She waited for him to walk his patrol, the growls of Oz in the cage below her a menacing backdrop to her unquiet thoughts.  She had found the access ladder to the roof by accident.  She didn't think any of the others, even Giles, knew that it was there.  But something about the quiet and peace of the roof lured her. Up here, looking out over Sunnydale, the darkness seemed almost beautiful.

She had always been a creature of the day, waking early, a bright and bubbly morning person. The darkness had always terrified her with its vague shadows and imagined creatures.  Now the darkness terrified her with the knowledge of its true dangers, dangers that almost made her wish for the shadows of her childhood. Shivering, she watched the darkness move, only to suck in a ragged breath as Angel stepped forth from the inky blackness that was as much his home as it was any of the other creatures of the night.

The heavy yellow moon lit the schoolyard with uneasy light, casting hard, sharp-edged shadows.  From where she stood, she watched him slip in and out of those shadows, completely at ease, one more hunter prowling in the night.  Glancing up at the sky, she remembered back to a time when she thought the full moon was a lover's moon.  Hearing the growl below her from the cage in which Oz paced, she flushed with guilt.  It was a lover's moon no longer, but a werewolf's moon.

She didn't think he'd seen her up on her rooftop sanctuary.  She would prefer to keep it that way though knew she wouldn't be able to avoid him forever.  He needed to know.  She couldn't put if off much longer.  But she was afraid of telling him, scared of him and of herself.  Actually, when it came down to it, she thought she was more afraid of herself.

But for now, in this timeless moment, she was safe and could watch him unawares.  She smiled slightly to herself, understanding the fascination Angel had with watching them from the shadows.  There was a certain power and voyeuristic thrill to be had from observing unknown.

Angel stopped in front of the school.  Her breath caught as he rose up on his toes and stretched, arms wide, his expression one of sensual abandon as he gave himself over to the feel of stretching muscles and sinews.  He was so beautiful.

She watched him glance up at the moon overhead and then over to the library.  She could almost see the thoughts in his head, the realization that one of them would be on Oz Watch tonight. Sighing, she turned and headed towards the trap door.  He would be there momentarily.

He found her sitting on one of the tables and stopped in the doorway.  If she hadn't felt the sweet pain that shot through her at the sight of him, she could almost have laughed at his expression.

"Willow," he said with small nod of head, his posture stiff and unyielding.

He had the look of someone holding tight to a very fragile control.  He was so very good at that control.  His facial expressions closed and guarded to where even those closest to him tended to forget that he could feel.  She'd never been fooled though.  His eyes gave him away every time.  You just had to know how to look.  Seeing the wild panic in those eyes now, she wondered what he remembered of their shared dream.

"A-Angel," she stuttered, hating herself for that nervous twitch of her tongue.

Balling one hand into a fist she dug her short nails into her palm, welcoming the pain.  Part of her whispered `tell him.' Another part screamed at her to run.  In the end she only stood there, caught in her hesitation.  Please go away, she silently pleaded.  But he didn't listen, coming further into the library.  With each silent step the anxiety rose higher within her, its hold on her tight and choking.  Before she was even aware of what she'd done, she slid off the table and was across the room in a flash.

She saw the hurt in his eyes at her flight and it knifed through her.  She caught her own reflection in one of the windows.  There was a wild look to her, her eyes wide with the fright.  She saw his nostrils flare and knew he caught the scent of her fear. Willow spared only a thought to wonder if he caught the desire that even now was unfurling in the pit of her stomach.

Angel stopped, spreading his hands wide in a non-threatening manner.  "Willow," he said softly, "it's me, Angel.  Please tell me why I'm scaring you."

"Just go away, Angel.  Please."

"Tell me what's wrong."  There was underlying steel in his voice. A hint of the command that he had wielded as Angulus.

"Just go away," she said again.

Her agitation was starting to affect Oz and he began to growl loudly, leaping and rattling the door of the cage.

Stubborn vampire, she raged in mind.  Why won't you just go away? Go away and I can do this.  I can be strong.

"Willow, I . . ." he began, only to stop, his eyes wide and focused on one of her wrists.

Willow dropped her eyes, pushing down the sleeve of the shirt she wore.  She should have kept her eyes on him.  In the second she dropped her eyes from his, he'd crossed the room to stand before her.  Reaching out he touched her arm with infinite gentleness. Wanting to cry at that delicate touch she didn't resist as he pulled back her sleeves to show the fading yellow bruises encircling her wrists.

"My God, Willow, who did this to you?"  His voice was outraged, the anger a dangerous undercurrent to his words.

She tried to pull her wrists from him but he held her steady. Shaking her head in mute denial, she finally said, "I can't."

