It's About Time

Author: Carrie

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~Part: Eleven~

An all-too-familiar anger coursed through Willow as she hurried along the dark and dangerous streets of Sunnydale, yet again.  If she could patent angered walks in the middle of the night, she would.  Sometimes she felt as if the past century had been nothing more than one emotional procession down one dim street after another, interspersed with the occasional argument with a vampire or a guitar lesson.

It was definitely time to get a driver's license.

Considering everything that Willow had on her mind, most notably her final destination and what she was going to say when she got there, it's not surprising that she didn't notice the creature trailing her from a safe distance.  Its unnaturally long, double-jointed legs had no trouble matching her angry strides, nor did its inhuman metallic-gray eyes ever let her escape its unblinking gaze.

Except once.

To look at its watch.

*****

'Slayer Central' was eerily quiet, even for a church.  Only hours before, its high beamed ceilings had reflected the sounds of cheerful voices raised in everyday banter, filling the massive space, warming it.  But now, an hour or so before sunrise, there was no sound, no life, even though the room was occupied.

Angel sat in one of the leather armchairs on the dais, feeling much like the building he occupied--empty, cold, drained of life. The two containers of blood he'd consumed earlier had not filled the void he felt deep within, and despite shrugging on his favorite velvety shirt, Angel felt no warmth. Even the soft glow offered by the many flickering candles that he had lit throughout the room did little in the way of brightening his mood or easing his soul.  He'd been trying to do some research, hoping to occupy his mind with the ongoing battle against evil, but he couldn't stay focused. The low table before him was littered with unopened books and ancient yellowed manuscripts, but he'd long given up trying to do any research. Unable to forget his earlier encounter with Spike, Angel had finally surrendered to his darker thoughts.

The heated, bitter exchange with his childe was replaying over and over again in his mind as if on a continuous loop.  Angel was unable to ignore, let alone forget, Spike's taunts even though he knew fully well that that was exactly what the blonde vampire had intended.  He'd preyed on Angel's obvious fears that Willow could never truly forgive him, trying to make the last century and a half's worth of penance and selfless acts appear almost meaningless and insignificant in comparison.  Evidently, Spike wanted Angel to wallow in guilt like his predecessor had.

Guilt was no stranger to Angel.  Maybe he wasn't reveling in it the way that the other Angel had, but that didn't mean he didn't feel abundant remorse for the things he had done without his soul.  He simply refused to allow his guilt to overwhelm him.

Because he was needed.

Whereas a vampire so consumed by regret that he hid himself from the world, was not.

Sounded so simple, but Angel was constantly being tempted.  Just being around humans was a daily battle.  The presence of a soul did not take away his ability to detect the faintest trace of blood or hear the hungry pounding of a heart, the coursing of life's essence.  A soul didn't make him crave the taste of animal blood over a human's.  Yet with time, he'd been able to cope with and control his body's more demonly demands.

Because he was needed.

Ironically, it now seemed unlikely that Willow, the actual architect of what Angel had fought tooth and nail to eventually become, would ever truly be able to accept him.

Angel was so lost in his thoughts, his deepening despair, that he didn't immediately hear the sound of a key turning in the front door lock.

One of the problems with being Slayer Central was a decided lack of privacy.  While he kept the doors locked at night, they all had keys.  They could go anywhere in his home but his room.  It had a lock as well, but he hadn't handed out that key...sometimes even souled vampires on a mission of redemption need their space and privacy.

It was only when the lock clicked open that Angel became aware of his impending visitor.  Quickly, he tried to pull himself together, putting aside his personal problems for the time being.  After all, considering it was pre-dawn, Angel figured there was only one reason one of the gang would be here--there was another crisis on the way. The Watcher was mist likely getting an early start on the researching and Angel's help would be needed.

As the door that led from the narthex into the main room swung open, Angel looked up and stiffened.

His early morning visitor wasn't the librarian.

It was Willow--an 'out-of-breath, flushed, looking as if she had run the whole way from home' Willow.  Angel bolted to his feet as the redhead swept into the room. The idea that something had scared Willow enough to make her come to him at such an odd hour pushed his self-recriminating thoughts into the background.

"Willow!  What's wrong?"

At the sound of his voice, Willow stopped in the middle of the room, her fists clenched at her sides as her bright green eyes sought him out and pinned him in place.

"How dare you!" she huffed at him, which yet again was not exactly what Angel was expecting.  She wasn't scared.  Apparently she was angry.  With him.  Again.

Perplexed, Angel could only stare as Willow strode purposely forward until she was standing near the bottom of the dais, glaring defiantly up at him.  If he had even the slightest idea what was going on, he would have found the diminutive woman's fiery challenge amusing, perhaps even a little enticing.  Instead, Angel was mostly confused and somewhat apprehensive, worried that he had somehow lost what little ground he had gained with her the previous day.

"Um, huh?" he asked in soft bewilderment.

"How...Dare...You..." she repeated even more haughtily.

The three words and the manner in which they were spoken brought all of his earlier worries rushing back. There was no mistaking the hostility in Willow--her tone, eyes, even the rigid way she was holding herself.  Angel could practically see the fragile bonds they had created the day before shatter and fall away before his eyes.

Only decades of experience allowed Angel to keep his voice calm and the growing fear tucked deep inside.  "How dare I what, Willow?"

"How dare you use all of your charms and your good looks, and that...that roguish smile of yours to..."  Willow shook her head in something that looked very much like disgust, then eyed him up and down, making the vampire feel as if he were on the auction block.  Angel had to fight the odd urge to suck in his stomach and puff out his chest.

"I mean, look at you!  All tall, dark, and handsome," she continued in a bitter tone that made it perfectly clear that she wasn't paying him a compliment.  Angel could only continue to blink at her in confusion.  "I bet you even laid the accent on really thick every once in a while, didn't you?"

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender as he cautiously descended the quartet of steps.  "Willow, calm down and tell me what I did wrong."  He almost added "this time" but thought better of it.  Instead he added, "Please."

"Oh, I'll tell you what you did, all right!"  Willow took the final stride that brought her toe-to-toe with the dark vampire.  Angel could feel the heat and anger radiating from her in waves, which made what she said next all the more confusing.  "*You* made *her* fall in love with you!"

Angel's mouth dropped open.  "Um, huh?  Her?  Love?" was all he could eventually manage to utter.

So much for the poise brought about through a long and varied life, he silently mused.  Who was she talking about?  Buffy again?  No, that didn't make sense....

Closing his mouth, the vampire tried to make some sense of what she'd said, but with Willow continuing to glare accusingly up at him, her emerald eyes burning away his ability for logical thought, he soon gave up. "Willow, I don't--"

"Don't play innocent with me, buster!" she interrupted, lifting up on the tips of her toes, even though that hardly brought her eye-to-eye with the vampire.

As Willow's scowl grew even more reproachful, Angel found it difficult not to stare at her pouting lips.  Even in the midst of being berated by the irate redhead, Angel had an irrepressible desire to feel her soft, warm lips beneath his own, letting her breath, her skin, everything that she was warm him through and through.  The need took Angel by surprise, not only because of its rotten timing but also because of the sheer intensity of it. He'd always found her most enticing when she stood up to him.  And when she'd been truly angry, eyes blazing and cheeks flushed?  She'd been damn near irresistible, especially to *Angelus*...

And now here she was, standing before him, unleashing a verbal storm the likes of which he hadn't seen in over a century, and all the souled vampire could think about was kissing her.

Possessing her.

Stiffening, Angel had to close his eyes for a moment to clear such scandalous thoughts from his mind, thoughts that he instinctively knew he'd admonish himself for later when he had time to replay the whole happening in his mind.

"Willow," he finally said in a near-sigh, "not only have I never played innocent in my overly long life, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Rolling her eyes, Willow thrust her hand into her backpack to grab something, before dropping the bag on one of the steps, out of the way.  "I'm talking about this!" she informed him in a tightly controlled voice, waving a small blue book with the word 'Diary' embossed across the front in curly gold letters.

"This is about your journal?"

Willow wanted to scream.  It was bad enough that they had to have this 'discussion' in the first place, but his oblivious behavior was not making it any easier, no matter how genuine his confusion.

"No!" she said through teeth gritted in an effort to control her temper.  "Not *my* journal but *her* diary!"

Angel ran a weary hand through his already disheveled hair.  "Willow, you need to take a deep breath and start over."

Willow's eyes narrowed in suspicion, another biting comment on the verge of tripping over her lips, but something in his eyes kept her quiet.  Angel looked not only genuinely clueless about what she was alluding to, but for a moment she thought she also detected a note of pain amidst the confusion in his eyes.

It was that odd, very un-Angelus-like combination that made Willow take both a step back and a deep breath in an endeavor to compose herself.  It wasn't going to be easy though.

Willow had been understandably curious and excited when she had first settled down to read the diary.  At the same time, she had steeled herself for yet another emotional roller-coaster ride, expecting to find some significant changes in 'her' life. Nevertheless, she was far from prepared for what she'd found or the emotions that the discoveries awakened in her.  Even the reckless walk to Angel's place hadn't diminished the anger that had enveloped her as she'd examined the diary.  In fact, that brisk walk had allowed time for other emotions to take root as well, including embarrassment and her old nemesis guilt. By the time Willow had arrived on the church's steps, she was barely able keep her tempestuous reactions in check.  Nevertheless, she did have the presence of mind to want to hear his side of the story.  That's why she'd ventured the dangerous streets of Sunnydale in the wee small hours of the morning...to give Angel a chance to explain.

And the vampire couldn't do that if he didn't know the basis for her irritation, Willow realized.  She willed herself to calm down.  After a moment, she was ready to try again in a somewhat more reasonable manner.

"It occurred to me last night to read her diary...the *other* Willow's dairy," she began.  "I figured it would give me some clues into some of what I've missed, things that went differently than I remember.  I hoped that it might make it a little easier for me when I'm with the others..."

"That seems logical," Angel conceded, but Willow gave him a sharp look, letting him know that she was hardly seeking his approval.

"And in the beginning, it was great," she continued.  "It cleared up a lot of questions for me."  Willow caressed the cover of the small book, her delicate finger lightly tracing the flowing letters on the cover.  "Reading this put me at ease about some important things--my relationships with my parents and friends, mainly.  For the most part, even after Buffy came to town and you and I met for the first time, nothing seemed significantly different..."  Willow shrugged mentally as she thought back to some of what she'd read.

Unfortunately, the other Willow hadn't gone into much detail regarding exactly how she had first met Angel.  All she knew for sure was that she'd been walking home from the Bronze one night and they had, well, just sort of bumped into each other.  Willow must have read the particular passage in which Angel had first been mentioned a hundred times...

..."I met an Angel today..." it had said.

Willow smirked to herself as she recalled the passage.  It was hard to believe she'd ever been that young and innocent.

"Go on," Angel prodded when Willow lapsed into silence.

She cleared her throat, her mouth strangely dry.  "Um, then I started to notice that the main subject of the diary...changed."

"Changed?"

Willow nodded.  "In the beginning, a lot of it was about Xander, which is the way it should have been.  I mean, I was in love with Xander since the sandbox, and I doubt I'd be the same person if I hadn't fallen in love with my best friend.  But eventually my diary should have started talking about Oz and about how we had met, his thoughts on animal crackers and-and school testing..."  Willow groaned softly in despair, her grip on the book tightening.  "It should have been about *Oz*, but it wasn't."

"You already knew that though, Willow," he gently reminded her.  "You already knew that you and Oz weren't...together."

Willow gazed up at him.  Surprisingly, he noted that her eyes were bright with frustration instead of dulled by heartache.

"You don't understand, Angel!  I'm angry that the subject of page-after-page of my thoughts and hopes did shift from Xander but not to Oz...they shifted to *you*.  Willow v2.0 was completely and hopelessly in love with *you*!"

For a moment Angel could only blink at her.  "She was?  Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!  I, *she*, was falling in love with you, Angel.  It says so right here!" she informed him, opening the diary to a page she had book marked before thrusting it in his face in disgust.  Understandably curious, Angel leaned forward to read the passage she was referring to, but before he could decipher any of the tiny words penned in a flowing hand, Willow quickly pulled it away.

"I don't know what to say, Willow."  Angel chuckled in discomfort, scratching his cheek.  "Er, I guess it's kind of flattering, actually."  Instantly, he regretted those words.  Not only did Willow's features tighten noticeably, but also Angel felt genuinely sorry for having misled the other Willow in any way.  He'd never meant for the young girl to fall in love with him.  Unfortunately, from the look on Willow's face, he knew that she still questioned his motivations.

Frustrated, Willow threw her hands up in the air and walked away to flop down in the nearest reading chair.  He was flattered!  The vampire was more than 200-centuries old and yet he was flattered when a teen-aged girl developed a crush on him.

Men were all the same, dead or alive.

Willow didn't look at the vampire as he silently took a seat on the coffee table before her.

