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Part 8

"How is he?" Cordelia demanded, stepping into Wesley's office. She shrugged out of her jacket, flinging it onto the couch.

The former watcher shook his head sadly. "He still won't come out of his room," he said slowly, "And now he won't let anyone but Fred in." He sighed, pulling off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's getting worse, Cordelia," he told her, stating the obvious.

The brunette nodded and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. "We need to find *Willow*," she told him, completely unprepared for his reaction.

"Don't you think I *know* that?" the Englishman practically shouted, jumping up from behind the desk, "Don't you think I've *tried*? No-one knows where she is! There's no record of her flying anywhere from LAX, nobody remembers seeing her there, and... Damn it! This isn't something I'm trained for!"

"I know, Wes," Cordelia said gently, rising to pat his tense back, "I didn't mean that you aren't trying, but..." She sighed. "Maybe we need to call in the professionals."

Wesley sighed himself, slowly returning to his seat. "You mean a private investigator?" he almost whispered, hating the idea that he was so incompetent they'd have to hire someone in the same business to get the job done.

She rolled her eyes and giggled. "No, silly! I was thinking about calling David Nabbit. Wherever she is, she's got to be working, right? And other than the whole witch-y thing, her best skills are with computers, so... Maybe he can spread the word! I can't think of *anyone* who wouldn't want him owing them a favour or two." Her smile spread just a bit wider when he looked up at her with hope in his eyes.

"Cordelia," he said sincerely, "You're a genius!" With his mood lightened considerably, he reached for the phone and dialed the private number of the reclusive billionaire.

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

"Tell me again, Fred," the vampire demanded, still rubbing his face against the pillowcase that carried just the faintest tinge of his claimed's scent.

The young woman nodded, used to the request after the last three weeks. "The Willow needs you, Angel. She woke in the night crying for you... calling your name. Her fingers would to dance over the place you bit, even though I didn't know what it was she was touching. Her eyes would get this far away look, and... I know she was thinking of you..."

Angel sighed, closing his eyes as he let her voice wash over him. He was pathetic, he knew, but he couldn't seem to help it. It hadn't been so bad at first; at least he'd been able to function, but... as one day turned into two, and two to a week, and that week to two weeks, he'd lost the ability to care. He'd felt more and more empty, even while feeling like he was being stretched thin, and now? Three weeks after she'd gone wherever it was she'd run off to, he couldn't even leave his room. Hell, he could barely manage to leave his bed! Not that he wanted to, because... it was the only place he could still smell her.

Fred sighed silently, watching him try to lose himself in his memories of the Willow. She didn't really understand how the others had let things get so bad. If they'd just accepted that Angel belonged with the girl, and she with him, things would have been... well, not *fine*-- not yet, anyway-- but things would have been okay. That wasn't what had happened, though. No, they'd let the Willow run away, and now they couldn't find her, and if the *vampire* was in this kind of a state, she hated to think of what the *girl* must be going through! The Willow was only human, after all.

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

She felt hollow. She'd *felt* hollow ever since she'd gotten on that plane, and it had only gotten worse the farther she got from Los Angeles. She'd come so close to going back so many times in the last three weeks that it almost scared her.

She sighed again, brushing her dark brown hair behind her ear as she organized the shelves in the small souvenir shop. It hadn't taken more than an hour to leave the airport in LA and catch a cab to the nearest salon. It had taken longer to convince the hairdresser that she wanted to turn her red hair to the muddy shade it was now.

She'd gotten back to the airport just two hours after Cordelia had left her there, and she'd taken the first plane going anywhere. That was how she'd ended up in Miami. Unfortunately, Willow was well aware of the fact that Angel and she were connected; she'd been sure since shortly before she'd left. She was also almost entirely certain that he would be looking for her. That was the reason she'd taken this job selling chocolate alligators and shell-covered boxes. She could have made much more money working with computers, but... She sighed again.

The problem was that she didn't know how much longer she could stay away. He was in her dreams each night, begging her to come back-- when he wasn't making love to her-- and... She'd taken to sleeping less than she ever had. She'd lost still more weight, and she knew she looked like some kind of a scarecrow, but... She was haunted, she realized. She was haunted, and the lack of sleep was making her paranoid.

Whatever connection she felt she had with Angel was probably all in her mind. He wouldn't be yearning for her the way she was for him; No; if he'd even noticed she was gone, he was undoubtedly relieved. He wouldn't have to see her; wouldn't have to remember what had to be the lowest point of his two and a half centuries. Yes, she told herself, that was the truth. Regardless of how much she wanted him... *loved* him... she was nothing to him, other than a regret who had once been a friend.

Her eyes closed, locking the tears away, and when she opened them again she moved to the door, throwing the deadbolt. He didn't care, and nobody was looking for her. It was time that she moved on from this little shop and started living again. As much as she *could*, anyway.

