Willow adjusted the radio again as she tried to concentrate on the highway leading her to L.A. This would be fun. This would be a vacation. This would be a pleasant break from school, and the Hellmouth, and the memory of her cheating ex-boyfriend who left her behind only a week before who was the reason she had been crying ever since, leading to her friends sending her on an errand out of town because they were sick of hearing about it. This would be a holiday treat, visiting a city that made her uncomfortable and a vampire who had always made her nervous and who was brooding over his own broken heart and a girl who had never quite forgiven her for hooking up with Xander. Yeah. This would be fun. Fun like public speaking. Fun like a root canal.

At least the directions were good. MapQuest was still trusty and reliable, even if the same could not be said of certain friends and ex-boyfriends who would remain nameless in the interests of not starting to cry all over again while parked on a strange street in an unfamiliar town. She found the building with no difficulty at all. Right at 11:05, she pulled up in front of the apartment. By 11:10, she had managed to talk herself into actually exiting the car and walking into the building, which she entered just in time to hear an unfamiliar Irish voice speak.

“All I’m saying is that if we’re ever going to take that cruise to the Bahamas together, we’re going to need a lot more clients of means.”

The voice that followed was much more familiar. “And an alternate reality in which you are Matthew McConaughey,” Cordelia added, in true Cordelia fashion.

“Hello, L.A.” Willow muttered to herself as she entered the room, apparently loud enough to be heard, as both Cordelia and the unfamiliar Irish guy looked up at the sound.

“Willow?” Cordelia exclaimed. Willow nodded uncertainly, not sure yet if it was a ‘happy to see you’ exclamation, a ‘surprised to see you’ exclamation, or a ‘hold still while I grab a knife and eviscerate you’ exclamation.

“Oh, my god,” Cordelia continued, walking around the desk to get closer. Willow stayed put, watching her approach warily. “Willow. It’s so good to see you.” Willow stood there in shock as Cordelia threw her arms around her, giving her a tight hug. She’d known Cordelia since they were four years old. This was the first hug she could ever remember them sharing. It was… kind of strange, actually.

“Good old Willow!” Cordelia stated, oblivious to Willow confusion. “Willow.” She turned to the man standing off to the side with an amused expression on his face, and pointed to Willow. “Willow!” she stated, just in case he hadn’t figured it out from the first four times Cordelia said her name.

“Let me just take a stab at it, you’d be Willow?” he replied.

“Good guess,” Willow answered. “And you would be—?” she started to ask, but was cut off by Cordelia.

“This is so cool! I mean, here you are in LA, and you’re the total embodiment of all things Sunnydale. We have some serious catching up to do.”

Mentally, Willow groaned. [Yes, catching up. What fun. Please, remind me of all the things that I’m trying to forget and all the reasons I was so eager to get away from town for a few days. Let’s see, where to begin? Oh yes, Oz cheated on me and then decided that it was so rough on *him* that he had sex with some skanky tramp that he simply had to leave town and go ‘think.’ Anything else you’d like to know? Harmony is a vampire, and tried to eat me just a few days ago. But don’t worry; she’s still just as shallow and annoying now as she was pre-fangs. She’s dating Spike, who came into town to steal this special little ring I have in my pocket. He’ll probably be coming after it and I’d really like for it to *not* be in my possession when that happens.]

“How is everything?” Cordelia asked, oblivious to Willow’s distress. “How’s… how’s the Bronze?”

[Quiet] Willow thought to herself, [now that the lead singer from Shy is dead and Oz has left me *and* the Dingoes behind, and…] “The same,” she answered.

“And the gang?”

[Depressed,] Willow answered mentally. [Buffy’s all angry because she fell for Parker’s nice-guy act and had sex with him, so now she feels cheap and stupid for giving in so quickly. Xander’s self-conscious over the fact that he’s not a college student and that he spent his summer at The Fabulous Ladies Night Club, Giles is having a mid-life crisis, and I just got dumped by my boyfriend after he slept with someone else, killed her, and very nearly killed me…] “They’re good.”

“Good? Good! Good.” Cordelia’s enthusiasm seemed more than a little forced, especially when silence fell and they realized they had nothing else to really say to each other.

“Are we done?” Willow asked, semi-politely.

“Completely.”

The man coughed, finally catching Cordelia’s attention. “Oh, this is Doyle,” Cordelia explained. “He – air quote – works here.”

Willow smiled hesitantly. “Hi.” Doyle smiled in reply, giving her a flirtatious wink.

“So,” Willow said slowly, scrambling for a topic of conversation that did *not* include Sunnydale. “I heard the rumors, but you guys can fill me in on the real deal here. So you guys are… like detectives?”

“No, I’m an actress!” Cordelia corrected firmly.

“And quite a captivating one at that,” Doyle added. Cordelia ignored him.

“And between my many gigs, I sometimes choose to help Angel,” she continued. Willow bit back a smile. Yes, Cordelia hadn’t changed at all. It was kind of refreshing.

“He’s the detective,” Doyle filled in, helpfully.

“Does he have a hat and gun?” Willow asked curiously. She could picture Angel with a hat and gun, and that grim, stern look on his face, fearlessly fighting evil. Yeah, she could picture that.

“Just fangs,” Cordelia answered.

“Well, that works,” Willow conceded. She could also picture him with a grim, stern look on his face, fearlessly fighting evil *without* a hat and gun. After all, who needs a gun when you have fangs? And who needs a hat when you’re never in the sun? And speaking of being in the sun… “Where is he?”

“Right this way,” Doyle cut in, taking Willow’s arm to lead her to the elevator. She followed him nervously, her hand tracing the outline of the ring through the denim of her jeans pocket. Before long, they were down in Angel’s apartment, and there he was: walking through the apartment, looking through a book.

He didn’t look up right away, just kept searching through the book, absent-mindedly muttering, “Hey guys,” while continuing on his way. But then a familiar/unfamiliar smell registered on his senses along with the sound of a third heartbeat and Angel stopped in his tracks.

“Willow,” he said softly, looking up at last.

“Hi.”

“Nice surprise.” He actually meant it. Along with the coffee at the Bronze, Giles’ books at the library, and the squeaky clean atmosphere with an utter lack of pervasive smog, Willow was one of the things that he truly missed about Sunnydale. Not like he missed Buffy, of course. Missing Buffy was a pervasive emptiness that hit him at the worst possible moments, making him feel worthless, purposeless, and inevitably alone while he ached for the girl who had made him feel complete.

Missing Willow was gentler and more nostalgic. He smiled when he thought of her, instead of wincing in pain. Even though he associated her with his beloved slayer, thinking of her didn’t bring the pain that memories of Buffy brought. Willow had never been associated with turmoil or overriding passion or soul-rending remorse or anguish. When he thought of her, what he remembered was her intelligence, her sweetness, her endless determination to ‘make things right’ and most of all, her boundless forgiveness. It was difficult to think of her with anything resembling pain. He hadn’t expected to miss her. She had never been essential to his happiness. But seeing her was, unquestionably, a most pleasant surprise.

Willow blushed. “Thanks.”

“Staying long?”

“Just tonight.” Angel frowned slightly. It wasn’t like Willow to be so laconic. That was more his territory. Or Oz’s. While it was possible that she had picked up some of her boyfriend’s personality traits, it seemed somehow more likely that Willow was nervous about something. When she was nervous, her tendency was either to babble or to carefully ration her words to avoid babbling.

“Come on in,” he invited. Whatever it was that was making her nervous, they might as well discuss it in some comfort. “So, good to see you,” he continued, hoping to get her to open up about why she was there. Was she hurt? She seemed uninjured, but he caught a saline scent on her skin. She’d been crying recently. Was she in trouble? Angel growled a bit, subconsciously, at the thought of anyone threatening Willow.

Willow took a deep breath. The small talk was nice and all, but the ring was burning a hole in her pocket. It was time to cut to the chase and let him know why she was there.

“I came to give you this.” Pulling the ring out of her pocket, she held it out so he could see it. The recognition in his eyes was instantaneous.

Angel didn’t respond immediately, but Doyle quickly stepped up to take a closer look. “Wait a minute, is that what I think it is?”

Angel remained still, making no move to take the ring from Willow. “It’s the gem of Amarra,” he answered, his face expressionless.

“One and the same,” Willow replied, trying to hand it to Angel. He paused for a moment, then accepted it. “Buffy wanted you to have it,” Willow explained.

“Hey, Buffy,” Cordelia interjected with that same forced nostalgic enthusiasm from before. “How is good old Buffy anyway?”

“She is…” [angsty over Angel, pissed off over Parker, and more than a little flirty over our psychology TA, if I’m reading the signals right. She’s nervous over classes and feels out of her depth in college, but she’s doing well and starting to settle in. She misses high school, I think, and only part of that is because of Angel, but it’s still a big part. She misses him. So do I, for that matter, even if he didn’t ask.]

“What?” Cordelia pressed. “Still the brave little Slayer or is she moping around in the dark like—” Angel gave Cordelia a dark look, “—like nobody around here,” she concluded hastily. Willow wasn’t really listening to her. Instead, she was focused on Angel, who turned and walked away from them, looking at the ring in his hands.

“She’s…good,” Willow answered tentatively. “She’s Buffy.” In the end, that said it all. She was Buffy, so she’d get through this with a quip and a smile, sooner or later.

Doyle held up a hand. “And I’m sure we’ll be interested in that later, but right now can we concentrate on the mother-load Angel just hit? What are you waiting for, man?” Doyle asked eagerly. “Put it on!”

“Okay, you’re getting weird about this ring,” Cordelia commented. “Since when did you go all Versace about accessorizing?”

“Since the accessory is priceless and renders its wearer one hundred percent unkillable if he’s a vampire,” Doyle retorted.

Cordelia blinked, processing the information. “Unkillable? Whew. You mean not even stakes?”

“Not nothing. Not stakes, not fire, and the best thing is not even sunlight. I mean, just think of it man,” Doyle continued eagerly, turning to Angel. “Poolside tanning, bargain matinees, plus I know a couple of strip clubs that have a fabulous luncheon buffet.” He cut off abruptly, as if just realizing what he had said, right in front of Cordelia. “I mean,” he stammered, “it’s… I’ve heard…”

“And it’s from Buffy,” Angel said softly, apparently oblivious to everything else.

“She wanted to be sure it was in good hands,” Willow answered, just as softly. She paused for a moment. Angel seemed to be having a… moment… and she didn’t want to interrupt it, but he really needed to know what he was up against. Two years of fighting the persistent little bugger had taught the Scooby gang that Spike wasn’t the type to give up on something he wanted. Ever. If he still had his eye on that ring; which he almost certainly did; then he’d be coming for it. It was just a question of when. Angel needed to be warned. They all did.

