Chapter Eighteen: The Morning After the Storm

Buffy dozed in front of Giles' unexpected TV, found buried under a pile of books, half watching the civil war documentary and half waiting. Black and white photos of long dead soldiers, wounded in old battlefields long since turned into strip malls, were on the screen. The scent of sulfur lingered in the air. "I can't believe this only gets PBS and Telemundo." She frowned. "Actually, on second thought, I can."

"TV rots your brain," Giles replied from the kitchen where he was putting a kettle on the stove for tea.

"She's right, Rupert," Ms. Calendar agreed, laying on the couch with her arm over her eyes. "You ought to get some rabbit ears, at least."

As he walked back into the living room, he gave Buffy his 'watcher' look. "I'll keep that in mind," He remarked dryly.

"While you're making mental notes, I'd suggest updating the old movie library." She rolled her eyes as she reached for the remote to see if there was a telenovella on. She was sick of death. While she smiled and put a veneer of cheer in her voice, all she felt was worry. It had been more than two and half hours since they had finished the spell. Doom and gloom scenarios played on repeat in her head. Doubts picked at her. What if they had done the spell at the wrong time endangering Willow and Angel? Should they have done the spell during the day? What if it hadn't worked at all? Ms Calendar wasn't a full witch and Angel had killed her uncle weeks before cutting them off from any members of her family who might have had useful information about the original curse. She hadn't said much, but it seemed as if her relatives weren't speaking to her at the moment. Then there was the problem with the missing end notes of the curse... Buffy turned the channel.

"Have you even seen anything since Chariots of Fire?"Ms Calendar asked, pale but smiling, as she sat up to give him room on the couch. The spell seemed to have taken a lot out of her. When the computer teacher had chanted, in a strange voice at the end of the ritual, light shining in her eyes, looking totally possessed, it was super freaky. Her hands had shook when they had been cleaning up the bones and other spell ingredients.

Buffy had gotten the major wiggins then and it hadn't let up yet.

Giles sat down, shaking his head with a grin, and opened his mouth to reply.

Her cellphone rang. Buffy tensed. Ever since they had done the spell at sunset, they had been waiting for a call or a sign. Xander was doing the same thing at his house. Even Cordelia promised to move a student council meeting into the library so she could monitor the phone there. She drew her cell from her purse with a shaking hand. "Hello?"

"Buffy," Willow whispered her name with audible relief.

"I'm so happy to hear your voice, Willow, I've missed you so much." Buffy paused trying to phrase the question right before asking simply, "Are you okay?" She already knew that her friend was in no way okay and was probably a gazillion miles from it. Guilt tugged at her heart. She couldn't help but feel like she was partly to blame for everything. If only she had been a better slayer... Hell, she hadn't even read the manual!

"As much as I can be." Willow sniffled, emotion in her voice, before she continued quietly, "I can barely believe its you, like its a dream."

Buffy couldn't stop her tears. "I'm so sorry that it has taken this long."

"I know. Did you guys do whatever changed Angel back?"

"The spell worked," Buffy told Giles and Ms. Calendar. There was so much she wanted to say and to ask, but mostly she just wanted to hug her best friend. "We need to figure out how to bust you out. Let me put you on speaker phone."

"We've thought up some ideas,"Willow said. "Its going to be a daytime attack."

000

Angel leaned his head back, eyes closed, composing his emotions as he sat in the chair. Willing himself to ignore the slowly awakening girl and the cloying scent of her drying blood, he hoped her heart would slow back into sleep. He couldn't face her yet. Last night, he had thought he could never feel worse. He was wrong. The metaphorical harsh light of day evaporated the fog in his head and made him fully understand what he did. He claimed Willow and afflicted her with a Lingering Kiss. It was odd. He had noticed before Willow for her intelligence, kindness, and love of colorful hats, but she wasn't on his radar. Now, he couldn't get her out of his mind.

He had gotten little rest because of nightmares of what he had done and what he wanted to do, courtesy of his demon. He was far more vulnerable to his demon while he slept. Especially torturous were the visions of his plans for Willow. She was an innocent and he wanted to make her a monster. Every time he closed his eyes, images of Buffy crying rose to the fore, and those weren't even the wost. The worst was when he dreamed of Willow straddling him, feeding on him, while he bit her. His demon mocked him for falling straight into his trap. The idea was to mark Willow with his claim and force Angel to do something drastic. His demon would have settled for Willow's turning, but making the unexpectedly witchy woman crave vampiric blood was even better. Angel didn't want to think of the other side effects of the Lingering Kiss or the unforgettable scent of Willow's neck.

