And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,
The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
And only tears can heal.
-- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

Willow walked through Sunnydale Mall, her arms laden with
bags and boxes of various sizes, as she searched for presents
for Giles, Xander, and Buffy. < They're still my friends, > she
stated to herself. < Even if they don’t want to talk to, or 
even look at, me. > She sighed heavily, lost in her thoughts,
and her shoulder impacted with the shoulder of a young man.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, looking up to meet the man's eyes.
He gave her a lopsided grin.

"My fault, lass," he smiled, picking up the one bag Willow had
dropped; he spoke with a faint Irish accent. He handed the bag
to her and brought his hand up to touch her lips. "Angelus is
very lucky." Willow jerked head out of his reach, and her eyes
widened as the man faded then disappeared completely. She glanced
around, searching the crowd for any sign of the man's curly head;
he was no where to be found.

"Weird," she shuddered, holding her packages to her chest and
hurrying out of the mall. She exited the mall and nearly ran into
Faith.

"Thought we were gonna have to launch a search party," the Slayer
grinned, taking some of the bags out of Willow's arms.

"You know how crowded the malls get this close to Christmas," the
redhead smiled, trying to put the disappearing man out of her
thoughts; she turned to gesture to the crowd. Her smile melted away
as she caught sight of the curly-headed man staring at her from the
doors to the mall.

"Red? What's wrong?" Faith asked, touching Willow's shoulder; the
redhead turned wide eyes to her.

"N-Nothing," she stuttered, turning back to the doors to find the
man once again disappeared. "Just thought I saw something."

"Ah," the Slayer nodded. "Anyway, let's kick and get these boxes
wrapped before Fang shows up looking for you." Faith glanced down
at the bags she was carrying. "Did you get everything you were
looking for?" Willow's eyes widened as she remembered the presents
for Giles, Buffy, and Xander.

"Guess I'll be coming back tomorrow," she shrugged, glancing over
her shoulder, terrified that the man was going to be following her.

"Someone else is going to have to play watch dog," Faith sighed.
"I've got to report to Giles tomorrow night for, and I quote,
'acute insubordination'." The Slayer rolled her eyes. "All because
I refuse to play B's little sister anymore."

"All because of me," Willow corrected.

"Hey," Faith stopped her and turned Willow to face her. "I always
knew it was going to come down to me against B; I just never thought
I'd be on the same side as B's best friend and her ex." The two of
them walked the rest of the way to the mansion in silence, and as
they reached the doors, Faith handed Willow the bags she'd been
holding.

"Thanks," Willow muttered; Faith nodded in acknowledgment.

"Later," the brunette called out as she walked down the stone
sidewalk. Willow set down her bags, pulled out her key, and unlocked
the front door; she pushed the door open with her knee, dragging
the bags and boxes in behind her. She dropped her keys onto the
table as she continued into the silent living room. She dropped the
packages and glanced around, looking for Angel.

"Angel?" she called out, suddenly feeling the emptiness of the house.

"He's not here," a familiar voice commented; Willow whirled around
to face the woman standing in the doorway leading to the patio.
Willow's mouth fell open as the woman stepped into the light.

"You're not here. You can't be," she whispered as Ms. Calendar
walked in a circle around Willow.

"But I am, Willow," the dead woman whispered, reaching out and
touching Willow's hair. "I'm worried about you. I'm worried about
what your doing with him."

"This isn't real," Willow denied, backing away from the woman.

"Willow, please, he's a killer," Ms. Calendar pleaded.

"The demon is, not him," she replied.

"He is the demon. He'll hurt you, and then he'll run back to
Buffy with his tail between his legs."

"No, he won't," Willow shook her head.

"Where do you think he is right now? He's with Buffy; don't you
see he's just using you?"

"NO!" she shouted turning away from the ghost and suddenly finding
herself in Angel's arms. He dropped the bag he was carrying and
held her close as she clutched at his shirt.

"Willow?" he asked, stroking her back as she sobbed.

"Can't you see her?" she whispered.

"Who?" Willow didn't answer, staring over her shoulder at the
serenely smiling form of Ms. Calendar. "Willow, who?" he asked.

"Ms. Calendar," she stated, looking up at him. "Can't you see her?"

"Willow, it can't be--" he began, pushing aside the pain that welled
up in his soul at the mention of that name.

"I know, it can't be her, but it is," Willow screamed, tears springing
to her eyes; her back was to the dead woman so she missed the smirk
that stained Ms. Calendar's lips.

"A ghost?" Angel questioned; Willow nodded, pressing herself tighter
against him.

"I hope," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. Angel's chin rested
on top of her head as she cried.

"I saw Buffy while I was out," he whispered; he narrowed his eyes as
Willow's body stiffened. "But I avoided her like the sun," he finished,
smiling down at her and kissing the tip of her nose.

"No, he didn't," Ms. Calendar replied. "I saw them, Willow; it was
just like old times."

"Angel?" Willow squeaked, screwing her eyes shut.

"Shh," he quieted, stroking her hair.

"I'm just worried about you," the ghost whispered, stroking Willow's
arm.

"She won't leave me alone," Willow cried.
 

And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,
The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
And only tears can heal.
-- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

"Just rest," Angel urged, one arm wrapped around Willow's waist
and the other pillowing her head as they lay in Angel's bed.

