.”
“Or *you*,” Darla said slyly.
Willow didn’t even bother laughing derisively at the idea. “Please. He doesn’t care that much if one of Buffy’s pets gets hurt.”
“He doesn’t love me anymore,” Darla said, absolutely certain. “He respects me, and he doesn’t want me to die, and he has memories of me as his sire, but he doesn’t love me and he doesn’t want to. I can read my boy like a book,” she said wistfully.
“The point is,” Angel was saying, “Willow’s human, and she wants to live. What right do you have to try and kill yourself while she’s in your body? Who knows what the consequences could be?” He sounded extremely distraught.
“Look how worried he is!” Darla exclaimed. “Why, it’s almost… cute.”
“Angel’s always cute!” Willow said. “And don’t poke fun at me. It’s not my fault I lo—like the guy.”
“What was that you almost said?” Darla asked interestedly.
“Please, please, please leave this alone,” Willow muttered.
“Are you guys okay?” Angel asked. He had abandoned his pacing to bend slightly and look nervously into Darla’s eyes.
“Might as well tell him,” Darla said quietly, her mood changing suddenly. “He did ask.”
“We’re dying,” Willow burst out before she could change her mind.
Angel straightened abruptly. “*What*?”
“Yes,” Darla hissed. “And… not some time. Not ‘later’. Now.”
“*Right* now,” Willow added.
“They showed us the soothsayer’s files.” Darla’s voice had dropped dangerously. “All the spells and tests and what-have-yous said the same thing.”
“We’ve got about two months left,” Willow said solemnly. “Three at the most—so, excuse us. We’re kind of in a hurry.”
“What—”
“Gee,” Darla says. “He sounds just like *we* did, except he’s not the one who’s going to slowly go insane from someone sharing his head!”
“Slowly go…” Angel’s voice trailed off. “Explain this. Carefully. I want to know *exactly* what Wolfram & Hart told you.”
“Darla’s soul got pawned,” Willow said.
“But when I came back, I pulled the soul tight,” Darla said.
“Her soul *was* mine…” Willow continued.
“…But it’s stretched between us,” Darla interrupted.
“It finally snapped, and now we merrily ricochet back and forth between each other’s bodies,” Willow said, as if bored. “And we never know when it’s gonna happen. We leave a body behind, defenseless. It happened again while we were going to a club. We just collapsed, in an alley! We were lucky nothing happened.”
“And eventually this body-sharing is going to stop becoming a fun little slumber party and we’ll go nuts,” Darla finished. “It’s not that hard to understand.”
“So, again,” Willow said, “We’re kind of in a hurry.”
All three emerged from the office, looking worried. “Oh, no,” Cordelia moaned. “What’s she doing here? Is she planning on sleeping over?”
“She’s dying,” Angel said. “And Willow with her.”
“Oh,” Cordelia said, and started biting her fingernails. “Oh. Is Willow in there with her, like Buffy said?”
“No,” Angel said shortly.
“Ah,” Cordy said.
“Right now, they’re both in Willow’s body, in Sunnydale.” Angel moved into the office to gently lay Darla’s body on the couch.
When he came back out, all three of his employees were staring, shocked, at him. “They’re in Willow’s body right now?”
“Wesley, I need you to look up body-switching and cross-reference it with souls,” Angel said.
“ ‘Souls’ is a pretty big category, Angel,” Wesley said tentatively. “Perhaps if you tell us *exactly* what’s going on, we can be of more assistance.”
“I’m not sure,” Angel said. “… Exactly. I hope it’s just Wolfram & Hart playing mind games, but we can’t be sure…”
“We should stay in touch with the Sunnydale Gang, that’s for sure; If Willow and Darla are there now, perhaps they’ll be able to explain more.” Wesley sighed and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Perhaps Mr. Giles will have some further insights…” He reached for the phone.
“Wait, Wes.” Angel put out a hand to stop him. “It’s late. They’ll be wanting to get sleep—Willow and Darla need it especially. Swapping bodies and sharing mindspace must be exhausting.”
Wesley nodded reluctantly in acquiescence. “I just hate to be doing nothing.”
“You’ll be helping us more by letting everyone else—and yourself—get some sleep,” Angel said. “There’re a couple of rooms that have been cleaned up on the second floor. Go ahead.”
