Story Info
Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of Joss Whedon, Warner Brothers and The Fox Network. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Author's Notes: This was just a quick story I wrote between Illyria and Wes, after "Underneath"
"You subordinates have changed little throughout the years." Illyria said scornfully. She sat Indian style on the floor, her gaze focused on the box with moving pictures in front of her. "You still continue to fight each other unaware of the true danger surrounding you. You're arrogance and ignorance will be your downfall."
Wesley continued to look out the window ignoring her, the glass of whiskey resting on the armrest of the chair.
Illyria was fascinated by these moving images that humans had managed to create. It was possible to see events happening in other places far, far away. In her days such devices may have been of use had a witch not been present. Her fingers reached out towards the flickering screen, as if they could somehow reach in and pluck the people out. They collided with the screen. This screen held her spellbound; she spent many hours studying the vulnerable glass. It was like a hard shell protecting the flowing electrons beneath. Just like the vessel, or Fred as Wesley had told her to call it, was a shell protecting her, the essence of Illyria.
The clink of glass against glass interrupted her and her head cocked to the side as she saw him pour even more of the poisonous liquid into the glass. His behaviour irritated her and she was quickly losing any patience she once may have had with him.
"When does this stop?"
"What?" he asked numbly, his eyes staring straight ahead.
"When will you stop grieving for her?"
"Never." He whispered gulping down the liquid in one go.
"Is this what love is? This suffering you seem to feel, this need to consume large amounts of poison and spout words that are meant to insult? Do you intend to drink enough toxins to end your existence? Is this what love does to people?"
He got up out of the chair and stood in the middle of the room watching the television over her shoulder. She had noticed his discomfort in looking at her directly but did not comment upon it.
"Love does different things to different people. It cannot be described only felt. You have no feelings, you will never know love."
"Feelings are a weakness I have no need or wish to have."
He laughed mirthlessly. "A weakness? Yes perhaps, but a short time of, no, even a moment of joy, can be enough to sustain a person for months, maybe even years."
"Is this how humans sustain themselves?" she asked suddenly curious looking over towards the nearly empty whiskey bottle.
He followed her gaze and smirked. "Some of us."
"You often resort to such poison when things do not happen as you would wish." It was a statement not a question and it made him look at her. He didn't wince outwardly but she could see it in his eyes. She stood up awkwardly noting how he tried to look away before his eyes could follow the movement of her body. It didn't work, it rarely did.
"Will you also find solace and comfort with another of your kind?"
He was suddenly angry. She had learned that the slight stiffening of the body, the thinning of his lips and the short, sharp intake of breath indicated this, though he did not often express it. His self-restraint both intrigued and pleased her. Perhaps he had finally realised the true power she yielded.
"The other is also dead. Did you grieve for her as well?"
He remained silent and she stepped towards him. She had been wrong in her earlier assumptions, he was still as wilful and obstinate as he had been the first time she met him.
"You know of whom I speak?"
"Yes." He replied coldly.
"Then answer me!" She demanded.
"No." He told her moving back away from her.
"You dare defy me? I am Illyria, there was a time I would have shown the world your insides for such refusal!"
"That time is not now."
"No." She still moved awkwardly when walking, as if not quite used to the movements, or how her limbs worked. She moved towards the window and looked out towards the lights of the city, dimmed with the ever-present smog hanging over LA.
Her hand curled into a fist and her head lowered with her eyes closed as she leaned her forehead against the cool glass.
"I was once the most feared and beloved deity of all. All knew my name and worshipped my greatness. I was given gifts and sacrifices. I ruled over eleven worlds at a time, spreading my greatness, half-breeds and lower not daring to take a step that may result in being out of my favour. Even time itself bowed at my feet. And now." She opened her eyes, looked up at the ceiling, and spun around looking all around her, almost as if in a panic, before her gaze settled on him again. "Now I am stuck in a body that is not mine, a body that I would not desire had I the choice, trapped in a world where few even know my name and those who do, do not worship me as they should." Her voice was cold but angry, and her disgust was evident as she watched him.
"You will never be worshipped here Illyria. You have no followers, no army to incite fear and terror in others. Your time is over. It ended a long time ago. You should never have come back."
Her eyes seemed to flash with anger, a strange sight in one so emotionless. "How dare you interrupt me while I speak." She told him viciously. "I am trapped here with a man who is not only insolent and insulting to me but also grieves so much for the shell that he seems to forget who I am and the power I have." She walked towards him and stopped just short her hand wrapped around his neck as she lifted him a few inches off the floor. "Do not underestimate me mortal, I am powerful. We have bargained, be sure to fulfil the terms of our agreement." She let him go and turned her back to him whispering quietly. "And if you think that by being impudent towards me you will eventually push me to end your existence as you desire, you are mistaken. It would please me more to let you live in this miserable world where you can be just as wretched as I am."
