The Soulmate Series

Tipping Point (Chapter Twenty-Seven of Soulmates)

The front door to Willow’s house opens and light illuminates the stoop. Angel watches from the shadows as her guest finally emerges, the guest whose departure he’s been awaiting for at least an hour.

“Bye, Will. Are you sure you’re gonna be okay? Because you can always come stay at my house.”

“I’ll be fine, Buffy. It’s not like I’ve never been alone before.”

“Yeah, but not since...”

“Actually, yes, I have. My parents went away for three weeks. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Sorry.”

Nice one, Buffy. Way to be aware of your best friend. What a splendid chum you are indeed.

More awkward conversation follows until finally Buffy walks off, thankfully in the opposite direction from where Angel has been lying in wait since shortly after sunset. Willow is alone at last.

He gives her time to make it back to her room before climbing up to her balcony, opening the bond slowly to give her some notice of his imminent appearance and to maintain the illusion that it’s affected by their proximity to each other. It will be much easier to have an extended visit if he knocks at the french doors that lead from the terrace to her bedroom rather than at the front door, though the eighteenth century gentleman within him longs to pay a proper call on the woman he loves. That, however, will have to wait. For now, he knows she’s unlikely to invite him in and he’s too canny to give away the fact that he’s aware he already received an invitation from her. That’s a gambit he’ll save for another day’s play.

She is both relieved and depressed after Buffy’s departure, feelings Angel can well understand. He can tell that she’s glad not to have to deal with her friend’s bumbling attempts at support and understanding, but she is far from cheered by the prospect of another solitary night. If only she realized how very well Angel knows her and that surcease from her pervasive lonesomeness could be found in the arms of the lover she continually spurns.

He can see that she’s tumbled to his presence; she’s looking around, acutely aware that he’s somewhere nearby. Good. He derives what little happiness is to be found in the present from these small tokens Fate throws his way, these miserly seeds which must assuredly blossom into future bounty.

“Willow.” He speaks loudly enough for her to hear him through the glass.

She approaches in her typically timorous and uncertain fashion and once again, it’s acutely painful. Her fear of him is something he can never quite inure himself to, never quite make himself suffer with calm and forbearance. But she opens the door without needing to be coaxed and that does act as a sop to his wounded heart.

“What are you doing here?” And he is bleeding inside all over again. How can she ask such a question?

“I wanted to check on you, make sure you were alright. Last night was...well, it had to have been traumatic for you.”

“Yeah.” She pauses, lost in thought and in memories of the attempted auto da fe by which she nearly perished, and Angel allows her emotions to wash over him. She’s in so much agony, and there’s hopelessness mixed in with it as well. Angel would gladly rip her parents’ hearts out and hand them to Willow, but he’s not altogether sure they possess those organs. “I guess I should thank you. I mean, you saved my life and all. Again.” She’s looking down at the ground, not at him, but the words still mean everything to Angel.

“You don’t have to thank me, Willow.”

“Yes, I do. You risked your life and...well...you’re supposed to thank people for that.”

“Okay.” He plays the shy, tongue-tied role now, knowing it will disarm her. The image of Buffy’s brooding, inept swain dies hard - hasn’t died at all, really. And it’s a mantle he’s willing to wear to suit his purposes.

“Your parents...did they say anything about what happened?” He decides to continue to play the 'bumbling and oafish' card. Sure, he’s hurting Willow right now, but only for her own good: to make her realize how desperately she needs him.

“No.” Tears are swimming in her eyes. “When I woke up, there was a note downstairs - they went out of town again. I think they said they’d be back next month. I don’t remember right now.”

Angel can almost see the note through her eyes, the words blurred by tears. Oh how much he longs to hold her right now, to let her cry out her pain, to soothe her and let her know that she never need be alone again. It takes all his restraint to stay outside, to keep maintaining the ruse that he’s unaware of the invitation he received.

“I’m sorry.” Now he’s the one who looks away awkwardly. He’s amazed how easily he can portray the craven creature he once was. The clothes are uncomfortable, but they fit well enough to serve.

“Not your fault.”

“It must be hard, though, being here all alone after everything that’s happened.”

“I’m not alone. I mean, I wasn’t. Buffy visited me tonight, she just left a few minutes before you got here, and now you’re here so, yeah not alone.” She’s trying desperately to play her old role as well: the babbling, perky optimist. She’s nowhere near the skilled thespian that he is. Nor is she capable of concealing her feelings from him, not that she even thinks it’s possible.

“I’m glad she was here. You guys both went through a bad time of it and I’m sure it helped to talk to her.” The look on her face tugs at his heart. He hates to say things that bring her so much despair, but it can’t be helped.

