It's About Time

Author: Carrie

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~Part: Eleven~

An all-too-familiar anger coursed through Willow as she hurried along the dark and dangerous streets of Sunnydale, yet again.  If she could patent angered walks in the middle of the night, she would.  Sometimes she felt as if the past century had been nothing more than one emotional procession down one dim street after another, interspersed with the occasional argument with a vampire or a guitar lesson.

It was definitely time to get a driver's license.

Considering everything that Willow had on her mind, most notably her final destination and what she was going to say when she got there, it's not surprising that she didn't notice the creature trailing her from a safe distance.  Its unnaturally long, double-jointed legs had no trouble matching her angry strides, nor did its inhuman metallic-gray eyes ever let her escape its unblinking gaze.

Except once.

To look at its watch.

*****

'Slayer Central' was eerily quiet, even for a church.  Only hours before, its high beamed ceilings had reflected the sounds of cheerful voices raised in everyday banter, filling the massive space, warming it.  But now, an hour or so before sunrise, there was no sound, no life, even though the room was occupied.

Angel sat in one of the leather armchairs on the dais, feeling much like the building he occupied--empty, cold, drained of life. The two containers of blood he'd consumed earlier had not filled the void he felt deep within, and despite shrugging on his favorite velvety shirt, Angel felt no warmth. Even the soft glow offered by the many flickering candles that he had lit throughout the room did little in the way of brightening his mood or easing his soul.  He'd been trying to do some research, hoping to occupy his mind with the ongoing battle against evil, but he couldn't stay focused. The low table before him was littered with unopened books and ancient yellowed manuscripts, but he'd long given up trying to do any research. Unable to forget his earlier encounter with Spike, Angel had finally surrendered to his darker thoughts.

The heated, bitter exchange with his childe was replaying over and over again in his mind as if on a continuous loop.  Angel was unable to ignore, let alone forget, Spike's taunts even though he knew fully well that that was exactly what the blonde vampire had intended.  He'd preyed on Angel's obvious fears that Willow could never truly forgive him, trying to make the last century and a half's worth of penance and selfless acts appear almost meaningless and insignificant in comparison.  Evidently, Spike wanted Angel to wallow in guilt like his predecessor had.

Guilt was no stranger to Angel.  Maybe he wasn't reveling in it the way that the other Angel had, but that didn't mean he didn't feel abundant remorse for the things he had done without his soul.  He simply refused to allow his guilt to overwhelm him.

Because he was needed.

Whereas a vampire so consumed by regret that he hid himself from the world, was not.

Sounded so simple, but Angel was constantly being tempted.  Just being around humans was a daily battle.  The presence of a soul did not take away his ability to detect the faintest trace of blood or hear the hungry pounding of a heart, the coursing of life's essence.  A soul didn't make him crave the taste of animal blood over a human's.  Yet with time, he'd been able to cope with and control his body's more demonly demands.

Because he was needed.

Ironically, it now seemed unlikely that Willow, the actual architect of what Angel had fought tooth and nail to eventually become, would ever truly be able to accept him.

Angel was so lost in his thoughts, his deepening despair, that he didn't immediately hear the sound of a key turning in the front door lock.

One of the problems with being Slayer Central was a decided lack of privacy.  While he kept the doors locked at night, they all had keys.  They could go anywhere in his home but his room.  It had a lock as well, but he hadn't handed out that key...sometimes even souled vampires on a mission of redemption need their space and privacy.

It was only when the lock clicked open that Angel became aware of his impending visitor.  Quickly, he tried to pull himself together, putting aside his personal problems for the time being.  After all, considering it was pre-dawn, Angel figured there was only one reason one of the gang would be here--there was another crisis on the way. The Watcher was mist likely getting an early start on the researching and Angel's help would be needed.

As the door that led from the narthex into the main room swung open, Angel looked up and stiffened.

His early morning visitor wasn't the librarian.

It was Willow--an 'out-of-breath, flushed, looking as if she had run the whole way from home' Willow.  Angel bolted to his feet as the redhead swept into the room. The idea that something had scared Willow enough to make her come to him at such an odd hour pushed his self-recriminating thoughts into the background.

"Willow!  What's wrong?"

At the sound of his voice, Willow stopped in the middle of the room, her fists clenched at her sides as her bright green eyes sought him out and pinned him in place.

"How dare you!" she huffed at him, which yet again was not exactly what Angel was expecting.  She wasn't scared.  Apparently she was angry.  With him.  Again.

Perplexed, Angel could only stare as Willow strode purposely forward until she was standing near the bottom of the dais, glaring defiantly up at him.  If he had even the slightest idea what was going on, he would have found the diminutive woman's fiery challenge amusing, perhaps even a little enticing.  Instead, Angel was mostly confused and somewhat apprehensive, worried that he had somehow lost what little ground he had gained with her the previous day.

"Um, huh?" he asked in soft bewilderment.

"How...Dare...You..." she repeated even more haughtily.

The three words and the manner in which they were spoken brought all of his earlier worries rushing back. There was no mistaking the hostility in Willow--her tone, eyes, even the rigid way she was holding herself.  Angel could practically see the fragile bonds they had created the day before shatter and fall away before his eyes.

Only decades of experience allowed Angel to keep his voice calm and the growing fear tucked deep inside.  "How dare I what, Willow?"

"How dare you use all of your charms and your good looks, and that...that roguish smile of yours to..."  Willow shook her head in something that looked very much like disgust, then eyed him up and down, making the vampire feel as if he were on the auction block.  Angel had to fight the odd urge to suck in his stomach and puff out his chest.

"I mean, look at you!  All tall, dark, and handsome," she continued in a bitter tone that made it perfectly clear that she wasn't paying him a compliment.  Angel could only continue to blink at her in confusion.  "I bet you even laid the accent on really thick every once in a while, didn't you?"

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender as he cautiously descended the quartet of steps.  "Willow, calm down and tell me what I did wrong."  He almost added "this time" but thought better of it.  Instead he added, "Please."

"Oh, I'll tell you what you did, all right!"  Willow took the final stride that brought her toe-to-toe with the dark vampire.  Angel could feel the heat and anger radiating from her in waves, which made what she said next all the more confusing.  "*You* made *her* fall in love with you!"

Angel's mouth dropped open.  "Um, huh?  Her?  Love?" was all he could eventually manage to utter.

So much for the poise brought about through a long and varied life, he silently mused.  Who was she talking about?  Buffy again?  No, that didn't make sense....

Closing his mouth, the vampire tried to make some sense of what she'd said, but with Willow continuing to glare accusingly up at him, her emerald eyes burning away his ability for logical thought, he soon gave up. "Willow, I don't--"

"Don't play innocent with me, buster!" she interrupted, lifting up on the tips of her toes, even though that hardly brought her eye-to-eye with the vampire.

As Willow's scowl grew even more reproachful, Angel found it difficult not to stare at her pouting lips.  Even in the midst of being berated by the irate redhead, Angel had an irrepressible desire to feel her soft, warm lips beneath his own, letting her breath, her skin, everything that she was warm him through and through.  The need took Angel by surprise, not only because of its rotten timing but also because of the sheer intensity of it. He'd always found her most enticing when she stood up to him.  And when she'd been truly angry, eyes blazing and cheeks flushed?  She'd been damn near irresistible, especially to *Angelus*...

And now here she was, standing before him, unleashing a verbal storm the likes of which he hadn't seen in over a century, and all the souled vampire could think about was kissing her.

Possessing her.

Stiffening, Angel had to close his eyes for a moment to clear such scandalous thoughts from his mind, thoughts that he instinctively knew he'd admonish himself for later when he had time to replay the whole happening in his mind.

"Willow," he finally said in a near-sigh, "not only have I never played innocent in my overly long life, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Rolling her eyes, Willow thrust her hand into her backpack to grab something, before dropping the bag on one of the steps, out of the way.  "I'm talking about this!" she informed him in a tightly controlled voice, waving a small blue book with the word 'Diary' embossed across the front in curly gold letters.

"This is about your journal?"

Willow wanted to scream.  It was bad enough that they had to have this 'discussion' in the first place, but his oblivious behavior was not making it any easier, no matter how genuine his confusion.

"No!" she said through teeth gritted in an effort to control her temper.  "Not *my* journal but *her* diary!"

Angel ran a weary hand through his already disheveled hair.  "Willow, you need to take a deep breath and start over."

Willow's eyes narrowed in suspicion, another biting comment on the verge of tripping over her lips, but something in his eyes kept her quiet.  Angel looked not only genuinely clueless about what she was alluding to, but for a moment she thought she also detected a note of pain amidst the confusion in his eyes.

It was that odd, very un-Angelus-like combination that made Willow take both a step back and a deep breath in an endeavor to compose herself.  It wasn't going to be easy though.

Willow had been understandably curious and excited when she had first settled down to read the diary.  At the same time, she had steeled herself for yet another emotional roller-coaster ride, expecting to find some significant changes in 'her' life. Nevertheless, she was far from prepared for what she'd found or the emotions that the discoveries awakened in her.  Even the reckless walk to Angel's place hadn't diminished the anger that had enveloped her as she'd examined the diary.  In fact, that brisk walk had allowed time for other emotions to take root as well, including embarrassment and her old nemesis guilt. By the time Willow had arrived on the church's steps, she was barely able keep her tempestuous reactions in check.  Nevertheless, she did have the presence of mind to want to hear his side of the story.  That's why she'd ventured the dangerous streets of Sunnydale in the wee small hours of the morning...to give Angel a chance to explain.

And the vampire couldn't do that if he didn't know the basis for her irritation, Willow realized.  She willed herself to calm down.  After a moment, she was ready to try again in a somewhat more reasonable manner.

"It occurred to me last night to read her diary...the *other* Willow's dairy," she began.  "I figured it would give me some clues into some of what I've missed, things that went differently than I remember.  I hoped that it might make it a little easier for me when I'm with the others..."

"That seems logical," Angel conceded, but Willow gave him a sharp look, letting him know that she was hardly seeking his approval.

"And in the beginning, it was great," she continued.  "It cleared up a lot of questions for me."  Willow caressed the cover of the small book, her delicate finger lightly tracing the flowing letters on the cover.  "Reading this put me at ease about some important things--my relationships with my parents and friends, mainly.  For the most part, even after Buffy came to town and you and I met for the first time, nothing seemed significantly different..."  Willow shrugged mentally as she thought back to some of what she'd read.

Unfortunately, the other Willow hadn't gone into much detail regarding exactly how she had first met Angel.  All she knew for sure was that she'd been walking home from the Bronze one night and they had, well, just sort of bumped into each other.  Willow must have read the particular passage in which Angel had first been mentioned a hundred times...

..."I met an Angel today..." it had said.

Willow smirked to herself as she recalled the passage.  It was hard to believe she'd ever been that young and innocent.

"Go on," Angel prodded when Willow lapsed into silence.

She cleared her throat, her mouth strangely dry.  "Um, then I started to notice that the main subject of the diary...changed."

"Changed?"

Willow nodded.  "In the beginning, a lot of it was about Xander, which is the way it should have been.  I mean, I was in love with Xander since the sandbox, and I doubt I'd be the same person if I hadn't fallen in love with my best friend.  But eventually my diary should have started talking about Oz and about how we had met, his thoughts on animal crackers and-and school testing..."  Willow groaned softly in despair, her grip on the book tightening.  "It should have been about *Oz*, but it wasn't."

"You already knew that though, Willow," he gently reminded her.  "You already knew that you and Oz weren't...together."

Willow gazed up at him.  Surprisingly, he noted that her eyes were bright with frustration instead of dulled by heartache.

"You don't understand, Angel!  I'm angry that the subject of page-after-page of my thoughts and hopes did shift from Xander but not to Oz...they shifted to *you*.  Willow v2.0 was completely and hopelessly in love with *you*!"

For a moment Angel could only blink at her.  "She was?  Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!  I, *she*, was falling in love with you, Angel.  It says so right here!" she informed him, opening the diary to a page she had book marked before thrusting it in his face in disgust.  Understandably curious, Angel leaned forward to read the passage she was referring to, but before he could decipher any of the tiny words penned in a flowing hand, Willow quickly pulled it away.

"I don't know what to say, Willow."  Angel chuckled in discomfort, scratching his cheek.  "Er, I guess it's kind of flattering, actually."  Instantly, he regretted those words.  Not only did Willow's features tighten noticeably, but also Angel felt genuinely sorry for having misled the other Willow in any way.  He'd never meant for the young girl to fall in love with him.  Unfortunately, from the look on Willow's face, he knew that she still questioned his motivations.

Frustrated, Willow threw her hands up in the air and walked away to flop down in the nearest reading chair.  He was flattered!  The vampire was more than 200-centuries old and yet he was flattered when a teen-aged girl developed a crush on him.

Men were all the same, dead or alive.

Willow didn't look at the vampire as he silently took a seat on the coffee table before her.

"It's not fair, Angel!" she cried after a minute or two of silence, finally finding the courage to look him in the eye.  "She didn't have a chance!  You actually paid attention to her.  A *lot* of attention, which is something that I was, um, *she* was not used to from boys.  How could I, I mean, *she*, not fall in love with you?"  Willow hoped she wasn't blushing from her continued pronoun misuse, but luckily Angel seemed not to notice as his gaze fell to his hands.

"I would think it would be fairly easy not to fall in love with me, Willow," he said in a soft, far-away voice.  "I told her everything about me.  Well, almost everything," he amended, since he'd never told the redhead about 'Rose'.  "I told her right away what I was, and over time she learned about my real past, how I'd hurt people..."

Willow shook her head, hardening her heart against the pain she heard in his voice.  "The point is, you knew a lot about me already from all of our time together in Galway.  You knew what I liked, what I disliked...some of my hopes and dreams.  You used that information.  You...you were laying groundwork!" she finally exclaimed, using Spike's words and shaking an accusatory finger when Angel looked at her.

Angel's shoulders sagged and his chin fell to his chest in resignation.  Her words sounded horribly familiar.  Spike had gotten to her.  Worse yet, she believed Spike's accusations that he'd set this all up.  Maybe she even believed that he'd purposely come between her and Oz.

Angel's ever-intensifying hatred of Spike added a bitter edge to his voice.  "Willow, I wasn't engaging in a two-year seduction, no matter what Spike might have told you last night."

"This doesn't have anything to do with Spike!" Willow nearly growled in frustration.

"I look forward to the day that's actually true," he shot back darkly, looking up at her.  "But at this point, *everything* seems to have something to do with Spike."

Willow's eyes widened.  "Wait a minute...How did you know I...Did you talk to him last night?"

His lips twisted in a sardonic smile.  "I had the pleasure of his company for a short time, yes."

"And?"

Angel remained silent; the smile was long gone.

"And what did you two talk about?" she pressed him further.

"I'm sure you already know the answer to that."

Knowing the hatred that the two shared, she wouldn't put it past either one of them to allow a simple 'conversation' to end in a cloud of dust. Alarmed, Willow flew from the chair to clutch at Angel's arm.  "Did you hurt Spike?  Is he okay?"

Her unbridled concern for Spike cut Angel deeply, easily reopening the wounds that the other vampire had inflicted on him earlier.  "I didn't touch your precious Spike, Willow," he snapped, not caring how caustic he sounded.  "I'm sure he's enjoying Drusilla's company right now."  And reveling in the fact that he managed to drive yet another wedge between us, he thought to himself as he rose to his feet.

Willow sighed in both relief and impatience as she pulled her hand back, rubbing it as if it had been burned. "I didn't come here to talk about Spike, Angel."

"No...you came here to accuse me of trying to manipulate your life and of seducing a 16-year-old girl!  I think I'd prefer to talk about Spike," Angel added as he stalked away from her.  He was afraid that if he stayed near Willow for too much longer he was going to say or do something they'd both regret.  Unfortunately, Willow was not ready to drop the subject until she'd heard a reasonable explanation for some of the things she'd read in the diary.

"Are you denying it then?  That you tried to charm her?" she called after him, bringing Angel to a standstill with his back to the redhead.  "I'm sorry but there is no such thing as an innocent trip to a Shakespeare Festival, Angel. My god, it lasted three days!  *Three* days!  If that's not a ploy to make a woman fall in love with you, I don't know what is."

Angel didn't turn around.  "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I took her because we both really enjoy Shakespeare?"

"Likely story," Willow snorted cockily, bravely moving to step in front of the stone-faced vampire.   "It was the ultimate seduction and you know it!  All that flowery talk, romance, suspense, unrequited love, swordplay, death and-and men in tights!  You were *trying* to get me to fall in love with you and it worked!"

At her own words, Willow's expression changed from victory to embarrassment.  "Oh, bloody hell!" she cursed under her breath.  "I mean *her* not me!"  Her hands flew to her hips.  "And from now on any time I *mean* her but say me, then you should know that I mean her and *not* me!"  Willow took a deep breath, replaying her own words in her head.  When she was sure that she'd not confused her pronouns again, she looked Angel squarely in his hooded eyes.  "Get it?"

"Got it," he replied automatically.

"Good."

Angel didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation, kiss the incredibly stubborn woman before him into submission, or put his fist through the wall. At that moment, putting a large hole in the plaster looked like the most reasonable choice.  Strangely enough, that silent admission actually lightened his mood a little.

"Willow," he began, trying very hard to keep his tone even and calm, "I know you don't remember, but I had invited Buffy, Xander and the rest to join us for the Shakespeare Festival."

Completely unaware of the turn of the vampire's thoughts, Willow snickered, her eyes glinting mischievously.  "Riiight.  As if they would ever come!  Come on, Angel.  You're what, 200 and something years old?"

Angel groaned in surrender, backing away from her.  While he hadn't been 'laying groundwork' as she'd suggested, Angel had to admit that there were other reasons behind some of his outings with the other Willow.

"You're right, Willow.  I did have ulterior motives for taking her to those plays and for many of the other things I did with her as well...at least in the beginning."

Willow swallowed hard, her wry grin fading.  Now she wasn't so sure she wanted to know Angel's real motivations if the sudden clouding of Angel's eyes was any indication of what she was about to hear.

Angel leaned against a bookcase, glancing between the floor and Willow's expectant face as he spoke.  "At first, I admit, it was curiosity, more than anything.  Once I realized that she had no memory of *our* past, I just wanted to get to know her better...and through her, the Rose that I remembered.  At the same time, I think I was trying to jog her memory.  I didn't even admit it to myself at first but that was what I was doing.  We went horseback riding a few nights, and I even tried to teach her to play poker once or twice, but not very successfully, I'm afraid."  Angel gave her a sad smile, and Willow gave him an encouraging look in return.  "It wasn't until I took her to see 'Romeo and Juliet' some months ago that I had to admit to myself at least part of the reason behind it.  I realized at the intermission that I hadn't watched the actors on the stage for even a moment.  I spent the whole time watching her face, waiting for some spark of recognition, yet fearing it at the same time."

"She actually wrote about that night in her diary," Willow said, her voice trembling as her anger began to dissipate.  "That was the night she first mentioned being in love with you.  She said you were staring at her with a strange, intense expression on your face, in a way that no one had ever looked at her before."  Willow swallowed as she imagined just how he might have looked that night.  "Um, she didn't really understand where that look of yours was coming from, but...well...she decided then and there that she loved you."

Angel shook his head regretfully.  "I never meant for that to happen.  I never wanted to hurt her.  I honestly enjoyed her company, Willow.  She was intelligent, funny, caring."  Angel smiled warmly, just thinking about his old friend.  "I could talk to her about anything...history, philosophy, politics, and Shakespeare of course..."

Willow sighed as she turned away from him to walk to one of the stained-glass windows.  Staring out through the thick colored glass, Willow thought she could detect the first hints of the coming sunrise, the dawning of a new day.  As she silently watched the lightening sky, Willow came to realize that she believed Angel.  Sure, perhaps the 200-plus-year-old vampire could have handled it better so that the other Willow hadn't developed a crush on him, but she no longer felt as if he'd been manipulating her life.  Angel had simply been spending time with a friend with whom he shared similar interests.  As strange as their intense friendship seemed to Willow, she believed in her heart that it was the truth.

And boy, did it complicate things.

"Why couldn't you have intellectualized with Giles instead?" Willow muttered, more to herself than to Angel.  Misinterpreting the aside comment as doubt, thinking that she didn't believe him, Angel grew angry.

"What else did your diary tell you?"

Catching the change in his voice, Willow spun to face him.  "First of all, it is *not* *my* diary," she said defensively.  "And secondly, I don't think the details are any of your business--"

"So, how was the sex then?" the vampire interrupted icily, circling closer to where she stood by the window.

"Um, er, what?" Willow sputtered, as every drop of blood in her body seemed to migrate to her cheeks at the same time.

"I just wondered how she thought the sex was, since such an experienced and handsome rogue like me seduced the sweet and innocent Willow Rosenberg.  Did I score four little pink hearts out of four?"

"Angel--" she started, but he wasn't through yet.

"She must have gone on for several pages about it," he continued wryly, then lowered his voice. "So tell me...just between you and me...how was I?" he asked silkily.  "Was I everything a virgin could want for a first lover?  Was I gentle and considerate or was I straight off the cover of one of those historical romance novels that she kept hidden under her bed, sweeping her off of her feet and ravishing her in a hayloft somewhere?"

Incensed and oddly embarrassed, Willow wanted to slap the cool smirk off his face.  Instead she turned back toward the window, trying to collect herself.

When had she lost control of the situation?  For that matter, where had the slightly confused and sheepish Angel from only seconds before disappeared to, only to be replaced by someone she was much more familiar with....

Not liking the turn of her own thoughts, Willow instinctively eased into her poker face and an oh-so-casual tone before turning to the vampire again.  The Rose in her wasn't going to let him get away with his teasing.

"Actually, she wasn't impressed."  Willow started to thumb through the small pages of the diary, as if looking for a particular passage.  "Let's see...where was that?  She'd written something about inadequate and premature...well, you get the idea...."

Strangely enough, Angel's anger melted away beneath Willow's mocking, and he had to swallow his laughter as she continued to flip through the book.

"Let's see," she said, feigning concern for her inability to find the imaginary reference.  "I know it's in here somewhere.  Shouldn't be too hard to find since the page was so stained with tears of disappointment...."

Just as she was really beginning to enjoy herself, Willow's teasing came to an abrupt end when Angel snatched the diary out of her hands, holding it up and away from the indignant redhead.  When Willow reached for it, Angel took the opportunity to gently take her by the wrist and pull her closer.

His next comment sounded eerily familiar to Willow.  "I think we both know that if I had been trying to seduce her, I would have succeeded," he murmured hoarsely as near her ear as he dared before abruptly letting her go.

"Ha!" she laughed outright, at the same time successfully lunging for the book and stepping away from the vampire.  "You aren't *that* irresistible, Angel," she shot back guilefully, and yet Angel noticed how quickly she scampered away from him.

His lips twitched.  "Aren't I?"

Willow shook her head at his arrogance yet didn't look at him.  Instead she busied herself with tucking the diary into her backpack, retorting, "I, the century-old virgin, am living proof of that."

Angel took a step closer.  While this was hardly the direction he'd expected such a conversation to take, he couldn't resist her naive challenges...never could...never wanted to.

"But *you* aren't *her*, remember?" he teased mercilessly, loving the sparks of anger that flashed in her amazingly green eyes when she glared at him.

"*I* resisted you in Galway," she proudly reminded him.  "Also, since I had a crush on Xander and not you, I obviously never noticed your charms before this little trip back in time either.  Oh, and I was in love with Oz, too, remember?"

Like he could forget.

Angel disregarded the inner voice that was warning him to stop their game before it was too late.  They were both precariously close to taking the verbal contest more than one step beyond their constantly shifting personal boundaries, but he was rapidly growing weary of having to school his emotions around her.

Ignoring the likelihood that what Spike had said about Willow never truly being able to forgive him was true, Angel decided to raise the stakes just a bit.  "But, as you so love to remind me, I'm not *that* Angel," he told her in a tone that was both husky and mischievous.

Willow wasn't sure if it was the vampire's wicked grin, the positively evil gleam to his eyes, or the fact that he'd outmaneuvered her again that seemed to lure away her ability to think for a moment.  That talent for completely flustering her was something that Angelus had always been a master at, and tonight she had goaded Angel into behaving like Angelus.  What had she been thinking?

Willow looked away, glancing around the library, anywhere but at the vampire, as if noticing for the first time that they were alone.

"Well no, I mean yes, er--" she began to stammer, just trying to stop the direction of her thoughts.

"Make up your mind, Willow, am I Angel or not?"

"You are!" she asserted in response to his provocation.  "You're Angel in that, well, in that you have a soul and you're trying to make up for the evil you had committed while you were without it, but you're not *Angel*!  You're not the brooding vampire that kept to the shadows."  Willow knew she was repeating herself from similar conversations she'd already had with the ensouled vampire on this very same subject, but she couldn't seem to help herself.  Not only was she grasping at straws, the closer he came to her, the more Willow felt as if she were grasping for breath and control over her wildly beating heart as well.  Only now did she notice the rather romantic setting, the dim lights, flickering candles, and the fact that Angel's shirt was three-quarters unbuttoned...and why did she have to notice that now?  And could it really be a soft as it looked?

And his eyes...If she wasn't mistaken, they kept drifting to her neck.  No, she must be mistaken.  Angel would never...

But another long look at the devilishly handsome vampire proved that his eyes were indeed occasionally roving down to her throat.

It took a Herculean effort for Willow not to bring her hands to her throat in an effort to hide the faint, freckle-like scars left there by both Angelus and Spike.  After all, she told herself, vampires like necks.  Angel was a vampire; therefore, it was only natural that he'd look at her neck.  If there had been a platter of chocolate nearby, she'd probably be staring at that in much the same way.

After all, chocolate to her was like blood to...

She inwardly groaned at her own thoughts. Clenching her fists, Willow let her nails dig into the tender flesh of her palms in an effort to regain some control over her own body.  She took a deep breath as well, trying unsuccessfully to picture her calming place.

Another quick peek at the amused vampire made it obvious that he was waiting for her to say something.  Damn...what where they talking about?  Necks?  No, before necks!  Chocolate?  Bloody hell...

Another deep breath that failed to soothe and she could only pray that he had no hint at the humiliating direction her thoughts kept taking. Oh yeah...she was supposed to be critiquing his Angel impersonation.  She could do that!

"Oh!  And, um, you-you smile too much, for one thing," she shakily informed him, pointing a finger at his full, smiling lips while still managing to back away from him.  "And you stand up too straight...the other Angel always seemed to be hunched over...slouching.  I dunno...maybe the slouch comes with the brood, but I never realized how tall you were until I saw you in Galway."

There was a pause, and Willow waited to see some expression of anguish mar Angel's features.  There was no pain, only a lazy smile, and there was nothing angelic about the look on his face.

"You want him back, do ya?"  The timbre of his voice deepened, bringing a familiar, if not unwelcome, tightening in her belly.  "This depressing bore with bad posture who barely knew ya existed?"  Finding herself trapped between a long bookcase that ran half the length of the room and the slowly approaching vampire, Willow held her breath and shut her eyes.  She could almost feel Angelus's long hair brushing against her cheek as he spoke even though the vampire had stopped several feet away.  "You want me ta think of ya as just the Slayer's sidekick, let ya fade into her shadow?"

No...yes...damn him!

Deeply ashamed of herself for letting him get to her so easily and for her body's reaction to something so simple as the native lilt of his voice, Willow let her emotions answer for her.

"Yes!" she practically spat at him, her eyes flying open.  "As a matter of fact, I do want the old Angel back!  Er, well, except for maybe the posture thing," she hastily amended.  "And I don't need your help keeping out of Buffy's shadow."

"Really?" Angel chuckled.  "Seems ta me yer tryin' very hard ta play a part that ya should have outgrown."

Willow fixed him with a cold stare, burying deep inside all the emotions that he'd wrenched out of her, letting only anger and guilt rule her actions.  "I just want things to be like they used to be...*everything* like it used to be," she stressed.  When Angel didn't even flinch, she dug a little deeper.  "Especially you."  Willow was both pleased and disgusted with herself when the mischievous glimmer in Angel's eyes began to fade, replaced by regret and something else she couldn't quite name.

He'd pushed her too far; he knew that, and yet Angel refused to believe that she meant what she said.  The vampire closed the final distance between them, forcing Willow to back up until she was flat against the bookcase.  He was trembling both with his turbulent emotions and the effort to control them as he gripped the shelves on either side of her body and leaned in closer.  His lips hovered dangerously close to her cheek.  "Be careful what you ask for, Willow.  Are you very sure that's what you want?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

From somewhere deep inside, Willow found the strength to appear confident in her answer when she was anything but. Willow met his searching gaze, her eyes cool and unwavering as they pierced his. Telling herself that it was the right thing to do, no matter how wrong it felt, she replied adamantly, "Yes, Angel.  I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

He didn't move at first.  Instead, Angel held her gaze, studying her eyes, the curve of her face, the lines of her mouth for any sign of weakness, desperate for some hint that she really was bluffing, but her poker face--calm and completely devoid of sentiment--was firmly in place.

Without another word, Angel pushed himself away from her, turned around, and walked back up the dais steps then proceeded to sit and flip through some parchments he'd tried to read earlier that night.

Willow wasn't sure what to do.  Although she'd basically just told him that she wanted him out of her life, she didn't want it to end this way.  After all, Willow reminded herself, she and the original Angel, while not exactly friends, had at least been civil to one another when they were in the same room.  They had to be able to work together, at least for Buffy's sake.

An uncomfortable quiet settled over the room as Angel buried himself in the papers and Willow came to terms with what had just happened.  At the precise moment that Willow didn't think she could take anymore, Angel broke the stalemate.

"You should go, get ready for class," he said in a matter of fact tone, without looking up.  Hesitantly, Willow took a few small steps toward the dais, grabbing a thick book off the shelf as she went.

"I, er, don't have class.  They have finals this week and Ms. Calendar made sure that I--I mean, Willow V2.0--took them early."  Willow swallowed and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.  "Guess that means I'm footloose and fancy free."

"Go get some sleep then," Angel grunted, but he didn't look at her, Willow noted.

"Um, actually I thought I'd look through the, er, 'Rinehart Index of Pagan Mythos' before I left."

Angel stood up, grabbing the parchments.  "Why?" he asked, continuing to study the aged sheets before him.

"I obviously have a lot of catching up to do, and since all the books are here..."  Willow nervously licked her dry lips.  "I still want to help," she replied with quiet earnestness.  "I *need* to help."

"Then quit wasting your time by looking in 'The Rinehart'."  Angel's tone wasn't angry or mocking, but the hollowness of it made Willow shiver.  "Sometimes I think we only keep it around to laugh at because it's full of mistakes and fallacies," he continued.

Her face fell and her failures of the previous day were brought to mind.  "Oh...I-I didn't know that...*yet*, she added, determined not to wallow in self-pity like she had last time.  "So, I'll go back to the good ole, er, the um..." she quickly scanning the books behind her, looking for anything familiar.  "Ah!" she exclaimed, pulling a tall, mustardy book off the shelf.  "'Nolen's Guide to--'"

"Try the 'Cheyvez Compendium'," Angel interrupted as he finished gathering the papers and turned away.  "Lock the door on your way out."

Without anther word, Angel left the main library room and disappeared down the hall.  Soon, the soft 'thud' of his closing bedroom door reverberated mournfully throughout the room.

The sound broke Willow out of her surprised stupor, and she softly called after him, "But...Shayfez?  Jayfess?  What?"  Willow finally let loose a long and pain-filled sigh as she stared sadly at the hallway that the vampire had disappeared down.  "Um, is that with a 'J' or a 'S-H'?" she asked in a dejected whisper, not expecting him to answer.  She simply needed to give voice to her confusion.

Telling herself over and over again that she'd done the right thing, yet not allowing herself to examine her reasoning, Willow started her search for the book Angel had mentioned.

It took Willow more than an hour to find the scarlet, gilded volume, and when she sat down to read it, she couldn't seem to muster her previous eagerness.  Somewhere between finding and reshelving both "Shadows, Shades, Ghosts and Ghouls" and "Jane's Defense Weekly" the redhead had come to the conclusion that she'd over-reacted.

