World Without Shrimp

E-Mail: impudent_guttersnipe@hotmail.com and ethros@go.com

Distribution: If you have something that wrong with you that you would want this, mail us.

Disclaimer: We own nothing but the semblance of a plot and the actual words here. Mutant Enemy and Joss own the characters we abuse and butcher.

Rating: NC-17 (that means BLOOD BATH—kidding, really, sex)

Summery: A scorned Xander makes a wish.

Dedication: To Lar, Sam, Katie, Criss, and Olwen, we worship you all for putting yourselves through the hell that was betaing for us. Also, we want to specially thank our dealer for getting us over the rough patches in this one, if it wasn’t for you, this would have never been written!

Notes: This is AU, if you think the characters are off, not right, not behaving correctly, remember the AU and the fact that even though this is an epic, there is only so much we can say about their pasts and why they are the way they are. You might fall into a couple massive plot holes, but we have rope.

Notes II: This is a serious departure for the two of us, read it with a sense of humor. We wrote it while giggling.
Rabbit says: I never back down from a challenge.
Kassie says: Comin’ at ya on the back in the day kinda tip.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Xander sits on his bed amidst of the detritus of his recent life. Photos, folded napkins, take-out menus with little messages scribbled between the lines, a chicken foot on a string, a homemade, pink valentine, a birthday card. His head aches from the crying bout he just finished. Eyes feel like sandpaper as he focuses on a snap-shot of Anya with her head thrown back in a full-throated guffaw, her hair catching a stray beam of sunlight from the window, sparkling in gold. His chest constricts when he can't push the memories of this afternoon out for even thirty seconds.

//Off work early and can't wait to get to Anya's to surprise her. Maybe a movie. She wants to see Bridget Jones, and he refused, but thinks he can endure it for her. Gotta work at things sometimes, he reminds himself. Make this relationship last. Even in the lulls, because that's what adults do. They ride-out the down-swings in the love-o-meter, because one morning he'll wake up, and his chest will be bursting again for her. Yeah, he knows how that goes.

Uses his key in the front door, tries to be quiet since he knows she likes to take naps in the early afternoons to off-set the nightly research sessions and late-night love making. Rips the tags off the bouquet of flowers he bought and tip-toes into the short hallway that empties into her bedroom. The black and white photo of Paris catches his eye ~you should have seen it before the war, Xander, there hasn't ever been anything like it~ her voice echoing in his ear as he takes in the Eiffel tower. A breathy sigh catches his attention, and he pulls back from his daydream about fighting in the Resistance. Takes three or four more steps towards the cracked door of Anya's bedroom and pushes it open enough to see through the gap.

Clutches his fingers around the bouquet so tightly he can feel the stems crushing, a green smell trying to fight for his neglected sense, smell. Sight is occupied by the vision of Anya on her back, neck arched, pushing a man's head between her legs. Sound is overwhelmed by the strangled whispers she's making as she begs him to shift up just a little higher. Copper tang assaults taste when he accidentally bites the inside of his cheek. And touch is ridden by a phantom Anya he can feel under his own lips.//

Two hours later, in his own apartment with all of the items he scrounged intending to create a small bonfire in the metal garbage can by his legs, he's just too spent to do it. Can't bring himself to part with the stuff he was so positive in his rage that he never wanted to catch sight of again. Hates himself for not seeing the signs, for having absolutely no concept that this could be happening, and he feels the tear ducts he imagined permanently dry starting to well over. Can't piece together what he did exactly to make this happen. Knows it must have been him somehow, something missing from him, something he didn't do, did do that was wrong. He just has no clue as to what it was, aside from just being a loser. Doesn't want to spend the night alone. Thinks of calling Buffy and commiserating but is afraid she might try to kill Anya. Knows he wouldn't stop her at this point. He's so ashamed that the first person, always the first, who he thinks of helping him through this he hasn't tried to call yet. Ashamed that he was such an idiot. Ashamed that when the time came to choose, he actually considered putting Anya ahead of her. It might have been fleeting, but it was real and burning. Replaced Willow at the top of his hierarchy of love for even one split second, and now he knows that guilt will be worse than the pain at Anya's cheating; one will fade with time and new loves, but the other will remain until he draws his final breath.

He stands and walks to the kitchen. Rummages under a week's worth of mail for the portable phone and hits two on the speed dial //another reminder of the priorities, Harris//

"Hello?"

"Wills...are you busy?"

"Xander, what's wrong, you sound like it's major. Are you ok? At the emergency room?"

"Why haven't you gotten caller ID? I mean, don't you think it would be of the good, what with all the demons who I'm sure know how to operate a phone, and ..."

"Ok, not at the hospital, but babbling, and sounding bad. What happened?"

"I can't talk about it like this."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. This is a non-Tara thing, right?"

"Pretty much."

"Alright, Xander. Stay there."

"Nowhere to go."

"Uh, ok. Hold on until I get there. Bye." *click *

"Love you."

**

Lying in bed with all the stuff he'd drug out scattered on the floor and the sheets ripped off the bed so he wouldn't have to smell her perfume or soap, Xander hears the front door open and Willow's light tread coming his way. He tilts his head up when she comes into the room and tries to smile, but knows it's more scary than anything by the stricken look on her face.

She crawls from the end of the mattress up to lie next to him, sharing the pillow he's using.

"What happened, Xander? Did you get fired or something?" Allows him to wrap his arm around her and draw her into his chest.

"I wish. No...today, I got off early, and I was gonna take Anya to the movie, out to dinner, I don't know, something. I went over to her place...and..." His throat constricting, and his face burning, so embarrassed, he feels like a complete idiot in the way he hasn't since...since Anya came into his life.

"It's ok, Xan. Did you guys have a fight? Just nod or shake your head. You don't have to say it out loud. OK?" Small bob from him as she props herself on his chest to watch his movements.

"Was it a fight?" Shake. His eyes clamped so tight they wrinkle up like an old man's.

"Not a fight...ok, did she hurt herself and you were scared?" Shake. Willow tries to puzzle this out. She was sure it was some knock-down drag-out when Xander called. They'd had several lately, that she knew of, ranging from Anya being livid that Xander refused to let her use a strap-on on him to Xander getting pissed at Anya for telling everyone that they had sex while she was on her period and that he seemed to like it.

"Did Anya do something mean to you?" Nod. Willow suppresses the triumphant smirk that flutters onto her mouth at that. She knew it was gonna happen all along.

"Was it something you might break-up over?" Another nod. She can't really take pleasure in that, the hurt she feels by proxy too significant.

"Was it about sex?" Nod, but she knows it couldn't be anything else between these two.

"Did she try to, you know...um, that thing? You know the one..." Xander's eyes pop open, and the pain fades slightly. She grins at him, the special one that's always just for him. He draws a ragged breath and just lets it all cascade out.

"I caught her having sex with someone else." Both hands fly to her face, one covering her mouth, the other on her right cheek.

"Xander, oh my god. Did you send the guy to the hospital? Wait, was it a guy? What happened? What did she say? I'm so sorry." She throws herself down on top of him and holds on for dear life. He feels her tears against his neck and her narrow thigh between his, her arms clutching at him.

"I didn't do anything. I left." Words spoken into her hair, both his own arms now holding her to him as he breathes in the scent of baby-powder and incense.

"I'll kill her, I mean, something, not kill, but maim, yes, maim. One handed Anya, toeless Anya." Doesn't pull back, just mumbles into his throat, and Xander feels vindicated somehow. Here is one person who would always love him, no matter what else lay between them, other loves, other pursuits. Willow would maim for him.

"Maybe you should look out for your karma and let me get up the courage to at least talk to her first." Sliding down slightly, Willow raises her head up to look him in the eye.

"Xander, I learned a few spells that might help you. They're for easing of heartache. I could make you this tea-like stuff, it tastes like flowers, but you can hold your nose. It helps, I promise. I tried to slip some to Buffy, but she noticed." Her hair sticks to the left side of her face, and her cheeks shine scarlet.

"I don't know, Wills. Not that I don't trust you, but pain's part of the package..." Narrowing her eyes, she cuts him off.

"I can see through you. Why do you try to lie to me? Are you going to hurt yourself? Tara and I could come and stay with you until you feel better, or you could move in with Buffy and Dawn..."

"Oh, what a fun bunch that would be. No, I won't hurt myself. Physically. Not really my style." She lets him pull her back down, and Xander listens to her heartbeat. He falls asleep with her pressed along his body, entwined with him as he pretends the rest of the day never happened, and Willow won't leave to go home to Tara.

He wakes to her voice. "Xander, wake up." Slowly, he lifts his lids.

"I have to go. Buffy asked me earlier to watch Dawn tonight, but why don't you come? We can play cards and eat too much, you can even get anchovies on the pizza!" Smiling again, attempting to look as chipper as possible as she rolls over and stands up.

"No, Wills. I don't think I can deal with the Dawnster tonight. Too much energy, and if I started that unmanly crying hysterically thing, well, my rep would be ruined." He sits and swings his feet over the edge of the bed.

"I can't let you be alone! Tara has a night class, she gets out at 10:30. Look, why don't you take a shower, change your clothes, all that, and I'll call her to come by when she's through. You guys can watch tv together or something. Would that be ok?" She's being so earnest, wanting to help so badly, Xander can't brush her off.

"Yeah, sure. Tara is good. We can watch wrestling. She likes the Rock." Willow laughs at his lop-sided smile and lifted eyebrow.

"Sure she does." He follows her to the door, and she gets in one last full-body hug for good measure.

"Don't do anything, you know, crazy before Tara gets here." Over her shoulder as she walks down the hall, but Xander sees the slight smile she draws up.

"Right. Nothing crazy." He closes the door behind her and proceeds to get down to something seriously crazy. No intent for it, but like almost everything in Xander's life, events sort of find him, and today is eventful.

He walks back into the bedroom and starts collecting the miscellaneous items he'd tossed on the floor earlier. Picks the phone up on the way and hits one on the speed dial before he knows he's doing it. Hangs up after the first ring and does it all again. Gets as much as he can in his arms at once and lugs it back into the living room with the garbage can and the phone pinched between his neck and shoulder. The physical mementos of his last year and some fade from his vision as his inner voice, Sam Kenison version, whips up the 'This Is Your Life' diatribe.

Rejected, trust built up only to be torn down. Life seeming to be going along fine, perfectly in fact, and some cosmic fist slams into your gut and says //Ha ha fuck face, you thought that was happiness? Well it was, but that's not the path for you boy. Here lies your future: a trailer, a fat, useless gut hanging over a scuffed, leather belt and a nearly empty bottle that you can't remember when you last put down. Nature? Nurture? Don't count those genes out of the race yet son; it took eons for the amoeba to crawl out of the slime. Did you think you were going to do it in a year? Think again. Twenty years of being beaten down not enough for ya? Want another helping? Do you want the rundown of why an incredibly beautiful woman with the sex drive of a horny, teenage boy would want to move on? Why a Harris would never be enough to satisfy her? Look around, and don't forget the mirror while you're searching for answers.//

He runs his hands through his hair and pulls, like he'll yank it out in handfuls, but instead slides his hands down over his face, pressing the palms against his eyelids. But he can never really block out the world, no matter how hard he presses.

Feels that stinging in his eyes and the throat constricting, getting harder to breathe again, and as always, there's his father's voice //What are you crying about now, you pussy?// Xander knows it's not actually his father's voice, the man hasn't spoken directly to him for what, two years? He speaks through Xander's mom, or the air //I wish some fucking deadbeat moocher kid around here would get a fucking job already.//

That's why he never introduced Anya to his father. She'd been suspicious. //Are you embarrassed of me because I'm not as pretty as Cordelia?// No, he'd wanted to spare her, wanted her to be the rung of the evolutionary ladder that pulled him out of this mess, but she ended up being what planted him more firmly where he was destined to rot.

And couldn't she even have the decency to just pack her shit and leave him? No, she had to make him a part of the oldest cliché there is: dumb, blue-collar worker with the heart of gold, comes home to find his girl with someone else's cock filling her. Nice, thanks for that.

Starts to feel the rage filling the void that his tears left him with. Rage that Anya with one careless choice could reduce him to the person he was at sixteen. Worse even that that, because at least then he had hope that if he loved enough, tried with all his heart, that he could be more, that the cycle could be broken. Notices the lone, red hair stuck in the weave of his shirt. Willow. Raises his head and squints as he plucks the strand between thumb and index finger. Holds it up and stares at it, lesbians never had this problem did they? Willow would never spend the afternoon on her back beneath the mailman-mailperson? Tara didn't know how lucky she was. He didn't know how lucky he could have been.

All those years that Willow and he had been friends. He'd known that there could have been more, didn't acknowledge the possibility that flittered briefly when they were wrestling or sprawled in a tangle of limbs, watching movies on her couch. The possibilities that had scared him at the time because she was Will, his best friend, the only thing that kept him sane in the travesty that was his life after Jesse bit the dust, literally. And now even that was gone.

Not that she'd abandoned him, far from it. Willow was loyal to death, and beyond. But now, a part of her belonged to Tara, and she had to divide her time between friends and lovers. She wasn't exclusively for him, like it had been when three unpopular nerds stood against the world. He'd always have a piece of her, but not *all* of her. And *he'd* thrown that away; *he* was the one who had let it go. And see how well that choice had turned out.

He'd gotten Anya. That was a pretty consolation. Seemed so much more than pretty, gorgeous and unreal. The unreality giving over to the bliss that here was his * thing*, his prize for the shitty life, the striving to be more. Now he sees it was as brittle as every other shiny thing he'd ever grasped at. Place filler in Anya's quest to be human.

He'd gotten Goddamn-fucking Anya. Snapping back to the here and now, he starts scraping together the pathetic remnants of their life, tossing them in the garbage can so roughly he scrapes his knuckles against the edge. Not that he cares, he doesn't feel it, doesn't notice the blood as it drips down his fingers, mingled with her writing on the love notes, the silk of her panties, spattered across her smiling face with a spot that makes it look like her neck had exploded -gruesome vision of Hiroshima-like violence.

Like war, that's what it was.

Half empty bottle catches his eye. Everclear. And isn't that just what he needs right now? Ever. Clear. //Better than perpetually muddled, forever fucked up.// Unscrews the top and upends it, shaking every drop out of the thin neck, wiggles it rapidly until nothing else falls.

The lighter comes out, click, and the flame catches the corner of one pink square of paper, 'I love you' curling as ash quickly replaces loops of script, a fine, bold line of blue ink. That flaming torch is lowered and alcohol soaked memories return to what they once were, ethereal thoughts that can't be felt or held. They're all ideas that can't be proved, just imagined.

"I know you'll get what's coming to you, and I don't even care. I just want you to be as far the hell away from me as possible. I want back everything you stole from me: hope, trust, loyalty. The chance to love and not be squashed in its wake."

When the flame burns his fingers, he drops the note into the can and sucks the wounded flesh into his mouth, gets a wisp of red hair wrapped around his tongue. He pulls it off and flicks it. It lands in the can, curling against the heat.

A soft slither of scale, dry whispery hint of...something that can't quite be defined pricks at his awareness. He notices the surface of the wall waver and then birth a figure. In the shimmery glow he knows all to well as Hellmouthy *something *. And he can't find the shock in this bizarre scene. Desensitized to the insanity.

"You'd think she'd know better, being a former vengeance demon." Blackened lips push the words past a row of broken teeth with a hiss of indignation that hits too close to home. "You know how this ends."

"I do." Thirty-seven ignored messages on an answering machine, if she just would have picked up once, just one, then maybe it all could have been another way. He never would have gotten this worked up and set everything on fire. Never would have accidentally set this all in motion. Accidentally. Like everything. Always with him.

He scrapes his eyes over the beast before him and has to suppress a shudder. This was the true face of what had been taken from him? Flaps of skin hanging because Vengeance has decided to go with the leprosy poster child? Never saw Anya's demon face, tries to picture the flesh before him imposed on her features, and he just can't bring the image to his mind.

Broaching the distance between them, the male incarnation of Vengeance gives him a grin filled with bloody gums and teeth intended for rending rather than chewing. He transfers his necklace to Xander's neck, human-like hands tipped in three inch claws pat his shoulder as they withdraw. "I know the wish. Say the words and I will make it so."

That power so close, the ability to rewrite everything and all it takes is a few words, an affirmation of intent. "I wish I'd never met Anya...but no worlds where I'm a vampire. Just something simple, where I at least have the possibility of happiness."

"Hmn, possibility."

Blue light starts as a pinpoint between Xander's fingers as he holds the bauble at the center of the beaded necklace; spreads outwards until it encompasses everything like a self-destructing nova, and there's nothing left but the light that washes over *everything* and feels like it's burning his eyes from the retina out. And he curses himself, should have mentioned a world where he's not blind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Comes to sprawled on an abused sofa. He lifts his head and is shocked that there are no trace circles of light flashing before his eyes. No indication whatsoever that his vision is permanently dimmed or so much as the after-imagine of staring at something too bright. He thinks it might have worked and is equally thrilled and scared shit-less.

He pulls himself up and takes in his surroundings. Tiny living room of what appears to be an apartment. Kitchen to his right separated from this room with a half-wall bar. No stools at it. The couch he was apparently napping on under a window dressed in heavy shades, linen so dark blue he would have thought it black if the sun wasn't shining through the material. The couch comfortable and a slightly lighter hue of blue. Well used, but not threadbare. Wooden coffee table before him, nicked, old, books open and papers strewn from one end of its surface to the other. Wooden floors, rugs randomly spread around the room. A large television set with a Playstation sitting on the floor in front of it. He knows for damned sure he's never been here before. Glances down at himself and is jarred by the black and white Adidas pants and white t-shirt he hasn't ever seen before, much less put on today. Looks at his feet and sees white Adidas sneakers with black stripes. //Always had the ones with green or orange stripes//

He stands and realises two things: he has to pee really really badly, and he smells something burning. Sprints as much as possible with his bladder about to split and sees there's a steady plume of smoke rising from the oven door. Thanks whoever left the over-mitt out on the counter, flings the door open, and yanks out two completely blackened pizza pockets.

"Damn. Hungry." Hasn't eaten since before work, and even though he's disoriented and frightened, he could eat. The tray falls to the counter with an ear-shattering clang when two arms wrap around his waist, and he feels breath on the side of his neck. Soft chuckle, barely audible. Full lips pressed to the juncture of neck and shoulder, and he's really about to wet himself now. He knows the laugh. Would know it in pitch-black with no tactile clues like the soft flattening of breasts against his back.

"Faith?" Keeps his voice as steady as possible, but he's had almost enough already. No idea where he is, why his clothes match, Faith wrapped around him like he's her personal squeeze toy, and really regretting his fucked up solution to Anya's actions //no one's even tried to kill me yet, and I'm about to wig the big wig//

"What's the damage, Xander? You sound like that shaky grip you got on sanity's slipped a couple notches. It was just a fucking snack." She turns him around, and he almost gasps. This might be Faith but not one he ever knew. "Male PMS or what? Jesus, sometimes your temper really... do I have snot running down my nose?" She wipes her face with the back of her hand. A hand with short, unpainted fingernails. One ring adorns the ring finger, a black-opal set in silver.

