Willow's House
 

Willow decided it was best if they skipped the reception at Mrs. Summer's house after the funeral. Though she had managed to get Angel smiling, she knew he was in a delicate state and that being around people, especially people sitting around remembering Buffy, wasn't the best therapy for him right now. They said good bye to Xander, Giles and Cordelia at the cemetery and went over to Willow’s house.

After verifying her parents hadn’t returned from their business trip early, Willow led Angel up to her room. Willow waved her arm as sign for Angel to make himself at home while she kicked off her heels and tried to make herself more comfortable. Willow sighed as her feet were set free from the binding leather of her Italian heels. <Ah, the price women pay to be beautiful. I never thought I’d fall victim to it, but those shoes are just so cute. Too bad they make me feel like I’m a victim of Chinese foot binding whenever I wear them. >

Willow pulled grabbed some clothing from the open suitcase on the bed and made her way to the bathroom "Just give me a sec to change Angel. I’m afraid these stockings will become a second skin if I keep them on one minute more." With a fast smile she exited the room, leaving Angel standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. Angel’s gaze couldn’t help but wander down to take in Willow’s shapely legs as she walked out. <The last year certainly has been good for Willow. > Embarrassed by his own lecherous thoughts, Angel turned his gaze Willow’s childhood room. His eyes traveled over dresser tops and bookcases, his mind marveling at how familiar this room was to him even though it had been 3 years since his last visit.

Angel stood in front of Willow’s dresser, surveying the clutter as if it held hidden revelations of this enigmatic woman he couldn’t get out of his mind. During the drive to her house, Angel had been captivated by the changes he could see both on and underneath the surface. As they chatted about their lives for the past 3 years, getting reacquainted, Angel had been amused and bewildered by a woman whom he realized he would have to get to know all over again. The girl who had left Sunnydale, still a bit naïve despite all she had seen during her friendship with the slayer, was gone. In her place was a confident, charming, beautiful woman. The idea of rediscovering Willow Rosenberg excited him and distracted him from the melancholy thoughts that haunted the edges of his mind, threatening to send him into despair. Fiddling with the various cosmetics strewn over the dresser top, Angel pushed the threatening emotions into the recesses of his mind and decided to concentrate on renewing an old friendship, one that could possibly save him from himself.

Willow reentered the room dressed in a pair of jeans and a black sweater with a plunging neckline that caused Angel’s eyes to linger on the pale flesh exposed by it. Smiling, Willow disentangled Angel’s fingers from a tube of lipstick and led him over to the bed. Shoving her open suitcase over, Willow and Angel settled onto the bed, their thighs and knees touching. Angel tensed, hyper aware of every point of contact between their bodies, his eyes returning to the neckline of her sweater. <My, my, my, it looks like little Willow has done a lot more than emotional growth these past few years. > A rush of shame filled Angel over his thoughts. This was Willow he was thinking about, not to mention the fact that it was the day of his love’s funeral. <Can't get more sleazy than that. >

Willow, seemingly oblivious to the racy nature and self-condemnation of Angel’s thoughts, was speaking and Angel forced himself to bring his eyes up to her face and listen to her words. "… as I said before, I wasn’t sure if you’d show up to the funeral or not. I told Mrs. Summer’s it would be best if it was held at night in case you wanted to come but, well, no one had heard from you since it had happened so I wasn’t sure. I kind of hoped you would show up though. It’s no good for you to be alone at a time like this and…" Willow blushed softly as she realized she’d been babbling for awhile "am I being totally insensitive by talking about this now. We don’t have to, I mean, we can always talk about, well, something else. I’d understand if you didn’t want to think or talk about, you know… it"

Angel sighed, his voice heavy with sadness. ‘I was kind of hoping we could skip over this part, you know, where we both talk about how much we miss Buffy, and how much we loved her, cause then I’d probably end up crying and well, call me old-fashioned but I don’t really like to do that in front of women. Most guy’s from my century tend not to like that."

Willow smirked, "Guys from this century don’t either. Must be something in the genes." Willow cocked her head to the side, her long hair falling around her like a veil as she studied Angel’s face. "We don’t have to talk about Buffy if you don’t want to. I’ve done all my crying over her death. It’s something I knew would happen someday, though I have to admit I never imagined it would be so soon. If I’d known I’d have never…" Willow broke off mid-sentence, chuckling to herself, "there I go talking about her when I just agreed we didn’t have to. So, I’m going to leave conversation up to you. You pick the conversation now. Whatever you want to talk about, or not talk about for that matter, is entirely up to you." Willow shifted her position on the bed slightly. Now she was leaning back against the mountain of pillows that framed the bed, but her leg was still pressed against Angel’s, a fact that didn’t escape his notice.

"Well, how about we talk about you."

Willow looked surprised. "Me? What about me?"

"Well, for one thing you can tell me where the Willow Rosenberg we all knew and loved has gone. Not that I’m complaining," he rushed on when he saw her beginning to open her mouth, presumably to deny his statements. "Now don’t go jumping to conclusions Willow. You look beautiful, as I’m sure you know. Not that that’s what I mean. You were always beautiful, even if guys were too dumb in high school to realize it, except Oz of course." A strange expression Angel couldn’t quite read flickered across her face when he said that. He knew her and Oz had broken up 2 years earlier and he wondered if the expression had to do with her missing him. He couldn’t be sure.