“Spike dug up Sunnydale looking for it,” she explained. “He got a fist full of Buffy and left it behind.”

“So she sent you,” Angel stated, gloomily.

Willow repressed a sigh of exasperation. [Well,] she thought to herself, letting her bitter, sarcastic side say its piece, even if it was only in her mind, [she wanted to send Giles but he can’t stand you ever since Angelus killed Jenny and tortured him with a chainsaw, Xander wouldn’t come because he’s always hated you, Buffy couldn’t come because neither of you have time for another soap opera reunion with Spike on the loose and midterms to study for, and Oz couldn’t come because he blew town after cheating on me. So yeah, Buffy sent me. What a shock.] No, Buffy hadn’t come herself to deliver the ring. Yes, Angel had every reason to be depressed over his disastrous love life. She could understand that. Hell, she could sympathize! But that was no excuse for ignoring the possible threat Spike represented.

“And she didn’t even send a note?” Cordelia interjected, fascinated with the gossip, as always. “Wow. That’s really—” Angel shot her a look. “This is one of those times when I should just shy away from the topic, isn’t it?”

Willow was too startled to reply. Cordelia had been in the process of digging up some dirt on someone… and had stopped, because it seemed to upset Angel. Of course, it would have been better if she was a bit more concerned with Spike and a bit less concerned with digging up the dirt in the first place, but still. Wow. That was a first. An even more surprising first than the spontaneous hug when Willow first arrived. Maybe the May Queen really had changed.

“Come on I have something that will boost your spirits,” Doyle interrupted with overdone eagerness, walking toward Angel and picking up a stake on the way. “Why don’t you put it on and I’ll stake you. It’ll be fun!” Cordelia and Willow rolled their eyes, but Angel seemed to be mostly ignoring him, just playing with the ring in his hand.

“Maybe later,” he answered absently.

“What, are you out of your mind?”

“I said, maybe later.”

“Yeah…”

“Doyle.” This time, Angel’s voice held a warning note that Doyle had, apparently, learned not to ignore.

“Okay, you have it your way, man,” Doyle stated, heading to the elevator. “But I’m still going to celebrate with a drink down at the pub.”

Cordelia snorted. “He’d celebrate the opening of a mailbox with a drink at the pub.” She waved a quick goodbye to Angel before heading to the elevator to join Doyle. “You coming, Willow?” she turned to ask. “We can do some more catching up.”

[More catching up? With Cordelia? At a pub? Maybe I should look into finding a dentist who can take care of that root canal tonight.] “I think I’ll stay here and catch up with Angel for a bit,” she said instead. “If that’s alright?”

Angel sighed, half of him wishing she had agreed to leave with Cordelia and Doyle so he could do some hard-core brooding, undisturbed, and the other half of him a bit relieved that he wouldn’t be alone. Talking to Willow would be soothing. It always was.

“Fine with me,” Angel replied.

Angel kept looking at the ring, and Willow kept looking at Angel, and neither of them paid much attention as Cordelia and Doyle disappeared into the elevator again. The elevator doors slid shut, and Angel and Willow stood there in silence for a few moments. Finally, Angel stuck the ring in his pocket and looked up.

“I just need to go put this away,” he explained, and Willow nodded her understanding as Angel opened the entrance that led to the sewers. She didn’t follow him.

“So,” he said hesitantly, when he returned, looking for a neutral topic of conversation.

“You need to snap out of it,” she stated, so suddenly and firmly that Angel stood there for a moment with his mouth hanging slightly open in shock.

“W-what?”

“I said you need to snap out of it,” Willow repeated. “Buffy didn’t bring the ring herself. Why is this such a problem? If she had brought the ring, you’d have to interact with her instead of me, and we both know how difficult and painful that is for both of you. Do you blame her for not wanting to put the two of you through that?” Angel didn’t answer, choosing instead to continue to stand there with his mouth hanging open. “Well?” Willow asked impatiently.

“Um, no?” Angel answered tentatively. [Soothing,] an analytical part of his brain not paralyzed in shock, stated. [Tell me again why you thought that talking to Willow would be soothing?]

“Well, of *course* not!” Willow continued, ready to continue her rant now that she had proof that he was actually listening, to a certain extent, and had not managed to pass out while remaining on his feet with his eyes open. “Brooding and mooning over each other isn’t going make anything any easier, and it could definitely make things *worse* if you let it keep you from paying attention to your work!”

“What do you mean?” Angel asked, genuinely confused.

“*Spike*, Angel. Buffy got this ring off of Spike. What does Spike usually do when someone takes something that he considers his?”

“He gets it back?”

“Right! So what do you think would be more useful now: brooding over Buffy, wandering around in your own, personal black cloud and being completely oblivious to your surroundings, or preparing to head off Spike when he finally, inevitably shows up? Instead of wasting your time, it might do some good to find something *productive* you could be doing, like protecting the ring from Spike!”

“You’re right,” Angel agreed quickly, trying to appease her. “I’m sorry.”

With those words, Willow deflated. “No, I’m sorry,” she whispered, crossings the room to slump onto the couch. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. My nerves are a bit on edge lately, but didn’t need to take it out on you.” A bit of her former intensity returned as she sat up straighter in the chair, returning her focus to Angel. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m not right. You do need to be prepared for when Spike comes. I know you can handle yourself, but forewarned is forearmed, especially when you have two *human* coworkers who might be in the line of fire.”

“I agree,” Angel stated, crossing the room. “I’ll talk to Doyle and Cordelia about it in the morning.” Tentatively, Angel seated himself beside her on the couch. “And I am sorry for being so wrapped up in my brooding.”

Willow barked out a brief, humorless laugh. “I’m in no position to judge, Angel. I’m really, *really* in no position to judge.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he hedged, his voice cautious for fear of setting her off again, “what happened to get you so upset?”

Willow smiled sadly. “A lot happened,” she replied simply. “A lot always happens. That’s life in Sunnydale for you. We handle it as best we can, like always. And we’ll be fine. As always. You don’t need to worry about us.”

“But what happened to *you*?” Angel pressed. “I can smell the tears.”

The concern in his voice, in sharp contrast to the strained patience she was used to hearing lately from all of her friends, broke through her final reserves. Before she knew it, she was pouring out her heart along with a fairly large number of tears onto Angel’s broad shoulder.

In an hour, the entire sordid story was told, from the first time that she noticed Oz unable to take his eyes off of Shy’s enigmatic lead singer, to the morning after in the crypt, to watching the werewolves fight to the death in front of her, to showing up to Oz’s room after he had left and finding out that he had sent for his stuff.

“…and then when we got the ring from Spike, we knew that someone would have to bring it here to you, and everyone thought I could use the break,” she concluded.

“I can’t believe Oz treated you like that,” Angel growled.

“Yeah, shocking, isn’t it?” Willow replied with just a flavor of wry humor in her voice. “What on earth would make a guy think that the right thing to do was leave town to protect me from his inner demon, without letting me have any say in it?”

If Angel could have, he would have blushed. “Alright, so maybe you have a point,” he conceded. “But I’m still surprised that he’d treat you like that.”

“Me, too,” Willow sighed. “But then, I’m surprised by lots of things. I was surprised when my literature professor called Desdemona one of Shakespeare’s strongest and most endearing heroines. I always thought she was a sap, myself. What do you think?”

“Huh?”

“I’m changing the subject,” Willow explained, patiently. “Not subtly, I’ll admit, but I’m changing it nonetheless. Consider the subject forthwith changed.”

“But why?”

“Because we’re wallowers. You and me. We wallow. Both of us. And I’m tired of wallowing. I don’t want to wallow tonight. And while it’s sweet that you’re all violent on my behalf, there really isn’t anything we can do to change my situation. Or yours. So instead I’m changing the subject.”

“I-I’m not violent,” Angel tried to protest.

“Of course you aren’t,” Willow placated with a half-smile. Reaching out her index finger, she trailed the tip of it down the length of his face. “These are just out because you’re hungry, right?”

With another would-have-been-a-blush-if-he-had-circulation, Angel realized his ‘game’ face had come out when Willow told her story. Okay, so maybe he was feeling just a *little* bit violent. Willow was, beyond question, the sweetest girl he had ever known. She was rather spicy as well, admittedly, but first and foremost, she practically personified sweetness with her softness and gentleness and kindness and the practically glowing prettiness she radiated when she was happy. Oz had made her glow. It hurt Angel to see that glowing light put out. And yes, it made him a little violent.

So the would-have-been blush was embarrassment that he had been caught displaying his violent tendencies. He wanted Willow to trust him, after all, and sporting pointy teeth and amber eyes didn’t exactly inspire trust in most people. The gentle pressure of Willow’s finger against his vampiric ridges had nothing to do with the almost-blush. He wasn’t at all moved by the way she acknowledged his nature so openly and matter-of-factly, accepting him for what he was without being frightened by it, or willfully ignoring it. No, that hadn’t affected him at all. And it had nothing to do with the way he reacted to the next words out of her mouth.

“I’m kind of hungry, myself,” she commented, rising to her feet. “I should head over to the Holiday Inn and check in, but then I could really go for a slice of pizza. Is there any place in town that you would recommend?”

“Holiday Inn?” Angel repeated, standing up as well. “What Holiday Inn?”

“The one… um… I don’t really know L.A. neighborhoods… oooh, but I have a map!” Digging eagerly through her shoulder bag, she pulled out the neatly folded MapQuest directions that showed her how to get from Angel’s apartment to the Holiday Inn where she had her reservation and handed it over to Angel.

Angel skimmed over the map, easily identifying the area where the Holiday Inn was located. It was a decent enough neighborhood, mostly safe, but practically on the other side of town. Angel frowned as he realized he didn’t like the idea of Willow going there. [Because of Spike,] he told himself. If the blond vamp really was tracking the ring, he might realize Willow was the one transporting it. What if he grabbed the opportunity to kidnap the girl? No, the only responsible thing he could do was keep Willow as close to him as possible. It had nothing to do with how surprisingly enjoyable he found her company, or how nice it was to be snapped out of his brooding, and it certainly had nothing to do with the warm tingles that went up his spine when she touched his face.

“I don’t really know any pizza places on that side of town,” Angel stated smoothly. “But there is a good Italian restaurant only a few blocks away. Why don’t you let me treat you to dinner before you head over to the hotel?”

Willow blinked, obviously surprised. “You don’t have to do that, Angel. If you just tell me how to get there, I’m sure I can find it myself.”

“Willow, you get lost in Sunnydale, and you’ve lived there all your life. It’s no problem for me to go with you. It’ll spare me an evening of wallowing. Besides, you can tell me why you think Desdemona is a sap. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

Willow laughed; a delightful sound, Angel noted; and took the arm that he gallantly held out, letting him lead her to the elevator.

