I was amazed by the reviews I got on the last chapter, so I just wanted to thank my two wonderful reviewers. Nothing motivates me to write more than your kind words. I'm so lucky to have you, and I hope this chapter is as good as the last two!

Previously: much poetry was written, and William made a few more insights into Dru and what she's been through. She tries to leave, not thinking she deserves it, because she's not used to people treating her like a person. After Drusilla reveals to William that she's going to go to the police and she already knows they'll just send her with Darla, and then gives him a certain word for his poetry, he knows he can't let her go back there…

Warnings:

"Perhaps effulgent?" she suggested, and he smiled, thinking about the word. It was a nice word, the way it seemed full of… well, something. It almost seemed like the intermittent starlight he'd drawn the angel in, the way she'd told him he shone like the stars. He did love the way she spoke, despite that it kept him on his feet, having to interpret, and he was always being caught off guard by some of the things she said. She scratched out luminous and wrote effulgent in. It already seemed to fit in there, to be right. He couldn't just leave her there, to be taken back into their captivity.

"It's a perfect word, love!" he exclaimed excitedly, standing up, looking at the time. He'd promised Jake he'd be home by ten so he could for once do his own laundry before it got late, and the machine got obnoxiously loud. It was now quarter to eleven. Oh well. "But it's getting late, and I need to know if you'd want somewhere safe to sleep for the night. No pretty silver bracelets where I'm going, or dragons," he knew she would panic at first at the offer, a strange man trying to take her home with him, but he didn't want to hurt her. Actually, he was pretty sure that he was the only one who cared enough to end the hurt, but he hoped not. He hoped she had someone who wasn't a random poet who'd fed her once. If she did, he was sure she wouldn't have come here.

Drusilla looked up at him dubiously. If there was ever someone she trusted, it would be Will. He could easily have hurt her outside the coffee shop, there was an alley nearby, and she was hardly coherent enough that anyone would believe her. He hadn't hurt her, he'd just taken her in and bought her food, wrote beautiful words that made her feel like a person—or, more like a person than she should feel. She couldn't take any more from him, but she wanted to. "You don't deserve it," she could remember Angelus saying as she'd begged him to let her go, "This is what you are now. You want to eat, then I'd recommend hurrying up, before food gets cold." And she could remember vividly what she'd done, how disgusted she'd felt with him, herself, the world after. If what he said was true, she didn't belong in Will's home. "I can't," she said softly, "not right."

Will nodded, understanding her dilemma. He took a new napkin and copied the last couplet he'd written on it, before adding his contact information, name, address, phone number, cell number, etcetera. "If you change your mind, or they do put the shiny silver bracelets on you and you want out, they'll give you one phone call, and you can call this number. I'll come, it doesn't matter what time it is," he assured her, handing her the napkin. He'd have to remember to actually charge the phone, and try to get the laundry done for once. He had a feeling this would be one of is poet-insomniac nights anyways, since he was inspired and he had class tomorrow. It didn't really matter that he had class, because when he was inspired, he would write the night away, and then write through class, and still keep writing while Jake went out. No wonder he was single.

Drusilla took the napkin into her hand like it was a baby birdie. It was hope, right there, a slightly crumpled white piece of hope. She smiled at Will's words, he would include the words she'd helped him with. Effulgent looked right at home there, at her word interspersed with his. It was a nice word. She was proud of herself for being able to communicate it to him without saying anything else odd. It was a miracle that this poet understood her. She'd have to call him some time if it got bad and she was going to make another escape. They could meet again, and she could maybe steal some money this time, pay for her own food. She could dream. How sad it was that she dreamed of buying herself a meal with a friend? She used to have dreams, real ones, but they were as unattainable as another meal with Will would likely be. Still, she would always have these memories, "Thank you, Will. For everything. You've been my star effulgent, and I hope there will be more time,=," she said softly, standing up.

Will followed her to the door, "I'll drive you to the station," he said, smiling. In the time he'd known Drusilla, short though it was, he'd developed a peculiar fondness for her. He really wanted to see her be alright, to see her happy, and watch the bruises heal. He wanted the headlines to be "Girl, kidnapped finally finishes high school" or "criminal apprehended, girl to live on". As an intern at a newspaper, he'd write the story himself just to see her happy. As long as he didn't have to print a billion copies of "girl found dead". He didn't think he could bear that. What did it say to him that the only girl he'd been out with in the three years since high school didn't consider herself a person? Either that he needed to get a cat, or that he needed to get out more, one of the two. Maybe it said he was doing things right, because where Jake's dates would eventually forget his name, Drusilla would always have a bit of will, or he liked to think so.

