SPOILERS: This takes place after Angel loses his soul but before Becoming, which never happened in my 'verse. I will keep and discard Buffy lore as I see fit.

Los Angeles
Two Weeks Later

Willow had always loved Los Angeles in the summertime. Sometimes, when she was younger, her father had let her accompany him on business trips to LA. She remembered how awed she would be by the huge, fancy hotels and the crowded beaches with their never-ending stretches of golden sand and the glistening jewel of the ocean. But things were different now. Willow was grown up, and the city no longer held any mythical beauty for her. As she walked the streets, shopping for new clothes on Angelus' dime, all Willow felt was the crushing weight of despair. Like an automaton, she went through the motions of life without really experiencing anything.

Sometimes it amazed her that she was even able to carry on the masquerade. Perhaps it was because she no longer felt alive. In essence, her soul had fled her body the second Angel's had, leaving her a pale husk of the woman she had been. Only survival instinct and the burning desire to avenge Angel's death had kept her from remaining by the side of her dead lover's body. Angelus had never suspected a thing, and so her cover had not been blown. She'd even managed to somehow act happy when Angelus told her the news of Angel's demise. They'd left the next day for Los Angeles and had been staying there while Angelus took care of some business or another. Willow wasn't quite sure and didn't really care. It infuriated her how life went on around her as if nothing had changed- as if the only man she could ever loved wasn't dead, as if she wasn't dead inside.

She remained with Angelus, under the guise of her amnesiac state, barely tolerating his attempts to woo her into giving up her virginity to him. She knew he was losing patience with her pleas for more time to get used to him again, and it wouldn't be long before he forced the issue. Time was running out and if she wanted to get her revenge, however she decided to do that, she would have to act soon.

Willow stopped in front of a trendy boutique, starring with unseeing eyes at the mannequins in the window as her heart and mind tried to work up the courage it would take for her to complete the one thing that kept her alive. It wasn't that she didn't hate Angelus enough to actually kill him- it was that she couldn't imagine looking at the face of the man she loved and watch it disintegrate into dust. True, the face of the man she had fallen in love with had been that of Adrian's, but she couldn't help but associate her lost love with the body he had inhabited for two and a half centuries. She wasn't sure she'd be able to actually kill him when it came down to the crunch. One look into those eyes and she feared she'd crumble under her regret. If only she'd known who he was earlier, if only they had found each other sooner, if only she'd gotten to him a few days earlier- if only, if only, if only. Her heart was bruised from them.

It would have to be tonight- if she waited any longer she would risk her entire charade blowing up in her face. Angelus would fully claim her as his and she didn't think she could maintain her façade if things went too far. Already she was fighting her body's revulsion at his touch, trying hard to keep her inner feelings from taking on an externality. Tonight Buffy's prophecy would come true- one way or another it would all be over soon.

Startled out of her thoughts by the sound of someone rather obnoxiously clearing their throat, Willow turned to find a short, badly dressed man standing beside her. It was evident from the way his hands fidgeted with the brass buttons of his jungle print shirt that he'd been there for awhile, waiting for her to notice him. With cold, disinterested eyes, which she hoped conveyed how much she wanted to be left alone with her misery, Willow gave him a once over. Besides the fact that he was inappropriately dressed for the typical mid-80's California summer day, complete with a checkered wool jacket and non-matching black hat, Willow was surprised to see that he was watching her with warm, friendly eyes. Not only was there recognition in the depths of this eyes, but also a touch of sadness and sympathy. They gave her the sense that he knew everything about her and her loses and was mourning them with her.

He waited for her to finish her once over before speaking. It also gave him the time to completely absorb the vast emptiness he saw in her eyes. It wasn't as if he'd never seen it before; many humans had experienced losses such as hers, killing off all semblance of life within them before their natural deaths. However, seeing what had become of this young witch was especially hard, especially since he shared in her loss.

Pushing aside his own emotions with an ease born of long practice, he introduced himself. "I'm Whistler."

