Oil & Blood

By Medea

NOTE:Galatea (a literary reference in the story) was the female statue created by Pygmalion. He lavished attention to every detail in creating her, fell in love with her, and she came to life.

Chapter One

'In tombs of gold and lapis lazuli
Bodies of holy men and women exude
Miraculous oil, odour of violet.

But under heavy loads of trampled clay
Lie bodies of the vampires full of blood;
Their shrouds are bloody and their lips are wet.'

---William Butler Yeats (1865-1939): 'Oil and Blood'

"The sun will be coming up soon. Some of us should get inside."

Spike's comment hung in the air, yet none of the assembled mourners moved.

They had been at the gravesite since Buffy's funeral, held at midnight out of consideration for the vampires. Dawn and Xander had offered beautiful testimonials about Buffy's impact on their lives. But while Angel, Willow, and Giles had tried to express their own feelings, they found themselves choking on the words. It was one of the first symptoms of how deeply they had been scarred by the traumatic events of Buffy's assassination and the subsequent execution of justice against the Council.

Each of them felt hollow and broken.

Although they knew that the Powers had sanctioned their acts of vengeance, they found themselves unable to look at their friends without flinching. Willow had trouble meeting her coven sisters' eyes, and wondered if they would be horrified by the things she had done. Giles was able to embrace Dawn and Xander in consolation only with great difficulty. He patted them on the back reassuringly, but couldn't block out images of his own hands suffocating a former colleague with pages from a book. And Angel was haunted by his own private shame at what his darker self had done to his companions.

Especially to Willow.

Giles and the vampires remained at Buffy's grave long after everyone else had left. He, Angel and Willow soberly confronted a painful truth: revenge, no matter how warranted, took a severe toll on those who carried it out.

Shaken out of their solemn introspection by Spike's reminder about the approaching sunrise, they all turned away from Buffy's grave at last and started toward the magic shop. It was understood that the vampires would sleep there until nightfall allowed them to return to Los Angeles. In a very odd way, the group was also reluctant to disband. Traumatized by everything that had transpired from the moment of Buffy's death, Angel, Willow and Giles found it was only with each other that they could share their full sense of loss.

No one else could understand.

Not even Spike.

The blond vampire felt not an ounce of remorse. True, he knew Willow and his sire well enough to understand exactly which doubts plagued them. But it wasn't in his nature to regret a single instance of pain he'd caused. Given the chance, he'd gladly do it all again. So, all he could do was look after his own until something helped them move beyond this.

Thus it was Spike who saw to the drapes in Giles's sitting room, making certain that they would block out the sun's rays, before folding down the futon he would share with Angel and Willow. Numbly, his companions stretched out on the futon without bothering to undress. They offered no protest when Spike removed their shoes. As Spike stripped off his own shirt and shoes, his acute hearing detected a muted sound coming from the bedroom. Not even open sobbing, it was more like a shaky exhalation of breath that betrayed quiet desperation.

The blond vampire climbed the stairs to Giles's loft bedroom and observed the ex-Watcher.

Giles sat on his bed, his head bowed slightly, eyes closed. Spike felt...not empathy, exactly...but somewhere along the line this human had been included among those Spike considered his own. Besides, Willow cared for the Watcher. Stepping downstairs to the living room, Spike rummaged through his duster for his flask of bourbon and returned to the Watcher's bedside. Wordlessly, he held the flask out. Giles finally noticed his presence, glanced hesitantly at the proffered flask, then accepted it and took a swig. He gave it back to Spike, who took a hearty swallow himself. Spike then capped it and advised gruffly, "Get some sleep. You look more like the walking dead than I do."

Giles nodded wearily and stretched out on his bed. Spike pursed his lips momentarily, then leaned over and removed Giles's shoes as well. He doubted the Watcher would even remember it -- seemed everyone had a case of shell-shock -- so his reputation was safe.

His rounds finished, Spike returned to Angel and Willow, who were already tangled together and sleeping deeply. Settling in beside Willow, he wrapped himself around her and let exhaustion overtake him.

*****

The following evening, Willow awoke to find Spike gone.

She knew where he was, and was glad that he had left to hunt discreetly. It would be a sensitive issue for Giles. Just another reminder that Buffy wasn't here any more to keep vampires in check. One more reminder that he was in the company of killers.

