"Come on, luv. Black lace teddy, thigh-high leather boots...it's perfect!" Spike insisted.

"Not on your unlife, Spike," Willow retorted, "I'm not going to go out of my way to look like evil vamp chick, no matter how much you want to stick it to Buffy. She hasn't seen me since...the change... and I'm nervous enough about this as it is!"

"Nervous?!" Spike huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically and speaking to the air as though they had an audience. "She survives a round in the Pit that, at current counts, reduced eight Masters, twenty-two of their childer, and twenty-four minions to ashes! And yet one lousy little Slayer has her knickers twisted in bloody knots!"

"You can catalogue my astounding feats all you want," Willow cooed at him indulgently, "But you still won't get me into that outfit."

The blond vampire frowned and petulantly folded his arms across his chest. He looked for all the world as though someone had just asked him to sing 'Ave Maria' for the Pope. Willow took pity on him.

"Not for this particular occasion, at least," she teased.

He tried to sulk. Really, he did. Yet, as Willow had anticipated, her coy insinuation struck the target and elicited a grudging smirk from him. Abruptly, he turned to leave.

"Spike, wait!" Willow protested, "I thought you wanted to be here when Buffy got here."

"Back later," he assured her with a sinful gleam in his eyes, "Got some shopping to do."

<Great,> Willow thought ruefully, <I've just created a *worse* monster out of an already-pretty-bad monster...>

Willow pulled on her usual outfit of choice: sweatpants and the 'Save the Whales' tee shirt she had purchased one evening as a private joke for Angel's benefit. She decided that it was suitably non-threatening. She then began to pace back and forth in their suite, still unsure that she was ready for this.

Tonight, Buffy arrived.

For the first time since Willow had been turned nearly eight months earlier, they would see each other face-to-face.

She spent the next half hour dwelling on every possible thing that could go wrong.

Ironically, Willow found that she was profoundly grateful that her heart was dead already. She doubted that she would have been able to survive the heart attack that this encounter was likely to provoke. And yet it was long overdue.

After a few weeks of embarrassed silence, Willow and Tara had begun exchanging e-mail on a weekly basis. When Willow had described the challenge of the Pit to her, her former girlfriend had, as usual, conveyed the news to the rest of the Sunnydale crew. She informed Willow shortly thereafter that Buffy was ready to roll into L.A. like a tidal wave and kick Angel's and Spike's asses for letting her get mixed up in something so dangerous.

The redheaded minion smiled slightly at the thought of her old friend being so fiercely protective of her, but she knew that it really was no laughing matter. When Buffy realized that Willow was in little need of protection any longer, it would only highlight the fact that she was now one of the very creatures that Buffy had been chosen to destroy. Buffy might be in for a shock when she saw for herself what Willow had become.

For her part, Willow struggled with a number of concerns she had about seeing Buffy for the first time since her human life had come to its abrupt end. Foremost was the chilling possibility that all of Angel's efforts to help her recapture her human personality were in vain, and that one moment with the Slayer would reveal to them all what she truly was: a demon, no more, no less. What if any remnants of friendship for Buffy were swept away by the instinct to attack and kill the Slayer? Willow wished that Angel had been able to tell her something more helpful than just, "The response to the Slayer is different for each vampire".

As she thought about her mentor, Willow acknowledged the other, secret reason for her discomfort. She dreaded the idea of seeing Angel with Buffy and whatever jealousy that might summon up. Willow knew that Angel had never truly stopped loving Buffy even though they had agreed to move on.

Safely closeting away that part of himself that was capable of loving passionately and eternally, Angel remained unaware of the same emotions stirring in his beautiful protegée.

Emotions directed at him.

"Can I heat you a mug while you're waiting?"

Willow spun around to stare almost guiltily at the subject of her turbulent thoughts as he stood smiling reassuringly in the doorway to their suite. Mistakenly assuming that the prospect of encountering the Slayer had put Willow in a mood, Angel approached her and attempted to comfort her. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he promised, "Willow, you'll do fine. I'll be there with you the entire time."

Somewhat awkwardly she smiled back at him and admitted, "You're probably right. I guess this just feels like the final test...Hey, you know, I think a little blood would be good before she shows up. Probably not smart to talk to a Slayer on an empty stomach..."

She ducked past him and began heading toward the refrigerator when an odd sensation overcame her. At first it was a mild edginess, but she halted in her steps because it wasn't just any kind of anxiety. This seemed to emanate from outside her. When Willow tried to feel where it was coming from, that was when she noticed something even stranger.

The more she concentrated on the source of this odd feeling, the more she felt she was somewhere else. Willow could almost feel her feet walking, knowing where each one would land next. Except that they weren't her feet!

"Angel," Willow reached out to him shakily, "Something's wrong...I feel..."

The dark-haired vampire steadied her. "Easy, Willow...It's okay. You'll get used to it. The first time you sense a Slayer can be disorienting. She's up in the lobby by now. Come on, we should go meet her."

"Whoa..." Willow remarked, still wobbling somewhat, "Disorienting is an understatement."

The two vampires ventured out to the lobby where they found Buffy glancing around uncertainly, looking for them. Her eyes froze when she saw Willow approaching with Angel, as there had been nothing to prepare her for associating her built-in vamp warning signals with one of the best friends she had ever known. Trying to shake off the major wiggins that the whole situation gave her, Buffy greeted them both softly.

"Hi Angel...Willow..."

"It's good to see you, Buffy," Angel answered sincerely, although he experienced the familiar pang of regret for what-might-have-been. He turned to Willow, encouraged that she hadn't immediately hurled herself at the Slayer, and asked, "Willow...how are you doing so far?"

"Wow!" was the only reply he received.

Willow stood entranced before Buffy, whose forehead was now wrinkled in confusion. She tilted her head to the side and stared at Willow. Simultaneously, almost anticipating the action, Willow also tilted her head. Perplexed, Buffy glanced over her shoulder to see if there was something that had attracted Willow's attention. Once again, Willow mirrored her action, wide-eyed and grinning maniacally.

"Okay...this is worse than strange...this is downright Hellmouthy..." Buffy muttered warily as she took a step back.

Even before the words were out of her mouth, Willow followed her with one step forward.

"Hey! Cut it out!" Buffy snapped, increasingly alarmed.

The Slayer brought her right arm up defensively, but found Willow's left hand already waiting there for it. Instinctively, Buffy tugged away and attempted to fend Willow off with her left arm, yet the redheaded vampire seemed to know where her jab would go before Buffy even completed it. Soon, they were exchanging a flurry of swipes and jabs, but not necessarily violent ones. Indeed, to Angel Willow looked like a kitten batting at a string that dangled in front of her. Oddly amusing as it was, he had to step in.

"Willow...Willow! Stop this," Angel insisted as he reached over and pulled her back from Buffy, who by now was majorly freaked.

"O-o-okay," she agreed reluctantly, "I will if she will."

"What was that all about?" Buffy demanded, visibly shaken.

"Why don't we all sit down?" Angel suggested, "See, Willow, Buffy isn't doing anything, she's just here to talk to you."

Angel drew Willow down on one of the lounges beside him and gestured for Buffy to have a seat across from them, hoping to restore calm. However, Willow was still fixated on the Slayer.

"She *hasn't* stopped, Angel," Willow countered, "She's still in my head."

"I'm what?!" Buffy blurted out, still stupefied. This wasn't at all what she had expected her first encounter with a vamped-out Willow would be like.

"Willow, what do you mean?" Angel asked her patiently.

"I can feel her in my head. When she moves, I feel like I'm moving with her. Like now...she's about to scoot away on that lounge," Willow observed.

Buffy, who had indeed been poised to inch slightly further away from the fledgling who bore her friend's face, froze in shock.

Angel relaxed, understanding at last. "Willow, you're going to have to get used to that," he counseled, "That's your particular response to the Slayer. I told you it was different for every vampire. Apparently, your proximity warning makes you hyper-sensitive to the Slayer's position."

"Oh," Willow nodded, furrowing her brow, "It feels...weird..."

"No kidding!" Buffy muttered fervently.

For the first time since they had encountered each other that evening, Willow looked Buffy directly in the eye and spoke to her coherently.

"Sorry about the, um, eccentric behavior, Buffy."

Buffy eased back into her seat slightly and said quietly, "It's okay."

The three of them sat quietly for a few moments and cast furtive, awkward glances from one to the other. It was difficult to know exactly where to begin, especially since Buffy had been privy to the regular updates that Willow had been sending Tara.

Taking he lead as usual, Buffy ventured a polite conversation-opener:

"So...how are things?"

"Good," Willow offered brightly, "A lot different than life in Sunnydale, but Angel keeps me busy. We train, sometimes I do research on the computer, and I've even gone with Angel on one of his demon-busting missions."

"Is that a smart idea?" Buffy asked, concerned, "I mean, from what I understand, when you were...*vamped*," she bit out the word painfully, "you wound up with less than the usual strength."

"Yeah," Willow nodded, "But the training has helped, and so has Angel's blood."

Buffy looked somewhat uncomfortably at her ex-lover. The role that Angel played in fortifying Willow through his blood had by now been explained to everyone, and vague allusions had been made to some of the more intimate consequences. Angel glanced back at her and then quickly lowered his gaze, knowing where her thoughts had turned.

"Not to mention the incredibly potent blood of one of the baddest vamps in town!" Spike declared brashly as he strolled back into the lobby with a discreet shopping bag dangling from his right hand.

"Spike..." Buffy acknowledged his presence with disdain, "You mean to tell me that Dracula is back and has been feeding Willow?"

"Still fixated on the old bugger's blood, are you, Slayer?" Spike taunted her vindictively, "Find it hard to think of much else after your own, forbidden taste?"

"No, actually, I just find it hard to believe that Willow could stomach yours," Buffy fired right back.

"I have quite a lot to offer that Willow enjoys," Spike purred with a sly glance at the young, redheaded vampire. Before Buffy could offer yet another retort, he sat down next to Willow, held up the shopping bag and said, "I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for on such short notice, but I did find a few tasty bits. Do you prefer black or plum?"

With that, he pulled two lace merrywidows out of the bag, one in black and one in plum, and displayed them both against Willow.

"Hmm...well, the black is certainly more dramatic, but the plum brings out the green in your eyes," Spike appraised, fully enjoying the ire that he could sense rising in both Buffy and his sire.

"Spike, not now," Willow rebuked him, attempting to sound stern but unable to keep a slight giggle from sneaking out. Could she help it if she now found human prudishness amusing? A quick glance at the blush rising to Buffy's cheeks was nearly Willow's undoing, and she promptly looked away and bit into her own lip.

"Very well. Later, then," the blond vampire conceded with mock graciousness, before turning back to Buffy and prompting her impatiently, "Get on with the reunion, already. Red and I have plans."

"Spike, maybe you should leave," Angel suggested firmly.

"Not bloody likely, mate!" Spike protested, "I'm only sorry I missed the initial fireworks. So, did she go for the Slayer's throat or her heart?"

"Neither," Buffy informed him coolly, although she frowned slightly as their first encounter replayed in her mind. "Apart from some initial weirdness, Willow and I have been just fine. I guess the good news is that she can rise above being a killer like you."

It was like watching a baby carriage roll inexorably over the edge of a flight of stairs, hover momentarily and then begin its terrifying descent. Even as Buffy's words hung in the air, Angel and Willow heard the trumpets of the Apocalypse and opened their mouths to say *anything* to prevent what they both knew was coming next. Their efforts were doomed from the start.

Despite the fierce squeeze that Willow gave his hand, literally drawing blood, Spike gloated, "I wouldn't worry about that. Early days yet. Red's developing her own, personal flair for the kill."

Oh shit.

Buffy stared back at him in shock.

Willow froze.

Angel fumed and contemplated creative ways to remove Spike's tongue from his mouth, permanently.

"What did you say?" Buffy demanded in a small, strained voice. Her eyes were glassy, as though she wasn't really registering anything in front of her.

Before Spike could do any further damage, Angel growled at him, "You. Out of here. Now. I'll decide whether to stake you or just rip your head off later."

"Something I said?" Spike asked innocently. However, when Angel dropped into gameface and gave him a no-holds-barred snarl of rage, the blond vampire opted to cut his losses and exit the lobby.

That was confirmation enough for Buffy, who glared at Angel and Willow in utter betrayal. "So, it's true. Willow kills. The whole story about recovering some fragment of her humanity, using it to control the demon...that was just a lie, right?"

"Buffy, I can explain--" Angel began, but Buffy interrupted him.

"Explain why you lied?!" she raged, the pitch of her voice steadily climbing. "What was the point of this whole charade? And why would you want to let this *destroy* Willow's memory?! She would *never* have wanted to be responsible for anyone's death. This goes against everything Willow believed in, everything that made her the... special...beautiful...person she was..."

Like a flash rainstorm in July, Buffy's tirade spent itself with sudden fury and then faded into heartbroken sobs and gasped words.

As Buffy wept openly, Willow admitted softly, "I know."

Buffy wiped her eyes and sniffled, "What?"

"I know that the person I used to be would hate what I do. I feel it after every kill," Willow elaborated calmly.

"Oh, so you're saying you feel a twinge of remorse?" Buffy bit out with angry sarcasm, "I'm sure your victims appreciate that."

"It's the best I can do right now," Willow pressed on, "You're right, I'm not the same person you used to know. The jury's still out on what I am. The killing is part of me, for now. But Angel thinks I might be able to survive without it someday."

Uncomfortably, Buffy glanced briefly at Angel but said nothing. After a few moments of silence, she dropped her face into both hands, propped on her knees, and did little more than breathe in and out.

From her human memories of the Slayer, Willow guessed that Buffy could use a good cry.

And she wasn't likely to do it in Willow's presence. Resolved, the young vampire stood and murmured to her mentor, "I think I'm going to go check on Spike."

Angel looked up at her gratefully, knowing that Buffy just couldn't bring herself to deal with everything while Willow was there. The redhead squeezed his hand and prompted, "So, can I tell him you won't pull an Alexei if he behaves?"

The elder vampire scowled, still furious with his tactless childe for toying with Buffy at Willow's expense, but as always found himself weakening under the gentle gaze of his protege.

"Only for your sake," Angel conceded grudgingly, but with a smile. He squeezed her hand once more before she pulled away and left him alone with Buffy.

He had seen the fierce warrior. The lover whose passion equaled his own. The ally, and the enemy. He had held her in his arms in one, terrible yet precious moment when she had screamed out the agony and grief over her mother's death as she had been unwilling to do with anyone else. In that moment, he had seen her at her most vulnerable.

But he had never seen her so defeated. Not even when he'd tried to kill her.

Angel knelt before her and placed comforting hands on her shoulders, running his palms soothingly up and down her upper arms. Leaning close, he whispered desperately:

"I'm sorry."

After several seconds, Buffy released a shuddering sigh and murmured, "I never asked for this."

Confused, Angel said nothing and merely continued to massage her arms in slow circles with his thumbs, waiting for her to continue. Eventually, she raised her head up from her hands and spoke.

"I didn't volunteer to be the Slayer. I was stuck with it. I lost any chance at a normal life...and I can't even spare the people I care about the most from the nightmares I'm supposed to fight. I can't even protect my friends..."

Angel caught the stray tear that slid down her cheek and brushed it away with his thumb, sharing with her a sympathy that only he, who had lost friends of his own in the course of his appointed mission, could. The Powers exacted a high price from their champions, without bothering to provide someone who could understand the pain.

Except another champion.

"Buffy, you couldn't have known what would happen." Angel insisted, softly pleading with her to forgive herself, "The human Willow wouldn't want you to blame yourself for this. And the Willow we have now certainly doesn't. They at least have that in common."

Buffy's mouth twisted into a grimace of a smile, as her tears renewed their flow. "You know this Willow better than I do, Angel. I can't seem to get past the killing part....How could you want that for her?"

"I know this isn't going to be easy for you to accept, but it's part of helping Willow reach the point where she can survive on her own," Angel explained, "Eventually, she'll be able to get by without killing, and I hope that she'll want to. For the moment, though, living blood is what she needs."

For several minutes, Buffy absorbed Angel's words. The Slayer in her refused to sacrifice human life to nurture a fledgling vampire, no matter who that vampire might have been in life. But the woman who cherished memories of a bright, warm, gentle friend desperately wanted to believe him, to cling to the idea that someday Willow could be restored almost to her former self. The inner battle left Buffy drained and defeated. Finally, she said:

"I'll have to trust you on the finer points of vampire physiology. I *want* to believe you, Angel. I trust your motives...even if I'm not so sure about your judgment right now. But I can't...I can't stand by indefinitely. I have a duty to uphold. If it were *anyone* but Willow, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. I'd be out there with a stake in my hand and a pile of ashes at my feet. Actually, make that *two* piles, counting Spike..."

"Well, you might not get any argument from me on that last point," Angel conceded ruefully, "But you shouldn't just take my word on Willow. When you're ready, I think you two should try to talk again. She might be able to give you the hope you're looking for."

Buffy nodded hesitantly and managed a weak smile. "If there was anyone who could find the positive in a hopeless situation, it always *was* Willow."

*****

Spike leaned up against the hood of his DeSoto and smoked a cigarette, savoring the sweet taste of triumph at having rendered foul and impure one of the Slayer's most cherished memories. Cor, how the mighty had fallen! Served her bloody well right for putting him through a year of humiliation.

He sensed Willow's arrival behind him and without turning he remarked, "So, are they fighting over who gets to stake me?"

"Don't be silly," Willow deadpanned as she leaned against the car beside him, "They sent me to do the job. Any last requests?"

"Well, yes, but they involve you shedding those pants and hopping up on the hood of the car," Spike leered.

"Seriously, you really messed things up for me in there," Willow chided him, "It was hard enough for both of us to adjust to the fact that *technically* we're mortal enemies now. And you just had to do it--"

"The Slayer would've found out about your feeding habits sooner or later," Spike broke in defensively.

"--you had to go and play dress-up with the lingerie," Willow finished demurely, flashing him a 'gotcha' smile.

