February , 2002

KING

By Medea

I don't know how to talk to her.

She's here to extend the olive branch, to deal with what happened while I'd been soulless, which is more kindness than I deserve. Especially from Willow. But I'm too ashamed to know where to start. As it is, I can barely look her in the eye.

Stalemate.

The game has ended, but neither of us can move.

I can remember every sick, twisted detail. Even worse, I know where it was headed, where it would have ended if Buffy hadn't brought me to my knees, and if Willow hadn't managed to restore my soul. The tables would have been turned: by my hand, Buffy would have known the torments of hell, and Willow...

I would have taken Willow's soul.

How am I supposed to apologize for that without sounding trite?

/*Sorry I tried to kill you. No hard feelings?*/

/*Gee, I feel really bad about terrorizing you?*/

/*There's a darkness inside me that still wants to break you open and tap into that strength I caught a glimpse of, but we can still be friends, can't we?*/

Yet here we are.

What surprises me is that Willow is even willing to be alone with me. I might have expected her to bring Buffy or Oz, or even Xander, as a chaperone. But it's just the two of us.

I started a fire. It's sunny and eighty degrees outside, in typical Southern California fashion, but I've got a nice, crackling fire going in the hearth. Okay, so maybe I wasn't thinking so clearly when I started it. I just wanted to make the mansion seem less like a dungeon, to make it seem, I don't know, friendlier.

Did I mention that I can't think of a way to handle this without seeming trite?

Willow is standing before me now, just a few feet away, and once again she manages to show that of the two of us, she's the stronger. Here I am, a basket case, while she...

"I didn't know vampires got cold." A brief glance at the fireplace as her brow wrinkles.

...she manages to see the humor in my inept attempts to make the setting comfortable.

"We don't..." God, this feels awkward. "This was for you."

"Oh." Her voice is soft and breathy as she averts her eyes for a moment. Then, right on schedule, the well-meaning smile and effort at light-hearted cheer. "Going for the homey touches to make this easier, huh?"

I manage a sheepish grin and a shrug, but I feel sick inside, knowing how insightful she is on one level, yet how blissfully ignorant on so many others. But ignorance is a luxury she can't afford any more, thanks to me. Just as I can't afford to wallow in my own guilt. I have to do this, have to say it, get it out.

Give her fair warning without revealing so much that she'll hate me, or at the very least feel completely disgusted.

By all rights, she should hate me already.

"Willow, I needed to talk with you for two reasons. One was to apologize. If there were anything I could say that would make up for what I put you through, I'd say it. But words can't even begin to make amends. I can't hope that you'll forgive me—"

"Angel, don't—"

"Hear me out, Willow. Please." I can't let her speak yet, can't let her try to soften the blow or smooth things over between us. Her eyes shine with compassion, but I can see the caution beneath that, like she's not fully ready to trust me. Good. She shouldn't.

"I think you figured out on your own that there was no real danger in drinking my blood," I continue. "There isn't any irresistible bond between us. That was just another lie, although I'm more...in-tune to you now. But you haven't been tainted by my blood."

Willow offers me a sad smile. "Another mind game, huh?"

I nod.

"If anything, it's the mind games, and not my blood, that changed you. Don't take this the wrong way, Willow, but you *have* been changed. What I did infected you – just not the way the demon told you. When you tasted my blood, it wasn't the blood that affected you, it was the experience of using any means necessary to fight back. All that was sacred, every familiar, civilized veneer of humanity was stripped away. You tapped a primal force within yourself. That changes a person. I just hope it won't ever lead you down a dark path."

Shaking her head fervently, her eyes wide, Willow exhales forcefully and says, "Trust me, Angel. No plans for darkness here. I've had enough of that for one lifetime. The last thing I want is to hurt anybody." She pauses and pouts thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, okay, so I may have been known to hurt bad-guy types once or twice, but I don't plan to make it part of my daily routine."

I try to grin at her optimism, but my throat constricts because I know the bitter truth: it isn't the type of person that matters, it's the action and what it does to her. God, please don't let her lose the innocence she still has. Please don't let her be one more casualty of my own cursed existence, one more person whose life I've destroyed before it had the chance to get started...

But I can't mourn her loss of innocence yet. There's still more to say.

"I also needed to make sure you understand, to warn you." I can't look at her, can't meet her eyes. My gaze settles on the fire instead. Watching the flames reminds me of hell, which steels my nerve. "If I ever change...if I ever lose my soul again, Willow, you'll be in danger. Buffy won't be the only one I come for."

"I know." Her voice is soft but shaded with a maturity, a steadiness that doesn't sound at all like the schoolgirl I first met. Willow has grown up. "Seeing as I'm the one who restored your soul. But it was my move to make, Angel. I knew what the consequences might be in a worst-case scenario, but I decided this was the best move I could make."

"It's not about the soul, Willow." Sawing my nails into my palms does little to stave off the tension. "Not mine, at least."