"It's not fair, Angel!" she cried after a minute or two of silence, finally finding the courage to look him in the eye.  "She didn't have a chance!  You actually paid attention to her.  A *lot* of attention, which is something that I was, um, *she* was not used to from boys.  How could I, I mean, *she*, not fall in love with you?"  Willow hoped she wasn't blushing from her continued pronoun misuse, but luckily Angel seemed not to notice as his gaze fell to his hands.

"I would think it would be fairly easy not to fall in love with me, Willow," he said in a soft, far-away voice.  "I told her everything about me.  Well, almost everything," he amended, since he'd never told the redhead about 'Rose'.  "I told her right away what I was, and over time she learned about my real past, how I'd hurt people..."

Willow shook her head, hardening her heart against the pain she heard in his voice.  "The point is, you knew a lot about me already from all of our time together in Galway.  You knew what I liked, what I disliked...some of my hopes and dreams.  You used that information.  You...you were laying groundwork!" she finally exclaimed, using Spike's words and shaking an accusatory finger when Angel looked at her.

Angel's shoulders sagged and his chin fell to his chest in resignation.  Her words sounded horribly familiar.  Spike had gotten to her.  Worse yet, she believed Spike's accusations that he'd set this all up.  Maybe she even believed that he'd purposely come between her and Oz.

Angel's ever-intensifying hatred of Spike added a bitter edge to his voice.  "Willow, I wasn't engaging in a two-year seduction, no matter what Spike might have told you last night."

"This doesn't have anything to do with Spike!" Willow nearly growled in frustration.

"I look forward to the day that's actually true," he shot back darkly, looking up at her.  "But at this point, *everything* seems to have something to do with Spike."

Willow's eyes widened.  "Wait a minute...How did you know I...Did you talk to him last night?"

His lips twisted in a sardonic smile.  "I had the pleasure of his company for a short time, yes."

"And?"

Angel remained silent; the smile was long gone.

"And what did you two talk about?" she pressed him further.

"I'm sure you already know the answer to that."

Knowing the hatred that the two shared, she wouldn't put it past either one of them to allow a simple 'conversation' to end in a cloud of dust. Alarmed, Willow flew from the chair to clutch at Angel's arm.  "Did you hurt Spike?  Is he okay?"

Her unbridled concern for Spike cut Angel deeply, easily reopening the wounds that the other vampire had inflicted on him earlier.  "I didn't touch your precious Spike, Willow," he snapped, not caring how caustic he sounded.  "I'm sure he's enjoying Drusilla's company right now."  And reveling in the fact that he managed to drive yet another wedge between us, he thought to himself as he rose to his feet.

Willow sighed in both relief and impatience as she pulled her hand back, rubbing it as if it had been burned. "I didn't come here to talk about Spike, Angel."

"No...you came here to accuse me of trying to manipulate your life and of seducing a 16-year-old girl!  I think I'd prefer to talk about Spike," Angel added as he stalked away from her.  He was afraid that if he stayed near Willow for too much longer he was going to say or do something they'd both regret.  Unfortunately, Willow was not ready to drop the subject until she'd heard a reasonable explanation for some of the things she'd read in the diary.

"Are you denying it then?  That you tried to charm her?" she called after him, bringing Angel to a standstill with his back to the redhead.  "I'm sorry but there is no such thing as an innocent trip to a Shakespeare Festival, Angel. My god, it lasted three days!  *Three* days!  If that's not a ploy to make a woman fall in love with you, I don't know what is."

Angel didn't turn around.  "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I took her because we both really enjoy Shakespeare?"

"Likely story," Willow snorted cockily, bravely moving to step in front of the stone-faced vampire.   "It was the ultimate seduction and you know it!  All that flowery talk, romance, suspense, unrequited love, swordplay, death and-and men in tights!  You were *trying* to get me to fall in love with you and it worked!"

At her own words, Willow's expression changed from victory to embarrassment.  "Oh, bloody hell!" she cursed under her breath.  "I mean *her* not me!"  Her hands flew to her hips.  "And from now on any time I *mean* her but say me, then you should know that I mean her and *not* me!"  Willow took a deep breath, replaying her own words in her head.  When she was sure that she'd not confused her pronouns again, she looked Angel squarely in his hooded eyes.  "Get it?"

"Got it," he replied automatically.

"Good."

Angel didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation, kiss the incredibly stubborn woman before him into submission, or put his fist through the wall. At that moment, putting a large hole in the plaster looked like the most reasonable choice.  Strangely enough, that silent admission actually lightened his mood a little.

"Willow," he began, trying very hard to keep his tone even and calm, "I know you don't remember, but I had invited Buffy, Xander and the rest to join us for the Shakespeare Festival."

Completely unaware of the turn of the vampire's thoughts, Willow snickered, her eyes glinting mischievously.  "Riiight.  As if they would ever come!  Come on, Angel.  You're what, 200 and something years old?"

Angel groaned in surrender, backing away from her.  While he hadn't been 'laying groundwork' as she'd suggested, Angel had to admit that there were other reasons behind some of his outings with the other Willow.

"You're right, Willow.  I did have ulterior motives for taking her to those plays and for many of the other things I did with her as well...at least in the beginning."

Willow swallowed hard, her wry grin fading.  Now she wasn't so sure she wanted to know Angel's real motivations if the sudden clouding of Angel's eyes was any indication of what she was about to hear.

Angel leaned against a bookcase, glancing between the floor and Willow's expectant face as he spoke.  "At first, I admit, it was curiosity, more than anything.  Once I realized that she had no memory of *our* past, I just wanted to get to know her better...and through her, the Rose that I remembered.  At the same time, I think I was trying to jog her memory.  I didn't even admit it to myself at first but that was what I was doing.  We went horseback riding a few nights, and I even tried to teach her to play poker once or twice, but not very successfully, I'm afraid."  Angel gave her a sad smile, and Willow gave him an encouraging look in return.  "It wasn't until I took her to see 'Romeo and Juliet' some months ago that I had to admit to myself at least part of the reason behind it.  I realized at the intermission that I hadn't watched the actors on the stage for even a moment.  I spent the whole time watching her face, waiting for some spark of recognition, yet fearing it at the same time."

"She actually wrote about that night in her diary," Willow said, her voice trembling as her anger began to dissipate.  "That was the night she first mentioned being in love with you.  She said you were staring at her with a strange, intense expression on your face, in a way that no one had ever looked at her before."  Willow swallowed as she imagined just how he might have looked that night.  "Um, she didn't really understand where that look of yours was coming from, but...well...she decided then and there that she loved you."

Angel shook his head regretfully.  "I never meant for that to happen.  I never wanted to hurt her.  I honestly enjoyed her company, Willow.  She was intelligent, funny, caring."  Angel smiled warmly, just thinking about his old friend.  "I could talk to her about anything...history, philosophy, politics, and Shakespeare of course..."

Willow sighed as she turned away from him to walk to one of the stained-glass windows.  Staring out through the thick colored glass, Willow thought she could detect the first hints of the coming sunrise, the dawning of a new day.  As she silently watched the lightening sky, Willow came to realize that she believed Angel.  Sure, perhaps the 200-plus-year-old vampire could have handled it better so that the other Willow hadn't developed a crush on him, but she no longer felt as if he'd been manipulating her life.  Angel had simply been spending time with a friend with whom he shared similar interests.  As strange as their intense friendship seemed to Willow, she believed in her heart that it was the truth.

And boy, did it complicate things.

"Why couldn't you have intellectualized with Giles instead?" Willow muttered, more to herself than to Angel.  Misinterpreting the aside comment as doubt, thinking that she didn't believe him, Angel grew angry.

"What else did your diary tell you?"

Catching the change in his voice, Willow spun to face him.  "First of all, it is *not* *my* diary," she said defensively.  "And secondly, I don't think the details are any of your business--"

"So, how was the sex then?" the vampire interrupted icily, circling closer to where she stood by the window.

"Um, er, what?" Willow sputtered, as every drop of blood in her body seemed to migrate to her cheeks at the same time.

"I just wondered how she thought the sex was, since such an experienced and handsome rogue like me seduced the sweet and innocent Willow Rosenberg.  Did I score four little pink hearts out of four?"

"Angel--" she started, but he wasn't through yet.

"She must have gone on for several pages about it," he continued wryly, then lowered his voice. "So tell me...just between you and me...how was I?" he asked silkily.  "Was I everything a virgin could want for a first lover?  Was I gentle and considerate or was I straight off the cover of one of those historical romance novels that she kept hidden under her bed, sweeping her off of her feet and ravishing her in a hayloft somewhere?"

Incensed and oddly embarrassed, Willow wanted to slap the cool smirk off his face.  Instead she turned back toward the window, trying to collect herself.

When had she lost control of the situation?  For that matter, where had the slightly confused and sheepish Angel from only seconds before disappeared to, only to be replaced by someone she was much more familiar with....

Not liking the turn of her own thoughts, Willow instinctively eased into her poker face and an oh-so-casual tone before turning to the vampire again.  The Rose in her wasn't going to let him get away with his teasing.

"Actually, she wasn't impressed."  Willow started to thumb through the small pages of the diary, as if looking for a particular passage.  "Let's see...where was that?  She'd written something about inadequate and premature...well, you get the idea...."

Strangely enough, Angel's anger melted away beneath Willow's mocking, and he had to swallow his laughter as she continued to flip through the book.

"Let's see," she said, feigning concern for her inability to find the imaginary reference.  "I know it's in here somewhere.  Shouldn't be too hard to find since the page was so stained with tears of disappointment...."

Just as she was really beginning to enjoy herself, Willow's teasing came to an abrupt end when Angel snatched the diary out of her hands, holding it up and away from the indignant redhead.  When Willow reached for it, Angel took the opportunity to gently take her by the wrist and pull her closer.

His next comment sounded eerily familiar to Willow.  "I think we both know that if I had been trying to seduce her, I would have succeeded," he murmured hoarsely as near her ear as he dared before abruptly letting her go.

"Ha!" she laughed outright, at the same time successfully lunging for the book and stepping away from the vampire.  "You aren't *that* irresistible, Angel," she shot back guilefully, and yet Angel noticed how quickly she scampered away from him.

His lips twitched.  "Aren't I?"

Willow shook her head at his arrogance yet didn't look at him.  Instead she busied herself with tucking the diary into her backpack, retorting, "I, the century-old virgin, am living proof of that."

Angel took a step closer.  While this was hardly the direction he'd expected such a conversation to take, he couldn't resist her naive challenges...never could...never wanted to.

"But *you* aren't *her*, remember?" he teased mercilessly, loving the sparks of anger that flashed in her amazingly green eyes when she glared at him.

"*I* resisted you in Galway," she proudly reminded him.  "Also, since I had a crush on Xander and not you, I obviously never noticed your charms before this little trip back in time either.  Oh, and I was in love with Oz, too, remember?"

Like he could forget.

Angel disregarded the inner voice that was warning him to stop their game before it was too late.  They were both precariously close to taking the verbal contest more than one step beyond their constantly shifting personal boundaries, but he was rapidly growing weary of having to school his emotions around her.

Ignoring the likelihood that what Spike had said about Willow never truly being able to forgive him was true, Angel decided to raise the stakes just a bit.  "But, as you so love to remind me, I'm not *that* Angel," he told her in a tone that was both husky and mischievous.

Willow wasn't sure if it was the vampire's wicked grin, the positively evil gleam to his eyes, or the fact that he'd outmaneuvered her again that seemed to lure away her ability to think for a moment.  That talent for completely flustering her was something that Angelus had always been a master at, and tonight she had goaded Angel into behaving like Angelus.  What had she been thinking?

Willow looked away, glancing around the library, anywhere but at the vampire, as if noticing for the first time that they were alone.

"Well no, I mean yes, er--" she began to stammer, just trying to stop the direction of her thoughts.

"Make up your mind, Willow, am I Angel or not?"

"You are!" she asserted in response to his provocation.  "You're Angel in that, well, in that you have a soul and you're trying to make up for the evil you had committed while you were without it, but you're not *Angel*!  You're not the brooding vampire that kept to the shadows."  Willow knew she was repeating herself from similar conversations she'd already had with the ensouled vampire on this very same subject, but she couldn't seem to help herself.  Not only was she grasping at straws, the closer he came to her, the more Willow felt as if she were grasping for breath and control over her wildly beating heart as well.  Only now did she notice the rather romantic setting, the dim lights, flickering candles, and the fact that Angel's shirt was three-quarters unbuttoned...and why did she have to notice that now?  And could it really be a soft as it looked?

And his eyes...If she wasn't mistaken, they kept drifting to her neck.  No, she must be mistaken.  Angel would never...

But another long look at the devilishly handsome vampire proved that his eyes were indeed occasionally roving down to her throat.

It took a Herculean effort for Willow not to bring her hands to her throat in an effort to hide the faint, freckle-like scars left there by both Angelus and Spike.  After all, she told herself, vampires like necks.  Angel was a vampire; therefore, it was only natural that he'd look at her neck.  If there had been a platter of chocolate nearby, she'd probably be staring at that in much the same way.

After all, chocolate to her was like blood to...

