Later in the Ashes

Later in the Ashes (Chapter Three)


Worn out though she was, Willow couldn't close her eyes.

Angel was either asleep or pretending to be. Willow lay beside him - body still, mind restless. What was she doing? What had she gotten herself into? What kind of a woman could fuck one man eight ways from Sunday when she was sure she was still passionately devoted to another?

The answer to the last question was obvious: the kind of woman she saw in the mirror every day, whatever kind that was.

She looked over at Angel, pain still evident on his face even with his eyes closed, and she felt guiltier than ever. Not only did she feel as though she was being unfaithful to Oz by being here with Angel, but she felt somehow unfaithful to Angel for thinking of Oz while she was in his bed. Maybe what she and Angel had wasn’t really anything like a relationship, but she was here - with him - and Angel needed her, all of her. She owed him that much, though she wasn’t quite sure why she felt she owed him anything.

Perhaps it was his grief - a grief he was being honest and true about in a way she’d not been with Jesse’s death until it was too late to mean anything. That, at least, was a reason Willow was as comfortable with as she could be with any reason.

There were, of course, other possibilities - possibilities far more selfish, possibilities that called into question so many things she believed about herself and about her life back in Sunnydale.

“What are you thinking about?” Angel’s voice startled her right out of her rumination.

“Nothing.”

The expression on his face conveyed utter disbelief. Now might be a good time to remember that not everyone was as easy to fool as her friends.

“Nothing important,” she amended. He wasn’t buying that either. Great. Had Angel been asleep at all? Because no one was this acute immediately upon awakening.

She needed to get away. Between guilt and the fear of what she might say and how it might hurt him, Willow was desperate to be anywhere but with Angel right now.

“I’m going to go take a shower, okay?” Angel nodded, so Willow got out of bed. She could feel his eyes on her as she went to her overnight bag and grabbed some sundries, underwear, and the nightshirt she’d packed. Force of habit. She wasn’t used to sleeping naked, not even with Oz, though she’d done so the last time she was Angel.

There was some pain as she moved, though not nearly as much as last time - more discomfort than pain, actually - but she figured a hot shower would fix her up as good as new. Her plans began to change. After all, she wasn’t really very sleepy. Maybe she should just get back in her car and drive home; if luck was on her side, she could get back before anyone even realized she’d been gone.

She turned on the water. She’d noted last time with some surprise that it heated up quickly and it was the same tonight (or should that be: this morning?). Angel had a hidden fondness for creature comforts, she was discovering, for all his vaunted self-abnegation. Plentiful hot water, silk sheets, some rather expensive hair products...he was not quite the monastic creature she’d thought him to be.

Getting into the shower, she let the water wash over her, losing herself in the heat and steam and the smell of her body wash. She’d brought her own, along with her shampoo, of course, mindful of the need not to come home smelling like Angel. She’d been lucky last time, having a chance to shower at the dorms before seeing Buffy. She wasn’t going to count on that luck again. She had a hunch Angel had been using the same products for some time and for all she knew, Buffy vividly remembered the smell of Angel’s soap and shampoo. Who knew how strong Slayer senses were? And they did share a dorm room - tight quarters.

She washed herself, being careful rubbing the cloth between her legs. She thought back on tonight, on the way she’d been with Angel. Maybe he hadn’t let go with her the way he had before because she hadn’t let go with him. She’d been too ashamed, too disgusted with herself for giving herself to him with a passion she’d never shared with Oz. So she’d held back this time, and she felt guilty for that. She couldn’t win.

Cold air hit her and she turned in surprise just as she felt another body close behind her. She wasn’t alone in the shower anymore. She turned around.

“Angel, I...” Her voice was swallowed by his kiss and she soon felt the cool slickness of the tile against her back. She shivered; odd thing to feel cold in a hot shower.

“I missed you,” he said, his mouth leaving hers. He smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those remained pools of pain. Willow was reminded of why she was here.

She said nothing, just reached down and wrapped her hand gently around his cock, stroking it slowly up and down. Angel hissed, his eyes flickering gold. They always seemed to do that with her. She wondered if it was that way with Buffy; her friend had never mentioned it. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She figured it could just be one of those details Buffy hadn’t shared, though she’d shared so many others that Willow had blushed often during conversations with her friend.

