Title: I'll Stand By You
Author: JR
Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Angel, Giles, et al, are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB. All characters are used without permission. This story is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights, nor is any profit being made from it.
Thanks: To all the wonderful friends who have been their for me and my family through this difficult time. Your kind words, thoughts and prayers have meant the world to us.
Dedication: For my Mom. And for Nena.
Summary: Angel helps Willow through a difficult time.

‘Oh, why you look so sad? The tears are in your eyes,
Come on and come to me now. Don’t be ashamed to cry.
Let me see you through, cause I’ve seen the dark side too.
And when the night falls on you, you’re feeling all alone,
You won’t be on your own.’
I’ll Stand By You -- The Pretenders


It started out as a typical day. Okay, not that we get a lot of typical around here -- not unless demons, vampires and other miscellaneous forces of evil count as standard daily issues. Welcome to Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

What I meant by ‘typical’ was me waking up around noon. I showered and changed, into a black shirt and black pants of course, before heading down into the lobby that serves as our office. Gunn and Cordelia were already there, settled into what looked like an ongoing discussion on what the best thing was to wear when fighting Remorant Demons. I had to side with Cordelia’s ‘kevlar’ stance on that one. Remorant antlers are damn sharp when it comes down to it.

They nodded in greeting as I passed by. Both of them knew all too well that it isn’t wise to disturb me before I’ve had my first cup of blood in the morning. I always feel a bit sluggish until that first jolt of iron hits me. Throw a little coffee on top of that and I’m ready to face the day.

Well, figuratively, anyway.

Cordelia and Gunn were still arguing the finer points of demonic fashion when I returned from the kitchen. My destination was my desk, my task to sort through the stack of bills sitting on it. My wish, however, was to have a little peace and quiet in which to do it.

Funny, isn’t it, how nothing ever goes as planned?

I’d been working steadily for about an hour when I was interrupted by the sound of a throat being cleared. Not surprisingly, I looked up and found Wesley hovering nervously in front of my desk. What a shock, right? There are times I think that Wes only has two settings -- nervous and pensive. Maybe we should work on expanding his repertoire one of these days. Then again, maybe I’m not one to talk about extensive emotional repertoires.

“Wes,” I acknowledged. “What’s up?”

“I...ah...,” he stumbled. Not for the first time I wondered if stuttering was an English thing or a Watcher thing. Must be a Watcher thing. I’ve known a lot of Brits who haven’t stammered like Wes and Giles. “I...may I take it that you haven’t had the opportunity to peruse this morning’s paper?”

That’s British for ‘haven’t you picked up the Times yet, you lazy bastard’? See? Wesley isn’t the only one around good at translating things.

“No, I haven’t,” I answered. “Something’s up?”

“Not...necessarily,” he replied. Taking a few steps forward, our resident ex-rogue-demon-hunter set the neatly folded paper down in front of me. “Just something I thought you might want to know.”

I noticed right away that it was the obituary page. I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to be looking for, but Wesley helped me by tapping a finger against one of the lower listings.

Joanna Kaner Eisley
Mrs. Joanna Kaner Eisley passed away last Wednesday. She was 85 years old. Mrs. Eisley was born in Sacramento and moved with her family to Los Angeles in 1962. She spent 35 years as a teacher of high school social sciences. She retired from her teaching career following the passing of her husband of 42 years, the late Aloisious ‘Lucky’ Eisley. Mrs. Eisley is survived by her daughter, Mrs. Sheila Rosenberg, and her granddaughter, Miss Willow Rosenberg, both of Sunnydale. Visitation will be held from six to eight on Tuesday evening at Melvile Funeral Home. Funeral Services will be held on Wednesday morning at ten o’clock. Internment will be at Memory Gardens.

Damn. My heart immediately went out to Willow. I had always liked the shy redhead who went out of her way to be kind to me.

“Has anyone heard any news from Sunnydale?” I asked, wondering if perhaps Cordy or Wes knew anything else about the situation.

“I haven’t, and I do believe Cordelia would have mentioned something like this had she received any word.”

I nodded my agreement with Wes’s assessment.

“Will you be going to pay your respects?” Wesley questioned.

“Tonight,” I nodded.

It was the least I could do for the girl who had restored my soul.

We called Giles after we told Cordelia. Rupert apologized for not informing us himself, but it seemed that the Hellmouth had been keeping them all rather busy lately. Nothing Buffy couldn’t handle, he assured me, but still, enough to place calling us with the news about Willow’s grandmother at the bottom of their ‘To Do’ list.

Given the situation in Sunnydale, Giles was uncertain who else -- if anyone -- from Sunnydale would be coming to the services in the morning. Rupert was definitely planning on attending, but so far it appeared as if he would be coming alone. It struck me as kind of odd that Buffy and especially Xander wouldn’t make the time to comfort their friend in her time of need. Then again, from what I’d heard, things had changed a bit among the old crowd from Sunnydale. Growing up and going on. It was sad, but it inevitably happened to everyone at some point or another. I was the perfect example of that.