She heard Angel poking through the kitchen cabinets and smelled animal blood. Evidently, Giles had awakened earlier and, out of consideration for his vampire guests, made a trip to the butcher for some blood. Willow didn't relish the idea of drinking non-human blood, but felt even less inclined to kill tonight. She got up and joined Angel in the kitchen. Sure enough, at her approach Angel extended a mug of heated blood. Willow sniffed it cautiously.

"Lamb's blood," Angel explained. Willow drank it down quickly, in order to ingest it without having to taste it.

"Sleep okay?" she asked as she rinsed out her mug in the sink.

"Well enough, considering," Angel replied. For several moments, he was unable to look at her. Eventually, he raised his eyes to hers and murmured, "Willow, I am so sorry for what you went through. That side of me--"

"Angel, I hope you're not going to apologize *again* for something that was beyond your control," Willow broke in. "When every other vampire wanted to stake me because of what I was, you accepted me. You helped me despite the fact that I don't always make choices you're comfortable with. Considering that, it would be pretty rotten of me to hold it against you just because you have a few flaws."

"A few flaws?" Angel repeated, stunned at how easily Willow dismissed the cruelty of his alter-ego.

"Oh, Angelus was an insufferable bully, all right," Willow conceded. "And an overbearing ass...a manipulative ego-maniac...real prick..."

Angel winced as Willow rattled off the litany of his counterpart's less-endearing qualities. But, as always, she amazed him with her ability to put a positive spin on just about anything.

"Sure, I wanted to turn him into a toad. A really gross, warty one, in fact. But he was exactly what we needed to avenge Buffy. He does the whole wrath thing pretty well, and when he wasn't being an arrogant jerk, we actually had a pretty good conversation. For all of about ten minutes, that is... But, anyway, none of what he did is a reflection on *you*, Angel. To me, you'll always be the one who saw the best in me, and gave me a chance."

Angel shook his head and smiled incredulously. "And you will always be the one who gives me more credit than I deserve."

"Angel, I gave you a compliment. The standard procedure is to take it and say thank you."

Hanging his head sheepishly, Angel replied on cue, "Thank you, Willow. I guess it's going to take me a while to recover from everything. Another feature of my curse is that I can never get away from myself."

Willow grasped his hand and squeezed it sympathetically. Before she could find the right words to comfort Angel as he agonized over the legacy of his darker half, Giles joined them in the kitchen.

"Good evening Willow, Angel," he nodded at them.

"Hi Giles. Thanks for the blood," Willow acknowledged.

"Don't mention it," Giles answered graciously. "Willow, Tara called and left a message for you. She hopes that you and the others have a safe trip back to L.A., and wanted you to know that your coven is ready and willing to meet with you whenever you need it. They're concerned for you."

"Oh...okay, thanks," Willow stammered. As intent as she had been on helping Angel relinquish his shame at what Angelus had done, Willow was unable to apply the same logic to herself. She felt uneasy at the thought of entering into the circle with her sisters again after the sheer cruelty to which she had been party.

"I take it that the three of you will be leaving this evening?" Giles posed the question almost regretfully.

Angel nodded. "Our place is there. Although if you're worried about the Hellmouth being unprotected..."

Giles grew even more pensive. "I admit, I'm rather unsure what to expect. Normally, the next Slayer would be called and sent to her appointed post. For quite some time, that has been this Hellmouth, but depending on changes in Hellmouth activity, there might be greater call for her elsewhere. Given recent events, I'm in no position to know whether that is the case."

"We can't even be sure the Council is in a position to know," Angel added. "The Council members we killed...losing them has probably shaken up the Council pretty badly."

"You mean, because of us, the Hellmouth might go unprotected?" Willow exclaimed in dismay.

There was a grim resignation in Giles's voice as he explained, "We did what had to be done, but that doesn't mean that our actions won't have unfortunate consequences."

"But why would the Powers send us to do what we did if it was going to make things worse?" Willow persisted stubbornly.

"Willow, you have to remember that the Powers That Be work in the long term, not within the limits of human -- or vampire -- experience. Things may worsen temporarily in Sunnydale, but ultimately the purge of the Council will serve its purpose," Giles lectured, slipping into Watcher-mode out of habit.

