So Wild A Dream

By KallieRose

Chapter Eleven

It was late afternoon before Gunn made another appearance downstairs. He noted that the couch was empty. As he had predicted, Spike must have managed to drag his ass upstairs at some point during the late morning or early afternoon.

He wandered into the kitchen, nodding to Angel, who he found drinking his lunch over the sink. “Afternoon,” he grunted, not bothering to add the word ‘good’ to the greeting. The low-level headache that was the punishment for the previous evening’s alcoholic excesses made him feel less than sociable.

“You and Spike really tied one on last night, huh?”

“Spike tied. I mostly watched. And listened.” He shook his head, then stopped suddenly as the headache intensified. “Maybe I tied a bit,” he admitted.

“Spike can drink,” Angel agreed, nodding as if he had just imparted great wisdom.

“And talk. Think I know more than I ever needed to about someone named Xander.”

Angel raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“None of it was good,” Gunn assured him.

Angel nodded at that news, his world suddenly righting itself again. “Not a great night, huh?”

“Had more fun the other night with the Chaos demons.” Gunn moved to the refrigerator, pulled out a pitcher of iced tea and filled a glass. Ice cubes were added, and aspirin were dropped in to dissolve into the mix. Gunn swirled the concoction for a minute, and then took a mouthful and grimaced slightly, before downing the entire glassful. “This oughta help,” he muttered.

“That vamp’s got issues,” Gunn declared, glaring at Angel as if he were partly responsible.

“We’ve all got issues. Some people just need to let them go.” He stared straight at Gunn, and the human suspected that there was some deeper meaning to the words. Like maybe they were partly directed at him?

“What’s on the agenda for tonight? ‘Cuz I’m not babysitting fang junior again. Gotta go out and kill something, or I might get a little stir crazy.”

Angel frowned. He hated to be the bearer of bad tidings. Or, in this case, a lack of any sort of tidings whatsoever. But there was just nothing going on at the moment. Nothing needed killing, nobody needed to be protected; evil was taking a holiday. Somewhere outside of Los Angeles, for once.

“Quiet night tonight,” he finally said. “Sorry.”

“Damn,” Gunn swore softly. He shook his head dismissively, then took a seat at the table across from Angel. He turned the chair backwards and sat down, laying his arms across the top of the high back of the chair. “It’s just too quiet. Makes me think, ‘calm before the storm,’ you know?”

“Willow’s arrival here does sort of support that theory,” Angel agreed. “Even if we don’t exactly know why she’s here yet.”

A leisurely nod was Gunn’s only response. Something seemed to have grabbed hold of his attention.

“So,” Gunn said slowly, in a voice that Angel knew meant trouble, “if a man had some free time, and wanted to poke around in a certain serial killer case, wouldn’t be much to stop him, would there? Lots of free time, nobody looking over his shoulder…” He let the challenge trail off.

Angel had sensed this coming like the sunrise, but still had no idea how to respond to it. Let him do it, and hope that it kept Gunn busy, without leading to bigger problems? Or try to dissuade him, and run the possibility of really pissing him off?

“I guess not,” he reluctantly agreed. “Just…try not to get into any trouble, okay?”

“Hey, there’s no trouble here. Just me, doing a little digging. Probably won’t lead to much. But it’ll keep me busy. Out of your hair,” he added, glancing at the aforementioned hair with amusement.

“You might want to ask Willow to help you,” Angel suggested. Might as well kill two birds. Willow’s natural caution would temper Gunn’s tendency to act before thinking. Plus, it would give her something to do. And with any luck, it would give the two of them a chance to get to know each other. That was probably the best way to get Gunn over his reluctance to deal with her.

Okay, so that was killing more than two birds with one stone. Pretty efficient, really.

“Willow? Why?” Gunn’s voice crackled with suspicion.

Angel ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “She’s smart. She’s bored. She’s a good researcher. She can make a computer sit up and beg to tell you what you want to know. And sometimes she manages to unearth patterns, or connections, that might not be obvious to anyone else. With a serial killer, finding the link, or links, between the victims is key to catching him in the act.”

Angel could see that Gunn was almost convinced. “Give her a try,” he said softly. “What have you got to lose?”

“Why would she want to help?” Gunn knew that his behavior towards her had not been very polite thus far. Most people would tend to hold that against you when you asked for their help.

“Did I forget to mention that she’s bored? She’s stuck here, waiting for someone to need her. Might as well make good use of her while we’re waiting for whatever it is that she’s here for.”

Gunn nodded slowly. Angel could see the wheels turning in his head as he weighed the pros and cons of asking Willow for help. He had put forth a strong set of arguments in the redhead’s favor. All he had to do was be patient; Gunn was a smart man. He’d come to the correct conclusion, eventually.

---

Gunn was still considering his options a couple of hours later. He’d made some calls to his contacts at the police department and was able to get photos and profiles of all six victims. He had asked for more specific information: crime scene photos, official reports, and names of any witnesses. But anything more than what he was given was being closely guarded. He might get a look at it eventually, by the careful application of pressure on the right people, but it would not happen tonight.

What he *had* received had been delivered a short time ago by messenger, and he had taken everything upstairs and set it out on his bed. Now he was simply sifting through the photos and reports.

There was pitifully little information.

Most of what he had in front of him had already been published in the paper. Certainly, having it all in one place helped, but nothing new was jumping out at him right now.

A knock at the door drug his attention back to reality. Even without super-senses, he could tell that Illyria was on the other side of the door. He smiled slightly as he wondered what it was about her knock that was so unique. She seemed to be able to make even that simple gesture seem imperious, and perhaps slightly beneath her. That must be it.

“C’mon in,” he called out, looking up at the woman framed in the doorway. “Hey, Illyria. What’s up?” He waved her inside, watching as she came in, closed the door behind her, and perch on the edge of his bed.

“I have questions,” she admitted. Her cold eyes surveyed the room, taking in his current work in progress, the serial killer investigation.

“What is this?” she asked, her hand moving over the photos. She would not touch them, as if the act would leave her somehow diminished.

“It’s all information about the victims of the serial killer. It’s slow, so I thought I’d look into it and see what I could find out.”

“And have you discovered anything?”

Gunn shook his head. “Just that I could really use a desk in here.” He was unsurprised when Illyria didn’t catch the humor in his reply.

Standing up, Gunn ran his fingers over his eyelids, rubbing lightly in an attempt to stop them from burning. Briefly he wished he had the resources of Wolfram and Hart again, so that he could simply download the information into his brain. Of course, the price of that easy access had been far too high. But there were times when he missed it, nonetheless.

“So, what kind of questions do you have?” he asked. “Something easy, maybe? Because I’ve got to warn you, my brain’s feeling a little crunchy at the moment.”

Illyria hesitated briefly before motioning him back down onto the bed. When he was seated and his eyes were focused on her face, she pursed her lips and began speaking.

“You said the other night that I did not understand about relationships. About friendship, and family, and love.” She fixed him with a gaze as sharp as a knife, and as serious as death. “I wish to understand.”

Gunn blinked twice, working swiftly to mask his surprise. Illyria had never shown an interest in anything like this before. Usually her questions were more deeply rooted in the need to understand the structure of society, or the political system, or even how to drive a car. That last one had given him nightmares for days.

But never had she shown any interest in human emotions or the relationships between individuals. Gunn had merely assumed that she deemed such things beneath her, and as such, she showed no interest in them.

Apparently he was wrong.

“I–well–what in particular…” Words failed him. He supposed what he really needed to do was figure out what he wanted to say first. Then, hopefully, his stunned brain would be able to string together the words.

Illyria seemed unperturbed by his response. She merely continued to look at him, as if time had no meaning. Maybe to her, it didn’t.

When in doubt–and he most certainly *was* in doubt–put the ball in her court. “What would you like me to teach you?”

“I would like to know those emotions, those relationships. You cannot be my family, but we could be in love. That would be…acceptable.”

Gunn felt like he had suddenly crossed over into an episode of the Twilight Zone. He listened hopefully for the creepy music. Surely Rod Serling was hiding in the bathroom, just behind the half-open door.

As the seconds continued to tick by without the intervention of the classic television narrator, Gunn came to the unpleasant conclusion that this was all too real.

Maybe this was his fault. After all, Illyria depended on him for insight and guidance; perhaps he had been naïve not to see this coming.

And now that it was here, what was he going to do about it? Whatever he did, he would have to do it carefully. Illyria was still extremely powerful, and did not always take refusals lightly.

Keeping his voice soft and comforting, he tried to explain. “I’m sorry, Illyria. But it doesn’t work that way. Love isn’t something you can plan out, or–or manufacture. It’s something you feel. Or something you don’t feel. I’d like to teach you about friendship and affection. But…”

“You do not love me.”

She said the words calmly, for which Gunn was grateful. Then again, since she wasn’t actually in love with him, there was no reason that his lack of love for her would hurt her.

“That is all right. I can wait,” she assured him. “Now that you know of my wishes, I am sure you can produce the desired emotion.”

Her cold assurance made him want to laugh, while at the same time it sent chills down his spine. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said desperately, as he scoured his mind, trying to find the right words.

“How does it work?”

Hell, if I knew that…no, better not to go there. “Illyria, you don’t love me, do you?”

She narrowed her eyes, as if he had asked her a trick question. “I do not yet know how to love you. You will have to show me.” She said the words patiently, as if explaining the laws of gravity to a child.

Gunn covered his face with his hands. This was going *so* badly, and he had no idea how to fix it.

“Okay, let’s try this. You don’t love me,” he noted her nod before continuing, “and I don’t love you. Therefore we can’t be in love. It’s just sort of a requirement, okay?”

Illyria considered the words, her eyes going blank as she processed the information. “So we must love each other in order to be in love?”

Sending up a prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening, he nodded. Maybe now she would forget this idea of hers and he could go back to explaining something a little simpler. Like the designated hitter rule, or the Bill of Rights.

“Is this where making love becomes important? When we have sex, will that make us love each other?”

And that was the point where Gunn realized that things *could* get worse. So much worse.


Chapter Twelve

“Is this where making love becomes important? When we have sex, will that make us love each other?”

“No!” Gunn exploded with frustration.

He knew that she wasn’t following this line of questioning in a deliberate attempt to make him insane. It was just a lucky side effect. Taking several calming breaths, which seemed to make no difference at all, he tried again.

“No. Illyria, no, that is not going to happen.”

She lifted an eyebrow, a trick that he suspected she had learned from observing Spike. It was intended to convey disbelief, and also to annoy the hell out of the person on the receiving end. “Why not?” Anger was building now, hidden beneath her simple words. “It is the same body you laid with before. I am not she, but you and I–we are friends, are we not?”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes refusing to meet hers. “I need more than friendship, Illyria. There needs to be love as well. I can’t sleep with a woman I don’t love.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” she challenged.

Because he would not give her what she truly sought, he supposed that his honesty was all he could offer. “Won’t,” he admitted sadly. “I’m sorry, Illyria. There are some things I just can’t teach you. This is one of them.”

“I do not fully understand your refusal. But I will respect your wishes.” For now, she added to herself. A frontal attack had not worked, but a good leader would not give up so easily. There were other, more circuitous routes to what she sought. He needed some time to get over his distaste of the idea, and then she would try again. But this time, her approach would be a little more…subtle.

She left the room, closing the door behind her. At the sound of the door clicking shut, Gunn looked up. Noting the fact that he was alone, he gave a great sigh and buried his face in his hands. Absolutely no part of that had been enjoyable. But at least it was finished. Hopefully now their relationship could get back onto more familiar ground.

---

After a couple of days of fruitless research, Gunn was ready to admit defeat. He had studied the photos of the murder victims, read and re-read the scant information he had, and all he had to show for his work was a low-level headache that seemed unwilling to go away.

So, feeling more than a little uncomfortable, he decided to approach Willow. If she was as good at this type of stuff as Angel had promised, then maybe she could find something that he had missed. It seemed unlikely, but it was worth a shot.

He tracked her down early the next morning, following her cheerful voice to the kitchen. Illyria was there as well, but she wandered off with her morning cup of coffee. They had barely spoken since the other night, but she did not seem to be angry with him. Of course, with her it was rather hard to tell. But the fact that he was still living and breathing tended to confirm the fact to him.

Willow’s eyes followed his movements surreptitiously as he poured a cup of coffee and grabbed a bagel. When he joined her at the table, she met his gaze with her own, acknowledging him politely with a dip of her head before taking another bite of her toast.

“Um, hey, Willow…uh, good morning.” Nope, that wasn’t awkward at all. Well, he had known that he might have to make amends before asking her to help. He hadn’t actually been mean to her, but he had pretty much ignored her since she had shown up.

“Hi, Gunn. What’s up?”

He took a moment to chew his bagel before answering. “Well, actually, I was wondering if I could ask for your help with something.”

Her eyes lit up with pleased surprise. “Just let me know what you need and I’ll do it!”

Like an eager pupil, she sat patiently as she waited for him to tell her what he expected of her. Only the excitement in her eyes told him how much she was looking forward to the task he had for her. Relief filled him at how easy she was making this for him.

He laid it all out, telling her about the murders, and how his boredom had led to his interest in the case. And then he mentioned the information he already had, and the information that he hoped she could help him get.

“Well, maybe I could hack into the L.A.P.D. computer system, but we should probably leave that as a last resort. They tend to get a little irritated about stuff like that. I did it in Sunnydale all the time, but those people were morons. L.A. probably has a more sophisticated system, designed and monitored by people who actually know what they’re doing. So let’s leave that for last.”

Her eyes were shining now, and he wondered if she even realized he was still in the room. She seemed to be one of those people who liked to talk out loud when they were thinking; Fred used to do that too. She would get so concentrated on the problem at hand that she would tend to forget where she was, and whether there were other people around her. It had been rather cute, in a brainy sort of way. Just like Fred had been cute, in a brainy sort of way.

Thoughts of Fred would gain him nothing right now, so he shut her ghost away and concentrated on the woman sitting across from him. “So where do you want to start? I’ve got all the information I’ve been able to gather upstairs. I can bring it down, if you want?”

“Yeah, let’s do that. I can make copies of the files and scan the photos, and then we’ll both have a copy of everything.”