Spike smirked, dropped his cigarette on the asphalt, and crushed it beneath his foot. "Unlike *some* of us, I have no desire to make nice with the Slayer."

"Well, do you think you can *fake* nice, for my sake, at least for the moment?" Willow asked.

"That depends on the incentive, luv," Spike leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "Care to make me an offer?"

"How about Angel *not* turning you into Alexei 2: The Sequel?" Willow whispered back.

"Bloody hell. That bad, eh?" Spike grimaced as he pulled back.

"Spike, you Wicked Terror, have you ever been known to do anything just a *little* bad?" Willow teased him.

"Guess I'm just talented that way," he conceded with a grin. "So, how much longer should we give them? Think the Slayer has a stake in her hand as we speak, or are she and the Poof too busy weeping in each other's arms over lost friends, lost innocence and the epic tragedy of a love that can never be?"

The blond vampire noticed the brief flicker of pain in Willow's eyes at his reference to his sire's tempestuous relationship with Buffy. <Oh sod,> he thought, <Got to cure her of that...>

"No...actually, I think Buffy has calmed down," Willow responded to his question, "She's been crying pretty hard, but now she's stopped."

Spike gaped at her, dumbfounded. He hadn't quite expected that answer.

"What?" he finally found his voice, although he still reeled from the implications of Willow's off-handed reply. "Willow, did you just say what I think you said?"

"You mean about Buffy crying? Well, yes. So?" she squinted at him, perplexed.

"So...you can read her mind?" Spike anxiously awaited her confirmation.

"No, nothing like that," Willow explained, "Angel says it's just my particular response to the Slayer. I can sense her motions, how she's moving, what her body is doing. It's a little disorienting, because sometimes it almost feels like I'm actually in her body, but also in my own at the same time."

"Satan's beard, Willow!!" he exclaimed almost gleefully, "Do you realize what this means? You're every Slayer's worst nightmare. They'd have no defense against you. You can sense their movements before they even have a chance to strike. Just think of the potential!"

"Not now, Spike," Willow rolled her eyes at his one-track mind.

"Well, of course you'd need a few more years to build your strength up, but once--" he reasoned, before she cut him off.

"Not while it's Buffy," Willow clarified, "And speaking of Buffy, let's go give conversation another try. Promise me you'll behave?"

Spike sulked, disappointed at the sheer waste of such a gift. What vamp wouldn't give his left arm for the ability to anticipate the Slayer's moves? That settled it. He simply had to become much more of a bad influence on her. She'd been around the Poof too long.

With a seductive grin he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Promise me *you'll* misbehave later?"

Amber flecks danced in Willow's eyes as she purred in reply, "Hmmm...well, I might need a little help with that."

"Isn't that what my sire dragged me away from Sunnyhell for in the first place, luv? Always here to help," Spike growled, then nipped at her earlobe roguishly and allowed her to steer him back toward the Hyperion's grand entryway.

As they made their way through the doors, they were greeted by the sight of Angel on his knees before a seated Buffy, holding her close in a tender embrace. Spike felt Willow falter in her stride and he moaned inwardly for her.

<Hell...she can feel that...>

Spike did the one thing he could think of to distract her. Without hesitation he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her body flush against his as they continued toward the Slayer and his sire. She squeezed his side with the hand that rested on his hip, a sign that she recognized what he was trying to do for her and appreciated it.

Angel and Buffy parted somewhat reluctantly and rose to their feet as the other two vampires approached them. Buffy scowled sullenly at Spike before her gaze settled uncomfortably on Willow. If anyone had told her a year earlier that her friend would soon be joined at the hip with one of the most vicious, treacherous vampires ever to be spawned, Buffy would have considered the person a candidate for the mental ward.

Yet here they were...

"It's too early for me to be here," Buffy declared, struggling to keep her heartache at bay. It was going to take all of her strength to walk away. "Neither of us is ready yet."

"You don't even want to talk?" Willow pressed, although the resolve showed plainly in Buffy's eyes.

The Slayer shook her head sadly. "We...don't have enough common ground yet. What common ground we do share should make us enemies. You kill humans. I kill vampires. The only reason we're not enemies is...." Buffy took a deep, shuddering breath before she continued, "...is because I had a wonderful friend who was always there for me, and I never had the chance to tell her how much she meant, how much better my life was with her in it. I'm hoping I'll get that chance, someday. But I can't tell her right now. Not under the circumstances. There are some things a Slayer can't overlook, not even in the name of friendship."

Willow bit her bottom lip uncomfortably. She could feel Spike tense beside her, and knew that he was straining against the urge to tell her just to forget about everyone from her old life and embrace her vampire existence in all its bloody splendor. But as much as the demon in her rebelled at being judged for doing what it was in her nature to do, the faint remnant of her humanity which they had been nurturing all these months was touched by Buffy's words. How could she not be, when those words expressed everything that she remembered the old Willow wanting to tell Buffy?

"So...you're willing to try again later?" Willow asked stoically, but with a slight glimmer of hope.

"That depends on how much the killing is a part of you," Buffy stated bluntly.

Angel stepped in, feeling the need to mediate. "Willow, Buffy is willing to believe that your need to kill while feeding is temporary, even though in principle she can't accept it. I've told her that I think you'll eventually be able to survive without killing."

"And if I can't?" Willow prompted, wanting everything out in the open.

"I won't come looking for you right away," Buffy admitted grimly, her jaw tightening as she considered the painful possibilities, "But if you ever decided to move your hunting grounds to Sunnydale, I'd treat you like any other vamp."

Willow nodded soberly. She understood.

"What about Angel?" the young vampire asked. When Buffy wrinkled her brow in confusion, Willow clarified, "You won't come after him for helping me, will you?"

Buffy relaxed, oddly encouraged by Willow's ability to feel concern for Angel's welfare. "No," she assured Willow, briefly glaring in Spike's direction, "I don't consider *him* to be part of the problem."

Spike scowled back at the Slayer but held his tongue as he felt a warning squeeze from Willow on his hip.

"Willow, don't worry about me. We'll take this at whatever pace you can handle," Angel insisted.

"I think I could start trying now," Willow ventured.

The blond vampire at her side went absolutely rigid with shock. Any restraint he had shown out of consideration for Willow or fear of retribution from his sire evaporated as he hissed, "You're not bloody serious?!"

"Spike--" Willow began, but he cut her off.

"Don't bother, little minion!" Spike spat out coldly. He pulled away from her, tense with rage at how easily the Slayer had ruined his unlife yet again, and fuming at the sway that Angel had over Willow. She was willing to throw away *everything* for him. With every intention of venting his frustrations on the local human population, he stalked toward the exit.

"Childe!" Angel barked authoritatively, halting Spike in his tracks, "You agreed to help Willow. Your obligation doesn't end just because she cares what Buffy thinks about her actions and is willing to change."

<Oh, this is too rich! The Poof is completely blind,> Spike fumed silently to himself.

"It wasn't the Slayer's opinion that concerned her," the younger vampire informed his sire tersely, staring at him pointedly for an extended moment before turning his back on the others once again and storming out of the lobby.

An awkward silence fell over them like a shroud, until Buffy observed dryly, "Well, I was going to leave anyway. If I go now, I might just catch Spike in time to stake him."

Willow nibbled on her lower lip, still smarting from the blond vampire's violent rejection of her intention to forego killing. It didn't surprise her, since she had realized several weeks ago that Spike was engaged in a subtle but persistent tug-of-war with his sire over her. She was quite aware that for every encouragement Angel offered her in her efforts to recover fragments of her old, human personality, Spike had been whispering temptations to her darker side. And that, in the end, was what set her at ease about his dramatic exit. He wouldn't give up this easily. After he had killed a few people, he'd think things over and return with a new game plan.

Now *there* was a cause for concern, though. Willow didn't relish the idea of trying to work around a determined Spike. But, as with everything in her new existence, she didn't really have much of a choice. Trying to hold her own when the deck was stacked against her had become part of her normal routine.

And Spike could be downright delicious when he was determined...

"I wouldn't worry about Spike," Willow said at last, "He'll come around, eventually."

"Wow. I guess you do have something in common," Buffy muttered ironically, glancing at Willow with a hesitant grin.

"Spike and I?" Willow countered, not quite following her.

"No, you and the old Willow," Buffy's grin widened, "She used to take optimism to the extreme, too."

The redheaded vampire giggled and flashed a genuine smile that nearly made Buffy believe that she was looking at her old, human friend.

"I don't know if I'd say it's optimism," Willow explained, humor still lightening her voice. "Let's just say I know Spike better than I used to."

The illusion shattered, Buffy's smile faltered and she returned to her declared intention to leave. "I really should go," she stated quietly.

"Okay," Willow nodded, as she reluctantly conceded that this frustrating, catastrophic encounter had probably gone about as well as they could have hoped. "I'll stay in touch and let you know how I'm doing with my...uh...new diet..."

"Thanks," Buffy replied, trying not to wince at the mention of Willow's need for blood.

When Buffy made no immediate move to head for the door, Willow noted the tension in Angel's stance, and realized that he was waiting for the chance to say his own good-byes but was unwilling to dismiss her. Although it elicited a sharp twinge of jealousy, Willow knew that he needed this. Discreetly, she began to withdraw from the two of them, murmuring, "I think I'll go out and look for Spike... again...just to make sure he hasn't gotten into *too* much trouble."

As she turned to go, Willow caught a flicker of deep gratitude in Angel's eyes. The thought that she had made him happy took the edge off the envy she felt toward Buffy, but only for a moment. As she passed through the main entrance to the Hyperion, she rued her ability to sense the Slayer's movements when she felt the phantom traces of the yearning, bittersweet kiss that Angel and Buffy were sharing. Willow quickened her pace, wanting to distance herself from the overpowering sensations.

Even more, though, she wanted to flee the knowledge that such kisses existed, and that Angel had never kissed her like that.

*****

When she saw the bloodless corpses of two lovers locked in an eternal embrace on a park bench, Willow knew Spike was expecting her. The artful display was his way of taunting her, reminding her of exactly what she intended to give up. And she also grasped the message in his choice of two lovers rather than a solitary victim: passion, without blood, was empty.

Willow continued past the bodies and walked for several minutes more until she found Spike reclining on the wide, asphalt rim of a fountain in the middle of the park. Blood coated his lips, and small flecks stained his shirt. As she approached, Spike eyed her coolly but said nothing, not even when she sat down near his head and let her fingertips drift through the water that lapped at the fountain's edge.

Knowing that he would never give in first, Willow broke the silence, asking casually, "So, if you're going to storm off in a huff and leave me to Angel, mind if I have your room?"

A full minute elapsed and Spike said nothing. He didn't even so much as twitch an eyebrow to indicate that he'd heard her. Just as Willow was beginning to think that she ought to leave him to sulk for a little while longer, he remarked, "You've gotten much better at lying."

Swinging his legs off the ledge, Spike stood up and strode a few paces away before turning to stare at Willow with a critical eye. A slight trace of contempt shaded his voice as he continued, "The fluffy little human girl used to squirm and moan at the thought of having to tell a lie. Not you. You lie so very well. 'specially when you're lying to yourself."

Willow folded her arms across her chest, matching his gaze with one that dared him to come up with something more impressive. "All right, Spike. Out with it," she prompted him, "You've given your dramatic flourish, the heralds have announced you with trumpet fanfare, so let's get to the main event."

"Fine," he retorted, his stern regard unwavering, "You're a killer. Denial won't alter that. Angel's convinced you that you can subdue your weak demon with daydreams of restoring your human side. You honestly believe that makes you any less a demon? It may be weak now, but every day you survive, it gets that much stronger. Minions who survive beyond the first few decades eventually become as strong as masters, regardless of how they started out. D'you think because you started a little behind the rest of us, the same won't happen to you? When it does, what will all of your martyrdom and self-denial have bought you? You'll kill again, because you won't have a soul to make you give a rat's arse about killing."

"All right, Spike, if it's inevitable that I'm going to end up like any other murderous demon, why are you so upset?" Willow observed dryly, "Why don't you just sit back, point and laugh? Or disappear for fifty years and come back when I'm ready for lessons on torture with railroad spikes?"

"You're forgetting the Poof. Didn't you hear him? My obligation to you doesn't end just because I don't agree with the game plan," the blond vampire spat with distaste.

"No problem. I'll just tell him to let you go. I think you've more than upheld your end of our original bargain, since I've gotten a lot more than one night out of you," Willow dismissed his excuse easily.

Spike scowled at her, his entire body tense and rigid. "You're bloody infuriating, little minion."

"And that," Willow murmured with a sly grin, "is why you want to stay, even though you hate the thought of my not killing."

With two quick strides, Spike invaded her space, his hands resting on the fountain ledge on either side of her as he countered smoothly, "No, my sweet, *this* is why I stay. You play coy, but you *love* infuriating me because deep down, you like being the bad girl. You like being as bad as I'll let you, and the demon in you knows I can teach you how very, very far you can go."

With slow, calculated determination Spike dropped into his game face and pierced his tongue with a fang. Bending even closer to Willow, he traced his tongue enticingly from her jaw line up to the corner of her mouth, leaving a trail of his rich, overpowering blood on her skin.

Willow closed her eyes, trembling with the desire that his blood summoned from her deepest being.

Damn him for not fighting fair.

But who was she kidding? This was Spike, and fair never entered into the picture.

"This isn't the way to resolve an argument, Spike," Willow rasped hungrily, "Just because your blood makes me react this way doesn't mean your position is right and mine is wrong."

"On the contrary," he taunted her, pulling back just out of reach, "This is the only way to resolve this particular argument. You're a vampire, Red. This is your truth. *Blood* is your truth. The only truth for any of us, no matter what sweet-sounding words and promises of humanity you might want to cling to. Words lie; blood doesn't."

Willow's eyes flared amber, but she managed to stay firmly seated on the edge of the fountain. As her fingers gripped tightly at the ledge, she hissed, "I'll get my blood, but I'll do it without killing -- with or without your help."

"Oh, I'll help you," Spike assured her, a wicked gleam in his eye, "On one condition..."

"Another one-night deal, Spike?" Willow laughed viciously, glaring at him with a combination of fury, hunger and lust.

"Rates have gone up, luv. One night won't do it. For each night I teach you to skim, leech or otherwise *subsist* like a stowaway on a ship, you feed from me and *only* me for one week," Spike delivered his terms.

Willow squeezed her eyes shut and craned her neck, desperately trying to resist the lure of his intoxicating signature, even as his blood glistened on her cheek. "You can't honestly expect to hold me to any deal we make under these circumstances."

"I can and I will. Thought you'd learned your lesson when Angel punished you for disobeying him in the Pit. No exceptions for broken promises, even if made under duress," Spike chided her.

Willow thought back to the bleak misery she had endured when, after she had fully recovered from the challenge in the Pit, Angel had refused to offer her his blood for two full weeks, and had forbidden Spike to feed her as well. Although it had been a mild punishment by vampire standards, it had been a reminder that as unique as her situation was, there were still rules of vampire conduct she had to learn to respect. How ironic. Withholding the blood she craved so strongly had been Angel's way of reasserting his control as head of her clan, yet now Spike sought to insinuate his control over her development by offering her his blood in abundance.

He even delivered his proposition in a way designed to prove that she was ruled by the demon, not the fragments of her human persona that remained. With tremendous effort, Willow rose up and began to walk away from him. Each step she took was halting and painful.

As Spike watched her struggle against her craving, his desire mounted. Smugly pleased with the overwhelming response of her body to his blood, Spike felt a delicious rush of power. Yet her shaky determination to resist him was tantalizing. It was the first night, all over again. Perhaps an ultimatum wasn't the right strategy for the moment.

Perhaps he should use more gradual tactics to ensure her eventual submission...

"All right," Spike conceded seductively, "No exclusive arrangement. I won't ask you to give up my sire's blood. Just feed from me one night for each night we go out. Shall we agree on a time limit? Six months?"

Spike's voice had halted Willow in her tracks, and she had wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself anxiously as she listened to his revised proposal. Still keeping her back to him, she whispered, "Agreed."

Turning to face him, Willow asked, "So, are you going to make me take a blood oath?"

"Oh, we'll seal this in blood all right," Spike grinned triumphantly as he approached her slowly.

Willow licked her lips in anticipation, catching the faint savor of his blood at the corner of her mouth. She was unable to suppress a moan at the taste and launched herself at his neck when he stood before her, chin lifted in blatant invitation. As she suckled wantonly at his artery, he lifted her up in his arms and carried her over to a nearby patch of lawn. Sinking to the ground with her, Spike prepared to spend the next several hours negotiating the finer details of their contract.

He rather hoped that an onlooker would interrupt their brazenly public act. It would be absolutely perfect to slaughter someone and take his defiant redhead as she lay in a pool of blood.

*****

Spike spent the following five days as a bunny rabbit.

When he and Willow had returned from the park just before dawn, a very angry sire awaited him. Without so much as a gentle reassurance to Willow, Angel had yanked his childe away from her and threw the blond vampire halfway across the lobby. After roughing him up for the trouble he had caused during Buffy's brief visit, Angel had ordered Willow to cast the spell.

Willow complied, knowing that Spike was getting off easy. Although Angel might not take pleasure in disciplining his childe the way that Angelus had, he nonetheless had no qualms about employing brutality when the blond vampire crossed the line. It was only for Willow's sake that the elder vampire refrained from delving deeply into the repertoire of techniques that he knew, from extensive experience, would cause Spike the greatest pain.

And so...a bunny rabbit.

Willow had left some lettuce leaves out for him on the floor of his room, but Spike disdained the greenery and took to hunting the few mice that infested the old hotel. The redheaded minion fell into fits of giggles when she saw him pounce on a diminutive gray mouse and struggle to sink his rodent-blunt teeth into its neck. Rabbits really weren't equipped to feed as carnivores. For a brief moment, Willow considered taking some photographs with which to tease him later, but then she wondered whether or not the inability of camera film to capture vampires still held when the vampire had been conjured into another form. Not wanting to be left with snapshots of nothing more than a bloodless mouse, she abandoned the idea.

