Part 5:
Angelus walked into the manor in a daze, his thought patterns circled all around the same thing, < Willow. > Ever since he'd kissed her he knew he had to have more, he didn't know how else to describe the feeling except < Overwhelming sweetness. > He knew if he didn't see her again, he'd literally die of a broken heart. It was as if a spell had been cast upon, rendering him unable to think of anything but her.
He asked the servants to give him rest for a time and his body had taken residence on his bed. Whenever he thought of that kiss (which was about twice every second) he'd get this incredible feeling; his heart would pick up speed by beats and peaceful warmth settled on his body.
< Could I actually be in love? > He smiled at the thought and let his daydreams rock him to a serene sleep.
Amy continued to wander the dark street, hoping to get rid of the rampant cabin fever she had caught staying in the room for the day. She'd remembered that her history teacher had spoken about the culture of the mid-1700s, but had concentrated on the French history instead of the other European countries. She recalled how they had seen videos and pictures of the living conditions and fashions, but it had looked nothing like this. Yes, the attire was similar, but the streets were dirtier than history books had ever explained.
She walked past the tavern and looked through the clear pane of glass. Drunken merry-making was being clearly played out. Some men were telling tales that were so slurred that you could only understand the curses that they yelled to emphasize the point of whatever they were laughing at. Other men were being hung on by women who were obviously whores from the local brothel.
Amy was fascinated, however, with the scene before her. She had always had a love for the past; for worlds she had never seen, only read about in flat textbooks that had no passion for the period of time itself. She was almost captivated by how different these people were, yet still the same in certain things. Drunkards, for instance, would always tell their blurred tales of their bravery or some other thing that made them look good. And, as always, they blatantly lie.
Whores, the same thing, hating what they were and what they did, but continuing to do it to survive life on the streets. Amy could only pity and hate them the same; she hated them for what they did to themselves, and pitied them because they had no choice.
She moved away from the tavern, the smell of fresh vomit too strong to endure. She couldn't understand why history class had never been interesting when here, even standing in the street, was more absorbing than anything they had ever even mentioned in her class (the ones she went to anyway).
Her eyes wandered to a couple on the street, the man had dark hair and his face was lowered toward the ground, obviously drunk and staggering. The woman however was beautiful, her hair done up perfectly, letting little blond curls drape the sides of her face. Amy smiled at the couple as they passed. The woman returning the smile as she dragged her drunk husband toward their home.
Another thing about small towns in the 1700s, everyone was so polite and, although they rarely went out of their way, they would be as helpful as they could. Amy wished the modern day could have the same sense of community, instead of neighbors not even knowing the others names, or even what the other looked like. Or even care.
She'd never figure that one out, human nature and progress were far beyond her realm of understanding or even comprehending. She drew in a breath of the clean, crisp air that didn't exist in her time and turned back toward the inn.
She felt a twinge of excitement, being in a past that held the promise of the future. She almost had to envy them. Their lives weren't complicated by computers, the threat of environmental meltdowns, or the many monsters and demons that set up shop in Sunnydale, instead they lived in peaceful ignorance. But then again, they had to concern themselves with disease and rotten food and, worst of all, corsets. Okay, maybe "envied" them isn't the right word; she preferred them and their time.
Amy opened the door of their room to find the bed in disarray and the occasional piece of clothing on the floor. Meanwhile Willow was getting back into her slip.
"You know what," Amy said dryly, "I'm not even going to ask." This provoked guilty looks from both Willow and Angel.
Amy sat down on her bed and brushed her fingers through her hair, while the lust bunnies changed into their bedclothes.
Amy noticed the drape-less window and spoke up, "So," She started, "Angel's going for the dust look in the morning?"
"Oh," Willow said as though the thought had never crossed her mind, "I guess we can use the quilt, but then all we'll have to cover us is a sheet."
Angel wrapped his arms around her waist, "I'll cover you…" He growled softly into her ear causing a disgusted look to cross Amy's face.
"Do you mind?" She said sarcastically, "Ever since you got you're soul back permanently you have this incredible urge to jump the bones of your girlfriend every second of the day." A small smile crept across Angel's features.
"I have to make up for lost time." He replied and started to nuzzle Willow's neck.
Amy made a face and turned off the light, hoping desperately for some peace. < I really don't need this. >
Angel woke and sniffed the air, finding dawn an hour away. He rolled away from Willow and off the bed, pulling on his pants as he did so.
His sleep shaking legs carried him to the bedside table as he gazed in the mirror. Nothing except the still form of Willow sleeping on the small bed was cast back off the mirror's smooth surface. He longed to see his reflection, the thing he hadn't laid eyes on in over 200 years. He'd taken it so much for granted when he was alive. Looking in the mirror every day and seeing nothing there, it's an overrated pleasure.
He ran his fingers along the polished metal and traced Willow's body in the reflection. He loved every curve of her, he remembered the sketchbook he had made portraits of her sleeping, even she didn't know he had it. Just like the sketches he'd made as a boy, they were private and he couldn't bring himself to let anyone see it. Yes, he still had some of those walls Willow had worked so hard to bring down. His guess was he still was of the male species and couldn't tell even her how much he loved the tiny redhead. He could barely bring it to himself to realize how he adored her, even more than his first love, Buffy.
His heart ached then. He remembered why Willow had been brought here, to save her friend. Angel knew the pain that his lover felt. Had he not loved her? Maybe not 'in love,' but Buffy would always be a part of him just as Oz was still and would always be a part of Willow. Nothing could compare to his feeling, losing a loved one, looking at her lifeless form, unable to stop his own pain though hers had long since died away. No, nothing could ever hurt as much, except losing Willow, that would rip him limb from limb in despair.
