The Unforgiven

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

Journal of Angelus Kieran Boyle 
Wednesday, May 8, 2019

 Willow possesses the world's, my world's, most precious expression, which truly must be witnessed to be fully appreciated.  She looks so utterly innocent and so totally lacking in guile.  Sweet, sweet sixteen and not a day more as her eyes round so innocently, her fine eyebrows arch so delicately, and her luscious lips curve ever so softly.

 I adore her for it and upon most days I prefer to accept that innocence at face value.  Every man has his preferences, his weaknesses, those things in a woman to which he is irresistibly drawn.  I am attracted to a confusing blend of innocence and purity tempered by strength and intelligence.  I want a woman who is independent and self-reliant, but who still needs me and turns to the shelter of my arms.

 Do I sound confused?  I'm not really.  Willow gives me everything I could ever wish for in a woman and she does so brilliantly.  There is no real deception or true manipulation taking place between us; our bond is too deep.  She is what I desire and I endeavor to be the same for her.  It keeps life interesting.

 As I have said, her expression is priceless, but tonight my darling Willow met her match.  With just a simple look, a trusting smile, and a loving hug, another very young lady stole my heart and my will.  She wrapped me about her pinky like a piece of twine and supplanted Willow's place in my world as most precious.  Given, I have always been a terrible rounder with women.  I am absolutely incorrigible according to some, a philandering dandy according to others, and those are the nice things said of me.

 In my own defense, I will say this: this lassie has her mother's bright green eyes, her same shining auburn hair, and her same beguiling smile.  She is smart, charming, and full of spunk.  I was a goner from the first.  Willow's place in my heart and my mind is always first and foremost in all other things, but my Miss Moppet has her beat hands down in the precious and adorable departments.

 I love her.  The feeling is miraculous and defies description.  I fell hard, fell fast, and fell flat on my face in it.  The impact flattened my nose, winded me of the breath I do not possess, and left me stunned.  I am deeply shamed to admit that up until that moment I had not truly taken the child fully into my heart.  I was prepared to accept her and to love her on an intellectual level.  I had done my best to accord her the acceptance that I felt was her due based upon a sense of duty, of obligation, of loyalty to my wife.  Her child, my child. 

 Now, it is true.

 I assert now as I have asserted so often in the past: I am the luckiest bastard alive.

 Thanks to my Willow.

 The little girl in Angel's arms wore faded denim coveralls over a red tee shirt.  The knees of her jumpsuit were torn and her red sneakers were in a similar state of disrepair.  Her face was smudged with dirt and grime from crawling around in the caverns covered her from head to toe.  Despite all of this, she was the most adorable little girl that Willow had ever seen in her life.  <And the spitting image of me at five years old.  This is unmistakably my daughter.>

 Willow gaped at her child for what seemed forever before she could speak.  "How can this be?" she finally mumbled, giving voice to her thoughts.  Her hand unconsciously strayed to her stomach, where it settled with a disbelieving caress.  She was only five weeks pregnant; her baby was only a developing fetus.  <This is amazing...>

 "This must be her soul," Angel murmured while his hand lovingly stroked the child's hair.  "She's already taken up residence within her body...and yours."  His response contained no room for doubt.  Willow could see that the answer to her rhetorical question seemed obvious and inescapable to her husband.

 Her hand joined Angel's on the girl's head.  Her hair was baby soft and as fine as down.  "That's not very scientific!" Willow replied, pulling her gaze away from the girl long enough to meet Angel's eyes. He offered her an ironic eyebrow.  Willow sighed.  <Silly me.  I forget.  This is Angel, the world's only Catholic vampire.>

 In the intervening silence, their daughter glowed with happiness at being the center of their amazed attention.  She first surveyed Willow with a gaze that the Immortal Watcher found unsettling.  Those emerald eyes were older and wiser than those possessed by any child.  Willow couldn't escape the feeling that the girl was already intimately familiar with her mother.  <It's like she's been watching me for a while.>

 Her next action confirmed Willow's suspicions in her own mind as the child summarily surveyed and dismissed her out of hand.  Instead, she turned intent green eyes upon Angel, eyeballing this stranger in her small world with rapt fascination.

 "This solves the age-old question: when does life begin?  In the womb," he asserted confidently, addressing Willow and looking down at the girl cradled in his arms.

 Willow shook her head.  "I don't even want to go there."

 "Go where?" their daughter asked curiously.  In the way of children, the girl couldn't remain silent or still for very long.  Even the novelty of being the object of awestruck fascination soon wore thin and she didn't even wait for an answer to her last question before moving on to the next.  "You're new," she informed Angel authoritatively.  "I sensed you on the outside, so I brought you in.  What's your name?"

 Willow felt her mouth drop open again.  <One surprise after another.>

 "Daddy," Angel replied succinctly.  The word was a command.

 Their daughter nodded obediently.  "Daddy."

 His lips quirked with delight before his demeanor grew serious again.  Angel frowned contemplatively and turned thoughtful eyes upon the girl.  "What do you mean you pulled me in?" he asked.  He glanced sideways at Willow.  Before now, he'd clearly believed that she'd been responsible for pulling him into the dream.  This brought that certainty into question.