Section 2:

It was hours later when they got back from the restaurant. Angel had insisted that Willow have a full dinner. Plus dessert. Plus coffee. (Decaf. He had put his foot down on that, as well.) He simply hadn’t wanted the meal to end and had dragged it out as long as he could. When it ended, he knew that Willow would want to go to her hotel, ending one of the best conversations he could remember having in years. They had talked about Shakespeare and Chaucer and England and the Middle East and olive oil and garlic (Willow learned that garlic was only harmful to vampires when it was uncooked. Heating it ruined the potency) and gypsies and curses and Romania and Italy and mobster movies and the Academy Awards from the previous spring. The conversation was rich and varied and intelligent and open and did not, even once, mention Sunnydale. It was a pleasant surprise to the two of them to discover that, outside of ‘shop talk’ they still had an endless amount of things to say to one another.

When he could no longer pretend to ignore the dirty looks the wait staff was giving him for hogging the table at the busy restaurant, Angel reluctantly paid the check and tried to think of some way to get Willow to stay with him for a few more hours. The conversation on the Academy Awards turned out to be the perfect opener. Willow made a comment about how unfair she thought it that ‘Being John Malkovich’ didn’t get more recognition, leading to Angel’s confession that he had never seen the movie. When Willow waxed rhapsodic about it, it was a very simple thing for Angel to casually mention the video store that lay between the restaurant and his apartment.

Almost before he knew it, they were curled up together on his couch watching a frizzy-haired Cameron Diaz talk to a monkey while John Cusack played with dolls. Angel found that he liked it. The movie, yes, it was very intelligent and well-made, but he was enjoying the curling up with Willow, too. It was nice to hold someone who didn’t make an excuse to pull away after a few seconds. The last couple of months with Buffy before Angel left Sunnydale had been hellish. They ached to touch each other, but got unbearably uncomfortable whenever they were too close. It was awkward and painful and sad, the way that they no longer trusted each other. And since he cut himself out of her life, he lost even that minimal access to touch and affection. Curling up on a sofa to watch a movie with Willow was nice. Very nice. Especially when she fell asleep about twenty minutes before the end of the movie, nestling herself comfortably in his arms.

When he reached the end of the film, he just sat there for a minute, enjoying the feeling. Willow slept soundly, not even stirring as he raised a tentative hand to stroke her hair. When he felt his own eyes start to grow heavy with the warm, peaceful sensation coursing through him, he realized that he needed to move soon, or he wouldn’t move at all. With a resigned sigh, he scooped the sleeping redhead up in his arms, intending to let her sleep in his room. He could sleep on the couch. He had no intention of letting her drive to the Holiday Inn when she couldn’t even keep her eyes open. It made much more sense for her to stay with him. That’s right; it was sensible. That’s why he was doing it. Just because it was sensible.

So, once he got her into the bedroom, he very sensibly tucked her into bed, very sensibly secured the blankets around her, and very sensibly grabbed a spare blanket from the closet for the couch. Before long, he had stripped down to his boxers and settled himself onto the couch. And if there was no particularly sensible reason for him to curl his arms around the cushion that smelled most strongly of Willow, it didn’t much matter because with the soothing smell pressed against his face and the reassuring thrum of her heartbeat vibrating from the next room, Angel fell asleep very quickly, and slept very well.

He was awakened the next morning by the sounds of Cordelia and Doyle upstairs. Rather, he was awakened by the sounds of Doyle moaning and complaining about his usual starting-the-day hangover while Cordelia responded with minimal amounts of sympathy… while getting him water and bringing him headache tablets. Angel smiled a bit in spite of himself. He was very accustomed to waking up to that. It was nice having people in his life on a regular, daily basis. It was nice having a routine that involved people other than himself.

And speaking of routine, the next part of his morning routine included Tai Chi. Ducking into his bedroom, he stopped for a moment to smile at the picture that Willow made, fast asleep, curled up in his huge bed, before grabbing a set of sweats out of a drawer and heading into the bathroom to shower and change. The shower was already running when he heard Willow’s heartbeat switch to a ‘waking up’ rhythm. She was sitting up in bed when he exited the bathroom, and gave him a sleepy smile as she stretched.

“This isn’t the Holiday Inn,” she stated conversationally.

“Very true,” Angel answered.

“Is there a reason I’m not at the Holiday Inn?”

Angel opened his mouth to respond when he was interrupted by the phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“Angel?” Angel recognized the voice immediately. It was Rachel, the client who wanted his help getting her violent and possessive boyfriend off her tail. Thanks to him, Lenny had been arrested the night before, but something must have gone wrong. Rachel sounded worried.

“Rachel. Are you alright?”

“They let Lenny out. The lawyer said something about a technicality.” Angel let out a silent groan of aggravation. Why was it that all the assholes in the world had such damn competent lawyers?

“I’ll be right there,” Angel promised, hanging up the phone.

“You’re going?” Willow asked, returning Angel’s attention to the redhead still seated in his bed.

Angel nodded. “Problem with a case.”

“I should be going, too,” Willow said, sliding out of bed. “Now that the ring is safely in your hands, I have to be heading back to Sunnydale.”

“Do you have to?” Angel blurted out.

“Huh?”

“Do you have to go back right away?” Angel continued. “I mean, it is a weekend, so it’s not like you’ll be missing classes. Could you stay for the rest of the day? Drive back tonight instead of right now?”

Willow looked flustered, but not displeased with the idea. “I guess I don’t have to go back right away, but…”

“I’m not sure it’s completely safe for you to leave just yet,” Angel interjected. “Spike is still out there, and if he thinks you have the ring, you might be in danger. It would probably be a good idea for you to stick around, just until tonight. If I know Spike, he’ll make his move by then, and once he sees that the ring is in my hands, you won’t be at risk anymore.”

“Alright,” Willow agreed with a shy smile.

Angel let out an unnecessary sigh of relief, refusing to allow himself to wonder why he was so pleased that Willow would be staying for the rest of the day.

“I have to go take care of that case. Why don’t you head upstairs to the office? You can let Doyle and Cordelia know what we think the situation is with Spike, and we can figure out what we need to do when I get back. Alright?”

Willow nodded her understanding and headed into the bathroom to clean herself up with the aid of the overnight bag Angel had helpfully brought in from her car. Meanwhile, Angel changed into street clothes to go visit Rachel. Willow emerged from the bathroom just in time to see Angel slipping out the exit to the garage. He smiled and waved his goodbye, letting the door slip shut behind him as Willow let herself into the elevator.

Her mind was running on a dozen different tracks, rearranging her schedule for the weekend to compensate for not returning to Sunnydale until that evening, and planning out the rest of her day (along with wondering just how she had ended up sleeping in Angel’s bed and why, exactly, it had been the first decent night’s sleep she had had since Oz left). Her mind was so busy, she almost didn’t hear the sound of scuffling behind the garage door, but as soon as the sound registered, she knew what it meant.

Spike. Damn him. Not even she had thought that he would make his move so soon, and in daylight hours, at that. But if Angel was attacked in the garage, then Spike was the most reasonable guess. Cursing the slow elevator, she bounced impatiently on the balls of her feet, waiting to arrive at the office level so that she could grab Cordelia and Doyle and go help Angel.

“…quoting Angela’s Ashes and weeping like a baby-man,” Willow heard Cordelia say as she reached the office floor, moments before the door finally opened.

“Hey, that’s a good book,” Doyle protested.

“So I’ve heard,” Cordelia replied. “But I doubt that the main characters are Betty and Barney Rubble as you so vehemently insisted last night. Also I don’t think Willow would appreciate it if she knew you referred to her as ‘my little Pebbles’ all night. Willow!” she exclaimed, when she looked up to see Willow exit the elevator. “Good morning. Did you stay here last night?”

“Angel’s in the garage, and he’s in trouble,” Willow blurted out without preamble. “We need to get down there *now*.” Cordelia may have been an actress who ‘sometimes chose to help Angel’ between her many gigs and Doyle might have been an Irishman with a hangover the size of Dublin, but those were words that both of them responded to immediately and without hesitation. In just a matter of moments, the three of them burst into the underground garage, just in time to see Angel throw Spike against a wall.

Spike slowly got back to his feet, turning his attention to the newcomers. His eyes lit on Willow immediately, and he flashed her that predatory smile she remembered from when he kidnapped her senior year. She wondered if now was the time to remind him that there would be no having… and then decided against it. Spike took the initiative by being the first to speak.

“Red! Fancy meeting you here.” He made a big show of sniffing the air and then looking back and forth between Willow and Angel. “If you wanted to sleep in a vampire’s bed, pet, all you had to do was ask,” he leered. “But don’t worry, love. Once I get my ring back, I’ll have time to give you all the attention you deserve.”

Angel growled. “Never going to happen,” he spat out through clenched fangs. He didn’t stop to wonder whether he meant that Spike would never get the ring, or that he would never get Willow. Didn’t matter though, the statement applied to both, right? Willow would never consider letting that bleached-blond pest anywhere near her, would she?

“I’ll get that ring,” Spike stated with his ever-present cocky grin. He winked at Willow. “Might even get the girl, as well. This isn’t over until one of us is a pile of dust, mate.” Before anyone could open their mouths to reply, he was gone.

Willow rushed over to Angel, worried about the fierce scowl on his face. As far as she could see, he wasn’t too badly injured, so either he was hurt some place less visible (Willow blushed at the possibilities) or Spike had said something to make him *really* mad. “Are you okay?” she asked tentatively.

Angel pulled away, walking off a few paces so he could calm down. He didn’t want Willow to see him like that. “More importantly,” Doyle added, wisely keeping his distance, “how’s the ring?”

“It’s fine,” Angel answered, fangs finally fading away. “I can’t say the same for you three though. You better get out of sight until this thing is over. Spike is out for blood.” He turned to Doyle. “Take Cordelia to your place.”

“His place?” Cordelia replied, clearly annoyed. “Why can’t I just go home?”

“Because he knows you, Cordelia. If he wants to he’ll track you down.”

“Yeah, but he’s not invited, right?” Cordelia argued. “He can’t come in.”

“No, but he can burn the place to the ground,” Willow added helpfully.

“Okay then,” Cordelia agreed quickly. “Doyle’s place it is.”

“Should I go with them?” Willow asked.

“No!” Angel answered quickly. And just a bit too loudly. “That is, Spike seems to have his eye on you in particular. Probably best for you to stay close to me, where I can make sure he doesn’t get to you.”

“Right,” Willow replied, blushing and avoiding eye contact. “I’ll just be staying, then.”

