Chapter 6: Gods and Angels
Angel sits in the corner of his dimly lit room with a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula in his hands - a practical joke of Xander Harris's doing; he left the book on Angel's bedside table in an attempt to pull some laughter out of the brooding beast. He received blank stares and silence in return.
Truth be told, Angel has read the esteemed novel dozens of times throughout his eternal existence. The book revolves around the battle of good versus evil - a concept he's struggled with for centuries so naturally, he always compared himself to Dracula - the epitome of evil. But the last time Angel read it, he didn't. Because he was surrounded by friends - people he loved.
Fred was next to him in the Hyperion Hotel with her nose also in a book. She fiddled with her braids while Wesley smiled at her from across the room, jotting something down in his notebook whenever a thought popped into his brain. Cordelia sat on the sofa and cradled Connor in her arms, Gunn behind her trying to get his attention with peek-a-boo.
It was in that moment that Angel realized what truly separated him from being a monster - it was them. It was family.
Angel finds himself getting lost in the pages once again when Illyria walks in, unannounced, yet as gracefully as ever. She wears what she always wears: ancient, red armor that contours to her body like a second skin. Strands of blue and brown hair drape around the God's oval face and bounce off the edges of her shoulders as she stops in the center of the room with piercing eyes.
"Apparently Wesley didn't get around to teaching you how to knock," mutters Angel, who doesn't look up from his book.
"I grow tired of this place; its walls. They're suffocating."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he responds dryly.
"I have lost my people. My world. And now ... " Illyria's lamenting comes to an abrupt stop before saying Wesley's name. "I am without purpose."
"Why don't you … make a friend or something." Angel flips the page, desperately trying to hold onto his last bit of sanity before Illyria rips it away.
"A friend will not make this life easier to live. A friend will only remind me of how weak I've become."
"I don't see how that's my problem," he answers coldly, tightening his grip on the book.
"How can you show such little regard for my presence?"
"Listen, Illyria," Angel's voice is suddenly tense and full of hostility. "I am sorry you don't love Cleveland, Ohio. Truly. But I am out of a job, not to mention I have lost just about everyone I care about in the last year; some in the last month. Including Wesley. And I don't feel like listening to you complain about the fact that you don't know how to use a toaster."
"You upset so easily. It's shameful for a leader to be so emotional," Illyria purrs.
Accepting the fact that Illyria isn't going to stop talking, Angel slams his book shut and sets it on the bedside table. He massages his temples as her words start to find their way into his thoughts.
"I'm not a leader anymore," Angel finally says.
Illyria tilts her head to one side and observes him carefully, as if she's just discovered what stress looks like on a lesser being.
"I see. So that is why you cling to anger."
"I'm not angry!" Angel roars, triggering some slayers outside of the room to wince as they walk by. Embarrassed by his own outburst, he shuts the door with Illyria still inside.
"It is true. You are no longer a ruler of the people," Illyria mutters while scanning his face. "But will you so easily let that define you?"
"Are you really one to talk? You've been wallowing in self-pity since you got here!"
The word 'self-pity' ignites something in Illyria. She fumes and glides right into his face, her cold breath vibrating on his equally cold skin.
"How dare you speak to me this way! I could liquify your entrails if I so wished, vermin."
"And why don't you? Wish it?" he growls. "Because you're just as lonely as I am."
Illyria falls silent for a moment.
"Lonely." The word feels strange in her mouth. She relaxes back into her stationary stance. "Is that what this is?"
"Trust me. I know loneliness. I've got loneliness down to a science at this point. And if there was ever a time I've understood you, it's now."
"Do you grieve for your friends?" Illyria drawls.
"I do."
"Then let me grieve with you." She slowly bends down and finds herself in a chair across from him. She lowers her gaze to the floor while Angel mirrors her movement, sitting back down in his armchair. Silence consumes the room.