"Xander, really, no joke. You're scaring me." Reaches out and touches the side of his face. He wants to flinch away from this bizarre creature in the long-sleeved, purple shirt and tight but not sleazy jeans. Thinks alien abduction, thinks possession. Wonders why she's not in jail here, why she isn't threatening him somehow and tries to play this hand as it was dealt.

"I'm ok, I just had a weird dream." Tries to go for light, jocular, ends up increasing the frown on Faith's face when his voice cracks slightly.

"I told you to stop reading that demonic-lore shit when you feel tired. It happens every fucking time. When are you gonna figure out your own brain, Harris?" //every time? What the hell is she...she's seen me asleep?// She smiles, and his breath catches slightly. Wide, full lips drawn back in genuine pleasure //affection?//, dimple in her right cheek, and before he has any idea what's going on, those lips meet his, nipping at the bottom to pull his apart. Slither of tongue, and her hands press into his chest, brush of a fingertip over a nipple. He freezes in place, and she disengages.

"A'ight then, babe. What was it about, because you're way more off than I thought." Pulling back from him, she hops up on the bar behind her and fixes him with a look Xander's sure could melt plastic.

"I gotta pee. Could you wait on the tale telling?" Reaches up to push the hair back from his face, reflex gesture since it's grown so long in the past months. No hair to push back when his fingers reach his face, and Faith's stare turns quizzical.

"Far be it from me to keep a man out of the bathroom. Hit it, and look for your brain behind the commode." As he turns, he hopes he's heading in the right direction.

Out of the kitchen, past the front door, through the living room, there's a short hall-way. Three doors, one closed, two open, and thank the lord above or below for that. Enters the bathroom and feels the panic setting in when he accidentally glances in the mirror. Xander Harris circa 1999. He guesses at the date, but he knows it's not the him that looked back at him in the mirror this morning. //that explains Faith, you nimrod, but not the part with the naughty touching...who in hell lives here? Fuck, this sucks. I am an idiot iamanidiotiamanidiot// With a sensation like a head rush, he notices the heft of his arms, the slide of his pants over his legs, the hang of the fabric of his shirt; it's not just the face that's different. This is the body he had before he 'filled-out' as Dawn called it. Skinnier, more awkward and able to process copious amounts of sugary food items without packing fat on his frame. Flushes the toilet, and tries to collect himself.

Faith's sitting on the couch when he comes back.

"Sit. Talk. Stop freaking me out." She pats the cushion next to her. He complies and almost stands right back up when she shifts from her place on the couch to deposit herself in his lap. Wraps one arm around his neck and looks him in the eye.

"So, dream. Now." Much closer to the tone of voice he knows as her usual one, even if she's smiling to offset it.

//what the fuck do I say?? Come on, think think think// "I dreamed you were in jail for killing a human with a stake through the heart." Words mumbled together and high-pitched, she doesn't miss a blink. Scoots back somewhat on his lap so she can look him in the face better.

"Babe, I told you about this. If you keep everything bottled inside, you're gonna keep having these nightmares. You gotta talk. I know it's hard, fuck, no one knows BETTER than me. But you're still sliding, even though you act like you're not. It's not cool to keep us all waiting to see you lose your mind." She leans in and presses her lips against his cheek.

His heart feels like it might hammer out of his chest. She's acting so...not Faith-like, and being way too touchy-feely and emotion having. Not to mention him being the object of the feeling and touching. She saves him from dumping her on the ground when she suddenly stands and reaches for his hand. Yanks him to his feet.

"Giles and Wussley are expecting us, get your ass in gear. Hope you did your Chem homework, the old man might beat you with a stick if not." She pulls him behind her to the door.

**

Faith's seen this kinda shit before. Back home, B.S., before Sunnydale, and that name is too perfect. All the people she's seen act this shell-shocked or amped up have been crackheads or methheads though, and she's doubting Xander picked up a habit sometime around ten this morning. Sure, Xander has his moments. The drinking binges he seems to have gotten under control, the leaving himself open to being a vamp's tasty snack she first came to town, the nightmares he rarely says anything about but she knows he has almost every night. But he was five by five this morning. Or she thought he was. She doesn't have the best people skills on the planet, but she thinks she knows him as well as she's ever known another person, and whatever he has on his mind is making him about as stable as her old lady after a week-long bender. She's tired of all the indirectness of these people. She misses little from her life previous to Sunnydale, but the blunt speech of the people she was raised with is one of the ones she does. Xander wouldn't tell her shit if she just out and asked him to cough it up, and her skin itches when she thinks about the indirect route she's gonna have to take to get her info.

On the walk back to the school, she notices he's left his bag at her place. Doesn't say anything. Knows fewer words are best when he fades on her. He didn't try to hold her hand or touch her hair, and she's damned sure that might mean he's about to kick up another no-sex period. God. She can pick 'em. Last time it was three weeks, no bump and grind, and she'd had to jump him to end the spell. Didn't hurt him much when he tried to pry her off and gave in quickly enough. Feels a twinge of what she guesses at guilt at the memory, but she's never been 'let's wait' girl, and her boy just needed to be brought out of his shell. Yeah. Like now maybe.

She sees the startled expression on his face as they walk up the steps to the front doors of the school. Where'd he think they were going? Bora Bora? Thinks too much. Kicks himself in the ass too much. Thought it was getting better. But she knows she sees what she wants to see, selective sight like her mom used to say about her dad, selective hearing. She wants Xander to be ok, so maybe she thinks he is more than is really true. She sees his right hand balled into a fist, knuckles white, and decides she'll try to be more gentle, more how do they put it...understanding. She knows that if someone had shown her the way years back, maybe more of her memories would be the kind she has a of Xander, moonlight and laughter, pizza and bad videos, and fewer that are nothing but screams, bruises and blood.

**

He fights the urge to rubberneck as he walks through the halls of a school that last time he visited was sporting the extra-charred look from the spring apocalypse collection. Every once in a while, he spies a face that he knows doesn't make it past graduation, some that were vampire fodder, mayor-snake casualties, a couple that went MIA so completely the *milk carton* with their picture on it couldn't even be found.

And this is just too weird. He's foreshadowing guy and everything around him is screaming fucking Déjà vu until he closes his eyes to block out the avalanche of remember-mes that just might send him over the edge.

He bumps into Faith as she stops suddenly. Damn, that was smooth; she turns back and glares at him like he's grown another head. He just barely suppresses the instinct to check and make sure he hasn't, because anything's possible on the hell mouth. Or is it? Meaning: The Hell Mouth.

Has he landed somewhere that Sunnydale is just a sleepy, little burg with less demony population and only one cemetery? No Boca de la Inferno? That's a concept that freezes his brain so completely, even more than the Faith date-age scenario he's found himself in, he can't even respond when she makes a remark about someone's inbred cousin chained in their basement, can't do more than gape when she shrugs in confusion. With a punch of both arms, she sends the library door swinging violently inward and swaggers through. "Cancel the lameness, the party has arrived."

Xander falls in behind her, swept up in her momentum and feels a twinge of dread mixed with bittersweet nostalgia. Here are the rows and rows of books that filled many all-night research sessions, mementos of simpler times. Times when they were fighting for their lives...together...and there was no college...no initiative...no in-fighting breaking them apart...no dead mothers. Just core Scoobies in one supportive lump of cooperative effort.

This must be some kind of fresh start. He looks around, sees Wesley pacing in front of the reference desk. The nervous energy coming from the man probably doesn't weigh very favorably for the Sunnydale is normal camp. Also, why would he be here if this was a normal town?

Another movement catches his eye, just off of his right elbow. Giles comes out of the office carrying a heavy book and stops when he notices the new arrivals. "Oh Xander, there you are. Did you need some money, I noticed you didn't take a lunch today."

And gu-guh? Giles cares about his nutritional status *and* offers him money? This world is of the utmost bizarreness. Xander can't help but study the librarian like he's a bug caught under the microscope. Since when did Giles grow a paternal bone, a paternal bone for Xander? That's just beyond freaky.

A wrinkling of the eyebrow and there's a concerned look that makes Xander snort out loud, which just gets him more of the same. "Don't forget that the Honor Society Photos are being taken today." The last is said with a slightly pained expression and a sigh as he takes in Xander's tank top and running pants.

"And they need someone to set up the equipment?" In this world he's some kind of janitor's helper? Um, okay. He guesses he can live with that. Don't janitors belong to unions? That might not be so bad.

"Xander, we talked about this. The Honor society looks good on your college applications. Admissions are looking for a well-rounded profile, grades *plus* extra curricular activities." Giles is giving the vibe of a well-practiced argument.

"And why would they be looking at *me*, specifically?"

Small sigh. "Xander, 3.75 is nothing to be ashamed of, calculus was a very difficult course for you. But you really did quite well, not an A, but a good showing nonetheless. I told you not to fret about it, Chemistry will pull you right back up in the running."

Whoa, they had talked about this before? He took Calculus...and apparently chemistry? And he did WELL? He looks around for a chair, because he suddenly feels a little light-headed. He's like super brain guy?

Giles sees his confusion and pushes him toward the reading table in the middle of the room, muttering something about skipping breakfast and how did he expect to do well on the Chem quiz today if he didn't have a solid meal in him and something else that was lost on him when Xander finally noticed who was sitting at the table. From behind various, half-opened books, Willow looks up, smiles when she sees him, but frowns when she notices Faith.

The Slayer swings a chair around until its back hits the edge of the table. She straddles it and scoots it an inch or two closer to the one that Xander hovers over and slaps him on the ass. "Sit it down, sweet cheeks."

He can see the annoyed glare Willow throws at the slayer. At least that hasn't changed. Willow wasn't exactly president of the Faith fan club in his world either. And he wonders how many other things about Will are the same here? Does she have a Tara in her life; is she still an Oz lover; does she have any remnants of that childhood crush on Xander that Jesse used to tease her about; does she still love maple-walnut ice cream?

How many parallels are there between both universes? There's a big one sitting next to her. Dead boy. And how delightful to see that some things never change...or do they? Is he a bloodsucker here? Have they been treated to demony fun with Angelus?

Xander leans forward, looks him right in the eye and says loudly enough for everyone else to hear it, "How's that soul thing going?"

A look of supreme confusion crosses Angel's face, then he looks to Willow as if she can decipher the strange Xanderspeak that he doesn't even want to tackle.

Xander restates his accusation, "You're a vampire."

Willow wrinkles her nose in concern and pats his hand. "Have you been drinking the Dr Pepper again? You know how hyper that makes you."

And Xander doesn't miss the frown when Angel's lips tighten. He's upset about something. Guess that old hatred between them hasn't changed either. What's going on here, it occurs to him that he hasn't seen Buffy yet. Where is that girl?

He's about to ask when Wesley gives him a disapproving glance and addresses Dead boy, "Continue Angel. You said that a African-American vampire has been rumoured to be recruiting for some type of nefarious undertaking?"

"Mr Trick." Xander cocks his head to see what Willow's reading and blurts out the name.

"Excuse me, what?" Wesley pulls his glasses from his face and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"How did you know that?" Angel's forehead scrunches up in the perpetual furrow Xander always thinks of as Confusion face.

"Everyone know...uh, I heard it somewhere." Xander's brain reengages, and he realizes this is the library, it's in one piece, and he shouldn't know something like a random vampire's name. He needs to shut up. Right now. Blend, that's his motto.

A loud bell sounds signalling time for classes. Willow picks up her backpack from the floor. "Well, you have Mr Lindley and Chem, let's go." As they walk through the doors and into the hallway, she looks at him quizzically.

"Where's your backpack?" He starts and feels his chest constrict. This was a universal nightmare come true: a test he had no idea about and no school supplies to boot. Not to mention that whole not going to school for a couple years thing.

"Ah, I must have left it when I went out for lunch." He doesn't look her in the face, but knows the look she's giving him. All steel.

