Happy Birthday velvetwhip
Willow is trying to deal with her recent trek to the dark side of magic and failing miserably. Pairings:
Willow is owned by Joss, ME, and all them over there. Distribution:
NHA, writtenbyfates, anyone else just e-mail me.A/N:
This is a re-written version of the original Turning Series which, at one time, was told through Willow and Angel’s POV.Previous ChaptersChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7
He mourns the loss of the Willow he knew, even as he sits there, cradling the shadow of her in his arms. She is cold now. No human warmth left in her. Although, inhaling deeply, he notices the scent of her former life still lingers in her hair an on her skin. He still remembers the taste of her blood. Oh, but he is a masochistic son of a bitch. Gently, he pushes her away and lays a small kiss on her forehead. Lifting her head she looks up at him with those questioning eyes, but he does not have the answers.
“I need to go … think,” he whispers. Too much has happened in too short a time and he feels he is still in shock from it all.
“Do you hate me, Angel?” Willow asks, turning now to watch as he walks away from her. She stays seated on the floor. He does not understand the question because how could he hate someone who had no choice given to them?
“Oh, Willow,” he says, holding out his hand to help her stand. “I could never hate you. Never. If I hate anyone, it’s myself.“
“Yeah,” she says with laughter evident in her voice, “you were always good at that.”
Angel holds her at arms length for a moment to study her. She looks the same. Her skin is barely a shade paler than what it had been in life. Her hair, he had loved her hair then, and death has only served to bring out the brilliance of those fiery tresses. And those emerald eyes, he finds them the hardest to look at. He remembers looking into those eyes and seeing her soul. Now he can almost imagine it is still there. Wishful thinking on his part. He sighs. Willow is no longer the young girl he had once known. Her story alone is proof of that. He pulls her close and kisses her temple before leaving. He needs to think; to brood as she’d called it once.
“It’s almost dawn,” Angel says just before leaving the room. He quickly glances at the drape covered windows, making sure they are secured shut. “Get some rest. I’ll be back later.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but she beats him to the punch.
"I know, Angel. Don't leave the room."
"Look, I'm sorry. It's just that-"
"It's ok. I understand," she says cutting him off. "Now go - brood."
He nods and smiles a sort of ‘thank you’ as he leaves the room. Angel lets out a breath of air he hadn’t known he’d been holding. It is too easy, he realizes, to forget Willow is a vampire now. She is just as perceptive, just as caring and understanding as she had been in life. It makes her story seem all that more improbable, though he knows that she would not lie about such things. In fact, lying to him now would be near impossible. He wonders once more why this has happened to him, and to her.
Suddenly, as if stepping away from Willow has allowed the world to come rushing back in on him, he remembers Cordelia and her visions. His steps light and quick he rushes down to his office to check his message pad and answering machine, wondering if Cordelia had a vision. Nothing. No message, written or spoken. It was unlikely she would have forgotten to leave a message, especially if it had been about Willow. No, Angel is sure she would have tried her hardest to get ahold of him had it been about anyone Cordelia knew or had known.
Finally, Angel really listens and hears a faint heartbeat far off in the hotel. He hears the soft rhythm of a human sleeping. Only now he realizes that must be the heartbeat Willow had heard earlier.
Being away from Willow now makes everything seem like a dream that Angel has now woke from. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reaches Cordelia’s room in a matter of seconds. Her room has an eastern exposure, and only realizing that at the last moment is all that keeps him from barging into her space.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Angel knocks a few times on the door. Not hard, but loud enough to echo down the empty hallway. He is not getting an answer. Listening closely he can hear her snoring softly. Sighing he steps back and leans on the wall opposite the door. He is desperate for answers, any answers that may tell him if the Powers that Be had previous knowledge of Willow’s demise. Luckily, he has his very own line to the Powers themselves. If only she would wake up.
Angel knocks a little louder this time and finally hears her stiring. “Cordelia.“
“Angel? What in god’s name are you doing pounding on my door at … six am?! This had better be good mister!” He hears Cordelia’s voice grow louder the closer she comes to the door. She flings the door open and gives a satisfied smirk as Angel quickly dodges a rather bright ray of sunlight. A scorched scent fills the hall and he realizes he wasn’t quick enough.