"Willow, tell me," he insisted, his voice allowing no escape. Dark eyes pinned her down and she found herself helpless before the entreaty in his gaze.

Sighing in defeat, she finally she whispered, "You did."

She felt her words run through him like a physical blow.  The eyes he raised to hers showed his disbelief.  She gave him a wan smile and held her hands before her.  He slowly wrapped his hands around her wrists, each bruise fitting perfectly with his fingers.  She felt the memory come back to him in the trembling of the fingers that held her.  He had grabbed her in fear and anger, though the anger had been directed at himself.  She'd borne the cost of his outburst.

He released her suddenly, as if her flesh burned him, taking a step back and away from her.  "That was a dream."

She had thought the same thing, for a while.  She shook at head. "It was real."

Angel was still backing away from her.  "No.  It couldn't have been."

Sorrow and compassion coloring her words, she disagreed.  "It was real."

At her words, he finally stopped his retreat to simply stare at her.  She noticed that he seemed to be breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in quick pants.  That reaction, before all others, told her exactly how alarmed with this he really was. His body was falling back on panic instincts that it hadn't needed in over 200 years.

They stayed locked like that for long minutes, Angel simply staring at her as he fought the knowledge within himself.  The moment she saw the rise of his chest stop was when she knew he believed her.  The steps he took back to her side were slow and deliberate and when he reached up to her blouse, his outstretched hand was steady.

Hyperaware of the undercurrents of emotions flowing around them, she stood still as a statue even he pulled aside her collar to expose two small, healing puncture wounds.

Angel touched one softly with a fingertip, her heart beating wildly beneath his touch.

Only when he touched her did she finally speak.  "You said it yourself, Angel . . . moonlight and magic."

It was like that simple touch broke something inside him.  He was visibly shaken by the realization.  She could see it in the tense muscles across his shoulders.  She resisted the urge to reach out to him and ease away his stress.  She'd had days to become accustomed to the idea.  He deserved that same time.

Once again he backed away from her, only to turn sharply on his heel and pace across the library while she moved to sit on one of the tables.  She could only watch him now.

It was mesmerizing in its own way.  The tight, controlled movements of his body as he stalked from one end of the room to the other.  His movements were reminiscent of a caged tiger, beauty and deadly grace combined with the power and instinct of a natural predator.  Watching him pace, his black coat swirling around his legs she felt her desire stir, her mind conjuring images of Angel naked, of his muscles sliding beneath smooth skin.  She wanted to bury her fingers in his soft hair, to feel him tremble beneath her touch as she explored the cool silk of his skin with her lips.

With a small jerk she pulled herself away from those thoughts. There would be no more of that.  There could never be any more of that.

Angel stopped his pacing, his body language still tense.  "How? Why?" he finally asked.

Here was the part she dreaded.  "My fault.  The night of the Beltane ritual I . . . well, I guess you could say I called . .
.someone."

"Your Goddess," he interrupted.

"Yes. . . sort of.  I called Her and She called you, a-as . . . as a consort."

His eyes flicked up to met hers and held them steady.  "I remember."

She blushed under that gaze as she remembered as well.  "Y-Yes, well  . . .um . . .She should have left.  B-But She didn't.  She likes you . . ."  Willow stopped and then taking a deep breath she added quietly, "and me."

For all that her last words were whispered, Angel heard.  "You and me."

Willow nodded, the crimson blush staining her skin darkening with her unease.

"Are you telling me," he began, biting off each word with outraged precision, "that the Spirit of Nature is playing matchmaker?"

A clatter at the door caused them both jerk in surprise.  Angel spun towards the sound and dropped down into a fighting stance while Willow slid off the library table to the ground, her hand reaching for the stake stuck in her back pocket.

Xander and Giles stopped when they saw Angel and Willow ready to fight.

"Deadboy." Xander's expression was closed, suspicion easy to hear in his flat voice.

"Xander." Giles said quietly in reproach, but the expression he turned to Angel was only slightly more hospitable.

Willow felt the sorrow she saw in Angel's eyes as if it was her own pain.  The damage and grief here ran deep in them all and there were some things she just couldn't fix.

Xander shifted impatiently from foot to foot, looking distrustfully between Willow and Angel.  "Wills, you ready to go?"

"I'm ready," she answered.  Turning to Angel, she added.  "Thank you Angel for keeping me company tonight."

Leaving Angel standing in the room, she walked over to Xander and out the door.  With every step she wanted to cry.

*****

Daylight.  The sun's rays were a sensuous warmth across her skin. This was her time as the night was his.  The deep blue sky above her gave her strength.  The gentle breeze bolstered her courage. The chirping of birds the joyous music of her march.  Twice before they'd met in the dark, during *his* time, when he was strongest.  This time she came to confront him during her time.