"Besides, no matter how bad it seems, don't forget that it wasn't the Powers That Be who initially set this chain of events in motion. It was the Watchers Council," Angel reminded her.

"I guess..." Willow relented. "Giles, are you sure you're going to be okay here?"

"As your place is in Los Angeles, so too is mine here. I imagine I'll find a way to manage," Giles tried to assure her. However, Willow heard little conviction in his voice and called him on it.

"You sound as sure of yourself as I did when I was a mortal teenager."

Giles pursed his lips in bemusement and arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how to take that, Willow. In life, you were truly a brave and resourceful girl. I admired your resolve. But, if I sounded troubled, it's because I am. I've always seen my work here as seconding Buffy in her calling. Without her...I'm afraid I'm at a loss..."

There was no need for Giles to complete his thought, as Angel and Willow fully appreciated the chasm that Buffy's absence had left. Meanwhile, Spike returned from his hunt. Although he realized that he had interrupted a delicate conversation, Spike refused to tiptoe around anything. Best to cut quick and clean.

"So, we 'bout ready to hit the road?"

Giles shook off his melancholy. "You needn't worry about me. No doubt looking after the Hellmouth will keep me occupied for quite some time. You'd better go. There are people waiting for you back in Los Angeles."

With a final round of thanks and assurances, the vampires filed out of Giles's apartment. Willow joined Spike in his DeSoto, while Angel prepared for a solitary drive home in the same convertible he had pushed to its limits barely two weeks earlier.

*****

Although Willow had offered to ride with him, Angel was desperate to avoid spending the two-hour drive alone with Willow. He wasn't yet ready to deal with the cruelest blow that his alter-ego had inflicted.

Angelus had forced him to face a truth that would cost him Willow.

A truth he could no longer bury beneath the convenient fiction of friendship, feeding, or purely physical satisfaction.

He was unabashedly, undeniably in love with her.

Angel felt the rush of air on his face and the constant, ear-numbing roar of wind as he sped down the highway with the top down. He reflected on how isolated drivers were from each other. They might share the same road, approach each other, pass each other...but the closest they came to contact was the indifferent reflection of lights in mirrors. How like his own situation. He moved among humans and others of his own kind, he sought companionship...but he could never achieve true closeness. Not if he valued the safety of those he cherished.

He was doomed to watch those he cared for from a distance, traveling with them, but never allowed to pause and just *be* with them. The Romany had made sure that he would never lose sight of their lesson: he had turned his back on everything that had been human about himself, and so he would remain cut off from the comforts of humanity -- permanently exiled from what he so dearly craved.

His thoughts returned to Willow.

First, his vulnerable, treasured protegée -- his own Galatea.

Soon thereafter, his steady companion and closest friend.

And somewhere along the way, she had captivated his heart with her wit, her smile, and her compassion. He'd just refused to admit it.

He'd been avoiding the issue for years. Trying to cheat his curse and steal fleeting moments of a happiness he could never fully enjoy, he had refused to share real intimacy with Willow. She recognized this, and for the most part accepted it with no complaints. And then, there had always been Buffy. She had been -- still was -- his true love, his soul mate. His passion for her had made it so easy to pretend, so easy not to recognize other, equally powerful feelings that had insinuated themselves in his heart.

But if his souled half could hide from the truth, his demon had had no qualms about shattering the carefully constructed illusion. No demon could ever be fooled by a lie, and demons loved to torment liars with the truth. That had been the demon's cruelest triumph during his brief liberation from the soul's control. Willow had only guessed half of Angelus's plan. Although the love potion had been intended to rid Angelus of the soul permanently, she hadn't realized that it had also been a message from the demon to the soul:

No love potion was needed.

Angel knew it as soon as his memories had sorted themselves out, and he'd had access to every pleasure that Angelus had experienced. The massage oil had only been insurance. After the vicarious glimpse of what making love to Willow could truly be like, Angel had been all too ready to throw caution to the wind. That readiness had left him no choice but to admit that he wanted it all.

He knew now that he couldn't bring himself to embrace her one more time and cheapen the act by imagining that it was a purely physical consummation; that it had nothing to do with how important her companionship, her mere *presence*, had become to his existence.

There was no turning back.

But there was no going forward, either.

As his thoughts grew more and more somber, Angel unconsciously eased his foot from the accelerator. Cars swerved to pass him as he slowed down, the more impatient drivers honking in irritation or shouting obscenities. The dark vampire shut them out, shut everything out as he struggled to think of what he would say to Willow.

