"Consequences - Bend Little Willow"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Let us all bend down and kneel before the great Sir Paul McCartney for his beautiful little song.
Thanks: To everybody who's been writing so sweetly about loving this very twisted little series. My apologies if I haven't replied yet -- it's been a hectic last few days for me *g* knowing you guys enjoy doesn't keep me writing (after all, I create these bizarre stories to help MY madness *g*) but it does keep me posting!

Bend, little willow
Wind's gonna blow you
Hard and cold tonight

When she was human, acute though her slayer senses were, Buffy had always had a difficult time waking up. In a crisis situation, it only took her a few seconds to focus, but something as pedestrian as the alarm going off, or her mother calling her name from downstairs didn't really faze her. Ten, twenty minutes would pass, and the only reaction Buffy would give that she'd heard anything would be to pull the covers up even further over her head.

From the moment she'd awakened, changed, Buffy hadn't had that fuzzy window between sleep and wakefulness. The moment she became conscious, her eyes would snap open immediately, and she would assess whatever circumstances she found herself in.

Upon waking at this particular time, Buffy discovered soft skin beneath her cheek, skin that, when she inhaled it, brought a smile to her face.

Angel.

Her smile turned into a predatory grin as the memories of the last few hours played through her mind. Best of all, she'd given him a moment of perfect happiness and she wouldn't have to worry about his conscience making him stake her. They could have a real chance now, rid of those stupid souls that  had always prompted them to be so selfless, so sacrificing when it came to the world, and each other.

Buffy wanted to be selfish, and she had a feeling her lover's pure demon self wouldn't complain too much.

Stretching like a cat, Buffy let her gaze roam over Angel's chest, past the nearly healed wounds she'd inflicted, all the way up until she met his gaze with her own. He was, unsurprisingly, awake. A quick glance at the clock told her she'd only been sleeping for forty-five minutes.

"How are you feeling?" she purred.

He seemed to consider her question. Then he shrugged. "A little not-quite-chipper. I'd kill for a cup of coffee."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him carefully, reached out with every sense she had in an attempt to get a bead on him.

"You still have your soul," she accused.

"Let me check." He screwed up his face like he was doing some kind of mental inventory. "Bloodlust, guilt, yep, there it is, soul's just fine."

Buffy howled, an inarticulate expression of pure rage as she leapt off his body, pacing the floor beside his bed, naked and angry.

"How could you... I can't =believe=..." She folded her arms over her chest, pursed her lips, and stared straight at him. "How could you have been with me and not lost your soul? It's =me=, the one person you've loved in your whole life."

Angel smiled, a serene, peaceful expression crossing his face. "You're evil," he said, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

"If you say that to me one more time, buddy, I swear..." Buffy spun on her heel, quickly dressing in the chocolate brown dress she'd worn, electing to leave her leather undergarments here. A thought occurred to her, and she moved back to the bed, leaned in close so that Angel could see straight into her eyes.

"If you make a =sound= to draw attention to yourself up here, I'll kill the first thing that breathes in my path," she hissed into his ear. Then, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and stalked out of the room.

She was angry with Angel, but she wasn't about to give up on him.

She just needed a new plan. And she had a feeling she'd find it in Wolfram & Hart's files.

Life, as it happens
Nobody warns you
Willow, hold on tight

Angel let his eyes close slowly as he heard the door to his room shut. He let his head drift back against the pillow. His wrists stung, his arms were beginning to ache, and he'd never felt this relieved.

He hadn't lost himself in her. His soul still recognized that she wasn't Buffy, not the Buffy he loved, and as a result, he was still him, tortured, brooding, and desperately conflicted about every choice that he made.

In all honesty, he'd been worried. Loving Buffy had always been as easy as breathing. He should have known that just because he did still love her, that wasn't tantamount to approving of the creature she'd become. Suddenly ceasing to love the girl he'd fallen for at first sight would have been a true danger sign.

For the first time, he felt something of what Buffy must have experienced those months he'd reverted to form. He'd never blamed her for sending him to hell, but he had been upset she hadn't killed him months sooner, before he could take Jenny's life, before he could terrorize her and her friends to the degree he had.

Angel often wished she'd ended things before he'd hurt Giles so deeply. The other man had always been someone Angel had wanted to consider a friend, not only because of his relationship with Buffy, but because they'd had long, enthralling conversations once in Buffy's high school library. His desire to regain Giles' trust and friendship had often made him slightly bitter toward Buffy, and her inability to slay the demon that wore his face.

