Part 6

Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief when the alleged boss of Angel Investigations finally trundled his lazy ass into the lobby. She leapt at him from the shadowed entry, one hand fastening over his mouth to prevent any sound from escaping him. "Shhh..." she whispered, staring into his eyes until he nodded slowly. She dropped her hand, grabbed his arm, and quickly tugged him back out into the sunshine of the LA morning. "We need to *talk*, Wes," she said intently, "And we might as well get some real coffee while we do it."

Wesley smiled at the very 'Cordelia'-ness of that statement, and allowed himself to be led down the street. "So," he said, a few minutes later, when they were rather comfortably ensconced at a corner table at the nearby diner, "What's this all about, Cordy?" he asked, taking a satisfied sip of the *very* good coffee. They should throw out the coffee machine at the hotel, he decided, and just buy it to order from *this* place... he'd have to check the budget. "What?" he demanded, her words having penetrated his occupied mind, "*What* did you say?"

"There's something wrong with Angel," she repeated. "I don't know what his problem is, but *trust* *me*, he's definitely *got* one!" She relaxed slightly as she began to list the things that had led her to that conclusion, chief amongst them the fact that he'd taken to sleeping at night, and waking at ungodly hours sobbing the redhead's name, or worse yet, shouting it out in a tone of voice she didn't even want to *think* about. She really *didn't* know what was going on, but she knew *one* thing... The way he'd been acting in the four days she'd been staying at the hotel was... creepy, almost. And it was starting to *scare* her. "I... Sometimes I don't know if he even knows who I *am*," she admitted softly. "At night... when I run into him in the hall...? It's almost like he doesn't see *me*, at all..."
Wes' mind was racing quickly but futilely. "Oh, dear," he sighed, mostly to himself, as the only possibility he could come up with to explain Angel's behaviour *remained* the only one he could find. "Oh, dear..." he said again, brow slightly furrowed as he drank his cup of coffee. "Right," he added, after a good ten minutes of silent thought, "I know what we have to do."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He was going insane. He was going insane, and he damned well *knew* it! He was seeing her in his dreams... holding her tightly, kissing her, making love to her... *tasting* her... and waking up alone and unsatisfied. And those were the *good* dreams!

There were others, as well. Dreams in which he went to her and she wouldn't even let him *touch* her. Dreams where she just... *looked* at him, her sad and angry eyes asking more clearly than words ever could just what he had done to her.

He'd tried to deny it; tried to tell himself that it couldn't count, since they'd both been asleep, but deep down inside, he and his demon had both known that wasn't the truth. The demon, especially, was still screaming at him that he was an idiot, and he couldn't bring himself to disagree. He'd hoped against hope, and found himself almost happy when those hopes hadn't panned out, and now...? It was time to end this.

He couldn't let things go on as they were; not when it was like an ever-increasing physical *pain*. No, he decided, the girl would have to come back to the hotel-- at least until they figured out what to do about the situation he'd created.

A sense of peace flowed through him, and he lay back against his sheets, falling into the first restful sleep he'd experienced since the morning he'd woken up buried deep within his redheaded witch. He ignored the happy chortles of the demon within him, and just... slept.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She hadn't been sleeping well. She could tell, every morning when she woke, that she'd spent her supposedly restful hours tossing and turning. Her *mind* didn't even feel rested! She'd honestly thought that she'd be able to put what had happened behind her, but... her body-- and her heart-- seemed to have other ideas.

Her nights were filled with images of him. Terrible dreams where they repeated the actions she'd forced on him, and other dreams, almost as bad, when she tried silently to apologize. Even in sleep, she couldn't seem to say the words, though, and *those* dreams seemed to go on *forever*.

A small part of her kept insisting that she go to him, tell him why she couldn't face him. But that was impossible, and she knew it. He'd just look at her and tell her it was okay, but she'd still be able to see the disgust in his eyes, and that was something she just couldn't bear.

Her fingers moved slowly to the healing mark on her neck, and she moaned softly when even her *own* touch there made her wet. She was obsessed. There was no other explanation. And as long as she was, she couldn't let herself be anywhere near him. Not if she didn't want to embarrass herself-- *and* him.

She pulled her robe tight around her neck when she heard her current room mate knock lightly at the door. "Come in, Fred," she called quietly, well aware of how skittish the other woman was, and she smiled when the dark-haired head poked around the edge of the door.