She inwardly groaned at her own thoughts. Clenching her fists, Willow let her nails dig into the tender flesh of her palms in an effort to regain some control over her own body.  She took a deep breath as well, trying unsuccessfully to picture her calming place.

Another quick peek at the amused vampire made it obvious that he was waiting for her to say something.  Damn...what where they talking about?  Necks?  No, before necks!  Chocolate?  Bloody hell...

Another deep breath that failed to soothe and she could only pray that he had no hint at the humiliating direction her thoughts kept taking. Oh yeah...she was supposed to be critiquing his Angel impersonation.  She could do that!

"Oh!  And, um, you-you smile too much, for one thing," she shakily informed him, pointing a finger at his full, smiling lips while still managing to back away from him.  "And you stand up too straight...the other Angel always seemed to be hunched over...slouching.  I dunno...maybe the slouch comes with the brood, but I never realized how tall you were until I saw you in Galway."

There was a pause, and Willow waited to see some expression of anguish mar Angel's features.  There was no pain, only a lazy smile, and there was nothing angelic about the look on his face.

"You want him back, do ya?"  The timbre of his voice deepened, bringing a familiar, if not unwelcome, tightening in her belly.  "This depressing bore with bad posture who barely knew ya existed?"  Finding herself trapped between a long bookcase that ran half the length of the room and the slowly approaching vampire, Willow held her breath and shut her eyes.  She could almost feel Angelus's long hair brushing against her cheek as he spoke even though the vampire had stopped several feet away.  "You want me ta think of ya as just the Slayer's sidekick, let ya fade into her shadow?"

No...yes...damn him!

Deeply ashamed of herself for letting him get to her so easily and for her body's reaction to something so simple as the native lilt of his voice, Willow let her emotions answer for her.

"Yes!" she practically spat at him, her eyes flying open.  "As a matter of fact, I do want the old Angel back!  Er, well, except for maybe the posture thing," she hastily amended.  "And I don't need your help keeping out of Buffy's shadow."

"Really?" Angel chuckled.  "Seems ta me yer tryin' very hard ta play a part that ya should have outgrown."

Willow fixed him with a cold stare, burying deep inside all the emotions that he'd wrenched out of her, letting only anger and guilt rule her actions.  "I just want things to be like they used to be...*everything* like it used to be," she stressed.  When Angel didn't even flinch, she dug a little deeper.  "Especially you."  Willow was both pleased and disgusted with herself when the mischievous glimmer in Angel's eyes began to fade, replaced by regret and something else she couldn't quite name.

He'd pushed her too far; he knew that, and yet Angel refused to believe that she meant what she said.  The vampire closed the final distance between them, forcing Willow to back up until she was flat against the bookcase.  He was trembling both with his turbulent emotions and the effort to control them as he gripped the shelves on either side of her body and leaned in closer.  His lips hovered dangerously close to her cheek.  "Be careful what you ask for, Willow.  Are you very sure that's what you want?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

From somewhere deep inside, Willow found the strength to appear confident in her answer when she was anything but. Willow met his searching gaze, her eyes cool and unwavering as they pierced his. Telling herself that it was the right thing to do, no matter how wrong it felt, she replied adamantly, "Yes, Angel.  I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

He didn't move at first.  Instead, Angel held her gaze, studying her eyes, the curve of her face, the lines of her mouth for any sign of weakness, desperate for some hint that she really was bluffing, but her poker face--calm and completely devoid of sentiment--was firmly in place.

Without another word, Angel pushed himself away from her, turned around, and walked back up the dais steps then proceeded to sit and flip through some parchments he'd tried to read earlier that night.

Willow wasn't sure what to do.  Although she'd basically just told him that she wanted him out of her life, she didn't want it to end this way.  After all, Willow reminded herself, she and the original Angel, while not exactly friends, had at least been civil to one another when they were in the same room.  They had to be able to work together, at least for Buffy's sake.

An uncomfortable quiet settled over the room as Angel buried himself in the papers and Willow came to terms with what had just happened.  At the precise moment that Willow didn't think she could take anymore, Angel broke the stalemate.

"You should go, get ready for class," he said in a matter of fact tone, without looking up.  Hesitantly, Willow took a few small steps toward the dais, grabbing a thick book off the shelf as she went.

"I, er, don't have class.  They have finals this week and Ms. Calendar made sure that I--I mean, Willow V2.0--took them early."  Willow swallowed and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.  "Guess that means I'm footloose and fancy free."

"Go get some sleep then," Angel grunted, but he didn't look at her, Willow noted.

"Um, actually I thought I'd look through the, er, 'Rinehart Index of Pagan Mythos' before I left."

Angel stood up, grabbing the parchments.  "Why?" he asked, continuing to study the aged sheets before him.

"I obviously have a lot of catching up to do, and since all the books are here..."  Willow nervously licked her dry lips.  "I still want to help," she replied with quiet earnestness.  "I *need* to help."

"Then quit wasting your time by looking in 'The Rinehart'."  Angel's tone wasn't angry or mocking, but the hollowness of it made Willow shiver.  "Sometimes I think we only keep it around to laugh at because it's full of mistakes and fallacies," he continued.

Her face fell and her failures of the previous day were brought to mind.  "Oh...I-I didn't know that...*yet*, she added, determined not to wallow in self-pity like she had last time.  "So, I'll go back to the good ole, er, the um..." she quickly scanning the books behind her, looking for anything familiar.  "Ah!" she exclaimed, pulling a tall, mustardy book off the shelf.  "'Nolen's Guide to--'"

"Try the 'Cheyvez Compendium'," Angel interrupted as he finished gathering the papers and turned away.  "Lock the door on your way out."

Without anther word, Angel left the main library room and disappeared down the hall.  Soon, the soft 'thud' of his closing bedroom door reverberated mournfully throughout the room.

The sound broke Willow out of her surprised stupor, and she softly called after him, "But...Shayfez?  Jayfess?  What?"  Willow finally let loose a long and pain-filled sigh as she stared sadly at the hallway that the vampire had disappeared down.  "Um, is that with a 'J' or a 'S-H'?" she asked in a dejected whisper, not expecting him to answer.  She simply needed to give voice to her confusion.

Telling herself over and over again that she'd done the right thing, yet not allowing herself to examine her reasoning, Willow started her search for the book Angel had mentioned.

It took Willow more than an hour to find the scarlet, gilded volume, and when she sat down to read it, she couldn't seem to muster her previous eagerness.  Somewhere between finding and reshelving both "Shadows, Shades, Ghosts and Ghouls" and "Jane's Defense Weekly" the redhead had come to the conclusion that she'd over-reacted.

Again.

Actually, her own irrational behavior didn't surprise her all that much. After everything she'd been through, she was starting to figure that she was allowed to behave a little...eccentrically...for a while.  But it was *why* she'd reacted so strongly in this particular instance that puzzled her the most.  She'd already gotten over what had taken her to Angel's in the first place, no longer believing that he'd been manipulating her life or had some mysterious ulterior motive.  So why had she so steadfastly demanded that he behave differently around her?

Willow sighed, slamming the book shut before resting her forehead on the cover.  Because once again she'd had Angelus flashbacks, but this time, the thoughts hadn't terrified her as much as they had tantalized her.

A few huskily whispered words in an Irish brogue, teasing, tempting, and her traitorous body was...

...well, responding as if she were a 135-year-old virgin whose only sexual experiences had been at the hands, not to mention the mouths, of vampires.

*That's* why she'd overreacted.

Groaning, Willow sat back up.  She glanced over at the hallway that Angel had disappeared down and wondered what he was doing.  According to the clock on the wall above the computers, it was almost 8 AM.  He was probably sleeping.

"And, if he's smart, ruing the day Angelus ever met me," she whispered aloud.

That was the problem.  He didn't seem at all that sorry he'd met her.  Far from it, in fact.  And from her reaction to him today, she'd made it pretty darn obvious that she wasn't altogether sorry that she'd met him either.

And what must Angel be thinking of her?  By now he may have realized how his Angelus-like behavior had actually affected her, and it would disgust him.  For Angel to have spent all those years trying to compensate for his immoral past, only to have her pulse quicken at the slightest hint of the darkness that he obviously tried so hard to control....

It was so very, very wrong of her.

Unknowingly, as she struggled with how to fix the latest mess she'd created,  Willow began to toy with the cross that was hidden beneath her T-shirt, her eyes focused on the silver band on her finger.  When she realized what she was doing, she laughed softly, derisively at herself.

"No wonder we both keep slipping into old habits.  I still remind him more of Rose than of Willow...not that I necessarily want to remind him of the old Willow either," she whispered morosely.  Fighting the tears that she felt stinging her eyes, she added, "Oh Angel, we can't go on like this..."

Willow sat in silence a while longer, sifting through her thoughts and feelings.  In the end, she made a choice.  She understood now that, for whatever reason, the vampire that now lay sleeping in the other room wasn't the old Angel, and she couldn't expect him to be miserable just to ease her own guilty conscience.  On the other hand, she couldn't allow what had happened today, or *almost* happened, to occur again, which meant that, other than leaving town altogether, she had only one option.

Grabbing her bag, Willow headed for home.  The decision made, she was going to get herself cleaned up first and then do the only thing she could do.  The only thing that made sense at the moment.

Willow was going to go to the mall.
 

*****

A strange dream prodded Spike to full wakefulness, and within seconds of opening his eyes, the oddly disturbing images were already fading.  Nevertheless, even though the details were too foggy to recall clearly, he somehow he knew that the dream had been important.

Spike was clenching his eyes shut, trying to recollect the dream when a cool body stirred beside him.  He started, blue eyes flying open in alarm, then smiled as the sleeping Drusilla draped a pale arm across his bare chest.  It had been so long since he'd truly shared a bed with a woman that it was taking some getting used to, but it was an adjustment that he was more than happy to make.

Taking Drusilla's hand from where it lay on his chest, Spike lifted her long, slender fingers to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss on her silky, cool skin.

He'd missed the taste of her during their long separation, and now just the scent of her skin was reawakening his desire.  With a lazy glance at the room's heavily draped windows, he could tell it was late morning, which meant that they hadn't been asleep for long.  It didn't matter that he'd spent the last several hours reacquainting himself with every delicious curve of his Dark Goddess's body. Spike was more than ready to lose himself in her for the rest of the daylight hours as well.  In fact, other than the occasional break to check on Willow and taunt Angel, that was all that he had done since his arrival back in the 20th century and he could happily carry on in the same manner for years.

His grin widening at the thought of waking the sleeping beauty, Spike turned her hand over, his lips grazing the inside of her wrist before increasing the pressure, lightly skimming the spot where a pulse would normally be with his teeth.  Drusilla emitted a sleepy sigh but didn't waken.

Just as Spike was about to sink his fangs into the nest of veins at the base of her wrist, which had always been her favorite way to be awakened, his gaze happened across her palm...

...and an image from his dream came back with such clarity that the intensity of it caused him to abruptly release her hand.

He was in the Rom camp with the old gypsy woman.  She was holding his hand between her own withered fingers, her grip unnaturally strong for a woman of her fragile appearance.  She was staring at him, the inky blackness of her eyes threatening to swallow him.  He couldn't look away from their dark, fathomless depths even when she began to strip him bare with those all-seeing eyes.  Clothing, skin, his corporeal body--all were peeled away until she seemed to be studying that which couldn't be seen.  His thoughts?  Intentions?  Hopes and dreams?  Even his soul, if he didn't know better.

Then, as quickly as she'd pulled him apart, the Rom woman put him back together, as if she'd found whatever it was that she'd been so diligently searching for.  Finally, her eyes focused on his palm, especially the starburst-like pattern in its center.  A look of satisfaction and understanding had settled onto her weathered features as she released his trembling hands...

All thoughts of wakening Drusilla forgotten, Spike shifted to a sitting position to fully concentrate on his palm.  He barely noticed when Drusilla rolled away from him, snuggling into her pillow.

Spike's pale skin shone even in the muted morning light, but it was the many paths that crisscrossed his palm that held his eye.  Lines of exceptional depth and clarity, they made little sense to the vampire who was not at all well versed in the varieties of divination.  But to the old gypsy woman who had held his palm only a few nights earlier--days to him, decades in reality--they appeared to have provided passage into his past and future as much as if his whole existence had already been entirely mapped out.

Spike cradled one hand in the other, annoyed by the way his nicotine-stained fingers began to tremble.  Staring at the jagged lines, he thought he could see all of his past mistakes coming back to haunt him as every break, intersection or split in the creases tried to represent a critical choice he had made.  The moment he allowed killing to become more than just part of the soldiering.  Desertion.  Deciding against all logic to follow a dark stranger home from a pub one night.  A seemingly endless list for a dizzying collection of lines on a pale hand.

He squeezed his hand shut, not wanting to believe in the old woman's abilities even though he knew perfectly well that some people did have psychic gifts.  Palmistry had never been one of Drusilla's talents, but he could vaguely recall her staring wide eyed at his palm once a very long time ago, then falling into one of her nonsensical discourses about singing stars and some very confused mice.  The clock kept striking the wrong hour, she'd insisted.  It was running backwards, scaring all the poor little mice and no one knew when teatime was.  After that she'd picked up Ms. Edith, cradled the doll in her arms, and went off to give the mice a tea party of their own.

