The Soulmate Series

Marley (Chapter Twenty-Two of Soulmates)

The holiday season is upon her and Willow can’t imagine feeling less festive. Even if her friends could be bothered to remember which holiday she celebrates, she wouldn’t feel like celebrating it. She’s tired, and sad, and angry, but the fatigue is what’s most overwhelming. The fatigue that isn’t going to get any better so long as...

“Willow.”

“You’re not real.”

Jenny Calendar is standing in the corner, looking at her with those eyes, the eyes that Willow will never forget. The expression of understanding one she’s longed to see again. It brings to mind what they say about answered prayers. Not that Willow prays anymore. She knows she’s been forsaken.

“I am, Willow. I’m here because you need me.”

“I don’t need you!” She screams. There’s no one here and it doesn’t matter if she’s loud. Which is a good thing. “I don’t need anyone.”

“But you do, don’t you see?” Jenny’s voice is soothing, comforting...motherly as she approaches and Willow is terrified. She may have wanted that so badly from her former mentor, but she remembers the truth - that Jenny never felt as strongly about her as she did about Jenny. This isn’t Jenny. It can’t be Jenny. “You need Angel, sweetheart. You know you do. Once you give yourself to him, everything will be alright. You’ll see.”

The face she sees before her is warm, alive. It doesn’t seem the least bit like an illusion

“No! Why are you here? Why are you saying that? He killed you!”

Jenny smiles indulgently, like one smiles at a foolish child. She sits on the bed, right next to her. “No, Willow. That was the demon, the demon Buffy let loose on this town, on the world. She’s the one responsible for my death. Not Angel. Angel was gone...all because of Buffy. Her lust, her folly, her selfishness, her arrogance. That is what killed me. Buffy murdered me, left my body in Rupert’s bed, took me away from you.”

There is heartbreak and honesty in those kind brown eyes. What can she think, what can she say? She should know this isn’t Jenny, know that it’s wrong to listen, but she can’t help it.

She looks away, but she feels something change next to her and the voice that speaks next isn’t Jenny’s.

“Will, you know the truth. After all, Buffy killed me, too.”

“Jesse?” Willow leaps from the bed and away from the figure sitting next to her. He doesn’t look like the vampire she last saw. He looks like her old friend, her best friend before Buffy came to Sunnydale.

“She never lets you talk about me, does she? Never wanted to even allow my best friend to mourn my death, the death that was her fault, because she wasn’t out there doing her job the way she was supposed to be.”

“That’s not true, it’s just...”

“Just that you can’t bear to say anything bad about her because you think she’s your friend. You’re loyal. That’s one of the things I always loved about you. Still do. You’re still my best friend, Willow. You. Forever.”

Even more than wanting to believe in Jenny, Willow wishes she could believe that Jesse is here, that he’s saying these things, that he’s still her friend. She misses him so much, so much that she never lets herself think about him, knowing that the moment she sees his face in her mind, she will burst into tears. She may love Xander, may once have thought herself in love with him, but Jesse’s the one who saw her, really saw her. It’s more tempting than she ever believed possible to lose herself in the dream that he’s back.

She doesn’t speak - can’t speak - but soon his words fill the silence.

“I’ve watched all this time, watched while Buffy used you, Xander ignored you, while you wasted yourself on that stupid werewolf. I’ve wanted so much to be there, to make you see the truth, to help you.”

“Help me?” She shouldn’t believe it’s really Jesse, but she can’t help the tone in her voice, the tone filled with all the sadness and longing she’s kept buried deep down. The tone filled with all the love she still feels for her dust-begotten friend.

Whatever or whoever it is, this vision looks so very like him as it gets up and walks towards her. “Yeah, Will. That’s why we’re here.” He transforms into Jenny before her eyes. “We want to help you.”

The fear is almost a paralyzing thing. Has she gone insane? Truly, entirely mad? Is she nothing more than a human Drusilla now? This can’t be happening.

“You’re not insane, Willow.” This illusion knows her fears and that’s not comforting. “We’re here. We came back because you need us, you need our help. You need to listen. All we want is for you to be happy.”

Happy? She can’t imagine being crazy enough to believe there’s any hope of that. Maybe she’s not insane. Maybe there really is someone in her bedroom. But it’s not Jenny and it’s not Jesse, that she knows...doesn’t she?

“How can I be? You don’t know...you don’t know.” Back to the bed, where she collapses, sobbing into her pillow.

“But I do know.”

Willow sits up immediately at those words. If she knows, how could she have said what she did earlier? How could she say that Willow belongs with Angel?

She stops reminding herself that this isn’t really Jenny. She’s been doing that from the beginning of these strange encounters and it never seems to take. She may know it isn’t her murdered teacher, but somehow she doesn’t feel it. Maybe because, no matter what strange things the woman in her room says, at least she’s here; Willow wants so badly for Jenny to be here.

“What do you mean?”