The mark on his wrist had faded but he could still remember her soft lips on his skin. Even with his eyes closed he could imagine her fragile body laid out on the bloody bed with his claim mark hidden under a bandage. Angel gritted his teeth. The sun had risen hours ago and he could feel its heat through the curtain despite the pouring rain outside. A part of him wanted to rip it down and do the world a favor.

Willow laid on her side with her head on her hands, on the far half of the bed, looking over blood stains and into his eyes. The scars on her neck were accusations. She made his heart break even as he lusted for her blood. "Morning."

He told himself that was all his lusted for. Angel tried to smile, be friendly, be something other than a poor brooding excuse for a hero."You slept well.

"Like it didn't happen." Willow rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. The green satin of her nightie brought out the red of her hair and the purple in the bruises around his bite.

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are." She sat up and searched his face, questions lurking in her gaze. There was a maturity in her green eyes that haunted him."Are you ready?"

"I have to be." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, wondering when he became so easy to read and she became near inscrutable. More guilt piled on him. He forced her into learning a poker face."It should all be over soon."

"I can see that you're getting brood happy." She circled her finger around her face. "Its the sad puppy expression. You need to do better than that."

"I'm trying." Angel knew she was right and he was lying. He couldn't help but want to cling to his guilt like a lifesaver. It told him that he wasn't a beast. Worry ate at him that once he started to act soulless that it would be hard to stop. He opened his mouth.

"Don't apologize."She wrapped her arms around herself. "That's not going to help us." Willow got out of bed.

"What am I doing wrong?" He asked. "Look at me."

She bit her lip as she glanced over her shoulder. "Angelus had an edge. Anger. A hunger. I can practically see your soul, all soul-y and sorry, in your eyes."

"I can't help it."

Willow snorted. "You could help your shiny soul last night!"

"Pardon?" Angel stood up, confused by her words, but not her meaning. That's what haunted him when he replayed feeding on her in his mind. His soul returned and he didn't stop right away. The moments before he stopped drinking seemed endless in his memory.

"You know what I mean, mister." She pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Scratch that. I-I don't even know what I mean. I feel...Its weird. I'm weird, I guess." Willow took a deep breath."Don't worry. I'm a grumpy-gus when I wake up. I won't do anything rash as Giles would say." She shook her head and pasted a fake smile on her face. "I'll stay put like a good little damsel while the heroes rescue me."Willow turned away to go open the wardrobe rifling through it. She pulled out a cotton dress and looked at it with a frown, muttering too low for a human to hear. "I'm not going to wear a dress for at least a year after this."

"I'm-." He winced and stopped himself from apologizing again.

"If you get me out then you don't need to be sorry." She smiled wanly at him;. "I know that you weren't yourself and that you did what you had too."

She wouldn't be smiling, he thought, if she knew how thin the line was between his soul and his demon. Angel flashed back to the last time he fed on her. Pressing her warm body against his, her scalding blood filled his mouth and he could have drank her forever. He stared at her pulse and wondered how much of her blood he had drank with and without his soul.

She nibbled her lip, focused on his neck, before she peeked up at his eyes. "I'm going to change." She scurried into the bathroom.

Angel rubbed his temple as he walked to the open wardrobe. Ever the master of the tiny detail, his demon kept a change of his clothes mixed with hers. A reminder about the fragility of her privacy and his other dark intentions. The devil was in the details, he ought to know. He put on the red silk shirt and leather pants. He turned around, when she came out, without realizing his mistake until he asked, "How do I look?"

Willow froze, midway through putting her hair up into a ponytail, and the high-necked lavender dress only emphasized her pallor when she blanched.

His own words came back to him before she said them.

"You told me I'd see you in that the night after you turned me." The words slipped from her as if she hadn't realized she had spoke. She raised her fingers to her mouth.

"I should have worn something else."

Willow shook her head."You need to be convincing long enough to stake them." She focused on his wrist, biting the inside of her cheek, a fearful hunger in her eyes. Little in her stance betrayed her usual meekness. Her pupils were dilated as she tilted her head to look him up and down.

"How long have you been a practicing witch, Willow?" He asked, changing the subject. Angel wanted to be wrong, wrong about her, wrong about the Lingering Kiss, and wrong about the need in her expression.

"I'm not really a witch. I've just done some spells with Giles for Buffy, but nothing serious. I'm better at chemistry than the dark arts." She shrugged.

"Somehow I don't think so." Angel raised his healed wrist and watched her gaze follow it with sickening foreboding. "I've made a mistake in healing you. Not that I should have let you die, but there are some side effects."

"A little elaboration would be nice." Willow looked angry as she put her hands on her hips.

Angel wasn't good at emotional moments, but he knew that he botched this conversation in ten seconds. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Are you feeling an odd craving that you can't understand?"