Angel kissed her again, softly and more sweetly than he ever had before. It made her uncomfortable; this tenderness wasn’t something she wanted from him. The way things had been, she could call it fucking and tell herself it meant nothing, but softness was what she’d shared with Oz, it was what she’d always considered making love to be. She didn’t want to make love to Angel, not even now, when he was grieving and desperate and lost.

The kiss deepened, became more passionate, more aggressive, and her grip inadvertently tightened on his cock. She worried she’d hurt him, but Angel didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to like it, in fact. It was obvious what was going to happen next.

Willow was still sore, and not ready to give in, to give herself completely the way she knew he would compel her to now. She let go of him and pushed him back slightly, then dropped to her knees. She took him in her mouth.

He was surprised, but hardly unwilling, his hands finding their way into her hair, gently guiding her as she began to suck his cock. Her movements were slow at first, and he seemed to understand that she needed to adjust. She’d done this for Oz before, but he wasn’t as big as Angel. Also, she hadn’t felt the pressure to perform that she felt now, though she knew it was self-created. She might tell herself that this was all about Angel needing her, but the truth was that it was all about Angel wanting her - desiring her in a way she’d never been desired before, a desire she did not want to lose.

So she did her best to relax her throat muscles, to take more of him, and her efforts were not unappreciated. Angel’s head lolled back, the water running down his face as his eyes closed; it was obvious he liked what she was doing. That aroused her. She wondered if he could smell just how much; he probably could.

His fingers tightened in her hair and he began urging her on, wanting her to take him faster and deeper. She obliged, wondering at the back of her mind if he’d expect her to swallow.

She never found out. So quickly that she could barely register what was happening, he pulled out of her mouth, then lifted her up. In seconds, she was facing the shower wall and Angel thrust into her from behind.

The shock of his entry made her gasp. She had no time to process what he was doing. His fingers found her clit; his thrusts were hard and strong. Before she even realized what she was feeling, she came - screaming his name at the top of her voice. Almost immediately, he followed, burying his teeth in the bite on her neck once more. The intensity of the feelings he elicited from her body was too much. Willow passed out.

She wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed when she finally came to, but she was in Angel’s bed again when she did. The feel of his hand against her cheek was surprisingly warm. The heat from the shower, she supposed. Leave it to her to think about such things at a time like this.

“Are you alright?”

She opened her eyes; they locked on Angel’s. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You scared me.” He smiled, trying to play it off, but his eyes were filled with fear, fear Willow had put there. She felt more than a little guilty about that, though really, it was hardly her fault she’d fainted.

She apologized anyway. “I’m sorry.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

She sat up awkwardly. “Oz and I never...not that way.” Why had she said that? She’d just opened herself up to Angel in a fashion comparable to the physical abandon she’d felt so guilty about a week ago.

“Never?” She caught a fleeting glimpse of something smug passing across Angel’s visage. It was gone in an instant, but she saw it just the same.

She felt compelled to defend the boy she loved. “He...it would have been too much like the wolf, you know? Besides, he always said he liked looking at my face when we made love...because I was so beautiful.” There were tears in her eyes now.

“You are beautiful.” Angel leaned in and kissed her. It was soft and sweet again; she couldn’t keep the tears from falling. “But I don’t need to be looking at you to see your face.”

He seemed to want to say more and Willow was terrified. There was more going on between them now than she had ever intended, not that she’d ever intended for there to be anything between them.

“ I...”

“It’s okay,” he sighed.

It wasn’t okay - not for him, and not for her - but Willow was more than happy to avoid even the most shallow and superficial version of this conversation. More than two words would bring to light truths she’d prefer to leave buried in eternal darkness, truths she wasn’t sure she could live with having to admit she knew.

Lying to herself - it was the leitmotif of this...whatever it was.

Angel walked around the bed to the other side and lay down next to her, pulling the sheets and coverlet up over the two of them. Willow noted for the first time that there was a towel on her pillow. Angel was a very detail-oriented creature, and a fastidious one as well. No wet hair soaking his silk sheets. Funny, he seemed to have dried it a good bit as well. She must have been quite insensible not to have noticed. Was her orgasm the only factor in her fainting spell. Could Angel have taken too much blood as well?

