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.

The scent of coffee tantalizingly wafted through the hallway as I waited there for Willow. It smelled fresh and, more importantly, nearby. In a strong test of my willpower, I managed to hold out an impressive two minutes before the allure of liquid caffeine grew too strong for me to resist. Hey, I spend every second of every day fighting against my inner-demon. At least this was one battle I could afford to lose gracefully. And gladly, for that matter, I mentally added as I walked toward the source of the aroma.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to go too far. There was a little alcove just past the restroom. Amidst a scattering of chairs was a refreshment table laded with two stand-up silver percolators -- one labeled regular and one marked as decaffeinated. Reaching for one of the cup-and-saucer combinations stacked toward the back of the table, I poured myself a cup of the former.

Politeness dictated that I should probably bring back a cup for Willow as well, but I hesitated as a memory surfaced. I’d seen firsthand what happened when Willow drank coffee, and the results weren’t pretty. Think hummingbird on speed. With that in mind, I wisely settled on decaf for my friend. Balancing the two cups, I headed back in the direction of the ladies room.

My timing was good. Willow came out of the door just as I walked back into the corridor. She looked a little better, but the slight swelling and lingering redness around her eyes betrayed her earlier tears. But her brief respite had allowed her to regain her composure.

When I held out the extra cup of coffee, Willow accepted it with a genuine smile and a grateful ‘thank you.’ By unspoken agreement, we both headed over to two of the classic-style chairs scattered through the hallway. Settling into our seats, we enjoyed a comfortable silence as we waited for the steaming hot liquid to cool down to a drinkable temperature.

“I didn’t know what you took in your coffee,” I apologized a few minutes later.

“That’s okay,” Willow smiled into her cup as she took her first sip. Her grin quickly faded into a grimace of disgust as the taste hit her tongue. Yeah, I didn’t care much for decaf either.

“Angel?” Willow’s question broke the silence that had settled over us. My eyes met hers, prompting her to continue. “Thank you...for being here.”

“Willow...,” I began, ready to reiterate my earlier response to the same statement.

“No,” she interrupted. “It just...means a lot. I know you’re usually pretty busy with work stuff. It’s just...I don’t really know any of these people. Well, except for a few distant cousins and stuff, but I haven’t seen any of them since that big family reunion we had when I was five. They all seem to remember me, saying how much I’ve grown up since then, but I don’t remember any them.” The pause she took for a much-needed breath also brought around the end of her ramble. “I’m just...so glad to see a familiar face. Especially since I don’t get to see you too often anymore.”

I smiled at her kindness, letting her know that the feeling was mutual. I didn’t realize it until that moment, but I *had* missed Willow’s presence in my life...unlife...whatever. She’d been one of the first to accept me into their circle of friends. Time and time again, she’d forgiven me for the missteps I’d made, even when I had hurt her -- both inadvertently and intentionally. Being there for her at that moment was the least I could do.

That thought made me resentful on Willow’s behalf. Why was I the only one there for her at a point where she really needed her friends? Okay, I could understand if Buffy was needed as the Slayer, but where the hell was Xander? Sunnydale was only an hour away. Surely he could have gotten away for just a few hours?

I could feel the demon within me growing restless as my temper flared. It was difficult, even with centuries of experience, but I kept my face from changing out of my human visage. Maybe a bit of a distraction was in order, and if I could help Willow in the process, so much the better.

“Were you and your grandmother close?” I asked.

“We used to be,” Willow answered after a moment. A wistful look came over the rich green of her eyes as she sank into her own memories. “My parents have always traveled a lot. They’re college professors, both of them. When I was younger, my grandmother used to come to Sunnydale to look after me.”

I nodded in understanding. Back during my time of trailing the kids home in Sunnydale, I’d noticed that Willow all too often came home to a dark, empty house. I’d wondered about that, but I’d never said anything.

“I used to love it when my grandmother stayed with me. She let me do a lot things that my parents either wouldn’t let me do or didn’t have time for. After dinner, she would let me camp out in front of the t.v. for hours. And she loved cards. She taught me how to play pinnacle and canasta and poker. I used to save my pennies so that I would have a really big stack in front of me when we sat down to play.”

