****
Some sort of movement was dragging Angel out of sleep. Some sort of gentle, not so innocent touch. A pressure trailing down his chest, down his leg-
He woke up with a jerk, his eyes widening as he saw a young woman crouched beside him. Her black hair fell around her shoulders, and the smile on her face spoke so strongly of seduction that he knew he needed to escape, and quickly.
He sat up, carefully disentangling his leg from her hand, trying to get a look at his surroundings. He was sitting on a leather couch in what looked like an office. He noticed gray walls, a large desk, lots of blinking buttons in the walls and her hand had returned.
He stood up and walked over to the desk, wondering what had ever happened to maidenly shyness...
"You've been asleep for quite a while, Angel. What could have worn you out so completely?"
There were implications in her voice that he winced to think about, and she didn't seem at all put out by his cold behavior- both bad things. He shook his head wearily. He had taken one stab at optimism, and hoped this new journey would somehow effect a reunion with Willow- and here was this minx instead.
"Well, although I am loath to return to your business, as your personal assistant, it is indeed my duty to inform you that The Willow bought your uncle's number one mine today. He's furious, and worse, losing status."
Angel looked at her in confusion. The Willow? What sort of title was that? And where was Willow, anyway? Who was she here?
"He wants to know why exactly you married her if not to have a hand in her business affairs, since you have no part in any other affairs of hers- that's a direct quote. He wants to see you as soon as possible."
Angel nodded, as if he had a clue what she was talking about. "Anything else?"
Her pretty face took on a cattier expression as she nodded. "Sugar called- she wanted to thank you for last night."
"Sugar?"
She laughed. "Well, don't tell me your lovely and...talented mistress is that forgettable! Considering the amount of money you have staked on your latest business deal with her, I suggest you don't let her find out."
Angel nodded absently. What was going on? It sounded like he was married to Willow, but cheating on her with every woman he knew, and she was treating him the same way. She would certainly be delighted with their new situation.
"Some novice reporter tried nosing around your processing facilities. He's been shipped offplanet already, but your head of security thought you'd like to know it was taken care of."
"Where did they send him?"
"Oh, Locke didn't say. Just some planet with well-enforced slavery laws, he said. I think it's safe to say that when he reaches his destination, he won't be writing any news articles for awhile."
Angel shuddered. His companion mistook the gesture.
"Don't worry about it- he didn't get close to any of your confidential stuff. Locke would never let that happen."
"I'm sure he wouldn't."
"So, that's all I have to tell you. As regards business, anyway..." Her hand was trailing a path up his back, and he shook his head wearily. Angel had grown accustomed to the frequent efforts of women attempting to seduce him a long time ago. Even before he was turned, he was well aware of the devastating effect he had on the opposite sex. The knowledge had only grown with the passage of time.
His recent situation, however, had altered his perspective somewhat. After Buffy, he had not only been uninterested, he had been terrified of even entertaining the notion of any sort of dalliance. And then Willow...
Well, decades of monogamous bliss with a wonderful wife had only emphasized his reluctance to deal with other women. He walked out of her reach, attempting nonchalance, but barely managing denseness. He put the large desk in between them, ignored her piqued look, and shuffled a random sheaf of papers laying on the polished surface.
"I'm going to go over these," he informed her, not looking up.
"Fine. I'll be outside if you...want me."
Did the girl ever give up? Apparently not, he decided, as her shapely hips sashayed out of the room.
He collapsed into the desk chair. It wouldn't do him any harm to actually read the papers, and he needed something to do until he could figure out how to contact Willow. Picking them up, he thanked providence that they were at least in English, and he settled down to read.
****
Rubbing his bleary eyes, he leaned his head against the back of his chair. What was going on? Why did he have file after file of reports from detectives and investigators- all about his wife? What was he trying to find?
And who was she really?
From the reports he had been going through, it seemed that Willow's story of arriving on Gevaltium was a cover, a fiction created by the wily teenaged girl years ago. What had she been hiding, after all? Why had no one looked into it until now?