“Uh-huh,” Gunn said sourly, Cordelia looking righteous beside him. “So we go and get some shut-eye and you… what? Go beat up Wolfram & Hart single-handedly?”
“Something like that,” Angel said. “Not the *whole* of Wolfram &
Hart, but…”
“I may not be able to come in, Lindsey,” he said coldly, shoving as much drama as he could into his threatening statement. “But sooner or later you’ll have to come out. And when you do—”
Lindsey snickered, but didn’t turn in his armchair to face him. “Wipe your feet.”
For what seemed like the millionth time that evening, Angel was bewildered. “What?”
Lindsey stood but kept his back to the door, a gesture of contempt. “You can come in, but wipe your feet.”
Angel stood just outside the door, not fully capable of forming words in his surprise.
“Geez! I invite you in already.” Lindsey poured more of his drink into the small glass he held, and Angel stepped over the threshold with relish and took Lindsey’s throat in one hand.
Unfortunately, one of Angel’s fondest daydreams was not to be, because the rolling of Lindsey’s eyes was almost tangible. “Does it really look like you need to throttle me for information?”
Stupid mortal. “*Need* to?” Angel sighed and, after a moment of relishing Lindsey’s life beneath his hands, let him go.
Lindsey turned to his desk. “Yes, they’re dying. Yes, the records they saw are real. Want a second opinion? Okay…” He threw a file at Angel, and then another, and another. “How about a third? Or a tenth? I went through every connection Wolfram & Hart has. Oh, and this one’s from my own witch doctor, a friend. They all say the same thing: not enough soul for the both of them. Death by insanity.”
Angel swallowed, dry-throated, as he shuffled through the files.
“Yeah,” Lindsey continued. “Looks like Willow inherited Darla’s soul when she was born—Darla’d crossed the invisible line of ‘never gonna go back’, so the soul was up for auction. But now that she’s human again… she’s taken back the soul and it’s stretched between them.”
Angel swallowed again and almost choked. Darla… had died already; she was obviously willing to do it again. His beautiful sire… But Willow, too? She’d done nothing to deserve this; and according to Buffy, she’d just anchored his soul.
“You didn’t believe them, either,” he said evenly. “So… it’s true.”
“I had to be sure,” Lindsey said earnestly.
“Why?” Angel asked.
Lindsey sounded incredulous at the question. “*Why*? I don’t want Darla to die any more than you want Willow to.”
Angel gave him a disgusted look. “Do you *love* her, Lindsey? Is *that* what this is?”
Lindsey’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t answer. Angel snorted. “I wasn’t capable of it. And neither… are… you.”
Lindsey’s eyes were full of pain that Angel found very easy to ignore. “Maybe not,” the other man said icily, “But I’d save Darla if I could. You *can* save them… but I bet you won’t.”
Angel stared at him silently, shocked at the very idea.
“You’ve got a choice, pal,” Lindsey said, warming up to his subject matter. “Waste the last two months of their lives searching for a cure that doesn’t exist and watch them go nuts and die… or, use the only real power you’ve got. You can make that pesky soul problem go away if you really wanted to.”
Angel scoffed. “By killing her?” It wasn’t clear which ‘her’ he meant.
“By giving her life! Eternal life!” Lindsey’s mind could only wrap itself around Darla.
“And then what, Lindsey?” Angel demanded. “You and her could be together?” His own bitterness shone through his harsh words. “If I were to do it—if I turned Darla—how long do you think it would be before what used to be her hunted you down and had you for breakfast? Gotta say, that thought alone almost makes it worth it…”
Angel quickly caught himself and tossed the useless files on the slow
breakdown in Darla’s and Willow’s future to the ground. Resisting the urge
to stomp on them, he hissed, “But… there’s another way, and I’ll find it.”
“I can’t believe that when she wakes up, Willow’s gonna be in there,” she said softly.
Wesley rubbed his eyes groggily. “Cordelia, go to *bed*,” he said.
She shook her head. “Nah. You go. We need someone to keep an eye out, and I’m certainly not leaving… *her* down here alone. I’m worried, Wes,” she said. “I mean, Willow and I were never good friends—parted on pretty nasty terms, actually—but I don’t want her to die! Or go insane, or whichever comes first, and not even be in her own body!”