The name was vaguely familiar to Willow, and she found herself trying to place it. She thought perhaps Angel had mentioned something about a friend named Whistler but she couldn't remember specifics. Of course, Angel had often shied away from going into detail with a lot of his stories. When Willow had thought it was Adrian, the cryptic nature of his personality had always annoyed her. Now that she knew the man she had fallen in love with had been Angel, it made perfect sense: Angel was the King of Cryptic Guys. Add to that his Clark Kent/Superman like duality and his preference of minimalist conversation techniques made perfect sense. Of course, it also made Willow wonder just how much she actually knew about the man she loved.

"I see from your lack of recognition over my name that Angel still hasn't lost that cheeky mystique those who know him love to hate," Whistler added wryly. Willow surprised herself by actually giving a small smile of acknowledgement. There was something about his blunt honesty that appealed to her, and she found herself warming to the man, her entire demeanor softening and becoming less guarded. "Not that I like speaking ill of the dead, though in this case since he's not really dead I suppose I can get away with it, huh. Which brings me around to my reason for being here. Though I don't think a crowded daytime Los Angeles street is really the place for this conversation. How about you let me buy you a drink. I know a great bar right off Sunset- not too far from here. The bartenders a cousin of Willie's so maybe you won't be too homesick there- but don't worry." He added at the panicked look on her face. "He doesn't tolerate the sunlight intolerant clientele, if you catch my drift. Only demons, which is why it's one of my favorite hideouts."

To his delight, Willow nodded her agreement without any protestations. He couldn't help but wonder if she was always this agreeable or if it was a side effect of her grief. Whatever it was, it was gonna make his mission a lot easier if she took everything he said with minimal disagreements.

They walked to the bar in silence, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them to refrain from conversation till they arrived at their destination. Willow chose a corner booth in the darkened booth as Whistler ordered them some drinks from the bartender- something tropical he had promised. The only other clientele were a pair of red faced, multi-horned demons sitting at the bar. Willow might have feared them if she'd come across them in some darkened alley in the dead of night, but their present conversation was anything but scary. Ironically, they were in the middle of a heated debate over the next presidential election, arguing the merits and demerits of each respective candidate. They had even raised their glasses to her in cheers as she first entered the bar. Bewildered, Willow turned her attention away from the pair as Whistler joined her, two glasses of what looked to Willow like frozen strawberry margaritas, complete with baby umbrellas, in his hand. Amused, Willow watched as Whistler sipped the frothy liquid through the tiny red straw, her own drink remaining untouched. She never had been much of a drinker.

When he had sucked the entire drink up in one long sip, Whistler sat back with a contented sigh. "Nobody makes 'em quite like Lenny." He nodded towards her drink. "Try it, you don't want to miss out on a taste like this. The fruit explodes in your mouth- you can barely taste the alcohol. Oh it's there, but you'd never know it." He pushed the glass towards Willow and waited for her to take a sip before continuing. "Now, you probably have a few questions, though how I know that, considering how you haven't said word one since I met you, is a mystery even to me. But I can only assume since Angel told you nothing about me. Oh where to start, where to start. I suppose the cliched explanation of who and what exactly I am should come first. In case you're slow and couldn't pick up on the hints I've been throwing out, I'm a demon. I'm not a bad guy though. Considering how you've only been schooled in Watcher Ideology, or as I like to think of it- propaganda- you should know that not all demons are bent on the destruction of all things good and living. Basically, I'm one of the good demons."

Willow looked skeptical, so Whistler amended his usual explanation. "This would make more sense to you if you're education in the supernatural hadn't been so one sided. The Watcher's need to keep the good/evil line clearly demarcated for the Slayers so they don't find themselves questioning their duty in the middle of a life or death fight. To them, all the slayer needs to know is that Demon=Bad, and don't even get me started on the whole all vampires are evil thing. We've tried to reason with them over the years, make them realize that their old fashioned ideology was becoming more of a hindrance to the Slayer in the Modern Era, but they're very stubborn. We're hoping they'll come around soon. It's not like we don't have the time to wait them out."