And more importantly, what had made him start looking after their marriage, rather than before?
He needed to find Willow as quickly as possible. Gathering the files together, he walked out of his office and into the grey hallway. His assistant smiled up at him from her desk. "Would you like me to have a cab waiting for you at the door?"
He nodded absently. Now, how to find that door...
****
Angel had been as alarmed by the cab ride as Willow, but he was well used to guarding his expression. Upon entering the mansion, he had nodded to the housekeeper.
"Where is my wife?"
A flash of alarm showed in her eyes, and he grimly realized that in this world, his meetings with Willow were rare and almost certainly unpleasant.
He followed the skittish footman, still holding onto the reports, wondering if everything on the godforsaken planet was grey.
His escort stopped abruptly, then bowed as he gestured to the door. "She has been in there for a few hours, my lord."
Angel dismissed him with a nod, then walked inside the room.
Without consciously realizing that it had once more become a necessity, he caught his breath. It was as if he had stepped inside an emerald. Every surface was the same, deep green. Except-
Except for his wife, sleeping on the green couch.
He walked over to her slowly, the joy of seeing her washing over his tired senses. He noticed her shortened hair, her unhappy mouth. He saw how tired she was, how discontented, and all that from watching her sleep. Every tiny detail Alaric had ever known- none of it had been lost, through time or distance. As her husband once more, he could read her more clearly than words.
His hand moved slowly, skimming over the strangely smooth material of her sleeve. She stirred, but did not wake. Ever so gently, his fingertips whispered across the pale skin of her neck, gliding upwards, until her round jaw was enveloped by his palm. That small amount of contact was almost too much, and he closed his eyes as raw pleasure thrilled through his nerve endings.
He could feel her senses beginning to register his presence, he could feel her beginning to wake. He opened his eyes, and he saw her mouth part in some silent plea.
When her gaze hit him, tired and bewildered and ecstatic, he almost fell over.
"Angel?" she whispered.
"Rough day?" he asked, a fraction of a smile resting momentarily on his lips.
She moaned, and the vibration from the sound travelled through his hand.
"This is a terrible, terrible world. We aren't among friends here, not like before. Everyone seems so cold."
The words jarred with the fever in him, and he arched an eyebrow.
"Well, everyone besides us," she muttered with a blush. "What are we going to do? We're supposed to hate each other, Angel!"
"You think that will be difficult?"
"Oh, Angel." It was a terrifying thing to do, but she dropped every mask. The studied nonchalance of youth, the courtly elegance of a queen, the dispirited blank cover of loneliness. Every polite lie of expression fell away until her eyes contained only Willow, only pain, only love. She was exposed, vulnerable.
She was crushed into him, his hands trembling as he pulled her close.
"Willow, I am so, so sorry."
"Angel, it wasn't your fault-"
"No, I should have done something. I should have called you or something-"
"To say what? Nothing could be done about it. I knew that."
He pulled back far enough to be able to look into her eyes. Less pain, it was healing every moment-
"It was just so easy to let myself deteriorate. If I had just one person, I might have been able to handle it better. But to lose everything- my husband, my kingdom, my family, my life. One time I saw a little boy in the park- oh, Angel, he looked so much like Jesse. I sat down and cried. I mean, we assumed our roles, we gave our lives, and discovered it to be worth the trade. But to be traded back- I think I simply lost myself in the transfer."
"Or maybe I kept you. Because you were there with me- every time I closed my eyes, Willow. You were alive and laughing and perfect, and in my dreams we always found ways to be together. Then I would wake, and you would melt away, and Cordelia would run downstairs because I was screaming."
She ran her hands through his hair, smoothing out the torment with her perfectly remembered touch.
"Well, I don't like this world, and I don't like our alleged relationship. I've been doing some research about us- not pretty," she grimaced.
"So have I," he added.
"We should probably compare notes, figure everything out."
"Mmm-hmm."
The descent of his mouth was too slow, and she raised herself up to meet him halfway. In the grey-rimmed green of her room, they kissed with desparate familiarity.
****