“What about you, man,” Doyle questioned. “You know he’ll be coming back for you before long.”

“I know.”

“So what are you going to do?” Cordelia pressed.

“Find him first.”

There was a pause as everyone processed this. As plans go, it didn’t exactly rank up there with the D-Day invasion, but it was workable for now. Angel would find Spike. The rest of them would hide.

“Alright, let’s go,” Cordelia and Doyle stated, almost in unison. Doyle promised to make calls around to all of his contacts to see if he could get any information on Spike, and then gallantly escorted Cordelia to his car, leaving Angel and Willow alone.

For a few moments, they just looked at each other. Then, at the exact same moment, they both spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

Angel looked confused. “What do you have to be sorry about? I’m the reason you’re in danger from Spike. I should be the one apologizing.”

“You did apologize,” Willow reminded him. “At the exact same time that I apologized, as a matter of fact. I’m sorry you have to babysit me, just because Spike appears to be in a playful mood.”

“I’m not babysitting you,” Angel replied, still obviously confused.

“Angel, I know you feel responsible for making sure that Spike doesn’t hurt me because I brought you the ring, but I also know that between making sure that Cordelia and Doyle are safe and taking care of your work with your clients, the last thing you need is one more person to keep an eye on and protect. I feel bad that I’m in your way.”

“But you’re not in my way. And I’m not babysitting you. If anything you’re babysitting me.” The look on Willow’s face showed that she wasn’t buying it, so Angel hastened to continue. “Willow, I wouldn’t have even thought of Spike being a threat if you hadn’t made me see it last night. If it wasn’t for you, I would have been caught completely off-guard today. Not to mention that if you hadn’t stopped me, I would have spent all night wallowing, so I’d be tired *and* I’d be caught off-guard. This isn’t just me protecting you; this is also you protecting *me*.”

Willow managed a wry half-smile. “I’m your… wallowing-terminator?”

Angel grinned in reply. “Don’t you think I *need* a wallowing-terminator?”

Willow’s smile grew and brightened. “As a fellow wallower, I suppose it’s my duty to help you in your time of need.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled that,” Angel stated, “I need to go see Rachel. Why don’t you come with me?”

“The better to keep an eye on me?” Willow asked suspiciously.

“The better for *you* to keep an eye on *me*,” Angel insisted. “Best make sure I don’t start wallowing again.”

“Right,” Willow answered. “I’ll do that.” The two of them remained in companionable silence as Angel led her to his car and started the drive to Rachel’s apartment.

“Angel?” Willow asked out of the blue, a few minutes later.

“Hm?”

“Why didn’t I stay at the Holiday Inn last night?”

“Because you fell asleep in my apartment.”

“You could have woken me.”

“Yes, I could have,” Angel agreed.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I wanted you to stay.”

And there really wasn’t anything she could say to that. So she stayed silent. Silent and happy, with a whisper of a smile on her face that made her glow just a little for the rest of the drive to Rachel’s apartment.

Rachel was so relieved to see Angel show up that she didn’t even bat an eye at the way he had brought Willow along. In a matter of minutes, Willow was comfortable installed in the living room with a cup of water while Rachel made coffee in the kitchen and talked shop with Angel.

“You keep showing up like this and I’m going to think you’re a man of your word,” Rachel said to him, only half joking.

“Stranger things…” replied Angel.

“Not many,” Rachel retorted, all hints of joking vanishing from her voice.

“So we’ll get you out of here,” Angel said, returning to the problem at hand. “There are places you can go, where you’ll be safe.”

“Like a shelter?”

Angel nodded. “It’s a start.” Rachel seemed uncertain, and Angel tried to think of something comforting to say. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Willow to stay in the living room. She was better at being comforting than he was. “He won’t be able to find you, I swear,” Angel promised.

Rachel was quick to correct him. “No, it’s not the shelter it’s just… um…” She paused, clearly embarrassed about what she was about to say, but just as clearly trusting him to understand what she meant. “Half the time,” she admitted, “you know how this whole thing starts up again, Lenny and me?”

Suddenly, Angel understood. “You call him,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, he knew it was true.

“I – I – I just start to jones for him. The way he joneses for rock. And I call, or I find him in some dive, and I drag him home, and it’s *good* for a while.” Angel knew what that was like. How many times had he and Buffy played that game. One of them would call it off, knowing they were better off apart than they were together… but before long, they’d start to crave each other. Like a drug. Like an addiction. Like a sickness. And he’d call her, or she would call him, or she’d stop by the mansion or he’d find on her patrol. And it would be good, for a while. Mostly good. Almost good. Good enough. For a while.

“But it doesn’t last,” Angel replied, as much to himself as to her. “This last time he would have killed you,” he reminded her. Angel watched her try not to cry.

“I’m scared, Angel, I’m more scared of me right now than I am of him.”

“You’re at a crossroads, I know,” Angel replied soothingly. The Powers knew he could empathize with that. The hardest thing in the world is to give up on something you believe you need, even if you know it’s destroying you. He couldn’t make her give up Lenny, but since she had taken the first step to contact him in the first place, he was going to do everything in his power to help. “It’s either go for the easy fix and wait for the consequences, or take the hard road and go with faith.”

“Oh, god. You’re not from that freaky church on Sunset, are you?” she asked, taking a careful step away from him.

Angel smiled a bit. “In yourself,” he clarified. “That kind of faith. What I’m saying is, if you leave Lenny for good, it’ll hurt. But eventually you’ll be stronger for it. And maybe you’ll find your way to the kind of love you deserve.”

“You mean the kind of love that comes without 911 calls?” Rachel asked wistfully.

“That’s the general idea.” No 911 calls. No trips to hell. No arguments over what he had done or would do or wouldn’t do or might be able to handle. A kind of love that felt good more often than it felt painful. Yeah. That kind of love, he thought to himself, subconsciously sneaking a look out into the living room at Willow. She was sitting next to the window, with the sun shining on her hair. It was a sight well worth looking at.

“The way you smile at her,” Rachel said from next to him, “it’s so obvious how much you care about her. It’s nice. No one has ever looked at me like that. Do you think anyone ever will?”

From the wistful tone in Rachel’s voice, Angel could tell that she thought that he and Willow were in love. He didn’t bother to correct her. “Yes. Someday, someone will.”

Rachel nodded. At that moment, the kettle started whistling, signaling that the hot water was ready for the instant coffee. “Did you want some?” she offered as she poured some into a mug.

Angel shook his head. “Could I use your phone, instead?”

Rachel pointed him to the phone and picked up her cup of coffee to take out to the living room to give Angel some privacy. Willow looked up with a smile as Rachel walked in.

“You sure I can’t get you some?” Rachel offered, gesturing to her coffee mug.

Willow shook her head. “You don’t want to see me on a caffeine high. Believe me. Even *Angel* thinks it’s scary.”

Rachel chuckled. “It must be really something if it scares the Man of Darkness.”

Willow nodded solemnly. “I am Willow, Caffeine Freak. Fear me.” Her serious facade cracked quickly as she joined Rachel in giggles.

“It feels nice to laugh again,” Rachel commented when they finally calmed down. “With this whole mess with Lenny… it’s just been a while since I really let myself laugh at anything, you know?”

“Tell me about it,” Willow muttered in reply.

“Bad breakup for you, too?” Rachel questioned solicitously.

Willow laughed dryly. “You could say that.” She knew that this was one of Angel’s non-demonic cases, so giving the details of werewolf mating seemed like a bad idea. Bad break-up was vague enough to be accurate.

“And Angel’s helping you with it?”

Willow smiled sincerely at that. “You could say that, too. I came into town to get away for a bit and to bring Angel something from… a friend, and we just sort of reconnected. Angel and I go… way back.” [All the way back to the mouth of Hell.] “He and I have seen each other go through some pretty major changes.” [I became a witch, he lost his soul, he got sent to and returned from hell and I started dating a musician…] “We were never really close,” [he saved my life, I saved his soul, but we never really *bonded*] “but I always knew he was there for me if I needed him to be. With the mess that my life has been lately, it’s nice to know that.”

“It’s nice to feel… safe again,” Rachel responded. “I loved Lenny, hell, I *still* love Lenny, but I’m so scared to be around him now. Those last few times we were together, there were moments when I really thought he was going to kill me, and I knew there wasn’t anything I could do to stop him. I felt so helpless. Since I called Angel, I don’t feel so powerless anymore.” Willow nodded her understanding.

“Angel’s good at that. I try to be a modern, independent woman as much as I can,” Willow continued, watching Rachel nod in agreement. “I like to think that I can take care of myself, and that I don’t need anybody to look out for me, and that I can handle my problems without any help. But then something happens” [like Veruca] “and I just fall apart. It’s comforting knowing that Angel’s looking out for me, keeping me safe while I put myself back together. It’s nice to know I can be the damsel in distress every now and then without him thinking any less of me. And it’s wonderful to be able to relax, knowing that if I ever really am in trouble, he’ll be there for me, swooping in from the shadows and to eliminate danger in a very dashing kind of way.”

Willow tossed a wink in the direction of the doorway, alerting Rachel that Angel had entered the living room. The two girls rose to their feet.

Angel handed Rachel a scrap of paper with a phone number on it. “This will get you to Detective Kate Lockley,” he stated. “I already talked to her, and she’s expecting to hear from you. She’ll help you find a place where you’ll be safe.”

Rachel took the paper and gave Angel a hug as she thanked him again for all of his help. When she let go, she turned to Willow to give her a hug as well. The two girls wished each other luck before saying their goodbyes. Rachel stood at the doorway to wave goodbye to them one last time as they disappeared into the elevator.

Against Willow’s protests, Angel’s next stop was to drop her off at Doyle’s apartment. When he had called Doyle from Rachel’s apartment, Doyle had given him the name of a rather seedy contact that might have information on Spike. If that contact was any indication of the type of place he might be able to find Spike, then the last thing that Angel wanted was for Willow to tag along with him. He had overheard most of her conversation with Rachel, and it had left him with all sorts of warm, fuzzy, manly protective feelings. He wanted to go out and vanquish something, to ensure the protection of the fair lady in the tower. In order to do that, he needed the lady to stay put in the tower, so he could vanquish without having to worry about her safety.

Going from one demonic dive to another, each one sleazier and filthier than the one before it, only served to intensify Angel’s determination to run Spike to the ground and capture him at last. He felt noble and brave and downright dashing as he fearlessly pursued the dreaded villain that threatened the safety of those he had promised to protect. And it all seemed to pay off when he finally found Manny the Pig, the informant that Doyle had told him about, and learned that Spike was there, just outside. He had found the evil villain, and he would fight him, bravely and nobly, before defeating him as heroes inevitably did. Then he would return to Doyle’s apartment and Willow would hug him in congratulations, and maybe he’d take her out to dinner before she had to go back to Sunnydale because he really wanted to discuss ‘Being John Malkovich’ with her when both of them had seen it, and both of them were awake.