"You must have left it huh? Let me guess, you're not too worried about it because it's only at Faith's apartment anyway. Here, you can use one of my pencils for your test." She shoves the number 2 into his grasp and angles into the door to her class. He catches a glimpse of Ms. Calendar at her desk. Apartment Faith's, check. No Angelus, check. Failure ahoy, check.

~~~~~~~~~~

Willow is sick of Cordelia and Harmony. She can't seem to even tolerate them with her special mantra anymore //They will get married in a year, have five kids, go on welfare and have bad perms// . She sighs and thinks about Angel in the library earlier. He'd told her he liked her new sweater, pink with red butterfly appliqués. The only person to notice. Not Xander. No, he was too busy running off to do naked things with Faith. Faith and her bouncey bosoms and pretty eyes. Willow sighs.

She perks when she sees a dejected Xander making his way towards her.

"Bad?" She asks as he shuffles up to her.

"Foreign film with no subtitles bad," he confesses with a sigh. "I think I may hate this life."

She pats him on the shoulder in consolation. "We'll work on it tonight. You know this stuff. You just choked. You have to learn to loosen up a little. You get too nervous in the test and you freeze. We need to make you a little test good luck charm."

"Like Dumbo," he says miserably.

"Suck it up little camper, the day is still young."

He groans at that. "Which means more classes. What tortures await me now?" She can see now that he looks more bedraggled than she had picked up before. Where does he go next? Weird. Hopefully not possession, but she will reserve mentioning it until he does something *really * strange. Like being nice to Angel.

"The Giles torture. It's your free period and you know he's going to grill you about it."

"Hopefully with a nice, lemon butter sauce? At least I can provide some enjoyment by being a tasty, well prepared entrée?"

She grins. "It'll be okay if you come over tonight?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

There's a lack of eye contact, and Willow's looking a slightly too casually at the floor as they walk down the hall. "I don't know. I thought maybe you and Faith had some plans or something?"

He whoops out loud and several people passing them turn to look. "Faith...and *me*? What could possibly..." He pauses and then continues. "...be more important to her than my scholastic success."

"She doesn't like me." Understatement of the year. Willow sometimes gets an almost jealous vibe from Faith. Always brushes it off as wishful thinking or maybe pms.

"She doesn't like anyone." That Willow can believe. Shrew of the year. She chides herself for thinking that though, Faith's had a hard life, and she had to come to a new place thousands of miles from home and try to fit in with people custom fit to another person.

She looks at Xander now, and *this* time she really looks into his eyes, all the way into his soul and he shivers. That gives her a start. Bad friend alert. Something's wrong, and she was too wrapped up in her own miserable thoughts to notice.

"Are you happy Xander?" She keeps her voice placid, smoothes her hand over his arm.

He tenses, and his eyes go off. It's the look. Knows it far too well, and her heart aches for him. She closes her fingers around his arm and pulls him into the closest empty classroom.

"What's wrong Xander?" Smiles, pushes hair back from her face and tries to radiate security and grounding. Instead of easy confession of some minor infraction or even a weak excuse, Xander's hands start to shake. His face flushes, and he reaches one hand out to brace himself on the desk on his right.

"God, Xander. What's wrong?" There's the beginning of panic in her question.

At the tremble in her voice, his eyes light on hers, and he snatches one of her hands in his left. Rubs circles on her palm and smiles in a cock-eyed kinda way. Willow catches her breath, struggling to keep it even and natural. Tingles run up her arm from the place Xander's caressing, and she's scared he can see all the illicit thoughts flying around in her mind.

"Nothing." His tone much calmer than before. "It's nothing. I've just been a little keyed up lately, that's all." She wants to believe him, but even more she wants to get the hell away from him before she throws herself on him.

She relaxes as much as she can, goes for light, teasing as she chides him, "You worry too much. You're always taking everybody else's problems on yourself and constantly scared you're going to let everyone down. You don't have to be so strong all the time, we're here for *you* too."

And she wants to be there for him, wants to share and joke and be best friends. But since he's been with Faith, something else has manifested in her. Some attraction she didn't notice before, and she hates herself for it. Green-eye monster dripping venom and puss, and she can't even be there for him anymore. Hates herself for it. She turns from his gaze as these thoughts weigh her down.

"Willow." His voice brings her back, earnest and low.

"Yeah," she's looks at the clock now worried about getting to class, frown on her face.

"I love you Will, you know that don't you." And her heart skips a beat and then falls to her stomach.

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes as she moves to open the door, hiding how much she wants to hear someone say that and not mean 'in the friend way'. "I love you too, you idiot, but stalling for time isn't going to get you out of talking to Giles. Take your medicine like a big boy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He should follow Willow's advice and suck it up, take it like a man, instead of a Harris. Because that would involve either running away or drowning in comfortable booze soaked oblivion. An option that now, he's beginning to see the merits of for the first time. He's feeling dazed though, dazed and freaked to the gills, so he just floats through this seeming dream world. Until, Xander walks past Larry banging on the vending machine in the student lounge on his way to the library. Passes close enough to the other teen to hear his cursing. His body flashes hot then cold as he sees Larry falling to the ground at graduation, his body hitting the pavement, the thud echoes in his ear. He raises his hand to touch his cheek, and as he does, his eyes track the unmarred flesh of his knuckles, the flesh-toned skin that yesterday he noticed was criss-crossed with white scars now. Larry turns to face him, his expression pulled into a grimace of delight at spotting one of his favourite victims. Xander knows then that they haven't had their 'moment' here, this is just Larry, one of the tormenters of his high school experience. He turns on his heel and moves as fast as he can on the long route to the library, the reality of this new life scaring him. He pushes open the door to the library, and as the scent of paper and dust wafts to him, the otherness and distance redescends over him.

"Oh, how was your test?" Giles asks as he hears Xander approach. He puts down the stack of books he was going to file.

"I was hoping we could talk about that maybe next year. You know, when the pain is buried some."

And there's that concerned look that he's never quite seen on his own parents' faces, but he recognizes it from all the years he's known Joyce and Sheila. "Xander, are you feeling... angry, or... violent lately?"

Meaning, would they read about him in the paper- another crazed school shooter shocks the nation? "You have no idea. Look Giles, I know you're all dad-guy and stuff, but don't sweat it, I'm alright. Just having an off day."

"I seriously doubt you're being honest, but I can't force you to tell me anything."

Not physically, but the psychological torture couldn't be completely forgotten. Visions of Giles singing endless choruses of 'Henry the Eighth I Am', make Xander's toes curl, and he steps back from the desk and throws his hands up in the air in mock surrender. "Whoa, scary visual place there for a moment." Never gonna forget that night, even though he's in another universe and this Giles doesn't look like he's into auditory torture for teenaged refusal to do research.

Giles with a long-suffering grimace on his face as he continues, "Chemistry is one of your better subjects, what on earth..." A sigh, and then, " Xander, I think we need to talk."

And there's his cue to panic. "Oh no. I think I left the gas on my Bunsen burner..." One step backward...two...how many more to the door?

"Xander, really, come in my office."

"Shoot G-man. Just make it between the eyes to make the kill clean."

Giles points to the office and Xander follows. Dead man walking.

"You haven't called me that in quite some time. " Giles removes a handkerchief from his pocket, removes his glasses and begins polishing them, a series of actions that Xander recognizes. It means he's rehearsing some 'serious' discussion in his head before arguing it rationally and logically.

Oh god, is it going to be that bad? Buffy's usually the one that gets this kind of lecture, Xander usually gets the 'don't be an idiot', or-'you are profoundly stupid' eye roll. This is new territory for him.

" Xander. I am worried about you. You and Faith most specifically."

Dating advice. From Giles? And that's really quite frightening isn't it? Is this going to be one of those talks about responsibility...and condoms? Because that might actually be amusing. "What about Faith and me?"

"I feel that you two might have some type of synergy between you that causes the worst tendencies in you both to surface when you're together. I know you weren't 'eating lunch' when you left campus today. I can hear your stomach rumbling."

"I fell asleep on the couch." At least he thinks that's all they did.

The glasses are back on now, and Giles sits on one corner of the desk, and Xander thinks he's seen this film in health class before. In the sixth grade. Giles' arms are folded across his chest, and Xander's sure now, it's the 'there is a time in every young man's life speech'.

"Really, no need to dissemble. I know what it's like to be your age, and Faith is quite attractive. But I also think that your schoolwork is being affected by your time spent with Faith 'sleeping on the couch'. I think her focus as a Slayer is also compromised."

"You think I put her in danger? Oh, of course, demon magnet."

"Excuse me? I was referring more to the fact that she is worried about you 'snapping like a twig and going on a three alarm rampage' as she so colorfully termed it."

"Snapping? Why would she think that?"

"Good lord. It could be from the fact that you dropped out of therapy and refuse to discuss your parents' or Buffy's deaths with anyone. "

Oh, whoa, whose whats? World rocketing to a halt now, when did all this happen? This is way too much information to process right now. He can't even form the words to ask the sudden avalanche of questions that statement brings.

"Xander, you know we all love you, even Faith, as undesirous as I am to know the details of that love. We all are concerned for your mental well-being. I thought that I could give you some much-needed stability when I asked you to live with me."

He's living with Giles? Those words together in a sentence are unbelievable, true proof that this is some kind of freaked out universe.

"I'm new at this pseudo-parenting business. If I'm doing it wrong, tell me. Tell me what you need from me."

Take away his crack pipe, because this is obviously a drug-induced trip? "Talk about my feelings more, check."

"You also need to be more vigilant in your studies if you are still expecting to go to Berkley."

"Berkley? " Holy shit. They've talked about *him*? Going to Berkley? It shocks him so much that the next words seem to slip out of his mouth, "School's gonna blow up anyway."

"What did you say?" Giles is suddenly riveted in place and looks as though he's holding his breath.

"Uh, blowing my chances with all this slacking." Good cover, on the Planet of the Apes.

Giles smiles, satisfied he's got his point across. "So, we're in agreement?

"I'm hearing you loud and clear." Buffy's dead. Xander realises failing out of school isn't such a huge thing after all.

**

Xander's glad the him here in this world was already off in the head to begin with, because when he came home with Giles earlier to an apartment he'd never seen before, he had a hard time suppressing his freak-out. Again with the bizarreness of Giles cooking them dinner after Xander wandered down the hall and found 'his room'. It was oddly vacant of anything older than two years old or so, and that brought up even more questions that he already had. Buffy.

For the majority of the night, he kept the random images of his friend at bay with Giles' lulling voice. Talk of impending doom, more about Mr. Trick and his antics, chatter about Jenny and their date tomorrow night, admonitions about keeping his eyes on the prize in school. After a while, Giles takes up a book, and Xander sprawls on the couch pretending to study. As he does, the words 'what happened to my mom and dad' keep choking him, but he figures someone will say * something* about it eventually, and he doesn't want to get locked in a loony bin quite yet.

"Knock, knock," Faith says around the edge of Giles' door as she pushes it inward and steps inside.

"Like any of you people ever bloody well knock." Giles complains, taking a sip of the tea he's holding, making a face, and then blowing across the surface until it ripples in little waves. He samples it again and seems satisfied this time.

Faith appraises the British man with an expression of amused annoyance that isn't completely without a small measure of respect. Stands facing him, with one hip sticking out at a cocky angle, arms crossed over her stomach. "Well, at least I mimed it this time. Don't let the stick up your ass bruise your intestines."

Xander looks up from where he's lounging on the couch with a textbook across his stomach. Not studying the equations that just make his head swim. Instead thinking about Buffy. All the Buffy this world has missed, that the HIM that was here until today missed. All the bad parts too: Angelus being the first one and the last one his mind hovers over. He's been trying to figure out how to ask Giles how she died. When. Focuses on Faith, all dimples and lip-gloss. "What's up?"

"Just came by to see if you wanted to hit the pavement with me, kill some things, you know, the whole slaying routine." She comes around and stands in front of him, kicks the cushion about an inch from his thigh. "Save you from a life of being a lazy-ass slacker."

Giles cuts Xander a look that Faith doesn't see.

"You're still all weirded out, huh? Wanna talk about it?" She studies him through strands of loose brown hair, hands in her back pocket, and he can't help but feel a little tightening in his cock. Faith really is beautiful but something inside can't accept that they're together. Suddenly he actively *does* want to go out patrolling with her, to some hidden corner of the cemetery...

But no, that's not where his brain needs to be heading right now. And when he sees Faith naked and writhing below him, Anya's face keeps blacking out Faith's. "No, nothing to talk about, I just need to do some homework." And possibly take a cold shower.

"Homework? Homework makes your dick fall off." She laughs.

"And thanks for that public service announcement." Looks over to see Giles wide-eyed in horror at the turn the conversation has taken.

"I can hang here for a while then while you study? Watch some 'Must See T.V'?"

"Ok, sounds good to me." He lifts his legs up, and she sits down, allows him to rest his legs on her lap. "You could quiz me?" He asks, waving the chemistry book in the air.

"Hell no." She reaches for the remote control and flips the channel.

Giles sighs, "Alright, children, I'm going to my room to read. Don't stay up too late. Early morning and all that rubbish." He lingers like he wants to say something else, but eventually begins that long walk down the hallway with cup in one hand and folded paper under one arm.

"A'ight old man." Faith calls over her shoulder as she hunches further into the couch cushions in a slouch, wiggling her hips forward and swinging her legs up to cross them on the coffee table.

"Goodnight, Giles."

"I never thought he would hit the hay." Faith punches the buttons of the remote and switches to HBO, gives a lewd smirk when the scene shifts to the tangled limbs and bare flesh of a couple in the back seat of a car.

"Yeah, he's always been a night owl though." And there's no embarrassment to be watching this with her. They're supposed to be dating, aren't they? At least she doesn't give a play-by-play commentary like Anya used to //'Look, he will penetrate her from behind.' Oh God Anya. 'Well, he will...see?' Yeah, but you don't have to say it out loud! Because that's wrong... 'I didn't know...I'm sorry.'//

"I guess that goes for all the idiots I know these days." Faith hoots with a sneer

"You calling me an idiot?" Xander asks in confusion before he realizes she was responding to the action on the screen.

Faith turns away from the TV and crosses her eyes at him. "The biggest one I know."

"I guess you got me there." Xander deadpans, straight face, no emotion. He watches as her faces shifts, showing him she's kidding, that it's all cool between them, and he wonders if Faith and Buffy ever knew one another here, if they were friends. Feels his body tense, the muscles in his face hardening as he realises he might have seen Buffy for the last time.

"Oh fuck, you're not taking me seriously again, are you? You need some heavy medication."

"Yeah, a bottle of Jack Daniels." Xander says, rubbing his chin like he used to see his Uncle Rory do after he'd drank his last bottle.

"Do you have a fever? You thinking about taking up drinking again? I thought you were over that whole puking up your guts thing."

"Uh, yeah, I am. Just joking, I'm a comedian. I'm here all week, two shows on Sunday." He can't help but laugh when she flashes him a smile. She reaches out her hand and runs it up his leg. "So."

"So?" He knows where this is going, and he's trying to figure out how he can rebuff her without ending up with a broken nose or a cracked rib.

"The geezer's all snug." Her smile kicks up a notch, and her tongue darts out to taste her abundantly shiny lips.

"I noticed that, what with his saying goodnight and all." He slides up so he's sitting against the arm of the couch, legs out of her reach. This doesn't remove the predatory aspect to her face however; she just switches gears.

"You gonna start talking about not doing it in the house again?" Rolls to her feet and moves to stand in front of him. His response takes too long for her, and she leans down, one hand twisting in his hair to pull his head back, the other swatting his fingers away when he reaches to stop her.

"Yeah, not in the house. It's not cool. You know how I feel about that." And he's trying to feel something about that right now. Her breasts are inches from his face, no cleavage showing in the tight-cut t-shirt, but the outline of her bra is stark with the cotton pulled tight from her stance.

"Old conversation." In a blink, her mouth's on his, tongue prying his lips apart, and all he can do is fall into the taste of her. Another memory, cigarettes and cherry, this is the same girl after all, the essence still there if not the killing tendencies. Out of reflex, one of his hands flies to her chest, one grope his conscience whispers. Feels the slide of satin under cotton, the lace at the edges raised under his fingertips, the nub of her nipple puckering immediately against his palm.

She pulls back, grin firmly ensconced on her smudged lips. "Outside then, get a move on." Her hand drops from his hair to yank at the waistband of his pants, and he wants to err on the side of caution, tell her no it's not right he's not her man he's too fucked up for this and it's just wrong wrong wrong. Wrong because he still loves Anya, wrong because maybe this is his chance to get the Willow thing right, wrong because he doesn't know her, the Faith person, at all. But her free hand skates down to rub the spot his hand just left, and all the lust he ever felt for her washes him into the gutter he thought he'd left permanently.

"Ok." He nods and lets her tug him behind her. Out the door he knows Giles has to hear open and shut, out into the courtyard he's unfamiliar with. Faith seems to be old hat with this place though. She makes for a small playground, jungle gym, swing set, sandbox, and a copious amount of shrubbery. The bushes seem to be the spot, and he actually laughs out loud. Doesn't break stride, but she turns her head slightly and smiles back at him. That's when it hits him fully. This isn't the Faith he knew. The differences aren't just surface. This is a completely altered person. The smiles she gives him aren't façade or underlain with pain or mockery. They're genuine and filled with something he'd never seen in her, ease.

Xander sees that here in the area they stop at, there's no illumination from the lights that shine around the apartment complex. It's pitch-black and sheltered from the windows and doors of the complex. Faith knows her stuff. She bends and yanks an afghan out from under the bush next to them, kneels and spreads it out on the leaf-strewn ground.

"What're you waiting for? An engraved invitation?" She blinks up at him staring down at her. Shadows cover his face, he knows that, and is glad for it. Because when a glimmer of fear crosses her face, he echoes it. Two beats, and he's on his knees. Worried about how easily she should be able to tell he isn't her lover. Not the one she last touched here in their secret place. Wants her to take the lead now that he committed himself to this stupidity in one of his less stellar moments. Lays on his back and tries to grin for all he's worth.

"Well trained." She murmurs as she hastily undoes the fly of her jeans. Shimmies out of them and snatches at his. In his socks anyway, so she has them over his legs in short order along with his boxers. He can't see her face now, as she pulls her shirt over her head and moves over him. She straddles his thighs, her hair falling over her face as she leans down to him.

"I left my bra on this time. So you can take it off. Makes you hot, doesn't it?" Whispered against his lips. And his body is definitely seventeen again, because he feels the wetness spread out from where his cock rests against his belly at her words. Grabs her head when she moves to pull back, and keeps her in place while he sucks the rest of the gloss from her bottom lip, slides his tongue inside and owns the grind of her hips against his legs. Lets her go as she slides forward, takes him in hand and engulfs him in one downward thrust.

His backs arcs off the ground, and one hand clenches on her hip. She rolls and slides, her own head thrown back, burr to her voice as she tells him how much she loves the feel of him inside her, how she wants to mark him so no one else will ever have him. His eyes unclamp, and he strains to see her in the non-light. Black satin on white flesh, and he remembers on an up-slide that she left him a prize to open.

His free hand shakes as he slips her bra-strap down her shoulder. Peels down the cup and flicks a thumbnail over her nipple. Beyond words, she simply clenches her muscles around him and holds still for a half-second. Front-loader, that's Faith. He unclasps the bra and lets the material hang as he circles her breast with his whole hand and squeezes gently. Her rhythm restarts, and he knows it's not gonna be long now. Takes his hand off her hip, and pushes his fingers against her body where they're joined. Her gasp lets him know it's the right spot. Five more rises and falls, and she lets out and a roar, constricts around him, and he's right there with her.

Faith collapses on top of him, and he can feel the semen leaking out onto his leg. His heart is still rabbit fast, and it pings even higher when it registers that this isn't Anya, and not using a condom is not advisable when you're in high school and your girlfriend's notoriously non-monogamous. Her mouth flutters open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, and her arms snake under him to hold him to her. He lets her do whatever is the normal after sex routine for them, bringing his arms up to circle her. He's drawn from his thoughts about teenage pregnancy and AIDS when he realises that Faith's mumbling to him. The same words murmured almost under a whisper. "Love you, babe. Love you so much." And Xander is suddenly scared all over again. Immediately thinks about calling Willow when he gets in the apartment, no, ixnay on the Lowbay, maybe Buffy...fuck, he's screwed.

**

~Scritch~

The scraping on the glass gives her a momentary shudder. When she was younger, Xander used to sleep over. He loved to tell elaborate stories about handless asylum escapees and alien abduction by strange creatures with bulbous heads. She'd tried not to smile as he mimed shrivelled, misshapen extraterrestrials, but it was always the acting out of the bloody stump that prompt an exasperated "Oh, Xander."

And yet, she'd always found herself sitting bolt upright at three a.m., when the wind started to blow and the tree outside her bedroom would drag its spindlier branches across the window. Every time, she'd huddled there in her sleeping bag next to Xander on the floor, trying to decide if she should check it out just to be sure, or wake him up. Rrriot grrl or chicken...rriot girl or chicken?

Somehow, he always woke up before she could shake him. Like staring at him for long enough, imagining pinching him could get his eyelids to open. Dark eyes blinking in the moonlight and that smile just below the sleepy surface, "What is it Will?"

"Um, I was hungry. Are you hungry?" Hoping he didn't pick up the fear in her voice. Nobody really believes in aliens do they? And asylum escapees hardly ever climbed up to second story windows, right?

"Sure Will, I could eat." He never did laugh at her, not out loud anyway.

~Scritch, scritch~

No Xander here tonight, guess she'd better bite the bullet and take care of it herself. It's no big deal; there's nothing there anyway. Reach one hand out and pull the curtain, it's not that difficult. Four...three...two...one...oh my God.

"Angel? Oh my God." She recognizes the face looking in. Can that branch really support him, Xander stopped climbing up here years ago. She fumbles with the latch for ten seconds, wondering why she's so jumpy tonight, then gives a heave and pulls the window up.

"Hi." That serious tone as he looks around worriedly, like he expects her parents to be guarding the threshold of her room, guarding her virtue from what, a two hundred year old vampire? Yeah, she can see Ira Rosenberg clutching a Star of David and forcing Angel back down the tree and into the night. She bites her lip to keep from laughing at that visual, but stops when her eyes go back to him.

"Something's funny?" He asks with the wrinkled eyebrows that always presages the half smile, the one that brings the dimple to his right cheek, the one that always makes her...

"No," she admits, studying his face, waiting. Ah, there it is, and she vows never to tell him what a dopey schoolgirl she is, obsessing over a facial tic. "Just wondering what you'd look like with a Star of David burned into your forehead."

That throws him, because his eyes shift around the room suspiciously and he hesitates before asking, "I know it's late, but would it be all right if I came in?"

Would that be okay? Well, she could take a quick inventory of the pros and cons of that scenario. Does, and decides that there is not one argument in her mind as to why he shouldn't, so there's that insane smile again. She can feel it tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Okay, don't be such a complete idiot that you scare him away. He must have been under some strange hypnosis spell for the last month, because guys like him were *not* attracted to Willow Rosenberg. It just wasn't something that happened. Ernie Dosenphlatt with the excessive nose hair and unbearable body odor, that was the kind of guy she attracted. But no matter how many lame things she's said, or how many objects she's tripped over, he still talks to her. Seems interested. But she puts that down to her over-active imagination.

"Willow?"

Nods her head. Retarded much? "Okay."

It's almost comical to see him try to squeeze his entire frame through the small opening of her window, but then his biceps flex, then his pecs, and she closes her eyes, recalling that con tally again and adding: will make you into a drooling idiot.

He finally stands up with a self-conscious stretch, as if he realizes how ridiculous he must have looked. "Hi, I was talking with Giles about the Amulet of Azithrocon, and we couldn't find anything in the books. I was wondering if you could look it up on the computer?"

She spares a glance at the clock on her nightstand. 12:30 a.m. This amulet is so important that she needs to start researching it at 12:30 a.m., in her room. Right. She fights the urge to do a silly, happy dance, because it must mean he wanted to see her, and says instead, "Sure."

She sits down on her bed and grabs her laptop from the pile of homework it's sitting on. When she notices the pile of clothes on her desk chair, she looks over at the suspiciously empty spot next to her and then up at him. Chokes the words through the sudden lump in her throat, "Want to sit down?" Geez, she's only asking him to sit down, not jump her bones. Quit being such a colossal dork.

What if he doesn't want to sit down?

It's hard to tell what he's thinking; he's got that poker face thing down. Smile, maybe he'll think she was joking?

His eyes bounce from her desk chair to the bed, shoulders hunch up and he nods, says quietly //to himself?// "Okay...okay, I can."

"Azithrocon?" She pulls up a screen and...whoah, *that's* not an amulet. How the hell did she get into a German porn site? Back. Back. Back. Feel her cheeks go red and remembers the time she passed out when they showed the menstruation film in sixth grade. Oh please God, don't faint right on top of him. That would be so embarrassing.

"Ah, maybe a different spelling?" She suggests weakly, thankful that when she looks over, he's politely looking everywhere but *at* the previously offensive screen. A couple more tries and she has to admit, "Sorry, I'm getting nothing here."

"It's okay," he sighs. "There may be some other reference point we're not thinking of, something else it can be tied into. Thanks for trying, though."

And he's not moving. No obvious scramble to leave with a wave and a 'you're a good kid Willow' with a jocular punch in the arm, just him sitting six inches away from her. She can see the conversation she'd have if her mother walked in right now. No we weren't *doing* anything. Could she stand the look of surprise and revulsion on his face at the suggestion? 'God no. She's a child, seventeen, and I'm two hundred.' Okay, maybe he wouldn't say that, not out loud, but he'd be thinking it, wouldn't he? She knows that she does, practically everyday.

You're a silly child, and he's a crusading vampire with a soul. Not a lot of common ground there, no shared cultural experience, no favorite foods or movies or cd's in common.

Her turn offs: blood drinking, lack of heartbeat, boyfriends who are older than her parents and grandparents combined? His: klutzy redheaded geeks who've never really kissed anyone and wouldn't know the first thing about being a sexy mystery if it fell into their lap? How would they keep the romance alive if she put him into a coma of boredom every time they were together? Nope, it's doomed, and she'd better put it out of her head entirely, better that she stifle that little fantasy before she completely made a fool of herself.

After all, she's played the Xander cards pretty close to her chest all of these years, and at least she hasn't screwed that up. He's still around; they're still friends, and at least she can see him everyday. She only occasionally feels that little tug in her heart when she sees him. In the winter, when the leaves turn orange, and he jumps out at her from behind a tree, wrestles her into a big pile of leaves until she's laughing so hard she feels like she's going to pee her pants. That's better than nothing.

She was meant to be an old maid, that must be it. Better practice that resolved, stoic face. And start to like cats. She should probably have many cats...and wear a lot of purple?

"Willow? Are you there?" He's looking at her like she's a choking victim and he can't remember how to do the Heimlich. And somehow, he's leaned closer to her in concern, with a hand on her arm.

"Um, sorry, mental road trip there. I'm back now. Sometimes it's hard to stop my brain." And it's apparently hard to start too, when she realizes he's touching her.

He's done it before; a hand to help her up after being knocked down by a particularly nasty demon, or pushing her behind him when the fray gets a little too rough. Once, he bent over her shoulder when she was pointing out a useful paragraph in the library, and his chest brushed her shoulder. She'd had to stop, take an internal breath and try and lower the squeaky pitch her voice attained when she tried to pronounce the name of the demon she'd found. She'd noticed Xander had tried to mimic the same pitch when he said it, as if she had discovered the secret, true pronunciation. Nope, she'd just been trying to return from a secret lusty place that recently was far more graphic than she remembered.

Ah, not far from that place now, as he rubs his hand up and down her triceps, staring at her with a half bemused expression.

And God help her, at this moment, she thinks she's fallen completely in love with him.

**

Angel thinks he must be crazy to be here, giving into the impulse again. He'd vowed not to put his hands on her again; surely she was going to become suspicious if he was groping her all the time? Wouldn't someone notice that he never touched anyone else? He never helped Xander through a door first, or fought the urge to wipe dirt off of Giles' nose. Hell no, that insanity was reserved all for Willow, as was his flimsy excuse for being in her room right now.

It was late, but she hadn't been in bed yet. She was still wearing the same clothes she had been earlier today. Her hair pulled back in an elastic band, but one strand clings to her cheek, red against flushed cheeks, and, as always, he's mesmerized by her incredible eyes, the way her lashes dip against pale skin when she blinks. For the thousandth time, his eyes are drawn to the sharp point of her chin, which makes it impossible to ignore her mouth. It was just starting to break into a self-conscious smile...

He reaches out with his left hand and cups her chin, tips her face upwards and kisses her. Oh, he knows it's wrong, is petrified that she'll freak out and do a banishing ritual the second she kicks him out. It was a bad idea that spawned a bad choice that would only lead to... badness, but once he feels the heat of her lips and the aura of warm life that crackles out from every inch of her, he knows he's lost.

Her eyes are wide with shock at first, but they slide closed, and he wonders if she's trying to pretend this isn't happening. She's probably too polite to slap him.

Intellectually, he knows he should pull away, but instinctively, he draws her closer, parts her lips and probes his tongue inside of her. Just this once, there is only the two of them; no one else exists beyond this room, nothing but the passion that he at least feels for her.

She's so young, so inexperienced, but something about her sucked him in, helplessly and completely. There was some undeniable spark of life that can't be ignored, something pure and life affirming about this redheaded child that he'd never had, even when he'd *been* human and it makes him ache to see it exist so freely in her, knowing that he has no right to want to claim even one ounce of it for himself.

Angel comes to his senses and is assailed by guilt, embarrassment and something he doesn't recognize immediately...fear. Fear that this impulse is going to cost him his place in her life, their friendship.

He takes his hands from her, leans back and is too embarrassed to look her in the eye, wanting to escape before she has the chance to say something to sever their relationship and banish him to lurker mode, sentence him to stolen glimpses and pacing across the street, wondering what she is dreaming about.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't... have done that." He groans inwardly as he becomes a tongue-tied idiot. "I swear it'll never happen again."

**

Several minutes pass before Willow finally clears the haze in her head that Angel's kiss had caused. He paces around her room, after jumping off the bed, and an endless stream of words had poured forth from him: I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, it won't happen again.

And what was she supposed to think of that? That it was an accident, a mistake? Hello self-esteem, wave as she flushes you down the toilet. He didn't really want to kiss her, why would he?

She wishes he hadn't done it, because now she knows how wonderful and exciting it is to be kissed by him, and now how is she supposed to sit next to him. If Giles ever divides her into his group during patrols, how is she going to walk behind him without feeling like her heart is going to break?

"Please say this won't ruin our friendship."

Oh God. Not the 'let's just be friend's speech'? Sigh. She tries to keep a neutral face. "Hey, no sweat. Pfftt, I know you'd never want to kiss me." Ah, brave little smile that hides the tears of a sad, sad clown.

His face shifts from pained to shocked. Pacing ended, he moves back towards her. "It's not that I didn't want to...that I don't want to...right now." She can't stop the berserk grin that splits her face, and she hopes he's not lying to cover, because she might have to leap out the window if so.

"Really?"

He's already reaching out to her again, pulling her close, encouraged when she seems to actively seek his embrace. "I don't want to mess anything up," he confesses, folding her against his chest and kissing the top of her head.

"Hmnn, nope. Me either," she mumbles against his shirt.

**

Another day of school, and Xander wishes the Major would hurry up his wacky plotting already. He's exhausted from the Faith romp and laying awake until dawn wondering about his parents and when someone was going to have one of those expository moments they always have in books. This was only after he shed a few hundred more tears for his most recent horrible life choice and accidentally somehow killing Buffy off. As he walked to class today, the halls so familiar and real, he kept expecting to see her round a corner, gum popping and heels clicking.

Mr. Davis is droning on again. The shop teacher is giving one of his weekly speeches about the proper handling of the equipment with the requisite, gory story of the kid in a class a couple of years ago that cut his own finger off, how they had to scoop it up and put it in someone's drained coke from lunch, on the ice left to keep it cold. How they'd had to rush the kid to the hospital and the doctors has sewn it back on, how they'd had to put leeches on the tip of his finger to get enough blood flow, enough circulation to make sure that the finger didn't rot off.

Now that was just gross.

This time, he doesn't make any wiseass comments. He's actually used most of these tools on the job, and he really knows how dangerous they are. He has a few of his own stories that he's sure Mr. Davis would appreciate.

And won't it be nice to finally excel at a class for a change?

Goggles. Check. Power safety switch. Check. No horseplay. Check.

Jeff Wright is at a table with Xander and three other classmates. He picks up a power drill and squeezes the trigger, pointing it at the kid on his left like a gun, drill bit squealing as it turns at a rate too fast for the naked eye to see. Shoves it at him, like he's trying to put a few holes in him.

"Hey, knock it off," Xander warns.

"Mind your own fucking business Harris,"

"Hey," Xander throws his hands up defensively in the air. "Nobody wants to become a Mr. Davis anecdote."

"Mr. Wright, put down the drill and knock it off or you'll win a field trip to the principal's office." The teacher's voice carries clearly from the front of the room.

Jeff replaces the drill on the table and bends over his assignment.

Thankful, Xander concentrates on his own project, but knows it's not going to be that easy. Wright always was an ass when they were in school, and he never knew when to back off.

"So Harris, I hear you and that Faith chick have been fucking?"

Ah, here it comes.

"I'd think she's pretty loosened up by now, but man, she's one hot little bitch ain't she?"

Stifle that urge to shove his fist right down that filthy mouth. It's so familiar. He did it the first time he was in high school because he was wary of incurring Jeff's wrath; Wright could make your high school experience hell on earth, Hell mouth notwithstanding.

This time, he represses that violent craving because that doesn't solve anything. He's a grown up now. Has his own place, a job. He's bigger than this little punk-ass now, more mature. And he's not going to be sucked into petty high school politics. It's not even *his * life anyway.

"Maybe when you're done with her, you could send her over my way. That girl's got some lips on her, I bet she can suck cock like a pro."

He throws the punch before he even realizes he's done it. And you know, fuck maturity. This is his chance to burn off all those years of being trodden on and mocked, and he's gonna enjoy the catharsis while it lasts.

He's on Wright, has him on the floor, and his fists are pummelling him in a mindless release that feels so good, so pure. After five years of being back up for the Slayer, Xander's learned a few things about how to hold his own in a fight. And that's against vampires and demons. Some punk, high school kid is no match for him. This kid represents every bit of shit Xander got in high school, everyone who ever called him a pussy. And payback really is a bitch.

He takes one good right to the eye, but it's soon obvious that he'll come out the winner in this scuffle. There's a bit of blood flowing when he feels someone pulling him off of Jeff, two of the football players, at Mr. Davis' instruction.

"Harris, you're out of here. That's enough for today."

No mention of the principal's office? Honor society does have its benefits. He grabs his stuff and walks out the door, but not before he catches a few admiring looks from some of the other students.

Kicked out of class, nowhere to go, and isn't it just instinctual to head over to the library?

Giles is sitting at his desk in the office; Wesley is seated across from him. Xander has obviously disturbed them in the middle of some serious conversation.

"Xander, what on earth happened?" Giles exclaims, standing up and coming around the desk. Reaches out, tilts his head back and looks at the black eye forming under the fluorescent lights of the library.

"I fell down." Xander laughs out loud at the excuse he always used when he was smaller and his dad...

"Very funny, it's obvious that you've been in a fight." Giles probes at the edge of the wound.

"Well I should say so," Wesley stands up indignantly. "How uncivilized. And one more bit of proof that he and Fai..."

Giles turns and silences him with a cold look. Xander and Faith must be the topic of yet more speculation. It's nice to know that everyone in the school, including her Watcher and Xander's proxy parent have thought more about Xander and Faith's relationship then they have. Than he has, who knows what Faith thinks.

"I have an ice pack. "Giles opens the cooler where he keeps his lunch, removes one of those freezer cold packs, keeping the egg salad and yogurt cold, and now, reducing the swelling of Faith's defender.

Isn't that a sign that you really love a girl, when you take a beating for her?

He'd fractured his wrist in fourth grade when Kenny Barron pushed him down. Kenny had called Willow a kike, and although Xander'd had no idea what that meant at the time, he'd been compelled to defend her. So it must be true: nothing says I love you like a few missing teeth and a concussion. And he pulls himself back from those thoughts when it occurs to him that he's equating Faith and Willow. Anya flashes in his mind, and he wonders if he is evil in every dimension.

**

Home again //home? Whoa// from school, and Xander's wondering where Giles got off to after dropping him off. Probably grocery shopping or some other domestic task. Maybe some quiet, alone time, and he doesn't have any idea what that might include. What does Giles like to do? For the first time since he's known the British man, he's curious.

Xander closes the refrigerator door; pops the top of a coke can and wishes like hell Giles kept beer in the apartment. Brandy? Vermouth? Yes, no problem there. It's probably just as well; Faith mentioned that he'd had a little problem with the alcohol before. If he poured himself a cocktail, they'd probably pull some sort of intervention-'Xander, we're afraid you're sliding into alcoholism again' Again, I never started in the first place...oh wait, I did...but that wasn't me. Now it's *my* turn to fry my liver.

As he takes a swig of coke, the doorbell rings. Ed McMahon, with a big check? Probably not. It's Willow on the doorstep, looking pissed. Her face cherries in the snow, flamed cheeks set in a baby-soft, white face, and Xander wishes suddenly for Faith to blip out of existence. Maybe not forever, but for a weekend.

"Hey Will, what's up?" Oh yeah, very pissed. She's doing that little narrow, beady-eyed thing. Hello *resentful face*. "Um, come in?"

She slips past him, keeping eye contact as their shoulders brush. And this is the part where he's supposed to *know* what he did wrong. Racks his brain and he's coming up with a blank, stupid brain-think.

All of a sudden she bursts out, "Oh my God, what happened to you?" and she's touching his face much like Giles did when he'd first seen Xander after the fight. So close to him now that he wonders if he reached out and drew her to him if she would slap him. One kiss might be worth it, one more kiss.

"Oh that, it's nothing. Some kids came to the door collecting for UNICEF. I sent 'em packing though. They'll know better than to come to this neighborhood again." Wonders if he'll adjust to the new hormone situation anytime soon or if he'll spend the rest of his life in this reality in jail for sexual assault.

She laughs, and her fingers linger against his cheekbone, a tiny flutter as his heart beats faster. "How many were there?"

"Oh I don't know, three or four?"

Her grin widens, and she removes her hand from his face, leaving him with a disappointment that's hard to name. "That many huh?"

"But they were tough."

She's in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator, comes up with another can of coke and joins him again. "You don't know, do you?" she accuses him.

"It's that whole global warming thing, isn't it? Look I didn't mean it, I had no idea all those fluorocarbons were gonna screw up the atmosphere...my bad. I was gonna work on it tonight. Honest."

She takes a swig of the soda and shakes her head simultaneously, which is very difficult to do. He knows. He's tried. "You were supposed to come over last night and work on your chem."

//Love you babe, love you so much.//

Well he was working on chemistry, just not with Willow.

