|
|
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
"Tell me you don't love me." Angel snarled and smashed his fist against the marble. "I went to f**king HELL for that bitch and she wants me to tell her I don't love her? She's lucky I don't KILL her!" Angel dropped by the fireplace and morphed out of his vamp face. < That tramp. That goddamn tramp. What did she think? That three thousand years of Hell hadn't shaken my permanent guilt trip? I've had paid for any and all of his sins, with interest!> His mind screamed "Tell me you don't love me." He repeated, shaking his head. <She needs to get rid of her "poor me" act. It was sickening, and I would know. > Angel leaned his head back against the fireplace front, acknowledging his hunger. He glared at the blood packets with revulsion. He briefly thought of going out to feed before shaking the idea. Even if he wasn't guilty about past crimes, or barely gave a s**t about anyone besides himself, Buffy and one or two of her friends, he still had a soul and wasn't all that keen on killing people. He narrowed his eyes and felt the rage build inside him again.
"I'm f**king HUNGRY!" He yelled, hearing the echo repeat his words dully. He picked up a wooden chair and bashed it against the wall, sending wooden slivers everywhere. His rage still unsatisfied, his gaze fell on the marble table where Buffy had brought him the blood. He swiped them off with a growl and picked up the heavy table. Adrenaline running through his veins, and his strength almost back to normal it was easy and exhilerating. He changed into his vampire face and aimed it in the direction Buffy had left. "I hate you more than I love you. Does that work?" He growled, before throwing the table, disc-like, with all his strength.
Willow walked the 4 miles to the mansion, equipped with a half-empty box of Kleenex, a water bottle, cuz dehydration was a big risk for her nowadays, and a squirt gun filled with holy water, for those other pesky risks. She had decided to see Angel knowing that he would be just as miserable as she, since Buffy had passed by her house to tell her what had happened between them. Willow needed someone to be miserable with. Buffy was to busy feeling sorry for herself to be much company, and Xander just gave her these sad looks whenever they happened to pass each other in the halls. <No spell could have worked as well as getting caught,> she thought dully <It was like being thrown in a permanent 50 below zero shower.> Now all she felt for him was a mixture of sympathy and resentment. And of course love. She loved Xander. But she loved the boy Xander, not the man Xander.
Willow stopped at the mansions gothic front doors and shivered. <Would Angel be happy to see me, or angry?> She opened the door hesitantly, stepping into the metal and marble foyer. <What if he didn't want to see me, what if he got mad, what if he was->
"I'M HUNGRY!" She heard Angel roar from the next room. Willow gulped. <Yeah that too,>she thought. Gathering her courage, and squirt gun, she followed his voice to a door on her left. Wincing at that crash of something against the wall, she once again re-evaluated her sanity. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the room and opened her mouth to say something. Her sentence ended in a squeak as the last thing she saw was a marble table headed straight towards her.
Once he had thrown the table, Angel turned away, looking for something else to destroy. His anger-riddled mind didn't absorb the fact that the table hadn't connected with the opposite wall. In fact it didn't clue him into what the pitiful squeak was until his blood-rushed ears quieted, and he smelled the blood and heard the heartbeat. Turning slowly, he closed his eyes and prayed. "Oh god, please no . " The smell of blood, rich and sweet, and the faint scent of lilacs hit his super-senses before his eyes even opened. But by then he knew who it was. The flash of red hair, and not blond, didn't lessen his agony. "Willow. . ." Angel's voice gave way as he heard the heartbeat grow fainter, even before he had knelt to check her pulse. Angel looked stoically in Willows wide eyes, ignoring the giant indention in her forehead. Ignoring the blood running down her face. But he couldn't ignore her eyes. Those forgiving and frightened eyes, turned red by tears and blood. As looked into her eyes, slowly losing focus, he repeated the only prayer he had remembered throughout 243 years. "As we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. . . "
Willow struggled to open her eyes. She felt heavy, and slow, like she was moving underwater. She saw Angel looking at her emotionlessly from above, and she realized she must be lying down. <How did. . did. . > Willow gasped as she remembered the table . . . coming at her . . . hitting her. Willow gazed into Angel's horrified eyes and felt blood begin to blind her. "Angel. . . so sorry. .don't blame. . " She tried to talk couldn't feel her lips, or any other part of her anymore. Her only relief was that she couldn't feel the immense pain that would have surely been waiting for her if she was going to make it. Which she wasn't. Willow didn't hear Angel say her last rites. She didn't hear anything besides a steadily growing quiet, and the feeling of being pulled away. But she wasn't afraid. Willow had loved and knew what had felt to be loved. She would come back. One way or another. This was just the beginning of the end.
He stopped praying just before the life slipped out of Willow, his friend, and howled as her gentle heartbeat ended. As the mansion once again became his silent tomb.