Wesley rubbed his neck snapping it to the side to rid himself of the kinks in it. He watched her, her ability to stand absolutely still unnerved him, even now after weeks of being in her company.
"Why are you so interested in Lilah?"
"I am…unsure." She turned to him, her face as cold as usual, her eyes penetrating to his very soul. "Did you love her?"
"I…don't know, maybe, I-I believe so."
"As you loved the sh-Fred?"
He sighed and sat back down on the seat. "No. There has never been anyone like Fred, there never will be."
"I do not understand. You love or you don't. You claim to have loved the lawyer, and Winifred Burkle, yet you say it is not the same."
Wesley closed his eyes and wiped a hand down his face. She looked like Fred, but Fred gone wrong. The thing that had killed the only woman he loved was standing in the same room as him, asking him questions so she could learn how to live in this world. And he was helping her. He was helping Fred's murderer. He was helping her because she looked like her, because having even a little bit of her was better then nothing at all. His father was right, he was weak.
"Wesley."
"Love can come in many different forms. The love a parent feels for their child is different from the love a man can have for a woman, or a brother for a sister."
"This Lilah was neither your child nor your sister."
"No but I…do we have to do this? You can never understand what you cannot feel."
"I have angered you." She sounded frustrated. "You are often angry with me Wesley. I find it inconvenient. By angering you you become uncooperative and only continue to drink more of that poison." She paced the short length of the apartment; as she was want to do on occasions. "Perhaps it would be best if you tell me what subjects should be spoken of and when."
Wesley glanced at the clock. "It's getting late."
She looked over at the clock and tilted her head in confusion. "I do not understand your need to measure time when you cannot control it. All you can do is watch it pass you by. It is weak." She decided derisively before turning to look at him again. "I no longer wish to remain within these rooms. They are small and appear even smaller when you leave for long periods of time. I have no desire to stay here as much."
Wesley sighed and scrubbed his face tiredly. "I have to work Illyria, I have responsibilities, responsibilities that I will not leave unattended for you."
"Take me with you."
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea."
"You brought me here because it was Fred's home and the surroundings are familiar to me. Bring me to her workplace, I tire of here." She took three steps before him her face just inches away from his face as it jerked dangerously towards him. "I am not asking you for permission." She told him warningly.
"Very well. Angel has been asking for you to come in." he rubbed his palms along the front of his jeans and looked away to the clock again. "It's late. I think it's best if I go to sleep. Try to get some rest."
She watched him as he moved towards the bedroom.
"You will leave?"
He turned at the threshold "Yes."
"You do not leave until your eyes are red and your words become incoherent and you cannot walk in a straight line." She paused considering him. "This is different. Is this how one would normally retire for slumber at the conclusion of the day?"
"It is." He answered tiredly.
"I see. I will observe this night time routine."
"I don't think so."
"You will not allow me to learn this?"
He sighed wearily. "It is not that Illyria, now is just not a good time. I promised Angel that when I bring you in it will be for testing."
"Do you always do what the vampire tells you?"
"He is my friend and my boss. I trust him."
"In my day vampires were not creatures to be trusted. I dislike this idea." She crossed her arms.
Wesley's lips tightened in frustration. She was at times so much like a petulant child, but unlike a child she had the power to kill with a touch. Her love of violence was always a sticking point. He looked at her suddenly an idea coming to him. "During the tests you will most likely get the opportunity to test your strength and battle skills."
"I will be battling another?" Her head jerked in his direction as her interest peaked. He felt his lips quirk at the side, she was such a bundle of contradictions, an innocent and a murderer all in one.
"Er, well Wolfram & Hart have the latest technology in battle simulations. You will not be battling a person so much as a… simulated representation of a person."
"I would much rather battle with a living being."
"I don't believe many humans would volunteer for such a feat."
"No, there is no challenge in fighting a mortal, they are weak and die easily." Her face scrunched up in disgust.
"Perhaps you would prefer to be tested by a vampire?"
She cocked her head to the side. "One of the half-breeds? They are little above mortals."
"Perhaps, but it would be unlikely that you would be kill them, unless of course you decide to cut off his head or stake him. Other then that it should be fine."
"Your suggestion intrigues me. Considering the weaknesses around me it may be the only option."
"Good. Now get some rest."
"I will." She walked towards the centre of the room and stood as if frozen her eyes open but unseeing.
He blinked in surprise as he watched her.
"Illyria?"
She jerked her head towards him and her lips thinned in an attempted frown.
"This shell requires a number of hours to regenerate. I cannot do this while you continue to speak."
"You were…sleeping?" His eyebrows rose questioningly.
"Indeed." She replied before turning her head back around and assuming her former position.
Wesley shook his head and kicked the door closed behind him before collapsing onto the bed. He had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a long day.