Again.

Actually, her own irrational behavior didn't surprise her all that much. After everything she'd been through, she was starting to figure that she was allowed to behave a little...eccentrically...for a while.  But it was *why* she'd reacted so strongly in this particular instance that puzzled her the most.  She'd already gotten over what had taken her to Angel's in the first place, no longer believing that he'd been manipulating her life or had some mysterious ulterior motive.  So why had she so steadfastly demanded that he behave differently around her?

Willow sighed, slamming the book shut before resting her forehead on the cover.  Because once again she'd had Angelus flashbacks, but this time, the thoughts hadn't terrified her as much as they had tantalized her.

A few huskily whispered words in an Irish brogue, teasing, tempting, and her traitorous body was...

...well, responding as if she were a 135-year-old virgin whose only sexual experiences had been at the hands, not to mention the mouths, of vampires.

*That's* why she'd overreacted.

Groaning, Willow sat back up.  She glanced over at the hallway that Angel had disappeared down and wondered what he was doing.  According to the clock on the wall above the computers, it was almost 8 AM.  He was probably sleeping.

"And, if he's smart, ruing the day Angelus ever met me," she whispered aloud.

That was the problem.  He didn't seem at all that sorry he'd met her.  Far from it, in fact.  And from her reaction to him today, she'd made it pretty darn obvious that she wasn't altogether sorry that she'd met him either.

And what must Angel be thinking of her?  By now he may have realized how his Angelus-like behavior had actually affected her, and it would disgust him.  For Angel to have spent all those years trying to compensate for his immoral past, only to have her pulse quicken at the slightest hint of the darkness that he obviously tried so hard to control....

It was so very, very wrong of her.

Unknowingly, as she struggled with how to fix the latest mess she'd created,  Willow began to toy with the cross that was hidden beneath her T-shirt, her eyes focused on the silver band on her finger.  When she realized what she was doing, she laughed softly, derisively at herself.

"No wonder we both keep slipping into old habits.  I still remind him more of Rose than of Willow...not that I necessarily want to remind him of the old Willow either," she whispered morosely.  Fighting the tears that she felt stinging her eyes, she added, "Oh Angel, we can't go on like this..."

Willow sat in silence a while longer, sifting through her thoughts and feelings.  In the end, she made a choice.  She understood now that, for whatever reason, the vampire that now lay sleeping in the other room wasn't the old Angel, and she couldn't expect him to be miserable just to ease her own guilty conscience.  On the other hand, she couldn't allow what had happened today, or *almost* happened, to occur again, which meant that, other than leaving town altogether, she had only one option.

Grabbing her bag, Willow headed for home.  The decision made, she was going to get herself cleaned up first and then do the only thing she could do.  The only thing that made sense at the moment.

Willow was going to go to the mall.
 

*****

A strange dream prodded Spike to full wakefulness, and within seconds of opening his eyes, the oddly disturbing images were already fading.  Nevertheless, even though the details were too foggy to recall clearly, he somehow he knew that the dream had been important.

Spike was clenching his eyes shut, trying to recollect the dream when a cool body stirred beside him.  He started, blue eyes flying open in alarm, then smiled as the sleeping Drusilla draped a pale arm across his bare chest.  It had been so long since he'd truly shared a bed with a woman that it was taking some getting used to, but it was an adjustment that he was more than happy to make.

Taking Drusilla's hand from where it lay on his chest, Spike lifted her long, slender fingers to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss on her silky, cool skin.

He'd missed the taste of her during their long separation, and now just the scent of her skin was reawakening his desire.  With a lazy glance at the room's heavily draped windows, he could tell it was late morning, which meant that they hadn't been asleep for long.  It didn't matter that he'd spent the last several hours reacquainting himself with every delicious curve of his Dark Goddess's body. Spike was more than ready to lose himself in her for the rest of the daylight hours as well.  In fact, other than the occasional break to check on Willow and taunt Angel, that was all that he had done since his arrival back in the 20th century and he could happily carry on in the same manner for years.

His grin widening at the thought of waking the sleeping beauty, Spike turned her hand over, his lips grazing the inside of her wrist before increasing the pressure, lightly skimming the spot where a pulse would normally be with his teeth.  Drusilla emitted a sleepy sigh but didn't waken.

Just as Spike was about to sink his fangs into the nest of veins at the base of her wrist, which had always been her favorite way to be awakened, his gaze happened across her palm...

...and an image from his dream came back with such clarity that the intensity of it caused him to abruptly release her hand.

He was in the Rom camp with the old gypsy woman.  She was holding his hand between her own withered fingers, her grip unnaturally strong for a woman of her fragile appearance.  She was staring at him, the inky blackness of her eyes threatening to swallow him.  He couldn't look away from their dark, fathomless depths even when she began to strip him bare with those all-seeing eyes.  Clothing, skin, his corporeal body--all were peeled away until she seemed to be studying that which couldn't be seen.  His thoughts?  Intentions?  Hopes and dreams?  Even his soul, if he didn't know better.

Then, as quickly as she'd pulled him apart, the Rom woman put him back together, as if she'd found whatever it was that she'd been so diligently searching for.  Finally, her eyes focused on his palm, especially the starburst-like pattern in its center.  A look of satisfaction and understanding had settled onto her weathered features as she released his trembling hands...

All thoughts of wakening Drusilla forgotten, Spike shifted to a sitting position to fully concentrate on his palm.  He barely noticed when Drusilla rolled away from him, snuggling into her pillow.

Spike's pale skin shone even in the muted morning light, but it was the many paths that crisscrossed his palm that held his eye.  Lines of exceptional depth and clarity, they made little sense to the vampire who was not at all well versed in the varieties of divination.  But to the old gypsy woman who had held his palm only a few nights earlier--days to him, decades in reality--they appeared to have provided passage into his past and future as much as if his whole existence had already been entirely mapped out.

Spike cradled one hand in the other, annoyed by the way his nicotine-stained fingers began to tremble.  Staring at the jagged lines, he thought he could see all of his past mistakes coming back to haunt him as every break, intersection or split in the creases tried to represent a critical choice he had made.  The moment he allowed killing to become more than just part of the soldiering.  Desertion.  Deciding against all logic to follow a dark stranger home from a pub one night.  A seemingly endless list for a dizzying collection of lines on a pale hand.

He squeezed his hand shut, not wanting to believe in the old woman's abilities even though he knew perfectly well that some people did have psychic gifts.  Palmistry had never been one of Drusilla's talents, but he could vaguely recall her staring wide eyed at his palm once a very long time ago, then falling into one of her nonsensical discourses about singing stars and some very confused mice.  The clock kept striking the wrong hour, she'd insisted.  It was running backwards, scaring all the poor little mice and no one knew when teatime was.  After that she'd picked up Ms. Edith, cradled the doll in her arms, and went off to give the mice a tea party of their own.

Spike's jaw clenched as the memory came back to him.  It couldn't really mean anything, could it?  He'd discounted her babbling then, and yet...

The blonde vampire fought the temptation for a moment more, then unfurled his fist to reluctantly study his hand once again.  He was starting to wonder if the star pattern that exploded in the center of his palm, sending several lines meandering in all directions, often intersecting, really did mean something important.  In the back of his mind, it seemed to the vampire that the star pattern could have occurred on his palm's timeline at about the time that he kidnapped Willow.

If only he could remember what the Rom elder had actually said to him a few nights ago!

Truth be told, he hadn't paid all that much attention to the old Gypsy lady when she'd grabbed his palm back at the Rom camp.  He'd been preoccupied, worried that he'd be too late to save Willow from Angelus's wrath.  In the end, all he knew was that whatever Tekla had seen--or *thought* she'd seen--in the lines on his hand had not only convinced her to help him but that he'd only "Saviya's" safety in mind as well.

But what had she actually said?  Focusing on the pattern in the center of his palm, the words began to come back to him.

There was something about three lines...Yes, the number three was mentioned repeatedly.  Even with the language difficulties between them, he was sure of that.  Crossing paths, of course.  Long journeys, decisions, choices, darkness, light...the same warnings he'd expect to hear from a phony fortuneteller in a carnival sideshow...

...shared paths, destinies...

"Typical vague, cryptic prattlings," he said aloud, causing his love to shift again in her sleep.  Spike absent-mindedly drew his fingers through her long ebony hair as he concentrated on the dream and the only thing he was sure of--three.

...three...

Three! Bolting upright in bed, Spike wanted to shout and hit himself in the head to emphasize the moment of his epiphany, but he didn't want to wake his Dark
Goddess.  Not yet.  While he would no doubt share his conclusion with Drusilla in the relatively near future, he had yet to work out the details.

Three.  Himself, Drusilla, and Willow.  Together for eternity.
 

The decision was made.  He would turn Willow.  Not now but soon, while she was still young and healthy...10 years at the most.

Spike was sporting an enormous grin as he relaxed into the comfort of the grand mahogany sleigh bed with its black silk sheets, easing Drusilla back in to his arms.  The decision made, Spike felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.  Willow wasn't going to leave him after all.

Unlife was already perfect.  And it was only going to get better.
 

~Chapter Twelve~

A frustrated Willow stood in the middle of her bedroom, the floor around her littered with overflowing shopping bags.  The trip to the mall had been a complete success.  Or a total failure, depending on how she looked at it.  She'd spent money.  Lots of money.  Yet as she glanced about at the various department store bags, Willow had the strangest feeling that she still had nothing to wear.

As a teenager, Willow had never been all that fond of roaming the mall.  Fashion had never been her forte.  Even after befriending Buffy, a relationship which required a certain amount of mall-time on a regular basis, Willow had fallen short of developing any sort of true appreciation for the shopping act itself.

In a way, it had been easier back in the 18th and 19th centuries.  During those first years alone when she'd had nothing, especially money, Willow had little choice in attire nor the heart to care.  Later when she'd had money, either what Spike had given her or the gambling winnings she'd created from his generosity, Willow would simply visit a local modiste, or they would come to her, to have gowns tailored specifically for her.  Willow had usually allowed the dressmakers to tell her what was in vogue at the time, taking their direction on fabrics and colors that they thought would suit her best.  She would always tweak their ideas, making the gowns looser here or less cumbersome there, and always with a thought to the fact that she rarely had a personal maid to help her in and out of the tedious dresses and all of their various undergarments.  No, even in those days when she could afford to say 'to hell with fashion' while still managing to look the part of a stylish woman of means, shopping hadn't been fun.  Except, that is, on those few occasions that Spike had accompanied her.  Shopping with Spike, whether for clothes or the best bottle of Merlot in the country, had never been dull.

Unfortunately, Spike wasn't with her as she'd wandered the 20th century mall, venturing from shop to shop.  She had hoped that the strange novelty of it all would help dispel the melancholy fog that her latest fight with Angel had stirred within her. But all too soon, what little pleasure she found in the vast array of stores and choices turned into frustration as she realized that after all this time, she still had no idea what to buy.

As sure as Willow was that she no longer wanted to limit her wardrobe to overalls, baggy sweaters and cartoon-emblazoned t-shirts, she wasn't in a big hurry to be on the cover of Seventeen magazine either.  All the halter tops and cropped shirts seemed too tight and even too revealing by Rom standards, and the skirts felt indecently short.  When she focused on more tailored clothing, although they felt more comfortable than the trendier clothes, Willow quickly realized the last thing she wanted to look like was a young Republican, albeit a fashionable one.  Nope, tailored suits, pants, and jackets weren't quite 'her' either.  Finally she'd tried the other end of the fashion spectrum, garments that were the opposite of the finely tailored clothing, and while the loose flowing skirts and dresses were comfortable, they still seemed wrong, somehow.

In the end, no particular style seemed to suit her.  Not trendy club clothes, not expensive designer labels, and even the more earthy new-age wear with all of its Gypsy-like qualities seemed oddly out of place.  But she needed new clothes and at that point, anything that didn't scream 'Willow' or 'Rose' would do, so Willow had bought a little bit of everything and anything, even the styles that she'd already discounted.  And a lot of jeans.  She'd really missed jeans.

Unfortunately, the result of her indecision showed via the rather eclectic mix of clothing that lay strewn about her room.  Maybe she should have taken Buffy along after all.  Perhaps even Cordelia, but that would have ruined the surprise.  Besides, the trip to the mall, and to the expensive hair salon cocooned within its walls as well, was something she felt she needed to do on her own.

Too late now anyway, she sternly reminded herself as she began to make room in her closet and drawers for the new items.  She piled the old clothes that she was positive she'd never want to wear again in a corner to deal with later, deciding she'd either give them to charity or just have a big bonfire and toast marshmallows.  Then she began to sort through her new garments.

Willow did sigh with contentment, however, as she opened one particular bag and pulled out her most expensive purchase.  She wasn't sure exactly what she had been thinking when she had tried on the brown leather pants, but from the moment Willow had slid into the buttery soft hide, she'd been sold.  They weren't tight by any means, and the distressed leather felt as if it moved with her body instead of against it, making them almost as comfortable as her old baggy overalls.  Grimacing as she removed the price tag, Willow hung them in her closet in a position of honor.

As she continued to put her other purchases away, Willow tried unsuccessfully not to mentally calculate how much money she'd spent.  Not wanting to use her parents' credit cards even though she always had their permission, Willow had instead utilized a huge chunk of her personal savings account. It just didn't seem right to be once again completely dependent on Ira and Sheila Rosenberg, even though she had little choice.  In the eyes of the law, she was still a minor, subject to the whims of her parents.

Sighing as she pulled several small items out of a large Victoria's Secret bag, Willow had to squelch a sudden, biting stab of jealousy and resentment towards Spike.  Sure.  Now *he* was seemingly set financially, but she was back to depending on her generous allowance for spending money.  Not easy for a woman who was used to her gambling winnings providing her with more than enough money to buy almost anything that she'd desired.

"Shame I didn't make a few wise investments like Spike did," she grumbled, pulling the tags from some new bras and panties.  She hadn't been able to make up her mind regarding those either.  She wanted cotton for the comfort she'd longed for every day that she'd had to endure the binding undergarments of the mid-1800's, and yet she was attracted to the more sensual satin and lace lingerie with their beautiful jewel tones and provocative cuts as well.  Again, unable to decide, she'd purchased some of both.

With a sly smile, Willow hid the sexier garments in the back of her underwear drawer, under a few pairs of very old Scooby Doo 'Under-Roos' that she'd been meaning to throw away since she she'd hit puberty but had never had the heart to and still didn't.  She adored the cartoon 'Scooby Doo', and had always harbored a secret hope that Fred would quit fawning all over simple-minded, Danger-Prone Daphne and notice the brainy heart of the group, Velma.

Shaking her head at the odd turn of her thoughts, Willow shut the drawer and turned back to her unpacking.  "Yep," she said aloud a little later when she'd finished hanging up more than a dozen new tops.  "It would have been real nice if Spike had shared his plan for financial security with me."

At her departure from the past, Willow had given the bulk of her own money to her adopted Rom family.  At the time, she'd been too concerned about what to do with her guitar, her writings, and her more personal belongings to worry much about a little thing like money.

Annoyed with her own shortsightedness, Willow finished putting the last of her purchases away, smiling at some of the acquisitions, grimacing at others.  She was just sliding some new shoes--from low-heeled boots to dangerously high heels--on her shoe tree, when the phone rang.

It was The Slayer calling from Angel's place, and Willow was relieved when Buffy didn't demand a long, let alone reasonable, explanation for why she wasn't at that very moment also over at Slayer Central with everyone else.  Instead, while Willow threw herself onto her bed and made herself comfortable, Buffy seemed more inclined to complain about some of the boys in her summer school class who had wasted their study group time that day by arm wrestling.

"I don't even know why they are in the class!" Buffy huffed on her end of the phone line.  "But the worst thing is, I had to endure all the other girls in the class 'oohing' and 'aahing' over their strength.  Pu-lease," Buffy groaned.  "We both know I could beat any of them with one hand tied behind my back *and* with wet nails!"  Willow found herself grinning broadly, and there was silence on Buffy's end.  "Um, not that I want the girls 'oohing' and 'aahing' over my muscles," Buffy quickly added.  "But the point is..." Buffy trailed off, which made Willow smile.  She could almost picture the perplexed look on the Slayer's face.  "There was a point, wasn't there?" Buffy finally asked.

Feeling as if she were once again 17, Willow released a happy sigh that was darn near a giggle.  "I'm not sure, Buffy.  I was too busy mentally 'oohing' and 'aahing,'" she teased, thoroughly enjoying the basically pointless and totally girlish dialogue.  Willow was still smiling when suddenly the need to tell Buffy the truth about everything--the trip back in time, Angel, Spike, Angelus, everything--was overwhelming, but before Willow could figure out how to begin, Buffy shattered the moment.

"We're Bronzing it tonight, right?"

Willow's mouth slammed shut and her stomach twisted in knots at the casual question.  She sat up straight, her fingers fiddling with the phone cord.  Going to The Bronze with the gang would probably mean seeing Angel, and while the meeting was inevitable, she wasn't in any particular hurry for their next encounter.

Before Willow could come up with an excuse, Buffy added, "Oz's band is playing."

Damn.  "Oh, yeah, but um...shouldn't you be studying tonight?  You do have a final this week, don't you?"

"Already on it, *mom,*" Buffy happily informed her.  "I'm done training and now Angel's quizzing us all...even Giles is chipping in with the occasional question."  Buffy lowered her voice, reminding Willow that she'd called from Slayer Central.  "Angel is in a pretty intense mood, complete slave-driver mode, so I figure another hour or so of this and I'll have met my mind-usage quota for the night."  Buffy's voice went back to her normal cheerful volume.  "Xander's already insisting that his brain is at the maximum capacity allowed by law."  Willow laughed at the quirky comment that was so typical of the dark-haired boy.  "So, we believe we are entitled to a little fun," the Slayer continued and in the background Willow heard Xander adding his hoots of agreement.

Buffy's tone grew more serious.  "I know you're worried, Willow, about Spike.  Of course we're not going to let you out of our sight, and we'll keep an eye out for the peroxide pest, but you deserve some fun, too.  Besides, you said you really wanted to listen to Oz's band."

"Oh, I do!" Willow insisted, glancing longingly over at her guitar case in the corner.

"Great!  The plan is for us to get all cleaned up and you can meet us here around 6:30.  Then we'll do the pizza thing before heading over to The Bronze together."

Willow, while never quite mastering the basics of a good plan herself, still knew that Buffy's was a bad, bad plan.  She thought fast, quickly coming up with a way to avoid going to Angel's place.

"Sounds perfect," Willow said with fake enthusiasm.  "Oh, I forgot!" she then added, an appropriate amount of disappointment to her tone.  "My parents are going to call sometime between 7 and 7:30, so why don't you guys do the pizza thing, and then I'll just meet you at The Bronze 'round 8?"  Willow wasn't surprised that Buffy easily bought the lie.  After all, when Willow applied herself, she could be a very skilful liar,  Still, Willow was relieved when Buffy didn't immediately argue with her.  That is until The Slayer reminded her about Spike, insisting that there was no way that she could be alone after the sunset.

"So, I'll just come pick you up around 7:30ish then?" Buffy offered, but Willow was prepared with another lie.

"I have no idea how long my parents are going to take, Buffy, but since it doesn't get dark until nearly 9 in the summer, I'll just meet you at The Bronze, okay?  I promise I'll walk in the middle of sunny streets the whole time and avoid all shadowy alleyways.  I'll be fine."

After much discussion and a promise from Willow that she'd get hold of them at The Bronze if she needed an escort after all, or take a taxi, Buffy eventually relented.

When she finally hung up the phone, Willow's prior good mood from talking to her old friend had completely dissipated.  Now all she could think about was seeing both Oz and Angel, and neither prospect gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling.

For as long as Willow could remember, she'd been eagerly anticipating seeing Oz play again, hearing the familiar songs, but now... Now, the pain she was expecting to experience was tempering much of that enthusiasm.  Not wanting to dwell on those depressing possibilities at the moment, Willow's thoughts turned to Angel instead.

Unfortunately, those were no less depressing.  How was she going to convince the dark vampire to let go of their paradoxical past relationship?  While it hadn't taken her long to regret much of what she'd said to the vampire that morning, specifically her demand that he behave more like the old Angel, brooding and unhappy, the vast majority of her still wished he'd leave her alone.  Being near him was too confusing, painful even.  For *both* of them, she was beginning to realize, finally becoming agonizingly aware that she was hardly a good influence on the souled vampire.

Willow picked up the large stuffed panda bear that had fallen on the floor, next to her bed.  The cuddly creature's name was Mr. Woo, and she and Xander had won it at the county fair a few years back by throwing an awful lot of darts at an awful lot of balloons.  She gave the bear a stern look and wagged her finger at it.  "This is for your own good, Angel, as well as mine," she told the black and white bear, but without the conviction that she'd be striving for.  Holding Mr. Woo out in front of her with both hands as she sat on the bed, Willow tried again.  "Whenever we're alone together, I seem to bring out the Angelus in you.  I-I don't mean to, but I do.  God, that must be hard on you, considering everything you've gone through," she groaned.  "You must hate me for that...or at least you should..."

When she got no response from the Angel stand-in, she sighed, leaning forward to rest her head against its furry warmth.

She stared into its glassy black eyes, wishing she could figure out a way to get Angel to back off of her for a while...and preferably *on* to Buffy.  Willow sat back up, wearing a silly grin at her own thoughts. With their cruder double meaning, it sounded just like something Spike would say.

"Wonder what Spike will say when he sees my hair?" she mused aloud to the bear.  For that matter, what were they all going to say?  She could only hope that the new look might help Angel see who she was now.  Or perhaps more importantly, who she wasn't.

Setting Mr. Woo back by her pillows, Willow got up to look at herself in the full-length mirror.  She edged closer to the glass until she was nearly nose-to-nose with her reflection.  Turning her head this way and that, she studied her hair closely.

She wasn't sure exactly how much she'd had the hairstylist at the posh mall salon cut off, but it was a fair amount.  Her hair fell just below chin-length, with long layers that gave her normally straight hair a softer, fuller look in a Scully-esque style.  And the color?  While still red, it was brighter and bolder, edging more towards true red than her natural auburn.  All things considered, Willow was very pleased with her new look.  Not only did her head feel ten pounds lighter, but Willow thought she looked more mature and sure of herself, as well.  No matter how lost she actually felt.

Sighing at the irony of it all, Willow's scrutinized her hair again, this time mentally measuring the length.  Had it grown any since she'd had it cut a few hours earlier?  When Spike's spell had been in effect, anytime she'd cut her hair, it would promptly grow back.  She grimaced, remembering one dark night in which she'd hacked off more than a foot of her auburn hair in a fit of fear and depression, and yet by the morning it had all grown back.  It was as if time had stopped for her body, determined to forever keep her the 17-year-old virgin that Spike had kidnapped.

"But those days are all over, Willow," she promptly reminded her somber reflection.  "Now you're mortal again, with all that mortality entails."  Still, she continued staring at her own image, gnawing on her bottom lip until she was positive that she couldn't actually see her hair growing right before her very eyes.  Even then Willow realized that she wouldn't know for sure until the following morning.  If she awoke to find her hair still short, it would be proof positive that she was once again truly normal.

No, not normal...just mortal, she corrected herself silently.

In the meantime, she had an evening of angst and pain to keep her mind from her immortality issues.  Might as well get ready.

"Bloody hell," she exclaimed softly, looking at all of the new clothes in her closet with alarm.  "What am I going to wear?"

***

Willow was once again staring at her reflection unhappily.  Something wasn't quite right, she told herself with a critical eye to how she looked in the brown leather pants, and a semi-sheer black long sleeve shirt, which was partially unbuttoned to reveal the black camisole beneath it.  She liked the outfit and she was confident that she looked quite good in it.  Nevertheless, something was out of place, and Willow was fully aware of what that was.  Taking a deep breath, as if bracing herself for pain, Willow grabbed the ring on her left hand and yanked it off, bandages and all. Now her previous feelings of discomfort were replaced with that eerie 'something is missing' feeling, which was no better.

Before she put the ring away, Willow couldn't help reading the tiny inscription one more time:  With all my heart and all my soul, I am with you.  Always.

She felt the familiar sting of tears but held them back as she put the ring into her childish ballerina-topped jewelry box.  Next came the necklace, and with a silent prayer to someone that she was doing the right thing, she lifted the silver chain over her head.  She held it out in front of her, watching the cross dangle before her, the ceiling light playing off its delicately carved surface.

"Pull yourself together, Willow," she muttered to herself as a tear trickled down her cheek.  "It's only jewelry."

Why was it so damn difficult to put these things away now?  She'd only just gotten them back, after all.  But it was hard, painfully so, and as she finally closed the lid on the jewelry box, Willow felt like she were shutting the door on a huge portion of her life.  The left her with a hollow feeling throughout.

Willow was just about to weaken and put the cross back on--after all, she had bought the necklace herself, it wasn't like it was a gift from Angelus--when the phone rang.

Wondering what kink in her plan Buffy had come up with, Willow grabbed the phone as she flopped back down on the bed.  "Hello."

"Red."

Willow sat up straight, automatically wiping the dampness from her face.  "Spike?"

"Ooh, you're quick tonight," Spike chuckled.  "Have many men calling you 'Red' now, do you?"

"Not yet, but the night is still young," she replied, smiling to herself as she ran a hand through her shortened, very red hair.

"Sound surprised to hear from me.  Am I interrupting something?  The dog come over to play?  Have him leashed to the headboard, do you?"

"It's, you know, kinda strange to talk to you over the phone," she retorted honestly, not bothering to respond to his teasing.  "My favorite Victorian vampire using a phone?  My world's all askew," she teased, earning another warm chuckle from the vampire.

"Can get one for you, too, if you want, Red.  Might come in handy."

"You want to buy me a phone?" she laughed, wondering in the back of her mind if it would be made by a demon, like her guitar was.

"Not just a phone, one of those portable jobs.  You know, the kind the yuppies use and then don't bother to turn the ringer off at the pictures and you end up having to break their necks so as not to miss one single moment of violence and gore on big screen."

"Oh. Ewww, Spike," Willow groaned, trying hard not to picture Spike sitting in a movie theater, surrounded by dead yuppies.  "Remind me not to go to the movies with you."  She shuttered, and Spike chuckled.  "So, you have a cell phone now?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too resentful about his improved finances.  "I just can't picture you paying bills and such, Spike.  It's just not right."

Willow heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter being flicked, then Spike inhaling.  "That's why I have Dalton," he said after a moment.  "Best bloody accountant vampire in town.  Fixed it all up for me, takes care of all that financial rot."

"How convenient," she drawled.  "I'm honored that you took a moment from your Rockefeller lifestyle to give me a call."

"Pet, don't get snippy," he admonished, but he sounded amused.  "Just called to see what you're up to tonight.  More playtime with the Scoobies?"

"I'm getting ready to go to the Bronze."  She paused, a slight hitch to her breath.  "Oz is playing tonight."

The was another pause before Spike spoke up.  "The dog's playing?  May have to catch that myself...pretty good trick, that."

Willow sighed.  "Don't you have something better to do?"

"Like you said, pet, the night's still young.  Plenty of time."

"No, you'd better stay away from the Bronze," she advised.  "Buffy will be there, and I don't feel up to another one of your Academy Award-winning productions tonight.  Besides, where's Drusilla?"

"Sleeping."

Willow snorted.  "She sure sleeps a lot."

Willow could almost here him grinning ear-to-ear on the other side of the satellite as he said, "I wore her out."

"Again?"

"I'm nothing if not consistent, Red," he retorted in a very-pleased-with-himself tone.   "You sure you're going to be okay tonight?"  There was a pause, then his voice became tighter.  "Are you going to see the git?"

"Xander?" Willow queried, fully aware that Spike was referring Angel.

"No, the other git...the one with the sloping forehead."

She sighed, falling back into the comfort of her pillows.  Instinctively, she reached for the cross about her neck, and frowned when she remembered why it wasn't there. "Not sure if he'll be there or not.  We kinda had a fight this morning in which I sorta demanded that he start acting like the old Angel."

"You did what?" Spike exclaimed, laughing.

"I asked him to pretend as if I didn't even exist from now on," she said in an embarrassed rush, "basically the way the old Angel used to treat me."

"Wouldn't count on it, Red."

"I know," she said dejectedly, wishing it were only that easy.  "But a girl can hope, can't she?  Which reminds me, he said you two had a little talk.  What did you two chat about, anyway?  Typical father-son stuff?" she asked almost hopefully.

"Just opened his eyes a bit.  Told him the truth...you'd think it was the first time he'd heard it."  Willow heard the soft sound of Spike slowly exhaling, and she could picture the tendrils of smoking drifting out from between the vampire's lips.  It was oddly comforting.  "Tell me what you and the soulful one argued about."

Willow shut her eyes as the whole ugly scene replayed itself in a heartbeat, and before she realized she was speaking, Willow was telling him the whole thing...the diary, the argument, and how it ended.  When she was done, there  was silence on the other end.

"Spike?"

"Still here, Red," he said in a tight voice, and Willow could picture him clenching his jaw on the other end of the phone.  "So, our old pal Angelus paid you a little visit, did he?"

"Just a little one," Willow said with a sigh.  "Really, it was more of a fly-by than an actual visit."

"Did he scare you, Red?"

"A little maybe...sort of...oh, I don't know, Spike.  It's so confusing...when I'm near him I don't know what to feel anymore.  My heart is telling me one thing, my brain another--mainly, run away--and then my body..." Willow groaned, flinging an arm over her eyes as if to fend off memories. "Don't even get me started on what my body is telling me."

More silence from Spike's end, so Willow continued to get if all off her chest.  "I don't understand what he wants from me, Spike.  Forgiveness?  I gave him that already!  Why can't he just leave it at that?  But...but it's like he expects something more or he's pushing for something else and--"

"For what, Red?" Spike interrupted brusquely.  "What else is the damned wanker pushing for?"

"I honestly don't know, Spike.  Acknowledgement maybe?  Acceptance?  I don't know...I don't know how to give him what he wants.  One minute we can be having a fairly normal conversation and the next...the next he's all Irish brogue and dark innuendo.  He's confusing me...again..." she added so softly that Spike almost missed it.

"Say the word, Willow...just say the bloody word and you won't have to worry about him," his voice was growing angrier with each word.  "Bloody hell, you don't even have to say the word, Red.  Just the first syllable...the first *letter* and he's dust."

"No!  Spike, please, that's not the solution...in fact, that's *never* the solution!  It'll be okay, really.  Er, besides, I have a plan," Willow fibbed, but she was quickly working on one.   Anything  would be better than Spike's 'final' solution.

There was a pause on the other end.  "A plan?" he said with obvious sarcasm.  "What have I told you about plans, love?  Waste of bloody time, aren't they?  Best laid plans, hell in a hand basket, etc., etc., etc..."

"Oh, but this one's easy," she informed him.  "Um, coolness and distance," she blurted off the top of her head.  "Well, I guess it's more of a theme than a plan, really," she amended when Spike made no comment.

Another pause on the other end, then Willow thought she heard him chuckle as he said, "Distance, eh?  Going to New Zealand?"

Willow giggled.  "Not that kind of distance, Spike.  The other kind."

"Ah, the painful kind, then."

"Yep."

"Always a favorite."

"Oh, and there's more to it than that, Spike," she went on to say, getting excited now as the idea started firming up in her head.  "I'm going to be China."

"You lost me, Red.  You're going to turn yourself into pottery to avoid the great poof?  Bit extreme, don't you think?"

"China, as in, The Great Wall of," Willow informed him, sitting back up as her theme started to take shape.  "Yep, I think walls and distance ought to do it."

"Not that your plan to turn yourself into a poor communist country isn't a sound one, pet, but remember...I promised that I'd protect you from him, Willow, and I meant it.  Still do.  I won't let him hurt you, *ever*."

"Even when I'm old and wrinkled?" she teased in response.

There was a very long silence.  Willow was just about to tell him she'd been kidding, sort of, when he said, "That'll never happen, Red."