In the meantime, Willow dealt with the fallout from Spike's lack of discretion about her feeding.

Two days after Buffy's visit, Willow ventured an e-mail message to Tara and found that, yes, the news was out to the entire gang. Tara's reply was brief and somewhat awkward. She wasn't sure how to respond to the knowledge that Willow took life in order to sustain herself, although she didn't want to cut off all ties. Indeed, she mentioned that Hannah and Cyrene, the Wiccans Willow had met at a conference on that fateful weekend, were still interested in forming a coven -- albeit an unconventional one, since no coven in recorded memory had ever included a vampire. However, Tara thought that they should be told everything about Willow's behavior before things proceeded any further. Willow agreed.

The remainder of Tara's message was vague, but hinted that Giles had been particularly crushed by the revelation of Willow's killing. Willow felt a slight twinge of regret at this, knowing from her memories of human life how dear the proper, dignified Watcher had been to her old self -- to the point that he had come to serve as a stand-in for her own absent father.

But she knew that she would have to give them all time. And although she cared, she was still a vampire. She couldn't mope...not like her mentor. For his part, Angel kept her busy with the usual sparring routines, and enlisted her research skills on a new investigation into some mysterious deaths at L.A. hospitals that might involve demon activity.

On the fifth evening after Willow had cast her spell, Angel conceded that his childe had done sufficient penance and allowed her to restore him. With his clothes and duster draped over one arm Willow transformed Spike back into his original form and, knowing the hunger that was likely to grip him after a diet of nothing but mice, she bared her neck to him. Without hesitation he reached for her and drank ravenously from her vein, pulling back after several swallows so as not to take so much that he left her seriously weakened. Quickly donning his clothes, the peroxide vampire graced Willow with a brief yet sensuous kiss before dashing for the door.

Unable to resist the urge to tease him just a little, Willow called after his retreating form, "You're late, you're late, for a very important date!"

Not even breaking his stride, Spike hollered back at her, "Don't push me, little minion, or I'll give you a particularly ugly hickey!"

And with that, the blond vampire ventured out into the night to sate his needs with a very bloody hunt.

While Spike was feeding and Angel was over at the other office working with Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn, Willow logged on and checked her e-mail. A message from Cyrene was waiting for her. It was brief, and not at all what she had expected.

Subject: About the coven

Date: Wed, 21 Nov 2001

From: Cyrene Matthias <cmatthias@dharma.net>

To: Willow Rosenberg <redwillow@aurora.net>

Willow,

I'm pretty big on speaking from the heart. So I'll be honest and say that Hannah and I are sad to learn that your need for blood has led you to take lives, although it doesn't necessarily surprise us. We know it is in your nature. This makes our plans for a coven more complicated, but we've been talking with Tara and we'd still like to give it a try.

If your heart is still in it, we should all meet some time to discuss this. Maybe your place, since we're a little more mobile? The most important thing we need to focus on is balance, since your killing pretty much tips the scales toward darkness and that isn't what we're looking for. But we still think this could be worth the effort.

Let us know what you think.

Cyrene
 
 

Willow sat back, as surprised at the lack of judgment in Cyrene's tone as she was by the fact that the two Wiccans were still willing to join in communion with her. Their sadness at her killing was much easier for Willow to understand, as it went against the principle "an ye harm none, do as you will". Why would they want to form a coven with her when they knew that her methods of feeding caused about as much harm as it was possible to cause? Talk about an oxymoron...or, whatever.... Although Willow had every intention of trying to learn to meet her needs without killing, she wasn't sure how much she could promise right now.

Maybe they needed to understand that. Willow typed a quick reply.
 
 

Subject: Re: About the coven

Date: Thurs 22 Nov 2001

From: Willow Rosenberg <redwillow@aurora.net>

To: Cyrene Matthias <cmatthias@dharma.net>

Hi Cyrene,

I'm kind of surprised by your response. Not that you're sad about the killing. That I understand. But since you know it's part of my nature, I'm not sure why you want to join with me in a coven. I know I told Buffy that I would try to find new ways to feed without killing, but right now I don't know what kind of promises I can make.

Maybe we should wait until I've worked that out? Just don't want to get your hopes up yet.

Hi to Hannah...

Willow
 
 

After she sent the message, Willow spent another hour or so hacking into a the databases of the hospitals that Angel was currently researching. She found autopsy reports on fourteen patients who had died of unusual circumstances in the past three weeks. Interesting...all of them were missing substantial amounts of bone marrow. Willow copied and saved the reports, and then e-mailed them to Cordelia's account with a note for Angel suggesting that what they were looking for were Lei-ach demons. The missing bone marrow certainly fit the profile of demons that Buffy had fought in Sunnydale not too long ago.

A familiar presence hit her senses, and Willow looked up.

Spike was back from his hunt.

"Feeling better?" Willow asked him nonchalantly as he strolled over to her.

"Much," Spike replied jovially. As always, the hunt lifted his spirits. He eyed Willow curiously and remarked, "You're looking a tad paler than usual, though. Haven't you done anything to replace the blood I nicked off you?"

"Oh..." Willow realized with some surprise, "I guess I forgot. I got caught up in some other things."

"Such as?" he prompted her.

"A little research for a case Angel is working on," Willow explained, "And an e-mail from one of the Wiccans I met at the conference the night I was turned."

"Let me guess. Slayer's spread the word that your diet comes in warm, living packages instead of plastic bags, and the witch wrote to say 'don't call us, we'll call you...when hell freezes over...'. That about sum it up?" Spike surmised blithely.

"Actually, no. They're interested in forming a coven. I'm still not quite sure why. Especially after..." Willow countered, although she was unable to bring herself to mention the confrontation with Buffy.

Spike shrugged, and held out his hand to Willow to lead her back toward his room. "So they're more open-minded than the Slayer. Not saying much, really. Come on, then, let's get some blood in you."

"Let me just grab a bag from the fridge out here," Willow said, holding back, "I think Angel's supply in our suite is running low."

"Why bother, luv? I'm here," he offered.

"Are you sure? I mean, you haven't really been able to keep up your own strength for the past few days, and tonight was the first chance you've had to hunt. I can make do with bagged," Willow insisted, concerned that Spike wasn't in any condition to give of his own blood.

"There'll be enough time for 'making do' when you try your hand at skimming," Spike snorted derisively, "And you're underestimating the strength of a master vampire. I'm as good as ever."

Willow relented and slipped her hand in his, teasing him as they walked across the lobby, "You were *never* good, Spike." She squeezed his hand when this elicited a grin from her companion, and then asked, "So what do you mean by 'skimming'?"

******

Willow settled herself in at the bar in the crowded college hot-spot she had chosen for her first foray into what Spike had referred to as "skimming", or taking no more than a pint from several different humans. She almost wished he was here to coach her, since she had never attempted to drink from someone while surrounded by witnesses, and she had seen him do it with practiced ease. Yet after their last fiasco, she had firmly told him that this was something she needed to do alone.

It had been all she could do *not* to turn him back into a bunny rabbit right there on the street corner after he had sabotaged her first efforts.

What a disaster.

Instead of helping her develop the control needed to resist siphoning out every last drop of living blood, Spike had egged her on mercilessly, then quipped "oops, killed that one, too" as she discarded one man after another. Despite the guidelines Spike had offered her, as well as several demonstrations he had willingly supplied with a few unsuspecting prostitutes, Willow couldn't master the technique.

Of course, it didn't help that Spike stood by at a safe distance, yet close enough to whisper seductive descriptions of the rush he felt at a fading heartbeat. Or that he "accidentally" bit his lip once, clouding Willow's mind with the scent of his blood so that she bled one of her victims completely dry before she realized what she was doing.

And so she had refused to let him accompany her this evening and undermine her endeavor yet again. If he was actively attempting to subvert her plans to adopt a more human-friendly diet, she would be better off figuring things out on her own.

When the bartender leaned over to her she ordered a glass of red wine and then turned to survey the house. First, she took in the layout of the interior. There were pool tables up on a well-lit mezzanine level. Not a prime spot for her purposes. A myriad of sturdy wooden tables cluttered the main floor, also too open. There were several high-backed booths along one wall which might afford some privacy. But what intrigued Willow was a slightly-darkened alcove on the far side of the bar where a handful of couples danced to music while others merely groped each other against the wall. That seemed most promising of all.

Then she turned her attention to the people. As she perused the tables with the measured patience of a predator, she observed animated conversations between large groups of friends, a yearning tete-a-tete or two, drunken flirtation...

Wait a minute. What was this?

Her eyes narrowed critically on one of the tables close to the restrooms where four men who had the look of fraternity brothers about them sat cajoling two young women who seemed to have had far too much to drink. She watched the men's eyes, saw how they observed the young women expectantly, and her suspicions were confirmed.

And it absolutely irked her, as an authentic predator, to see such disgusting *human* amateurs at work in a territory that she had claimed as her own hunting grounds. Not to mention that they all reminded her of her sire.

A wicked smile stretched across her face as she decided her strategy.

Turning to flag down the bartender, she replaced her smile with an artful look of concern. He strained across the bar to hear her over the din as she gestured discreetly toward the table and commented, "Doesn't your bar have a policy about not serving alcohol to people once they've reached their limit? Those girls over there look like they're about to fall down."

The bartender frowned as he assessed the situation. One of the girls knocked over her beer as her head lolled against the man sitting next to her. The bartender's frown deepened: this was serious. Anyone in this business knew about the potential for lawsuits or criminal liability if patrons continued to be served once they were as drunk as those girls seemed to be. He waved the waitress assigned to that table over to the bar. When she finally made her way over, he demanded, "Why are you still serving them? Those girls are way past their limit."

"What do you mean, still?" the waitress defended herself, "That's the first round of beers they've ordered. Maybe they started before they got here."

"Whether they did or not isn't our concern. But don't serve them any more alcohol. Water, soft drinks, yes. Nothing more," the bartender ordered, and the waitress nodded in agreement.

By now, Willow had learned all she needed to know. Nobody got *that* drunk on one beer. One of the girls was practically comatose. And yet, strangely, none of the men seemed to have more than a slight buzz. She wondered which of the many date-rape drugs the men had used. Rohypnol? GHB? It mattered little. Willow was about to throw a serious wrench into their plans. Grasping her wine glass loosely in one hand, the redheaded vampire strolled somewhat dizzily over toward their table.

"Excuse me, Paula?" Willow addressed one of the girls, counting on the fact that she would be unable to reply.

"Her name isn't Paula," one of the men answered, obviously wary at Willow's unwelcome intrusion, "You must be mistaking her for someone else."

"Oh, gosh, that's too bad," Willow pouted, swaying until she had to prop herself up on one of the men's shoulders, "She looked like a girl from my dorm, and I was hoping to get a ride."

At Willow's inebriated display and casual mention about needing a ride the four males perked up and exchanged crafty glances that were sorely wanting in subtlety. One of them, who sported a baseball cap that he wore backwards, prompted her, "What happened to the people you came with?"

"I don't know. I think they went to another bar, and I feel soooooooo drunk, I just don't think I can stay any longer..." Willow sighed with what she hoped was a convincingly forlorn tone of voice.

The baseball-cap man grinned indulgently and said, "Tell you what. We were just about to take these ladies home. If you like, we can give you a lift."

"Well, I don't know..." Willow replied groggily and then wobbled on her feet, reeling them in.

"Come on, it won't be any trouble, and you look like you're ready to go," insisted the baseball cap.

"Totally ready," the blond seated across from him murmured with a smirk. No doubt he had expected his remark to pass unnoticed, not realizing that he was dealing with hyper-sensitive vampire hearing.

"Thanks, I really appre..." Willow let her expression of gratitude trail off into a drunken yawn, and put up no protest when one of the men stood up, draped her arm over his shoulder and began guiding her toward the door. The others followed, similarly supporting the two nearly-unconscious women.

As they staggered out onto the street and down the block toward the SUV in which the men had arrived, Willow sensed a familiar presence behind them, maintaining a safe distance. So, Spike had decided to follow her. She didn't mind, but only hoped that she could signal him somehow so that he wouldn't dash to the rescue and ruin her plan. Her chance came as they paused for the driver to unlock the doors. Turning her face away from the men and in the direction she sensed Spike, Willow flashed her demon visage briefly, knowing he would see the amber glow of her eyes. Then, she allowed herself to be coaxed into the SUV, and in minutes they were on the road.

It wasn't long before the SUV pulled to a stop in front of a large fraternity house in the university district. The baseball cap now coaxed her out of the vehicle, and half-walked-half-dragged her toward the door.

The threshold...her final hurdle.

"Wait a minute," Willow slurred her protest, "Where are we? This isn't my dorm...I'm not going in there!"

"Sshh, it's okay," came soothing lies from the baseball cap, "You passed out in the car, so we couldn't get you to tell us where you lived. We figured we could make you some coffee here, and when you sober up enough we can take you home."

"Oh...are you sure?" Willow asked.

"Yeah, come on in. It will only be for a little while."

Willow laughed inwardly. This was too easy.

They entered the house and walked past a spacious living room where some of the other male residents were watching a movie with the lights out. No one really acknowledged their passage through the common areas, even those who passed by with beers in their hands and saw clearly that their housemates had returned with incapacitated females. With disgust, Willow surmised that this had occurred more than once before in this house.

After making their way up the stairs, the group arrived in a large bedroom that looked like it was shared by the four men. There were two single beds near the door and a bunk bed over by the far wall. Even before the door had closed behind them, Willow saw one of the men lower one of the women, who was by now fully unconscious, to the bed and begin fumbling with his belt. The baseball cap was likewise trying to ease Willow down onto a bed, urging her to "sleep it off".

And that was when she struck. In the dimly-lit room she was able to sink her fangs into his neck and drink nearly a pint and a half without calling attention to herself. When the baseball cap passed out, she stopped.

Swift as death, she delivered a succession of blows to the skulls of the remaining three men, not hard enough to kill them but sufficient to knock them out. Just as the last one slumped to the bed, Willow heard the doorknob turning and readied herself to attack whoever stepped through the door.

She grinned, slightly taken aback, when Spike let himself into the room, surveyed the fallen humans with amusement, and shut the door behind him.

"How on earth did you get in here?" Willow asked curiously.

"Told the bloke at the front door I was here to buy some cocaine, and he waved me right in," Spike shrugged nonchalantly. Seeing the incredulous look in her eyes, he added, "Oh, come on, luv, don't look surprised. This is a bloody frat house. And might I say, I'm not terribly impressed with your taste in companions this evening."

"They irritated me. Pathetic little amateurs..." Willow spat contemptuously.

"Oh, I see...interrupted some stalking, eh?" Spike chuckled, "Well, hurry up, then. Do your thing so we can go someplace more interesting."

Willow drained a little over a pint-and-a-half from each of the three men -- just enough to ensure that they wouldn't awaken any time soon, and that when they did, they would have difficulty remembering the evening's events. As she looked down at their prone forms and licked the last traces of their blood from her lips, and idea came to her.

"Spike...give me a few more minutes..." she requested with an absolutely sinful gleam in her eyes.

He arched an eyebrow at her and leaned comfortably against the door, fully intrigued. As he watched her strip the four men naked and arrange them in compromising positions with each other on the beds, it was all the blond vampire could do to keep from laughing out loud. Willow cupped their hands on each other's balls, rested heads on shoulders, and draped arms intimately across naked torsos. It was a wickedly-beautiful sight to behold.

"And you told me *I* should be a sculptor," Spike grinned, "You're an artist in your own right, luv."

"This does have a certain pleasing aesthetic to it, doesn't it?" Willow agreed. As the two vampires moved to leave, Willow paused and, gesturing to the unconscious women, asked, "What about them?"

"Not really our concern, is it?" Spike shrugged indifferently.

Still, Willow hesitated, experiencing momentary flashbacks to a lone woman waiting at a bus stop late at night. Resolved, she told Spike, "We're taking them with us. We can drop them at any dorm in the area."

Hands on his hips, Spike stared in disbelief at the beautiful redheaded demon who had proven to be such a fascinating, if sometimes maddening, mix of contradictions. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"You're joking, right?" he prodded her. When he received only her "resolve" face in reply, his eyes narrowed. "Willow, don't tell me that in addition to finding ways to feed without killing, you are going to *insist* on rescuing damsels in distress while you're at it."

"I'm not leaving them here," Willow insisted stubbornly.

"Why the hell do you even care?!" Spike hissed in frustration.

"Because they remind me of a situation I was in, not so long ago!" Willow snarled back at him.

Spike froze, and the fight seemed to drain out of him. After a few moments he murmured softly, "Are you really that unhappy, little minion? Do you return to that moment every night and wish that it could have turned out differently?"

Willow expelled an unnecessary sigh as the tension between them dissipated. "No...I don't dwell on the past. Honestly, I really don't know how I would change the events of that night if given the chance. But it's irrelevant because I *can't* change any of it, and I need to learn to deal with who I am now."

She stepped closer to Spike and took his hand in hers, stroking his palm gently with her thumb. "And I'm not unhappy, Spike. *You* make me happy. Angel makes me happy."

At the mention of his sire Spike scowled somewhat and grumbled, "I don't see how *he* can make you happy when it's because of him that you've got yourself all twisted up in knots, trying to be something other than what you are. You're a killer, luv. You'll never be able to please him, because you can never be what he is. He has a soul. You don't."

"And I'll never be able to please you," Willow rebuked him softly, "Your demon is strong. Mine isn't. And I don't know that I want it to be. We've argued enough about this already, Spike. I'm not like either of you. I just have to figure out what's right for me...and this is part of it..."

Gazing down at her, Spike raised their joined hands to his mouth and brushed a kiss against her palm. With his free hand, he caressed her cheek and proposed, "Enough. I'll help you with the two birds here if you'll agree to call it quits for the evening and come back with me. We can spend the rest of the night pleasing each other."

