Fic: Soul of an Angel (2/?)

[annelise@xxxxxxxxxxxxx]

Soul of an Angel, Part Two.
Comments/Flames/Etc. to: annelise@xxxxxxxxxxxxx

--

Xander spotted her before I could, which annoyed the hell out of 
me. I couldn't see her clearly through my tears. How could I possibly 
describe how I felt? Only a few days ago we'd buried her, and now 
here she came, held aloft on impossible white wings that glowed in 
the noonday sun. I was breathless, and a little in awe. And she was 
moving so *fast*.
I ran a few yards forward and stopped once more. Did she know how I 
felt? Could she? Was she still the same Willow despite this 
miraculous alteration? Would she still know me? Or was this some sick 
joked visited upon me by the Powers That Be?
Whatever jumble of thoughts were in my mind, whatever madness was 
upon me, everything dissolved away in a moment of sheer panic as she 
dove straight for me, arms extended, and quite literally swept me off 
my feet.
Somewhere down below, Xander shouted after us, but I couldn't hear 
his words. The rush of wind as we spiralled into the air prevented me 
from hearing anything at all, and I couldn't care less.
"Willow?" My voice startled her, and she dropped momentarily 
groundwards causing me to scream in terror. She gripped tighter, and 
slowed herself so that she landed nimbly within Sunnydale's Parkside 
cemetery; one of the smaller graveyards on my patrol.
She looked at me quizzically, and for a moment she seemed to be 
*my* Willow once more, but everything about her was wrong. She cocked 
her head and let out a cry. A bird's cry.
"Oh Willow, what happened to you?" I put a hand to her cheek and it 
was warm. Very warm, as though she were fevered. She leaned into the 
caress and kissed my hand. Startled, I pulled my hand back and Willow 
stepped forward so that our noses were almost touching. And then she 
kissed me.
How stupid I must have looked, standing there with my mouth open to 
her invading tongue, eyes widening in shock. I pulled back again, and 
she continued to watch me.
"Willow? Are you..."
Again the avian screech, but with it was a smile and she nodded. I 
hugged her. Hugged her, and felt my world collapse around me. That, 
and the feathers lining her fingers tickling my cheek.
"Oh Willow."

*

Helicopters hovered over Sunnydale as I sat with Willow in my room. 
I'd taken my mother's less-valued dressing-gown and slit the back 
with an axe. I helped Willow to dress, although she didn't seem to 
care much for clothes; The cold held no meaning for her anymore. But 
the feelings that ran through me from seeing Willow unclothed, an 
*angel* unclothed... I felt the flush creep past my neckline, and I 
had to turn my head away to hide my embarrassment.
Willow still hadn't spoken since our reunion. I figured that 
whatever transformation had changed her body had also stolen her 
ability to speak. I knew she could understand what I was saying 
though, because she obeyed my few commands without pause. She looked 
beautiful, and I cried for her.
My tears confused her, as if she'd never seen tears before. She 
came closer to stare at them, watching as they ran down my cheeks. 
She licked at them dartingly, and my gasp of surprise made her jet 
backwards and extend her wings for balance. Wings that beat 
powerfully a few times before stopping. My bedroom was now a 
windblown mess. A noisy, windblown mess.
My mother ran in to find us like that. Me standing in the corner 
sobbing away, and an angelic Willow with her eyes clamped shut, clad 
in her dressing gown, standing in the centre of a maelstrom.
Her reaction was not what I predicted. She laughed, an unexpected 
bark of laughter that made Willow open one eye comically. I couldn't 
help but join in the laughter. I was hysterical; The world had just 
become crazier. My world had changed forever.

*

"Do you want more milk, Willow?" My mother, always the level-headed 
one in times of stress, had thought that Willow might be hungry. So 
she'd led us both down to the kitchen where she fixed a 'snack'. For 
the uninitiated, my mother's snacks are legendary. They tend not to 
fit on a table, but instead orbit on various counters and worktops 
and work their way inwards, as if those who eat here were gastronomic 
black holes.
Willow seemed to want only two things; milk and cucumber. She was 
on her second carton of milk now, and had an amusing dab of white on 
the end of her nose. I giggled, and tears once more cascaded down my 
cheeks.
Summers' women can be hard as nails when circumstances require. I 
rarely cry at death. Hell, as the Slayer, I'd never stop. But shove 
us in front of a Weepy Movie, and you'd better ensure the Kleenex 
container is well-stocked.
Once again Willow stopped what she was doing to stare at my tears. 
And once again she came over to lick at them, which mortified me and 
amused my mother.
"Er, Willow?" I tried to gently push her away, but instead ended up 
in a hug.
"She really likes you," came my mother's dry comment. "Or maybe, its 
the salt?"
I didn't answer. My mouth had Willow's tongue in it.
"No, I think its just that she likes you."
"Mmmph!"

*

End part 2.