Three Blind Mice


Sometimes we do the strangest things, for reasons that we can't even
begin to understand at the time. We bend and twist like a fragile
flower in the wind, never comprehending why the will of others is so
powerful and effective. Other times, we erect a wall, in the hopes of
keeping out the elements, and in doing so, we close ourselves off,
shutting ourselves away from beauty and friendship, hope and love.
Eventually, though, those walls will come crashing down, whether we
strip them away brick by brick, or they are torn apart by a battering
ram. One way or another, those walls will come down.

There come moments in everyone's life, which, if seized, will change
the course of that life forever. Of course, most people are too
blind, and moving too fast to ever catch these moments, but every now
and again, they grab onto us, refusing to let go as they work their
will.

She's been with them for little over a week. She hasn't said much in
the last eight days, but then again, none of them has been very
chatty as of late. Angel supposes that is the general trend when
there is so much to be said.

"Are you going to tell her?"

Angel looked toward Wesley, pondering the question. Something big is
coming. They are all well aware of that. What they are not all aware
of is the fact that some of them already know what that big something
is. Angel knows, but he isn't sure that he's telling just yet.
Sometimes silence really can be golden.

Silence. There's something that Angel know about. He spent a good
century disrupting the silence and then creating it, and then the
next century desperately searching for it. This world is so big and
so full of people, and yet it always feels so empty. There was a time
when he would have given his left arm for a little of that silence,
but now, the empty hollow of the halls only serves as a reminder of
things lost, and he'd prefer just about any distraction to that
desolation.

Angel observes the redhead from across the room. Will he tell her?
That does appear to be the question at hand. She doesn't seem to
notice that he's there, and he appreciates that. It gives him a
chance to watch her, and try to seep through that barrier that she
holds up. He suspects that if he ever gets pasts that great, solid
wall, he'll find a broken and battered girl, huddled on the ground,
her breathing shallow and her heart aching. He suspects there is a
lot more to Willow than anyone can even begin to understand, and he
only hopes that one day she gives in and opens up to him. Even the
tiniest hint of what swirls in her head would be like gold to him. He
suspects that she has been sent here for more than just fighting a
demon, for more than just saving the world, saving a soul. He
suspects that she just might need a bit of saving herself, though
surely she will never admit it.

"It really isn't fair to keep her in the dark, you know."

Angel hears the warning, and knows that it's true, but then he also
thinks that it's not necessarily his place to tell her.

Angel would like for you to believe that the witch holds no interest
for him. He'd like for you to believe that when she leaves, her
presence won't be missed by the entire group, and by one dark haired
vampire in particular. He'd like for you to believe that he has no
feelings for Willow what so ever, but the truth is that Angel isn't
entirely sure that he's not becoming somewhat attached to the
redhead. Of course, he would never outwardly admit this. After all,
he knows his place. Each of us can only be allotted one tragic, star-
crossed love. The dark-haired vampire thinks that more than one might
be enough to kill even the strongest demon.

He knows now that he and Buffy will never be together. It was doomed
from the start, and yes, he is well aware that everyone else seemed
to already know that, but it takes some people a little longer to
wander around the bend. After all, slayers die, and vampire, well,
they don't.

If he is completely honest with himself, and let's face it, so few
among us ever are, Angel doesn't have even the slightest idea where
to start with the young witch. Oh sure, when it comes to demons and
fighting the forces of evil, and doing what's right and noble, he can
talk the talk, but when it comes right down to it, when it comes down
to a soul like Willow's, he's not so sure that he can walk the walk.

"I don't think that I'm the one that should tell her," Angel confides
to Wesley, his eyes traveling across the room, settling on the blond
vampire. He can feel the vampire in the room. Sure, he can simply
look over and SEE Spike sitting there, but he doesn't actually need
to. He can feel him. He's not sure it it's the Sire/Grand childe bond
thing, or the soul thing, or just an Angel/Spike thing, but he can
sense the blond vampire, just as he's sure that Spike can sense him,
and to be honest, though it does come in handy from time to time, for
the most part it's just damn annoying.

