So Wild A Dream

By KallieRose

Chapter Twenty-One

“And just how the hell did we get stuck with the clean-up, anyway? Poof wanders off with a bird, and suddenly I have to play nice with the bloody client. I don’t do customer service. It’s in my contract.” Spike paused for a moment. “Well, okay, maybe I don’t exactly have a contract. But–but it’s one of those unspoken understandings. I don’t do the schmoozing. That’s his job.”

Gunn rolled his eyes. Spike had been complaining non-stop since they got into the car, and after the first five minutes, he resolved to tune it out. It was late, he was tired, and the whole ‘I’m so put-upon’ act was getting more than a little old. If things were truly so horrible, Spike would have jumped ship and left them all ages ago.

Hell, the two of them had just spent most of the evening drinking and shooting the breeze with the parking lot attendants. It wasn’t like they’d had a very difficult evening. Angel, on the other hand, *had* been making with the P.R., and pressing the flesh, and doing all those other things that the rest of them hated with a passion, but that Angel was surprisingly good at, when he had to be.

Still, Gunn had a feeling that bringing those facts to Spike’s attention wouldn’t win him any points right now, so he just let his mind float free and concentrated on getting them home quickly, and in once piece.

The city blew by them as he drove, until finally Spike’s diatribe seemed to lose some steam. Coincidentally, he parked the car and they headed into the hotel at about the same time.

They wandered into the lobby, the hotel seeming especially silent and empty after the frenetic gaiety of the New Years Eve party. “Wonder if they’re here?” Gunn asked, his ears alert for sounds as his eyes scanned the lobby.

“Yeah. I can hear her. Sense him. Probably having a quickie.” Upon further examination, Spike sorted out the input he was receiving from his senses. They weren’t together, but they *were* both upstairs. He had no idea what Willow was up to, but he suspected his sire was pacing. Restless energy poured from him, thrumming down the hallway and into all corners of the lobby. He was almost surprised that the others couldn’t sense it.

Gunn frowned. “You think? Seems like Willow was pretty upset the last time I saw her.”

Spike shrugged, deciding to keep his mouth shut.

“What is a quickie?” Illyria asked, gazing at Gunn expectantly. Her familiar head-tilt warned him that this could be the segue into a much longer and more complicated discussion.

Gunn groaned. “Not tonight,” he told her wearily, running a hand over his head as he headed for the stairs. “I promise, I’ll answer all your questions tomorrow. But right now I need a shower and a bed.” Frowning, he added, “Not necessarily in that order.”

But Illyria was not willing to be deterred. She gave Gunn a hard stare, but when he held his ground, she blinked slowly, and turned to Spike.

“Spike will explain it to me,” she said confidently. The words were said to Spike, but Gunn knew that they were directed at him. It was a test, of sorts. But at that moment he was too tired and annoyed to care. Anger was beginning to build underneath his usual calm exterior, and he decided to let a bit of it out.

“Fine. You can go play twenty questions with the vampire if you want,” he declared, his eyes narrowing as they focused on her. He shook his head, and then turned and headed upstairs. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together. Good night.”

His words seem to echo in the old building, and suddenly he felt like he was being overly dramatic. But the words had been said, and there was no taking them back. Making good on his pronouncement, he walked down the hall to his room, trying hard not to think about any conversation that might be taking place downstairs in his absence.

“I believe he was angry,” Illyria observed, glancing at Spike for confirmation, and possibly an explanation.

Spike’s gaze was still fixed on the point at the top of the stairs where he had last seen Gunn. He was more than a little confused by the man’s reaction. Gunn had obviously been annoyed, and perhaps a little angry, but had also seemed almost…“Jealous?”

Illyria stared at him for a moment, before turning and heading for the kitchen. Spike followed in her wake, thinking as he walked.

Gunn had sounded a lot like he was jealous. Which, on the face of it, seemed absolutely bloody insane. But there it was.

“I said I think he was jealous. Didn’t you hear me?” Her lack of a reaction annoyed him; Spike hated to be ignored.

“Of course I heard you,” she replied, as she grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. She did not bother trying to hide the irritation in her voice. “Jealous. Resentful or bitter in rivalry; envious.” Her voice became even more monotone than usual as she spoke the words.

“Yeah? So?” Spike asked, wishing he could see into her mind for a clue as to what she was thinking. There was no sign of it on her face, but there was something deep in her eyes that would have frightened him; if he weren’t such a badass creature of the night, that is.

“You are mistaken,” she informed him coldly. “Gunn was not jealous. He would not believe that you are a worthy rival for my attention. And besides, he would surely win any such contest.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at her comment, watching as she hastily brought the glass of water to her mouth, drinking it all down at once. Something in the way that she had acted made him wonder if she was feeling like she had said too much.

Her throat worked convulsively as she drank, and the vampire found himself eyeing the slender column of her neck. What would her blood taste like? Would she be potent and delicious, rich with time and power? Or would she be something so completely different, something so utterly alien to him, that just a taste of her essence would turn him to ashes?

Most likely he would never find out. Probably for the best, he admitted.

Illyria’s gaze fixed on him once again as she put the empty glass on the counter. “You are staring. It is considered rude.”

Spike had to laugh, throwing back his head and enjoying himself. He was getting etiquette lessons from Big Blue. Now he’d seen it all.

He gave her a cheeky grin. “I’m a mean, rude man, baby. Haven’t you been paying attention?” Some shrink would probably say that he used rudeness as a defense mechanism. But mostly, he did it because it was fun.

After considering him for a moment, Illyria nodded. “I have watched you. You are neither as rude, nor as bad, as you would like others to think.” The slightly crestfallen look on Spike’s face would have set her to laughing if she had possessed a sense of humor.

“I don’t have to stand here and take that kind of abuse,” Spike muttered, shooting her a dirty look as he beat a hasty retreat.

Leaving Illyria alone in the kitchen, still without the slightest idea of what a ‘quickie’ was.

---

Despite his earlier weariness, sleep did not come easily to Charles Gunn. Many things drew his attention away from his desired goal, but none so strongly as thoughts of Illyria.

She had looked different tonight. He could still picture her in his mind, and that in itself was cause for concern. She had looked as regal and imperious as ever; but also softer, more approachable, almost…feminine? Not that any of that mattered. She was still Illyria, still the same pain in his ass. You could wrap her up in a pretty package and place a shiny bow on her, but that wouldn’t change what was hiding underneath.

And why was he even thinking about this, anyway? Was it because she was downstairs, letting Spike help her as he himself had in the past? Surely that didn’t really matter to him, did it? Was he so wrapped up in the role of mentor that giving up the job, even for an evening, was something to get upset about?

But, as he finally drifted off to sleep, some dark, forgotten corner of his mind whispered the answer to his question: a deep, resounding, yes.