Spike's jaw clenched as the memory came back to him.  It couldn't really mean anything, could it?  He'd discounted her babbling then, and yet...

The blonde vampire fought the temptation for a moment more, then unfurled his fist to reluctantly study his hand once again.  He was starting to wonder if the star pattern that exploded in the center of his palm, sending several lines meandering in all directions, often intersecting, really did mean something important.  In the back of his mind, it seemed to the vampire that the star pattern could have occurred on his palm's timeline at about the time that he kidnapped Willow.

If only he could remember what the Rom elder had actually said to him a few nights ago!

Truth be told, he hadn't paid all that much attention to the old Gypsy lady when she'd grabbed his palm back at the Rom camp.  He'd been preoccupied, worried that he'd be too late to save Willow from Angelus's wrath.  In the end, all he knew was that whatever Tekla had seen--or *thought* she'd seen--in the lines on his hand had not only convinced her to help him but that he'd only "Saviya's" safety in mind as well.

But what had she actually said?  Focusing on the pattern in the center of his palm, the words began to come back to him.

There was something about three lines...Yes, the number three was mentioned repeatedly.  Even with the language difficulties between them, he was sure of that.  Crossing paths, of course.  Long journeys, decisions, choices, darkness, light...the same warnings he'd expect to hear from a phony fortuneteller in a carnival sideshow...

...shared paths, destinies...

"Typical vague, cryptic prattlings," he said aloud, causing his love to shift again in her sleep.  Spike absent-mindedly drew his fingers through her long ebony hair as he concentrated on the dream and the only thing he was sure of--three.

...three...

Three! Bolting upright in bed, Spike wanted to shout and hit himself in the head to emphasize the moment of his epiphany, but he didn't want to wake his Dark
Goddess.  Not yet.  While he would no doubt share his conclusion with Drusilla in the relatively near future, he had yet to work out the details.

Three.  Himself, Drusilla, and Willow.  Together for eternity.
 

The decision was made.  He would turn Willow.  Not now but soon, while she was still young and healthy...10 years at the most.

Spike was sporting an enormous grin as he relaxed into the comfort of the grand mahogany sleigh bed with its black silk sheets, easing Drusilla back in to his arms.  The decision made, Spike felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.  Willow wasn't going to leave him after all.

Unlife was already perfect.  And it was only going to get better.
 

~Chapter Twelve~

A frustrated Willow stood in the middle of her bedroom, the floor around her littered with overflowing shopping bags.  The trip to the mall had been a complete success.  Or a total failure, depending on how she looked at it.  She'd spent money.  Lots of money.  Yet as she glanced about at the various department store bags, Willow had the strangest feeling that she still had nothing to wear.

As a teenager, Willow had never been all that fond of roaming the mall.  Fashion had never been her forte.  Even after befriending Buffy, a relationship which required a certain amount of mall-time on a regular basis, Willow had fallen short of developing any sort of true appreciation for the shopping act itself.

In a way, it had been easier back in the 18th and 19th centuries.  During those first years alone when she'd had nothing, especially money, Willow had little choice in attire nor the heart to care.  Later when she'd had money, either what Spike had given her or the gambling winnings she'd created from his generosity, Willow would simply visit a local modiste, or they would come to her, to have gowns tailored specifically for her.  Willow had usually allowed the dressmakers to tell her what was in vogue at the time, taking their direction on fabrics and colors that they thought would suit her best.  She would always tweak their ideas, making the gowns looser here or less cumbersome there, and always with a thought to the fact that she rarely had a personal maid to help her in and out of the tedious dresses and all of their various undergarments.  No, even in those days when she could afford to say 'to hell with fashion' while still managing to look the part of a stylish woman of means, shopping hadn't been fun.  Except, that is, on those few occasions that Spike had accompanied her.  Shopping with Spike, whether for clothes or the best bottle of Merlot in the country, had never been dull.

Unfortunately, Spike wasn't with her as she'd wandered the 20th century mall, venturing from shop to shop.  She had hoped that the strange novelty of it all would help dispel the melancholy fog that her latest fight with Angel had stirred within her. But all too soon, what little pleasure she found in the vast array of stores and choices turned into frustration as she realized that after all this time, she still had no idea what to buy.

As sure as Willow was that she no longer wanted to limit her wardrobe to overalls, baggy sweaters and cartoon-emblazoned t-shirts, she wasn't in a big hurry to be on the cover of Seventeen magazine either.  All the halter tops and cropped shirts seemed too tight and even too revealing by Rom standards, and the skirts felt indecently short.  When she focused on more tailored clothing, although they felt more comfortable than the trendier clothes, Willow quickly realized the last thing she wanted to look like was a young Republican, albeit a fashionable one.  Nope, tailored suits, pants, and jackets weren't quite 'her' either.  Finally she'd tried the other end of the fashion spectrum, garments that were the opposite of the finely tailored clothing, and while the loose flowing skirts and dresses were comfortable, they still seemed wrong, somehow.

In the end, no particular style seemed to suit her.  Not trendy club clothes, not expensive designer labels, and even the more earthy new-age wear with all of its Gypsy-like qualities seemed oddly out of place.  But she needed new clothes and at that point, anything that didn't scream 'Willow' or 'Rose' would do, so Willow had bought a little bit of everything and anything, even the styles that she'd already discounted.  And a lot of jeans.  She'd really missed jeans.

Unfortunately, the result of her indecision showed via the rather eclectic mix of clothing that lay strewn about her room.  Maybe she should have taken Buffy along after all.  Perhaps even Cordelia, but that would have ruined the surprise.  Besides, the trip to the mall, and to the expensive hair salon cocooned within its walls as well, was something she felt she needed to do on her own.

Too late now anyway, she sternly reminded herself as she began to make room in her closet and drawers for the new items.  She piled the old clothes that she was positive she'd never want to wear again in a corner to deal with later, deciding she'd either give them to charity or just have a big bonfire and toast marshmallows.  Then she began to sort through her new garments.

Willow did sigh with contentment, however, as she opened one particular bag and pulled out her most expensive purchase.  She wasn't sure exactly what she had been thinking when she had tried on the brown leather pants, but from the moment Willow had slid into the buttery soft hide, she'd been sold.  They weren't tight by any means, and the distressed leather felt as if it moved with her body instead of against it, making them almost as comfortable as her old baggy overalls.  Grimacing as she removed the price tag, Willow hung them in her closet in a position of honor.

As she continued to put her other purchases away, Willow tried unsuccessfully not to mentally calculate how much money she'd spent.  Not wanting to use her parents' credit cards even though she always had their permission, Willow had instead utilized a huge chunk of her personal savings account. It just didn't seem right to be once again completely dependent on Ira and Sheila Rosenberg, even though she had little choice.  In the eyes of the law, she was still a minor, subject to the whims of her parents.

Sighing as she pulled several small items out of a large Victoria's Secret bag, Willow had to squelch a sudden, biting stab of jealousy and resentment towards Spike.  Sure.  Now *he* was seemingly set financially, but she was back to depending on her generous allowance for spending money.  Not easy for a woman who was used to her gambling winnings providing her with more than enough money to buy almost anything that she'd desired.

"Shame I didn't make a few wise investments like Spike did," she grumbled, pulling the tags from some new bras and panties.  She hadn't been able to make up her mind regarding those either.  She wanted cotton for the comfort she'd longed for every day that she'd had to endure the binding undergarments of the mid-1800's, and yet she was attracted to the more sensual satin and lace lingerie with their beautiful jewel tones and provocative cuts as well.  Again, unable to decide, she'd purchased some of both.

With a sly smile, Willow hid the sexier garments in the back of her underwear drawer, under a few pairs of very old Scooby Doo 'Under-Roos' that she'd been meaning to throw away since she she'd hit puberty but had never had the heart to and still didn't.  She adored the cartoon 'Scooby Doo', and had always harbored a secret hope that Fred would quit fawning all over simple-minded, Danger-Prone Daphne and notice the brainy heart of the group, Velma.

Shaking her head at the odd turn of her thoughts, Willow shut the drawer and turned back to her unpacking.  "Yep," she said aloud a little later when she'd finished hanging up more than a dozen new tops.  "It would have been real nice if Spike had shared his plan for financial security with me."

At her departure from the past, Willow had given the bulk of her own money to her adopted Rom family.  At the time, she'd been too concerned about what to do with her guitar, her writings, and her more personal belongings to worry much about a little thing like money.

Annoyed with her own shortsightedness, Willow finished putting the last of her purchases away, smiling at some of the acquisitions, grimacing at others.  She was just sliding some new shoes--from low-heeled boots to dangerously high heels--on her shoe tree, when the phone rang.

It was The Slayer calling from Angel's place, and Willow was relieved when Buffy didn't demand a long, let alone reasonable, explanation for why she wasn't at that very moment also over at Slayer Central with everyone else.  Instead, while Willow threw herself onto her bed and made herself comfortable, Buffy seemed more inclined to complain about some of the boys in her summer school class who had wasted their study group time that day by arm wrestling.

"I don't even know why they are in the class!" Buffy huffed on her end of the phone line.  "But the worst thing is, I had to endure all the other girls in the class 'oohing' and 'aahing' over their strength.  Pu-lease," Buffy groaned.  "We both know I could beat any of them with one hand tied behind my back *and* with wet nails!"  Willow found herself grinning broadly, and there was silence on Buffy's end.  "Um, not that I want the girls 'oohing' and 'aahing' over my muscles," Buffy quickly added.  "But the point is..." Buffy trailed off, which made Willow smile.  She could almost picture the perplexed look on the Slayer's face.  "There was a point, wasn't there?" Buffy finally asked.

Feeling as if she were once again 17, Willow released a happy sigh that was darn near a giggle.  "I'm not sure, Buffy.  I was too busy mentally 'oohing' and 'aahing,'" she teased, thoroughly enjoying the basically pointless and totally girlish dialogue.  Willow was still smiling when suddenly the need to tell Buffy the truth about everything--the trip back in time, Angel, Spike, Angelus, everything--was overwhelming, but before Willow could figure out how to begin, Buffy shattered the moment.

"We're Bronzing it tonight, right?"

Willow's mouth slammed shut and her stomach twisted in knots at the casual question.  She sat up straight, her fingers fiddling with the phone cord.  Going to The Bronze with the gang would probably mean seeing Angel, and while the meeting was inevitable, she wasn't in any particular hurry for their next encounter.

Before Willow could come up with an excuse, Buffy added, "Oz's band is playing."

Damn.  "Oh, yeah, but um...shouldn't you be studying tonight?  You do have a final this week, don't you?"

"Already on it, *mom,*" Buffy happily informed her.  "I'm done training and now Angel's quizzing us all...even Giles is chipping in with the occasional question."  Buffy lowered her voice, reminding Willow that she'd called from Slayer Central.  "Angel is in a pretty intense mood, complete slave-driver mode, so I figure another hour or so of this and I'll have met my mind-usage quota for the night."  Buffy's voice went back to her normal cheerful volume.  "Xander's already insisting that his brain is at the maximum capacity allowed by law."  Willow laughed at the quirky comment that was so typical of the dark-haired boy.  "So, we believe we are entitled to a little fun," the Slayer continued and in the background Willow heard Xander adding his hoots of agreement.

Buffy's tone grew more serious.  "I know you're worried, Willow, about Spike.  Of course we're not going to let you out of our sight, and we'll keep an eye out for the peroxide pest, but you deserve some fun, too.  Besides, you said you really wanted to listen to Oz's band."

"Oh, I do!" Willow insisted, glancing longingly over at her guitar case in the corner.

"Great!  The plan is for us to get all cleaned up and you can meet us here around 6:30.  Then we'll do the pizza thing before heading over to The Bronze together."

Willow, while never quite mastering the basics of a good plan herself, still knew that Buffy's was a bad, bad plan.  She thought fast, quickly coming up with a way to avoid going to Angel's place.

"Sounds perfect," Willow said with fake enthusiasm.  "Oh, I forgot!" she then added, an appropriate amount of disappointment to her tone.  "My parents are going to call sometime between 7 and 7:30, so why don't you guys do the pizza thing, and then I'll just meet you at The Bronze 'round 8?"  Willow wasn't surprised that Buffy easily bought the lie.  After all, when Willow applied herself, she could be a very skilful liar,  Still, Willow was relieved when Buffy didn't immediately argue with her.  That is until The Slayer reminded her about Spike, insisting that there was no way that she could be alone after the sunset.

"So, I'll just come pick you up around 7:30ish then?" Buffy offered, but Willow was prepared with another lie.

"I have no idea how long my parents are going to take, Buffy, but since it doesn't get dark until nearly 9 in the summer, I'll just meet you at The Bronze, okay?  I promise I'll walk in the middle of sunny streets the whole time and avoid all shadowy alleyways.  I'll be fine."