She gasped, lips twisted in disgust. "Your blood... Is that... You! I mean, him, I mean, you!" She stomped over to him. "Is that why I can't stop thinking about it?"

He nodded, wishing she would yell or slap him again."It can be cured in time."

Willow stepped closer and her tone became harder. "What can I do about this now, Angel?"

"The feeling is more intense in the beginning, but if you meditate-"Angel fought the urge to groan because his words sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

"I want to bite you," she interrupted, bottom lip quivering, stopping inches from him. She narrowed her eyes."What can I do about that?"

"You could eat and meditate. It won't feel like this everyday."Angel frowned at his own weak words. He took a deep unnecessary breath, eyes darting around the gilded cage he had kept her in, as he smelled her fear.

"I couldn't eat. My stomach feels like its tied up in boy scout knots. All I seem to want..." She trailed off, wrapped her arms around herself, and turned away from him. "I'm so sorry. Yelling isn't helping us."

He put his hands on her shoulders, standing behind her, invisible in the mirror before them."Don't be. I'm sorry. The cravings will grow milder and less frequent."

"That's good." She nodded, head bowed. Peeking out of the high neck of her lavender dress, the blood-speckled bandage was visible. Willow looked so small and alone in the vanity mirror.

He didn't like watching her be this way. She had always been his favorite of Buffy's group and the one who had treated him most like a friend. And she had been repaid for her kindness with a kidnapping and an mystical addiction to blood. He had promised to stop adding to the pain he had caused her, Angel told himself. He lifted his hands off her shoulders, watching her reflection. The words were easier to say when he couldn't see his own face. "I could feed you again." He couldn't stop looking at her lips.

She looked up at the blank space where he should have been in the mirror, took a sharp intake of breath, as she thought. "Are you, I mean, if you'd like, but I, um..." Willow stopped herself. "How much do I need to drink?"

"I'll stop you." Viciously slicing his wrist with his teeth, he then lowered it in front of her mouth. He tensed at the touch of her tongue to his skin.

Holding his arm steady with both hands, Willow licked up the small trail of blood from the cut, starving not sensual, before she began to drink. Her eyes fluttered closed. She leaned back against his chest with a barely restrained sigh of primal satisfaction, tightening her grip on his arm.

He couldn't watch her feed. It was... Angel stopped himself from thinking that way about Willow. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on anything other than her and her teeth on his wrist. He held his other hand, clenched into a fist, arm muscles stiff, at his side to stop himself from pressing her closer to him. The sensation of her mouth on the wound was too much for him to stand and remain a gentleman. Deep inside him, the demon laughed."That's it,"he said once he was sure she had a couple of gulps. Angel made himself tug his wrist away and open his eyes. He'd never forget what he saw reflected in the mirror.

She panted, head falling back, and didn't resist when he pulled his arm away. Licking his blood off her lips, head tilted back exposing her neck, Willow looked exquisite. In the dim light with her pallor and reddened mouth, she looked undead.

"Willow? Do you feel better?" Angel knew he'd have to wean her off his blood fast for both their sakes. He couldn't help but think that his blood would taint her. Once they were out, he'd make sure that she started the sacred herb regime. He didn't want to know what he'd do when she began to yearn to be bitten.

"Oh God..." The ecstasy of feeding faded from her features and she whirled around to grab his hands. "You can cure this?"

"You'll have to undergo a series of rituals, but its not permanent." He could feel her rapid heart beat through her warm palms. "I'll gather the ingredients and do all I can."

She squeezed his hands; her voice icy. "Does this tie me to you or can't I get my fix from any vamp?"

He shook his head. "Theoretically, any vampire."Angel didn't like the possessiveness that rose in him. She wasn't his despite the mark on her neck.

"So, I could ask Franz to pop open a vein and it would work just the same?" She crossed her arms, fond smile on her face."I'm glad he's leaving before Buffy comes."

"Franz could." Reminded of all the time that unlikely pair spent together, Angel gritted his teeth, hating the idea of the Dutchman getting his hands or fangs on her."I wouldn't suggest it."

"We can't do this right now.. We already have oodles of trouble without this thing-- whatever it is." She gestured widely before looking him up and down with a frown."You're having having doubts, huh?"

He nodded, discomforted by her new found insight into his psyche. "About pretending to be..."He trailed off.

"That they won't believe you or that you'll be too believable?"

He broke eye contact. "Both."

"You're afraid." She leaned back against the vanity and faced him, meeting his poker face with her own.

Old words from the past floated through his head. You'll find that with the exception of an honest day's work, there's no challenge I'm not prepared to face. Angel said, "I don't think you understand."

