SPOILER WARNING: Everything up to Becoming.
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: This part happens roughly two and half years after Becoming. Melinda and I wrote this story in an alternating style. I wrote the odd numbered parts(past) and she wrote the even(present). Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy & Co. Joss Whedon and the WB do. No copyright infringement intended.

Angel clung to Willow, his sobs muffled against her breasts. He howled like a newborn babe, protesting his 'rebirth'. His body quaked violently under her hands. He was still wet with his own blood and the viscous fluids from the vile womb that had expelled him. His sudden need to breathe interrupted his anguished howls. Angel started to choke, drawing irregular, ragged breaths. Wild eyed and scared, he turned his face up to Willow. She no longer saw that spark of recognition reflected in his eyes, only animalistic fear and confusion.

"Relax," she murmured softly. "Don't fight it." She smiled gently and stroked his head. "In... Out... Breathe," Willow gently coaxed him, her voice a calming mantra for him to concentrate on. His choked gasps lengthened into even, deeper breaths. The break in his terrified howling restored a shred of his sanity. He continued to cry softly, but it was no longer in blind terror.

Willow soothed him, murmuring words of comfort. Supporting his shoulders, she cradled him against her tenderly. What she could see of his back was marred by scratches that wept blood. Four gashes, resembling huge claw marks, were burned across the right side of his stomach. The flesh around the deep gouges was puffy, burning with an angry red color. His legs were crisscrossed by scratches similar to the ones that adorned his back. Deep purple bruises interrupted the huge expanses of scratched and torn skin on his body, breaking up the striped landscape of his flesh. Willow ran her hand over a dark purple blotch on his shoulder. Angel shrank away from even that feather touch, a gasp of pain catching in his throat.

When he looked up at her, what she saw in his eyes horrified her. He stared back at her, wild eyed with fear. Willow could feel his fear as a palpable force. Her contact with his demon had left a residual connection between them. It would fade with time, but for now, she used it to ascertain his mental well-being. Willow extended her senses, opening herself up, to receive his feelings.

Even knowing what to expect, Willow wasn't prepared for what she actually saw. She closed her eyes under the sensory assault from Angel's mind. Images, emotions and physical sensations threatened to overwhelm her. Blood. Pain. Hopelessness... She knew Angel had been subjected to unimaginable torment, but the evidence was almost too much to bear witness to. Willow clamped down on the flood of information, silencing the roar in her head. Angel was lost in the torments of his own mind. Physical pain couldn't compare with the ravages that had been visited upon his soul.

Gently, Willow reached for him again. Instinctively, she calmed the mental storm raging in his mind. She cushioned his bruised psyche, helping him find his way out of the confusing labyrinth of memories. His mental touch was familiar... "It was you," she gasped in startled recognition. The unknown force that had supported her in her fight against the demon was Angel's soul. He had taken the demons rage into himself, protecting her.

Willow glanced down at him. She could sense that he wasn't aware of her mental intrusion. The whole exchange had taken no longer than the space of a few heartbeat. Angel was too lost in his own pain to hear her gasp of surprise. Willow pushed the images from his mind aside. Now was not the time to deal with that.

Angel tried to roll over, but didn't have the strength to catch himself. Willow caught him before he slipped off her lap. Her hands gripped his shoulders firmly, squeezing bruises and cuts. Angel gritted his teeth, swallowing back a scream. "I'm sorry," she said softly, loosening her grip. Angel grunted, nodding weakly. He tried to smile, but couldn't manage more than a pained grimace. He squeezed his eyes shut and suffered the pain quietly.

Willow watched him bravely trying to ignore the pain. Her heart melted at his stoic endurance. He was going to need more than that very soon. She still had to get him moved and cleaned up. "Angel," she called gently. His eyes flickered open. She could see the pain reflected in those deep brown orbs. "I'm going to help you get up... Okay?" Angel nodded, gritting his teeth again as another wave of pain racked his body. Every small movement was a new torture for him.

"How?" he croaked, his voice raspy and broken. "Why?"

Willow pressed a finger to his lips. "Not now," she said. "I'll answer all your questions later. Right now, we just have to concentrate of getting you cleaned up and into a bed. You're safe now and that's all you have to worry about. No guilt. No doubt," she told him. She would give him the speech she'd prepared to deal with his questions later, after he was better. "Okay?" she asked, her hand stroking his cheek soothingly.

