The Unforgiven

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

 "Willow.Willow...Willow." 

 The dead chanted her name in a muted serenade of agony and anguish interspersed with the moans of lost souls.  Crying out forlornly for salvation and revenge, they could not rest, and neither could Willow.  Their misery veiled her vision in a shroud of death and suffering.  She couldn't see anything else as their restless spirits clamored for her attention. 

 Thousands of bodies littered the ground like piles of discarded refuse.  Men and women, old and young, none had been spared.  They were stacked in haphazardly arranged piles, the entire adult population of some small city.  Thousands of people, all dead, and each and every one cried out for revenge.  This was how the dreams always began. 

 <Focus.>  Trying to tune the voices out, Willow pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut.  Mentally, she began to tally the elements that were always present, the things that never changed from night to night.  <Every body here is that of an adult.  The youngest is a teen but there are never any children.  The dreams begin with their dead bodies, as if their death was inevitable or a given.  I'm never given an option to change this.> 

 Willow opened her eyes again.  She was missing something vital; she knew it in her gut.  The angels never sent her these visions unless she could do something to avert the tragedy.  They never showed her something that she couldn't change or alter.  Unlike other Prophets who only foretold the future, Willow held it in her hands like a malleable ball of clay, shaping it as she willed. 

 Self-discipline allowed her to achieve a state of heightened calm despite the immense frustration she carried inside.  This was only the first of her tripartite dream, and the least disturbing.  Calming, she opened her eyes and turned, trying to discern a landmark in the darkness beyond the bodies of the dead.  Something, anything, to tell her where they were. 

 Willow wasn't proud of her performance over the last month.  Every night these dreams were sent to her and every night she groped blindly for their meaning, for some clue beyond the obvious.  <I'm the Immortal Watcher.  I'm supposed to be some sort of visionary slash guru slash savior.  You'd think I'd be able to interpret a damn dream that I've seen at least a hundred times.> 

 Walking towards the bodies, she took small cautious steps.  She'd already modified her vision to adapt to the pitch blackness of this place but she took great care not to unwittingly step upon any of the dead.  After several steps, her hand found a cold stone wall.  <Stone...  Some sort of cavern.?  Based upon the level of light in here, I'd guess this to be underground somewhere.> 

 Abruptly, hands seized her shoulders from behind.  Willow screamed. 

 This wasn't part of the dream!  Acting on instinct, Willow moved to defend herself.  She brought her heel down on her captor's instep and simultaneously buried her elbow in his ribcage.  He grunted and doubled over, neatly lowering his chin into her palm as she spun and struck.  The maneuver was perfectly executed and her blow sent him staggering back off balance. 

 Physical defense wasn't really her strong point but Willow could hold her own with younger vampires.  She'd fallen into a defensive stance and prepared to launch a telepathic attack before she managed to identify her dream intruder as her husband.  Angel remained where he'd fallen, leaning back against the wall and glaring balefully at her with yellow tiger eyes. 

 "Oops..."  Willow extended a placating hand in Angel's direction.  He didn't reply but continued to clutch his injured side and hop on one foot in aggrieved silence.  "Sorry." 

 "Humph."  He snorted and cautiously lowered his foot to the ground, taking a halting step.  His limp was so pronounced that a doctor would have put him on crutches.  Somewhere in the distance, Willow could swear that she heard the world's smallest violin began to play.  <Oh boy.  Poor Angel.> 

 She sighed.  Willow knew that he wasn't nearly as injured as he was pretending to be.  She'd hurt his ego more than his body.  Still, male egos were as fragile as fine bone china and she'd been more than a little rough on his poor pride lately.  <The Battle of the Tweed, my irrational mood swings, this whole mess with the baby.>  She privately suspected that she'd be gluing and mending his injured pride for some time.  <He deserves some special treatment though.> 

 One of them had to speak eventually; it might as well be her.  She figured that this was as good a place as any to start making amends.  "I'm sorry," Willow said softly.  "I wasn't expecting you."  It was all she could manage in her own defense.  It didn't help matters that she should have felt him enter the dream and been aware of his presence the whole time.  He knew it and she knew it.  That she'd missed an intruder in her mind, even one as familiar and welcome as Angel, disturbed her greatly. 

 "I wasn't exactly sneaking," he grumbled. 