She suddenly wasn’t so sure that Angel’s soul made him nearly as safe as they’d all been wont to believe.

Seemed she was more tired than she’d thought, too tired for intense reflection. She lay back down, shutting her eyes and allowing Angel to put his arms around her and hold her close, a part of her even willing to concede that she enjoyed it. The truth was that she hated sleeping alone. Thanks to Oz, she’d become unused to the solitude her parents’ rearing had trained her to see as normal. She craved the feel of a body next to her own, of just knowing that someone would be right there with her when she awoke.

It felt as if it were only a moment later that she opened her eyes again, but something told her she’d actually been sleeping and that quite some time had passed. This was becoming a rather discomfiting habit, one she’d be more than pleased to break. Not for one second had she thought that the body in bed with her was Oz, and for a fleeting moment she knew she was okay with that, a thought that distressed her terribly. Missing Oz was all she had left of him. If she lost that longing, she’d truly have lost him.

Angel’s hold on her had loosened a bit and Willow believed he was slumbering himself now. So she gingerly disentangled herself and very slowly and quietly got out of bed. Her nightclothes were still in the bathroom, but Willow didn’t go to retrieve them. Instead, she went to her overnight bag and got some clothes, slipping into her underwear, t-shirt, and peasant skirt as silently as she could manage, muttering the words to the glamour almost unconsciously as she dressed. After some thought, she slipped on her shoes as well.

She headed to the elevator. She needed coffee and she needed to think, definitely in that order. Seconds later, she was in Angel’s office. To her shock, she was not alone.

“Cordelia. I’m surprised to see you.” In truth, she was. She would have thought Cordelia would have leapt at the chance to stay home. Maybe Willow hadn’t given her enough credit. Maybe she was truly grieving. Maybe, like Angel, she didn’t want to be alone.

“Yeah, well, it’s mutual.” There was a noticeable absence of acid in Cordelia’s tone and her eyes were red-rimmed to a degree no amount of cosmetic skill had been able to entirely mask. Willow’s heart went out to her.

“I heard about Doyle. Angel called. That’s...that’s why I’m here.” Cordelia looked puzzled by that, so Willow tried to explain. “I guess he figured I’d understand, you know?” Cordelia didn’t know, so Willow went a bit further. “Jesse.”

A light came on behind Cordelia’s eyes. Willow found her almost fond expression unexpected, but also touching. Cordelia remembered Jesse. That was a good thing. Jesse would have been so happy about that. Willow hoped that he somehow knew.

Awkwardness prevailed for a time as neither one of them could think of anything to say. The past stood like stone between them and it was hard to find a way around it.

Finally, Willow decided to try an old standby. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything, I guess. Doyle being dead, being here, what happened back in Sunnydale...” And much to Willow’s own amazement, she really meant it. She was sorry. Sorry she’d been stupid, sorry she’d been selfish, sorry that Cordelia was grieving and lonely...just sorry.

“It’s not your fault.”

That wasn’t exactly what she’d expected Cordelia to say, nor did she expect the tears she saw brimming in the former cheerleader’s eyes. But what she really didn’t expect was her own actions - she walked over to Cordelia and embraced her.

As hugs went, it was clumsy and strange, neither one of them quite prepared for such an affectionate gesture, but it was comforting - for both of them. She was graced with a watery smile from Cordelia as they released each other and stood silent and nervous for a minute or two.

It struck them both, Willow realized, that not being enemies was something new and uncertain. It was almost disquieting. Sure, they’d sort of gotten along when Cordelia was dating Xander, but that was circumstantial, a best friend and a girlfriend forging a tentative peace for the sake of a boy. This was different, or it would be.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any coffee around, would you?” It was obvious from the raised eyebrow that Cordelia remembered what Willow was once like when exposed to caffeine. Was there any point in trying to explain to her that the amount of coffee a college student needed to drink had largely altered her chemistry and made her far less wacky after consumption of it?

To her amazement, however, Cordelia made no effort to dissuade her from her desire. “The machine’s over there.” She gestured towards what Willow could now see was a coffee maker. “I could make you some if you like.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure I can figure it out. Thanks.” Willow proceeded to the machine in question and did exactly that. It wasn’t the most complicated piece of equipment, after all, and in no time, Willow had a pot brewing.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Now that was truly unexpected. She turned back and looked at Cordelia’s face. She meant it; she really did.