The indulgent smile is back, soft and full of affection. “I know that Angel loves you. I know it’s Buffy’s fault that he hurt you. I know that he wants nothing more than to make things right between you, to be everything you need to be happy. And he can, Willow. Just open your heart, you know it’s the truth. He’s your soulmate.”

Once again she’s up off the bed, this time backing away from this version of Jenny as far as she can. She can only go as far as the french doors, however, wrong direction for a hasty retreat. Her visitor is blocking the bedroom door.

“No, no he isn’t. Oz...”

“Oz is a werewolf. He could never be your soulmate. He’ll always search for one of his own kind. But Angel...”

“Angel raped me!” Willow shouts the words, glad somehow to be saying them to someone else, someone besides Angel himself...even if that person isn’t who she appears to be.

And now it’s Jesse who addresses her. “Did he, Willow? Or was it just that he was reacting to being chained up like some animal by the same woman who sent him to Hell? If he was some monster, do you think I’d see him as being good enough for my best friend? But he isn’t a monster. You know that. You’ve touched his soul, felt it move through you, hell, you gave him his soul. He would never have hurt you if he were in his right mind. He loves you, Wills.”

There’s nowhere for her to go, so she walks back to the bed and sits down. She can’t believe Jesse is saying these things to her. How could he want her to be with a vampire, with the childe of the one who turned him?

Her head is in her hands, but she feels someone - Jesse, Jenny, or whatever it is that is somehow the both of them - sit down beside her again.

“Don’t blame, Angel. It’s not his fault. He was just a pawn, like you.” It’s Jenny again and Willow looks up, wondering what she means. “A pawn in Buffy’s twisted game to escape her destiny. And look what she’s done. She killed Jesse, me... Don’t be like her, Willow. Don’t fight your destiny.”

Jenny’s hand is suddenly on her cheek, her touch as incandescent as a breeze. Willow supposes that expecting more contact from a ghost is foolish. This isn’t the same as the invisible Marcie Ross. “Rest now, Willow. Sleep. Let your dreams show you the truth.”

She wants to fight, wants desperately to stay awake, but she’s so very tired and Jenny’s words are hypnotic in their effect. She lays her head down on the pillow, brings her legs up onto the bed, and curls up - falling asleep almost immediately.


The mansion is cold. She’s wearing a thin sweater, but it’s not enough to keep her from shivering.

“Angel?”

“I’m here, Willow.”

She runs to him, his arms around her somehow banishing the cold. The contact makes her feel...feel more alive than she’s ever been. She knows she was unhappy when she came here, but she can’t remember why. Because here in Angel’s arms she doesn’t feel sadness or pain or any of the things she was feeling when she walked into his home. She is whole and safe as long as she’s with him.

He picks her up - gently, carefully, as if she’s the most precious object in the universe. His eyes mesmerize her with the love in their depths and she can scarcely feel the movement as he carries her up the stairs. Each step he takes is smooth and deliberate, the sort of glide that only a predator has, yet she feels no fear as a result of that realization, only a rush of pride. He’s *hers* and there is nothing from which he cannot and will not protect her if need be.

Right now, however, there’s no need for protection. The whole world has been reduced to the two of them, all alone in Angel’s bedroom - *their* bedroom.

He lays her down on his bed and stands for a moment, staring at her as if he can’t believe she’s real. It’s a heady experience. Never in her life has she felt so cherished or wanted. She sits up, starts to remove her sweater, but Angel stops her.

“Let me.” She nods, unable to find her voice. It doesn’t matter anyway. Angel can see into her heart, her mind, her soul, and he knows what she wants.

Him.

His hands are precise as they go about the methodical work of disrobing her. He’s taking his time, appreciating each part of her as it is slowly bared. She blushes and he smiles. “You’re so beautiful.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost more than she can bear. No one’s ever told her that, no one’s ever felt like that - not about her.

It’s not long after his words that he’s as naked as she is and now she’s the one moved to use the word ‘beautiful.’ Because if that word applies to anyone, it applies to him. His skin is like alabaster, his proportions like a god. Though she’s seen him like this before, she’s never taken the opportunity to appreciate his perfection. How could anyone so gloriously handsome want her?

Their bond is there, strong and sure, and he knows her questions before she has the chance to give them voice. He answers as silently as she asked and she nearly gasps at the intensity of emotion that filters back to her through the cord that makes their two souls almost one.

She reaches out to touch him and he joins her on the bed, hissing softly as she runs her hands over his flesh.

Their lips meet, the kiss like an epiphany, like the answer to prayers she’d never spoken. She is overwhelmed and she lays back, letting him move over her. The cool sensation of his fingers, his lips...

And then he’s inside her. She feels...she can’t find the words for what she’s experiencing. She only knows that it’s powerful and glorious and it astounds her with its radiance. The way he moves, the way he touches her...there’s a magic in this that outshines even the night she restored his soul. She feels like a part of something...a part of Angel. And like he’s a part of her, something that’s been missing but is now restored. He is ecstasy and forever and everything she’s ever dreamed.