He was so busy planning how he would celebrate defeating Spike that he almost forgot that the battle had not yet been fought, much less won. With the swagger of a cowboy exiting the barroom to ‘settle things outside,’ Angel headed straight for the door, stepping out just in time to find Spike snacking on a girl, looking every inch the evil villain, complete with damsel in distress. Angel felt a rush of adrenalin in anticipation of the inevitable fight to come: the classic battle between good and evil.

“Let her go!” he commanded, his voice echoing loudly through the dirty alley.

Spike pulled his fangs out to look up, but maintained his tight grip on the struggling girl. “Did anyone ever tell you you were a real buzz-kill, mate?” he asked, conversationally, just before throwing the girl at Angel and running off.

Angel caught the girl before she fell to the ground. “Run,” he ordered, making sure that she followed his directions before running off after Spike. The chase was on, and Angel could have sworn that the borrowed blood in his veins pumped with adrenalin.

Spike had gotten faster through the years, Angel was forced to admit, and he put up a good chase. Predator instincts at the fore, Angel concentrated on not losing track of him. His triumph over Spike, a triumph that had been nearly a hundred years in the making, was very nearly at hand, so close he could almost taste it. He put on another burst of speed and nearly howled in triumph at the sight of the blond vampire just a little bit in front of him, running into a dead end alley. Flushed with the pleasure of success at the end of the chase, he didn’t even pause to wonder why Spike, wily and slippery as he notorious was, had chosen such an obvious dead end.

Spike turned at the sound of Angel’s footsteps behind him and raised his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Caught me fair and square, White Hat,” he stated in a bored tone of voice, totally at odds with Spike’s usual ‘fight my way out to the bloody end’ attitude. “I guess there is nothing to do now but to go quietly and pay my debt to society.”

Angel closed in on him slowly, relishing the moment of capture and the opportunity to play the cowboy hero. “You think you can come to *my* town and pull this crap? You never learn, Spike.”

Spike flashed him a low, dangerous smile that made Angel instantly nervous. Spike usually flashed that smile seconds before everything went all to hell. Several factors suddenly fell into place: the way that Manny seemed to be expecting him, the look of satisfaction on Spike’s face when Angel came out of the back of the club, Spike raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, letting himself get captured without putting up a fight and that smile… that smile…

“I maybe a slow learner…” Spike stated, still smiling.

Just a moment too late, Angel heard the rattle of chains behind him. He turned to see an unfamiliar vampire dressed in white whip a chain around his neck and drag him to the ground. He could see just enough to note the look of smug satisfaction decorating Spike’s face as the unfamiliar vampire tied him up and carried him away.

“…but eventually I learn.”

Section 3:

At first, when Angel left Willow at Doyle’s apartment, Doyle was busily occupied on the phone, trying to throw off track any demon contacting him about past debts. Apparently the phone calls he had made while searching for Spike had stirred up some past resentments that more than a few demons were eager to settle. After an hour or two of misdirection on the telephone, however, the calls eventually tapered off. Cordelia and Willow tried to pass the time with some more ‘catching up’ that included a rather painful recitation of the whole Oz/Veruca debacle and lots of uncomfortable silences, but they soon ran out of things to say. For a bit, they pretended to watch T.V. Willow pretended to read Doyle’s copy of ‘Angela’s Ashes.’ Cordelia pretended to be interested in checking her voicemail. After another hour or so, they stopped pretending.

They were worried about Angel. Very, very worried. Hours had gone by since he had left, hours had passed since the time when they thought he would be back, and he hadn’t so much as called to check in. Doyle had long since given up any pretence of being unconcerned, and was pacing back and forth while Cordelia and Willow sat on either side of the phone with their eyes glued unblinkingly to the device, both looking extremely determined to be the one to pick it up, should it ring. They didn’t get any opportunities. The phone didn’t ring.

“Angel should have called by now,” Willow muttered under her breath, continuing to stare at the phone as if she could will it to ring. The phone refused to cooperate. “This is bad,” she sighed.

“Maybe not,” Doyle argued, trying desperately to look on the bright side. Willow wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. “Maybe he did away with Spike in short order, and decided to give a go at surfing?”

“Right,” Cordelia replied, trying to sound certain and unconcerned, as if she really believed there was a chance in hell that Angel had decided to take up surfing. “What are we worried about? Angel has the ring, right?”

“Right!” Doyle agreed. “I bet he is out hanging ten right about now—”

“Wrong,” Willow interrupted quietly.

“Wrong?” Doyle asked.

“Angel doesn’t have the ring. I mean he has the ring in that it’s his but he doesn’t have it as in have in *on* him or even with him, so if you call that ‘having’ the ring then I guess he doesn’t really ‘have’ it except for the way in which he does—”

“Does she always do this?” Doyle asked Cordelia.

“Oh yes, all the time. But it gets worse when she’s nervous. Don’t worry; I have years of training in this. I’ll translate.”

Meanwhile, Willow was still babbling. “… because he *has* it since I, you know, gave it to him, but you already know that since you were there for that part and Doyle, you wanted to stake him, but I know you didn’t *really* want to, you just wanted to show him that you could, even though he didn’t seem very interested in the idea…”

“Angel has the ring because she gave it to him,” Cordelia translated.

“…but then I think he just didn’t want to look at it because it made him think of Buffy and Spike, not that he thinks of Spike and Buffy in the same way, but he was thinking of Buffy because she sent the ring and he was thinking of Spike because Spike was after the ring, so it made him think of both of them, but not together because *ew*, but then I think he was glad that he put it away because he knew that Spike would be looking for it, and he didn’t want that…”

“But then he hid it somewhere, to keep it from Spike and also because it reminded him of Buffy,” Cordelia continued.

“…because I told him he needed to snap out of it when he came back from putting it away, and that’s when he realized that Spike would be coming after it, and that Spike would be coming after *him* and since I haven’t seen him wearing it since then, I’m guessing that he decided it was more important to keep it safe so he probably still left it in the sewers wherever he hid it away in the first place…”

“Angel hid the ring somewhere in the sewers and he hasn’t worn it since,” Cordelia concluded, her eyes going wide as she processed what she had just said. “Oh God, Doyle, he doesn’t have the ring! This is bad!”

“That’s what *I* said!” Willow muttered, pouting slightly. Yes, she knew she had the tendency to babble but honestly, was a *translator* really necessary? “So what do we do?” she continued, a bit louder so Cordelia and Doyle could hear her.

Doyle shook his head, looking worried. “How are we supposed to know?”

“But… but…” Willow stammered, “you’re detectives! You’re supposed to know what to do! What if this were a case?”

“We told you, doll,” Doyle replied, “We’re not detectives. She’s an actress and I’m… well… I’m just the guy who gets visions and provides comic relief. We just work there. Angel’s the detective.”

“So what would Angel do?”

Cordelia and Doyle gave each other a long look, and then shrugged. Willow sagged in disappointment. They obviously had no idea what to do, and if she had to sit there and stare at the phone, waiting for it to ring for one more minute, she couldn’t be held responsible for what she might do.

“Okay,” she said, “the way I see it, there are a few possibilities. Angel might have captured Spike, but that doesn’t seem very likely since if the fighting was over, he’d have come back here to pick me up or at least called, and since he hasn’t done either of those, we can pretty much discount that option. Since we know that Spike is looking for the ring, we can either assume that he has captured Angel, but not gotten the ring, or has captured the ring *and* captured Angel. Because let’s face it, Spike’s not the type to just take the ring and leave town; he’s going to want to have the fun of beating up Angel while he, himself, is invincible, and if he’s *not* invincible then he’d *definitely* want to grab Angel so he could torture out of him the location of the ring, so I think we can assume either way that Spike has Angel and that he either has or is on his way to having the ring.”

Doyle looked to Cordelia. “Translation, please?”

Cordelia, who hadn’t been paying attention, lifted her head with a bewildered look on her face. “What? Did somebody say something?”

Willow groaned. “Spike’s after the ring, agreed?” she stated through clenched teeth, her whole body tense from the effort it took to restrain her temper.

“Agreed,” Doyle and Cordelia chorused.

“And he’s probably captured Angel. Also agreed?”

They nodded.

“So what we need to figure out now is whether or not Spike already *has* the ring, don’t you agree?”

“Um…” Doyle stammered, “why? Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out what happened to Angel so we can, you know, charge in and rescue him?”

Willow shook her head. “It would be suicide to go after Spike when we don’t know what we’re up against. If he has the ring, we have to be prepared for it. And if he *doesn’t* have the ring, then we might be able to use it to bargain with.”

“So what are you saying we should do?” Cordelia asked.

Willow smiled grimly as she remembered Angel’s words from that morning, when Spike staged his first attack. Angel had been so confident that he would be able to take care of the problem. Hopefully, her plan would work out better than his had.

“Find it first.”

“What do you want Angel?” Marcus asked, idly playing with some pliers while he admired the effect of the red hot pokers he had just shoved through Angel’s body. Angel fought the urge to groan. Pliers added to the mix. Exactly what he *didn’t* need.

“A house in the country,” he managed to gasp out around the pain, “a pair of good running shoes that you can also wear out to dinner.” In spite of the pain, Angel felt a surge of satisfaction when he heard Spike growl in annoyance at his flippant answer. So, this wasn’t going the way baby boy imagined it? Such a shame. Spike held to the belief that the soul made Angel a wuss, but he had forgotten just how stubborn both Angel *and* Angelus had always been.

“Why do you keep asking him that?” Spike snapped out impatiently, clearly growing just as aggravated with Marcus as he was with Angel. “And why do you keep playing that bleeding Brahms?”

“Actually it’s Mozart,” Marcus corrected calmly. “Symphony 41. I find it very effective.”

“Yeah? Personally I prefer his older, funnier symphonies myself. LOOK, I WANT MY RING BACK!” Angel bit back a smile as he watched Spike vent his frustrations on a box, kicking it across the room before ripping off a chunk of wood into a crude stake which he aimed at Angel’s chest. “If I don’t get it pretty soon, I’m going to stake me old Sire right here and now!”

Angel didn’t so much as blink.

“Are you finished?” Marcus asked, his tone conveying his boredom with Spike’s theatrics. “He knows you won’t kill him until you get the ring. He knows you’re lying.”

Spike dropped the stake and turned to snarl at Marcus. “*You* get it for me.”

[Ahh, dissension in the ranks,] Angel thought to himself with an internal smirk of satisfaction. [What a lovely thing. Spike’s plan, as always, is going straight to hell because, *as always* he doesn’t have the patience to see it through.]