Fred could see how worn the Willow had become in just the four days they'd been staying at Cordelia's together, and it worried her, especially since she had a feeling that the girl had important things to do. It wasn't something she could explain without bringing her 'intuition' into things, though, and... She kind of thought her new friends already considered her to be a little... weird. Still, she wasn't sure that Wes, Cordy, and Gunn should have separated the witch and the vampire; something about that just felt... *wrong* to her. Of course, she reminded herself, she'd been away from humans for a long time, so what did *she* know? "Cordelia and Wesley are here," she said quietly, "They want to see you..." She sighed in sympathy with the tired-looking redhead, and when the girl nodded, she backed away, closing the door. "She'll be along," she announced, as she entered the living room and passed through to the kitchen. She poured a tall glass of tomato juice for the Willow, mixing in a small amount of blood from one of the bags she and Cordy kept for when Angel came to visit. She wasn't sure why, but it seemed to help the girl some; it gave her a bit more energy than the juice alone could account for. Of course, that would make sense, if what she suspected was true. She smiled to herself and stepped back into the living room, passing the glass to the Willow when she appeared moments later, fully clothed.

Wesley stared hard at the high neck of Willow's top, still hoping he was wrong about what had happened. Unfortunately, he had a feeling that the smallish redhead wouldn't be comfortable discussing that particular subject with him, whether it be because he was a man, or because he had been-- for a brief time-- the Watcher of her best friend... the Slayer who had *also*loved the vampire in question. "Willow," he said, by way of greeting, "You're looking..."

"You look like *hell*," Cordelia announced in her usual blunt fashion. "Jesus Christ, girl, haven't you been sleeping at *all*?" She darted a quick glance at her supposed boss, her eyes gesturing towards the door.

"Ah..." Wesley said, "Yes... Fred! Why don't we get some coffee for Willow? Maybe that'll help." He took the brunette woman's arm and pulled her unresisting form to the door. "We'll be back later," he called over his shoulder, passing into the hall and closing the door behind them. He stopped once they were on the street, and turned to Fred. "Why didn't you *mention* that she was in such a state?"

The woman shrugged quickly, not sure of exactly what the fuss was all about. "The Willow is fine, Wesley," she told him, "Or as fine as she *can* be..." She shrugged again, refusing to say anything more on the subject, no matter *how* many times he asked. The only thing wrong with the little witch was that she'd been separated from the vampire, and *she* knew it even if her friends wouldn't admit it. And they *wouldn't*. She could just *tell*.

Cordelia waited until she was sure Wes and Fred were long gone before sitting down on her couch, patting the cushion beside her. "Sit down, Will," she ordered, and "We need to *talk*..." when the girl was beside her. She met the redhead's questioning eyes, and reached out, taking her hand gently. "He bit you, didn't he?" she demanded, prepared for any reaction other than the one she got. "Oh, Willow," she sighed almost silently, rocking the girl who was suddenly sobbing against her, "What do we do *now*...?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Angel couldn't quite hold in the slight smirk as he watched the lecturing former watcher pace the office. At least it was out in the open now. He'd hated seeing Willow in that high-necked top she'd had on the day she'd left, mostly because he'd known she was wearing it to hide his mark. The demon had known it, too, and had been railing against the soul-imposed secrecy. But it was common knowledge now, or at least it was to *their* group, and it was an incredible relief that he didn't need to pretend any more. He rolled his eyes behind the endlessly pontificating man, only the fact that it was full day out keeping him there. "Get *over* it, Wes," he finally interrupted, visions of red hair and green eyes dancing in his mind, "I didn't *plan* it, but it happened."

Wesley stared at Angel, amazed at his carefree attitude. "Are you *insane*?" he demanded, after a moment, "You *claimed* the girl! Against her *will*! You, of all people, know what that can do to a human!" He tore his eyes from the vampire when his expression didn't change even slightly. "I could have understood if it had been Buffy," he continued, "She *was*, after all, a Slayer; she could have handled it! But *Willow*!" His voice rose in keeping with his anger. "You didn't *see* her, Angel! She hasn't been sleeping, and she must have lost at least ten pounds in the last four days! This is tearing her apart inside, and it just... pisses me off... that you don't seem to *care*! How could you *do* that to her!?" He didn't notice, in his fury, the look of intense anger and fear spreading across the vampire's face. Or he didn't until he found himself backed against the wall.