Willow was grinning, lost deeply in her memories of happier times. She still met my eyes, though, as if checking to make certain she wasn’t boring me with her remembrances. I wasn’t bored, though, not by a long shot. I kept envisioning Willow as a precocious child doing all the things she was describing.

“Sometimes, she would take Xander and I down to the beach right before sunset. All the lifeguards would be gone by then so Xander and I would climb up on their towers and jump off over and over again. I think she must have always known that I had a crush on him, because she would take us out to dinner, only before we got there, she would give Xander money. Then when we would actually get inside, she’d let us get a table by ourselves. Xan and I would eat together, pay our own bill. We’d act like grown-ups, like we were there all on our own. Of course, my grandmother would be there the whole time, but she went along with it, acting like she didn’t know us at all, like she was a stranger that just happened to be at the same restaurant at the same time.”

“Have you ever heard of ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’?” Willow asked me a moment later. I was thrown by the non sequitor, but I still managed to nod in reply. I knew what it was. I’d even seen the movie once, albeit unintentionally. Back when I was nothing more than a derelict in New York, unable to function because of my guilt, I’d stumbled in a theater doing a midnight showing just to get out of the cold.

“Well, back when we were thirteen, Xander, Jesse and I first heard about it. We all wanted to go so badly, so we talked my grandmother into taking us. We were so young, the manager at the theater didn’t want to let us in, but my grandmother pointed out that kids under seventeen could be admitted with an adult, and didn’t he think she qualified? I mean, we were so young, we didn’t even get half the stuff in the movie, especially the...sexual...stuff. To us, it was mostly just a strange guy who looked funny dressed up in women’s clothes. Well, that and the fact that we got to yell words we weren’t even supposed to say back to the screen. The funny part was that she enjoyed it almost as much as we did. She ended up taking us back to go see it practically every Saturday night she was in town for the next year. She was so cool then, so... ungrandmotherly.” Willow’s voice took on a sad, almost melancholy quality as she finished her sentence.

“Did something happen?” I asked, prompted by the abrupt change in her tone. My question brought a sadness to Willow’s eyes.

“The year before Buffy came to Sunnydale, my grandfather died.” She swallowed hard, alerting me that whatever was coming next was painful for Willow to recall. “Something happened when he passed away. My grandmother...she just...changed. She stopped coming to visit and whenever my mom would ask if we could come to L.A. to see her, my grandmother would start to get...fussy. Like, ‘oh, my house is a mess’ or ‘oh, I have to get my hair done that day’. Really stupid stuff.”

“Sometimes that happens to people after they lose someone close to them,” I offered. Hell, as Angelus I’d driven people to *far* beyond that point.

“The worst part, though, was how she changed,” a haunted expression crept over Willow’s features. “After my grandfather died, my grandmother just got so...angry...at everyone and everything. It was almost like she built this wall between herself and everyone around her. She started criticizing everything, especially my mom.”

“Grief can be a strange thing,” I said after Willow fell silent. “Sometimes people get resentful, at life, or at the person who left them, or even at the people around them who just can’t understand what they’re going through.”

“My mom thought it was depression,” Willow replied. “She’s a Doctor of Psychology, you know?” Actually, I hadn’t; but I nodded anyway. “She tried to help, but my grandmother wouldn’t allow it. In fact, when Mom suggested maybe some outside counseling or a support group or something, my grandmother went ballistic.”

“You have to understand, Willow,” I explained from my somewhat unique perspective. “You...your generation and your parents’ as well, you consider counseling and psychology as something completely normal. Well, not normal...you know what I mean. *Acceptable*. But it wasn’t always like that. I mean, even earlier this century, going to ‘talk to someone’ was the equivalent of being committed in today’s version of society. It just wasn’t done. And God help you if anyone were to find out about it. People would be whispering about you behind your back, saying that you were crazy...or worse.”

Willow stared at me oddly, as if trying to digest the meaning of what I’d just said. “I never really thought about it that way,” she finally admitted. “I just wish that we could have done something...anything to help her.”

“Willow,” I began gently. “When people are hurting like that, it’s hard to help them if they don’t want to be helped. Trust me on that.”