“Soon,” Marcus promised, remaining frustratingly calm, “he’ll want to tell me everything he knows and then some. And he knows I’m not lying.”

Spike looked at Angel. “I believe he does.”

Angel’s internal smirk vanished. Spike was right. Angel did know it. He knew if he waited long enough, Spike would do something stupid to screw things up. It was inevitable. But Angel was growing less and less certain that he would be able to hold out until then. He could stand up to torture better than most, but even vampires have a breaking point. He was approaching his. He could feel it. And that breaking point meant that he would tell Spike where to find the ring.

Angel had no illusions that Spike would let him go with a pat on the back and a ‘see you in a century or so’ before disappearing into the newly non-lethal sunset when he finally had the ring. No, if he was lucky and Spike was in a very good mood, Spike might just stake him and put him out of his misery. More likely, Spike would torture him a while longer. But this time, it wouldn’t be with pliers or hot pokers. No, once Spike was invulnerable, he’d torture Angel by making Angel watch while every person he cared about died slowly and painfully. Doyle and Cordelia would be first. Then any other friends he might have made since arriving in L.A. He’d go after the Sunnydale crew inevitably, probably managing to bag his third slayer if he played his cards right. Buffy had defeated him before when he had the ring, but she wouldn’t be expecting him to come back with it.

But before that, he’d go after the Sunnydale girl so conveniently located in L.A. The girl he had kidnapped before. The girl who had so obviously caught his eye that morning. The girl who had given Angel her friendship and her trust, the girl who had stayed in town because he asked her to, because he promised that he would keep her safe. Yes, Spike would go after Willow, and Angel knew instinctively that if he got a hold of her, she wouldn’t stay dead for long. Angel steeled his internal resolve. He had to hold on. For Willow. He had to fight not to reach that breaking point. Or… he had to push along the inevitable process of Spike screwing up. It was time to try a different angle.

“You’re an idiot, Spike,” Angel replied.

“You think?” Spike retorted, obviously unimpressed. As insults go, it wasn’t the best Angel had ever delivered. But trying to think through mind-numbing pain was limiting his resources. “Because I’m not the one chained to the ceiling with hot pokers in my side,” Spike continued.

“You hired a vampire,” Angel explained, filling his voice with as much scorn as possible. William had always flinched when Angelus used that I’m-the-sire-and-you’re-barely-more-than-a-whelp voice, and Angel was pleased to note that that hadn’t changed. “What do you think he is going to do with the ring when he finds it, huh? Hand it over to you?”

“Oh, good Lord, why didn’t I think of…?” Spike asked with melodramatic flair. “Oh, wait half a mo’, I did. I hired a guy who doesn’t care about the ring, or anything else on God’s green earth except taking blokes apart one piece at a time.” Angel didn’t say a word. He just raised a single questioning eyebrow. It worked. Spike was flustered; Angel could tell. And he proved it with his next words, obviously chosen to rattle Angel, as well. “It’s called addiction, Angel. We all have it. I believe yours is named Slutty the vampire Slayer.”

The music ended at that moment, and Spike was so busy focusing on that that he didn’t notice that the blow didn’t connect. There was a time when Angel would have leapt to defend Buffy’s honor, thrashing against the restraints that held him in place to attack anyone who insulted her, but he had changed since then. The Angelus episode that had eroded their chance at love had managed to teach Angel one very important lesson: Buffy didn’t need defending. Against any opponent, at any odds, she could take care of herself. It was one of the reasons why he had left. She loved him, but she didn’t need him. She’d be fine without him. Hell, she’d be *better off* without him. He loved her, and he was learning not to need her anymore, either.

“Speaking of little Buff,” Spike continued, gloating over words that he was certain would wound Angel more thoroughly than any physical instrument of torture, “I ran into her recently. Your name didn’t come up. Although she has been awful busy jumping the bones of the first lunk-head that came along. Good-looking fellow. Used her shamelessly. She is cute when she is hurting, isn’t she?”

“I think she’s cuter when she’s kicking your ass,” Angel answered, smiling slightly at the crushed look that briefly flickered across Spike’s face when he realized that his taunts hadn’t hurt the way he intended. Then the smile grew a bit larger as he remembered watching Buffy kick Spike’s ass, over and over again. Those were always fun memories to dwell over, and from the increasingly angry look on Spike’s face, Angel could tell that Spike was remembering them as well.

Angel complacently watched Spike’s eyes narrow as he searched for something new to say that might make more of an impact. Then that same smile from the alley spread slowly across his face, and Angel grew more than a little nervous. Spike was about to deliver another blow, and he was very certain this time that this blow would connect.

“And that little friend of hers certainly is a tasty little morsel,” Spike added with a salacious grin, deliberately running his hand along his crotch and watching Angel’s smile disappear. “I’m looking forward to remaking her acquaintance.” Angel growled, and Spike’s smirk grew. “Still in town, isn’t she? I’ll bet you thought you could protect her, keep her safe from the big, bad Spike by keeping her close, like the poofy white knight that you are.”

Angel refused to answer. Mostly because Spike was right. Of all the things that rankled about this torture chamber, the one that hurt the worst, even more than the hot pokers, was that he was the reason that Willow was at risk. He had asked Willow to stay in L.A. saying that that was the only way that he could keep her safe, and because he had been so foolishly confident that he could take care of her and keep her out of harm’s way, he had ended up placing her in even more danger.

“Oh, that’s alright,” Spike continued, practically beaming at this proof that he had finally succeeded in hurting Angel, “you don’t have to tell me a thing. I’ll get her to tell me herself. Maybe right now, in fact.” He winked. “I think I will go get a bit of fresh air; leave you two kids to it.”

Spike was whistling as he left.

Spike was decidedly *not* whistling half an hour later after tearing Angel’s apartment to bits with absolutely no luck at finding the ring. Angel wasn’t *that* creative. He still kept spare money under the floorboards and a spare sword under the bed. How the hell had he managed to find a place to put the ring that was anything less than obvious?

“If I was a ring, where would I be?” he growled to himself in annoyance. “Well, this is fun,” he admitted. Tearing up the poof’s stuff was always an enjoyable afternoon. “But it’s going to get old real fast.” Giving up on the apartment, he headed up to the office only to come face-to-crossbow with Willow.

“If you’re done remodeling, I hope you have the cash to pay for all of this,” Willow stated with false bravado, hoping that Spike didn’t notice the way her hands were shaking slightly on the crossbow.

Spike seemed wholly unconcerned with the threat she presented, and slowly stepped closer. “Hello there, Red,” he practically purred. “It’s so lovely to see you again. Were you waiting for me? How… sweet.”

“You dissolving to dust. Now *that* would be sweet,” Willow countered.

“Aw pet, don’t say things like that. You’ll hurt my feelings,” Spike teased, taking another step closer.

“That’s close enough,” Doyle replied, stepping into sight.

“What is it with you good guys running in packs?” Spike asked Willow, clearly more annoyed than intimidated. “Who is this one then?”

“More than meets the eye,” Doyle retorted grimly.

“Ooh, the Mick’s got spine!” Spike taunted. “Maybe I’ll snap it in two.”

“Do you want me to use this?” Cordelia threatened, stepping into sight with a crossbow of her own in her hands.

“You’ll be dead before that arrow leaves the bow.” Spike sounded so certain that Cordelia’s confidence wavered, and the bow lowered slightly.

“Now where was I?” Spike continued, once he was certain he had everyone’s attention. “Bloody tired of looking for that ring. I think you three should take over now.”

“Where is Angel?” Doyle demanded.

“Angel, um” Spike drawled, “…tall, brooding guy, caveman brow? He’s having the living hell tortured out of him. And you know how stubborn he can be, he might die before he gives up the ring.” Doyle, Cordelia and Willow exchanged quick, worried glances. Stubborn. Yes, that was one very *accurate* way to describe Angel.

“Why don’t you three find it real fast and give it to me?” Spike suggested, pausing for a moment before concluding, “I’ll let Angel go.”

“I don’t trust you,” Cordelia argued.

“To coin a popular Sunnydale phrase: ‘duh!’” Spike retorted. “But you have until sundown to save him. You’ll find me behind Peterson’s Fishery between Seward and Westminster.” Spike blatantly dropped a wink at Willow. “I’ll be waiting for *you*, Red. Don’t be late.”

As soon as Spike left, Cordelia, Doyle and Willow took exactly five seconds to sigh in relief that Spike had not yet found the ring before they snatched a trio of flashlights from emergency bags and rushed downstairs to the entrance to the sewers so that they could begin their search.

“You’re sure it’s not in the freezer or the toilet tank?” Cordelia whined. “In the movies it’s always in one of those places.”

“No,” Willow answered. “He definitely went into the sewers to put it away.”

Cordelia groaned. “This is not a needle in a haystack; this is a needle in Kansas.”

“We’ve just got to keep looking,” Doyle replied grimly.

Cautiously, Doyle let Cordelia and Willow get ahead of him in the sewer until he was certain he was out of their range of sight. Then, concentrating hard, he shifted to his demon senses, feeling the trademark blue spikes pop out all over his face. It worked. Sniffing the air, he could tell where the lingering traces of Angel were present. Shaking off the spikes, he retrieved the ring.

“Here!”

Cordelia and Willow immediately came running back.

“How did you do that?” Cordelia asked suspiciously.

Doyle shrugged. “You got to get lucky sometimes.”

Cordelia seemed to weigh this answer for a minute before deciding that her suspicions were less important than the fact that he had actually found it.

“I could hug you!” she exclaimed. Doyle brightened considerably and held out his arms. Cordelia wrinkled her nose. “You’re not that lucky.” Disappointed, but not terribly surprised, Doyle let his arms drop back to his sides.

“Now, come on,” Cordelia continued. “We’ve got save Angel!”

“Right, by giving Spike exactly what he wants so he can kill us.”

“Right!” Cordelia responded brightly, pausing and drooping visibly as she realized that Doyle had a point. “No, we need a plan.”

Willow cleared her throat, causing both of them to turn to her. “I um,” she said tentatively, “I have a plan.”

In the shadows behind the Fishery, Cordelia and Doyle found Spike.

“Where’s Red?” Spike asked as they approached.

Cordelia snorted. “Did you honestly think we’d let you anywhere near her?”

Spike grinned, pushing himself away from the wall to step closer to them. “How brave. How noble. How… unbearably boring. Moving right along, then. Where is my ring?”

“Not on us,” Doyle answered, trying desperately not to sound nervous.

“But we know where it is,” Cordelia added. She had insisted that she be the one to say that line. This part *was* straight out of the movies, and she wanted to milk it for all that it was worth.

