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 lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Willow was fast asleep, her head on his pillow, her hand resting on his arm. She had talked until she fell asleep. Angel couldn't sleep now, even if he wanted too. Her words continued to replay in his head. She had explained in great detail what had occurred during the two and a half years that he'd been trapped in Hell. Most of her time had been devoted to saving him from eternal damnation. Her devotion to saving him baffled him; the absolute strength of her commitment and willpower amazed him, and try as he might, Angel couldn't understand. Why had she gone to the trouble of doing anything for him, let alone getting him out of Hell?

According to Willow, Xander had been the person who had asked her to 'rescue' him. The very idea had shocked Angel speechless. Frankly, he couldn't imagine Xander asking her to save him by doing something so incredibly dangerous that it endangered the world. He hadn't believed her, but he wouldn't dishonor the woman to whom he owed so much by saying so aloud, so he remained silent.

Willow went on to explain that her relationship with Xander had been seriously strained after Buffy left, but they had reconciled right before Xander died. Willow firmly asserted that Xander's dying wish, his exact words even, were... "Rescue Angel. Make things right." She'd promised Xander that she would do her best. Angel couldn't bring himself to believe that Xander had meant for her to get him out of Hell. He firmly believed that in Xander's mind 'Angel' and 'make things right' in the same sentence involved a stake also.

Angel closed his eyes and tried to push thoughts of Xander out of his head. As much as he'd disliked the boy, he had never really wished serious harm on him. Listening to Willow describe how Xander had died in a hit and run accident had been disturbing and surprisingly painful. Or was that just guilt, from all those times he'd jokingly thought about killing or maiming the loud-mouthed teen?

Angel felt a lump form in his throat as he struggled to push past the memories. Everything was so fresh in his mind. For him, it seemed like everything had happened just yesterday. One moment he'd been so in love and so happy that it had seemed like heaven. Then everything had changed for the worst. His mind was filled with horrible memories of what he had done while the demon had controlled his body.

Images of Buffy flashed into his mind. The sword fight replayed like a never-ending movie, like a never-ending nightmare. He had come close to killing her more than once, but he had never broken her spirit. Angel found that even though the memories were extremely painful, he couldn't help but be proud of her strength and courage. After everything he'd done and said, she had still bested him.

Buffy was lost to him now. All he had left were memories and right now even those were too painful. There were a lot of 'ifs' in their past. Things could have been so different... If he'd been more careful. If he'd stayed in the shadows. If she'd just killed him like she was supposed to... That one both pleased him and horrified him. Buffy obviously had loved him deeply and hadn't been able to kill the demon wearing her lover's face. Her duty should have come first. It was a bittersweet betrayal. He'd sooner that she'd killed him than live with this kind of disgrace and dishonor yet again.

Angel viciously squashed the memories, deliberately turning his thoughts away from the Slayer. He turned his attention outward, examining the room he was in. It had surprised him to find that Willow had purchased the house where he and his vampire brood had lived. She'd explained that after he was sent to Hell, Spike and Drucilla left town for awhile. The younger vamps seemed to have disappeared. The house had been vacant for a year when she and Whistler bought it.

Absently, he noticed that she was a much better decorator than Dru had been. So far he'd only caught glimpses of the great room downstairs and this bedroom, which ironically, had been his. Gone were the dark, dreary colors. Willow had replaced the gothic motif with an eclectic collection of old and new. From the looks of some of the larger wooden pieces like the dresser and the desk, she also had expensive tastes. The mix of modern and antique was pleasing to the eye.

Angel glanced at the sleeping young woman lying beside him. The last two and a half years had changed her immensely. Gone was the shy, unassuming teenage girl that he remembered. To him it seemed just yesterday that she had been meek, timid Willow. He approved of the changes. Someday, she would make someone a very lucky man. He suspected by the way that Willow talked that she was already taken, even though she hadn't come right out and said it.

In two and half years, Willow had accomplished quite a lot. It seemed she had become quite a proficient programmer and made a tidy profit off of some software she wrote. She had chortled happily about blowing the pants off 'Microsuck'. It had made no sense to him at all, but Willow assured him it was an inside 'geek' thing. Her income had enabled her to purchase the house with cash. She had promised-- 'threatened'-- to show him her computer room when he was well. Angel knew he wasn't as excited as he should be, but he didn't understand the big deal. He hardly knew a computer from a microwave and he'd never had a use for either.

Angel had quietly listened to her story. So much had happened since that night. After Giles was called back to England by the Watcher Council, Willow had been left pretty much alone. She and Oz had drifted apart. Oz left for southern California to tour with his band. Her relationship with Xander had changed to infrequent, 'polite' conversations. Cordelia had moved away three months after Buffy left to attend college out of state.