I was a little surprised when both Cordelia and Wes declined to come with me to the viewing. I guess it was understandable from a certain point of view. Back when he was still a Watcher, Wes had been neither liked nor respected by the Sunnydale crowd. He’d been an ass back then -- he knew it and we knew it. But, like the rest of us, he has also gone through that growing up and going on thing. Or maybe not, I couldn’t help thinking as he tripped over a loose piece of carpet as he left my office.

Unlike Wes, Cordelia was nowhere near as diplomatic in her refusal to go. “I don’t go to funerals for people I *know*,” she protested hotly. “Besides, black is *not* my colour, unlike some people around here,” she just had to add.

If there is anything that I’ve learned about Cordelia in the past year, it’s that while she may appear caustic and shallow most, if not all, of the time; her callous attitude is quite often a facade over some deeper emotion. This time, I strongly suspected that my girl Friday -- sorry, my *Administrative and Investigative Assistant* -- was a little bit scared. While that whole mess with the Willow/Xander/Cordelia triangle happened almost two years ago, it left a great deal of longstanding ill will in its wake.

Although time and distance had turned a lot of the bad feelings between the two of them into water under the bridge; it had been a long time since Willow and Cordy had seen one another face-to-face. Perhaps Cordelia was being uncharacteristically selfless in thinking that a funeral might not be the best time for a class reunion. Still, I couldn’t help being a little disappointed with Cordelia’s decision.

We all went back to business as usual for the rest of the afternoon. About an hour before sunset, I slipped upstairs to get ready. I almost smiled when I realized that Cordelia did have a point -- finding something to wear to a funeral wasn’t much of a stretch with my wardrobe. If anything, the only trouble I had was choosing the *appropriate* black ensemble.

Fortunately, I had just the right thing. After our financial windfall from solving the David Nabbit blackmail case, Cordelia had insisted on taking me shopping. In between our stops at Nieman Marcus and a really scary place called Contempo Casuals, she actually did find some nice things for me -- the kind of clothing that was dark and simple enough for me, yet fashionable enough to gain Cordelia’s seal of approval. One of our last purchases that day was a suit. I was hard-pressed to keep myself from running out of the store screaming -- okay, maybe *stalking* out of the store in my usual calm, stoic manner. Nevertheless, Cordelia was in her ‘I Want’ mode and it’s not wise to deny her much of anything when she’s in that mindset.

I walked down the hotel staircase just before sunset wearing the results of Cordelia’s practiced eye. The suit was, Cordy had assured me that day in the store, ‘GQ worthy’. Too light to be black and too dark to be gray, the color was deep enough to suit my taste but not so morbid as to be ‘mistaken for an undertaker’. So sayeth my self-appointed personal shopper.

The sound of voices assailed me as I descended down the stairs. Although the noises were too muffled even for my vampire ears to make out, the tone still carried the unmistakable sharpness of a heated argument. Wanting to hear more of the actual words, I moved forward in the total silence I’ve mastered as a vampire.

“...for someone I don’t even know. *Not* that it’s any of your business,” Cordelia’s voice carried.

“It’s not about that,” Gunn replied. “It’s about respect for your friend.”

Their exchange ended when Wesley, catching sight of me, loudly cleared his throat. Damn, of all the times for his Watcher instincts to show marked improvement. Realizing that my eavesdropping game was up, I stepped out of the shadows...

...and watched as three jaws metaphorically hit the ground.

Pindrop, anyone?

The awkward silence that followed my entrance was broken by Gunn’s piercing wolf-whistle.

“My, my, my,” the latest addition to my ‘staff’ grinned. “Now don’t we clean up real nice?”

“I *knew* that suit would look good on you,” Cordelia crowed. “What’s up with that tie, though?”

I’d struggled with the damned thing for the better part of fifteen minutes. Ironic, isn’t it? I come from a time when cravats were all the rage, where you had to know more about knots than a damned sailor just to get one fastened, and yet I can’t even manage the simple grandfather style that is used these days.

“Here,” Cordelia said, coming forward to help me out. Her hands moved with swiftness and certainty, unfastening and reworking the black and silver patterned fabric. In less than a minute, she had the knot completely -- and perfectly -- redone.

“Thanks,” I muttered, embarrassed to have required her assistance.

“No biggie,” she replied, giving the silk one last pat with her fingers. Refusing to meet my eyes, Cordelia continued to stare at my chest as she spoke her next words. “Just...tell Willow that...I’m thinking about her, okay?” As she finished, Cordy finally looked up at me. For a brief moment, I saw something flash in her eyes. Guilt. Seeing such a thing in Cordelia’s expression was so rare, it was little wonder that it took so long for me to recognize it.

Cordelia broke the moment by turning and walking back to her desk. Gunn also moved, notably in the opposite direction to the one Cordy had taken. That left Wesley, who met my eyes with a sorrowful look.

“Please give Willow my condolences as well,” the ex-Watcher said somberly. “Tell her that all of our thoughts and prayers are with her family.”

I nodded in lieu of an actual spoken answer and headed for the door.




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