“And again, I’m so painfully bored,” Spike replied, faking a yawn. Cordelia scowled. How dare he insinuate her acting was boring! “Time runs short, children,” Spike continued. “Give me that ring as if Angel’s life depended on it.”

It *did* depend on it, they remembered. Angel’s life depended on exactly that. Cordelia stopped worrying over Spike’s reaction to her acting as she remembered that there were more important things at stake. “Listen you little Cockney,” she insisted in her best I-am-head-cheerleader-you-are-all-my-lowly-serfs voice, “take us to Angel now.”

“So if he’s still in one piece we tell you where you can find the ring,” Doyle interjected. He was proud of Cordelia for being brave and not backing down, but it was important for Spike to remember not to kill them just yet. Best to remind him that they still had something that he wanted.

“He is still alive, I think,” Spike drawled, a pleased smile crossings his face as he remembered the state in which he had left his sire. “In one piece,” he added, “was never part of the deal.” With his smirk firmly in place, he led them to the warehouse, never noticing the innocuous looking car trailing them from behind.

Willow sat in the car with her fingers drumming on the steering wheel and her foot practically on the passenger’s side of the car to make sure she didn’t accidentally hit the gas too soon. Timing was essential for her part of the plan. So was keeping a cool head and not letting herself get too nervous. She held firm to her belief that giving her that part of the plan was a sizeable mistake. She wasn’t calm. She wasn’t collected. She was darn near hysterical, and she hadn’t even *done* anything yet.

Her plan was simple. She and Cordelia would meet Spike and tell him that they’d take him to the ring once he took them to Angel. Doyle, meanwhile, would follow behind them in his car, and once they confirmed (through the cunning use of walky-talkies) that the building Spike led them to was truly where Angel was being kept, Doyle would crash into the building and they’d all escape. She thought it was a good plan. A solid plan. A plan that was nearly certain to work.

But then Cordelia insisted that Willow had to be the one to drive the get-away car. When Willow tried to argue that charging in and saving the day wasn’t really her strong suit, Cordelia reminded her that lying effectively wasn’t her strong suit, either. If she was face to face with Spike, the vampire would only have to take a single look at her to know that they had something planned. Willow simply wasn’t any good at deception. Cordelia had her acting skills and her natural air of disdain for anyone that dared to question her, while Doyle had his own quiet skill at avoiding and distracting people (or demons) who thought he owed them money. They could handle lying. Willow could not. And since the plan required *somebody* to drive the getaway car, and sending only one person with Spike seemed too risky to try, that meant that Willow was put in charge of the driving.

The initial steps had gone well. Cordelia and Doyle had met up with Spike without any obvious evidence of bloodshed, and Spike hadn’t so much as tossed a glance in the direction where Willow quietly crept along in her car, following him. They had counted on Spike being too arrogant to think of someone trailing him, and their gamble had paid off. Now Willow was sitting outside the warehouse that Spike, Cordelia and Doyle had disappeared into, waiting for her opportunity to play out the other part of the plan. The motor was running and the car was ready to go. All she had to do was hit the gas. The walky-talky that connected her to Doyle rested in her tightly clenched hand. When they were inside wherever it was that Spike was taking them, he’d squeeze the button twice, letting her know when to go. She just had to wait for that. And wait. And wait.

Oz would have been good at this role, she thought to herself with a half-grimace, half-smile. Oz was always the get-away ride, and he never let it shake his calm for a moment, even when they hijacked classified weaponry from the military. He had barely even known her or her friends at that point, and had only recently discovered that the supernatural was real, but he had been so calm and relaxed that he had even kept Willow from getting nervous.

It had seemed so simple then. He was smart and funny and cute and fun to be with and he liked her, actually *liked* her which was very much a first. They were about to face the evil incarnation of an ex-friend, along with a massive demon that had never been defeated by any weapon ever forged, but she had been happy and optimistic. Oz liked her, and when they lived through the current unpleasantness, she had the promise of his kiss to look forward to. They’d date for a while and graduate high school and go to college and maybe get married and live in a house with a white picket fence and a large basement with a sturdy lock on it for the nights of the full moon. And Oz would always be there for her, and she wouldn’t have to be scared or nervous anymore, because he would keep her safe. Before him, she had been lonely and insecure and constantly uncertain of herself. With him, she was loved, and that made all the difference.

Looking back, it was hard to believe that she had been so naïve. Even after dealing with demons for over a year, she had still been hopelessly optimistic when it came to romance and true love and happily ever after. She had thought that having someone to love who would love her back would fill in all the missing pieces of her life, and that she’d never have to be unhappy or alone again. But here she was, practically back where she had started, once again in a getaway car. The only difference was, this time she was in the driver’s seat. Was it symbolic? Was it fate’s way of telling her that she no longer needed someone else to give her life direction? That she was capable of taking charge of herself now, without anyone else’s help? Or was she giving this too much thought?

Losing Oz had hurt, beyond a shadow of a doubt, but she was finally, slowly, getting used to the idea that he was gone. She was proud of what she had done since arriving in L.A. She had told Angel off, and figuring problems out, and come up with plans. The mopey, broken-hearted girl she had been when she arrived had vanished and strong-Willow had come to the fore when strength and determination were needed. She rather liked the way she had risen to the challenge. Maybe she wasn’t quite as hopeless as she had thought. The flashed of static buzzed in her hand, giving her the signal she had been waiting for. Grabbing firm hold of the wheel, she planted her foot down on the gas, and suddenly wasn’t afraid anymore.

Angel bit back a groan as he heard the unmistakable sound of Spike’s footsteps approaching. Ever since the blond had left, Angel had been cursing himself for making his weakness for Willow so obvious. Praying harder than he’d prayed in years, Angel pleaded with a God who had always ignored him that Spike wouldn’t have Willow with him when he came in.

“Lucy, I’m home!” Spike called out as he led Cordelia and Doyle into the warehouse. Angel’s sigh of relief caught in his throat. Willow wasn’t with them, but Spike had to know that Cordelia and Doyle were the next best bets at hurting him. Had Spike brought them here so Angel could watch them get tortured? And yet, they didn’t seem as if they had been taken by force. They seemed almost like they were there voluntarily, but how was that possible?

“Angel!” Cordelia squealed when she caught sight of him hanging from the ceiling. Angel watched despondently as she tried to rush forward to help him, but Spike held her and Doyle back.

“Hey, hey! A deal’s a deal. And our deal was for the ring. You’ve wasted quite enough of my time, so I’d really like it – NOW!”

Angel gasped in shock, and then gasped in pain as the sudden movement aggravated his injuries. They had made a trade with Spike? Him for the ring? They couldn’t be that stupid, could they? Spike couldn’t be trusted; they *had* to know that. He was incapable of playing fair.

“You want the ring, you dog?” Doyle spat out. He pulled the ring out of his pocket and threw it past Angel. “Go fetch!”

“Okay,” Cordelia stated in a shaky tone. “You’ve got the ring, we’ve got Angel. And now you’re going to leave us alone, and we’re going to leave.”

Spike strolled over to where the ring had landed, a predatory smile on his face, and Angel felt his stomach sink down to his toes. Yes, they really had been that stupid, and this was the result. Spike now had not only the ring, but Angel neatly bound in chains, and a tasty double meal that had practically delivered itself to him.

“Come on,” Spike purred, confirming Angel’s worst fears. “You don’t *really* think that we’re going to do that, do you?”

“Not really,” Cordelia stated nonchalantly.

“No,” Doyle agreed.

The smile slipped off of Spike’s face and a sliver of hope awoke in Angel. They were too calm. *Why* were they so calm? Had they missed that Spike had them in a trap? Or… was there something Spike had missed? Spike’s hand froze inches away from the ring as the sound of an engine revving was heard nearby. Very nearby.

Seconds later, a car burst through the side of the warehouse, rammed through some barrels and came to a screeching halt behind Angel, forcing Spike to roll out of its way, away from the ring. Willow was behind the wheel, and pulled out two crossbows, aiming them out of the driver’s side window while Cordelia and Doyle freed Angel and helped him into the back of the car. Moments later, the car engine revved again as Willow floored the gas, shooting out through the nice, car-shaped hole she had created in the wall and back outside. And as simply as that, Angel was free.

“How is he doing?” Willow asked, stealing a glance into the backseat while maneuvering her way onto the street and into traffic. She was torn between absolute elation that her part of the plan had gone so well, and an overriding fear for Angel. She’d never seen him that badly injured before, and she had no firsthand knowledge to tell her how much injury a vamp could handle.

“He’ll live,” Doyle replied.

“Not without help,” Cordelia insisted. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

“I hear you,” Willow sighed. “But which one? They all tend to specialize in humans.”

“She’s right, too risky. Do you know any first aid?” Doyle asked Willow.

“Plenty, but it’s all based around humans. I’ve never treated a vampire before, but I can improvise. If we can get him some place dark, maybe I can…”

“Turn around!” Angel croaked out, speaking for the first time since they loaded him in the car.

“Angel,” Willow breathed in relief. If he was able to speak semi-coherently, then it wasn’t *quite* as bad as it looked.

“He’s delirious. Ignore him.” Cordelia insisted.

“Turn around!” Angel ordered.

“So you can do what? It’s daylight and you’re ringless. Unless you’re changing the act to human torch, I don’t think so.” Cordelia had never sounded more imperious, but they all heard the worry behind her voice. Angel was in no position to be fighting and they all knew it. But they all had a sinking feeling that that wouldn’t stop him.

“She’s right,” Doyle added. “You’re death on toast, man. You’re in no shape to be fighting a torture demon.”

Angel gave no evidence of listening to them or their concerns as he concentrated on pulling out the last poker still stuck in his side. [Forget torture demons,] Willow thought to herself. [Angel’s in no condition to fight a temperamental kitten. No, there’s nothing on earth he can say that’s going to make me turn this car around. Nope, not a single solitary thing—]

“He’s got a thing for children,” Angel spat out.

[Except for that.] Willow amended mentally.

“Willow, turn around,” Angel pleaded. “He couldn’t have gone far.” Willow didn’t take much convincing. Seconds later, she spun the car around. Heading back in the direction that they came, it only took a minute before they arrived at the pier, catching sight of Marcus looking at a group of scouts. Willow shuddered at just the thought of what he might be planning in that sick, indestructible mind of his, and drove onto the pier at top speed, rammed into him sending him flying before coming to an abrupt stop, allowing Cordelia to get out of the car.

“Run, now,” Willow heard her order the children, pushing, pulling and dragging them away from the pier and out of danger. “Move your little scout legs. Now! Go! Come on!”