"I dunno," she said, trying again to interject humor back into their conversation.  "Think of all those decades I didn't use sunblock.  I'm thinkin' I'll have so many crows feet people will mistake me for a scarecrow."

"I said, it *won't* happen, Willow," he repeated, his voice sounding so odd and thick with emotion that she chalked it up to a bad connection.  "Time to go, Red," he said suddenly.  "Wouldn't want you to keep the Scabby Gang waiting, would we?"

The phone went dead before Willow could correct him or even say goodbye.  Rolling her eyes at the intricacies of vampire friendships, Willow put the phone back in its cradle.  In spite of the odd turn their conversation had taken, Spike was right about one thing.  It was time to go.  After one last look at herself in the mirror, Willow headed for the door.  Her mind now preoccupied with the evening ahead, Willow didn't give Spike's odd words another thought.

***

The sun had yet to set when Willow arrived, safe and sound, at The Bronze. Even though she was nervous, she didn't have to remind herself to keep her chin high and a small, mysterious smile on her lips as she glided through the front door.  Weaving in and out of the throng near the entrance, Willow ventured deeper in to the club.  She never wavered or paused to look for her friends.  While her eyes casually searched them out from the second she'd entered the building, she didn't allow any hesitation in her stride or her manner.  It was second nature to her now...always act as if you own the place, even if you've never been there before.  Spike would be so proud.

She easily found Buffy, Xander, and Cordelia sitting at one of their usual tables, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't notice Angel anywhere in the club.  This was going to be hard enough without him around, even if it was just prolonging the inevitable.

Emboldened by Angel's absence, Willow quickly got a soda at the bar, then strolled over to the gang.

"Hi guys," Willow said just loud enough to be heard over the music.  She stood tall and confident as all eyes turned to her and grew wide with surprise.  Except for the soft, wet sounds of jaws dropping open, not a peep emanated from her friends.

Willow grinned wickedly as she slid into an empty stool between Xander and Buffy, which she was pleased to note would also afforded her a good view of the stage.  She glanced around at her still-shocked friends.  "Um, I'll be right here when you find those tongues of yours."

Xander found his first.  "Willow?"

Buffy came in a close second.  "Your hair!  It's...shorter!"

"And red!" Xander exclaimed, his jaw still a little slack.

Willow took a sip of her drink, trying unsuccessfully to hide the grin on her face.  "It's always been red, Xander.  Now it's just a little...redder."

Cordy was shaking her head in utter disbelief.  "And clothes...the clothes are new...and strangely fashionable..."

"But not red," Xander kindly pointed out.

"How could you do this to me, Willow?" Buffy said in a pitiful voice, her lower lip quivering dramatically.

Willow sat up ramrod straight, almost choking on her soda.  The smile was gone now, having been flattened by a good-sized chunk of guilt.  "Pardon?" she squeaked.

"You--you did the complete makeover thing without me!"

Willow visibly sagged with relief.  Looking at the Slayer now, she could see that the blonde had been joking.  It was only Willow's over-active sense of guilt where Buffy was concerned that kept turning small things like dropped donuts and solo shopping trips into opportunities for undue anguish.

"Oh, well, I--"

"I mean, isn't it in the best friends by-laws somewhere that no one may undergo a makeover alone?" Buffy demanded, looking to Cordelia for support.

"Please!" Cordelia barked, getting to her feet.  She waltzed around Xander to  where Willow was seated.  "Everyone knows that it's an unspoken rule that you don't even go shopping alone, Willow.   But this..." Cordelia said, looking her up and down with a critical eye.  "This is sacrilege...."

Willow tried not to laugh or roll her eyes at how serious Cordelia seemed to be taking the change in her appearance.  "You don't like it?" she asked all of them in a calm voice that contained not a smidgen of uncertainty.  Willow wasn't fishing for compliments, but she was profoundly curious about their reaction.  This could very well be a dress rehearsal for the moment when she told them the whole truth about her life.

"You look..." Xander paused, obviously searching for the right words.  And that's when Willow saw it.  It was just a glimmer, a brief flash really, but it was definitely there.  Something that she had yearned to see in her oldest friend's eyes for years.  It was as if for the first time, Xander noticed she was a girl...a woman.

Great, Willow chuckled to herself.  All it took was a haircut, a pair of leather pants, and a trip back in time to get Xander to notice me.

Shaking his head as if trying to jar his brain into action, Xander tried again.  "Your hair...and the, um, clothes...the *leather* clothes...you look...er, well, you look..."

Willow took pity on her friend.  "Is that a good inability to speak or a bad one?  Are you in shock or awe?" she teased mercilessly, for a brief moment allowing herself to enjoy her ability to render the boy speechless.  After all, the old Willow deserved at least that much.

He visibly relaxed.  "Definitely awe, Willow.  You look so..."  Xander trailed off into distressed silence again, then sighed.  "Damn.  There's that awe again..."

"You look great, Willow," Buffy reassured her, leaning over to give her half a hug.  "I love the hair, both the color and the cut.  I just wish you'd told me.  You know I would have somehow gotten out of training and studying today to go with you.  Angel would have understood."

"Um, hello...what about me?" Cordelia's arms were about her chest, and she was tapping her foot.  "Shopping, hair, clothes...these are a few of my favorite things!"

"And let us not forget raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens," Xander joked, but Cordelia simply scowled at him.

"I'm serious," she said, slinking back into her seat across from Willow.  "I mean, I know we aren't exactly bosom buddies, Willow. It's not like we have anything in common other than the joy that is the Hellmouth, but..." Cordelia shrugged halfheartedly, glancing almost shyly between Willow and her own half-empty coffee cup.  "I had always dreamed that when this day finally came, I'd be the one to point you away from the Jacquelyn Smith Collection to Anne Taylor instead...or at least Tommy Hillfiger.  And then we could have gone to my stylist, Jacques...Who knows, we might have even had fun."

Willow was surprised to find herself touched by the unfamiliar suggestion of hurt she saw on the cheerleader's face.  Strangely, she found herself actually wanting to get to know Cordelia better.  Looks like it's time to give up my membership in the 'We Hate Cordelia' club, and all it took was spending a century with assorted demons to make Cordelia's company seem like a good thing, she grinned to herself.

"I'm sure we would have had fun, Cordelia.  It's just that this was something I had to do by myself.  It was kinda spur of the moment, too."

Cordelia sniffed, but some of the distress seemed to leave her face.  "So it was some kind of last minute fashion pilgrimage?" she asked hopefully.

"Exactly," Willow said with some relief.  "Yep, relatively speaking, it was definitely spur of the moment.  And I promise that next time I'll ask both you and Buffy to go with me, okay?  To be honest, I really could have used your help.  I felt a little out of my depth at the mall today."  That seemed to cheer Cordelia right up.  "Guess I'm not used to so many options," she added softly, doubting that Cordelia would approve of many of the rest of her purchases.

"Well, this outfit gets a thumbs up from me, especially the pants, so I think you did good," Buffy said.  "Although, if someone had asked me a month ago if I thought that Willow Rosenberg would ever wear leather pants, I'd have bet my stake collection that you'd have stayed a cotton-blend gal for ever."

"Where'd you get them?" Cordelia inquired.

Willow sat up a little straighter, a triumphant grin on her face.  "Oh, in that little boutique in the mall that's between the pretzel shop and Victoria's Secret.  You know, the one that always used to scare me because the mannequins were headless but somehow they still seemed to be watching you?" she prompted Buffy, receiving a nod of understanding in return.  "Ooh, and they were even on sale!"

Cordelia grinned.  "You did good then."

"Victoria's Secret?" Buffy asked, eyes wide and sparkling with curiosity.  "Don't tell me that you're too good for Hanes Her Way now, Willow?" she teased, making Willow laugh.

"Well, actually, I did buy a few--"

Xander cleared his throat, and Willow thought she detected a slight flush to her oldest friend's face as well.  "Um, ladies, male present!" he reminded them, pointing to himself. "No discussion of lacy undergarments, er, female problems, or men who are better looking than me."

After promising to show both Buffy and Cordelia all of her purchases, the conversation turned to more everyday banter.  Soon, the lights dimmed, the canned music faded, and the members of Dingoes Ate My Baby took the stage.  With the first familiar strains of 'She Knows', the band had Willow's complete attention.

The Dingoes' music surrounded Willow, enveloping her with its easy familiarity until she lost herself in it.  She remembered their songs, every single one, and soon Willow found herself singing softly along.  Just as she had in her previous life, Willow focused in on Oz.  She simply watched him for a while, the slight tilt to his head, the occasional need to concentrate revealed by a furrowed brow, his compact stance, and the rare hint of a smile.

But it was different, painfully so, just as she had known it would be.  Oz didn't seek her out in the audience like he used to, their eyes meeting during certain refrains that had once held a special place in both their hearts.  There were no secret smiles exchanged when Oz managed to make it through a particularly difficult passage that he'd rehearsed before her a hundred times.  As much as she loved The Dingoes' music, the tunes felt hollow without those personal touches, lacking in the deeper meaning that always sent a secret thrill down her spine.

As their set progressed, Willow's feeling of melancholy multiplied until she could no longer look at Oz's face.  It was too painful waiting for his eyes to find hers.  Instead, she focused on those hands that she'd always loved and the music that they were making.  By the fifth song in their first set, 'Pain,' Willow was completely caught up in the mechanics of the music, trying to memorize chords and decipher the fingering.  Luckily, everyone else at the table seemed intent to listen to the band as well, because without realizing it, Willow's fingers were discretely airplaying along with Oz under cover of the table.  This simple act, the 'making' of music, deadened some of the pain until her eyes were drifting shut in something akin to meditative concentration.

***

From the veiled shadows of The Bronze, Angel scanned the crowd the moment he arrived.  He immediately spotted Buffy, Xander, and Cordelia sitting at a table with some other girl he didn't recognize, but there was no sign of Willow.  Oz's band was on  stage already, their music easily filling the small club. Angel frowned as he glanced at the clock above the bar.  She should have been there by now...it was dark out, and according to Buffy, Willow had promised she'd be there before dark.

Moving a few steps further into the crowd, ignoring the interested looks he was receiving from members of both sexes, Angel searched the throng of mingling young people once again for the one woman who had occupied his thoughts and his dreams for more than a century.  Not finding her, Angel began to worry...and grow angry.  How could Buffy and the others just sit there when Willow had failed to show up as promised?  Was he the only one who remembered how dangerous Spike was?

He'd stalked halfway to their table when the stranger next to Buffy turned slightly in her seat, giving him a look at her profile.

It was Willow!  Or at least a good facsimile thereof, although the hair...the clothes...

Relieved to see that Willow was indeed safe, yet shocked by her unfamiliar appearance, Angel couldn't quite keep the bewilderment from tinting his voice as he came up behind her.

"You cut your hair."  To Angel's own ears, his voice sounded strained and overly harsh, and yet Willow barely flinched in response.  Amazing what spending decades with a vampire like Spike can do for one's self-control, he thought wryly.

Without turning to look at him, Willow simply shrugged.  "It's just a little trim."

"A trim!" he retorted more sharply than he intended.  "There's barely anything left of it, lass."

He wasn't thinking clearly.  In truth, he wasn't sure he was thinking at all when he reached out to run his fingers through her shortened locks.  It was as if his hand had a mind of its own, an insatiable need confirm that her long auburn hair was truly gone.

At the completely unexpected feeling of Angel's hand in her hair, all thoughts of the music and her plan to remain cool and distant towards the vampire began to fade away.  The surreal sensation of his cool fingers lightly grazing the bare nape of her neck drew a lengthy shudder from the redhead.  Then, mortified by such a strong, involuntary reaction to something as simple as his touch yet again, she spun in her seat, ready to demand that he get his hands off of her!  Instead, Willow's breath caught, the rebuke born of embarrassed confusion dying on her lips when her hasty movement served only to entangle Angel's fingers more firmly in her hair, pulling him nearer.

Bloody hell, he was close!  Too close, she realized when she found herself eye-level with his broad chest, now only inches away.  Willow kept her line of vision trained on the center of his silvery-gray silk shirt, afraid of what she might see if she allowed herself to look up and peer into the dark depths of Angel's eyes.  In her hastily made plan, he was *never* this close!

Well, at least this time his shirt is buttoned, she noted, swallowing past the lump that was rapidly forming in her throat.

When Angel somehow managed to move even closer, Willow stiffened.  Maybe it was the shadowy tinge of disappointment she felt at *not* being able to catch another glimpse of his bare chest, which was so tantalizingly close.  Or perhaps it was the particularly vivid flashback to a previous time when the soulless Angelus had used her long hair to hold her captive against his hard body.  But for whatever reason, the last vestiges of Willow's composure, and her ill-fated plan along with it, dissolved under a deluge of conflicting emotions.

"Apparently, it still isn't short enough!" she snapped churlishly, as much at herself as at the vampire who now seemed frozen before her.

Feeling a desperate need to be free of him, Willow tried twisting her head, shaking her hair, anything to free herself, but it only made the situation worse.  Her forehead wrinkled in frustration, Willow finally grabbed his wrist and began the task of manually untangling her hair from his fingers.  Her own fingers trembled at the contact and her breath grew ragged, further feeding the sense of shame she felt for her desire, fear and guilt.  The color rose in her cheeks as she worked to free herself, the whole time feeling as if history were repeating itself, taunting her, punishing her for the warring feelings that both Angelus and Angel enticed within her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Willow could see Buffy's mouth open and close a few times, but The Slayer never managed to utter an actual word.  She, like the others at the table, could only sit and stare at the strange behavior of their two friends.  The vampire made no move to untangle himself.  He continued to stare at her hair wrapped around his pale, trembling fingers as if she'd dyed it lime green instead of just a richer shade of red.

"The color..." he murmured thickly, still seemingly mesmerized by the stark contrast of colors.

After freeing the last few strands of her hair from between his finger and thumb, Willow thrust Angel's hand away from her with unnecessary force.  Simultaneously, she jumped off the stool and away from the vampire, hoping she'd be able to compose herself when he wasn't so near.  Her tone was still brusque as she finally found the courage to raise her eyes to his bewildered face. "It's called *red*."

Appearing to have come out of his odd stupor, Angel straightened, his hands automatically finding his pockets.  "Red," he repeated dryly.  His gaze quickly grazed her neck, which was no longer hidden underneath long hair, and rose briefly to meet her stern glare before suddenly shooting back down to a spot on her throat.  His eyes narrowed, his whole body stiffening, but before Willow could decipher the odd, almost betrayed look on the vampire's face, it was gone. Angel was now coolly taking in her whole appearance, from the top to bottom, his eyes lingering momentarily on her lean legs and hips in the leather pants.

Buffy's overly tight voice broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled upon their table, but not the tension.  "She looks beautiful, doesn't she, Angel?"

Angel didn't answer, but he finally stopped his inspection long enough to look Willow in the eye.  His tight-lipped expression left little doubt in Willow's mind that Angel wasn't altogether pleased by what he saw. Telling herself that was a good thing despite the twinge of disappointment she felt, Willow squared her shoulders, returning his intense look.

Xander cleared his throat, loudly, and Buffy repeated her question.  "She looks beautiful, doesn't she, Angel?"  Her voice was commanding this time, practically willing the vampire to say the polite thing.

With a barely perceptible shaking of his head, as if trying to wake himself from a stupor, Angel turned to the others.  Under their severe glares, Angel softened.  Appearing embarrassed by his behavior, the vampire's gaze fell to the table as he issued a hefty sigh that resembled more of a moan.  His fingers traced tiny patterns on the table top, and with a disconcerted shrug, he said softly, "Willow is always beautiful."

But it was too late.  The moment Angel had turned from her, Willow had silently slipped away.  She hadn't heard the vampire's delayed but genuine compliment, and she hadn't wanted to.  She'd known it was coming.  While perhaps a bit slow on the uptake because of shock, Angel was still a gentleman.  Willow had no doubt that he would eventually say the socially correct thing and pay her a compliment, whether he meant it or not.  Flattery was an art form during much of the vampire's past, a skill that she remembered Angelus being very adept at.  With Buffy glaring at him the way she was,  Willow fully expected Angel to fall back on the old rules of civility.  Nevertheless, even if the compliments were genuine, Willow did not want to hear them.  After all, why should she care what he thought of the change in her appearance?  As long as he didn't see her as Rose anymore, then her mission was successful.

As she made her way to the bar, Willow had to repeatedly reminded herself that the important thing was that she looked different, she was no longer a constant reminder to Angel of any of their assorted pasts.  That should make things easier now, shouldn't it? she wondered as she insinuated herself between two boys who were leaning against the bar.  Completely oblivious to the appreciative but awkward glances the freshmen were giving her, Willow was struck again by Spike's comments about their distinct lack of planning abilities. Chuckling to herself at both the memory and the apparent truth in the statement, Willow caught the bartender's attention.  She was just about to order a soda, although she would have preferred something stronger, when Devon's voice came over the microphone, breaking through the applause to announce that the band was going to take a short break.  After a long glance over her shoulder at Oz, Willow ordered two sodas instead.

***

Angel had watched Willow walk away from him and had chosen, against all instincts, not to follow her.  He needed time to collect his thoughts, and hoped that by the time she returned to the table, he'd be better able to express himself.  Unfortunately, the other's didn't seem to understand his plan.

"What was that?" Xander's bewildered voice interrupted the vampire's musings.  "Angel, my whole image of you is blown, man.  That was...pathetic," Xander exclaimed in a scolding tone of voice.  "Even more pathetic than my own less than stellar performance."

Angel grimaced but offered no excuses for his deplorable behavior.  What was he going to say, anyway?  Certainly not the truth.  It's not like he could tell them how many times he'd dreamed of running his fingers through Willow's long hair, tangling his hands in the soft auburn locks as he kissed her.  Nor could he tell them how that darker inner voice of his was demanding to know why his Rose thought she could change her appearance without his permission.  That same voice--the one that he was normally able to keep such stringent control over, except where Willow was concerned--was also demanding to know where that 'new' bite mark on her throat had come from.  Angel was certain that this particular mark of Spike's hadn't been there when she'd been his 'guest' in London.  Nor could he tell them how it was taking every ounce of strength that he possessed to tell that very same inner voice to stifle itself because he had no true claim on Willow anymore.

No.  He couldn't begin to tell them any of that, so all he could offer by way of explanation was a sheepish look and a hang-dog expression.

Despite Angel's best attempt at displaying his self-disgust without revealing the true reasons behind it, Buffy scowled at him anyway as she sipped at her drink.  "I would have walked away from you too, Angel.  Just what were you thinking?"

"It's just that...she looked so different," Angel grumbled quite pathetically.  "In all the time I've known her, she's always looked the same.  Can you blame me for being surprised?" he asked himself aloud.  "It was kind of a shock, and..."  Angel trailed off, still not able to put his feelings into any true order.  "You know, a warning would have been nice," he added weakly.

Xander patted the vampire on the back reassuringly.  "I've been giving this a lot of thought since my own sad reaction to the new Willow Rosenberg.  I was struck a bit speechless myself," Xander admitted in answer to Angel's questioning look.  "I think the next time a woman catches us off guard with a new look, we should try something like this..."  Xander turned to a surprised Cordelia, took her hand in his, and gazed lovingly at her.  "First, take her hand," he instructed the vampire, using Cordy as his model.  "Then look deeply into her eyes, with a slightly awestruck look on your face--"

To Angel, the youth looked more like he was in pain than awestruck, but he didn't want to interrupt the kid when he was on a roll.

"--then say something like, 'I don't believe we've met, for I know I could never forget a woman as ravishing as you...'" he told Cordelia in a warm, husky voice.    Cordelia sighed happily as a blush rose to her cheeks.  She leaned in to reward her boyfriend with a kiss just as Xander dropped her hands to turn and refocus on his reluctant but amused pupil. "Think you can handle that, Deadboy?"

"You been reading romance novels again, Xander?" Buffy laughed as Cordy smacked Xander on the arm for his teasing.

"Nah," he said with a grin.  "Three's Company.  I think it was the episode where Jack hits on Janet and Chrissy." Cordelia and Buffy laughed.  "You know," Xander started in on Angel again, "running your fingers through her hair was a good touch, but next time you may want to try not to actually get tangled in it.    Also, you may want to consider kissing her hand.  Now, you wouldn't catch me dead doing that because, frankly, it would make me look like a sissy boy, but you old-fashioned vamp types can probably pull it off."  He frowned.  "Oh, on second thought, you may want to rethink the term 'ravishing' since you're a vampire."

"Oh, I dunno about that," Buffy admitted with a sly smile.  "I think that whether you're of the living or not, you can't go wrong with terms like 'ravishing' or even 'delectable'.  They sound *way* better than 'cute' and 'pretty', which in my book are only one slippery little step away from 'she has a good personality'," Buffy said matter of factly, then she wrinkled her nose.  "Although you should probably still avoid saying things like, 'I hunger for you.' It'd sound downright creepy coming from a vampire."

Despite his inner turmoil, Angel found himself smiling at his friends' playful antics. "Thanks for the advice."

"You so need to get a grip, Angel," Cordelia piped up, finally adding her two cents.  "Women change their hair.  It's what we do. Besides, Willow needed a change.  She's had that same 'Oh, please don't look at me...I'd rather blend into the background' look since kindergarten."  Angel's eyes narrowed at the brunette.  "Hey, don't get all growly on me!" she protested.  "I'm only saying that it's about time she quit trying to hide behind her long hair and baggy clothes.  I'm not saying she'll ever be the Homecoming Queen...or Prom Queen...or even the queen of that joke of a dance that they call the Winter Ball...but she's actually quite pretty when she tries to be."

Cordelia had taken a few sips from her enormous cup of coffee when she noticed everyone was staring at her.

"What?"  The cheerleader brushed the tip of her nose.  "Is there something on my face?"

Xander leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.  "You paid Willow a compliment.  Several actually."

"Still, her accessorizing leaves much to be desired," the cheerleader hurriedly added.  "She didn't have on any jewelry...no necklace, earrings, rings...nothing.  Oh yeah...the girl still has a long way to go."

"Now there's the Cordy we all know and fear," Xander teased as he slid an arm about her shoulders.

"Er, did you say she wasn't wearing a ring?"  Angel tried to make the absurd question sound casual, but by the raised eyebrows on the two girls faces, he knew he'd failed miserably.

"Um, no...no rings," Cordelia confirmed.  "Thank God she'd taken off whatever that mess was on her finger she'd been wearing lately.  I think it was actually made of Band-Aids..."

The pain in Angel's chest from Cordelia's words was worse than when Buffy managed to land one of her powerful kicks. He slumped wearily onto the nearest stool.  The other night when Willow had agreed to continue wearing his ring, Angel had taken that as a good sign.  Not a happily-ever-after sign, but at least a step in the right direction.

Angel groaned inwardly.  It was beginning to look like there was no 'right direction' where Willow was concerned, no matter how lightly he stepped.

Unaware of Angel's pain, the others continued talking.  It was only at the mention of Spike's name that Angel refocused on the conversation going on around him.

"Yes, our little Willow is growing up," Buffy said with a happy grin.

"Willow?  Our Willow?" Xander sat up straight, a hint of panic in his voice.  "Since when did she care about how she looked?  Nope, I suspect she's up to something...some cunning plan."  He slapped his hand on the table, as if to say 'Eureka'!  "I bet she's hoping Spike won't recognize her or maybe he'll hate her new look and leave her alone!"

"Please."  Buffy rolled her eyes.  "Are we forgetting Spike's latest nickname for her?  It's *Red*, remember?"

All eyes turned to Willow, who was now standing by the stage, talking to the red-headed guitar player as the band took their first break between sets.

"And what's the deal with her and Oz?  She becoming a groupie?" Xander asked the others suspiciously.  "It would explain the leather pants."

"I dunno," Buffy said with a shrug as she turned back to the table.  "We haven't had much of a chance to talk lately, what with summer school and her accident and everything.  Trust me though...if there's something to know, I'll find out.  Unless you know something, Angel.  You've seen her more than I have lately."

"You okay, man?" Xander was staring at Angel, who had yet to answer Buffy's question.  "You look even paler than usual."

Angel abruptly stood up.  "I'll take the patrol tonight, Buffy," he said stiffly, his eyes still glued to the couple talking by the stage.  The others followed suit, shifting in their seats to get another good look at Willow and Oz.

"But don't you think..." Buffy began, turning back the vampire, but he was already gone.

***
 

Willow kept what she hoped was an interested look on her face as she struggled to remain focused on her ever-shifting conversation with Oz.  Although she managed not to look over at them, her mind kept wandering back to the table where her friends were sitting.  She couldn't help wondering what they were talking about, what they were saying to Angel.

They must think I've gone insane, she thought to herself.  They're probably telling Angel that it's time to pad the walls in one of the rooms at Slayer Central.  As long as that room isn't pink, too....

Hoping to hide her half-grin, half-grimace at a mental picture of her bouncing off Pepto-Bismal-shaded walls while strapped firmly into a pale pink straightjacket, Willow took another sip of her soda.  Movement out of the corner of her eye focused her scattered attention.  Angel was leaving, and as she watched him disappear into the crowd by the door, Willow felt herself physically relax.  With the vampire gone, Willow could finally give the guitar player her full attention.  She could only hope that Oz hadn't noticed how her mind had been wandering.  Everything else about me is divided...why shouldn't my attention be the same? she snickered to herself, trying to remember what she and Oz had just been talking about.

She could vaguely recall an initial awkward discussion about the merits of sugar-induced energy bursts stemming from orange soda. Then, at some point the conversation turned to music, guitars, and the physical dangers inherent in the E-flat, diminished ninth chord. (You could lose a finger, they had both agreed.)

Didn't that sound familiar?  Now if only she had some animal crackers...

Willow muffled a groan at that thought, finally admitting to herself that she'd been trying to relive past conversations with Oz.  Then much to her horror, Willow realized from the odd look on Oz's face that he must have heard her embarrassed moan.

Willow tried to cover up the faux pas by pretending to stifle a yawn, although afterwards she would wonder if pretending to be sleepy in his company was any better than groaning in despair.

"Sorry, Oz," she offered sheepishly.  "Guess I'm a little tired."

"I've heard sleep is good for that," he offered with an understanding smile that magically banished Willow's discomfort.

"Hey, I've heard that, too!  Amazing how those vicious rumors get started."  Willow couldn't keep the happy grin from her face.  Even though they'd never had this conversation before, for a moment it truly felt like one that they might have had.

"Isn't it?" Oz actually chuckled, much to Willow's delight.  "For an accomplished rumormonger, you seem to know your guitars.  I didn't think you played."

Her smile faded as his innocent comments forced her back into reality.  "Oh, well, er..."

Luckily, Devon interrupted Willow's stammering as he bounded back onto the stage, followed closely by the Dingoes' drummer.  Willow ignored the knowing looks they shot her way.

"Looks like our time is up," Oz said in a somewhat regretful tone, and Willow flinched at his choice of words.  "Oh, if you hear any more interesting rumors...like what to do when you're hungry..."

"You'll definitely be the first to know, Oz," she said warmly before turning to walk back to her friends.

"Thanks for the soda," he called after her, climbing to his feet as the other band members began to warm up behind him.

Willow shot the grinning musician a final departing smile over her shoulder, but she forced herself to keep walking away.  She was quite sure she'd made a big enough fool out of herself for one night.  Not that Oz seemed to mind.  Still, there was no need to push her luck.

As she approached the table where Buffy, Xander, and Cordelia were sitting, she noticed them all staring at her.  Smiling as she resumed her previous seat, Willow pretended not to see Xander elbowing Buffy, obviously prodding her to say something.

"Willow, about Angel..."  Willow held up a hand to cut Buffy off, but it didn't stop The Slayer.  "He's just a little rusty with the compliment thing.  Maybe back in his day it wasn't, er, cool to, um..."

"Be civil to a woman?" Cordelia offered.

Seeing the sympathetic looks on her friends' faces, Willow tried to put them at ease.  She didn't want or need their pity.  "Don't worry, guys," she said with a light-heartedness that she didn't feel.  "I'm not upset about that."  It wasn't exactly a lie, but it was far from the truth.

"Of course you aren't," Buffy said, brightening.  "After all, if anyone understands Angel's little, er, idiosyncrasies, it's you, Willow."

"Um, yeah."  Willow quickly gulped down the rest of her warm, flat soda, ready to use the need for a refill as a convenient excuse to escape the current conversation if necessary.

"So, what's the deal with you and Oz, anyway?" Cordelia asked, eyeing the guitar player as they began the first song of the new set.

Willow glanced at him as well, once again remembering how he used to search her out in the crowd when he played.  At the moment, he was looking practically everywhere else, just as he had during the previous set.  "Absolutely nothing," she sighed.

Xander nodded.  "Ahh...same old, same old, then?"

"Don't I wish," she mumbled, her eyes still fixed on the musician.  Telling herself to stop staring at Oz, she gave Buffy a weak smile.  "He did tell me he liked my hair though."

Buffy shook her head, reaching over to gently squeeze Willow's hand.  "You know, it's a mixed-up world we live in when a werewolf pays better compliments than a vampire.  The way Angel reacted, you'd almost think he expected you to consult him first or something."

"Yeah, what is with that, anyway?" Cordelia questioned in her most philosophical voice.  "When I was a freshman, I dated this senior who also happened to be the center on the basketball team.  Brandon and I went out, like, twice...then I got a few subtle highlights in my hair, nothing so fake as Buffy's, and he freaked out!"  Buffy sat up straighter at Cordelia's comment, frowning, but Cordelia seemed not to notice.  "You'd think I'd worn white shoes after Labor Day!"

"Heaven forbid," Xander smirked, making Buffy and Willow smile even as Cordelia went on with her tirade.

"You go out with them twice and they think they own you!"  Cordelia's lament continued, causing Willow to blanch and her fingers to fly to Angelus's marks on her throat.  "Guess it's one of those weird vampire and basketball player things," she said with a shrug, not noticing Willow's distress.  Then Cordelia's eyes suddenly grew wider.  "Wait, you don't think Brandon was a vampire, do you?"

"More importantly, does Angel play basketball?" Xander deadpanned as he and Buffy tried not to laugh at Cordelia's strange thoughts.  Soon, they were all smiling.  Except Willow, who was wondering if Angel truly felt that he still had some sort of rights over her.

No...Angel wouldn't think that...he'd never even implied that he still thought of her as his property like Angelus had.  Dismissing her own thoughts as nonsense, Willow faked an easy tone.  "Either way, I don't think that quite applies in my situation, does it?"

Buffy grew more serious.  "I dunno, Wills.  Giles has often told us how possessive vampires can be.  Maybe in some way Angel considers you--"

"No!" Willow interrupted loudly, even surprising herself by the venom in her voice.  She quickly calmed herself, but there was still an edge to her tone  when she informed them, "Angel does not own me...no one does!"

"I know, Willow."

This time Willow did jump and look guiltily behind her.  Angel was walking slowly towards them.  His hands were in his pockets, his eyes a tad downcast...the epitome of the contrite vampire.

"After all, people don't own people..." he continued gently, using words that she had once spoken to Angelus.

Flushing, both in anger and embarrassment as she realized what he must have overheard, Willow wanted to spin on her stool, away from the demanding gaze of the vampire, not to mention the curious ones of her friends, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.

"I came back to apologize, Willow," he said smoothly, a gallant smile gracing his face.  "My behavior *today* has been wanting.  I should have told you immediately how beautiful you look, but I was...at a loss for words..."

Ignoring the sounds of the other girls' sighs, as well as Xander's 'thumbs up' approval to Angel, Willow shrugged, wearing an air of indifference that she didn't feel.  "There's no need."  She should have stopped there, but her lips just couldn't seem to stop flapping.  "After all, it's not like I did it for you," she blurted out.

"Didn't you?"

Cordelia's and Buffy's soft gasps didn't have nearly as much effect on Willow as Angel's knowing tone.  Surprised, she studied the vampire through narrowed eyes.  So, he'd figured out part of the reasoning behind the change in appearance already, had he?  Good, then maybe he'll take the hint, she mused.