Then Whistler showed up, claiming to have a way to bring Angel back. He had offered a way for everything to return to the way it was. When Xander found out, he had fervently argued against such a 'harebrained' idea. He forbid Willow to try it, which only strengthened her resolve to succeed. She reasoned that if she could return Angel, then Buffy would come back. Things could go back to the way they were. Angel didn't agree. He didn't see how things could ever go back to normal. He didn't see how he could ever face Buffy again.

< Buffy... > Thoughts of her invaded his mind again. Tears welled up in his eyes. He felt so lost knowing he would never see her again, never hold her. She was his reason for living and she was gone. He foolishly told himself that memories would be enough, that they would sustain him until the pain lessened. His heart knew it for the lie that it was. Angel squashed his feelings with vicious efficiency, divorcing himself from his emotions. If he couldn't endure the pain, then he would contain his emotions. No pain. No pleasure. No fears. Only existence.

********

Giles sat quietly in Willow's library, contemplating the shadows of his haunted past. There were so many failures, so much that he hadn't accomplished. He'd failed so many people. Not just Buffy but others as well: Xander, Willow, Jenny... Even Angel in a way... Giles started. Where had that thought come from?!

His feelings for Angel were mixed. Long-buried anger, hate and resentment were reemerging. For the past three weeks he had tried to deal with his jumbled emotions without success. Intellectually, Giles recognized that Angel wasn't responsible for the demon's actions, that he wasn't responsible for Jenny's death or for anything else that happened. Giles and all of the others owed their lives to him at one point or another. Angel had come to their aid time and again, helping them without being asked. However, Giles hadn't really known Angel all that well or for that long before he turned. Angel's memory was dwarfed beside the nightmare of Angelus.

Up until a few weeks ago his inability to separate the two hadn't been an issue. With Angel gone, Giles hadn't had to confront that problem. In an effort to find peace he'd pushed it aside, not seeing a need to resolve the internal conflict. That was until a plane ticket and a cable requesting his presence arrived. Willow's short message bluntly informed him that she intended to bring Angel out of Hell. The very thought had filled him with terror. She was trying to fix something he considered his mistake. If she failed it would be another black mark on his soul.

Giles had gotten on the plane determined to stop Willow. She hadn't explained how she intended to get Angel out, but Giles had a good idea. He knew that whatever she did would be extremely dangerous. The long flight had afforded him time to contemplate what he would find when he arrived. During the torturous flight, his mind had conjured all sorts of terrible fates for the hacker. Giles could not have known that Willow had become an accomplished sorcerer during the last two years while he'd been in England.

Though he would never admit it, Giles had hoped to avoid returning to Sunnydale until his Slayer did. It served as a painful reminder of his failures. Concern for Willow's safety overrode any reluctance he might have harbored. It had been almost two years since the Watcher Council had called him back. To say he'd gone back reluctantly would be a lie. His failure as a Watcher hung heavy over his head. He considered it his greatest sin that he'd failed his Slayer. In his heart, he had branded himself a coward for wanting to return to England, to run away. The summons from the Council was only an excuse to cover his retreat.

'His Slayer'. He was not a Watcher. He had failed at that job miserably. 'His Slayer' was doing better on her own without him, or so the Council reports had said. When Buffy first left, he tracked her down and tried to talk her into coming back. She had listened politely, then when he let his guard down she disappeared. He'd found a note stuffed in his jacket pocket. 'Thank you for your concern. I need to do this on my own'. He still had the note. It was a memento of his greatest failure.

If Giles had been more careful, more attentive to his duties, Buffy and Angel might have been more cautious. Angel might not have lost his soul. And Jenny... If Giles had paid more attention to the danger Angel presented to them after he'd turned, then Jenny might still be alive.

Suddenly, Giles heard a slight noise from behind him. He turned to find Angel standing in the library entryway. He was dressed in only drawstring pants; his chest and feet were bare. Abruptly, all thoughts of Giles numerous personal failures vanished as he confronted the physical representation of his own personal demons. For three weeks, he had wondered how he would react to this man face to face.

Absently, his eyes strayed to the yellowing bruises that covered Angel's body. Most of the scratches had closed and were almost healed, but the four gashes on Angel's abdomen looked worse than when he arrived. Poison, Willow had told him. Giles stared at the angry red trenches dug into the man's flesh.

Suddenly, Angel swayed, about to topple over. Giles sprang to his feet. "You shouldn't be out of bed!" he admonished, rushing towards Angel.