"Don't I?" She put her hands on her hips before shaking her head and closing her eyes with a sigh. "I shouldn't take this out on you; you're not one of the bad guys."

Those compassionate words of forgiveness didn't sooth him, but made him see how little she knew his nature or what he had done."You're wrong." He needed her to understand that the soul didn't make him righteous. He wasn't the man she wanted to think he was."It was me who drained you and me who fed you." Stalking closer, he ran a hand down her neck. She had to know that she wasn't safe with him. "Those are mine."

"Stop it." She looked away.

"Could you handle me pretending to not have a soul?"Angel asked, studying her face. He had her by the arms before she could blink. "You can't even imagine the depravity that was planned for you."Angel brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. "You call me a hero, but I'm not."

Willow shoved him.

He didn't budge. "He wanted your pain."There was a part of him that needed her to know he was a monster. There was a part of him that relished her rapid heart beat. There was a part of him that didn't want to let go. "I wanted you to bleed." Angel dipped his head, unable to met her gaze; hoping she understood this warning. "We're not two different people," he whispered.

"I know." Her tone was of resigned sincerity. She laid her hands on his face and forced him to look in her sad eyes. Willow smiled a shadow of her old grin."There's that edge."

000

Penn paced the antechamber, the scent of drying blood in his nostrils, as he thought. Coming back had been a mistake or a turning point in his unlife-- he still couldn't decide. All night he had pondered and raged, ignoring the screams of the human upstairs and the conversations of the minions below in the basement. He felt nervous energy burning him like the rays of the sun at dawn. Predictable Penn was an old joke, but he felt far from predictable as he touched the silver Humbling chains.

He remembered his Humbling in 1861. It was snowing hard that winter's night when Angelus had him dragged out of their lonely country manor into the orchard. He couldn't remember what kind of tree he was tied too or how many times he was whipped, but he would never forget the full moon shining over the frozen moor, reflected in the puddle of blood that eventually turned to ice.

"Penn."

Penn looked up at the object of his despair and knew he had to man up. "Angelus, I'm leaving today. I've already packed."

"Are you now?"His eyes were cold and except for his smirk, he could have been made out of marble for all the expression he showed."Don't forget to write."

Penn shook his head, laughing. It was a dry harsh sound even to his own ears. He grabbed his duffel bag and headed for the basement where the sewer entrance was. Penn didn't know what he hoped for, but indifference wasn't it. Angelus had always been the master of cruelty.

"Penn-" Angelus began to say when Franz stepped out of the upstairs hallway. He turned to look at the man in the business suit.

"Tell me when you have the time." Penn opened the basement door and took one last look at the man who had dominated his unlife for centuries. The hair was shorter and the clothes were modern, but those eternal brown eyes were the same. He shut the door and left his unbeating heart behind.

000

Angel knew if he was human that he would have been sweating bullets while he spoke to Penn. It took centuries of self control not to jump when he heard Franz on the stairs. He watched Penn leave out of the corner of his eye.

Franz walked down the stairs, gray eyes focused on Angel, two suitcases in his gloved hands. "Is there a problem?"

Angel shook his head, concentrating on looking calm. "He'll be back. He always is."

Franz nodded. "Very well."

Angel schooled his features into the cool expression that his demon favored. "I won't see any problems from you, will I?"

Franz shook his head. "I've been paid."There was something mocking in his expression; he looked like he knew a secret despite his impeccably polite manner. "Please give my best to Miss Rosenberg."

"Miss Rosenberg is none of your concern anymore."Angel couldn't help but remember Willow's smile when she spoke of the Dutch vampire. He smirked. "Don't worry, I finally have the time to devote to the girl without business inferring with my pleasure."

He nodded. Muted amusement gone from his features."Of course."

A knock on the door drew Angel's suspicious gaze.

"That should be my driver." Franz set his suitcases down and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, put them on, before opening the door.

Angel backed away from the weak light.

A uniformed chauffeur, a red 'W&H' monogrammed on his jacket pocket, stood outside, with a black umbrella in hand and a matching blanket on the other arm, blocking most of the sunlight. "Mr. Pieterzoon?"

Franz bowed to Angel, his eyes flicked towards the upstairs as a restrained smile curled at the corner of his lips, before grabbing his fedora off the rack and putting it on his head. "It was a pleasure working with you."

The chauffeur wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and handed him the umbrella.

"Ditto. Thanks for all your help; I'll send you a postcard." Angel crossed his arms.

Franz turned back for one last look, gaze still upward, shielded from the rain and overcast sky by the umbrella, before he walked outside towards a parked limo on the tree-lined street. The chauffeur closed the door with a nod.

Angel pulled the cellphone out of his pocket and quickly dialed. "Its me. The house is yours."