He would be surprised to see her.  She didn't doubt that.  He would expect her to wait for his coming.  To sit in her room and listen for the gentle rap of his fingers against the panes of her window.  Before she'd touched the Earth's magick that was what she would have done . . . a frightened child waiting for someone else to make the decisions for her.  But the magick was a part of her now, as inseparable from her as Angel was inseparable from the demon.

*As it should be,* the Goddess' whispered in chiming tones for her ears alone.

Should be.  Could be.  It was all so confusing and she was tired of feeling guilty for something beyond her control.  It was just one more consequence of living on the Hellmouth.  Logic said he was Buffy's, her heart said he could be hers, and her body . . . she had only to close her eyes and the tactile memories of him loving her washed over her senses.

"No," she said, speaking aloud to give the word power, breaking the hold of the memories.  But even with the word still ringing in her ears, she knew that she could make it a yes.

Reaching the mansion, she didn't even hesitate, merely pushing open the heavy oak doors.  She found him where she knew he'd be, his eyes cast to a fire that fought to warm a room empty of everything but stone.

Staring at his hunched back Willow wondered how to start this conversation.  His broad back and bowed head gave her no clues to his emotional or mental state.  Did he hate her?  Did he blame her for ensnaring him in this?

Opening her mouth, she surprised herself with her words.  "You always have a fire going in here.  Do you seek to warm the room or warm yourself, Angel?"

He didn't turn around to answer her but kept his eyes on the dancing flames.  "I've wondered that myself sometimes.  There are times when I've felt very much like this room . . . hollow . . .empty. . . cold as death."

Both silent now, only the hisses and pops of the fire broke the quiet.  Willow wished that she could still hear the birds, needing their cheer now.

"Was the dream right?" he asked suddenly.  "Can you control the demon?  Can you control me?"

"Yes . . .No."  She sighed in exasperation.  How did one explain the unexplainable? "The dream was right.  But it's not control really, but more like mastery.  I've been touched, changed if you will.  The Goddess, She is the cycle of life, of all things in harmony and balance."  Willow made a vague encompassing gesture with her hands, trying to come up with a way to convey a concept that she understood on a level deeper than any simple words could express.

Angel seemed to understand her.  "I break that cycle.  I am unlife . . .undead . . .vampire.  It's why it fears you and
cowers down from your touch."

"Yes."

Finally he turned from the fire to capture her eyes with his own. "Mastery over the demon, I understand.  What about the other?"

She swallowed nervously.  "What other?"

Standing, he stalked towards her, the fire at his back casting him in ominous shadow until he loomed over her.  "I loved Buffy from the moment I saw her,"  he said, old pain lacing his every word.  "She was everything I so desperately wanted to be . . . clean and good and pure.  I wanted that so much, an obsession of love as strong as Angelus' was of hate."

"Angel . ."  Now it was her turn to retreat, much like he'd done the night before.

Reaching out a hand he captured her cheek in one palm before she could get away.  "I couldn't help loving Buffy but it was doomed from the beginning and the more we loved each other, the more we hurt each other.  I can't give her what she deserves.  Because of what she is, she can't give me what I need.  And the thing that marks me as the biggest fool of all, is that you could have given me that and so much more.  Tell me why I didn't see you?  Why couldn't I *see?*  You are everything I wanted, everything I needed.  I could have had it all except I didn't *see.*"

Her heart breaking she blinked up at him through tear filled eyes.  "Angel, what you're feeling isn't . . ." she started.

"*Don't*, he snarled, "tell me that what I feel isn't real.  Your Goddess opened my eyes to the possibilities.  It feels real, Willow.  I want it to be real."  He reached out to take one of her trembling hands, placing it on his chest, over where his heart would have beat.

The Goddess and her consort had controlled their first encounter. He had controlled their second.  Just thinking about their shared dream now sent shivers racing through her body.  The urge to surrender to him and give him what he asked of her was there. But with his words, his actions, he'd given her the power in this encounter.  Part of her wanted to explore the hold she had over him -- a darker part that thrilled to the idea of her mastery over the demon and over Angel.  There was an illicit excitement in knowing that she, small helpless Willow, could command both man and vampire.  A man who was both larger and stronger than she, who even without the demon's strength could hurt her or kill her without effort, and a vampire who could take her life and her soul in an instant.

Willow could feel the planes of muscle beneath her palm and the strength within him.  Angel stood in front of her with his eyes closed, his hand covering hers.  For the briefest of moments she gave in to the temptation and with just the tips of her fingers she exerted a downward pressure on the solid wall of muscle in front of her.  Without a sound he sank to his knees, obedience to her desire.