Spike. Now there's a whole separate issue in itself. The "bleached
wonder" showed up one day, more or less appearing out of thin air. He
hasn't said much about where he was. Angel only knows that Spike was
dust and then, suddenly, a few months later, he was here. Before,
there was the demon and there was the soul. Both died and turned to
dust, and the moment Angel laid eyes on the blond, he knew that both
were back.

He has mixed feelings about the younger vampire. His presence makes
Angel's existence seem less special somehow. He is not the only
chosen champion anymore, and yeah, sure, now, he supposes he never
really was the only one, but still, he believed he was then and he
had grown accustomed to wallowing in that self imposed loneliness.

Angel's a little jealous, though he hates to admit it, but he's also
a little relieved. For once, he didn't have to be the one to burn for
their sins. For once, it was someone else, and Angel is grateful,
though the thought does flood him with guilt.

Guilt. Now there's something that Angel can get on board with. Guilt
is something he's familiar with. It's something that's been with him
for well over a century now, and it fits like a soft, snug blanket
that he can wrap around himself, cocooned in its embrace. He knows
guilt, he knows how to handle it, and he appreciates the distraction
it offers from those more uncomfortable thoughts that plague his
brooding mind. Yes, Angel still broods. It's what he does best.
Brooding, and saving the world, although brooding is a lot easier on
the cleaning bills.

Of course, that still leaves the question of Willow, and what exactly
to tell her. He knows that they need to tell her something. After
all, she's come all this way, and she knows something big is coming,
but how exactly do you tell someone that they are the key to saving
the world? Especially someone who clearly thinks of herself as
something so insignificant?

Angel watches Spike, as he sits in the far corner, a book in his lap.
The blond isn't reading. He's not even pretending to be interested in
the pages under his fingers. There is a much more interested story
sitting by the window. She's staring out, at what he doesn't know.
The only thing that Spike is sure of is that he needs her. He needs
her, though he doesn't know why, and she needs him. He can feel it.
And deep down, he suspects that they both need Angel, and being the
big sap that he is, Angel probably needs them as well. It's a great
big need-fest, and Spike wonders when he became such a soft-hearted
ponce.

He guesses that it was some time in between losing his Sire, falling
for the Slayer, and saving the world. There's a lot more to that
path, like military chips and gifted souls, but the bottom line
remains that a demon, a cold hearted killer, has saved the world,
more than once.

And apparently, he has the chance to do it again. The details are
still a bit unclear to him, but that's to be expected. Angel always
did enjoy the cryptic act. The basics are there though, and that's
all that really matters. He and a small, redheaded witch have the
power to save the world. Now, if only someone could get the courage
to explain it to Willow.

The path may be long and winding, and there may have been a lot of
surprising stops along the way, but the very last thing that Spike
expected to come across on the journey, was the powerful redhead. He
won't try to tell you that he's never seen her before now. He won't
try to make you believe that he ever cared even in the slightest as
to whether the girl lived or died, breathed or blew away with the
wind. Even after he had the soul, the world consisted of him, the
slayer and his pain. Willow was not even something he would have
considered to be an afterthought. Funny how things can suddenly
change. One's perspective tends to alter when something big is
coming. Priorities fall into alignment and the picture seems to
become much clearer.

Willow can sense the weight of their eyes on her, and it feels as
though the entire world is watching her. Standing up, she heads up to
her room, her movements graceful enough to surprise anyone that knew
her in her former life.

Something big is coming. There's a prophecy, and though she suspects
that Angel already knows what it says, no one seems to be telling her
anything, and the silence is deafening. Willow thinks that if she
looked hard enough, she might be able to find a prophecy for just
about every major event that has ever occurred, and several more
insignificant ones. Of course, who has the kind of time to do
research like that? Well, okay, she does, technically.

Willow doesn't care much for technicalities these days. They are
always tripping you up, and most people simply aren't creative enough
to see their way around them. Willow would like you to believe that
she is better than that. She would like you to believe that all of
the death and pain and destruction that she has witnessed has given
her a sense of understanding, though the only thing she really
understands is that death is nothing more than a technicality. It's a
jumping off point to begin negotiations, and she's left with the
short straw, the grasshopper without anything to bargain with.

