~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Willow and Xander sat together at a table in the Bronze. Over Xander's shoulder Willow could see Angel leaning against a wall in the shadows.
"Maybe if we just ignore him he'll go away," Xander suggested.
"I don't think so," Willow shook her head. "I think he's use to being ignored. I think it's staring at him that scares him off."
As Xander immediately turned to scowl at the vampire he missed Willow's quickly hidden mischievous grin.
"Aagh! Don't do that!" he snapped at Angel, who was now standing behind him.
"Join us?" Willow asked.
Xander gave her a reproachful glare as Angel dropped into an empty chair.
"Nice shirt," Angel said, nodding at the jersey Willow wore. "Didn't know you were a Kings fan."
"Oh, I am," she said. "Dad use to take me and Xander to games all the time when he was getting tickets from his company. Didn't he, Xander?"
"Yeah. Did you know that they don't have cheerleaders at hockey games? What's up with that?"
"Too bad they're not a better team," Angel said.
"Better?" Willow gaped at him. "They're great."
"They haven't been in the playoffs in five years."
"Well, they're building. They have a good chance this year."
"Right," Angel rolled his eyes. "That's why Gretzky moved to New York."
"They're second in the division right now."
"Which doesn't say a lot for the rest of them." He paused to look at her curiously. "What does a little girl like you see in hockey, anyway?"
Willow scowled at him, ignoring conventional wisdom, which said that arguing with a vampire was generally unhealthy. "Chauvinist. You think girls can't like sports? I love hockey. It's fast and exciting. It takes a lot of skill and stamina and hard work. It's a great game." She paused for breath. "What does a vampire like you see in hockey?" she countered.
He shrugged. "I just go for the blood."
Xander gave him a sharp look, unsure how serious Angel was. Willow, however, had seen the glint of twisted humor in his eyes and laughed.
"Hey. What's going on?" Buffy asked, flopping into the fourth chair. "What's so funny?"
"Angel..." Willow began. "Nevermind." Something in Angel's face had closed down at the Slayer's arrival. She didn't know what was going on between the two of them, but she was fairly certain that she didn't want to end up in the middle of it.
"Just a little news," Angel said as he stood. "Things should be pretty quiet for a while. Spike and Drusilla seem to have taken a vacation."
"A vacation?" Xander asked. "You mean, like six-day, seven-night blood-sucker cruise to the Bahamas, or something?"
"Or something."
"Okay... Well... thanks?" Buffy said. "Do you want..."
But he had already
stepped into the crowd and vanished.
Two days later Willow opened her locker to find a ticket taped to the inside of the door. A seat by the glass for tonight's game against the Blackhawks. On the back of the ticket was a short note. "If you don't mind missing a few minutes of the first period, I'll pick you up just after sunset."
She stared at the ticket, more than a little bewildered. Was Buffy's boyfriend asking her out? Surely not. So what was he doing?
"What's that?" Buffy asked as she approached.
"Oh, nothing," Willow shoved the ticket into her pocket. "Just a note. Notes! Chemistry notes. Just notes."
"Okay." Buffy leaned against the lockers. "I was going to rent some good, weepy, romantic movies and mope about being guyless tonight. Want to come join me in my misery?"
"Guyless?" Willow squeaked. "What happened to Angel?"
"Oh, you know," Buffy waved her hands vaguely. "He's doing that moody and absent thing again. So, are you up for it? I think I'll get some ice cream, too."
Willow wrapped her fingers guiltily around the ticket in her pocket. She couldn't go with him... It wouldn't be fair... Even if he and Buffy weren't technically together... Rink-side, on the glass...
"Um. N... not tonight. I have to... I have stuff to do. At home. Tonight." Yeah, like figure out what to wear. Bad Willow, she thought. She cringed but Buffy merely shrugged.
"That's cool. Moping is best done alone anyway, I guess."
