The Unforgiven

Note:  Text enclosed in <   > represents thoughts or feelings. 

 Willow stared at her husband in absolute exasperation.  She grappled for patience and prayed for the strength to accept Angel's latest bizarre aberration.  Deep down, she knew that he wasn't doing this to spite her.  <At least, not on purpose...>  Still, the Immortal Watcher couldn't help being annoyed.  <It's contrary to everything I've worked for!  Everything that I've stood for, for the last twenty-two years!> 

 She glared at Angel as the limo slowed approaching the front of Boston's Watcher headquarters.  Angel caught her gaze and smirked at her benignly as he absently smoothed the sleeve of his jacket in a subconscious gesture that betrayed his nervousness.  This was his first visit to the home office and he was uptight.  Willow had practically dragged him here kicking and screaming.  <Well, not quite that bad.  But... almost.> 

 The limo came to a complete stop in front of the Burrage Mansion, an extravagant French chateau style mansion complete with turrets and gargoyles built in 1899.  At the time, the excessive display of wealth had been uncommon among Boston's wealthy Back Bay community.  Willow had fallen in love with the old building the moment she'd first laid eyes on it many years before.  Up until recently, the mansion had housed the Boston Evening Clinic.  She had paid a fortune for the building five years ago and turned it into her personal residence and Boston's Watcher headquarters. 

 Normally, the mansion took Willow's breath away.  Tonight she didn't even notice it.  The limo driver jumped out and hastily opened Willow's door.  He sensed her irritation and didn't want to be anywhere nearby if the Immortal Watcher lost her nearly infamous temper. 

 By force of will, Willow succeeded in tearing her eyes from the object of her wrath and climbed out of the limo with motions made quick and short from suppressed agitation.  Angel sighed and followed his uptight wife, who gave him one last glare. 

 "I can't believe that you're going to wear tweed," she growled and turned to storm off. 

***** 
Journal of Angelus Kieran Boyle 
Tuesday, May 7, 2019 

 I could not believe that Willow was getting her panties in such a wad over something so silly.  Good grief, I was wearing tweed, not committing murder or some other depravity!  You'd think that I'd reverted to my old ways, not donned a suit jacket.  To hear her tell it, I was challenging her hard won authority as Immortal Watcher and chaos and social disorder could only follow within the Watcher ranks if I went through with this. 

 Mark my words, I was only wearing tweed.  Yet this accusation was coming from the same woman who'd upended the entire Watcher organization in the name of progress.  She'd forced computers down their throats and shucked their most sacred traditions and dogma aside for the sake of modernization.  In addition, she'd allied with a vampire clan and allowed a vampire to become a Watcher.  And still, that was not enough for her.  For twenty-two years, Willow had waged war on tweed.  She'd even succeeded in having it removed from the Watcher handbook as part of the official, "mandated" dress code.  It was now optional. 

 I'm not sure where Willow's irrational dislike of tweed comes from.  I suspect that tweed is merely symbolic of the old ways that she's tried, but not wholly succeeded, to eliminate.  In any case, I wasn't budging on this.  I was determined to wear the same jacket that she'd given to me twenty-two years before as a 'gag-gift' and I was going to wear it proudly. 

 Believe me, this was not out of some perverse desire upon my part to cause my wife distress.  I was displaying my respect for Watcher Tradition by donning tweed.  Tweed is time-honored Watcher garb and I wished to make some sort of subtle statement.  Don't ask me what I was trying to say because that much eludes me.  One thing is certain though, I had no idea that I would drive my wife nuts by doing so. 

 Cautiously, I eyeballed her retreating form.  Her back was ramrod stiff and her mental shields were so firmly in place that I couldn't have gotten through them to save my life.  Yep, I was in a heap of trouble.  I shrugged and followed her.  I've been in trouble before and I'll be in trouble again.  It's the nature of husband and wife, man and woman.  I've said it before and I'll say it again:  Women don't need a reason to get mad, they just do. 