After much discussion and a promise from Willow that she'd get hold of them at The Bronze if she needed an escort after all, or take a taxi, Buffy eventually relented.

When she finally hung up the phone, Willow's prior good mood from talking to her old friend had completely dissipated.  Now all she could think about was seeing both Oz and Angel, and neither prospect gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling.

For as long as Willow could remember, she'd been eagerly anticipating seeing Oz play again, hearing the familiar songs, but now... Now, the pain she was expecting to experience was tempering much of that enthusiasm.  Not wanting to dwell on those depressing possibilities at the moment, Willow's thoughts turned to Angel instead.

Unfortunately, those were no less depressing.  How was she going to convince the dark vampire to let go of their paradoxical past relationship?  While it hadn't taken her long to regret much of what she'd said to the vampire that morning, specifically her demand that he behave more like the old Angel, brooding and unhappy, the vast majority of her still wished he'd leave her alone.  Being near him was too confusing, painful even.  For *both* of them, she was beginning to realize, finally becoming agonizingly aware that she was hardly a good influence on the souled vampire.

Willow picked up the large stuffed panda bear that had fallen on the floor, next to her bed.  The cuddly creature's name was Mr. Woo, and she and Xander had won it at the county fair a few years back by throwing an awful lot of darts at an awful lot of balloons.  She gave the bear a stern look and wagged her finger at it.  "This is for your own good, Angel, as well as mine," she told the black and white bear, but without the conviction that she'd be striving for.  Holding Mr. Woo out in front of her with both hands as she sat on the bed, Willow tried again.  "Whenever we're alone together, I seem to bring out the Angelus in you.  I-I don't mean to, but I do.  God, that must be hard on you, considering everything you've gone through," she groaned.  "You must hate me for that...or at least you should..."

When she got no response from the Angel stand-in, she sighed, leaning forward to rest her head against its furry warmth.

She stared into its glassy black eyes, wishing she could figure out a way to get Angel to back off of her for a while...and preferably *on* to Buffy.  Willow sat back up, wearing a silly grin at her own thoughts. With their cruder double meaning, it sounded just like something Spike would say.

"Wonder what Spike will say when he sees my hair?" she mused aloud to the bear.  For that matter, what were they all going to say?  She could only hope that the new look might help Angel see who she was now.  Or perhaps more importantly, who she wasn't.

Setting Mr. Woo back by her pillows, Willow got up to look at herself in the full-length mirror.  She edged closer to the glass until she was nearly nose-to-nose with her reflection.  Turning her head this way and that, she studied her hair closely.

She wasn't sure exactly how much she'd had the hairstylist at the posh mall salon cut off, but it was a fair amount.  Her hair fell just below chin-length, with long layers that gave her normally straight hair a softer, fuller look in a Scully-esque style.  And the color?  While still red, it was brighter and bolder, edging more towards true red than her natural auburn.  All things considered, Willow was very pleased with her new look.  Not only did her head feel ten pounds lighter, but Willow thought she looked more mature and sure of herself, as well.  No matter how lost she actually felt.

Sighing at the irony of it all, Willow's scrutinized her hair again, this time mentally measuring the length.  Had it grown any since she'd had it cut a few hours earlier?  When Spike's spell had been in effect, anytime she'd cut her hair, it would promptly grow back.  She grimaced, remembering one dark night in which she'd hacked off more than a foot of her auburn hair in a fit of fear and depression, and yet by the morning it had all grown back.  It was as if time had stopped for her body, determined to forever keep her the 17-year-old virgin that Spike had kidnapped.

"But those days are all over, Willow," she promptly reminded her somber reflection.  "Now you're mortal again, with all that mortality entails."  Still, she continued staring at her own image, gnawing on her bottom lip until she was positive that she couldn't actually see her hair growing right before her very eyes.  Even then Willow realized that she wouldn't know for sure until the following morning.  If she awoke to find her hair still short, it would be proof positive that she was once again truly normal.

No, not normal...just mortal, she corrected herself silently.

In the meantime, she had an evening of angst and pain to keep her mind from her immortality issues.  Might as well get ready.

"Bloody hell," she exclaimed softly, looking at all of the new clothes in her closet with alarm.  "What am I going to wear?"

***

Willow was once again staring at her reflection unhappily.  Something wasn't quite right, she told herself with a critical eye to how she looked in the brown leather pants, and a semi-sheer black long sleeve shirt, which was partially unbuttoned to reveal the black camisole beneath it.  She liked the outfit and she was confident that she looked quite good in it.  Nevertheless, something was out of place, and Willow was fully aware of what that was.  Taking a deep breath, as if bracing herself for pain, Willow grabbed the ring on her left hand and yanked it off, bandages and all. Now her previous feelings of discomfort were replaced with that eerie 'something is missing' feeling, which was no better.

Before she put the ring away, Willow couldn't help reading the tiny inscription one more time:  With all my heart and all my soul, I am with you.  Always.

She felt the familiar sting of tears but held them back as she put the ring into her childish ballerina-topped jewelry box.  Next came the necklace, and with a silent prayer to someone that she was doing the right thing, she lifted the silver chain over her head.  She held it out in front of her, watching the cross dangle before her, the ceiling light playing off its delicately carved surface.

"Pull yourself together, Willow," she muttered to herself as a tear trickled down her cheek.  "It's only jewelry."

Why was it so damn difficult to put these things away now?  She'd only just gotten them back, after all.  But it was hard, painfully so, and as she finally closed the lid on the jewelry box, Willow felt like she were shutting the door on a huge portion of her life.  The left her with a hollow feeling throughout.

Willow was just about to weaken and put the cross back on--after all, she had bought the necklace herself, it wasn't like it was a gift from Angelus--when the phone rang.

Wondering what kink in her plan Buffy had come up with, Willow grabbed the phone as she flopped back down on the bed.  "Hello."

"Red."

Willow sat up straight, automatically wiping the dampness from her face.  "Spike?"

"Ooh, you're quick tonight," Spike chuckled.  "Have many men calling you 'Red' now, do you?"

"Not yet, but the night is still young," she replied, smiling to herself as she ran a hand through her shortened, very red hair.

"Sound surprised to hear from me.  Am I interrupting something?  The dog come over to play?  Have him leashed to the headboard, do you?"

"It's, you know, kinda strange to talk to you over the phone," she retorted honestly, not bothering to respond to his teasing.  "My favorite Victorian vampire using a phone?  My world's all askew," she teased, earning another warm chuckle from the vampire.

"Can get one for you, too, if you want, Red.  Might come in handy."

"You want to buy me a phone?" she laughed, wondering in the back of her mind if it would be made by a demon, like her guitar was.

"Not just a phone, one of those portable jobs.  You know, the kind the yuppies use and then don't bother to turn the ringer off at the pictures and you end up having to break their necks so as not to miss one single moment of violence and gore on big screen."

"Oh. Ewww, Spike," Willow groaned, trying hard not to picture Spike sitting in a movie theater, surrounded by dead yuppies.  "Remind me not to go to the movies with you."  She shuttered, and Spike chuckled.  "So, you have a cell phone now?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too resentful about his improved finances.  "I just can't picture you paying bills and such, Spike.  It's just not right."

Willow heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter being flicked, then Spike inhaling.  "That's why I have Dalton," he said after a moment.  "Best bloody accountant vampire in town.  Fixed it all up for me, takes care of all that financial rot."

"How convenient," she drawled.  "I'm honored that you took a moment from your Rockefeller lifestyle to give me a call."

"Pet, don't get snippy," he admonished, but he sounded amused.  "Just called to see what you're up to tonight.  More playtime with the Scoobies?"

"I'm getting ready to go to the Bronze."  She paused, a slight hitch to her breath.  "Oz is playing tonight."

The was another pause before Spike spoke up.  "The dog's playing?  May have to catch that myself...pretty good trick, that."

Willow sighed.  "Don't you have something better to do?"

"Like you said, pet, the night's still young.  Plenty of time."

"No, you'd better stay away from the Bronze," she advised.  "Buffy will be there, and I don't feel up to another one of your Academy Award-winning productions tonight.  Besides, where's Drusilla?"

"Sleeping."

Willow snorted.  "She sure sleeps a lot."

Willow could almost here him grinning ear-to-ear on the other side of the satellite as he said, "I wore her out."

"Again?"

"I'm nothing if not consistent, Red," he retorted in a very-pleased-with-himself tone.   "You sure you're going to be okay tonight?"  There was a pause, then his voice became tighter.  "Are you going to see the git?"

"Xander?" Willow queried, fully aware that Spike was referring Angel.

"No, the other git...the one with the sloping forehead."

She sighed, falling back into the comfort of her pillows.  Instinctively, she reached for the cross about her neck, and frowned when she remembered why it wasn't there. "Not sure if he'll be there or not.  We kinda had a fight this morning in which I sorta demanded that he start acting like the old Angel."

"You did what?" Spike exclaimed, laughing.

"I asked him to pretend as if I didn't even exist from now on," she said in an embarrassed rush, "basically the way the old Angel used to treat me."

"Wouldn't count on it, Red."

"I know," she said dejectedly, wishing it were only that easy.  "But a girl can hope, can't she?  Which reminds me, he said you two had a little talk.  What did you two chat about, anyway?  Typical father-son stuff?" she asked almost hopefully.

"Just opened his eyes a bit.  Told him the truth...you'd think it was the first time he'd heard it."  Willow heard the soft sound of Spike slowly exhaling, and she could picture the tendrils of smoking drifting out from between the vampire's lips.  It was oddly comforting.  "Tell me what you and the soulful one argued about."

Willow shut her eyes as the whole ugly scene replayed itself in a heartbeat, and before she realized she was speaking, Willow was telling him the whole thing...the diary, the argument, and how it ended.  When she was done, there  was silence on the other end.

"Spike?"

"Still here, Red," he said in a tight voice, and Willow could picture him clenching his jaw on the other end of the phone.  "So, our old pal Angelus paid you a little visit, did he?"

"Just a little one," Willow said with a sigh.  "Really, it was more of a fly-by than an actual visit."

"Did he scare you, Red?"

"A little maybe...sort of...oh, I don't know, Spike.  It's so confusing...when I'm near him I don't know what to feel anymore.  My heart is telling me one thing, my brain another--mainly, run away--and then my body..." Willow groaned, flinging an arm over her eyes as if to fend off memories. "Don't even get me started on what my body is telling me."

More silence from Spike's end, so Willow continued to get if all off her chest.  "I don't understand what he wants from me, Spike.  Forgiveness?  I gave him that already!  Why can't he just leave it at that?  But...but it's like he expects something more or he's pushing for something else and--"

"For what, Red?" Spike interrupted brusquely.  "What else is the damned wanker pushing for?"

"I honestly don't know, Spike.  Acknowledgement maybe?  Acceptance?  I don't know...I don't know how to give him what he wants.  One minute we can be having a fairly normal conversation and the next...the next he's all Irish brogue and dark innuendo.  He's confusing me...again..." she added so softly that Spike almost missed it.

"Say the word, Willow...just say the bloody word and you won't have to worry about him," his voice was growing angrier with each word.  "Bloody hell, you don't even have to say the word, Red.  Just the first syllable...the first *letter* and he's dust."

"No!  Spike, please, that's not the solution...in fact, that's *never* the solution!  It'll be okay, really.  Er, besides, I have a plan," Willow fibbed, but she was quickly working on one.   Anything  would be better than Spike's 'final' solution.

There was a pause on the other end.  "A plan?" he said with obvious sarcasm.  "What have I told you about plans, love?  Waste of bloody time, aren't they?  Best laid plans, hell in a hand basket, etc., etc., etc..."

"Oh, but this one's easy," she informed him.  "Um, coolness and distance," she blurted off the top of her head.  "Well, I guess it's more of a theme than a plan, really," she amended when Spike made no comment.

Another pause on the other end, then Willow thought she heard him chuckle as he said, "Distance, eh?  Going to New Zealand?"

Willow giggled.  "Not that kind of distance, Spike.  The other kind."

"Ah, the painful kind, then."

"Yep."

"Always a favorite."

"Oh, and there's more to it than that, Spike," she went on to say, getting excited now as the idea started firming up in her head.  "I'm going to be China."

"You lost me, Red.  You're going to turn yourself into pottery to avoid the great poof?  Bit extreme, don't you think?"

"China, as in, The Great Wall of," Willow informed him, sitting back up as her theme started to take shape.  "Yep, I think walls and distance ought to do it."

"Not that your plan to turn yourself into a poor communist country isn't a sound one, pet, but remember...I promised that I'd protect you from him, Willow, and I meant it.  Still do.  I won't let him hurt you, *ever*."

"Even when I'm old and wrinkled?" she teased in response.

There was a very long silence.  Willow was just about to tell him she'd been kidding, sort of, when he said, "That'll never happen, Red."

"I dunno," she said, trying again to interject humor back into their conversation.  "Think of all those decades I didn't use sunblock.  I'm thinkin' I'll have so many crows feet people will mistake me for a scarecrow."

