The Soulmate Series
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Angel(us)/Willow
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
49
Views:
10,100
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Angel(us)/Willow
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
49
Views:
10,100
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Clarity
Clarity
It’s silent and cold and very disquieting in Angel’s bedroom and Willow wishes she knew what was going on downstairs. Buffy is here. Buffy is here. Buffy is here. In the mansion...where she is...where she and Angel...well, where Angel... She can’t bear to think about what’s happened today. She can’t think about anything else.
She’s been raped, repeatedly, and yeah, she kind of enjoyed that last time, but she didn’t want to, didn’t want to at all, and that still means it was rape...doesn’t it? It has to, it just has to, because no means no and she said no - even screamed it. She never once said yes, not even when...when it didn’t hurt. And okay, sometimes she didn’t say anything, but that’s not the same as saying yes; all it means is that she was scared and hurting and confused and knew there really wasn’t any point in trying to oppose Angel anymore, that she knew that he would take what he wanted, regardless of what she said.
Her head hurts with all the uncertainty and anguish. It doesn’t help that Angel has shut down their connection. As much as she'd hated it, it would be nice if she could use it now to get some sort of an idea of what is happening between him and Buffy. What has he told her? What does she know? Has Angel finally remembered just who he’s actually in love with? What’s going to happen to her? She doesn’t have the answers to these, or any, questions and she is in turmoil. It’s not often that there are questions Willow can’t easily find the answers to and she hates this feeling of helpless uncertainty. This must be what Xander feels like before a test.
That last thought comes out of nowhere, ludicrous and bizarre, and she claps a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter she feels bubbling up in her throat. Hysteria - this is hysteria. Good. She knows something, has the answer to something. For some reason, she finds this almost comforting and it calms her. Now there’s a fact, a solid, unshakeable fact, in her awareness and she feels much more like herself. She is hysterical. She can fix that. If she just breathes... That’s right. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. That’s better. Much better.
She’s more centered now. She focuses on inhaling and exhaling and somehow she becomes more able to fix her mind on things it feels safe to think about, instead of the bad things that are so horrible and frightening and awful. Clothes. She needs to get dressed. No matter what is happening between Angel and Buffy right now, she knows she’ll be better off if she’s not naked in Angel’s bed for another moment.
She tiptoes to the dresser and gingerly opens a drawer. Her own clothes are a shredded mess. Shirt, skirt, bra, panties - all destroyed. So as much as she hates the idea, she knows that she’ll have to wear something of Angel’s. The drawer she’s opened contains the white t-shirts she was once accustomed to seeing him wear. She’s a bit surprised at seeing them in a dresser that had to have been stocked by his soulless counterpart, who she remembers as much more particular about his apparel, but she’s glad they are there. She takes one, pulling it over her head, trying not to think about the fact that she doesn’t have a bra to wear. Hopefully, this isn’t one of those thin cotton shirts you can see through under any sort of strong light.
She closes the drawer slowly...so slowly, terrified of making a sound, fear of discovery nearly shattering her hard-won calm. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. There. She opens the next drawer with equal caution. Sweat pants. Now that is definitely not something she could picture Angelus wearing. Yet here they are. Don’t think, don’t think. Just breathe, remove the top pair from the drawer, and breathe again...that’s it.
The pants are far too big for her, swimming on her slender frame, but there’s a drawstring at the waist and it keeps them from falling off as she makes them fit as snugly on her as they possibly can. Once more she slowly closes a dresser drawer, staying focused on each inch of silent movement. It’s done and she’s pretty sure she has not given herself away. She reaches down and rolls up the pants legs, cringing at just how uncomfortable she feels without underwear on. She knows that Buffy sometimes forgoes panties under her nightclub wear and she doesn’t know how her friend stands it. Oh great. That’s right, Willow...think about Buffy...who is in the house...right now...with Angel...whose connection to her isn’t working at present so she has no idea what’s going on. Great way to stay calm.
Her eyes are drawn to a corner of the room and she’s glad of what she sees. Her shoes. At least they survived Angel’s frenzied assault. She walks ever so carefully over to them and puts them on, fearful again of making noise and giving away her presence. Just how good is Slayer hearing? Still, there’s solace to be found in having something of her own on her body again, something that connects her to the girl she was before the events of this horrible day, and she’s able to breathe again.
Inhale, exhale...there’s a good girl. Stay quiet, don’t make a sound, and maybe everything will be okay. That’s almost certainly a foolish hope, but Willow is clinging to it all the same. She’s one of the good guys and she’s supposed to have a happy ending. Otherwise, what good is saving the world and doing her homework (even though she had enough credits to graduate ages ago and could probably be in college already) and remembering to brush her teeth and floss after each and every meal? Doesn’t always doing the right thing count?