"But there’s something else. You’ve grown up Willow. You’re…" Angel struggled for the words to describe what he meant without coming off as insulting. "Well, you’re grown up, I suppose. You’re more open, carefree even. At least it seems that way from what I’ve seen so far." Willow blushed and Angel realized with a shock that he was flirting. He hadn’t meant for that to sound so forward, though he couldn’t deny that he was very attracted to Willow and it wasn’t her obvious beauty. There was an inner glow to her, one that had always been there only now it was stronger, more penetrating. It made Angel sit up and take notice. She exuded warmth that wrapped around him and gave him comfort. It was quite peaceful to be in her presence. Watching her now, deep red coloring invading her pale cheeks, Angel felt an overwhelming urge to reach over and caress her cheek. Her full lips beckoned his.

"Well, Angel, it has been 3 years since we’ve seen each other. I mean, I’m 21. I would hope that I’ve done some growing up since you knew me. I hope you’re not expecting some grand tale of an incident that sparked the changes in me, cause there isn’t one." Willow paused for a moment and Angel waited for her to continue. "I suppose life just changed me. Living on the hellmouth changed me in that it made me bolder and surer of myself. I was forced to confront feelings and situations I never had before. Yet even then I never had to do anything alone. I always had Xander and Buffy with me. We took care of each other. Then, when I left for MIT and Xander went away to Penn State, and Buffy stayed here, well, I was finally alone. I had to take care of myself, without either of their protection. It’s not like I’ve had to face any demons while in Boston," Angel couldn’t help but smile back at this "but I’ve had to face life, normal life, and I’ve had to do it on my own. That kind of situation would change anyone. So, here I am. Willow Rosenberg, new and improved, for better or for worse."

This time Angel didn’t suppress his urge to reach out to her. Leaning forward, he pulled her into his arms. He wanted to comfort her, the way she had years ago when things had been going badly for him and Buffy. She’d been there for him then, and she’d been there for him tonight at the cemetery. Now it was his turn. He slipped a hand underneath her hair, cupping her head towards him till her cheek lay against his shoulder. He moved closer until her body fit perfectly against his. She wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes when he began to stroke the top of her head. "Definitely for better Willow."
 

Vampiric instinct forced Angel up an hour before sunrise. Past experience had taught Angel to always make sure he was well protected from the sun’s deadly rays before allowing himself to fall asleep, and if he was asleep he always managed to wake up before the sunrise. He'd programmed himself to be cautious and it had saved his life more than once. One look at the huge bay window reminded him that he had better get going if he wanted to make it back to his apartment in time.

Reluctantly, Angel sat up, being careful as he disentangled himself from Willow’s sleeping body. Since he didn’t want to wake her, it took him awhile to free himself from Willow’s arms, which were wrapped around his waist tightly. Angel found himself staring at Willow’s face. It was hard for most people to let go of their emotions while sleeping, but Willow seemed to have no trouble. Her expression was one of the most peaceful he had ever seen. All tears from earlier that night were gone. Her breathing was slow and steady, her lips curved in a slight smile.

They’d only fallen asleep less than an hour earlier. The entire night and early morning had been spent lying in bed, their faces so close he had been able to feel her words more than hear them. Nothing had happened, at least not anything like what his fantasies of early that evening had been urging him to do. Something else had happened, something even more magical, or at least Angel thought so.

Last night had been the first night he had ever truly opened up to a woman, without any reservations. Angel wasn’t sure what had happened. All he knew was that, without realizing it, he was telling Willow every secret he had held locked up in his heart. And she was doing the same. He had told her all about his family, and she had told him about hers. They talked about past heartaches, him listening quietly as Willow poured out her heart, telling him about her recent break up with a fellow MIT student named Julian. Willow had believed that he had been the one she was meant to spend the rest of her life with, but they had broken up less than a month ago when she found him in, as she put it, the most "soap opera cliched situation in history- in bed with my roommate." In his mind, Angel had imagined the slow torturous death he would inflict on this guy for breaking Willow’s heart, but he merely held her, allowing her to cry on his shoulder.

They’d talked about Buffy but the real breakthrough had come when he told her everything he had gone through during his time in Hell. Not since he had returned had Angel spoken of that time. His mind had shut down whenever Buffy had brought up the subject. He had never been able to deal with that time, and so she had never known what he had gone through. But he told Willow. They had been laughing over an anecdote involving Xander’s last visit to MIT when he had started to tell her about it. Once he started to talk about it he couldn’t stop, and Willow had been so supportive, taking in his pain as if it were her own, that he hadn’t wanted to stop.

He told her everything. She was now the one person alive, living or dead, who knew him as well as he knew himself. <It felt so right, lying besides her, telling her everything. I never knew I could feel that way. To be so free, just from sharing myself with another person. I don’t think I can ever thank her for what she’s done for me. >

He covered Willow with the blanket lying at the foot of the bed, brushing a strand of hair off of her face and stepped back, away from the bed.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was no longer touching her, no longer felt the burning warmth of her skin, or perhaps it was the rising sun that cleared his mind, but as he stood over her, fear trickled in to his heart. There was something wrong with the way he was feeling. The first light of the day was illuminating his emotions, and their strength scared him. He didn’t want to leave her, not now, not ever. His heart was aching at the thought. Yet, right beside that was guilt. It hadn’t been there before because he hadn’t thought through the implications of their night together. But it was here now. Here he was, only a week after Buffy’s death, spending the night with another woman, hurting because he was leaving that other woman. And not just any woman. This one was Buffy’s best friend, his friend. He was betraying Buffy in the oldest and worst way imaginable.

He loved Buffy still and she didn’t deserve to have him feeling whatever it was that he was feeling. He had to stop it, before it was too late. With that thought he turned and left, fleeing from Willow and the power she had over his heart. He ran home, trying to forget her touch and the sound of her voice. He filled his thoughts with Buffy, and prayed to a god he wasn’t sure existed to release him from the fold Willow had on him, praying, also, that it wasn’t too late.