She slipped out the back door, making sure it latched behind her, and started down the street towards the residential hotel she'd been staying at. It was a far cry from the historic elegance of the *last* hotel she'd stayed in, but... there was no Angel here, and she tried to content herself with that, even while her heart was screaming wildly in protest. She stopped for a moment in the dingy lobby, picking up a discarded newspaper from one of the few chairs, before going up the stairs to her room. Maybe she'd check the want-ads... see if there was some sort of computer job she could apply for. But first...

Her toes flexed almost happily against the floor when she'd kicked off her shoes, and she sighed, laying back on the lumpy mattress. First, she really needed to get some sleep. Her eyes drifted shut, but she saw him immediately behind her lids, and sat bolt-upright, trembling. "Gods, I need *help*," she muttered to herself before getting up and turning on the small television she'd bought for the room. Her fingers toyed lightly with the plastic top of the pint of whiskey on the dresser beside it, and she nodded tightly. Maybe she could escape the dreams if she got drunk enough. She wasn't sure, but as she returned to the bed, eyes locked on the small figures prancing about on the screen, she figured it was worth a shot... or twelve. However many a pint held.

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

Fred slipped silently from the room, leaving the sleeping vampire to his own devices. He was starting the dream again, she could tell. A small smile crossed her face as she started down the hall. Somehow she had the feeling that... the more he slept, the closer they all got to a solution.

Whether the Willow was having similar dreams she didn't know, but... she didn't think the Powers would be so cruel to Angel and the redhead as to visit them on only *one*. And yes, the reader-demon-- Lorne, she reminded herself-- had said that none of this was supposed to happen yet, but it was *done*, wasn't it? So maybe it was just taking a little time for the Powers to adjust their plans. "I know you didn't plan things this way," she announced softly into the still air of the hotel's hall, "But you'll end up losing them *both* if you don't find a way to *fix* it!"

Maybe the sense of stunned comprehension was something she only imagined, but she felt better for having said her piece, and she smiled again, crossing her fingers in hope, before heading for the stairs. She had to see if the others had come to their senses yet.

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

He sighed softly and turned over, knowing he was asleep when he saw the smallish redhead beside him. Still, the dreams were all he had of her now. A small portion of his mind groaned, knowing that *this* dream would end as all the others had lately... with him waking suddenly, alone and colder than he'd ever been before, his demon howling in anguish. But still... he pushed even that slight bit of knowledge from him, and hoped hard that... maybe *this* time would be different. "Willow..." he purred quietly, one large finger trailing from her hairline, down to the slightly upturned point of her nose, and coming to rest lightly on her lips. "Willow..." he said again, smiling when her eyes opened and met his. At least *this* time the sorrow and accusation were missing from her gaze.

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

It hadn't worked, she told herself sadly. An entire *pint* of liquor, and she was still having the dreams. She could feel his finger running down her face, and when he said her name, she forced her eyes to open. Oddly enough, she didn't feel her usual dismay this time, but she shrugged internally, figuring that was because of the booze. "Angel," she sighed, her lips moving softly against his finger. He didn't look as overwrought as he usually did when she imagined him these days; in fact, she realized, allowing her clear eyes to rove his pale form, he looked... "Angel, you look like *hell*!"
 
 

He nodded slowly, his own eyes taking her in for what felt like the first time in *years*. "Feel like it, too," he admitted, "But you don't look too good yourself." He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping tightly around her. "I mean... you don't look like you've been feeling well..."

"I haven't," she mumbled, caught in the sensation of touching him, even if it *was* a dream. "I've felt awful ever since I left you..."

This was the first time she'd actually *talked* to him since that morning he'd... and it felt so *real*! He could feel every tight, soft inch of her pressed against him; feel her fingers caressing his spine... her lips moved against his skin while she tried to say more, but... "I can't..." he moaned, every part of him aching to have her; to find wholeness within her. His mouth swiftly covered hers, cutting off her words, and he moaned again as her tongue met his.

Every part of her was on fire. Just the sensation of his cool, wet tongue writhing with hers was making her crazy. "Too long..." she sighed into his mouth, all thoughts of his regrets and her own fleeing. Her hands roamed ceaselessly over his cool flesh, and she groaned deeply when he pressed her back against the mattress, rising above her. Her legs spread wide, wrapping tightly around his solid hips, and she screamed in pure satisfaction when he was suddenly sheathed fully within her yearning core. "Angel!" she cried, eyes wide, as he began to move.

This was it, he told himself, something in his chest relaxing for the first time in weeks. This was *home*! Her hot little body straining beneath him, her fingers tight against his skin, her legs pulling him ever harder into her, and the small, almost pained whimpers she was releasing into the still air... this was where he belonged. He moved slowly... fully... deeply within her, his eyes open wide, loud gasps flying from his lips. "Willow," he panted harshly, trying to control himself, and "Willow..." again, more of a moan, when he realized he couldn't. His hands slipped beneath her arms, locking tightly on the tops of her shoulders, and he moved harder, faster, more desperately upon her, his eyes flashing golden when she met his motions with her own. "Will..."

