Title: Tried So Hard

Author: Kendra A. (kendraangelusslayer@yahoo.com)

Rating: PG-13 for now, though I may change my naughty mind

Summary: After I watched "Wrecked", I felt this kind of wave of nausea at the humiliation Willow was put through. I thought Alyson Hannigan did an acting job that surpassed awesome, but it hurt to watch, and I was super upset because Willow is one of my favorite characters. So, "Kendra," I said, "Kendra," says I, "You've got to do something about this." And so, here is what I did. It's not reversing "Wrecked", per se… it's just setting things right… kind of.

Pairing: I've made up my mind, aren't you proud? It will be Willow/Angel, Buffy/Spike, Cordelia/Gunn and Fred/Wesley.

Disclaimer: Buffy: the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series are in no way affiliated with me, and I never, ever said they were. They're owned by a great deal of people, but among them are Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Jane Espenson, the WB, UPN, Fox, Mutant Enemy and Kuzui Enterprises. And the verse—it's not by me, sorry; it's from a choral works by Benjamin Britten, who is a fantastic composer, and I have altered the words because the verse was (of course) originally about Jesus and we couldn't have it stay that way could we? (No offense meant to anyone by that last comment…)

Author's Notes: Look, I have no idea what drug withdrawal must really be like, and even less what magic withdrawal is really like. Don't hold it against me. And any spells or side effects are products of me, me, and only me. Also—I've had to fiddle with the AtS timeline a teensy bit, as it didn't tailor properly to my story. Lorne's living at the hotel, Connor's been named, and I don't know why the Scooby Gang didn't notice the baby the second they arrived in L.A. They were distracted by Willow's swiftly departing mortality, okay?

Dedication: This is wholeheartedly and without question for Lisa (a.k.a. Firedrake), my Muse, who is patient and wonderful and who thinks that I'm working on "Morning". I'm sorry, Lisa, I couldn't help myself. So here's another angst-fic for you.

Willow woke up and could not see.

She did not panic; instead, irrationally, she assumed she was dreaming, and that in dreams, perhaps, one could be robbed of one's sight.

The darkness was soft and inky and it smelled… different. Different than her room at Buffy's house, different that her old bedroom on Westminster Drive, different than the musty smell of Giles' house, different than the smell of Lysol and beer that was the dorm room at Stevenson Hall. The air that surrounded her smelled of dark things come to light. It was spicy and mellow all at once, and had the distinct taste of nutmeg. It wrapped around her body and felt like absolution.

Willow shuddered in pleasure and stood.

She could feel silken sheets brush her legs as she placed them on the floor, and felt the air on her bare legs as she pushed herself off the bed. There was no dizziness, and no nausea; there was quite simply a sense of peace. The magic inside her was undeniably there; indeed, it hummed as it ever had, but it felt released, as if she'd been using it regularly, and it twined around her like a cat, purring for attention and completely content.

Willow stood for what might have been seconds, might have been hours, might have been days in that perpetual infinity until the darkness was interrupted with a sound as gentle as water rippling: a baby's cry.

The sound was not harsh, as babies are wont to sound, but inquisitive: why am I here in the dark? It was as if the sound had a lead tied to it, for Willow followed it as surely as if she could see it, and soon the palm of her hand met with the knob of a door, and the knob turned and clicked beneath her touch, and she entered into more darkness.

The baby cooed as if it knew she was there, and silent as death but a thousand times more kind, Willow slipped to the crib that she couldn't see and sat on the chair beside it and looked inside.

*Connor*, thought Willow, and Connor replied, Yes.

* * *

Downstairs, in the Hyperion's lobby, Connor's soft cry was easily heard by the assorted creatures of the night.

Buffy sighed. "Angel?"

He looked up from the computer behind the counter and nodded. "I hear him—just a minute, I've got to finish writing this down—"

"Nah, I'll get it," Lorne said. "If he needs to get back to sleep, he'll need someone who can sing him back *properly*."

Angel scowled at him.

"Check on Willow while you're up there?" Xander asked from where he was sprawled on the floor of the lobby.

"Sure thing, hon," Lorne said, and had walked halfway to the second floor when he turned and came back down. "Are you sure that's the most comfortable place you could be?"

"Oh, yeah," Xander said confidently. "Floor's nice and cool."

"It's not my fault the heater's broken!" Angel protested as all eyes in the lobby turned to look at him.

"It's gonna be a sauna upstairs," Lorne said, loosening his red and yellow striped tie.

And it was.

Since the lights glared so terribly and added so much heat, they had opted to keep them off while none of them were upstairs; they also didn't want the lights keeping Connor awake or shocking Willow if she woke without their notice. The corridor on the second floor was dark and velvety and very nearly steaming, and despite the fact that it was mid-January, Lorne found himself humming "Summertime" under his breath.

"One of these mornin's… you're gonna rise up singin'… then you'll spread yo-our wiiiiings… and you'll take to the sky…" The door to Angel's suite was unlocked, and Lorne slid his cerulean jacket off and draped it over what he assumed must be a chair just inside the door.