~~~

She knows she's hit a sensitive spot when he looks down and refuses to meet her eyes. Xander Harris has a way of shutting down when he's unable to cope; she's seen it before. Oh, he functions well enough, moving through his day like some kind of animated zombie, but *he's* not there. He goes someplace where even she can't reach him.

It's a survival instinct, learned during a particularly tough childhood. She's never directly asked him about it, but he's told her certain things; she's seen some other stuff, and she's always amazed at how he can laugh off some truly bad shit... until, he reaches that level, and he just has to cut himself off emotionally. That's it...boiling point...melt down.

He was like that when Buffy died.

When mom and dad had died in the fire, and he'd moved in with Giles. He was doing pretty good too, coping well enough, going to a therapist. She and Buffy instituted Friday night group hug nights. Everyone stayed over at Buffy's or Willow's house; sometimes Giles', and they watched movies and ate ice cream and chocolate...lots of chocolate. Buffy had always said there wasn't anything that couldn't be solved by chocolate.

She was wrong.

The master killed her, fed from her and drowned her. Xander and Angel had found her. The vampire couldn't bring her back, but Xander had tried. Knelt down in the filthy water, held her in his arms and tried to force his breath into her. He'd tried for over an hour, Angel finally had to pull him off, tell him it was useless, she was gone.

Angel had told her that he thought Xander would do something to hurt himself when he finally let go of her body and looked up at the vampire, he'd seen that look of hopelessness and desperation before. Survivor's guilt, not that Angel'd called it that, but Willow knew it. She was Jewish after all.

He'd physically dragged Xander above ground and deposited him with her, warning her to watch him closely. Angel had looked once at her as she held Xander, told her he was sorry he couldn't save Buffy, started to say something else, but stopped and walked away. He'd disappeared for two days.

She'd been worried, but he'd returned. He'd been quiet, not that he was talkative before...quieter, but back helping them control the Hellmouth, and she was able to concentrate all of her worry into watching Xander fall apart, feeling helpless to stop his slide into self destruction.

Then when Faith showed up, Willow watched as Xander and she hit it off. Traded barbs, trained together, shared inside jokes and started dating. She knows that Faith is good for Xander in her way, but that affection she bleeds from Xander Willow just can't help feeling belongs to her.

Even though, Angel and all. Yeah, there's that. Which Xander doesn't have clue one about. Because, how would she explain it now? Oh yeah, by the way, I've been lusting after him for like forever and now he seems to like me too, sorry I never mentioned it before. Right. Put your own crisis on hold and listen to me go on about loving a vampire.

"You were with Faith, weren't you?" She knows it's the truth before she even says it out loud, before she lays a thousand little flashes of writing 'I heart X.H.' in her notebook, and naming all her fish derivatives of Xander Harris to rest forever. He's with Faith now, and there will be no more fantasies of him waking up one day realizing he loves her.

He *loves* her, but not in *that* way. No one's ever loved her in *that* way.

She's about to *attempt * to say *something * when she's saved by Faith busting in the door full of frenetic energy.

"What the fuck happened to you?" She's across the room and standing in front of them while they sit on the couch staring up at her. Hands on her hips, scowl firmly in place. Five feet two inches of hell on wheels.

**

Fucking Wussley and his bullshit ranting. Let the training go on for two hours before he ever said a word. And when he did? Mr Backhanded remark.

"It seems that Mr. Harris was in an altercation today, something regarding you. What on earth did you do now?" Didn't hit him. I mean, that counts for something, right?

She hightailed it over here to get the word from the dumbass's own mouth. A fight. Jesus. Just what he needs, and we need, with the Tweed Brigade already carping about distractions and healthy relationships.

//Of course Willow is here. Probably weaseling in on my boy-toy. Ok, maybe not. But she's not as innocent as she presents herself I know it. If she'd just come clean and admit that she has some dirt under those fingernails, we could be tight. Never had a girlfriend, the kind to do the hair thing, and the nails thing and we could gossip about Xander. All that sappy shit. Instead she looks down her nose at me like I'm gonna drop kick him on his head. Fuck. Let up a little Miss Priss. It's ok to be real. //

"I said, what the fuck happened to you?" She watches both of them sitting there all slack-jawed. // I must look off my gourd. Who cares? I am. //

"I got in a fight." He's holding the open pop can up to his eye. Willow looks like she didn't know that. Score one for Faith.

"I already knew that, moron. Who with, and why?" Sits the can on the table and lets his hands rest against his knees. Jaw tightening, and great, it's fight time.

"Is this concern? Because you might want to ask me how I feel or if I'm ok, not come running in here like some half-crazed lunatic screaming her lungs out." Completely steady voice. Big trouble.

"I am a fully crazed lunatic. Why did I have to find out from Wesley that you got in a fight? You couldn't find me and tell me yourself?"

"Why, so you could go beat them up for taking my lunch money?"

"Something like that."

"I handled it on my own. Unless I've lost my ability to judge to crack of bone, he'll be at the emergency room still, getting plastered."

"Xander, you sent someone to the hospital?" Willow's whisper voice. Faith's glad for once she jumped right in there. Doesn't want to end up going a round or two with him herself.

"Possibly. It's not important. It was a fight. It was a long time comin', and now we can talk about something else." Nothing to see here folks, move along. He *so* does not want to get into this with her right now.

"Fuck not important. I want to KNOW."

Faith is not going to let this one go. "He called you a slut. Are you happy? Now you know. Do you feel better? I was trying to save your goddamned feelings, ok?"

"Hold up. You got in a fight because some limp dick called me a slut? And then you tried to lie about it? To save my feelings?" She's half inclined to laughter and half ready to fuck Xander up for fighting over something so retarded. //His face earnest in the dim light of the library. Well after mid-night, Giles and Wesley rustling around in the stacks, Willow asleep, head resting on folded arms. That weird Oz guy whispering to Angel in the corner.

"Yes, I'm serious." He wraps his fingers around her bicep to pull her into Giles' office, first impulse, to pull his digits back until they snap, but she just lets him tug her into the semi-privacy of the office.

"Stop yankin' my chain, Harris." His hand doesn't drop, just tightens to an uncomfortable pressure. Brings his face into her personal space.