Willow smiled and just before she captured his mouth with hers in a slow, sensual kiss, she agreed, "Deal."

When Spike reluctantly pulled away, he conceded with resignation, "Come on, then. Let's get Sleeping Beauty and her sister to a hospital."

"Hospital?" Willow queried, caught off guard.

"Listen to their breathing, luv, you can barely detect it," Spike explained, and as they both paused and Willow strained to hear the familiar sounds of respiration she realized that he was right. He continued, "If we're going to play the bloody heroes tonight, we might as well do it proper."

"It must have been the drugs," Willow surmised.

Spike nodded as he reached to pick up one of the women. "The sorts of drugs these blokes most likely slipped them don't mix well with alcohol."

Willow pulled the other woman up and held her close as she and Spike made their way back down the stairs and toward the door. Once again, Willow observed that they attracted a few curious glances, but no one moved to stop them. She surveyed the indifferent human residents of the house with contempt. At least vampires cared about what went on in their own lairs.

*****

Down in the dojo, Angel sensed his childe and Willow as they entered the hotel and furrowed his brow, perplexed. He had thought that Willow was going out on her own this evening. Setting aside the sword with which he had been practicing, the dark vampire mounted the stairs to investigate. He found them just as they passed the suite he shared with Willow, evidently on their way to Spike's room. Angel experienced a twinge of concern, hoping that Spike hadn't caught up with her and persuaded her to kill.

"Willow?" Angel called after them, "How did it go?"

The couple paused and turned around to face him, hands still joined. Willow beamed proudly back at her mentor and proclaimed, "I didn't kill a single person, Angel...although it's been a rather *interesting* evening."

"That's putting it mildly," Spike chuckled, letting go of her hand so he could wrap his arms around her waist from behind and nuzzle the tender skin beneath her ear. "You couldn't just leave it at *not killing*, you had to save a life or two while you were at it. You're going to give us evil vamps a bad name..." he teased.

"What happened?" Angel asked, fully bewildered.

Before Willow could relate the events of their trip to the hospital emergency room, Spike tilted her chin up, shook his head and silenced her with a brief kiss. He then cast a provocative glance at his sire and quipped, "Sorry, mate, she'll have to fill you in tomorrow. I plan to have my tongue so far down her throat that she won't be doing much talking for the rest of the night. Don't worry, she was a real chip off the old Poof this evening."

With that, the blond vampire grabbed his startled companion, slung her over his shoulder, and started back toward his room. Willow half-giggled, half-squealed in protest, "Spike! Put me down! You're a vampire, not a Neanderthal!!"

"There's a difference, luv?" he teased coyly.

Angel stood dumbstruck as he watched them disappear behind Spike's door as it shut and then locked. Slowly, the elder vampire folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes as he continued to stare at the closed door. His childe was up to something, of that he was certain. That possessive display had been entirely for his benefit, Angel knew, and he resolved to find out what was going on the next evening.

A loud thump rattled the door on its hinges, and Angel turned away in disgust.

<Thanks for sharing, Spike.>

The dark vampire wondered if his troublesome childe would ever discover that there was such a thing as finesse.

*****

Spike braced Willow against his closed door and ravaged her mouth. Determined to drive all thoughts of his sire out of her mind, he commenced an intimate onslaught on her body that he would continue well into the morning.

If only for this brief while, he wanted Willow to desire no one but him.

Still pressing her between the cold wood of the door and his firm chest, Spike nibbled his way to her ear and whispered harshly, "Fuck, you realize what you do to me?"

Willow tensed with pleasure as her lover sucked savagely at the tender skin of her neck, not drawing blood but causing just enough pain to make her groan. Shivering with desire, she croaked urgently, "Why don't you show me?"

Spike fixed her with a hungry stare. The feral grin that widened across his face left no doubt that he had picked up the gauntlet. Stepping away from the door, he let Willow slide down his body until her feet touched the floor. Gently but insistently, he pulled her toward the foot of the bed and left her standing there while he went to his closet and returned with a black silk scarf.

"What--?" Willow began to ask, before Spike cut her off. Swooping down on her like a hawk, he forced his tongue into her mouth, pulled her against him and thrust his leg between her thighs. He held her firmly, grinding her against his quad until the scent of her arousal permeated the room.

At last, Spike released her. As he tied the scarf tightly over her eyes he murmured, "No thinking. No questioning. Just feel."

If she had needed to breathe, Willow knew that she would have been reduced to shallow panting by now. Trapped in darkness, she waited, eager for touch. Wanting him. Aching for him.

She felt cool hands caress her face, glide down her neck, and across her shoulders as thumbs teasingly traced her collar bone. His hands continued down to fondle her breasts, tracing the erect nipples through the fabric of the simple tank dress she had worn for the hunt that evening. Hands and fingers were replaced by mouth, and wetness seeped from her center as Willow felt Spike's tongue tease first one nipple, and then the other, into hard peaks.

She gasped in anticipation when she felt his hands brush at the hem of her dress and slowly raise it up, his fingers dragging along her inner thighs. Leaving the material bunched up around her hips, his hands trailed sensuously across her belly and down to the juncture of her legs. Still suckling her through the now-soaked dress, Spike teased the peach-soft skin at the crease of her thigh briefly before slipping his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties. Suckling turned to biting, and Willow moaned as she felt blood pool at her nipple and stain her dress. Long, slender fingers stroked between her slick folds, thrusting languidly before plunging deeply into her core.

"Spike!" Willow howled, arching into him. She was so close.

"All yours," he purred back. His demon gloated triumphantly at the wanton need that his erotic play had aroused in her. Dispensing with tenderness, he ripped at her panties until they fell away in tatters, and then fucked her with his hand until she screamed his name again in release.

Pushing her down on the bed, Spike swiftly covered her body with his own and kissed her mercilessly. Willow felt him raise up long enough to slide her dress further up over her breasts, until it stretched taut across her shoulders. Lying blind beneath him, her arms pinned to her sides by the tension of the material bunched around her upper torso, Willow shivered at the sensation of cool fingers tugging gently at the satin panel of her bra. Fingertips slid feather-light over her skin as the fabric was peeled away, leaving her breasts naked but straining upward from the pressure of the underwire. Willow hissed her approval as lips closed around a sensitive, exposed nub and began a gentle, rhythmic suction.

She let out a strangle cry of frustration when the lips pulled away, leaving her glistening nipple to cool in the air. Unseen, phantom hands finished undressing her, and she quivered eagerly as she heard the sounds of Spike's clothes as they fell, piece by piece, to the floor.

But his familiar weight didn't return to press down on her right away. Instead, Willow strained to comprehend the faint sounds he made as he shuffled briefly through the drawer of the nightstand by the bed. She heard the distinctive scratch of a match being struck. She smelled a hint of orange-and-spice scented wax.

She waited.

An agonizing eternity seemed to pass. Willow lay tense upon the sheets, her body begging to be touched.

Fire.

A searing, white-hot bead of liquid stung the vulnerable skin just above her navel. Startled, Willow sucked in an unneeded breath. As it started to cool, another scalding drop fell on a nipple, ripping a passionate shriek from her mouth. Molten droplets continued to shower down on her, scattered in tortuously slow intervals. On her ankle. On the tender crease at her elbow. In the trembling hollow at the center of her collar bone. At the crest of her hip.

It was too much to bear.

Willow screamed, desperate with lust. "Spike!...Please...Oh, God, please!!!"

"What do you want, my sweet?" his voice caressed her seductively through the blindfold-imposed darkness.

"You...please...now...oh, God, if you don't take me soon--"

"Shh..." Spike soothed gently as he parted her thighs and positioned himself, "You only need ask, and you have me. Any time you want, Willow. I can give you what you need, tonight...every night...any time you want it."

He entered her with a forceful thrust and captured her lips in a ravenous kiss. Willow wrapped her legs around his hips and matched him with frenzied vigor. She kneaded his tight ass so greedily that her nails drew blood, eliciting a growl of pleasure from her lover. Their heated union built rapidly to its crescendo, until their ragged cries of ecstasy mingled in the room.

Willow lay shaking beneath him, licking and biting hungrily at his mouth as she eased down from her climax. "So good..." she moaned.

"So much to teach you..." Spike growled, his arms wrapped possessively around her.

*****

"So you took them to the hospital?" Angel asked, eyes wide in admiration.

"Yup," Willow confirmed, "The physician on duty at the ER said that one of the women had already slipped into a coma and might have died if we hadn't brought her in."

Angel stared at her as she leaned back comfortably against the couch and sipped her lightly-warmed blood. He hadn't wanted to hope for this much, that she would be able to feel compassion for human beings even without her soul. With a gentle smile, and unable to prevent an emotional catch in his voice, he murmured, "Willow...I'm proud of you."

She returned his smile somewhat shyly, and turned her head discreetly to the side when he pulled her into a fierce hug. Gradually they relaxed and lingered in each other's arms, as Willow's fingers traced gentle circles on the nape of Angel's neck. Her adoring ministrations elicited a deep, appreciative rumble within his chest, and although she was tempted to close her eyes and dream of a world without gypsies, Willow forced herself to push away.

Mustering a light-hearted grin, Willow observed, "I'm kinda proud of me, too....Well, except that I can't see myself doing this all the time. I guess I'm still not an equal-opportunity defender of the downtrodden like you are."

"Oh, well, it takes years of practice," Angel huffed self-importantly with a wink.

"Speaking of practice, it's been nearly two weeks since I've done any bona fide hacking. Do you have any cases you need help with?" Willow asked.

"You're staying in tonight?" Angel's surprise was evident in his voice.

"Mm hmm," Willow nodded as she took a sip from her mug, "Last night was good in the I-can-do-this sense, but not so good in the I-can-do-this-on-a-regular-basis sense. I need to come up with some more ideas before I give it another try."

"And Spike hasn't planned another night on the town?" Again, Angel's surprise was clear. After the morning's display, he had worried that Spike planned to whisk Willow away for a little mischief.

"Um, actually...yes," she admitted, "But I told him I couldn't. Spike can be very persuasive. If I went out with him tonight, I'd kill."

Angel's response caught in his throat momentarily. Willow never ceased to amaze him with her determination. "Well, I did plan to go check a source about some recent demon activity," Angel offered, "Would you like to come along?"

"Sure," Willow agreed brightly, "Are we going armed or unarmed?"

"Unarmed. The management doesn't appreciate confrontations that result in property damage," Angel explained.

"Management? What kind of place are we investigating?" Willow squinted at him curiously.

"The place is just *where* we'll be investigating. It's a bar for demons, and a good place to get information," Angel reassured her, before he reached for his own mug of blood and tossed it back in a single gulp. Gesturing toward hers, he suggested, "As soon as you finish up, we can head out."

Willow gulped down the contents of her mug and rose to get some shoes. "So it's not dangerous, then?"

"I don't know if I'd say that," Angel admitted with an ironic grin as he slipped into his leather jacket, "It depends on who's singing tonight."

*****

A demon karaoke bar.

Willow had seen everything now.

She couldn't believe that this was a regular stop on Angel's crime-fighting itinerary. Sure, the motley assortment of demons, vamps, and humans looked to harbor more than a few of the unsavory types who just might provoke one of Cordelia's infamous visions. Indeed, if she hadn't seen the establishment's name, Caritas, outside in neon she would have guessed they were in Rick's Cafe Americain of Casablanca fame, and would have half expected Peter Lorre to come shrieking at them to save him from being hauled away for the murder of two Nazi couriers.

But *karaoke*? She forced herself to stifle a giggle.

And none too soon. The Anagogic demon whom Angel had described to her as the proprietor of the bar, and one of his more reliable sources of information, walked up to them, drink in hand.

He was every bit as flaming as Willow had expected him to be from what she had heard from Angel.

"So this is the one I've been hearing so much about," the jade-skinned demon cooed flamboyantly, "Well, I must say you're a fair sight better than what the cat usually drags into *my* place."

"Uh, thanks...I guess...although it depends on what you've been hearing," Willow confessed, somewhat baffled.

"Oh, scattered tidbits here and there about a rather *nasty* little soiree and the Cinderella who made it to the ball just at the stroke of midnight and danced circles around the ugly step-sisters," the Host offered coyly, "Enough to know that local vampire society is all agog over the Trinity."

"The what?" Angel demanded, just as baffled as Willow.

"Your little family. You, your childe, and the rather unconventional minion they've dubbed the Unholy Spirit," the Host explained, rolling his vermilion eyes as though Angel had failed to see the obvious. "You know, fatherhood *suits* you, Tall-Dark-and-Broody. It's smoothed out the rough edges of your whole Lone Crusader routine."

"Speaking of that..." Willow prompted Angel, amused to discover that she had a reputation but knowing that they had come here for a reason.

"I need to know what you've heard about some Lei-ach demons who have been active in the city recently," said Angel, shifting into investigator mode.

As if he hadn't heard Angel, their green host gestured toward the microphone on stage and asked Willow, "How much coaxing will it take to get you to give us a song, kitten?"

"I don't think so," Willow declined fervently, "We're just here on business."

"Honey, you obviously didn't tell her how things work around here," the Host pursed his lips as he scolded Angel, before turning to Willow and assuring her, "Relax, this is all part of how we do business."

"But I--" Willow protested, but her words were cut short.

"Call it a hunch. Now go on, sing whatever takes your fancy," the Host shooed her along to the stage while he gestured for Angel to sit down with him at a nearby table.

The redheaded minion soon found herself under a spotlight about to act out one of the more petrifying nightmares she had experienced as a human. She was glad that she was no longer burdened with her human fears, although she still felt completely ridiculous. At the cue provided by the first notes of her back-up music, Willow began to sing:

"Jeremiah was a bullfrog..."

The Host nodded and smiled as Willow sang, listening somewhat absently to Angel's questions about the Lei-ach demons.

"There have been a few cases of death among hospital patients in the past week or so in which the victims were found without any bone marrow. I think some Lei-ach demons may have relocated to Los Angeles, but so far I don't have any leads as to where they've set up their den," Angel laid out the facts, hoping it wouldn't be too difficult to get a few clues out of the always-cryptic demon.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, and you're wondering whether or not I know which hospital they've settled at," the Host remarked, still smiling at Willow's serenade, "Sorry, but I can't help you there."

Without warning, the Host let out a chuckle which rapidly escalated into riotous laughter. Reaching into the breast pocket of his smoking jacket, he withdrew a crisp, linen handkerchief and dabbed at the tears that pooled in his eyes. Gradually his cackles subsided and, as though nothing had happened, he continued apprising a very dumbfounded Angel of the situation with the Lei-ach demons.

"The clutch hasn't established itself at any one hospital yet. It's still roaming. But I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

"Great...just great," Angel muttered, "In case you've forgotten, it's my job to worry about things like this. I need to prevent these demons from killing more people, and from what you're telling me I'll pretty much have to trip over them to find them."

"Hmmmm....not exactly. You won't trip over them, but *she* will," the Host gestured toward Willow, who had finished her song and was walking toward their table. Before she was within earshot, though, the green-skinned demon leaned over to Angel and admonished him in a hushed voice, "Hang onto this one, mister. Treat her right."

Willow slid into a chair across from the two of them and stared pointedly at the Host. "Okay, what was so funny? Was I that bad?"

"Oh, you're absolutely bad, sweetheart, but it has nothing to do with the singing. I just can't wait to see the papers. It is a *pleasure* to have you here. And just when L.A. was getting stale enough to need a little freshening up, too," the suave demon assured her cryptically.

"Huh?" Willow replied, baffled by his vague reference to her behavior.

"Let's just say you're about to become my favorite celebrity," the Host teased as he pushed away from the table and rose to his feet, "But as much fun as the previews have been, there's someone over in the corner who needs a read. I just hope he doesn't plan to *butcher* ABBA like he did the last time."

With an elusive grin, the proprietor of Caritas withdrew and glided across the bar to a rather surly-looking ogre who was sniffling forlornly over a half-empty mug of beer. Willow watched him go, and then turned a befuddled visage toward Angel.

"Is he always like this?" she asked her mentor.

"Unfortunately, yes," Angel affirmed with no small measure of frustration, "But at least he gave me something to go on."

"He told you how to find the Lei-ach demons?" Willow pressed him for the information that the Host had shared during their brief conversation.

"Sort of. He can't point us to a specific hospital, since the clutch hasn't set up a permanent den. But he said that you would find them," Angel explained.

"Me? Angel, the lone investigator thing is your style. I'm research girl, remember?" Willow protested.

"He wouldn't give me any details, Willow. But perhaps you'll find them through your usual research channels. Who knows? His advice has usually been helpful in the past, so I'm willing to wait and see what happens," reasoned the dark vampire. He didn't really like leaving the investigation up to the vague predictions of a clairvoyant demon, but they had little else to go on.

"Hmm..." Willow mused thoughtfully, as she reflected on the odd events of the evening.

"What?" Angel asked, curious about where her thoughts had turned.

"Oh, nothing," she shrugged noncommitally as she fiddled with the ashtray on the table.

"Willow..." her companion warned impatiently.

She grinned mischievously at him. "I guess I just never pictured you in a place like this, let alone relying on it for your investigations. Do you have to sing every time?"

"I don't sing," Angel declared bluntly.

"Then how--?" Willow's protest was cut short.

"I think we're finished here. How would you like to go home for a little bite?" Angel suggested, hastily changing the subject. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, Willow was not so easily daunted.

"Wait a minute," she insisted, "You got to hear me sing. Maybe I'd like to hear you. How about it, Angel?"

"No."

"But--"

"No."

"Just one--"

"No."

*****

It took another thirty minutes of haggling before Angel was able to coax Willow out of Caritas *without* forcing him to step before the microphone and unleash the terror that was his singing voice. However, eventually she agreed to let him off the hook on one condition. And while the condition surprised him somewhat, Angel ended up enjoying himself more than he had in a long time.

At Willow's request, they spent the remaining hours of the night walking through the city and talking with each other.

