The Soulmate Series

The Tenderest of Cruelties (Chapter Seventeen of Soulmates)



Much as he’d been wanting Buffy to cease visiting him, to cease depending on him, tonight Angel is rather glad that she still does. As a source of much-needed, highly desirable information, his ex has surprising value.

Willow has told her friends that she was raped.

It hurts him, because he’s now been forced to accept that this is no transient misunderstanding - this is a firmly held belief, something Willow is convinced is the absolute truth. There’s no more room for him to console himself with the pipe dream that she’ll come around any day now and it’s agonizing. The only thing that saves him from wanting to greet the sunrise is the awareness that he’s already laid the foundation for what to do in the event of these exact circumstances. He’s grateful that his demon, with its treachery and cunning, is as much a part of him as the soul that is bound to Willow.

It is thanks to his guile and his skill at strategy that he is here, on Willow’s balcony, watching her sleep. She will be far too suspicious if he stays away, more likely to see him as a villain: plotting and planning against her. She has enough misperceptions of him and of the nature of their relationship as it is; he doesn’t need to allow her to create any more.

So here he stands. Soon, he will reopen their bond, reach out to her, awaken her, confront her. The direct approach, in a sense. He’s confident that it will lull her into believing that she knows the moves he’ll make, that he’s behaving in a linear and open fashion that she can predict

Part of him is revolted by what he’s doing and by the very fact that he is, in a sense, conspiring against the woman he loves, but his passion far outweighs his revulsion and he has no intention of changing his course. If there is one thing he learned as a sire, it’s that ofttimes one must be ruthless in the betterment of those one loves. His childer didn’t always see things his way, but in the end, once they accepted that he was right, they were all the happier for it. With Willow, it will be exactly the same.

He watches her through the glass panes of her french doors. They are such a fragile barrier, one he could easily destroy, but there’s another barrier behind them, an insurmountable one. He no longer has an invitation into her home.

He remembers the night he actually received that precious permission, stepping into her room, suppressing a smile as she hid her virginal white bra, marveling at the fact that she was more worried about him being male than the fact that she had just invited a former key member of the Scourge of Europe into her home. That night shines in his memories. He only wishes that he had known then what he knows now. He would never have wasted the evening worrying about Buffy.

She’s still asleep, dreaming in fact, and not happily. Even before reaching out to her through their connection he can tell that. She is fretful and whimpering as she lays there, swaddled in a robe over what appear to be flannel pajamas, the covers pushed off of her as she tosses and turns; she appears caught in a nightmare. Tragically, Angel knows he is likely the key figure therein.

It’s time.

He cautiously reopens their bond, once again thankful for the facility of control his nature gives him over mystical ties such as this. Slowly, he allows tendrils of emotion, of his presence, to wind themselves around her, becoming aware once more of her feelings as well. His perceptions had been correct - she is terrified and hurt. Shame is mixed in as well; it’s that emotion that creates fresh pain in him. She’s ashamed of what happened between them.

He nearly pulls back, but no, he must stay, whatever the emotional toll it takes. He opens the bond more, it’s almost like the touch of his hand upon her shoulder, gently rousing her from slumber. Unfortunately, all the delicacy he can muster is not enough to keep her from being startled and horrified by his presence.

She’s awake now, her eyes wide as she looks around frantically for the source of her distress. She should be relieved at being rescued from her nightmares, but she isn’t; she’s as frightened as ever she was in her dreams. Angel struggles to rein in the pain and yes, anger, he feels right now. It’s torture to be despised by the woman he loves.

Her eyes find his through the door and she jumps off her bed, backing away. He knows she wants to leave her room, to go hide as best she can. But she knows she can’t, not really. Because the bond will still be there and she cannot separate herself from it.

She looks tired and lost and heartbreakingly lovely, with her pale face and her tousled hair and the tears that shine in her wide, frightened eyes. He loves her more than he ever has before, he wants her more than he ever thought possible. He does his best to keep the fierceness of his desire from being fully communicated to her and he seems to succeed. She calms as he sits down on the balcony, accepting his place outside. She’s remembered that he can’t get in...not until she lets him.

Step after slow, measured step and at last she has reached the door. She’s going to speak to him. He does his best to fill himself with the emotions he wants her to sense in him: sorrow, remorse, a longing for forgiveness - to make amends. If his soul were what he’d always believed it to be, he would fear what he’s doing, what more he is willing to do, and most of all, he would fear himself, what he has become - what he has, perhaps, been all along, now simply purified by the fires of Hell and even more so by the heat of his passion. But he’s not afraid, he’s not afraid of himself at all.

Willow is.

“Angel?”

Her voice is soft, barely audible through the glass. Angel scoots away from the door, remaining seated, giving her an indication, he hopes, that it’s safe to open the door. He senses her confusion, her curiosity, her fright.

She opens the door slightly.

“Why are you here?”

Her voice is halting. Angel matches her tentative tone. “I just wanted to see if you were alright.”

Not the best choice of words.

“Alright?” Her voice is high and angry now. “How could I possibly be alright?” And now there are tears. Each one of them a tiny stake in Angel’s heart.

His remorse is more real than contrived now. Not that he regrets what happened between him and Willow. He doesn’t. Nor does he regret for a moment that he loves her or the things he is willing to do to win her. But he regrets so much that he’s caused her this pain. Unintentional though it was, he is anguished at having inflicted it.