She finds release with him and the pleasure is almost more than she can bear. Then her eyes are drawn to a corner of the room.

Buffy is lying there...dead.

Angel’s voice pulls her back to him. “I love you.”



Willow awakens, gasping and terrified. She leaps from her bed, her hands running over her body, making sure she’s still clothed, that Angel’s hands have not just been caressing her flesh, and her eyes take in every inch of her room, assuring herself that Buffy isn’t a corpse after all. Sobs are choking her and she can’t stop the tears from falling.

“No! No!”

Jenny is there in front of her.

“Why won’t you accept your destiny? Why can’t you see the truth?”

“Because it isn’t the truth. It’s not. I won’t let it happen! I don’t love Angel! And I would never let him kill...”

“Willow.” Jenny tut-tut’s her as if she’s made some sort of infantile error. “You know that’s not true. I know you want to believe that, that you feel guilty, that you don’t want to hurt Buffy because you believe she’s your friend. But she’s not your friend, Willow. She’s taken everything you hold dear since the moment she set foot in this town. Jesse...Xander...me. Don’t let her take Angel, too.”

Now it’s Jesse’s turn to speak.

“You know you can count on me - that I’ve only ever wanted the best for you. Angel loves you, he loves you the way that you deserve to be loved.”

Back to Jenny.

“Listen to us, Willow. We brought him back for you. Because you and he were meant to be. You must see that. And Buffy is standing in the way of your happiness...yours and Angel’s.”

The back-and-forth, the alternating voices of the two people she would give anything to truly have with her right now and the awful things they are saying are making her disoriented. Maybe that’s why her instincts are starting to take hold, to speak to her, to help her figure things out. Because she finally feels some sense of the truth: Jesse and Jenny are not here.

She doesn’t know what or who has taken their forms and their memories or why it’s here trying to convince her to be with Angel, but whatever it is, it’s evil. And buried underneath all the lies it has tried to manipulate her with tonight, there is, she’s certain, one truth: the evil that is in her room is the evil that brought Angel back. The evil that wants her by his side, in his bed. The evil that wants to destroy Buffy. The evil that will obviously stop at nothing to make that happen.

“You can’t escape this, Willow. It’s your destiny.”

“Oh really? Well what if I die, huh? Then I won’t have a destiny anymore.”

“You won’t do that. You’re too strong for that.”

“Wrong. Maybe I used to be, but not now. I don’t know who or what you are, or what it is you want, but I’m done. Guess you wasted your time if you brought Angel back for me, if you thought he’d kill Buffy to be with me. Because Willow is leaving the building. ”

With that, she goes into the bathroom and grabs the bottle of sleeping pills she was prescribed and her toothpaste glass. She fills it with water. For a moment, she feels guilty, hoping her parents don’t decide to sue her poor doctor once they learn she’s dead, but it can’t be helped. There’s only one way out.

She comes back into the room; Jenny is still standing there.

“Well, it’s not what we hoped for, but it’ll do.” One more transformation. “Guess we’ll be seeing you soon, buddy.” Jesse’s voice fades as he disappears and Willow is suddenly alone.

“Yeah, guess you will,” she replies to no one at all. But in truth, she knows she won’t be seeing anyone and she’s something akin to happy about that. She might believe in Hell, but Willow’s got no faith in heaven. She finds the idea of oblivion far more seductive. No more feeling or thinking...no more Willow.

She’s still herself though, at least for a few more moments. So she takes out some paper and a pen and begins to compose the last words she can give to the people she’s leaving behind. To her parents, to Buffy, to Xander...and to Oz. She still can’t bring herself to tell them the whole truth, not even as she’s leaving them forever. But really, that’s not what’s important. What matters is that they know she loves them and that none of them - not even her oblivious and neglectful parents or foolish, selfish Xander - are to blame for the choice she’s made.

She finishes and sets the pen down. This is hard, so hard. Because deep down, she doesn’t want to die, not really. She just can’t bear to live, to be trapped forever in this bond with Angel and in this murderous evil he’s been brought back to be a part of, so she has to be strong and let go. Let go of her hopes, her memories, the chance of getting past her pain that she swore she never believed in but that now seems so real...and just as impossible as when she was convinced it didn’t exist. If she doesn’t, Buffy will be the one to die and she can’t let that happen.

Her hand is shaking as she struggles with the cap on the bottle, the bottle that holds her only escape from a future so grim it’s brought her to actions she’d once sworn nothing could ever induce her to take. She may be sure this is what must be, but that doesn’t calm her or make this anything but one more horrible, agonizing memory to take with her to nothingness.

“Willow!” A voice stops her as she’s about to swallow her first handful of pills and she turns towards the direction it’s coming from: the french doors and the balcony beyond them.

She’s shocked by who’s there, though she isn’t sure why. Maybe because it’s nearly sunrise on Christmas morning and it’s a shock that anyone would call on her now. Maybe because this time her visitor is real. The unexpected guest who is standing on her balcony isn’t Jenny or Jesse.

It’s Angel.

Tbc...