*******
Willow would have changed outfits a dozen times if she'd had the wardrobe to do so. This is insane, she thought. What am I doing? What's he thinking? She finally settled on a pair of jeans and a casual sweater then sat down by the window in her room to watch the sun go down. Moments later she rose again and began to comb her hair for the sixth time in eight minutes. She missed the dark gray car that pulled up next to the Rosenberg mailbox.
She jumped as the doorbell rang. She gave one last look at her slightly terrified reflection then flew down the stairs. She wasn't quite sure what she had expected, but the Angel that stood in her living room certainly wasn't it. His jeans were actually blue and there was no sign of his ever-present leather jacket. His tee shirt was tucked in and the flannel shirt over it was unbuttoned. He looked... normal.
"I'm studying history at the community college," he was telling her mother. He turned to smile at Willow. "We met at the library."
It was the same story Buffy had told her mom about him, she realized. He was trying hard to present a reassuring façade. It seems to be working pretty well, Willow thought. As long as Mom doesn't notice that he's standing in front of a mirror. Following the direction of her horrified gaze Angel looked startled and took two quick steps backward.
"We really should be going, Mom. The game starts at 7:30."
"Don't worry, Mrs. Rosenberg. I'll bring her straight home."
Willow gave her mom a quick hug.
"He seems like a nice young man." Mrs. Rosenberg whispered in her daughter's ear. "But be careful."
"Thanks, Mom. Bye."
*******
"Nice woman," Angel said as he held open the car door for Willow.
"Nice car," she replied. "Oh, I mean, yeah. She's great. When she's around, you know."
He smiled as he closed the door and walked around the car.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said softly as the engine began to purr.
"Me either." She fidgeted with her seatbelt, not looking at him. "Why... why did you...?"
"Relax, Willow. You're not doing anything wrong. I like hockey, but I hate going to games alone. When I found out you liked it, too, I just figured... why not?"
"Why not?" she nodded. But she had to ask. "What about... Buffy?"
"Not tonight." She saw his fingers tighten on the wheel. "The world doesn't revolve around Buffy Summers. Tonight it revolves around Willow Rosenberg."
She smiled obligingly. As the car in front of them slammed on its brakes Willow had a sudden thought. "Doesn't it freak people out when you don't show up in their rearview mirrors?"
He laughed. "Sometimes.
I think so. But I don't drive much and it's always dark. So most people
don't notice."
"Ooh!" Willow exclaimed. "Pretzels!" She grabbed Angel's arm as she stopped in front of one of the Forum's concession stands. "You have to eat pretzels at a hockey game." She looked at the skeptical vampire who merely raised his eyebrows. She slapped a hand over her mouth. Angel laughed at her expression. "It's okay," he said before she could apologize. "How many do you want?"
"I'll get it." She began looking for her money. Angel stopped her.
"My treat. All of it."
"But you don't even eat," she protested.
"I'm the guy," he grinned. "I pay."
"Chauvinist."
"Chivalry."
"Chivalry is dead."
His grin broadened as he leaned close and whispered, "So am I."
She laughed. She didn't mean to. It wasn't funny. It was deranged. She tried to stop, but the roguish, unrepentant expression on Angel's face made it difficult. He really did have a twisted sense of humor.
"That is very warped," she told him when she could breathe again. "That really shouldn't be funny."
"Probably not," he agreed with a smile. "I bet you're going to want a drink, too, aren't you?"
****
Willow thoroughly enjoyed the game. Even with her dad's company tickets she'd never been so close to the ice. These seats are eighty dollars apiece, she realized with a twinge of guilt. This whole expedition was costing Angel nearly two hundred dollars. And she still wasn't sure why he was doing it. But she was having fun. She was beginning to get the hang of his skewed humor and enjoying his quick wit. Too bad there aren't any human guys like him around, she thought wistfully.
When the game was over they joined the crowds heading for the parking lots. Angel draped an arm protectively around Willow's shoulders to avoid losing her in the shuffle. Although the crowd eventually thinned he kept his arm around her. They walked in comfortable, weary silence toward their distant parking space. I could get use to this, Willow thought. He's like the big brother I never had. He stiffened abruptly and she realized that she had said it aloud. He seized her arm and spun her to face him.