It hadn’t occurred to him that she could scan the photos and reproduce them, but of course that made much more sense than the two of them constantly swapping them back and forth. “I’ll go get them. Be right back.” He raced up the stairs, a bit of Willow’s excitement beginning to take root within him. Maybe he would finally start to make some progress with this.

His cell phone rang as he reached the top stair, and after a glance at the caller ID, he knew he had to answer it. He only hoped it wouldn’t interrupt his and Willow’s impromptu meeting.

While Gunn was upstairs, Willow tried to dredge up what little she had heard about the murders. It wasn’t much; the murders had fallen between the cracks of her consciousness. She generally read the big-picture news–international events, a little bit of BBC news to keep up to date with what was going on in the land that she considered her new home. And then, if she had time, she’d check out a couple of websites that specialized in news more supernatural in nature.

Since this didn’t fall into any of those categories, her knowledge was limited, and mostly word-of-mouth. There were five or six victims, she thought. Stab wounds–a dozen each, maybe? No sexual assault. Sounded like ceremonial killings, or perhaps a killer with some sort of obsessive ritual. Most likely if she could find the connection between the victims, she could figure out who the killer would target next.

“I could design a database with their stats, cross-reference the information, and find the link. Easy as pie,” she muttered to herself. And she would *finally* feel like she had some sort of purpose here. Sitting and waiting for something to happen was beginning to wear on her nerves. And the occasional sullen glare from Spike wasn’t helping much either.

Gunn had handed her an olive branch with his request for help, and she was quite aware that the gesture hadn’t been easy for him. She would do her best to help; she always tackled a project head-on, endeavoring to give one hundred percent. But the fact that Gunn had asked her specifically to help with this gave it an added bit of importance.

Not that catching a serial killer and putting him or her behind bars was at all lacking in importance. This just made it…more so.

Gunn’s footsteps thundered back down the stairs. Willow looked up as he raced in, dropped some files on the table, and then said, “Just got a call from some people I help out. They’re in trouble. I’ve gotta go out for a bit. Tell Angel I’ll be back by dark, if I can. Otherwise, he can expect me when he sees me.”

Halfway to the door he turned back to her. “Sorry to drop this on you and run, but they need me.”

Willow shrugged and smiled. “No biggie. I’ll just sift through this stuff, and we can talk when you get back, right?”

“Cool. Thanks.”

And then he was gone.

---

The first thing Willow did was run a computer search on all stories relating to the murders. She printed them out one by one, setting them aside for later reading. They might not contain anything crucial, but in her experience, you just never knew what would trigger the big breakthrough. Having every scrap of available information sitting at her fingertips might take a little extra time, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt.

By the time Angel made his way downstairs in the afternoon, Willow was busy at the copier, scanning in the pages that Gunn had left her. Her plan was to scan everything in first, and then print out a copy for her, and return the originals to Gunn.

Once she was done with the scanning, she would examine the pages one by one, making notes wherever she needed to. That was the beauty of having multiple copies, she reasoned. She could cover it with notes, and still be able to print out a fresh copy as needed.

“’Morning, Angel.”

“Willow,” he mumbled, nodding a greeting at her before slipping into the kitchen to get his liquid breakfast.

She had learned not to take it personally when Angel’s ‘morning’ greetings were less than enthusiastic. He generally perked up a bit after he drank his breakfast.

A couple of minutes later he returned, cup of blood in hand, as she finished the last of the scanning. He looked a little confused by what she was doing, a fact that was confirmed by his words.

“Why are you using the copier? Wouldn’t it make more sense to scan the pictures into your computer, and then use the color printer to print them out?”

Willow smiled at him, the kind of pitying smile that technophiles the world over gave to those who didn’t, and never would, understand.

“Angel,” she said, “you do realize that your copier has a scanner, right?”

He frowned at her, and then at the copier, before turning back to her. “It does?”

She sighed. “Someday we’re going to have to drag you into the twentieth century, Angel. Yes, your copier scans. It also faxes, makes pdf files, and, of course, copies.”

“Oh. Okay. Does it do anything else?” At this point he wouldn’t have been too surprised if she had told him that he could also use it as a telephone. He was a vampire, for heaven’s sake, not a copier-scanner-fax expert. Or whatever it was you’d call someone who knew all that crap. There was probably some sort of fancy name for it in the business world. Maybe an Information Technology Facilitator or something dumb like that.

“It makes a mean cup of coffee,” Willow admitted, giving him a sly wink. At his slightly stunned, completely gullible look, she quickly came clean. “Just kidding, just kidding.”

The vampire slumped slightly at her confession. “Sometimes I just don’t get this stuff,” he acknowledged, sitting down in the chair next to the copier and taking another swig of his blood. “I mean, in my day, something like this wasn’t even…” he shrugged, “it hadn’t even been imagined.”

Willow felt a little sorry for the bewildered vampire. She took technology for granted, welcoming each new invention with enthusiasm and careful caution, quickly mastering its capabilities and then using it to its full potential. But she had been born in an age where things changed at the speed of sound. What seemed impossible only a decade ago was now commonplace.

When Angel had been young, the automobile hadn’t even been invented. How weird was that?

“I’ll just have to be your Technology Advisor. How about that? Anytime you have a question, just ask. Oh! And I promise I won’t make stuff up like I just did. Only the truth.” She crossed her heart with her index finger, and then gave Angel a smile.

Angel nodded, and then headed for the table. “I was going to ask you something, actually. About one of the victims. She looked kind of familiar, and I thought maybe she was someone from Sunnydale.”

“Really?” Willow asked, her imagination flaring at the words. She hadn’t actually looked at any of the pictures yet; her attention had been claimed by the scanning, and then more recently by Angel.

Hurrying quickly to the table, she spread out the papers she had, her eyes studying each face eagerly. When she got to the face of the most recent victim, she gasped.

“Do you know her?” Angel asked, although judging from her surprised gasp, he already knew the answer.

“Don’t you remember her? Oh, I guess you did, at least a bit, or you wouldn’t have mentioned it, would you?” Her eyes continued to stare at the photo before her, mesmerized by a face she hadn’t see for a couple of years. The girl’s face hadn’t changed much; then again, it hadn’t been all that long.

“Yeah, sort of. I recognized her as someone I should have been able to place, but couldn’t. Kind of one of those names on the tip of my tongue. Except that her name didn’t help bring things into focus.”

Willow took a look at the name at the bottom of the picture. Anna Magnuson. No, there was no reason why that name would mean anything to Angel. “That’s not her real name,” Willow said. “That’s probably why it didn’t mean anything to you.”

Angel nodded, as if one of his suspicions had been confirmed.

“When we were in high school, she went by the name of Amy Madison.”


Chapter Thirteen

Willow stared at the photo of Amy Madison, taken prior to her death at the hands of a serial killer. The photo must have been a fairly recent one, since small lines of age had begun to form around the girl’s mouth and eyes, lines that hadn’t been there the last time Willow saw her. Frown lines, she realized, the knowledge making her a little sad.

The last time she had seen Amy, the blonde had put a hex on her. Willow still remembered the terror she had experienced as she felt more and more of what was “her” slipping away, replaced by the demented mind of Warren Mears.

“Amy didn’t deserve this,” she said, surprised by the tears that threatened to fall. She indulged herself for a moment, feeling the sadness spill over her, just as the tears spilled over her cheeks, dropping onto the hands that clutched the photo.

Angel’s cool fingers rested on her shoulders briefly, before guiding her to a chair. Willow sat, grateful for the help, and grateful that she had not made this discovery alone.

She supposed it was the sense of unfinished business that bothered her the most. Amy had been her friend–mostly. It was only during those last couple of years in Sunnydale that their relationship had taken a dark turn.

Magic had been the thing to come between them. Magic that she had, and Amy didn’t.

Or maybe it had been more than that. Maybe the magic was simply a metaphor for power.

“Of course,” she heard Angel exclaim softly. She looked up for a moment, finding him sitting across from her.

“She was the rat, wasn’t she? I forgot all about that. But how…?”

“I figured out how to change her back. You know, during my black magic, freaky-evil Willow days. I just looked at her, running in circles in her cage, and suddenly I knew how to fix it. How to make her right again.” And in return, she introduced me to Rack. But she wouldn’t think about that, not now.

“I didn’t know…I guess I pretty much had my hands full in L.A. while all that was going on.”

“It wasn’t pretty. I did some–some awful things.” She didn’t want to say them out loud. The past was the past, and giving voice to it now brought it back to life, in a way. “Spike would probably give you the details, if you asked. He wasn’t there for the finale, but he got to see the highlights. And I’m sure Buffy gave him the blow-by-blow later on.”

Her fingers twisted nervously in front of her, mirroring the activity going on behind her eyes. Angel’s hand reached out and covered hers, the gesture calming both her hands and her mind.

“If we were talking about Angelus, you’d be the first one to tell me that what’s past is past, right?”

Her head jerked forward in a nod. She knew where he was going with this, but hearing him say the words would make her feel better.

“So let it go,” he told her. “Acknowledge the mistake, put it behind you, and resolve to do better in the future, right?”

“Right,” she agreed, the word coming out on a sigh. “I know you’re right. It’s just–”

“Nope,” he said, smiling. “Stop right there. I’m right.”

She giggled a bit. “You just wanted to hear me say that you were right.”

His smile widened to a broad grin that seemed so unfamiliar on that usually pensive face. Even after a week in Los Angeles, it still managed to catch her by surprise.

“Guilty as charged.”

---

“Hey, Willow. Jeez, I didn’t mean for you to spend all day alone working on this.”

Willow’s head jerked up at Gunn’s words. A quick glance at her watch told her that it was now just a little after midnight.

“Damn,” she muttered, pushing together the papers that she had spread out all over the dining room table. “I guess I got distracted. Years of all-night research sessions, you know? I just,” she shrugged, helplessly, “I just get into a mode. And then hours pass by, and–god I’m hungry!”

Gunn smiled. Willow could see the traces of weariness behind his eyes, but she could see warmth there as well.

“I’m still all jittery from my evening. Why don’t I make us sandwiches, and then we can talk about the case, okay?”

Willow’s eager nod was his answer, so Gunn quickly rounded up the ingredients for grilled cheese sandwiches and went to work.

Willow watched him as he made dinner, wondering about this man she had agreed to help. Their contact in the past had been minimal. In truth, she had found him slightly intimidating. He seemed to smile only rarely, yet when he talked to Spike, each seemed to bring out a boyishness in the other that was surprising.

She wanted to ask him what he had been doing all day, but thought the question might be too bold, considering that they had just barely started speaking to each other. So instead she stayed silent, organizing her paperwork into neat piles, and then separating out the originals to be returned to Gunn. Hopefully without grilled cheese fingerprints.

When her sandwich was set before her, she attacked it. Breakfast had been filling, but it had been hours and hours ago. Lunch…well, she was pretty sure that she had forgotten to eat lunch, what with all the excitement of finding out about Amy.

A sudden wave of homesickness threatened to overwhelm her; Xander had usually been the designated ‘Willow feeder,’ making sure she got enough food to keep her going through their occasional all-night research parties.

God, she missed Xander. She hoped he was okay, and not too worried about her.

Gunn joined her at the table, sitting across from her and pulling apart the two halves of his sandwich. “Nothing quite as good as a grilled cheese sandwich, huh?”

Willow nodded. “The ultimate comfort food. It’s yummy, plus it’s got that whole happy childhood memory thing going on, too.” She refrained from mentioning that she had learned to make the sandwiches at an early age, sneaking downstairs at night to make them when her parents went out to dinner.

As he chewed and swallowed, a wistful look spread across Gunn’s face. “Yeah, my sister Alonna and I used to eat them while we were hiding from…well, from whoever we were hiding from at that particular moment.”

“I wish I had a sister. Or even a brother. Jesse and Xander were great when we were kids, but mom wouldn’t let them sleep over because they were boys. And I was a girl. Which was kind of silly, since I didn’t even know how to play doctor in the naughty way until I was much older. And by then, there were so many other places we could have gone to do it that…” she broke off nervously, realizing she was way past babbling, and moving into ‘too much information’ territory. “Sorry. I tend to babble. You’ll probably get used to it. I hope.”

Gunn merely nodded. “So who’s Jesse? Spike mentions Xander every once in a while. Oh, never anything nice,” he added, at Willow’s surprised look.

Her hunger sated, Willow went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer, holding one up for Gunn, too. At his quick nod, she returned to the table with her precious cargo, placing one of the bottles in front of her companion.

He waited while she got settled in her chair, and then twisted the cap off the beer and took a long swig. She had missed American beer. English lager had never appealed to her. And even if it had, it just wasn’t the same. The combination of cold beer and warm air was somewhat magical. In England it had been the other way around. Warm lager and cold air. She shuddered at the wrongness of it.

“Jesse, Xander and I went through school together,” she said quietly, her expression turning sad for a moment. “He was turned right about the time we found out about vampires and slayers. It…it wasn’t very happy. Xander had to dust him.” She shook her head quickly, sadness burning in her suddenly too-watery eyes. “No, that’s not even right. I don’t think Xander could have done it. Jesse just kind of stumbled into the stake. I don’t think he was all that smart, even for a fledgling.”

“Sorry,” was all Gunn could offer. They had all lost loved ones, and there really wasn’t anything that made it easier.

Willow blinked, then ran her hands over her face. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “At least I still had Xander. He kept me from losing it when Jesse died. And vice versa, I suppose.”

“Spike says Xander’s like a cross between Dopey and Pauly Shore. And not the good Pauly Shore, like Encino Man. No, he was talking Biodome Pauly Shore.”

He said the words with a smile, and Willow was grateful for his attempt to dispel her sadness. “I suppose Spike’s right,” she admitted reluctantly. “Xander’s not going to win any Nobel Prizes, but he’s got a big heart.” Then she thought back to all the things he had said about Angel, and even Spike, and she revised her earlier statement. “When it comes to humans, that is. He never got along with Angel or Spike.”

“The only good vamp is a dusty vamp?” Gunn guessed.

“Pretty much,” she agreed. “Plus, there was his whole crush on Buffy, which left him angry at Angel. I don’t think anything could have gotten him over that.”

