shadow3



	Title: Shadow of Dreams Part 3 Name: Anastasia Email: Charlie1@acay.com.au Rating: R Classification: Willow/Angel Disclaimer: I own none, Joss does. I just borrowed a facsimile of them to play with and for public humiliation! Feedback: Would be appreciated. Authors Notes: This is a story started months ago and thanks to two wonderful people, Robin and Darkgem, it has been worked on again. See what you get if you nag me? * "Angel?" Doyle questioned as the vampire walked through the office doors with a small unconscious redhead held firmly in his arms. "What the bloody hell..." "Is Cordy here?" asked Angel, glancing around the office as he carried Willow toward his apartment. "No, she's left already," he replied following. "I take it this is your 'friend'?" Angel didn't even bother to answer as he gently laid her down on his bed. Taking his eyes off her for a moment he glanced down at his shirtfront, it was saturated from her sweat. Sitting down on the bed Angel let his hand cup her face, his fingers stroking the clammy skin, the heat she was generating was tremendous. "Willow," he called softly. "Come on Willow, wake up." Angel was concerned. She was obviously running a fever, while her breathing was laboured and accompanied by an unnerving rattle. The ashen skin under his hand was clammy, her eyes were ringed with dark circles and she was nothing more than skin and bone. But the worst thing for him was her torn, bruised wrist and the bruises that were beginning to form about her neck, bruises that matched his fingers - bruises that Doyle had noticed. "Jesus, what happened to her?" he asked quietly. "She's burning up, we need to get her temperature down." Angel looked at Doyle as he moved to take off Willow's boots, ignoring his question completely. "Go run a cool bath." Without hesitating Doyle moved toward the bathroom. Angel tossed the boots aside and moved to pull Willow's shirt up. As he lifted the shirt his eyes fell on a large gash that ran diagonally across her sunken stomach. Frowning he gently pushed the shirt up, the gash continued down under the waistband of her skirt, it was a deep weeping cut, the skin was red and inflamed especially where the waistband had rested. "What happened Willow?" he whispered to the unconscious girl. Gently sitting her up, so her head rested against his shoulder, he pulled off her shirt and bra before laying her back down. Narrowing his eyes he took hold of her arm, twisting it slightly - a similar gash marked the lower part of her arm and was bleeding profusely. Grabbing her abandoned shirt Angel pressed it against the wound, hoping to still the flow of blood. Letting his gaze rest for a moment on her pale face he shook his head before returning his attention to her arm. Removing the shirt to look at the wound he noticed a number of pinpricks littered about the joint - instinctively he knew that intravenous needles made them. His hand strayed to her other arm gently moving it to reveal similar marks. "Damn it Willow, what the hell is going on with you?" Keeping a firm hold on her shirt he continued to undress her, quickly removing her remaining clothes. As his eyes roamed over her wasting body he knew that she was fighting an infection and by the look of it she was loosing. The needle marks nagged at him - she was obviously using drugs on a regular basis, whether they were prescribed or not he needed to know what and she needed medical attention. Gathering her sweat covered body up in his arms he moved into the bathroom as Doyle was turning off the water. "Well the tubs full..." he started to say. "I want you to call a doctor - get them here as soon as possible." Angel said as he slowly lowered Willow into the bath, wincing as she didn't react to the cool water. "If she's sick you should take her to the hospital," stated Doyle. "Call a doctor," Angel repeated, his voice low and menacing. "She isn't going anywhere." Angel was only just aware that the little man had left the bathroom, he could hear his voice making the needed call. Shifting slightly he grabbed a face cloth from the edge of the bath and started to wipe Willow's face. The blood from her arm was staining the water, but his main concern was getting her temperature down. "He's on his way." Doyle said, standing by the bath. "I'll go back up to the office and wait for him." "Thanks," Angel murmured as he continued to wipe the cool water across Willow's face. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, even in the cool water. Once more his eyes roamed over her emaciated body, she looked nothing like the girl he had left in Sunnydale months ago. Doyle was still talking to him, but Angel wasn't listening. He could hear the words, but they made no sense, the only thing he was aware of was Willow as he held her in the water, his free hand sponging her face. He watched in quiet desperation as her blood stained the water. Closing his eyes against the sight before him he rested his forehead on his arm. A soft moan escaped her lips and Angel swung to look at her face. "Willow? Come on Willow, wake up for me." He got no response. Carefully he lifted her bleeding arm from the cool water and lightly ran his fingertips through the blood before raising them to his mouth. The sweet tang of her blood was soon replaced with a pungent aftertaste. Repeating his actions he allowed the taste to roll around the tip of his tongue, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Opium," he stated quietly. He continued to bathe her clammy face for another ten minutes before letting the water drain from the bath. Wrapping Willow's still unconscious form in a towel he took her back to his bed and unable to stand the sight of her wasted body anymore he grabbed one of his t-shirts, slipping it over her head, it was far too large and hung just above her knees but it did the job. Her arm was still bleeding so Angel grabbed the towel and sitting next to her used it to stem the flow of blood. His hand reached out to stroke her face, trying to break through the darkness of unconsciousness. "Wake up for me, Willow," he whispered to her, his fingers stroking her gaunt cheek. "You're safe Willow, nothing can hurt you now." From upstairs he could hear voices making their way through the office, Doyle's Irish brogue mixing with a typical Californian well-to-do accent. "So what do we have here?" asked a rather non-descript looking doctor. "Angel, this is Dr Inger and Dr Inger this is the young girl I was telling you about," said Doyle, ushering a man into the room. "I appreciate you coming," said Angel, standing up to shake the man's hand. "She has a fever, an infected wound and it's gone into her lungs." The doctor looked at Angel suspiciously before turning his attention toward Willow. "Let's have a look, shall we?" he said moving forward. He began to do a thorough examination of her. Talking in explanation the whole time. "This is a nasty cut," he stated looking at her arm. "Infected, should have been stitched when she first did it..." "There's another on her abdomen as well," Angel added, watching as the doctor lifted the shirt to examine the gash on her stomach. "Mmm..." he murmured as he bought her arm up to rest near her stomach, the wounds formed a straight line. His thumb ran across her elbow, pulling the skin taunt. Picking up a small torch he checked her pupil response. Sitting for a moment, he seemed to gather himself before turning to Angel. "How long has she been unconscious for and what is she using?" Angel saw Doyle shoot him a "what the bloody hell is going on look". "She's been out for about 20 minutes and it's opium." The doctor raised an eyebrow in question. "Opium? Why would a young girl want to use opium - I thought these kids would want something to speed them up, not slow them down." "What do you mean?" Angel asked. "Opium slows down the thought process, relieves pain, said to do many things - Coleridge use to take it in the form of laudanum, when his thoughts ran away with his sanity. Mind you that's English poets for you," the doctor's laughter was soon cut off by the scowls on both Angel and Doyle's faces. He continued his examination. "Do you know how much she took and when?" "No." Angel's reply was short and flat. "Well we should get her to a hospital." "No, she isn't leaving here." Angel again stated. He wanted her there with him, it almost seemed that it was where she belonged. "It won't be pretty, you don't know how long she's been using. The greater the dependency the worst it will be." "She stays here." Angel stated. "Would she better off at a hospital?" asked Doyle quietly. "She would be more comfortable. Nursing staff to look after her, oxygen to help her breathe easier and an IV so we can keep her fluids up until..." "We can do that here. She stays here." Repeated Angel. "Angel, maybe it's best if we take her to a hospital," Doyle tried to reason with the glowering vampire. "If she needs help..." "She stays here. I can give her whatever she needs." Angel stated once more, his eyes momentarily flashing gold with anger. "She stays here and that's it!" "Of course if you think that's best," the doctor said reaching into his bag to pull out various bits and pieces. "I can stitch this up, won't help much now it'll leave a nasty scar. I can also give her some antibiotics to help with the infections - both her cuts and the secondary lung infection. You do realise what you'll be up against? With the withdrawal I mean? Like I said, it won't be pretty - could last from a few days anywhere up to a week, depending on how great the dependency is." "We'll manage." Angel spoke calmly. The doctor shrugged and concentrated on his handiwork. "Well keep her away from knives I don't want to be stitching up another one