Coming Of Age

By Medea

Chapter One

"If there is no great, glorious end to all this, if nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do....All I wanna do is help...Because, if there is no bigger meaning, then the smallest act of kindness is the greatest thing in the world."

---Angel to Kate, Epiphany (Angel: Season 2)

Two nights after she dissolved her bond with Hannah, Cyrene and Tara, Willow left the Hyperion.

She had spent the first night after the ritual arguing with Angel and Spike, who were stunned when she declared her intentions.

"Willow, talk to us. What is so wrong that you want to leave?" Angel entreated.

"I'm not letting you set one foot outside this bloody hotel, d'you hear?" Spike growled.

Willow smiled sadly at her companions. She looked at Angel and Spike as they stood in the center of her room and stared at her with strained, panicked expressions. Each wore the pain in his own fashion: Angel, with forlorn, soulful eyes; Spike, with blustering, possessive anger. She would miss them both, so much.

"Spike, you can't stop me," Willow replied. "Angel, this is just something I need to do. I feel...caged. It's getting hard to be so close to what I want, yet always have it just out of arm's reach. There has to be a solution, but I haven't found it here. So I need to go."

"Dammit, Red--" Spike began, only to be cut off by the soft but stern voice of his sire.

"Spike, Willow and I have something to discuss in private."

Cold rage gripped the blond vampire and he loomed in Angel's face. "If you're even *thinkin'* of edgin' me out, truce's off."

Before Angel could respond, Willow placed a gentle hand on Spike's arm. A simple glance was all it took to diffuse the tension, as she reassured him, "You and I can have our own time together, later. Please let me talk to Angel now, though -- alone."

Appeased for the moment, Spike stepped away from his sire. Fixing Willow with a heated gaze, he repeated, "I. Won't. Let. You. Leave."

With that, he strode out of Willow's room, although she knew he wouldn't go far. She expected that she was in for some serious hovering. Not to mention an argument that would give her the mother of all headaches.

One hurdle at a time. She crossed to her door, which Spike had deliberately left open, and closed it. Then, she summoned her courage and looked Angel in the eyes.

Hoo boy. Bad idea.

He knew. He knew exactly why she was leaving, and those beautiful sable pools shimmered with such desperation that Willow wouldn't have been surprised if he offered to give up his soul if only she would stay. For that was exactly the price he'd have to pay.

"What can I do to change your mind?" Angel whispered. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

"Angel, you know it's not that simple."

"Of course it's not that simple! You're not the only one who's caged!"

Willow jumped slightly at his outburst.

His calm demeanor cast off, Angel gripped her urgently by the upper arms and drew her flush against him. Bowing his head, he rested his brow against hers and continued in a trembling voice, "I love you...I want you so much it hurts...I feel as trapped as you do, seeing you, holding you, but not being able to share everything with you."

Every fiber of Willow's being yearned to give in and let him persuade her to stay. But she had thought this through. "Then you know why I have to go."

"No, I *don't*. Because as bad as it is, it would be worse if you left. Stay, Willow."

Gently but firmly she extracted herself from his arms.

"I can't walk that line any more, Angel. I'm tired of settling, tired of making do. It's the torment of Tantalus; you're everywhere I look, you're in every inch of my heart and my mind; but if I reach for you, you slip through my fingers. The only way to break this stalemate is for me to do something about it. It's what I've always had to do; nothing has ever come easy."

With each word, Angel's eyes darkened. Willow knew that he could visualize each bar in the cage that separated them. They were forged of the unyielding alloy of a curse Willow had grown to hate.

"Isn't there anything I can do...?"

A soft plea. An admission of defeat.

Willow gazed at him with loving, bittersweet regret, and struggled to keep her voice steady as she offered what mercy she could. "Let me keep my things here? I plan to come back someday."

Numbly, Angel nodded, but his eyes already looked empty, as if someone had drained the soul, the demon, every animating force out of him.

There was no kind way to end this conversation. Willow wanted to wrap her arms around him and offer soothing words of comfort, but it would be cruel to torment him with a reminder of what they had lost, and would lose. She turned to seek out Spike.

"Meet me back here later tonight, after you've talked with Spike."

Willow paused and looked uncertainly over her shoulder. Angel had done his best to raise a mask of stoicism, but a tiny spark of unrepentant longing flickered in his eyes. Gesturing to the books that lined shelves all along the walls, the candles, the laptop computer on her spacious desk, he murmured, "Everything will be waiting for you exactly as you've left it. But let me have something more to remember you by than just your things."

"Angel, I don't know if that's a good--"

"Do this for me. Please."

It was the wrong decision. They were both just prolonging their torture. Yet Willow still found herself nodding.

"All right."

*****

"Get away from me with those, Spike."

Willow squared off against her lover, who held a pair of hand-cuffs in his grasp. She was glad she'd left the door to his room wide open.

"No. Gonna keep you here even if I have to tie you to my bed and drain you so low you're too weak to move." Spike's gaze was determined and unflinching.

"Try it and you'll be revisiting your glory days of rodenthood," Willow warned evenly.

