The Unforgiven

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

 As it happened, Boston's finest and most vigilant doorman observed that his employer and her husband had decided to work out their marital problems in the mansion's central and most heavily utilized hallway.  He thought it strange but it was certainly not his place to judge.  Besides, such behavior seemed to fit with what Thomas had heard about the rather unorthodox couple. 

 Bearing decorum in mind, Thomas promptly contacted the head of household staffing.  Silent guards were speedily deployed to redirect foot traffic away from the "red zone".  Bewildered Watchers were detoured and new arrivals to the front door were politely but firmly rerouted through the back door.  Like a colony of highly efficient and coordinated worker bees, the staff industriously and discreetly went about ensuring the privacy and safety of their queen. 

 "Main hallway seems like a strange place to be having an argument," an elderly and slightly senile British butler could be heard to observe. 

 He was promptly shushed. 

 "I'm going to lose the baby, Angel." 

 Angel staggered under the force of the emotional blow.  His entire body manifested his reaction to Willow's words: his eyes, face, shoulders, arms, and hands spasmodically tightening as if he'd been attacked by an unseen physical force.  Willow cringed.  Guilt unlike any she'd ever known before burdened her heart.  Inside of a couple minutes, she'd presented Angel with a miracle and then she'd ripped it away from him again. 

 He was silent for a long time while powerful emotions vied for control.  "You can't know that," he finally grated, nearly snarling at her.  His words held both accusation and denial.  Rage, hurt, confusion and the desire to throttle something or someone shone in his eyes.  His most base instincts screamed out that he must attack, must destroy, any and all threats to his love while reason told him that force couldn't be used against this particular threat. 

 His confusion only added to her resolve, reinforcing what she knew to be right.  It wasn't his responsibility; it wasn't his battle.  It was hers, the Immortal Watcher's.  <Angel can't possibly "kill" this threat...  I'm the only one who can stop it...> 

 "I can," she asserted firmly.  Her heart was sick with grief.  "The dreams I've been having.  Children dying, an evil god awakening.  They're not just dreams; they're Prophecy, Angel.  When this god arises, I'm going to be the only Watcher capable of casting the spell that will banish it back to hell.  Otherwise, hundreds of innocent children will be sacrificed.  Thousands will die." 

 Willow swallowed, unaware of the tears spilling down her cheeks.  Never before, even when she'd sacrificed their love for the sake of friendship, had she felt so alone, so bereft.  Above all else, she knew her duty.  It bound her to a course of action that she found personally abhorrent but she had no other choice.  If she failed in her duty, then the world would suffer.  Innocents would suffer.  <Children...  Not just one, or even a dozen, but hundreds or more.> 

 "When that happens, the strain on my body will be too much and I'll miscarry.  I'm going to have to sacrifice the baby." 

 Abruptly, Angel's face shifted to its demonic visage.  He flew at her.  Willow shrieked involuntarily and retreated from her husband with the first real fear of him that she'd known in decades.  She ran into a wall and his hands landed on either side of her body, pinning and imprisoning her.  Narrowed yellow eyes glowered at her and his lips curled back over protruding, razor-sharp fangs. 

 "You're not going to sacrifice our child," he hissed.  "Not ever."  His fingers curled into her hair, yanking tight and immobilizing her head.  His touch hurt but the full force of his fury battering against her shields hurt more.  Once again, she who he loved best, to whom he was most vulnerable, had hurt him on the deepest possible level.  Willow's hands clenched into fists.  <I hate myself...  and I hate my duty...> 

 "I have to," she replied with glacial coldness.  "It's my duty."  <No room for love, for Angel, for our baby...> 

 His hands clenched into fists and his entire body ignited with fury.  Willow saw the attack coming and a part of her welcomed it.  She wanted him to hurt her; she deserved it.  He despised her just as she despised herself and anything he did to her was warranted. 

 Seconds before the blow fell, maternal instincts overtook her.  Willow screamed and raised her arms over her head, curling forward into a fetal position so that she could absorb the force with her back and protect her baby.  <ANGEL, NO...> 

 His fists pounded into the plaster on either side of her head, gouging deep holes in the wall.  Bits of drywall crumbled and rained down onto Willow's hair and clothing.  A howl ripped from Angel's throat.  There was nothing human in the cry and Willow closed her eyes against the sound.  Tears for her love seeped beneath her lashes and she cried for him, for herself, for their child.  She'd just hurt all of them in the worst way possible.  He didn't cry out again.  A long silence followed before she opened her eyes.  When she finally did, she found herself alone.  <Alone...> 

 The fledgling vampire fled through the graveyard in abject terror.  Newly arisen, he'd thought himself the supreme predator of the night.  Alone and unaccustomed to his new powers, he'd not known his own pitiful weakness.  He'd prospered in his short time as a vampire.  For two whole weeks he'd ruled the night.  Hunger had taught him to hunt; instinct had taught him to fear the sun.  Humans died easily under his fangs and he'd thought himself invincible. 

