Yesterday. (Angel: The Series. Wesley/Fred, Illyria)
Originally posted on my LJ, February 20th, 2006.
Title: Yesterday
Fandom: Angel.
Warnings: Spoilers for the last season.
Characters/couples: Wesley/Fred, Illyria.
Summary: At times, Wesley's mind tries to find what remains of Fred.
Rating: PG
Yesterday
Today, far away from reality
I met eternity
in your arms.
Illyria doesn’t sleep. Or at least she says she doesn’t. Wesley can’t be sure if she does or not, even after her power has been taken away. At nights, he hears her moving around the apartment or the office or even the world because he is so used at doing the same for Fred that even now that Illyria is in her place, he can’t stop himself from noticing.
“You.” Illyria rarely says his name. Wesley is grateful of this small favor. For some reason or the other, having Illyria acknowledge his name hurts him in so many ways he can’t explain. He guesses that it probably has something to do with the fact that he hasn’t been allowed to grieve.
It’s hard to do so when you keep on seeing the body of the woman you love everyday, walking, talking and breathing and yet not being her, never her.
“Yes, Illyria?” Cold blue eyes narrow, a tilt of head that it’s almost partially snake-like, reptilian.
“You are hurt.” And then there’s scorn that he had never heard on Fred’s voice. He nods, just once, rubbing the bridge of his nose even if he no longer wears glasses. Old habits die hard, and then at least he can close his eyes with a reasonable excuse and tell himself that it’s not (it’s not) because he misses Fred.
“It’s stupid.” Illyria’s voice is so cold. If Wesley could be bothered he’d shiver at the tone, but he’s beyond exhaustion. He can barely bother to properly bandage his arm, trying to remember who’s turn is it to do the debris of the mission and finally deciding that he doesn’t care because even if it’s his he’s just not going to do it.
“What is stupid, Illyria?” Contrary to her, Wesley always says her name. He needs the constant reminder so his brain, his stupid brain and faith can stop hoping for a miracle that won’t ever happen.
“Getting hurt.” There’s the scorn again but then there’s also something else. Worry, perhaps? Wesley finishes wrapping his arm and tells himself again to stop it. Fred is gone for good and Illyria isn’t her, will never be her.
Wesley looks at the ex demi goddess for a moment, noticing her arched eyebrows. “Yes, it is.”
Title: Yesterday
Fandom: Angel.
Warnings: Spoilers for the last season.
Characters/couples: Wesley/Fred, Illyria.
Summary: At times, Wesley's mind tries to find what remains of Fred.
Rating: PG
Yesterday
Today, far away from reality
I met eternity
in your arms.
- They slept together, that first time. Yes, only sleep. Well, not only sleep. They talked, the kissed, they caressed, they cuddled, they laughed. Well, Fred giggled. She seemed so happy, as if she couldn’t believe it, and she giggled a bit after a kiss and Wesley smiled and caressed her hair, kissing her again for the way her nose wrinkled after her laugh.
Illyria doesn’t sleep. Or at least she says she doesn’t. Wesley can’t be sure if she does or not, even after her power has been taken away. At nights, he hears her moving around the apartment or the office or even the world because he is so used at doing the same for Fred that even now that Illyria is in her place, he can’t stop himself from noticing.
- Their legs were tangled together. They were as close as possible without having sex and perhaps even more because Wesley was sure that he had never felt so warm before, so calm, so happy. He knew that they were both tired and that they should sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to say so, even less close his eyes.
He couldn’t, not when he finally had an armful of a sleep, happy, giggly Fred who kept her arms around him, pressing her face against her neck.
“Wesley?”
“You.” Illyria rarely says his name. Wesley is grateful of this small favor. For some reason or the other, having Illyria acknowledge his name hurts him in so many ways he can’t explain. He guesses that it probably has something to do with the fact that he hasn’t been allowed to grieve.
It’s hard to do so when you keep on seeing the body of the woman you love everyday, walking, talking and breathing and yet not being her, never her.
“Yes, Illyria?” Cold blue eyes narrow, a tilt of head that it’s almost partially snake-like, reptilian.
“You are hurt.” And then there’s scorn that he had never heard on Fred’s voice. He nods, just once, rubbing the bridge of his nose even if he no longer wears glasses. Old habits die hard, and then at least he can close his eyes with a reasonable excuse and tell himself that it’s not (it’s not) because he misses Fred.
- He trailed a finger down her nose, smiling when her eyes crossed and then she giggled back and Wesley had leaned to kiss her because how could he not kiss her then? He had been wanting to kiss her for so long now that he couldn’t believe it was finally happening.
“Isn’t it silly?” Fred asked after the kiss, trying to snuggle even closer. Her voice was tired and Wesley threaded his fingers through her hair, rubbing her scalp and shoulder slowly, feeling her sigh against his skin.
“What is it?”
“Being so… happy?” brown warm eyes looked at him, and there was such warmth and yes, joy in her eyes that Wesley shivered and kissed her again because no, it wasn’t silly, it would never be silly.
“It’s stupid.” Illyria’s voice is so cold. If Wesley could be bothered he’d shiver at the tone, but he’s beyond exhaustion. He can barely bother to properly bandage his arm, trying to remember who’s turn is it to do the debris of the mission and finally deciding that he doesn’t care because even if it’s his he’s just not going to do it.
“What is stupid, Illyria?” Contrary to her, Wesley always says her name. He needs the constant reminder so his brain, his stupid brain and faith can stop hoping for a miracle that won’t ever happen.
“Getting hurt.” There’s the scorn again but then there’s also something else. Worry, perhaps? Wesley finishes wrapping his arm and tells himself again to stop it. Fred is gone for good and Illyria isn’t her, will never be her.
- “Maybe it is.” Wesley whispered at Fred when she had fallen asleep, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, laying down to see her. “But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
Wesley looks at the ex demi goddess for a moment, noticing her arched eyebrows. “Yes, it is.”