"Don't ever say that," he snapped at her. "I was a terrible big brother."
"I... I'm sorry," she said, stunned at his reaction. As quickly as it had flared, his anger was gone. He stared at her in bemusement.
"Maybe that's it," he whispered to himself. He twisted a strand of her hair around one of his fingers. "My youngest sister had red hair."
Willow stared at him. She was afraid of what he would say next. She knew what had happened to his family.
"She was nine years old when I killed her." The horror in his eyes was awful. He tangled more of his fingers in her hair as he spoke. "She's the one who invited me in. She was so happy to see me."
Willow's heart ached for him. His hand tightened in her hair.
"She trusted me," he choked. "And I killed her."
"No!" Willow said. "No, you didn't. It wasn't you. It was the demon."
"It doesn't matter." His eyes were full of anguish. "I remember doing it."
She stood silently.
She knew there was nothing she could say to ease his pain and guilt. His
eyes glittered but she knew he wouldn't cry. So, she did the only thing
she could think of. She wrapped her arms around his waist and cried for
him. After a moment he hesitantly put his arms around her and gently stroked
her hair. When her sobs subsided he led her wordlessly to the car.
The stillness in the car was excruciating. The only sounds were the engine, the wheels on the pavement, and Willow's own breathing. It was more than an hour's drive back to Sunnydale and she wasn't sure she could handle the silence. As they turned onto the interstate she spoke. "What was her name?" she asked shyly. Pain flickered over his face and for a moment she was certain he wouldn't answer.
"Maire," he said at last. For the first time since she had known him she heard the faint trace of his Irish roots in his accent. "Mary."
"She loved you?"
"Yes."
"Did you remember that," she asked, "before you got your soul back?"
"Yes." He paused. "But I didn't care."
"So, now you remember... and care?"
"Yes."
"She loved you. You were a good brother."
There was a long pause.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Slightly encouraged, Willow risked a little more. "You said she was the youngest. There were others?"
"Two... and one brother," he added. Before she could ask him another question he surprisingly continued on his own. "Liam was the oldest. Then Sile. Then me. Then Siobhan and Maire."
"The middle child," she murmured. "Angel? Angelus? Why isn't your name more...?"
"Irish?" he smiled faintly. "I was born on September 29."
She looked at him uncomprehendingly.
"The Day of the Archangels," he explained. "Gabriel and Michael."
"Oh." She paused for a moment. "Your family was Catholic?"
"Yes," he said. "But I'm afraid that won't help me now."
She sensed a deep sadness within him. She feared that he would close up again if she pursued that particular subject so she tried something a little safer.
"What did your father do?"
"He was a farmer." He talked quietly of his family, his father's fields, his mother's cooking, of teasing his sisters, and roughhousing with his brother. His accent gradually grew stronger as he recalled his distant childhood. Willow was mesmerized. They were nearly home before she realized it.
"Angel? When is the last time you talked about your family?"
He stared at the road thoughtfully. "I don't know. Usually I try not to think about them." He gave her a sideways glance. "Nobody has ever really asked."
"Buffy?"
He shook his head. "She's focused on now." His grin was bitter. "History really isn't her strong suit. She doesn't want to know about Angelus. She doesn't want to think about what I use to be."
"Not even before you became a vampire?"
"It's not important."
"How can family not be important?"
He made an odd, shrugging gesture that might have been a sigh if he could breathe. "Buffy tries to ... avoid subjects she thinks might be ... awkward."
"I'm sorry," Willow said, suddenly abashed.
"It's okay," he reassured her. "It's been... a long time. I miss them," he continued, almost to himself.
Willow touched his hand lightly as it lay on the gearshift. "Thank you for telling me about them."
"Next time," he smiled, "we'll talk about your family."
"Next time?"
"They're playing the Ducks next Saturday. It won't be much of a game, but bad hockey is better than no hockey."
She could hear the
hopeful note in his voice. Does he really want to do this again, she wondered?