"I'm not yankin' anything, Faith, I mean it. I want you to go with me to the party, you know, as my date, not my friend." //

"Good summation. Look into law as a career." His super snark voice pulls Faith back, and she sees she's hurt his feelings dismissing him, but she has her pride to deal with.

"Babe. I can fight my own battles..." Tones down her voice a few notches.

"Faith, I'm sure he just kind of, you know, reacted. He wasn't trying to be manly, were you, Xander?" Willow's speaking calmly, like she would to two people with guns pointed and cocked at each other.

"No, not manly. Just pissed." Ducks his head and looks away from Faith, she sees that, knows it's his way of backing off and away from the fight.

Willow already looks relieved. "See? So, no biggie. Right? Just a black eye, and the other guy won't be talking for a while." Faith and Xander both laugh softly at that, Xander's smile lingering.

"So, are we gonna Bronze it or what?" Faith asks, licking her lips, but still keeping a suspicious eye on her boyfriend. Ready for him to kick his ego back into gear or shrug her off for the night in punishment for her outburst.

"Ah, the Bronze, sounds like a plan Stan." Xander reaches for his coat, immensely glad that he can get out of the apartment without any casualties.

Faith grabs his arm lightly to stop him from slipping out the door in his hurry to get the hell out of the apartment and the share time. "No rhyming, and this conversation isn't over, Xander."

"I would imagine not, but let's pretend it is, ok?" Xander inclines his head to where Willow is still standing, looking like she's more than a little embarrassed to be witnessing this tiff between them.

"Okkaayyy, so, we can leave anytime, and I don't need to be around for the rest of the talk." Willow reaches for the door handle and twists.

"In a hurry to meet Mr. Forehead, huh?" Faith drawls, letting go of Xander's arm and leaving him with a look that promises they *will* talk about it later, in private. When she doesn't have to moderate her responses to Willow's presence. The other bitch in the pack ready to rip Faith's throat out for damaging what Willow imagines as her prior claim to the man.

"Why...why would you say that?" Willow frowns, stopping in the doorway. Her eyes are just a little wild? Startled? //Homerun holy fuck, that little wench//

"No reason, Red. Whatever." Faith crowds behind her in an attempt to force her out of the doorway. //oh yeah, this will be fun//

"Um, without a clue here. As usual." Xander shakes his head and looks from Faith to Willow for some indication as to what they're talking about.

"Don't worry about it, Xander." Willow glares at Faith, which produces a small chuckle from the Slayer. " Let's go, come on."

**

"Aren't you supposed to be patrolling tonight?" Willow asks Faith, once again, feeling crowded by the slayer's obvious attachment to Xander.

"Night's still young," The slayer's swaying to the music as she stands by the table, glances over at Willow, not really seeing her. It's more like a quick sweep in the redhead's general direction, looking to see if there's anything more interesting going on next to her, behind her, anywhere that does not involve *her*.

Willow turns her attention to Xander and catches his sympathetic look. He slides one of the glasses the waitress has just delivered in her direction, leaving a wet mark behind from the condensation dripping down the glass. She accepts it, smiles. "Well, you won't find any vampires here tonight," Willow, adds peevishly.

"No? What about that one?"

Willow and Xander both swivel their heads and see Angel standing at the entrance. He notices them and picks his way through the crowd. Oh God, remember to breathe, it'll look suspicious if she hyperventilates at the table. What is she going to say to him? What is he going to say to her? Will he mention last night? Where exactly do they stand now?

His greeting is short and terse, "Four vamps outside."

"Then why you standing in here, big boy?" Faith asks reaching around to her back pocket to assure that her stake is still tucked there.

"Because there used to be six and two more just arrived."

Xander pushes away from the table. "Okay, let's hit it, gang."

Willow takes another sip of her soda and moves to join him, when Angel blurts out, "No, there's going to be a lot of serious action out there. You two had better wait in here."

Faith frowns, and then argues, "Yeah, it's safer in here for Red, but Xander can handle himself. He's always my back-up on patrol."

And isn't that just like Faith to try and exclude her, Willow thinks.

"Yeah, but what if one of them makes it past us and gets in here? We'll need someone in here to handle damage control." She doesn't get to see him fight? That's unfair. The thought that he and Faith might not win never crosses her mind.

**

"He thinks he's Mr. Big Bad Vamp slayer. Mr. Buttinsky." Xander mumbles as he eyes Faith leaving with the Souled One. They couldn't find a universe without *him* in it? Couldn't find one where things were *right * and not just another brand of fucked up?

"You'd rather he walked away and let Faith fight them herself?" Doesn't want to lose anyone else, no, not even Faith, not this one anyway.

"Don't confuse the issue with facts and logic Will, besides, if you love him so much why don't you marry him?" A childhood taunt that never produced that alarmed, expression like she's just swallowed a cockroach. Redness infuses her face, and suddenly it's not funny anymore. He can't keep the horrified tone out of his voice. "Oh my God, you're in love with him?!?"

"I never said in love, I didn't...I..." Icy fear sets in. This is beyond not good. Not only is she hooked up with someone who isn't him, it's Dead Boy, and what's the next nugget gonna be? He has rectal cancer?

It occurs to him that maybe his landing in this world wasn't just about him; maybe he was sent here to prevent an opening of another Angelus Funland, 'cause face it, Willow's no good with a sword. Not that it would matter *who * it was. Oz was as unassuming as a guy can be and still be a werewolf, and Xander wasn't so keen on that turn of events either. "Will, listen to me, he's bad news. Stay away from him."

Her lips thin to that sharp line, causing those fury dimples she has to appear just beyond the edges of her mouth, and he knows he's hit something brewing beneath the surface. And that only assures him that he needs to take her wrath square on the chin and say what he has to say, because seeing her dead or hurt isn't on his agenda.

"What? He's always been good. He helps us, and people, and he defeated the Master!"

"Defeated...ok, well, maybe he did, but that doesn't mean we know everything about him." He wonders how he's going to phrase this without appearing to be some Edgar Cayce wannabe. " You two aren't, know you, physical with the sick love, are you?" Realizes the *not* smoothness of that the second it's out of his mouth

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"I think you understand me, Wills, are you too, getting it on, I guess not on on, but..." he knows he's rambling at this point like a deranged maniac, but there really isn't anyway to skirt around the issue. This Willow isn't *his* Willow and doesn't know the tale of woe that is Angel getting a happy. But if the lives of their doubles were as similar as he thinks, doesn't that mean she is his? That any and all Willow's belong to him? " Has he like touched you in a naughty way?"

"Xander! First of all- none of your business. Have I asked you about Faith and naughty touching?"

"I guess, no?" Although, they could've talked about *Giles'* love life for all he knows. But he hopes not, because, ewwww. And that's not the point anyway, tries to focus on the very important matter at hand, warning Willow not to give it up to a vampire who's going to become the evil dead without looking like freaky future guy.

"This has nothing to do with me and Faith. Faith doesn't lose it when she gets some...well, not in the way I mean." And he admits that may be a bad example.

"You've had too much caffeine. You are seriously crazed." She obsesses over the napkin, trying to pry apart the wet layers that are stuck together without ripping the whole thing. Like it's the cure for cancer or something.

"I am not insane. I mean it, Willow, don't let him try to sex you up. I wouldn't want..."

She rips the paper and ends up scrubbing it across the table, soaking up the rest of the liquid from the surface, pushes it in a wet mess to what had been Faith's spot at the table. "I don't care what you want! How dare you say that to me! I thought maybe you would be happy for me, that I found someone who likes me, and instead, you are all have my cake and eat it too! You have Faith, I have no one!"

Willow stands up, and he knows he's blown it as she storms out, bumping into Faith as the Slayer comes back to the table.

"What the fuck happened in here?" Faith asks in confusion, shaking off the loss of balance the unexpected encounter caused.

"Oh, just you know, the usual. I was an asshole, and Willow fled into the night."

"What brand of asshole? You grilling her about Deadboy?"

Hey, he's supposed to be the only psychic freak here. "How did you...you wily women and your conversation radar."

"You want to work off some of the frustration? Maybe, you know, wink, patrol? I wouldn't say no if you want to play the conquistador game again."

Maybe that should elicit more of a response, but right now his head is still trying to wrap around how he can convince Willow that she needs to stay away from Angel without claiming that jealous stalker vibe "Yeah, I could do that, but I want to ask you something first."

"Shoot."

He may need Faith's help in this, but he's not sure how much he can count on her, or how much he'll have to let her in on. "Do you hate Willow?"

"No I never hated her, but you how it is, she's got it in for me, for me and you and all that shit. I thought maybe Angel would take care of that, but now I think it's the way it's gonna be."

"Do you think if I asked you nicely, you could try to be nicer to her? Maybe try to be friends with her?" that would be the proof that this was an unnatural alternative universe: Faith and Willow friends.

"How nice are we talking?"

This is his cue to be persuasion guy. "Let's go on that patrol and I will show you how nice I can be."

~`~`~`~`

Faith seems a little anxious to get back inside, Angel takes a second to survey the alley before he's convinced that everything is actually taken care of. Nothing moving, can't sense anything else coming from the darkness of the alley. He's satisfied, and turns to follow Faith into the Bronze when something slams into him and he's assaulted by the whole human package: warmth and flesh and heartbeat right in his face without any time to prepare.

He likes some time and distance when dealing with that, doesn't like to have the sudden reminder of what it feels like to hold that continually vibrating energy thrust right on him. Cells and organs growing , maturing and dying at a dizzying rate. It makes it hard to repress the memory of blood sliding down his throat, of epithelial cells beginning to tear and give up their bond to their brothers. He's thinking about this too much, right?

Focus. Center. Push this body away, because he doesn't want to slide backwards and rip out the throat of a high school...uh, Willow? He really works hard to repress that last train of thought because he doesn't want to start associating Willow with any kind of blood-letting scenario.

What he does know is that she's very upset, he can smell it on her, pain and loneliness exuding from every pore in her body, so familiar that he can't separate himself from it for a minute, but he manages to. Takes a stab at what could have affected her so. "What's wrong, Willow? Was Cordelia in there?"

"Cordelia? Huh? " Willow seems to realize who she's leaning against, pushes back an increment but can't break away completely because perversely, he won't break the circle of his arms. That would mean he would have to stop touching her. "No. I had a fight with Xander. God! He can be the biggest...biggest..."

"Asshole?" Angel supplies, knowing that someone in that club probably already tagged him with that line. Harris never did like him much.

"Yeah, that."

He has to let go of her now, or it will start to look suspicious. Internal sigh as his wrists slide down the backs of her arms, pause just long enough to brush over the back of her hands, one move, and he could twine their fingers. Too soon, there isn't even that innocent contact. "What did he do? Blow you off to be with Faith?"

The redhead reaches to push open the door and escape the club's atmosphere, he's there first, and her hand covers his. She frowns for a moment, recalling some piece of information that he's not privy to. "Actually, for once no. He wanted to 'talk' to me about, well, talk about stuff."

That little punk Xander Harris, what could they have been talking about to produce this level of distress? " I take it you don't want to tell me about this 'stuff'." She's already out the door and hurrying down the alley, throwing over her shoulder, "Can I not? Because, embarrassing."

It's nothing for him to catch up with her, to match her stride for stride. "You want to go for a walk, maybe talk about other non-embarrassing things?" There's no way he's going to leave her alone in this town after dark. Even if she said no, he'd still follow behind her fifty feet, a hundred if necessary, to see that she made it home.

"A walk would be super. Yes, walking and talking, I can do that."

"I knew you were talented." He can feel her sadness dissipating, leaving a mild undercurrent of anger, but not so much so that the tense lines of her body aren't softening.

"Ha. Trying to butter me up." She shoves both hands in her pockets and looks over at him with laugh lines just beginning to touch the corners of her eyes.

"Do I need to butter you? Because I can be far more suave than this if I need to."

"Uh, no buttering needed. Butter-free, that's me. I mean, just be you. I like you just plain."

"You like me? Even after last night?" He waits for the crucial answer, counts the steps it takes for her to respond. Three...four...five...hopes she says something before they reach her house.

"I never unliked you, Angel. And last night, that is one of those not to talk about topics. Because saying it out loud might make it not have happened."

"Superstitious are you?"

"Bist meshugeh-are you crazy? I live on a hell mouth."

They enter the gates of a cemetery that's about six blocks from her house, and in any other town, that would be weird, but this place is peaceful, beautiful, and he's not worried that he can't protect her from any nasties they'd find here. He's one of those nasties when all's said and done. They talk for a few minutes about everything *but* what happened last night. He wonders why he can't stop smiling whenever he talks to her. " Sorry, but one more thing about that unspeakable topic. You're glad it happened?"

"Glad? I wouldn't use that word. Elated, that's a better one. But, if you regret it, then no, I am mad at you for taking advantage of me!"

"Would you want it to happen again sometime?" Isn't it funny how one word can change your life, his could go either way right now, depending on the next syllable or two she utters. If he stares at her, maybe he can guess what she'll say before she says it?

"Uh, tell me the time and date and I will pencil you into my planner." She dips her head shyly and then looks up at him.

"How about now?" They're away from the street, curtained from view by a row of trees. Angel grabs her hand and walks her backwards until pine branches surround them. She doesn't protest, just bites her lip and looks uncertainly at him, like she's not sure how to start, or how to act.

"Now is good?" There's the smallest quaver in her voice and then she closes her eyes.

He's going to catch this opportunity before it's gone, before someone or something interrupts them, makes her change her mind, makes him change his. No matter how many conversations he's had with himself about how this can't work out, how he and Willow can never have a future together, there is no way he can *not* touch her right now...*not* kiss her.

Sweet, warm breath fans across his face, and when he touches his tongue to her bottom lip, he can taste the sticky residue the soda she had at the club. He licks it off, paying particular attention to the corner, which is where his tongue enters her, sliding past the barrier of her closed lips and opening her, exploring a place that no one has ever been, at least he thinks they haven't. No, Willow's inexperienced, every bit of her body language announces it- a touching air of uncertainty that makes him want to assure her, bury himself in her all at once.

Gently, gently, a hand comes up to slide around to the nape of her neck, massage a light squeeze, and her head tilts back. Overwhelming urge to devour her from the lips down...he's worried that the demon's taking over and realizes it's just his dick talking. When her hand comes up to grab the lapel of his coat to steady herself, he feels himself grow hard, knows that this isn't enough contact, he wants to feel every inch of their bodies in contact, naked.

He manages to pull away from her, to break the contact of their lips momentarily. "Do you have to go home right now? You could come over to my place, just to...talk." And doesn't that sound like a line.

She must not be too offended, because she smiles and nods her head. "Okay." And comes willingly after him. He doesn't let go of her hand this time.

Willow and Angel tread their way through the grave markers of the long and not so long dead, those who remained fully dead and those who met a second end at the tip of a stake. Both are preoccupied with their thoughts, anticipation and nervousness running high.

After about fifty feet, Angel brings Willow up short with the flat of his hand pressed against her stomach. "Shh. I think I hear something."

"What? A vamp?"

"Not sure. Stay here." He meshes with the shadows grown long by the full moon, light footfalls on dead leaves and desiccated flowers.

Willow doesn't stay put though. She's tired of being left in the wake of events, she follows him a few steps behind, and he focuses on her heartbeat and breathing rather than the sound he's supposed to be tracking

Angel turns to raise a hand to Willow, to attempt to hold her back again, and when he does, the stricken look on her face causes him to whip his head around and follow her line of sight to see what could be that fucking bad.

In the soft cascade of moonlight he sees two figures bent over a marble tombstone. Xander with his pants rucked to just past his hips, head thrown back, silvering effect from the illumination overhead on his hair, his face tight with concentration and pleasure. Faith's head hung low, grasping the marble with her hands, her pants pooled to her mid-calves, thrusting back against the man behind her. Her voice braying, low and guttural.

Angel reigns himself in, realizes he's stared for more than slightly too long, turns on his heel and grasps Willow by the elbow. "Come on, Will. Let's go." She nods distractedly, still staring at the pair behind him. He gives her arm a small shake, draws her attention and tries again, "Will, let's go. I'll take you home?"