She hears the sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom and nearly panics. Did she make too much noise after all? She thinks about hiding, but she figures that if it’s Buffy, she’ll just tear the room apart looking for Willow anyway, so she might as well do her best to be brave - or at least act like it - and face whatever is on the other side of the door head on.
It’s not Buffy. It’s Angel. Willow’s not sure at all if she’s relieved by that. Especially when she sees the look on his face. It’s that same haunted, intense gaze, filled with a misplaced and unwanted passion for her, that she’s hated since she first saw it turned her way. Why didn’t seeing his true love, the girl he even lost his soul over, bring all his old feelings back? How can he not have realized that Buffy is his soulmate, his one and only, when she was right there in front of him? None of this makes any sense.
“Angel.” Her voice shakes slightly, but there’s nothing she can do about that. And no matter what, she has to take some initiative here, to let Angel know that, whether he meant to or not, he hurt her very badly and she has no desire to be with him. But before she can speak again, he does, and he’s a bit more verbal than she remembered him being before. Buffy’s presence seems to have aided his recovery.
“She’s gone. Don’t worry, she doesn’t know you’re here. She’s got slaying to do so she won’t be back tonight.”
Okay, that’s good to know. That means it’s all clear for Willow to leave. To run as fast as she can back to her own house, take a long, hot shower, and have a good cry all alone where she can feel at least a little bit safe. She makes a move towards the doorway. Her heart sinks when Angel stays squarely in her path. Why won’t he see reason and let her go? Can’t he see that she’s not his?
“Angel,” she pleads. “I want to go home. I just want to go home.”
There it is: that hurt, lost look she hates as much as the passionate one. He has no right, no right to look like that. She’s the one who’s been hurt, who’s been raped, who’s had her life ripped out from under her for no reason at all. And he’s the one who’s done this, all of it, who’s savaged and brutalized and confused and destroyed her and...he’s standing there staring at her like a puppy who’s just been kicked, as if he has no idea why she’s upset and why she doesn’t love him. Now she’s angry - furious, in fact - and she heads for the door again. He grabs her by the arm and won’t let her pass.
“Angel, you have to let me go. I don’t want to be here. I know you think you feel something for me, but I don’t feel the same way. You have to accept that. And you know what? I don’t care about how you feel anymore, anyway; I just want to be away from you. As far away as I can get. I hate you. There. Now do you still think you love me? Still believe we have some sort of magical connection?”
But he doesn’t let go. Willow’s heart sinks further than ever. What on earth is going to happen to her now?
Tbc...
It’s silent and cold and very disquieting in Angel’s bedroom and Willow wishes she knew what was going on downstairs. Buffy is here. Buffy is here. Buffy is here. In the mansion...where she is...where she and Angel...well, where Angel... She can’t bear to think about what’s happened today. She can’t think about anything else.
She’s been raped, repeatedly, and yeah, she kind of enjoyed that last time, but she didn’t want to, didn’t want to at all, and that still means it was rape...doesn’t it? It has to, it just has to, because no means no and she said no - even screamed it. She never once said yes, not even when...when it didn’t hurt. And okay, sometimes she didn’t say anything, but that’s not the same as saying yes; all it means is that she was scared and hurting and confused and knew there really wasn’t any point in trying to oppose Angel anymore, that she knew that he would take what he wanted, regardless of what she said.
Her head hurts with all the uncertainty and anguish. It doesn’t help that Angel has shut down their connection. As much as she'd hated it, it would be nice if she could use it now to get some sort of an idea of what is happening between him and Buffy. What has he told her? What does she know? Has Angel finally remembered just who he’s actually in love with? What’s going to happen to her? She doesn’t have the answers to these, or any, questions and she is in turmoil. It’s not often that there are questions Willow can’t easily find the answers to and she hates this feeling of helpless uncertainty. This must be what Xander feels like before a test.
That last thought comes out of nowhere, ludicrous and bizarre, and she claps a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter she feels bubbling up in her throat. Hysteria - this is hysteria. Good. She knows something, has the answer to something. For some reason, she finds this almost comforting and it calms her. Now there’s a fact, a solid, unshakeable fact, in her awareness and she feels much more like herself. She is hysterical. She can fix that. If she just breathes... That’s right. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. That’s better. Much better.
She’s more centered now. She focuses on inhaling and exhaling and somehow she becomes more able to fix her mind on things it feels safe to think about, instead of the bad things that are so horrible and frightening and awful. Clothes. She needs to get dressed. No matter what is happening between Angel and Buffy right now, she knows she’ll be better off if she’s not naked in Angel’s bed for another moment.