**** 

 Willow stopped at the front door and turned back.  Angel was moseying along behind her with a smug, arrogant swagger.  She sighed and gritted her teeth.  The vampire was fully into his most stubborn mood; there was no way that he'd let his wife dress him, no siree.  <Damn him.  He's so frustrating sometimes!  I love him but there are times when I'd love to wring his neck!> 

 Thomas Kennerk, the front doorman, stepped forward upon seeing Willow arrive.  He was a modestly attractive young man, who boasted an impeccably neat appearance.  "Good evening, ma'am," he greeted her with an earnest, friendly smile and opened the door.  "It's a pleasure to have you back." 

 "Thank you, Thomas," Willow replied with a weak smile.  Angel swaggered up beside her and dropped a possessive arm around her shoulders.  His gaze was level and held an even challenge for the other man.  "This is my husband, Angel," Willow mumbled.  Her cheeks turned pink as Angel offered the other man his hand in what she privately considered to be a brazen fashion. 

**** 

 Thomas and I shook hands and exchanged rather pleasant greetings.  The doorman's eyes widened upon my introduction and the realization of who, and what, I was.  Nonetheless, he had balls.  His gaze didn't waver; his handshake was firm.  I was duly impressed with his courage and nerve and the other man immediately scored high points in my initial impression of him.  He would be a good man to have on your side. 

 Willow whisked past him and out from under the placating arm that I had tried to offer.  I sighed and stared after her, utterly perplexed.  Apparently, there would be no easy reconciliation.  Thomas chuckled and I found myself glancing over at him. 

 "Woman troubles?" he queried with a knowing grin.  His eyes were sympathetic despite the hearty laugh that he was having at my expense. 

 "Yep," I replied and gave him a long look.  Here was a man who understood women.  We stood in silent understanding and comradeship, the brotherhood of men that transcends even race.  Without saying anything more, I watched the stiff set of Willow's shoulders as she continued to march off.  I was beginning to regret my insistence upon wearing tweed. 

 Initially, I'd thought that she was joking.  After all, how serious can one be about tweed?  By the time I'd realized that Willow was deadly serious, it was too late.  Pride was at stake.  I love Willow more than anything but I do have my independence to consider.  I wasn't going to cave and let my wife dress me, just because.  It was a matter of principle on my part, just as staunch opposition to tweed was on hers.  As silly, stupid and irrational as it was, that's how it was.  No matter how close we are, we're both still two very distinct individuals with separate priorities and choices. 

 Willow makes hard decisions that indirectly affect the lives of everyone in the world.  Sometimes, she has to put the Slayer before me and I always stand aside gracefully so that her decision is not harder or her burden greater.  Sometimes, though, she is just plain silly.  Tweed had become my symbol of independence upon that fine evening and I wasn't going to surrender it without a fight. 

 I hate it when we fight.  The last two years have been akin to heaven.  Willow is all of the warmth, the hope, and the light in my world.  Without her, I face an abyss of isolation and loneliness that no human contact can ever fully bridge.  The abyss of loneliness is not so far gone from my memory that I don't remember what it was like.  I still wake up from nightmares reaching for her, scared to death that she'll be gone again, taken from me by duty.  I know that she loves me but I'll never be the most important thing in her life.  The Slayer comes first; however, I'm grateful for what I've been given, not resentful of what I can't have. 

 Willow and I only manage to spend about half the year together, given our combined Watcher duties and my parental responsibilities.  Our time together is overwhelmingly intense and our time apart as excruciating as a severed limb.  She completes me.  In an ideal world, we could be together always, but such is not the case.  Duty calls both of us in separate directions, so we're together when we can be and miss one another when we're not.  We maintain residences on both coasts and Willow undertakes the majority of the burden of travel. 