"No." She repeats herself more firmly, "No, we were going to your place. I still wanna go."

~~~~~~~~~~~

She resists the urge to gawk when she steps foot in his apartment. There are lots of antique looking things...and it's so neat. This is the home of an adult. No dirty clothes, or junk lying around, just the well-aged sheen of historic pieces of furniture that are probably as old as he is.

He takes her coat and hangs it on a funny, twisty coat rack and then says, "Uh, are you going to be ok? Would you like a glass of wine or something to calm your nerves...oh, people don't do that anymore, do they?"

The image of Xander and Faith is burned forever on her brain and suddenly the oblivion of a good drunk sounds really attractive, maybe a little reckless, but what the hell. Yes, that's a great idea. "Wine, yes, I want wine. What kind do you have?"

"Wha...what kind?" He looks like he wasn't expecting her to take him up on the offer.

"Yeah, white or red? Cabernet? Chardonnay?" She tries to turn down that after school special soundtrack in her head, the one warning about drinking alcohol and being alone with a boy in his room. It doesn't mention what the protocol is for being in a vampire's room though.

"You know about wine?"

"My parents are college professors, of course I do. I'll just take what you have. Whatever is ok."

He raises an eyebrow, gathers two glasses and a bottle, pours some of the red liquid into each. "It's Sirah, and I am surprised, let me just say, I continue to be shocked by you."

"Shocked in a good, or a bad way?" She asks.

He hands her a glass. "Good."

"That goes both ways. Thanks."

She takes a large sip and it gives her that funny burn in her nose. At least she's not totally unused to it, her parents let her drink wine on holidays and other special occasions. She drains the glass and holds it out to him to refill, suppresses the choking that is a warning that fine wine should be sipped and not guzzled.

"Maybe you'd better slow down a little?" He says, but she notices he tips the bottle and fills her glass again.

Yes, slow down, because dependable Willow wins the race. And didn't that help her win Xander? Who's the one bent over a tombstone now? Not her. Faith's more adventurous, more exciting, that's why Xander chose her.

If Willow's too dull for Xander, she must be slug-like to Angel. He's really been so sweet, and he's so cute...and she's starting to sound maudlin. Maybe two glasses is her limit. She's only slightly surprised to hear the next words out of her mouth. "Are you going to kiss me again?"

Angel puts his glass down, closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I think this was a bad idea, Willow."

"Because you don't want to kiss me?" Has he finally realized what a useless geek she is?

"No, because I want to." He comes over to her and takes her wineglass from her. "I'm cutting you off." He puts his glass down next to hers and continues, "This is a bad idea, Willow. I don't know what I was thinking."

She doesn't think she can handle being rejected by Angel right now, not after everything that's happened tonight, not when she just thought something might be coming out of his apparent interest. "Did I do something..."

"No, no, no. Willow. I just...I have to keep telling myself that I shouldn't feel this way about you. I don't see a way that this can work out between us"

Xander's face flashes in her mind, and she feels the stirring of the indignant anger she felt at the Bronze when he warned her not to get involved with Angel. Here was another man trying to tell her whom she should be attracted to. "So you've decided that you'll make that decision for both of us? That's kind of arrogant of you."

He looks shocked, stricken and reaches out to her, but drops his hand uselessly before he makes contact. "I just wanted to spare everyone from...some twisted place where we end up hating each other."

"So you'd rather we stay at this twisted place where we're both miserable?"

"I don't know." He brings his right hand up to follow the curve of his eyebrows with his thumb and ring finger, pressing hard, and she can't entirely banish the fleeting wonder of whether a vampire who gouged his own eyes out would grow them back. "I want to do the right thing."

"Do you know what that is?" Please don't let him say they should stay apart. Please no, please no, please no, please no, please no.

He drops his hand and looks bleakly at her. "Willow, you don't know what I've been, the things I've done. If you did, you wouldn't even be standing in this room with me. You'd be in your room, wrapped in an altar robe with seven strings of garlic around your neck."

"Angel," she protests gently, hating to hear the self-loathing in his voice.

"No!" He takes a menacing step in her direction. "I've done...things beyond your comprehension, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Now I get to walk the earth for the next couple of centuries and pay for it. Is that someone you want to love? Is that the right choice for a boyfriend?"

"But you're good now, I've seen it." She thinks she might cry like a little girl, and she blames it on the wine.

"I can't ask you to do this, to give up your life for me. You should be dating guys your own age and going to dances and staying far away from me."

She can't bear to hear anymore; she flings herself at him, throws her arms around his neck, kissing him and hoping that will make him stop lecturing her. When he tries to protest, brings his hands up to remove her arms, she clings tighter, locking her elbows. He struggles for about thirty seconds, but there's no fire in him for that, and to have her pressed against him, begging him to love her, it's too much. He lets his fantasy given life pull him down.

He draws away from her long enough to mumble in warning. "Willow, you don't know what you're asking."

She nibbles his bottom lip, feels him stiffen against her and smirks, "I, Willow Rosenberg, being of sound mind and body, promise not to hold you accountable for whatever outcome occurs from this kiss."

She hears him groan as he kisses her, pushes her back to his bed until she can feel the mattress against the backs of her knees, just enough pressure to guide her down, and she lies prone with him supporting himself above her. She can see his arms straining to hold himself up as he looks down on her.

"Willow, " his voice pained, hungry, thick with need. "I promise not to do anything to hurt you. I'm not going to push you to do anything right now, just let me show you how good I can make you feel." No one had ever used that low desperate whisper with her before, and she feels an excitement rippling all over her body, warmth and needle-like pinpricks of energy causing a heightened sensitivity along her skin.

"Yes, I trust you."

With eyes closed, he bows his head then places his lips against the hollow of her throat, kissing the dip and valley of bone. The folly of allowing a vampire that close to her neck escapes her as he moves slowly, pushing her shirt down and lingering at the cup seam of her bra. She feels a tug at the string of her waistband, the loosening of the ties. Rolls to the side when his hand pushes against her hip and her pants slide down, past her knees, past her calves, caught on her ankles, with a another tug, they're free, and he spreads her legs so that her thighs cradle first his abdomen then his torso as he slides down.

She closes her eyes when she feels the first nudge 'down there' and panics slightly. No one's ever seen her *down there* and Ohh, she stiffens when she feels a prod from his nose...tongue? Definitely tongue when a flat, wet pressure rests against the crotch of her panties. Coiled nerves jump and a sudden gush of wetness greets his exploration, and she can feel her legs shaking as her panties follow the same route as her pants just did.

The tip of his tongue tickles her inner thigh as he works his way back to where he was, nose nudging her lips open, allowing him to work his tongue farther in, lapping at her with short, quick strokes and a wet slurping that makes her look down in embarrassment.

The sight of his head buried between her legs, eyes closed as he disappears once again into her makes her catch her breath. Sharp thrusts and occasionally one long, slow plunge that brings his chin up against her ass, and she tries to count to one hundred to make it last, doesn't want to give up the feeling of this ever.

A tickly, shudder starts at the base of her spine, and she feels like she wants to have more of him, all of him, squeezes her butt and brings her hips off the bed to increase the pressure and depth of him inside of her. Her thigh muscles contract, and she feels a trembling quiver and a relaxing of her muscles, and it's too late to delay it any further.

Sliding up her body, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve and looks up at her. "Are you okay?"

She's having a hard time catching her breath, but manages a squeaky "Yeah, okay."

He smiles weakly and kisses her cheek, doesn't think she'll let him kiss her mouth as much as he wants to feed back her taste to her; he realises it's getting kind of late. "I'd better get you home."

"But isn't there...don't you want to..."

"This is a lot to happen all at once. I don't want to overwhelm you, or pressure you. I'm not going anywhere Willow. I want to be with you, I want you. There will be a lot of time for us to do those other things. Just not now, you need to be ready."

**

Fourteen.

It's been fourteen hours since she was here, wineglass in hand and bravado to spare.

Thirteen hours since he'd walked her home and forcibly bit his tongue to keep from begging her to come back, to spend the night and let him show her everything he wanted to do to her, but knew he couldn't if he wanted to be fair and give her time to make sure of what she was feeling.

It had been that long since he'd kissed her at the door, touched her arm, clasped her fingers in his and again had to obey that voice of conscience telling him to let her go. It *just* managed to scream louder than the demon who begged him to spill her blood right there on the doorstep. And that was what had scared him enough to make him drop her hand. The demon always used to speak in guttural tones inside his head, rasps of language that he'd never studied, but just *knew* the meaning of. He hadn't heard it that clearly in decades, and he'd stepped quickly away from her when the first rolling R's of the demon's word for murder began pounding in his temples, afraid for an instant that the only way to exorcise it was carry out its command.

She'd said goodnight and went inside, and he'd spent the next four hours running through the cemetery, legs pumping as he wound his way through the intricate pattern of gravestones at inhuman speed, afraid that if he stopped, the demon's voice would return, and he'd find himself at her door, proving his efficiency in the sport he'd been trained for one hundred and forty four years to excel at. When the sun had risen finally, he'd been forced into the small square footage of his apartment, left to pace restlessly. And that's when the manic accusations came speeding along.

They easily overpowered every argument about how the idea that she could love him wasn't so unusual, that by loving her, he could find the redemption he craved, that he'd been a man once, before the demon had eaten the humanity by claiming his soul. None of these seemed very convincing, because when he looked back at his pre demon days, there wasn't a lot to recommend him. Rarely did he let his human memories dislodge and come to the fore of his mind. Most of them are either too faded or surreal to have any meaning to him now, and the vivid ones are not the kind of memories anyone * wants* to savor. It's one of the latter sort that found him when he tried to find the calm before sleep, picturing Willow's face, the glint of incandescent light on her hair, the berry smell of her.

// The flies were almost as thick as the smell of manure. He grunted again as he hefted the saddle once more, setting it aside tae take care of later. Right now he was focusing on the sheen of white lather that covered the gelding's sides. When he reached for a cloth tae dry the fur, a flask tumbled out.

"Well Falim, what do we have 'ere?" He patted the horse's side as he picked up the liquor, and then unscrewed the top. A quick whiff, and he wrinkled his nose. "That's the stuff then, is' inna?" Liam took a long swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "If ye can't get fucked, at least get drunk 'eh?" By the time his horse was finished, the bottle was too. And he was feeling every drop of it.

He put the curry brush down and was about to break into a bawdy song, when he looked up and noticed one of the maids watching him. The girl started when she realized she'd gained his attention. She was one of the new ones, only been there a month. Anne, he thought her name was. Yeah, Anne, that was it.

"Are you gonna stand there all day looking girl, or are ye gonna say something?" He felt a belch try to come up, and his mouth was inundated with the taste of partially digested hops. But he was able tae keep what wee food was in his stomach down.

"Back from the party already Master Liam?"

"It was utter shite," he complained. He intended tae walk out of the stall, but ended up stumbling into Anne, who offered him her arm and guided him to a bench along the wall. "Decided to come home instead."

Anne was smiling as she came back and offered a cup of water to him. He took it, drank deeply and then questioned the wisdom of that action when he felt the liquid sloshing around in his stomach, making him slightly queasy. He did look up at her as she hovered over him. "What are ye doing out here anyway. I dinna think me mother has any good silver out here tae polish."

She swallowed and shrank back from the question, adding in a quiet voice, "My work is done. I saw yer horse returning and wondered what the party was like. That's all. I've never been tae a party like that before."

He tossed the rest of the water in the cup out over his left knee. It hit the wall and splattered drops into the hay covering the floor. "Well, they're nothin' tae be hankerin' after, if ye ask me. I'd much rather stay home."

The girl was staring at him sae intently, that he wiped his sleeve over his face. "Is there something on me?"

Her cheeks went pink. "No Master Liam, I was just...I was..."

She really did have pretty blue eyes, and she must have been his same age. Fifteen or sixteen. A suspicion started tae form in his mind, and he said, "There was a girl there, but she wasn't as pretty as you are."

The deepening of the color in her cheeks rewarded his intuition, and he smiled beguilingly, cocking his head to one side. "I think I'm going tae kiss ya lass, what d'ya think about that?"

She looked down at the floor, giggling nervously and shuffling her feet, kicking a little pile of straw there. But when he stood up, she didn't move, just raised her chin and let him kiss her. He easily backed her into one of the stalls and laid her down on the freshly cleaned floor, so close to his full height now, all the lasses tiny compared to him. His balls felt about ready tae bust, and he needed relief, or it felt like he'd explode. The straw rose above them as his weight pushed her down, and he fumbled tae free himself.

He didn't give her a chance tae protest, just covered her mouth with his and flipped her skirts up. His erection really hadn't subsided even for all the disappointments of the evening, and he quickly sheathed himself in her. He felt a resistance, and thrust swiftly. "Sorry Anne, it hurts a bit the first time."

"Anne? I'm Mary," the girl wailed in horror.

It was too late tae be apologetic, he felt his cock shoot and that was that.

~*~*~*~

An odd one to cull for him now. He wasn't sure if he'd thought of that maid in all the time since the event had occurred. No, there was the time a few months later when she was sent away, and his mother was even more disapproving for close to a fortnight.

Angel turns on his side and lets out the kind of sigh he reserves for the times when he's completely alone. Doesn't let anyone else hear him expel the self-loathing and world-weariness.

He'd been wary of Willow from the first time he'd seen her. Whistler had sent him here to Sunnydale for a chance at redemption, some vague hope that good deeds could make an indentation in the dark Karma he'd built for over a century. At first, he'd half suspected it was a fool's mission, but even that small hope was enough to keep him here. And because Willow was here, he found he couldn't leave now even if he wanted to. He'd tried once, when he'd been unable to save her friend Buffy, the first slayer. The tears in her eyes at the news, the sight of her holding Xander's unconscious body like the shock stricken survivor of a train wreck, that was the moment that made his failure complete, and he knew he'd been wise fearing her.

Mainly because she embodied everything that Angelus used to delight in consuming: innocence, trust, the desire to help others. He'd been so uncomfortable standing next to her-twinge of faces he only vaguely remembered, images of blood and broken bodies, and eyes that pleaded for mercy, but found none. She was an ever-present reminder of the demon who shared his body, and a bittersweet cue as to why he couldn't live among humans. Not entirely, not like one of them...because he wasn't. One hundred and forty four years as the scourge of Europe? He wondered if his payment would be equal to those years, was he looking towards another generation of wandering the earth? Angel thought he'd broken himself of the habit of getting close to humans, befriending them, then watching them die. And he had when Whistler found him wallowing in the sewers and alleys of Manhattan, clinging to the solitude that would protect him from feeling.

That's why he was afraid these feelings for Willow were all in his head, that he'd created some kind of self-fulfilling epiphany. Wasn't he just trying to justify something that couldn't be? He'd never been able to love a woman, not as Angelus certainly, and not even when Liam existed. Every incarnation he'd been so far had succeeded in one thing: the selfish destruction of everything around him.

If only he had the love of a good woman. And wasn't that the biggest cliché ever written?

He has to admit that she'd shown a lot of courage coming here last night. For all that the others had seemed to accept him, he didn't really see Wesley or Giles coming over here without the thought of a crossbow crossing their minds first. And Xander Harris, he'd probably bring a lit torch and a lynch mob if he thought he could get away with it.

He didn't hate Xander, not entirely, but he did think he was ultimately stupid for not noticing the obvious crush that Willow had been harboring since the vampire had come to Sunnydale, and probably before. That had been another factor contributing to his caution, he'd waited months to see if Xander would wake up, if Willow would get someone better suited for her. Although Xander was an idiot, and Willow could do so much better.

In fact, he should be thanking Harris for being such a dolt, and sending flowers to Faith for keeping him occupied, because Angel realizes in that second, that he'll never accept Willow being with anyone else. He sighs at what a hopeless case he is, and on the inhalation, the scent of her arousal mingling among the sheets wafts across his palate, and he feels a rumble of need deep in his chest.

What is it, three hours until she's out of school? And then another three until sunset?

**

Xander wakes up fuzzyheaded. He lurches up from the bed thinking he's late for work, sun is streaming in the window to his left, and it takes several seconds for him to realize where he is, and aside from the fact that it's Saturday, he doesn't work anymore. The smell of coffee wafts down the hallway into his room, and he can hear Giles singing along with the oldies station as he fixes breakfast. Waffles or pancakes?

He needs a shower, grime, vampire dust and bodily secretions cover him. Didn't want to wake up the old guy when he came in at two in the morning by running the water. He fell into bed in his boxers and hoped Giles didn't bustle in to get him up for something he didn't know about today, and his luck held out for once.

He pulls himself to his feet, grabs some clothes from the dresser across from his bed and picks his way down the hall. Tired and sore from another night with Faith. Three rounds of sex, seven vamps, and he doesn't know how he'll keep up with her or why he wants to so badly. Wonders again if Faith might be his shot. This Faith, not as damaged as before, full of life and need and all of it pointed in his direction. Considers the other possibility as well as he stands under the hot spray of the shower: Angel, or his Royal Wickedness, Angelus. Thought he was in the free and clear on that one with the no Buffy thing until last night. Feels the pang for his friend who *isn't *, just doesn't exist here, and lets the sadness in.

Xander thinks about Joyce. And Dawn. Even though he knows his memories of her aren't real, not that he believes in all that real shit anymore, his vision of this time in his life is even more incomplete without her as well as Buffy. No leopard on Halloween. No sparkly gel in his hair when he babysat her. No babysitting at all. Imagines himself in Joyce's place, and his heart lurches. Joyce might not have even known about the slaying gig. Just her daughter dead from gang related activity before she went to the prom. And that hurts him so much he wants to collapse in a bundle in the tub. Cry his eyes out and then just die too. Because Sheila and Joyce were his surrogate mothers, and no matter that she might not even know him in this world, he wants to find Joyce and hug her one more time. That chance at touching the dead stolen from him, and he wants to run to the Rosenburg's right now and have some coffee with cinnamon in it and talk about Sheila's new paper. But he knows she's at a conference and doesn't even know if they are that close here.

As he towels off, he brings his mind around to Willow. That much is the same. Except not, at the same time. She feels isolated from him because of Faith, and he sees the Cordelia thing all over again. Considers that he might have a real shot at going down the Willow-road this time: true love married to true friendship, love with depth of years, maybe together forever and all the ridiculous engaged out of high school stuff he's only seen on TV and in the movies. Then he trips back over Faith. And Angel. Decides it's time to talk this out as best he's able without giving up the secret. She was pissed at him last night, but she's Will, and she'll get over it.

It was pancakes after all. The fat, bloated kind that are like an inch thick and soak up half a bottle of syrup when you pour it over them. His favorite, and apparently the favorite of *this * Xander too, hence with the G-man slappin' 'em down this morning. God bless some things never changing. Xander sits down at the table, and Giles flips a plate to him.

"Late night?" Giles asks, scraping the sides of the bowl and directing the batter into the skillet for another batch.

"Yup."

"Did you get any actual patrolling in?" The Watcher pokes at some bubbles with the spatula. A little too nonchalantly?

"Seven ashes to ashes types." He spreads a lot of butter on top of the stack on his plate and reaches for the sticky bottle of syrup.

"Pretty good. You let Faith do the slaying part, correct?"

"Hey now. I don't have to be bait boy all the time." Xander has to grip the fork harder, wiggle the edge against the spongy disks on the plate and really use his biceps to get enough force to cut through them.

Giles joins him, but doesn't share Xander's carbohydrate repast, opts for toast and tea and one egg fried sunny side up. He sets the plate, adjusts the silverware, lays the newspaper alongside. "Maybe not, but I would prefer you to not go at all in the first place, so attempt to humor me."

"I am a shiny lure guy."

One shake of salt, two of pepper. The forks edge cuts the rubbery whites into ribbons until the yellowy center oozes out onto the plate "Right. Willow called while you were in the shower."