She tiptoes to the dresser and gingerly opens a drawer. Her own clothes are a shredded mess. Shirt, skirt, bra, panties - all destroyed. So as much as she hates the idea, she knows that she’ll have to wear something of Angel’s. The drawer she’s opened contains the white t-shirts she was once accustomed to seeing him wear. She’s a bit surprised at seeing them in a dresser that had to have been stocked by his soulless counterpart, who she remembers as much more particular about his apparel, but she’s glad they are there. She takes one, pulling it over her head, trying not to think about the fact that she doesn’t have a bra to wear. Hopefully, this isn’t one of those thin cotton shirts you can see through under any sort of strong light.
She closes the drawer slowly...so slowly, terrified of making a sound, fear of discovery nearly shattering her hard-won calm. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. There. She opens the next drawer with equal caution. Sweat pants. Now that is definitely not something she could picture Angelus wearing. Yet here they are. Don’t think, don’t think. Just breathe, remove the top pair from the drawer, and breathe again...that’s it.
The pants are far too big for her, swimming on her slender frame, but there’s a drawstring at the waist and it keeps them from falling off as she makes them fit as snugly on her as they possibly can. Once more she slowly closes a dresser drawer, staying focused on each inch of silent movement. It’s done and she’s pretty sure she has not given herself away. She reaches down and rolls up the pants legs, cringing at just how uncomfortable she feels without underwear on. She knows that Buffy sometimes forgoes panties under her nightclub wear and she doesn’t know how her friend stands it. Oh great. That’s right, Willow...think about Buffy...who is in the house...right now...with Angel...whose connection to her isn’t working at present so she has no idea what’s going on. Great way to stay calm.
Her eyes are drawn to a corner of the room and she’s glad of what she sees. Her shoes. At least they survived Angel’s frenzied assault. She walks ever so carefully over to them and puts them on, fearful again of making noise and giving away her presence. Just how good is Slayer hearing? Still, there’s solace to be found in having something of her own on her body again, something that connects her to the girl she was before the events of this horrible day, and she’s able to breathe again.
Inhale, exhale...there’s a good girl. Stay quiet, don’t make a sound, and maybe everything will be okay. That’s almost certainly a foolish hope, but Willow is clinging to it all the same. She’s one of the good guys and she’s supposed to have a happy ending. Otherwise, what good is saving the world and doing her homework (even though she had enough credits to graduate ages ago and could probably be in college already) and remembering to brush her teeth and floss after each and every meal? Doesn’t always doing the right thing count?
She hears the sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom and nearly panics. Did she make too much noise after all? She thinks about hiding, but she figures that if it’s Buffy, she’ll just tear the room apart looking for Willow anyway, so she might as well do her best to be brave - or at least act like it - and face whatever is on the other side of the door head on.
It’s not Buffy. It’s Angel. Willow’s not sure at all if she’s relieved by that. Especially when she sees the look on his face. It’s that same haunted, intense gaze, filled with a misplaced and unwanted passion for her, that she’s hated since she first saw it turned her way. Why didn’t seeing his true love, the girl he even lost his soul over, bring all his old feelings back? How can he not have realized that Buffy is his soulmate, his one and only, when she was right there in front of him? None of this makes any sense.
“Angel.” Her voice shakes slightly, but there’s nothing she can do about that. And no matter what, she has to take some initiative here, to let Angel know that, whether he meant to or not, he hurt her very badly and she has no desire to be with him. But before she can speak again, he does, and he’s a bit more verbal than she remembered him being before. Buffy’s presence seems to have aided his recovery.
“She’s gone. Don’t worry, she doesn’t know you’re here. She’s got slaying to do so she won’t be back tonight.”
Okay, that’s good to know. That means it’s all clear for Willow to leave. To run as fast as she can back to her own house, take a long, hot shower, and have a good cry all alone where she can feel at least a little bit safe. She makes a move towards the doorway. Her heart sinks when Angel stays squarely in her path. Why won’t he see reason and let her go? Can’t he see that she’s not his?
“Angel,” she pleads. “I want to go home. I just want to go home.”
There it is: that hurt, lost look she hates as much as the passionate one. He has no right, no right to look like that. She’s the one who’s been hurt, who’s been raped, who’s had her life ripped out from under her for no reason at all. And he’s the one who’s done this, all of it, who’s savaged and brutalized and confused and destroyed her and...he’s standing there staring at her like a puppy who’s just been kicked, as if he has no idea why she’s upset and why she doesn’t love him. Now she’s angry - furious, in fact - and she heads for the door again. He grabs her by the arm and won’t let her pass.
“Angel, you have to let me go. I don’t want to be here. I know you think you feel something for me, but I don’t feel the same way. You have to accept that. And you know what? I don’t care about how you feel anymore, anyway; I just want to be away from you. As far away as I can get. I hate you. There. Now do you still think you love me? Still believe we have some sort of magical connection?”
But he doesn’t let go. Willow’s heart sinks further than ever. What on earth is going to happen to her now?
Tbc...