Aware that everyone was staring at them again, waiting and curious, Willow forced a carefree smile, turning back to the stage and blatantly ignoring the vampire beside her.  "So much fuss over a few little changes.  I can't wait to see the looks on your faces when I show you the tattoo and the belly button ring."  She waited a beat for the full effect of her words to hit her friends, then quickly added one of her signature marathon-length babbles. "The mall wore me out so I think I'm going to call it a night...oh, look there's Trish from my Trig class last year...it looks like she's leaving and she lives on my street so I'll catch a ride with her...night everyone."

She was gone before the others knew what had hit them.

*****

From the catwalks that crisscrossed The Bronze high above the dance floor, Spike had watched it all with a strange sort of disgusted glee.

He'd seen everything, from the new Willow's regal entrance to her comical exit and everything in between.  And while he couldn't quite hear every word that she and the guitar-playing dog had exchanged, he hadn't missed a moment between Willow and Angel.  Not a word, not a look, not a touch nor any of the deeper meanings behind them all.

And he couldn't decide what he wanted to do more...beat Angel to a bloody pulp for the way he continued to torture Red, or laugh at how pathetic he was to continue pursuing Willow like some love-sick pup.  Yes, either Angel was an even more uncaring and selfish lout than all of his predecessors put together or he was an utterly pathetic fool.  Mostly likely both, Spike decided as he watched Angel take off after Willow's abrupt departure.

Spike glanced hungrily over the crowd, eyeing several easy and enticing targets, but he was already making for the exit himself.  His empty stomach could wait until he was sure Red was able to escape from Angel, one way or another.

*****

Still smiling at the look of shock on everyone's faces, Willow broke into an easy run the moment she was outside.  Like the tattoo and the bellybutton ring, there was no Trish, of course.  For that matter, she couldn't even be sure that there was a Trig class, but the little white lies had been necessary.  Without them, she was positive that her friends wouldn't let her leave alone, and she didn't want to ruin their fun, especially since she knew Buffy was hoping Jason would show up.  And worse yet, what if Angel felt the need to escort her home?  That would be bad.  After all, distance is much easier to keep when you're...well...at a distance.

Coming to a turn, Willow was casting one last look over her shoulder to make sure they hadn't followed, when she ran solidly into someone.  A decidedly male someone, she easily surmised from the feel of the broad chest, not to mention the large hands that immediately reached out to steady her.

"Angel," she sighed before she even bothered to look at the obstacle's face.  After all, who else would it be?

She could tell that he was suppressing a smile when she finally took a step back to meet his dark eyes.  "You sure do know how to make an exit, don't you?" he quipped.

"Your entrances aren't bad either," she retorted in a weary tone.  Sidestepping the vampire, Willow hurried around the corner, Angel at her heels, so that they couldn't be seen from the door of The Bronze.  "How'd you get in front of me?" Willow asked when she deemed they were safe from any possible prying eyes.

"Roof exit," he reminded her in a matter-of-fact tone.  "I ran along the rooftops until I saw you, then jumped down."

Willow frowned as she looked up at the buildings around them.  He must have jumped down several stories.  "That's cheating."

"And that isn't?" he teased, gesturing towards her hair.

"No, this is hair," she retorted smoothly, taking a casual step backwards to ensure that both she and her hair were out of his reach.  She had no intention of having to untangle herself from him again that night.  It's hard to be distant with someone you're physically intertwined with.

Noting her continued coolness toward him, Angel shoved his hands in his pockets.  This wasn't going the way he had planned.  He'd meant to apologize for his rudeness at the club, and had hoped they could talk at least civilly about what had happened that morning.  As hurt as he'd been by Willow's declarations earlier that day, Angel knew that he deserved a fair share of the blame.  He'd been cocky and arrogant, and he'd goaded her into it.  Basically, he'd behaved like Angelus.

Then she had to go and cut her hair, and again his response left much to be desired.  "You didn't have to...change, Willow," he said sincerely, wishing he knew what she was thinking that made her peer at him so warily, her body so stiff.

"Didn't I?  Angel, I'm not Rose anymore."

"I'm well aware of that," he told her, receiving a skeptical look in response.

"And I'm not 17-year-old Willow Rosenberg either," she hastily added.  "If these little outward change helps us *both* to remember that," she said, indicating her hair and clothes, "then it was money well spent.  Besides, I needed a change.  It isn't natural to keep the same hairstyle for more than a century... look how many you've gone through."

Angel grinned, relieved to see a flash of humor in her otherwise distant eyes.  "Have to change with the times, right? Besides, I didn't think my barbershop-quartet look would help me fit into 20th-century Sunnydale life," he said lightly.

Willow almost smiled in spite of herself.  And that irritated her.  How was she supposed to remain distant and cool if he couldn't hold at least a little  grudge like a certain blond vampire she knew?  She didn't want Angel to hate her, but a little bitterness on his part sure would help her cause.  It was so typical of him not to cooperate.

Hugging her arms about herself, Willow turned away from the vampire and continued towards home.  She wasn't about to let him pull her into a little light-hearted dialogue when she still had walls to build and distance to create, both physically and emotionally.  Unfortunately, Angel didn't appear to want to play along with her secret plan.

"Besides, I don't have much of a singing voice," he said in that teasing tone of his that she'd always found quite disarming, accent or no accent.

Willow walked faster, hoping that the stiff line of her back and the sound of her heels clacking sharply on the pavement might keep the vampire at bay.  Yet she was hardly surprised when after only a few paces the vampire was at her side, matching her stride for stride.

"I'm not even sure if I'm a tenor or a baritone," he continued dryly. "Perhaps I should sing a few bars of 'Danny Boy' for you, and you could tell me if I have a shot at the big time?"

Willow wouldn't allow herself to even glance at his face, no matter how much she wanted to see the mischievous light that she knew would be making his eyes sparkle in the soft moonlight, just as it had when he was alive. Instead she forced herself to ask in a flat tone: "If I admit that I was wrong this morning, will you go away?"

Angel only had to take a deep breath, ready to launch into the first bar of the old standard, before Willow was spinning to face him.  "I was wrong!" she fairly hissed at him.  "I admit it!  Just please...please don't sing..."  she begged.

Willow had no idea if Angel could actually sing or not, but that wasn't the point.  She knew it would be impossible to build a wall between them whether she was giggling at his utter lack of musical talent or enchanted by his melodious crooning.  Music was dangerous that way...it built bridges, not walls.

"You were wrong?  I can't imagine about what," he said, unable to keep a slightly triumphant grin from his face.

"Not that you seem to need an apology," she added haughtily, annoyed that he'd made a dent in her defenses so easily.  "You're hardly keeping up your end of the bargain!  How soon you seem to forget that you're supposed to be ignoring me, letting me blend into the background, remember?"

Angel could only stare at the redhead for a moment.  As far as apologies go, her offering was downright pathetic, even if her cheeks did seem to flush slightly at her own words.  And now she was angry with him for not doing as she had demanded, even though she was attempting to apologize for those exact same demands?  He supposed he'd be pretty angry if it weren't so damn amusing.

"I've tried brooding," he informed her after a moment, "and found that it didn't suit me.  While I can't see my reflection in the mirror, I have a feeling that it's not very attractive."

"Buffy didn't seem to mind," Willow shot back without thinking, and Angel's eyes darkened in response.

"And I suppose I have Spike to thank for your fondness of petty arguments?"

Willow shrugged, kicking at a stone in her path as she began walking towards home again.  "We like to think of it more as witty banter..."

Immediately at her side again, Angel cast her a knowing look that she caught out of the corner of her eye.

"...with a biting tone, of course..." she added, drawing a smirk from Angel for the bad pun.

They continued to walk in uncomfortable silence until Willow came to a standstill a couple of blocks from her house.  "I can take it from here," she said firmly, her hands on her hips as she kept her eyes trained on the road before her.  "We both know I don't really need an escort to save me from Spike--"

"Like hell you don't," he muttered angrily, looking back over his shoulder as if he expected to see the blond vampire pop up at any moment.

"--I just didn't want to ruin the gang's fun.  They've all been working so hard with school, and I know they're worried about me."  Guiltily, she bit her lip a moment, casting the vampire a sidelong glance.  "So why don't you go back, tell them that you made sure that I arrived home safely, and then have some fun yourself."

"Oh, am I allowed to have fun now?  I thought I was supposed to brood and mope and..."

"Lurk," Willow sighed when he didn't finish, finally turning to face the vampire head on.  She owed him a real apology.  "Angel, what I said this morning was wrong.  I knew it was wrong and unfair almost as soon as I said it, but..." She shrugged in desperation, hoping that would convey her confusion since words weren't serving her very well so far.  "I...I don't really want you to be all miserable and broody...."  Willow kept pausing, hoping the vampire would take pity on her, but he simply stared with waiting eyes that seemed to demand her compliance.

"What I'm trying to say is, that I do want you to be happy, Angel.  I want you to...just be yourself...and I'm sorry that..." She paused, choosing her words very carefully.  "I'm just really sorry."

Angel didn't try to stop the small smile from warming his face, even though he knew her words seemed too good to be true. He tilted his head to the side, regarding her thoughtfully.  "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."  She smiled shyly back it him.  "I had no right to ask you to be anything but yourself.  The diary caught me off guard, I guess...and I overreacted, yet again."  She hesitated, as if catching her breath...or gathering courage.  "I...I want us to forget the whole thing ever happened, Angel.  I *need* to forget what happened."  After a moment, she looked at him with beseeching eyes, her voice equally pleading.  "Can you do that?"

At that moment, lost in the softness of her eyes, which had been so guarded all night, Angel felt as if he couldn't deny her anything. "Of course, Willow," Angel managed in a voice heavy with emotion.  "I can do that."

Her brows rose in an expression of surprise and something else Angel didn't quite understand.  "Oh...well...good!" she finally agreed, apparently relieved.  She smiled softly at the vampire one last time, then looked back down the street towards her home.  "Yes, this is a good thing," she said, nodding her head as if she were trying to convince herself.  "I-I think if we forget about everything that has happened between us, things will be a lot simpler when we have to work together.  Maybe we can stop...bringing out the worst in each other...hurting each other..."

Willow was walking away again, but something in her tone struck a warning chord in Angel, stopping him from following her.  "Willow?" he called after, as a terrifying thought occurred to him.

Without stopping, Willow cast him one last lingering look over her shoulder.  "Goodnight, Angel."

Angel's eyes screwed shut of their own accord, his head falling to his chest in anguish as Willow disappeared around the street corner.  He felt as if he'd been gutted for the second time that day because he realized what Willow had really meant.  She didn't want to just forget their argument this morning, she wanted to pretend as though nothing had ever happened between them, not while he was alive or while he was the soulless dead.

And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse...it, of course, did...

"Ooh, that had to hurt, mate," Spike cheerfully declared as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere to stand before him.  Although his head jerked up automatically at the sound of Spike's voice, Angel ignored him, hoping that he'd just spit out a few insults and then slink away.  Looking past Spike, Angel's eyes traveled down the path that Willow had taken.

Spike groaned.  "You aren't going to give up, are you?  Bloody hell, man. I know you haven't spent as much time with Red as I have, so maybe you don't get the finer points of Willow-speak, but it should be plainly obvious, even to a thickie like you, that the woman wants to forget that she ever met you--"

"With a little coaching from you, no doubt," Angel cut in caustically, finally acknowledging Spike's presence with a baleful glare.

Instinctively, Angel took in the other vampire's appearance, from his black jeans and the duster that that billowed so dramatically whenever he moved, to his platinum hair and the two scars that marred the otherwise smooth, pale skin of his face.  What was it about Spike that Willow found such obvious comfort in?  Why did he seem to have such a hold on her, making her put so much stock in what Spike said?

"Ooh, don't tell me someone's in denial...*still*..." Spike chuckled.

"She's just confused--"

"Too damn right she's confused, mate.  Wonder why that is?  What with you breathing down her neck all the time, it's a bloody miracle the girl has any higher brain function left at all!  I'd hoped after our little chat last night that you'd have finally gotten it through that thick skull of yours that you need to leave Red alone."

"Red," Angel scoffed through gritted teeth, thinking of Willow's new bright red hair.  "Bet you had something to do with that, too."  It wasn't that he didn't like her new look, it was just that it was...well...new.  In fact, he thought the shorter hair framed her delicate features perfectly and the bold color seemed to make her ivory skin and emerald eyes appear even more luminous.  But it was new, it wasn't Rose.  But then again, neither was she, Angel reminded himself.

Spike ignored him.  "Apparently, I spoke too quickly for you last night, peaches. So let me spell it out yet again."  Spike closed the distance between them into two determined strides.  They were close enough to touch, and both accurately aware of that fact.  "I won't let you hurt her again, Angelus."

"I'm not going to hurt her," Angel said in voice made low from barely controlled rage at the mere idea that Willow would need Spike to protect her from him!  "The last thing I want to do is hurt her!"

Spike's face brightened purposefully.  "Really?" Spike asked with overly exuberant glee. "So you'll be leaving then?  Can I help you pack, buy you a one-way bus ticket to Albuquerque?"

"The only one who'll be leaving is you, Spike.  Try Alaska...I hear it's nice and sunny this time of year, and you could stand to work on your tan," he responded evenly, yet felt like a petulant schoolboy. Angel hated how easy it was for Spike to draw him into such childish verbal battles.

Spike clucked his tongue, shaking his head sadly.  "Didn't think you were man enough to do the right thing.  No...not the great Angelus.  Still too much of the demon in you, eh?  Have to stick around, revel in the pain you've created just a little while longer, squeeze out a few more nightmares, maybe a flashback or two.  Must make sure that she's doesn't know a moment's peace or happiness, eh?"

"You've been watching too much daytime TV, Spike," came Angel's cold reply.

Spike backed away, as if standing that close to Angel was like being near a full-size crucifix.  "Look, mate," he said, the mocking tone gone from his voice and in its stead increasing anger and obvious concern.  "This is not some episode of Dark Shadows I'm talking about.  This is Willow's life, and you've mucked it up enough already."  His voice softened, his eyes losing some of the icy anger that Angel had become familiar with over the past few days.  "She's not as strong as she looks or pretends to be, Angel.  She never was."

Even the near pleading aspect of Spike's words, or that fact that he'd actually called him 'Angel' instead of 'Angelus' couldn't dampen the dark vampire's bitterness towards the blond demon, who was now walking away.  Unable to let Spike have the last word, Angel quickly blurted out: "I know I've hurt Willow in the past, but I'll make it up to her."

Spike stopped in his tracks, a look of sheer incredulity on his face as he turned back toward his pseudo-sire.  "You don't actually have the slightest bloody idea what you put her through, do you?"

Caught off guard by the bewildered look on Spike's face, Angel frowned, unsure of what Spike was getting at and not liking that feeling at all.  "I bit her...hurt her, I know that..."

"Bit her?" Spike laughed mirthlessly, throwing his head back and his arms out to his sides as if to ask God what he'd done to deserve this.  Then, shaking his head, he fixed Angel with another astounded look.  "*Hurt* her?" he repeated.

"From the scars on her neck, I'd say not as many times as you have."

Spike's grin was almost boastful, and when topped with a raised brow, he looked downright proud of himself.  Angel wanted to rip that scarred brow from his pale flesh.  "I'm talking about a lot more than some holes in her throat, you bloody pillock."

Angel remained silent, unwilling to aid Spike in his newest game, yet unable to make himself turn and walk away.  Angel was fully aware of the fact that he'd hurt Willow in more than physical ways, and since being souled, he had always been thankful for her strength.  It was due in no small part to that stalwart inner streak of hers that she'd managed to survive her dealings with him, sanity intact.  Willow's strength, coupled with an almost saintly forgiving nature, had made him what he is today.

"In London...when you found her that first time, bit her, and she escaped...you recall that night?"  Spike didn't want or expect Angel to answer, so he continued on.  "It was a particularly savage bite, that, mate.  Real nasty piece of work.  Something I'd expect more from a fledgling than the mighty Angelus..."  Shrugging, Spike paused long enough for that to sink in, but  Angel didn't even flinch.  Spike dug deeper.  "Yeah, you took quite a chunk out of the poor girl.  Bet you can still taste her, can't you?  Quite tasty is our Willow."

That at least got a reaction out of the dark vampire.  "Don't push me, Spike!" he snarled, taking one long stride that put him directly in Spike's path.  He didn't touch him, although his hands were aching to grab him by the collar, lifting until his boots left the pavement.  "If it weren't for Willow, I'd have taken you out the moment I knew you were back!"

Spike went on as though nothing had happened, as if Angel weren't standing in front of him, threatening his unlife.  "What do you think happened after she managed to escape you that night?"

Angel had heard overheard Willow's quick account of that fateful night, but the details had been scanty.  He'd always assumed that was because Willow didn't want to reveal his part in the events to Giles.  But now Spike was insinuating that there was so much more to it than that.

A sinking feeling tugged at Angel's soul, making a small part of him want to turn and run away before it was too late, but the larger part of him wanted to hear Spike's version.  Preparing himself for the worst, Angel stood still under Spike's scornful gaze, and listened.

"By the time I found her," Spike began, "collapsed in a puddle of her own blood on the floor of my little hovel, she was barely alive. Only reason she hadn't bled to death was that time travel spell.  Crikey, she was a mess, all wet and covered in blood and muck.  I think she'd crawled through every sewer in London to escape you...and to get to me."  He said the last part slowly, emphasizing it with a telling look.

"I've heard this story before, Spike," Angel informed him before he could stop himself.

"Ah..." Spike smirked, taking out a cigarette, tapping it on the pack, and then slipping it back into his pocket.  He took his time lighting the cigarette before continuing his story.  "But do you know how she begged me to bite her that night?" he asked knowingly through an exhale of smoke.  "Half insane she was, made Drusilla look like a bloody Rhodes Scholar.  On her hands and knees...on my *bed*...she pleaded with me to drink her. When I wouldn't, Red tried to seduce me into it instead.  There she was, kneeling half-dressed on my bed, blood dripping down her neck from this bloody great gash in her throat, begging for me to..."  Spike's voice trailed off at the vivid memory.  "Bloody hell she was beautiful," he said softly, a strange half-smile on his face as he stared fixedly at the end of his burning cigarette for a few long moments.

Angel balled his fists, too angry and filled with disgust by Spike's words to actually see the bigger picture they were creating.  God how he wanted to beat Spike to a pulp.  His cocky attitude, his constant insinuations about his relationship with Willow, just the way Spike held his head seemed reason enough to remove it from the rest of his body.

Spike seemed to snap out of it as he met Angel's cold, infuriated glare.  A sly smile twisted at his lips.  "No, you didn't know about that, did you?  What *you* *reduced* her to?"

Angel flinched, as if slapped.  "And being the gentleman that you are, you had to oblige the lady, didn't you?"  Angel told himself to shut up, but his mouth didn't seem to want to cooperate.  "I've seen your handiwork allover her neck..."  The look of joyous victory on Spike's face was proof enough to Angel that he should have kept quiet, the quirking of his blond brow seeming to laugh: "*Only* on her neck?"

"As a matter of fact, I didn't oblige the lady," Spike informed him, much to Angel's surprise and relief.  His relief was short lived.  "Instead, I calmed her down a bit by reminding her that I wasn't you.  That *I* wasn't an animal."  He paused long enough for Angel to recover from that verbal blow before striking again.  "I took care of her, held her during her nightmares even, until she was fit enough to flee from England to escape you."  Spike flicked the barely smoked cigarette to the ground, but didn't grind it out.  He left the stub burning in the gutter as he continued to punish the other vampire.

"And not that it's any of your business, but those marks on her neck, and elsewhere, they came much later in our relationship.  Willingly.  Sanely.  Enthusiastically, I might add."

"No wonder she hated you so much when I brought her back to London.  You used Willow until you were bored with her, or until you could get Drusilla, and then you abandoned her to me."  Angel sneered at the other vampire.  "Yes, you're quite the saint, Spike.  A true friend."

Spike shook his head, pursing lips as he finally ground out the glowing cigarette stub.  "Like I told you before, Red and I have sorted that all out.  I came clean, she forgave me, and life went bloody on, didn't it?"

"Now, I know what you're thinking, Angelus," Spike quickly added before Angel had a chance to regroup.  "You figure that if she could forgive me for that betrayal, then she can forgive you as well, right?  What you're forgetting is that everything I did during those few torturous hours when we were all together under one roof, I did to save her from you.  It wasn't nice, it wasn't pretty, and I've never denied that I found some satisfaction in the whole game, but it worked, didn't it?  Because of me, she's home and you've been castrated.  In the end, Red thanked me, Angelus.  She *thanked* me for *everything* I did.  I wouldn't hold my breath expecting to hear the same if I were you, Angelus."

Angel was staring at the ground now, his dark eyes focused past the remains of Spike's crushed cigarette. His will to continue meeting Spike's mocking eyes no matter what, had begun to erode under the torrent of dark emotions rushing through him.  He didn't want to believe Spike, he knew he shouldn't believe Spike after all his past deceptions and betrayals, and yet...

"But I digress," Spike started in again, sadistically, coldly.  "I'm supposed to be telling you what *you've* done to hurt Red, not what I've done to save her."  Spike grinned when Angel actually winced and his soulful brown eyes rose to search hateful blue ones.  "What I'm trying to get through that thick sloping forehead of yours is that the pain you've caused her goes so much more than skin deep.  I don't know how you did it, mate, but in spite of everything I did to stop it, you still got inside her...mind, body and soul, Angelus.  You wormed your way in so that even when she was safe from you, you still ate away at her, poisoning her until she didn't even know who she was anymore."

"Considering everything she's been through, Willow seems fine.  She's a lot stronger than you think," Angel insisted.  But who was he trying to convince with words he didn't believe, not even for a moment...Spike or himself?

It was that cold, intractable look on Angel's face that was the final straw for Spike.  He grabbed the plackets of his red button-down shirt and ripped them apart, sending several buttons flying to the ground.  Spike yanked the shirt out of his jeans, then grabbed the collar of his black T-shirt and easily ripped it diagonally from collarbone to the side of his chest.

"See this?" Spike jabbed a pale finger at the large, round scar just above his heart.  "This is from getting a damned chair leg shoved into my chest by our favorite redhead!"

Angel's lips curved into a cruel smile.  "You deserved it.

"No, *you* deserved it, mate," Spike snarled. "When she was busy playing 'hide the chair leg' with me not long after faking our departure, she thought I was you.  To save her, I *made* her think I was you."

Angel looked him up and down skeptically. "She must have really been insane to think that you were me," Angel jeered, but inwardly he was sickened by his own words and by the unmistakable truth in them.  Yes, if Spike's story was to be believed, Willow must have been half-crazed to make such an error.  He didn't want to believe, but again, he did.

"It's not hard to be you, mate." Spike moved until he was directly illuminated by a nearby streetlight.  He used it as a stage performer would a spotlight.  "Just throw on that nancy-boy accent of yours, get a lobotomy, and I'm suddenly Angelus..."  Spike assumed a pose that was somehow both threatening and comical at the same time.  He kept his jaw slack while scrunching up his forehead, as if were suffering from an excruciating headache.  "Ah, there's me Rose...me love...me flower," he drawled in a thick Irish brogue.  "Now if I could only find me brain and me bottle of whiskey..."

While Angel didn't think Spike looked anything like him, the imitation of his voice was quite alarming in its accuracy.  Then in the blink of an eye, he was only Spike again, a look that Angel found that no less dangerous or painful.

"I made her choose, made her choose between her...desire for Angelus--an attraction that sickened and disgusted her and still does to this day--and her own life.  This," Spike informed the other vampire, tapping on the curved scar near his collarbone, "is the result of her choice.  In the end, she chose life and staked you.  No Angelus...no Angel..."  Spike gave him a cold, calculated look that clearly showed how much he wished that were true.

"After that, she came to her senses," Spike continued when Angel, standing still as stone, made no comment.  "But for a moment, Red truly believed that she had willingly killed Angelus and therefore you, Angel."  Spike's smile was triumphant, making Angel reconsider ripping his lips off.  "Life was just peachy after that."

Not wanting to show any more weakness in front of the other vampire than he already had, Angel focused on his hatred for Spike in order to help him momentarily ignore his waxing guilt. "Guess we need to work on her aim," was all he said.

Spike shook his head in amusement, not buying Angel's forced stoicism for a moment.  He took the time to fix his clothes as best he could, closing the torn flap in his tee before tucking it in, then fastening the few buttons that remained on his other shirt.  When his chest was no longer open to Angel's prying eyes, Spike's lecture continued.  "Now, the point of my little story, you great wally, is this:

"You think just because you have a soul now that all is forgotten?  At least the scars that *I* gave to Red are all on the outside."  Spike didn't really believe that, but he was confident that he and Willow had worked through those issues.  The scars that he had caused her, both inside and out, had truly healed, he believed, and their relationship was stronger for it.  "But what you've done to her, Angelus, will last for an eternity."

"For someone who claims to know Willow so well, you aren't giving her much credit, Spike."

"You don't believe me?  Fine.  Then why don't you go tell her how you really feel, Angelus.  Go tell the girl you love her, and let's see how she reacts.  I'll give odds that at best she'll yell at you...saying something like, 'Love me?  How the bloody hell can you love me, you arrogant, swaggering pillock, when you don't even know me?'"  Spike laughed at his own insult while Angel's face remained tight.  "But inside, Angelus...inside where it counts, it will kill her.  The guilt and disgust will eat away at her again."

"Maybe you can't help yourself," Spike continued.  "Willow told me that you've more Angelus in you than the old Angel had.  And by the way I saw you treat her tonight back at the kiddies' club, I think she's right.  It's funny, but as much as I despised the broody bore you were before, at least *he* wouldn't keep torturing Willow this way...touching her, teasing her, breaking out the old accent every now and again to see what kind of repulsive feelings he could wring out of her..."

Angel wanted to say something, anything that would counter the horrid truths spilling from Spike's cruel mouth, but there was nothing...only a cancerous feeling that the last century of penance and waiting had been the easy part.  Only now was he truly going to suffer for what he'd done.

Spike was surprised by the other vampire's relative silence, the way Angel stood there, simply taking his every verbal blow.  He was hurting Angel, of that Spike was bloody well sure, and he was getting through to him as well.  Maybe Angel didn't say it, but Spike could see comprehension dawning in the hidden depths of Angel's bronze eyes.  Unfortunately, Spike wanted to see more than just comprehension.  Spike wanted Angel to suffer tenfold for everything that he had put the both of them through, and so he didn't let up.  Not yet.

"If you keep doing this to her, she'll shut down.  I won't allow her to turn in on herself until she nearly implodes again.  If you truly do have yourself a soul, Angel, then you'd better back the bloody hell off before it's too late because there's no guarantee that I'll be able to save her next time."

Again, the darker vampire was silent, keeping his pain to himself.

"Bloody hell, Angel!" Spike was yelling now, his anger truly getting the better of him for the first time in a very long time.  But when he thought of how close he'd come to losing Willow in Vienna, then again that fateful night in Romania... "We haven't even been back four bloody days yet!  Four days ago you were trying to--"

"Enough!" Angel finally cried, no longer able to hide all the suffering Spike was inflicting on him...and no longer wanting to.  "I know, Spike!  I know!  Damn, don't you think I know that I was going to...what I was going to do to her?" His voice choked and his knees almost buckled, but he forced his brown eyes to lock on Spike's steely blue ones.  "You saved her from me, Spike."

"Finally figured that out, did you?"

There was a long pause before Spike's sneer was wiped away with only two words from Angel.

"Thank you."

Angel's words were spoken so openly, honestly and with such a look of indebtedness on his face that Spike's cockiness ebbed somewhat.

They stared at each other for a moment or two, neither sure what they were looking for in the other's eyes, or for that matter, who the other vampire really was.  Then without another word, they turned and walked away...neither quite the same as they were before...

...and neither noticing the two creatures watching them from a safe distance.  When both vampires had gone their separate ways and were lost to their sight, they exchanged lidless glances.

The first one checked the nondescript silver-toned watch on his bony wrist.  The  second, who was much shorter than the other but no less bizarre in appearance, shook his head at the first, then checked his Rolex in a manner that was unmistakably smug.

*****

Willow had little recollection of her walk home once she had left Angel.  As she quickly strolled the final few blocks, she kept asking herself if she'd done the right thing.  Had she said too much to Angel?  Was she too hard on him?  Sure, she'd apologized, but hadn't she also basically asked him to leave her alone yet again?  On the other hand, Willow also felt as if she hadn't said enough.  Comments like, "Quit looking at me like I'm a saint, Angel.  Like I'm your personal savior!" or "I'm not a reward, Angel!  I'm not your prize for being a good boy all of these years!" had been on the tip of her tongue.  Luckily, for a change, she'd been able to hold her tongue before she said something that she'd really regret later.

This time, she reminded herself when her house came into view, there would be no apology, for she'd spoken the truth.  She only hoped that someday he would understand.

Telling herself for what felt like the millionth time in her life that she'd done the right thing, Willow was just about to climb her porch steps when something she'd been dreading finally happened.

"So she does exist..."

At the sound of the gentle yet eerie voice, Willow spun around to see Drusilla emerging from the shadows at the side of her porch.  "Drusilla," she murmured thickly.  "It's, er, nice to see you...awake..."

Drusilla simply gave her a lazy smile as she wandered closer.  Her dark eyes widened when she passed the flower-covered trellis on one side of the porch, and she stopped to quietly smell one of the giant white roses. "I was starting to think my Spike had made her up...just to make me jealous, my naughty Spike."  She snapped the delicate bloom from its stem, not appearing to mind the thorns that tore at her pale skin. Finally, she looked from the flower in her bloody hand to where Willow stood at the bottom of the steps, nervously clutching the handrail.  "But there she is, quite real by my eyes."

Even though the vampiress had yet to say her name, Willow knew that she was the person to whom Drusilla was referring...just as she knew that Drusilla hadn't popped by merely to do a little late-night gardening.

"Oh, I'm real, all right," Willow replied impatiently, her eyes glued to the vampire's every move.  "Flesh and blood."  The flash of amber in Drusilla's dark eyes made Willow regret her unfortunate choice of words.

"Flesh and blood..." Drusilla hissed then deliberately sniffed at the air.  She suddenly dropped the flower and slowly crushed it beneath her slippered foot.  "Yes...warm flesh, warm blood..."

"Um, yes, the warmth tends to come with the breathing...it's this whole big circulatory thing..." Willow responded, more gently this time, then started edging her way to the bottom step.  No matter what Spike had said about protecting her, Willow was not going to take any chances.  Slowly sidling up the stairs, Willow watched warily as Drusilla plucked one beautiful rose in full bloom after another.

"Not even English..." Drusilla murmured, before dropping each rose to the ground.

Willow was on the porch, feeling her pocket for a key, when Drusilla ran out of healthy blooms to pluck.  The redhead froze. Drusilla turned to stare at Willow, looking her up and down unabashedly.  Willow had to make a concerted effort not to squirm under the pressure of her cold assessment.

She most definitely felt as if she were being measured for something, and found wanting.  Which was probably a good thing, Willow realized.  When Drusilla made no move to stop her, Willow unlocked the front door and pushed it open, readying her escape, but she stayed outside, one step from safety.  As the scent of the roses was brought to Willow on the gentle summer's night breeze, she wondered at the real reason for the visit by Spike's paramour.  Wondered and worried.

With a pinched, disapproving frown, Drusilla finally stopped her piercing inspection.  Pushing her shoulders back, she narrowed her eyes.   "Well, Rose--"

"It's Willow, actually," the redhead interrupted curtly, answering the other's condescending tone in kind.

"--I can not say that I see what all the fuss is about," Drusilla continued, as if she hadn't heard her.  She turned back to the remaining wilted flowers.  "A most common sort, not very pretty, I think.  Some might even think it a hot-house flower, but not I.  No, I see it for the weed that it is."

Willow could feel the rest of her patience quickly slipping away, but she wasn't foolish enough to let herself get dragged into a cat fight, verbal or otherwise, with the vampire.  Instead, Willow took one of her cathartic breaths in an effort to remain calm under the flimsily veiled insults.  Applying a nonchalant air that one could only acquire during the forced politeness of Victorian salons, Willow actually smiled and said, "I assure you, the fuss was not about me, Drusilla.  It was about you."