“I do,” she answered, realizing that I was speaking from my own personal experiences. We both fell silent for a moment, before Willow spoke again. “I feel badly over how things got for her these last couple of years. I...just miss who she used to be.”

“Then that’s who you should remember,” I said emphatically. “The person who...taught you to play cards...who took you to the movies...all those goods things. *That* is who your grandmother was, no matter what happened later.”

I hadn’t meant to make Willow cry, but tears began sliding down her cheeks just the same. We both leaned forward at the same moment. Only this time, it seemed perfectly natural to pull her into my arms. I wasn’t even thrown by her emotional state. Unlike her previous breakdown, her tears were cathartic. Oh, I was sure that she wasn’t done grieving, not by a long shot, but at least I was certain that the healing process that had so eluded the grandmother was well underway for the granddaughter.

We stayed that way for a long time, neither one of us feeling the urge to let go. At least, that was, until the sound of a throat clearing nearby prompted us to move. I kept my eyes directly on Willow even as we pulled away from each other. It wasn’t until she gave me a slight nod of reassurance that she was okay that I turned my attention to the person who had so rudely interrupted us.

“Cordelia! Wesley!” Willow exclaimed. To be honest, I was so shocked to see them standing there that I was beyond speech at that point.

“Willow,” Cordelia leaned forward and gave her friend one of those trendy fake hugs she’s so good at. “I’m so sorry about your grandmother.”

“Indeed,” Wesley stepped forward and shook Willow’s hand as soon as Cordelia stepped back. “Please accept our condolences over your loss.”

“Thank you,” Willow said sincerely. But her solemness quickly gave way to her happiness at seeing two additional familiar faces. “God, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you, both of you!” she amended, turning to include Wesley.

“Well, we have stick around to keep bailing Angel out every time he gets in trouble,” Cordelia sniped.

“Hey!” I protested. “I resent...

“...what? The accuracy of that statement?” My soon to be *former* employee interjected.

“Angel said you had to work tonight,” Willow seemed a little confused.

“Huh?” Cordelia muttered before she finally caught on to my white lie. “Oh! That! Wes and I just pulled seniority on Gunn, he’s the new guy...”

“What really happened?” I muttered for Wesley’s ears alone as Cordelia chattered on with Willow.

“I believe Gunn actually achieved the impossible,” the Brit began. “He actually applied enough guilt to persuade Cordelia to change her mind.”

“Oh, he’s good,” I admired.

“Well, he is learning his technique from a master,” Wesley joked. Of course, I wasn’t about to let his dig at me go unanswered.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Me?” Wesley asked innocently. “I’m just escorting the esteemed Miss Chase.” With that said, he turned and joined in the girls’ conversation.

Two for two. Not bad for Wesley.

“...thank both of you for coming tonight.” Willow was saying.

“We’re pleased if our presence brings any small measure of comfort to you,” Wesley replied, the epitome of British diplomacy.

I was about to say something when a distant sound caught my attention. Or maybe sounds would have been a better word choice. It was the unmistakable noise caused by several people moving at pretty fast pace. I was about to turn and look for the source, when the source saved me the trouble.

“Willow!”

“Xander! Buffy!” Calling their names, Willow ran forward to meet her friends.

When I turned around, though, it was my turn to be surprised. For it wasn’t just the Slayer and her favourite sidekick gathered around Willow. It seemed that they had brought friends as well.

They were all there -- Giles, Joyce Summers, that ex-demon that I’d seen with Xander last Thanksgiving, and a blond girl I didn’t recognize. Unfortunately, there were also two faces I was less than thrilled to see; the first being that dough-boy of Buffy’s, Riley Finn. We managed to catch each other’s eye. Naturally, there was a brief, silent moment where our unsettled differences flared. But with two slight nods of our heads, we came to an unspoken truce. This night wasn’t about either of us; it was about Willow.

Which brought me to my second cause of hostility. Standing there in an ill-fitting outfit of a black shirt and slacks and his customary black leather duster was my least favourite grand-childe, Spike. Of course, there would be no voluntary ceasing of tensions between the two of us. In fact, Spike immediately sauntered right over to me.

“Angel,” he drawled, somehow managing to make my name itself into an insult.