---

Willow wasn’t having much luck with peaceful sleep, either. Every time her eyes closed, her other senses came alive. The sound of Angel’s voice, the feel of his hands on her hips, the ache as he thrust deep inside her; she could feel his hands everywhere, hear his voice in her ear…and nothing would make it go away.

She pushed her hand between her legs, her fingers rubbing and pinching until she came, stifling her moans with a pillow. But strangely enough, that didn’t help for long. Before she knew it, her body was taut again, aching for more.

It wasn’t Angel, her mind insisted. She had been alone long enough that her body would have reacted the same way if it had been anyone else. Angel was just a victim of circumstance. Hell, they both were, for that matter.

Besides, there was still Buffy. Sure, Angel said that they were long over, that the magic was gone. But maybe Buffy would be able to change his mind. She deserved that chance, Willow thought. So until then, Angel was off-limits. Oh, sure, they could be friends, hang out, talk, whatever. But anything more was not going to happen. Again.

Feeling like she had found some sort of resolution to her problem, Willow was finally able to relax enough to fall asleep.

---

Angel wasn’t even trying to fall asleep. Dressed only in a pair of black silk boxers, he stretched out in his recliner, eyes closed, body still; but his mind was busy, reliving the evening’s events.

Willow. If anyone had told him that he would have sex with Willow tonight, he would have thought they were insane. Or at the very least, that they were using him as the butt of a particularly unfunny joke. Not that she was so undesirable; that wasn’t it at all. It was just so…unlikely.

But it wasn’t a joke; it really had happened. And he was still trying to come to grips with how he felt about it.

He really liked Willow. More than he had ever realized before. Back in the days of Sunnydale, in the days of Buffy, she had been eclipsed by Buffy’s brilliance. But, even back then, she had always been there for him when he had needed her. Loyal, dependable, and smart as hell; he had known he could count on her.

Her initial arrival in Los Angeles had been…unexpected. But since then, she had tried hard to prove herself, and had managed to work her way towards solid relationships with everyone. Even Spike–and that was saying something.

But it was more than that. He, personally, enjoyed having her around. Her sunny disposition made her fun to spend time with, and her shy, eager-to-please personality endeared her to him. The fact of the matter was, he just felt better when she was around.

Did he want their relationship to progress beyond the bounds of friendship? He hadn’t really given the matter any thought before, but now that the issue had been forced, he certainly wasn’t going to reject the idea out-of-hand.

Dinner would be the first test. If things went well, and if she was interested in giving it a try, maybe they could date. He shook his head; the whole dating thing was just so…normal. He hadn’t actually dated in a long time. He and Nina had talked about it, but somehow it just never seemed to happen. Apocalypses and the full moon had always seemed to get in the way of any plans they attempted to make.

Maybe with Willow things would be different.

---

Willow was right, Illyria decided. The dress, the hair, everything else–it *had* made an impression on Gunn. How much of one she could not yet be sure. But his behavior that evening had been subtly different.

She had caught him staring at her, more than once, with a look that evaluated, but also admired. And yet afterwards, when she had asked him to explain Spike’s term, ‘quickie,’ he had refused. And then he had–she thought for a moment, looking for exactly the right words–stormed off, almost…jealously.

Surely he understood that she had no interest in Spike. He was a worthy opponent when she wished to lose herself in violence, but she did not see him in a…romantic light. She did not see *anyone* like that. So why had he reacted in such a strange way, to an innocent question?

Spike’s assertion that Gunn was, indeed, jealous had been curious; it would imply an emotional connection between them that Gunn continued to deny. He told her that they were friends, and nothing more. But if Spike was correct, perhaps his feelings were deeper than he wanted to admit to her.

That news was certainly not unwelcome. She still had a desire to experience the sexual act with Gunn, and if he did indeed possess feelings for her that were compatible with that goal, then it would make things much easier. She had merely to encourage him to act upon those feelings.

But somehow she suspected that was something easier said than done.

She had plenty of time; she had heard the phrase ‘patience is a virtue,’ and while the concept of virtue was rather lost on her, she understood that good things happened to people who practiced it. And if there was one thing she had plenty of, it was patience.


Chapter Twenty-Two

‘This is not a date,’ Willow reminded herself as she made her way down the stairs and into the lobby. ‘We’re just a couple of friends who are going out for dinner.’ She tried not to think about the fact that Angel didn’t really eat all that much, because then she would have to consider the idea that he might have had another reason for asking her out to dinner.

But no. He had said that they were just friends, and she was taking him at his word.

“Where you off to?” Spike asked, barely bothering to make eye contact with her before turning back to stare at the TV. He was sprawled out on the couch, a joystick clenched tightly in his hands.

The sounds of computer-animated violence reached her ears, and Willow realized that Spike was playing a video game. It didn’t really seem like it would be much of a challenge. After all, those games were created for players with human reflexes. Spike’s reflexes could beat the hell out of any human’s without even trying. So what was the point?

Okay, so not really her business. And as long as it kept Spike occupied it was serving a worthy purpose. Besides–

“You gone deaf? Stupid? Hanging out with the poof will do that to a girl, I guess.”

She was confused for a moment, but then remembered his question. “Shut up, Spike,” she snarled, more out of habit than any actual anger. Being annoyed Spike just seemed natural, most of the time. And comments like his last one certainly didn’t help his cause.

“Hey, Willow. You look great. Ready to go?”

Angel gave her a smile as he came downstairs, his chocolate gaze flicking briefly to Spike before settling on Willow again.

Spike snickered. “You’re in a hotel with dozens of empty rooms, but you have to go somewhere else to get your rocks off? Guess there’s something to be said for variety.” His eyes never left the TV as he said the words, but he heard Willow’s gasp of shock, along with the growl from his sire.

“Shut. Up.” Spike heard Willow mutter the words, and was about to respond in kind. He opened his mouth to speak...and found that he couldn’t. Oh, his mouth opened. Everything worked the way it was supposed to. But no sound came out.

His eyes swung to Willow, and he glowered at her with all the intensity he could muster. But instead of being intimidated, she merely grinned at him, turned on her heel, and walked out of the hotel, with Angel trailing behind her.

---

Angel got about three steps out of the hotel before he burst out laughing. “Spike–the look on his face–it was…priceless,” he squeezed out between chuckles.

Willow was grinning from ear to ear, taking pleasure in the simple joy of watching Angel laugh. It was something she’d seen so rarely in the past, but when his face lit up like that, and his usually stern mouth curved into a smile…it was something she loved to see.

His arm went around her shoulders as they made their way to his car, parked about half a block from the hotel. She almost jumped at the unexpected contact, but managed to keep her nerves in check.