“I’m sorry.” She’s about to voice her outrage again, he can feel it cutting into him, but he forestalls her by speaking again. “I know that doesn’t make it better, doesn’t stop you from suffering, but I am sorry.”

He’s taken a bit of the wind out of the sails of her dudgeon. But mostly, Angel senses, she’s just too worn down to maintain any kind of confrontation. More than the circles under her eyes give her away. Through the bond he can feel the tears as each one falls down her cheek, can experience the painful fatigue as it whistles through her bones. Why won’t she give in? Doesn’t even some small part of her bear the knowledge that there is sweet relief for her suffering in his arms?

His eyes move around her room and his eyes light on something he should have expected, but it takes him by surprise. He knows she feels the surge of jealousy that rolled through him, despite his tamping it down as fast as he could. She starts a bit and backs away from the door again. She looks behind her and she knows what he’s seen: There’s a picture of Oz on her bedside table.

“Is that Oz?” He realizes it’s a question that might get him into trouble, but he’s suppressed the hard edges of his jealousy and he’s projecting something more akin to longing now. What he’s getting back from her is encouraging.

“Yeah.”

“Does he know?” His curiosity is actually genuine. He knows what Buffy and Xander and Giles know. He’s not sure what Willow has told her pet wolf.

“No. I mean sort of. I mean...he knows I was raped, he just doesn’t know it was you. Same goes for the others. I just told them I got raped on the way to school.” Her eyes are pleading and he can easily read the meaning behind her words; her fear is stunning in its force. Please, she is thinking, please don’t hurt them.

“It’s okay, Willow. I mean, if you want to tell them, I’d understand. What I did to you...I know you need your friends to help you get through this.” How skilled at this supernatural brew of Machiavellianism is he? He will soon find out. Has he succeeded in misleading her not just with his lips, but with his soul?

She’s not wholly convinced, but amazingly, he feels...hope. Yes, hope - a wanting to believe him - is stirring inside her. Now he’ll add the finishing touch to help make it just that much more credible.

“I love you. That hasn’t changed. I know it’s not what you want to hear and I know you don’t feel the same way. I just hope that someday you can forgive me and that somehow, maybe, you can let me into your life - even if it’s just as your friend.”

“Angel...”

“I know you don’t trust me. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. But I hope that, with time, you’ll realize that I never meant to hurt you, and that I’m never going to hurt you again.” There are traces of tears in his eyes as he finishes. In spirit, at least, he has been nothing but truthful. When all is done, she will be grateful to him for everything he does to bring about their union. She will trust him and be happy. She will love him and adore him, just as he does her.

“I...”

“You don’t have to say anything, Willow. I’m going. I just wanted you to know...to know how I feel and to know that, if there’s ever anything you need, I’m here. If there’s anything you can think of that would help make amends for the wrong I’ve done, just ask. I would do anything for you.”

Before she can reply, he’s over the railing and gone, letting the night swallow him up. She’s confused, but it’s herself she’s questioning and he’s glad. She’ll still be sleepless, but her worries will be altered from what they were and that’s all to the good. She truly is, after all, her own worst enemy, the truest obstacle in her own path to peace and contentment.

He allows himself another moment of surrounding himself with her feelings before he begins to withdraw from her once more. Let her believe that physical distance affects the bond. She’s at heart a scientist, or at least a scientific thinker, for all her experience with the forces of the occult, and she’ll see the mundane logic in proximity dictating the intensity of their connection. It helps, of course, that he did the same thing just the other night. Repeating an experiment (as it were) and getting the same results supports the hypothesis in her mind, he’s sure.

Tonight went well - better than he’d projected, in fact, and Angel is quite pleased with himself. Of course there are variables he may not have been able to gauge, small details he may not have had a chance to absorb, but all in all, he has a pretty good grasp of the situation and he knows he is sitting in the catbird seat.

Willow will be his.

He knows she doesn’t think that’s what she wants, but Angel knows better and, after tonight, he’s more sure than ever that deep inside, she knows it, too. Her eagerness to believe him, the ease with which he stirred hope and the seeds of trust within her...that tells him that there’s a part of her that sees where she belongs, that realizes that he’s her destiny just as she is his.

He just has to do what it takes to bring that knowledge out of the barrens of her subconscious and into the warm light of her heart. He will. That’s not even in question. The only thing uncertain is what actions are specified, what pawns he must bring into play, how merciless he must be.

Not that he wants to be merciless at all. It’s not his fault that he needs to do anything, take any steps that might bring distress to Willow and her friends. If only Willow would see things the way they really are, if only she would realize that she loves him. But right now, she doesn’t, which is why he must bring his demon into the fray at all. He never wanted it to be this way.

Still, he’s a realist and a pragmatist and he doesn’t jib at any necessity dictated by Willow’s recalcitrance and delusions. The daylight hours, with their enforced confinement to his home, will not be wasted time in which he restlessly paces and longs for freedom today. No, this day will be consumed with thought and strategy and machination, with balancing his scruples (such as he still has) against expediency, with assessing the dramatis personae and writing the play...and making sure it has a happy ending. The hero and his lady fair walking arm in arm in the moonlight. Angel can hardly wait for his dream to come true.


Tbc...