Disclaimer: If I owned even a tiny bit of Angel, Wes and Fred never would have died!
Author's Note: Thanks to all the reviewers, you guys are the best! Illyria's monologue gets a little lengthy in this chapter, let me know what you think of it!
Chapter 3: Would You Have Loved Me?
The transition was more graceful this time, with the blue that had tinted Illyria's skin being gradually replaced with Fred's own sunny complexion, and her hair changing color and shape from the roots down to the tips that fell over her shoulders. She shook her head, as if awakening from a sleep.
"It hurts every time," she said quietly. Wesley closed the gap that separated them by sliding over a few inches and wrapping his arms around her. They did not speak, and she allowed him to hold her, her head against his chest, and his fingers passing gently over the softness of her hair.
"How much longer?" he murmured, as if every second was counting against the time they had together.
"I don't know." She smiled. "You're not even asking how it happened."
"Why would I waste this time with you wondering about something like that?" he asked, almost facetious.
"Because that's how you are."
"Not anymore. I've had to stop wondering and calculating and just rely on instinct and hope to guide me."
"I hurt you so bad, Wes. I never wanted to do that," Fred said softly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.
"Fred, oh Fred. Of course I hurt, but it wasn't through any fault of yours," he kissed her head gently. "Except making me love you too much."
She smiled and giggled in the way that only she could, and Wesley's throat closed against the emotion of the moment, the impossibility of having her here with him, and the very present danger of having her snatched away again.
"Bye." The Southern accent in her voice rang out sharply, interrupting Wesley's reverie, and he was powerless to stop her from going. He didn't even move, just clung to her as she changed again, his eyes closed tightly, holding his breath as if it could stop time. He knew that he was holding Illyria in his arms, he could tell by her rapid, shallow breaths, and the stiffness of her frame. He felt her fear, and it pained him. His concern and strange and passing fondness for Illyria darkened his joy at Fred's return like a rain cloud covering the sun. He forced himself to look down at her, and he saw that her eyes were tightly shut, and her face drawn and hurt.
"Illyria?"
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, piercing him with her gaze.
"Why aren't you fighting against her? Why are you surrendering to your fate?"
"You do not know? You do not know why I have not killed you, why I live here peacefully, though I could wreak havoc and cause you all to feel the pain that I have felt? You have taught me much, Wesley, even that which you said you would not." She spoke softly, her eyes telling him the words that she could not speak.
"Illyria, you don't mean...." He was taken aback, searching her eyes with his own. "You do mean it, don't you?"
"I knew that I could never replace Winifred," she said faintly, her voice as sad as he had ever heard it. He looked at her, but could not speak. She continued, looking at him fervently, almost crazed, her voice wracked with pain. She spoke slowly, each word calculated and measured, but as if she spoke the truth for the first time in her existence.
"You do not think that I felt regret for destroying your happiness with my presence, and the shell's absence? You do not think I knew each time the sight of me would remind you of her, and bring more grief, choking you and bringing tears to your eyes? I lamented for your pain and the shell's death! I, Illyria, a God-King! You do not realize that I knew I should not feel what I do, I should not care what pain you feel, do you not realize that I had been above that? I should not have cared for the emotions or hurt of any being but myself, let alone a human male who poisons himself and calls me names that should be punishable with death. A death that would not matter. But it does matter, Wesley. And my death, which sent worlds into darkness for millennia, will go unnoticed here. My absence will bring nothing but joy and light at Winifred's return. I cannot fight against her, for in doing so, I would contradict my own forbidden, but somehow sacred, emotions. Emotions I never should have felt." She paused long enough to laugh. "One would think that my foolish feelings were the product of some disease, or the result of residing in the body of one who loved you so much. But I know that it is false. Everything that I have felt, every word that I have spoken, is solely mine. Though it matters not, does it, Wesley?" She looked up at him, her eyes the same piercing blue, but something within her had changed, or broken. He felt each breath rise up within her and the soft, involuntary twitches of her fingers against his chest made him more aware of her fragility than ever before. And with that, he knew that she was dying.
"Illyria. Oh, Illyria." He looked at her; the salty tears visible and burning against his skin. And he was speechless.
She looked at him again, her voice barely a whisper, her question poignant, ironic, and painful. "Would you have loved me?"
please r&r! TBC, of course!