main characters: Willow, Angel
disclaimer: I do not own them
distribution: if you have permission for the previous coffee's, yes. Otherwise ask.
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Willow sat on the Merry-Go-Round, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Practical parenting, he said. It will teach you responsibility and a degree of caution. Ha. They'd been given what Giles had identified as Bezoar eggs, hatching mind-controlling spawn that had taken over the students, trying to make them unbury Mama Bezoar.
She felt violated.
It wasn't something that she could talk to anyone about. Buffy and Xander hadn't been controlled, although she wasn't quite certain why they had both escaped when she'd fallen prey to the Bezoar-Baby's mind control. They hadn't gone through it, they wouldn't understand. And her parents... she could just imagine how that would go. 'Mom, I was controlled by this sort of parasitic baby demon that got sent home from Health class...' Right. Her dad would make vague noises to show that he was pretending to listen, possibly with a 'is that so?' thrown in. Her mother would make this clucking noise, before going on about teenagers trying just about anything to try to attract attention...
"It isn't exactly safe to be out here alone." Angel's voice held no accusation, just hints of worry. He sat down beside her, almost but not quite touching. "What's wrong? I know that you've been crying."
She looked at him, her eyes still scratchy from her tears of pain and confusion. "I couldn't go be sociable. Not after..."
"After the Bezoar?" He looked at her, his dark eyes full of sympathy.
"Yeah. It was horrible." She shifted slightly, leaning against Angel, wanting to feel safer, wanting to know that someone was there for her. "I still knew what was happening. I could see everything, knew what was going on, but I wasn't in control, my body was doing things and I couldn't make it stop. I attacked Xander! He's been my friend for most of my life, and I hit him with a shovel."
"It was the Bezoar, not you, Willow." His voice was soothing. "Although... hitting Xander is something that I can understand. As a little secret just between you and me, I've wanted to hit him on several occasions myself."
That actually got a small chuckle from her. "But... it was like it was me, only... not. I feel... sort of violated, you know? I hate it, and I can't talk to Buffy or Xander, they weren't... they didn't get... They wouldn't understand."
"I understand. Not just the feeling of something trying to pull your strings, but remembering yourself doing... things you wouldn't have done before. I can remember everything that Angelus did... but it wasn't... some of it wasn't things that I would have done. Especially not to my sisters... I killed them all." Angel sighed, clearly on the edge of brooding.
Willow looked at him, recognizing the brooding face. "Is there a handbook? For brooding? Because I sort of wouldn't mind trying it right now."
"Willow! You don't need... well, I can understand wanting to brood over that. But you can't spend the rest of your life miserable because you hit Xander with a shovel." He paused, looking as if he was thinking about what he'd just said. "Personally, I'd be smiling over that part, but... it's the loss of control that's got you."
"You and Xander have issues." She actually smiled, feeling a bit better. "Does it get any easier? Dealing with the knowledge that I just... that you just did something entirely ruthless and... not you?"
"It takes a while. You have to let the rawness of it fade a bit, wear down the ragged edges. That's the part that hurts. But eventually... it won't be as sharp." He sighed, momentarily squeezing her in a one armed hug.
Willow closed her eyes, trusting that Angel would keep her safe. "So, eventually it'll go from a gaping wound to a bruise? That's sort of good."
He chuckled, his hand absently playing with her hair, brushing the side of her neck. "You don't sound very happy right now. Shall we change the subject?"
"On the anything but that topic, how are things with you and Buffy?" Willow felt almost comfortable. Angel was solid and safe, and he smelled nice.
"You go right for the throat, don't you?" He chuckled, the sound flowing nicely in the night air. "We're... talking again. She was jealous of Drusilla, of my... of Angelus' past with her."
"Spike and Dru are both your... Angelus' Childer, right? How does that make you feel towards them? I mean, you're still... except not quite the same... umm..." She could feel herself blushing, but who else was there that he could compare his feelings for with and without the soul?
"You would make a splendid inquisitor, little red. You have a knack for picking the awkward subjects. They're... on the one hand, they're everything that I... that Angelus wanted them to become. But I can't... I don't have the same values as Angel that I had as Angelus. I don't want them to kill the Slayer, I don't want to watch the streets run red with blood as the air fills with screams. So, I sort of feel responsible, feel guilty for turning them into monsters. But... at the same time... you could almost say that I'm proud of them. For doing so well, for surviving, for... for being mine." His voice was soft, as if he was afraid someone would overhear him. "They're my children, Willow. Even if I don't agree with them, even if... even if I've changed in the past century... they are my blood."
"Maybe they've changed some from the pair of vampires that you remember? I mean, even if they aren't all brooding and save the earth, it's been what, eighty years? " Willow looked up at Angel, half wishing that he could have more people around that he could relate to.
His fingers brushed her hair from her eyes as she smiled at her. "Spike is the same vampire that master minded the attack on your Parent-Teacher conference. He's not trying to save the world... or at least, not everybody."
She found herself almost laughing. "Has he always been impatient?"
Angel laughed as well, an unexpectedly pleasant sound. "Always."
Somehow, Angel had managed to make everything a bit less dreadful. For that, Willow was grateful.