Meanwhile, Willow and Doyle, in an attempt to protect Angel from having to fight Marcus, were attacking him themselves. They achieved… less than stellar results. Willow shot him in the chest with a crossbow bolt, but Marcus simply pulled it out and threw it away. Doyle tried to attack and was knocked out in a matter of seconds. With a sinking feeling of dread, Willow turned to face the backseat of the car, her eyes locking with Angel’s. She knew what he had in mind, and knew just as surely that there was no chance she’d be able to talk him out of it. She made only one, weak attempt.

“You’re sure about this?” she asked as she watched Angel shift painfully into a crouching position, ready to spring. At Angel’s nod, Willow opened the door and watched as Angel launched himself out with a scream, catching fire as he ran to tackle Marcus. They crashed through the railing and into the water below, continuing the fight in the shallow water of the dark area underneath the pier.

Out in the daylight, Willow and Cordelia listened to the sounds of fighting and grabbed hold of each other’s hands. There was nothing they could do now but wait and hope. Marcus was wearing the ring and Angel was already badly injured. The odds seemed almost hopeless. And there was nothing they could do.

They listened breathlessly to the scuffling sounds and the splashing water that signaled blows between the vampires. Without a visual perspective, it was impossible to tell who was winning, but the fight *sounded* like it was fairly evenly matched. A moment later, there was a piercing scream. Willow and Cordelia held their breath, hoping for the best at the same time that they feared the worst. They nearly fainted with relief when Angel stepped out from under the pier… and into the sun.

“Are… are you all right?” Cordelia stammered.

“Fine,” Angel answered distractedly. “Thanks for the help, Willow. You were key.”

“You’re…” welcome, she planned to say. Instead the words that came out of her mouth were, “incredibly pale.” It was true, of course. Angel *was* pale. Paler than most people. It was very noticeable, seeing him standing next to other people, in the sunlight.

“Look, you should lie down,” Cordelia insisted. “We should take you home.” She moved forward as if to take Angel’s arm and lead him back to the car, but Doyle placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“Just… give him a minute.” The three of them stood there and watched Angel wander out on the beach, staring at the sunlight on the water with a look of absolute awe.

They all drove back to the office together to patch up Angel’s injuries, but soon discovered that the ring had healed all the damage. Cordelia, exhausted and repulsed by the fact that she smelled like sewage from her search for the ring, jumped at Angel’s offer to take the rest of the day off. Doyle headed down to the pub to have a celebratory drink. Willow went down to the apartment to pack up her overnight bag. And Angel wandered around outside, heading over to a skyscraper with a view of the entire city, and seating himself outside, watching L.A. in the daytime with the sun on his back. That was where Willow found him.

“Nice day,” Willow stated casually, seating herself beside him.

“Yeah,” Angel sighed.

“It’s time for me to head back to Sunnydale.”

“I figured.”

“It was… nice to see you, Angel.”

“It was nice to see you, too. Thank you for all your help. I’m sor—”

“Don’t say it.”

“What?”

“Don’t say it. Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I refuse to let you wallow over this.”

“Still my wallowing-terminator?”

“You’d better believe it, buddy. And don’t think you can start wallowing again once I leave. I’ll be checking in regularly, getting wallowing reports.”

“That’ll be nice.”

“Yeah. I think it will. Goodbye, Angel.”

She rose to her feet and turned to walk away, but Angel grabbed her hand before she could step away. Holding it gently in both of his, he placed a gentle kiss on the back of it.

“I won’t apologize, but I *will* thank you for your help.”

Willow squeezed Angel’s hand before releasing it. “You’re welcome.” She took a few steps away before turning back.

“You’re going to destroy it, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“It’s a ‘you’ thing to do. Are you afraid of it falling into the wrong hands again?”

“That’s part of it,” Angel admitted. “But more than that, I think I’m not ready for it yet.”

“Planning to wallow in the dark a bit longer?”

Angel smiled. “Planning to *earn* the right *not* to wallow in the dark, instead of just having it fall into my lap.”

“You will,” Willow replied, and the confidence in her voice surprised him.

“I’m a long way from redemption, Willow.”

“Well, as a going-away present, how about I put you that much closer?”

“Huh?”

“I forgive you, Angel. In fact, if it helps to appease your Catholic guilt, I’d even say I absolve you. For every wrong you ever did me, I forgive you. I’m cleaning the slate; you have no reason to feel any more guilt on my behalf.”

Angel turned to look at her. The sun was starting to set and it caught in her red hair, lighting it up like a torch. She looked like a burning bush, like a sign from God. She looked like an angel. And she forgave him. Angel felt a little piece of darkness in his soul lift up and float away, gone forever.

“Thank you,” Angel whispered.

Willow smiled at him, so sweetly, and then left, slipping quietly into and then out of the building. She climbed into the car she had parked just outside and started the engine, but didn’t remove the brake just yet. Again, she remembered another Oz moment, this one from graduation day when the gang sat outside the ruins of the school and Oz told them to take a moment to realize that they survived. Once again, she had survived, and it was nice to be able to take a moment to acknowledge that. She had survived her visit to L.A., even with Spike’s interference, and she was surviving her broken heart. It would be even easier now that she had a friend to help her with the wallowing. She released the brake and shifted the car into reverse, cranking up the radio as she headed home.

Angel stayed out on the roof of the building long after Willow left, watching the sun continue its inevitable descent. He sat in silence, lost in his own thoughts, until Doyle, smelling only slightly of alcohol, joined him.

“So how long has it been between sunsets?” he asked, seating himself next to Angel.

“200 years, give or take.” Angel replied dreamily.

“Well you got to be feeling pretty damn good then, huh? I mean this ring changes everything, don’t it?” Angel didn’t answer, just continued to stare out at the sunset.

“Yeah, it’s spectacular, I know,” Doyle commented, a bit annoyed that Angel wasn’t more excited. “But I do promise that there will be another one exactly like it tomorrow.”

“Not for me,” Angel replied quietly, bracing himself for the argument he knew would come. Doyle had been even more excited about the ring than Angel. He wasn’t going to like what Angel had to say.

“What are you saying?” Doyle questioned, obviously looking for any possible explanation other than the correct one. “That the city will be hit by a meteor before tomorrow night or…”

“No.”

“No,” Doyle stated firmly. “It’s too horrible to say the other. I can’t even bring myself to say the other.”

“I’m not going to wear the ring.”

“That was the other.” Doyle groaned in frustration. “You got a real addiction to the brooding part of life. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Angel smiled slightly. “I prefer to think of it as wallowing. I wallow.”

“Care to explain?” Doyle pressed, ignoring the wallowing comment. “I mean this ring is your redemption. It’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

Angel shook his head. “Nah, it just looks like it.”

Angel had given it a lot of thought in the agonizing hours while Marcus pumped him full of hot pokers. What the ring offered was invulnerability. That was why Spike wanted it so badly. His impetuous childe had always been the type to throw himself into any situation without the slightest concern for whether or not he would be hurt. Some times it worked for him, (as the body count demonstrated,) and sometimes it landed him with an organ crashing on top of his head, or Drusilla whisking herself out of his arms. Getting hurt in the long run was fairly inevitable for Spike. No wonder invulnerability sounded tempting to him.

Angel had to admit, the thought of removing any chance of pain was tempting to him, as well. After the curse took hold for the first time, he had done everything he could think of to get away from the pain of his conscience and his guilt, up to and including trying to rejoin Darla and be the vicious killer she wanted him to be. He spent nearly a century trying to escape the pain, and failing miserably. Everything hurt him so much; not just sunlight and crosses, but memories of Buffy, and guilt over the things he had done. Invulnerability, immunity to pain, sounded very tempting.

“Angel, man, think what you’re saying,” Doyle pleaded.

“I have,” Angel insisted. Heaven knows, he had thought about it. From every direction and in every way possible, he had thought about it. And the conclusion he reached was the same one he had told Willow. He had to earn his redemption. It couldn’t just fall into his lap. “I’ve thought of it from every angle,” he explained to Doyle, “and what I figure is I did a lot of damage in my day, more than you can imagine.”

“So what, you don’t get the ring because your period of self-flagellation isn’t over yet?” Doyle argued impatiently. “I mean think of all the daytime people you could help between nine and five.”

“They have help,” Angel reminded him. “The whole world is designed for them, so much that they have no idea what goes on around them after dark. They don’t see the weak ones lost in the night, or the things that prey on them. And if I join them, maybe I’d stop seeing, too.”

“And who’d look out for all the insomniacs?” Doyle quipped sarcastically.

“I was brought back for a reason, Doyle, and as much as I would like to kid myself, I don’t think it was for 18 holes at Rancho.”

Redemption wasn’t a sunset, no matter how beautiful it might be. Redemption was being forgiven, knowing he had repented for his sins and that he had been absolved. Redemption was the sweetest little redhead in the world, telling him that she forgave him; something no one had ever said to him before. Redemption was proving himself worthy of her forgiveness and her friendship.

That was why he had been brought out of hell. That was why snow had been sent on that Christmas morning when he had made up his mind to take the easy way out. That was why the Powers sent him Whistler and then Doyle in the first place: so that he would see a way to pay his debt to society and give his soul some peace. A ring couldn’t do that. All it could do was distract him.

One day, the slate would truly be cleared and he’d be absolved of what he had done. When that happened, he’d be able to allow himself to be happy without worrying about anything getting in the way. As he thought of what that happiness might be like, his mind didn’t conjure up the image of a blonde warrior, but a redheaded witch who had never brought him anything but pleasure. The time wasn’t right for either of them: she wasn’t ready to give her heart away again, and he wasn’t ready to be happy. But the day would come when the time was right, and he’d find her again. He was sure of it. Until then, he’d keep working toward that day, so when it came, he’d know how to appreciate it. And he would allow nothing to distract him. Not even the sun.

As the sun sank below the horizon, Angel took off the ring and laid it on the ground. Picking up the brick, he slammed it down on the ring as hard as he could, smashing it completely. There was a big flash of green light, and when it faded, Angel knew that the ring had been destroyed. Doyle watched him with a disappointed look on his face, but didn’t try to stop him.

“Oh,” he said a minute later, obviously having just remembered, “that Rachel girl with the crazy boyfriend called. Said to say thanks, and that she found a little faith. Said you’d know what that means.”

“I don’t know about you,” Angel answered, “but I had a nice day. You know, except for the bulk of it, where I was nearly tortured to death.”

“Yeah, well,” Doyle replied, rising to his feet, “you stood up.”

“Oh, god,” Angel groaned in memory, standing as well, “I was this close to telling him everything. I mean, one more hot poker and I was giving him the ring, your mom, everything.” The two of them walked toward the exit to head back out into the night, where they belonged.

“How is your mom?”

THE END

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