Title: Split Personalities (revised chapter 1)
Author: Silverwind24
Rating: PG-13
Summary: As Wesley sinks deeper into his grief searching for a way to his beloved, Illyria realizes that the shell's original owner is trying to regain what was hers. Wes/Fred, Wes/Illyria.
Disclaimer: If even a tiny bit of Angel belonged to me, Wes and Fred never would have died!
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed "Sunshine" and encouraged me to write this fanfic! Please read and review!
Another Note: So sorry about the formatting the first time I uploaded the chapter. It wasn't supposed to look like that at all! Thanks for reading it anyway though!

Chapter 1: It's Me

Night had fallen swiftly and soundlessly upon the city, and the sky was illuminated with the artificial stars that both fascinated and disgusted Illyria. At the time of her reign, the stars had been her subjects, and they had worshipped and revered her with the respect and fear that she had deserved. Unlike these humans, who seemed unable to realize the peril that her existence posed to their pathetic lives. She turned her head sharply to look at the human, who sat motionless at his desk, looking over a disheveled ancient text. She watched him with the same curiosity that she gave the stars or the sky, observing the interest and care that he devoted to the torn and faded piece of paper with perplexity and repugnance. It was worthless, how could he not see this? Why must he spend so much of his ephemeral life desperately trying to achieve an impossible goal?
"It is meaningless, you know. You will not find a way." The sudden sound of her voice caused him to look up abruptly, and drop the magnifying glass that he had clasped tightly in his trembling hand.
"Be quiet, Illyria." His voice was hoarse, and his eyes were tired, his face gaunt and pale, almost emaciated. He looked at her listlessly, and there were fewer shreds of hope clinging to his expression than there had been the day before when she had spoken the same words.
"Do not speak to me thus, human. I say what I will, and no lesser being may prevent me from doing so."
"Why don't you just kill me then?" he looked at her, and something in his eyes took her aback for an instant.
"You wish me to end your life, so I will not. You will not use me as one would use a knife to the throat." Illyria moved fluidly across the room to lean against his desk and look him in the face.
"I can't believe that she is lost forever, Illyria. It's the only thing I have left, that last bit of hope. Death is more welcome than life without her." As he spoke unshed tears welled in his eyes, and his voice dropped to little more than a whisper.
Instead of feeling the usual revulsion at his human weakness, she felt something else that caused her features to soften as she looked at him. Then, she was appalled by this sudden feeling, and staggered back several steps from the desk.
"You work some ancient magick on me, human, but I will not yield to you!" With that, she turned purposefully and strode out of his office.
He did not give a second thought to the fallen goddess, and turned his attention back to the barely readable and text, and the way to bring Fred back that he knew he would never find.

Moving through the corridors, Illyria passed many humans, who hurried by her without even glancing up from the fragile white sheets many clutched in their hands. She grudgingly realized that she was becoming accustomed to the lack of attention the lesser beings paid to her, but she reassured herself with the satisfaction that a twist of her hand could send them writhing to the floor in agony. She noticed that these humans had a low tolerance to pain, and the slightest threat of discomfort to their soft bodies and skin provoked a wide range of fearful emotions that used to amuse her. Now, she looked at the humans with distaste, but nothing more.
Illyria entered the human's office without observing any of the customs that these creatures adopted before entering rooms. As usual, he did not acknowledge her presence with even a nod, which was a far cry from the elaborate rituals and various methods of worship she had enjoyed in the past. If Illyria realized that she was barely perturbed by his lack of respect, she did not address it at this time, perhaps trying to deny that she was losing her hold on the goddess she had been. She stopped before his desk, looking at him, watching his every movement. She noticed that he was moving more slowly than the usual pathetic pace of his species, and that he was looking even more pale and sickly than last night.
"You have not slept."
"Ah, good morning, Illyria! I see you've invited yourself in again," he said, falsely cheerful, and looking almost ill.
"You have been sitting here since last night."
"Very astute observation! I'm glad that I'm teaching you something." His voice was bitterly caustic, and his forced smile almost became a sneer.
She kept looking at him, and for a fleeting instant he thought he saw a flash of hurt pass across her face.
"Stop it, Wesley, please." The moments the words left her mouth in the voice that wasn't her own, Illyria's hand flew up to her throat, where it tightened, measuring her quickened breaths.
His face hardened as he looked at the goddess, his hand trembling in anger. "Never speak in that voice. It is not yours and you don't deserve to have it." He didn't notice the way her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her eyes darted about in confusion.
"You do not understand….I did not…" she told him, her voice taking on the hysterical, untamed tone that was usually enough to frighten him into attending to her needs. She ran her hands through her hair, passed them over her face, and then clutched them together convulsively.
"Illyria, I truly do not have the time to baby-sit you today. If you feel like having an anxiety attack, please do it outside my office. Thank you." He didn't even look at her as he spoke, and began flipping through a large volume, enjoying how he mocked her.
"Wesley!" she wailed, and looked up at him in horror, shaking her head violently against whatever cruel magick took away her will.
"Illyria. Out. Now." His voice was so cold and authoritative that she flashed him a brief, tear-streaked glance and stumbled towards the door.
She stopped there, by some will other than her own, and the shell's voice said, "Please, listen, Wes."
He jumped to his feet, shaking, and shouted in a voice she had never heard before. "Illyria! Before I lose my temper!"
"But, Wes," she sobbed, "It's me."

next chapter on the way