"I said, it *won't* happen, Willow," he repeated, his voice sounding so odd and thick with emotion that she chalked it up to a bad connection.  "Time to go, Red," he said suddenly.  "Wouldn't want you to keep the Scabby Gang waiting, would we?"

The phone went dead before Willow could correct him or even say goodbye.  Rolling her eyes at the intricacies of vampire friendships, Willow put the phone back in its cradle.  In spite of the odd turn their conversation had taken, Spike was right about one thing.  It was time to go.  After one last look at herself in the mirror, Willow headed for the door.  Her mind now preoccupied with the evening ahead, Willow didn't give Spike's odd words another thought.

***

The sun had yet to set when Willow arrived, safe and sound, at The Bronze. Even though she was nervous, she didn't have to remind herself to keep her chin high and a small, mysterious smile on her lips as she glided through the front door.  Weaving in and out of the throng near the entrance, Willow ventured deeper in to the club.  She never wavered or paused to look for her friends.  While her eyes casually searched them out from the second she'd entered the building, she didn't allow any hesitation in her stride or her manner.  It was second nature to her now...always act as if you own the place, even if you've never been there before.  Spike would be so proud.

She easily found Buffy, Xander, and Cordelia sitting at one of their usual tables, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't notice Angel anywhere in the club.  This was going to be hard enough without him around, even if it was just prolonging the inevitable.

Emboldened by Angel's absence, Willow quickly got a soda at the bar, then strolled over to the gang.

"Hi guys," Willow said just loud enough to be heard over the music.  She stood tall and confident as all eyes turned to her and grew wide with surprise.  Except for the soft, wet sounds of jaws dropping open, not a peep emanated from her friends.

Willow grinned wickedly as she slid into an empty stool between Xander and Buffy, which she was pleased to note would also afforded her a good view of the stage.  She glanced around at her still-shocked friends.  "Um, I'll be right here when you find those tongues of yours."

Xander found his first.  "Willow?"

Buffy came in a close second.  "Your hair!  It's...shorter!"

"And red!" Xander exclaimed, his jaw still a little slack.

Willow took a sip of her drink, trying unsuccessfully to hide the grin on her face.  "It's always been red, Xander.  Now it's just a little...redder."

Cordy was shaking her head in utter disbelief.  "And clothes...the clothes are new...and strangely fashionable..."

"But not red," Xander kindly pointed out.

"How could you do this to me, Willow?" Buffy said in a pitiful voice, her lower lip quivering dramatically.

Willow sat up ramrod straight, almost choking on her soda.  The smile was gone now, having been flattened by a good-sized chunk of guilt.  "Pardon?" she squeaked.

"You--you did the complete makeover thing without me!"

Willow visibly sagged with relief.  Looking at the Slayer now, she could see that the blonde had been joking.  It was only Willow's over-active sense of guilt where Buffy was concerned that kept turning small things like dropped donuts and solo shopping trips into opportunities for undue anguish.

"Oh, well, I--"

"I mean, isn't it in the best friends by-laws somewhere that no one may undergo a makeover alone?" Buffy demanded, looking to Cordelia for support.

"Please!" Cordelia barked, getting to her feet.  She waltzed around Xander to  where Willow was seated.  "Everyone knows that it's an unspoken rule that you don't even go shopping alone, Willow.   But this..." Cordelia said, looking her up and down with a critical eye.  "This is sacrilege...."

Willow tried not to laugh or roll her eyes at how serious Cordelia seemed to be taking the change in her appearance.  "You don't like it?" she asked all of them in a calm voice that contained not a smidgen of uncertainty.  Willow wasn't fishing for compliments, but she was profoundly curious about their reaction.  This could very well be a dress rehearsal for the moment when she told them the whole truth about her life.

"You look..." Xander paused, obviously searching for the right words.  And that's when Willow saw it.  It was just a glimmer, a brief flash really, but it was definitely there.  Something that she had yearned to see in her oldest friend's eyes for years.  It was as if for the first time, Xander noticed she was a girl...a woman.

Great, Willow chuckled to herself.  All it took was a haircut, a pair of leather pants, and a trip back in time to get Xander to notice me.

Shaking his head as if trying to jar his brain into action, Xander tried again.  "Your hair...and the, um, clothes...the *leather* clothes...you look...er, well, you look..."

Willow took pity on her friend.  "Is that a good inability to speak or a bad one?  Are you in shock or awe?" she teased mercilessly, for a brief moment allowing herself to enjoy her ability to render the boy speechless.  After all, the old Willow deserved at least that much.

He visibly relaxed.  "Definitely awe, Willow.  You look so..."  Xander trailed off into distressed silence again, then sighed.  "Damn.  There's that awe again..."

"You look great, Willow," Buffy reassured her, leaning over to give her half a hug.  "I love the hair, both the color and the cut.  I just wish you'd told me.  You know I would have somehow gotten out of training and studying today to go with you.  Angel would have understood."

"Um, hello...what about me?" Cordelia's arms were about her chest, and she was tapping her foot.  "Shopping, hair, clothes...these are a few of my favorite things!"

"And let us not forget raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens," Xander joked, but Cordelia simply scowled at him.

"I'm serious," she said, slinking back into her seat across from Willow.  "I mean, I know we aren't exactly bosom buddies, Willow. It's not like we have anything in common other than the joy that is the Hellmouth, but..." Cordelia shrugged halfheartedly, glancing almost shyly between Willow and her own half-empty coffee cup.  "I had always dreamed that when this day finally came, I'd be the one to point you away from the Jacquelyn Smith Collection to Anne Taylor instead...or at least Tommy Hillfiger.  And then we could have gone to my stylist, Jacques...Who knows, we might have even had fun."

Willow was surprised to find herself touched by the unfamiliar suggestion of hurt she saw on the cheerleader's face.  Strangely, she found herself actually wanting to get to know Cordelia better.  Looks like it's time to give up my membership in the 'We Hate Cordelia' club, and all it took was spending a century with assorted demons to make Cordelia's company seem like a good thing, she grinned to herself.

"I'm sure we would have had fun, Cordelia.  It's just that this was something I had to do by myself.  It was kinda spur of the moment, too."

Cordelia sniffed, but some of the distress seemed to leave her face.  "So it was some kind of last minute fashion pilgrimage?" she asked hopefully.

"Exactly," Willow said with some relief.  "Yep, relatively speaking, it was definitely spur of the moment.  And I promise that next time I'll ask both you and Buffy to go with me, okay?  To be honest, I really could have used your help.  I felt a little out of my depth at the mall today."  That seemed to cheer Cordelia right up.  "Guess I'm not used to so many options," she added softly, doubting that Cordelia would approve of many of the rest of her purchases.

"Well, this outfit gets a thumbs up from me, especially the pants, so I think you did good," Buffy said.  "Although, if someone had asked me a month ago if I thought that Willow Rosenberg would ever wear leather pants, I'd have bet my stake collection that you'd have stayed a cotton-blend gal for ever."

"Where'd you get them?" Cordelia inquired.

Willow sat up a little straighter, a triumphant grin on her face.  "Oh, in that little boutique in the mall that's between the pretzel shop and Victoria's Secret.  You know, the one that always used to scare me because the mannequins were headless but somehow they still seemed to be watching you?" she prompted Buffy, receiving a nod of understanding in return.  "Ooh, and they were even on sale!"

Cordelia grinned.  "You did good then."

"Victoria's Secret?" Buffy asked, eyes wide and sparkling with curiosity.  "Don't tell me that you're too good for Hanes Her Way now, Willow?" she teased, making Willow laugh.

"Well, actually, I did buy a few--"

Xander cleared his throat, and Willow thought she detected a slight flush to her oldest friend's face as well.  "Um, ladies, male present!" he reminded them, pointing to himself. "No discussion of lacy undergarments, er, female problems, or men who are better looking than me."

After promising to show both Buffy and Cordelia all of her purchases, the conversation turned to more everyday banter.  Soon, the lights dimmed, the canned music faded, and the members of Dingoes Ate My Baby took the stage.  With the first familiar strains of 'She Knows', the band had Willow's complete attention.

The Dingoes' music surrounded Willow, enveloping her with its easy familiarity until she lost herself in it.  She remembered their songs, every single one, and soon Willow found herself singing softly along.  Just as she had in her previous life, Willow focused in on Oz.  She simply watched him for a while, the slight tilt to his head, the occasional need to concentrate revealed by a furrowed brow, his compact stance, and the rare hint of a smile.

But it was different, painfully so, just as she had known it would be.  Oz didn't seek her out in the audience like he used to, their eyes meeting during certain refrains that had once held a special place in both their hearts.  There were no secret smiles exchanged when Oz managed to make it through a particularly difficult passage that he'd rehearsed before her a hundred times.  As much as she loved The Dingoes' music, the tunes felt hollow without those personal touches, lacking in the deeper meaning that always sent a secret thrill down her spine.

As their set progressed, Willow's feeling of melancholy multiplied until she could no longer look at Oz's face.  It was too painful waiting for his eyes to find hers.  Instead, she focused on those hands that she'd always loved and the music that they were making.  By the fifth song in their first set, 'Pain,' Willow was completely caught up in the mechanics of the music, trying to memorize chords and decipher the fingering.  Luckily, everyone else at the table seemed intent to listen to the band as well, because without realizing it, Willow's fingers were discretely airplaying along with Oz under cover of the table.  This simple act, the 'making' of music, deadened some of the pain until her eyes were drifting shut in something akin to meditative concentration.

***

From the veiled shadows of The Bronze, Angel scanned the crowd the moment he arrived.  He immediately spotted Buffy, Xander, and Cordelia sitting at a table with some other girl he didn't recognize, but there was no sign of Willow.  Oz's band was on  stage already, their music easily filling the small club. Angel frowned as he glanced at the clock above the bar.  She should have been there by now...it was dark out, and according to Buffy, Willow had promised she'd be there before dark.

Moving a few steps further into the crowd, ignoring the interested looks he was receiving from members of both sexes, Angel searched the throng of mingling young people once again for the one woman who had occupied his thoughts and his dreams for more than a century.  Not finding her, Angel began to worry...and grow angry.  How could Buffy and the others just sit there when Willow had failed to show up as promised?  Was he the only one who remembered how dangerous Spike was?

He'd stalked halfway to their table when the stranger next to Buffy turned slightly in her seat, giving him a look at her profile.

It was Willow!  Or at least a good facsimile thereof, although the hair...the clothes...

Relieved to see that Willow was indeed safe, yet shocked by her unfamiliar appearance, Angel couldn't quite keep the bewilderment from tinting his voice as he came up behind her.

"You cut your hair."  To Angel's own ears, his voice sounded strained and overly harsh, and yet Willow barely flinched in response.  Amazing what spending decades with a vampire like Spike can do for one's self-control, he thought wryly.

Without turning to look at him, Willow simply shrugged.  "It's just a little trim."

"A trim!" he retorted more sharply than he intended.  "There's barely anything left of it, lass."

He wasn't thinking clearly.  In truth, he wasn't sure he was thinking at all when he reached out to run his fingers through her shortened locks.  It was as if his hand had a mind of its own, an insatiable need confirm that her long auburn hair was truly gone.

At the completely unexpected feeling of Angel's hand in her hair, all thoughts of the music and her plan to remain cool and distant towards the vampire began to fade away.  The surreal sensation of his cool fingers lightly grazing the bare nape of her neck drew a lengthy shudder from the redhead.  Then, mortified by such a strong, involuntary reaction to something as simple as his touch yet again, she spun in her seat, ready to demand that he get his hands off of her!  Instead, Willow's breath caught, the rebuke born of embarrassed confusion dying on her lips when her hasty movement served only to entangle Angel's fingers more firmly in her hair, pulling him nearer.

Bloody hell, he was close!  Too close, she realized when she found herself eye-level with his broad chest, now only inches away.  Willow kept her line of vision trained on the center of his silvery-gray silk shirt, afraid of what she might see if she allowed herself to look up and peer into the dark depths of Angel's eyes.  In her hastily made plan, he was *never* this close!

Well, at least this time his shirt is buttoned, she noted, swallowing past the lump that was rapidly forming in her throat.

When Angel somehow managed to move even closer, Willow stiffened.  Maybe it was the shadowy tinge of disappointment she felt at *not* being able to catch another glimpse of his bare chest, which was so tantalizingly close.  Or perhaps it was the particularly vivid flashback to a previous time when the soulless Angelus had used her long hair to hold her captive against his hard body.  But for whatever reason, the last vestiges of Willow's composure, and her ill-fated plan along with it, dissolved under a deluge of conflicting emotions.

"Apparently, it still isn't short enough!" she snapped churlishly, as much at herself as at the vampire who now seemed frozen before her.