She almost wanted to cry at the perfection of the moment, but the things he was making her feel left no room for tears. Her hands slid roughly to his pistoning ass, fingers digging deep into the flexing cheeks, and when she tried to say his name, only wordless moans slipped from her lips. She could feel every thick, hard inch of him plunging in and out of her needy core, feel the strength of him deep within her, and... it was all so *right*! His fingers gripping her tight, pulling her hard into his rough thrusts, his coarse, dark curls rubbing harshly against her throbbing clit... She released yet another strangled gasp, her eyes rolling back even as she arched against him, shrieking wordlessly.

His own completion followed mere seconds behind hers, and he somehow wasn't surprised, a few minutes later, to find his fangs buried deep in the mark he'd given her that night that felt like ages ago. She hadn't asked for it this time, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away, not when she was murmuring contentedly beneath him; not when her soft, sweet fingers were wrapped gently in his hair, holding him to her. His eyes closed again, and he reveled in the feeling of the one perfect moment that would, he knew, end all too soon for *his* liking.

He was drinking her again, finally. His sharp teeth were in her neck, and she could feel the satisfaction flowing from him in one steady, seemingly endless wave. It was matched, of course, by her own. The fingers of one hand released his hair after a few moments, trailing slowly down his arm, and she smiled when she felt his still-hard cock jump a bit within her. "Angel," she whispered, finally finding her voice. She felt him freeze against her, and she moaned when he slowly-- delicately-- pulled his mouth away.

"You left me," he said, unable to keep the accusation from his voice. "You left me without even giving us a *chance* to see what we could be." His heart almost broke at the shattered look entering her eyes, but "Why?" he demanded softly.

She was falling apart. She could tell. But he was asking, and... she had to explain, even if it *was* only a dream. And maybe if she could find the right words for her dream-Angel, she'd be able to repeat them to the real one... some day. "I..." she began, before shaking her head and pushing gently at him. She heard his unhappy sigh, but it would be impossible to think clearly with him still inside her, and she knew it. "I forced you," she said sadly, once he was beside her, "You didn't want me, but I made you *have* me! I thought it was just a *dream*!" Once again, she couldn't even look at him, but... she figured that was probably for the best. "I loved you so *much*, and for so *long*! I didn't see what harm a *dream* could do! But it did do harm, didn't it...?" She closed her eyes against the tears she'd felt earlier, and sighed softly before continuing. "I made you claim me, even if I didn't mean to, and... Gods, how could I stay? How could I make you look at me, and see all the things I'm not? How could I let you try to make things right when I'd know-- every second of every day-- that you *hated* me...? *Regretted* me? I mean, Hell, Angel! How could I stay and see that look in your eyes?"

He was completely floored by the things she was saying. Was it possible that the real Willow actually thought she'd *forced* him...? He remembered the way he'd practically dove into the big bed in the imagined mansion on the night this had all began. No, if anyone had forced things, it had been *he*! He'd been prepared for this Willow to tell him she'd left because she couldn't stand the way he'd taken advantage of her, but *this*...? He was speechless.

She took one deep, calming breath, encouraged by his continuing silence. "So I left. And you can't tell me it was the wrong thing to do. You don't feel anything *like* what you felt for Buffy for *me*, and I know it. Because that's the other reason." She forced herself to open her eyes and look at him. "You claimed me, and I actually know what that means, Angel. You would have felt driven to touch me... to be with me, even though you didn't really want to. And I love you so much, I would have just accepted it, and... that would have torn me apart, more than leaving *ever* could." She smiled sadly as she felt herself being tugged back to wakefulness. The sudden shrill pulsing sound could only be her alarm clock, she realized, and she shook her head slowly. "Good-bye, Angel..."

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

He woke swiftly, his shouted "No!" ringing from the walls of his room. It wasn't possible. She *couldn't* feel that way! It had only been a dream, he tried to tell himself, even as his mind raced wildly. And yet...

He could taste her. His eyes widened, and he licked slowly at his lips, almost afraid to believe it. But there *was* blood there, and it wasn't his own...

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

If Wesley were to say that he was surprised when the half-naked, disheveled-looking vampire burst into his office, it would have been an understatement. The much older man hadn't left his room in almost a week, after all, but "A... Angel...?" he squeaked, unable to find his full voice.

Angel was almost frantic with the knowledge he was almost sure he possessed. "Wes!" he nearly shouted in his excitement, "I know why she left; we have to find her! I can make this right!" His entire body was vibrating with relief and impatience, and he barely managed to fling himself down on the couch. "I don't know where she is yet," he mused, "But... she's alright! A little worn around the edges, but that's to be expected, right?" He jumped up again, a broad smile lighting his face. "Oh, and she's dyed her hair some god-awful shade of brown, but... she's still Willow, and she's still *mine*! We just have to *find* her, so get on it!" he cried, dashing back into the lobby.

The former watcher stared after the vampire, a look of sad realization on his face. "Oh, dear lord," he finally managed, "He's gone completely *insane*!"
 

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