Drusilla hadn't been in a car in a long time. Darla and Angelus preferred motorcycles. When she saw Will's, a beat up silvery thing with papers strewn over the back seat, it looked a lot different than the dragon or the fallen angel. She opened the back seat door, but Will shut it, opening the passenger side. She smiled gratefully and got up, sitting on the passenger seat, letting the scent of paper and car fill her consciousness. Will got in the driver's seat, comfortably merging into the nonexistent traffic. She wondered if she would have gotten this good at driving, been able to make the car do her will. Will. Oh, there was that word. She knew whatever happened, she would smile when she heard his name. "You really do shine," she said appreciatively, looking at his face in the steady glow of the red light. William's light wasn't hard and red, but soft and golden and flickery, like a candle.

Will smiled, making a turn and pulling her into the police station. "Well, remember that I'll be just a call away. Just call, if you need me, I'll be there. It doesn't matter what time. I'm a student, we don't sleep," he joked, getting out to help her out, wishing this didn't have to be goodbye. Maybe this would be where she got her life back, and he would be glad he'd let her do this, but maybe she would be misunderstood again, and carried away by the dragons again because she didn't think she deserved to be rescued. He'd come back to check on her in the morning, he decided. "Good luck," he said softly, helping her out of the car, waiting for her to say goodbye so he could go home and attempt to explain to his roommate what had kept him out so late.

Drusilla had suffered a lot of things, had to do a lot of things, just so she could survive. But there was one thing she hadn't done. She let her non-cut hand slip into William's hair, wondering what she was doing, if he would recoil in disgust. She probably looked like she'd been living on the streets, and he knew fully well that she was damaged. He'd be a fool to want her, but she needed to do this, to remember one first fondly. She kissed him gently, letting her other hand take his. She supposed a kiss seemed inconsequential to most, just something you do at the end of the night if the date goes half-decent. She'd never been kissed. Angelus probably thought it was unimportant, she was seventeen, surely that wouldn't phase her as much as a lot of other things, but being the school lunatic, no one had ever wanted to. Did Will want to? Should she have asked him first? She figured she should have, so she broke the kiss. "I'm sorry," she looked down as she spoke, "shouldn't have. Wasn't my right."

Will was shocked when she kissed him, feeling something in the way her lips caressed his, knowing this meant something to her. Yeah, university student, he'd been kissed a couple of times, but none that meant a thing. When Drusilla kissed him, it was like she was showing him her soul, hoping that he wouldn't stomp it into the ground. Then, she apologized, thinking he hadn't wanted it. Nothing could be further from the truth. As a poet, he loved this, her on her way, trying to save herself, the way the moonlight was kind to her, bathing her in its silvery glow. "I'm not sorry, Drusilla," he promised her, stroking the hair out of her eyes, making her finally look into his and just kissing her softly, chastely. He wanted to give her strength, tell her that he was true, that he did want to see her succeed; he would be there for her. Oh, lord. Was he falling for her? Bad William, falling for someone you may never see again. Someone who might never be able to trust him. "Even if you don't need to be picked up, call me," he told her sweetly, getting back into the car.

Drusilla couldn't explain what this feeling was, but she felt alive. Her lips tingled as she entered the station, waving goodbye to Will. But no, she had Will, like a little star, glowing from within. She walked up to the desk, smiling at the officer, who asked her why she was here. Her smile grew, she would testify and she was certain there was some sort of evidence on her body, something to reveal who she was, where she'd come from. They wouldn't call the dragons this time, she was safe. "The dragons took me years ago," she said softly. Okay, try it again, Dru. No problem. Try not to sound like a kite this time. You can do it. "With the face of the angel. Five years passed. Found my will and my Will took me here, made it right. Wrong made so right." Close enough. That was the most coherent she'd sounded in years, so hopefully the officer was like Will and had a bit of poet in him.

He didn't. He took a couple things down as notes though, "So, you're telling me that you've been with the angels for five years?" he asked her, already writing her off as another addict. It made everything easier when they turned themselves in. She looked the part, too. White dress stained with all sorts of things, dirty and bleeding, looks like she hasn't eaten right in months. He had a soft spot for these ones. He had a daughter around her age, and he'd always seen them as someone else's child, despite that they were legally an adult. "Where are your parents?" she asked, wondering if the angels she spoke of were a gang, or a group of street walkers, or a homeless shelter. It could be anything. This was his least favourite part of the job, trying to decipher what they were saying. The metaphoric ones gave him a headache.