Feeling a desperate need to be free of him, Willow tried twisting her head, shaking her hair, anything to free herself, but it only made the situation worse.  Her forehead wrinkled in frustration, Willow finally grabbed his wrist and began the task of manually untangling her hair from his fingers.  Her own fingers trembled at the contact and her breath grew ragged, further feeding the sense of shame she felt for her desire, fear and guilt.  The color rose in her cheeks as she worked to free herself, the whole time feeling as if history were repeating itself, taunting her, punishing her for the warring feelings that both Angelus and Angel enticed within her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Willow could see Buffy's mouth open and close a few times, but The Slayer never managed to utter an actual word.  She, like the others at the table, could only sit and stare at the strange behavior of their two friends.  The vampire made no move to untangle himself.  He continued to stare at her hair wrapped around his pale, trembling fingers as if she'd dyed it lime green instead of just a richer shade of red.

"The color..." he murmured thickly, still seemingly mesmerized by the stark contrast of colors.

After freeing the last few strands of her hair from between his finger and thumb, Willow thrust Angel's hand away from her with unnecessary force.  Simultaneously, she jumped off the stool and away from the vampire, hoping she'd be able to compose herself when he wasn't so near.  Her tone was still brusque as she finally found the courage to raise her eyes to his bewildered face. "It's called *red*."

Appearing to have come out of his odd stupor, Angel straightened, his hands automatically finding his pockets.  "Red," he repeated dryly.  His gaze quickly grazed her neck, which was no longer hidden underneath long hair, and rose briefly to meet her stern glare before suddenly shooting back down to a spot on her throat.  His eyes narrowed, his whole body stiffening, but before Willow could decipher the odd, almost betrayed look on the vampire's face, it was gone. Angel was now coolly taking in her whole appearance, from the top to bottom, his eyes lingering momentarily on her lean legs and hips in the leather pants.

Buffy's overly tight voice broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled upon their table, but not the tension.  "She looks beautiful, doesn't she, Angel?"

Angel didn't answer, but he finally stopped his inspection long enough to look Willow in the eye.  His tight-lipped expression left little doubt in Willow's mind that Angel wasn't altogether pleased by what he saw. Telling herself that was a good thing despite the twinge of disappointment she felt, Willow squared her shoulders, returning his intense look.

Xander cleared his throat, loudly, and Buffy repeated her question.  "She looks beautiful, doesn't she, Angel?"  Her voice was commanding this time, practically willing the vampire to say the polite thing.

With a barely perceptible shaking of his head, as if trying to wake himself from a stupor, Angel turned to the others.  Under their severe glares, Angel softened.  Appearing embarrassed by his behavior, the vampire's gaze fell to the table as he issued a hefty sigh that resembled more of a moan.  His fingers traced tiny patterns on the table top, and with a disconcerted shrug, he said softly, "Willow is always beautiful."

But it was too late.  The moment Angel had turned from her, Willow had silently slipped away.  She hadn't heard the vampire's delayed but genuine compliment, and she hadn't wanted to.  She'd known it was coming.  While perhaps a bit slow on the uptake because of shock, Angel was still a gentleman.  Willow had no doubt that he would eventually say the socially correct thing and pay her a compliment, whether he meant it or not.  Flattery was an art form during much of the vampire's past, a skill that she remembered Angelus being very adept at.  With Buffy glaring at him the way she was,  Willow fully expected Angel to fall back on the old rules of civility.  Nevertheless, even if the compliments were genuine, Willow did not want to hear them.  After all, why should she care what he thought of the change in her appearance?  As long as he didn't see her as Rose anymore, then her mission was successful.

As she made her way to the bar, Willow had to repeatedly reminded herself that the important thing was that she looked different, she was no longer a constant reminder to Angel of any of their assorted pasts.  That should make things easier now, shouldn't it? she wondered as she insinuated herself between two boys who were leaning against the bar.  Completely oblivious to the appreciative but awkward glances the freshmen were giving her, Willow was struck again by Spike's comments about their distinct lack of planning abilities. Chuckling to herself at both the memory and the apparent truth in the statement, Willow caught the bartender's attention.  She was just about to order a soda, although she would have preferred something stronger, when Devon's voice came over the microphone, breaking through the applause to announce that the band was going to take a short break.  After a long glance over her shoulder at Oz, Willow ordered two sodas instead.

***

Angel had watched Willow walk away from him and had chosen, against all instincts, not to follow her.  He needed time to collect his thoughts, and hoped that by the time she returned to the table, he'd be better able to express himself.  Unfortunately, the other's didn't seem to understand his plan.

"What was that?" Xander's bewildered voice interrupted the vampire's musings.  "Angel, my whole image of you is blown, man.  That was...pathetic," Xander exclaimed in a scolding tone of voice.  "Even more pathetic than my own less than stellar performance."

Angel grimaced but offered no excuses for his deplorable behavior.  What was he going to say, anyway?  Certainly not the truth.  It's not like he could tell them how many times he'd dreamed of running his fingers through Willow's long hair, tangling his hands in the soft auburn locks as he kissed her.  Nor could he tell them how that darker inner voice of his was demanding to know why his Rose thought she could change her appearance without his permission.  That same voice--the one that he was normally able to keep such stringent control over, except where Willow was concerned--was also demanding to know where that 'new' bite mark on her throat had come from.  Angel was certain that this particular mark of Spike's hadn't been there when she'd been his 'guest' in London.  Nor could he tell them how it was taking every ounce of strength that he possessed to tell that very same inner voice to stifle itself because he had no true claim on Willow anymore.

No.  He couldn't begin to tell them any of that, so all he could offer by way of explanation was a sheepish look and a hang-dog expression.

Despite Angel's best attempt at displaying his self-disgust without revealing the true reasons behind it, Buffy scowled at him anyway as she sipped at her drink.  "I would have walked away from you too, Angel.  Just what were you thinking?"

"It's just that...she looked so different," Angel grumbled quite pathetically.  "In all the time I've known her, she's always looked the same.  Can you blame me for being surprised?" he asked himself aloud.  "It was kind of a shock, and..."  Angel trailed off, still not able to put his feelings into any true order.  "You know, a warning would have been nice," he added weakly.

Xander patted the vampire on the back reassuringly.  "I've been giving this a lot of thought since my own sad reaction to the new Willow Rosenberg.  I was struck a bit speechless myself," Xander admitted in answer to Angel's questioning look.  "I think the next time a woman catches us off guard with a new look, we should try something like this..."  Xander turned to a surprised Cordelia, took her hand in his, and gazed lovingly at her.  "First, take her hand," he instructed the vampire, using Cordy as his model.  "Then look deeply into her eyes, with a slightly awestruck look on your face--"

To Angel, the youth looked more like he was in pain than awestruck, but he didn't want to interrupt the kid when he was on a roll.

"--then say something like, 'I don't believe we've met, for I know I could never forget a woman as ravishing as you...'" he told Cordelia in a warm, husky voice.    Cordelia sighed happily as a blush rose to her cheeks.  She leaned in to reward her boyfriend with a kiss just as Xander dropped her hands to turn and refocus on his reluctant but amused pupil. "Think you can handle that, Deadboy?"

"You been reading romance novels again, Xander?" Buffy laughed as Cordy smacked Xander on the arm for his teasing.

"Nah," he said with a grin.  "Three's Company.  I think it was the episode where Jack hits on Janet and Chrissy." Cordelia and Buffy laughed.  "You know," Xander started in on Angel again, "running your fingers through her hair was a good touch, but next time you may want to try not to actually get tangled in it.    Also, you may want to consider kissing her hand.  Now, you wouldn't catch me dead doing that because, frankly, it would make me look like a sissy boy, but you old-fashioned vamp types can probably pull it off."  He frowned.  "Oh, on second thought, you may want to rethink the term 'ravishing' since you're a vampire."

"Oh, I dunno about that," Buffy admitted with a sly smile.  "I think that whether you're of the living or not, you can't go wrong with terms like 'ravishing' or even 'delectable'.  They sound *way* better than 'cute' and 'pretty', which in my book are only one slippery little step away from 'she has a good personality'," Buffy said matter of factly, then she wrinkled her nose.  "Although you should probably still avoid saying things like, 'I hunger for you.' It'd sound downright creepy coming from a vampire."

Despite his inner turmoil, Angel found himself smiling at his friends' playful antics. "Thanks for the advice."

"You so need to get a grip, Angel," Cordelia piped up, finally adding her two cents.  "Women change their hair.  It's what we do. Besides, Willow needed a change.  She's had that same 'Oh, please don't look at me...I'd rather blend into the background' look since kindergarten."  Angel's eyes narrowed at the brunette.  "Hey, don't get all growly on me!" she protested.  "I'm only saying that it's about time she quit trying to hide behind her long hair and baggy clothes.  I'm not saying she'll ever be the Homecoming Queen...or Prom Queen...or even the queen of that joke of a dance that they call the Winter Ball...but she's actually quite pretty when she tries to be."

Cordelia had taken a few sips from her enormous cup of coffee when she noticed everyone was staring at her.

"What?"  The cheerleader brushed the tip of her nose.  "Is there something on my face?"

Xander leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.  "You paid Willow a compliment.  Several actually."

"Still, her accessorizing leaves much to be desired," the cheerleader hurriedly added.  "She didn't have on any jewelry...no necklace, earrings, rings...nothing.  Oh yeah...the girl still has a long way to go."

"Now there's the Cordy we all know and fear," Xander teased as he slid an arm about her shoulders.

"Er, did you say she wasn't wearing a ring?"  Angel tried to make the absurd question sound casual, but by the raised eyebrows on the two girls faces, he knew he'd failed miserably.

"Um, no...no rings," Cordelia confirmed.  "Thank God she'd taken off whatever that mess was on her finger she'd been wearing lately.  I think it was actually made of Band-Aids..."

The pain in Angel's chest from Cordelia's words was worse than when Buffy managed to land one of her powerful kicks. He slumped wearily onto the nearest stool.  The other night when Willow had agreed to continue wearing his ring, Angel had taken that as a good sign.  Not a happily-ever-after sign, but at least a step in the right direction.

Angel groaned inwardly.  It was beginning to look like there was no 'right direction' where Willow was concerned, no matter how lightly he stepped.

Unaware of Angel's pain, the others continued talking.  It was only at the mention of Spike's name that Angel refocused on the conversation going on around him.

"Yes, our little Willow is growing up," Buffy said with a happy grin.

"Willow?  Our Willow?" Xander sat up straight, a hint of panic in his voice.  "Since when did she care about how she looked?  Nope, I suspect she's up to something...some cunning plan."  He slapped his hand on the table, as if to say 'Eureka'!  "I bet she's hoping Spike won't recognize her or maybe he'll hate her new look and leave her alone!"

"Please."  Buffy rolled her eyes.  "Are we forgetting Spike's latest nickname for her?  It's *Red*, remember?"

All eyes turned to Willow, who was now standing by the stage, talking to the red-headed guitar player as the band took their first break between sets.

"And what's the deal with her and Oz?  She becoming a groupie?" Xander asked the others suspiciously.  "It would explain the leather pants."

"I dunno," Buffy said with a shrug as she turned back to the table.  "We haven't had much of a chance to talk lately, what with summer school and her accident and everything.  Trust me though...if there's something to know, I'll find out.  Unless you know something, Angel.  You've seen her more than I have lately."

"You okay, man?" Xander was staring at Angel, who had yet to answer Buffy's question.  "You look even paler than usual."

Angel abruptly stood up.  "I'll take the patrol tonight, Buffy," he said stiffly, his eyes still glued to the couple talking by the stage.  The others followed suit, shifting in their seats to get another good look at Willow and Oz.

"But don't you think..." Buffy began, turning back the vampire, but he was already gone.

***
 

Willow kept what she hoped was an interested look on her face as she struggled to remain focused on her ever-shifting conversation with Oz.  Although she managed not to look over at them, her mind kept wandering back to the table where her friends were sitting.  She couldn't help wondering what they were talking about, what they were saying to Angel.

They must think I've gone insane, she thought to herself.  They're probably telling Angel that it's time to pad the walls in one of the rooms at Slayer Central.  As long as that room isn't pink, too....

Hoping to hide her half-grin, half-grimace at a mental picture of her bouncing off Pepto-Bismal-shaded walls while strapped firmly into a pale pink straightjacket, Willow took another sip of her soda.  Movement out of the corner of her eye focused her scattered attention.  Angel was leaving, and as she watched him disappear into the crowd by the door, Willow felt herself physically relax.  With the vampire gone, Willow could finally give the guitar player her full attention.  She could only hope that Oz hadn't noticed how her mind had been wandering.  Everything else about me is divided...why shouldn't my attention be the same? she snickered to herself, trying to remember what she and Oz had just been talking about.

She could vaguely recall an initial awkward discussion about the merits of sugar-induced energy bursts stemming from orange soda. Then, at some point the conversation turned to music, guitars, and the physical dangers inherent in the E-flat, diminished ninth chord. (You could lose a finger, they had both agreed.)

Didn't that sound familiar?  Now if only she had some animal crackers...

Willow muffled a groan at that thought, finally admitting to herself that she'd been trying to relive past conversations with Oz.  Then much to her horror, Willow realized from the odd look on Oz's face that he must have heard her embarrassed moan.

Willow tried to cover up the faux pas by pretending to stifle a yawn, although afterwards she would wonder if pretending to be sleepy in his company was any better than groaning in despair.