"She's *ill*?" Angel demanded, game-face out, "Willow's *sick*?" He was suddenly just barely holding on to the demon within him. "And nobody *told* me?" He released the other man, and strode angrily into the lobby, only to be stopped by the bright glare of LA sunshine outside the door.

The Englishman watched the frustrated vampire stalking back and forth in front of the lobby doors, suddenly coming to a rather surprising conclusion. "You didn't know..." he said softly. "You honestly didn't know what claiming her would do... to *either* of you." He almost couldn't believe it, but... if it was true, then things were even worse than he'd thought. "You've never *claimed* a human before... have you?" He collapsed onto the nearest couch when the vampire shook his head. "How is that possible?" he slowly asked, mind spinning, "Spike... Drusilla... *never*?" He looked again at the vampire, enduring his silence for only moments before he realized what was causing it. "She's not sick, you know," he informed his frantic friend, "Not yet, anyway. She's just tired. Now, sit down, and maybe we can figure this out." He carefully concealed his sigh of relief when Angel's human face re-emerged, and the vampire sat in the chair across from him. "So... your childer...?"

"No," Angel said simply, "Angelus wasn't really one for claiming. He just... decided he wanted them, went after them, and turned them. No muss, no fuss."

Wesley nodded; that did, indeed, match the things he'd read about the soul-less version of his friend. "But why *Willow*?" he demanded, trying to stay calm, "Why Buffy's best friend? I didn't even think you *knew* her that well!"

The vampire sighed, burying his face in his hands. "I don't *know*, Wes. I was there, in her head, and the *dream* she was having..." He shuddered at the pleasure flooding his body from the memory, alone. "I had to bring her out, and... I did what I had to do! But somewhere in there, it became something else... something *more*." He peeked between his fingers at the other man before continuing. "She *wanted* me to bite her, and... I guess it translated to reality, just like the *rest* of it did... I didn't even know it had happened until I realized I was awake, and..."

"I... see..." he said quietly, and he *did*. Angel had truly been lost in Willow's dream-world, and the things he'd seen there... *done* there... and probably the things he didn't even know he'd learned... had called to him, somehow. Something in what he'd experienced in her mind had caused his subconscious to *need* the witch, and it had acted on its own to satisfy that need. Unfortunately, knowing that didn't help anyone. Not Angel, and certainly not the little redhead. "She wants to leave," he finally said, not at all surprised when Angel's head suddenly shot upright. "And I think she *should*," he continued, just in case it hadn't been clear from his tone.

"She *can't*!" Angel growled, furious that she would even *think* of such a thing; "She's *mine*!" He pushed himself up from the couch, stalking angrily through the lobby. "I won't allow it," he snarled, mostly to himself, "I won't let her take herself away from me... Not now... Not ever..."

Wesley listened to his muttered comments for as long as he could, and even though he wasn't entirely sure that he *trusted* his friend in this mood, he finally had to step in. "Stop, Angel!" he ordered, standing tall beside the couch, "Stop thinking about yourself for a moment, and think about *Willow*! Because as difficult as you may be finding this, I can guarantee you it's much worse for *her*!" He allowed his own concern for the girl-- and the residual anger for what the vampire hadn't had any control over-- to colour his voice. "She came here to tell you that Buffy was *dead*; then she tried to *help* you, which seems to have worked rather better than I'd thought... She got locked into a dream-state; her most secret desire-- *you*!-- was exposed not only to her girlfriend, but to everyone *else* here, and now...? Now she's been *claimed* by the one person she loves above all else, and *he* *doesn't* *love* *her*!" He glared darkly at the stubborn expression on Angel's face. "You don't *love* her," he stated clearly, "And regardless of the fact that you obviously *want* her, I think she deserves better than that." He looked at his watch quickly before turning his eyes to the vampire once more. "You have five and a half hours until sunset. I suggest you think about whether what *you* want is going to be fair to *her*." And with that said, he turned and walked away. He closed his office door and sat down at the desk, hoping that Angel would recognize the truth of what he'd said. He somehow doubted it, but... he hoped so. For *Willow's* sake.
 

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