She'd like for you to believe that losing those closest to her has
made her more aware of life. She'd like for you to believe that she
cherishes and values every moment, but when you have no ending, and
the beginning is so muddled and distant, it seems that there is very
little to value at all. Willow would like for you to believe that she
is better off for all that she has been given, but she suspects that
you aren't that naive.

Wandering aimlessly around her room, Willow glimpses a necklace on a
small shelf, and slowly lifts it up, gazing at it, her thoughts
washing over her. It was given to her by Buffy, and she notes how one
of the small gems has fallen out of its holding place, and the chain
is slightly tarnished. It still holds together well, despite its
tattered appearance, and the witch carefully slips it around her
neck, feeling the familiar touch of the cool chain against her skin.

As she sits on the bed, there is a knock at the door, and Willow
calls out a casual invitation, not entirely surprised to see the
blond vampire enter.

Walking into the room slowly, Spike glances around at her temporary
sanctuary, as if the little objects strewn around the room might
whisper her secrets to him, if he asks in just the right way.

Looking toward the redhead, he sees her intense gaze on him, and
slowly moves to sit beside her on the bed. She looks nervous and
gives him a questioning glance. It's clear that she is not entirely
comfortable sitting beside him, and Spike can't help but wonder if
that has more to do with his deviant past or her own. What is she
more afraid of, hearing the evil thoughts that run through his mind,
or that he might hear hers?

Her eyes dart around the room nervously, never settling on any one
thing, before eventually jumping back to his gaze, and Spike
momentarily flashes back to several years earlier, when a former
version of himself sat in a burned out factory, crying on a small,
naïve redhead's shoulder. Gods below, even then she was astounding.

Astounding. Spike thinks that is the only word to properly describe
her. He has spent many hours pouring over words, desperate to
discover just the right adjective for Willow, and in the end,
astounding has seemed to win out. Beautiful, breathtaking, adorable,
loyal, sweet, smart…All words that describe the redhead well enough,
but none sum up all that she is quite so well as astounding. Were he
a bit less lucid and a bit more inclined to lift up a pen again, he
suspects that he might find himself writing bad poetry about an
astounding witch with a fiery light. Thank the powers, at the very
least, for giving him the sense to know when to leave that task to
those more competent.

"How are you?" Finally, he is able to find his voice.

Intimidating. There's another word that Spike would use to describe
the redhead before him, and he's quite sure that he would never have
expected that one to come to mind when considering this girl. But
intimidated he definitely is, because he's watched her long enough to
know that Willow sees and knows things that other people never catch,
and he only hopes that she is able to glimpse the good in him, and
bypass the bad.

"If I said that I was fine, would you let it go at that?" She replies
tentatively. The vampire slips her a slight smile and shakes his
head. Willow lets out a sigh. They are both far too intelligent to
indulge in the pleasantries of ignorance.

"Something big is coming," she says softly.

"Yeah, I've been hearing that," he responds. He should tell her. He
knows he should. He should tell her now, but how do you explain this
to someone so astounding? How do you tell her that to save the world,
the two of you must make love, on this very night? It sounds insane,
and he's not entirely sure that he hasn't lost his mind again, at
this point. He supposes one would have to be at least teetering on
the edge of reason to even acknowledge that such a prophecy could be
true. In fact, Spike doesn't even understand how such an act will
save anyone, but Angel has assured him that it must be so.

Willow feels as though the weight of the world rests on her
shoulders, and suspects that indeed it does. Actually, in truth, the
weight of the world rests on this vampire's shoulders, and one
other's. She's merely along for the ride, to ensure that they don't
crumble under the pressure, but don't be fooled into assuming that
her task is any easier. This small girl is responsible for so much
more than even she is aware of. Far more than just the weight of the
world rests on her shoulders.

"Do you miss her?" The question, floating up with her tiny voice,
startles him.

"Sometimes," he tells her, and it's not a lie. Sometimes he does miss
the slayer, but not in the way he had expected. He had loved her.
Hell, he had died for her. But that was his past, and he has only his
future to look forward to now. His shiny, new future, crisp and
white, is all that his eyes can see; that and the redhead beside him.