Spike clenched his fists angrily, held in check by a threat he knew full well she'd make good on. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?! You belong here with me and Angel! What the hell is going on with you two? What could be so bad you'd want to--"

The blond vampire halted in mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed. It shouldn't have been possible, yet his face seemed to pale beyond its usual deathly hue.

"He's *that* in love with you, isn't he?" Spike murmured, comprehending at last.

He kicked himself for not guessing sooner, but he'd been too content to have Willow in his bed to think too hard about why he'd been able to monopolize her time.

"Yes."

Spike spun away from Willow and roared in exasperation. He took out his frustration on the metal waste bin by his closet, furiously kicking it over and over.

"Damned CURSE!" Kick. "Soddin' GYPSIES!" Kick. "Why!" Kick. "Does!" Kick. "He!" Kick. "Always!" Kick. "Find!" Kick. "A! Way!" Kick. "To! Bloody!" Kick. "Muck!" Kick. "Everything!" Kick. "Up!?!"

Kick. Kick. Kick.

His fury spent, Spike leaned against the wall, his back to Willow, and finished bitterly, "And I'm not enough to keep you here. Everything's about my damned Sire."

"Oh, Spike..." Willow protested sadly, feeling ashamed that, much as she loved him, she couldn't stay. "If there were any other way, I wouldn't leave you."

Abruptly, Spike turned around with an expression that challenged her to argue with him. "I'm coming with you."

Willow's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Spike, I don't know how long I'll be gone. This is something personal I need to do on my own."

"Sod that!" he dismissed her objection. "Whatever it is you're after, it won't hurt you to have company. And I'm not the problem, am I, luv? It's the Poof you can't be around."

"I can't--"

"You told me I couldn't stop you. You can't stop me, either. I'm coming with you."

Willow saw the determination in Spike's eyes, and realized he had a point. Short of sending herself half-way across the globe with a translocation spell, which she would prefer not to do since it was exhausting, there was no way she could sneak out without him following her.

Spike knew her. He knew the instant that he had weakened her resolve, and moved in for the kill. Time to up the ante.

"Come on, luv. Let me show you the world. Just you, me, and a few billion unsuspecting necks..." Spike purred invitingly.

"Oh, no...Spike, don't *do* this to me," Willow groaned, despairing of any chance to resist if he kept this up. "Can you go back to being violently cranky? Um...maybe you should kick the trash can some more..."

He had her.

Shaking his head, Spike approached her slowly, raking his eyes over her body as if he wanted to devour her. "Why should I be angry? After all, I get you all to myself, a nice change of scenery, a spot of adventure now and again...think I'm startin' to like this idea."

Willow trembled as he dipped his head and nuzzled at her neck. "It...it won't be an adventure," she stammered weakly. His lips worked steadily against her soft skin to ensure the demise of her resistance. "I'll probably....mmm....spend night...after...night....ahh...in musty old archives..."

"Sounds wonderful, luv," Spike murmured as his tongue teased the delicate whorls of her ear.

Resolve officially dust.

Gently pushing against Spike's shoulders, Willow coaxed him into looking at her again and sighed, "Promise me that you'll let me do what I have to do; no arguments."

"Agreed," Spike grinned triumphantly. "So, shall we shag on it?"

*****

It was only with difficulty that Willow was able to extricate herself from Spike's arms and return, as promised, to see Angel in her room one last time.

She was fearful of what she would find when she peered around the door.

And rightly so.

In less than half an hour, Spike had undermined her resolve to travel alone. In a matter of seconds, the sight of her room threatened to destroy her will to leave altogether.

An array of candles flickered in a half-circle in the middle of the room, framing something low and wide draped in a white sheet. A sketch pad with creamy-white pages and a charcoal stick lay atop the sheet. The artist who had placed them there stood to the side, in the shadows, gazing quietly at her.

Willow could easily believe that Angel had been waiting there for her all night.

"Angel?" she whispered uncertainly.

"One last time, before you go...let me sketch you. At least let me have that much," came his soft reply.

"You have sketches of me," Willow reminded him.

"None of them come close to what this one will be," Angel countered.

Posing for him would sorely test her, Willow knew. Sketching, for Angel, was never simply about lines and shading on paper; it was seduction. Not in the sordid sense, as a prelude to a carnal act. No mere prelude, the art of capturing his subject on paper was the act itself. Each fleeting glance over the top of his sketch pad was a caress. When charcoal met paper, it was a kiss; a kiss that deepened with each gentle, patient stroke of the charcoal. The act culminated in an ecstasy of light and dark, softened edges and sharp lines, illusions that seemed more real than the original.

He might as well have said, let me make love to you one last time.

Angel knew this. Willow saw the steps he had taken to make it safer. He would not draw her on her bed, where temptation could so easily triumph, but in the middle of the room. The draped sheet offered the soothing illusion of a studio.

"This is dangerous," Willow offered one final protest.

"I know. But nothing will happen. Trust me, Willow," Angel promised.