Willow couldn't help but interrupt. "Who's we? The Good Demons?"

Whistler smirked. "Yeah, sort of. When I say we I'm talking about everyone on the side of Good. That includes the good demons, The Powers That Be, the Oracles, The Council of Elders, and all the other leaders in the wonderful political machine running things. Oh, I'm a member of the Council, by the way, but we don't really have time to get into my rather long list of credentials. I've been trying to get the Council to invest in some badges- it would save a lot of lengthy conversation." Whistler broke off as Willow snorted in her attempts to smother her laughter. Smiling, Whistler gave Willow another once over. "You know, you're pretty sexy when you smile like that. I can see why Angel picked you over the slayer. Not that she's not a cute piece of ass herself, especially now that she's all vampy- black leather is definitely the right look for her. Have you ever considered it- I think it could bring out a whole new side of your personality you've never considered. Or not." Whistler quickly changed directions as Willow glared at him. "Don't get me wrong, I'd choose you over her any day. You've got that timeless, mystical beauty, what with your red hair and all that raw, untapped power. Everyone on the Council agrees- that Angel is one lucky guy."

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk to much?" Willow couldn't keep her annoyance out of the quip.

"Ouch, you wound me. Angel used to say it all the time but coming from a man of such few words as himself I never took it to heart. Since I'm supposed to be doing the explaining thing, I wouldn't be complaining if I were you. Then there's the fact that you've just spent months not having things explained to you and look where it's gotten you. I'd think you'd be refreshed by the change."

"Alright, I see your point, could we just move on to the part where you tell me why you're here? I kind of have a time limit to the amount of time I can spend away from Angelus, or don't you know that?"

"Touché. Now where was I? Oh right, so anyway, I'm the man who saved your love Angel from a desolate and lonely life of living on the streets, whining and moping over how cruel fate was to curse him with a soul and a demon. Man, you wouldn't have believed what he looked like when I found him in Manhattan all those years ago- and the smell! You don't even want to know about the smell. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. He was a far far cry from the mysterious, suave loverboy you and the slayer fell in love with. You can thank me for that. I cleaned him up and taught him everything I know." Willow eyed Whistler with a look that could only be described as outright disbelieving. She gave the demon a once over, her eyes lingering on the florescent green tie that clashed horribly with the rest of his outfit.

Prickling defensively, Whistler muttered, "What is it with creatures from Earth and their boring taste in fashion. Anyway, I was sent to enlist him as a warrior for the forces of good. We gave him the special job of protecting the slayer. We all saw potential in him- he could become somebody if he had the right help, i.e. me. Besides, he had a lot to make up for as his years as Angelus. True, it wasn't his soul that did any of it, but the taint was still there. So instead of letting him waste away and contribute nothing to the world, we decided he could be of some use. I trained him and sent him on his mission. Can I help it if he had to go and get all head over heels infatuated with the slayer. It wasn't supposed to happen that way, but that boy's been doing things ass backward since the day he was born. If he'd just recognized you as the one he was supposed to be with from the beginning, so many of this could have been avoided. Now everything's off track and my ass is on the line with the PTB's. I've gotta fix things so they're the way they're supposed to be or else we're gonna have a lot more problems than a renegade Apocalypse loving vampire on our hands."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute? Are you saying Angel and I were supposed to fall in love three years ago? That it was fated by the PTB's? Why? And what exactly is off track now? What's gonna happen that a quick stake to the heart wouldn't avoid?"

"Yes to the first part, and as for the second part, I can't answer that, yet." Willow opened her mouth to complain but Whistler rushed on, cutting her off. "Look, it's not time for you to know yet. It would make things even more fucked up than they already are. Just take my word for things. Everything will be revealed in due time just as soon as I put things right."

