A Serendipity Interlude:
by
Lisa Y. Drexel
Chapter One
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If you think Immortality's a Bitch - Try Hell
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Willow's mind wouldn't let her sleep that night. After she had finished her late-night or early-morning dinner with Mike and Richie, she begged good night and scrambled to her room, as far away from Spike as possible. Despite what he, Mike and Angel told her, she knew it would be awhile before she could feel comfortable around him. All the research she had done on him in the past year had told her he was one mean son-of-bitch. He loved blood and death, had two slayer kills under his vampiric belt, brought the Order of Teraka (sp.), assembled the Judge and crashed Sunnydale's high school Parent-Teacher night. Granted, he hadn't gutted and strung up her fish like Angelus did, but he still gave her the wiggins.
And despite all that, she knew she was being unfair to him. Granted, Spike had initiated all that she had thought of, but he also was the same vampire that was wheelchair-ridden for over six months, had to watch and be taunted by Angelus' overtures to Dru and the most important thing—above all else was he knew how to love. Even before Mike, Spike knew what love was and had been in love for nearly a century. Even by Angel's own admission, Angelus had no desire, want or need to love. It was an unwelcome emotion that he had to endure when the soul was in control and the demon was determined to wipe out any trace of those feelings once he was in the pilot's seat.
So, Willow thought, does that mean that there are varying degrees of demons and evil? Evidence seemed to support that. If it hadn't, then where did Angelus' pesky acquaintance, Whistler fit in the big scheme of things? Just as Oz was struggling to maintain his humanity despite his werewolfness, Whistler was on the good side of the continual battle of the good vs. evil war.
And where do these other vampires fit in? From what she noticed earlier, they were far from human. Even less so than Angelus or the old Spike. Both Vachon and LaCroix carried themselves totally different. They were more still, when they weren't moving, their movements were more graceful, almost feline in nature. Willow could tell that LaCroix was a deadly predator with almost no conscience, except his own moral code. Humans were all potential meals, unless otherwise proven their worthiness...
But was that evil?
Spike had told them during dinner that LaCroix congratulated him on helping the Slayer. Destroying the world was definitely not in LaCroix's agenda. Not like the Master or Angelus. These type of vampires were almost otherworldly. Not evil per say, as much as they had their own agenda which didn't necessarily fit into human law.
No wonder Slayers didn't go after them. Watcher's would have continual migraines trying to work out the mortality of killing souled beings. Would it be murder? How could a fifteen-year-old girl sleep at night knowing that she had killed another souled being? Willow knew she couldn't have handled it. She was still dealing with the guilt of dusting vampires. The only thing that saved her from wallowing in the guilt was the very true us-verses-them mentality.
Willow sighed, sitting up in bed. She leaned over and switched the beside lamp on and brought her legs up to her chest. She'd never get to sleep if she couldn't stop her mind from running. She bent over and grabbed her robe from the bottom of her bed and stood up. Slipping it on, she walked over to the door and calmed her racing heart. She had to talk to Angel. Maybe he could help her relax.
She suddenly grinned, thinking of how she would like him to relax her, and then blushed. Bad Willow, she thought to herself. It's only been a week since Oz broke up with you and already you're thinking carnal thoughts about Angel.
You've been thinking those thoughts a lot longer, girl, another part of herself answered. Since you met the tall, dark, brooding vampire that her best friend Buffy had fallen in love with.
How true.
Leaning her head forward on the door, her hand dropped, and unlocked the door. Then she sighed dramatically, immediately thinking of Cordelia. "I wonder of Cordelia thinks thoughts like this?" she asked herself. About Xander?
She chuckled outloud. I wonder if Angel thinks about me like that?
She closed her eyes, refusing to think about an answer to that. For nearly a month, Angel and her had been inseparable. It was Willow that Angel contacted through her dreams telling her he was in Hell. When she had cursed him, somehow they had formed a bond that neither of them was aware of. After several dreams, Willow finally allowed herself to believe that there might be some truth to them. It would explain why Buffy had disappeared without a word. That, on top of her mother kicking her out, and Willow , Xander and Giles getting hurt and Kendra's death, Buffy would've believed everyone would be better off without her.
With that in mind, Willow began her own research on ways to bring Angel out of Hell. This, in between teaching summer school, dating Oz and slaying, left almost no time for herself.
After nearly six weeks of heavy reading, she finally found the spell. And after a week of preparation, she performed it without anyone's knowledge, and brought Angel back from the debts of hell.
Unfortunately, that was only the beginning. Angel had not only been an emotional and psychological mess, he was physically drained and weakened by many injuries—both old and new. The next two weeks, Willow found herself spending nearly all her spare time, minus the slaying, with Angel. Between tending his wounds, procuring blood for him and holding him when the guilt would get to be too much and he did nothing but cry for hours.