At last, Willow nodded her assent. Slowly, she removed her clothes. Angel made no move to help her, but maintained a chaste, respectable distance. Even after Willow lowered herself onto the make-shift platform, he still kept back. Rather than posing her as he would have before, by placing his hands on her and nudging her this way or that, Angel prudently avoided touching her. Yet even his softly-voiced instructions caused Willow to shiver.

"Lie down...no, on your stomach. Rest your head on your arms."

Willow rolled over and propped her folded arms beneath her head. The cotton sheet felt smooth and soft against her belly.

"Turn your head to the side...like that. Now, draw your knee up slightly to your side..."

Her thighs parted slightly as she complied with the hushed request. Angel circled her slowly, studying her with a mixture of reverence and an artist's critical eye. Willow wanted so desperately for him to touch her, but she remained silent.

Angel sat down in a chair alongside Willow's reclining form and took up his sketch pad and charcoal. He looked her in the eye for a moment, his stormy gaze expressing every shade of passion and sorrow, then dropped his eyes to the blank paper beneath his fingertips. Soon, the faint, scratching sound of charcoal on paper began to soothe them both. The familiar, repetitive noise was hypnotic, and alleviated some of the tension of frustrated desire. It was like a lullaby: sharper scratches for prominent lines, whispering sweeps for smudges and shading.

As happened so often when he sketched her, the passage of time was forgotten. Thick drapes covered the windows in Willow's room; had the dawn come and passed into mid-day, they wouldn't have known it. Nor would Willow have cared. She was content to watch her beloved Angel as he worked obsessively on his masterpiece; he was beautiful to behold when he sketched.

Finally, Angel was satisfied with his creation. He put his mark, 'A', in the bottom-right corner, then looked up at Willow.

Willow propped herself up on her elbows. "Can I see it?"

Angel smiled, scooted his chair closer and held it out for her. She admired the soft lines and the subtlety with which he captured her very being. With a few, simple smudges he conveyed the expression of a woman gazing wistfully at her beloved; the slight shyness of a naked beauty aware that she was being watched; and the deceptive repose of a lover tense with the desire to be touched.

"It's beautiful," Willow praised him.

"It's a pale copy of the original," Angel insisted.

They locked gazes. Slowly, mirroring each other, Willow and Angel raised their hands and brought them close to each other's faces, hovering so close yet not touching.

It was Willow who broke first.

Seizing his face in her hands, Willow pulled Angel down for a hungry, desperate kiss. Without hesitation, Angel wrapped his arms around her and crushed her petite frame against him. He kissed her as if he could draw her very essence into himself. But neither of them was blinded by this last, desperate grasp at passion. Sweet as it was, they let the moment go.

Angel pulled away and lowered his eyes. "You should go before Spike barges in here looking for you."

"Angel..." Willow began.

"I know...He's going with you."

Willow gaped at Angel in disbelief. Had he overheard them?

As if Angel knew where her thoughts had turned, he explained, "I didn't eavesdrop. It's just that Spike and I are very alike in some ways. He's doing exactly what I would do, if I could."

"I never meant for you to be left alone, Angel," Willow whispered, as tears stung her eyes.

Angel released a soft laugh and countered, "I won't be alone. Gunn, Cordelia and Wesley will be here. The Powers still have work for us."

"That's not the same," Willow murmured.

"I know."

Willow looked at him sadly and on impulse moved to place a reassuring hand on his cheek. However, Angel felt his self-control hovering on the edge and pulled back. Stepping away from her, he muttered, "I'll see you both off tomorrow night."

Taking the sketch with him, Angel left Willow in her room, to grapple with the painful consequences of her decision.

*****

Spike stood at Willow's elbow and observed the pained, longing gaze she and the Poof were exchanging. Bloody hell, this wouldn't even be necessary if she'd just stay put.

"Flight leaves in two hours, Red."

Willow nodded, but her eyes never left Angel's.

Spike grew irritated; if she didn't want to leave, why in sodding hell did he have two tickets for a flight to Heathrow in his pocket? If it were up to him, he'd shred the tickets, drag her back to bed, and tell her to find some other way to resolve her situation with the Poof.

And as for Angel...

Spike couldn't bring himself to look into those haunted, dark eyes. He hadn't seen his sire look that abandoned, that lost, since the night Darla had chased him away in disgust over the soul.

"I guess we should be going," Willow murmured at last. "Angel...thank you. Thank you for everything. And take care of yourself, please?"

"Good-bye, Willow. Spike--" Angel extended a credit card in his right hand. "I'd like you to take this. It should cover anything you'll need. Don't worry about the bills, I'll handle them."

A flippant remark was on the tip of Spike's tongue when he realized why Angel had given him the card.

His heart sank as he realized that his sire's intuition was right.

It would only be a matter of time before Willow left him, too, in the pursuit of her quest. Daddy was giving him the chance to treat Willow like a queen until the inevitable night when she set out on her own.

Well, this was one occasion on which Spike damn well intended to do his sire proud. He'd show his Red the world in style.

"Thanks, dad," Spike smirked as he took the credit card and slipped it in his pocket. Turning to Willow, he crooked his arm and proposed, "Shall we, luv?"

With a final strained glance at Angel, Willow looped her arm through Spike's and the two travelers set out on their journey.

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