"What did she say?"

"That she was mad at you. Something about you being a 'big stupid dumb dumb who needs to mind his own glass house' and then she continued for a while, I wasn't listening really."

"Ah, great. I'm in for it now, those were the big guns." It's always trouble when Willow starts using the metaphors.

"What ever did you do now, Xander?" Giles thumbs through the paper, finding the section that catches his eye, removes it and folds it into a square manageable enough to hold in one hand while the other is occupied with breakfast.

"Nothing, I just told her to stay away from Dead Boy."

He forsakes the paper for a second and looks up in surprise. "Dead Boy meaning Angel? What on earth for?"

"Because, she's got the hots for him, and I don't like the way he looks at her." Because it's a little too close to the way Angel used to look at Buffy, and he's trying to save them all from the horizontal happy, and someone taking the last train to hellville.

"Xander, surely you're imagining, or exaggerating Angel's, well, he's two hundred and forty some years old, and Willow's...she's a child. I'll admit that he might seem mysterious and exciting to a teenage girl, but do you think he'd really initiate some...some kind of relationship? He's a vampire; she's human. "

"Oh, I *think*!"

"Be that as it may, Xander, I think you really should mind your own glass house as Willow says. Stay out of it, meddling in situations like this usually causes serious discord in friendships, besides, Angel is an intelligent, er, individual, he will act with utmost decorum, I'm sure."

"Uh huh. Whatever. He better keep his room temperature mitts off her." He stabs the last forkful and mops it around the bottom of the plate, gathering the last drops of the sweet, brown liquid.

"Are you jealous?" Giles abandons all pretence, lays the crossword on the table and fixes the boy with an inquisitive stare.

"Jealous? What? No. She's my best friend, that's all." He tells that part of his brain to shut up. The one that sends him flashing images of Will lying full-length against him in his bed, arms wrapped around him, comforting him when he tells her about Anya. It's probably related to the part that sends an uneasy, restless energy through him when he thinks about it now, some vestigial remnant of what could have been, what should have been.

"Convince yourself, and then come back and tell me that again. Right, I have to go. Jenny and I are going down the city for the day. I'll be back by eight or so tonight. Will you be alright?"

"I wasn't planning to stick my finger in a light socket."

"Well, if you were, don't do it. There's some money under the toaster. Leave Angel alone while I'm gone at least. I don't want to come back to mass chaos."

"No chaos raising or electrocution, check."

"Cheeky little bugger. Be careful. Bye."

"Have a good time with Jenny."

Xander watches Giles shut the door behind him, heaves the most put-upon sigh ever heard, and picks up the telephone. Three rings, and the other line engages.

"Hello?"

Time to face it like a man. "Hey, Wills."

"Oh, it's Mr. I Know Everything About Everyone." He knows she's nursing her anger. It's wrapped around every syllable, and she's just too nice to hit him over the head with it. So different from Faith.

"I mainly go by Harris."

"Ha ha, I don't hear you apologising."

"I was getting to it."

"Ok."

"I didn't mean to go all nuts on you or hurt your feelings last night. I'm just worried about you, you know, getting in over your head. It's not like you like some college guy, Angel's like prehistoric."

"Not exactly. History was in full swing in the 18th century."

"You know what I mean! I'm worried he might hurt you. I would have to try to kill him them, and well, it wouldn't be pretty."

"Uh, no. You would be very un-pretty after that. But, you don't have to worry about that. He's not like that. You just don't know him."

"If you say so." If only he could tell her the truth without looking all fortune teller.

Willow must have forgiven him, because her next words are curious, lighter. "What are you doing today? Giles went down to L.A., huh?"

"He just left. Don't know, I don't think I have any plans."

"You're not gonna, uh, spend time with Faith."

That's very smooth. "I'm sure she'll be asleep for several more hours. Did you want to do something?"

"How about work on your Chem?"

"You should have been alive during the Inquisition."

"I think I might have been a little toasty."

"Oh, right, witch. All right, I guess we can do the studying thing. You come over here?" He pulls away from the table and starts clearing it off, receiver tucked under his chin as he piles plate with silverware, syrup bottle, everything in one trip, no matter how precarious the balance.

"Um, sure. Let me get my stuff together and take a shower, and I'll be over."

"You mean after you call Angel and tell him where you'll be."

"What? Xander...why would you think that?"

"Nothing, forget it. So, an hour?"

"Yeah, an hour."

"See you then. Bye."

"Bye"

~*~*~*~*~

When she comes into the kitchen, she knows that her parents aren't home; there's only one light on in the living room and a note on the counter. It isn't hard to guess what it said, they always say the same thing-'Willow, Daddy and I won't be home until late. Have some dinner. Do your homework. Don't throw a wild raucous party bacchanal.' Well, it never said the last part. The thought that she would probably never crossed her parents' minds. No, their good, dependable only daughter would never do anything wild like drink or have boys in the house. Luckily they'd never found out about Angel in her bedroom the other night.

She crumples up the note and throws it in the trash underneath the sink. Looks like tonight it's just her and ten chapters of comparative world religions. Ugh. Or, maybe not, because right now she thinks her head might explode if she forces it to concentrate any more on education related topics. Xander has taken all of her academic student energy already, and everything else will have to wait until tomorrow.

And of course the cure of choice for brain coma is-bubble bath. A tub full of hot water, a few million bubbles, and the brain is free to mush away on more important topics. Like vampires who do *things* you've never done before, perfect, incredibly flustery things that make you nearly pass out from sheer bliss, then don't call you. Angel's been pretty good at the disappearing act in the past, and she hopes he's not repeating that performance, not now. That would be so depressing.

Now she's all gloomy. Willow can tell, she can feel the frown and the wrinkling of her eyebrows. If Sheila Rosenberg were here, she'd warn about how extremes of facial expression promote premature wrinkling. Maybe Angel wouldn't drag his feet so much if Willow had a few wrinkles, some visible proof that she's not the kid he thinks she is? What was that other lecture her mom sat her down for once? Boys are only after one thing?

She sighs and tries to pick her feet up off the floor as she trudges up the stairs. Tonight she feels like she's one hundred and fifty years old. That should count for something, right? She stops, bends over, and picks up the pile of clean clothes her mom has left for her on the bottom step, and pulls herself upstairs with the handrail.

The clothes get dumped at the foot of her bed, and she opens the linen closet in the hallway outside the bathroom. A big, fluffy towel is a requisite part of the evening, along with the lilac bubble bath that she picks up from underneath the sink.

She twists the hot, call her crazy, but she loves the water so hot that she nearly passes out after half an hour. So hot, that she has to lie on the bathroom floor when she gets out, lay there naked on the tile floor, and feels her brain pounding-thud...thud...thud..."You are crazy."

"Well, they say talking to yourself is one of the first signs."

"Oh My God!" she spins around in terror to see Angel leaning against the wall of the hallway, right outside the threshold of the bathroom. "You scared the crap out of me."

A small laugh, and it reaches the corner of his eyes as it tumbles out of his mouth, rising in volume when he sees her shaking the folded towel at him threateningly. He adds apologetically, "I didn't mean to scare you, honestly. I knocked downstairs, but I guess you didn't hear me."

Steam rises from the torrent of water pouring out of the faucet; she turns her back to him to add cold to the stream filling the tub. She's feeling a little grouchy and unsure of how she should act, what she should say. Everything that she practices in her head sounds stupid, and she hopes that her actions will buy a little time to think of something that's not entirely trite.

"Taking a bath?"

Like that. At least she's not the only one minus the suave around here. Maybe he's channelling her nervousness? "I was going to." She should turn the water off, but then she'd have to face him, and the thought makes her shaky. Having to look him in the eye, after what they did. She's never been in the position she was last night, so open, so vulnerable. One crass remark from him right now...and she doesn't think she can take it.

"I wanted to, you know, see you tonight. I called earlier, fifty, a hundred times, but no one answered." She can hear him shifting his weight behind her. Still in the hallway, if her tension hasn't thrown her distance perception off.

One capful, two, three. She really likes a lot of bubbles. "I was helping Xander study." Shimmering, iridescent mounds of foam build on the surface of the water, swirling and rising under the splash from the tap.

"Oh, you and Xander. Not at the library, I stopped by there before. Not here, so...at his place, huh? How's Giles doing?"

"I don't know. He wasn't there." The tub's halfway, the scent of spring lilacs fill the small space.

A quiet, "Oh." Then, " Just you and Xander, huh. Yeah, that's...that's cool."

She cranks the handles to off and turns around. He's standing in the doorway, knuckles white as he grips the doorframe. Trying to keep from coming in? "That's cool, huh?"

He doesn't answer, just bites his lip while contemplating some internal struggle. He lasts about thirty seconds, and then steps into the bathroom. His hands are on her face and he's kissing her hard, tongue filling her, holding her head still until he's sated with the taste of her. He pulls away, leaving her dazed at the force of his passion. "I've been thinking about doing that all day."

And she just blinks stupidly at him, forgetting everything but her own name, and even that's fuzzy, possibly spelled with an extra l and one too many o's. Luckily her brain stem keeps her breathing. Thank God for primitive survival instincts.

"You're parents are gone?"

She manages a nod, and then tries a, "They won't be back until later." Has to clear her throat and try it a second time before it makes it past her lips.

"Later is good." Angel kisses her again, takes the square of terrycloth barrier between them and lays it on the counter before moving his hands to her spine, pushing her against him.

A path of soft nibbles down her neck is punctuated by random swirls from the tip of his tongue, and her next words leave her in a wobbly huff of air. "My water's getting cold."

He leans back and studies her. "I can help you with that. If you want."

Which would require him seeing her naked? And there are the rubbery legs again. It's funny that she should be so mortified, since he's already seen her...*done* things to her. Seventeen years of Shelia Rosenberg prude training is a little hard to shake off in one night, but there's that flutter between her legs and the memory of how good last night felt.

What the hell. She trusts him, he's just so good looking, no one's home, and damn it...she's not a little girl anymore. People do this all the time. They enjoy it. And they're not bad people for doing it. "Um, okay," the teeth aren't chattering too badly. She repeats it with slightly more confidence, "Okay."

He taps her lips with his index finger, replaces it with his mouth and slides the palm of his hand down her throat, over the bump of bone between her clavicles, down to the first button of her shirt. That one's opened, then the next...and the next. The shirt falls away, tugged gently from her arms and pools on the floor at their feet.

Suddenly she wishes she wasn't wearing this bra, tiny sprigs of spring flowers scattered across a white background, matched by the panties farther down. It just seems so juvenile to her now. It must to him too. She wonders what kind of bra Faith wears. Probably black lace. Silk? Crotchless panties? Undoubtedly something that drives *Xander* wild with desire. And here she is trying to make an impression on Angel with lilacs and girl's wear from Sears.

"You're so beautiful Willow," he breathes, humming the first syllable of her name.

And she feels like she's going to cry. No one's ever told her she's beautiful before. Her mom said she had a nice figure once, and that boys would be coming around in a few years. But they didn't, the boys that is. She might as well be invisible for all the notice she's gotten from her classmates at school. And now here was some older, handsome, mysterious and attractive *man* saying that he thought she was beautiful. And he seemed to mean it. God if she didn't believe he meant it.

"You are...you are, Willow," he says as if reading her thoughts. "I've tried so hard to tell myself that this is wrong, but I can't hear anything but you. You'll tell me if I've gone to far? You'll stop me if I push to fast?"

He rests against her, until their foreheads are touching, and as he slips the strap from her shoulder, she lets out a slow, drawn out "Yessssssss," she'll say yes and no and go and stop, whatever he wants. As long as he doesn't leave her now.

Angel kisses her between her eyes as he unbuttons her pants, pushes them over her hips and down her thighs until she can kick them off of her feet. One finger hooks in the waistband of her panties, and her tugs them down too, raises her hand in his own and guides her to step cautiously over the edge of the tub.

As she sinks into the water, bubbles enveloping her, Angel kneels on the floor and reaches for a washcloth hanging on the towel rack, shoves it into the water.

She can't believe she's saying it. "You could come in too."

He stops with dripping cloth in midair, looks up at her with surprise and hope obvious on his face. "Really? You're sure?"

"Uh, huh." Willow hopes that he just hurries up and does it before she has a chance to change her mind.

He leans back on his heels and pulls his shirt over his head, causing muscles to slide over bone as his chest and biceps flex. Standing up quickly, he removes his pants, and Willow uses the pretence of wiping the hair out of her face with her shoulder to hide the blush that comes. She's never been naked with a guy before.

By the time he steps into the tub and settles in behind her, she's able to raise her face again. She can feel his hand in the water, reaching for the washcloth he's dropped, brushing against her tailbone as he retrieves it, then leaning into her, reaching around her to grab the bar of soap in front of her.

"I'll wash your back," he whispers into her neck before he returns to an upright position and lathers the soap.

"Yeah, that's good." She picks out a hair scrunchie from the basket on the floor near the tub, raises both arms above her head and twists her hair into a knot, secures it with the stretchy band of fabric just as the warm cloth touches her left shoulder blade. Relaxing circles of rough pile as he works the tension out of her, a hypnotizing spiral motion. Over. And over. And over.

"Lean back a little. I'll get your front."

And how good does that feel, his chest behind her, his arms cradling her as he sloshes the water beside her, turns the soap over in the washcloth and rubs it over her breasts, her tummy, lower...she lets out a sigh and rests her head back against his shoulder, smiles when he kisses her cheek, thinks she might like to go to sleep like this every night.

"Oh, hey." She takes the washcloth from him and half turns so that she can see his face. "Now it's your turn."

He chuckles at her sudden energetic spurt, "Okay." Releases the soap to her. Willow slides around, is hit with a moment of awkwardness as to how to sit, then locks her knees over his, so their torsos are about eight inches apart. The water sluices off of his chest, leaving shiny trails of disappearing bubbles snaking down his skin. His nipples point roughly when the nap of the washcloth brushes over them, and she stares, fascinated, then realizes that it's rude, and looks up, catches him watching her.

"Doing okay?" he asks gently.

"So far, so good." She traces the outlines of the individual muscles on his arm with the cloth, marvelling at how young he looks. The man is over two centuries old for heaven's sake.

"Just checking." He closes his eyes and gives himself over to her ministrations, looking deceptively peaceful.

Willow's struck with the sudden urge to taste him again, and she raises up, places her lips against his. He lets her lead, just places a hand gently at her back and allows her to glide down his slippery pecs until she can feel their groins touch, feel his hardness resting right *there*. And it feels like last night, but bigger...tighter. With a shifting of her position, a widening of her legs, she can feel him going inside of her. He's very still, eyes closed, letting her dictate how far this will go. When she reaches a certain point, an involuntary gasp escapes her, and she closes her eyes, but feels his lips brush her open mouth, nip at her lips. "It's okay Will, it'll be okay, but we should go to your room. If you want to."

"Okay." Is this it?

They manage to disengage their bodies without slipping too much on the wet ceramic. Angel kisses her all the way down the hallway, making her walk backwards as he keeps her from bumping into anything, and she's glad, because her brain's not focusing so well at the moment, just skipping along at a mile a minute. She feels so jittery, like she's going to jump right out of her skin.

When they make it to her room, he pulls them both down on the bed with her on top. Thigh to thigh, stomachs stuck together, breasts flattened against his chest, every inch of her seems overloaded with sensations she's never felt before: warm skin against cold, scratchy hairs poking abdomen and groin, the hard to ignore plump roundness of an engorged penis tucked between them.

These aren't factors she's ever had to deal with before, and neither is the nagging awareness that whatever happens tonight will change everything between them irrevocably. Two worlds collide tonight, seventeen years of Willow Rosenberg the child with the Willow who will emerge and lead her into the rest of her life. Standing in the threshold of adulthood, is he the doorway that she wants to take into that world? Is this a moment to seize or back down from? Looking down on him, she tries to reconcile the contrast of an aroused, centuries old vampire against the background of a Jetson's comforter.

"Thinking of a way to get out of this?"

"No! No, I uh...no." Now she sounds like a babbling idiot. "No, just having a little of the life review here."

"Ah, unfortunately I'm guilty of that on far too many occasions." He closes his eyes, twists his head to the side until his cheek rests on the bedspread, and licks his lips before asking. "You wanna get up and get dressed?"

She really doesn't. "No, I think I want to do *this*." The tip of her nose grazes the ridge of his jaw line, right where it begins under his earlobe. Softly, she nudges along the length of the bone until she reaches his chin, then marks zigzags against his flesh with her bottom lip.

"Don't do this if you think I'll be mad if you don't." He stops when she switches to tracing a little heart with her upper lip. Opens his mouth in a forced exhalation like he's going to say something else, tries again before he's successful, "Really."

She cranes her neck around so she can look him in the face. His eyes open as her breasts slide sideways across him, and he meets her gaze. "I want to do this. I'm ready to do this. Unless you're having second thoughts?"

"Hell no." His head whips back to center position, and she reorients her body's position on top of him. "Hell no, Willow. I think I..."He freezes and she feels his spine go stiff.

Okay, panic button flashing neon red. "You think what?"

"Nothing, it sounds forced to say it now, " he protests.

"Oh, I'm not letting you get away with that. Spill it."

"I was going to say that I think I love you, but it sounds like a complete line. Like I'm saying it just to get you to do this."

"Well, even if it was, it seems to be working."

"It's been awhile since I've said that, since I've even been anywhere close to feeling that. I didn't want to say it, because I wasn't sure what you were thinking. Are you...are you in love with Xander?"

Whoa, brain lapse as she tries to process that last association. "My love for Xander would be proved by me lying naked here on top of you?"

He shrugs helplessly. "That came out wrong. I just thought you might be transferring a little..." At her sudden glare, he continues. "And I guess that sounds stupid."

"And it kind of ruins the mood." She scrambles to get off of him, but Angel rises up, reaching for her at the same time. With the sudden shift in her center of balance, she sways to the right, and can't get any traction on the slippery bedspread, feels herself falling. At least she doesn't hit the floor, because Angel rolls with her, and she ends up laying on top of him in a strange re-enactment of their position only moments before.

"Did I hurt you?" She asks worriedly, because she swears she felt her hip connect with some vulnerable 'boy parts' on the way down. Her recent anger at him is forgotten.

"I'll live." He rethinks it for a second, "Or, I won't." He rolls his head and gazes up at the ceiling in exasperation. " Look Willow, I'm sorry if I'm coming off sounding like an idiot, it's just been a while since I've done this. And I was never very good at it to start with."

Willow lets out a nervous, tinny laugh. "What, you've never had sex with a girl before?"

"No, I was always very good at that, or at any rate there weren't too many complaints. No, I mean loving someone. I never did that right."

"Well, it helps if you don't accuse her of thinking about someone else at *crucial moments*." she emphasizes the last, while feeling a tug of sadness. He must have had a very lonely life up until now. She knew he was solitary, probably from choice, but the effects of that self-imposed exile never really occurred to her until now.

"Well, jealousy has always been a problem for me. In the past...well, lets just say I didn't share well with others."

"Vamp or pre-vamp?"

"Both. I didn't want to be like this, but when you left my place, I couldn't stop thinking of all the reasons you and I shouldn't be together. So of course I kept telling myself that you'd be better off with someone like Xander, and I know you've known each other for a long time. I've seen you sometimes, and it seemed like, I don't know, you had *feelings* for him. Like maybe you were jealous of he and Faith?"

"I did, but maybe you should have looked a little closer. Then you would have noticed me looking at you."

He blinks slowly and one corner of his mouth curls up in a self-depreciating line. "Well, I *can* be very dense sometimes. I need more remedial help than the average person."

She can't help the answering grin that brakes out on her face. "You're in luck then, because I do a lot of tutoring in my spare time."

"Mmmnn, what should we work on first?"

"This?" She scrapes four periwinkle painted nails lightly across the chest trapped under her, "And maybe this..." a darting tongue and a wispy tickle of red hair as her head follows the invisible line.

"Uhhhh, oh, that's good. Good choice." He brings his hands up to rest on the small of her back, slides them down and around, pulls her upward against him. Not hard, just enough to feel the pressure of his cock sliding down her belly. One hand on the back of her thigh, and skimming closer, parting her and rubbing his middle finger over the hard knot of her clit.