“I’d better take that curse off Spike, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she told him, looking back towards the hotel. Her right arm made a graceful swinging motion, and Angel felt...something…circle around them briefly, before being sent towards the hotel.

“Was that...” he wanted to ask what had just happened, but didn’t quite know how to form the question.

“Did you feel it?” Willow asked curiously. “The magic, I mean? Most people don’t. Oh, they might get some sort of uncomfortable feeling, like there’s something going on, but they don’t know what. But for me there’s a lot more to it than that.”

Angel thought for a moment, trying to put the way it had felt into words. “It felt like water, only lighter. Or light, but more tangible. It brushed against me as it swirled around you, I think. And then I felt it rush off. Towards Spike?”

Willow nodded. “I just wanted to have the last word with him this time. Once I was out of earshot I figured I might as well undo it.”

“He’ll come after you, you know,” Angel warned her. His childe didn’t take well to people playing with him. In Spike’s mind, what she had done would be pretty much unforgivable. Yes, it was quickly undone, but to Spike, that wouldn’t matter.

“Let him come,” she said with a cocky grin. “Unless he can knock me unconscious before I know he’s there, I’ll have the upper hand. I can turn him into a mouse with the flick of a finger.”

She had such confidence now that sometimes Angel forgot about the insecure young woman he used to know. Time had made some of the difference, but power had helped a lot. She wasn’t reckless with it; not that he’d seen, at any rate. Just secure, calm...comfortable. That was a lot of it. She was comfortable in her skin, which was something that she’d never been when she was younger.

It looked good on her.

As Angel drove through the city they chatted, mostly small talk about things they’d seen, monsters they’d killed. He even got her to open up a bit about what had happened in Sunnydale after he left.

They pulled into the parking lot of a busy deli, the lot quite full even at this late hour, and Willow gave the building a curious glance. The ordinary brick façade didn’t look like much, but when Angel led her inside, her breath caught in surprise.

The interior was, quite simply, a shrine to Hollywood.

Walls were covered from floor to ceiling with memorabilia. Photos, many signed, hung side by side with costumes, props, scripts, and other items, all evoking a memory of a movie, TV show, or song.

“Wow,” Willow breathed, trying to see everything without staring like a tourist, and failing miserably. There was just too much to see.

“I thought you’d like this place,” Angel said, and Willow had to forgive him for the fact that he looked a little smug. He sort of had a right to be. This place was just...really cool.

“It’s amazing.”

“And the food is good, too. At least, as far as I can tell.”

Each booth was dedicated to a different star, and their hostess rattled off a list of available booths, current big-name Hollywood stars coming out in the same breath as old-time actors from the era of black and white movies. Willow chose the Danny Kaye booth, her face lighting up when she heard the name.

“We redheads have to stick together,” she whispered to Angel as they sat down at their table.

Angel ordered a burger and fries, while Willow had a roast beef sandwich. Their waitress whisked their menus away, and they both got comfortable, smiling at each other across the table.

“Thanks, Angel. This was a really neat idea.”

For a moment he allowed himself to bask in the approval of her smile. “I’m glad you like it. I wanted to take you somewhere fun, where we could relax, and not think about monsters, or killings, or...”

“Real life, you mean?” she asked teasingly. “So we can immerse ourselves in the past, instead.” That was fine with her. It was nice to escape from reality every once in a while.

They looked at each other for a moment, neither of them sure what to say next. What had happened between them the previous evening still hung in the air, but they both knew that it had a lot to do with their getting together tonight.

Angel broke the silence with a question meant to draw her out. “So, tell me about Brazil. What did you think of it?”

Willow’s expression turned thoughtful, her eyes going someplace far away as she really considered his question. “I liked some things about it. But not others. I suppose it was a great jumping off point. You know, after the fall of Sunnydale.”

She glanced at him quickly, before staring back down at her hands, which toyed with a packet of sugar. Her voice got pensive as she began speaking again.

“Those last days in Sunnydale were intense. I mean, we knew something was coming. And that it would be big. Catastrophic. I think that on some level, we all knew that nothing would ever be the same.

“I suppose there was a kind of urgency in those last couple of days. We lived every minute, every second, like it might be the last. Every meal had to be extra special, because who knew if we would eat again? Every kiss, every touch, every word…there was a kind of desperation to it that made everything more powerful, more intense. More important. You know?” Her eyes lifted to meet his, searching for something.

Angel nodded. He knew. He remembered a day not all that long ago. A day spent with Connor, in a coffee shop, talking about ordinary things and trying to forget the fact that within the next twenty-four hours, his life would change in a serious way–or perhaps end altogether. He remembered every moment, every word, every nuance of that last day, as if it was preserved in amber and he could take it out to examine at his leisure.

Connor was gone now, living with his “real” parents again and attending college. They’d parted as friends, perhaps something more, but Angel had promised himself not to go hunting for his son again. Their next meeting, if there was to be one, would be on Connor’s terms.

“So yeah, Brazil,” Willow continued, going back to Angel’s original question. “How do you release all of that ‘every moment is life-or-death’ intensity, when you’ve lived with it for so long that it’s almost all you know?”

Angel didn’t have an answer for that, and he suspected that he wasn’t supposed to. So he just sat quietly. She would tell him, in her own time.

“I think I went a little crazy in Brazil,” she admitted with a shy smile. “I had a second childhood, of sorts. Or maybe a first childhood, since my teenage years were a little light on the childhood, and a little heavy on the apocalypses.”

She stopped to think for a moment. “I suppose my parents would have had some long, technical term for what I did there...they were always big on the psychology jargon. But mostly I just stayed out all night, slept all day, started a coven, and clocked a lot of time on the beaches. Oh, I always used sunblock. I wasn’t *completely* out of control, after all,” she added.

Angel had to grin at that. Even at her most reckless, Willow was still smart. And, truth be told, fairly responsible, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise.

“It all came crashing down on me, I suppose, when I caught Kennedy with someone else. Not that I thought we were a ‘forever’ type of thing. Even then, I think I knew that we were drifting apart. Even if I wasn’t willing to admit it to myself.

“I took a hard look at my life, and the way I was living it, and decided that my vacation was over, and it was time to get back to work. So I went to London, and began helping Giles bring the Watcher’s Council into the twenty-first century. Mostly I was licking my wounds, I guess. But with some distance, I began to see how empty my life had been there.”

Angel looked like he might be inclined to interrupt her with well-meant reassurances, but Willow rushed on.

“Don’t get me wrong; I needed that time. I needed to break free a little, and see more of the world. But ultimately, when I was done with that, what I really wanted was to be part of a team again. Part of a family.”