It amazed her how different Angel and his demon was. It was almost as if they were polar opposites. One was moral, upstanding, loyal, loving, caring, considerate, honorable, funny and intelligent. The only thing that Angelus had that Angel had was intelligence and strength.
Willow yawned. Well girl, are you going to go to his room or what? With that thought, as she reached down to grab the door knob, a loud knock thundered in front of her, causing the door to vibrate.
Her heart suddenly took off to realms best left to horror movies as she scrambled back, and tangling her legs up in the process. With a resounding thump, Willow fell flat on her butt with her eyes still glued to the door.
"Ouch!" She squealed, despite feeling incredibly foolish. Yeah, and you fought vampires all summer, Willow! she yelled at herself. Her heart was still racing at incredible speeds as the craziness of the night finally made itself fully known.
She was sleeping in a building filled with vampires—and she agreed to it.
My gods, what would Xander say? she asked herself as she tried to calm down.
"Willow?"
Angel.
Instantly her fear turned into embarrassment. Could he read minds like LaCroix? Did he hear her lusting for him three doors down? What the hell is he doing here and why am I still sitting on the floor like a lump in the rug?
"Willow? Are you alright?" The doorknob turned and she saw a worried Angel first poke his head through, spot her and instantly the rest of his body followed. She watched him turn the lock shut while his eyes traveled the room, searching for the cause of Willow's pain, as her embarrassment rose to all new levels. "You shouldn't leave the door unlocked. LaCroix said there are a lot of fledglings in the basement that have yet to control their bloodlust," he admonished as he walked over to stand in front of her. He held out his hand to help her up. "And, what are you doing on the floor?"
It started out as a snicker. She couldn't help it. Here was the man—or was that unman?—the only 'man' that she had desired in such a womanly way in her life—and she was flat down on her butt acting like the seventeen year old she really was.
Who was she kidding? She was just a kid. Especially to a 243-year-old vampire. Her eyes watered, adding to her feelings of childishness as she shook her head, still chuckling. "I—you—I was—" She couldn't finish as snicker had evolved into a full-fledge all out laugh. Dropping his hand, she fell back, laying on the floor laughing, shaking her head at the irony of it all and knowing full-well that Angel was going to Giles that she had finally broke—that the Hellmouth finally broke her sanity. Suddenly a picture of Giles, dressed in one of those white overcoats that doctor's wear, flashing ink spots at her—asking her what she saw, flashed through her mind, and her laughter erupted to an almost manic level.
And Angel wasn't helping matters.
He was just too dour for his own good. He stared at her as if she had grown horns, which only made her laugh louder as well as longer.
Then she caught it. A slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Wiping the errant tears from her face, she pointed to him, then clutched her stomach as it clenched from laughing so hard.
"You—you—look so funny—"
A huge, wondrous smile appeared on his face as he rolled his eyes at her. "Me? Moi? Look funny? The great Angelus?"
That got her going all over again.
And that's when Angel plopped down on the floor next to her, chuckling as well. Sitting there, with his legs crossed, he looked down at her prostrate form. "I assume once you get over this fit you're having, you'll let me in on what's so funny?" he asked, using his best King's English accent he could muster.
Tears rolling down her cheeks, she nodded, closing her eyes against the blurriness. Suddenly she felt cool hands lift her bodily up and somehow she managed to squeal in between laughs. "Angel!" Her eyes shot open to see the vampire walking them to the bed. He flopped down on his back, with her still in his arms and laid there.
She tried to squirm out of his grasp.
His hold tightened. "None of that, little one," he whispered in her ear. A warm shiver caressed her spine. "Now that I've got you—" he paused and then rolled them over, placing her under him. "I'm not letting you go—at least until I can give you something to laugh about."
That's when she felt his fingers slide out from her back to her sides and begin the torturing session, tickling her mercilessly.
"Angel! Stop!" She tried smacking his hands away to no avail.
Grinning, he just shook his head. "Nope, not until you tell me what's so funny."
She grabbed his waist, squeezing the flimsy cotton pajama top and tried pushing up with all her might. Something had to give and unfortunately it wasn't Angel.
A loud ripping sound sang into the room as Willow felt her eyes widen in horror: she just ripped Angel's top open. Blushing deep red, she bit her bottom lip, noticing that Angel had stopped his torture once he felt her fingers touch his skin. "Oops."
She still hadn't looked up, instead stared at the vampires pale, but well-defined chest. Oh boy, Willow. You sure got yourself in a mess, she thought to herself when suddenly she felt Angel's fingers slip under her top and lightly dance upon on her skin. Seeing as she wasn't the only one enraptured, she found the courage to look up. Deep, chocolate brown eyes met her glance and in that instant she realized, something had changed—irrevocably between her and Angel.
"Angel?" she whispered as her hands went up his back.