Willow grudgingly let the issue drop, but picked up on something else she was curious about. "What exactly are you gonna do to put things back on track. I mean, isn't it a little late for damage control?" Willow began to squirm under Whistler's gaze. The look in his eyes told her he had expected better of her.

"If I didn't know better Id wonder about that huge intellect of yours. Don't play the naïve, innocent with me, as if you still had the wool pulled over your eyes and had no idea about the real big bad world out there. You know as well as I do that staking Angelus isn't the only way to get rid of him."

"If you're referring to the soul restoration spell then I think we're a few centuries late. Ms. Calender told us the spell was lost even to the gypsies, and they're the ones who did the original curse."

Whistler fought to keep the bite out of his answer. "Ms. Calender was telling the truth as far as she knew it. The spell is lost- to humans. But I'm not human, and we're not exactly hindered by a little something such as a dead human language. For us there's no such thing as a dead language- we know them all. Hell, even if that language really was dead, there are a million other restoration spells we could use, and if the PTB's wanted they could restore Angel's soul in a blink of an eye. The point is, Angel's soul can be restored, this time by a non-vengeful friend, and that's exactly what's gonna happen. I don't usually interfere this directly but time is of an issue. I'm going to have to get my hands dirty to accomplish what I want. Willow." Whistler snapped his fingers in front of the shocked witch's face. "Come on, snap out of it. I know it's a lot to absorb but we don't have time for such indulgences." Whistler wondered if maybe he'd pushed the girl too far, too fast with his information. She wasn't moving or saying anything and as the minutes dragged on he began to get worried. Relief washed over him as tears began to run from her eyes, though it quickly turned into sympathy as her face became animated once again, her small body hunching over as sobs racked her.

Moving to the other side of the booth, Whistler wrapped an arm around Willow, pulling her against his body so she could pillow her face against his shoulder and cry comfortably. Despite what he'd just said, he couldn't bring himself to stop her from giving in to her tears. With all the girl had been through she deserved the indulgence, and he wasn't gonna deny her it.

Long after Willow's tears had run dry her body was plagued with dry, heaving sobs. When those finally left her, leaving her body still against Whistler's, Willow lifted her flushed, tear stained cheek off Whistler's shoulder and gave him a tentative smile. She hadn't meant to break down so completely in front of the demon but, amazingly, she didn't feel embarrassed, despite the huge wet spot that now stained his shirt, visible evidence of her lack of control. She knew he understood her need for emotional release, and the fact that he'd offered her the silent comfort of a shoulder to cry on endeared the demon to her immensely. Within the short span of an hour she already counted him as one of her cherished friends, and if he really did what he said he had planned, she would love him forever, even offering up her first born in gratitude.

Whistler laughed good-naturedly. "Are you always so hyperbolic with your thanks. Don't worry, you'll end up repaying me in the future, and not in some Godfather kind of way, and it definitely won't be anything as severe as that. You'll understand what I mean when the time comes. Although, if you feel the need to do something a little extra, I know a motel not far from here that. Ow." Whistler rubbed the side of his abdomen recently vacated by Willow's elbow. "Jeez, I was only kidding. I'd better apologize for the reading your thoughts thing. I try not to but that last thought was broadcast so loud I couldn't help but catch it. Now, if you're done bruising me for my help, let's get a move on. We've got a lot of work to do before dark; or at least I do- you really only need to sit around and look pretty."

Whistler took Willow by the hand and began to lead her out of the bar. She stopped him as they reached the door. "Thank you, Whistler." The depth of emotion evident in her voice made the simple thanks heavy with meaning. Blushing, Whistler ducked his head. "Yeah well, just remember you wanted this the next time Angel gets all broody and cryptic and refuses to tell you something important. I can't be responsible for all his actions." Willow swatted him on the arm playfully. As they made their way through the streets of LA, Willow felt lighter and more alive than she had in weeks. The demon had given her back something she had been positive she'd lost forever- hope.