 It's an evil necessity that we both accept and acknowledge.  I could, and should, have accompanied her back to Boston before now, but I've avoided doing so.  I'm not entirely ready to be dragged even deeper into Willow's Watcher organization.  I won't fit in and I know it.  Willow refuses to believe this though.  Her faith in me is so great and so staggering that it seems to defy her imagination that other Watchers will not think me as wonderful as she does.  I do not labor under such delusions.  They will not accept me; they cannot.  To do so would be a violation of the natural order of things and in direct contradiction to everything a proper Watcher has ever been taught. 

 I am not looking forward to exposing myself to rejection, but the time has come to do so.  I owe it to Willow to at least take the chance.  I owe her so much; I owe her everything.  Besides, she went to so much trouble to get me here. 

 Last week, Giles, my loyal son, stabbed me in the back.  "Dad," he said, slapping me on the shoulder.  "Go.  It'll be nice to get you out of my hair for a while."  Willow snickered as a long, meaningful look passed between my wife and my fourteen-year-old son and I'd immediately suspected foul play.  The two of them had obviously conspired to set me up. 

 Willow grinned.  "See honey," she informed me.  (Willow only uses such pet names when she's being patronizing.)  "It's time to broaden your horizons."  As my suspicious gaze drifted from wife to son, I'd known then that I'd met my match.  The two of them were determined to have their way and prepared to argue with me for hours, if necessary.  Giles has his mother's determined eyes and Willow is the embodiment of a formidable will. 

 With a shrug, I'd given in easily and agreed to go.  Deep in my heart, I'd known that they were right.  It was time to take a chance.  They were both astonished by my easy surrender; I have no doubt that they'd expected much more resistance.  In a way, I suppose that I agreed because they expected me to argue.  Willow calls me contrary but I prefer to think of myself as dynamic.  Besides, it was worth watching both of their jaws drop. 

 For the last month, Willow has been irrational, temperamental, and short-tempered.  Perhaps, I reflected, her tweed hatred sprang from the unknown fountain fueling her current bad mood.  I knew in my heart that Willow's poor temper had nothing to do with me and that I shouldn't have been aggravating matters. 

 Big trouble is brewing.  One of the Immortal Watcher's gifts is that of precognition, which occurs in the form of dreams or visions.  For over a month, my wife has been waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares.  She shakes and cries in my arms, sobbing something about hundreds of children being slaughtered, sacrificed to some dark god.  She doesn't know what is wrong despite countless hours of research but she does know that it is coming soon.  To make matters worse, the Slayer died last month and the new girl is barely trained. 

 Abruptly, my straying thoughts transitioned back to the here and now.  The sight of Willow's rapidly departing back provided a strong reality check.  I was still standing on the front porch and she was at the end of the hall and almost around a corner.  She wasn't looking back so I gave chase.  I ran smack into an invisible barrier and swore softly as I bludgeoned my forehead. 

 Damn, that hurt. 

 Oblivious and uncaring of my injury, my wife disappeared around the corner and I leaned against the barrier in frustration.  There was no way that I'd reach her through the link right now and she was likely to mark my 'disappearance' up to nothing more than my standard lurking. 

 I banged my head against the barrier, adding insult to injury.  My head hurt but the wound was already beginning to heal.  In frustration, I leaned forward and let it support my weight.  I closed my eyes in resignation and settled in to wait.  Sooner or later, she'd come looking for me.  I hoped both that it would be sooner rather than later and that her temper would have cooled by then. 

 Unexpectedly, Thomas stepped past me into the entrance.  "Come in," he invited hesitantly, catching me totally unprepared.  I fell forward and nearly landed smack on my face.  Luckily, my reflexes are excellent; I caught myself in time. 

 "Thanks," I said dryly, staring down at the floor from my push-up position.  It wasn't my night at all. 

 Thomas chuckled.  "No problem.  Her office is down the hall and around the corner.  Last door at the end of the hallway." 

 I nodded and gathered my dignity as best I could.  I stood up and I retreated without a backward glance.  Thomas made no further comments; I suspect that he was too busy laughing at me.  Smart ass doorman...  I chuckled.