"Me too," she confides in a whispered voice, and it's not a lie.
Sometimes she does miss Buffy and Xander and Dawn and Giles and
Kennedy and Tara and…But she's learned and she knows. Things are
constantly changing and moving, and people don't live forever. Well,
most don't.

"Do they know you're here?" It's his turn to ask the hard questions,
and Willow resigns herself to the fact that Spike will never let her
get away with anything.

Looking away from him, she shakes her head. "It's better this way,"
she tells him, and she thinks that she really believes it. At least,
today she does. Some days she's absolutely sure, other days, the
redhead thinks that she might be completely wrong. Today it's a coin
toss, and the coin doesn't seem to want to ever stop spinning.

"Won't they worry?"

Willow shakes her head. They know that they don't need to worry about
her. Spike nods, though he knows that is not an acceptable answer. He
is all too aware of the redhead's power and ability, yet still, he
worries for her. The vampire supposes that he should worry more for
himself. After all, the powers have seen fit to send him protection
in the form of a beautiful, immortal witch, so what does that say for
him?

"I hate them." Willow feels her resolve crack and break around her as
she utters the words, never having meant to say them out loud. "I
hate them so much for dying, and for being mortal and-and I hate them
for leaving me behind."

There is a harsh, vengeful tone to her voice that Spike has never
heard before, and he thinks that if it were possible for his heart to
literally split in two, it would do so at the sight of the tears
slipping down over her cheeks.

Willow feels the tears spill forth, and curses everything. She curses
the vampire before her for making her crawl out from under her
shelter, without even trying. She curses the powers that be for
sending her here. She curses Buffy for being so strong, and Xander
for thinking he was weak, and Anya for bowing out gracefully when she
knew that it was her time. She curses Angel for his kindness, and
Tara and Oz for showing her how wonderful it felt to be loved, and
she curses herself. This, these tears, this pain, this is what she is
fighting against. This is the place that she doesn't want to go, and
now suddenly, without reason, she is being drawn back.

Looking up into the deep, sympathetic blue eyes of the vampire next
to her, Willow realizes, with sudden panic, that here are the tangled
branches that she has been trying to avoid, and suddenly, she finds
herself caught, torn and scratched, and thinks that she is trapped
far too high up for anyone to ever bring her down.

"You don't have to be alone," Spike tell her, and she wants so badly
to believe him. "You have Angel, and you have me. Let me love you.
You are a gift to me, just as I am to you." Reaching out, he runs a
hand along her soft cheek, and looks deep within her eyes. He isn't
sure where these feelings, these emotions, this love has come from,
but he certainly isn't about to question it. Their souls connect, as
an unseen energy seems to fill the room, and the prophecy is all but
forgotten.

Willow nods as he leans into her, her cheek now resting against his
own. Giving in, she raises her head and feels his lips capture her
own in a deep, passionate kiss. It's desperate, and needy, and like
nothing else she has ever experienced. She wants to believe him. She
wants to believe that he belongs with her, and that she belongs to
him, but she thinks that she understands now, more than ever. She's
never been a gift to anyone, just a temporary loaner.

Feeling him gently push her down, Willow lays back on the large bed.
He quickly divests her of her clothes, before removing his own as
well, and it is as though his touch scorches her, as she feels his
skin against her own. His arms wrap around her, as their bodies
entangle and become one, in fevered motion. His embrace creates the
illusion of safety, though Willow knows that right now, she is the
furthest thing from safe. She's on the edge, ready to fall over, and
no one else seems to know it. Tonight, she'll allow herself to drown
in this shallow comfort, and tomorrow, the redhead knows that she
will return to her place on the ledge, alone, on the outside, where
she knows she belongs.

The path is long and winding. Angel never sees the curves until
they're too late. Spike spots them far ahead, and purposefully speeds
up at the bend. Willow is ever watching the map, missing the scenery
as it goes by, and together, the three are simply mice, blind and
running, their tails long, trailing behind, and their destination
remaining unclear.