Willow was a love on a different level. Of course no two loves are the same, no, every one of them is different. But he loved Willow more than he could ever have loved Buffy. Buffy would never fully except him, not all sides of him. But Willow drove deeper, accepting every inch of his being. She didn't just pretend his demonic part didn't exist the way Buffy had, but instead welcomed it, wanting to know it, but never acting like it wasn't there. When she didn't understand an element of him, she'd explore it. She knew more about him than anyone ever had, or had ever cared enough to, not even himself.
An angel in ever way, that best described her. She was as kind and forgiving as a divine being, as warm and beautiful inside as out. Her hair, a fiery red, reflected her passionate nature; whatever she cared about, she cared about deeply.
He envied her, he had never been kind or forgiving, and when he cared about something, it was normally short lived. Just like his obsession with Buffy, when he was soulless, but that was fleeting. It was after that he had started watching Willow. Sure, he had noticed her before, but that was when he was practically carbon-bonded to Buffy. Buffy wasn't even a real obsession, more of a fascination, he being a vampire and she being a slayer.
He had actually begun watching Willow long before he lost his soul to Buffy. He had always wanted to protect her; he just couldn't help it. She was so chaste and innocent; it amazed him that she could still be that way after so long on the hellmouth, and after seeing so many awful things. When he lost his soul Angelus, who couldn't resist his desires for very long, took her. To this day, they actually think that he wanted to kill her, not true, he wanted to take her, in more than one way. No, not rape, seduction, he'd never had to take a women by force.
But after Willow had given him his soul back permanently, he had felt more connected to her than ever, so the moment he came back, he knew they had to be together. So they started seeing each other privately, behind everyone's back, until the day Buffy had found them in Willow's bedroom kissing. Buffy was enraged and Willow broke down in tears. The next day Angel went to see Buffy and she tried to stake him. After he had given her a little time to calm down (okay, three weeks), they talked it out and Buffy tried to accept their relationship, which is when they found out about Oz.
Angel could see Willow turn over in her sleep, her hand reaching out to where Angel had lain minutes before. He couldn't help but smile, even though she was no longer virginal, she still had that childlike innocence he knew she'd never lose. He heard her whimper his name sleepily before she stretched and her eyes opened.
"Angel?" She asked, her voice husky with sleep.
He walked over to the side of the bed and kissed her forehead. She smiled and nuzzled back into the pillow.
He slipped in beside her once more and held her slight body close to his chest as he watched her fall to sleep again.
"Lady," Cecile's voice from behind the door came, "Willow, someone is here to see ye." Willow opened an eye, looked down at her bedclothes, then to the vampire that had wrapped himself around her.
"I shall be down shortly," Willow yelled, "Thank you Cecile." Willow waited for the footsteps to descend the staircase before easing her way out of Angel's arms with sweet words and coos.
She slipped out of bed and quickly (well, as quickly as she possibly could, considering corsets were involved) got dressed and left her hair down before leaving the room to see the visitor.
Willow walked down the stairs to the lobby in the inn, expecting Angelus standing at the end of the desk. He stood glancing up at Cecile every once in a while, playing with the ring on his finger.
Cecile fidgeted nervously under Angelus' occasional gaze and moved her eyes to watch the designs in the carpet. She mentally traced the outlines of the pattern and stared down at her hands once and again. Looking at her nails and at the white palms.
Angelus' eyes finally roamed to the stairway where his deep brown gaze met Willow's emerald. A large smile crossed his face as Willow descended the wooden steps and a small graced her features.
"My lady," Angelus started, "I feared you might not make it down, why did…"
"I cannot stay," Willow cut him off, "I'm not feeling well and I really don't feel up to going horseback riding today." Angelus' grin fell but managed a weak replacement.
"Oh," His disappointment was all too evident in his voice, "I hope you be well soon." He turned to leave but stopped and looked back, "Perhaps I can see you tomorrow, even bed-sick, company other than your sisters might be appreciated?"
"I have as much company as I need," "But the gesture is appreciated, perhaps a different time."
He looked like a puppy that had just been whipped for licking their owner's hand as he replied, "Perhaps." He walked slowly out the door, almost limping with the pain of rejection he knew not well.
Willow watched sadly as he saddled his horse, only stopping to glance once more at her image, then looking again forward and riding away. Her heart wrenched from her chest then received dull pain, knowing she had hurt his heart more than hers.
"Good-bye," She whispered under her breath.
Part 6:
Angelus had returned the horses to the stable and had decided to roam around the small town to clear his head a bit before he ran into his good friend Colin.
"What be the problem, my friend," Colin asked with just a tad bit of slurring in his voice.
"The problem be something that seldom happens," Angelus answered dismally.
Colin nodded and grinned slightly, "Be it women troubles?"
Angelus looked down at the ground and then up at his friend, "Women, no. Just one, a special one."
Colin had never heard Angelus refer to a woman as 'special' and turned worriedly, "A special one you say."
"Yes special. She's different than any other," He sighed, "With copper hair and such a wit."
"A wit may be rare," Colin said, "But what good is wit in your hands. Or rather with your hands."
Angelus frowned in recognition of his friend's description, "Not like that, my dear friend. I mean, she's different, she's… there's just something about her. I feel drawn to her somehow."
"Well, there's no problem that a drink and a woman can't fix." Colin reasoned.
"It will take many drinks," Angelus nodded, "And it might take more than one woman."
"Angel" Willow cooed into the sleeping vampire's ear. She stroked his face softly with the back of her hand and tried to wake him. Amy had left some time earlier to find something on the spell and that left Willow with Angel to their own devices.
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