"Sorry, Oz," she offered sheepishly.  "Guess I'm a little tired."

"I've heard sleep is good for that," he offered with an understanding smile that magically banished Willow's discomfort.

"Hey, I've heard that, too!  Amazing how those vicious rumors get started."  Willow couldn't keep the happy grin from her face.  Even though they'd never had this conversation before, for a moment it truly felt like one that they might have had.

"Isn't it?" Oz actually chuckled, much to Willow's delight.  "For an accomplished rumormonger, you seem to know your guitars.  I didn't think you played."

Her smile faded as his innocent comments forced her back into reality.  "Oh, well, er..."

Luckily, Devon interrupted Willow's stammering as he bounded back onto the stage, followed closely by the Dingoes' drummer.  Willow ignored the knowing looks they shot her way.

"Looks like our time is up," Oz said in a somewhat regretful tone, and Willow flinched at his choice of words.  "Oh, if you hear any more interesting rumors...like what to do when you're hungry..."

"You'll definitely be the first to know, Oz," she said warmly before turning to walk back to her friends.

"Thanks for the soda," he called after her, climbing to his feet as the other band members began to warm up behind him.

Willow shot the grinning musician a final departing smile over her shoulder, but she forced herself to keep walking away.  She was quite sure she'd made a big enough fool out of herself for one night.  Not that Oz seemed to mind.  Still, there was no need to push her luck.

As she approached the table where Buffy, Xander, and Cordelia were sitting, she noticed them all staring at her.  Smiling as she resumed her previous seat, Willow pretended not to see Xander elbowing Buffy, obviously prodding her to say something.

"Willow, about Angel..."  Willow held up a hand to cut Buffy off, but it didn't stop The Slayer.  "He's just a little rusty with the compliment thing.  Maybe back in his day it wasn't, er, cool to, um..."

"Be civil to a woman?" Cordelia offered.

Seeing the sympathetic looks on her friends' faces, Willow tried to put them at ease.  She didn't want or need their pity.  "Don't worry, guys," she said with a light-heartedness that she didn't feel.  "I'm not upset about that."  It wasn't exactly a lie, but it was far from the truth.

"Of course you aren't," Buffy said, brightening.  "After all, if anyone understands Angel's little, er, idiosyncrasies, it's you, Willow."

"Um, yeah."  Willow quickly gulped down the rest of her warm, flat soda, ready to use the need for a refill as a convenient excuse to escape the current conversation if necessary.

"So, what's the deal with you and Oz, anyway?" Cordelia asked, eyeing the guitar player as they began the first song of the new set.

Willow glanced at him as well, once again remembering how he used to search her out in the crowd when he played.  At the moment, he was looking practically everywhere else, just as he had during the previous set.  "Absolutely nothing," she sighed.

Xander nodded.  "Ahh...same old, same old, then?"

"Don't I wish," she mumbled, her eyes still fixed on the musician.  Telling herself to stop staring at Oz, she gave Buffy a weak smile.  "He did tell me he liked my hair though."

Buffy shook her head, reaching over to gently squeeze Willow's hand.  "You know, it's a mixed-up world we live in when a werewolf pays better compliments than a vampire.  The way Angel reacted, you'd almost think he expected you to consult him first or something."

"Yeah, what is with that, anyway?" Cordelia questioned in her most philosophical voice.  "When I was a freshman, I dated this senior who also happened to be the center on the basketball team.  Brandon and I went out, like, twice...then I got a few subtle highlights in my hair, nothing so fake as Buffy's, and he freaked out!"  Buffy sat up straighter at Cordelia's comment, frowning, but Cordelia seemed not to notice.  "You'd think I'd worn white shoes after Labor Day!"

"Heaven forbid," Xander smirked, making Buffy and Willow smile even as Cordelia went on with her tirade.

"You go out with them twice and they think they own you!"  Cordelia's lament continued, causing Willow to blanch and her fingers to fly to Angelus's marks on her throat.  "Guess it's one of those weird vampire and basketball player things," she said with a shrug, not noticing Willow's distress.  Then Cordelia's eyes suddenly grew wider.  "Wait, you don't think Brandon was a vampire, do you?"

"More importantly, does Angel play basketball?" Xander deadpanned as he and Buffy tried not to laugh at Cordelia's strange thoughts.  Soon, they were all smiling.  Except Willow, who was wondering if Angel truly felt that he still had some sort of rights over her.

No...Angel wouldn't think that...he'd never even implied that he still thought of her as his property like Angelus had.  Dismissing her own thoughts as nonsense, Willow faked an easy tone.  "Either way, I don't think that quite applies in my situation, does it?"

Buffy grew more serious.  "I dunno, Wills.  Giles has often told us how possessive vampires can be.  Maybe in some way Angel considers you--"

"No!" Willow interrupted loudly, even surprising herself by the venom in her voice.  She quickly calmed herself, but there was still an edge to her tone  when she informed them, "Angel does not own me...no one does!"

"I know, Willow."

This time Willow did jump and look guiltily behind her.  Angel was walking slowly towards them.  His hands were in his pockets, his eyes a tad downcast...the epitome of the contrite vampire.

"After all, people don't own people..." he continued gently, using words that she had once spoken to Angelus.

Flushing, both in anger and embarrassment as she realized what he must have overheard, Willow wanted to spin on her stool, away from the demanding gaze of the vampire, not to mention the curious ones of her friends, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.

"I came back to apologize, Willow," he said smoothly, a gallant smile gracing his face.  "My behavior *today* has been wanting.  I should have told you immediately how beautiful you look, but I was...at a loss for words..."

Ignoring the sounds of the other girls' sighs, as well as Xander's 'thumbs up' approval to Angel, Willow shrugged, wearing an air of indifference that she didn't feel.  "There's no need."  She should have stopped there, but her lips just couldn't seem to stop flapping.  "After all, it's not like I did it for you," she blurted out.

"Didn't you?"

Cordelia's and Buffy's soft gasps didn't have nearly as much effect on Willow as Angel's knowing tone.  Surprised, she studied the vampire through narrowed eyes.  So, he'd figured out part of the reasoning behind the change in appearance already, had he?  Good, then maybe he'll take the hint, she mused.

Aware that everyone was staring at them again, waiting and curious, Willow forced a carefree smile, turning back to the stage and blatantly ignoring the vampire beside her.  "So much fuss over a few little changes.  I can't wait to see the looks on your faces when I show you the tattoo and the belly button ring."  She waited a beat for the full effect of her words to hit her friends, then quickly added one of her signature marathon-length babbles. "The mall wore me out so I think I'm going to call it a night...oh, look there's Trish from my Trig class last year...it looks like she's leaving and she lives on my street so I'll catch a ride with her...night everyone."

She was gone before the others knew what had hit them.

*****

From the catwalks that crisscrossed The Bronze high above the dance floor, Spike had watched it all with a strange sort of disgusted glee.

He'd seen everything, from the new Willow's regal entrance to her comical exit and everything in between.  And while he couldn't quite hear every word that she and the guitar-playing dog had exchanged, he hadn't missed a moment between Willow and Angel.  Not a word, not a look, not a touch nor any of the deeper meanings behind them all.

And he couldn't decide what he wanted to do more...beat Angel to a bloody pulp for the way he continued to torture Red, or laugh at how pathetic he was to continue pursuing Willow like some love-sick pup.  Yes, either Angel was an even more uncaring and selfish lout than all of his predecessors put together or he was an utterly pathetic fool.  Mostly likely both, Spike decided as he watched Angel take off after Willow's abrupt departure.

Spike glanced hungrily over the crowd, eyeing several easy and enticing targets, but he was already making for the exit himself.  His empty stomach could wait until he was sure Red was able to escape from Angel, one way or another.

*****

Still smiling at the look of shock on everyone's faces, Willow broke into an easy run the moment she was outside.  Like the tattoo and the bellybutton ring, there was no Trish, of course.  For that matter, she couldn't even be sure that there was a Trig class, but the little white lies had been necessary.  Without them, she was positive that her friends wouldn't let her leave alone, and she didn't want to ruin their fun, especially since she knew Buffy was hoping Jason would show up.  And worse yet, what if Angel felt the need to escort her home?  That would be bad.  After all, distance is much easier to keep when you're...well...at a distance.

Coming to a turn, Willow was casting one last look over her shoulder to make sure they hadn't followed, when she ran solidly into someone.  A decidedly male someone, she easily surmised from the feel of the broad chest, not to mention the large hands that immediately reached out to steady her.

"Angel," she sighed before she even bothered to look at the obstacle's face.  After all, who else would it be?

She could tell that he was suppressing a smile when she finally took a step back to meet his dark eyes.  "You sure do know how to make an exit, don't you?" he quipped.

"Your entrances aren't bad either," she retorted in a weary tone.  Sidestepping the vampire, Willow hurried around the corner, Angel at her heels, so that they couldn't be seen from the door of The Bronze.  "How'd you get in front of me?" Willow asked when she deemed they were safe from any possible prying eyes.

"Roof exit," he reminded her in a matter-of-fact tone.  "I ran along the rooftops until I saw you, then jumped down."

Willow frowned as she looked up at the buildings around them.  He must have jumped down several stories.  "That's cheating."

"And that isn't?" he teased, gesturing towards her hair.

"No, this is hair," she retorted smoothly, taking a casual step backwards to ensure that both she and her hair were out of his reach.  She had no intention of having to untangle herself from him again that night.  It's hard to be distant with someone you're physically intertwined with.

Noting her continued coolness toward him, Angel shoved his hands in his pockets.  This wasn't going the way he had planned.  He'd meant to apologize for his rudeness at the club, and had hoped they could talk at least civilly about what had happened that morning.  As hurt as he'd been by Willow's declarations earlier that day, Angel knew that he deserved a fair share of the blame.  He'd been cocky and arrogant, and he'd goaded her into it.  Basically, he'd behaved like Angelus.

Then she had to go and cut her hair, and again his response left much to be desired.  "You didn't have to...change, Willow," he said sincerely, wishing he knew what she was thinking that made her peer at him so warily, her body so stiff.

"Didn't I?  Angel, I'm not Rose anymore."

"I'm well aware of that," he told her, receiving a skeptical look in response.

"And I'm not 17-year-old Willow Rosenberg either," she hastily added.  "If these little outward change helps us *both* to remember that," she said, indicating her hair and clothes, "then it was money well spent.  Besides, I needed a change.  It isn't natural to keep the same hairstyle for more than a century... look how many you've gone through."

Angel grinned, relieved to see a flash of humor in her otherwise distant eyes.  "Have to change with the times, right? Besides, I didn't think my barbershop-quartet look would help me fit into 20th-century Sunnydale life," he said lightly.

Willow almost smiled in spite of herself.  And that irritated her.  How was she supposed to remain distant and cool if he couldn't hold at least a little  grudge like a certain blond vampire she knew?  She didn't want Angel to hate her, but a little bitterness on his part sure would help her cause.  It was so typical of him not to cooperate.

Hugging her arms about herself, Willow turned away from the vampire and continued towards home.  She wasn't about to let him pull her into a little light-hearted dialogue when she still had walls to build and distance to create, both physically and emotionally.  Unfortunately, Angel didn't appear to want to play along with her secret plan.

"Besides, I don't have much of a singing voice," he said in that teasing tone of his that she'd always found quite disarming, accent or no accent.

Willow walked faster, hoping that the stiff line of her back and the sound of her heels clacking sharply on the pavement might keep the vampire at bay.  Yet she was hardly surprised when after only a few paces the vampire was at her side, matching her stride for stride.

"I'm not even sure if I'm a tenor or a baritone," he continued dryly. "Perhaps I should sing a few bars of 'Danny Boy' for you, and you could tell me if I have a shot at the big time?"

Willow wouldn't allow herself to even glance at his face, no matter how much she wanted to see the mischievous light that she knew would be making his eyes sparkle in the soft moonlight, just as it had when he was alive. Instead she forced herself to ask in a flat tone: "If I admit that I was wrong this morning, will you go away?"

Angel only had to take a deep breath, ready to launch into the first bar of the old standard, before Willow was spinning to face him.  "I was wrong!" she fairly hissed at him.  "I admit it!  Just please...please don't sing..."  she begged.

Willow had no idea if Angel could actually sing or not, but that wasn't the point.  She knew it would be impossible to build a wall between them whether she was giggling at his utter lack of musical talent or enchanted by his melodious crooning.  Music was dangerous that way...it built bridges, not walls.

"You were wrong?  I can't imagine about what," he said, unable to keep a slightly triumphant grin from his face.

"Not that you seem to need an apology," she added haughtily, annoyed that he'd made a dent in her defenses so easily.  "You're hardly keeping up your end of the bargain!  How soon you seem to forget that you're supposed to be ignoring me, letting me blend into the background, remember?"

Angel could only stare at the redhead for a moment.  As far as apologies go, her offering was downright pathetic, even if her cheeks did seem to flush slightly at her own words.  And now she was angry with him for not doing as she had dem