Gunn nodded, lost in thought. His friendship with Wes had never been the same after he and Fred had started dating. It was nobody’s fault, not really. But it made him feel sad for Wes nonetheless. At the same time, he had to admire the man for not letting his feelings for Fred color their working relationship.

“Love’s a bitch,” Gunn murmured, not surprised to see Willow nod her head in agreement.

They sat in silence, their minds sifting through the wreckage of the past in hopes of using what they found there to make a better future.

“So, how did the research go?” Gunn finally asked.

Willow popped the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, chewing furiously. Gunn could see the mounting excitement in her eyes. She had something to tell him, that much he could sense.

“I knew one of the victims!” she told him excitedly. Quickly wiping off her fingers, she rustled through the pictures she had, pulling out the one of Amy Madison and thrusting it in front of him. “This girl. Anna Magnuson. Only, that’s not her real name.”

Gunn’s mouth was still filled with grilled cheese sandwich, but he raised both eyebrows high to show his surprise. His quick nod seemed to say, ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Tell me more.’

Willow was quick to oblige. “We went to school together. Amy and I. We were friends, for a while. Until she…well, she turned into a rat.”

“I know how that is,” Gun said, nodding. “You think you’re cool with someone, and the next thing you know, they’re off telling everyone else that you slept with a teacher, or you cheated on a test, or…whatever.”

Willow’s eyes widened in confusion, and then she shook her head quickly. “No. Oh, no, it wasn’t like that.” Putting both her elbows on the table, she propped her chin on her palms and looked at her companion. “I forget sometimes that not everybody grew up on a hellmouth. Not that you had it easy, either,” she added quickly. “But, I was actually talking literally. Amy turned herself into a rat. On purpose. Literally.”

This time it was Gunn’s eyes that got big, and Willow was tempted to giggle at the picture he presented. “She was an actual rat?”

Nodding again, Willow got up and grabbed their plates, washing them off and placing them in the dishwasher. While she worked, she gave him the hellmouthy highlights of Amy’s life.

“First her mother switched bodies with her, because she wanted to be young again. See, her mother was a witch, too. Just not a very nice witch. And then, after we got all of that cleared up, and Amy was back in her own body, there was a little incident with Hansel and Gretel.”

Gunn started to chuckle, until Willow gave him a stern look.

“The entire town tried to burn me, Buffy and Amy at the stake, so Amy turned herself into a rat and escaped. Leaving Buffy and I to die,” she added a little bitterly. “But then Giles and Cordelia saved the day, and we got free, but it was too late for Amy. She couldn’t turn herself back into a girl, and I couldn’t figure out how to do it for her.”

Willow was silent for a moment as she finished drying the pan, waving it in the air in the hopes that Gunn would tell her where it needed to go. He pointed to the cupboard next to the stove, so she put it in there. “I did get her a nice cage, though. With a little wheel she could run on, and as much food and water as she wanted. I thought about getting her a boy rat, so they could…you know.” Willow blushed, but continued. “But then I thought that maybe she wouldn’t like that, because how would I know whether he was a nice rat, or a mean rat. There’s just no way to tell.”

Her matter-of-fact tone had Gunn once again stifling laughter.

“And then, when I could figure out how to do it, I turned her into a human again.” She was silent for quite a while after that, caught up in thoughts of everything that had happened during those final years in Sunnydale.

“So, after she became human again, she must have come to Los Angeles,” Gunn reasoned, thinking aloud. “That still doesn’t explain why she changed her name, though. Why use an alias, unless you’re hiding from someone?”

Walking back to the table, Willow resumed her seat across from Gunn. “There was a bit more to it than that,” she admitted. “Amy got mixed up in some pretty dark magic. And she…well, she dragged me along for the ride. Not that it was her fault,” Willow added hastily. “I was completely responsible for everything I did. Every mistake I made.” Her eyes clouded over for a moment as the memories returned. “Every single, terrible mistake.”

“So what was she like?” Gunn asked, hoping to distract her from what looked like a trip down a memory lane strewn with sharp glass and broken dreams.

“Pretty, vibrant, cheerful. She was friendly, kind, and lighthearted. In the beginning, at least.”

“And at the end? What was she like the last time you saw her?”

Silence stretched between them, and Gunn sensed a reluctance on Willow’s part to speak ill of the dead. “The only way to help her now is to tell the truth,” he reminded her.

“I know. It’s just…painful. She was bitter. Angry. Petty. She wanted to hurt me, and didn’t care who else got caught in the crossfire.” Willow sighed, staring down at the table. “It was ugly. Amy was ugly. Underneath that pretty face and the happy smile, there was such hate and nastiness.”

Gunn was surprised at the strength of her emotions, so he stayed silent, allowing Willow to come to terms with her feelings for her former friend.

She closed her eyes, fighting for control. This was important. It was bigger than just her, or just Amy. “Maybe she was hiding from someone. Or maybe she was just hiding from herself. New city, new start, new life. You know?”

“I know,” Gunn agreed, a wistful smile on his face. “I just wish I knew who decided to cut her new life short.”


Chapter Fourteen

Spike was channel surfing with a vengeance as Angel made his way downstairs. The remote was about to be the victim of his boredom; Angel could hear the plastic crack ominously underneath the gripping fingers as one TV show after another flashed by at breakneck speed.

Angel could hear Gunn and Willow at work in the dining room, their voices dulled to a low murmur by competition with the sounds of the television. They had been immersed in Gunn’s investigation for almost a week now, since there was little else to do.

Spike, on the other hand, was just getting progressively more bored, and therefore more obnoxious, as the days passed by.

“Stupid bloody box. Why’re you such a cheapskate, Peaches? Why don’t you get the good cable channels?”

Angel merely rolled his eyes, making sure that Spike saw the gesture. As far as he was aware, they already had every channel that the cable company offered. At Spike’s insistence, of course. As if speaking to a small child, Angel asked, “And which channels would those be?”

“The ones with something interesting to watch, of course.” The ‘duh’ was unstated, but certainly implied. “One hundred and fifty-eight channels we’ve got, and not one of them is worth watching.” Something in his tone of voice seemed to imply that this, too, was all Angel’s fault.

“Well then, maybe you should get up off the couch and actually do something,” Angel told his childe, his eyes narrowing as he began stalking towards Spike like a lion hunting a gazelle.

Spike came to his feet, his graceful and languid movements intentionally deceptive, although he knew he wasn’t going to surprise his sire. But Angel was acting like he wanted a bit of a fight, and Spike wasn’t about to disappoint him.

“I think I’ve found something to do,” Spike murmured, as he and Angel circled each other, each looking for a window of opportunity or a weakness to exploit.

Willow’s muffled laughter broke through the silence and Angel’s attention was momentarily distracted. Spike took advantage of his distraction, sweeping his foot out to catch Angel’s legs, sending the older vampire crashing down to the ground.

Within a second he was back on his feet, glaring at his childe, whose only reply was a smirk. As they circled again, the smirk turned into a full-blown, malicious grin.

“Fancy our resident witch, do you? I’ve got to admit, she’s a pretty piece.”

And just as Spike had predicted, Angel snarled and swung his fist wildly, letting anger drive his motions, leaving himself wide open for a kick to the head. Spike was not one to resist such a gracious invitation.

Angel was flat on his back again, the lobby’s coffee table smashed underneath him. “You’re replacing the table,” he told Spike as he leapt to his feet, becoming even angrier when the blond just laughed at him.

“I am, am I? It was your fat backside that broke it, so you can certainly pay–”

Angel’s fist cut off the rest of the sentence, as a well-placed blow smashed into his mouth. “’Bout time I figured out how to shut you up,” Angel muttered, stepping back and watching intently as a small trickle of blood inched its way down Spike’s chin.

Noting his sire’s distraction, Spike came at him again, and Angel barely had time to block the blow. His counter move, a punch to Spike’s abdomen, caught the younger vampire by surprise, and he took a step backwards, fighting down the pain.

“What the hell is going on?”

Willow’s softly spoken words thundered in the silence. Confusion crinkled her brow, but a look into her eyes showed that she was thinking, planning, calculating what her next move would be.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Angel promised, taking a step towards her.

Spike gave her a bloody grin. “Poof’s turned evil again. Everyone run for their lives.”

Looking like she half-believed Spike, Willow took a step back. The wheels continued to turn in her head–if Angelus truly was back, what would be her next step?

“They’re just playing,” came Gunn’s voice from the dining room. “It’s some sort of demented vampire bonding ritual. Mostly we just ignore it, and make them clean it up afterwards.”

“So it’s kind of like Family Feud, only with bruises and blood and broken furniture?” she asked, the sound of Gunn’s laughter reassuring her a bit.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Willow sighed in relief, and then turned to glare at Spike. “Damn you, Spike. I might have staked him, you know!”

“Survey says…‘Duh.’ The answer ‘a holy water cocktail’ would also have worked,” he replied, his voice sounding eerily like Richard Dawson.

“This is *so* not a game,” Willow muttered, before turning and disappearing back into the dining room.

Illyria chose that moment to come downstairs, drawing glances from both vampires. “You will stop now. While the sight of your pain is pleasing, the noise is…distracting.”

“But I was winning,” Spike whined.

“Like hell you were,” Angel countered.

“Was too.”

“Was not.”

---

Illyria left them to their sullen glares and petty bickering, crossing into the kitchen without giving them a second glance. While she occasionally found their childlike banter amusing, today they were distracting her from her ultimate goal.

Charles Gunn.

He had been very unavailable lately. Always with the witch, always examining the papers with the victims’ pictures and details. She didn’t understand his fascination with this subject. Such things should be left to the police. She was certain of it. Angel had said so time and again.

She had given the matter some thought, and had come to only two possible conclusions. Either Gunn had an interest in the woman that made it necessary for him to spend large amounts of time with her, or else he was actively avoiding Illyria. There seemed no other logical explanation for his behavior.

Sweeping into the dining room, she noted the large map on the far wall, and the two humans standing before it, placing small colored thumbtacks in different places in a seemingly random pattern.

“No, remember, red thumbtacks are for where the body was found,” Willow said, pulling out a green thumbtack and replacing it with a red one.

Gunn ran a hand lightly over his head. “Oh, yeah, I forgot.”

“Think of it as, ‘red is for blood,’” Willow suggested. At his slightly distasteful look, she added, “Well, yeah, it’s a little high on the ‘ick’ factor, but at least it’s appropriate.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he agreed wearily. Then, as he realized that they had an audience, “Hey, Illyria.”

Willow looked up at the interruption. “Oh, hey, hi.”

Illyria gave Willow a regal nod, before turning back to give her attention to Gunn. “I wish to talk. Come upstairs.” Her message delivered, she turned to leave.

“Well, actually, Willow and I are still working here.”

Illyria paused halfway through the kitchen, surprise showing briefly before being replaced by arrogance and a hint of menace. Perhaps he had misunderstood her. There seemed no other reason for his willful disobedience.

“You might as well go, Gunn. It’s not like we’re making any progress here,” Willow admitted.

“Thanks, Willow. But, you know, that’s not really the point.” He gave Illyria a piercing glare, but she seemed oblivious to the point he was trying to make.

Illyria was relieved that Willow did not seem to want to fight her for Gunn’s company. Willow was a witch, but Illyria had been a god. And in her eyes, ex-god trumped witch–and then some. Still, Willow’s death at her hands might be something the others would not allow to pass unchallenged. The needless complication of such a scene was something she would like to avoid.

“Okay, okay, I know when I’m outnumbered,” Gunn decided. “Why don’t you take a break, as well? I bet you’ve spent more time on this than I have.”

Willow smiled and nodded as Gunn followed Illyria out of the kitchen. She had no intention of taking a break. Sure, she’d put in some long hours on their project, but there really wasn’t anything else for her to do right now.

She began to examine the map again, double-checking the color and placement of the thumbtacks. Red for crime scene, green for the victim’s home, yellow for their place of employment.

“The look on your face when you thought Peaches was evil again was almost enough to give *me* a happy,” Spike announced gleefully, as he swept into the kitchen and began fixing himself a mug of blood.

Willow jumped in surprise, stabbing her thumb with the thumbtack she had been in the process of placing.

“Damn it, Spike!” she yelled, whirling around to glare at him. A small dot of blood pooled on her thumb, and she stuck the digit into her mouth.

Spike merely grinned, his eyes following her thumb hungrily until it disappeared inside her mouth.

“I could have staked him,” she told Spike. “Like, for real. Angel would have been a big pile of dust, and it would have been all your fault. How would you feel then?”

His grin turned to a smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Pretty good, actually. Maybe a little bit of heartburn, but it’d pass. Besides, you’d never do that. You’d restrain him, study him, and then figure out how to shove the soul back into him. You’re not a ‘stake first and ask questions later’ type of gal.”

“Well, maybe. But you never know. I mean, I could panic. It’s not like I’ve never made a mistake with a spell before,” she countered, watching as his grin twisted into a grimace.

“Yeah, I still remember your ‘my will be done’ spell. No matter how hard I try to forget.”

Willow knew she’d just been insulted, but decided to let it go. “Well, it’s not like you ever did anything terrible to me,” she said sarcastically, striking a pose as if she was sifting through memories of his past behavior. “Oh…no, wait, I take that back. You *did* try to do something terrible to me. More than once, I might add. So there!”

Well, at least he’s talking to me, she thought. He had barely said more than the required minimum to her since she had arrived in Los Angeles, and she had begun to wonder if he ever would. Sure, he was insulting her now, but at least she was making progress.

“I’m evil,” he reminded her, swirling the cup filled with blood under her nose, and then grinning when she wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’m supposed to do terrible things. You’re all good and pure and sweet,” his words were dripping with sarcasm. “You’re supposed to do good things.”

This fight was getting her nowhere, and not particularly quickly either. She was tired, annoyed, and her anger was beginning to build. Best to leave now, before things got completely out of control. But she couldn’t resist one parting shot. “Fine, Spike,” she said with an exaggerated attempt at civility. “You’re bad, I’m good, and everything in the world is black and white. Are you happy now?” She stormed out of the kitchen and headed up the stairs to her bedroom.

Spike watched her go, and then shrugged. If the chit couldn’t handle a little argument, maybe she should just keep her mouth shut.

---

Willow paced the floor of her suite, trying to relax after her little spat with Spike. He was nothing but an annoying little punk, she told herself. God, how Buffy had put up with him for all that time was beyond her. She had only spent a couple of minutes with him and already she wanted to stake him.