“Cordelia, I know,” Wesley sympathized. “I quite like Willow—she’s a remarkable young woman—but Angel pointed out quite reasonably that we won’t be able to help by not getting any sleep. Why don’t you nip up to bed?”
Cordelia stared stonily up at him.
Wesley sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get you a blanket, then,” he said.
Cordelia smiled fondly after him as he climbed the stairs, then gasped as a shadow obscured her vision. “Oh. My. God. Angel, must you do that?”
He looked hurt. “Do what?”
“That *thing* where you just appear!”
He rolled his eyes and knelt beside the couch, his brow furrowing as he brushed a wisp of blonde hair away from Darla’s eyes. But while he did that, his mind was far away; he didn’t see pale smooth cheeks but tanned freckled ones, and to him the hair beneath his fingers was a soft brown-red instead of his sire’s stiff blonde.
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you,” Cordelia said gently.
His glance darted nervously from his Seer to the door as if judging how far away his means of escape was. “What? No.”
“With Willow,” Cordelia continued. “You are. That’s…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked thoughtful for a moment. “Kind of sweet, actually.” A distant smile settled it over her features. “You know, the spell probably worked. Your soul’s permanent, Angel,” she said.
He looked surprised for a second, and then said, “Yeah. It is.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I always figured it would be under happier circumstances than these, though.”
“Oh, Angel…”
“We’ll figure something out,” he said. “We have to.”
Darla’s body stirred, and Cordelia jumped.
Angel’s brow creased. “Could… could I have a minute?” he asked. She nodded, and went out to the lobby proper to sit by the front doors.
Darla’s baby blues flickered open and landed on Angel’s. “It’s been a long time since I saw you when I woke up,” she said, and a hand went to her forehead. “My head hurts,” she whimpered in Willow’s voice.
“Oh, Willow,” he said, and moved over so that he hovered over Darla’s body, not allowing the woman to get up. “I’m gonna find a cure. I swear.”
She gave a trembling smile. “Darla says she didn’t know you cared that much.”
“I care,” he said fervently. “I care.” He took her smaller hand between his two big ones. “It’s so weird talking to you in Darla’s body.”
“Sorry about the circumstances,” Willow said wryly.
“I can tell when it’s you and when it’s her,” he told her. “Why did you anchor my soul?”
Willow blinked. “That was a non sequitur,” she muttered.
“Well?”
Willow looked hurt that he could even ask. “Because I care about you, Angel,” she said. “And because I think everybody, no matter what they’ve done, deserves a little happiness.”
“What about you, Willow?” Angel asked. “Do you deserve happiness?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she replied nervously.
Angel leaned forward very, very slowly and brushed a kiss across Darla’s lips.
When he pulled away, his sire’s eyes opened and it was Darla behind them again, not Willow.
“That hurt… more than I thought it would,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Angel said. “Not for loving her,” he amended, “But for hurting you. I’ve done a lot of that, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” Darla replied, but not angrily. “You really have, Angelus.” He didn’t flinch when she called him by his demon’s name. “How are you going to save her?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not going to save *her*. I’m going to save both of you, whether you like it or not.”
“Really,” Darla said, interested. “You’re quite the brave little soldier, aren’t you?”
“You know I am,” he said with a smile. “Can—can I have Willow back for a second?”
Darla blinked, and when her eyes opened Willow was there. “Hey again.”
“Hey again,” Angel said. “Are you—are the two of you very tired?”
“We’re afraid to close our eyes because we don’t know where we’ll wake up,” she said.
Wesley knocked hesitantly on the office door before entering. “Angel? I think we all need to get some sleep?”
Angel rose gracefully on steady feet to stand before the couch. “That’s what we were just taking about.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Would it be possible for Darla and Willow to… snap back and forth… while they were asleep?”
Wesley looked thoughtful. “Possible, but highly unlikely. Since both of them, assumedly, would be dormant, and the soul is known to wander during sleep, they would not be ‘anchored’ anywhere. Under normal circumstances, I believe it could be expected they might ‘snap’, but since their snapping occurs because one is trying to get to Willow’s body while one is trying to get to Darla’s, they shouldn’t switch locations during dormancy.”