 "You move like a ninja even when you're not in stealth mode, and you know it," she offered in rebuttal.  Her tone and gaze contained exaggerated admiration for his accomplishments and a pointed feminine appreciation of his masculine assets.  She didn't need to fake her feelings for him, merely let them show in her eyes.  <My man.> 

 Unbeknownst to Willow, more than a small measure of possessiveness slipped past her guard.  It was exactly what Angel wanted and needed to see.  His stance relaxed and his eyes softened;  his expression became less guarded and more open.  Angel instantly forgot about his 'injuries' as he pushed away from the wall.  He straightened and almost preened.  His foot firmly hit the ground, supporting his weight with nary a wee bit o' difficulty.  Willow nearly giggled.  <He's so cute!> 

 In response to her twitching lips, one of Angel's full, rare smiles flashed by with hummingbird quickness.  Then his gaze drifted past her to the carnage surrounding them and the smile evaporated.  His dark expression recalled her attention instantly to the dreamscape of the nightmare.  A rush of shame overwhelmed Willow.  Feeling guilty at having forgotten her duty for even a moment, she turned away from her husband to stare down into the cold dead eyes of an old woman.  They were ice blue and stared back up at her accusingly. 

 "What are you doing here?" she mumbled.  "How did you get in?"  She'd been so careful to keep him out of these dreams.  They'd become her own personal hell and she'd wanted to spare him this.  <At least he didn't arrive during the worst part.the miscarriage.> 

 "The same way I always do."  He shrugged.  "You pulled me in." 

 Willow's mind went blank.  <I did?!>  She turned back to stare at him blankly.  <Did I?  I don't think I did but I can't remember.> 

 He continued, "I suspect that you would have pulled me in before now if you hadn't been so busy shutting me out."  His voice contained no accusation or blame; it was merely a statement of fact.  Willow dropped her head in mute shame. 

 Angel sighed and raised his hands to frame her face.  His fingers curled in her hair and his mouth captured her own.  The link slid smoothly open between them as he inserted himself into her thoughts.  <Such distance should have no place between us, Seabhaicín.  You shouldn't be afraid to come to me about anything.  You're not alone anymore.>  The thought carried a stern reprimand and an odd mixture of hurt and forgiveness. 

 Willow winced and grabbed the back of his head.  She buried her fingers in his hair and forced his mouth to her own.  Their lips came together in an urgent kiss born of a mutual desperation for closeness and unity.  Neither one of them wanted this distance between them.  <I know.I'm sorry.  I'm bad.>  Telepathically, she tried to convey the depths of the frustration and futility these visions had caused.  <I'm just used to doing everything by myself.  I'm not used having someone else to depend on.> 

 Deliberately, she opened her mind further, letting him feel what the weight of twenty years of isolation and responsibility had done to her.  The last two years with Angel had been wonderful but Willow hadn't managed to unlearn all of the lone wolf tendencies she'd acquired through the years.  Immortality and the heavy burden of duty had isolated her from everyone, even family and friends.  She'd changed so much, ironically becoming more like him than she'd ever thought possible. 

 Sympathy and understanding were his reply.  Willow also sensed quiet regret and sorrow that life had done this to her.  He'd cherished beloved memories of her spirit and warmth for years like a secret treasure.  It hurt him that she'd become so jaded and that she hadn't shown him this before.  They knew each other's thoughts on a surface level on an almost daily basis, but normally, they shunned mental contact at this depth.  Both found the experience painfully intimate and not particularly pleasant.  They normally preferred to share warmer, fuzzier feelings of love, humor and passion. 

 "It's that old adage about only having yourself in the end." she muttered as the kiss ended. 

 "Bullshit!" Angel snarled.  Willow blinked, taken aback at his unexpected vehemence.  Such vulgarities rarely if ever crossed his lips.  "It's a load of crap and you know it!  Whistler tried to unload that song and dance on Buffy once.  I said the same thing to her that I'll say to you now.  You're_not_alone.  You have family and friends who love you.  I love you.  You have the entire Watcher council, the Slayer and you have me." 

 "You can always come to me."  He spoke each word slowly and with great emphasis.  "I'm_here_for_you." 

 Willow looked away.  His generosity shamed her deeply.  "Didn't you wind up in hell the last time you said that?" she asked, mostly to change the subject.  She really didn't want to dwell on her own inadequacies any longer.  Frankly, she was beginning to grow sick of her own incompetency and selfishness.  <Time to kick myself in the butt and do something to solve my problems instead of sniveling and feeling sorry for myself.> 

 "That's beside the point," Angel muttered brusquely.  He dismissed the subject out of hand with a sharp chopping motion.  Willow nodded her acceptance.  Many years before, Buffy had been forced to run Angel through with a sword in order to stop the world from being sucked into hell.  Willow knew only the sketchiest details: Dru, Acathla, and something having to do with Angel's blood.  They'd gotten him back out of the Hellmouth eventually but the subject remained a touchy one that Angel wouldn't discuss. 

 Willow stepped away, trying to untangle her mind from his.  She sensed a pending storm of dark memories being called to the surface of his mind by their discussion and she wanted to respect his privacy.  Angel apparently misunderstood, interpreting her withdrawal as yet another attempt to close him out. 