So what if he had saved the world? She’d saved the world too. More than once, even. So, yeah, he died while doing it. But he was back now, so she wasn’t even sure that really counted. Not that anyone was keeping score or anything, but still.

Half of her wanted to go right back downstairs and continue with her work, Spike be damned. But the other half thought that maybe a break *would* be nice. She could wander the neighborhood and see what was going on, or grab a book and go read in the hotel’s courtyard, or maybe just relax and watch some TV.

Yes, a night off might be just what she needed. Not that Spike had anything to do with that revelation.


Chapter Fifteen

Gunn sat down on the edge of the chair, working hard to quell his nervousness. Illyria, in striking contrast, was comfortably seated on the couch opposite him, looking completely at ease.

Gunn wished he had her confidence. Not to mention her ability to kill and maim. It would have made his position in this confrontation quite a bit stronger.

“Illyria, we need to talk.”

She gazed at him with her inhuman, unblinking eyes. “I agree. We should talk. You are avoiding me. I thought at first that you were having sex with Willow, but upon further observation, I believe that my hypothesis that you are avoiding me is more likely.”

And once again she managed to completely blindside him. But at least it gave him a starting point. He blinked twice, just knowing that someone up in heaven, or the great beyond, or…wherever, was laughing their ass off at his expense. Then, with a stern glare at Illyria, carefully he picked and chose the words he wanted to say to her.

“Okay, this is the stuff we need to talk about. We’re friends, right?” At her nod, he continued, “So, one friend doesn’t just demand that another friend stop what they’re doing and talk. Or whatever. It’s a respect thing, see?”

He sensed no emotion behind those eyes, but there was a stiffening of posture that led him to believe that she might be considering his words.

“My actions were…disrespectful?” She seemed confused, but willing to consider the possibility.

“Yeah, they were,” he said gently. “See, when you do that, it’s like saying that you believe your needs are more important than mine.”

“But they are,” she informed him. “There were things that I needed to understand, and you were not available to help me.”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes skyward. “But what if I’m doing something that’s just as important?”

The very concept seemed unlikely to Illyria, so she simply continued to stare at him, hoping he would explain further.

“Okay, let’s try it this way: just because something is important to you, doesn’t mean that it’s equally important to me, or to Angel, or to some random guy walking down the street.”

“It should be important to them. I am Illyria. They should care about what I care about. It is the nature of things.”

Gunn sighed. How do you tell one of the most powerful beings on earth that she just isn’t really that important anymore? Or at least, how do you tell her that and still remain alive?

“Illyria, that’s not the way it is now. We all have our own lives and our own petty problems, yourself included.”

“My problems are never petty.”

They were talking in circles, he acknowledged. It reminded him of talking to a teenager, which, in a way, he was. In many ways she was more like a teenager than an adult. With that in mind, he tried a different tack.

“We fight evil. Right?”

“Yes. I help sometimes, if I feel the cause is worthy.”

Gunn wasn’t sure if ‘help’ was quite the word she was looking for, but he let it go for the sake of making progress. “And you know it’s very important to me.”

“Yes,” she allowed, although, again, she looked like she wasn’t exactly sure why that was relevant.

“Well, what I’m doing with Willow is fighting evil. And it’s just as important to me as your priorities are to you.”

“So, I am taking you away from something that is important to you, in order to help with something that is important to me.” At his nod, she fell silent for a moment. “Your priorities are different than mine,” she said. Cocking her head slightly, like a student who thinks they’ve finally grasped the point of a lesson, she added, “But no less valid?”

Relief played across Gunn’s face as he realized she was grasping the concept he had been trying so hard to explain. “I’m happy to help you with anything you don’t understand, Illyria. I like hanging out with you. But I have other things I need to do, too.”

“Could we ‘hang out’ now?” she asked, a thin edge of something unfamiliar in her voice. Could it have been nervousness or uncertainty, or was it merely a figment of his imagination? “If you are finished fighting evil for the evening?”

Her question was a bit like an olive branch, and Gunn was grateful to her for the effort. He was unsure whether her benevolent mood would continue, but held out hope that it would. An evening with her would be a small price to pay in exchange for the understanding that he hoped she had gotten out of their conversation. Not that he didn’t enjoy spending time with her; he did. It would be just that much more enjoyable if a greater purpose was served as well.

“You grab the board, and I’ll grab the popcorn. Sound good?”

“Yes. I–thank you,” she said awkwardly. Illyria wasn’t sure exactly why, but she thought that this seemed like the right time and place to say the words.

Gunn turned back to look at her, his astonishment clear. But he quickly hid his emotions and nodded at her, before turning and heading downstairs.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe, she was learning.

---

Willow relaxed into the warm breeze that wrapped around her like a blanket. A book hovered in front of her at eye level, a small glowy thing making reading easy, even in the darkness of the courtyard. The small bench she sat on had enough room for one person; or two, if they wanted to get friendly. She stretched out comfortably, listening to the sounds of the evening. In the distance she could hear the scattered sounds of cars driving by and people walking past, laughing and talking as they went. There was a peaceful, ‘normal’ feel to it that warmed her.

This place had become a favorite of hers. It was winter now–or at least what passed for winter here–and Willow had become resigned to being in Los Angeles for a while. It wasn’t really that bad, truth be told. Angel and Gunn were pretty good company when they wanted to be. Spike…well, she avoided Spike for the most part. And despite how long she’d been here, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of Illyria.

Work was still slow. They picked up the odd case here and there, and she helped when she could, but for the moment Los Angeles was mostly evil-free. Or at least it was free of the evil caused by demons and the like. Human evil was still available on any street corner.

Sometimes she wondered if they would someday look back on this time as the idyllic calm before the storm. If that was the case, then there was probably one hell of a storm brewing somewhere.

Gunn was still working on the serial killer case, and Willow was right there along with him. After the initial promising discovery that Amy was one of the victims, their investigation had gone exactly nowhere. They had searched for a connection between Amy and the other victims; they had even investigated the possibility that the other girls had been dabblers in magic. It had certainly seemed like a possibility worth examining. But in the end, it had come to nothing.

Her days had fallen into a predictable routine now: she slept in, took a walk in the late morning, and then spent her afternoons and evenings going over the same information she’d gone over a dozen times before, trying to find something new–searching for that ‘Eureka’ moment when everything fell into place.

So far that moment remained maddeningly elusive, but she still held out hope.

By late evening she usually gave up and headed out to the courtyard to relax. Her choice of reading material varied, but lately it was running towards the fluffy and comedic. Tonight she was keeping company with Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter extraordinaire.

Okay, Stephanie was more like a wanna-be bounty hunter, but the books were funny as hell, and they kept her mind away from the more serious thoughts that often plagued her.

A giggle escaped her lips as she read a particularly amusing passage, and Angel, who happened to be wandering by, heard the laughter and stepped outside.

He watched her silently, hidden in the shadows. She was so wrapped up in her reading that she didn’t even notice him, and he wondered if he should be worried. True, she was not his responsibility. She was an adult, although he still tended to think of her as a teenager sometimes.

But she was living in his town now, in his hotel even, and for that reason he felt like he should do what he could to keep her safe. And right now, any demon who wanted a snack could come up behind her and–

“Are you going to stand there all night watching me, or do you plan on saying something eventually?” The quiet voice broke into his thoughts, making him realize that he had underestimated her.

“Hi, Willow. I was, uh, just enjoying the fresh air.”

It was a lie and they both knew it, but neither was in the mood to argue the point. They were both quiet for a minute.

“Hot sex?” Angel blurted out, then cringed as he realized how ridiculous the words sounded.

Willow stared at him, drawing her eyebrows together in confusion. “Is that a proposal? I mean, I know your soul is permanent now, and everything, but usually buying a girl dinner first is kind of a prerequisite. A movie would be nice too.”

“No!” Angel exclaimed, his eyes jerking up to meet hers. He motioned to the book she had been reading.

“Oh,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth before the giggles could escape. “That’s Hot *Six*, you pervert.”

Angel took a closer look at the book’s title, smacking the palm of his hand to his forehead as he realized his mistake. “That makes much more sense,” he admitted, looking a little sheepish.

Willow smiled, attempting to put him at ease. “Have a seat, if you want,” she offered, making room on the bench for him. “It’s so nice and peaceful here that I can’t resist it. Probably has something to do with the scent of the flowers and the ‘hiding in the dark’ thing. It’s like the whole world is passing by, and nobody knows I’m here.”

“I guess I understand that,” Angel allowed, taking her up on her offer and sitting down beside her. The bench was a little too small for both of them; their knees and thighs brushed together as he sat, but they both pretended not to notice the contact.

“So,” Angel said, turning his upper body towards her and stretching his arm out along the back of the bench, “is the book any good?”

“Oh, definitely!” Willow answered, enthusiasm showing in her eyes. She put the book down on the ground and warmed to her subject. “It’s about this female bounty hunter, and all of her friends, and boyfriends, and family. The situations she gets herself into are really funny.”

Willow could see that Angel looked less than entranced with the description. “Probably not your kind of book,” she realized. “But I love it. It’s a great way to relax, and have I mentioned lately how tired I am of looking at the same information over and over again?”

“Yeah, you and Gunn have been putting in a lot of time on that case. Too bad you can’t get anything else from the police. They’re just not interested in help from ‘amateurs.’ Which is what they consider anyone who doesn’t have a badge.” His experiences with Kate came to mind, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

The smile that Willow gave him was slightly secretive, and a little cheeky. He recognized that smile; it generally meant she’d been up to something she shouldn’t have been. Probably something involving computers, top-secret databases, and long jail terms for all of them if she was caught.

“What have you been up to, Willow?” he asked cautiously. “Or do I really want to know?”

Her smile widened, confirming Angel’s suspicions. “Nothing that can get me in any trouble,” she assured him. “They’ll never know I was there. And technically speaking, I haven’t actually done it yet. But tomorrow I will. Gunn and I talked about it, and the only way we’re going to make any progress is if we get ahold of information that the police aren’t going to willingly give us. But if we can crack this case, it’ll be worth it!”

Angel shook his head. “The whole ‘the end justifies the means’ thing? That’s kind of a slippery slope, Willow. And are you sure you won’t get caught?”

Willow nodded quickly. “Absolutely, positively, 100% sure that I won’t get caught. I promise.” She made a cross over her heart like a young schoolgirl.

Sighing mightily, Angel finally nodded. “Okay. But promise me you’ll be careful?” His eyes took on an almost puppy-dog look, and for a moment Willow felt bad that what she was doing was causing him concern. But the feeling lasted only for a minute, then was quickly chased away by excitement for her project.

“They have credit card bills there for all the victims, and a list of former addresses, and friends, and affiliations, and all kinds of stuff that it would take me months to hunt down. Plus, tracking all that information down individually would mean a lot more break-ins, which would be a bit more risky.”

Angel didn’t look completely convinced, so she hurried on. “I promise, this is really a last resort. If I could have thought of any other way to get the information, I would have. Heck, if the police would have given it to Gunn when he asked, then none of this would have been necessary!”

Angel smiled. “So really the police are forcing you to take this step?” he asked teasingly.

At her eager nod, the vampire just shook his head. “Be careful, okay?”

“I promise, Angel. I really do. I wouldn’t even consider this if I thought there was the slightest chance it could be traced back to us. But with the combination of technology and magic I’m going to use, even if they did manage to detect what I did, there’s no way they could find out who did it. I’ll sneak in there, get the information I need, and be back out quicker than you can say, ‘Angel’s a bloody wanker.’” She imitated Spike’s voice–poorly–as she said the last bit, and he managed to look both offended and amused.

Angel stood up and brushed off his pants. “And on that note, I think I’ll leave you to your book.”

“Thanks, Angel. Have a good night.”


Chapter Sixteen

The next day brought news that bolstered Willow’s determination to hack into the L.A.P.D. computer system. As she sat down for a late breakfast, the face of a young man with shoulder-length hair smiled back at her from the front page of the morning newspaper.

‘Another Victim of the L.A. Serial Killer?’ screamed the headline. The question mark at the end of the sentence intrigued Willow, and with a sinking heart she sat down to read the article as she drank her coffee.

According to the paper, James Smithson was the youngest of five children, and had grown up here in the Los Angeles area. He had been a senior at UCLA, with a promising future ahead of him in psychology.

The newspaper seemed hesitant to categorically confirm him to be a victim of the serial killer, most likely because all previous victims had been women. There was some concern that this might be the work of a copycat killer with police connections, although the chances of that seemed slim.

The sound of footsteps told her that she was no longer alone in the room. She looked up and met Gunn’s gaze.

“You ready to do some computer voodoo?” he asked abruptly, a hard, angry glint in his eye.

“Did you see–”

“Yeah, I saw,” he interrupted, his jaw clenched in what Willow took to be anger. “We’ve got to catch this bastard *now*. The police can sit on their hands and create their damn task forces, but in the meantime he’ll just keep killing.”

Willow understood that the words and tone were a direct result of the anger he felt at the killer, but they made her shiver a little nonetheless. Gunn took this killer’s actions as a personal challenge. It was as if he considered every victim a close friend and every killing an insult aimed directly at him. She wondered if he needed to take a step back and just decompress for a while, but knew that suggesting it would be a waste of time.

“Let’s go do this thing,” she said, parroting one of Angel’s favorite lines.

---

Angel’s office seemed to be the best choice for their little caper. He had a computer that was hooked up to two printers, and the copier as well. Experience had taught Willow that the key to success was to get in and get out quickly, making as few waves as possible. Access to multiple printers would certainly speed her progress right along.

She sat at Angel’s desk, her fingers flying over the keyboard at a speed that was almost vampiric. Gunn was impressed, and wasn’t afraid to say so.

“Damn, you’re fast. And why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?”

Willow just gave him what she hoped was a mysterious smile and continued her assault. Before too long, she gave a soft cry of victory and Gunn hurried around behind her, peering at the computer screen from over her shoulder.

“How…” the question trailed off as he stared at the main menu for the Los Angeles Police Department’s Violent Crimes database.