"I *shouldn't*," Angel croaked, his voice harsh and raw carried utter adamance. "Be out of Hell."

Giles stopped dead in his tracks, for the first time looking the other man square in the eye. Angel looked dead serious; he meant it. Giles didn't know what to say; a part of him agreed. It sickened him to realize that part of him did want Angel to suffer for what Angelus had done. Part of him wanted 'someone' to suffer and Angel was an easy target.

"I've wronged you," Angel stated flatly. "I murdered Jenny and I tried to kill Buffy. I tortured you and killed dozens of innocent people." Again, Giles remained silent. All of it, true.

"I'm offering you revenge." Angel opened his arms, indicating supplication. "For Jenny, for Buffy, for yourself and the others. I deserve to be punished. I deserve to suffer."

This time, Giles hesitated, unable to accept, to agree, with the truth of that. He looked the other man in the eye, seeing Hell reflected there. These were not the eyes of the creature who'd tortured him; they suffered. Then Giles looked deep into himself and at last found a measure of peace. To his astonishment, he found that he was a bigger person than he'd given himself credit for. Giles reacted with the maturity and wisdom of a soul forged from tragedy and pain. He finally let go of his hate and forgave.

"You've already suffered enough," Giles replied civilly. "I forgive you," he said, meaning it in his heart. "And maybe, just maybe, if you can find Buffy and heal her, I'll finally be able to forgive myself." Kindly, he put his arm around Angel. Angel stared at him like he'd suddenly grown an extra head. "Now, let's get you back to bed..." Giles coaxed, casting a sideways glance at him. "Or Willow will have *my* hide."

*****

A few days later...

Concealed in the deep shadow of the immense doorway, Willow watched Angel. As far as she could tell he hadn't moved in over an hour. She'd come back several times to check on him. Each time he was still sitting in the wheelchair, staring at the statue of Acathla. Now, situated in the large garden behind the house where it belonged, the ugly monstrosity was once again relegated to being a pigeon roost. Willow always took perverse delight in the fact that the local avian population found the grotesque, petrified demon a comfortable perch.

Her lips turned up in the small smile as she felt, rather than heard, a presence come up behind her. Arms slid around her waist and a chin settled gently on her shoulder. Willow sighed and leaned back into her lover's embrace. Her hand slid down the familiar length of his arm to his hand, her fingers twining with his. "Hey," he murmured, his lips brushing butterfly kisses along her neck.

Willow shivered under his tender attention. He never failed to affect her that way. She turned her head, catching his face in profile against the light colored stone of their house. Whistler turned and smiled back at her, then pressed a loving kiss to her lips. "How's he doing?" he asked, speaking softly against her lips.

Willow slowly broke the kiss as she turned back to look at Angel. "I'm not sure how he is," she answered, her voice tinged with worry. She turned in Whistler's arms, burrowing into his shoulder. "He feels so..." she paused, searching for the right word. "Empty."

Whistler looked at her, puzzled. "I don't know how else to explain it," she supplied. "I can still feel him," she said softly. "It's like he doesn't feel anything... Like he's just locked everything away."

Whistler swayed, rocking her. "Did you try talking to him?" he asked, his eyes returning to the motionless figure in the garden.

Willow nodded, her head rubbing against his cheek. "He answers me if I ask him a direct question, but otherwise he just sits there brooding."

Whistler chuckled, his hand patting Willow's back affectionately. She glared up at him. "I don't see anything funny about that," she muttered, her eyes narrowing.

Whistler's laughter faded away. "Some things never change," he said. "Angel, the Zen Master of brooding." He brought his hands together, palms flat in a praying motion. "Ahmmm," he hummed. Willow poked him in the ribs, hard. He squirmed away from her stabbing finger, his unrepentant grin never leaving his face.

He gave her an affectionate squeeze. "He just needs time," he stated. His hand drifted upward to stroke her hair. "Angel always was quiet and kept his own council. He's going to have to figure everything out in his own head first."

"I know," Willow agreed, heaving a regretful sigh. She snuggled against him. "I just wish I could help."

"I'd say you were doing some good..." Whistler offered, brushing a stray hair off her cheek. He automatically tucked the misbehaving lock behind her ear. Willow pulled back, eyeing him curiously. "You did get him to stay in the wheelchair and stop trying to walk before he's ready..." he trailed off. Willow's eyes narrowed dangerously, warning him that he was treading on thin ice. Whistler smirked. His eyes sparkled with a teasing glint. "I'd stay in the chair too, if you threatened to put me in it permanently because I wouldn't wait for permission to stand on my own two feet," he chuckled teasingly as he danced away from her jabbing fingers.