And not as mentor and protegée, either. There was no discussion of vampire customs and practices, no consideration of weapons or martial arts tactics that might be added to Willow's training routine, and no mention of methods for balancing the remnant of her human personality against her demon.

They simply talked.

Angel found himself delving into memories long buried, dusting off thoughts and ideas that had suffocated beneath the tortured regret and the quest for redemption that had dominated his existence for more decades than he cared to recall. Willow likewise shared freely of herself, and they both warmed to the simple, relaxed companionship as they wandered aimlessly through the streets. They traded jokes, confessed regrets, argued philosophy. They spoke of the sublime and the mundane and everything in between.

The approaching dawn eventually crept into their minds. Reluctantly, the pair made their way back to Angel's car, still parked down the block from Caritas, and drove back to the Hyperion just as the crisp night air was giving way to the first shades of early morning.

A peaceful silence settled between them as they returned to their suite to prepare for the day's sleep. Somehow, their nocturnal stroll had created a sense of intimacy that needed no words. The magic of the mood continued as they undressed for bed, so Angel was hardly surprised when Willow, in lieu of falling into their usual routine when he offered his neck, caressed his cheek tenderly for several moments as she regarded him with a gentle smile. He returned her smile and willingly leaned into her kiss when she brought her soft mouth to his.

Willow nibbled and sucked tenderly at his mouth, slowly persuading him to part his lips. With insistent strokes her tongue insinuated its way into his mouth and began a gentle, unhurried exploration of every crevice. She probed his depths and let her tongue tangle with his in an intimate mating dance. Releasing an intense, sustained passion that nearly left Angel gasping for unneeded breath, Willow kissed him as though she intended her sensual assault on his mouth to last until the sun burned out. And so help him, Angel would willingly have spent eternity letting her do it.

He had never felt her like this.

Keeping her human face, Willow gradually drew her mouth away from Angel's and brushed soft kisses over his chin, across his cheeks, and feather-light on his eyes. Angel sighed beneath her ministrations, aching with the need to devour her, to crush her to him and possess her fiercely. And yet he drank down her persistent gentleness like wine, savoring the sweet torture as she kept their passion at a slow burn.

Inch by deliciously-agonizing inch Willow's tongue drew a trail of fire down the column of his neck, and Angel groaned in anticipation of her bite. With delicate nips of human-blunt teeth and hungry kisses she teased his flesh mercilessly, but her bite never came. Continuing downward, she closed her lips around his flat, male nipple and rolled it gently with soft strokes of her tongue.

Oh...God...

A heady, terrifying shiver ran through his entire frame as the truth dawned on the dark vampire.

She was making love to him.

<*It wasn't the Slayer's opinion that concerned her*>

Spike's words swirled in his mind. As did the image of Spike heading to his room with Willow slung over his shoulder, taunting his sire with his physical claim over her. The rivalry was all too familiar to Angel, for he and his childe had played this game before with Drusilla. But in that situation, the source of Spike's jealousy had been the strength of the insane vampiress's affections for Angelus. And Willow didn't...

Oh God.

She *did*.

<*Hang on to this one, mister. Treat her right.*>

Willow loved him.

The realization nearly made his dead heart beat once more. Her soft caresses, her kisses that warmed without consuming, her body teasing his, rather than conquering it...it was almost more than he could bear. The differences were subtle, almost as imperceptible as the slow unfolding of a rose's petals. Yet the effect was just as stunning. For one ominous moment, Angel desperately wanted to accept everything she was offering him and lose himself utterly in making love to her.

But it was the knowledge of how permanently he could indeed *lose* himself that won out. He had to seek the shelter of physical passion. And as skillfully as Willow had set the tempo of their lovemaking, Angel had a two-hundred-year advantage over her as a lover.

Caressing either side of her head with his hands as she continued to nurse his stiffened nipples, Angel gently but firmly drew her back up until he was able to capture her mouth with his. Letting his fangs drop, he ran his tongue over the sharpened points, instantly drawing blood. He felt her quiver in response as he thrust his tongue into her mouth and offered her the rich, coppery elixir. When the first taste of him hit her senses, she let out a low, guttural moan of raw need and sank her own fangs into his lip, craving more. At that point, Angel knew that the immediate danger had passed. This was no longer an act of love, but the satiation of a hunger as ancient as their kind.

Willow was a tempest unleashed. She clawed at his broad shoulders as she bit her way down his neck from his mouth. Pushing him forcefully against the mattress, she straddled his chest like a lioness subduing her prey and latched onto his jugular with her fangs. Angel responded with an equally primal display, knowing that substituting raw, physical ardor for love would safeguard them both. He scratched his nails down her smooth back and over the feminine swell of her hips, leaving thin, red welts in their wake. He kneaded the soft, pliable flesh of her bottom with his hands, occasionally allowing his fingers to brush teasingly against her exposed, moist folds. Each stray intimate contact was met with an impatient growl from Willow, signaling to Angel that she was primed for his next assault.

Taking a page from his demonic alter-ego, Angel abruptly shoved Willow off of his chest. Startled, she landed on her back at the foot of the bed. Before she had the chance to emit a snarl of protest Angel pinned her arms above her head and drove into her with such might that the bed beneath them shook. Willow moaned her approval at his forceful invasion, but her moans soon gave way to delighted yelps when Angel pierced his fangs repeatedly into the tender flesh of her arms, still immobilized above her head by his vise-like grip. Like a tattoo artist's needle, his bites left her skin burning with delirious, agonizing pleasure.

As their hips thrust in synchrony, building them both steadily to rapture, Angel offered his throat once more to Willow. Eagerly, she bit into him and drew his blood into her mouth. The sensation was enough to send both of them into a frenzy, and within moments they were shuddering in violent release.

Gradually the intensity of their climax diminished and Angel released Willow's arms, rolling her with him into a tight embrace as they rested side by side. Willow clutched possessively at his arms as she soothed the wounds in his neck with her tongue, eliciting a purr of contentment from her lover.

They lay together for a while longer, caressing each other in silence, until Angel reluctantly steeled himself to confront Willow about what had nearly happened. He hated to ruin the moment, but this was too important to dismiss.

"Willow...we need to talk," Angel murmured gently.

She closed her eyes briefly in denial before looking up at him guiltily and sighing, "Yeah...we do."

"What you did was incredible, Willow. You don't know how long it's been since I've felt anything like that," Angel began as he tenderly brushed his knuckles against her cheek, "But it was also dangerous. Too dangerous for me to let you continue."

"I'm sorry," Willow whispered with genuine regret.

"Don't be -- not for wanting that. *I'm* sorry that I can't give you what you want. I only wish that you'd told me," Angel assured her.

Willow lowered her eyes once more and bit her lip. "I was afraid of ruining what we do have. I thought it would be better just to be happy with that..."

"I know," Angel affirmed. Gently raising her chin with his fingers, the dark vampire compelled her to meet his gaze as he asked her in a hushed voice, "Please say it for me. Just once."

The simple, heartfelt request made Willow tremble. Seeing her own turbulent emotions reflected in Angel's eyes, she confessed, "I love you, Angel."

He answered her with a soft, deep kiss.

But he couldn't repeat the same words to her. He wanted to.

God, how he wanted to.

But it would be cruel to provoke her with hopes that, thanks to a vengeful gypsy clan, could never be realized.

Willow's lips were still tingling from his ministrations when Angel began his sorrowful explanation:

"Willow, I care about you too much to let myself love you. When I took you under my protection, I made a commitment to ensure your safety. This includes protecting you from *myself*. What you offered tonight...you have no idea how much I want the same thing. It's probably one of the bitterest consequences of my curse."

"What do you mean?" Willow asked.

Although it pained him to confront what would forever be denied him, Angel laid bare to her the full irony of his punishment. "In life, I never knew love. I couldn't have cared less that there might be something more than physical pleasure to be shared with a woman. Then, when I was turned, all a woman was good for was sex and a satisfying meal. It took being cursed with my soul and meeting Buffy for me to learn how much more powerful, profound and intoxicating it was to make love to a woman as an equal, with heart and soul and mind, not just my body. And the instant I realized the full depth of what had been missing from my existence, and how much I wanted it...I lost it all. Worst of all, I lost any hope of sharing that feeling with anyone ever again."

Certainly, the basics of Angel's curse were known to her, but it still cut at Willow to hear him express his sense of loss so earnestly. She clung tightly to him as they buried their faces against each other's shoulders. His next words, whispered sadly across her skin, summoned the sting of tears to her eyes.

"Willow...I'd give anything not to have to ask you this...but please don't try to make love to me again. It's not that I question my ability to stop before things get too risky. It just hurts to have to stop. I'd rather not have to think about what I can't have."

At that moment, Willow felt the weight of his curse as if it were her own. From the beginning of her existence as a vampire, Angel had been her strength, never wavering in his support. Yet now he revealed his vulnerability without shame, asking her to spare him from pain.

Allowing the tears to spill freely down her cheeks until they flowed onto Angel's shoulder, she murmured numbly, "I promise."

*****

When they awoke the following evening, Angel and Willow spent a few moments nuzzling each other tenderly as they sought to soothe away the hollow emptiness that lingered after the early morning's emotional confessions. In time, they knew, the ache would fade. But the next few days would be difficult.

Eventually, Willow raised herself up on one elbow and, tracing light patterns on Angel's chest with her fingers, asked, "I really liked talking to you during our walk last night. Could we still do that, every now and then?"

Angel smiled wistfully at her and said, "Absolutely."

Willow joined him in smiling briefly before resignation settled across her features and she sighed, "I should probably go. I need to go. Out, that is. I need to go out...I mean...I need to walk around for awhile. And think...."

"I know," Angel agreed, "I think I might stay in and give the punching bag a good workout. Pounding something repeatedly for hours sounds very appealing right now."

Willow chuckled, "I'll warn Spike to stay out of your way."

There was something comforting in slipping into their mundane nightly routine, as Willow performed her rejuvenating spell while Angel dressed and prepared two servings of blood. Soon she was headed out into the night, leaving Angel to descend to the dojo for some therapeutic pummeling.

Thus it was that Spike found him a few hours later, doggedly slamming his fists into the punching bag.

"What the hell did you say to our little minion, Angel?" the blond vampire demanded angrily. "I found her wandering the streets like a ghost, and I could barely get three words out of her. Said she needed to be alone."

Angel halted his onslaught wearily and rebuked his childe. "You might have said something, Spike."

Spike was about to protest that Willow didn't want to talk when he realized what Angel meant. Looking away uncomfortably he muttered, "Didn't see the need, really. I knew you'd figure it out eventually. So... that explains what's bothering Willow."

Angel nodded. "It was awkward. And painful. I wish I could have spared her, but then that's the joy of being cursed. Nothing is spared..."

"Bloody hell...Peaches--" Spike began before Angel silenced him by raising his hand.

"What's done is done. But there is something you can still do for me," Angel stated calmly.

"Which is what?" Spike prompted.

"Stop the games. Neither one of us needs to re-live Drusilla -- and Willow certainly doesn't deserve to be in the middle of that. I'm not your rival this time. If you can give Willow what she needs, do it, with my blessing. She should be happy," Angel explained.

Spike clenched his jaw. A long time ago he might have exulted in a moment like this. After enduring the torture of seeing his beloved Dark Goddess yearn for Angelus, it had been one of Spike's greatest fantasies to inflict the same pain on his sire by stealing the affections of someone who haunted *his* passions. Now it seemed a bitter victory. Though they still quarreled frequently, most often over Willow, ever since they had reconciled and renewed their claims as sire and childe he couldn't feel any joy over the dark vampire's anguish.

Indeed, at that very instant the love Spike felt for his sire was almost painful. For this very same love had been the source of their longstanding competition, whether for Drusilla's affections or anything whatsoever.

"I'll give Willow more than she could possibly dream of," Spike declared, his voice thick with passion. "But the rivalry...that was never about Dru."

"I know," Angel agreed, "It was about us."

The blonde vampire's jaw clenched tightly. "You couldn't do it for us...for me...but you could do it for the bloody Slayer."

Angel furrowed his brow, too confused by his childe's remark to reply.

"You left me. Didn't even give me a chance. Darla might've chased you off because of the soul, but you never stopped to think that I might want you, soul or no soul." Spike continued, "You wouldn't stand up to her for me or Dru...but you staked her for the Slayer."

The dark vampire was dumbfounded. He knew he had abandoned his childe, but Spike had never been willing to admit how deeply it had hurt him. Angel felt sick.

"A whole fucking century, and nothing..." the blond vampire hissed painfully.

"Dammit, Spike...it's hard, with the soul...decisions aren't always easy to make," Angel softly voiced his regret.

"Learned that the hard way, mate," Spike acknowledged ruefully, "Willow won't be another Dru. I want her. Want to possess every tasty inch of her. But you're here now. Don't need to use her to get back at you, to remind you what it means to care for your own."

Angel stood, paralyzed by his childe's revelation. Spike strode up to him and grasped his sire's hands, guiding them to his own hips. Reaching up to cup the nape of Angel's neck, Spike drew the dark vampire's mouth to his in a deep, urgent kiss. It only took a few moments for Angel to respond, but when he did Spike shuddered at the bruising force of his sire's mouth.

Despite the passion, however, the blond vampire could still feel his sire's sorrow. At having abandoned his childe, and at having to disappoint Willow. Spike knew that his sire desperately needed a release. He resolved to alleviate Angel's frustration, and console his sometimes-lover, sometimes-enemy, the only way he knew how.

"Are you sure that's all I can do for you?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion and his eyes burning deeply into his sire's.

Angel's eyes widened momentarily as they reflected a myriad of feelings. Surprise. Gratitude. Restless desire. But most of all, frustration seeking release. His gaze flickered amber as he realized what his childe was offering him.

And Spike did not disappoint. Dispensing with the prelude, he delivered a savage, back-handed blow to Angel's cheek. The force of the impact snapped the elder vampire's head to the side. Spike followed with a punch to the gut so powerful that it brought Angel's demon to the fore. When Spike hurled a third blow at his sire, Angel trapped his fist in an iron grip and retaliated with a punch of his own.

From then on, they matched each other in an urgent, cathartic battle. Spike knew that nothing could ease the suffering of Angel's soul. Hell, that had been the bloody point when the damned gypsies had cursed him with it: torment without respite. But at least Spike could give his sire the temporary oblivion of violence, of physical pain that would sate the demon and distract him from the soul's torture, if only for a little while.

It was only when Willow returned that they parted, battered and bloody. Wincing at the soreness that enveloped his entire body, Angel pulled Spike against him roughly and bestowed upon his childe a fierce kiss, silently thanking him. Spike returned his passion measure for measure before withdrawing himself gently from his sire's embrace. With a final, understanding look, he turned toward the corridor to seek out their redheaded companion.

It was understood that it would be Spike who would share her company for the next few nights.

*****

Spike wondered if Willow's quiet sorrow would make it easier to persuade her to kill, if she would welcome the solace of her predatory instincts. However, she surprised him with her determination to explore non-lethal methods of feeding. It was another night or two before she was ready to make another attempt. In the meantime, Willow vented her frustration and rage at Rom curses by ravishing Spike's body with such hunger that the blond vampire hoped she might never want to go out again. He was all too happy to satisfy her needs.

Too soon, she grew restless with the desire to roam the night, and asked Spike if he would be willing to make a *genuine* effort to help her with her new dietary regime.

"And when I say help, I mean help me *succeed*, Spike," Willow clarified sternly as she relaxed across his chest after a bout of frenzied coupling, "Not help me feel like what I'm doing is a waste of time."

"But it *is* a waste of time," Spike sulked insistently. However, he didn't want to risk alienating her, especially when she had only just begun to recover some of her old spirit, and so he relented fairly easily.

"We may need to break it down into simpler steps. You're still self-conscious about drinking from a human when you might be observed," Spike reasoned as he stroked his hands along the supple contours of her back.

"So I need to find ways to convince my targets to duck into a private, secluded area with a complete stranger," Willow observed sardonically.

"Your luck with college bars hasn't been too good. Perhaps what you need is a dark, noisy club," her companion suggested.

"Or a theater," Willow added thoughtfully, "How would you like to take me to the movies tonight?"

"Hmm, it'll cost you, luv....a box of Raisinets," Spike declared with a wink.

"You're on," Willow grinned back at him as she raised herself up to get dressed.

When they were both suited up, Willow and Spike left the hotel and walked a mile or so to the nearest cinema. Without really paying attention to the feature that was playing, they purchased their tickets, Willow duly bought Spike his Raisinets, and they slipped into the already-darkened theater. The film had started nearly an hour earlier, and the pair was greeted by a screaming teenage girl fleeing an unknown killer on screen. The two vampires smirked ironically at one another.

As the on-screen actress shrieked and shrieked, obviously marked for death, Willow slipped into a seat in the very back row. The row was empty, and there were five people seated in the row in front of her. It would be a small matter to graze her fangs against their necks and tap unnoticed into their veins. One after another she drank as silently as possible, holding herself to just under a pint each.

When she had finished, Willow was encouraged by her success. She sought out her companion and found him chuckling in his seat a few rows up -- to the considerable annoyance of those around him. Spike pulled her down onto his lap and grinned devilishly as he asked her, "So, how'd you do, luv?"

"I think I'm getting the hang of it," Willow whispered, ignoring the irritated glares of the other movie patrons, "But what's so funny?"

"You're not going to believe the movie we just happened to walk in on," Spike explained with bemusement as he directed her attention to the screen.

Willow looked up just in time to see the nubile young actress who had spent the past fifteen minutes screaming fall into the clutches of two atrociously fake-looking vampires. Right down to the Hollywood plastic fangs. Willow groaned in disbelief.

"You've got to admit, this is just perfect," Spike murmured as he squeezed her waist playfully.

"Are you kidding? This is *cheesy*!" Willow grumbled with contempt.

"SSSHHHHH!!!" came the angry hiss from a petite brunette seated in front of them.

Willow scowled at her, and Spike leaned in close to whisper seductively in his companion's ear, "Care for a little after-dinner digestif, luv?"