Darla/Willow and Angel both looked blank. “Is that a yes or a no, Wes?” Angel asked tensely.
“What? Oh, no, they won’t snap,” Wesley said, coming out of his brown study. “You know, if not for the dire circumstances, this situation would be *most* fascinating…”
“C’mon,” Angel said, reaching down to take Darla’s hand. “I’ve got a bed upstairs.”
“Angel, you naughty boy,” Willow exclaimed delightedly. “Sleeping with me on the first date?”
His grin made her catch her breath, and Darla’s knowing laughter in her head made her blush. “Upstairs,” he ordered gently, and Willow and Darla rose on their unsteady feet, using Angel as an impromptu crutch.
“Sorry about the leaning,” Willow said hesitantly as they made their way up the Hyperion’s grand front staircase. “It’s just, sharing a body makes one unusually tired.”
“I would imagine so,” Angel said. “Why expend unnecessary energy?” In a single smooth move he cradled Darla’s petite body in his arms.
“Oof,” Willow said to dispel the awkward silence that descended once she was being snugly carried up the stairs. Angel chuckled darkly and strode down the hallway to his suite.
“Here we go,” he announced, depositing his sire’s body on his bed. “I’ll be right back.”
Darla and Willow looked around, curious to see how their man decorated his living-space, but quickly grew too tired to care. They unbuckled Darla’s shoes while yawning widely, and crawled under the covers on one side of the bed, making sure to leave enough room for Angel.
In two minutes, even their fears of waking up somewhere else couldn’t keep them awake any longer, and Willow and Darla fell soundly asleep, clutching a pillow that smelled of Angel.
The vampire in question came back to his bedroom from having washed his face and brushed his teeth as quickly as possible. He smiled tenderly at the sight of his sire asleep—something he’d never really appreciated during his Angelus days, and something he’d missed in his century of being souled. He wondered absently what Willow herself would look like asleep, and sketched her out in his mind—shoulder-length dark red hair spread over the pillow, long limbs askew, perhaps; her delicate features graced with a smile.
Angel slid the belt out from the loops of his pants but left them on, thinking of how embarrassed Willow would be at the thought of his sleeping nude. Then he pulled his long-sleeved shirt (black, of course) over his head and made his way across the room to the bed.
“Goodnight, Willow,” he murmured quietly, but couldn’t quite bring himself
to change the intimacy of the setting by acknowledging Darla as well. He
lifted the covers and slid in beside the sleeping woman and was soon asleep
as well, dreaming of red hair and a sweet smile.
“Blow, ill wind, blow away… Let me rest today… You’re blowing me no good… No good… No good…”
The applause was tremendous as Darla walked slowly off the stage, never taking her eyes from Angel.
Lorne, who sat next to him, put down his Sea Breeze and clapped for all he was worth. “Someone get my heart, that girl’s ripped it right out.”
“*Those* *girls*,” Angel reiterated.
Lorne rolled his eyes. “Look, we both know that your cute little redhead has got mundo stage fright. That was Darla singing, so my heart belongs to her.” His red eyes followed the small blonde as she stepped down from the stage and began making her way towards them. “Okay—and I know I’m probably going to regret this—in fact, being prescient, I’m actually sure of it, but there is one way… It’s a bit of a quest and it’ll probably kill you.”
“I’ll take it,” Angel said immediately.
“All right, big fella, you asked for it,” Lorne said in his best don’t-blame-me-for-the-consequences tone of voice. He pulled out a pad that was usually used by waiters to take people’s orders and wrote an address out carefully. “You’re about to face Hell and high water. Go to this address, out in back…”
“—What is it?” Angel interrupted.
“It’s where we find out if you’re really ready to take the plunge,” Lorne said with a slightly ironic grin. “Babycakes!” He grinned up at Darla’s body, which stood between the two of them. Willow peered out of Darla’s eyes, looking terrified.
“I just sang onstage,” she said.
“Darla just sang onstage,” Angel corrected her.
“*We* just sang onstage,” Willow retorted. “I was right up there, singing *with* *her*, and I would like some acknowledgment of my bravery, if you please. A purple heart should do nicely.”