Second door on the left is Connor's crib… Lorne remembered, and opened the door.

Though he couldn't see (demon eyesight only went so far when there was absolutely no light), he could certainly hear, and what he heard was the gentle giggle of a contented baby and the soft but confident sound of a young woman singing:

"Go to sleep now, my pumpkin… let me cover your toes (here there was the sound of a soft kiss being placed on the baby's forehead)… if you sleep now, my pumpkin… you will turn to a rose…"

Willow laughed softly and bounced Connor in her lap. Though the darkness was infinite, she could see his dear little face clear as day and his perfect toothless, soft-lipped grin. "If you had teeth," she whispered to him confidentially, "and if you had hair and were perhaps six foot one and not a baby, you'd look a great deal like Angel, do you know that?"

Connor just grinned at her.

Lorne, meanwhile, had just received a very specific reading from Willow's soft lullaby, and though he didn't much think it was about Willow, it was about Connor, and he knew Angel would want to know.

He turned and began the long walk back down the corridor, and then it suddenly occurred to him: Willow was awake.

* * *

Willow picked Connor up, cradling him tenderly in the crook of her arms, and carried them both back to the first room. It was so warm and soft here, and Connor was so sweet and trusting in her arms; and for the first time in what seemed like forever, she was awash in love.

Somehow, in this beautiful dream, she had spoken Connor's name. It had come to her from the depths of nowhere, and he had said her name back and he loved her. It was the simple, unconditional adoration of a baby to its mother, though neither of them would have called it that, necessarily, and it seemed perfectly natural that they'd curl up together on the big soft bed (Willow carefully keeping Connor on his back) and go to sleep.

* * *

"Willow's awake?" Buffy whispered, unfolding her tiny frame gracefully from the chair where she'd been sitting.

"Willow's awake!" Xander exclaimed, doing some interesting acrobatics and floppings-about in an attempt to get up off of the allegedly cold, slippery and newly waxed lobby floor.

"Willow's awake!?" shrieked Dawn, flying out of Wesley's office.

"Willow's—" Anya followed Dawn, and was about to say something, and then stopped. "Damn. You all have said 'Willow's awake' in just about every thrilled tone of voice that exists." She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "I'll just say I'm happy and you all can believe me; how's that?"

"Fred, Gunn, Willow's awake!" Cordelia said gleefully, exiting the other office with her colleagues a step behind her, and then she stopped. "What?"

* * *

The group expedition down the second floor corridor was almost like a parade, such was the tangible feeling of inexpressible joy. Willow was alive, and well, and awake!

The door to Angel's suite was opened with much pomp and flourishing, and the door to Connor's bedroom almost with a fanfare; but then Spike said, "They're not here."

"What?" said Buffy.

"What?" said Xander.

"What?" said Anya.

"What?" said Dawn.

"What?" said Cordy.

"What?" said Fred.

"What?" said Gunn.

"What?" said Wesley.

(They all said this simultaneously, so it wasn't quite the boring, tedious or monotonous string of 'what's as it might appear…)

"What?" said Lorne. "But—they have to be! They just were!"

"It's okay, Lorne," Angel said, turning towards his room. "They're in here."

The door was opened with fewer fanfares, and there was a hushed clamoring of the people without night vision to know what was going on. Finally, Angel, Spike, Lorne and Buffy backed away on tiptoes from the silent soft room, and led the procession downstairs, leaving Willow and Connor to dream on.

"Oh!" said Lorne to the dejected crowd of people who plopped back to their various seats (or, in Xander's case, flopped facedown onto the floor) in the lobby. "She was awake, though, and singing babycakes a lullaby."

Xander perked up at this. "The Pumpkin Song?"

"Yes, that," Lorne said tolerantly. "Look, Tall-Dark-and-Brooding, the girl's fine, absolutely fine—I got a reading off of her."

Angel brightened slightly at this revelation. "Good."

"And I got a little premonition about the newest addition to our happy family, too," the anagogic demon continued. "Got a pen and paper? It's a long verse."

Pen and paper were agreeably handed over, and after quite a bit of writing, Lorne produced this:

"This little Babe, so few days old

Has come to rival Satan's fold;

All Hell doth at his presence quake,

Though he himself for cold do shake:

For in this weak unarmed wise

The Gates of Hell he will surprise."

Angel read this and frowned. Cordelia snatched it from his loose grip and read it with Fred, Wesley and Gunn looking over her shoulder.

"Lorne, I've heard that before. It's the first verse of a really old, really weird-soundign Christmas carol."

Lorne grinned broadly at him. "Oh, no, that's where you're wrong, Batman. See, it's a prophecy, and a couple of would-be composers thought it sounded properly Messiah-esque and whisked it away for their own sinister purposes. But it ain't about Jesus, honey. It's about Connor."

TBC…

The next part will really move along more, I promise.