This made Drusilla smile.  She snapped off one of the deader roses, its leaves wilted and blackening, and brought it to her nose.  The whole time her cold, dark eyes were pinned on Willow.  Willow saw more than glimmers of insanity in those dead eyes.  There were glimmers of other emotions simmering there as well, darker more dangerous ones.

As if sensing that Willow was seeing something that Drusilla preferred to keep private, she closed her eyes briefly.  When they reopened, they were far less revealing.  "Yesss...  My Spike changed history for me."

Willow stayed silent.  What could she say?  Other than, "Yeah, well, there's no accounting for taste, is there?"  But she didn't say it, instead she nodded mutely.

"For *me*," Drusilla repeated, taking a step closer to the porch steps. "Not for her."  Drusilla raised the dead rose to her face once again, inhaling the pungent odor of overripe flowers.  "Not for you," she said to the flower.  With a mischievous grin, Drusilla began plucking the darkened, withering petals one-by-one and letting them float to the ground.  All the while her lips were moving.  Willow heard no words, but she didn't need to in order to recognize the classic, 'He loves me, he loves me not' routine.

Or was it 'He loves *her*, he loves *her* not'?

Willow shook her head in dismay, her feet itching to dash through the open doorway to the safety of her home.  Perhaps Spike's idea of 'an almost sane Drusilla' was a little different from hers.

When Drusilla was on her fifth or sixth dead flower, Willow'd had enough.  It had already been a long day, and she was tired of the other woman's theatrics.

"Look, Drusilla...We are both intelligent women..." she said wearily, barely managing to keep a straight face.  "Worldly women--".

"Drusilla!"  Spike called out as he stalked quickly up the path. He pulled Dru roughly into his arms without even a glance in Willow's direction.  "Why are you here, love?"

"I was looking for you, my sire-not-sire, my Spike," Drusilla replied breathlessly.  "I know how you can't resist a stroll through the garden on such a lovely night."  Her fingers traced patterns over Spike's heart.  "I was hoping I could help you with the weeding," she added in a haunting voice that sent a chill through Willow.  "You must get the roots, too, my Spike, or else it will never completely die...never..."

Spike kissed her softly on the lips, adoringly.  "I've been looking everywhere for you, Drusilla.  You know you shouldn't be here, pet," he told her in an almost parental tone, but his hungry look was anything but paternal.  "Very naughty indeed."  Willow found herself rolling her eyes at the insinuating tone to the vampire's voice.

Drusilla pouted prettily.  "Please don't be cross with me, my Spike, but I had to see with my own two eyes, didn't I?  Had to see, but now I'm afraid that I don't understand."

"Understand what, pet?"

"What all the bother is about, my Spike," she replied with a pointed look in Willow's direction.

Huffing in irritation, Willow crossed her arms over her chest.  "I couldn't agree more."

Finally looking at Willow, he grinned, raising an amused brow.  Still watching her, Spike whispered something in Drusilla's ear that the redhead couldn't hear.  Whatever it was, it must have delighted Drusilla because she began giggling quite girlishly before Spike had finished.

"Now who's being naughty, my Spike?" she sighed happily as Spike continued to murmur in her ear, nipping at a lobe and the slender column of her neck a time or two, until Willow could have sworn that the vampiress was about to swoon.  Willow was actually tapping her foot in annoyance when Spike finally pushed Drusilla gently away, saying, "Go now, love...I'll be right behind you after I take care of some unfinished business."

Drusilla scowled, looking between Willow and Spike.  "Promise me you won't plant any more flowers without me, my Spike?  You may weed, but no more planting.  Promise me?"

"Er, okay, Dru," Spike said in placating manner.  "Never any gardening without you, Drusilla.  Only with you."

This seemed to please her immensely, because with one last lingering and nearly violent kiss, Drusilla strolled away.

By the time Drusilla was truly out of sight, Willow was standing on the top step with her hands on her hips, glaring down at him.  "So now I'm just *business*, am I?" she asked slyly.

Spike pursed his lips, looking Willow up and down approvingly.  "Any time you want to make this about pleasure, Red, just let me know."

Willow smiled, relaxing under Spike's calming familiarity.  "That little display of yours with Drusilla...that was..." Willow grimaced, shaking her had as she struggled to find the right words.  "That was...icky, Spike," was the best she could come up with.

Spike's grin only broadened as he casually climbed the steps to meet her on the porch.  "Jealous, Red?"

"Nauseous, Spike," Willow retorted with a thoroughly disgusted look on her face. She took a seat on the top step.  "And you can wipe that arrogant smirk off your face right now, buster.  I have no intention of fighting for you, or over you--"

"How about *under* me then?" he jeered, but having heard it all before, Willow ignored the innuendo and finished what she had to say.

"--but that doesn't mean that I'm going to just stand here and let her insult me."

Spike grew more serious as he leaned back against one of the porch columns.  "Are you forgetting who she is, Willow?"

Willow's mouth actually dropped open for a moment as she stared up at him.  "Forget?" she exclaimed in disbelief.  "How the hell could I forget who she is when the vast majority of my incredibly screwed up life has revolved around her in one way or another!"  She wanted to hit him suddenly, as it once again became glaringly obvious how splendidly the new timeline had worked out for him, what with his back-from-the-dead-again girlfriend and his new-found wealth.

"What I mean is, she's a vampire, Red.  May not serve to piss her off."

"Duh," Willow snapped at him, then sighed when she realized she was unfairly taking out all of her frustrations regarding Angel on the blond vampire.  "I know, Spike," she said much more calmly.  "And if I ever see her again, I'll try to behave."

"Good, because she's stronger than she was before."  Spike's proud grin shifted into more of a concerned look.  "Which means she's more dangerous than before, Willow."  At the brief flash of apprehension in Willow's eyes, he hurried to add, "I've talked to her, Red.  She knows you're off limits.  She won't hurt you."

Willow shrugged.  Oddly enough, it felt as if a crazy, jealous girlfriend was the least of her problems at the moment.  "You know, you think she'd be a little more grateful to me considering everything I went through for you two.  It's not like I want a thank you card or anything, but if she could cut down a bit on the looks of death, that would be thanks enough in my book."

Spike laughed, then pushed away from the column and jumped down a few steps to stand on the sidewalk below Willow and look up at her.  "You let me worry about Drusilla, Red.  I told you once I wouldn't let her hurt you, and I still intend to keep that promise.  Besides, you two really should try to get along."

"Um, why?"

"You two do have a lot in common."

"Besides experience wearing corsets, what else?"

"Me."

Willow groaned.  She should have known.  "Dealing with your enormous ego?"

"And dealing with other...*bits* of me as well."

Willow tried not to smile...she tried very, very hard not to grin at his innuendo, but Spike was standing there, hands in his pockets, head tilted just slightly to the side, lips pursed, jaw clenched, one brow raised, and a sinful gleam to his eye.  He was devilishly charming when he looked like that, and Willow had no doubt that he was quite aware of the effect he could still have on her.  She was only human, after all...or at least she hoped so.

Still, she sighed and rolled her eyes, too tired for their usual games.  "Save your naughty-boy charm for Drusilla, Spike.  I have enough problems without having your jealous lover stopping by to do some more, er, gardening."  She looked over at what was left of the flowers and frowned.  "I thought you said she was sane."

Spike grinned happily.  "She is."

Willow skipped down the porch stairs to stand in front of the mutilated rose bushes, then groaned when she saw all of the damage.  How was she going to explain that to her parents.  "Sane?  Look at what she did to my roses!"

Spike cocked a scarred brow at the bare stems and the carpet of petals beneath his feet, then shrugged.  "My Dark Goddess definitely has an air for the dramatic, but other than a strange new hatred of flowers, she's much more lucid than she was before."

"Then your 'sane-o-meter' must run on a different scale than mine, because mine was definitely dipping into the danger zone tonight."  Willow shivered as she recalled the darker emotions she detected in Drusilla's eyes the one time the vampiress had truly looked at her.

Spike seemed unaware of her distress, though.  "Did she dance about the place, asking if you could hear the bloody stars singing?" he asked, and once again pulled the pack of cigarettes from a duster pocket, selecting the least crumpled one.

"No."

"Did Dru invite you to a tea party with her damned dolls?" he asked her casually.

"Er, no..." she admitted, and Spike lit the cigarette and took a long drag before continuing his questioning.

"Then did she talk in nonsensical nursery rhymes, like a whacked-out Mother Goose?"

"Um...not exactly..."

"Then by Drusilla standards, she's as sane as you or I."

"As sane as you or I?" Willow laughed, shaking her head at the vampire.  "If that was supposed to make me feel better, you failed miserably."

Spike took a seat on the top step, putting him at eye level with the standing redhead.  "I told you I won't let her hurt you, Red.  And I won't.  She knows you're off-limits and she would never go against me.  But she's a woman, so she likes to feel out the competition, so to speak."

"Competition?"  Willow could have smacked him.  "Have you bothered to tell her that I don't want you?  That as far as I'm concerned, you two deserve each other and can live happily ever after in vampiric wedded bliss?"

Spike took another thoughtful puff, letting the smoke slowly escape from his lips and nostrils. "Not in so many words, pet."

When Willow didn't say anything, instead leaping past him up the steps and heading for the front door, Spike hurriedly added, "I will, Red, I will.  Nothing to get your knickers in a knot about."

Willow nodded her head, as if to say 'good', then said, "Spike, I'm really tired.  It's been a long day, and I didn't get much sleep last night, as usual.  So why don't you go *reassure* Drusilla and let me get to bed?"

"He thinks he's in love with you, Willow."

Willow stopped, one hand on the door knob.  She glanced behind her, hoping that the look on Spike's face would reveal the declaration to be one of his crueler jokes.  He had to be joking, didn't he?  But Spike looked painfully serious as he dropped his cigarette on the ground, turning to look up at her.

"He-he told you that?" she asked, her voice shaking in time with her trembling hand.  She crossed her arms about her chest to steady herself.

"Didn't have to.  It's written all over the poof's face, isn't it?  Didn't deny it, either."

Willow frowned, forgetting about going inside for a moment, she moved back toward the steps to look down at Spike.

"He doesn't even know me, Spike.  He's just...grateful and kinda confused.  He's set me up on some pedestal and looks at me through rose-colored glasses...excuse the pun," she added when Spike groaned.

"Did you really think a change of hair and a pair of leather pants would knock you out of that ivory tower?"

"No, of course not.  I just thought it might help if I no longer looked like Rose.  Besides," she said flatly, "I was in desperate need of some new clothes and a haircut.  It's not natural for a woman to go a year without changing her look, let alone a century."

"And have I told you yet just how much I approve of your new look, Red?" With his hands deeply embedded in the pockets of his duster, Spike languidly climbed the porch steps to stand in front of Willow. He eyed her up and down appreciatively, then in a husky tone that sent delicious but unwanted shivers down her spine, murmured, "I always knew you'd look good in leather."

"Hate to disappoint you," she said with a nervous laugh, "but I have no intention of turning into a biker chick.  This is the only leather in my new ensemble.  Well, except for shoes and stuff."

"And I like being able to see your throat..." he drawled, then tucked an errant lock of the shortened hair behind her ear.

Willow swallowed, hard, her fingers rising to run absentmindedly over her own neck.  "I don't think Angel does.  He was staring at it tonight, and it wasn't in a hungry way.  For a moment, he seemed angry."

"Angry how?" Spike queried, turning serious again.

Willow shrugged.  "I don't know.  I don't understand him, Spike.  Sometimes he's so much like Angelus that when he looks at me, I can hardly breathe."  She paused, her eyes shifting to focus past something over his shoulder.  "And sometimes, I don't want to breathe..." she added in a faraway voice that was so whisper soft, Spike almost didn't hear her, even though he was standing directly in front of her.  By the distant look on her face, Spike wasn't even sure she was aware that she'd spoken the words aloud.

His jaw clenched so tightly that he could feel the veins popping out at his temples, Spike spun on his heels and jumped down the steps, muttering, "'Night, Red."  Feeling like Willow had just confirmed his worst fears, the ones that he'd revealed earlier to Angel, Spike disappeared into the shadows of the neighboring houses before Willow could even offer a response.

Bone weary and very familiar with the blond vampire's vacillating moods, Willow thought little of it as she finally headed inside.

As her door closed, the two creatures that had been watching Angel and Spike earlier, stepped out from the large, leafy shrub that they'd been hiding in across the street.  They looked first at each other and then at their watches, before shaking their elongated, slick-skinned heads.  Just then, a third one appeared, causing the other two to shake their heads more slowly, as if in censure.  In unison, the original duo pointed to their watches, tapping them sharply to show the time to the tardy third.

The last creature simply shrugged, then pulled out a Palm Pilot.  Large flashing digits revealed the current time on its tiny screen.  The smaller one with the Rolex smacked the third on the arm, but the blow was ignored with a rolling of lidless eyes.

Simultaneously, the three checked their various time-keeping devices, smiled, and then vanished without a trace.
 

~Chapter Thirteen~

The fifth day since Willow's return began as a beautiful summer morning.  A soft breeze drifted in through her open balcony doors, carrying the warm scent of newly mowed grass, a hint of salty sea air, and the sickly sweet bouquet of rotting roses.

Willow took a deep breath, not to deliberately sample the fresh air but in order to steel herself for what she'd find when she finally gathered the courage to open her eyes.

She was standing before her full-length mirror, her eyelids squeezed tightly shut behind trembling hands.  While mornings universally meant the start of a brand new day, this particular morning meant much more to Willow. It was truth time, as far as her mortality was concerned.

From the very second she had awakened after a fitful night's sleep, Willow had successfully resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to run her fingers through her hair. Instead, she'd gotten out of bed and with shaking hands threw open her balcony doors to let the morning sun brighten the room.  If all went well, the rays would fall upon hair that was still relatively short and fiery red.  If not...well, Willow didn't want to think about that right now.

Another deep breath, a whispered prayer to anyone or anything who might be listening, and then Willow slowly opened her eyes, which were still blanketed behind her hands.  Then, even more carefully, she parted *only* the fingers that covered the right eye and saw...

...short, red hair.

At the sight of her brilliant-red cropped locks shining in the sun, Willow sank to her knees while still managing to keep her left eye hidden.  Cautiously, as if afraid to trust only her right eye, she finally lowered both hands to really study her image.

Except for the fact that her hair was thoroughly mussed from sleep, not to mention sticking up in a few places, it was the same hair she'd gone to bed with.  It hadn't miraculously grown back and the color hadn't changed, which could mean only one thing.

"You're human again, Willow Rosenberg," she told her smiling reflection.  "Congratulations!"

After jumping up and down with glee, not to mention a few hoots and hollers that could wake the dead, Willow's next thought was to...well, actually wake the dead.  She wanted to share the news with Spike.  Her hand stopped before it reached the phone, then fell back to her side.  Unfortunately, she hadn't thought to get his cell phone number when he'd called the night before, and she doubted that Drusilla would appreciate her showing up on their doorstep, even if it was to hear Willow say, "Good news, Spike!  Guess who's finally going to age and die?"  Looked like the glad tidings would have to wait for Spike's next impromptu visit.

Still wearing a goofy grin, Willow collapsed back on her bed, arms spread wide as she stared up at the ceiling.  Her smile faded somewhat.  She wanted to cry and scream and shout...she wanted to share her enormous sense of relief and joy with someone, anyone, but in her heart she knew that there was no one who'd understand.  In truth, even if Spike were more easily accessible, Willow wasn't quite sure how he'd take the news.

Willow flipped on to her stomach, resting her head on her hands as she stared at the phone.  She knew that it was a little strange to be relieved that her immortality was gone.  It wasn't that she was in a hurry to die, or even grow old, for that matter, but the idea of watching her friends and family age and die while she stayed the same threatened to reopen the floodgates of guilt.  She already felt bad enough about many of the changes she'd wrought, albeit unintentionally, but those feelings of remorse would only be a trickle compared to the deluge of guilt that continued immortality would create.  Who am I to live when Buffy, probably the greatest Slayer ever, is destined to die young? she'd often asked herself throughout the years.

But in Willow's shrewd mind, guilt wasn't the only downside of immortality.  From her short stint as an immortal, she'd already had a taste of the kind of loneliness it could bring.  Having spent much of the time alone, the journey had left her with a bitter, hollow feeling, a cold ache that could still creep in on long sleepless nights and even longer empty days.  Curling into a ball, hoping to stave of the icy stab of isolation, Willow hugged her pillow tight.

It was easier for vampires, she figured.  They hung around with their own kind, other ageless demons, without many attachments to mortals.  If any strange relationship did develop between vampire and human, she doubted the latter remained human for very long.  But she didn't want to be a vampire, no matter what the payoff.  Not even a vampire with a soul, like Angel, or one with phenomenal willpower and the ability to love, like Spike.

Spike had sometimes teased her about what a great vampire she'd make, but she would just laugh and wave the comment away, usually retorting something like: "I don't think you want to be stuck with me for eternity, Spike.  Just imagine how much money you'd lose to me in poker!  Besides, I like you too much to do that to you...eternity with me, dead or alive, might make you take up stake whittling as a hobby..."

Spike's usual response was a half-hearted chuckle, a comment that it would take more than an eternity for her to beat him in poker, and then a quick change of subject.  Willow knew Spike cared about her, and because of that, he'd have mixed feelings about her eventual death.  But Spike also knew her better than anyone else ever had and possibly ever would, which meant that he would know how she felt about immortality, whether it resulted from a spell or from being a vampire.  Willow had complete faith that Spike would respect her wishes.

With that sobering thought, Willow climbed back out of bed to have another look at herself in the mirror. She smiled at her short-haired reflection.  In her opinion, she definitely looked more than 17 years old.  Maybe she could even pass for 21 on a good day...or better yet, on a *bad night*, she thought with a mischievous grin.  She wouldn't mind being able to purchase the occasional glass of wine or pint of ale, and hated the idea of having to wait until she physically looked old enough.

"And now it's finally safe to have sex!" a little voice inside her head said out of nowhere.  Willow's eyes rounded at her own thoughts.  Where the heck did that come from? she wondered.  Most likely, it had more than a little to do with her dreams that night.  She couldn't recall many details, but she remembered enough to bring a blush to her cheeks and make her skin tingle deliciously.

"Well, at least they made a nice change from nightmares," she told herself as she happily skipped down the hall toward the bathroom.

After showering and getting dressed, Willow spent the rest of the morning brushing up on her computer skills.  Unfortunately, while she'd been trying very hard to give the computer her complete attention, fully applying herself to rediscovering her previous skills and love for the microprocessor, Willow found that her attention kept drifting.  Her gaze wandered as well, often landing longingly on her guitar, which was propped up in the corner, silently begging for her attention. In the end, the only way she could fight her desire to cradle the instrument in her arms and lose herself in music was by forcing herself to shut the guitar in its case and shove it in the closet.  Out of sight, out of mind, right?  Another erroneous platitude for which the author should be drawn and quartered, Willow thought to herself as she practiced some very basic hacking over and over again.  It was annoying at best, depressing at worst, to have to relearn skills that once came to her so easily and that she could still feel tugging at the fringes of her memory, when music came so easily to her now. But this was important, she reminded herself.  The others needed her computer proficiency, not her musical abilities.

In the end, Willow's efforts paid off.  After several hours, she felt more comfortable with the computer as many of her previous skills began to come back to her.  Willow felt more ready than ever to assume some of her old duties.

Fully prepared to act as if nothing had ever happened between her and Angelus, and as if Spike had never told her that he suspected Angel of being in love with her--in other words, fully prepared to be anything but herself--Willow headed to Slayer Central to meet up with the others, as expected.

"Yep, all I have to do is make it through this day without behaving like there's something special between Angel and me, then everything can finally start getting back to normal around here..." Willow muttered to herself in encouragement just before she opened the door to Slayer Central.

Xander looked up as Willow walked in.  She couldn't help grinning when she saw him leaning against one of the bookcases, leafing through what appeared to be a Witchblade comic.

"Afternoon, Xander."

"Hey, Wills!" Xander grinned up at her.  "May I take this opportunity to tell you that I'm still lovin' your new look?"

"You may, you just did, and thank you, kind sir," Willow laughed, bobbing a little curtsy.  Next she expected him to question her about the tattoos and piercings that she'd fibbed about the night before, but instead his smile faded as he took a closer look at her.

"Willow...where's your T-shirt?"

Willow glanced down at her plain black v-neck tee, tucked neatly into a pair of faded Levi's.  "Um, T-shirt?" she asked, glancing back up at Xander in confusion.

Xander flashed her the black tee he was wearing partially hidden under a Hawaiian shirt.  The T-shirt read in bold, crimson letters: 'Present Company Excluded'.  "You must have reminded us all a thousand times to wear this shirt today, and yet you waltz in here wearing a shirt completely devoid of clever sayings!"

Willow wanted to scratch her head and say:  "Huh?" but she restrained herself, keeping her outward appearance calm and somewhat apologetic.  "Oh, sorry," she said in a genuine tone, yet she grimaced on the inside, wondering when she was going to be able to quit apologizing for all of the things she'd 'forgotten'. Sure, she could have lied, claiming it was eaten by the dryer, that she'd spilt bleach on it, or that it had been stolen by the infamous laundry gnomes to join all the missing socks of the world, but she figured she'd told her friends enough lies lately.  So many she was afraid she's start slipping up.  Besides, sometimes playing stupid was simply easier. "It, uh, completely slipped my mind, Xander."

"Come on, Willow, how could you forget?  You'd even written it on my day planner!"

"*You* have a day planner?"  Cordy asked, hardly able to stifle a laugh as she wandered in from the back room.  The cheerleader was wearing a shirt similar to Xander's, although it was of a more feminine style, and much, much tighter.  As she walked by, Willow noticed that the back of the shirt also had the words: 'No Offense, Angel'.  Willow grinned as it all started to make sense.  It was a cute idea.

Shrugging, Xander took the can of soda Cordelia offered him.  "I do now.  Willow gave it to me, just so she could remind me about 'T-shirt Tuesday'."  He emphasized the last few words, giving Willow a frustrated look.

"Well, if she's not wearing hers, I'm not wearing mine!" Cordelia exclaimed, obviously not sharing her boyfriend's disappointment.  She glanced down at her own shirt with distaste.  "Message T-shirts are so out.  I feel like I should be at one of those Star Track conventions or something."

"It's Star *Trek*, sweetie."

"That's what I said!  Besides, this was all Willow's idea just because she wanted to make Angel feel more comfortable."

Xander gave Willow one of his 'please forgive Cordelia, she knows not what she says' looks.  "Yeah, that and it seems like every time we begin talking about demons and vampires one of us always ends up saying either 'No offense' or  'Present Company Excluded' to Angel.  The way I figure it, these babies should save each of us about 1000 words a year."  He looked at his girlfriend, who was raising a neatly groomed brow at him.  "Yeah, I did the math."

Cordelia rolled her eyes as she took a seat at the nearest table and began taking books out of her backpack.  "They way I look at it, *he's* the vampire, we're the humans," she said as she fished around in the bag for her pen.  "You don't see Angel wearing a shirt that says, 'Soul intact: No garlic or crosses required', do you?"

"Are you really afraid Angel's going to turn on us one day and feast on our tasty innards?" Xander asked his girlfriend skeptically.

"No, but I don't see why I have to commit fashion-ocide just because Willow's got a crush on Angel."  She turned her attention to the surprised redhead, who'd been trying very hard to stay out of the Angel-oriented conversation.  "Gap?"

Willow could only blink at her.

"Your shirt," Cordelia added, a familiar hint of exasperation making her voice sound sharp, even in the large room.  "Where'd you get it?"

"Oh, *The* Gap...yeah, I think that's where I bought it.  It's all kind of a blur now."

"Faded jeans and a black tee aren't exactly the height of fashion, Willow, but it's summer, so..."

Willow groaned.  Was Cordy going to rate every outfit she wore for the next few weeks?  If she did, Cordy was bound to be disappointed, so Willow thought to prepare the cheerleader...soften the blow a little.  "Cordelia, I'll leave you to continue being the fashionable one.  I was simply going for comfort..."  As in no corsets, no whalebone, no tight bodices, no pointy-toed shoes, no scratchy lace or umpteen layers of undergarments...she could go on and on and on...

Frowning, Cordelia opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment Buffy walked in.  "Howdy all!" she said brightly as she dropped her duffel bag on the floor with the others' backpacks.  She slid onto the table across from Cordelia. "So, am I late?  Is Angel up and about already?  Did my tardiness ruin the surprise of T-shirt Tuesday?"

Cordelia jerked a thumb at Willow.  "Willow forgot," she said in unison with Xander.

The Slayer's eyes widened in clear surprise as she finally took in Willow's attire.  "Willow!  Buffy scolded gently.  "How could you forget T-shirt Tuesday?"

This was going to be a long day, Willow found herself thinking.  Maybe I should slip out now on the pretense of getting my shirt and then come up with some excuse not to come back? she silently schemed, then immediately felt guilty for the thought and shoved it aside.  Still, the looks they were giving her weren't exactly making her feel at home...she wondered if anything could.

Pushing those thoughts aside as well, she smiled sheepishly at her friends.  "Sorry, guys.  It just sorta slipped my mind with everything else that's going on.  What if I promise to wear it twice next week?  Will you forgive me then?" she teased lightly, while at the same time wondering where her 'Angel T-shirt' actually was.  She definitely hadn't seen it during her big closet clean out the day before.  Maybe it was in The Pink Room?

"We'll forgive you this time, Willow," Buffy said with fake seriousness, yet Willow thought she detected more than a note of genuine gravity in her voice.  And the look in Buffy's eye made it apparent that the Slayer was concerned about something.  As Buffy continued in a lower voice, Willow began to understand the reason for her the somber tone. "With the mood Angel's been in lately, maybe we should try to wear the shirts every day...see if that'll cheer him up a little."

Xander sidled up to Willow, his voice a conspiratorial whisper as he glanced toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms, obviously checking for Angel.  He put a friendly arm around her shoulders.  "Yeah, Wills.  What's up with The Soul Man lately?"

Willow felt nauseous.  She really didn't enjoy lying to them or hiding her past and her relationships with Angelus and Spike, but something strong and compelling rooted deep within wouldn't allow Willow to tell them the truth.  Not yet.

Nevertheless, as Willow looked at the worried faces of her friends, her guilt almost got the better of her...at least until Buffy opened her mouth again.

"Did you two have a fight or something?" Buffy asked in a teasing tone that Willow found strangely grating.

"Yeah," Xander chimed in, giving her shoulders another amiable squeeze.  "You two are usually joined at the hip, but lately you're hips have been swaying solo."

Not liking the turn in the conversation, Willow forced an innocent smile.  "Stop exaggerating, Xander.  We're just friends.  Now, aren't you three supposed to be studying for a final?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

Cordelia looked up from her notes.  "Oh, please," she groaned as if Willow hadn't even spoken.  "You two are so cute together lately, what with all the angst and tension and all, that it's nauseating to watch.  We've just been waiting for at least one of you to wake up and see the smoochie potential."

Willow thought, and not for the first time, what an inane word 'smoochie' actually was.  "Uh, uh.  No, er, smoochies.  No kissing either," she added for her own amusement.

Hoping to escape her friends' embarrassing onslaught, Willow tried to duck under Xander's arm, but Buffy chose that moment to slide off the table and come to her side, effectively sandwiching Willow between her two well-meaning friends.

Willow knew what was coming; she could see the sympathy in Buffy's eyes...in all of their eyes, actually.  "What's wrong?" Buffy asked gently.  "Something was obviously up between you two last night.  Did you and Angel have an argument?"

"Angel and I aren't fighting," Willow repeated.  "We're just friends, nothing more.  Everything's fine," she lied in an even tone, but her friends looked skeptical.  "I think we both just have other things on our minds the moment."

"It's Oz, isn't it?"  Buffy asked sweetly, exchanging knowing looks with the others.

Willow stared at the blonde for a moment, a blank expression on her face as she tried to choose the best way to play this turn of events.  A little truth would probably go a long way right now, she decided.

"I find Oz...interesting," Willow softly admitted, smiling.

Buffy actually laughed.  "More interesting than Angel?  I mean, Oz is a great guy, but he's no Angel..."

Willow chuckled, shaking her head.  "No kidding?"

Buffy lowered her voice again.  "Willow, I know that you think that you aren't..." The Slayer hesitated, wincing at her own words, "...*good* enough for Angel..."

Willow was no longer laughing.  "What?"

"...and you wonder what he might see in you..."

"What?" she demanded again with wide-eyed incredulity.

"...but to give up on Angel for Oz?"  Now Buffy looked incredulous.  "That's--"

Willow held up her hands.  "Whoa!" she interrupted, slipping away to take a few steps back.  She looked each of them in the eye as she spoke.  "Hold it right there...Oz and Angel aren't even comparable!"

"Exactly," Buffy said. "You shouldn't lower your sights--"

Willow had to stop herself from stamping her foot in a very childish manner.  "I'm not *lowering* anything!" she retorted, wishing she could control her tone as easily as she did her foot.  After a deep breath, she took it down a notch, afraid that Angel might overhear when the last thing she wanted to do was cause him anymore pain. "Oz is wonderful, warm, sweet, funny, intelligent..."

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, wearing her own version of Willow's resolve face. It was quite formidable.  "So is Angel," she insisted.

"Except for the warm part," Xander corrected with a teasing grin, making Cordelia groan.

"Well, he's warm in here..."Buffy countered, tapping the area over her heart.  "...which is where it counts."

"Well, technically, he isn't really warm there either."

With playful irritation, Cordelia cuffed her boyfriend on the arm for his rejoinder.  "If you keep interrupting, Willow will never admit she's in love with Angel!' the cheerleader huffed before turning a curious eye to Willow.  "I noticed you didn't say that Oz is a total hottie..."

Willow counted to ten...or at least she tried to count to ten.  She only made it to three before Cordy, obviously taking her silence as an admission of guilt, added more than her two cents.  Again.

The cheerleader stood up and walked over to join the others.  "All Buffy is saying, Willow, is that just because Angel is a little out of your league, doesn't mean you should give up."

"Angel is *not* out of my league!" Willow snapped back.

"That's my girl!" Xander said enthusiastically, slapping her proudly on the back.

Willow couldn't seem to stop herself.  "Angel should be so lucky!" she fumed.  "I'm smart, sexy, funny, and I play a mean game of--"

Luckily for Willow, Cordelia wasn't through yet.  "And if you let me show you a few makeup tricks so that your lips don't look so thin *and* you have me go shopping with you next time, I guarantee that Angel will be following you around like a lost puppy."

*Start* following her around like a lost puppy?  You're about a century too late for that Cordelia, Willow smirked wickedly to herself.

Buffy dismissed the cheerleader's words with a wave of her hand.  "Willow doesn't need any help in that department, Cordelia.  You've seen the way he looks at her lately."

Cordelia frowned, giving The Slayer a peeved glance.  "I know that, Buffy," she hissed under her breath, "but I've been dying to show her the miracles of lip liner..."

As the other two girls discussed her love life, Willow took the opportunity to compose herself.  At this point she was unsure who she was more irritated with, her friends or herself?  How could she let herself get sucked into the trap of explaining why Angel should want her?  Willow then had to remind herself that when she really had been 17, she probably did consider a man like Angel to be out of her league.  After all, Angel was the archetypal attractive man--tall, dark, and handsome.  Not that Oz wasn't attractive.  He was simply less...well, overtly sexual.  Oz was good looking in a comfortable way, like the boy next door.  While Angel, on the other hand, was handsome in a manly, dangerous, knee-wobbly kind of way.

Willow's resolve weakened momentarily as she inadvertently remembered her one and only toe-curling kiss with Angelus.  While the kiss they shared may have stemmed from a twisted game of blackmail, it had quickly grown beyond that, taking on a torrid life of its own.  Her stomach flip-flopped at the mere memory of that time-shattering embrace, and the tightening deep in her tummy reminded Willow just how long it had been since she had a shared a real kiss with a man, let alone anything more intimate. Although she wasn't sure 'sharing' was quite the right term for what she and Angelus had done to one another.  They had battled with their mouths, fighting with lips, tongue and teeth for control of each other's tender flesh. It was a battle she couldn't win, but she hadn't lost either.  Until now, Willow had considered it a draw, but it was slowly becoming clear that the war was far from over.  Time had forced not a truce but a temporary cease-fire, and if her dreams of last night were anything to go by, her body was itching to reload its weapons and cross back into enemy territory.