“Thanks. I’m...” What was she? Willow wasn’t quite sure what to say or even how she felt. There were so many things Cordelia didn’t know, things that made everything in Willow’s mind and heart muddled and murky. If she could save the world by stating what her feelings were right now, she’d fail.

“I hope it’s okay, but...Angel told me about Oz, that he left and all and...”

“It’s okay.” And it was. Oh, twenty minutes ago, she would have been furious, but as of now, it was fine. She could accept Cordelia having that knowledge.

“He’s a jerk, you know? I mean, I know he probably made some lame excuse about you and Xander and all, but really, it’s not the same thing. It’s not like you and Xander slept together.”

Willow’s shock must have shown on her face.

“Okay, when Angel first told me I felt differently for a minute or two, but I’ve changed. I’m mature now and I’ve gotten past all that and I can see things more realistically.”

Now Willow was the one with the raised eyebrow; she couldn’t help it.

“Alright, maybe I see it differently because Doyle thought...when he heard some of the things I said...he said...” Cordelia became too choked up to say another word.

For the second time today, Willow found herself with her arms around Cordelia Chase. The girl was sobbing and Willow couldn’t help but cry, too. She’d barely met Doyle, but it sounded like he’d stuck up for her, stuck up for her against the woman he loved. He must have been one heck of a guy. Willow wished like anything that she could have known him.

“I’m really glad Angel called you,” Cordelia said as she pulled away and reached in her purse for a Kleenex, dabbing at her surprisingly intact eye makeup. It was the second time she’d said that and Willow was...well...moved.

She got up and went over to the coffee maker, getting two cups and filling them. The coffee was hot and smelled pretty good and Willow was looking forward to the rush of caffeine hitting her system.

The sound of the elevator startled her; she almost dropped the coffee pot. Angel was here.

For a moment, Willow thought Cordelia was going to go to him and hug him - her body language all but screamed that intent - but something seemed to stop her.

A softly spoken “Hey” was what she offered instead, and she remained seated.

“Hey,” Angel replied. What it lacked in originality, it made up for in doing nothing to smooth the rough edges of renewed awkwardness in the room.

Willow took Cordelia the coffee she’d poured, trying desperately to keep her hand from shaking.

“I was going to check the paper, see if there was anything about the explosion,” Cordelia offered, before taking a sip of her coffee and smiling approvingly at Willow. She then did just that, opening up the copy of the L.A. Times which lay before her on the desk.

Angel walked over to the coffee machine, pouring himself a cup and smelling it appreciatively. Gosh, she must really make good coffee.

Seconds later, however, the silence was shattered. “Oh my God! Willow, did you know about this?”

Willow immediately went behind the desk to see what Cordelia was so agitated about and a small headline halfway down the page caught her eye: Mysterious Epidemic in Sunnydale.

Willow scanned the article quickly, learning that each and every resident of Sunnydale had suddenly contracted laryngitis, that the whole town was in fact mute. The article went on to suggest that either some sort of biological weapon or perhaps mass hysteria was at fault, though city leaders were blaming the outbreak on recent flu vaccinations. Willow knew better; this was something demonic, no question about it.

“I...I have to go home.” She was truly shaking now. This could not be good.

“Willow, you can’t. See what it says here?” Cordelia pointed to a sentence towards the end of the article. “It says the whole town is quarantined. No one is allowed in or out until they figure out what’s causing the epidemic.”

“I have to try, Cordelia. I can’t just leave them there to handle this alone. I mean, I know Giles will probably be able to figure stuff out, and Buffy can slay whatever is causing this if it’s something you can slay, but it’s not like Xander and Anya are a whole bunch of help and who knows if Spike even cares. I have some magical mojo and they could probably use it right now.”

Okay, perhaps she was overstating her degree of magical expertise - after all, other then the resouling spell, glamours were pretty much all she was good for - but she couldn’t very well stay here and do nothing. For all the problems she was having with her friends, they were still her friends and, more importantly, Sunnydale was her home. She’d been defending it against the forces of evil since her sophomore year in high school. She wasn’t about to stop now.

“Spike is back?” Guess Cordelia hadn’t been told about that.