“Yeah.” There’s so much underneath that simple, one word lie.

Angel pretends to be surprised by what she’s feeling. “Are you okay, Willow. Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry.”

“No, really, Angel. I’m fine.”

There’s only so far he can go with this charade. Besides, there’s no way that later it wouldn’t come back to bite him if he lets this pass. Willow will remember the bond at some point and grow suspicious of him for pretending not to know what she was feeling.

“Willow, please don’t lie to me. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, especially not with me, but I know that there’s something wrong.”

“I know, it’s just...”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” Her eyes are huge and dark and full of pain - full of longing. He can tell that she’s asking for more than she knows.

“Yes, I do.” His tone is as serious and measured as hers was.

She wants so badly to unburden herself; he can feel it. He knows that he’s the last person she thinks she wants to open up to, but he also knows that she’s desperate, her nerves stretched taut. If she talks - if she talks to him - it will break down at least part of this wall that she’s built between them.

“Willow, if you need to talk...I know you don’t trust me, and you have every right to feel that way, but...it’s awful to see you suffering like this with no one to talk to, and...I’m here. And I do understand, you can believe that.”

He can almost see the scales tipping madly in her mind: first one way, then the other - as unbalanced as she is right now. Will they at last be weighted in his direction? He can only hope so. He fills his thoughts with compassion, pure and untainted, and he knows she can feel it.

It’s not long before something shatters. She’s too fragile and too hungry to resist him. He quickly tamps down his elation.

“It’s just...I... Buffy just doesn’t get it. And that’s okay. I mean, I’m glad she has a mom who loves her and cares about her, but she just doesn’t know what it’s like. And it’s hard. She doesn’t think it’s a big deal. She takes her mom so much for granted and she thinks that because my parents have never cared that I don’t care that they don’t care, you know? And yeah, I let her think that, I let everyone think that. But I do. I do care, and it hurts.” She collapses - kneeling on the ground and crying. Angel feels her desolation and he knows it’s magnified by the fact that he is the one she’s telling about all of this. “Why don’t they love me?”

“I don’t know, Willow. I wish I had the answer for you. You’re...you’re the most loveable person I know, the most deserving of parents who love and cherish you. I wish I could make them be what they should be, feel what they should feel. I would give anything to be able to do that for you.” He’s being honest, perhaps too honest. But the words have been spoken and there’s nothing he can do but wait and see what happens.

She’s looking at him with those wide, despair-filled eyes again. Confused, she’s certainly that. There’s also impotence, an unfocused anger, sorrow, loneliness, and something else to which he can’t quite put a name. Her eyes are searching within him, and so is she. He feels her reach out, as if seeking answers, seeking truth.

She gets up, drying her tears. “Sorry I unloaded on you like that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I know. I guess I just wish you did.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Yeah, kind of...no, not kind of...I mean, yes, I’d like you to go.”

“Okay. Good night, Willow.” And he goes, walking away without another word. It’s the right thing to do. Tonight’s been a huge breakthrough, but one he could easily undo by pushing things, by asking for too much.

He remembers to withdraw from their connection as he walks away, though it’s a close thing, so caught up is he in the fact of Willow having shared herself with him tonight. It’s a kind of intimacy that he’d been almost afraid they would never share. Not that he’s ever truly doubted their inevitability, but he has to confess that there have been times when his certainty has wavered. Tonight, however, has provided a glorious confirmation that soon, so soon, he and Willow will be together as they were meant to be.

It is terrible, though, that she has to suffer so much anguish and distress. Still, he’s confident that the love he’ll soon find no impediment to showering her with will more than make up for the torments she’s enduring on her journey to her destiny.

A few moments later and he’s back home. There are advantages to vampiric speed, not the least of them being the ability to get where he needs to go nearly as soon as he wants to be there. He’d hate to have accidentally run into Buffy or Faith on the way.

There’s another point of interest. He’s kept Faith on the back burner of his awareness and that may have been a mistake. She’s showing signs of greater instability than he’d originally believed and she might bear closer watching. She was, come to think of it, noticeably absent during the rescue of Buffy and Willow last night. Other than that, however, there’s been nothing obvious, just the sort of infinitesimal hints that only the most watchful and experienced eye would see - an eye like his - but it’s enough to ring some alarms. He’s learned the hard way - all those years with Drusilla - and he knows that you can never be too careful with a madwoman. Their whims and fancies could take surprising, and lethal, turns. A deranged Slayer might be capable of anything.