Oh God! she thought as a scene from her dreams of the night before flashed clearly before her eyes.  It was Angel she'd dreamt about!  Or had it been Angelus?  She wasn't quite sure and neither choice put her at ease with whatever it was her subconscious was trying to tell her.  Damn it!  She should be having erotic dreams about Oz, not some mysterious amalgamation of Angel and Angelus!  Even Spike would have made more sense than Angel.  At least she'd been intimate with Spike before, which the blond demon took great joy in reminding her of every chance he got.

But no.  She hadn't dreamt about Oz, or even Spike. The dreams had all starred a certain dark-haired vampire instead.  Consequently, her mutinous mind was doing something she'd been struggling against since that fateful embrace with Angelus.  Her memories were compelling her not only to compare the kisses she'd shared with Oz and Angelus, but the actual way they'd made her feel as well.

No, uh-uh, *not* gonna go there, she told herself.  Willow shook her head slightly, trying to clear her mind of the confusing memories.  When she finally focused on her friends again, she noticed that they were watching her and smiling.  About the blush on my cheeks, no doubt.  And oh God...What were they talking about?  Oh yeah...reasons why Angel would want her. With an internal groan, Willow wondered when life had gotten so complicated?

Oh, round about 1753.

She smiled at her friends in a manner that she could only hope didn't show how flustered she actually felt, had the fleeting thought that she needed to brush up on her poker face, then said, "Uh, thanks, Cordelia, I think, and Buffy...you're right.  Angel is all those things, but he's just not my type."  Willow grinned broadly at Buffy.  It was time to shift the topic of conversation just a bit.  "Now that I think about it, Angel's really *your* type, isn't he, Buffy?   Strong, good-looking, looks dead-sexy in leather, devoted to fighting evil..."

Buffy grimaced, then peered over her shoulder to make sure Angel wasn't coming.  "Me and Angel?" she asked skeptically. She laughed. "I don't think so.  He's *so* not my type.  Sure, he's cute, but I think it would be like dating my brother...my bossy, anal-retentive brother who's only had eyes for you, Willow, since the day he set foot in this town."  She pulled out a stake from the back pocket of her shorts, flipping it in her hands a few times.  "Date Angel?" she repeated with disdain.  Buffy then exuberantly threw the stake across the room towards one of the many bookshelves, where it lodged itself perfectly between two tightly shelved tomes. With her hands on her hips, she gave Willow a shrewd look. "I'm The Slayer.  He's a vampire.  If I want that kind of drama, I'll watch TNT."

Willow wouldn't give up that easily.  "But he--"

"Thinks of me only as a friend and as The Slayer, Willow," Buffy stubbornly interrupted as she marched over to stand directly in front of the redhead, shielding her from the other's prying eyes.  "You and I *so* need to talk, Willow. It feels like it's been forever since we've just sat down and had a little girl talk, you know?"

The soft words were said with such sincerity that it nearly brought tears to Willow's eyes.  "I know, Buffy.  It *has* been forever.  I guess we've both just been so busy with all the training and slaying and studying and, er, everything else...."

"What we need is a sleepover at my house!" Buffy promptly decided.  "Complete with cheesy pizza, cheesy popcorn, and cheesy movies.  I'll clear it with my mom and see which night next week you can stay over."

"That would be nice, Buffy," Willow replied with a smile, and she was surprised when a look of relief crossed Buffy's face, as if the Slayer had been afraid that Willow might decline her offer.  Before Willow could decide what to make of that look, Angel finally made his appearance.

All conversation stopped as they turned to face Angel, putting their shirts in plain view.  Unsure of what to do, and feeling out of place yet again, Willow quickly walked over to one of the computers and had a seat.  She turned first toward the screen, then spun back to face the others, and then finally stopped halfway between the two.  She didn't want to be rude and turn her back on Angel, and yet she didn't want to seem overly eager for attention either.  Her uncertainty made her feel even more pathetically displaced.

"Afternoon...sorry I'm late.  Long night," Angel said flatly as he strolled in without even bothering to look at anyone.

'Long night' was putting it mildly, and he'd gotten very little sleep that morning as well.  He'd tossed and turned in bed, reliving every word that Spike had so zealously spat at him the night before.  The result being that Angel was actually glad that Spike had told him the whole truth.  As painful as it was to know how deeply he'd hurt Willow, in the end it made things easier, he realized.  Angel felt that he now understood Willow even better, especially why her reactions to him were so hot and cold, her moods increasingly mercurial.  Angel was more determined than ever to do right by Willow.  If she wanted him to pretend as if nothing had ever happened between them, then that was what he was going to do.

Even if it killed him, again.

Angel sipped his heated morning blood from a black ceramic Darth Vader-shaped mug.  It was his favorite cup, and not only because Willow had given it to him, but because it masked the red color of the beverage, making it almost look like he was joining Giles in a spot of tea or indulging in some hot coffee.  While they all knew otherwise, it did help him feel more at ease when eating in front of the others.  Thanks to Willow's thoughtfulness.

Just a little more ironic icing on the paradoxical cake of his life.

Angel wasn't sure how long it took him to realize that no one was talking.  Not only that, but they were all staring at him.  Except for Willow, that is, who appeared to be trying very hard to find somewhere to look.

"What's up?" he finally asked, taking in their expectant faces.  "Something wrong?"

Buffy shook her head and stepped closer to the vampire, sticking her chest out a little more than usual, which drew a snicker from Xander.  The Slayer's grin was strangely dopey, and for a moment Angel feared that maybe he'd hit her a little too hard during their last sparring match.

"Nothing's wrong, Angel," Buffy chirped, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.  Suddenly Xander was beside her.  He'd shed his flashy Hawaiian-print shirt and was stretching and yawning in a grossly exaggerated fashion.

Angel set his mug on the nearest table, then worriedly looked Buffy and Xander in the eyes.  "You two okay?"

When they simply grinned and bobbed up and down even more enthusiastically, Angel glanced at Willow and Cordelia.

"Possession?"

Willow chuckled and shook her head, not wanting to ruin their fun.  Cordelia'd had enough of it though.  She rolled her eyes as she sashayed past Angel on the way to their usual studying seats on the dais, saying, "Check out the shirts, already, before they hurt themselves."

Confused, Angel finally took in what they were wearing.  And when Buffy and Xander spun around in unison to show him the back of their black T-shirts as well, Angel actually laughed.

"Very funny and very thoughtful, guys.  Thank you.  But you didn't have to do that, you know.  I'm well aware that I tend to fall outside the demonology bell curve."

"We know, Soul Boy," Xander said, chucking him on the arm in a display of manly friendship.  "We just wanted to remind you that we know it, too."

Buffy gestured towards Willow with a neatly-manicured hand.  "It was all Willow's idea, even though she isn't wearing hers.  Hers, uh, shrunk in the dryer until it was too tight," Buffy hurriedly explained.  "You know how Willow feels about tight clothes..."

Angel thought he knew a little more than they did just how much Willow disliked tight clothing...not to mention how good she could look in it.

Damn, he'd been in the same room with her for only a few short minutes, and he was already having thoughts he shouldn't.  Ashamed of his weakness, he quickly said, "Willow's idea?  Really?"

"Sure," Buffy replied enthusiastically.  "She thought of it a couple of weeks ago and set the whole thing up herself...made the T-shirts, picked the day we were to wear them and everything."

"A couple of weeks ago?"

Buffy nodded.

"Of course."  He glanced over at where Willow was seated at the computer, trying very hard to concentrate on the computer screen.  Luckily, Angel hadn't dared to hope that *this* Willow had actually come up with the idea for the shirts.  The possibility that he had misunderstood Willow the night before flitted only briefly into his mind, but he shooed it away quickly.  He was weak, but he wasn't stupid.

When Willow finally glanced up at him, Angel could tell by her embarrassed, pleading look that he'd correctly assessed the situation the first time.  She *did* want to act as if nothing had ever happened between them.  With her sea-green eyes, she was silently begging for him to understand just one more time.

And damn it all if he didn't understand.  As much as he hated the distance between them, the awkwardness...the hopelessness of it all, he understood better than ever where Willow was coming from.  Thanks to Spike.

With a slight bowing of his head, Angel conveyed his comprehension of the situation, and consequently, she seemed to relax somewhat.

"Thanks, Willow," he said for the benefit of the others.  "That was very thoughtful of you."

Willow offered him a tremulous smile, which Angel wouldn't allow himself to read anything into besides gratitude for his understanding.

"Hello, Angel," she said.  "I-I'm glad you like them."

"You ready, Buffy?" Angel asked, turning back to the blonde before he lost himself in Willow's eyes.  "I thought we'd train first, then everyone can study together."  He looked at the others as well.  "Thanks again for the shirts.  Just promise me you won't wear them when you go on patrol.  We wouldn't want all the vampires to realize how sensitive I am, would we?"

"You got it, Soul Boy," Xander shot back earnestly, then added with a boyish grin: "The fact that you whole-heartedly embrace your girly sensitive side is safe with us."

Shaking his head wryly, Angel picked up his mug of blood then headed for the hall.  "Which reminds me, Xander," Angel called back as he continued to walk away, "After your final tomorrow, it's your turn to train.  I was thinking we'd concentrate on sparring.  Then you'll see just how girly and sensitive I can be."  He paused just for a moment, then added with a devilish grin that they couldn't see, "You may want to think about bringing a mouth guard...and a protective cup."

Xander groaned, frowning at Willow.  "How come I--and apparently my manly parts--have to bear the wrath of Angel's demonic ego?  I'm just a growing boy!"

Cordelia arched an amused brow at her boyfriend.  "Could it be because you're the only one stupid enough to tease Angel the night before it's your turn to work out with him?"

"Cheer up, Xander.  He's only joking...I think," Buffy teased her friend.  "And just think, after tomorrow's test, we'll have two whole weeks left of summer to enjoy without any commitments, other than saving the world, that is."  Buffy gave them all a playful scowl.  "At least they don't have a test for that...yet..."

"I think the simple fact that the world is still here means that you've passed that particular final with flying colors, Buffy," Giles said as he walked through the front doors.

"Yeah!  Here, here!  Xander cheered enthusiastically.  "Hey, does that mean we get some sort of extra credit since we've aided in the whole world-saving gig?"

"Once again, Xander, I believe breathing might be the extra credit you're looking for."

Xander nodded.  "Gotcha, G-Man."

After stifling an obvious groan for Xander's continued use of that particular nickname, Giles bid everyone a cheerful good morning.

"Something wrong, Willow?" he asked, seeing her sitting at the computer station, a disappointed look on her face.

Willow sighed, shaking her head sadly as the watcher came closer.  "Et tu, Brute?"

Giles followed her line of sight down to his own T-shirt, which was identical to Xander's.  Sheepishly he took note of Willow's plain shirt, sighing as his most recent oversight became apparent.  "Oh dear..."

*****

He should have sat with his back to her.  He should have, but he didn't.

When did I become such a masochist? Angel wondered as he struggled not to squirm in his seat like an anxious toddler.  He and Buffy had finished training, and then he'd showered and changed.  Now he was helping them all study one last time for their final.  Unfortunately, it was taking all of his willpower to keep his dark eyes from wandering to where Willow sat, working diligently on the computer. Luckily, her back was to him, so she couldn't see each time he failed to resist her pull, which was often.

Angel gazed at her again to find Giles standing behind Willow, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he leaned down to point to something on the computer screen.  Angel would have been lying to himself if he didn't admit to a surge of jealousy at the scene.   Nevertheless, he wasn't completely ashamed of that feeling either because it sprang not from demon possessiveness but simply from the fact that he could no longer touch her, even in such a harmless way.

Of course, Angel was a vampire, so the possessive feelings would always be there, but not in the overwhelming manner that Willow seemed to fear.  He didn't own her...didn't want too, either, at least not in the way that Angelus had wanted to own her.  Angel was simply jealous that Giles, like Xander and even Spike, didn't make Willow cringe with every innocent touch. They could be closer to her physically and emotionally without causing harm, while Angel, on the other hand, only had to look at Willow and her eyes could darken with pain.

He glanced at the others seated around him, but they seemed not to notice his distraction as they continued to quiz one another intently.  Besides, it's not like I never looked at the other Willow, Angel reflected, trying to cheer himself up.  She was my friend, my best friend, and it isn't easy to pretend that nothing's happened without it being obvious that there's something wrong.  It would seem too suspicious if I never looked at Willow, right?

God, he missed her....

"...which eventually resulted in The Peninsular War."

Xander's voice broke into Angel's thoughts, bringing the vampire mentally back to the business of quizzing the three young people.

"Oh, er, right, and who were the generals involved?" Angel questioned automatically.

"Were you there, Angel?" Buffy asked innocently instead of answering the much-too-simple question.

"Yeah, did you stop by the war for a cheap feed?" Xander added in his own crude way, causing Angel to wince.

"Xander!" Buffy admonished, but the dark-haired youth simply gestured over his shoulder to where the words 'No offense, Angel' were printed on the back of his shirt.

"Hey, I just thought he might like to give us a first-hand account, that's all," Xander offered as justification.

"Then you should ask Sp--"  Willow, who had turned in her chair to face them momentarily, froze, as if just realizing what she was about to say.  "Oh, um, I think my search is done..." she said lamely, then spun back in her seat to face the computer screen once again, but not before Angel could see the warmth tinting her cheeks.  Luckily, he seemed to be the only one to notice.

"Then you should ask William," Angel said in answer to their questioning looks.  "Spike."

"Spike was there?" Buffy asked incredulously.

Angel nodded grimly.  "How do you think he got the name William the Bloody?"

"Silly me, but I thought it went hand-in-hand with how he got the name 'Spike'," Buffy said, disgusted.

Angel shook his head.  "While he was still alive, William was a soldier and a mercenary in the Peninsular War, and from his account, a fairly lethal one."

Xander shrugged half-heartedly, looking around the table at the others. "Makes sense, I guess."

"Is that where you found him?" Cordelia asked, leaning forward eagerly.  "In Spain?"

"Er, no," Angel replied awkwardly, getting to his feet as the others stared at him with open curiosity.  He glanced quickly at Willow, who luckily seemed to be focused on her computer again.  He lowered his voice, reluctant to spark any unwanted memories in Willow.  "I, uh, found him in London."

"In a dirty little pub by the docks, drunk off his arse..." Willow added without turning around, catching everyone by surprise, especially Angel.

It had never before occurred to Angel that perhaps Rose had been present that night.  Would Spike really have taken her to see his own turning?  He was definitely egotistical enough.  God, what else had she seen that he wasn't aware of? Angel wondered as Willow peered innocently back at them over her shoulder.

It was only from his previous experience sitting across from Rose at a poker table that Angel was able to detect the faint flash of alarm in Willow's eyes, making it clear that she hadn't meant to say that aloud.  She turned away.

Angel thought she covered up well, though, when she added with a bored-looking shrug: "That's what Angel once told me anyway."

Nice save.  Unfortunately, it only increased the pressure on him.  How very Rose-like of her, he silently smirked. "Willow's right," Angel began uncomfortably. "I, er, found him in a pub, and he was very drunk...running from the law for desertion...and I..."

"And the, uh, rest is, as they say, history," Giles interrupted, giving the unwitting young people a quelling look which Angel was quite grateful for.  "But I doubt any of it will be on your final, so may I suggest that you get back to the particulars of the war?"  He wagged a finger at their pile of books.

As the three students reluctantly turned their attention back to studying, Angel almost wiped his forehead in relief.  Catching the watcher's eye as he discussed something with Willow that she'd found on the Net, Angel nodded his head in a silent display of gratitude, which Giles returned just as discretely.

*****

Later, Angel excused himself to refill his mug while the others carried on with their various researching and studying activities.  As he wearily watched the blood-filled head of Darth Vader turn slowly in the microwave, Angel reflected on the afternoon so far.

Being in the same room with Willow hadn't been as hard as he thought it would be.  Yes, it had been painful, excruciatingly so at times, but still...it had gone better than he'd expected.  Willow wasn't ignoring him and she wasn't running from him either.  When Giles had called him over to question him about something Willow had found, Willow actually seemed quite normal.  She didn't make an excuse to leave or try to maximize the physical distance between them.  She'd listened to what he'd had to say and had even asked a few clarifying questions.

It was a very civilized form of torture.

But he'd survived, which was something that he hadn't been all that sure about earlier in the day.  Angel now knew that he could do this.  He could give her the space she needed, the time she needed...no matter how long it might take, even if the end result might not be a romantic one.  He wasn't foolish enough to underrate the value of a good friend.

Even for her friendship, he'd wait forever if he had to.  After all, a woman like Willow was worth waiting for.

*****

Willow slumped in her chair when she noticed out of the corner of her tired green eyes that Angel had left the room.  Just keeping her back to him was physically draining.  She wasn't sure how many times she'd actually stopped herself in mid-swivel from turning to look at the vampire behind her.

Rubbing at weary eyes that were no longer accustomed to staring at computer screens for an extended period, Willow took a few calming breaths and felt some of the tension drain away.  It hadn't gone as badly as she'd feared.  Angel didn't seem to be angry with her, nor was he ignoring her either.  He was simply keeping a friendly distance.  She didn't fool herself into thinking it was easy for the vampire.  The few times their eyes had met, she could easily detect the strain on his face.  But somehow, he was managing to pretend, at least outwardly, that their nefarious past didn't exist.

She wasn't having quite as much luck.  Any time he'd come within 5 feet of her, that single image from her lusty dreams came to mind, and she found herself nearly overwhelmed by her warring emotions.

Telling herself that she had to try harder to put their history behind her--after all, it was her idea--Willow permanently locked away the memories of their kiss, as well as those of her dreams, before they could set her tummy, not to mention lower portions of her body, on fire yet again.

The only question was, could Oz stoke the same kind of fire within her that Angelus had?  Did she even want him to try?

Maybe Friday night, when she wolf-sat Oz, she could begin to answer those questions.

*****

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as Willow somehow managed to throw herself completely into the task of researching.  Between the books and the computer, finding her way around both, Willow was able to immerse herself completely in her work, keeping her mind off Angel and the rest of her troubles.

In the end, she and Giles were not only victorious but immensely relieved to discover that the furry, blue-horned demon that had been spotted around town recently and had been the source of so much worry for Giles, truly was harmless.  While quite ferocious in appearance, the thought-to-be extinct P'Ghar demon was, in fact, a peaceful nomadic creature that dined almost exclusively on clover and other weedy grasses...

...usually in a light vinaigrette dressing and accompanied by a glass of fine Chablis.

Willow was exhausted by the end of the day.  While the others decided that they needed to let their minds rest over some mindless music at the Bronze that night, Willow begged off, using both exhaustion and the need to prepare for her soon-to-be-returning parents as her authentic excuse.  Disappointed but understanding, her friends walked her home, not seeming to notice how quiet she was, how awkward her good-byes with Angel were, nor how little she joined in the their witty banter during the short journey to her house. Willow hoped that the end of summer school might help her begin to feel more at ease with her friends again.

Telling them to have a good time that night and good luck on the final, Willow waved goodbye to her friends and then slipped inside and up to her room.  Her hands were itching for the feel of her guitar, while her head was clamoring for the feel of a soft pillow and the promise of a dream-filled sleep.  Either way, it was going to be an early night for Willow.
 

~Chapter Fourteen~

About an hour before sunset, Willow carefully nudged open the front door to the old church and poked her head in, sighing with relief when no one appeared to be in the main room.  No one meaning Angel, that is, because she already knew Buffy, Xander and Cordelia weren't going to be hanging around.

It was Friday evening, three days after the 'T-shirt Tuesday' incident, and the first night of the full moon trilogy.  Earlier in the day, Buffy had called to share the happy news that they had received the results of their exam and that they had--just as Xander said they would--'kicked ass' on the final.  The three were planning on doing some celebrating at The Bronze later, but unfortunately Willow's Oz-sitting duties would keep her from joining them.  To be honest, Willow wasn't all that sorry.  Spending time alone with Oz, even if only his werewolf version, was something she needed to do and had been anticipating for what seemed like forever.

Slipping quietly through the library, past all the round tables, the computers, and rows upon rows of bookshelves, Willow found herself stopping to admire what Angel had created. Standing in the middle of the impressive library, she had a good look around.  It really was the perfect set up for their unusual needs, and Angel appeared to have spared no expense on their research tools and training aids.  The occult reference collection was extensive, the computers top-of-the-line, and the furnishings classic yet comfortable.  Willow lightly ran a slim finger along the dark polished tops of one of the tables.  The action left a smudge which she hurriedly buffed out with the hem of her shirt.  Any imperfection would seem out of place.

Clutching the back of one of the chairs, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax in the room that still seemed so alien to her.  The air held the scent of lemon, from the furniture polish no doubt, ancient texts, leather, and...something else she couldn't quite put into words.  Nevertheless, the scents mingled together, tempting her to relax...to surrender to the inevitable.

Stiffening, her eyes flew open and she wrapped her arms about her chest.

Why was she so ill at ease? she wondered.  Why didn't the tempting warmth of this haven Angel had so graciously provided lull her?  Although she did feel more comfortable in front of a computer, thanks to countless hours of eye-tearing practice, the same couldn't be said about much else.  She still felt like a stranger in her own life, especially when she was in this room.

Shaking her head at her own depressing thoughts, Willow forced herself back into motion.  She slipped silently down the hallway, past the bedrooms, heading for the stairs that led downstairs.  She was tiptoeing by the short hallway that led to Angel's room--just in case he was in there, asleep--that it really hit her.  What Angel had created in this old church took a lot more than money, although it obviously required a great deal of that as well.  He'd opened his own home to the odd group of do-gooders that had named themselves The Scooby Gang, sacrificing his time and especially his privacy on a daily basis.  She doubted this came easily to Angel, even if in other respects he was very different from the Angel she'd known in the previous timeline. What did he get in return? she wondered.  Friendship?  Redemption?  Forgiveness?

Or was it hope?  Was that the other scent permeating every fiber of the old building?  Had she become so unfamiliar with the concept of hope since her return that she now felt ill at ease when confronted by it?

Nah.  That wasn't it.

Telling herself it was time to stop her melodramatic reflecting and focus instead on Oz and the night ahead of them, Willow did her best to leave her turbulent thoughts upstairs as she descended to the basement.

The basement of Angel's converted home was divided into two main sections.  The first and largest part was the training area, where all the members of the Scooby Gang spent some of their time training with either Giles or Angel on a fairly regular basis.  On the far wall of this space, between the water cooler and the treadmills, a door led to the second portion of the basement, which housed storage rooms, the rarely-used industrial-sized kitchen, and most importantly, in the very back, Oz's home away from home for three nights each month.  Tonight would be the first time in over a century that Willow had been with the wolf-version of Oz.

She'd spent the last three days since 'T-shirt Tuesday' diligently working on improving her computer skills--much to Giles' delight--preparing herself and the house for her parents' arrival on Saturday, and generally trying to attract as little attention as possible, with good success.   At night she'd been managing to get a little sleep.  Although some of her dreams continued to be erotic, they luckily remained vague, the memories elusive upon awakening, which was fine by her.  Unfortunately, Willow hadn't seen Spike since her encounter with Dru, and although she was itching to make sure he understood the ramifications of her still-shorter hair, the expected arrival of her parents the following day meant she wasn't sure when she'd be able to see the blonde vampire again.

Making her way through the training area, Willow found herself mentally thanking Angel yet again.  Yesterday had been her regularly scheduled training day with the vampire, and while Willow had prepared herself for the worst, Angel had pleasantly surprised her by suggesting that she should concentrate on a cardio workout instead of self-defense.  Since it was such a beautiful day, he recommended that she take advantage of it by going for a long walk/run in the fresh air, aiming for at least an 11-minute mile.  Without a word of argument, Willow had gratefully bolted for the door.  After all, walking and running were things she had quite a lot of experience with, especially when she had a lot to think about...which lately seemed to be all the time.

Turning on the lights and closing the dividing door behind her, Willow approached the cage with only a cursory glance at the kitchen.  Another dehumidifier hummed softly from its spot near the kitchen door, next to a weapons locker which held, among other things, a tranquilizer gun.  She dropped her backpack on an armchair in the corner and surveyed the cage that would be Oz's home for the next three nights. It was much larger than the one they'd made do with at the library.  Three sides of the cage were created naturally by the thick cinderblock walls of the church basement itself and along both the ceiling and the front of the cage were steel bars that looked twice as thick as the ones she remembered.  There were no windows within the barred room, and the lock on the door appeared formidable.  It would strongly resemble a large prison cell, she imagined, if it weren't for the fact that an elaborate hand-painted mural depicting a forest setting covered the trio of cinderblock walls.

Willow felt an uncontrollable shiver ripple along her spine as she stepped into the cell to take a closer look at the seemingly tranquil agrarian painting.  On the mural's left wall, a rough trail meandered through a variety of trees and shrubs, leading to a clearing of sorts that monopolized the foreground of the longer middle wall.  The clearing was surrounded by vegetation that grew increasingly thick in the background.  The path continued on the opposite side of the clearing, disappearing in the distance on the short right-hand wall.  A huge, nearly luminous full moon suspended in a field of stars hung in the right-hand corner, sending delicate rays of silvery light down through the autumn-colored trees to dance among fallen gold and crimson leaves which littered the forest floor.

She stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the mural, heart in her throat, her breath becoming shallow as the setting tugged at her memory.  Willow closed her eyes and took a deep cleansing breath.  Surely it was only her over-active imagination making the tranquil forest scene appear so painfully familiar.  Yet, when she managed to steady her breathing and open her eyes again, the view hadn't changed.

It was, without a doubt, an artistic rendering of the exact spot in the Rumanian Woods where Angelus had knocked her from her horse, looking for revenge, only to find himself cursed with a soul instead.

Nearly overwhelmed, Willow began a shaky retreat out of the cell when she noticed something painted in the middle of the clearing, something she didn't remember.  Nestled on a bed of autumn leaves, bathed in moonlight, was a single flawless rose.

In a daze, Willow inched cautiously back into the cage.  When she was within reach of the back wall, she sank to her knees before the snow-white rose to reverently trace its outline with a single trembling finger.  Up close, she couldn't help appreciating the details inherent in the artwork, the layers of well-chosen colors, especially in the beautiful bloom.  Its long curved stem, though slender and lacking even a single thorn, appeared quite hardy, and in the middle of the milky blossom, on one frail petal, she noticed a faint silvery trail of glistening dew.

Or was it a tear?

"Willow?"

Her heart thundering in her ears, Willow scrambled to her feet as Oz's voice broke the stillness of the room.  She hastily dashed away the dampness she suddenly felt on her own cheeks before turning to face him.

"Oh, hi, Oz...I was just looking at the painting."

Oz set his guitar by the chair in the corner, then took a single step into the cell and nodded his head.  "Angel did a good job.  Beats staring at the gray walls all night."  He frowned slightly.  "At least, I think it does."

Willow wasn't surprised to hear that Angel was the artist.  She'd come to the same conclusion based solely on the subject matter.  She'd seen his work before, after all, but those had always been portraits and sketches.  She didn't realize that the vampire painted landscapes as well.  Considering how long ago it had actually been since Angel had been cursed, she couldn't help being impressed at how accurate his memory was...yet again.

Willow nodded, stepping back next to Oz to take in the whole scene again, but her eyes kept drifting back to the lonely rose.

"I asked him once what the rose was for," Oz said, as if he knew what she was thinking.

Willow's mouth went dry and her stomach clenched.  She was almost afraid to know, scared to get another glimpse of Angel on such a spiritual level.  "You did?" she asked in a croaked whisper.

He nodded.  "Innocence...hope..."

Willow had a sudden urge to cry.  Luckily, Oz kept talking.

"I'd thought about asking him to add a rabbit or two, maybe a fox, but then I was worried that I might run into the wall, trying to chase them."  He gave her a good-natured grin that Willow couldn't help returning.

"What about the full moon?" she asked, gesturing to the celestial orb painted in the corner.  "Does it help?"

Oz shrugged in that carefree way of his that had always had a way of making Willow forget her worries.  Strangely enough, she felt better.

"It doesn't seem to hurt," he replied matter of factly, then glanced at his watch.  He turned to Willow, stepping closer.   "You don't have to stay, Willow. Angel will check on me a couple of times during the night and let me free in the morning.  And it's not like I can go anywhere.  The bars and the door are nearly indestructible, and even if I could break the block walls, the only thing on the other side is dirt.  Were-wolves aren't big diggers."  Oz glanced over at the bottom of the cage's walls, noticing claw marks in several spots.  "Although it looks like I gave it a good shot."

"I'm not worried about you escaping, Oz.  I just want to make sure you don't hurt yourself."

A strange look came to Oz's face, and then he glanced over their shoulders to one of the few tiny basement windows on the other side of the room.  Even through the thick glass blocks, he could see that the sky outside was taking on an orange glow.

"Almost time."  Oz stepped further into the cell, which Willow took as her cue to exit.  When the door closed and locked with a cold, metallic clang, Willow flinched.

They stared at each other through the bars for a moment, Willow unable to think of a single appropriate thing to say.  With a slight cough, Oz finally said, "I better get ready, Willow, so..."

Willow nodded absentmindedly.  "So..." she repeated, then seeing the uncomfortable look on his face, she finally realized what Oz was hinting at.  "Oh!" she exclaimed, quickly turning her back to him as she went on in an embarrassed rush, "Sorry...forgot about the whole 'nekkid thing'."

She heard the rustling of clothes as Oz asked, "Willow, is something wrong?  You keep looking at me like...well, like you're waiting for something."

Willow sighed, feeling a heavy sense of defeat as she tried to figure out the right way to answer such a loaded question, but she was saved by the sickly sound of cracking bones and stretching flesh as Oz began his metamorphosis.  When those grotesque sounds had finished, only to be replaced by the eerie clicking of long sharp claws on the basement floor and heavy bestial panting, Willow slowly turned around to find the werewolf staring hungrily at her through the bars.

"Sometimes I think 'waiting' is my middle name," she finally responded softly.  Oz retorted with a plaintive howl of his own.

*****

Just as the sun was setting, Angel silently slipped out of the hidden exit of the sewer tunnel, which was located in the old walk-in refrigerator in his basement kitchen.  Securing the door behind him, Angel became aware of Willow's and Oz's voices coming from another part of the basement.  He only had to move a few paces toward the middle of the kitchen to see them through the raised garage door over the serving counter.  When Angel realized that they were talking rather awkwardly about his mural, he cringed.

Damn.  He should have warned Willow about the painting, but like so many other things, it just hadn't occurred to him until it was too late.  He'd always told himself that creating the mural more than a year ago had been a strange sort of therapy, but that wasn't all it had been, and he could admit that to himself now.  The painting had been yet another one of his pitiful attempts to awaken the other Willow's memories of their past.  And like his other futile endeavors, it had failed spectacularly.  There'd been no flashbacks, no trembling limbs, only Willow and her constant cheerful support. When Willow had looked upon his work for the first time, her response had been purely positive, yet Angel had been disappointed when she'd complimented his artistic talent and bubbled over with enthusiastic praise for the picturesque landscape. Ironically, she'd even commented that the clearing looked like the perfect spot for late-night picnic.

If only she'd known.  But she hadn't, because the memories weren't hers to have.

Now that the Willow he had known as Rose was back, Angel only wished that he could stop hurting her with memories.  If he'd thought of it earlier, he would have painted over the mural, covering it, hiding it forever from her inquisitive green eyes that were surely shadowed by dark memories now.  If only...

If only his list of "if onlys" weren't so damn long.

Still, Angel couldn't seem to make himself leave his safe vantage point, even when the distinct sounds of Oz's transformation stirred him from his guilty musings. Convincing himself he'd only stay for a little while to make sure that she was going to be okay and because he only had her safety in mind, Angel settled in to watch.