"Hmm?" One of his fingers was now tracing circles further up on her side.
She licked her lips.
His eyes smoldered.
Her heart quickened as she swore his face was inching closer to hers.
Her eyes closed and seconds later she felt the soft gentle touch of Angel's lips against hers. Her stomach flipped as a wave a heat rushed through her and centered on her sex. She moaned and her mouth parted and instantly she felt his tongue slip through her lips searching for hers.
Unable to stop herself, her tongue met his as ran her hands up and down his back, reveling in his coolness. So different from Oz, she thought to herself. So much better...
Suddenly, he stopped.
Her eyes snapped opened to see the once again brooding Angel, staring down remorsefully at her. Anger surged through her body, made doubly strong because of her arousal. How dare he regret this! she thought to herself as she smacked him on the back. "Don't even start, Angel!" she whispered at his shocked face.
"Willow—I shouldn't have—it was taking advantage—"
Her lips pursed, she shook her head. "Bull! Did you see me protesting?"
He frowned, his eyebrows creased in consternation. "No, but—"
"No buts, Angel. I haven't spent the last month with you, trying to help you get over this guilt to be the cause of it."
He groaned, rolling away from her and bringing his arm up to cover his eyes. "Willow, I didn't come here to seduce you."
She chuckled softly. "I didn't think you did." Not that I wasn't thinking of trying to do something of the sort when I was on the way to your room, she added silently. "It just happened, Angel. Let it go," she said softly, willing those tears down so he wouldn't know how much it meant to her.
She watched him nod under his arm and chuckle humorlessly. "You wouldn't believe why I came here."
Sighing softly, she turned to her side, and studied him. The scars were still there from Hell, but because she insisted that he drink human blood until he was healed, they had been slowly dissipating. He hated it. Wanted that sow's blood. Willow secretly believed that he thought that it was a prerequisite of souled-vampires. It was nuts, as far as she was concerned. It was just as easy to raid the local blood bank than it was to acquire blood from Willie's—and a lot safer. Everytime she went to Willie's, she ended up meeting up with some sort of demon that caused her either to runaway or fight. And either solution wasn't agreeable to her.
But she did know that as soon as the physical signs of his time in Hell disappeared, he would be back to drinking pig's blood. Maybe I can talk him into draining demon-vamps, instead of staking them? she thought to herself. Wouldn't that be healthier?
Suddenly she realized he was waiting for her to speak. Mentally sighing, she went back to the conversation—oh yeah, why he came here. "So, what did bring you here?"
He lifted his arm and peeked through. "Spike and Mike." He shook his head. "He never could choose quiet women."
Her mouth dropped open as she blushed once again at the implications.
Angel didn't seem to notice. "They'd been going at it for an hour! Geez, it's been over a hundred years for me and to have to listen to that shit—by my childe no less—"
Even in her innocence, she couldn't help but laugh. Poor Angel...no wonder he kissed you.
As soon as that thought slipped out, her good mood disappeared.
"—and all I could think about was how it would feel just to hold you. Nothing else. Just so I didn't have to be alone."
Willow's heart softened. She knew then, he didn't come to her room for sex or to steal her innocence or even because she was a good substitute for Buffy. He came to her because she had been the one to hold him and protect him from the loneliness that had threatened to eat him alive since his return. Her eyes watered in empathy as she crawled over to him and laid her head down on his now bare chest. "It's okay, Angel. I'm here."
His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, when she felt him finger her robe. "Willow, why do you have your robe on?"
Grinning, she looked up over his chest and met his eyes. "I was on my way over to see you. See if I could stay with you tonight. I was on overload and too wired to sleep in a building filled with vampires."
His mouth turned. "That's why you were on the floor. I scared you, didn't I?"
She smacked him lightly on the arm. "Shut up—Fang-face!" she stuttered, somewhat shocked that she had even used one of Xander's nicknames for Angel. Gratefully, he didn't even flinch when it heard it. Wiping the grin off her face, she put on her best pout. She studied Buffy when the Slayer used it and after a couple of trial runs with Oz, Willow knew she had it down pat. "Just because I nearly broke my tailbone tonight, doesn't mean we need to discuss my failings as the graceful person that I'm not!"
He laughed, shaking his head.
"Did I sound indignant enough?" She asked, suddenly feeling incredibly insecure again.
He nodded, still smiling. "You did fine, little one." His hands tugged on her robe. "So, are you planning to sleep in that or what?"
Willow's eyes widened. "Oh," she mumbled softly, tugging the robe off and dropping it on the floor. She immediately snuggled back down next to Angel, with her head on his chest and her arms wrapped about him.
Angel reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. "Good night, little one." She felt his lips touch her forehead softly.
"'Night Angel."
As sleep claimed her, she heard him thank her and in response, she clenched a hand on his chest, hoping he would understand that she just said anytime.
To be continued...