Chapter Seventeen: February 24, 1998 part. 3

-This chapter is dedicated to Mysticwolf1. Thank you for all your help and feedback.

Angelus felt all his years that night. His whipping muscles were out of the practice and a lingering stiffness tensed his shoulder. Beating Spike into submission had been cathartic, but tiring. It had also brought up old memories of the whirlwind existence he had made out for himself with his small clan back in the day. He couldn't stop himself from comparing his infamous past with his present. The century with the soul had done more than cage his demonic instincts in his body. It had unnerved him like nothing else in his existence. He had overcame all comers from his father, the grim reaper, the master, to Daniel Holtz. In life and death, he had been confident, some said too confident, but that curse had been the only thing to defeat him. When he was first rid of it, he was so disgusted with himself that he wanted to destroy all who had seen him in such as state. He'd never gone mad, but in those first few weeks he had come close. Revulsion had consumed him and he became fixated on mass means of destruction before he decided on brutal territorial expansion as a means of washing the taste of soul from his mouth and regaining his reputation. He often worried that somehow the soul would worm its way back in. Tonight though, he felt more nostalgia than angst, taking his aggression out on Spike had cleared his mind. He felt more like himself than he had in a long time.

All his important plans were falling into place, despite the detours and he couldn't help but be optimistic. Spike spoiled his plans for immediate vampiric warfare by forcing his hand into a Humbling to save face. Those minions would have been his foot soldiers when they took to the mattresses. He should have been much angrier, but the notion had struck him when he was punching Spike in the kidneys that he wanted to take his girls abroad in style once Willow got her fangs. He couldn't do that if he was bogged down in a Los Angeles turf war. The soul had stuck around America for almost a century and he yearned to take the Grand Tour again. Lemons into lemonade, he thought. Angelus unbuttoned the top few buttons in his shirt as he walked into Willow's room and closed the door with his bare foot.

She sat, with one knee up under her chin while the other dangled down, watching the hazy pink sunset disappear along the horizon. The rich red of her auburn hair glinted in the fading sunset as she reached to close the curtain. He had never seen her in the sunlight before.

"Don't," He said, safe in the shadows, transfixed by the sight of her. Angelus studied her features as she bit her lip, heart racing. She looked so fresh and delicate in her mortality. He knew he'd never forget how lovely she was with the changing light on her face. His fingers itched to put pencil to paper to capture her.

The sky darkened breaking the spell.

He strode towards her bookcase before picking out a book and flipping through it, bending down the corners of some pages. "You started the book I gave you. How sweet."His tone sardonic. He tossed the book on the bed.

Willow watched him with wary eyes. "Yes, Browning is a wonderful poet. Kinda creepy though."

He smirked, unbuttoning his shirt, as he walked around the bed, eyes on her. "I met him and his wife Elizabeth in Italy. It was the winter of 1848 in a charming restaurant by the seaside." He laid his shirt on her vanity as he walked closer to her. "Take off your dress," he said matter-of-fact.

Willow blanched. She gave him one hard look before complying as she reached behind and unzipped her dress. Pushing down the sleeves, she let it drop and stepped out of the dress. He could see her deep red satin bra and panties through her thin white under dress. Her hands fluttered about nervously, but she kept eye contact with him.

Angelus admired her for a moment with a ghost of a smile on his lips. He knew deep in his bones that Willow would make an extraordinary vampire. She had potential that he wanted to shape. Hidden depths that he had only seen hints of. There was also something about Willow that reminded him of Spike. Maybe it was her tight jaw or sharp eyes that belied her obedience. There was a lot of fight in the girl just waiting to come out, he thought, it only needed to be cultivated.

"That was an intense year. Tipperary. The Gold Rush. Revolutions everywhere." He took off his dark jeans leaving him bare except for his dark boxers. "I don't think I stayed in one place for more than a week." Angelus pulled down the covers, got in the middle of the bed, and laid back on the full pillows with a relaxed sigh. The sounds of china breaking came from Drusilla's room, but he ignored it. He was too comfortable. "Get in here with me."

Willow took a deep breath before stepping over to the bed. Fear surrounded her like perfume. She trembled as she got in. The redhead clung to the edge of the bed and looked everywhere but at him.

"Your maidenly virtue is safe tonight. I got my fill of rape and mutilation earlier," he said dryly picking up the poetry book.

She scooted closer, but still inches away from him, sitting up stiffly.

He smirked, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her up against him. "I'm in more of a literary mood."

Absently caressing her shoulder, he began to read aloud, "That's my last duchess painted on the wall..."

Willow radiated heat as she shifted trying to find a position that wasn't cuddling him, but in the end she relented and put her head on his chest.