The redhead's scowl melted into a wicked smile.

A moment later, she pulled away from the brunette's neck, leaving two glistening wounds on the woman's smooth flesh. Rising up, Willow extended her hand to Spike and drew him out of the theater. She had achieved her goal for the evening and wanted to go home to celebrate her success in feeding so discreetly.

Or, at least she thought it had been discreet.

Because she dragged Spike away with her before the movie ended, both of them missed the minor furor that erupted when the house lights came up and half a dozen people discovered feeble trickles of blood running down their necks. Under any other circumstances this would have been cause for alarm, but a very strange thing occurred. Rumors rippled through the crowd and escalated into a narcissistic, giddy conviction that this particular audience had been targeted for a clever publicity stunt.

Apparently, fans of vampire movies could persuade themselves of just about anything.

Without intending to, and to her great chagrin, Willow had launched a sensation.

It started with columns in the arts and entertainment sections of several of the local newspapers:

'Latest Vamp Flick Has Real Teeth Even If Plot Lacks Bite';

'Popcorn Not the Only Snack At Recent Showing of _Mark of the Damned_.'

'You'll laugh! You'll cry! You'll bleed!'

Were it possible, Willow would have blushed furiously the first time that Angel shoved a paper at her and asked if she had anything to do with this mysterious "publicity stunt". However, when her confession earned her the first genuine smile she had seen on her mentor's face since *that* night, not to mention his rich, full laughter, she decided that things could be worse.

Indeed they could. And they soon were.

A few nights later when Spike and Willow were wandering the streets, they saw them.

Tee shirts. Black, with red lettering.

They seemed to be everywhere, and each one was more gimmicky than the last:

'Got Blood?';

'Red Cross: It's Not Just For Breakfast Any More.';

and Spike's particular favorite,

'Fanged...For Her Pleasure.'

Willow nearly cringed when they came upon a trio of squealing, giggly adolescent girls who were admiring each other's brand new tattoos: twin red points on their necks, simulating the wounds of a vampire's bite. One wore a black tee shirt that said 'Bite me!' and bragged to her friends about what she'd do if she ever met a real vampire.

Spike's eyes gleamed wickedly as he and Willow observed the scene from a distance. He inhaled their scent and murmured appreciatively, "Virgins, all three of them...not more than sixteen, I'd gather."

"Spike, you aren't thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?" Willow chided him.

"Oh, come on, luv," Spike protested impishly, "Give the people what they want, I always say..."

"Sorry, but they're too small. You'll have to throw them back," Willow mused even as she kept a firm grip on her companion's arm.

"Mmm...rock them back is more like it," Spike chuckled, although he let Willow lead him away from the naive, tempting creatures.

Willow hoped that, like any other fad, this one would quickly fade. She duly responded to e-mail messages from Cyrene, Tara, Xander and Cordelia, all of which asked essentially the same thing: "Willow, was that *you*?"

She thought she couldn't get any more embarrassed.

Until the manila envelopes began arriving in the mail. Dozens of them, all addressed to The Unholy Spirit, c/o Angel Investigations. A few of the senders had the courtesy to include cards that identified themselves and offered a witty salutation. However, in all the envelopes the contents were the same: a set of plastic fangs from the Archie McPhee novelty supplier.

Word had gotten around to the lairs. She was now the butt of every joke in local vampire society. Willow swore she would *never* set foot in a movie theater again.

Just when she thought that the craze was diminishing, the *one* thing that could prolong her agony happened.

A far-right fundamentalist organization began a campaign to ban the movie, and flooded the press with letters to the editor raving about the corruption of America's youth by sinful Hollywood types who glamorized the occult. A spokesman for the Moral Majority thundered at a press conference that it was no surprise that high-school students were killing each other with guns when today's youth would rather fantasize about demons and vampires than read the Bible.

Naturally, the results were predictable. Ticket sales at the box office soared, and vampire tee shirts soared in popularity.

At this point, Willow just decided to accept defeat. She'd never live this down. Not if she survived another five hundred years and set herself up as Master of a Hellmouth. Never, never, never.

So she was completely unprepared when, amazingly, something good came out of the whole affair. A few weeks after the manila envelopes and plastic fangs stopped coming in the mail, Cordelia stopped by to drop off a piece of registered mail that she had signed for at the other office. Willow opened the envelope and was stunned to find a certified check, made out in her name, for $10,000. In shock, she unfolded the note that accompanied it and read:

"If you ever have plans for another such stunt, give me some advance warning. Consider the enclosed check an incentive. The tee shirts were the best I could do on such short notice. Still, it was a pleasure doing business with you."

The note was signed Andrew Murdoch. With a little investigation, Willow discovered that he was a vampire who, in life, had been in sales and marketing. Apparently, death hadn't snuffed out his zeal for profit.

Finally, Willow was able to laugh about it all. After she had arranged for Cordelia to set up a bank account for her and deposit the check, the redheaded vampire took Angel and Spike to Caritas to celebrate the improvement in her fortunes.

The Host bought her a drink and, with a wink, offered a toast to his favorite celebrity.

*****

Within another few months, Willow had grown fairly proficient at skimming, but she discovered that Spike had a point when he described it as subsisting. Although it enabled her to satisfy her basic needs without killing the person on whom she fed, there was something about not feeling the gradual extinction of a heartbeat that left her unfulfilled.

For the first time since she had been turned, Willow came to the realization that she might not *want* to give up the kill completely, even if she could.

So Spike introduced her to yet another technique for her repertoire: something he referred to as "leeching", although she wasn't quite sure why. After he had explained it, Willow thought it sounded more like not letting anything go to waste. Basically, it involved draining mortally-wounded accident victims -- somewhat like finishing a can of soda that someone else had already opened. By Spike's reasoning, *technically* it didn't count as killing. And although it couldn't serve as a regular method of feeding, since there were only so many accident victims to go around, it would do in a pinch when she really needed to savor the taste of death.

However, one evening when she ventured out on her own, Willow learned an important lesson. Not all deaths had the same taste.

She was lurking about in the over-burdened emergency room of a hospital in one of L.A.'s more densely-populated, poorer neighborhoods when, unable to find an opportunity to drain one of the recent arrivals in the ER, she decided to wander through the other wards. With all the time she had spent visiting the Sunnydale hospital while she was still alive, Willow should have known better. For sure enough, since this particular hospital was, like all others, arranged in an incomprehensible maze that even the staff had difficulty navigating, the young vampire soon found herself completely lost.

The faint sound of weeping caught her ear. Willow surmised that she was in the Intensive Care Unit and followed the muffled sobs until she reached the closed door to a private room. Although she wasn't quite sure why she should be so curious, Willow pushed open the door and peered into the darkened room. Her demon vision enabled her to see an elderly woman, her body thin and frail, lying on a bed. She was hooked up to a variety of machines, and literally radiated suffering. Willow heard a catch in the woman's breath as she realized that someone had slipped into her room.

"Wh-who's there? Are you the nurse?" the woman asked.

"I heard you crying," Willow explained without answering the question.

"Oh," the woman mumbled forlornly as her respiration became labored.

Several minutes passed in silence, until Willow decided that it was time to continue her exploration of the hospital. However, as she turned to leave the woman stopped her, saying, "Don't go...please."

Willow looked at her as the woman continued, "I'm so tired of being here alone. My children....they keep me on these machines, but they won't visit me more than once a week. I'm just so tired....I wish..."

When the woman let her words trail off, Willow moved closer to her bedside and prompted, "You wish what?"

"I wish they'd let me go," the woman sighed heavily, "I don't want to live like this any more...but they keep hoping that *this* treatment will be the one that works...that the cancer will go away...I haven't known a day without pain in two months."

After another few moments, the woman whispered in anguish, "I wish they would just let me die in peace."

"Are you so certain of this?" Willow asked her ominously.

"It's the only thing I *am* certain of any more," the woman confirmed sadly.

"What if I could help you? What if I could give you the death you seek? Would you take it?" Willow offered in a suggestive voice. She waited as the woman considered the possibility.

At last, in a small, shaky voice the woman said, "Yes."

For Willow, it wasn't a complicated decision. Although she might be able to feel compassion without her soul, she gave little thought to ethical dilemmas. At that moment, all that she needed to know was that the woman had expressed a wish for death -- something Willow was fully capable of granting her.

Grasping the woman's hand in hers, Willow raised it to her mouth and sank her fangs into fragile veins in a frail, skeletal wrist. With practiced efficiency she drained the woman in minutes. When alarms sounded on the monitors that tracked the woman's life functions, Willow decided that it would be best to slip away before a nurse and several aides rushed to investigate.

She had barely walked thirty yards away from the now-deceased woman's room when it hit her. Paralyzing, mind-numbing despair. Willow nearly doubled over, and only managed to stay on her feet by leaning against the wall.

Tears burned in her eyes as a dry tightness seized her throat.

The depths of her sadness so overwhelmed her that Willow had difficulty orienting herself in her surroundings. Somehow, though, she found herself clinging desperately to a public phone and dialing the number for the Hyperion. After several rings, Angel answered.

"Angel...help me..." Willow rasped urgently.

"Willow? What's wrong?" her mentor asked, his voice laced with concern.

"It's so...I can't stand this...I want to die..." Willow sobbed into the receiver.

"Willow, don't do anything," Angel instructed firmly, "Where are you?"

"H-h-hospital," she stammered.

"Which one? Can you tell me?" Angel prompted her as he struggled to remain calm.

"St. Mary's," Willow answered with a whimper.

"All right, I'll be right there. Listen to me, Willow, I want you to stay where you are. Don't. Do. Anything. Wait for me," he pleaded with her. She promised to wait, hung up and then curled up in a chair near the phone.

Half an hour later, Angel and Spike found her huddled there, weeping despondently. Angel wrapped his arms around her protectively and rocked her gently as he asked, "What happened, Willow?"

When she was unable to stop crying long enough to answer, Spike surveyed their surroundings and guessed what had reduced her to such a state.

"Bloody hell, luv...did you feed on a terminally-ill case?"

Willow nodded.

Spike groaned, and Angel held her even tighter. "That was a mistake," the blond vampire observed, "You should never drain someone who is suffering so much that they *want* to die. Their despair sucks you down with them. It's driven more than a few vamps to commit suicide."

"I...d-didn't...know," Willow choked through her tears.

Angel soothed her gently by kissing the tear tracks on her cheeks. He then bit into his own wrist and pressed the wound close to her mouth. Willow accepted it willingly, and as she drank his blood the feelings of despair subsided somewhat. After a few moments, she began to grow calmer. Angel withdrew his wrist and glanced up at Spike, who then crouched down in front of Willow and offered his wrist in turn. As she rested against Angel's chest and suckled at Spike's vein, Angel tenderly bit into her neck and sipped lightly. It was as if he was siphoning out a poison, and soon Willow's mind began to clear.

"Feeling better?" Spike asked when she released his wrist. He reached out his other hand and sympathetically caressed her cheek.

"Yeah...although I don't think I'll be trying that again soon," Willow declared fervently.

"I should have warned you," Spike muttered, "I guess it just didn't occur to me that you might try this."

"It wasn't anything I planned to do," Willow explained, "It just kind of happened. She was in pain...she said she wanted to die...I didn't see any problem. At least, not until it was too late."

"We can talk about this more later," Angel assured her, "For now, we should probably get you home. You need to sleep this off."

The three of them rose up and followed the signs that pointed them in the direction of an exit. Willow leaned against Angel for support, still feeling somewhat sickened, while Spike strode ahead of them. At one point they rounded a corner just in time to see the doors to an elevator slipping shut. The motion caught Willow's eye and a jolt of recognition hit her as she glimpsed the figure inside the elevator.

A Lei-ach demon.

"Angel!" she hissed urgently, "They're here! Or, at least, one of them is."

"Who?" Angel asked as her warning put him on the alert. Spike also whirled around to stare expectantly at the redheaded vampire.

"The Lei-ach demons. I just saw one in the elevator," Willow asserted.

Immediately Angel's glance snapped to the panel above the elevator doors, which ticked off the floors as number after number lighted with the passage of the car. At last, the level 'B2' remained illuminated, indicating that the elevator had come to a halt in the sub-basement.

Angel looked to Willow and asked hurriedly, "Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?"

"Can't I help?" she countered.

The dark vampire shook his head. "Not this time. I'm still concerned for you after what happened tonight. Besides, I don't think this will take long," Angel assured her before turning to his childe and saying, "Spike, you're with me."

"Right," Spike agreed.

The two males stormed off toward the stairwell near the elevator shaft and left Willow to wait in the corridor. They hastily descended several flights of stairs, and Angel wondered aloud whether they'd be able to find any make-shift weapons for their attack. All he had in his trenchcoat pocket was a single stake.

Spike shrugged indifferently and said, "Ripping their heads off always works for me. Slayer ran up against the likes of these back in Sunnyhell. Not much to get worked up about, really."

Stealthily they left the stairwell and moved out into the rarely-frequented corridor of the sub-basement, its walls lined with pipes and ducts. Fairly quickly, they discovered a clutch of five Lei-ach demons in a spacious room that housed the hospital's environmental controls. The demons were unprepared for an attack, which enabled Angel and Spike to decapitate two of them without a struggle. Confronted with the destruction of their comrades, the remaining three howled and launched themselves at the vampires. The fight was savage but quick, and within ten minutes Angel and Spike stared down at the corpses of five headless demons.

"All in a night's work," Spike announced casually. "Feel the need to tidy up, or shall we just go find our little minion and take her home?"

"Let's figure out where the hospital disposes of its biohazardous wastes," Angel proposed.

Within a short while they had disposed of the Lei-ach demons and were riding the elevator back up to the floor on which they had left Willow. As they waited while the elevator slowly ascended toward their destination, the elder vampire said to his childe, "Spike...I'd like to have the rest of the evening alone with Willow."

That Angel phrased it almost as a request rather than an order surprised the blonde vampire. True, his sire had expressed a desire to end their unspoken rivalry over Willow, and had willingly allowed Spike to monopolize her time of late. But his decades of experience as the Scourge of Europe's most defiant childe hadn't done much to prepare him for a sire who asked rather than simply taking what he wanted.

"Sure thing, mate," Spike acceded to his wish, somewhat self-conscious.

Knowing his childe well, Angel smirked and brought his full, imposing height flush against Spike's body. Brushing his lips against Spike's ear, he taunted, "I could smack you around a little if it would make you feel better..." Then, with a quick but fierce nip at his childe's neck, Angel pulled away just as the elevator doors opened.

Frustrated that the flicker of desire wouldn't be satisfied by the elder vampire...at least, not that night....Spike scowled at his back and grumbled, "Bloody wanker!"

*****

When they returned to the hotel Spike left the two of them at the entrance and went out to make the most of the remaining evening hours. His sire's teasing had left him feeling edgy, yet he wouldn't be able to resolve his tension with either of his preferred partners.

Perhaps a trio of sixteen-year-old virgins would do the trick...

Striding away with his duster billowing behind him, Spike hoped that the one little chit could indeed be persuaded to do everything she'd claimed she'd do if she ever met a real vampire.

Willow and Angel proceeded into the lobby, loosely joined by arms that were casually draped across each other's shoulders, and returned to their suite. It had been several nights since they had shared it, but any awkwardness was dispelled by Willow's frightening incident, which allowed them to slip into the familiar roles of mentor and protege.

As they climbed into bed Angel pulled her closely against him in a protective embrace and rested his chin on her head. Willow could almost hear the wheels spinning in his mind. Although they were relaxed together, something about his posture betrayed both a desire to speak with her, and a hesitancy to act on this desire. Each time his hands paused in their meanderings across her skin, Willow detected a slight shift in his jaw, as though he were just about to give voice to his thoughts but then held back. Just as she decided to tell him to come out and say what was on his mind, he beat her to the quick.

"Willow...I realize it's been a difficult evening for you. But there's something we should discuss about your decision to feed from that patient. If you're too tired now, we can put it off until tomorrow night, but we still need to deal with it."

She sighed, hoping she wasn't in for a lecture. "I am tired, but not too tired. Why don't we talk now?" Willow shifted herself in Angel's arms so that she could look at him, although she contented herself with resting against his shoulder for the moment.

"I only bring this up because your situation is unique. It would be pointless to discuss this if you were a conventional demon, because demons have little concern for the living," Angel began, "But you can't treat the terminally-ill as an easy solution to the demon's craving for the kill. Even if it seems as though the person in question is willing, that decision isn't yours to make or to act on."

"You're right," Willow admitted hesitantly, "To me, that seems like a pointless ethical debate. Maybe it's because I'm tired, but it's hard for me to understand what you're getting at. I didn't think I was making a decision for anyone. She asked, I gave her what she wanted."

"It's not quite as simple as that," Angel explained patiently, "When a human being is in that state -- in pain, faced with the inevitability of death -- judgment is easily clouded. A wish that someone expresses in one moment might be rescinded in the next. Not to mention that there are the feelings of the person's family to consider. What you might have seen in the few moments you spent with that woman would have been only a limited portion of the entire picture. It wouldn't be enough for you to judge that what she said to you was indeed her choice."

"Oh...I guess so..." Willow acknowledged his point, although she still found it difficult to understand the problem. Without her soul, and subsisting as she did upon the deaths of others, the ethical considerations involved in euthanasia were a little too abstruse for her to appreciate. However, Angel's opinion did matter to her.

"Maybe it's too early for Advanced Ethics," her mentor admitted as he glimpsed her inner struggle through the perplexed furrowing of her brow.

"Umm...would you mind a lot if it were? I think I've stretched about as far as a minion can go..." she mumbled wearily as fatigue finally overtook her.

"And then some," Angel agreed tenderly as he coaxed her to settle in against him for a much-needed sleep.

*****

It was a week after Willow had discovered that feeding from terminally-ill humans could result in severe emotional indigestion that she sensed a human presence in the hotel. Angel and Spike were...otherwise occupied...so the redheaded minion went to see whether it was someone they knew or an opportunity for room service.

