It was still raining, the storm at the height of its fury as Angel and
the boy reached the closed front door.  Angel had slung his coat over
the boy's shoulders hours earlier, covering a narrow chest marred with
bruises and scratches.  The boy's hands were thrust into the jacket's
pockets, his shoulders held stiff and proud only through the strength of
his desire not the show weakness before an adult and a stranger.  The
rain had driven down the carefully arranged spikes into which the boy
had arranged his hair, leaving the dark brown strands plastered against
his skull.  Shadowed green eyes met Angel's in the light curving across
the crumbling cement steps, and Angel felt a curious thrill of
recognition pass through him before those troubled eyes shifted away.

Sensitive ears caught the doorbell's peal, muted by the closed door and
the heavy raindrops hurtling towards the earth.  The door was wrenched
open before the bell had faded into silence.  The sight of the woman
drew forth a name, unhindered by any conscious decision.  "Willow?" he
breathed.

Her eyes flared in surprise, red rimmed, a silent testimony to tears
recently shed.  "Angel?" she gasped before her gaze flew past the
vampire to settle on the boy next to him.  "Jacob!" Her hands reached
out hungrily, twinning about the boy's upper arms.  She pulled him
towards her, into the warm, dry glow of the entrance hall.  Willow's
delicate jaw was set in anger as her hands flew across the boy's face,
searching out each of his injuries.

Willow's eyes met Angel's over the boy's head.  "You're drenched," she
noted, her voice so carefully calm that he knew it longed to waver.  Her
slight throat worked, swallowing back her emotions.  "Come in, Angel."

...~*~...

She had shown Angel into the kitchen, distractedly telling the vampire
to take a seat before vanishing elsewhere into the house with the boy.
She came back long minutes later, her eyes dark with conflicting
emotions.  She looked nothing more than the young girl he had known in
Sunnydale, clad in dark jeans and a black turtleneck, brilliant red hair
swept into a lopsided pony tail.  The momentary illusion shattered upon
the harshness in her voice.  "What happened?"

"He was at a club that caters to... a very specialized clientele."

Her lips twisted.  "Bloody Bones," she stated.

Angel nodded, letting the venom in her voice wash over him.  "Not his
first time there?" he asked, already knowing the answer.  The boy had
been at ease in the place as only those past their first visit, but not
yet fully aware what the import of their actions could be.  There had
been an instinctive fear in him buried beneath layers of determination,
pride and sheer bravado.

"No," Willow spat before her face crumpled.  She turned on him,
shoulders hunched, her open palms splayed across the damp surface of the
kitchen's counter.  "He's been going for months, and I never knew...
What... what is he doing there, Angel?"  Her words were shot through
with terror.

"How much do you know about Bloody Bones?" Angel asked cautiously.

Her face was drawn but composed when Willow turned around to face him.
"I know that it's a demon hangout... that there's a certain set of kids
around here that think it's 'cool'," she gnashed out.  "I know that kids
go in there, looking for easy booze, loud music and a good fuck, and
don't come back out."

Angel nodded.  "The demons that frequent Bloody Bones aren't just
looking for a meal," he explained softly, as if the volume of his words
could somehow soften the impact of what he was telling the weary
redhead.  "It's a... training ground for demons looking for human
servants, slaves, thralls."

"Oh, God... _Jacob_," Willow shuddered.  She fell limply into the seat
across from the vampire, her head bowing to rest in her shaking hands.
"I found out two nights ago -- he came home with fang marks in his neck,
Angel!  And I told him... I _told him_ not to go!  He didn't listen, he
snuck out of the fucking house to party with a club full of killers!"

He wanted to reach out and pull her slight body into his arms, whisper
soothing nonsense into her ears and banish all her hurts and fears.  He
didn't know this woman any more.  He hadn't since he had left for L.A.
Buffy's death and Willow's retreat from Sunnydale and her friends had
only served to make her even more of a stranger.  He settled for a low,
verbal caress.  "Willow..."

Her head lifted, slowly, as if it took every ounce of her energy to
complete the simple motion.  "Can you shut it down, Angel?" she
demanded, her voice rough and edgy.  In the utterly domestic setting of
her kitchen, soft light falling across her drawn features, hands clasped
on top of a plastic place-mat, Willow suddenly looked sharp and broken.
He hadn't seen that despairing, _knowing_ look in the depths of her eyes
even when she had been a girl living with Hell's hungry mouth beneath
her very feet.

Angel shook his head slowly, reluctant to admit his limitations to
her.  "No.  Even if I tore the very building down around their ears, a
new establishment would spring up somewhere else within days.  Bloody
Bones and places like it have the backing of a more prosperous set of
demons... they have the money, the resources, and the lawyers to ensure
that they'll stay in business for a long while yet."

"They're going to take him from me... they're going to sink their claws
into his soul, tear him apart bit by bit until he's barely human any
more.  I can't stop him from going out there, Angel."

"Have you told him what you know, Willow?  Maybe hearing about the raw,
unvarnished version of the demonic underworld will shock him back to his
senses," Angel suggested.