It came to her then that this was no dream and no game.  He was offering himself to her.  He could be hers.

For a moment she let herself imagine what I would be like to let go of the restraints and caution of a lifetime, to seize
something she wanted without guilt or remorse or consideration for the consequences.  She could see the vision clearly, taste the moment with a clarity that spoke of just how deeply she wanted this.

She would reach out to his kneeling form, run her fingers through his hair.  Would he tremble at her touch?  She considered, and decided yes, he would.  And she knew she would feel a surge of power at that small loss of his control.  Power that would give her courage.  Where he had controlled the dream encounter, his experience and age leading him to take the dominant role, this time she would be the aggressor.  She would wield the power.  It would be a new role for her.  A vision of herself as a vampire, body encased in soft leather, wearing an easy air of authority and a dark sexuality, flirted across her memories.  Maybe the role was not as new as she thought; just not yet explored.

She would run a nail along the length of his neck and smile gently at the shiver that would run the length of his body in
response.

"Undress for me, Angel," she would sigh, stepping back to give him room to rise.

Shoes first and then socks while she would watch with hooded eyes.  The shirt would go next, his hands lingering on the top button, teasing her.  She'd let him do the first one himself and then stop him with a touch.  As he'd undressed her in the dreamscape, so now would she return the gesture.

Nimble fingers would undo a button, exposing a few inches of smooth chest.  And as each button slipped from its hole, she would lean forward to touch her lips to his cool skin.  She would smile a smile that her vampire twin would recognize, knowing that each touch of her fingers and her lips would be like the touch of a firebrand to him.

Buttons undone, she'd run her hands up his chest, taking the time to learn him, to trace solid muscle until Angel, with his head thrown back, became lost in the sensation of her touch.  Lips would follow fingers, quick tongue darting out to taste the texture of his skin.  He would try to touch her, to take back the initiative.  But, she decided, she wouldn't be ready to give up her control.  She would push his hands away and bring them together behind his back, her own arms stretching around his waist.

"Leave them there," she would command.  And he would, bound with nothing more than her will, a bond stronger than any steel.

Caught up in the fantasy, she let out just the slightest tendril of the power she felt coiling within her and felt the demon recoil in pain.  Life fighting back unlife.  She had within her the ability to forever bind the demon to her will.  Angel would never again fear for the loss of his soul and yet, she wondered, was it within her rights to do this?  She'd read the Watcher Diaries of his life before he was turned and of his time as Angelus.  For all the suffering he'd gone through, he was a better person as a re-souled vampire than he'd ever been as a mortal man.  Did she have the right to take from him the struggle to become something better than he had been or what he was now?

*Help me,* she whispered in her mind, torn between her own wants and desires.

She answered.  *Do you bind him to you?*

She felt the hot tears in her eyes.  Time to be the responsible one, one more time.  *No.  I bind him to himself.*

*This one could love you truly.* She answered, the chimes of her voice muted now in sorrow.

*At what cost, Lady?*  she asked, her own heart breaking.  Angel wasn't hers.  She'd always known this.  They were an accident. It was time to put him back on his path.  It was the right thing to do, though it hurt.  Angel wasn't the only one who could have loved truly.  *He is meant for other things.*

*This is your will?*

*So mote it be.*

*So mote it be.* Came back the answer, in the uncompromising tones of burnished steel.

*****

He woke from sleep reaching for someone not there, a wisp of memory, a dream half-formed and then forgotten.  He thought of Buffy, with her golden smile, and then frowned; uncertain, knowing only that it was not Buffy who had walked his dreams. Shaking his head, he rose.  No matter, he thought, it was just a dream.

Stopping at his desk he ran a finger along the lease agreement for his new apartment in Los Angeles.  Sunnydale would be a dream soon.   It was time.  Time to let Buffy dream her own dreams and . . .  his thoughts stopped.   For an instant, an image in fire-lit red-gold glory stood before him only to disappear back into the mists of his memories as quickly as it had formed.

Deep within he felt the demon growl in distress and cower down. Frowning, expecting a new attack upon his psyche, he felt the mental chains that bound the demon's rage and bloodlust.  Testing their strength with a growing confidence he had not felt in years, his lips quirked up in a small half-smile.  He had a future and a purpose now and nothing was going to stand in his way.  It was time to be responsible and help undo the damage he had done.

*****

Willow sat on her balcony, dry eyed, and watched darkness give way to light as dawn approached.   Very far away she heard a noise like the wind though silver chimes.  It was a melancholy sound, brushing along the edges of her awareness, but underneath the sorrow lay a bubbling joy.  For that is the cycle of things - darkness to light, joy to sorrow and back to joy again.

~End~

back