FanFiction Archive

Understanding

Part 7

Willow sighed as she flipped the television off. "It always amazes
me that we have almost a hundred channels and yet, there's nothing
worthwhile on," she muttered to herself as she puttered around the living room, picking up glasses and rearranging pillows and cushions.

"Talk to yourself often?" A voice asked from behind her.

Willow shrieked and dropped the glasses, causing them to shatter upon impact. Whirling around she came face to face with Angel.
Letting out a sigh of relief she smacked him on the chest. "Don't do that, Angel!" She ordered.

Angel looked contrite. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said apologetically as he knelt to help her clean up the broken glass.

"Yeah, well, you did," Willow answered, scowling. Realizing how she sounded she sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. It's just I'm kinda bored. And I thought you were sleeping!"

Angel smiled. "I was. But," he shrugged. "Decided not to waste my last few hours here sleeping." Grabbing a trashcan, Angel held it out while Willow dumped the shards into it.

Willow smiled in return, not sure why her stomach fluttered slightly at his words. "Oh, well, then let's do something!" She said brightly. She looked around and frowned, realizing that Angel had very carefully avoided the large patches of sunlight that flooded almost every room of the house. "What do you do during the day?"

Angel chuckled. "Sleep usually," he admitted. "Or research for a client. And Cordelia keeps trying to get me to understand the computer."

Willow smiled. "You and Giles, I swear, you're the only two people
on the planet who don't like computers!" She said with an exasperated sigh. She cocked her head at him. "Angel, what do you do for fun?"

"Fun?" He asked, frowning. "Well, I work out sometimes, especially if we have new weapons."

"You call that fun?" Willow asked, shaking her head. "I know you sketch, what else do you do?"

Angel's visage darkened for a moment as he was reminded why she knew he could draw. He shrugged. "I read, listen to music," he trailed off.

"A-ha!" Willow said, smiling in triumph. "I knew there was stuff you liked doing! So what books? What kind of music?" She looked around and pulled him to a kitchen stool that was away from any sunlight as she sat in the one next to it.

Angel smiled. "Is this twenty questions?" He asked, teasingly.

Willow pouted, getting up from the stool. "Fine, I was just trying to make conversation!" she said, pretending to walk away. A hand on her arm stopped her. Butterflies appeared in her stomach and she felt giddy. 'What's wrong with me?' She asked herself. 'It's not like Angel's never touched me before. I mean, there are the many times he's thrown me away from danger or that one time he tried to kill me. But anyway, I shouldn't be getting so excited.' She took her seat and smiled somewhat shakily at Angel again.

He dropped her arm. "So, you're interested in my hobbies?" He asked. 'And why does that fill me with happiness? Not perfect happiness of course, but it's a nice feeling,' he thought to himself, shrugging it off. "I admit I'm a classicist, both in books and music. Or for reading, I like histories."

"Histories? Why? You were there, weren't you?"

"Well, not for ancient histories. I'm not that old," He pointed out, grinning. "But I do like to laugh at some of the theories of the so-called historians. Some of their hypotheses are so far-fetched it's funny."

"Really? Whose?" Willow asked, intrigued.

"Well, for starters..."

* * * *

Willow and Angel looked up from the sofa in the living room when the
front door burst open. They had been talking the entire afternoon and had realized that the stools were fairly uncomfortable about an hour into their conversation. They had moved into the living room, where Willow had secured a blanket over the front window to block out the sunlight.

A smoking leather duster slammed the door shut. Spike's head poked out, still smoking from the early evening sunlight. He frowned when he saw Angel. "Bloody hell, you're still here?" He snapped.

Angel rolled his eyes. "It looks that way, doesn't it?" He said, goading his grandchilde.

Willow sighed loudly, causing both of them to look at her. "Will you two stop it?" She asked. When they both looked away, embarrassed, she giggled. "I swear, you two look like you've just been caught with your hand in the cookie, well, blood bank maybe."

"Thanks, Red," Spike muttered, striding into the living room. "Where's the Bit?"

Willow glanced at her watch. "She went over to Marcie's house to study," she replied. "But she should be home soon, if you want to wait."

"Thanks, don't mind if I do," Spike answered, flopping down in a chair.

"So what're you and the Poof chatting about?"

"I am sitting here, Spike," Angel growled.

Spike smiled. "I know," he said. "Well, Red?"

Willow rolled her eyes. "If you don't stop I'll turn you into a... a... rat, Spike!" When Angel stifled laughter, Willow turned toward him.

"Hey now! You still haven't figured out a way to turn your little witchy friend back yet, so don't go experimenting on me!" Spike protested. "I wasn't doing anything! Merely asking what you were talking about."

Angel smothered his laughter, causing Willow to turn toward him. "And you, mister," she began, much to the delight of Spike. "You'll be his little rat-friend if you don't behave!" Angel immediately stopped chuckling. Willow smiled in triumph. 'Knew that would work,' she thought to herself happily.

"If you want to know about poetry, you might ask, Spike," Angel suggested mildly, changing the subject.

Willow merely raised an eyebrow as Spike growled at Angel. 'Spike?
Poetry?' She asked herself incredulous. Outwardly, she gave no hint
of her shock. "You like poetry, Spike?" She asked out loud.

Spike quickly mulled over his options and decided on a strategic retreat. He glanced at the clock and stood up abruptly. "Well, look at the time. Tell Nibblet I'll be by later," he said, hurrying to the door. Pulling his duster over his head to shield him from the last light of the day, he waved. "Be seeing ya, Red. Peaches, hope you go back to LA soon."

Willow shook her head as the door slammed shut.

Angel sighed. "That's my childe," he muttered.

Willow giggled. "And you're so proud, aren't you?" She said sarcastically.

"I used to be," Angel admitted softly.

Willow's eyes softened as she saw the regret on Angel's face. Leaning over she put her hand on his shoulder. "You could try to make things right between you," she suggested.

Angel shook his head. "Too much has gone on between us to get back
what we had."

"How about something new?" The redhead replied.

Angel shrugged. "He hates me. And to be frank, he's not my favorite person either. So it's better this way."

Willow sighed. "If you say so," she said. "If you ever want to talkabout it."

"Thank you," Angel answered. He could feel the sun sink under the horizon. He stood, and walked to his bag. "I should get going. It's time for me to go back."

"Oh, okay," Willow said, feeling disappointed that their conversation had to end. "Well, have a safe trip."

"I will," Angel promised.

"And call me when you get there, so I know you made it safely,"

Willow instructed as they walked to the door.

"I promise," Angel said, smiling at the concern Willow was showing him. He opened the door and stepped through. "Bye, Willow."Willow leaned forward and gave him a quick hug, pulling back before he could return the favor. "Bye, Angel."

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