"It's different now," Willow scowled, obviously echoing her son's
earlier words.  "Different place, different time, different species of
demons.  He sees the awesome, real life versions of his favourite
monster movies.  He sees things that act as human as he in that god
damned club.  He sees everything but the truth."

Her eyes shifted towards the clock on the wall behind Angel.  "I've
kept you..." she murmured, a polite mask shifting over the agony in her
previous expression.  "Thank you for bringing Jacob back to me, Angel."
She stood, Angel following her.  She thrust out her hand, and Angel
automatically caught it.  His hand engulfed hers, longer fingers
skimming her wrist.  The cuff of her sleeve had shifted.  Angel's
sensitive fingertips met the faint scar tissue slashing across Willow's
delicate wrist.

"Come visit the office.  We'll catch up on old times," Angel told her.

"I don't think--"

He smiled gently, biting back the urge to demand that she open herself
to his aid.  "I won't let you say no, Willow.  Bring Jacob with you,
I'll show him a few of the cases I've worked.  He doesn't know me.
Maybe that'll make all the difference."  He knew he'd won her as soon as
he mentioned her son.

She nodded stiffly.  "Okay."

Angel gave into his impulses and hugged Willow to him lightly with one
arm.  She tensed momentarily.  A long moment later, one of her arms
settled across his waist.  "Everything will be fine, Willow.  I
promise."

The redhead smiled.  "Yes," she said, lying for his sake.

...~*~...

Jacob's hair had been dyed black since the last time Angel had seen
him, nearly a week ago.  The short black mass was spiked and heavily
gelled.  What could have been an attractive face was settled into a
concrete snarl of displeasure.  His pants were baggy, and his dark
t-shirt bore the image of a skeletal, screaming face beneath the heavy
leather jacket the boy wore even in the afternoon heat.  It was the kind
of display many a teenager had been putting on for a great number of
decades.  Had it not been for the faint set of bite marks marring his
neck, Angel would have hidden an indulgent smile and let the boy grow
out of his rebellion.

Willow's makeup seemed to float above her thin face, a flimsy, ill
fitted mask.  She was clad in a loose sweater and long skirt ensemble
reminiscent of the outfits she had worn as a college student.  Her thin
hand rested against Jacob's slumped shoulder, holding him in place, or
offering support or both, Angel wasn't certain.  Glossed lips spread
into a faint echo of her previously brilliant smile.

"I figured you'd be working tonight, so..." she drawled off.  "I would
have called but I didn't get your number before you left."

Angel refrained from pointing out that Angel Investigation's office
number was in the phone book.  "I'm just glad that you could make it."

"Like she had anything else to be doing," Jacob snorted beneath his
breath, loud to vampiric senses.  "My mom, the unemployed," he sneered,
heavy brows drawling lower over green eyes in a sneer.

Catching Willow's flinch, Angel said nothing at the boy's commentary.
"My apartment is downstairs, beneath the office," he said, waving them
deeper into the main office.  "This is Amber Gerow, my secretary," he
adding in passing, gesturing towards the sturdy middle aged woman
enthroned comfortably behind the neat desk nearest to the window.  "The
rest of the office staff won't be arriving 'til later on in the
afternoon."

Willow's upper teeth caught at her full lower lip.  "I thought we'd
just be staying in your office..." she said.

"Downstairs is much more comfortable.  And it isn't often that I get
the chance to show off my home.  But if you'd prefer, we can stay in my
office," Angel offered.

Angel's gaze followed Willow's trembling hands as she discreetly rubbed
her palms against her upper thighs.  "Downstairs is good.  Wouldn't want
to deprive you of the chance to play tour guide through your home."

"I'll show you my weapon collection, if you want, Jacob," Angel
informed the boy.  He gripped Willow's arm above the elbow, herding the
reluctant redhead towards the elevator leading to his daytime home.

"Whatever," Jacob grunted sourly, rolling his eyes.

...~*~...

"Oh!" Willow gasped in dismay as the teacup she had balancing in
increasingly unsteady hands fell.  She flinched as warm tea soaked at
the front of her dark blue sweater, rapidly soaking through the thin
weave.  "I'm a mess," she murmured, grabbing a handful of napkins from
the table and blotting at the spreading stain.

"It's fine, Willow," Angel soothed, reaching out to still her darting
hands.  "Spike's exploits can wait for a retelling until later."  She
jerked beneath his hand at the mention of Angel's childe, a reaction the
vampire filed away with each of Willow's other odd reactions during the
course of their conversation.  "C'mon, I'll lend you one of my shirts."

They passed Jacob in the living room, sprawled out on his back on the
couch.  Dark, angry eyes followed their progress towards Angel's room.

Willow stood in the doorway awkwardly, hands twisting before her as
Angel reached into his drawer.  He emerged a moment later, a soft black
shirt in hand.  "Big, but at least it's dry," he told her.