Willow was now dragging the armchair nearer to the cage, oblivious to the snarls coming from the pacing werewolf.  When the chair was as close to the bars as she dared, she sat back into its overstuffed comfort and stared at the creature that was Oz by day.

"It's been a long time, Oz," she told the werewolf.  "Well, long for me anyway.  Maybe not quite as long for you."

The wolf stopped its pacing just long enough to emit a low, mournful howl.

"I, um, have some things to keep us entertained.  You always liked it when I read to you, so I brought a few books that I thought you might like."  She pulled several out of her backpack and read the titles, displaying each one for the drooling werewolf's inspection.  "'Watership Down', 'Jungle Book', 'Tarzan', and of course, 'The Call of the Wild'.  "And if all else fails, I have 'How to Control Your Inner Beast'.  She shrugged.  "Never know...might be good for a laugh.  So, where should we start?"

The creature snarled and launched itself viciously at the bars.  Willow didn't even flinch.  "'The Call of the Wild' it is then."

For the next two hours, Willow read to the werewolf as it paced the length of his cage and unknowingly to Angel as well, who'd made himself comfortable in his hiding place by the stainless-steel mixer.

*****

Oz was growing restless again.  Willow had read excerpts from all of the books, and nothing seemed to be working, at least not for long.  In her search for a new distraction, he eyes fell on Oz's guitar.  Maybe it was time for Phase II? Although she wasn't sure who'd find it more relaxing, Oz or herself.

Hoping that Oz wouldn't mind too much, Willow retrieved his guitar.  She'd thought about bringing her own but had been too afraid that the others would see her with it and ask questions that she didn't want to answer.  Strumming a few basic chords on the unfamiliar instrument, Willow made herself comfortable in the chair again.

"They say that music soothes the savage beast, Oz.  Let's see if *they* know what they're talking about...for a change..."

Unaware of her hidden audience of one behind her, Willow began with a simple tune.   Being an electric guitar, the sound wasn't comparable to her own demon-made acoustic, especially since she didn't have an amp handy to plug it into, but the acoustics in the basement helped project the sound a little.  Although the song she chose was fairly simple, Willow's fingers caught a few times on the unfamiliar strings, causing her to grimace and give the wolf an apologetic look.  "I'm better on my own guitar.  Promise."

Biting her lip, Willow started again.  This was not quite how she'd pictured her first time playing with Oz, and although she knew he wouldn't remember her performance when he was his two-legged, red-headed self in the morning, she wanted perfection.  After a few minutes, her nerves began to settle, the muscles in her hands loosened, and she let herself sink into the music.  When that song ended, she launched immediately into another wordless folksong.

The Oz-wolf's pacing slowed, and for long periods he would stay in one place, ears perked, listening to what Willow had to offer.  While he was hardly the perfect audience, what with the occasional baying and drooling and such, she'd experienced worse in some danker alehouses during her travels. What was one werewolf when compared to a group of drunken men in a beer garden when they realized that the kegs were dry?  She still had the occasional nightmare about round, red-faced men in lederhosen due to one such incident.

Emboldened by his response so far, Willow talked softly as she played.  "This was supposed to be a surprise for you, Oz.  While I know you don't understand, and you probably wouldn't even if you weren't in full-moon mode right now, part of the reason I learned to play was for you."  The wolf whined at this point, which Willow took as a positive response.  "Why?  Well, it's a long story, but to sum it all up, Oz, I've been away a long time.  And while I was gone, things changed...you and I changed.  When I left, you and I were in love.  When I came back, we hardly knew each other."  Willow paused, and the werewolf snarled at her.  "Hey, it's not all my fault, you know," she retorted defensively.  "These things tend to happen when you mess with the fabric of time...I guess..."  She sighed, wishing she'd practiced this speech, then shrugged.  What difference did it make? It wasn't like Oz understood what she was saying anyway.  "Maybe it's for the best," she went on to tell him.  "I've changed, and I kinda have a lot of baggage now and--"

Willow was interrupted by the wolf's piercing howl.  That's when she realized she'd stopped playing.  She started again, this time a more difficult finger-style piece.  She was curious to see how the creature would react to the different types of music, varying rhythms and tempos.  After a few moments of what looked to Willow like surprise, the wolf started pacing again...this time to the rhythm of the music.  She quickly switched to something she'd been working on the past couple of days at home: 'Pain' by The Dingoes.  Willow didn't sing, she simply played and occasionally she talked, telling the wolf version of Oz things that she wasn't ready to say to the two-footed version.

******

Across town, Spike sat at the bar in Willy's dive, scowling after his first taste of beer.  Not only did the cold, flavored water that Americans try to pass off as alcohol pale in comparison to the stronger European ales that he preferred, Spike was in the mood for something else.

"Got anything imported?" he asked the wiry, dark-haired man behind the bar.

Willy, the owner and bartender of the rundown demon hangout, pointed to a large oilcan of the Australian beer Fosters, which he only stocked because the imposing size of the can usually placated larger demons.  Spike, however, was unimpressed.  Still frowning, he downed half the amber liquid in one long draught.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Spike," Willy said from behind the far end of the bar where he was emptying overflowing ashtrays.  "Thought you were too good to drink with the rest of us.  What happened?  You get kicked out of all of your fancy-schmancy demon clubs in LA?"

Spike narrowed his eyes at the little man.  So, 'William' hadn't frequented Willy's, opting instead for the more upscale demon hangouts that LA had to offer, had he?  That jelled with what he'd discovered on his own about what his other version had been up to.  Besides, Spike almost couldn't blame William for going elsewhere.  Willy's was a dump even by demon standards, always had been.  Why would a vampire with money to burn like William come to Willy's when LA had so much more to offer?

Grimacing after another gulp of the beer, he snarled, "Maybe if you offered a bloke something decent to drink instead of this bloody weasel piss, you'd start seeing more of my money."  He gave the half-full glass a shove, sending it sliding down the dirty bar to Willy.  "Give me something stronger...something with a little kick to it."

Willy gestured over his shoulder with a dirty thumb.  "Got a virgin tied up in the back, puts up a good fight now and then."

Spike quirked a brow.  "Not quite what I meant, but it's nice to see you're varying the menu a bit."  Spike eyed the row of spirits behind the bar but nothing caught his eye.  "Just give me a glass of wine.  Red.  Don't care what kind, just make it the most expensive stuff you've got."  Then Spike sat up a little straighter, struck by a thought.  "Wait...your virgin...she isn't a tiny little redhead, is she?"

The sleazy bartender chuckled.  "Feeling like something exotic tonight, huh Spike?  Nah. Sorry, he's a blond.  Some kinda art history major at the college, I think."

Spike relaxed.  When he'd heard the word 'virgin' his thoughts naturally ran to Willow.  No way was he going to let her end up being a demonic drink mixer.

"Still want that wine?" Willy asked, and when Spike nodded, he fished around for a stemmed glass, finally locating several dusty goblets under the bar.  "You're lucky I found a couple of old bottles in the back earlier, behind the pinball machine and under a crate of Zima," he told the vampire.  "We don't get much of a call for the fancy stuff around here, but I might consider stocking it since you're the second person to ask for red wine tonight."  Willy shook his head in mild disgust as he not-so-subtly pointed to a corner of the room.

While Willy poured the bottle of an American brand of wine, Spike had a good look around the sparsely populated bar.  It hadn't changed much since the last time he'd been in for a drink over a century ago.  Less than a handful of the tables were taken, including the booth in a shadowy corner occupied by three odd-looking creatures.  It was the same booth that Willy had pointed out, and the strange, shiny-skinned trio was staring at him. At least he thought they were staring at him...hard to tell since they didn't appear to have eyelids.

"What's their bloody deal?" Spike asked, spinning in his seat to face the bar again.

"No idea."  Willy placed Spike's glass of wine in front of him.  "They showed up about a week ago.  Don't talk much, keep to themselves and kinda zip in and zip out."  He lowered his voice.  "I don't know what they are...never seen their kind here before.  They give me the creeps, though, the way they never blink."  Willy shivered.

"Give Willy the willies, do they?" Spike asked, quite amused by his own pun.

Sipping his wine, Spike tried not to grimace.  The vampire was now accustomed to fine wine as well, and this was not it.  Still, it was better than the beer.  After another mouthful, Spike glanced over his shoulder at the creatures again.  The shorter, dumpier one lifted a half-empty glass of what appeared to be red wine in salute to Spike. Shaking his head, Spike turned back to the front and concentrated on his drink.  The sound of laughter mixed in with various snarls and groans came from a back room.

"Sounds like someone's having a good night," Willy said offhandedly.

"Sacrifice?"

"Depends on who's playing," he snorted.  "It's a poker game."

At that moment, a short, fat, spiky creature resembling a hedgehog with two enormous feet scuttled in from a back room.  He rubbed his quill-covered hands together as he said to Willy in a squeaky voice, "Need another round back there.  Nevel's hot tonight, so he's buying."  The funny-looking creature known as an Uff-Da demon looked at Spike.  "He won the last hand with a bouquet.  Can you believe that?"  He chuckled, shaking his head as if Spike should join in his amusement.

"Er, bouquet?"

The spiny creature laughed, sending his quills rippling around his squat body in a wave that was somewhat hypnotic.  "Don't play much poker, do you, vampire?"

There came some chuckling sounds from the three demons seated behind Spike, but he didn't notice.  Spike was too busy chuckling himself.

"Played a bit...now and then...here and there," the Uff-Da laughed, unable to hide his amusement.  "Can't say I've heard of this bouquet hand, though."

"You play a bit, here and there, but you haven't heard of a bouquet?" the giant hedgehog asked cynically.  "When was the last time you played? The Dark Ages?"

This brought a huge burst of snorting laughter from the three creatures in the booth.  Spike tossed them an impatient shut-up-or-die look over his shoulder, then turned back to the spiny thing, which was grinning madly at him.

Spike had heard of a Deadman's Hand, which was made up of two black Aces and two black Eights and was said to have been the hand gambler Wild Bill Hickok was holding when he was shot.  But a bouquet?  That was a new one, and since very little was 'new' to Spike, he was admittedly curious.

Spike shrugged, ignoring the hedgehog's joke.  "Haven't played for a while, must admit.  So enlighten me then...what's this famous bouquet?"

The Uff-Da scratch behind its ear.  "Four Queens and an Ace of Hearts kicker.  Some also call it the Red Lady's Special."

"'fraid I still don't get it, mate."

Rolling his sad little brown eyes, the hedgehog waddled a bit closer.  "It's supposedly the last hand *she* played before disappearing without a trace."  The creature paused, as if that should have cleared up all of Spike's confusion.  "Violet Jones?" it added.  "It was also said to have been the favorite hand of the lesser known Rose Smith.  Violet, Rose, flowers, bouquet.  Get it?"

Spike almost choked on his drink, and the Uff-Da demon held up its paws. "Hey, I don't name the hands, buddy, I'm just an aficionado of the game.  Don't feel too bad though.  Most players don't know why it's called a bouquet, but they call it that anyway.  I'm just a bit of a history buff, so..."

"Rose Smith and Violet Jones?" Spike repeated when he was able to form words again.

"Two female poker players in Europe back in the 19th century.  Both just sort of disappeared, quit playing at the peak of their game."

"Disappeared?"

The hedgehog shrugged, then twitched its pointy nose.  "You know human females.  She probably went into heat, got married and squeezed out a litter."  The creature snuffled in laughter, and Willy and the three demons joined in.

"So, ya want in?" the Uff-Da asked Spike after he'd finally stopped laughing at his own joke.  "There's always room for one more.  Especially an *expert* like you," it continued with obvious sarcasm.

Spike hoped it poked itself in the eye with a half-dozen of its sharpest quills.

"Take you three to join," it added.

"Three?"

"Kittens."

Spike rolled his eyes.  "Amateurs."  He dismissed the confused hedgehog-like demon with a wave of his pale hand.

Spike drained his wineglass then thrust it out for a refill.  "Spice the next one up a little.  Add a shot."

"Sure, Spike," Willy said, quickly grabbing the glass.  "Anything you say.  You want pig or cow?  Or I might be able to rustle up some kitten for you."  He gestured toward the back room.

Spike grimaced at the thought of animal blood.  He'd always sworn that once he'd gotten back to his own time, it would only be fresh human blood from then on.  No longer did he have to restrain himself out of fear of mucking up the future or getting Willow hurt.  His grimace turned to a cocky, evil grin.  "Shove a tap in your virgin in the back.  Make it a double."

"That'll cost ya, Spike.  But then, money's never been a problem for you, has it?"

Spike grinned as Willy disappeared into the back room to punch-up his glass of wine.  "Not lately, mate.  Not lately."

While he was waiting for his refill, Spike swiveled around on his stool.  The three demons were still watching him as they sipped their own drinks.  The shorter one of the three again raised his glass of wine, while the taller one was sampling something tall and colorful with an umbrella in it.  The third was drinking a Bartles & James Fuzzy Navel wine cooler, through a straw.

And coughing after each girlie sip.

Wimps, Spike thought and turned around as Willy came back and handed him his bloody cocktail.  Spike winced after the first taste.  It wasn't quite what he'd been expecting.

"Who told you he was a virgin, mate?"

Willy's ingratiating grin faded.  "He said he was!  'Sides, you should see him, Spike.  This kid couldn't get a girl even if she were dead."

Spike narrowed his eyes at the insult, but let it slide as he took another taste of the drink.  He shook his head.  "I know virgin blood, mate, and this ain't it.  It's not bad, though, but it certainly isn't pure."  Spike smirked at the disappointed look on the bartender's face. "Maybe this student of yours couldn't get a woman, but he could certainly get *something*."

Willy disappeared into the back again, grumbling something about not being able to trust kids these days.  A few minutes later, he reappeared, shrugged and said, "I let the kid go.  He hadn't told me he was a Frat boy."

"That explains it."

While Willy continued to mutter on about the problems with the new generation, Spike sipped thoughtfully at his drink, replaying his earlier dialogue with the hedgehog in his mind.

So, Red made the history books, did she?

"Willy, refresh my memory," Spike said, casually tracing the rim of his glass with an index finger.  "Who actually invented poker?"

Willy shrugged as he put some nominally clean glasses away on the mirrored shelves behind the bar.  "Beats me, but I think--"

"They say it started in Ireland," said one of the creatures behind Spike.  Spike turned to find that the taller one of the three slick-skinned demons was talking. His voice was surprisingly human for such an alien-looking creature.

"According to the website 'Poker 101', the first known games were in Galway, Ireland," it continued.

Spike set down his drink on the bar and sat up straight.  "What'd you say?"

"The site says it was brought there from America in 1753, by an Englishman named William Smith, but there are no recorded games of poker in America before that time."  It somehow managed to narrow its eyes at Spike.  "Highly suspicious, don't you think?"

All three demons were glaring at him now, but Spike concentrated on the one that was actually speaking.  It was also holding a small computer-like device in one hand.

"It says all that?  In that little box?"  Spike stood and took a few steps toward the three creatures, and they visibly cringed from the approaching vampire. Then the demons exchanged looks that Spike interpreted as somehow both amused and annoyed.

The one with the handheld computer spoke again.  "I'll have you know that this is the latest generation in PDA, man.  Complete with transreflective monochrome LCD with backlight, a 266MHz Motorola Dragonball VZ processor, 64 megs of RAM, 32 megs non-flash upgradeable ROM for OS, a SD expansion card slot, IR port for beaming, integrated wireless modem, a universal connector, not to mention a few of my own *personal* modifications," the demon said in a defensive tone.

Spike gave the geeky demon a blank, bored look, which made it deflate a little.

It sighed.  "Yeah, that's what 'the little box' says," the demon grumbled.

Despite the creature's rather insulting tone, Spike's face broke into a huge grin, and soon he found himself laughing, head thrown back, arms spread wide from the sheer amusement of it all.

"This is just too priceless," Spike said when he was able.  Shaking his head, Spike returned to his seat. "Fate's a funny thing," he chuckled, then knocked back the rest of his bloody cocktail.  He slammed the empty glass down on the bar.  "I've got to share this with Red.  This'll make her night.  Hell, this'll make her century!" he said, more to himself than then the others.

The three demons exchanged a look.

Still chuckling, Spike tossed some cash on the bar. "If you want to see more of this, start stocking red wine," he advised Willy, then headed for the door.  He paused halfway through the exit to look back at the bartender.  "Beaujolais, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot...but none of that poncey Rose or Chianti rubbish.  Just the good stuff...imported.  Got it?"

Bobbing his head, Willy grabbed the money greedily.  "You got it, Spike."

"And you know," Spike added, "it wouldn't hurt you to clean the place up a bit, would it?  I'm all for a dark and evil kinda ambience, but that doesn't mean you can't wipe down the tables or offer a bloke a clean glass.  We're demons, not college students." With that bit of sage advice, Spike left the building.

*****

Angel had lasted only through Willow's first song before he began to feel like the intruder that he was.  Unbeknownst to Willow, he had silently slipped upstairs before she began her heart-to-heart talk with the werewolf and before she found her 'guitar fingers'.  After pacing guiltily around his own room for a few minutes, Angel knew he had to leave or else he'd be tempted to intrude upon their privacy again.  Trusting that she could handle herself alone with the werewolf for a while, Angel decided to assist her in a different way.  By going to The Bronze, he could help Willow keep yet another secret from her friends--her 'new' talent for music.  Since he was sure that Buffy and the others would stop by later to check on her, he decided to head them off at The Bronze and give them some excuse for why they needn't stop by.

Set in his plan, Angel quickly escaped outside, already deep in thought.  He hadn't even known that Willow played the guitar. What else didn't he know about her?

Angel hadn't made it to the sidewalk in front of his home before all of his questions were temporarily exiled by more urgent matters.  Spike was leaning against a streetlight across the road, somehow managing to smoke a cigarette and smirk at him at the same time.

"Where's Red?" Spike asked between long draws on his cigarette as Angel cautiously drew nearer.  "Keeping her locked up with the communion wafers and sacrificial wine?"

Here we go again, Angel found himself thinking.  Angel stopped several paces away, his face a vacant mask as he prepared himself for whatever pain Spike had in store for him this time.

"She's inside...with Oz," Angel answered calmly.

Spike looked up at the nearly full moon.  "'Call of the Wild' eh?"

Angel said nothing.

Frowning, Spike pushed away from the lamppost, dropped his half-smoked cigarette, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his duster.  "Guess I'll leave her to break in the dog on her own then."  He paused as he eyed Angel up and down critically.  "Good to know you aren't too broken up about her choosing the mutt over you.  I put in a good word for you, but what can I say?  The girl's got taste."

"Goodbye, Spike."

He grinned.  "Seeing as you're one of the white hats 'n all, I can trust you to tell her I stopped by, then?"

Spike spun away but only took a couple of steps before he came to a halt and half turned back towards Angel, who was still watching him warily.  Angel prepared himself for one of Spike's cutting remarks.

"Say, you haven't seen three odd demon-types hanging about, have you?  Look a bit like aliens?  Not the er, Sigourney Weaver type, more the Close Encounters type?"

Angel was surprised by the question, but he kept it from showing on his pale features.  "No, Spike."

Spike nodded thoughtfully.  "Good," he said, then smirked.  "Well, then, I'm off, but be sure to tell Red I stopped by.  She worries if she doesn't hear from me real regular like.  Just tell Red I'll catch up with her later at her place.  Have her leave the window open for me, like usual."

As Spike turned away, Angel called after him before he could think better of it.  "How's Drusilla?"

Spike spun back around, his blue eyes glittered icily at the condescending tone in Angel's voice.

"Why don't you ask me yourself?" Drusilla glided out of the shadows, catching both male vampires by surprise.

Spike spun to face her, pulling her into his arms for a quick kiss.  "Back from girls night out already, pet?  You and that Roxanne bird have a good time?"

Drusilla pouted her bright red lips.  "We had a fight.  I had to kill her."

"Er, what was the fight about, love?"

Drusilla looked into Spike's eyes, her pout darkening into a scowl.  Then she glanced over at Angel and the scowl was replaced by a wicked smile as she pulled out of Spike's arms to drift slowly toward the darker vampire.  "Later, my Spike.  We have company and must be polite."

"I wouldn't call him company, Dru.  He's more like a bad penny, just keeps turning up."

"Couldn't put it better myself," Angel shot back dryly, which only made Drusilla's smile grow.

"Now boys...no fighting over me..."  Her smile turned almost coy as she glided up to Angel.  "It's horrible what's happened to you."  Drusilla closed her eyes and placed her hand over his heart.  "It's so warm...so warm you'd think it was beating."

Angel stepped back, away from her touch.  "A soul doesn't make it beat, Drusilla," he replied.  "It only makes you sometimes wish that it did."

Drusilla sniffed.  "Such a sad tale," she said, shaking her head in pity.  Then the pity was gone, a look of disgust in its place.  "You aren't the Angelus I remember.  I miss him, I do."  Drusilla slowly circled the dark vampire.  "Did *she* do this to you?" Drusilla hissed from behind him.  "Did she sow this dirty soul in you?  Mayhap she wrapped it up all pretty-like with virgin-white ribbons and bows?"  A suggestive grin was on her face by the time she'd come full circle to stand before Angel again.

Angel fought to control his emotions.  He didn't like the look in her soulless black eyes when she spoke about Willow.  "No.  Willow--I mean Rose--did not have this kind of power."

"No, she does not...yet.  And yet..." Drusilla squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing at her temples.  "I cannot see her, though I try very hard.  I cannot see what happened.  All I see is Angelus in a field of flowers, surrounded by the nasty gypsy folk...the pain...it's horrible..."  She shivered, clutching at her chest.

"The Rom cursed me with my soul, as I've told you before, Drusilla."

Drusilla must have detected the impatience in his voice, because her eyes snapped open to glare at him.

"I could have been Angelus's.  He was my sire, in here," she said, dragging a sharp nail across her palm, drawing blood in its wake.  She waved her palm under his nose, frowning when Angel made no to move to taste her.  "Angelus's blood runs in my veins, but he gave me away," she said softly, then closed her eyes as she licked her palm clean, moaning softly with dark delight.  When the blood was gone, her eyes opened sluggishly to fixed Angel with a dreamy look.  "In my heart, William is my sire," she said, covering the area over her dead heart with a delicate-looking hand.  "Spike is my sire, because you...because  *Angelus*...chose her over me."

Angel wanted to walk away from the two vampires, putting an end to Drusilla's little game, but he was reluctant to anger her further, in case she decided to take out her frustrations on Willow.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you, Drusilla."

She threw her head back and laughed, the eerie sound making the hairs on the back of Angel's neck tingle.

"Hurt me?  You did not hurt me, dearie.  No. Angelus did not hurt me nearly enough to make him forget *her*."  She leered at him, tracing a random path across his chest with a long, blood-red fingernail.  "Even then she'd poisoned Angelus against me, digging, crawling, winding her way all through his beautiful dark insides until she was so deeply rooted within him that he couldn't let her go.  The nasty little weed tricked Angelus into loving her instead of me."

Angel seized her wandering hand, gripping it sharply enough to gain her full attention.  "Vampires can't love, Drusilla.  They have passion, yes, but they are incapable of love without a soul."  He dropped her hand, and Drusilla cradled it in her other as if she'd been burned.

"Whatever did she do to Angelus to make you think this way?" Drusilla asked.  "Surely you do not truly believe this?"

Angel glanced meaningfully between Spike and Drusilla.  "It's the truth, Drusilla.  You might as well face that truth now."

Drusilla frowned as she glanced back over her shoulder at Spike, but was smiling by the time she turned to look at Angel again.  She laughed, shaking an admonishing finger at him.  "No need to be so contrary."

"Yes, Angelus," Spike chimed in, striding up to grasp his beloved's hand, all the while glaring Angel.  "No need to be such a buzz-kill just because your unlife sucks beyond the telling of it."

Pulling Drusilla back into his arms, Spike kissed her long and deep, until the vampiress was clutching desperately at the leather lapels of his coat as if she might faint.  Angel sighed, seeing the kiss for what it was, a show of strength, a marking of Spike's territory.  Angel was a bit surprised that Spike felt the need to make such a showing in front of him, and the thought that perhaps Spike wasn't quite so confident of his place in Drusilla's life gave a slight boost to Angel's aching spirit.  Perhaps Spike couldn't have it all after all.

Spike finally ended the kiss, holding Drusilla just far enough away that he could look into her eyes.  "Don't listen to the bloody wanker, my divine Dark Goddess.  You know how much I love you.  What I've done for you."  When the blonde vampire began nibbling on the slender column of Drusilla's throat, murmuring words that Angel was glad he couldn't hear, Angel finally gave in to his own need to roll his eyes in annoyance.  He turned to make his exit and leave the lovers alone, but apparently, Spike couldn't resist one last dig before Angel escaped relatively unscathed.

"Maybe you should take another look at The Slayer," he called after him.  "After all, if a vamp's pathetic enough to fall in love with the living, might as well go all the way and make it The Slayer, ay?"

Ignoring Spike's attempt to pull him back into yet another verbal battle, Angel kept walking.  It was several blocks before he could no longer hear their laughter behind him.

*******

Oz opened his eyes.  As always, it took him a moment to remember why he was lying naked on the floor, surrounded by both prison bars and towering trees at the same time.

"Oh yeah...werewolf..."

Climbing to his feet, Oz stretched his aching limbs then noticed something he wasn't quite used to seeing on the mornings that followed the full moon--Willow, sleeping in a chair, surrounded by a pile of books, soda cans and what appeared to be an empty bag of Cheetos.  It wasn't that this was the first time Willow had helped him out in such a way, but she'd never done it alone...all night...

As quickly and quietly as possible, Oz got dressed.  He didn't want to disturb the sleeping redhead, but as he was tying his shoes, Oz realized he'd have to wake her up if he wanted out of the cage.  Although Giles had made several improvements while he'd been gone, they had yet to rig an automatic timer for the heavy steel door.  A key was still required on the outside.

He went to the bars and peered at the key, which was hanging on its designated peg, far out of his reach.  He had little choice.  He was going to have to wake Willow.

He'd just parted his lips to softly call her name when Angel suddenly appeared.

"Morning," they said in quiet unison with the barest of smiles.

Silently, Angel retrieved the key and opened the door so Oz could escape.  The musician looked down at Willow, then glanced at Angel.

"She was awake all night...just drifted off about a half-hour ago," Angel said in response to his unspoken question.

Oz opened a trunk that sat opposite the cell, pulling out a fuzzy, red plaid blanket and tossing it to Angel.  Without hesitation, Angel draped it over the sleeping woman.  As he tucked the throw around her shoulders and under her chin, Angel's hand accidentally brushed against her cheek.  Willow smiled in her sleep, bringing a smile to Angel's face as well.

Oz cast a surreptitious look between the two.  "Love...ever been?" Oz asked in soft voice, erasing Angel's smile.

"Once."

"What happened?"

"I died."

Oz nodded sympathetically, then added, "It's almost funny that you don't mean that figuratively."

"Almost," Angel agreed with a smirk.  He finally tore his eyes from the sleeping woman to look thoughtfully at Oz.  As jealous as he was about Willow's feelings for the guitar player, Angel couldn't be angry with him.  Oz was a good man and Willow could do much worse.  Like, say, Spike.  "What about you?"

"Don't know.  Thought I was last year, but since I no longer am, I guess I wasn't."  Oz paused, then added, "She was a blonde."

Angel nodded, as if that explained everything.

"Was she beautiful?" Oz asked after a moment.

"Very."

"As pretty as Willow?"

Unsure of how to answer that question, Angel gave him a blank look, then refocused on Willow as she slept. "Willow reminds me of her...of Rose..."

"Have you ever thought about--"

Angel cut him off with a raised hand and a curt tone.  "Don't finish that question."  He paused to rein in his feelings, then added more gently, "What can I offer besides a relatively short lifetime filled with moonlight walks and battling the apocalypse?"

Oz studied Willow then looked back at the vampire.  "That might be enough...for the right woman," he stressed.

Angel closed his eyes.  "It shouldn't have to be.  It would be...selfish of me." As many times as he'd said those same words to himself and knew them to be true, the vampire couldn't seem to make himself let go of the fantasy.  Eyes open, he forced a tight smile, hoping the falseness didn't show in his eyes.  "Besides, I think Willow prefers musicians."  Angel wished he could take the words back the moment he said them.  This should be between Oz and Willow, and Willow should be the one to tell Oz her feelings, not him.

Oz shrugged, retorting, "It's a curse, actually."  Then he looked at Angel and his teasing half-smile faded.  "Oh, you were being serious."

Angel could only nod.  If Oz hadn't already suspected that Willow had feelings for him before, he certainly did now.  Angel thought he could see a look of dawning understanding in the boy's eyes.

Oz frowned, scratching his cheek thoughtfully as he glanced between the two.  Shaking his head slightly, he finally said, "If you want, I could teach you to play, Angel.  We could start off with something easy..."

"I'll stick to sketching, thanks."

"And the occasional prison and/or zoo mural," Oz added, bringing a smile to Angel's face.

They stood in silence, watching her sleep.

"She looks uncomfortable," Angel mumbled after a few moments, hands in his pockets.  He glanced at Oz, who appeared to be trying very hard not to smile.  "Don't you think she looks uncomfortable?"

"Now that you mention it, Angel, she does look kinda cramped."

Angel nodded his dark head with somber enthusiasm.  "She'd be happier up in her bed, don't you think?  More comfortable?  I should--*we* should probably move her, right?"

"I know I always prefer beds to chairs," Oz stated matter of factly.

Angel nodded again, completely failing to look nonchalant.  "So then I should pick her up...take her upstairs...where she'd be more comfortable...right?  That's the sort of thing a friend would do...make her more comfortable, isn't it?" he asked almost desperately.

Oz's smile was one of understanding.  "Right.  It's the gentlemanly *friend* thing to do."

"Right."

Oz gathered Willow's things and put them in her backpack before grabbing his guitar.  Angel slowly approached the chair where Willow lay cuddled up, sleeping soundly.  With an arm at her back and one beneath her knees, Angel gently lifted Willow into his arms, as if she were the most fragile thing on earth.

As Angel cradled her slight body against his chest, he actually held his breath, afraid she'd wake up.  He didn't want to imagine what her reaction might be if she were to awaken and find herself in his arms.

"You should take her, Oz," Angel said, offering her to the smaller man.  "Somehow I don't think she'd be very happy about--"

At that moment, Willow shifted, snuggling closer to Angel with a sleepy smile and a soft sigh of contentment.

"You were saying?" Oz grinned. He lifted his guitar and Willow's backpack, showing that hands were full anyway.

Angel dared a slight smile of his own, his arms tightening protectively around his precious bundle.  She was obviously exhausted, if the circles under her eyes meant anything.  She needed to rest, and she wouldn't get that curled up on an old chair in the basement.

"Never mind," he murmured as carried her across the room.  Angel was barely aware that Oz followed behind as he painstakingly climbed the stairs one at a time, not wanting to disturb Willow.

The last time he'd held her like this was when she'd fainted the week before, the night she'd first arrived back in the current time.  It seemed like just yesterday that she'd returned to him, yet it felt as if decades had passed since that night when she'd called him 'Angelus' and then promptly fainted away.

Taking her into The Pink Room, Angel struggled not to relive the other occasions he'd carried her limp body.  The first time had been that night in the park in London, after coming across 'Rose' by chance some 50 years after he'd been turned. Then again decades later, he'd forced her to accompany him back to his London townhouse after outwitting her at poker.  Both times he had bitten her, and now his gaze drifted of its own accord to her neck, falling on the faint scars she still bore from those meetings.  He wouldn't allow himself to succumb to the guilt that those scars awoke in him.  Not now.  Still, he wished that just once he could hold her like this when she was conscious.

Reluctantly, Angel finally lay Willow on her bed and gingerly tucked her in.  He nodded absently when Oz discreetly made his good-byes, asking Angel to thank Willow for staying with him.  When he'd made her as comfortable as he could, Angel lingered in the doorway for a minute, just to watch her sleeping peacefully.  Because of him, she'd had so little peace in her life.  As he finally left the room and closed the door behind him, Angel made a silent vow to give her no new reasons to lose sleep.

