The Unforgiven

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

Journal of Angelus Kieran Boyle 
Tuesday, May 7, 2019 

 For the record, my foot slipped and when my head hit the floor the impact knocked me out. 

 I *did not* faint. 

 <Angel fainted!>  To her unending astonishment, the vampire went down hard and fast.  Willow uttered a slight, involuntary shriek.  It was more of an "eek" really, but, if called upon to testify, the Immortal Watcher would have honestly sworn up and down that she shrieked.  In any case, even though the shriek in question was not very loud or disturbing, Thomas heard her cry and rushed to the rescue, as any fine and loyal doorman would do. 

 Hastily, Willow scrambled over to Angel's sprawled form and dragged his head into her lap.  Crooning softly, she cradled his head and buried her fingers in his hair.  <Poor Angel.  I can't believe that he fainted!  He's going to be so embarrassed when he wakes up!> 

 More concerned with the damage done to fragile male ego than to rock-hard male head, Willow bent to examine the wound nonetheless.  Careful examination revealed the injury on the back of his head to be negligible; she knew that he wouldn't remain unconscious for very long.  She'd seen him take far worse blows to the head and recover quickly.  <He'll be ok...  I just need to stay with him until he comes around.> 

 Still, she fussed over him like a mother hen with her single baby chick.  He'd apparently bitten his tongue when he'd fallen; there was blood both in and on his mouth.  She reached into his back pocket and fished out the linen handkerchief that he habitually carried.  Tenderly, Willow began to dab at the corner of his mouth.  Specks of blood stained the front of his shirt; he'd definitely need to change before he could be deemed presentable again.  <I don't think that a blood-speckled Angel would go over very well with my Watchers as far as first impressions go...> 

 Ironically, his tweed jacket had escaped damage due to its timely removal.  It lay triumphantly unscathed mere feet from her, seemingly mocking her with its very survival.  Willow experienced more than a small twinge of regret.  <Darn...> 

 Around the corner and down the hall, Thomas called out.  The sound of footsteps echoed, coming closer.  Angel began to stir and Willow pushed the link open, seeking any other traces of damage, mental or physical.  She was relieved to find none. 

 Abruptly, Angel began to wake up.  He instinctively reached for her across the link and Willow allowed the dark shadow of his essence to envelop her own.  Their minds came together in an old and familiar pattern, like the pieces of a puzzle.  <Mine, mine, mine...>  The familiar chant of Angel's overwhelming instinct to possess and protect engulfed her like a storm. 

 Angel opened his eyes.  One second, his lush lashes lay dark against his skin.  In the next, darker eyes penetrated her own. 

 For several long moments, I was drifting in a warm fuzzy place that smelled of Willow and blood, a rather pleasant combination if you happen to be a vampire.  I dreamt that Willow and I were arguing and that Willow told me she was pregnant.  It was strange that I should dream of something so impossible.  Still, I've had stranger. 

 Soft hands touched my face.  Abruptly, I opened my eyes to discover Willow bent over me and memory returned.  It had not been a dream. 

 "It's ok," Willow crooned, stroking his hair.  She flooded her beloved's mind with reassurance and love, not allowing him any room for doubt or question as to her continued commitment to him and their marriage.  "Why do you always assume the worst when something goes wrong with our relationship?" 

 "Habit," he gasped briefly.  "I don't deserve you."  He wrapped his arms around her tightly, desperate to be close to her.  Willow found herself engulfed in his embrace.  "Pessimists are rarely, if ever, disappointed when things go wrong and pleasantly surprised when they go right." 

 "You're too cynical for your own good." 

 I may be too cynical, but some habits are old and ingrained and simply too hard to break to be worth the effort.  It took me a long time just to quit smoking; quitting cynicism would probably take me forever.  I doubt even then that it would be possible, as reality would be working against me to reinforce my mindset. 

 At this point, I still hadn't recovered my wits sufficiently to verbalize the questions swarming through my mind.  I opened my mouth and was interrupted as Thomas, Willow's doorman, suddenly came skidding around the corner.  He slid to a halt, gaping at the picture that we made: Immortal Watcher, sprawled vampire and a fair amount of blood.  I sighed, expecting the worst. 

 I was pleasantly surprised. 

 Thomas slid to an astonished halt upon sighting Willow and the unconscious Angel.  'Good Lord Almighty!' the doorman exclaimed to himself.  Willow had attacked the poor vampire!  A longtime fan of Angelus' novels, Thomas had secretly been looking forward to meeting the author in person.  He'd even intended to ask the writer to autograph one of his books later, if the opportunity presented itself. 