“Don’t ask,” Willow replied. At his grin, she said, “I mean it. Seriously. It’s the whole deniability thing. If you don’t know what I’m doing, they can’t prosecute you for it later. At least, I don’t think so. Not that it’ll come to that, anyway,” she hastened to add.

“So what do we do now that we’re in?” Gunn asked, his mood somewhat dampened. Willow’s comments had brought him back down to earth a bit, reminding him of what could happen if they weren’t *very* careful.

“We print out everything we can get our hands on,” she told him. “Where do you want to start?”

“Definitely the credit card records,” he decided. “That’s the most likely place to find a link between the victims.”

Gunn watched in silence as Willow opened one file after another; the way that she skipped between multiple document windows made him a little dizzy. He wondered how she was able to be sure she hadn’t missed anything, or printed it twice by accident. “Is this part of the magic,” he had to ask, “or is it all you?”

“What, this? This is just your basic computer nerd stuff. I could do it in my sleep. The magic I’m using is to muddy the trail, in case they realize their security has been breached. They might just figure out that someone’s been in here, if they’re really good. But with the magic web I’m weaving, they’ll never figure out who did the deed.” She gave him a cheeky smile, obviously pleased with herself.

Gunn smiled back, then wandered over to one of the printers, taking a look at their ill-gotten gains. His spirits rose as page after page shot out of the quietly whirring machine and he realized that Willow really was going to be able to pull this off.

“How long you been doing this?” he called out.

“I dunno. Since high school, at least. The Sunnydale Police Department’s computer system had more holes in it than a kitchen strainer. I could slip in and out without even trying.”

“Huh.” Gunn thought about what he had been like as a teenager. At that age, the streets had been his life. Spending his nights at home in front of a computer was something he would never have considered doing. Even if they’d had the money for a computer, which they surely hadn’t.

“What next?” Willow asked. “I’ve got detectives’ notes, interviews with friends and co-workers, crime scene photos, lots of miscellaneous stuff. I could get kicked out at any minute, so we need to prioritize. Oops, I guess we should have thought of that before we started, huh?” she added a little shamefacedly.

Gunn chuckled softly, thinking, as he began to gather the sheets of paper from the various printers. “Detectives’ notes, then crime scene photos, interviews, anything else,” he decided. “How much longer do you think it’ll take to get everything? Assuming there aren’t any interruptions?”

Willow didn’t say anything, and he let the silence stretch as he waited for an answer. Then, “Depends on how much more is here. Just a guess…maybe ten minutes? I’ll get started on the detectives’ notes now, then do the other stuff.”

And then she was quiet, except for the clacking of her fingers on the keyboard and the clicking of her mouse.

---

In the end, they were able to get away with everything they wanted without any problems. It all seemed rather anticlimactic. Willow didn’t think her tinkering had been discovered, and Gunn tended to agree. No cops came knocking down their door, no Secret Service agents tried to abduct them; as far as he could see, Willow had managed to pull off everything just as she had planned.

Now the real work started.

Willow catalogued and scanned everything they’d taken, printing out duplicate copies for herself. They agreed upon a plan: he would concentrate on the credit card transactions, and she would read the case notes. Then, when they had reached a dead end, they would switch.

Until then, she would read. Police reports, detectives’ notes, the reports of witnesses and neighbors and co-workers; she would immerse herself in the life of each victim until she knew why they had died.

---

The days flew by, and although A.I. got a little bit busier, there was still plenty of time for Gunn and Willow to continue working on their ‘pet project.’

They were working in the dining room, their color-coded map stuck handily on the wall in front of them. Feeling a little frustrated, they stood before it, staring, hoping that inspiration would strike.

“I keep thinking that there’s got to be something in these credit card receipts, but I’m just not seeing it,” Gunn confessed. “There’s no common neighborhood they frequent; hell, most of them don’t even go to the same kind of grocery store.”

Willow had been working her way through the pages and pages of detectives’ notes and crime scene photos. Initially it had seemed much more interesting and exciting than what Gunn was sifting through, but after looking at photo after photo of dead people with their chests hacked to pieces, she had quickly wished that she had chosen the more mundane of the two tasks.

Added to that feeling was the frustration she felt at making absolutely no progress at all in finding any meaningful link between the victims. And on top of that, she knew, just knew, that their killer was out there, somewhere, choosing his next target. Someone out there was going to die, soon, because she couldn’t figure this thing out.

Gunn felt the same. She could see it in his weary eyes, in the set of his jaw, and in the clipped sentences he spoke. There just had to be something they were overlooking…

“Hey, guys. Any progress?”

Willow turned to see Angel standing in the doorway, seemingly hesitant to break in on their work. “C’mon in, Angel. And no, no progress.” Even she could hear the disappointment in her voice.

“Hey, man. What’s up?”

Angel was uncomfortable, Willow realized. And not the kind of uncomfortable that stems from a bad haircut or an unfortunate turn of events. Angel was ‘I really don’t want to do this’ uncomfortable.

“So,” he said, shooting them each a glance, attempting to gauge their moods by what he saw on their faces, “I’ve gotten us another job. But, it’s different. It’s sort of…undercover.”

Gunn frowned, but Willow merely waited patiently for whatever was to come.

Angel started, “I know a guy, who knows a guy–”

“Who knows a guy, who knows another guy,” Gunn interrupted. “What, are we working for the Mafia now?”

Shaking his head, Angel asked, “Gunn, do you still have your tuxedo?”

Gunn nodded. “The one I used to wear for the dog and pony shows at Wolfram and Hart? Yeah, I’ve still got it. And may I just say that I don’t like the direction this is going?”

Angel winced. “Noted,” he said. Deciding he might have better luck with Willow, he concentrated on her when he said his next words. “We’ve been hired to provide security at a New Year’s Eve party.” Surprisingly, now that the words were out of his mouth, Angel actually felt better.

Judging from the expression on Gunn’s face, he did not share Angel’s improved mood. “And just who would be stupid enough to hire us to do that?”

“The leader of the local Shatu clan,” he answered, as he smiled weakly.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Gunn predicted. Shatu were relatively peaceful, as demons went, but from time to time, the infighting could be pretty brutal.

“Piece of cake,” Angel insisted, although Willow thought she detected a shadow of doubt in his eyes. “We have Willow do a little sanctuary spell, and everything’s cool, right?”

Gunn frowned, unconvinced. “That should work…in theory.”

“Why is it that when something should work in theory, in reality it just doesn’t?” Willow asked, picking up on the vibe that there was more to this job than met the eye.

Pulling up a chair and sitting at the table, Angel fixed Gunn with a challenging gaze. “You call yourself a warrior? This is a simple assignment, with a fairly hefty payoff. Not that we need the money, but if we pull this off–and I know we can–it would go a long way to restoring our reputation in the demon community.”

Angel had a point. The peaceful demons in the area had kept away from Angel Investigations in droves. Their association with Wolfram and Hart had tainted them somewhat, and some demons still wondered if they weren’t just biding their time and waiting for the Senior Partners to return. Not everyone believed that Angel and his friends had been instrumental in causing the Senior Partners’ absence; some believed just the opposite, despite evidence to the contrary.

And changing opinions like that could be difficult.

“I guess I’d better go shopping,” Willow said, grimacing at the thought. Somehow she suspected that a peasant blouse and a loose skirt weren’t going to get this job done.

“Take Illyria with you,” Angel suggested. “We’ll want her to be in on this too.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna be fun,” Willow muttered.

“She’s not really that bad,” Gunn said. “She just needs to learn some things yet.”

“I saw her trying to snort crushed up graham crackers the other day. She’s got A LOT to learn,” Willow replied.

“That’s perfect,” Angel said, with a sort of forced cheerfulness, as if hoping to convince her that this was somehow a *good* idea. “You like to teach, she needs to learn. What could go wrong?”

Willow frowned as the myriad possibilities flooded her mind.


Chapter Seventeen

Shopping with Illyria. Even the thought of it made Willow want to run for the comfort of her big, empty bed. But Angel had asked her to do it, and he didn’t ask her for much compared to what he’d given her since she’d arrived in L.A. So, as a show of good faith–and, she feared, a complete lack of common sense–she and Illyria had set off for the small boutiques that lined Rodeo Drive.

And as a show of good faith on *his* part, Angel had given her the corporate credit card. “Just don’t do a ‘Cordelia’ on me,” he begged. “The card’s only got a five thousand dollar limit.”

“Well, do you want us to look pretty, or do you want us to look cheap?” she asked him, a mischievous grin forming on her lips. She had no intention of spending five thousand dollars, but it was fun to tease Angel every so often.

Angel groaned, as that seemed to be what was expected, and handed her a second credit card. “You’d both better look pretty hot when you get back,” he told her, “or I’ll be asking for my money back.”

Giving him a mock-glare, Willow tucked the two credit cards into her purse. “Illyria? Ready to go?” she called.

“You *so* owe me for this,” she added to Angel, as Illyria regally descended the stairs.

---

The shopping expedition had actually gone better than Willow expected. Oh, sure, there had been some curious stares in Illyria’s direction, but this was Los Angeles. People were used to the rich and eccentric. Once they saw the limit on Willow’s credit card, they were more than willing to fawn incessantly over them.

At the second shop they visited, she purchased a short cocktail dress in deep cobalt blue. Matching shoes and purse completed the ensemble, and she had managed to keep the damage to less than two thousand dollars. To celebrate that fact, she bought a silver butterfly pin that had caught her eye.

Illyria had been a bit more difficult to accommodate, but she thought they finally had it figured out. Willow had come across a long dress of a magenta so deep that it was almost purple. The simple lines of the dress flattered Illyria’s figure, while the color complemented the bluish tinge of her complexion quite nicely. Illyria was trying on the dress now, and Willow waited eagerly to see how it looked.

The door opened slowly, and Illyria walked over to Willow, her head held high. Despite that fact, Willow sensed a bit of discomfort in Illyria’s body language, and wondered what it was that had made her uncomfortable.

“Is everything…okay?” she asked.

Illyria seemed to be considering the question. “Does this dress…does it make me look like a female?”

The question took Willow by surprise. “It–you look very nice. Beautiful, really.” And she meant it. The dress was perfect for Illyria, fitting as if it were made for her specifically.

Again that curious pause before Illyria spoke. “Will Gunn like it?”

It seemed unlikely that Illyria harbored feelings for Gunn, but Willow could come to no other conclusion based on the questions Illyria was asking. “I think so. You look very nice. Very…attractive. Not to me,” she added, in case Illyria got the wrong idea. “But, yes, I think Gunn will like it.”

Illyria turned to go back to the dressing room, but the dress kept her from being able to take the long strides she was accustomed to. She frowned, then turned to look back at Willow. “I cannot wear this. My enemies could kill me easily–this is too constricting.”

Her hand moved to her shoulder, and Willow knew that she was going to rip the dress off of her body. Not only would that have been a costly mistake–the dress was not cheap–but it certainly would have gotten them all the wrong kinds of attention.

“Wait!” Willow called out, reaching out to grab Illyria’s hand. The malevolent glare that Illyria gave her froze her in her tracks, and she held both her hands in front of her, as if trying to show that she was perfectly harmless.

“You will not touch me without my permission.”

‘Okay, yeah, I figured that bit out all by myself,’ Willow thought. Time for damage control. “Okay, you’re right, my mistake. I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t damage the dress.”

“Why is that important?” The familiar tilt of the head accompanied her question, and Willow almost made the mistake of thinking it made her look less menacing. Almost.

“It’s important because we can fix this,” Willow said, approaching Illyria slowly, on her knees. She gestured towards the outside of Illyria’s leg. “We can have them run a slit from the bottom of the dress, up to about here.” She gestured to a place about halfway between Illyria’s knee and hip, careful not to actually touch her.

Illyria considered the suggestion. “I could still maneuver, and the dress would still look,” she hesitated for the briefest of seconds, but for Illyria it might as well have been an hour, “feminine.”

Willow backed away, and then got to her feet. “The dress would still look beautiful. We’ll get you a matching purse, and some shoes. Oh, but you’ll have to let someone touch your feet when we get the shoes.” Her tone was apologetic, but adamant.

Thunderclouds gathered on Illyria’s face at the thought of it, but Willow worked quickly to forestall any argument. “You have to, or else they won’t be able to get them to fit correctly. Just–consider that they’re touching you in order to please you. Like–like they’re your minions.”

“The thought is not unappealing,” Illyria allowed, giving a look to Willow that spoke of respect. “You are clever.”

“I–I am?”

“Yes. You manipulate people very subtly, telling them what they want to hear in a way that encourages them to go along with your suggestions.”

Although the voice was different, Willow had a momentary flashback to Anya, standing behind the counter at the Magic Box, telling Buffy something similar. The woman always had a way of cutting through the conventional pleasantries and getting straight to the point, an ability Illyria seemed to have as well.

Thinking of Anya made her sad. Her life as a human had been so brief, and towards the end, very unhappy. She had deserved something better than what she’d received. Then again, so had Tara. And Jenny. And…well, the list went on and on.

Some of what she was thinking must have shown in her eyes, because Illyria came closer, staring down at her. “I do not understand why my words have made you unhappy.”

Willow shook her head slightly and pasted on a smile, which gradually became genuine. “You just reminded me of someone, that’s all. Someone who is dead, and gone. You both have a way of speaking the truth that can sometimes make people uncomfortable.”

Illyria blinked, took a couple of steps back, and then turned and walked back to the dressing room. Apparently their conversation was over.

---

“I have heard that it is customary for friends to eat together after shopping. You will find us a restaurant that is appropriate.”

They had just left the boutique, their purchases carefully wrapped and placed into bags that Willow carried. It appeared that carrying their purchases was her responsibility, while Illyria was responsible for hailing them a cab. Considering that Willow was the more normal-looking of the pair, it might have been smarter to switch their roles, but by the time Willow thought to suggest it, they were sitting side by side in the back of a cab, heading for a trendy L.A. restaurant.

“I have watched a TV show where the women go to restaurants and talk about men. We will do that as well.” A quick nod of her blue head indicated that the plan was already made, and Willow had no choice but to acquiesce.

“What TV show was that?” she asked, a feeling of dread beginning to make itself felt.

“Sex and the City,” Illyria answered, confirming Willow’s worst fears. “You can tell me about the men you have slept with, and rate them on a scale of one to ten.”