Finishing the final stanza of 'The Last Duchess,' he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger before remarking, "You have beautiful hair. So red and long. Don't change it." He flipped a few pages ahead before he smirked. Such an appropriate poem, he thought. "The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria..."

By the end of the poem, he had begun to feel ignored by Willow as she laid pliant against him without a tremble or a word. It was only when he said the last line that he knew that she had been listening. "And yet God has not said a word!"

He felt a single tear drop onto his chest.

Angelus was crowing mentally when he felt it like a hurricane on the horizon. God might not have intervened, but his enemies had. The book dropped from his hand as he gasped. A horrible sense of dread overcame him.

"Wings on fire. The bells are breaking above the church. " Drusilla shrieked from across the hall."Oh, no, I promise, not a word. Not another one."

His soul. Angelus tugged Willow up and kissed her roughly. "Its been fun. I'll look you up when I'm myself again."He could feel its brooding presence coming to retake back his body, and he knew it would win control. There was no time to spare on this final present to himself. Biting his tongue, he coated his fangs in his own aged blood before striking, sinking his teeth into Willow's shoulder and drinking.

She screamed, but the effects of his blood kicked in quickly, and her fingers tightened on his arms as her struggles ceased and she arched up against him. Willow grew silent despite her rapid heartbeat.

Blinded by a burning cleansing light, Angelus screwed his eyes shut and gulped down the last bit of human blood he was sure to taste for a long time. The body became a battlefield as he tested his will against his souled counterpart and whatever witch the slayer got to fight her battles. He just couldn't let his fangs out without a fight.

The brilliant, blue-white, light ripped through him and his demonic nature was again shackled in the deepest corner of his subconscious.

Angel first felt the satin sheet against his feet and then the bare thigh against his. Warm hips under his hands. He heard a beating heart and smelled blood and jasmine. Slowly, he gained a fuzzy awareness of himself in bed with a woman who felt nice. He felt stuck in that limbo between sleep and daydreams before he tasted the most delicious blood he had in a century. Opening his eyes, he almost choked on it when he realized it wasn't a dream. Willow was the warm pliant mystery woman and he was stuck fangs deep in her neck. Swallowing it down, he pulled away and stared into Willow's green eyes in confusion as he took his hands off her hips with a jerk. He couldn't comprehend any of this. Why wasn't he waking up? The last moment he remembered was falling asleep with his arms around Buffy.

Blinking, mouth agape, Willow rolled onto her back with her hand on her wound. "What did you do? It feels like...nothing but--." Her pallor frightened him as most as much as her words. "First aid is in the bathroom."

Angel jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom with all his vampiric speed before grabbing the white first aid kit hanging above the toilet. "Where are we?" He asked as he opened the kit, took out gauze, and concentrated on applying pressure to her wound. Carefully, he bandaged her. "I don't understand."Then the memories came back, scraping his soul raw, and he understood all too well. The lives he had taken, the destruction he caused, the pain he inflicted on all those closest to him. The room spun as the screams echoed in his mind. It took all his self control not to stumble to the ground.

"Don't play with me. This is a new low even for you." Willow closed her eyes with a resigned sigh as she poked herself in the unwounded shoulder."Huh."

"Oh, God damn me," Angel whispered, remembering the last few moments of his demon's spree, and what he had done to her. How delicious her blood was... "He gave you the Lingering Kiss."

Willow whimpered, blood soaking into the pillows under her head. "It doesn't feel like nothing anymore."

"I'm so sorry, Willow."Angel added, 'for everything' mentally. Images of horror and gore flickered through his mind. Hunting down a pastor with Drusilla. Fucking Spike in the blood of young lovers, Torturing a family with Penn by his side. Angel didn't needed a flashback to remind him of what he did to Willow. Fang marks and bruising mottled her neck not including the newest one. He knew by looking at her that he had drank too much and she needed a doctor faster than she could get to one. He had to save her, despite the danger. Afterward, he would get her all the holy water and mageroyal she needed to combat any possible side effects."I can do something to save you."

She shook her head, the gesture weak, but the blazing look in her eyes strong.

"Not that." Angel bowed his head, wave after wave of intense guilt and shame made him want to beg for her forgiveness for what he had done and will do. "But you'll have to drink my blood. There isn't much time to explain."

She tilted her head, looking into his eyes, and asked,"Angel?"A terrible hope rose in her eyes that made his heart clench.

He nodded, swallowing back another apology.

"Do it and explain after."

Angel ripped into his own wrist with all the passion of self loathing and held it over her mouth. The blood dripped onto her lips and he couldn't take his eyes away from the sight of her tongue catching the stray drops. "You're human so this should only heal you."

She reached up and held his wrist with her good hand. Licking the cut timidly at first, she soon sucked the blood down greedily.

