invisiblecompany

Angel sat vigil at the comatose girl's bedside for three days. There was nothing blatantly wrong with her physically, a few cuts and bruises and mild anemia. From lack of food, there were no tell-tale pin-pricks on her neck or along major arteries. But she was not showing any signs of waking up.

Help the helpless, that has been Angel's motto for so many years. He has seen so much hurt and pain. So much cruelty. But so much compassion. Still, his soul remained as unsettled as the day the gypsy curse took him, Redemption had not finished with him. He was usually able to push these feelings deep down beneath the surface and to deal with whatever the powers that be would throw his way.

Except now, sitting by the bedside of the girl who was the splitting image of his childe's (even though he was not her direct sire, he still thought of Willow as his childe) long deceased true love, he was at a complete loss as to what he should do next.

"I still can't believe my eyes," Lorne commented as he handed Angel a cup of warmed blood. "I looked at the old photo images and it's her, Angel. Plus the Facial Contour Matcher doesn't lie. Are you going to contact Willow? You know where she is, don't you?"

"I can reach her if necessary, but what do I tell her?"

Lorne had no answer to that.

*****

She was drifting.

She found herself standing by a dying fire, a burning building, under a fire-red sky, unable, unwilling to move, while everything around her moved at great speeds.

She did not know what state she was in, all she knew was that she was surrounded by a crowd of faceless people with no escape from whatever, wherever she was.

She was a droplet buried in an endless sea of people.

A seed buried in an exploding field of people.

A cloud hidden amongst an everchanging pattern of seasons.

A star hidden amongst the boundless empty space between people.

And the might of her insignificance hit her like a tidal wave.

She felt raw terror creeping up to her.

She tried to scream.

And woke up.

*****

She opened her eyes and saw a green demon with big red eyes and a bright suit. At her scream he turned toward her and reached out with his scaly spindly hands.

She screamed again.

And fell once more into unconsciousness.

When she woke up again there was another man, not unkindly. But no doctor either. He was sitting next to her, his tired eyes spoke volumes about how long.

Still she did not know what state she was in.

He was saying something but she could only catch some words about him being an angel or perhaps he was in a group that had angel in its name, or that he himself was called Angel. One of the three, may be.

For the next day or so he tended to her, fed her and supported her when she visited the bathroom. At first she flinched at his touch, but gradually she came to realize he meant no harm and she stopped fighting.

He said very little, for which she was grateful, she knew she was capable of speaking, as in opening her mouth and vibrating her vocal chords, but had doubts about her ability to speak right then. Several times he seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but he would stop himself at the last moment. May be he was hoping she would say something herself, but she stayed silent, not even screaming, she was too exhausted and disorientated to do much else.

Most of the time she slept.

*****

The desire to contact his childe gnawed relentlessly at the back of Angel's mind, but he told himself he could not even start the contemplation process until he knew more about this now mostly conscious, but very frightened, mysterious girl. Her name would be a good start. He had the overwhelming desire to refer to her as Tara, but he resisted. Logic dictated that this was not the Tara that he knew, but he deliberately kept a neutral perspective, and prepared for any possibility.

When she woke up she was so withdrawn, so fragile, he did not have it in his heart to ask her the questions that burned so desperately in his throat.

As it was, he did not have to wait long. It was right after he had brought lunch, his back was turned while he poured the tea.

"W-w-what happened?" Very soft, hoarse, but coherent.

He almost dropped the tea but recovered in time. "We found you, you've been unconscious for days."

"Hurt. All over," she took the tea carefully with partially bandaged hands. It was nice and hot, comforting. Never doubt the wonders of a cup of piping hot tea, she remembered ... someone saying to her. In a room with fireplaces and a homely couch and soft furnishings. But she could not remember anything more, though she knew she should. She frowned slightly as more broken memories faded in and out of her mind.

"You have some cuts and bruises but no internal injuries, you'll be feeling them for a few more days," he explained. "You're safe here, you can stay for as long as you need."

"I s-s-should thank you but I don't know who you are," she said between sips.

"I'm usually known as Angel," he smiled softly. "How do you normally go by?"

It took her a full minute that felt like hours. Blankness was followed by mild panic as she fought to grasp something that should be so fundamental. Such a relief when the feeling finally jelled together into a real thought, an irrefutable fact.

"Tara. From the Maclay."

This time he really dropped his cup. But before the hot liquid hit his young patient, it stopped mid-air, a frozen waterfall suspended between the lips of the cup and the bedsheets.

"Wha —" he turned to Tara in shock.

Just in time to see her faint.