He rummages through his recall, not finding anything specifically troubling at the moment, but he’ll keep a weather eye on her from now on. Maybe she’s insane, maybe just increasingly frustrated by her place in Buffy’s shadow - either way, Angel will make sure he’s prepared to keep her from doing anything that might harm Willow or interfere with his plans. It’s a bit of a shift in her role and he’s sure now that she’ll serve no use as a pawn after all, but it’s not fatal. There are always plenty of pawns if one knows where to find them and the loss of Faith is hardly catastrophic. She wasn’t even yet in the game.

Nothing else is discomfiting him at present, so Angel settles down in a chair by the fire to reflect on the delights of the evening. Willow has confided in him, trusted him, for the very first time. It’s a glorious event and one which fills him with elation. He well deserves to feel self-satisfied at this point.

He decides to take that satisfaction to the next level, indulging himself with a fantasy of how tonight might have gone even better. Undoing his trousers, he takes out his cock, stroking himself as the dream begins to take shape...


“I understand.”

“You do?” She’s looking at him, her eyes shining with hope.

“Yes, I do.”

She’s staring into his eyes, her heart reaching out to his in a way that is so intimate it leaves him shaking.

“You really do, don’t you?”

He says nothing, merely lets his heart speak for him. She continues to stare, her eyes fixed on his. He’s almost hypnotized by them.

“Willow, if you need to talk...I know you don’t trust me, and you have every right to feel that way, but...it’s awful to see you suffering like this with no one to talk to, and...I’m here. And I do understand, you can believe that.”

She hesitates for a moment, weighing his words. Then she says the words he was so hoping to hear: “Come in, Angel.”

His steps are slow and careful as he enters her bedroom, breathing in the scent of her, taking in the room that hasn’t changed one bit from the first time he was here - that night he came here full of calf love for her best friend.

“It’s just...I...I’m so confused, Angel. Nothing makes any sense, and I feel so guilty. I mean, Buffy’s my best friend, and I love her, I really do. I just...”

“What is it, Willow?”

“It’s you, Angel. I have...I have these feelings and...”

His heart soars, he’s sensing something from her he’d been afraid would never come and he’s sure she can feel his joy. A look of surprise comes over her face.

“You’re not mad at me?” Her eyes are wide and full of questions.

He takes her hand in his and leads her to the bed to sit beside him. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because...the way I’ve been treating you all this time. The things I’ve said...”

His finger is soon at her lips, halting her words. “Shhh, sweetheart. It’s alright. I understand, I do. You were confused and I know I hurt you. I am not angry at all.”

“But I called you a rapist; I said I hated you.”

“And I understand why you did. The way I took you...it was brutal and frightening and I completely understand why you felt the way you did. Please don’t apologize, you have done nothing wrong.”

“You forgive me? Really?”

There are tears in those beautiful eyes and Angel longs to banish them. She is terrified that she’s destroyed his love for her, as if that’s even possible. Perhaps actions will say what might take too many words. He leans in and he kisses her.

Her response is better than he’d ever dreamed, she is ardent and eager and responsive - she is everything he could have hoped for and so much more. Her hands are restless, moving over him, touching him, caressing him - just as his are doing to her.

“Make love to me, Angel, now, please ”

He can hardly believe his ears and her words leave him far too impatient to wait. There will be other times for slow, gentle lovemaking. Now his need, *their* need, is far too great for anything but immediate gratification.

In a trice, he’s yanked off her pajama bottoms and panties and undone his trousers. He can smell her arousal, thick and heavy in the air, and he knows she’s ready, even desperate, to have him inside her. In seconds, he’s satisfied that wish, and his own. She is hot and tight and welcoming, her body sheathing him within her as if she was made especially for him. Which she was, and at last they both know it.

He thrusts into her, hard and claiming, glorying in the cries of pleasure he hears from her as they approach completion. Soon she is screaming her release.

“Angel!” Her voice is like music and it sends him over the edge with her.


The vision fades as Angel spills over his hand. He is back in his chair, alone, in front of the waning fire that crackles weakly in his hearth. He’s not disheartened though. She’s not with him yet, but that will change soon enough. If he’s learned anything, he’s learned that dreams can come true, at least for those willing to do the work to make it happen. And Angel is nothing if not dedicated and industrious.

He makes his way upstairs to his room, those same sheets from his time with Willow still on his bed. Any day, though, he will be changing them, he’s certain of that fact. He can hardly wait until the time when he won’t need them to fill his nostrils with the scents of Willow and sex. Still, he thinks he’ll save these sheets. Someday even Willow will agree that they hold traces of very special memories.


Tbc...