Willow looked up just in time to see the look of horrified shock in the cab driver’s eyes. “This is your stop, ladies.” Something in his voice made Willow think that he would be very careful when he picked up his next fare.

---

The restaurant was quite fancy; artwork hung on the walls, the patrons’ fingers were covered with diamonds and other gemstones, and sarcasm dripped from the mouth of the maitre d’, as he reluctantly showed them to their table. Although he was willing to seat them at a table, he was certainly not going to make the experience pleasant for any of them. Then again, he had not yet seen the power of Angel’s mighty credit card, Willow thought with a grin.

“He is insolent. I could dispatch him with a mere flick of my finger, but it would anger Gunn. Would it anger you, as well?” Illyria asked, as she glared at the man from over the top of her menu.

“Well…it would be wrong,” Willow answered noncommittally. Dark-Willow would have eaten the smarmy little toad for lunch, but she wasn’t that person anymore, so advocating murder as a punishment for insolence was probably a bad idea. Tempting, but bad.

Illyria gave Willow a rather frightening smile, full of teeth and promises of pain. “You did not answer the question I asked, but I will let the matter drop.”

The tentative smile that Willow gave her in return seemed tepid by comparison. “So, what do you think you’ll have to eat?” she asked, eager for a change of subject.

Opening her menu, Illyria frowned as she ran her eyes over the choices. “I cannot decide. Perhaps the chicken with herbs would be good. What are you having?”

The conversation seemed like something out of one of Willow’s more surreal dreams. She was having lunch with a former God, and said former God was asking her opinion on what entrée to order. As if she had the slightest idea what Illyria would like.

Sometimes her life was just too weird.

“Well, you seemed to like the tacos we had the other day, right?” At Illyria’s nod, Willow continued. “Taco salad is like having tacos, only with the salad inside of the crispy shell. So maybe you’d like that. But, I think the chicken with herbs would be a good choice, too.”

Illyria seemed satisfied with her answer, and went back to studying the menu once more. When their waiter arrived, she chose the chicken with herbs, the lasagna, *and* the taco salad, something that made their waiter raise his eyebrows so high that Willow was afraid they’d be stuck that way. But he took the order without further comment, and Willow’s order as well, leaving the two of them alone at the table.

“How many men have you slept with?” Illyria asked abruptly, her elbows on the table, her eyes like laser beams, pointed squarely at Willow.

“I, uh,” she mumbled, and then buried her face in her hands. The heat of her embarrassment had her face burning, and she really didn’t want to have to explain *that* to Illyria as well. She gave it a minute, and then opened her fingers a little, peeking out at Illyria through the spaces between the fingers.

“Are you counting? Is the number too high for you to remember? An approximation would be acceptable.” Illyria nodded in an attempt to underscore her ability to be reasonable about it.

Just then their waiter showed up with their drinks, and Willow grabbed her Pina Colada, downing half of it right off the bat. The drink gave her a slightly lightheaded feeling, and a strange urge to giggle, but Willow wasn’t sure if that was due to her companion or the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything today.

“You are not going to answer this question, either?” Illyria asked, something in the tone of her voice alerting Willow to the fact that her companion was becoming annoyed.

“It’s not that many–” She was squeaking now as she tried to speak, so Willow stopped herself, took another gulp of her drink, and then tried again.

“It’s not that there have been that many. It’s just that this isn’t really appropriate casual conversation.”

“But we are becoming friends, aren’t we? Friends share confidences and teach each other things about sex, don’t they?” Illyria seemed to sense that she had made a misstep somewhere along the line, but did not know where or how.

Willow didn’t want to hurt her feelings, assuming she had such things, but she wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s just that…well, usually people don’t talk about that kind of stuff until they know each other pretty well. If we’re going to be friends,” she said, holding out an olive branch of sorts, “then we should probably start with the simple things. Like, what kind of food we like, and what we like to watch on TV. What guys we think are cute. That sort of stuff.”

“Are you sure? Gunn says that he and I are friends, but we never discuss such things.”

“So what do you guys talk about? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I ask questions about things that confuse me, and Gunn answers them. Sometimes we discuss other things. One time we discussed whether he was interested in having sex with you.”

The words were said so matter-of-factly that for a moment Willow thought nothing of them. But then her slightly sluggish brain figured out exactly what Illyria had said, and she almost spit her drink in Illyria’s face.

The sip of Pina Colada she had been in the process of drinking went down wrong, bringing on a coughing fit of epic proportions. Her eyes started to water, her nose started to run, and she didn’t even want to think about that too much because, eww; and of course she could feel her face turning beet red.

“I–you thought–Gunn and me?” Her sentence might have been lacking, but Willow thought she got her meaning across. “No. No Gunn and me. Not like that, at least.”

Illyria narrowed her gaze as she watched Willow. “You don’t find him attractive?”

“I–he’s okay. I mean, yes, he’s attractive, but I’m gay. I don’t date guys.” And how the heck was she going to explain *that* concept to Illyria?

Angel was going to owe her big-time for this little shopping trip from hell. There weren’t enough platinum credit cards in the world to pay her back for this.

“I have heard of that before,” Illyria allowed, looking slightly intrigued. “I was wondering–”

Whatever Illyria was wondering would have to wait, because, at just that moment, their waiter returned with their meals. Willow tucked into her soup as if she hadn’t eaten in days, while Illyria toyed with her food, apparently distracted by her thoughts.

Illyria didn’t seem to want to talk while she ate, something for which Willow was extremely grateful. By the time the meal was over, the redhead was feeling less muzzy-headed, and much more able to deal with whatever further questions Illyria wanted to throw her way. But Illyria seemed disinclined to make conversation after that, and Willow wondered if she had somehow managed to offend her companion.

The cab ride home was made in silence, although Willow occasionally snuck glances at Illyria, just to make sure she was okay. That, in itself, was rather silly, Willow admitted. Because if Illyria wasn’t okay, you probably wouldn’t have the least idea of it until she exploded. Her true emotions rarely showed on her face, unless she wanted them to.

The lobby was empty when they arrived at the hotel, and Willow was halfway up the stairs before she thought to look for Illyria. Glancing over the handrail, she saw Illyria staring up at her. “Everything okay?” she called down, reversing course and going back down the stairs. Something about the way that Illyria was looking at her made her feel sad; she just looked so alone.

“I do not wish for Gunn to know that we were talking about him,” she admitted, waiting until Willow was only a few steps away. She frowned for a moment before her expression cleared up. “It would be…embarrassing.”

Whatever it was Willow had been expecting Illyria to say, it certainly wasn’t that. “No problem. As far as I’m concerned, his name never came up. That’s kind of an unspoken ‘girlfriend’ rule. You don’t tell anyone my secrets, and I don’t tell anyone your secrets.”

Illyria nodded. “I will respect that.” And then, “I would try to smile in a reassuring manner, but such an expression makes Gunn nervous. I suspect that you would feel the same way about it.”

Willow smiled at the remark. Illyria was probably right. “Don’t worry, it just means you need a little more practice at smiling.”

Perhaps the afternoon hadn’t been quite *that* bad, Willow thought, as she made her way to her room. She had a beautiful dress, she was full of delicious food and a yummy Pina Colada, and she had finally made some progress with Illyria.

All she had to do now was tell Angel she maxed out all his credit cards, and the afternoon’s entertainment would be complete.


Chapter Eighteen

“You can rot in hell, you bloody poof. I am *not* going to waste New Year’s Eve working. You can just stuff that idea wherever it fits.”

Spike’s abrasive voice echoed down the halls of the hotel, and Willow caught herself smiling without even meaning to. Spike did that to her sometimes. Although she’d never admit that to him; he’d probably hate it, being the source of such amusement. Or maybe not; there were times when his behavior surprised her, making her wonder if she had ever really known him at all.

She reached the stairs just in time to hear Angel say, “I don’t recall asking your opinion on the matter, Spike. It’s a job, and we’re getting paid for it. Therefore, you *will* be working on New Year’s Eve. Besides, it’s not like you’ve got plans or anything.”

“I take it you’re breaking the news to Spike?” Willow asked, as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She gave Angel a grin, and tucked his credit cards into his shirt pocket.

“You stay out of this,” Spike grumbled, glaring at her briefly before turning back to harass Angel. “I just might have plans, damn it. Might have a date with a bird, or maybe I wanted to go out drinking. Hey, Charlie and I could have had plans.”

“You and ‘Charlie,’ huh?” Angel drawled, walking up to Spike until they stood nose to nose, both of them a study of casual expressions masking lethal force. “Well that’ll work out just great, since ‘Charlie’ is going to be working too. In fact, you two will be guarding the perimeter, so you can still do your little bonding ritual. Just–no alcohol.”

“Perimeter?” Spike’s eyes narrowed. “You mean I don’t have to wear a tux?” He fell silent for a moment as he considered the possibilities, then a sly smile crept across his face. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? That’ll do, I suppose.”

“No alcohol, Spike. I mean it.” Angel knew his childe far too well to be fooled by a smile and breezy assurances. He would have to do a thorough search before they left for the job, and then keep an eye on him throughout the evening as well.

Spike did have a talent for finding trouble. Although he’d heard the blond refer to it as less of a talent, and more of an art form. Either way…

Despite everyone’s relatively easy acquiescence to his plans, Angel had some misgivings about their upcoming job.

As far as he was concerned, the holiday season couldn’t be over soon enough.

---

Willow had grown so used to seeing the Christmas decorations that covered every inch of every store she visited for the last three months, that the fact that today was finally Christmas Eve came as a bit of a surprise.

Christmas. Even the sound of the word made her lonely. Sure, she had grown up Jewish, but by her parents’ choice, not her own. In her heart of hearts, Christmas had always been her favorite holiday, mostly because of Xander.

She missed all of her friends, but of course she missed Xander the most. The Snoopy dance was a tradition between them. Doing it by herself just made her feel silly. Not that that had stopped her. But it just wasn’t the same without Xander there to look equally ridiculous. Plus, there was the whole ‘shared history’ thing that she really missed. Angel was sweet, but he was no substitute for the twenty years of time she had spent with Xander, telling stories, sharing memories; all of her holiday memories involved him, in one way or another.

Having Christmas without talking to him just seemed wrong. Un-Christmas-y, even.

She had picked up the phone a half-dozen times, but each time the now-familiar fear assailed her, and she put the receiver back in its cradle without dialing a number.

Feeling strangely at odds, and perhaps a little sorry for herself, Willow wandered down the stairs and into the lobby, in search of a glass of Christmas cheer. She thought she’d noticed some eggnog in the fridge earlier, so maybe she’d have herself a little bit, just to round off the sharp edges of the evening. Then she could go back upstairs and read herself to sleep.

Admittedly, not the most exciting Christmas Eve she’d ever had, but it did beat the heck out of battling vampires or zombies.

The fact that the kitchen wasn’t empty came as a bit of a surprise to Willow. “Angel,” she said. There was a hasty attempt to school her features; she hoped that her unguarded melancholy of a moment ago hadn’t been too obvious.

“Hey, Willow.” Judging by the reluctant half-smile that Angel gave her, his evening was progressing along the same lines as hers was. The steaming mug he drank from smelled of apples and cinnamon, and Willow noticed a large container of dark apple juice, steam still rising from its surface, sitting next to the microwave.

“It tastes better with this,” he told her sheepishly, taking a flask out of his pocket. “Want some?”

Willow considered his offer briefly, before grabbing a mug of her own and pouring some of the cider into it. She sat down across from Angel, making no comment when he poured a bit of the amber liquid from his flask into her mug.

“I didn’t know you did this,” she said awkwardly, gesturing to the flask.

Angel grimaced slightly. “Not often. Alcohol’s more Spike’s thing. The holidays seem to bring the need out, I suppose.”

“Yeah, I get that. I miss people. Not that you guys aren’t people,” she added quickly. “It’s just…” Her voice trailed off uncertainly as she stared down into the apple cider.

“I understand. It’s hard not being with the ones you love.”

The silence stretched between them, and finally Willow could stay quiet no longer. “Why, Angel?” They both knew what she was asking. Why wasn’t he with Buffy? Or at least, with someone?

“It’s too late for me and Buffy. Just–too much has happened. She’s not who she was when I first met her, and I’m not sure if I’d like the person she’s become. I want to remember her how she was, to hang onto the good stuff.”

He stopped speaking for a moment, and Willow stole a look at him from under her eyelashes. There was a faraway look in his eyes that made her wonder about the subject of his silent contemplation.

“So why not find someone else?” she finally whispered. “You’ve got that wonderful soul superglued now; why not find someone to enjoy it with?”

Angel’s expression turned wistful. “I did try, at first. There was someone I was seeing. She was a werewolf...”

Willow smiled at the mention of a werewolf, as memories of Oz’s face filled her mind. They had common ground, she and Angel; they had both dated werewolves. Not many people could make that claim, she figured. “So, what was she like?”

“Well, she was…I don’t know, really.” His mind reached back over the last couple of years, trying to remember exactly what it was about Nina that had interested him. “She was sweet,” he said, finally. “Nice. Innocent, I suppose. Oh, not about the world in general, but about my world.” A quick glance at Willow, and then, “Our world, I guess.”

At Willow’s encouraging smile, he continued. “After my soul was secure, we just sort of…drifted together, I suppose. She was still really new to the whole ‘werewolf’ thing, and even though I wasn’t one, having me around seemed to make her feel better. Plus, there were just so many other dangers and wonders that she didn’t know about, and I was,” he hesitated for a moment, “I guess I was a good teacher.

“It wasn’t all about teaching and learning; we had fun, too. It was…different, seeing the world through her eyes. Almost refreshing. And the sex was really, really great.”

Willow choked on the mouthful of cider she was drinking, coughing and sputtering at Angel’s unexpected confession. Her face flamed, and her eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at Angel.

“Sorry, was that a little too much sharing?” he teased, grinning at her discomfort.

“Oh, no, it was–just a little surprising,” Willow said, trying hard to bring the coughing under control, forcing her lungs to fill and empty in a regular in-and-out rhythm. “I mean, it’s nice that you had a chance to,” she searched for just the right word, “enjoy that sort of–stuff–with someone else, again.”

The twinkle in Angel’s eyes hadn’t lessened one bit; he was obviously enjoying her embarrassment. “But?”