Angel was surprised at her insight. She seemed to know herself very well, and never pulled any punches. It probably had a lot to do with her parents, he suspected, although she certainly deserved some of the credit as well. “So your parents...were they in Sunnydale when it fell?” He had never thought to ask her this before; he knew that Joyce was dead, and that Xander’s parents deserved to be, but he had never thought to ask about Willow’s parents.

She gave him an impish smile, tinged with something a little sad. “My parents? In Sunnydale? Surely you jest. No, they were off on another of their whirlwind tours. They emailed me a couple of days after Sunnydale turned itself into a sinkhole. I have to admit, I thought about not responding. About remaining dead.”

Angel was surprised, and it showed in his eyes. She took it all in, and then continued. “I know, it seems petty now, and I was never really serious about it. It was just...it’s not like we were close. I’m sure they would have shed a couple of tears, but then they’d be off to their next conference, and that would be it. Back to life as normal.” There was an edge of bitterness that she wasn’t completely able to eradicate from her voice.

“I’m sure they cared more than that,” he told her. The arrival of their food cut short anything else he might have added.

Willow looked at her meal, her eyes growing big at the size of the sandwich. “I’ll have enough for lunch tomorrow, and probably dinner too,” she joked.

Angel smiled, biting into one of his French fries. He could eat human food, and did enjoy the taste, but it did nothing for him beyond that. When he wanted to, he could nibble away at a meal for hours, but he would rarely finish one.

In stark contrast to the serious tone of their pre-meal discussion, they chattered about less important topics as they ate. Willow told him some of the more humorous bits about her shopping trip with Illyria, insisting that Angel owed her big-time for her efforts. Angel, on the other hand, contended that the damage she had done to his credit card bill was payment enough. They laughed, they ate, they talked, and eventually Angel paid the check and they left.

Before Willow knew it, they were sitting in Angel’s car, in front of the Hyperion, the pleasant evening coming to a close. “I had a wonderful time, Angel,” she said. “I really can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.”

“Then I guess we need to do this more often. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

His eyes glittered as he asked the question, and in the darkness Willow sensed something almost predatory in their depths.

“What are we?” she asked him abruptly, the laughter suddenly gone from her voice. “Going out once, I can see that as friendship. But tomorrow night too? That seems like it’s getting into more serious territory.”

Angel watched her face, searching for a hint that would tell him what kind of approach to take. “I’d like to date you.” Grimacing, he ran a hand through his hair, sending the perfectly spiked strands into disarray. “God, that sounded so...ordinary. Like we’re kids in high school, and I’m asking you to go steady. I feel like I should be asking you to a sock hop or something.” He laughed ruefully at himself.

Willow’s expression softened at his honesty. “I–I’m not sure how I feel about that,” she admitted. “I kind of wanted to try the ‘friends’ thing for a while. But tonight just felt...” Just felt so good, her mind insisted. Being with Angel had been fun. More than fun. The temptation to feel that good every night was a hard one to resist.

But there was still Buffy. Her friend’s name brought her up short, and guilt kicked in. “But what about Buffy?” she finally asked.

Her words gave Angel a hint towards the source of her uncertainty. He sensed that she wanted to give this a try, but didn’t want to feel like she was betraying her friend. The fact that what he and Buffy had shared had cooled to a sort of fondness over the years, at least on his part, didn’t mean anything to her. Or maybe she just didn’t believe it yet.

“Willow,” he said, taking her hand and grasping it tightly in both of his, “Buffy and I are in the past. We both moved on long ago. She’s...she’s not the same person I was in love with. And I’ve changed too. If we met tomorrow, we’d be...friends, maybe?” He shrugged. “But if you’re holding back on giving us a try, just because of Buffy, then you’re doing all of us a disservice. Because Buffy would want you to be happy, wouldn’t she?”

Willow closed her eyes, her confusion evident on her face. “Of course she would. If only I could...” she stopped, and then squared her shoulders and began again. “It would just be easier if I could talk to her, you know? If I could–I don’t know–get her blessing. I know that sounds silly, but it would make me feel better.”

Angel released her hand, and reached up to cup her face, leaning in to breathe in her scent. “Sometimes life doesn’t come together in such a neat, tidy fashion. Sometimes you just have to surrender to what feels right, and worry about the consequences later,” he whispered, his lips inches from hers.

She closed her eyes and sighed through slightly parted lips, but made no effort to pull away. Angel took that as a sign of consent, so he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against hers in a soft kiss.

He wanted to take it further, to delve into her mouth and discover its secrets, but she needed time to deal with the idea of being with him, so he reluctantly pulled away from her. “I think that was a good start,” he told her, a smile playing along the edge of his lips.

Opening her eyes, Willow smiled back. “I think you’re right.”

“So, tomorrow night?” he asked hopefully.

Willow closed her eyes, feeling like she was about to jump off the edge of a cliff. “Okay,” she agreed, letting out a deep breath as she spoke. “Tomorrow night.”


Chapter Twenty-Three

“You have been avoiding me again.”

Gunn tried not to jump at the unexpected interruption. Jumping would denote guilt. Not to mention weakness. And weakness was something that Illyria would pounce on like...like some sort of big, blue, pouncing being.

Okay, so he wasn't that smooth with the similes today. Circumstances, he reminded himself. It was much easier to be smart and eloquent when you weren’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which was exactly what he had been doing for the last two days.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he protested weakly.

The look she gave him was laced with polite disbelief.

“Well, maybe a little” he conceded.

She had invaded his rooms, standing in the doorway as if unsure whether he would invite her in, or banish her from his sight. “Why?” she demanded.

He stood, leaning against his desk for support. It seemed a little silly to admit that he had been avoiding her because he didn’t want to answer the very questions she was about to ask, but that was pretty much the gist of it.

“Is it because you are embarrassed?” Illyria asked, in an unusual display of astuteness.

When he only stared at her in surprise, she took the initiative and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind her. “You do not want to answer questions about Willow and Angel, correct?”

Gunn nodded, still looking uncomfortable.

When he didn’t say anything, Illyria continued speaking. “They are not in love, but they had sex. You are afraid that I will see a correlation between their situation and ours.”

This finally brought a reaction from Gunn. “It’s not the same, though. They were under the influence of...of something. I’m not sure what. But their free will was compromised.”

Illyria crossed the room to his couch, sitting down and placing her hands in her lap. She regarded Gunn cautiously. She appeared to be considering what to say, and how to say it, quite carefully. “They were affected by the ceremony, by something that lowered their inhibitions and strengthened their libido. They were overwhelmed by their sexual desire for one another.” She hesitated for a moment, “I understand that.”

Something in the tone of her voice made him curious; her clinical description of Angel and Willow’s condition had the ring of familiarity to it. That night she had been inside for quite a while before coming out to check on him and Spike. Had she been exposed to the aphrodisiac as well? The idea surprised him, although it probably shouldn’t have.