Now Willow was both confused and irritated with Angel. He told his erstwhile secretary all about her breakup with Oz (which really wasn’t her business, though Willow was okay with her knowing), but never mentioned Spike (who really was her business, seeing as how he’d tried to kill them all at one time or another)? Thanks, Angel.

There was definitely going to be a very big discussion happening at some point in the future.

“Something was done to him by a bunch of commandos. We don’t know all the details yet, but we do know he can’t hurt anybody anymore. We’ve kind of taken him in.”

“Like a stray puppy?” Cordelia’s grief hadn’t completely resolved her tact issues, something Willow was actually a bit happy about. To tell the truth, she sometimes enjoyed Cordelia’s caustic remarks, especially when they were not directed at her. “Oops, sorry, Willow. I didn’t mean...I wasn’t trying to make you think of Oz or anything.”

Actually, Willow hadn’t thought of Oz until Cordelia mentioned him by name. How strange was that?

“It’s okay. I’m dealing with it.” She could tell neither Angel nor Cordelia believed her, and why should they? It wasn't a bit true.

Of course, she wished she was dealing with it. Or maybe she didn't. Because dealing with it meant letting go and she still stubbornly refused to do that. What she and Oz had...it was forever, Willow refused to accept anything else as truth, and if that meant a lifetime of pathetic loneliness, with a blanket of threadbare nostalgia as her only source of warmth, well wasn't that how it should be?

She needed to get out of here. The sooner she was back in Sunnydale, the sooner she was away from Angel and the reminder he was of needs and feelings that weren't going to stay buried in the grave where her life with Oz lay rotting away, the sooner she could go back to grieving over what was lost and pretending that she'd never forgotten her sorrows for awhile in another man's bed...at least once they’d dealt with the mysterious epidemic.

“I’m sorry to leave you guys right now, I really am,” she turned and looked at Angel as well, “but I have to go back. I’m sure I can do some sort of magic-y something to get me past whatever they have keeping people out of Sunnydale and the sooner I get there, the sooner I can help fix this.”

Cordelia got up and pulled Willow into an embrace. “It’s okay. You’ve always been Little Miss Helpful. And really, you’re right. I mean, hello, it’s not like Xander or Buffy have ever been any good at research. Giles could probably use someone around who actually knows how to read.”

Willow thought that, even though she'd made a similar observation herself, maybe she ought to at least want to defend her friends, but she didn’t feel the slightest compulsion along those lines and she wasn’t going to force it. She felt closer to Cordelia right now than she had to Buffy and Xander in ages, and that wasn’t just a matter of physical proximity. More food for somber thought later.

She walked past Angel to the elevator, unnerved by his silence, but grateful as well. She noticed that he looked at her neck as she passed and she hoped Cordelia hadn’t seen where his eyes had been. Deciding to try to forestall another tete a tete with him before leaving, she turned around and went back to give him a quick hug.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” She kept the contact warm but brief. “I’m sure you guys will want to sit and talk, you know? So I’ll just head down, get my stuff, and go. I’ll call you as soon as I can.” With that, she was on the elevator, headed downstairs before Angel had a chance to say a word.

Back in Angel’s room, it looked like her gambit had worked; minutes passed and she remained alone. She went into the bathroom, grabbing her sundries and nightclothes and stuffing them back into her overnight bag. Hoisting it over her shoulder, she got back on the elevator.

“I’m leaving, guys,” she said with a bit of forced cheer as she disembarked at the office once more.

“Don’t take any stupid risks that it’s Buffy’s job to take, okay, Willow?” Cordelia’s voice held genuine concern along with that now-endearing causticity, as if what she really considered most important was Willow coming out of all this safe and sound. Willow would shed a few tears over that in the car, she knew.

Angel pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. “Be safe. Call me the minute you can.” Then he whispered, “Thank you,” before letting her go.

“Bye.” She waved to both of them as she left.

In moments, Willow was out the door and in her car. The clock and the sinking sun told her it was late afternoon. With any luck, she’d reach Sunnydale in a couple of hours. She only hoped she wasn’t too late. She already had plenty to feel guilty about without the death of her fellow townspeople on her head as well.

Starting the engine, she pulled out into traffic, her thoughts as crazy and mixed-up as the L.A. drivers she had to navigate around. How had her life gotten so incredibly complicated?


Tbc...