This was further than she got last time, so she cheered for herself mentally. She was doing it. "The angels took my family away when they took me," Drusilla told him softly, "and there were devils in the church. See, angels lie. He's only an angel by name, and a devil by rights. It a contradiction. Not right," she explained, sitting back. She didn't sound quite like the rest of them, not as coherent as they were, but she sounded right. She was sure they could understand this. There had been a family killed five years ago with one survivor, and a church shooting. Surely that would make sense to him. Weren't police officers supposed to be smart? But Angelus was being sneaky, and he hadn't killed anyone noticeable in at least three years. What if they'd forgotten him, forgotten her and though she was making all this up?

The officer knew her words reminded him vaguely of something, he scrawled down a couple more notes, wondering what she could mean. There hadn't been any church-shootings in five years, and that wasn't one he'd liked to think of. They'd sent him, still in training, with a couple older officers. He'd catalogued the evidence, a bullet, shreds of what they'd assumed to be a dress. They DNA-tested the blood they'd found, but found only more disturbing evidence, and nothing that belonged to the perpetrator. He'd cleaned up after himself almost too well. There was no way that girl was alive though, five years after that. Odds were he'd just hidden her body. "So where have you been before you came here?" he tried, hoping that she was just another addict. He'd return her to the family she'd come from, minimal charges, and they'd get her the help she needed. There was no way this alarming story was the same girl as his first case.

She shook her head. This was where it got hard. She could see little flashes, hear all the horrible things he'd called her ringing through her ears as the officer asked her where she'd been. The dragons had turned her from a person to a doll, and not even a pretty doll, the broken kind of doll that served her purpose and then got shut in the closet so no one had to look at her until they needed to. She wondered why Will had wanted to kiss her. She was certain the way Will had treated her that any number of real people would want him, people who looked right and talked right and had futures. Why would he kiss her like that, like she was a person and he loved the person she was? People didn't even do that when she was one. "Dragons. I was with the dragons, and they burned me until I stopped fighting. Then I ate with a white knight who's pen is his sword, or however that goes, and he brought me here, for confession, but I haven't done anything wrong, Father." She wondered where that clarity had gone. She was talking almost like she was alright until the memories overtook her.

That's when the officer decided she was high. For god's sake, she was telling him fairytales. He'd send her into the holding cell for now, and see what he could do about tracking someone down to come pick her up. If it was true that her family was dead, perhaps he could find a shelter that would take her in, or a friend of hers, someone. He was certain he'd find her somewhere to go. She did look like she needed something. He looked at her for a long moment, trying to determine what he was going to say next, "Are you high, Miss?" he asked gently, "I'm not going to arrest you, you don't seem to be carrying any, but if you are, you need to sleep it off and see if you feel any better. Do you have anyone you can call?" he asked her gently. He really didn't want to send her to the holding cell with the others in there, particularly not tonight. They had a drunk driver and someone they knew was high on something that made him rather violent. He was chained to a wall now, but he still had his legs free. Not to mention, what words could do.

Drusilla smiled wanly at the officer, "But I'm not a kite, or a girl, I'm a doll. You going to put me into the closet, officer?" she asked, gesturing to the cell. Then she looked to the napkin in her hand and smiled at it. She did have someone to call. "If I'm not going to the closet with all the other good little dollies, then my Will will carry me home," she said wistfully, looking at the paper, seeing the number on the napkin and showing the officer, so he knew her will was a person. A good person, with the soul of a poet and blue eyes like the sky. Just as she got to the phone, about to make the call, a familiar face came in, clothed in a tight red dress that ensured there'd be no argument rom the officer. Darla. No. No, she'd just found her will, she wasn't going back to the dragons.

The officer approached the newcomer, already well under her spell. "Evening, Miss. Anything I can do for you?" he asked, looking at her. She was gorgeous, the kind of girl that would never give someone like him a second glance. Not that he wanted her to glance, he was a married man, but if she did by chance glance, he'd be fine with it. Maybe he'd glance back. She looked like she was off to some society event, the tress tight and red, but not too tight, falling to a tasteful length at her legs, and revealing enough but not too much of her ample cleavage. Not that he'd stopped to notice, but if he did, then it wasn't for reasons. He hair was up in an elegant twist as well, and sort of a beautiful platinum colour. Also, he was only noticing because he had to take a description of the people who entered. They had a camera, but thoroughness. This was just him being professional.

"I'm so sorry for any problem's she'd caused, officer. This is my Daughter, Michela," she smiled wickedly at Drusilla, "she's very ill," she turned to Drusilla, "are you still taking your meds, sweetie?" she asked, sounding like a caring mother. "Don't worry, we'll take you home. Daddy's quite excited to see you." And maybe the officer didn't hear the malice in her voice, but Drusilla did.