Finally getting herself under control again, Willow met his eyes with a grin of her own. “No ‘but.’ Just me being happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

“So…where is she now? Why aren’t you still seeing each other?”

“I don’t really have an answer for that,” Angel admitted. Noticing that Willow had emptied her mug, he got up and poured them each some more. Out came the flask again, and this time he added a bit more to both mugs.

“Maybe we were just meant to be stepping stones, while both of us were on our way to something better. I taught her what she needed to know, and she gave me the confidence to try and–do stuff.” They both smiled at his use of Willow’s words. “It ended amicably enough, I suppose. We just sort of drifted apart.”

“Yeah, that’s sort of what happened with me and Kennedy,” Willow admitted. “I mean, she said she was okay with the magic, and I think she was, for a while. But then we started to drift apart. I don’t think I even realized it at the time; it was just little things. I’d go to my Wicca group, while she went club-hopping with the other slayers. I got more and more into magic, while she started to build a life around her calling. After a while, we were more like roommates than lovers. And then…” she went silent for a moment, reliving the awful afternoon when she’d come home early, only to find Kennedy going down on one of the other slayers. Taking a large swig of the cider, she let the warmth burn down her throat, relaxing as the alcohol did its work. “Then she cheated on me, and it was over. But looking back, I don’t think she ever would have cheated if our relationship had been solid in the first place.”

“You’re probably right,” Angel allowed. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though, does it?”

Willow shook her head. The alcohol was beginning to warm her up and mellow her out. And sitting here, comparing old love stories, was actually helping her feel not quite so lonely.

“God, the brooding is so thick in here, I bet I could cut it with a knife. No–even better–a spoon.”

Spike strolled into the kitchen, grabbed a blood packet out of the refrigerator, and emptied it into a mug. “I know the holidays bring out the worst in people, but this is ridiculous. You two look like someone just killed your best friend. Or your pet. Or your best friend’s pet. Or your pet’s best friend…” He rambled on in that vein for another minute, waiting for the microwave to finish warming his blood.

Willow leaned over the table and whispered in Angel’s ear, “I think Spike’s had some Christmas cheer, himself.”

“Damn right I have,” Spike replied, obviously having heard Willow’s comment. “Only way to get through the holidays anymore. Everybody’s dead and gone, or,” he gave a glance back at the two of them, “so damned depressing that they make me wish *I* was dead and gone.”

“Don’t let us stop you,” Angel drawled, rolling his eyes as Spike pulled up a chair and sat down at the table with them. “I’m sure you’ve got some really important drinking to do.”

“Nope,” Spike said, taking a gulp of his blood and then banging the mug back down on the table, watching as a little of the blood sloshed over the top and dripped down the side. Lifting the mug up, he ran his tongue along the outside of it, licking away the mess. “I’ve decided to do you a favor. Both of you,” he added, giving them a slightly tipsy grin. “I’m going to raise your spirits, even if it kills me. Again.”

“We can only hope,” Angel muttered, throwing Willow a slightly apologetic glance.

Willow grinned, although her gaze wandered a little, fixing itself somewhere to the left of Spike’s shoulder. The alcohol was doing its job, making her feel comfortable, and lowering her inhibitions. And now that Spike was here, lightening her mood. “So, the subject is lost loves. Got anything to add to the discussion?”

“Sod that. New subject.” The blond was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing, as he tried to come up with a worthy topic. “Okay, how ‘bout this? Where’s the oddest place you ever had sex?”

Angel groaned, and Willow’s face felt hot, once again. Although. at this point she wasn’t sure if it was due to the subject matter, or the alcohol. “There’s got to be a better topic than that,” she insisted. “Hey, we could talk about that New Year’s Eve party, since we’re all together. Plan strategy, take a look at–”

“Bo-ring.” Spike’s voice rang out, drawing the word out and turning it into two distinct words. His glaze flicked over to Angel, who showed absolutely no interest in the topic either. “Okay, guess I’ll start. Oddest place Dru and I did it? Top of the Arc de Triomphe in the middle of winter, with snowflakes fallin’ all around us. Damn, that was beautiful.” Spike fell silent, his eyes closed, as if remembering the moment in full detail.

As odd as it was, Willow found herself feeling a little jealous. She had always wanted to go to Paris, and the idea of making love up there, in the snowflakes, looking out over the city, seemed kind of romantic. Cold, but romantic.

Not that she’d ever admit that to Spike, of course.

Then he had to go and ruin the moment. “’Course, I did the slayer at the Bronze one night, too. That was pretty hot, standin’ behind her and watching you lot dance, while she and I did a dance of our own.” He smirked at Angel, waiting for the response he was certain would come.

Willow heard Angel growl, and watched his eyes narrow as he glared at his childe, something dark and dangerous dancing in their depths. Fearing that blows were only seconds away, Willow said the first thing that came to mind.

“In the library, behind the stacks,” she said, slightly breathless at the daring of her confession. “With Xander.”

Both vampires stared at her in shock. “Oh, we didn’t have sex. Not–like, the whole way.” Her expression turned sad. “I just said it so you wouldn’t hit each other, okay?”

Angel smiled shamefacedly. “I wasn’t going to hit him. Even though I certainly was provoked.” He glared at Spike, who ignored him, choosing to address Willow instead.

“So, you and Glinda must’ve had some fun, right? Couple of young birds,” Spike did his best to give her a charming smile, but couldn’t help but let a bit of his devilish nature through. “Tell Uncle Spike all your secrets.”

Willow blushed again and was silent for so long that Spike wondered if she was going to reply. “We did it on Giles’ couch once.”

Clapping his hands together in glee, Spike roared with laughter. He rocked back and forth, sending the chair to such extremes that Willow feared that he would tip it over. “Damn, that would’ve been something to see.”

Even Angel had smiled at her confession and Spike’s subsequent comment. Perhaps the alcohol was improving his mood as well, or maybe he just felt like sharing. “Darla and I once did it at the Colosseum, in Rome. Middle of the night, under the stars.” A smug smile formed on his lips. “Felt like I could hear the crowd roaring their approval, all for us.”

Willow stole a glance at Angel, surprised to see how happy he seemed about the memory. Usually, on the rare occasions when he talked of Angelus’ exploits, she could see the regret in his eyes. But tonight there was nothing but happiness.

They talked for a couple of hours, laughing, and drinking, and telling tall tales. And when the clock hit two in the morning, Willow yawned, said her good-nights, and wished them both a Merry Christmas. It seemed a bit silly to her, seeing as how none of them really celebrated the holiday, but it felt like the polite thing to do.

As she fell asleep, she realized that for the first time since she’d landed in Los Angeles, she actually felt like she was among friends. The feeling warmed her as much as the alcohol she had been drinking, and she fell into a peaceful sleep.


Chapter Nineteen

Willow’s Christmas had passed pleasantly enough, the day itself having been spent with her four co-workers, and now New Year’s Eve was looming before them. Willow and Gunn had put aside their pet project for a bit; there hadn’t been any murders reported since James Smithson’s death, and no new information had been uncovered.

Besides, they had a paying client to attend to for the moment, and that took priority.

The party was only hours away, and the final touches were being put on their plans. They gathered in the dining room, around the long wood table, going over the last-minute details.

Angel looked like a General ordering his soldiers into battle. Except that he was wearing a tuxedo, which was quite at odds with the whole ‘General’ thing. The others were in the clothes they were wearing to the party as well, since this was sort of a verbal dry run.

Illyria looked amazing, with her fancy dress and her hair piled up high on her head in an intricate bun. Loose wisps of hair framed her face, and Willow thought she’d altered the pigmentation of her skin slightly, in some indefinable way. The overall effect made her look feminine, and perhaps slightly vulnerable. Willow was amused to see Gunn stealing glances at her whenever he thought nobody was watching.

Gunn and Spike wore matching black outfits. They looked very ‘black ops,’ and would blend in easily in the dark. There had been an argument about Spike’s hair, of course. Angel wanted him to dye it brown or black, because it was pretty difficult to be all ‘secret agent man’ when your hair was shining as brightly as a searchlight. After some verbal and physical ‘discussion’ between Angel and Spike, and the subsequent clean-up, it was decided that Spike would wear a black ski mask.

Angel looked quite handsome in his tux, Willow had to admit. Then again, there was just something about a man in a tuxedo that turned her insides to jelly. She had a brief flash of Oz at their prom. Definitely hot.

She thought she looked kind of snazzy herself, what with the dress, and the heels, and her little silver pin. Angel had insisted that she needed a necklace and earrings as well; Willow hadn’t really thought about that, but since all of her good jewelry was back in London, she realized he was right. So when he handed her the credit card again, she had picked up a little something for herself and Illyria. Willow thought Angel might pass out when he saw his next credit card statement, but he merely said it was an operational expense, and could be written off by the accountants.

“So, just to recap,” Angel said, ignoring Spike’s exaggerated eye-roll and Illyria’s obvious lack of interest, “Spike and Gunn will patrol the perimeter. One circuit of the grounds every half hour, right? We’re not expecting any trouble from outside, but you never know.”

Gunn nodded, looking serious, but Spike merely stared out into space.

“Illyria, Willow and I will stay together inside, pressing the flesh, making our presence felt, showing a calm, competent, united front.” Illyria stared at him, as if waiting for more. Willow gave an encouraging nod, and Angel continued.

“The schedule of activities is pretty simple. Dancing, mingling, a buffet with a bar–don’t even think about it, Spike.”

“Wasn’t going to, mate.” What Spike neglected to mention was that he was planning on bringing his own libations to the party. But Angel didn’t need to know about that, he figured.

“At eleven-thirty there will be a short speech given by their leader, who also happens to be our client, and then after that, they’ll start their Ceremony of Grknr, and their countdown to midnight. Clock strikes midnight, everyone shakes hands and goes home, and we collect a nice paycheck.”

“Wait, what’s this little Grknr ceremony thing?” Gunn asked. “Haven’t heard about that before.”

Angel deferred to Willow. “Oh, their leader told me about it. It’s kind of like when we have our countdown to midnight, and we make sure we’re with our loved one, so we can kiss at the stroke of midnight, you know? They have something similar, although Henri was a little sketchy on the details.”

“Henri?” Spike asked with a smirk, his attention suddenly focused on the conversation again.

Willow shrugged. “That’s what he asked me to call him. They often use human names when they’re talking to people outside their species. I tried saying his real name once,” she gave a little grimace, “but I think I might have sprained my tongue, and it sounded kind of like I was coughing up a hairball.”

“Did you get the sanctuary spell cast?” Angel asked.

“Yup,” Willow said with a decisive nod. “I did it earlier this afternoon, and then tested it with one of the caterers while they were getting set up. Oh, and–guys, just a word of advice. No matter how normal the food might look. Just…don’t. Really. Trust me on this.”

Confused stares met her warning, but Willow just breezed past that subject and on to the next. “So, when do we leave? We should probably be there early, just to make sure that everything’s nice and secure, right?”

Angel shrugged. “Probably better leave now, then. Willow, Illyria, you’re with me. Gunn, you driving?” At Gunn’s agreement, Angel gave a quick nod and then headed for his car.

---

Things were going pretty smoothly, Willow thought, as the clock struck eleven. There had been a small problem at the bar an hour ago, but the sanctuary spell had done its job, and the would-be brawlers had left peacefully, once they realized that they really had no other choice.

Other than that, it had been one long meet-and-greet. Not quite as bad as Willow had expected, though. And that was mostly because of Angel, she had to admit. He had a very modest, down-to-earth way of dealing with people, and most of the time they spent talking, she felt like she was meeting potential friends, instead of potential clients. Angel just seemed to emanate an air of casual friendliness, which really surprised her, since she knew that he hated these sorts of parties, too.

“Have you ever thought about making your own website? Because if you’re interested in that sort of thing, Willow is really the person you should be talking to…”

Willow’s ears perked up when she heard the topic of Angel’s discussion with a blue-faced man, who could have been a distant relative of Illyria’s, if it wasn’t for the third eyeball that sat where his nose should be, and the sets of nostrils he had just below each ear.

“If you ever want advice on web design, or hosting, or anything like that, I’d be glad to help,” she said eagerly, jumping into the conversation.

She and the demon, whose name was John Smyth (Smyth with a “y,” he said, because it sounded more exotic), talked about the merits of various design programs. While they did, it seemed like the minutes flew by, until suddenly it was eleven-thirty, and time for the Clan Leader to make his speech.

He spoke in his native tongue, rambling on for about fifteen minutes, sometimes speaking slowly and carefully, and at other times loudly and forcefully, as if making a point. As the minutes ticked by, Willow was having more and more trouble paying attention. Not that she could actually understand what was being said, but she was at least *trying* to look like she understood.

Angel stood next to her, and by the way he was fidgeting, she suspected he was having a similar problem. When their host paused for a moment, apparently for dramatic effect, Angel whispered something in Illyria’s ear. She nodded, and Willow watched longingly as she moved silently through the crowd, heading for the door into the gardens.

Probably checking in with Gunn and Spike, she thought. Lucky Illyria.

As their host resumed his speech, and even more time passed, Willow became more and more aware of the vampire next to her. In contrast to his earlier fidgeting, he was standing still now, an unnatural stillness that drew her eyes like a beacon, and she couldn’t help but study him, as his eyes searched the crowd, looking for trouble.

The ‘tux effect’ was definitely working on her. She had little ‘hotness’ thoughts about him that weren’t at all appropriate, given the current circumstances. She worked hard to bring her mind back to the subject at hand, that subject being how hot he looked in that–wait, no, that was the subject she was trying to avoid, she reminded herself.

It was just that…he looked really good. His pants fit snugly, drawing her eyes to his waist, and the really cute ass she had tried not to notice earlier. And the black jacket and white shirt brought her attention to his broad, well-muscled chest that would probably make a really nice pillow, after a good, hard night of…

Willow gradually realized that she could no longer hear their host speaking, and that people were beginning to mingle again. When she looked up to meet Angel’s eyes, she was surprised to see some of her own lusty feelings reflected in their depths.

Those soft, sexy, brown eyes.

Willow was running on instinct now. Naughty instinct, assuredly, but instinct, nonetheless. She needed to see him naked, to feel him inside her, to be connected to him as the clock struck midnight.