Now, he was finally able to let the last of that bitterness go. If she'd loved him even a tenth as much as he'd loved her killing him wouldn't have been an option until she was pushed past the point of no return. Human weakness was something a slayer couldn't afford, but Buffy was more human than anyone he'd ever known. Being asked to kill her lover -- no matter the circumstances -- was too much.

It helped that he understood her better now. The more he remembered the Buffy he'd known, the one he'd adored beyond all reason, the easier it became for him to kill the one who'd just left him bound to his bed.

That thought sent searing pain through the soul he'd been so thankful was still there a moment before, and he prayed for Cordelia or Wesley or anyone to get worried and check on him soon.

He wasn't sure he could survive being left alone with his thoughts much longer.

Then there was the panic that was starting to bubble up inside him the more he recalled Buffy's last words.

Panic, and an unmistakable sense of dread.

Nothing's gonna shake your love
Take your love away
No one's out to break your heart
It only seems that way... hey

"Are you sure you wouldn't like some help?"

Tara smiled at the lovely British gentlemen who worked for Angel. Wesley Wyndam Pryce was much closer to her mental picture of a watcher, like Giles. Polite, proper, and courteous to everyone he came in contact with. He was also doting on everyone he thought more fragile than the rest, and Tara admitted ruefully that she certainly appeared more delicate than she was.

"I think I can handle the arduous task of making hot chocolate on my own," she assured him. "But if I get into trouble, I'll yell loud enough to bring everyone running."

"Yes," Wesley said, "well, as long as you're making hot chocolate for yourself and Willow, would you be so kind as to--"

"I'll put on a couple of pots of coffee, and some hot water for tea," Tara offered happily. It was nice, doing things for people who deserved it, who didn't expect her to because she was the only woman in the house. It was nice having a family she wasn't ashamed to claim.

"Splendid," Wesley declared happily. "If Angel isn't down in another twenty minutes, I shall fetch him and have him make breakfast. He's the best cook we've got, I fear."

"Spike makes a mean western omelet," Tara confided.

"Angel and Spike can make breakfast then," Wesley decided, then frowned. "That's rather a disturbing notion, isn't it, two vampires being able to cook better than the whole lot of us combined."

"Maybe we shouldn't dwell on it," Tara suggested with a smile. He really was adorable, in an excited puppy sort of way.

"I'll leave you to prepare the drinks," Wesley said, taking his leave through the kitchen doors.

Tara sighed, looking around at the grand kitchen of the Hyperion hotel. It was old, and a little dusty in spots, but she could see signs of life in it. Mostly by the refrigerator. And the single burner someone had dusted off. Shrugging, she bent down and rooted around in the cabinet until she found some cleanser and a sponge. Rolling up her sleeves, she went to work, beginning with the counters.

Cleaning up in here would be her way of thanking Angel for letting them all stay here. She'd proposed the idea to Willow as they'd lain in bed the night before, and the other witch had approved, gifting Tara with a bright smile. A Willow Smile, was how Tara liked to think of it, since no one but Willow smiled quite that way. She hadn't seen the Willow Smile since Buffy... died... and she was immensely relieved. It meant Willow was finally beginning to cope.

"Not a moment too soon," Tara declared out loud. "If we don't all start smiling soon, we're going to go crazy."

"Sounds to me like you already have."

Tara spun around, the sponge and cleanser hitting the floor as they fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers.

"B-b-buffy," she stammered, her eyes wide with fear as she realized she was alone with what was arguably the deadliest creature walking the streets of Los Angeles.

"T-t-tara," Buffy greeted in return, her voice cruel.

"W-w-w." Tara gulped and shut her eyes tightly. "W-what do you w-want?"

"I had this idea," Buffy told her brightly. "I figured since I already... you know... " she made a cracking sound in the back of her throat, and jerked her head to the side crudely, "Anya, I decided that I should let her death be the start of a pattern. Can you guess what the pattern's going to be?"

"N-n-no."

"I'm going to kill all my former best friend's significant others," Buffy cried, clapping her hands together once. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Not really," Tara answered honestly, trying to find a way out of this.

"Spoilsport," Buffy accused, before she lunged at Tara with supernatural speed.

Tara tried to scream, but Buffy closed her hand around the other girl's throat in such a way that it made speech impossible. As Buffy's fangs descended to her neck, Tara shut her eyes tightly, tears falling silently, and thought of Willow. I'm sorry, she cried silently. I promised I'd never leave you the way Oz did, and now I don't get a choice. My life didn't mean anything until you let me into yours.

Thank you, Willow.