“You felt it too?” he asked, slightly afraid of the answer she would give.

Illyria merely nodded, frowning. She seemed to be wrapped up tightly in thoughts of her own. After a moment she shook her head, and fixed her eyes on Gunn. “It was unpleasant. I did not like being...usurped, in my own body.”

She gave little outward sign of it, but he sensed that what had happened had greatly disturbed her. There had been no evidence of it when she had talked with him and Spike outside, but then again there were rarely any visual clues to the state of her emotions. If she wanted someone to know how she felt, it usually came out in jagged words and verbal punches.

“I’m sorry, Illyria.” He knew that the words were small consolation to her, but didn’t know how else to express his regret. “Are you...okay?” If she had been someone else, he might have attempted to hold her, or console her in some physical way, but she had always been prickly about being touched, and he wasn’t sure if his actions would be welcome.

She glared at the floor and refused to look at him, but she spoke quickly in a low voice, devoid of emotion, and he understood that this was her way of distancing herself from what had happened.

“I had...desires. Desires that were inconvenient. They were very difficult to ignore. I did not realize that the others felt them as well. I thought it was just me. And when I went outside, they faded away, so I said nothing.”

“But you were able to control them?”

She glared at him, and then turned her head away with an arrogant sweep of her chin. But her voice was at odds with her movements, coming out soft and hesitant. “I have felt desire before,” she admitted. “This was no different.”

When she turned back to face him, Gunn saw something sad and a little bit lost in her eyes, but it was quickly hidden. He wondered, just for a moment, if she was playing him, trying to manipulate him into feeling something for her that would lead them beyond the boundaries of friendship.

He quickly dismissed that notion. She might be arrogant and relentless, but she was always direct.

“Since you were avoiding me, I had no one to talk to about this. About the desires, and the need for physical contact. They almost overwhelmed me.”

It was an accusation. It was also an unexpected–and unprecedented–admittance of weakness. But when Gunn thought back to her behavior that night, he could remember no evidence of what she described. “You didn’t seem overwhelmed,” he told her. “So I didn’t realize...”

Illyria shot to her feet and stalked towards him, until they stood nose to nose. “I do not wear my thoughts on my face, to be read by any passing stranger, as if I was a common human. But that does not mean that I do not feel emotions. That they do not rumble inside me like a storm, fighting to break free.” Her tone was angry, and Gunn took an involuntary step back at her words.

Noting his reaction, she quieted her voice and continued. “Emotions should be kept private, like a well-guarded secret. If not, they will be used to hurt you. The enemy gains clues from your weaknesses, and will certainly use them against you.”

Gunn shook his head, looking at her with something akin to pity in his eyes. “We’re your friends, Illyria. Friends don’t use weaknesses against you–not that emotion is a weakness. Not always, anyway. And when you hide that part of yourself from us, we can’t help you, because we don’t know that you’re in trouble.”

Silence stretched between them as she considered his words. He could not guess the content of her thoughts, but imagined that they were probably just as confused and chaotic as his own.

When she finally spoke again, there was a hint of resignation to her words. “I will try to be more...forthcoming. Around you,” she added quickly. “I did not consider how my actions would affect others. And, as a result, myself.”

Gunn raised an eyebrow at her words, and then reconsidered, and raised both eyebrows. In his opinion, the situation warranted it.

As he watched, her face changed. Gone was the usual emotionless mask that told him nothing. And in its place was something else. Something new.

The expression she wore reminded him a little bit of Fred. She was showing more of herself than usual, and as a result she seemed a little hesitant, a little vulnerable, a little afraid of...rejection? Mockery? He couldn’t tell. But the fact that she was showing him more of herself made him feel good. Maybe a little proud. Because this was a change that had been brought about by him. Not by Angel, or Spike, or even Willow.

“Thank you,” he offered. As he watched, she allowed the two simple words to affect her, and her face smoothed out, the lines around her eyes relaxing as she realized that her fears of rejection were unfounded.

The uncertain smile that came next was reflected on his face as well, as his lips curved up slightly to match hers.

He had never seen her smile before. Not really. There was an expression that she sometimes wore that was the bastard stepchild of a smile, usually accompanied by a cruel glint in her eyes. It was a look that she usually used right before she hit someone; Spike was probably quite familiar with the look. But this was something softer, something with a little more joy in it, and it made the harsh lines of her face relax.

“This is acceptable?” she asked.

“This is good,” he agreed, his smile turning into a happy grin.

The light outside was starting to fade, and he glanced out his window at the twilight. “Let’s take a walk,” he suggested.

“Outside? Why?” she asked, suspicion warring with temptation on her face, jockeying for position.

“We can walk, and talk. You can tell me about how it felt at the party. If you want,” he added quickly. No need to try to force too many concessions from her at once.

Illyria cocked her head slightly, her eyes closing as she considered the idea. “I would like that,” she replied. Her smile was back, widening slightly to express her pleasure in his suggestion.

Gunn nodded, heading for the door, a slightly smiling god-king trailing behind him.

---

Spike watched as Gunn and Illyria headed down the stairs and out the door. Gunn tossed a casual wave, and “Later,” to Spike, who returned the wave, and then sent his attention back to the TV.

The show was boring; some blonde with big tits and an empty head kept thrusting her chest towards the camera. At first it was amusing, but Spike was losing interest, and fast.

He turned the sound down and let his mind wander. The image of Gunn and Illyria leaving the hotel remained with him, stirring something up.

They were all pairing up, he realized a little bitterly. First it was his sire and Willow, and now Charlie and Big Blue. Oh, sure, Gunn would deny it, but Spike knew attraction when he saw it. Maybe his friend didn’t have any interest in Illyria, but that certainly wasn’t going to stop her from staking her claim. And if the human was too naïve to see that...well, Spike knew better than to get involved with Gunn’s business.

As for Willow and Angel...that had only been a matter of time, he figured. Two people (so to speak) who weren’t any good at being alone–it was bound to happen. Maybe it took an aphrodisiac and an ancient demon ceremony to finally get them past the point of shooting covert looks at each other, but if it hadn’t been that, something else would have done it sooner or later.

He still had a bone to pick with little Miss Witch. Her ‘let’s make Spike mute’ spell was not something he was going to forget–nor forgive–anytime soon.

Experience told Spike that the game of revenge was a great way to spend a quiet evening. Decades of practice had honed his already quite substantial skills to a fine, sharp edge. He liked to think that his creativity was surpassed only by his ability to hold a grudge.

So he schemed as he watched the flickering TV cast odd shadows on the walls, and tried to come up with the perfect revenge. Dozens of ideas were considered and discarded. Some were too permanent. Others let her off too lightly. He needed something relatively harmless, but still frightening enough to teach her a lesson.