With a melancholy smile, Angel headed for his own room, although he doubted that peaceful slumber would come to him anytime soon.

*****

A warm ray of sunlight hit Willow's closed eyes.  She snuggled deeper into the covers, trying to reclaim a fleeting dream in which she was lying in a field of emerald green clover high above the crashing waves of a cerulean blue ocean, staring up at puffy white clouds...

But it was to no avail.  The serene dream was gone and her desire to sleep along with it.

Groaning, Willow pried her eyes open, then immediately sat upright when she realized where she was.

"Bloody hell..." she muttered, before falling back into the pillows.  Somehow she was in The Pink Room--she quickly glanced under the sheets and breathed a sigh of relief--fully clothed.  The last thing she remembered was putting Oz's guitar away and settling back into the chair to read a little more from 'Watership Down' for the werewolf.  But she'd barely been able to keep her eyes open and...

...apparently she'd fallen asleep.  "Way to go, Willow.  Falling asleep on the first date," she grumbled at herself.  "That'll really win him over."

She'd just been so tired.  And, frankly, bored.

Willow shook her head in disapproval at her tiny admission of boredom.  "Yep, great first date," she sighed again.  At the same moment, her stomach growled.  Suddenly starving and in desperate need of the bathroom, Willow jumped out of bed and sprinted down the hallway.

After having a quick wash and brushing her teeth, Willow left the bathroom, intending to grab her things and go home.  But as she passed the little kitchenette, she saw Angel.  The vampire was dressed in black sweats and a baggy, somewhat rumpled gray T-shirt, looking as if he'd just gotten out of bed himself.  He stood in front of the microwave, apparently engrossed in watching his mug of blood rotating slowly inside.  Willow started to tiptoe by, then paused.  She couldn't keep avoiding him.

"Morning, Angel," she said as brightly as possible from the doorway.

Angel turned and smiled in surprise.  He'd fully expected her to simply sneak out with saying a word.  "Morning, Willow.  Hope I didn't wake you."

"No, it was the sun's fault, not yours."  She shifted uncomfortably.  "Did, um, Oz..."

The microwave beeped and Angel took out the steaming mug, which was shaped like the head of Chewbacca.  "Oz is fine," he said, turning back to her.  "I let him out first thing after sunrise."

Willow took a few tentative steps into the small room while keeping her distance from the vampire.  "I can't believe I fell asleep."

"You were tired, and Oz understood.  He wanted me to thank you."

Willow gave Angel a smile of thanks for his reassurance.  "Well, he's welcome."  She licked her lips nervously.  "Um, did he, er, bring me upstairs?"

Angel took a sip of blood, watching Willow carefully over the rim to gauge her reaction.  "We both thought you'd be better in bed...um, more comfortable in bed, that is."

Willow nodded at the vague answer, not even noticing the embarrassed look on the vampire's face as he cringed at his choice of words.

Angel quickly changed the subject and started glancing through his cabinets.  "Hungry? We have eggs, toast, Pop-Tarts--cherry, frosted--and lots of different cereal."  Angel showed her a box of Count Chocula.

Willow grinned.  "Let me guess.  Xander makes you get that, right?"

"He mixes it with the Frankenberry cereal and calls it the breakfast of Demon-hunting champions.  Want some?"

"No thanks, but I will take one of those Pop-Tarts."

Angel opened the box and took out a silver envelope holding two of the cherry-flavored pastries.  He tossed it to Willow, which she easily caught.

"I saw Spike last night," Angel said in a tight voice as he turned to put the box back in the cupboard.

Willow grimaced and prepared herself for the worst.  "What happened?" she asked in a half-groan.

"Nothing.  He wanted to see you, but I told him you were with Oz."  Angel leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.  "Spike wanted me to tell you hello and that he'd catch up with you later."  Angel grimaced.  He was trying to sound and look nonchalant, but he doubted he was pulling it off very well.  "He, uh, didn't want you to worry about him."

Relieved to hear that they hadn't come to blows or worse, Willow gave the vampire a grateful smile then focused on opening her breakfast.  "Thanks for telling me, Angel, especially since knowing Spike, his request hardly included a 'please' or a 'thank you'."  Willow broke off a piece of the Pop-Tart's edge and popped it into her mouth, not only because she was hungry, but to keep herself from asking Angel for more details about his latest conversation with Spike.  What else did you talk about?  What *exactly* did Spike say?  Did he try to hurt you?  Did you try to hurt him?  Did he look happy?

The list would go on and on, but since she was the one who'd asked if they could pretend that nothing had happened between them, she doubted that line of questioning would be very apropos.  It could easily get out of hand.  Instead, she quietly nibbled away on her cherry-flavor-filled pastry.

Angel cleared his throat.  "He also asked if we'd seen any strange-looking demons lately."

"Like the P'Ghar demon?" she asked when her mouth wasn't full.

"He said they looked alien-like and that there were three of them."

Willow jumped up to have a seat on the countertop across from Angel. "Nope, haven't seen them but I'll keep an eye out."

She munched on another crust, staring at the floor while she ate.  Angel concentrated on drinking his breakfast from the Wookie-shaped mug, which was also a present from the other Willow.  She'd gotten him the entire set of Star Wars character mugs off of Ebay.

The silence while they ate was uncomfortable but both were at a loss for what to say next.  Finally, Willow knew she had to say something before the silence became fatal.

"You've done good here, Angel," she admitted after her last bite.

"I didn't make the Pop-Tarts, Willow," Angel said with a casual grin.  "I only paid for them."

Willow smiled, knowing he was teasing her.  "I'm talking about Slayer Central, Angel.  I know I've been pretty negative about all the changes, but this..." she made a gesture to encompass the whole building.  "...this is simply amazing what you've done.  The books, the computers...everything.  You should be very proud of yourself."

Angel shook his head and stared down into his nearly empty mug.  "It was the least I could do, Willow," he replied.

Willow smiled as a similar conversation she'd once had with Spike came back to her.  "No, the least you could have done was wallow in self-pity forever.  It would have been a lot easier, too."  Angel looked up at her

Angel looked up at the redhead.  "Don't kid yourself Willow, and don't make me out to be a saint.  I had plenty of selfish reasons for doing this as well."

Willow brushed away a few brightly-colored crumbs from her lap then slid off the counter.  She put the remaining Pop-Tart in the refrigerator for next time before fixing the vampire with a stern look. "We all have those, Angel.  We all have our own calculated reasons for doing what we do, but that shouldn't negate the benefits.  No one's expecting you to be a saint.  Including me."

Angel's lips curved upward slightly, as if to say, "Then you won't be disappointed," but before Willow could respond, the hint of wicked smile, along with the devilish gleam to his eye, was gone.  He was serious once again as he set down his mug and took a hesitant step closer.

"Willow, about the mural..."

"Don't you dare apologize for that!"  She hated seeing his brow furrowed with guilt.

"But--"

"It was a shock, I'll admit," Willow interrupted him, taking a few steps closer to the vampire without realizing it.  "But Oz seems to like it.  It's actually quite beautiful, and yeah, kinda creepy, too, but that's okay.  I can cope.  After all, those memories are probably worse for you than they are for me."

Angel shook his head in disagreement as he inched forward.  "But I should have warned you or--"

Willow held her fingers to the solemn vampire's lips, cutting him off again.  "*Don't* apologize, I said," she repeated gently.

They froze for just a moment, lost in a maelstrom of emotions created by the intimate contact.  Then Willow's eyes widened when she realized what she'd done.  She abruptly pulled her hand away from his equally surprised lips and stepped back on shaky legs.  Angel jumped back as well.

"Besides...it, uh, never happened, right?" she asked with a forced lightness to her tone.  Her fingers were still tingling, and if she wasn't mistaken, so were her toes.  "It's simply a generic painting of any old forest to make Oz feel more at home when he's in his wolfie form."

Angel licked his lips.  "Er, right," he replied, rather dazed himself.

Desperate to look anywhere but at Angel, Willow happened to glance at the clock on the microwave and was shocked to see that it was already after two.  "Yikes!  Look at the time.  My parents will be arriving in a couple of hours...I should, er, get some groceries and stuff..."

Willow brushed past the Irishman, then stopped in the doorway to look back at him over her shoulder.  "Thanks for the good-night's sleep, Angel...well, good-morning's sleep, anyway.  I really needed that."

Angel smiled.  "Anytime, Willow, and please tell your parents 'welcome home' for me."

Willow nearly scowled from the mere idea of Angel and her parents knowing each other that well, but the sincere look on Angel's face chased it away.  She gave him a tremulous smile instead.  "Sure, Angel.  See you later."

Angel watched her leave, and when he heard the sound of the front door closing behind her, he felt like circling the date on the calendar.  He wasn't completely sure, but it seemed to him as if he'd actually managed to have a whole conversation with Willow without causing her any real pain.  The fact that she'd touched him without turning as white as a sheet was a bonus.

It was a red-letter day indeed.

~Chapter: Fifteen~

About an hour before sunset on a late summer evening, Spike sat sprawled in an Adirondack chair beneath the weeping silver birch tree in a heavily shaded corner of his mansion's garden.

He was so thoroughly engrossed in his book, sipping occasionally from his second glass of Beaujolais, that Spike didn't notice when he was no longer alone.  Having just gotten out of bed, Drusilla stood silently by the French doors that led from the house, watching Spike, waiting.

"What are you thinking about, my Spike?" she asked after several minutes passed without him noticing her.

Barely glancing up, Spike tried not to sigh in response to Drusilla's query, but since it felt as if she'd asked him that same exact question a million times in only the few weeks that he'd been back, a slight groan managed to escape his lips anyway.

"I'm not thinking, pet.  I'm reading...hence the way I'm staring at this papery thing with all the words in it," he added, waving a worn paperback copy of 'Little Women' in the air a bit.

"You're thinking about *her*, aren't you?" Drusilla continued with an injured look that Spike took no notice of.

"Which one?" he asked, focusing again on the book.  "Meg or Jo? Personally, I think Meg's a bit dull.  I like Jo.  The chit's got...spunk."

"You read too much, my sire, my Spike.  It makes your mind all jumbled and complicated.  I get lost in your thoughts, caught like a spider in their silvery web."

Spike cocked a brow as he turned the page.  "Not sure I like the implication that I've cobwebs for brains, pet."

Leaning her head against the ivy-covered back wall of the mansion, Drusilla plucked at the vine's green leaves.  "You never used to read this much.  This fascination with books you have isn't healthy, my Spike."

"Wasn't me, pet, remember?  Moreover, one book is hardly a fascination," Spike rebutted without looking up.  "You should actually try it some time...broaden your horizons...expand that little mind of yours a bit."

Without even seeing the stricken look on Drusilla's face, Spike quickly regretted his sharp tone.  "Let us not forget, I started reading a fair bit while I was waiting for you," he continued more softly, stressing the last few words to get his point across.  Then, with a patient grin, Spike met Drusilla's cautious eyes. "Helped pass the time, didn't it? All those dreary years without you.  'Sides, this is the first book I've picked up since I came back to good old Sunnyhell. Took if off that parking lot attendant you snacked on last night.  Otherwise, it would have hardly been my first choice in reading material."  He tossed the book aside with a flourish.  "I take it Angelus was never successful in making a learned man out of William, because my library doesn't appear to have anything in it other than a couple of old X-Men and Witchblade comics."

"My William didn't read much, my sire.  He found...*other* ways to occupy his time."

With a lazy smile, Spike held out his hand to beckon her.  "Ahh...spent all his time worshiping you, did he?  He may have been a simple lad, but he certainly had taste."

Drusilla's pout changed to a teasing smile that reached her eyes, making them sparkle in the twilight.  Venturing further into the garden, Drusilla took care not to step into the few remaining patches of fading sunlight that painted the intricate pattern of bricks beneath her feet. She placed her hand in Spike's and let herself be drawn onto his lap.

"My William had other interests, but he always came home to me," she murmured silkily, tracing his lips with a single sharpened fingernail. "To his Dark Goddess..."

"Sensible lad...quite handsome, too," Spike said huskily, before capturing her errant finger between his teeth and drawing it deep within his mouth.  Although Drusilla whimpered and squirmed appropriately as he took turns nibbling and sucking on her fingers, Spike could tell that she was still bothered by something.

"What's wrong, my pet?" he asked.  "You seem to be in a bit of a brown study tonight.  Why don't you and that Brittney bird go out as soon as the sun finishes setting?  You haven't been out with your girlfriends in over a fortnight, Dru.  You told me you loved your girls night out before I came back.  Bet that would be just the thing to put that sadistic smile I love so much back on your face."

"We can't," she said, playing with the buttons on his shirt.  "We had a tiny difference of opinion, so I had to kill her."

Spike sat up a little straighter.  Using a finger beneath her delicate chin, he forced her to look up at him.  "Drusilla...I thought it was Roxanne you *had* to kill?"

Her face darkened before she looked away.  "That was weeks ago, my Spike.  It seems that history keeps repeating..."

"How about that other girl, then?" Spike started with a concerned frown. "The blonde...what's her name?  Sarah?"

With a shrug of indifference, she shook her head.

"Let me guess," Spike nearly groaned.  "You had a fight with her as well?"

Drusilla nodded sadly, and as she turned to Spike, she looked like a lost child, sad and innocent.  But Spike knew better.

"Oh, come on!  It's been like a bloody sorority house around here since I got back. What about Sophie? And, er, Lauren? Then there's Wilma or is it Wendy?  You know, the chit with the enormous nose that you turned behind that music shop awhile back..."

Leaning in to lick the scar on Spike's jaw, she whispered, "Gone," against his raised flesh. "All gone..."

"They're *all* dust, Princess?"

Drusilla gave him an endearing smile that Spike remembered well, although tonight he was finding it a little less charming and quite a bit more absurd.

As Drusilla began to kiss his neck, Spike sighed, again, and had a fleeting thought that for a male, let alone a non-breathing vampire, he probably sighed *way* too much.  He blamed it on Willow. Every other breath Red takes is a bloody sigh! he commented to himself silently. She's been a bad influence on me.

"Well, no wonder it's been so bloody quiet around the homestead lately." He leaned away from Dru's eager mouth and waited until she looked up at, giving him her undivided attention--as undivided as Drusilla's attention could get, anyway.  "Tell daddy what happened, Dru."

She shrugged daintily.  "Same thing as before, my Spike.  They're all against me."

"Same thing as before?"

Drusilla slid down off Spike's lap to kneel at his feet and rest her head on his knee. "They kept asking me when you're going to turn her," she said, her fingers slowly tracing a sensuous path up his inner thigh, but Spike stilled her hand, covering it with one of his own.

"Her who?"

In answer, Drusilla rose gracefully to pluck the last flower that remained on a stunted rosebush nearby, which looked as if it had been chopped back several times but stubbornly refused to die.  Staring pointedly at Spike, Drusilla crushed the rose in her ivory fist, then turned her hand and spread her fingers, letting the mutilated bloom drop to the ground.  With a wicked grin, she crushed the flower beneath her black satin slippers with a ferocity that normally Spike would have found enticing.  Tonight, however, the prickling sensation her actions created within his body weren't erotic ones.

Ignoring the unsettling feeling, Spike leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to strike a seemingly casual pose.  "You mean, Rose, I take it? Willow?"

"They think you're going to turn her, *my* sire, *my* Spike."

While he wasn't surprised that other vampires thought that way since he'd made it very clear to the entire vampire population of Sunnydale that Willow was off limits, Spike was still surprised that they were stupid enough to discuss it with Drusilla.

Bunch of wallies.  He wondered if maybe it was time to start turning a smarter breed of human?  Perhaps picking minions and possible childer because they just happened to be walking alone in the dark or were stupid enough to go home with a complete stranger wasn't the best way to choose one's progeny.  Perhaps they needed to start hanging out at libraries and Mensa meetings instead?  Definitely worth some thought.

In the meantime, however, he had to quell Drusilla's fears before her waxing jealous streak drove her to hurt Willow in spite of his explicit orders.  Spike was well aware that although Drusilla often referred to him as her sire, in actuality Angelus had been the one to turn Dru before giving up all rights to her in exchange for Rose. What's more, although Spike could simply 'demand' that his Dark Goddess obey him for fear of death, as was his right technically, that wasn't the kind of relationship he wanted with Drusilla.

Still, he couldn't continue with his present plan of simply avoiding the subject or making a joke out of it either.  Obviously it was time to be more direct with Drusilla.  Not necessarily honest, but definitely more direct.

"Do *you* think I'm going to turn Willow?" he asked poignantly.

"You like her," she whimpered pitifully in return.

"I *owe* her, pet.  There's a difference.  Now, don't worry your pretty little head anymore about the girl."

"And yet you've declared her off limits, even to me," she said, rubbing her hands together worriedly.  "You've locked her away, all safe up on her pedestal, and you threaten anyone who touches her with all sorts of delicious tortures."

"Drusilla, I *love* you," he reminded her in his calmest voice. "Everything I've done for the past century has been for you, Drusilla, but I owe her.  We both do."  Spike rose smoothly to his feet and took her into his arms.  "We're together now *because* of Rose.  Remember, that little girl had a big part in this peculiar passion play of ours."

"Then you *are* going to make her one of us, my Spike.  You're going to sire her, to thank her."

Her voice trembled, but whether it was with fear or anger, Spike couldn't be sure, and yet he couldn't help chuckling at the irony of Drusilla's words.  "Don't think she'd quite see it like that," he mumbled more to himself than to the woman in his arms.  "Not at first, anyway."

She pulled back to give him a pleading look.  "Spike?"

"Drusilla, I've no intention of turning the chit. She'd make a horrible vamp anyway...what with all the overanalyzing she does.  She's all talk and no action.  Bloody hell...she'd make our accountant-bloke Dalton look all rash and hasty-like in comparison, wouldn't she?  Nah, she wouldn't last the night in our world.  It'd be a waste of my blood."  He laughed.  "'Sides, I've already spent one lifetime with the girl, off and on, and that's enough for any bloke.  Believe me."

"Then you aren't going to be her sire?"

"No, Drusilla.  I have you, and no one else can compare, so why bloody bother, eh, love?"

With a soft smile and a release of breath, Drusilla relaxed back into his arms.  Thinking a little further persuasion wouldn't go astray, Spike kissed her until she was putty in his hands and completely incapable of seeing through his lies.

He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, lying to the women in his life. Actually, for a demon he didn't lie all that much...mainly just about the topic of Willow becoming a vampire.  If he wasn't lying to Drusilla about it, he was lying to Willow herself.  Even as he trailed kisses down his Dark Goddess's neck to nip at her collarbone, Spike was remembering the last time he'd had to lie to Willow.

It had happened a few weeks earlier, only a couple of nights after she'd cut her hair.  Since Drusilla had yet to kill off all of her girlfriends, she and the rest of her babbling brood had gone 'shopping,' giving Spike a couple of hours of freedom.  He'd found Willow at home, but due to her parents being home, they'd gone for a walk through one of Sunnydale's many desolate parks instead of lounging about her kitchen drinking wine as they usually did.

He couldn't forget the look of childlike glee on her face when she'd thrown herself into his arms.  As he returned her embrace, Spike quickly realized she was babbling about her hair, of all things.

What was the fuss all about? he'd asked himself.  I already told Red how much I like the new look, what more could she want?

Just when he was about to tease her for fishing for compliments, Willow calmed down enough that he could actually make out what she was saying.

"It's still short, Spike!" she said repeatedly, pulling away after her impromptu hug.  "It's still red and it's still short!"

"And mine's still blonde, still short and still remarkably sexy," he retorted dryly as they continued on their way.  "What shall we compare next?  Chests?  Show me yours, and I'll show you mine," he said with a lecherous grin, which Willow ignored all-too-easily in Spike's opinion.

"Don't you get it?" she asked.  "I'd tried to cut it before, but it would never stay cut!  This time it stayed cut!  Don't you see what this means?"

"That over the past century they've vastly improved on the ability to produce bloody sharp scissors?"

Shaking her head, Willow stopped walking to put her hands on her hips and glare at him.  "No, it's proof that the spell really is over, Spike. That I'm no longer trapped in some sort of magick time bubble.  I'm a normal human again.  I'm mortal."

Spike froze, for once not sure what to say.

So you have your proof now, do you, Red? he silently queried. Talk about your soddin' mood killers!  And me without any bloody wine....

Afraid that Willow would easily see just by glancing at his face how he truly felt about her mortality, Spike eventually looked up at the stars as he fought to gain control his escalating emotions.  It didn't help that he found himself automatically seeking out a couple of constellations that Willow had shown him over the years.  The stars would always be there, he'd always be there, but Willow was content to let herself fade away.  It wasn't right.

Spike could feel the weight of Willow's eyes on him as she waited for some sort of response.  Knowing he had to say something other than the collection of colorful oaths that were currently on the tip of his forked tongue, he fixed her with the coolest face he could muster and said in a fake, bored tone, "You sound surprised, Red."

"More relieved than surprised," she replied with a carefree grin.  "I was afraid that maybe we'd messed up, and I'd be stuck looking 17 forever."

Willow began to stroll away again, and with the extra spring in her step, Spike thought it looked as if she were skipping with joy, which only infuriated him further.

"But, my hair is short, so--"

"And your life will be, too!"  Spike's voice came out sharper than he'd intended.  Hidden deep within the pockets of his duster, his hands clenched into tight, angry fists, and what little fingernails he had were cutting into his palms.

Luckily, Willow didn't seem to notice his slip as she continued her jaunt through the park.  "I'm already over a century old, Spike," she happily shot back at him over her shoulder.  "That's hardly a short life."

"It's a drop in the bucket, pet."  Spike was calmer now, the self-inflicted pain in his palms helping him find a token amount of self-restraint.  "You're barely a pimple on the enormous ass of time."

Willow stopped and turned to look at him with a mixture of disgust and amusement for his analogy.  "First of all, ewww!  Second of all, would you rather I stick around a century or two more just so I can be a...a...boil on time's big bum?"

Spike actually chuckled.  "Not quite what I meant, love, but--"

"Spike, this is a pointless and--might I add--icky conversation," Willow interrupted.  "I'm human now, so I guess I'm doomed to simple pimpledom, time-wise.  Nothing we can do about it now...nothing I *want* to do about it now either, you understand?"

"I understand that you still have your own unique way with words, Red."

She smirked.  "Just as you have your own unique way of changing the subject."

Caught red-handed, Spike resorted to his other favorite stalling technique: The leisurely search for a cigarette, followed by the slow, almost ritualistic lighting of the inevitably discovered smoke.  Willow waited patiently, but Spike knew she was watching him very closely.  He could practically feel her inquisitive green eyes boring into him as he took his first long drag.

"Spike, you know how I feel about this," Willow said finally.  "We've discussed this all before.  I don't want to live forever, and I especially don't want to be a vampire.  Remember?"

Spike stared up into the night sky again as he exhaled a small cloud of smoke.  He hated this conversation so much that he almost wished something would fall from the sky, just to get him out of it. Where's the bloody Sky Lab when you really need it?

"Rings a vague bell, pet," he said distractedly.

"A bell?" Willow snorted, regaining Spike's attention.  "Should sound more like Big Ben."

"Yeah?  Well, ask not for whom the bell tolls, love..."

"Spike!" Willow groaned.  "Please, I'm trying to be serious!  I need to know that you understand how I feel.  I--I want you to be happy for me, because for the first time I'm starting to think that maybe things can go back to normal..."

"Normal?" Spike scoffed, throwing his cigarette down after only a few long drags.  "Hate to break it to you, pet," he said, kicking at the glowing butt to extinguish it, "but you'll never be normal."

Spike would have winced at his own words if Willow hadn't reacted by giving him a sharp look, as if to say, "And whose fault is that?"  He hated that look, but before Spike could call her on it, she quickly softened, ending with a sigh.  "Please, I don't want to argue.  I don't want to fight about this...not with you, Spike."

Crikey how he wanted to argue with her, though, and maybe shake some sense into the obstinate redhead! His baser instincts were recoiling at the mere idea of discussing whether or not he would turn her.  He was a vampire, after all, and the demon in him didn't want to *negotiate* this particular point.  It wasn't natural.  Then again, nothing about his relationship with Willow was natural.  He knew that.  *All* of him knew that...his demonic side, his human bits, even Spike the man was well aware that what he and Willow had was...unique, to say the least.

Which was why he was reluctant--no, not just reluctant...he was violently opposed to the idea of losing whatever it was they shared to something so trifling as death.

Still, she didn't need to know that.  Not yet.

Leaning in close, Spike decided it was time to try yet another way of changing the subject.  Although he wasn't hopeful that this method would work either, he always loved trying.  "But arguing is what we do best, Red.  Well, *second* best anyway," he drawled silkily, but when he reached out to teasingly trace her collarbone with his finger, Willow surprised him by grabbing his hand and clutching it tightly against her.

"Promise me, Spike," she whispered up at him with such seriousness that Spike's smirk melted away.  "Swear that you'll never make me a vampire."

Standing there, with his hand clasped inside hers and held firmly against her throat so that he could feel the blood rushing through her veins, hear the pounding of her heart, Spike couldn't catch his breath. Not that he needed to, but the feeling was still markedly unpleasant, as if a fully-grown and well-fed Suvolte demon were sitting on his chest. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move...he couldn't even look away from those innocent sea-green eyes of hers.

Spike almost sighed, but just caught himself in time.  Even with everything she'd been through, she still had a genuine ingenuous air about her.  How could he even think of destroying that innocence by...

Bloody hell she was good! he thought, having to give himself a quick mental shake to chase away any seeds of guilt for his future plans.  She really knew how to hurt a demon.

Considering how he felt, he thought he'd have to force the words out, spit them in her face, but instead they slipped out smoothly, sounding surprisingly genuine even to his own jaded ears.  "I promise, Red."

She'd smiled then, her face lighting up so much that it seemed to outshine the many stars in the sky.  How anyone could be so happy to die, *really* die, was beyond his understanding.  She obviously was incapable of thinking clearly on this particular subject, which was exactly why he had no intention of keeping his vow to Willow. No matter what he told Drusilla or Willow, Spike was not going to lose her.  No, not now...not ever.

But it was too far in the future to worry about now, Spike had decided. He wanted Willow to have another decade or so of 'real' life.  He wanted her to experience it all--the boredom, the pain, the sense of futility--before he turned her.  She'd be more physically mature then, grateful to end the aging of her body.  One day she'd thank him for stopping the ravages of time before her laugh lines deepened into wrinkles, before her skin lost its fight against gravity and the blush left her cheeks.   One day, she'd fall down on her knees before him in gratitude, but for now, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

And the same went for Drusilla.  His Dark Goddess didn't need to know his future plans either.  It would be safer for Willow that way.

Lost in his own thoughts as he continued to cover Drusilla's pale throat with long kisses and wet nibbles, he finally realized that she was talking, asking him something...something about weeding?

"What was that, pet?" he murmured near her ear.  "'Fraid you lost me..."

"Since we don't need her anymore, may I do some weeding?  Please, my sire, my Spike?  I promise I won't get dirty and ruin my pretty new dresses."

He pulled back to look in her eyes, which were still half-closed with passion.  "Weeding?"

"If we don't need her anymore, we--"

"I *owe* her, Drusilla!" Spike said forcefully, his patience threatening to wear thin.  "Without her, I wouldn't have you!  I promised to keep her safe as long as I'm in town, Drusilla, and I intend to keep that promise."  When he noted a pout beginning to form on Drusilla's ruby lips, he continued in his most convincing tone.  "Dru, baby, you need to forget about Willow.  I did it all for you, Princess.  She was just the tool, baby, but *you* were the goal!"

Drusilla still looked unconvinced and even a little lost.  He tried again.  "You were the light at the end of the bloody tunnel, Dru.  She was, er..." Spike struggled for a simple analogy that Drusilla might actually understand.  It was at times like these that he found her obtuseness the most tiresome.  He never had to 'dummy down' his words for Willow.  In fact, he often found himself trying to...

No! he chastised himself.  This was not a good time to play the comparison game.

He started again.  "You were the glorious light at the end of the tunnel, Drusilla," he repeated firmly.  "She was simply the rickety old track that led me to you.  I used her so that you and I could be together for eternity...the way we're supposed to be."

Drusilla brightened a little, so Spike kept at it.

"Actually, the bint thinks it's rather romantic what I've done to be with you.  She really wants us to be happy and be together.  You could almost say she's our biggest fan, love."

"Our fan?  I don't believe I've ever had a fan before.  She wants us to be together, truly?"

"She doesn't want me, and I don't want her.  She wants us together forever, baby, just like in all the fairytales.  Happily bloody ever after..."

Drusilla smiled, and Spike relaxed when he saw the fear and jealousy begin to fade in her eyes.  "Happily ever after?  Like Romeo and Juliet?"

Spike winced, as thoughts of Angelus and Rose came to mind.  "Er, not good examples, pet.  Like...like Drusilla and Spike.  And you know, Red may have a point.  One day, they'll write stories about us, Dru.  One day they'll write endless pages about our endless love."

Drusilla bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, clapping her hands together happily.  "A book about us, my Spike?"

Finding her girlish enthusiasm contagious, Spike grinned and pulled her into his arms with a twirl so grand that it would make Fred Astaire jealous.  "No, my beautiful Dark Goddess...they'll write *hundreds* of soddin' books about us...sonnets, poems, plays, songs, even a dirty limerick or two.  Bloody hell...one day that Andrew Lloyd Weber bloke will write a musical about us that'll put the one about those mangy moggies to shame..."  He ended with a dip, bending Drusilla back low over his arm.

"Ooooh!" she squealed.  "I want that little girl who was in 'My Fair Lady' to play me."

Spike straightened, bringing Drusilla with him, before twirling her back out.  "Er, you mean Julie Andrews?" he asked, surprising even himself for knowing such an undemonly, not to mention unmanly, fact.  It had to be Willow's fault, somehow.

"No, the tele version...with that lovely Audrey Hepburn."

"She's dead, pet."

Drusilla grinned, letting go of Spike's hand to spin about with her arms spread wide, humming the tune  'I Could Have Danced All Night'.  "But so am I, my Spike."

Spike patiently watched his Dark Goddess dance about the garden.  "But she's dust and bones dead, love.  Unless you want to be portrayed as a ruddy great pile of ashes, she wouldn't do you justice."

With a pretty pout, Drusilla waltzed back to Spike, where she was enfolded into his arms.  Their dancing slowed, bodies melting together, thigh-to-thigh, hip-to-hip.

"Shame," she purred, staring at Spike's lips.  "She had such a beautiful, long neck...and you always said you love my throat."

"I love all of you, pet," Spike smiled softly as they began to fall into one of their familiar verbal games.

"Even the parts you can't see?" she asked for probably the thousandth time since they first met several lifetimes ago.

He leaned in closer to whisper his accustomed answer against her cheek. "Eyeballs to entrails, love.  Eyeballs to entrails..."

Drusilla giggled, arching her neck as Spike tugged on her ear with his teeth.  "But who should play you, my Spike?"

"Why, me, of course," he grinned.  "I'm the only one who could ever do me justice."  Spike didn't let her go, but he pulled back to look into her eyes.  "I can only imagine who those poofs back in Hollywood would get to play me.  Probably some American git who doesn't know the difference between a proper Birmingham accent and one from Manchester. Worse yet, some California pretty-boy surfer-dude.  I'd probably come across sounding like one of the bloody Beatles or all cockney-like. Damn Americans really suck at faking our accents."

Drusilla frowned playfully then drew her nail down Spike's cheek, leaving a trace of blood in its wake and Spike groaning with pleasure.

"But I don't want you biting some other girl, my naughty Spike," she said before licking the welling blood.  "Not even if it's only make-believe."

"Well, that settles it then, don't it?  We'll just have to play ourselves."  Pulling her head back sharply, Spike grinned victoriously when Drusilla moaned in delight and anticipation.  When he was done ravaging her mouth with his own, leaving her lips bruised and swollen, Spike was still smiling, the grin only half stemming from his success at easing Drusilla's fears and changing the subject away from Willow.

"Come on, princess.  Sun's set.  Let's go scare up some dinner, then we'll eat...in bed...."

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