A smile lit her face when she found Tara standing in the lobby, looking uncertain as to whether or not she really wanted to seek out the hotel's residents. Quite a healthy reaction for a human in a lair shared by three vampires.

"Tara? Hey..." Willow greeted her former lover, "What brings you here?"

The shy, doe-eyed woman stepped forward to share a warm hug with her and answered, "I just...wanted to talk after your last e-mail."

"Oh....okay..." Willow began hesitantly. As she scrambled to think of a slightly more private place they might go, she ruled out the suite she shared with Angel. She knew that Tara didn't need to be exposed to sire and childe in one of their more intimate moments. And it didn't feel right to go back to Spike's room...

"Why don't we go out to the courtyard? We may not be able to see the stars very well in the Los Angeles sky, but it's still a beautiful night," Willow suggested, gesturing toward the door.

They wandered out to the courtyard with its Spanish colonial arcade and garden plot brimming with fragrant jasmine, and settled themselves on a bench. Willow kept a respectful distance from her human friend, sensing the anxiety that welled up inside the sandy-haired woman.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" the redheaded vampire prompted her nervous companion, "And if it has to do with the ethics of euthanasia, Angel already went over that with me. I can't say that it all makes sense, but I promise that it's not something I'll try again..."

Willow sounded very like her old self, as she rambled hastily in anticipation of what she thought was Tara's main concern about the last e-mail message she had sent, which detailed her experience at the hospital in her ongoing quest to alter her feeding habits. However, Willow was caught off guard when Tara gazed at her sympathetically and declared, "It's been really hard for you, hasn't it?"

"What?" Willow blinked at her.

"Trying to...uh...change your d-diet," Tara explained, "It's been a challenge to give up killing...and things aren't working out quite so well."

Willow's heart sank. Her friends in Sunnydale must have given up on her. They had probably reached the same conclusion that Spike had -- she was a demon, and she would never escape that part of her nature. The fiasco at the hospital simply confirmed it. And it had fallen to Tara to cut the last of Willow's ties to her past, and tell her to move on.

And stay the hell out of Buffy's way.

"Yeah," Willow admitted heavily, "The taste for the kill is pretty powerful. And feeding from someone without their noticing is tricky business."

"I've been thinking about that..." Tara started before Willow broke in eagerly.

"I don't think it's hopeless. I'm still trying..."

"Actually, Willow...what I've been thinking is that you've been trying to do this all on your own," Tara clarified softly. Willow could tell that there was something momentous on the human woman's mind, if anything because of the scarcely-masked anxiety in her eyes.

"Spike has been helping...in his own way," the redhead offered.

"Well...h-has his help h-helped?" Tara stammered uncertainly.

"Um...not always," Willow admitted, glancing away from the woman sitting beside her, "He doesn't see the point. Spike is convinced I'll eventually end up like any other vampire. He tells me I'm just playing the martyr."

"Maybe you need some other help," Tara suggested shyly, "That's why I came."

Willow looked back at her. A gentle breeze rustled through the courtyard, lifting and teasing strands of Tara's hair as she held Willow's gaze with a tentative smile. The young vampire had completely misread the situation, and for a moment she wasn't sure how to respond. Finally, she simply asked, "What do you mean?"

"I th-thought about what we've all expected of you. We wanted you to change for us, to give up everything we couldn't accept...but we left the question of how to do that up to you," Tara explained, "You're the one who m-made the effort to be what your friends wanted. I guess I realized that it was time for all of us...for me...to act more like a friend. You shouldn't have to do this all by yourself. So, I want to help."

"You....Tara, do you understand what you're...are you sure?" Willow could barely manage to squeak out the words. She was deeply moved by what her former lover seemed to be offering.

Tara nodded. "I can probably only offer once every other week or so. But Hannah and Cyrene are willing, too. Xander is even considering it."

"You're kidding! Xander?!" Willow nearly yelped, stunned at that last revelation.

"Yeah...well, he's still not sure. The only reason he's considering it is because it's you," Tara pointed out, "And we realize that even if we can...give you...our blood once a week, that alone won't be enough. But we hope it will help."

"And you all trust me enough to do this?" Willow whispered, her eyes fixed intently on those of the woman who faced her.

"Yes. In fact...I came tonight to see if you wanted to give it a try," Tara confessed, dropping her gaze and nibbling self-consciously on her bottom lip.

The small gesture entranced Willow, and she decided that the time for conversation was over. Reaching out to brush her palm gently against Tara's cheek, the slight redhead inched closer to her until her form was flush against Tara's. Grasping her warm, human hand in her own, Willow drew it up to her lips and placed a light kiss on the palm, reveling in the sensual thrum of blood flowing through living veins.

Leaning in toward Tara's neck, Willow let her mouth hover tantalizingly above the vulnerable flesh of her neck before whispering in her ear, "We can do this a number of different ways...How would you like it?"

Tara shivered at the seductive tone in Willow's voice and pulled back just enough to be able to look her in the eye. Slowly, the fair-haired mortal woman wrapped one arm around Willow's waist and brought the other up to the nape of her neck, gently drawing Willow's head toward her. They embraced each other, with an emotion somewhere in between friendship and passion, as Willow's demon features emerged and she sank her fangs into the tender, graceful column of Tara's neck. The young woman gasped and her pulse raced at the first sting of the bite, but the reassuring caress of Willow's hands on her back eventually helped her relax.

After several moments, Willow withdrew her fangs and bathed the twin puncture wounds tenderly with her tongue. When she was sure that the flow of blood had ceased, the redhead leaned back and released her first voluntary human donor. Cupping Tara's cheek lightly with one hand, Willow stroked her warm, living skin with her thumb and asked, "Was that okay?"

Although her nerves still tingled with residual fear from the experience, Tara nodded and struggled to put her feelings in words. "It wasn't quite what I expected. It h-hurt a little, and it was kind of sc-scary...but it felt so...so...intimate to be connected like that..."

Remembering something Angel had said to her, Willow softly affirmed Tara's description. "It can be of the most intimate acts vampires share with their lovers..."

The young vampire paused as she saw the strained look that crossed Tara's face, and concluded diplomatically, "...but it doesn't have to be. I appreciate what you're doing for me. If it would make it easier, I can minimize the sensuality of it. You'd barely feel it."

"It's not what you think," Tara assured her, even though the tightness of her voice signaled her own discomfort, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't still f-feel something for you. But...I'm not ready yet to pick up where we left off. And I know you've...you and Angel..and Spike..."

"It would be complicated," Willow finished for her, understanding. "And probably a greater adjustment for you to make in your life than you're prepared for right now."

"That's about it," Tara sighed with a shaky smile. Mortal and immortal regarded each other peacefully for a moment, and then drew together in a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of memories and hope, but without the urgency of passion. When they parted, Tara rose from the bench and said, "I should probably go."

"Do you have a place to stay?" Willow asked, reluctant to send her out into the night but not wanting to pressure her into staying.

"Hannah and Cyrene are putting me up," Tara confirmed as they walked back into the lobby from the courtyard and proceeded toward the main entryway.

"They're probably waiting to hear how this went, too. Am I right?" Willow guessed.

"Yeah, they are," Tara acknowledged, blushing slightly, "But they'd also like the four of us to meet soon to discuss forming the coven."

They came to a stop just before the doors, and Willow fell into a contemplative silence. At last she fixed a solemn gaze on Tara and declared, "We do need to talk. If they're ready, we could meet tomorrow. I've made some...decisions...and I think we should talk about them."

"Tomorrow, then..." Tara murmured.

"Tomorrow," Willow agreed as she watched Tara slip out of the hotel.

Left alone, the young vampire returned to Spike's room and decided to settle in for a very early night. She had some thinking to do. Although she had been hasty to reassure Tara that she was hopeful about her progress, out of fear that her friends had decided to write her off as a lost cause, the young vampire had slowly been approaching a decision about her situation. And this hadn't been the most auspicious setting in which to broach the subject with Tara. Hopefully, though, Willow would have the strength to explain her decision with the women who would join with her in a coven. And...to Angel...

Hell.

She would need a lot of sleep in order to be able to face him with what she planned to say.

*****

The evening was deceptively calm. Without any new cases to occupy his time and energy, Angel relaxed in his suite with a well-worn volume of Yeats. His childe and Willow had left for another night on the town.

Or so he thought.

The dark vampire registered Willow's presence when she returned to the hotel. After a few moments he looked up from his book as she entered the suite and moved fluidly to sit across from him on the couch.

"You're back early," Angel observed with a smile as he set the Irish poet's work aside.

"I'm meeting Tara and two other Wiccans here in about half an hour to talk about forming a coven..." Willow began slowly.

"A vampire in a coven?" Angel raised his eyebrows at the thought, "Is that actually done?"

"Ours would be the first," Willow acknowledged his surprise, "As far as I can tell, there aren't really any rules against it, but it's not common for Wiccans and vampires to associate with each other. But before they get here, there's something I need to tell you."

Angel tensed at the somber tone of her voice, and knew that she felt she was about to deliver bad news. Not quite sure what could render her mood so serious, he asked, "What is it?"

"I've been thinking..." Willow approached the topic delicately, "For weeks I've been working to find ways to survive without killing. And I pretty much think I'm capable of doing it, or at least I will be with more practice. But..."

The younger vampire trailed off, dreading to have to say it.

"But...?" Angel prompted her.

"But...I'm not sure I want to," she replied in a very small voice.

As her words fell on his ears, it seemed to Angel as though all things were suspended in that moment. Time slowed to a point that allowed the insignificant details of their surroundings to burn themselves into his brain, ensuring that this encounter would haunt his thoughts for decades. There was a minute blood stain on the arm of the couch. There was a hairline crack in the spine of his aging copy of Yeats. The faint aroma of cigarette smoke clung to Willow, a lingering memento of Spike's presence. The low hum of the refrigerator, normally a blind noise forgotten in the background, grated on Angel's ears. Willow's stark declaration had left his nerves raw and exposed to the assault of so many ordinary things.

In spite of this, however, Angel somehow managed to maintain a mask of composure on his face and betrayed none of his disappointment outwardly to his young protege. When he finally did speak, his voice was heavy with self-reproach.

"I shouldn't have pushed you away," the dark vampire murmured regretfully, "I didn't know it would drive you to this....I should have told you that night how much you mean to me, and explained why I--"

Alarmed, Willow lunged at him and clamped her hand down on his mouth, preventing him from completing the speech he had begun. "No!" she cried out fervently, "Angel, don't...please."

Her mentor stared back at her, startled into silence by her panicked outburst. When she withdrew her hand from his lips he merely sat and waited for her to explain.

"I didn't make this decision out of despair over the idea that no matter how hard I tried, or what I did, it wouldn't be enough to make you....love me. This isn't me giving up...I mean, yes...when I started out, I was doing it because I thought it would make you happy, that you'd be proud of me..."

"I *am* proud of you, Willow..." Angel insisted honestly.

"But I also thought it was the right thing for me, because of the feelings I would get after each kill...the memories of how much my old self was opposed to killing. And I've learned something from all of my efforts: I can go without killing, but there will be times when I need it, when I want it. And I'm not going to deny that...If I'm going to make peace with who I am and what I am, I can't force myself to fit into a particular mold by denying certain parts of who I am now, even if it doesn't match who I was before...."

Willow hesitated for a second before releasing a shaky laugh and evoking the memory of Angel's own confession from that profound, intimate night that had been their turning point. "There's really only one area in which I want to cling to denial. I couldn't bear it if you tried to convince me that you loved me right now...not like this. I'd never be able to escape the doubts...the thought that you might have said it just to persuade me not to kill. And I know it's wrong of me, but I still want to believe that someday you might...really mean it. Please let me dream. It hurts to think about what I can't have."

A lone tear brimmed over from Angel's eye and slipped down his cheek. With a sorrow much like that reserved for lovers about to part on separate journeys he reached out and stroked her cheek. In a strained, hushed whisper he countered, "No, Willow...it isn't wrong for you to want that. God, you have no idea...Your decision wouldn't have upset me this much if I didn't..."

Angel choked back his words, realizing that he had nearly said exactly what she had begged him not to say. After taking a few minutes to compose himself, he asked numbly, "Are you sure that this isn't just a stage in your development? You're still gaining your strength...couldn't it be that you feel the need to kill because it gives you that flush of power that simulates real strength for a few moments? Or...do you honestly enjoy it?"

"Honestly...I don't know. You're asking me to predict the future. Will my desire to kill fade once I'm stronger? I can't say...and I can't dwell on what might come any more than I can on what might have been. All I know is that right *now* I'm happy to minimize my lethal feedings, but there may just be times when I *want* to kill...to feel the ebb and flow of life extinguish itself on my lips..." Willow answered calmly.

"That sounds like Spike talking," Angel muttered disparagingly.

"I speak for myself. You should know that by now," Willow chided him gently. "Spike has no idea that I've come to this decision. He's still sulking over the impression that the only thing that matters to me is pleasing you. Apparently, each of you thinks that my mind is easily swayed by the other."

"I didn't mean it like that, Willow...I'm sorry," Angel sighed in frustration, "I guess it just doesn't make sense to me. One night, you're saving lives by taking two women to the ER, and the next you're here, explaining that you don't *want* to give up killing. One of the first things you told me when you arrived here was that you had disturbing feelings after each kill...that with every life you took, you were reminded of how much your human self had abhorred killing. I can't understand what has happened to change that."

"This is going to sound strange, but I think it was the very process of trying to go without killing that did it," Willow offered thoughtfully, "I thought I would be at peace with myself...that if I stopped doing something that violated the memories of my former self that I would finally be able to accept my situation. I thought it would be the way to achieve some kind of balance, or find a compromise...But as time passed, and I felt what it was like to go without the savor of death, it still didn't bring me the peace I'd hoped for. And that was when I realized that completely denying my demon instincts wasn't a solution, any more than trying to suppress my human memories and simply giving myself over to the bloodlust would be a solution."

Angel was silent as he reflected on Willow's explanation. To hear her calmly state that she had decided that killing was an integral part of her was disturbing, to say the least. It no longer allowed him the comfort of believing that he was helping her in honor of the compassionate human she had once been. She became like any other vampire...and he would just as soon stake most other vampires.

Or would he?

After all, Spike was far worse than Willow...but, then, Angel enjoyed the renewed connection with his wayward childe. What the hell was happening to his principles?! It used to be so clear, so straightforward....

And perhaps that was what really bothered him.

It wasn't Willow's decision itself so much as the fact that he couldn't stop caring about her in spite of it. Couldn't stop...loving her...even as she seemed prepared to accept a side of herself that Angel had been so intent on subduing.

"The hardest part is letting go..." Angel whispered at last, more to himself than to Willow. His words were so faint that even with her heightened sense of hearing, she was unable to discern what he had said.

"What did you say?" Willow asked.

"Nothing," Angel shook himself out of his morose contemplations at last, "Willow...as much as I have a hard time accepting it, I know that this is still your decision to make. I can't...I won't force you to change. But I hope you'll understand if I keep trying."

"I'd consider it one of the signs of the Apocalypse if you didn't," Willow teased him affectionately, earning a wry grin from her mentor.

As she smiled back at Angel, Willow sensed the arrival of her Wiccan friends. Leaning in to place a soft, melancholy kiss on his lips, she pulled away after a few moments and withdrew to seek out the humans who had just arrived, leaving Angel to mull over his reaction to everything she had said.

Hefting the volume of Yeats in his hand, he thumbed absently through the pages until the words he sought lay beneath his mesmerized gaze:

'I sigh that kiss you,

For I must own

That I shall miss you

When you have grown.'

*****

Four Wiccans, three human and one vampire, sat in the courtyard of the old hotel and formed a circle with their joined hands. On the smooth tile in between them rested a simple clay goblet filled with red wine. Hiding no secrets, harboring no shame, they welcomed each other in open communion as the first step toward forming their coven.

Knowing that she couldn't hide the truth from those whom she soon hoped to call blood sisters, Willow had explained her reluctance to refrain from killing absolutely in the same calm manner with which she had broken the news to Angel. After Buffy's visit, they had learned that she killed. Now, she needed to tell them that despite her recent experiments in non-lethal feeding, she might not ever give up killing.

Brief, mild surprise had been quickly replaced by awkward, knowing glances between the three women, as they absorbed the reality presented by Willow's confession. She had left the choice open to them, understanding that they could easily decide against forming a coven with her. Better to have this out than to invite disaster by entering into communion under false pretenses. Willow had read the stories of such ill-fated attempts, and the miserable fates that had befallen the fools who had believed they could get away with deception.

It was Cyrene who spoke. The tall, dark-haired woman was the most self-assured of her abilities out of the three humans, and seemed to feel the strongest connection to the natural magick that she worked. Her deep, sable eyes glowed with a compelling serenity as she said, "Willow...we accept you. Will you accept us, and all that we can offer?"

"What?" Willow stammered, caught off guard by the odd response.

"Life and death are part of the eternal cycle. Predators kill to survive. While it is true that vampires do more than kill to survive -- they enjoy it -- there's something different about you. You resist the urge to harm, you take no joy in it. Even now, as you tell us that you will continue to kill, it isn't out of malice. Bloodlust, yes... But not viciousness. You seek your own balance. We accept that all things find their own balance, and invite you to forge this balance with us and through us," came Cyrene's gentle reply.

Willow continued to gawk at her three human companions, her eyebrows arched and her jaw slacked open in disbelief. A rather unusual look for a vampire, but somehow it was all she could muster. Finally, she laughed shakily and mused, "That definitely wasn't anywhere near what I expected you to say...But I still don't understand what you mean by finding balance. Angel offered me the same thing, so how will this be any different?"

Hannah giggled. Most of the time she was flightier than her partner, but those who mistook her light-hearted spunk for the vapidity of a 'dumb blonde' very quickly discovered the quick wit and sharp tongue behind the laughing eyes. With a sly grin she asked, "How well does a table with two legs balance?"

"Is this one of those Zen riddles about one hand clapping?" Willow countered dubiously.