 Now, though, in a bizarre twist of fate, the hunter became the hunted.  It was a parody, a twisted charade and it just wasn't fair!  The little vampire choked back a sob.  Something had turned fate against him; somebody or something was hunting him.  The young demon slowed his pace in order to leap over a row of gravestones.  He took a chance and glanced back over his shoulder, wondering if he'd lost his pursuer. 

 He hadn't seen the terror pursuing him up close.  It had struck from behind several times, delivering a painful blow or kick and then had vanished.  The fledgling had turned in circles, searching high and low for the attacker he couldn't find.  The assault continued for almost an hour, a cruel and vicious game of cat and mouse. 

 Wounded now, and nearly exhausted, the young vampire proceeded forward at a limp.  He knew a safe haven, a crypt where he could seek shelter, if he could only manage to elude his hunter.  It made no sense, vampires were the hunters, not the hunted... 

 The last blow fell from behind, knocking the fledging to the ground.  A large dark form loomed over his sprawled body and a hand grasped the back of his shirt, hauling him to his feet.  The fledgling found himself being dangled casually while a single powerful hand forced his head to the side, baring his throat. 

 There was a soft growl, a glint of yellow eyes in the moonlight, and the flash of fangs.  The warm rush of his own blood accompanied the fledgling to his end.  Overhead, the waning silver moon bore silent witness to the cycle of nature, life feeding on life, death and rebirth. 

 Exhausted, Willow entered her bedroom and headed immediately for the bed.  She kicked off her shoes and tossed herself bodily across the bed.  She landed face down, burying her face into the soft comforter.  Ironically, she found herself clutching Angel's abandoned tweed jacket like a security blanket.  She could still smell his scent on the fabric and could imagine his body next to her own if she closed her eyes and pretended hard enough. 

 Sobs immediately wracked her slender form as she finally gave into the grief that she'd been denying since the dreams started.  She cried for herself, she cried for Angel and she cried for their child.  Her gut twisted with emotional sickness of mind and spirit, as if she'd swallowed poison.  Angel was gone; he'd left and it was her greatest fear that he wouldn't come back.  <I can't lose Angel and the baby...  I can't...  There can be other children but...  GOD...  Why are you doing this to me?  What have I done to deserve this?> 

 Eventually, Willow dropped into an exhausted sleep.  Even unconscious, she clung to the tweed jacket but the bed remained empty and she slept alone. 

 Thomas drew one last drag off of his Marlboro and began the motion that would upright him from his resting spot against the front wall of the house.  It was the early hours of the morning, those when the first light of day began to appear on the horizon.  Always a night owl, Thomas felt perfectly suited for his job as the front doorman during the graveyard shift.  Ever vigilant and always awake all night long, like an owl, he enjoyed his job immensely. 

 With a final sweeping glance, Thomas prepared to abandon his usual smoking spot and return to his duties.  The mansion's front porch provided him a respectable perch from which to survey the front yard.  Honestly, the doorman was becoming worried.  Angel had run off well over six hours before and had not yet returned.  The vampire had nearly flattened Thomas on his way out the door and the memory of being charged by a furious vampire still gave him the willies. 

 Angel had run right past him and kept going into the night.  Obviously, things weren't well between Willow and her husband and this concerned Thomas to no end.  Of course, he presumed the nearly three hundred year old vampire to be perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but this was his first night alone in a strange city.  He'd been upset and it was even possible that he'd somehow gotten lost... 

 Thomas turned and a dark figure appeared on the porch beside him, emerging from the shadows like the specter of death.  Scared witless, Thomas shouted.  The swiftly moving intruder floundered briefly, twisting to alter his trajectory with cat like grace.  A low menacing growl erupted from the intruder accompanying the yellow glow of demonic eyes. 

 <Vampire!> his brain screamed.  Instinct took over as adrenaline kicked in. The still lit cigarette fell unnoticed from his hand as he thrust it into his pocket, groping for the stake concealed there.  Willow's entire staff carried at least the most rudimentary protection. 

 Time froze as every second became vivid and pronounced.  Thomas had never felt so alive or so aware in his entire life.  Dozens of thoughts crowded his brain, even as he pulled the stake free of its pocket.  He was going to die...  He'd been a fool for smoking outside in the middle of the night...  The vampire dwarfed him in both size and stature.  His only hope was that he possessed superior wits, speed, and maneuverability.  Most of the young ones tended to be rather witless... 

 The vampire finished sizing him up and seemed to gather itself.  The attack would come now.  Thomas braced himself and brought the stake into position. 

Journal of Angelus Kieran Boyle 
Tuesday, May 7, 2019 

 If I had not known better, I would have sworn that Thomas was lying in wait to ambush me.  Of course, that was preposterous.  Besides, I suspect that I frightened the poor man far worse than he startled me.  In those early hours before sunrise, I'd exhausted my aggression and sunk into a sort of melancholy depression.  In the absence of rage, my priorities had shifted to returning home to my wife.  I had been in a hurry when I'd leapt over the porch railing instead of using the stairs and I had not noticed the man lurking there.  My attention was solely focused on thoughts of a warm bed and an even warmer Willow. 