“Let’s find somewhere a little more private.”

For a moment, Willow thought *she* was the one who had said the words, but when she reviewed her actions over the last several seconds, she realized that it had been Angel’s suggestion. Not that she was objecting.

“Coat closet. In the front entryway. Private.” She had noted its location earlier. Not that she had been planning on using it for anything like this. It was just a matter of keeping track of all the small rooms and places where people could hide.

Angel grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the front door. As she passed the other party-goers, she realized that they were all kissing, or undressing, or…

Oh, god, this was the Ceremony of Grknr, she realized far too late. She had totally misunderstood it. It wasn’t an attempt to kiss your loved one at the stroke of midnight. You were supposed to be…

‘Sex. It’s all about sex,’ her brain screamed. You were supposed to be having sex with your loved one at the stroke of midnight.

Angel was pulling her towards the coat closet, and she took a moment to bludgeon her brain into submission. The instinctual urge was just too strong to fight. It was Angel. She needed Angel. Inside her, around her, filling her sex and all her senses.

“Faster. Move faster.” This time she was sure it was her saying the words, but Angel certainly wasn’t objecting to the sentiment. He increased his pace, practically dragging her the final half-dozen steps, until he threw open the door to the closet, shoved her inside, and then stepped in behind her, slamming the door closed behind them as he did.

---

Gunn and Spike were chatting with the valet parking attendants, swapping lies and sharing flasks, in an attempt to pass the time. The car-parking demons seemed deeply disappointed that they were missing the Ceremony of Grknr, but apparently they had displeased the Clan Leader and this was their punishment.

Illyria snuck up on them, melting out of the tall shrubs without a sound. “You are not making your rounds?” she asked, her tone a mix of accusation and curiosity.

Gunn and Spike both started guiltily at her sudden appearance, but then relaxed when they realized who it was, and that she was alone. Spike gave her a cheeky grin, while Gunn gave her one of those appraising looks he had been giving her earlier in the evening.

“Nobody’s going to be messing with these guys,” Gunn finally said, shrugging. “If it was gonna happen, it would have happened hours ago. This party’s almost over, and things are probably starting to wind down inside. So we thought we’d just have a little party of our own.” He took the flask from Spike, tilting his head back and taking a nice, long drink. His eyes watered as the potent liquid burned down his throat. “Damn, what did you say was in this?” he asked Spike, who merely smirked, and then stared out into the distance.

“How’re things going inside? Angel makin’ lots of new friends?” Spike asked, although his expression led Illyria to believe that he didn’t really care about the answer, and was merely asking the question because it was expected.

“They chatter incessantly, but say very little of value.” She shrugged. “Angel sent me out here in order to check on your performance. I suspect that he does not trust you,” she told Spike.

“With good reason,” he agreed, grinning. “Glad we’re out here, and he’s in there. The poof is probably bored out of his mind by now.”


Chapter Twenty

Darkness surrounded Willow, but there was no time to stop and get her bearings. “Need you inside me. Now,” she panted, pulling Angel into her arms and pressing her body against his demandingly.

His cologne had a slightly citrusy smell, and she breathed deeply, almost feeling the scent as it worked its way into her body. Her fevered skin was cooled a little by his where they touched, but that did nothing to dispel the rush of adrenaline that burned through her veins.

She could hear the rustle of clothes falling to the floor, and then she felt hands on her hips, turning her away from him, and towards the wall. Eager for what would come next, Willow quickly pulled down her nylons and underwear and hitched her dress above her waist, bending forward slightly.

There were no preliminaries, no words of endearment, nothing smooth or romantic, just the feel of a long, hard cock sliding into her. The feel of it inside her, stretching her, made her keen in pleasure. God, it had been so long. Not just since she’d had sex, but since she’d been so close to another person. Close enough to breathe their scent, to know what they’re thinking, to share such an intimate act. How had she survived without this?

It felt so right, so good, but it wasn’t nearly enough. They had to cum, together, by midnight, or it was all a waste of time. Something inside her kept repeating the thought, over and over, in different ways and with different words, but it was always the same. The necessity of it was driving her every thought, her every movement. She felt the urgency as if it was a hand crushing her chest; even taking a breath was becoming difficult.

Angel’s cock began to rapidly pump in and out of her, his weight pushing her against the wall as he covered her with his body. She put her hands out, bracing herself, to keep from being slammed into the wall by the escalating force of his thrusts.

The tempo kept increasing as it strove to build to its crescendo, the grip of his hands on her hips almost painful, but she was still too far from her orgasm. The angle of penetration felt good, but her clit wasn’t getting the stimulation it needed. Finally, in desperation, she reached down and found her clit, her fingers working quickly to make up for lost time.

Rubbing herself desperately, she tried to imagine it was Angel’s hand on her sex, circling the little nub, stroking it, pinching it. Her imagination and fingers worked feverishly towards their goal. As her partner sent his cock into her with a final deep plunge, she felt her body tense, and then erupt into waves of pleasure that radiated through her. She screamed Angel’s name as she came, and the force of her orgasm pounded her body.

Dimly, through a nonsensical haze, she heard the clock strike midnight, and knew that everything would be okay. Relief rushed through her. The spell was broken, and the Ceremony of Grknr was over. She crumpled in relief, resting her back against the wall as she tried to calm the frenzied beating of her heart.

Willow sat there for a minute; once her body was once again under control, she tried to work on bringing the rest of her world back into focus. She wasn’t sure if Angel knew exactly what had just happened to them, but she would need to tell him if he didn’t. And wouldn’t that conversation be–

Suddenly the door was thrown open, the unexpectedness of it scattering her thoughts into disarray while the bright light blinded her eyes.

“What the hell?”

It was Spike. And, she saw, as her eyes began to adjust, Gunn and Illyria as well. She jumped to her feet, mute, but certain that she should say something, even if she wasn’t sure exactly what. The awkward moment stretched on, reminding her of one of those dreams where she wound up at school, completely naked, but unable to say a word.

She could see that Spike was shocked, but judging from his next remark, he was beginning to recover. “If I’d known it was going to be this kind of a party, I would’ve stuck around!” He leered at the couple, and then smirked as Angel pushed Willow behind him.

“Hey, watch where you’re pointing that thing,” Gunn said, his eyes fixed briefly on Angel’s cock, before darting away to look somewhere else–anywhere else, besides at Angel.

Illyria, on the other hand, seemed quite happy to stare at the vampire’s appendage, cocking her head curiously, as if she was saving this picture for review at a later date. The idea of it bothered both Gunn and Angel, although for completely different reasons. Finally, she glanced away, fixing those odd, inhuman eyes on Gunn. “Were they just–”

“They sure as hell were,” Gunn confirmed hastily, cutting her off before she could complete the sentence.

“Sorry,” Angel mumbled, turning around and treating them to a brief view of his ass, as he pulled his pants up and tucked his cock back in, zipping up quickly.

“If you could just close the door for a minute,” Willow hissed angrily, her eyes fixing on Spike as if she had decided that this was all somehow his fault. When he pushed the others backwards, and then closed the door–while he was still inside the closet–Willow pointed at him and yelled, “Get out!”

Spike shrugged, and then opened the door again. “It was worth a shot,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god,” Willow chanted the words over and over again as she rearranged her clothing, praying that there were no conspicuous wet spots on her dress. Her earlier post-orgasmic euphoria was long gone, and her eyes refused to meet Angel’s.

“It was the ritual. Stupid Shatu and their stupid Ceremony of Grknr. I should have researched more,” she berated herself as she ran her hands through her hair, trying to smooth it into respectability. “Should have been more thorough; I knew better.”

Hands grabbed her shoulders, stilling her movements.

“This is not your fault, Willow.”

“Yes, it is, Angel,” she insisted, still unable to meet his eyes. “I embarrassed us both because I didn’t prepare properly.”

“This was my job,” he reminded her. “I heard all the same details you did. Neither one of us thought to ask for clarification about the ritual. This is as much my fault as it is yours. But sometimes, things just happen.”

Willow stayed silent, her thoughts whirling around in a maelstrom of misery.

Angel felt helpless and confused in the face of her desolation. He was a vampire; casual sex did not carry the same taboo for him that it did for her. How would he make her understand that this was not the end of the world? His hand went to her chin, lifting her face until her eyes were forced to meet his. “Was it really so terrible, Willow?” he whispered.

Willow wrenched her head away, escaping from his oh-so-hypnotic eyes. Wanting to pace, but finding little opportunity in the small closet, she merely turned away from him, her shoulders tensing as the silence between them grew. Obviously, he didn’t understand why this bothered her so much. It wasn’t about whether it was good or enjoyable; it was about trust, and responsibility, and the way that things changed between people once they’d shared such an intimate act.

It was about things that were done, and could never be undone.

“That’s not the point,” she whispered, dredging up some of the more mundane possible consequences of their actions and tossing them at him bitterly. “We could have–what if your soul hadn’t been permanent? Or if someone else had found us? Or if someone had chosen to attack our client when we were…distracted? We got off lightly, but there could have been some serious consequences!”

Even without the scent of her unhappiness, Angel would still have known that she was trying desperately not to cry. While he wasn’t sure exactly what he could do to help her, he knew that getting her out of here was vital. They needed to talk about what had just happened; needed to find a way to make sure it didn’t destroy the burgeoning friendship between them. And for that, they would need privacy.

He would take her back to her room at the Hyperion. Hopefully she’d find comfort in the familiar surroundings, and they could discuss what had happened in a less emotionally charged atmosphere.

“Come on, Willow, we need to get going,” he reminded her. He hesitated a moment, and then laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, half-afraid that she’d shrug it off, but willing to let her make the decision.

She stood still for a moment, and then turned. From the determined way she jutted her chin out, Angel was relieved to sense a strength that had not been there a minute ago. She’d had her emotional moment, and now she was pulling herself together. But they would still need to talk. He knew her well enough to discern that she was holding things together for his sake, but eventually the dam would burst, and all her emotions would come flooding out.

He saw her hand on the doorknob and closed his eyes briefly, waiting to move until the light no longer blinded him. When he opened his eyes and left the closet, he saw their coworkers looking at them intently.

Spike opened his mouth to say something, and judging by the smirk on his face, it was going to be nasty. ‘Make the girl cry and feel smug about it as you do it’ kind of nasty. Angel opened his mouth, searching for something safe, something ordinary to say that would forestall the other vampire.

But Willow must have sensed Spike’s intent. As she walked by him her foot lashed out, kicking him in the shin. The motion was so natural, so effortless, that it almost looked like she had choreographed it. The four of them stared after her as she walked through the front door and out of the house.

“Ow! That soddin’ hurt, damn it!” Spike rubbed his shin for a moment, glaring at the front door that Willow had just passed through, his face a perfect picture of astonishment.

Angel wasn’t sure who was more shocked by Willow’s actions–him or Spike. But he was glad to see that she was able to hold her own against his annoying childe, at least for now. There was no doubt in his mind that later on, Spike would take another run at her. He could be just like a kid when it came to teasing and harassing those he saw as weak, or unwilling to fight back. Fortunately for her, Willow had just proved that she was neither of those.

“Party should be winding down,” Angel said, ignoring Spike and speaking directly to Gunn and Illyria. “You can take care of the clean-up. If our employer asks, tell him Willow got sick and I’m running her home. I doubt anyone will notice, though.”

Gunn nodded, while Spike merely smirked. The look in Illyria’s eyes informed Gunn that she would have questions about this later.

‘Good, something to look forward to,’ he thought with sarcastic resignation.

Angel was relieved to see that Willow was sitting in his car waiting for him. She didn’t look any happier now than she had a few minutes ago, but at least she wasn’t wandering the streets of this very exclusive neighborhood in a senseless stupor.

Angel sat in the driver’s seat, taking a moment to enjoy the warm breeze that caressed his skin, before turning to look at his passenger. She was staring straight ahead, the set of her shoulders so tense that it looked as if a mere touch might shatter her.

“We need to talk,” he said, trying not to flinch at how pathetic the words sounded.

“Do we have to?”

Angel sighed and leaned back, letting his head fall against the headrest as he studied the night sky. No stars out tonight, just clouds. They raced by, powered by the same warm wind that ruffled his hair, and blew strands of Willow’s hair across her face.

“Willow, if you insist on taking the blame for what happened tonight,” he put his hand up to stop her when she looked like she might interrupt him, “then you’ll have to cut me in for half.”

She turned her head, staring at him. “I don’t think–”

“Doesn’t matter what you think. If you’re to blame, then I am too. I’m your boss. If our information was insufficient, I should have known too. Right?”

She turned back to face the front of the car. “I guess,” she murmured, but he could tell that she didn’t mean it. Still, it was a start.

“This doesn’t have to be the end of the world,” he said softly, reaching out to capture a lock of hair and tuck it behind her ear. The wind took it again, tugged it free, and set it in flight once more.

“Sex changes everything,” she stated with a surety that told him she’d never believe otherwise.

And maybe she was right.

“It doesn’t have to change things for the worse,” he countered.

“We were just starting to be…friends? Something. And now, everything’s going to be weird. Awkward.” The words were said quietly, haltingly, and he could tell that she’d been thinking about them.

“So we know each other a little better than we did yesterday,” he told her. “Just because we had sex doesn’t mean that we can’t still be friends. That doesn’t have to change.” He thought for a moment, before adding uncertainly, “But if you want, we can pretend it didn’t happen. Would that make things easier for you?”

She shook her head. “We can’t undo it.”

“Then we move past it,” he insisted. “We get up tomorrow and say hello, and we go and have dinner, and we talk to each other. We don’t let this thing fester inside and destroy our friendship. You can tell me about–about what it was like to live in Brazil. Okay?”

She nodded slowly, turning to look at him curiously.

“And you can ask me about…well, anything you want. There’s a lot to ask, because I’ve been around for a while, right?”

That coaxed a smile from her, and Angel figured he was on the right track. “So, is that okay? Can a friend take another friend to dinner tomorrow?”

It was hard to see her eyes, the way the wind was whipping her hair around her face, but he suspected that the tentative smile she gave him was a genuine one, and that if he could see her eyes, it would be optimism he saw reflected in them, and not her earlier misery.

“Sure. I guess dinner would be okay.”


Continue