"Angel?" she said slowly. "I've enjoyed all of this... but I still don't
understand. Why are you doing it? Did you really just want someone to go
to the game with... or... or is it just to make Buffy jealous?" she finished
miserably. Idiot, she thought. Why did I say that?
She knew he wasn't going to answer, but finally he did. "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe both. Maybe more... Maybe something else entirely." He paused as if considering something. When he came to a decision he spoke again. "I've protected you for a long time," he said. "I looked after you for years before Buffy ever came to Sunnydale. I never really wondered why. I just did it. Now, I think I understand part of it."
"Mary," she whispered. Years?
"Yes. It must have been your hair that first made me notice you. I must have made the connection unconsciously and tried to protect you as I couldn't protect her."
She stared at his profile in the darkness trying to grasp what he was saying. He had been protecting her? Looking after her? For years? Simply because she had red hair?
"But there has to be more to it. Over the years you've needed a lot of protection. Did you know that you attract vampires?" he smiled wryly. "You're beautiful and innocent and insecure. A combination that vampires find irresistible. I've had to set more than a few of them straight when they got ideas about you." He turned to look at her.
She ducked her head, uncertain what to make of his perplexing revelations. She felt his hand in her hair again. He gently tucked the falling strands behind her ear.
"Then Buffy came," he continued. "She distracted me and I nearly lost you the first night she was here. I tried to stay out of things... protect you from a distance... but Buffy kind of dragged me into the middle of everything." He paused as if trying to figure out exactly how that had happened. "But because she did that I finally got to know you. And there's a lot more to you than I had expected. You're also intelligent and funny and sweet. A combination that's also pretty irresistible."
She sat silently, baffled and thrilled at the same time by his actions and words. He was complimenting her, she was fairly certain. But how serious was he and where was he heading?
"Maybe I did want to make Buffy jealous," he said quietly. "But that's not how it seems to be working out." He turned away from her and stared out the window. "I think I may have just ended up making myself jealous... of Xander." He laughed unexpectedly. "I'm two hundred and forty-one years old and I'm making a fool of myself for a girl who's sixteen."
Willow stared at him, completely lost.
"You probably think I'm a raving lunatic, but you're the closest thing I've had to a friend in over two centuries," he said. "Demons don't make friends. Vampires, on the whole, aren't all that fond of me. And humans generally either run screaming or pretend I don't exist. It doesn't make for a very big social circle." He finally turned to look at her again. "I guess I just wanted to thank you for... treating me like I'm actually still a person."
"You *are* a person," Willow told him. "And I'm not your only friend. Buffy..."
"...is the Slayer. I'm a vampire. Nothing is going to change that. Did you know that she has nightmares about me? No matter how hard she tries, the same thing that makes her the Slayer will never let her be completely comfortable with me."
"Xander...?"
"... calls me 'Dead Boy', Willow."
She looked at his cynical expression and had to admit that it was a little far-fetched. "Okay, maybe not."
"Giles...?"
"... thinks I'm a fascinating theoretical experiment and a walking historical encyclopedia of the paranormal."
"Um... Cordelia...?"
His eyebrows raised doubtfully.
"Okay, so she still isn't even entirely convinced that you're a vampire, but..." She frowned at him, trying desperately to think of anyone else. No luck. "So, it's just me," she said finally.
At last he smiled. "As far as I can tell."
It wasn't until he opened his door that she realized they were parked in front of her house. She had no idea how long they had been there. He opened her door and she took the hand he offered. She was strangely pleased that he didn't release her hand as they walked toward the house. When they reached the door he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
"Ducks? Saturday?" he asked.
She thought only briefly then nodded. "Ducks. Saturday."
"Goodnight, Red," he said softly. "You're an amazing girl." His smile was oddly wistful as he backed away.
"Good night, Angelus," she called after him. He watched until she was safely inside before he left.
Willow went to bed feeling inexplicably happy and wondering how in the world it had happened that she, Willow Ann Rosenberg, could count a seventeenth-century Irish vampire among her best friends.
It occurred to her that she'd have to remember his birthday next year.