 He caught me off-guard.  Without thinking, I snarled at him in warning and underwent the Change, expecting an attack.  In the time it took me to face him and for him to draw a stake, I'd already realized my error.  Thus, I came to find myself squaring off with Willow's doorman in an unplanned and unwanted confrontation.  It was almost comical and the perfect ending to an already nightmarishly bad evening. 

 So while Thomas bravely brandished his stake and prepared to meet the expected attack, I regarded him with mixed chagrin and bemusement.  How to extricate myself from this situation gracefully?  There isn't exactly a Miss Manner's guide to Watcher/Kindred relations that covers such misunderstandings.  I'd more or less written that book myself, or at least what exists of one.  "Chapter 12: How to Avoid Killing One Another or the Monster in the Dark Isn't Always a Bad Guy..." 

 I spent so much time delaying that Thomas must have wondered why I hadn't attacked yet.  I'd had enough time to launch a dozen separate attacks in the time that it took me to waffle.  I certainly had to admire his courage.  The man stood his ground with his weapon drawn, prepared to go down with a fight.  He didn't falter and didn't show fear, other than the telltale pounding of his heart and his heightened breathing.  Most humans would have frozen or screamed and fled in terror, but Thomas kept his wits about him.  My estimation of the man rose again.  How the hell does such a man wind up being a doorman?  A man with such nerve should be a Watcher not a Watcher's doorman. 

 I opened my mouth, hoping to talk my way out of this mess.  I had not yet figured out what to say or how to say it.  Thus, in my typical fashion, my smart mouth filled in for my slow brain. 

 The expected attack didn't come.  The vampire seemed to be busy thinking about attacking instead of getting on with it.  Then he cocked his head and stepped forward to snuff out the still lit cigarette butt with his heel.  Thomas tensed further, but confusion kept him from swinging the stake. 

 "Those things will kill you," Angel informed him casually. 

 OK, so maybe it wasn't the smartest thing that I've ever said.  It worked, though, to diffuse the situation.  Thomas' heart skipped a beat and he expelled a huge sigh, his entire body slumping with relief.  His breathing and heartbeat settled back down into a natural rhythm. 

 "Angel," he breathed.  Relief suffused his voice and I wondered if he was even aware that he'd spoken, let alone practically turned my name into a prayer.  He shoved the stake back into his pocket with haste.  His hands reemerged a moment later holding a pack of cigarettes and a zippo.  I watched with mild curiosity while he lit up again.  I suppose it was my fault that he needed another cigarette to calm down. 

 To my surprise, he wordlessly offered me one.  I hesitated and then took it with a shrug.  Cigarettes wouldn't kill me...  Willow might, if she ever found out, but that was a risk I was willing to take.  Thomas offered me a light and I leaned forward to accept.  I inhaled, forcing my lungs to work, and sighed with pleasure as the rich, mellow smoke flooded my long dormant lungs. 

 We stood there smoking in companionable silence for a hell of a long time. 

 "Rough night?" he finally asked conversationally. 

 "Yeah."  Most of the night had passed in a blur.  I had hunted, I had killed, and I had killed again.  I'd almost overfed on the blood of newly arisen vampires but it hadn't helped.  I felt drained of rage, but not better.  Instead, I was tired and laboring under a heavy burden of guilt and depression.  I shouldn't have run, but there had been no other acceptable outlet for my emotions.  My temper nearly always manifests itself physically; I'd fled for both Willow's safety and that of her Watchers. 

 "Willow went to bed in tears."  The observation was deceptively casual and piercingly personal but it contained no accusation or scorn, only concern and compassion.  I cringed.  I deserved accusation and scorn.  I'd made Willow cry.  I'd hurt her, adding to her pain at a time when she clearly needed love, support and protection, not my infantile flights of temper. 

 "I know."  I hung my head, staring at my feet and puffing on the cigarette with absent-minded determination.  The nicotine was soothing.  It had been far too long since I'd given up smoking. 

 Thomas snuffed out his cigarette.  "She needs you," he observed gruffly.  I glanced up, taken off-guard by his familiarity.  His gaze was direct and penetrating.  Those were not the eyes of civil man; the doorman's mask of polished gentility had dropped aside.  The man staring at me was rougher and far more base.  I am many things, but a poor judge of character I am not.  If there is one thing I do know, it's people.  My gut was telling me that there was more to this man than there seemed to be at first glance. 

 I put out my cigarette and left without a backward glance.  He was right.  I wasn't sure how to react to his forwardness, but I recognized the truth when it hit me upside the head.  It was time to get my sorry ass inside and make things right with Willow.  Our troubles weren't over by a long shot.  Come hell or high water, Willow was not going to sacrifice our child.  I would not allow it.  But I also would not abandon her to face this tragedy alone. 

 I could figure out the enigma of this doorman later.