Sleep, little willow
Peace gonna follow
Time will heal your wounds

"I don't want to wake him if he's actually managed to sleep peacefully," Wesley argued quietly.

"Look, I refuse to let him be Darla'd again," Cordelia said firmly. "He went to bed =at night= with the rest of us, he can damn well wake up in the morning with the rest of us. March," she ordered, pointing a single, elegant finger toward Angel's door.

"Why do I have to wake him up?" Wesley mumbled miserably as he headed for Angel's door. "The last time I woke him up it was most unpleasant," he continued to babble to himself as he gently rapped his knuckles against the door, visions of an angry, naked Angel tackling him to the ground tormenting him. "Angel?" he called out cheerily. A frown marred his forehead. "Angel?" he said louder, feeling a bit concerned.

He turned around and met Cordelia's worried gaze. Sending a short prayer to whatever deity might hear it, Wesley pushed open Angel's door and entered the vampire's room. His gaze found Angel almost immediately. He quickly took note of the panicked expression on Angel's face, noted his wrists bound to the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asked, already backing toward the door.

"The others," Angel called, and Wesley didn't wait another second. He turned around and ran, smacking into Cordelia. He caught her before either of them could lose their footing.

"Wes, what--?"

"Get everyone together. If someone's missing, look for them in groups. Now."

Cordelia didn't argue, just turned and headed for Willow and Tara's room, which was closest to Angel's. Wesley turned back around and moved back to Angel on the bed.

"Magic," Angel explained, jiggling the cuffs.

"Yes," Wesley agreed, inspecting them closely. "How long ago did she leave?"

"Ten minutes," Angel answered. "She said she'd kill someone if I made a sound."

"Good show you, then, for being quiet as a mouse," Wesley congratulated, hunting through the books beside Angel's bed for a spell book that might contain information on how to break a binding spell. Angel was quiet, and Wesley looked at the other man's face. "It is good, isn't it?"

"She said she'd kill someone if I stayed quiet," Angel confided softly. "She didn't say she wouldn't kill someone either way."

Wesley felt his heart clench at Angel's words. If anyone was likely to know Buffy's motivations, it was Angel. That frightened the former watcher more than anything else thus far. Angelus had been one of the most vicious creatures to ever walk the earth, and if Buffy possessed even a fraction of his cruelty...

"Hurry, Wes," Angel prompted quietly, his voice intense.

"Hurrying."

Grow to the heavens
Now and forever
Always came too soon

Willow was the one who finally freed Angel. Instead of looking for Tara, whom she'd told Cordelia was in the kitchen, Willow had wandered into Angel's room. After she'd discovered his predicament, she moved to the cuffs, murmured a brief incantation, and Angel had gratefully let his arms drop to the bed. At Willow's embarrassed look, he'd quickly changed into a pair of black pants and a t-shirt, then raced from the room, the witch and the ex-watcher close on his heels.

Cordelia told them she'd walked in on Buffy draining Tara. The former slayer had growled, dropping the witch to the ground. She slipped out the back way, and Cordelia had opted to attend to Tara, rather than chase after Buffy. Her pulse was faint, but there. Xander and Gunn had picked her up and taken her to the hospital. Cordelia was left behind to tell the others.

Angel was the one who made the rule.

"No one stays alone. Not on the streets, not inside the hotel, not even during the day."

Unsurprisingly, no one argued with his decree. Instead, they filed out in groups to the hospital. Spike and Angel went by sewer, the rest in the same van the Sunnydale crew had rented to come to Los Angeles in the first place. Giles drove, and Willow clutched Cordelia's hand the entire way, and the former cheerleader tried to comfort the girl who'd never really been her friend.

Spike said it was a "bloody shame psycho slayer got to the little witch. Girl's always good for a laugh, all bird-like and timid."

Angel was quiet the entire way to the hospital. He was quiet while he sat in the waiting room with the rest of them, waiting to hear anything about Tara. He was quiet when Xander glared at him, quiet when the doctor came out and told them Tara was gone, that she'd lost too much blood. He only spoke long enough to tell Willow that he was sorry, then, ignoring the concerned looks from his crew, he turned and went back into the sewers.

He wouldn't run away, as he might have a few months before. They needed him to protect them, and he'd done a woefully inadequate job of it so far. He would be at the hotel when they came back. There would be food ready, because they needed to eat.

And then they would all discuss how to go about killing Buffy.

Bend, little willow
Wind's gonna blow you
Hard and cold tonight
Life, as it happens
Nobody warns you
Willow, hold on tight

The End

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