Angel nodded. It could wait. He hurt too much to argue with her about it.

Willow settled him on the floor, watching sadly as he curled up in a fetal position. The next few weeks would be a new kind of hell for him. She would help him, but he would have to endure the pain by himself. She had medical supplies ready, but most of the pain killers would only put him to sleep. The others wouldn't act fast enough to give him any measurable relief. There was no way she could handle him if he was dead weight. He was going to have to be brave and help her for now.

Willow stood, slipping the cumbersome robe over her head. She didn't need it anymore. Its length would only trip her up when she was trying to help Angel. He watched her every move, his eyes never leaving her as she set the robe on a nearby table. Now dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans and a faded T-shirt, she walked back to where Angel lay huddled on the floor, her bare feet slapping softly on the concrete floor. She looked down, offering him a sympathetic smile. "This is going to hurt like hell," she informed him as she squatted down beside him.

***************

Angel struggled for consciousness and release from the agony. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire. He couldn't seem to make his mind focus. Why did every nerve in his body scream? He couldn't remember anything. He tried to call out to Buffy for help, but his efforts only seemed to make it hurt worse. "Angel, lay still," a gentle voice said in his ear. He couldn't seem to place it, but its presence was comforting and reassuring. He felt the touch of cool, capable hands on his forehead.

Angel opened his eyes and tried to focus on the face above him. He squinted into the bright light, but couldn't make his eyes focus. With trembling, weak hands, he pressed the gentle fingers against his temples in an unconscious plea for relief. "Buffy?" he groaned.

"Shhh," the voice said. Cool hands stroked his face. He welcomed them, for his skin felt hot and hard. Each caress seemed to lessen the terrible pain inside his skull. "I'm putting you back to sleep now," the gentle voice whispered. Angel felt the sharp jab of an injection in his arm. The pain begin to dull as the drug spread through his system. His last conscious thought was of his Slayer.

***************

It was dark and stifling hot. His head ached. His body felt heavy and when he tried to move it brought sharp pain. He felt like he was suffocating. Struggling, he fought his way to semi-consciousness. "How's he doing?" a masculine voice mumbled in the distance. It sounded vaguely familiar. Angel tried calling to Buffy, but couldn't will his lips to move.

He felt something cool and damp pressed against his forehead. Hot. He felt unbearably hot. Something was wrapped around him, trapping him. He wanted to bat it away, but he was so weak and tired. He wanted to fight free. It was so dark and so hot.

"He's healing, but his fever hasn't broken," a soft, feminine voice answered. It was a kind voice, one he felt he should know. Angel moaned as he struggled away from the dark. A hand slipped into his and squeezed gently. Angel felt the now warm compress replaced with a new cool one. He still couldn't breath. Weakly, he fought to push off the constricting covering. Why wasn't Buffy helping him?

The hand let go and he felt the suffocating constriction lift as someone folded over the sheet. "Buffy?" he whispered, fighting immense fatigue. Only a whimper escaped his raw throat.

"Shhh," the kindly voice whispered. A cool hand stroked his cheek.

"We should let him rest," the masculine voice stated softly.

"I'm staying here," the kindly voice responded sharply in tones that defied argument.

Angel remembered that the kindly voice had a name. "Willow?" he whispered, incredibly drowsy. He forced himself to get the word out. He vaguely remembered something about Willow helping him to... he couldn't remember.

"I'm here," he heard her whisper. "Rest now, Angel. There's nothing to worry about." He felt a damp cloth wipe him down, cooling his skin. Willow's words were comforting and reassuring. Buffy wasn't there; Willow was watching over him instead. Feeling secure under the hacker's watchful eye, Angel stopped fighting sleep.

***********

Willow sprawled in an over stuffed chair strategically placed to catch the shaft of sunlight streaming through the open curtain. She was enjoying a cup of tea and reading a book. Periodically, she glanced at Angel's sleeping form, checking to see if he stirred. The previous night his fever had broken and he had finally slept peacefully through the night. For four days, she and Giles had sat in constant vigil over him while his fever raged. Delirious, he had drifted in and out of consciousness. The first two days they had kept him sedated so he wouldn't move, allowing his body time to heal.