Angel gritted his teeth and willed himself to ignore the sensation of her mouth and the risks of what he was attempting. He pulled away, despite her whimper. to get off the bed. Looking at her vanity mirror, he had never been happier to not see his own reflection. "How do you feel?" He asked trying not to look at her laid out, bloody and beautiful, on the bed.

"Like-" Willow's words faded and grew cold. "I'm fine." She got off the bed and walked toward him. "How are you—you?"

He shook his head. "I don't know." Angel still didn't understand how he could even lost his soul, let alone find it again.

Willow bit her lip before she pulled back her hand and smacked him hard across the face. "I'm sorry, but I kinda had to do that, you know?"

Angel nodded, cheek stinging, accepting the slap as much less than his due. His mind whirled trying to figure out how to get her out of this hell he had dragged her into.

"No, its my fault. All my fault." He could still taste her fruity lip balm and her blood on his lips. Looking at her now without any of the colorful tights and cardigans, he hated the satisfaction he could feel emanating from his demonic side. "I..." He couldn't begin. The apology died in his throat. What could he say to her? He might not have robbed her of virginity, but he had physically and emotionally scarred her. In any case, he had tortured and killed too many for that to be much of a comfort. Oh, merciful Mary, Angel thought rubbing his temple, he had recommended her to the Order too. "I don't know where to start. I can never make amends to you."

"Just take me home to my mom and dad, please." She slumped back against a bed post, with her arms around herself, eyes turned away from him. Her lips trembled.

Her reply was like a stake to his heart. The scent of tears reached his nose.

Willow held one hand over her eyes, shaking, as she tried to stop her sobs. "I tried so hard to never cry in front of you. Tried so hard to be strong." The pictures on the wall wobbled.

"You're stronger than you realize."Angel stared at the pictures, stomach sinking, as he realized how little he knew Willow Rosenberg and how big a mistake he had made. The pictures stopped moving, but he had felt the energy. Willow had magic, untapped and uncontrolled, buried deep and unnoticed, and he had forced it out. Angel turned away so she wouldn't see the frustration and anger at himself on his face. He could feel his demon smirking from its spiritual cage. He hoped that, if it came to it and she wasn't like most witches, then a couple of rituals would cure her. Angel went to her wardrobe, pulled out a satin bathrobe, and handed it to her. Shame and despair made his throat tighten. In the end, he was always a monster who looked like a man.

She put it on and tried to smile at him through her tears. "I hope so."

Rowdy voices and the sound of parking cars drifted up to Angel's keen ears. His minions were back.

He sighed. When his demon was in control, he had ordered Franz to make sure that they stayed in tonight in case Spike decided to rescue Drusilla so he couldn't whisk Willow away in the night without notice. Angel knew he could fool the six minions and Penn into believing he didn't have a soul, but Franz... The man had known him for too long. Then there was Sam Lawson. Old, but still heavy guilt surged forward when he thought about turning the young G.I. Lawson was the only one who had seen him with a soul. His mind still reeled with the horror of the last months. He didn't think he could keep that off his face at the moment.

Angel stared at the hands that had caused so much bloodshed with disgust. Red stained his fingers. The curse that he had come to see as a blessing in disguise had unraveled in a way he had never expected. It was brilliant as it was cruelly just. At the very moment he had let himself feel peace and contentment, his demonic urges would take over to destroy whatever life he had created including the people in it. No doubt that the gypsies knew that the first ones that he would hurt would be the ones he cared about. He had always thought his soul was permanent, a tendril of fear curled around his heart, he could lose it again. Balling his fists, he knew that the blood would never wash away.

He dropped to his knees in front of her. Angel knew that he could never make amends, but he would keep Willow safe. "I promise that I will get you out."

Willow smiled and reached out to touch his cheek. She looked achingly beautiful with hope in her eyes and his marks upon her neck. "I know you will, Angel, you're one of the heroes."

He bowed his head, the gentle touch of her fingertips and sincere trust hurt far more than the slap, feeling the weight on his deeds like an anchor around his neck. Angel felt more like a fiend than one of the good guys.

She knelt in front of him and drew him in for a hug. Smoothing his hair, she held him, murmuring soothing lies about how everything was going to be okay.

"I never knew I could lose it." Marveling at her kindness, he kept repeating. "I'm so sorry." Willow should have pummeled him, but instead she comforted him and still trusted him. Angel knew if she understood the price of blood healing that she'd slap him again. As she held him in her soft arms, showing compassion to the monster that had tormented her, he knew that he would protect her even if it killed him. He owed her that and so much more. "I didn't know."

They clung together, lost children in the dark, whispering ideas of escape and reunion. Sitting on the floor, they ignored the bloody bed against their backs and the dark history between them.