Angel turned to Lorne. “You told me—!” Lorne just grinned at him.
“Go on, give the girl a reward and then get out of here. You’ve got work to do, if I recall.” With a wink that was more than a little lewd, Lorne pushed back his chair and went to talk a group of orange slimy things out of singing “My Heart Will Go On.”
“Reward?” Willow said with a raised eyebrow. “And what work?” She glared suspiciously at the piece of paper Angel held.
“As a reward, you get this,” Angel said, kissing her firmly on the lips. Willow sighed against his mouth and opened her own to let Angel’s tongue sweep inside, but there was a very rude “Ahem!” from Lorne, who was suddenly right next to them again.
“Enough tonsil hockey, children,” he said sternly. “Angel…” He patted
the vampire tentatively on the shoulder. “…Good luck. You’re going to need
it.”
“He said I had to take the plunge,” Angel pointed out, though he didn’t sound particularly enlightened either.
The three of them looked doubtfully into the deep, decidedly empty swimming pool in front of them.
“Into an *empty* *pool*?” Willow shrieked.
“Sure,” Angel said casually, “’Cause if you had water in there you’d get all wet and miss out on the skull crushing.”
Both Darla and Willow winced. “Maybe he meant another pool?” they said hopefully.
“He’s testing me,” Angel explained, though he sounded quite unsure. “It’s that whole leap-of-faith thing.” He paused, and headed for the diving board.
“ ‘Leap of Faith’?” Willow asked Darla. “The Leap of Faith is something you do at summer camp in a *harness*!”
“Don’t do it!” Darla yelled at Angel. “Angel… Some green-faced horned lounge singer tells you to do something like this and you just *do* it?”
“Yes,” Angel said seriously.
“*Why*?” Willow asked.
Angel turned to meet her eyes but didn’t say a word.
Willow took a deep breath. “Ohmigod. *I’m* ‘the why’?”
“Yes,” Darla said. “He’s not doing this for me at all.”
“Darla!” Willow sounded hurt. “I didn’t mean it like that and of *course* he is!”
“I’m either coming back with a cure,” Angel said, “Or you’re about to see something kinda funny…”
“It won’t be funny,” Willow said, biting her lip, but she only said it to Darla, and Angel couldn’t hear.
He hopped up onto the diving board and took a deep breath. Then he started to run.
Willow and Darla clutched each other tightly in their minds, but forced themselves to watch as Angel dove off the diving board, fell into the air, and just before he hit the concrete bottom of the pool, slid through it.
“Ohmigod,” Willow gasped. “Ohmigod, I thought he was going to die…”
Darla just concentrated on breathing.
Suddenly, Willow whimpered. “Darla, do you feel that?” It was a sort of tugging on her. “Are we about to snap back to Sunnydale? Please, not now…”
“I don’t like this at *all*,” Darla said. She grimaced and tightened her hold on her roommate. “At *all*.”
And then everything went black.
* * *
They arrived with a jolt and a bit of pain in a dark hallway. Angel stood in front of them, glaring at a valet who looked pretty much as though he couldn’t care less.
“Why are they here?” Angel was demanding.
Willow shifted awkwardly and reached out for Darla, but she wasn’t there. “Dar—”
She was in her own body, alone, and Darla stood next to her. “What are you doing in there?” Darla hissed indignantly.
“What are *you* doing in *there*?” Willow demanded.
“… wish to save their lives?” the valet was asking Angel.
The vampire clenched his fingers and said, “Yes.”
“They are your collateral then. Should you complete all three trials, they will be made whole.”
“What happens if I don’t complete the trials?” Angel asked dangerously.
“They die instantly,” the valet said. He turned to Darla and Willow who stood shocked. “In the meantime, ladies, you can relax with an iced beverage in our antechamber.”
“He’s nuts,” Willow whispered.
“Completely batty,” Darla replied.
“No—” Angel began in protest, but the uncomfortable tugging happened
again, and Darla and Willow appeared soundlessly in what they could only
assume was the antechamber.
“I can’t breathe,” Willow whispered.
“Join the club,” Darla replied quietly. “I wish I knew what was going on…”
The valet appeared pompously beside them and pulled out a pocketwatch. “Seventeen seconds,” he commented cheerfully. “Already twice the time most others have lasted!”