 Still, Thomas worked for Willow and he knew better than to bite the hand that fed.  Willow's attack flabbergasted the poor man, but deep down he felt certain that she'd only done so as the result of some temporary aberration.  His respect for Willow ran deep and his loyalty was steadfast.  Surely, if he could run some sort of interference, his employer would come to her senses before she permanently dispatched Thomas' favorite novelist! 

 'Think!' he commanded himself. 

 "Do you need help, ma'am?" Thomas queried with such polite and exaggerated concern that Willow could almost hear Giles saying the same words in his crisp British accent.  He stood a fair distance from the couple, pretending that absolutely nothing in their behavior suggested anything odd or disturbing. 

 An ironic smile played across Willow's lips.  Her telepathic shields were not up and she could sense Thomas wondering what she, Willow, had done to poor Angel.  His face did not betray his thoughts even slightly but he couldn't help reflecting that, maybe, inviting Angel in hadn't been such a good idea after all.  From the looks of it, the poor Watcher-vampire might have been safer outside. 

 "Thank you, Thomas," Willow replied.  "But everything's under control."  She flashed her doorman a grateful smile and then returned to fussing over Angel's dark head.  <Poor Thomas.  He must think we're nuts.  He's a good man though, willing to offer help, no questions asked.> 

 Thomas shook his head and rolled his eyes.  Oh well, the vampire in question had chosen his fate.  Others of his kind had certainly suffered worse than belonging to Willow.  Diligently, the doorman turned and returned to his post. 

 "Why didn't you tell me?!"  The first words out of his mouth made her cringe.  They contained accusation, confusion, and hurt...  all the things that she'd wanted to avoid.  His tone made her want to cry.  She'd hurt him and now he was hurting her.  That was the way they were; it wasn't possible to hurt one without harming the other. 

 "I wanted it to be a surprise," she whimpered, dumping his head from her lap and escaping the tangle of his arms.  Desolation and desperation flooded her heart as her attention recalled to the tragedy facing them.  She pulled her knees up against her chest and tightly wrapped her arms around her legs.  Willow unconsciously assumed a sitting fetal position as she leaned forward, hiding behind hair and tears.  "I-I had this fantasy--"  She gulped and looked up.  Tears ran freely down her cheeks and words came in a quavering stutter.  "Sitting on your lap and--" 

 She turned away, wanting to escape.  The pain was unbearable.  Strong arms caught her and Angel pulled her into his lap.  She didn't have the strength to resist.  <Oh God, Angel...please don't hate me...> 

 "How?" he demanded.  He ignored her grief and went after an explanation with the same ruthless determination that he'd always expended when he wanted something.  Again, she couldn't refuse him.  Willow's head spun as she tried to vocalize coherently. 

 "That's hard," she finally managed.  She swallowed again, gulping down more air and wishing for water. 

 "How?" he repeated bluntly.  His eyes held so many questions and so much confusion, and yet, no doubt that she'd spoken the truth.  If she told him that the sun rose in the west or the sky was green, he'd accept her word at face value, such was his faith and trust in her.  <How can I tell him?  This is going to break his heart...> 

 That simple acceptance cut Willow more deeply than any disbelief could have.  He loved her so much.  What had she ever done to deserve him?  "You know--" she began haltingly.  He nodded encouragement, silently offering her the support that she needed to muster the courage to continue.  She tried again, "That I have really precise control over my metabolic functions?  Heartbeat, breathing, healing..." 

 Angel nodded again.  He knew her power over her body's biological functions extended to a cellular level.  He'd reaped the benefits often enough himself when she'd produced excess blood for him.  She could speed or slow her own rate of healing, lower her heart rate and brain activity until they were barely detectable and even return to life after her body had sustained massive injuries that resulted in biological death.  Willow could be killed but she always came back. 

 "I've been experimenting for years," Willow continued, staring off into space.  She wasn't really seeing him anymore; her eyes saw the ghosts of the past instead.  "I've used magic and mental discipline to manipulate my own body.  By suppressing my own regenerative abilities, I can force myself to age.  When I age, my fertility is restored." 

 "You're aging?" Angel asked sharply, something close to fear shadowing his eyes. 

 The harshness of his tone pulled her back to reality.  "Only temporarily," she assured him hastily.  "Only while I'm pregnant and even that's difficult to maintain.  My own body is fighting me every step of the way.  If I lose control--" 

 She abruptly stopped.  Angel nodded, not really hearing the implication present in her last words.  "I suppose that it won't hurt you to put on nine months."  He smiled, trying to use the weak joke to alleviate some of the tension.  Her continued stress confused him.  This was something to rejoice about, wasn't it...? 