"Thank you," Willow smiled.  She stepped into the room, giving Angel
room to pass her on his way out.  The door clicked shut behind him.

Remembering the cache of clothes Cordelia hadn't brought with her when
she and Gunn left, Angel turned back towards his bedroom.  "Willow?" he
called out a warning.

"Oh!" A flash of black cloth and Willow's back was hidden from him.
The brief image of the scars etched out across that pale flesh had
burned itself into Angel's memory.  He followed their curving, nearly
artistic flow through the barrier of the dark cloth.  "Angel?  Did you
forget something?" Willow asked, shaking fingers flying over the buttons
of his shirt.  The question was a plea that he leave well enough alone.

His hands caught hers.  "What happened to you, Willow?"

Her head lolled forward, unbound hair spilling in front of her face.
"It doesn't matter now.  It was a long time ago, Angel."

His voice was intense, denying her claims.  "It matters to me, Willow!
The types of things that leave scars like that aren't so easily
dismissed.  Someone hurt you.  Badly.  I want to help."

She smiled.  "You can't."

"Let me try.  Talk to me."

"Let go of me," Willow said, shifting her hands in Angel's grip.  He
released her.  Her steps slow, Willow walked towards his bed, settling
onto the edge.  "Before Buffy... died."  Willow sighed, rubbing at her
eyes with the heel of her palm.  "I was in love.  Or the next closest
thing to it."

Delicate, thoughtful lines carved into her flesh.  A signature.  "Who?"

"You know."

"Tell me."

"Spike," the name bled past her lips.  "He was a bastard, of course...
but he was also funny, exciting, even charming on occasion.  And
gorgeous.  He wanted me -- _me_!  We didn't tell anyone, of course.
That was half the fun.  We were together a few months, and even though
he hurt me sometimes with his words and actions, even though he warned
me not to ever forget what he was, I put all my faith in that fucking
implant."

"It failed," Angel said.  He knew it had failed.  He had spoken to his
childe since then.  He hadn't known any of this.  Spike would have known
better than to tell him.  Angel couldn't understand why any of the
former Slayerettes wouldn't have told him.  If Spike had hurt Willow as
deeply as her scars attested to, they must have noted some changes in
her behaviour.

"Yes."

"What happened?" Angel urged her onwards.

"He'd helped us a lot since he joined us, so Buffy couldn't just stake
him, no matter how badly she wanted to.  She ordered him out of
Sunnydale, and he went.  We thought he did, at least.  A few weeks
later, I got a letter from my parents.  They wanted me to join them
during the American leg of their tour during the summer.  That should
have clued me in right there.  I told the guys I was leaving for the
summer, packed up, and set out.  Only problem was the cab had been taken
over by one of Spike's guys."

"You never told any of them," Angel realized.

"I couldn't.  He loved me, you know.  Just not in any way human.  He
told me that love fades, but hatred sears into your soul forever.  Spike
made sure I'd never forget, that my feelings concerning him would never
dull.  You know what he did then."

Exactly what his sire had taught him.  "Yes."

"And I broke."

"There's no shame in that."

"Not in itself, no.  But what came next..." She looked away, arms
closing in tighter around her thin frame.  "Buffy caught a glimpse of
him towards the end of the summer.  She followed him back.  And she
lost."

Angel swallowed.  "She'd passed the peak of her strength by then."

Willow nodded.  "Mm hmm.  And he just looked between us:  you or her,
pet... you or her.  I wanted to live.  I came home from my 'vacation,'
and a few days later, the police called Mrs. Summers.  They'd found
Buffy's body."

"Willow..."

"Don't tell me that she would have died sooner or later anyhow, Angel,"
Willow warned.

"I wasn't," Angel protested.  "It wasn't your fault.  Spike--"

"Gave me a choice.  I chose.  Buffy died so that I could live.
Strangely enough, life wasn't quite the barrel of laughs I'd remembered
it being before that point.  I may have well have stayed in that hell."
Her fingers dragged heavily across his wrist.

"You must have had Jacob pretty soon after that," Angel said,
calculating the years rapidly.

"I wanted to prove that he was wrong.  I wanted to be touched without
seeing him in my mind.  It didn't work.  But I had Jacob to look after
then.  He was such a beautiful baby, Angel.  He loved me.  God, I don't
want him to go through even a fraction of what I have!" her voice was
intense but soft, acutely aware of the boy in the next room.

"Willow."

She shrugged off his comforting hand.  "Thank you for the shirt.  I'll
bring it back as soon as possible."

"There's no hurry," Angel said, stepping back as Willow rose.  "You
don't have to leave."

"Yes, I do."

Jacob was standing in front of the wall bearing Angel's weapons when
his mother and the vampire emerged.  "Took you long enough."

"We're leaving.  Thank you for inviting us over, Angel."

"Right," Jacob mumbled when Willow tapped him on the back, a subtle
admonition to mind his manners.  "It was a real thrill."

Angel smiled at the small, lost family.  "Come back and visit?"

"Certainly," Willow lied.

~end~

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