Tirelessly, she had watched over him, carefully tending his wounds. Twice, she and Giles had to restrain him as nightmares, or hallucinations caused by the high fever made him thrash about violently. Willow hadn't been sure if he would retain any of his demonic 'gifts', but she could conclusively attest to his increased strength. Angel still benefited from accelerated healing also. Not as fast as when he was a vampire, but definitely accelerated beyond normal humans. If he hadn't been so weak from sickness and loss of weight, they never would have been able to control him.

The soft rustling of material made Willow look up. Angel was beginning to wake. Restlessly, he shifted on the bed. Willow set her book and cup on the nightstand as she settled gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Buffy?" he croaked, his dry throat rasping like sandpaper. Willow's hand brushed Angel's forehead, checking his temperature. He opened his eyes and scanned the room searching for something or someone. His eyes returned to her face. "Willow?" he whispered. She smiled, her hand stroking his cheek gently. "Where's Buffy?" he whispered, grimacing with the pain the two words cost him.

"Shhh," she instructed, reaching to the nightstand. Willow picked up a glass and turned back to Angel. "Here drink this," she commanded. She sidestepped his question, holding the glass to his lips. Angel looked up at her, rebellion in his eyes. Willow waited patiently. Finally giving in, he sipped at the pink liquid hesitantly. "Drink up," Willow said firmly, slipping a hand behind his head to steady him. "You need the fluids. This is better for you than water." Angel obediently drank, stopping only to breathe.

Willow settled his head gently on the pillow. Angel had a funny look on his face. He was working his mouth like he was trying to get a bad taste out of it. "I know it's kind of sweet," Willow said sympathetically. "But it'll help restore the electrolytes to your system." Angel gazed skeptically at her through half lidded eyes, obviously not understanding what she was saying. Willow snickered, amused at his complete lack of modern scientific knowledge. "I'll explain it to you some other time," she assured him, her hand patting his shoulder.

Angel blinked sleepily. "Why won't you tell me where Buffy is?" he pleaded softly.

"You don't remember?" she asked cautiously.

Angel shook his head. "Last thing I remember is Buffy's birthday..." he trailed off, struggling to recall any memories. "We were at my apartment... She was wet..." Angel swallowed thickly. "Willow, we-"

"I know," Willow interrupted. Her hand on his shoulder squeezed gently.

"Where is she?" he asked, his eyes pleading for to tell him.

Willow's face drew into a serious frown. She had stalled long enough. "Angel," she began, her hand finding his. She squeezed his hand gently. "We haven't seen Buffy in a little over two and a half years," she informed him bluntly. Angel's hand clamped down on hers. She grimaced, but didn't complain. The fingers of her free hand gently stroked the back of his, offering comfort. "We haven't seen her since the night she went to stop Acathla from awakening," she stated, deliberately not mentioning his role in the demon's reawakening. He was too weak to deal with the painful memories.

The mention of that name threw him into frantic activity. Angel struggled to sit up, but Willow pushed him back down. "NO!" he protested, struggling to get out of bed. "I have to find her."

Willow forced him to lie down. "Stop it," she scolded. "What do you think you're going to do?" He looked close to panic, but he didn't try to get up again.

Angel sank back, his body relaxing onto the bed. She was right. What could he do in his injured state? His brief exertion had made him intimately aware of how much he still hurt. His head was throbbing to a steady beat and his vision was blurring.

He tried to remember. Something about Acathla kept trying to surface, but he couldn't call the thought forth. Why did that name fill him with terror? A warming numbness began to spread through his body, dulling the pain and his senses. He suddenly felt like he was drifting, like he wasn't connected to his body.

"You drugged me?" he half asked, half accused. His eyelids slowly dropped shut, but he fought against sleep.

Willow pressed a tender, motherly kiss to his forehead. "Good night, Angel," she whispered, breathing the words against his skin.

Angel felt himself succumbing to the drug; desperately he struggled against the inevitable oblivion. He was sinking, but he held on, fighting... Something Willow... There was something Willow wasn't telling him... In a moment of painful clarity, he remembered.

Angel gasped, his upper body heaving with the shock of remembered pain. Involuntarily, his hands groped at his chest, reaching for the sword that wasn't there. Willow grabbed his shoulders, pushing his convulsing body back down. Angel clung to her arms with the desperation of a drowning man, his eyes filled with pain, hurt, betrayal and confusion. "Willow, why?" he gasped. He had to ask; he had to know. "Willow, why did Buffy stab me?" he managed, before he blacked out.

CONTINUE