“Gotcha,” he said aloud when–like magic–the idea came to him. It was temporary, and very much in the ‘eye for an eye’ vein. Poetic justice had always appealed to him.

He grabbed his duster and headed to the door, a sly smile stealing over his face as he went.

---

The magic shop had been nothing like the one Anya had run, but Spike had been able to find what he sought easily enough. Dryten root, as his memory reminded him, would be almost tasteless. When mixed with that nasty smelling tea that Willow often drank, it would be completely undetectable.

Silence filled the hotel upon his return. Secure in the knowledge that he was the only current occupant, Spike made his way to the kitchen, whistling a cheerful tune.

The Dryten root was a brown, starchy substance, and once it was thoroughly crushed into a pulpy mess, Spike strained the liquid from the pulp and dumped two tablespoons of the liquid into Willow’s Bewitched thermos, which she always kept full of her tea. He thought about crushing up another root and adding a third tablespoon, but this was turning into more work than he really wanted to do. Besides, from what he remembered, this should be enough. If he used too much, she might manage to detect the taste of it, and that could lead to problems.

“This should be perfect,” he said to himself as he placed the thermos back into the refrigerator.

The sound of Gunn and Illyria’s voices, serious as always, reached his ears, and Spike hightailed it back to his place on the couch just as the pair entered the hotel. Illyria went up to her room, but Gunn headed for the couch, sitting down and throwing his feet onto the coffee table in a way that would have been sure to draw a disapproving glare from Angel.

Spike, on the other hand, was more than happy to follow Gunn’s lead. His feet landed on the table, knocking the magazines that covered the table to the floor. He grinned at Gunn, and then turned his attention to the TV again.

“Nice walk?”

Gunn nodded, pretending to be caught up in the crappy action movie that had taken the place of the crappy sitcom Spike had been watching earlier. “Nice night. How ‘bout you? Anything interesting going on tonight?”

“Nah, it’s been pretty quiet. Went out and ran an errand, that’s all. Got high hopes for tomorrow, though...”


Chapter Twenty-Four

Willow smiled as she closed her door, Angel’s goodnight kiss still lingering on her lips. It had felt weird to have Angel walk her to her door and kiss her good-night, since she knew that when she closed the door behind her, he would only be going to his room, just a few doors down the hall. But she supposed they had to say goodnight somewhere, and in front of her door was just as good a place as any.

The evening had been wonderful. The restaurant had been neat, the food had been delicious, and the company…well, the company had been a lot of fun.

She had never realized, back in the ‘Sunnydale days,’ just how much fun Angel could be. Maybe it was because he had had so much on his mind then–fighting demons, keeping all of them safe, and then of course the burden of the curse–that kind of baggage probably made it hard for a vamp to smile.

But now, he smiled a lot. And he laughed. And he made her laugh, too.

It was tempting to read too much into it and fall instantly head-over-heels for him, but Willow had been around long enough now to know that that would be a mistake. Sure, he was stereotypically tall, dark and handsome, but he was also a lot more than that. And given the time, she hoped to find out exactly how much more.

But there was no reason to rush it. They had all the time in the world.

---

Willow woke at noon the next day, feeling more rested than she had in ages. She stretched lazily, enjoying the feel of her soft sheets as they slid against her skin. Sleeping in was such a pleasant treat, and one she indulged in so rarely.

Although part of her wanted to duck her head under the pillow for another couple of hours, she decided that she had been decadent enough, so instead she got up and took a shower.

Now that the holidays were over, her mind drifted once again to the matter of the serial killer case she and Gunn had been investigating. There hadn’t been any new murders, but on the other hand, there had been no news of an arrest, either. Which meant that they might as well continue to look into it.

Not that she thought they had a snowball’s chance in hell of breaking the case. Mostly she considered it to be an exercise–a way to keep her mind busy while waiting for something more interesting to happen.

She dressed quickly, choosing something casual and comfortable, and then made her way downstairs. The last time she and Gunn had worked on the case, they had been working in the dining room, and all of their information was still in there, as far as she knew.

The plan was to grab a quick bite from the kitchen, and then head into the dining room and reacquaint herself with the meager bits of information they’d been able to obtain.

Her plan was derailed, however, by the most unlikely of people.

“Hey, Red. Got a movie…”

Spike sat on the couch and waved the DVD case in the air, holding it still for a second so that she could see the title.

“Identity,” she read, mildly interested. It seemed like forever since she’d seen a movie. “Ooh! And it’s got John Cusack.” Anyone who knew her at all knew that she couldn’t resist John. She hadn’t seen the movie that Spike held, but–hell–she’d managed to sit through America’s Sweethearts. It couldn’t be any worse than that, could it?

That last year in Sunnydale there had been many movie nights. When the Potentials had come home from patrolling, hungry but hyper, Xander would cook up a batch of his award-winning grilled cheese sandwiches, and Willow would pop in a movie. Not everyone participated–after all, many of the girls didn’t even speak English–but enough were interested that it became a ritual of sorts.

“Just like old times,” Spike said, echoing her thoughts.

She suspected that he didn’t have many happy memories of that last year, but judging by the smile on his face, maybe movie night was one of them. The shared history made her feel a little more kindly towards him than usual.

Research could wait a couple of hours, she decided. After all, she reminded herself, it wasn’t like she was really going to solve the crime. It was an exercise. And she could exercise just as easily in a couple of hours as she could now.

“Just give me a couple of minutes to grab some popcorn and something to drink, and I’ll be right back.”

She turned and went into the kitchen, completely missing the devilish grin that split Spike’s handsome face.

---

They were less than twenty minutes into the movie when Spike felt her fingers digging into the flesh of his upper arm. He turned slowly towards her, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Panic filled her eyes, and his cock couldn’t help but jump at the scent of her fear. “Problem, pet?”

Her frantic nod, along with the total absence of sound, gave him all the response he needed. He could see that she knew something was wrong, but hadn’t quite twigged to the cause of it yet. How rich.

“I imagine that you’ve figured out by now that you can’t speak. Yeah?”

Her body tensed and her eyes narrowed, taking in the smile on his face, along with the reason for it. She scooted away from him as if he had burned her, the panic in her eyes flattening into something else: anger.

“Yeah, you’ve figured it out. I’d give ya a cookie, but Big Blue ate ‘em all last night.” He shifted his body until he was facing her, the movie they had been watching completely forgotten; her unique combination of fear and anger was much more entertaining.

“Here’s how it is,” he explained, taking great joy in the task. “I don’t like being messed with. This nasty little habit you have of playing ‘kick the Spike,’ and casting spells on me is unacceptable. I’ve been lenient up until now, but I’m done with that. You don’t just go around casting spells on people. It’s not nice. So, I decided to teach you a little lesson.”