He wished for a longer journey home.

*****

Willow was lost in thought as she waited for one of her coven sisters to answer the door to Cyrene's apartment. She had put off contacting them for two days, reluctant to deal with the questions they would have. Her unease had been compounded by Angel's odd behavior. Although he attempted to act as though everything was normal, he was clearly distancing himself from her.

Had she done something?

Was he having the same reaction she feared from Hannah, Cyrene and Tara? Now that justice had been meted out to the seven conspirators responsible for Buffy's death, Willow saw that her actions were likely to disturb anyone with a soul. True, she still believed that the guilty parties had deserved every moment of suffering that their actions had brought upon them. But, she had crossed into territory that she had carefully avoided all these years, thanks to Angel's vigilance and the help of her coven.

She hadn't just killed -- she had committed torture of the most brutal kind. The violence had been inhuman in every definition of the word. And part of her, the stunted demon that she so rarely indulged, had taken great satisfaction in it. She now understood the thrill Spike enjoyed in inflicting pain.

But she feared that her new understanding might alienate her from those she held so dear.

Had Angel already realized that she had relished some of the demon's darker appetites? Was the truth emblazoned across her face -- did she look cruel? Was that why Angel couldn't hide the disappointment in his eyes every time he looked at her?

Would her fellow Wiccans look at her the same way?

The door opened and Tara greeted Willow with a smile.

"Hi, Willow. Come on in."

Willow and Tara proceeded to the living room. The chairs and coffee table had been shoved aside to create space for their meeting, and the only light was provided by a few votive candles. Hannah and Cyrene stood at the center of the room, gazing at each other intently and engaged in a hushed conversation. At Willow's approach, they broke off their discussion and welcomed her.

"It's good to see you again," said Cyrene.

"And under better circumstances," Hannah added.

"It's good to be back," Willow acknowledged.

"We thought you might need some rejuvenating after your trip, and after the loss of a close friend. So, we planned to keep this evening pretty simple," Cyrene explained. "Whenever you're ready, we can form the circle."

"Um...we should talk first," Willow confessed. "There are some things you should know about what happened in London..."

Cyrene nodded frankly, understanding Willow's hesitation. "Enter the circle with no secrets."

The four of them sat on the worn-kilim rug that covered the floor while Willow recounted, in grim detail, the vengeance that had been inflicted on the Council members. She hid nothing about her role in it, not even the fact that part of her had savored the fear and agony she caused. When she was through, she saw the pained looks on her friends' faces and, with resignation, concluded, "I'll understand if you want me to leave the coven."

"Is that what you want?" Tara asked.

"Well, no. But I feel like I crossed a line, and I wasn't sure I had the right to join with you in communion any more."

"Willow, you did cross a line," Cyrene agreed soberly. "But the consequences are personal; they have nothing to do with us. We aren't here to judge you."

"You don't need us to judge you. You're doing that on your own," Hannah pointed out.

"What you did came at a high price -- for you. You lost some of your innocence and you'll never get it back. You'll never be able to un-know the things you now know. All you can do is go on." Cyrene finished.

"Do you want our help in recovering what you can, or did you tell us this because you've chosen a different path?" Tara asked.

"I'm not sure," Willow confessed. "Right now, I just feel empty."

"An honest answer," Cyrene nodded in acceptance. "A large part of that is probably due to the fact that you're still grieving."

"But I don't know which direction to go in," Willow added, wrinkling her brow as Cyrene's earlier remark about lost innocence began to make more and more sense. "I didn't even think vampires *had* any innocence to lose; but now that I've lost some of mine, I can actually feel what I've lost. It doesn't feel good. I don't know what I can do to change that, either."

"There's no guarantee that you can," Cyrene repeated. "The most you can hope to do is make peace with yourself...and what you can't restore to yourself, help preserve in others."

"Pretty tall order for a soulless demon," Willow chuckled ruefully.

"Not for a Wiccan with the support of her sisters," Hannah countered with a hopeful smile.

Tara, Cyrene, and Hannah joined hands. Hannah and Tara extended their free hands to Willow, inviting her to complete the circle. Grateful for such companions, Willow smiled in return and placed her hands in theirs.

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