“Call this off,” Willow said stonily. Her fingers flexed in Darla’s grip.
“Impossible,” the valet said. “Once the tests have started, they cannot be stopped.”
Darla and Willow turned to glare at him. “We need to see what’s happening,” they said together. He looked doubtful, so Darla gave him her best you-*really*-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me smile. “*Now.*”
The valet gulped and then shrugged and held his hand up. The two young women took a step back.
“If you insist,” the valet told them, and held up his other hand. One hand rested just before Willow’s forehead, the other before Darla’s. “But remember: you did ask.”
The his hands moved forward, and Darla and Willow could see.
“Oh no,” Darla said, and Willow’s hand tightened in hers. “Oh no.”
Willow’s head snapped to the side as Angel’s did when he was punched. “Angel!”
Both girls fell, their hands still clasped, as Angel’s opponent stabbed the dark vampire in the leg with a hook. Willow and Darla stayed down, rather than try to stand again and fall.
The valet watched almost sympathetically as they wound their arms around each other in a sad heap on the floor.
Finally, when all they could say was “Angel!” and all they could see was his bruised features and all they could feel was his pain, it stopped.
“Is it over?” Darla whispered. She had Willow clutched so closely she could feel the other woman’s heart beating against hers.
“No,” Willow replied hoarsely. She cleared her throat and closed her eyes again, but she couldn’t stop seeing. “The demon’s not dead.”
Darla growled low in her throat. “My boy will find a way out of it. *Kill* it, Angel!”
And as if he heard her, he did.
The valet chuckled as he considered his pocketwatch again. Willow scowled at him. “This how a little guy like you gets his rocks off?”
“I have no feelings about this contest one way or another, Miss.” His even gazed darted back and forth between the two of them. “Do you?”
Angel walked through the gate and stood in the hallway beyond it. Darla hissed and her features twisted as if she was trying to put on her own game face, for the corridor was covered in crosses.
The floor, the ceiling, and the walls were all laden with crosses: wooden ones, metal ones, ones that were laid flat, ones that stuck out. Angel winced and squinted his eyes, trying to see past the blinding crucifixes to the end of the corridor.
“Why not just *kill* *him* if you want him dead?” Darla moaned.
The valet took a contemplative bite of a cookie. He chewed and swallowed, and frowned lightly at the two girls who were standing again, leaning on each other for support. “We don’t ‘want’ anything, Miss. In this place, the journey is all; where it may lead is not our concern.”
Angel took a deep breath and ran.
Darla steeled herself for the pain; she knew what crosses felt like. Too late, she remembered that Willow did not, and she dug her fingernails into the other woman’s arm. “Willow—!”
Willow screamed.
As if he could hear her, Angel paused, tripped and fell.
“No!” Willow hissed. “Angel, get up, get up *please*…”
He pushed his hands beneath him, gritting his teeth as they started to smoke, and shoved himself to his feet. Then he began to run again.
“Oh, no,” Willow said. “This is like Alice In Wonderland—the door, it’ll be locked, the key, he left the key, it’s in the little receptacle, he’ll have to go back—”
The valet looked pleased. “Most observant!”
And she was right. Angel reached the door and fell against its blessedly cool surface but could not open it.
“The receptacle, Angel, the receptacle,” Willow murmured.
Angel stood and looked back down the hall, and as realization dawned, his features grew haggard and resigned. “Oh, Angel, I’m so sorry,” Willow whispered.
Angel took a deep breath and ran.
The receptacle was thankfully only half the first distance again, and Willow bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. Angel paused when he stared down into the water in the small basin, and Darla’s eyes widened. “*Holy* *water*,” she gasped, and Angel shoved his hand in to grab the key at the bottom.
Neither Willow nor Darla could say anything as Angel grabbed again and again at the slippery key. “He’s *quite* remarkable,” the valet said, sounding surprised.
“Yes,” Darla said quietly.
“He is,” Willow agreed.
Angel finally had the key. His arm was a violent red and it was smoking from the burns of the holy water. Grimacing, he ran back across the crucifixes in the floor, collapsed against the door and shoved the key into the lock, falling into the next room when the catch clicked open.