“Spike,” I almost growled in warning.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Peaches, but you’ll have to wait for another opportunity for me to kick your ass,” he boasted with all the cockiness he could muster. “I’m just here for Red,” he declared.

“Why Spike, that’s very human of you,” I couldn’t resist taunting him.

“Hey now! No need to get insulting!”

We spent the next quarter hour in the hallway, either meeting and greeting old friends or ignoring old enemies. One by one the others all stepped forward to talk to Willow. Even Spike managed a rare moment of decency when nobody else was looking. He and Willow stared silently at each other for a long moment. Then, to my utter astonishment, my grandchilde reached out and ever so gently rubbed the backs of his fingers across the swell of Willow’s cheek.

“You’ll be okay, Pet,” he said softly. “Take it from me, death *is* all it’s cracked up to be.”

I was at Willow’s side before she even had time to finish the involuntary gasp caused by Spike’s ill-timed, callous sense of humor. Leave it to Spike to screw up the first human moment he’s had in the past hundred years.

“What?” Spike challenged as I glowered at him. “I was just trying to get Red to see the good side of all this.”

“Is there a problem here?” It had been a long time since I’d been grateful to hear Buffy’s voice.

“Oh sod off, both of you!” he exclaimed.

The only thing that kept me from getting involved was the gentle hand that wrapped itself around my forearm. Taken a little by surprise, I pivoted to find a pair of damp, green eyes staring up at me.

“It’s okay, Angel,” Willow insisted. “He really was trying to be nice, in his own way.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I forced myself to acquiesce to Willow’s wishes. Offering a small smile in acknowledgement, I placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder as Buffy and Spike continued to argue -- albeit in harsh whispers -- directly behind us.

“Now is neither the time nor the place,” I heard Giles hiss a moment later. “Need I remind you of whom and for what we are here?”

That, combined with the arrival of Sheila Rosenberg, managed to shut them both up for the time being.

“Oh there you are, dear,” Willow’s mother called softly as she spotted her daughter. “The Rabbi is here and would like to say a few words. Oh my,” she paused as she noticed the lot of us standing in the hallway. “We didn’t expect...that is...I hope there are enough chairs.”

Most of the group followed after Mrs. Rosenberg as she made her way back to the viewing room. Buffy and Xander hung back, as did the blond girl that I didn’t know. Giving Willow’s shoulder a tender squeeze I relinquished her to the care of her friends.

As the last person to enter the room, I was fully prepared to stand in the back. A sharp wave from Cordelia changed that as I saw the last empty seat right next to her. As soon as I was in my chair, the rabbi begin speaking.

With the rolling sounds of Hebrew echoing softly through the room, my thoughts began to wander. Three rows -- including ours -- filled with Willow’s friends. Although it was a bit strange, it also felt good to see all of us gathered together once more.

What was it that Willow had called us back then? The Slayerettes? I almost snorted in spite of myself at the remembrance of the stupid name. It was sophomoric, really, and yet there was absolutely nothing childish about what we did en masse. Most of the people before me had been nothing more than children when they first began fighting demons. Then again, at my nearly two-and-half centuries of existence, they were all still children in my eyes.

No, not children, I correctly myself. They are a family. And for some bizarre reason, Fate had decreed that I was to be a part of that family.

It took one more lingering glance over the rows before the concept really sank into my consciousness. We *are* a family. Even in the face of our differences -- my eyes unwillingly drifted to the backs of three blond heads, one platinum, one hayseed colored and one the color of early morning sunshine -- we had managed unite for one of our own in her time of need. I could only hope that once her grief had passed, Willow would come to realize what I just had -- that we had come together today, not only to pay homage to her grandmother, but as a tribute to Willow as well.

It had been so long since I’d experienced it, it took me a minute to put a name to the unfamiliar emotion I was experiencing. Then, finally, I got it. For the first time in centuries, I was grateful. To my new extended family. To the woman we had come together to mourn. But most importantly of all, to the redheaded girl with the kind nature and warm heart that always held a place for all of us.

As the rabbi concluded his prayer, I offered up one of my own, in gratitude, to my friend, Willow.

Amen.

~finis~

To my mother, who always has an empty shoulder, a delicious meal, and an open heart for all of her family ~ extended or otherwise. Thank you for all you do for all of us.