of her botched attempts." "What do you mean?" Angel frowned at the comment. The doctor looked up from the stitches he had just finished in her arm and pulled her arm next to her stomach, lining up the cuts. "The fall of the incision, the depth, the angle - she did it herself, no other possibility." Angel backed away from the bed. The Willow he had known would never have considered suicide an option and yet here on his bed was evidence of how much she had changed. He couldn't believe it. "No, you're mistaken." "I'm sorry...I thought you knew," the doctor offered returning to the job of stitching the wound on her stomach. Angel moved further back from the bed, watching as the doctor quickly worked. "So what is this about Angel? You said she was in trouble not some little suicidal junky." Doyle asked. "I don't know Doyle but she stays here." "Okay, okay I get the picture - she stays here." Doyle raised his hands in a mock imitation of surrender before shaking his head and looking back at the redhead. "Do you know anything?" "Not really. Giles mentioned something about nightmares...but this..." Angel paused shaking his head in disbelief. Before he could continue the doctor interrupted him. "Well, I've done what I can, the rest is up to her. Like I said it's not going to be pretty." The doctor was packing away his things. "She'll probably wake up in a few hours, that's when the fun will start." Shaking his head the he looked toward Angel and Doyle. "You'll need to keep her fluids up, which will be difficult, and try to keep her temperature down. I've left some shots of antibiotics, keep them in a cool place and administer them every second day...I take it you do know how to?" Angel nodded. "A few hours? What if she doesn't wake up?" "She'll wake up. She hasn't OD or anything," he shot a glance at Willow before picking up his bag. "The stitches will have to come out in about 10 days. If you have any questions or something happens you have my number. Good luck." "Uh yeah, thanks," said Doyle as he motioned toward the door. "I'll fix you up and see you out then." Angel didn't even acknowledge the doctor as he left the apartment. He moved back to the bed and sat watching Willow. He couldn't understand what had happened. Sighing he picked up the small vials of antibiotic and the needles and syringes that the doctor had left behind and went to put them in the fridge. On his way back to the bed he picked up Willow's abandoned clothes and boots. The boots rattled. Frowning he threw the skirt and top into the bathroom before turning the boots upside down and shaking them. A key fell out of one and cash out of the other. Picking up the key he turned it over in his hands, it was to her hotel room. Putting the key aside he picked up the money, at least five hundred in fifty dollar notes, narrowing his eyes he wondered if it was from a stash of money Willow had or if she had earnt it. He didn't really want to think about that - there weren't a lot of professions, apart from prostitution, for young girls with drug habits. He turned his attention back to the key; perhaps something in her room would give him an insight as to what was going on with her. He gripped the key tightly in his clenched fist as Doyle walked back into the room. "So..." Doyle hesitantly said. "What now?" "You stay here while I go and get her stuff." Angel stood up and kicked the boots aside. "I shouldn't be long." * The room was pretty typical of the cheap hotels around the area. Dirty marked walls in the usual boring beige with matching carpet littered with cigarette burns and stains. Angel sighed and looked about the small barren room. Bed, wardrobe, the usual bedside table with a bible shoved into the shelf, minuscule bathroom - it was depressing. More so was the fact that apart from a pair of jeans, shirt, jacket and two pairs of wet knickers hanging off the shower cubicle Angel had found nothing. Well that's a lie; he had found a small stash of opium, which he'd flushed down the toilet. "Damn it!" he screamed slamming the wardrobe door shut, only to have it swing back open, the mirror on the door reflecting the room. He turned his attention to the double bed, neatly made. Frustrated he wanted to beat the crap out of something and the perfectly made bed was just begging for it. A feral scream of pain and anguish left him as he tore at the pillows and bedding before lifting up the mattress and flinging it against the locked door. In a final act of anger he kicked the base moving it slightly before he sunk to the floor, burying his head in his hands. "Damn it all to hell." Biting the inside of his lip he rolled his head back and opened his eyes to stare blindly at the mirror. There, in the shadows beneath the base of the bed, was a silver coloured object. Angel stared for a moment before turning around and pulling Willow's laptop out from under the bed base.