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Coffee and Thoughts - Bitter Brew

It had been nearly a week since he'd had coffee with Willow. Since she'd helped him discover a safe way to bring warmth into his body, to feel for a brief while as if he were almost human. To know that if he touched someone, they would not flinch from his corpse cold hands. To feel as if his hands didn't carry a visible stain from all the blood that he'd shed. A week where the burden of his guilt had been eased, all because of Willow.

He found himself wondering what Willow was doing. Not with the same tormented longing that marked his thoughts of Buffy, but with a lighter feeling. His thoughts of Buffy were full of intense and occasionally conflicting passions, raging desires, to kiss her, to slash open that smooth skin... to offer her pleasure or break the bones of her body. Willow didn't inspire that tormented mix. Willow was like the first rain of the spring: sometimes bracing, unpredictable, and soothing. Willow soothed him, made him feel accepted. He didn't feel like he had to pretend around her.

His curiosity had always lead him into trouble. It had lead him to every pub within twenty miles of his home, into houses of gambling and loose women, it had lead him to Darla. Now, it had lured him to the high school, the place that should have both of the women filling his thoughts. Buffy, the woman who filled his mind like a blazing fire, and Willow, who was something else, like the subtle colors of the sunrise.

"Willow! How much coffee have you been drinking? You're almost bouncing off the walls, and you aren't even moving!" Buffy's voice carried, her confident, and currently almost scolding tones carrying to his ears.

"I haven't... well, only one cup today. And that was before I even came in, it was with my breakfast, so it shouldn't be causing problems for anyone now, except that you think I'm bouncing in my seat. Giles, do you think I'm bouncing? Because I thought I was hacking into the coroner's database again, not bouncing on the walls, although she meant that figuratively and not literally... I'm babbling again." Willow's words sounded faster than normal, and she was babbling. Rather like she had been by the end of their coffee last week.

"No more coffee for the Will-ster. Makes you babble." That could only be Xander Harris.

"Definite babbling. Got anything that will help us make an identification? How will I slay without figuring out what the baddie is?"

"Most things, if you stab the heart and cut off the head, it stays dead. Effective on a wide variety of things. What's stalking people now?"

Buffy began to explain about the large greenish creature that she had encountered on patrol last night. The thing had a row of spines down it's back, and smelled 'like old footballs'.

He found himself loosing the detail of her words as he memorized the line of her cheek, the shine of her hair. Buffy smelled like peaches and lip gloss and nail polish.

"... so I was wondering if maybe you could help me kill this thing?"

Her last words dragged Angel out of his contemplations. Right, could he help her kill the demon? He tried to remember if she had given any important details of the demon.

"I don't think that would be wise, actually. Based on the wounds of the victims and the description you gave me, I've identified the demon in question. Interestingly enough, it's a carrion feeder, of a subclass that normally only feeds on flesh that has been decomposing for a while. However, this particular species can accelerate the decay of once living organic matter, err... dead things, and according to the information, vampires are on the list of dead things. If the slime on it's body comes into contact with Angel, he will begin to decay. I imagine it would be very unpleasant experience. The slime also causes a high rate of infection if it comes into contact with a wound on a living person."

"Oh, so if it finds something that hasn't been dead long enough, it can speed things up in time for dinner, and if interrupted, it can slice you, slime you, and rest assured that you'll probably get an infection and die? That way it can have you as dinner next week? That's... gross." Willow's words summed up Giles' warning quite accurately.

"Let me give that a big eeeuuuw. Angel, change of plans, you stay away from this demon. Willow, I want you to stay somewhere safe as well. So, Giles, how do I kill this thing?" Buffy's voice was firm, leaving no room for discussion or question. She had shifted from Buffy the young woman to Buffy the Slayer.

"Right. Away from the demon. 'Kay, I'll just... go now. Bye Giles." Willow stood up, her eyes seeming very bright, the faint hint of salt in her scent betraying how close she must be to tears. She picked up her backpack and began her way across the library towards the door.

Angel felt something twist inside, looking at Willow. She looked almost lost, and definitely miserable. He couldn't let her go out into the streets like that, something would gobble her up like a chocolate chip cookie. He moved to intercept, and then began to follow her, slightly behind and two the right.

"So, we're not invited to tonight's playtime. How about coffee instead?" The words were a soft murmur, barely loud enough for Willow to hear.

She paused, allowing Angel to catch up to her, her expression startled. "I... sure, why not? Better than my other options."

"What would those options that I'm saving you from even be?" He could feel that troublesome curiosity kicking in again.

"Well, I could start on next week's geometry homework. Or try to hack into the Watcher's Council database for some information that Giles thinks they have about this one book of prophecies. Or I could work on this software program that I want to finish... and that sounds really boring, doesn't it?" Her expression fell, as if her life suddenly looked bleak and empty before her.