 With lightning speed, his hand snapped up and grabbed her chin.  He wasn't about to let her get away.  Their minds remained firmly entangled and his fingers squeezed her jaw so tightly that it hurt.  "No escape this time, Willow," he hissed fiercely.  "We settle this here and now.  You belong to me; I'm not letting you go that easily." 

 Willow remained still in his grasp.  She didn't resist but she didn't surrender either.  She felt lost.  It was as if she were waiting for something to happen, something she could not define.  She was so troubled by this feeling that the dream setting occupied only the margin of her awareness.  She didn't hear the soft scuffling sounds echoing in the back of the cavern but Angel did. 

 His head snapped around suddenly when he detected the potential threat.  With a low growl, Angel let go of her chin and turned towards the back of the cave.  In the face of a threat, he slipped naturally into his game face.  He moved so fast that Willow didn't have a chance to react.  She blinked and watched him disappear with swift, deadly silence into the darkness of her dream.  It was strangely metaphorical and the spooky thought finally provoked Willow to action.  Hurriedly, she scurried after her husband.  <No way in hell I'm letting you go either!> 

 Angel didn't go far.  He stopped and dropped to his knees in one smooth movement to kneel beside a small overhang.  Intently, he peered underneath.  Stooping, Willow spied the huddled figure of a little girl hiding beneath the overhang, just out of arm's reach.  The child sniffled loudly and Willow's heart melted with pity.  <Poor baby.> 

 Before she could speak, Angel sat down cross-legged on the ground.  "Hello, moppet," he murmured, a beautiful smile transforming his face from handsome to angelically beatific.  He radiated charisma in a way that automatically evoked trust, like and goodwill.  Willow knew that his sudden transformation from predator to friend wasn't entirely natural.  Angel had spent centuries perfecting this smile.  A long time ago, he'd used it for hunting.  Now, he usually reserved it for getting out of trouble with Willow or for charming her mother. 

 The little lady hiding under the overhang wasn't any different from her grown counterparts.  A sudden, bright smile sprang up involuntarily across her small sad face.  Willow could see just enough of the girl in the dim light to make out her long hair and the outline of her face cast in shadow.  The child was small and looked to be about five years old.  Willow sighed with resignation and shut her mouth.  <Might as well let Angel work his magic.> 

 "Hello," the child whispered.  "You're not one of the bad men, are you?" 

 Angel was silent for a telling second and Willow could almost read his thoughts.  She knew him so well that she could practically hear the self-deprecating thought that she knew must have been passing through his head.  He didn't answer the girl's question directly.  "I'm going to protect you from the bad men, moppet.  I promise." 

 "What's moppet?" she couldn't resist asking. 

 Angel offered her that heart-stopping smile again.  To her chagrin, Willow felt her own heart skip a beat in involuntary response.  <He's so good with children.  He's going to make a wonderful father.  If the baby lives to be born.> 

 "Moppet is you, little one," he teased.  The girl giggled. 

 "Will you protect me from the seedy men?" she asked tentatively, scooting a few inches closer to Angel. 

 "I'll protect you," he promised.  The girl came closer.  "Are the bad men the seedy men?" Angel asked, being careful to remain perfectly still.  He wasn't taking any chances that he'd startle the child with unexpected movement. 

 "Yes," the girl replied.  "After they came, all the grown-ups got sick and died.  All of the grown-ups except them.  They took all the children away." 

 Stunned, Willow felt her mouth open.  Angel had found the key to this dream sequence; he'd found the hidden clue she'd been missing all along.  <This little girl has all of the information I need.  How is it that I've been so blind?  How come I didn't find her on my own.?!> 

 "Why didn't they take you?" Angel asked gently.  Ever so slowly, he crouched lower to offer his hand to the child.  His body blocked Willow's view but her hearing told her that the little girl was crawling closer to the vampire. 

 "I hid," the child boasted smugly.  "They couldn't find me," she told Angel.  Her tone contained an inordinate amount of pride in her own cleverness.  Angel chuckled and his arm began to draw back, telling Willow that the girl had taken his hand.  Willow craned her neck, eagerly awaiting her first glimpse of the child. 

 Tension suddenly seized the vampire's shoulders and his entire aura turned pale with shock.  Concerned, Willow extended her hand to touch her husband's back while his aura swirled with wild emotions.  She could read surprise, disbelief, pain and protectiveness inciting deep aggravation and confusion within him. 

 <What.?>  Before she could ask, Angel hauled the child into his arms and turned to her.  He held her as if his life and hers depended upon the physical contact.  Willow stared at the little girl with red hair and bright green eyes so much like her own in shock. 

 "Hello, mommy," her daughter greeted.