"No," Hannah replied as the moonlight danced in her hazel eyes, "It's just that what Angel offered you could never amount to balance. Not when it would be just the two of you. True balance calls for strength in numbers."

"You need to emerge on your own," Cyrene agreed, "If you only have one person committed to supporting you, the line between helping you find your balance, and trying to push you in a specific direction, gets really blurry. It's hard for anyone to resist the temptation to push you to do what *they* think is in your best interest, rather than letting you find that out by yourself. But when you can count on several people for support, no one voice can dominate, and the balance resolves itself."

"And this support involves....?" Willow prodded curiously.

Tara squeezed her hand gently, her gesture a shy reminder that throughout the entire discussion they had all kept their hands joined together. "It could be as simple as this joining of hands. Or, if you agree to enter into the coven with us, and if we share our blood as sisters, we'll become a presence in your life."

"Always there, even if only in the background. Guides along the path if you need us, but more a reminder that you're connected to the world around you..." Cyrene added.

"...and not just a killing machine with no concern for the consequences of her actions," Willow concluded, beginning to understand what her companions were proposing, "So...you see joining with me, even if I choose to kill, as less harmful ultimately than trying to force me to stop killing, don't you?"

Hannah nodded, and explained, "So much violence has been caused in this world because those with differing views convince themselves that they have to shun each other, force each other to change, or destroy each other. We've offered you a challenge: we know you kill, and you know that we disapprove of willfully causing harm. Can you still be with us under these conditions? The issue will always be before us, in the open, rather than avoided and forgotten."

A half-smile tugged at Willow's lips and she shook her head somewhat incredulously. "I still don't quite get this...but yes, I do want in on the coven."

Hannah beamed back at her with a warmth that reminded Willow of the sunlight that she could never see again. Tara graced her with a welcoming smile, while Cyrene reached for the goblet at the center of their circle and said, "Then let us join."

The dark-haired Wiccan withdrew a Leatherman camping knife from a hip sack that rested just outside their circle and pricked her index finger with it. Holding her wounded digit over the goblet, Cyrene allowed her blood to mingle with the wine.

"No fancy, ceremonial dagger?" Willow asked, raising her eyebrows.

Cyrene shrugged and passed the goblet to her vampire companion with a grin. "Guess I go for practicality. You can't beat a Leatherman."

Willow morphed into her demon face and winked back at Cyrene. Raising her wrist toward her fangs, she replied, "Practicality works for me, too." She bit her wrist and let a stream of her blood flow into the goblet before handing it to Tara.

Cyrene was about to pass the knife across to the sandy-haired Wiccan when Tara shook her head and, with a look of open acceptance, extended her wrist to Willow. The redheaded vampire kissed her warm, translucent skin with reverence before piercing it with her fangs to release a red stream into the goblet. After it had been passed to Hannah, who also opted to allow Willow do the honors for her rather than use a knife, all four of them wrapped their hands around the stem of the goblet. As their fingers overlapped and entwined with each other, they chanted a binding spell and then each took a drink of their combined blood.

It was a simple ritual, but Willow felt the change immediately. It was more than just feeling a connection to the three living, breathing humans who sat with her. She sensed that something else had awakened in her...a connection to...well, to what, she wasn't quite sure.

Tara saw the curious expression on Willow's face and guessed what she was experiencing. "You feel it, don't you?"

"I feel something..." Willow agreed, still delighting in the tingling sensation that danced along her skin.

"You opened this connection in life, when you first began to practice the art," Cyrene explained, "This link to the natural order, to all that surrounds us, is the source of a Wiccan's strength. You didn't lose it when you were turned, but your senses haven't been as attuned to it. The bloodlust of the demon can make it hard for you to be aware of other, more subtle forms of power."

Willow nodded, understanding. "It *is* kind of like the flush after a kill...I didn't think anything else could feel this good."

"Someone's obviously never been up close and personal with an orgasm," Hannah teased impishly in a loud stage whisper. The courtyard echoed with laughter as the four Wiccans relaxed in the joy of their newly-formed connection.

"I have too had orgasms, just ask Tara!" Willow protested vehemently, grinning as she saw the blush spread across her former lover's cheeks.

"And if Tara doesn't feel like sharing?" Tara murmured with quiet amusement.

Cyrene chuckled as she rose to her feet. "Remember, sisters, nothing happens against our will while in the circle."

Hannah stood as well, knowing that it was time for them to leave. Playfully, she observed, "Circle's broken now. I want details."

"Hmmm...but *which* details?" Willow taunted right back, "Should I tell you exactly how many different erogenous zones Spike can stimulate with his fangs? Or there's this trick that Angel can do with a---"

"My goodness, look at the time!" Hannah interrupted her with a loud, clichéd phrase, enjoying her banter with the redhead but not quite ready to learn the specifics of vampire sex play.

A wicked grin spread across Willow's face. Round one to her...

Hannah and Tara both gave Willow an affectionate squeeze before making their way toward the hotel's entrance. Cyrene held back and, with a reassuring smile, said to Willow, "Your web of support extends far. If you want to bring them into our circle, there is a way to do it."

"What...Angel and Spike in a coven?" came Willow's astonished reply.

Cyrene shook her head. "No, they practice no magick, so they couldn't enter into a coven. But they're an important influence for you...there is a spell that could bring all of us together, rather than leaving your sources of support fragmented. Take some time to consider it, and if you're interested, I'll tell you more about it."

Willow nodded and watched as the dark-haired Wiccan left the hotel. She stood in the middle of the lobby for several minutes, simply enjoying the sense of peace that lingered with her. For the first time since she had been turned, she felt the thrill of potential, as though she had choices. It was delirious.

Her sire had made her less than a minion, and left her to the nonexistent mercy of the vampire hierarchy.

Now....she was free to make herself what she wished to be.

*****

"Do I get to shag any of them?"

"Spike!"

"Oh, come on, luv...there have to be a few perks to this arrangement. At least I can nibble on them a little, right?" the blonde vampire insisted with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

"Never without their permission," Willow rebuked him sternly, "They're doing this of their own free will to help me. I won't have you violating that trust."

"You're just selfish, that's what it is," Spike sulked at her, "Three lovely, willing necks all to yourself and you can't be bothered to share."

"Well, they tell me that Xander might be interested, too...Maybe I'll let you have the first crack at him," Willow purred coyly.

"The git?!! Not bloody likely!" Spike snapped in disgust as he scowled at Willow and rose up from the lounge where they had been sitting together in the lobby, waiting for Willow's coven to arrive.

Willow giggled, enjoying her blonde companion's outbursts as she always did. "Relax, Spike...I don't understand what you're complaining about anyway. You've had plenty of willing necks of your own. After all, you're the one who tracked down those sixteen year-old virgins we saw and taught them all about what goes bump in the night."

"Damn straight," Spike chuckled, even as he continued pacing impatiently, "So what's taking your chits so long to get here, anyway? I thought we had a bloody ritual to perform."

"They'll be here. What's your hurry? Places to go, people to kill or something?" Willow chided him.

"Just not too keen on witchcraft, I guess," Spike shrugged indifferently, "Every time I've been involved in a spell recently, seems I've ended up small and furry. Don't much care for that."

"You're nervous..." Willow teased him.

"Am not, you little brat," the blonde vampire grumbled at her crossly.

Willow pushed herself up off the plush, red lounge and approached Spike. She suspected that it wasn't the witchcraft itself that bothered him, since he had one of her spells to thank for freeing him from the Initiative's microchip. However...a binding ritual...Willow could easily see how that could bother a cocky master vampire who prided himself on not being tied down to anyone, on not needing anyone. Placing her hands lightly on his arms, which were stubbornly folded across his chest, she leaned up and brushed a soft kiss over his lips.

"Thank you, Spike. This means a lot to me."

The tension in his frame eased somewhat and his gaze softened. Letting his hands fall to her hips, Spike drew her body flush against his and captured her mouth in a hungry, lingering kiss. Pulling away slightly, his eyes fixed her with passion as he murmured, "You....mean a lot to me."

Spike brought his mouth to hers again and proceeded to devour her slowly, relishing the feel of her. He still wasn't sure he liked the idea of this spell. After ridding himself of that sodding chip, he was deeply suspicious of anything that might even remotely restrain him or hold his demon in check. But for Willow, he was willing to give it a try. He had almost resigned himself to the fact that she was determined to take after his sire and give up killing. And then she had told him of her latest decision. Cor, how he burned for her when he heard her say that she enjoyed the hunt...reveled in the flush of the kill...and no longer intended to deny herself those feelings. She was so bloody beautiful on the hunt.

Besides...although he wouldn't admit it out loud, he was deeply touched that he mattered enough to her that she wanted to include him in this spell. Him. Not just his sire. It wasn't that he didn't love his sire. Loved the bastard so much it hurt sometimes. But he hated living in that shadow...whether it was cast by Angel or Angelus. Now, he wouldn't have to settle for being second...she wanted them both. And that was quite all right with him.

"Ahem...."

Even without the throat-clearing, Willow and Spike sensed Angel's entry into the lobby and disengaged themselves from their sensual embrace.

The dark vampire raised his eyebrows innocently as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips and said, "Tara just called. They're on their way over, and asked if Willow would start getting things ready."

"Killjoy..." Spike muttered, giving Willow one last squeeze before she pulled away and headed out to the courtyard to begin setting out the necessary materials.

Within fifteen minutes Cyrene, Hannah and Tara arrived and, after greeting the two elder vampires, went to help Willow. Angel and Spike looked on as the four Wiccans lit bundles of sage in censers placed throughout the courtyard. The smoke was rich and soothing. Willow then proceeded to wind several lengths of silk thread around her hand, while Hannah, Cyrene and Tara sprinkled salt on the rough tiles of the patio. First they established a large circle, then they inscribed within it a five-pointed star, forming a pentagram.

Both vampires were intrigued by the ritual, feeling they were watching a mystery unfold, despite the fact that Willow had explained everything to them fully before asking if they were willing to participate. For Angel and Spike, all that had mattered was Willow's admission that the spell which promised to help her wouldn't work without them. She had instructed them in a few phrases they would need to say at the proper time, and said that they would be bound together as elements that gave balance to her being.

With a soft, hopeful smile Willow led Angel to the point at the top of the pentagram and explained that he represented quintessence -- the fifth element, or spirit, symbolized by his soul. She then guided Spike to the point immediately to Angel's left -- the place for fire. Willow's three Wiccan companions knew their places already, and moved to assume their stations accordingly. Hannah to Angel's right, for air; Cyrene to Spike's left, for water; and Tara between Hannah and Cyrene, for earth.

Willow took her place in the center of the pentagram and initiated the ritual with a brief incantation of thanks to the cycles of Nature for the five friends who were willing to stand with her.

Then, taking one end of the silk thread she had wrapped around her hand, she gave it to Angel as she and the other three Wiccans began murmuring the words of the spell in Latin. Moving back to the center of the pentagram, Willow wrapped the thread around the wrist of her free hand once before extending a further length of thread to Cyrene, wrapping more slack around her own wrist, and repeating the entire process through Hannah, then Spike, then Tara, and back to Angel. When she had finished, all six of them were joined by the same thread, which passed through Willow at the center of the circle.

At last it was time to conclude the ritual. Willow proceeded softly yet clearly:

"The way is balance and harmony. With the Fates I weave a tapestry..."

In unison, Tara, Cyrene and Hannah invoked the Fates by name to infuse the spell with their power. "Clotho...Lachesis...Atropos..."

"...that accepts all elements of my being," Willow concluded.

She looked to Angel, and he recognized his cue to speak:

"The good in all of us, and beyond all of us."

"The love of the journey," Cyrene continued.

"The desire to know," murmured Hannah.

"The fire that burns for the darkness," Spike added.

"Growth and change," Tara concluded.

"As a tapestry is only made whole through the joining of threads, so is my being not mine alone, but anchored by you who stand with me," Willow voiced the words that completed the ritual.

No dramatic physical manifestation accompanied her final words, but the six participants noticed a brief heightening of their senses. The scent of jasmine in the courtyard seemed fresher, the breeze stronger, and the black of night even darker, but only for a moment. And then the moment was gone, and the spell was finished.

They all glanced at each other with the slightly amused, uncertain looks of people who weren't quite sure what to do next. Willow shrugged and said, "Thanks guys..."

"So how the bloody hell do we get out of this tangle?" Spike gestured to the threads that still linked them all in an intricate web. His impatience provoked easy laughter among the group, and Willow began unraveling them.

When Willow had extricated everyone from the web, Hannah moved over to a bag she had brought in with her, pulled out a bottle of wine and announced, "Now that we've all been linked as part of Willow's Web of Life...or Unlife...whatever...I think it would be a good idea for us all to get to know each other better. What do you say, folks?"

"If you mean we all get drunk and shag, I'm up for it," Spike quipped lewdly.

Without missing a beat, Cyrene smiled and countered evenly, "Sure, we can have a real, old-fashioned bacchanale. Of course, the festivities usually ended with the Maenads ripping apart the males with their bare hands, but I don't mind getting mine a little dirty."

Tara giggled as Spike scowled at Cyrene and muttered, "Just what the world needs, a bloody smart-assed witch."

Willow wrapped her arms around him playfully and purred, "Don't spoil the fun. We'll all get drunk, swap truly embarrassing and overly-personal information about ourselves, and then *I'll* shag you."

Instantly, Spike's face lit up and he beamed at Hannah, who had just extracted the cork from the wine bottle and was in the process of pouring the first glass. "Give us a drink, luv, and tell me all about yourself..."

Hannah grinned and passed him a glass brimming with Merlot. Soon, everyone was enjoying the vintage, along with the conversation, and one open bottle eventually became two...then three. At one point Spike demanded that Angel "spice up" his wine, whereupon Angel let his demon face emerge, bit into his wrist and sprinkled his blood liberally into Spike's and Willow's glasses. The two younger vampires moaned as they savored the heady blend, piquing Hannah's curiosity. She plopped down next to Spike and pestered him for a taste. Angel moved next to Cyrene and the two of them began to compare notes on their travels to France -- she to visit a Druid in Brittany two years previously, he at various times in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Willow reclined against Tara, who was leaning next to one of the stucco arches in the arcade, as the vampire watched the interaction between her coven sisters and the two vampires who mattered more to her than anyone in the world.

And she smiled.

They had stood up for her in the Pit, at considerable risk to their own survival. Yet although it wasn't as dramatic, their willingness to participate in something so simple, so mild as this ritual almost meant more to Willow. Perhaps it was because this represented more than simply a desire to protect her...it was a true acceptance of her, as she was. Wiccan and demon. Light and dark.

*****

Hours later Cyrene, Hannah and Tara bade the vampires good-night and returned home with promises to visit in another few weeks. Spike was rather pleased that he had managed to coax Hannah to let him drink from her, and lost no opportunity to bombard her with filthy innuendoes about what they could do at their next meeting. Cyrene merely wrapped her arm around Hannah's waist and met Spike's scowl with a smug grin as she escorted her lover out of the lobby. The blonde vampire's mood quickly brightened, however, and he dragged Willow off to his room, reminding her of her earlier promise about shagging.

And so it was that Willow didn't see Angel again until the following evening. She found him up on the roof, staring out at the shimmering lights of the city.

"Hey," Willow greeted him.

"Hey...What brings you up here?" Angel smiled back at her.

"You...of course, if you wanted to be alone...." Willow answered, hoping that she hadn't disturbed a particularly broody moment.

"Not at all," Angel mused thoughtfully, "If these months with you and my childe have taught me anything, it's that being alone isn't all it's cracked up to be..."

"Well, when was it ever cracked up to be anything?" Willow teased in reply.

Angel smiled again as he looked out over the rooftops, but said nothing. Willow wondered what was on his mind, but was content merely to stand beside him and watch the night traffic flow through the streets until her companion was ready to speak.

At last, the dark vampire said, "Having a soul...being tapped by the Powers to fight evil...I guess it made it easy for me to see the world in black and white, and cut myself off from anything that could remind me that I'm a demon. And it was just as easy to extend that to you...to think that I could make you fit into a niche that wouldn't challenge my comfortable ideas about good and evil. But when you told me that you didn't plan to give up killing, I realized that I can't simply retreat into my role as righteous crusader and cut myself off from you. You're a part of me...But what I've been struggling to accept is that this doesn't mean I can change you. It means that I might have to change some of my *own* ideas, and I think that's what scares me. It's hard to know how to reconcile my calling to oppose evil with caring for you, killing and all."

Reaching down to grasp Willow's hand in his own, Angel gently raised it to his lips and brushed a soft kiss across her skin. A low, simmering passion flickered in his eyes as he whispered, "But that's the real challenge....The hardest part of love is letting go."

Willow trembled as she stared into the depths of his brown eyes, unsure that she had truly heard what she had heard. "The hardest part of....?"

"Love," Angel confirmed, smiling gently at the flustered redhead who stood so close to him.

"But...but Buffy..." Willow stammered uncertainly.

"...will always hold a very special place in my heart. I won't lie to you, Willow...Part of me has never stopped loving Buffy, and probably never will. But you have claimed your own place in my heart," Angel confessed, bringing his hand up to stroke her cheek, "I didn't want to face this, because I can't...we couldn't...."

Willow nodded forlornly, and dropped her gaze downward. "The curse."

Angel lifted her chin up until her eyes met his. "But you deserved to hear me say it."

They came together slowly until their lips joined in a gentle, almost innocent kiss. When they parted, Willow smiled and murmured, "Thank you, Angel."

The two vampires held each other in a loose embrace and simply let themselves enjoy the feel of the night that surrounded them. Willow rested her head against Angel's chest for several moments before speaking again.

"Angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Sometimes....I miss the sun. Do you ever--?"

"Never when I was Angelus. But since I regained my soul...."

He squeezed her lightly in his arms.

"...every day..."

*****

THE END

To Be Continued in Masters and Minions 4: Dies Irae

The passage quoted from William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) is taken from the poem 'A Cradle Song'.