“Sorry, must go,” the valet said, not sounding sorry at all, and he winked out of Darla’s and Willow’s presence, but didn’t leave their sight.
As chains bound Angel’s arms and stretched him completely defenseless, the valet strolled out of the darkness of the last chamber, giving his approval of Angel’s trials with fond applause. “You’ve fielded our strokes from end to end! My hat’s off to you, sir. Of course, there is the one final challenge…”
Darla’s and Willow’s eyes snapped open as stakes popped to the ready from the holes in the walls opposite Angel.
“What is this?” Angel demanded, his eyes feral.
The valet looked bemused at the question. “I think you know, sir,” he replied.
Angel’s gaze moved evenly from the valet to the deadly wall facing him. “Stakes,” he stated.
The valet nodded. “And many of them,” he embellished.
“You call *this* a test?” Angel growled, pausing halfway through the sentence to spit a gob of blood to the side. Willow winced. “The only way it could work is, you kill me.”
“Exactly,” the valet said. “You do understand? This third test has no… ‘catch’, as you put it. Death is the final challenge. We can’t restore one life without taking another… you see?”
“Oh, no,” Willow whimpered. “*Angel*—”
“In order for Willow to live, you must die,” the valet explained matter-of-factly.
Darla grimaced at the slight, but adjusted her grip on Willow’s arm. They listened tensely as the valet indulged Angel in some final banter. “Don’t do this,” she murmured. “Angel…”
“He’s *asking* his *permission?” Willow hissed, incredulous.
“Say *no*, Angel,” Darla moaned. “Please, please say no…”
“Do it,” Angel said, and the stakes flew.
The valet stood with a hand on the forehead of each of the women, his face twisted with surprise. “I can’t help you,” he said. He actually sounded a little apologetic.
“We had a bargain,” Angel said, struggling to keep his voice even. “They need a second soul.”
“I’m afraid it’s this one’s fault,” the valet said, indicating Willow.
“*Me*?” she squeaked.
“She hasn’t done anything wrong,” Darla growled, stepping in front of the taller woman to defend her.
“You’ve restored a soul before, have you not?” the valet asked Willow.
“Y-yes,” she said hesitantly. “But—but it was his already! I was just giving it back, not inventing a whole new one!”
“I say, the Powers That Be don’t like you much,” the valet said, “With all your mucking about with souls. They’re most determined not to let that happen again.” He turned to Angel. “But you played the game magnificently.”
* * *
“I don’t know what to do,” Angel confessed.
Willow’s body had been sent back by the valet to wherever in Sunnydale it had been being kept; Willow and Darla fit back into Darla’s body without much fuss. “You could turn me,” Darla pointed out.
“You wouldn’t have a soul,” he said.
“That’s the point,” she countered. There was a long pause as she shifted on the lumpy bed in her motel room, and then Darla said, “Angel, I see it now. Everything you’re going through, every thing you’ve gone through, I’ve *felt* it. I’ve felt how you care about her, in a way no one’s ever cared before. Not for either of us. That’s all we need from you.”
Angel sighed. “It’s not enough…”
“It is,” Willow sighed.
“How could the Powers That Be allow you to be bright back—dangle a second chance—and hurt you and Darla like this?”
“Maybe this *is* Darla’s second chance,” Willow mused. She put Darla’s small hand on top of Angel’s where it rested on the bedspread.
“To *die*?” Angel demanded. “And what about you?”
“Yes, to die,” Willow said. “The way she was supposed to die in the first place.” She didn’t answer his second question.
Angel looked up from where he’d been staring at their now-entwined hands and met her eyes. “I’m not going to leave you,” he told Willow. “Every moment you have left, I’ll be by your side.”
A tear slid down her cheek and Angel held out his arms. Darla and Willow leaned against his chest and let him stroke Darla’s back. “Sorry I’m making your shirt all teary,” Willow said softly.
Angel smiled slightly and ran his fingers through Darla’s hair, letting himself pretend it was red instead of blonde.
The silence was shattered by the door being kicked in. In no time at all, two huge body guards knocked the still-weak Angel to his knees and pulled Darla’s struggling body away. “Willow!”