"How about instead... I have to confess, I've been hunting out coffee shops in the past week. I found this interesting little place, coffee and poetry. We can go there, warm ourselves up, listen to poetry, and just... chat. Sound better?" A small part of him was hoping that she would say yes. He almost felt like he was becoming addicted to coffee this past week, the warmth seeping into him, the people all around him... and the taste wasn't bad either.

"I've converted you to the Java cult? oh, that's cool! I've never been responsible for a conversion before... Poetry and coffee does sound better. Lead on, dark knight." Smiling, she offered her arm, as if they were characters in a play.

They wandered over to the little coffee shop he'd found. It was in a converted building, with no windows. The inside seemed a bit dark, and there was a fine haze of smoke. The room was also quite warm, and Angel could feel himself relaxing in the warmth. They got cups of coffee from the long, bar-like counter, and found a small table in the corner, presumably empty because of the dark shadows covering it, hiding them from the rest of the building.

"I probably shouldn't be here. This is my guilty pleasure. Coffee..." Her expression as she drank was so blissful. It made him think that maybe Willow would understand if he explained about the other reasons why vampires drank blood, the ones that moved beyond simple hunger.

"Why should you feel guilty for drinking coffee? What harm could it possibly do?"

She glanced at the table, the gesture making her hair fall around her face, as if she were trying once more to hide. Her words were quiet, with an almost apologetic tone. "The caffeine makes me a bit... hyper. Then, I tend to talk faster, maybe a bit more than the rest of the time. I gesture more, and fidget... I get a bit twitchy and jumpy sometimes."

"If you talk more, that might put you near the level of people like Buffy and Cordelia, neither of which have trouble talking. As for gesturing more... you have very expressive gestures, and people have been communicating with gestures for a very very long time." He reached out, lifting her chin with a gently finger, looking directly into tear-bright green eyes. "You don't need to feel guilty about your coffee. Take it from an expert on guilt."

"So you think I don't have enough reason to feel guilty about it? And no brooding?" There was a hint of amusement trying to climb over the sorrow in her voice.

"No. Definitely no brooding... you're much too pretty for it." Where did that come from? He wasn't quite certain what had prompted the nearly flirting portion, and decided to blame it on his demon.

She blushed, one hand tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "So you expect me to just sit here and watch you practice your brooding? Which you do pretty good at, by the way? No way, we're friends now... sort of, mostly... umm, friends don't let friends drink and brood."

"I thought that was friends don't let friends drink and drive?"

"Well, mostly it is. But you don't have an alcohol problem, you have a brooding problem. Are there twelve step programs for brooding? Brooders Anonymous meetings?" Her eyes were filled with questions. Maybe he wasn't the only one with too much curiosity.

"Willow... you are just... I can't find the words for you. I brood because of everything in my past, all the things I did before... because of Angelus." Why was she suggesting he should stop brooding? Weren't his offenses so terrible that he deserved to suffer? Hadn't he committed unforgivable crimes?

"Okay, Angel. I'm going to try to use psychology on you. Were you, Angel, the fairly nice guy who is safe and helpful there when Angelus did scary bad things? Did you know what he was doing?" There was a determined intensity to her eyes. He recognized the look: she had given herself a mission.

"no... I saw Darla in the alley, and the next thing I knew, I was by the gypsies, and I started to remember... horrible things." Where was she going with this? What point could this serve?

"So, this proves that you are not the same as Angelus. Yes, he's there, but there are two separate minds and sets of motives, desires, and reasoning. Are you still following me?"

Angel nodded, watching her eyes sparkle with intensity. She was attempting to convince him that he wasn't Angelus. "But, he's still here. I... I can hear him sometimes, whispering suggestions, things he'd like to do to people."

"Are they always the same reactions to people and situations that you have as Angel?" She sipped at her coffee, her eyes locked with his.

"There are occasional overlaps, but not, they aren't the same. Some things that I'm interested in bore him almost to tears, like French films, and some of my preferred poets. He has other things that he'd prefer." He couldn't believe that he was sitting here with Willow, almost discussing Angelus' preferences for behavior and entertainment.

"So, you aren't the same, and you've admitted it." Her eyes held a gleam, as if she had sighted victory.

"But he still did horrible things, used my face and memories to hurt people I cared for. Left a trail of violence and destruction..." He could feel himself slipping into a brooding state as he contemplated the bloody past he had.

"And you couldn't stop him. You weren't there. You're here now, so you can keep him from going... overboard. And umm... maybe he could learn a bit of restraint from you?" Her words ended on such a hopeful note.

There could only be one meaning for her words. But the idea was so hard to wrap his mind around. "You're telling me that you don't think I'm entitled to brooding as much as I do?"

"Pretty much. So, will you... could you maybe try to brood less? If nothing else, it's hard to brood when you're on a caffeine high." Her gentle smile was like a memory of summer sunshine, warm and comforting and safe.

"I can try."

On to 'Cup Of Vision'

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