She surged forward, her hand curled into a fist, headed towards his head. He was able to anticipate her movement easily and intercepted her fist, wrapping his hand around her wrist tightly, but not with enough pressure to hurt. “You’re not quite getting it yet, are you? It’s quite simple.” His voice was calm and steady, as if he was trying to talk to a small child who was bent on mischief.

He leaned closer, his lips inches away from hers. Her eyes filled his vision, pools of sparkling emeralds swimming with unshed tears of anger. “Lesson for the day? Don’t fuck with me, and I won’t fuck with you.” He moved away from her and released her wrist, and she yanked her hand back, her fingers rubbing her wrist lightly.

She was trembling with fury now, pulling away from him and back into the couch. The way that her eyes were flashing, alternating between green and black, reminded him that she was still powerful, even without her voice. Time for some damage control, although a further warning probably wouldn’t hurt either.

“What I did to you will wear off in about fifteen minutes. Was just making a point, is all. See, I may not have your ability with magic, but I can come at you sideways, and you’ll never see it coming.”

He watched curiously as his words sank in. The black faded slowly from her eyes, and her face went expressionless, except for the fury he still saw in her eyes. She was probably cursing him, and anticipating possible ways to take her revenge, but at least she wasn’t going to do anything rash. And once she’d taken the time to think about it objectively, he was confident that she would see things his way.

She was a smart girl.

He shifted his body towards the TV, his attention drifting back to the movie. “Let’s enjoy the flick, and then you can do whatever you want. Go run to Peaches, if you have to. I’m sure he’d be only too happy to take care of your problem for you. He’s into that whole ‘white knight’ thing, after all.” He deliberately phrased it in a way that would make it sound like Angel would fight all her battles for her, if she let him. The very idea would grate on her independence, and he knew it. Which meant that he was pretty much safe from any interference from Angel.

With a final glance at her stony face, Spike sat back to enjoy the rest of the movie.

---

Willow fumed with anger, her eyes fixed forward, but seeing nothing. When she darted a look to the vampire beside her, she was greeted by Spike’s profile, his lips still curved into a slight smile. Probably enjoying his so-called ‘victory,’ she thought bitterly. Well, he’d better not get too comfortable, because she was going to get even with him. She didn’t know how, or when, but she would not rest until she heard an apology.

The minutes dragged past, each one longer than the previous one. Willow figured that she could probably trust Spike when he said that the effects of whatever he’d given her would wear off in fifteen minutes, but there was always that nagging ‘what if’ inside her that worried, nonetheless. After all, the dosage could be wrong, or the potency could be stronger than he thought. Just because he *thought* it would wear off in fifteen minutes didn’t guarantee that it would.

She gave it twenty minutes, just to be safe. Twenty minutes of frustrated impotence spent staring alternately at Spike, and a movie that was making increasingly less sense to her as the moments ticked by.

At long last, twenty minutes had passed. “Bastard,” she hissed at him, grateful to hear the sound of her own voice again. Rising to her feet, she stalked into the kitchen, her thermos clutched tightly in her fist. The sound of his muted laughter–an enthusiastic belly laugh, to add insult to injury–followed her.

The thermos had to be the guilty culprit, she figured, trying not to blame it personally for what had just happened. After all, it had only been a vessel for Spike’s evil plan. An innocent vessel, she reminded herself, when tempted to throw it into the trash. A trip through the dishwasher should be enough to make it just as good as new.

Unwilling to let him get the last laugh, she poked her head out the door, her eyes attempting to stare a hole into the back of his head.

“Yeah?” he drawled, turning to make eye contact.

She wondered how he knew she was watching him. Eyes in the back of his head, she supposed. He’d have made a great teacher. Well, except for the fact that he was a dangerous psychopathic murderer.

“Someday soon you’ll need me,” she told him, her expression deadly serious. She watched as the smile faded slightly from his face, the cheekbones regaining prominence. “And when that time comes, you can bet that I’ll do everything in my power to get an apology out of you before I help you.”

He rolled his eyes at her, doing his best to make it obvious that he held little fear for her implied threat. “Whatever,” he replied, giving her a languid wave of his arm and turning back to watch the movie.

Willow stood there for a moment, tempted almost beyond her ability to resist it to do something terrible to him. Spells for boils, impotence and an embarrassing, mincing walk all crossed her mind, but she held her tongue. She wouldn’t let this go any further, she told herself.

With nothing better to do, she focused again on her original purpose for the day: to get back to work on the serial killer case.


Chapter Twenty-Five

Wandering into the dining room, Willow was surprised to see Gunn already sitting at the table. Judging by the piles of paperwork he had surrounded himself with, they had both had the same idea: to delve back into the serial killer case.

For a moment she wondered if he had been privy to anything that had just happened between her and Spike in the living room, but then decided that he hadn’t. She still didn’t know him all that well, but was reasonably sure that he wouldn’t have let Spike do anything to her, if he’d been aware of it at all.

Answering his slight smile with one of her own, she sat down across the table from him. “Back at work, I see,” she teased.

“Yeah, I figured since the holidays were over, I’d get back into this and see if I could make sense of it.” He waved a sheaf of papers in his hand; credit card bills, Willow noticed.

“Getting anywhere?” she asked, nodding at the papers.

Gunn merely grunted, then shook his head in frustration. “I’d have better luck trying to teach Illyria the concept of patience,” he groused. “There’s nothing here. Or, rather, there’s too much here, but nothing helpful. They all went grocery shopping; they all had their hobbies; they all...well, they all did the normal things that anybody does. But there’s nothing tying them together.” A weary hand ran over his face, stopping for a moment to rub at his temples, and then continuing over his head.

Willow could see his frustration, and it echoed her own. She had found nothing in the police case notes that helped her, nothing that had given her an ‘ah-ha’ moment or helped clarify the facts of the case.

She had never realized just how tedious police work was. It was boring, frustrating work, sifting through too many bits of information, in search of the one tiny piece that would transform it all into something that made sense. In a way, it was almost like art. Your goal was to create something complete out of bits and pieces of other things.

It was the opposite of slaying, which was all about finding the enemy and destroying it. This required much more finesse.

“Wanna trade?” she asked. That had always been the plan; they’d both go as far as they could with the information they had, and when they felt they’d hit a brick wall, they’d trade. All she could see at this point was brick, and it looked like Gunn was in the same brick boat, metaphorically speaking. They might as well try looking at something different for a while.

“Sure. What the hell,” he agreed. “Might as well stare at something else.” He began shuffling his paperwork into piles based on the victim, stopping and wincing when he gave himself a papercut. “Maybe you’ll have more luck with this than I did.”