"You mean...you're more upset about the other stuff than about your soul?" Disbelief washes over Willow's face. She clasps her hands in front of her, then starts fiddling with the bottom of her jacket, like she doesn't know what to do with herself. It's distracting as hell, but she's still staring at me, waiting for answers.

I fold my arms across my chest. Apparently, neither one of us knows what to do with our hands. Well, okay, so mine are itching to seize her and bring her right up against the wall, but that's *not* an option, it will *never* be an option as long as I'm in control. I glance toward her and our eyes lock.

"Not upset, Willow. I enjoyed every minute of it. Enjoyed it too much."

Understanding dawns in her eyes; wariness follows almost immediately. The problem is, Willow has always been expressive, even more than she realizes. And the signals her body is sending out right this minute, they're...tempting. Blood flushes her cheeks. Her eyes flare just as self-consciously as they did when I taunted her in the alley. And that innocent mouth forms a nice, surprised 'O'.

And dammit if it doesn't make me even harder than I've been ever since she got here. Of course, as luck would have it, Willow *looks*. I snap my attention back to the fire.

"So..." she manages at last, the slight hitch in her breath coiling the ache even tighter, "I guess we'll just have to hope you never lose your soul again."

I nod, distracted by the subtle climb in body heat that hints at all the fears that must be racing through her mind right now.

"Could you promise me something in the meantime?" Willow's voice is hopeful. When she doesn't say anything more, I look over at her. Immediately, I wish I hadn't. The firelight gives a soft, reddish glow to her hair. She's enchanting.

"Don't say anything to Buffy, please. Don't tell her about Darla. She loves you, and it would hurt her to know about the things...he...admitted to me."

"The things *I* admitted, Willow. The demon is still here," I remind her, somehow keeping my voice even. I step closer to the fire, rest an arm against the mantle, and stare deeper into the flames. "Don't have any illusions -- things will be difficult, for a while."

A slight motion in my peripheral vision and the gentle scuff of sneakers on the floor warns me of her well-meaning approach. I tense. Once more, I fix my gaze on her, holding her at bay with a single, deadly look, the same one I used in the past on thousands of my victims. My voice is pure steel. "Don't."

Her face would be the envy of any artist. So expressive, so open, yielding to a hundred subtle moods. I can read her hesitant confusion, see it shade into stern resolve, muted ever so slightly by compassion, and, God help me, that strength, that fight which will be our undoing.

"Angel, what you did after you lost your soul was...there isn't anything that I can say that comes close to how horrible it was. The worst of it was that you didn't care. It was all just a big game to you. Don't you think I know how difficult it's going to be? I was there. I have more reason to be upset than you do." She pauses, her expression strained. "Some things in my life will never be the same again. I don't know if I'll ever feel safe in my room. But there are other things that I *can* try to fix. Things that matter, like friendships. We were friends before everything that happened last spring."

Willow pauses again, knitting her brow and I can almost see her thoughts wandering off on the detour that I know is about to come out of her mouth. "Well, not that we were exactly best friends or Friday night movie buddies or anything, but you were part of the gang. At some point, you have to get over the guilt and meet me half way if we're ever going to be friends again. If we can't...well, then he – your other you – he wins. He takes something away from me that I don't want to lose."

My fists have been clenching tighter and tighter throughout her speech because, as heartfelt as her words are, the idea that we can go back to the way we were is painfully naïve.

I bow my head, shamed by her purity of spirit and by my own weakness. Even now, I feel the demon's desire, its fascination with this timid girl who somehow knows just how to push me, who can back me into a corner in my own home.

"Willow, you don't understand. It's still me. There is no 'other' me. It's my soul that can be ripped away; the demon is always here. I can't just hug and be friends." I cringe, but Willow has to hear the blunt truth. "I can't touch you."

I look deep into her eyes, wanting to be dead certain that my point is getting across, but maybe also because I'm hoping to read something in her soul, see if she's still willing to forgive me after what I say next. "There's still something inside me that wants to ram you right up against the wall and break you. Have you. Drain you and make you a demon. You were right about Darla. Believe me, for daring to say what you said, the demon wants to make you feel pain like you've never felt it before."

Heat rolls off her in waves and the air practically hums with adrenaline.

Yeah, my point is getting across, all right. A little too well.

I feel the seams bursting on my control. Every cord I'd tightened to rein myself in is straining to the limit. Fear is like a drug to predators, and so help me, I knew better. I knew I should have handled this more delicately. And now I've triggered Willow's fear, and. It.

Is.

Intoxicating.

I take a step toward her. Then another.

I'm stalking her.

Willow steps back, eyes wide. The flight response: it summons my deepest instincts, makes me want to hunt.

She's edging closer to the windows, but hasn't yet stepped into the light. I'm willing to bet she's calculating how many steps it is to that eighty-degree, sunny day outside.

"We can love, Willow. Vampires feel the full range of passions, even devotion. When you mentioned Darla, it was a spear through the heart. In all the months that my soul was gone, that was probably the only time the demon felt anything close to hurt. It – I -- wanted to kill you for that."