Gasping at the spasm that causes and the flood of heat that just seems to *emanate* from his fingertip. "A..Angel, there isn't anyone else I want to do this with. I'm not thinking about anyone else."

He increases the speed of his finger, slows and lingers lazily, then speeds it up again, while the other comes up to cup the back of her head. "Shh, I know...I know. I'll stop being an asshole now." Mouth to her lips, and he's sucking her tongue into him, circling it with his own, lingering at the cord of membrane webbing it at the base underneath.

"Mmnn," she moans softly in her throat as he circles his finger farther inside of her, guided by another wet shudder. He pulls away, looking at her from underneath half closed lashes. She knows he's still doing it when she closes her eyes and concentrates on how incredible it feels to know that he's inside of her, wanting to feel more.

The hand moves from the base of her skull, over her shoulder and down to nudge her off of his chest. When she arches back a bit, his palm surrounds her breast, squeezing lightly, coming away to allow room for his thumb to rub over her nipple. The sensitive nub of flesh elongates, hardens, and he takes it in his mouth to suckle her. A microfilament of white cold sensation, the combined effort of every nerve ending screaming in tandem, and she's never felt anything like it.

The thought of him watching her while he's doing this, seems scandalous and just so *hot*, and she wants to feel more.

And like before, she rises slightly, which breaks the suction of his mouth with a moment of disappointment inside of her, but stifles it while she rotates, feels him pressing into her and lets him gradually in.

Angel knows what he's doing; in this position she can take him in as slowly as she wants, and she's in control. It's a feeling that she appreciates and may employ many times in the future. Hopefully. And this is what all the fuss is about. She can see why Xander and Faith would like it so much.

It's bigger...longer than his tongue last night, than his finger, and it feels like it's filling every inch of her. She breathes slowly, getting used to the sensation, and moves her leg to support her weight better. When she makes that movement, he rolls his head back into the carpet. She can see his eyes move behind the lids and his body stiffens.

Huh. She likes this chance to watch him, to see what effect everything she does has on Angel. She rocks back and forth experimentally.

"Willow," hissing between clenched teeth, jaw gritting over her name. His hands are flat on the floor now, pushing against the cream and blue pile. It's amazing to her that she could get this kind of response from someone, not Hosenberg as Ellen Lexington used to call her in the fifth grade.

She increases her pace, and starts to feel her own breath coming fast. Warm flesh rubbing against cool, his chest is smooth, with just a few hairs around the nipples. When she bows her head, biting her lip to concentrate on all the new sensations, her hair flips down against him, scratching and tickling each time she comes down again. Her thigh muscles squeeze, never quite relaxing as his hands come around to rest on her ass again, pushing her against him with each thrust. The carpet bites into her knees, and the pain isn't enough to pull her back from the pleasure of the sight of him beneath her, the feel of his body against hers, and she thinks maybe she's wanton now. She wants to be.

And the room seems so hot, sweat rolling down her back and trickling down her thighs and belly, so that their flesh slips and slides against each other with every movement. And she thinks that's all *her* because she seems to remember reading somewhere that vampires don't sweat, of course, she's never read actual accounts of them having sex either, but surely they've answered that question by now?

Soon, she feels another, deeper pull in her belly. Her eyes roll back, and she stifles a moan. She wants to tell him how good this feels, but it ends up as an indecipherable stuttering as he jerks and spasms inside of her. Collapses against him and is vaguely aware of him kissing the top of her head as she snuggles into him.

~*~*~*~*~

There's a disruption of the blissful silence between them as the sound of the front door opening comes clearly through the partially closed door of her room. Damn it, if he'd only been thinking more clearly, he would have made sure to shut it. That would've bought at least two more minutes' time.

"Oh, God," Willow cringes, and struggles against him to sit up. She's looking frantically around. "My clothes...our clothes are in the bathroom. What are we going to do? You've got to get out of here."

"They're not ready for a son in law?"

His attempt at humor brings a horrified look to her face. "No way. They're not ready for their only daughter having sex, period, and especially not since she's picked a vampire for her partner. I think this constitutes a twenty on the parent Richter scale. I can't deal with this yet. We've got to get you out of here." She's already pushing at him.

Angel thinks that at that moment she might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The sweet taste of her manic fear hangs in the air between them, and he knows he can fix this for her, make it all better and bring that cherubic smile back to her face. He's going to do that from now on, fix whatever troubles her. No matter what it costs. He does love her, and he's going to get it right this time. She's his gift, the shot to be close to real, close to human, something other than he beast he sees himself as. "Make a distraction, I'll slip down the hall and get my stuff."

Willow scrambles off the bed, snagging the corner of the sheet and pulling it free of the mattress. Loosely wound around her hips and torso, it disappointingly covers her body from his view but makes him smile as he imagines rectifying that the next time they see each other. He has no such modesty, unfolds his body from her bed and stands in front of her. Unashamed. She looks wide-eyed for a moment, like she's forgotten the urgency of the situation, until he gives a light shove against her lower back. "Go on now."

"What am I going to do?" She wails softly, looking distractedly over her shoulder at the door, and then back to him.

With a hand on her hip, he comes in close, open mouth kiss for exactly five seconds, and looks into her eyes trying to impart some of his own calm. "I have faith that you'll think of something."

And she does seem to stabilize her upset. Spine straightens, takes a deep breath, and turns to swing the door open as she marches through it. Yeah, she'll think of something...she's very resourceful.

They make it to the bathroom, when Sheila's voice drifts up the stairs. "Willow, Dad and I are home."

"Um...someone called for Dad. I think it was one of his students. I wrote the name down." There's some reply, mumbled as her mother moves into the kitchen to search for the alleged message.

Angel's already zipping up by this time, leaning down to retrieve his shirt. Willow's got his boots in her hand, holding out socks in the other. "You'll have to go out my window. I'm sure that's not a problem. Right?"

Angel manages to hop on one foot, sliding a sock over his toes as he follows Willow back down the hall to her bedroom. "Nah, that's fast becoming my preferred method." When he's got the socks on, they're halfway across her room. She hands him his right boot with a hasty shove, and the minute she feels him take it, starts unlocking her window.

"Wow, if I were more sensitive, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me."

"Willow, honey. Where did you write the name down?" Ira Rosenberg this time, voice coming faintly from the front foyer.

The redhead hoists the window up, spins around, and sticks her head out into the hallway. She answers with an impressive bellow, "On the same paper as your note." Turns around and tosses his remaining footwear to him. "Okay, I threw that note away, so that'll give us a minute."

As he's lacing his boot, he asks, "Was there really a call, or did you make that up?"

"Made it up."

He throws one leg over the windowsill, and pauses. "You're very devious."

"I'm learning." She rushes over and stops when she reaches him, still not quite able to break that insecure barrier. Stands nervously, with restless legs. "I'll take the 'you've got to be more responsible with phone messages' lecture over the 'oh my God you've had sex in your bedroom...all girls boarding school for you' lecture right now."

"How about the 'object of lustful vampire thoughts' lecture?" Angel moves close to kiss her again, keeping one leg still outside the window, even though he has to slide until only his ankle is hooked. Prays that he doesn't fall on his face, unless he lands on top of her, which might be okay.

"I'll have to study more for that one..." She returns his kiss. "...uhhhh, later," she adds reluctantly, remembering again the objective of getting him *OUT* of her bedroom. "I'm going to say this now, because I know you'll be gone in a second, and we won't have to deal with it exactly this instant. Kind of a chicken's way out before I lose my nerve, but I love you Angel."

He can hear Ira Rosenberg in the hallway. "Willow, I can't find..." And she's already turned around to intercept her father.

"I love you too, Willow," he says softly to her retreating back. He stretches his foot behind him, testing for the foothold of the branch he knows is there, and there's that momentary annoyance of wondering where the hell it went, when sharp energy starts jumping in every nerve ending of his body. Like a current of static that brings miniscule shards of hissing current racing along the surface of his skin just before his vision dims, and he feels himself falling. The impact of his body on the concrete jars him, and he can't move for a few seconds.

Stretch. He can feel the demon uncurling from its slumber, and the overpowering need for blood. Needs to burn the humanity polluting his true nature, to lock that weak soul back in the filthy cage it's kept him locked in for over a century. Demon almost, * almost* disappointed when soul flees, leaving him alone to his own devices.

He hears a whistle.

Whistle.

Distracted by the tremor of a larynx acting as an echo chamber for a jaunty tune. Ears perk up, and head follows the sound, relying on senses other than sight to find the precious blood.

The smell is strong, and the hollow thud of a heart reverberating in a chest cavity is so very captivating.

Kill.

Drink.

Want.

Take.

Have.

Opportunity is present, so very close, so desperately, achingly close. After all the decades of being suppressed, the opportunity is once again his.

Rude to snub its call.

Healthy blood.

Strong heart.

Unbelievably sweet.

Yes, rude not to answer its call.

The melody of humanity must be smothered.

~*~*~*~*~

This evening he's done his homework with Will, and now he's walking the graveyards of Sunnydale, whistling a merry tune. Not so much different from home.

There's not exactly a bulls eye on his chest. He doesn't feel so bad, somewhat cocky, sure that he can handle himself if it comes down to it. Must be that chirpy optimism that Wesley accused him of yesterday. That, and years of denial.

Wow, all he ever needed to learn, he *really* did learn in kindergarten. Well, kindergarten on a Hellmouth, so that might not count. Might give him an unfair advantage over everyone from Godthistownisboring,oopsi'veslippedintoacoma Missouri. And if his life's obstacles don't kill him, they'll just put him six feet under ground so he can claw his way out of a coffin and become the living dead, wreak a little havoc on everyone he's ever known. So, yeah. These worlds aren't so different after all.

Slight wrinkle in this timeline though. He's on his way to meet Faith. His girlfriend...Faith. And that itself is a mind-tangling sentence that defies all logic, and hasn't quite slid towards acceptance yet. Coming close. He did have a * thing* for her before. Something he never wanted to admit as anything but overwhelming lust. Thank God he senses something following him, because *that's* something he can react to.

"Whoever it is, I have a pointy stick, and I know how to use it." And if it's Faith meeting him, still not a lie.

"I seriously doubt that."

Ah, Angel. Stifle those lusty Faith thoughts, cause...scary homoerotic place Xander doesn't want to explore. He's not *that* secure. "Doubtful of my masculinity, Deadboy? Yours is the one in question."

"Why would you say that?" Arms crossed over Angel's chest, hem of the leather coat swinging as he settles back against the stone wall of a family crypt. Angel's casual attitude suggests this could take a while.

Terrific. Xander would just love to stand here all night trading the love with Angel, who says dreams don't come true?

Is this going to be a contest of who has the biggest dick? Because that will be special, and this time he might just say everything he's bitten back in his own world. Wouldn't he love to prove that the broody superhero doesn't always get the girl? "You know, the whole eunuch thing....that you don't know anything about..." Maybe not such a smooth comeback now that he's heard it out loud.

A look denoting Xander as some three-armed circus geek, gnawing the head off waterfowl in straw lined crate. "Eunuch? Your mouth gets away from itself, doesn't it, Xander?" His expression switches to one of studied indifference, as the vampire takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, taps them down and slides one out. Quick flick of a lighter and the cherry tip winks just beyond (in Xander's opinion, pasty) fingers.

"Accepted that endorsement gi...gig for the tobacco industry?" It's a nervous stutter as the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and an 'oh shit' warning starts knocking on the boarded up Angelus door in his brain.

Proving the theory of vampire preternatural speed, he has Xander by the throat, palm resting over the Adam's apple, and fingers starting to close around the circumference of the bony column. "Talking about things you don't know anything about..."

Very bad. "Oh fuck. You wouldn't be coming from a naughty liaison, would you?"

One brutal shove, the vampire's elbow extends, locking as he lets go of the human, and Xander goes flying over a low gravestone, grunting as the air is knocked out of him." You want details, or you want a demonstration?"

Xander rolls over on his stomach and decides that nothings broken, doesn't bother to look and see if his pride is laying anywhere around. There's no time for that now. One formerly fuzzy vampire, minus a soul, equals big fucked up time for everyone. And if Angel's all evil dead now, that could only mean..."Did you hurt her?? I will stake you where you stand." Reaches around for the stake that's in his back pocket, cause *that* wasn't a lie.

Angelus saunters slowly, carefully lining heel to toe as he walks a perfect line past the marker between he and Xander. Arms out to his side, he waves them in an exaggerated mockery of someone trying to keep their balance, never taking his eyes off the human who now squats in a ready position. "Did you hurt her? Did you hurt her? Why do they always ask that? What do you think I did? I asked her opinion about the inevitable decline of a society based on a capitalist economy structure. Then we had tea...it was lovely. Really."

The last time this happened, Xander had Buffy to back him up, and he doesn't have time for an extended walk down that memory lane of grief and regret. Oh hell, where was a demon portal when you needed one?

He hopes to hell Faith gets here, because the prospect of Xander being the world's protection against the Scourge of Europe, he realizes suddenly, probably isn't a real workable plan.

"Find your dick yet Harris? If you need a few more minutes to look, I got time."

Shifting his weight, Xander repositions the stake in his fist. Faith had said twelve forty five. That had to be what...five minutes? He could stall for five minutes. Didn't predators like to play with their prey before they ate it? Gave them a sense of having earned it. "Don't worry about it, I'm good to go."

Angel stands entirely still. "Lost mine for a while, but Willow helped me look. She really didn't have a problem finding it; maybe she could give you a hand?" He aims a kick at Xander's left thigh, and seems surprised, slightly disappointed, when his target moves quickly back. "Although maybe not. She seemed like a one-man kind of girl. Oh well, practice and all that."

"I'll kill you, you fucking bastard."

The next second, he's flat on his back, knowing that he's not going to make it. He's come all this way with such good intentions to make this chance, or opportunity, or whatever the hell it is count. And he's gonna end up another blood bag on the vampire snack cart.

"Oh, there will be killing, but I'll be the one doing it." The vampire clutches a fistful of Xander's hair and slams his head against the ground once, disorienting him slightly.

As his surroundings start to spin, Xander tries to focus. No crapping out now, gotta stay awake for Faith. Fights a wave of nausea, and closes his eyes. That's so much better with out the spinning. "There's no way I'm going to let you hurt Willow."

"You're not going to let me? Yeah, I see your diabolical plan involves a brain hemorrhage and a lot of helpless immobilization. Brilliant, I never saw that coming. Give it up Harris, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this, you little shit."

"Is she still alive?" He's gotta know.

"Alive? What is living really? Quality? Quantity? There are good arguments for both sides. I've always thought the key is loving what you're doing. Carpe diem. You know, young at heart and all that shit. " He starts snuffling at Xander's throat like an enthusiastic dog, stops to occasionally bite down, just enough to bury the point of a fang an inch or so into Xander's neck. He withdraws, and lets out a soft, bark against skin. "You know...she tasted so sweet, like ambrosia and honey."

"You boys going at it, and you forgot to send me the orgy memo?"

Xander opens his eyes, sees Angel look up, and follows to see Faith standing just beyond the mound of the grave they're laying on. "Slayer. Just the slut I was looking for," Angelus says with obvious amusement.

"And you confused Xander for me? Wow, vampires really aren't very smart."

"Ah, but we look really good in leather." He gives her a sympathetic glance and adds in a loud stage whisper. "You know, those pants aren't very flattering. They make your ass look enormous."

She flips a stake in the air, end over end. It does three complete turns before she catches it, blunt end in palm, pointy side facing her target. "Are you practicing some kind of monologue for the vamp talent-show, because words are coming out of your mouth that I doubt *your* brain thought up."

And once again, Xander finds himself relegated to warning man. "He's bad, Faith, watch out."

"Bad? Like, Michael Jackson bad? Or like straight out of the Hellmouth bad?"

"Suck your heart out through your neck bad," Xander says, making an effort to push the vampire off of him, with no success.

"Angel? With his James Vanderbeek forehead? Come on. Maybe he's drunk. You been hitting the sauce there kid?" She takes a tentative step forward, keeping a watchful eye on the pair in front of her.

Xander feels the weight crushing him shift, but before he can shout out a word of warning, Angelus is gone, and on Faith before she knows what hit her. She might have had a chance, *before* Xander hears the snap of her stake hand.

No time to decide whether to get help or jump in. It's balls in hand, well, stake anyway, and he uses the tombstone to pull himself up. Pushes off and stumbles his way over to protect his girlfriend. Maybe if he wasn't so dizzy, he would have noticed her body flying towards him, and not been knocked to the ground as she slams into him.

He's on his back again, scoots over to check and see if she's alive. Her chest's rising, so he breathes a sigh of relief before Angelus' boot smashes into his gut and sends him into a coughing spasm. Forehead to ground, he's heaving so hard, maybe his intestines will plop out in one neat lump. He can see the vampire grab Faith by the hair twist her head sharply and drain her. And he can't even move, can't stop the shuddering, and can't get past the shock and loss, and the fact that he's next.

Maybe a world where your girlfriend cheats on you isn't so bad?

Fire originates from where Angelus' teeth rip into his neck. Hot and sharp and warm as his blood starts to flow.

If Willow's not dead yet, she soon will be. Everyone will, and he didn't get a chance to warn them about what would have happened. Not that anyone would have believed him. But he should have tried. Goddamn, he should have tried harder, but he thought there would be more time. Now every one of them would die, and it was his fault. He hopes Angelus kills her fast. Just drinks, nothing else, and he can see her body, broken, bruised, covered in her own blood and other things he wants to blank out. Shit, he really thought he'd have a chance here. A chance to reinvent his world.

And wouldn't you fucking know it... Angelus is the one that gets him.

He feels his heart struggling to pump against the loss of volume. Fluttering, speeding up and skipping a beat in an erratic attempt to keep going. Finally it gives up and he feels so light.

Really very...light.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He never remembers grass being this soft before. Maybe he's lying on a cloud, strumming a ukulele? No wait, it's supposed to be a harp isn't it? He's a fat little cherub in heaven, reclining on a fluffy cloud and strumming a harp.

Then why is he naked? Were angels supposed to be naked? Racks his brain, and can't come up with the answer to that one. Fuck, why didn't he pay more attention the two times he actually went to Sunday school?

Try to remember the picture bible they'd had there...was anyone naked in it? Yeah, like they're going to show that to a bunch of fifth graders. It's our New, New Testament. All nude, all the time. Except for a chimp who's dressed like a wiseman. 'Cause monkeys in clothes, that's funny shit.

Extreme blood loss is supposed to make you all confused isn't it?

"Xander honey. It's noon. Are you going to stay in bed all day?" Buffy's voice comes drifting from beyond his eyelids.

So, he's laying here...naked...and Buffy's telling him to get out of bed?

Oh yeah, very confused.

He knows he's alive, because he jumps and feels his heartbeat pick up when he wonders if Buffy's naked too. "I'm...um...getting up right now?" Little Xander puts a spin of truth on those words, and he grapples to make sure that the sheet is still covering him, tented appropriately. Because if the vampire bite didn't kill him, then the embarrassment will.

He opens one eye, and Buffy's standing at the foot of the bed. Not his bed, not hers. He's seen hers, dreamed about hers. This is neither of those. In fact, he's never seen this room before in his life.

But Buffy's standing there, in her underwear. His brain has to repeat that twice, since it's suffering from hysterical deafness. Buffy is standing at the foot of the bed in her underwear. There. It's not any more believable the second time around.

She's wearing a cute turquoise bra and thong panties. Her skin's damp, like she's just gotten out of the shower, and since she's holding an armload of wet terrycloth, that's a pretty safe bet. And did he just describe Buffy stepping from the pages of a Victoria's Secret catalogue as cute? Maybe some of his brain leaked out when Angelus was sucking him dry? 'Cause he meant to say...hot. Unbelievably, morning wood HOT.

Obviously, it's another alternative universe. So who is going to kill him here?

And if this Buffy doesn't mind him seeing her in her underwear, who cares? Buffy drops her burden in a clothes hamper, turns back to the bed, and says with mock sternness, "Do I have to come in there after you?" At his wide-eyed expression, she swings in next to him, kisses him and he can taste cinnamon mouthwash.

Ah, so it's a heart attack that gets him here? Okay, he can live with that.
 

The End
 

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