"And, what, will everything be better in the morning?" she
snapped, glaring up at him. Pain at her tone of voice flickered
in his eyes was quickly banished; however, Willow caught sight
of it. "I'm sorry. This is just...."

"Unexpected? Terrifying?" he whispered; she nodded. Angel's
arms tightened around her waist. "They should be haunting me,"
he whispered, kissing her neck lightly.

"But it's you I'm concerned about," Ms. Calendar commented,
sitting down on the bed next to Willow. Willow screwed her
eyes shut, willing the ghost away.

"Is she here?" Angel asked as Willow's body tensed in his
arms; she nodded, not opening her eyes.

"Look at me," the ghost demanded as the voice changed from
Ms. Calendar's to the boy at the mall. "I was going to be
married," the ghost staed, it's hand touching Willow's shoulder.
She jerked away and buried her face in Angel's chest. "He
killed my son," a softly accented female voice stated. Willow
forced her eyes open and stared at the young girl now sitting
on the bed. "He took great pleasure in it," the woman whispered.
"More than any animal."

"Go away," Willow hissed, and the woman laughed merrily before
she morphed into a older man dressed in a business suit.

"He arranged my sons like they were sleeping, and I didn't even
know they were dead until I kissed them goodnight," the man
commented.

"He couldn't have," Willow denied.

"Why would I lie about this?" he asked; Angel glanced from the
girl in his arms to the apparently empty air she was addressing.

"Angel got his soul a hundred years ago," she replied, gesturing
to the man's attire, "You died recently."

"Do you really think a soul would stop him from killing?" the man
asked, his features dissolving away to reveal Ms. Calendar's.

"Why are you doing this?" she sobbed.

"Because I care about you, and I don't want to see you hurt." Ms.
Calendar walked around the bed and touched Angel's shoulder
briefly. "He will kill you, Willow. He's planning it as we speak."
She suddenly disappeared only to reappear next to Willow. "Kill him
before he hurts you, and he does want to hurt you." Willow looked up
and met Angel's eyes; she saw nothing but concern and another emotion
she couldn't identify. She knew immediately what to do. "Kill him,
Willow. You have no other choice."

"Yes, I do," she whispered, jerking herself away from Angel, out of
the bed, and across the room. She turned to face the ghost. "There's
always another choice." Then she ran.

"Willow!" Angel shouted as he heard her footsteps thud across the
floor. He jumped out of the bed and tore across the room. Her jerked
the curtain open in time to see the door slam shut behind Willow.
Angel growled low in his throat and slowly turned to the empty room.
"If she gets hurt--" he broke off as Ms. Calendar materialized in the
middle of the room.

"You'll what?" she asked, chuckling. "Kill me? Been there, done that,
Angel." He growled at her before throwing the curtain open and storming
through the house. "She'll be dead by sunrise!" the ghost shouted with
glee as Angel exited the mansion. "Checkmate," the spirit whispered
as she glanced at the small alarm clock beside the bed.

Only fifteen minutes until dawn.
_______________________

"What are you going to do, Willow?" Angel asked, stepping up on the hill
behind the mansion.

"I was thinking of throwing myself down the hill, maybe get hit by a car
to make sure it ends," she smiled sadly, tears streaming down her face.
"What are you doing out here? Get inside; the sun's coming up," she
ordered.

"I know," he whispered, facing the east with his hands in his pockets.

"You'll die," she stated.

"That's the plan," he shrugged.

"Angel, no, get inside," she ordered, pointing to the mansion.

"Nope, not gonna happen," he whispered; he turned to stare at her,
"You die, I die with you."

"That's insane," she hissed, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

"And killing yourself isn't?" he growled. "I won't live without you,
Willow; just get used to that fact."

"You can't kill yourself," she explained. "There's too much you can do."

"And what you do is useless? Willow, no."

"They wanted me to kill you," she whispered suddenly. "They told me you
wanted to kill me, and that I had to kill you first. They want me to hate
you, but I can't."

"Willow--"

"Even after Ms. Calendar died, I couldn't hate you." She looked away
from him. "I tried to; after Buffy began to hate you, I still couldn't."
Willow walked over to him and took his hand. "I hated the demon for what
it did to us, to you; I still hate the demon."

"I am the demon, Willow," he whispered, pulling away from her touch.

"No, you're not," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist and
gently stroking his back. His arms remained at his side until she continued
speaking. "Maybe the ghosts or whatever that was don't realize it, but you're
not the demon." His arms gently embraced her, holding her tight against him.

"Are you still going to kill yourself?" he asked softly, then smiled as he
felt her shake her head.

"Don't think I ever intended to," she whispered, closing her eyes and
enjoying the feel of him near her. Her eyes flew open suddenly as a thought
occurred to her. "Angel! The sun--" she glanced down at her watch. "Was
supposed to rise two minutes ago." She glanced up at him in confusion,
but he was looking up at the sky.

"Well, look at that," he whispered as gentle snow flakes started to fall
around them.

"Um, Angel? she asked; he looked down at her. "Is it supposed to be snowing?"

"I don't think so," he whispered, smiling down at her.

"See, the gods do care what happens to you," she grinned, poking him in
the stomach lightly. He laughed softly before kissing her.

"C'mon, Witch, there are things in that house that need to be exorcised,
he growled, taking her hand.

*FIN*

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