Lindsey slowly entered the room and crouched before Angel, pulling him up by his hair to make his nemesis meet his eyes. “How did you think this would end?” he demanded, and gestured behind him.
Drusilla floated in, her eyes fixed on Darla’s. Darla and Willow together forced all of their hate into the one stare, but then Darla whispered, “Willow, this is what we’ve been waiting for.”
“*Drusilla*?” Willow said, shocked. “Oh, Darla…”
“She’s over one hundred years old,” Darla said. “She’s brilliant, even if she is insane, and she’s batty enough that she’ll be a useful sire but not tie me down. *Please*, Willow. Don’t fight it. And when I die, run home.”
“Darla,” Willow said quietly. “I wouldn’t have minded going insane. Much. Because it was you.”
“Shut up, you silly youngling,” Darla retorted. “You would so. But the sentiment is nice,” she added.
Drusilla bent and stroked Darla’s hair away from her neck.
“It was nice knowing you, Darla,” Willow said softly.
“When I die,” Darla repeated, “*Run*.”
And then Drusilla bit.
“Willow!” Cordelia exclaimed, sitting up behind the reception desk. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
“Been better,” Willow remarked, “But feeling uncrowded in my noggin.” She tapped her head. “Is Angel here?”
Cordelia grinned. “You bet he is. He’s been moping since yesterday. It’s tiresome already. See if you can’t cheer him up?” She winked, and Willow blushed slightly.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Willow said, and ascended the Hyperion’s grand staircase.
The hall to Angel’s suite seemed suspiciously longer than it had two days ago, but Willow suspected that that was just nerves. She pushed the door open without knocking and called his name as she entered. “Angel?”
He poked his head out of his bedroom. “Willow!” He rushed over to her, checking her up and down for any bruises or scrapes. “Are you okay?”
“Everybody’s been asking me that,” she said. “It was really hard to convince them to let me leave Sunnydale. I think it took longer to beg Buffy to let me tell her everything *later* than it did to drive here.”
Angel chuckled. “How are you holding up, though? Honestly.”
“I missed you,” she said. “Even though it was only a day. And I miss *her*,” Willow added with a slight frown. “Even though she took up too much space in my head.”
Angel drew her into a hug and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I missed you too. And I miss her.”
“So, how do lonely people typically try *not* to be lonely?” Willow asked suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows.
Angel smiled. “Wanna show me?”
Willow kissed him gingerly on the lips, and he hugged her tighter and deepened the kiss.
Indulging in what Lorne had so rudely interrupted the day before, Angel swept his tongue into Willow’s mouth and pulled her into the bedroom. She tugged gently on his arms, and he swept her off her feet and dumped her into bed. “You’re so romantic,” she observed wryly. “C’mere.”
Angel toed off his shoes as he leaned forward again to kiss her. Willow had been wearing slides that she’d slipped out of sometime before. “All healed?” she asked against his lips.
At his nod, she tugged on the hem of his shirt. He obligingly lifted his arms so she could pull the shirt over his head and throw it somewhere.
“Remember where that went,” Angel said. “I liked that shirt.”
Willow grinned. “Here, you can throw mine, if you want…”
He did.
Willow wriggled back and stretched her legs out so she could get rid of her pants. “Throw these, too,” she said.
Two pairs of pants landed somewhere else in the suite.
Angel climbed onto the mattress next to Willow and ran his hands through her hair like he’d been dreaming of doing. “I love your hair,” he commented.
“It’s not natural,” she said. “But thanks.”
Somewhere in the middle of the next kiss (which lasted for quite some time and only ended because Willow needed air) the participating parties’ underwear disappeared.
Willow entangled her fingers in Angel’s already messy hair and smiled. “Ready?” she asked.
“Ready,” he said, and gently slid into her.
The feeling of Angel’s big body in her and over her was something Willow had wanted for an incredibly long time. She groaned as he moved within her and wrapped her legs around his hips.
Angel ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her again—on her mouth, on her nose, on her eyelids, anywhere he could reach. She forced his mouth back to hers, and finally, sweetly, they came together, breathing hard.
“Love you,” Willow said hesitantly.
“Love you too,” Angel said breathlessly.
They kissed again.
Somewhere in the depths of LA, Darla smiled.