"Yeah well, if you don't watch it, you and Angel might get matching wheelchairs for Christmas," she growled playfully as he escaped into the house.

********

"Here hold this," Willow instructed, plunking down a tray of what appeared to be gardening implements on his lap. Reflexively, Angel steadied the tote. "I have some gardening to do and you're going to help me," she informed him just before his wheelchair lurched forward. Angel ground his teeth together in annoyance. He'd been just fine sitting and doing nothing. Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

Willow wheeled him to a spot near the larger flower bed. "So what d'ya think?" she asked. Slowly, she paced around its irregular edge. "I think you're right," she commented, giving him a casual glance. "Looks kind of weedy."

Angel cast an irritated glare in her direction, but she didn't notice. Willow stood, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she surveyed the flower bed. He sighed resignedly. She refused to acknowledge that he wanted to be left alone. Repeatedly, she included him in her activities, never taking no for an answer. He'd tried arguing, ignoring and annoying her, nothing worked. She refused to let him be.

Angel couldn't understand why she didn't understand that it would be best for everyone involved if he didn't have anything to do with them.

He had tormented all of them and he'd even tried to kill Willow. Angel had thrown that fact in her face, snarling the angry words. Willow had evenly returned his angry glare, never flinching away. "That was Angelus" she'd told him. Her tone had implied that was all the explanation she would or needed to give. Her words had made him angrier. He'd fought to contain the urge to shake her like a rag doll, to make her see some sense.

Angel turned his attention back to Willow. She had always been the understanding one. Of all the 'Scooby Gang' she was the one that had always accepted him without question, without restrictions. He watched her as she methodically combed through the flowers, occasionally pulling up a weed. He lost himself in her mundane task, pushing aside his guilt for a short time.

Willow turned around, retrieving a trowel from the tote. She gave him a warm smile before returning to her weeding. "Giles mentioned you two had a long talk the other day," she informed him, glancing over her shoulder. Angel met her gaze, but didn't answer. "He didn't tell me what you chatted about though," she said, turning to face him. She was offering him the chance to explain, to talk. Angel stared placidly back at her, not volunteering to fill her in. He was being deliberately difficult. Willow paused for a long moment before returning to her weeding. No matter what he did, she was never angry with him. Silently, Angel wondered at her incredible patience and understanding.

Giles... Memories of Giles, beaten and broken, danced before his eyes. Angel shuddered with revulsion. It nauseated him to remember how he'd tortured the Watcher, breaking his fingers like twigs. Resolutely, he pushed the memories of the past away, focusing on the present.

Angel had no idea what to make of the Watcher. Willow was right, they talked for a long time. After Angel stumbled into the library and offered his life in penance for his sins, they had conversed. To Angel's immense amazement, the man had forgiven him. Giles had helped him back to bed, then sat and talked with him until Angel fell back to sleep.

The Watcher had the crazy idea that Angel could bring the Slayer back. Many people had tried and failed. Why Giles thought he would have better luck, Angel had no clue. He couldn't believe that Buffy would even want to see him. She must hate him. He had tried to kill her and her friends numerous times, and had succeeded in murdering Jenny. Why any of them would want him around completely baffled him. He was a killer, not to be trusted.

Angel's thoughts turned to Buffy again. She haunted him, her essence lingering in the corners of his soul. He did want to find her, if only to gaze upon her again. He needed to know that she was all right. His soul was empty without her, leaving him a lonely shell. It had been two and a half years since she sent him to Hell. Two and a half years for her to get on with her life, to leave any memory of him far behind.

Angel understood now why she had run him through. Whistler had filled in the gaps in his memories, explaining her bewildering betrayal as a necessary evil. He knew she had no idea that it would be 'him' and not Angelus that she would have to send to Hell to seal the vortex. Still it hurt. In the end Buffy had done her duty just as she should. He couldn't --no wouldn't-- blame her for any of it. He could only blame himself. He just wished he could tell her.

"Excuse me," a deep male voice intruded. Angel and Willow looked up simultaneously to find one of her two body guards standing a few feet away. "Cook sent me to tell you it's time for dinner," he said before quickly retreating to the house. Bodyguards. Angel shook his head. He had never imagined that sweet Willow would someday need bodyguards. Things really had changed drastically while he was gone.

Willow stepped up behind his wheelchair. "Ready?" she asked as she pushed him back toward the house. No he wasn't ready, but he'd never tell her. She wouldn't listen anyway. She refused to believe that he only wanted to be left alone.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Angel muttered under his breath. The embarassement of being treated like an invalid made him resolve to get well as soon as possible. Besides, somewhere out there he had a certain missing Slayer to find...

CONTINUE