 Abruptly, suspicion and understanding darkened his gaze.  "Who's the biologic father?"  There was no blame, no accusation, only curiosity and an impossible hope in his eyes that she'd somehow managed to overcome the impossibility of his infertility as well as her own. 

 Willow cringed inwardly.  This was just one of the moments of truth that she'd been dreading.  She wanted so very badly to tell him what he wanted to hear but she couldn't.  "Anonymous sperm donor," she whispered.  "I wasn't able to find a way to overcome vampiric infertility.  I'm sorry."  She averted her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. 

 I froze, trying to control my outward reaction.  I'd read the truth in Willow's expressive features long before she'd spoken the words aloud.  The truth cut, ripping apart my heart.  It hurt that the child wasn't mine, it hurt that my love hadn't trusted me enough to talk about this beforehand, and most of all, it hurt that she'd deceived me.  Willow saw my reaction and turned away, cringing in shame and sorrow. 

 To my shame, my initial reaction was immature and selfish.  It took me a second to absorb the truth and adjust accordingly.  In that time, I may have done irreparable harm to my marriage.  So what if I wasn't the biological father?  I've had over two hundred and sixty years to grow accustomed to my own infertility.  Giles isn't my biological son and I don't love him a fraction less for it.  He is my son in every way but flesh and blood and I am blessed to have him. 

 Any child of Willow's is a child of mine.  My wife, my love, my mate... 

 It was no wonder that she'd kept it a secret.  I know how long she's dreamt of a baby and how desperately she's longed for one.  It must have taken all of her courage and all of her strength to risk an uncertain pregnancy as well as the stability of her marriage.  She'd been wrong to conceal the truth from me but I understood why.  Fear is a powerful motivation. 

 Willow hadn't deceived with malicious intent.  She simply hadn't wanted to offer false hope; she hadn't wanted to risk disappointing me.  She had wanted to offer me the knowledge of this miracle free of fear or doubt, as a gift and expression of our love.  I knew then that something had to be wrong with the child for Willow to be crying and not laughing with joy. 

 I shoved my own selfish feelings aside and reached for my wife.  The harm done here had to be repaired before it had time to take root and fester.  Emotional wounds must be healed or they sink deep, becoming part of the psyche and the fabric of a relationship.  I wouldn't allow anything to come between us ever again, not even ourselves and I would do anything to protect our child. 

 A single tear trickled down her pale cheek from under tightly closed lashes.  Willow hated herself for having hurt him, and in doing so, she'd hurt herself.  She jumped, startled, when his fingers and then his lips touched her cheek.  <Angel?>  Hope made her tremble; fear kept her eyes shut. 

 "Shh, Seabhaicín," he whispered.  "I wouldn't dream of begrudging you a child because I can't father one."  His voice held such ready acceptance that her eyes flew open in shock.  Unable to speak, she looked up at him in bafflement.  <That easy?!> 

 <Of course...  that easy.  This is Angel...  I should have known better...>  Willow instantly felt silly for having doubted him.  She'd allowed her own fears and insecurities cloud her judgement.  She'd become caught up in herself and she'd been reluctant to unburden herself on Angel.  Two decades of isolation had taught her that the weight of the entire world often rested her shoulders.  Surrendering that burden to Angel no longer came naturally anymore. 

 Her surprise left her mind wide open to him.  Angel sensed the deeper fear shadowing her mind and the momentary peace in his eyes faded once again, replaced by fear.  "There's something wrong with the baby, isn't there?" he blurted out with disturbing intuition. 

 Willow cringed.  "Yes," she said faintly. 

 "Tell me," he commanded.  "We can face this.  Together." 

 Her inner anxiety and turmoil of the last several weeks returned with a vengeance and Willow knew renewed terror.  It was time to tell Angel what she'd been so desperately hiding from him, what she'd been dreading to tell him. 

 She couldn't tell him over the link; she didn't possess the strength.  Willow knew that his initial reaction would be too powerful and negative to be easily handled.  Carefully, she climbed to her feet and closed their link.  Her fingers busily knotted the forgotten handkerchief that she still held, the only expression of her anxiety. 

 "This is going to take some explaining," she whispered, her voice and heart wrenched with pain.  Angel climbed to his feet behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders.  Summoning all of her strength, Willow set her shoulders and turned to face him. 

 It took all of the nerve Willow possessed to look him in the eye.  "I'm going to lose the baby, Angel."