"Angel..." Her voice shakes and she takes another step back. Our eyes are locked, a meeting of wills. To my shame, I feel a growl in my throat as I watch her fumble nervously with her jacket pocket. No doubt feeling for a stake she concealed within.

My fangs are itching to drop. The impulse throbs through my entire jaw.

I take another step closer.

"But without Darla, the demon has other wants that are left unfulfilled. As much as it wants to torture you, it sees your potential as an adversary, but even more, as a companion challenging enough not to bore it to tears. You matched it, matched *me*, time and time again. You should have been cowering in terror, like any other prey. But you weren't. That kind of strength of will, so fierce, so...ardent. It's..." My limbs are coiled and tense, so eager to strike, and I have to stop for a moment. "Well, combine it with your innocence, and there's nothing more seductive for a vampire."

A familiar scent drifts in the air and I realize I spoke to soon.

There *is* one thing even more seductive to a vampire, and Willow has just added it to the mix.

The budding desire of a young woman on the verge.

That intoxicating blend of pheromones, heat, and rapid, thrumming pulse, so rhythmic and alluring. We're on a downward spiral. I should stop it.

I don't.

Willow has her stake out now. She clutches it before her with both hands, but her rigid posture is relaxing as her body betrays her. Her expression is flushed, slightly dazed, and sexy as hell.

Heedless of the threat inherent in the stake pointed toward me, I move still closer. Close enough to bask in her body heat. It washes over me like silk.

And as dangerous as it is, as insane as it is, as much as I know it's wrong, I reach out and cover her hands with mine. Her grip on the stake wavers, but I clamp down firmly and draw our hands toward me until the sharpened point presses against my chest.

"You figured out my weakness, Willow, but I know yours," I whisper, steadily holding her gaze. "You can withstand threats, you can outwit even the best, but you're so afraid of being desired. You yearn for it, but when you're finally confronted with someone who desires you, with your own power to arouse and enflame, it frightens you."

I can feel her tremble, hear the shaky breath that slips past her reddened, parted lips. "Stop, Angel...."

My hands slide suggestively over hers, down the length of the stake and back, down and back, and yes I know a thing or two about symbolism. "You have to learn to master it, Willow. Know that you are desirable, and don't be intimidated by it. If you let it frighten you, then...if you ever have to face the demon again, he'll – I'll -- win. I'll outlast you. The demon can desire you longer than you can hold out." I guide Willow's hands downward, lowering the stake and bringing myself flush against her. Bending toward that smooth, tender column, I whisper against her neck, "Vampires are nothing but desire, Willow, an endless, driving hunger."

Willow's heart is pounding in her chest; I can feel it. Her throat vibrates against my lips as she murmurs, "Angel?"

I raise my head to look at her. One of her hands releases the stake and fishes about in her jacket pocket. She pulls out a small mirror. I frown. Mirrors have no power over vampires. Before I can remind her of this, Willow speaks.

"Thanks for the advice, and by the way? Hands. Off."

With no more warning than that, a searing, blinding heat sizzles on my cheek and I shoot away from Willow like a bullet. One hand covering my scorched cheek, I look over and see her angling the mirror in the light, reflecting its rays.

"We had a lab on the physics of light a few weeks ago," Willow explains. Gone is the flustered girl of a few moments ago; she looks completely at ease.

I wince. "Bet you got an A."

She frowns. "An A-. My lab partner was David Ebrah. He spent the whole time playing with the laser, making a little red dot dance on Mr. Baldwin's head."

I have absolutely no reply to that. Somehow, Willow has managed to ease back into her usual self, while I'm still floored by what just happened between us. That, and my cheek smarts like hell. I'm starting to think that *I'm* the schoolgirl here.

"You're right, Angel. It's going to be really, really difficult for a while. For a long time, probably." Slowly, she crosses to a bookshelf near one of the windows, and belatedly I realize that I'd left a chessboard sitting on one of the shelves. What the hell is wrong with me? I start to doubt my own self-control, because I know exactly what our history is with chess. The demon might taunt her with those, but I should know better.

But Willow surprises me.

She smiles.

Reaching down, she grabs the black king, then the white one.

"It's time to pick up the pieces and move on, Angel. No more games."

Willow pockets both kings. "See you at the library this Friday for the usual research fun on the monster of the week."

I'm speechless. All I can do is watch her walk out into the sun and do my best not to listen to the demon screaming in my head.

I love Buffy with all my heart, with all my soul, but, God help me, the demon made me notice Willow, really *notice* her. I won't let myself act on this, though – not ever. I'd rather be locked in a trunk and cast straight to the bottom of the ocean than hurt either of them again.

But the next few months are going to be hard.

Really hard.

How did I let this happen?

THE END

of King, and of the Chess Vignettes.

All out of pieces.

Go to the companion piece, Queen

E-mail the author at medealives@hotmail.com

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