"Serves you right," she says smugly. "Now what is it you want that can't wait?"
"Did you have a vision in the past two days?" he asks hopefully. While he knows that if she did have one, then he has failed. However, Angel finds the idea of failing much more acceptable than the alternative theory – that the Powers that Be did not care enough for this one human’s life to feel the need to intervene.
"No, I've been blessed with a vision free week," she says smiling. Her smile falls when she sees his face.
"Angel? What is it? What's wrong?" she asks.
He cannot stand there to explain to her. Rage fills him and threatens to unravel what little control he has left after this trying night. If he does not walk away from her right now, he might hurt her and would regret it deeply. Half-demon or not, he would surely hurt her. She isn’t the target of his anger anyway. She has no control over what visions she receives or who they are about, she is just the vessel handing messages from Being’s too self-important to do their own dirty work.
Walking down to the basement, Angel is a ball of tensed muscles and coiled anger just waiting to strike out at something. With a loud growl he punches a hole in the wall on his way down.
As soon as he hits the basement he lets loose. Angel’s fist crashes through the banister leading down and it splinters into hundreds of dangerous and sharp pieces. Reaching for the nearest object, a metal rack filled with things he’s never taken the time to notice, he flings it across the basement. Kicking out at a post with the flat of his foot, he makes a dent in the metal, bending it slightly in the middle and causing a flurry of dust to spill from the beams above him. He barely registers that destroying foundation support is a bad idea.
The random and needless destruction of inconsequential things goes on for a while longer. Angel yells and screams when the destruction is not enough to release the hurt and anger he feels. Tears burn his eyes and blur his vision and it is still not enough, but the fight goes out of him and he falls boneless to the floor - debris scattered everywhere.
He wonders why the Powers would not send a vision about Willow. Especially since she is fighting, or was fighting until recently, on the side of good. Do they not care anymore, he wonders? Willow was one to fight with everything she had, with more courage than her tiny body could contain, even though it shook with fear. And what have they done? They have let her die. Let her become a victim of his own pity and carelessness; of his love for one who had done so much to help him.
Angel doesn’t know if he can be her Sire – truly in the way that she needs. It has been too long, and it would be coming so close to letting that part of himself, the one he keeps well hidden, come to the surface. He isn’t sure he would be able to control it, and in turn her.
It seems that everything keeps piling up on him, just one problem after another. He just finished dealing with Connor’s betrayal, having tossed him from the hotel. Angel can barely remember the last time he got some real rest. Over the years he has wanted to throw in the towel, give himself up to the sun and admit defeat. It’s almost as though he’s come so far that surely there must be an end to it all. Not to mention, he now has Willow to protect.
The hotel is quiet now since he finished his tirade. He listens and hears Cordelia sleeping again. Obviously his distress did not affect her as he thought it would. He cannot hear Willow – no rustling, no movement, nothing. It is possible she is sleeping like he suggested, or perhaps she has gone … though with the sun now high in the sky, that is highly unlikely. Pulling himself back together, Angel goes upstairs to check on her.
Fearing the silence, he gets to his room quickly only to not see Willow upon entering the room. Panic settles in quickly, but is squelched as he hears soft breathing coming from the mountain of covers upon his bed. He watches her sleep, breathing in unneeded air, and contemplates her fate now that he has interfered. Angel wonders if he can control her – truly control her and keep her beastly side at bay. Thus far, it seems as though it might just be possible. Willow has done well, she did not attack the humans outside, nor did she bolt straight for Cordelia. It is odd for a newborn to be this … complacent.
Grabbing one of the chairs from his sitting area, Angel turns it to face the bed and his sleeping charge. She looks so peaceful in sleep. Human again, though she never will be again. He notices muscles twitching, her swallowing involuntarily, just little reflexes from her life as a human kicking in. It adds to the illusion, he muses, and for just a moment he almost forgets Willow is dead.
A yawn catches him off guard – the impromptu explosion of energy in the basement along with the events of the past few days have finally caught up to Angel and he finds he is drained both mentally and physically. His eyes close, just for a minute he tells himself, and then he is asleep.