 Willow was beginning to feel like all she could do was stare and blink.  She couldn't have stepped into the Twilight Zone, or blundered into a Hellmouth with more bizarre or unexpected results.  At that moment, she'd probably have taken first prize in an owl-eyes contest, but that didn't seem to matter right then. 

 <Umm.  think.>  Curiously, she extended her mind to carefully examine the tiny life growing inside of her womb.  Her mental probe revealed the fetus to be present and healthy.  To her astonishment, she also sensed an active intellect.  She'd done this before in order to check on the fetus' health, but she had never sensed cognition or awareness before now.  This time, though, Willow felt a very distinct, very powerful link between the girl's spirit and her baby.  What's more, her child was already an extremely powerful telepath.  In fact, her daughter dwarfed her in raw potential and power.  <With training and discipline, she'll leave me in the dust.>

 Willow was only peripherally aware of Angel as he waited impatiently for an answer that was never provided.  She suspected that only dignity and long years of self-discipline kept him from fidgeting. The girl also ignored his question and Willow was too preoccupied in her task to provide one right then.  Finally, he shrugged and gave up.  Answers could wait until later. 

 "What's your name?" he asked with equal bluntness. 

 The child's brow furrowed with consternation.  This wasn't something she had an answer for.  She worried her lower lip, pouting adorably before her expression cleared.  "Moppet!" she sang.  A huge grin split Angel's face. 

 Despite her concentration, Willow didn't miss the maddening grins that passed between her husband and her child.  With sinking dread she realized that something extremely important had just been decided without, and despite, her consent.  She groaned.

 I suppose that I may have been too readily accepting of who and what this child was.  However, I am not gullible nor am I credulous.  I am not a fool, but I do trust my instincts implicitly.  I have not survived nearly three hundred years by ignoring my "feelings" and this felt so right in my gut that I simply *knew* that this spirit was our daughter's soul. 

 "Angel!" Willow exclaimed.  Two pairs of eyes, one dark and one green, both brimming with mirth and mischief peered back at her.  "We're not naming her Moppet!" she asserted firmly.  She put her foot down, literally.  <I need to contain this before it gets out of control!>

 Angel's eyes rounded with Captain Kirk innocence and the girl giggled.  The sinfully handsome vampire's lips turned up in a quirky half-smile that evoked warm fuzzies up and down Willow's spine.  She knew this look also.  It was part of his arsenal for worming and charming his way out of trouble.  <Focus!  He'll try to get away with hell if I let him!>"

 "Yes dear," he drawled, his voice adopting the dry, nasal quality of an appropriately hen-pecked and conspicuously cowed husband.  Willow suppressed a moan.  <Egad!  I'm being humored!>

 She tried again, "We're not!"

 "Moppet, Moppet, Moppet." the little girl sing-songed, delighted with this new game.  She had Willow's goat and she knew it.  From the safety of Angel's arms, she enjoyed almost a full foot of height over her outraged mother. 

 Angel snickered.

 A moment later Willow found herself laughing helplessly along with them.  She simply couldn't help herself.  The sight of Angel and her daughter together was beautiful and priceless.  <She's already a Daddy's girl!>  Her heart overflowed with so much love and happiness that she would have gladly given anything if that moment could have lasted forever.

 Abruptly, reality flickered about us.  The dream began to fade and the child in my arms along with it, her visible form and weight diminishing even as I held her.  She was losing substance; I could see Willow through her.  I panicked, shifting into my demonic form without thought and tightened my grip upon Moppet convulsively.  She squeaked in protest.

  "Willow, what's happening?!" I demanded as she faded even more.  Fear spiked my voice and the demand emerged pitched several decibels above than my normal speaking voice.  Dear God, I have never been so scared in my entire life.  I was losing her and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  All I could do was clutch at our child and growl at the unseen menace.

 Willow turned pale.  "The vision is ending!" she gasped.  She reached out and locked her arms around Moppet and myself in a desperate hug.

 "Stop it!" I ordered. 

 "I can't!"  Her muffled voice emerged from against the child's back.  It contained enough fear and anguish to rival my own.  This was a mother speaking, not the Immortal Watcher.  "I don't control the visions, I only receive them!"  Despite her protest, I felt Willow trying to seize control of the vision and prevent its termination.  Her attempts were futile.

 Small, soft hands gripped my face.  I found myself staring down into brilliant green eyes.  "Daddy, don't be scared," Moppet whispered.  "It's time for me to go back to the sleeping place."  The child's steadiness and confidence were soothing, calming my fears.  Panic began to melt under her gentle touch.  I managed to form a coherent thought.

 "Where are these caverns?" I pleaded, gulping in air at a frantic rate.  "Where are we?"

 Sadness and worry crossed Moppet's brow and she frowned.  "I don't know," she replied.  "But I'll try to find out," she promised.  "You have to stop the bad men."

 Fainter and fainter and then she was gone.  Willow and I were left holding one another.  The space between us where our daughter had been closed suddenly and we clung together like lost children.  Only we were not the lost children--she was our own--and the tears that we shed did not bring her back.  Tragically, it seems that all too often of late we find ourselves embracing from sorrow rather than joy.

 There are nights when even the comfort of prayer is not enough and this was one such.