Willow smiled, her eyes taking in the five empty coffee cups that sat on the table. “How long have you been at this?”

Gunn shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Decided I might as well get up and do something useful. It was...I don’t know, maybe four or five this morning.”

Which explained the abundance of coffee cups. It also, Willow decided, meant that he could probably use a break.

“Time for a walk,” she told him, going around the table and grabbing his hand. She pulled him to his feet, and to his credit, he didn’t protest. Releasing his hand, she waited patiently as he worked the kinks out of his neck and shoulders, trying not to wince as she heard the bones crack.

“Yeah, I guess I could use one,” he allowed, following her through the kitchen. He gave Spike a casual wave as they passed by the living room, and in a moment he was outside and squinting in the blinding sunlight.

They walked for almost an hour, taking a path that led them through one residential neighborhood after another, chatting as they walked.

Gunn enjoyed talking to Willow. She made him laugh, both at himself, and at life in general. And when he found himself dwelling on something that threatened to change his mood from cheery to dark, she distracted him with a cheesy joke, or an amusing anecdote from her past. And unlike when he talked with Illyria, with Willow he could just say whatever came into his head.

Conversations with Illyria were often like navigating through a verbal minefield. A casual word or observation could explode in his face, forcing him into conversational topics that were unexpected and impossible to get away from. With Willow he could make a statement without worrying about the consequences. He found it to be a very relaxing experience, and as they walked, he felt the tension in his body begin to melt away.

About an hour later, they found themselves standing in front of the Hyperion again, but they both felt refreshed and ready to tackle the pile of papers that awaited them in the dining room.

They spent the next hour organizing their new information. Willow decided to tackle the credit card receipts by putting them into groups based on vendor type, instead of making a pile for each victim. That was the way that Gunn had looked at it, and if there had been anything there to find, she thought he probably would have uncovered it. Based on her interactions with him, she had noticed that he had a sharp eye, and the ability to find a pattern in chaos. So her best bet at success was to tackle things from a different angle.

The afternoon flew by while they worked, and when Willow glanced at her watch, she realized with dismay that it was already closing in on five o’clock. She and Angel had made plans to meet downstairs at seven for their date, and Willow knew that she would have to work fast in order to be ready on time. Angel had told her to dress casual, which was all very well and good, but she wanted to look ‘pretty’ casual, not ‘just threw it on with no thought to how it would look’ casual. There was definitely a difference.

“I’ve got to get upstairs,” she told Gunn. “You should probably call it a night, too. After all, if you stare at that stuff long enough, you probably wouldn’t see a clue if it jumped up and bit you.” A smile accompanied her words in an effort to soften them.

Gunn groaned, his body creaking as he stretched. “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed reluctantly. “What’s up tonight? Hot date?”

When Willow’s face turned bright pink, he realized that his teasing remark had hit the mark.

“Uh, Angel and I are...well, we’re going out.”

The look she gave him was so sheepish that if anyone else had given it to him, he would have laughed. But Willow seemed so serious–and maybe even a bit nervous–that he managed to keep his humor to himself. Instead, he gave her a level gaze, and told her, “I think this is going to be good for both of you. Angel has been on his own since he and Nina went their separate ways, and...well, I think he could use someone special in his life.

“And you,” he made a show of looking her up and down, a smile on his face, “well, you seem normal enough, aside from the way you arrived here. And you know the score, demon-wise, I mean. So, good luck. I hope things work out.”

Her smile was brilliant, and he realized belatedly that she might have been worried about his reaction. Well, he had meant what he said. Angel really did deserve someone special, and while he wasn’t sure if they’d be together forever–hell, any one of them could die tomorrow–it certainly wouldn’t hurt for them to try to catch what happiness they could.

“What about you and Illyria? I mean–are you two ever going to try to be more than friends?”

He stared at Willow as if she’d hit him with a bat, his eyes suddenly having trouble focusing. “What–what do you mean?” he managed to croak out. Suddenly it felt like she had sucked all the air out of the room, and he was fighting to stay conscious.

She frowned at him, looking slightly taken aback by his reaction, as if she had realized too late that her words probably hadn’t been all that smart. “I just meant,” she said slowly, “that you seem to have something between you. Something that you might or might not want to consider exploring.”

He was silent for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “Nah,” he finally managed to croak out, “we’re just friends.” It might or might not be true, but it was all he could come up with just then.

Willow hesitated for a moment, wondering whether she should push. But she’d already started the conversation, and, as the saying went, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound.’

“Gunn, you might not feel anything for her beyond friendship, but I think she feels something for you. She might not be sure exactly what it is, but...that doesn’t make it any less real.”

He shook his head sharply, as if denying the words, and the conclusions she had drawn. “She just, ah,” his face turned an odd shade of purple. “She just wants to have sex,” he blurted out.

The expression on his face clearly said that he couldn’t believe he had just told her that. And although Willow wanted to laugh, badly, she didn’t. Gunn had admitted something important to her, and she couldn’t just laugh in his face. No matter how funny said face looked. So instead, she decided to get serious, attempting to poke holes in his little theory.

“If she just wanted sex, she’d find someone. She’s been in this world long enough to know that there are clubs and bars and dozens of places to find a willing man. Or woman. Hell, there’s even Spike.” She shuddered delicately at the thought. “But she wants *you*, Charles. As crazy as you think it sounds. Heck, when we were looking for a dress for the New Year’s Eve party, she wanted to know what I thought *you* would like. Not Spike. Or Angel. Or anyone else. You.”

Gunn reeled from the verbal assault, his eyes wide with surprise. Did Illyria really have feelings for him, or was this just part of her attempt to seduce him? He needed quiet, and time to think. But Willow gave him neither.

“I’m not saying that she’s the one for you,” Willow continued, oblivious to his thoughts. “Getting together with her *could* be the worst mistake you’ll ever make. Or the best. I can’t even begin to guess. Hell, I’m dating a vampire. It’s not like I have any insight on what will work and what won’t.”

She glanced at him, waiting for a response. But he seemed unable to form sentences at the moment, so she just kept talking, hoping that something she was saying was getting through. “I’m just saying that when you say she just wants sex, you’re selling yourself short. And her, for that matter. Okay?”

He stared at her in shock, every word that she said to him whirling around in his head. He had to admit that she was right. If Illyria had just wanted a willing body, there were several places she could have gone to find one. Her recent behavior was another confusing fact. The way she was letting him see her emotions, just a bit, was a big step towards...something. He didn’t know what. And as much as he hated to admit it, it scared the hell out of him.

“Well, if you’re not going to say anything, uh, I think I’ll just head up to my room,” Willow told him, obviously a bit uncomfortable with the way he had completely zoned out on her. “Uh, sorry,” she added, as she literally ran out of the room.


To Be Continued...