Conversations Beside a Grave (2/?)
Firstly, an immense thank you to those who were kind enough to comment on my first attempt, which can be found here. And a special thanks to nemo_gravis for pimping me on his site (God that sounds SO bad!). It's surprisingly frightening to put something out there and it's nice to have friends.
In this ficlet/large drabble I wanted to work with Wesley's interaction with Illyria because, given his feelings for Fred, it was his acceptance of her that jarred most with me. I don't think I've answered any questions but maybe it works a bit. Bear in mind that this is very shortly after Fred's death and Illyria has not mellowed very much from her "I am God, bow down before me" attitude.
Title: Conversations Beside a Grave (2/?)
Author: draconin
Rating: No sex, very little swearing, work-safe.
Summary: Part of a series of conversations taking place during and after Fred's funeral.
Disclaimer: I am a worm beneath the feet of higher beings. Please don't tread on me.
llyria & Wesley
Illyria took her eyes off the funeral service visible through the tinted windows of the car, and peered curiously at Wesley, cocking her head in a way that was oddly reminiscent of ‘Fred in search of a solution’.
“You hate me and yet love me at the same time. How is this possible?”, she inquired in a puzzled tone, “I am a God! There should be no room in your heart for anything but adoration!”
Wesley sighed with tired resignation and leaned back facing her in the limo. Keeping her away from Fred’s funeral had never really been an option. It had taken hours of careful negotiation simply to persuade her to stay in the car. Explaining that it would hurt Fred’s parents to see her host body had been easy but explaining why she should care had not. She wanted to view this “strange human ritual” and that was all that mattered to her. Wesley knew that the service was beginning behind him but he had offered to take the first shift with Illyria before taking his place at the graveside.
Even some humans viewed churches as having strange rituals so he could see how it might occupy her attention. The scholar in him found them endlessly fascinating and delighted in exploring the parallels of, for example, Catholicism with Voodoo. Unfortunately others seemed to lack his enthusiasm. He had always found that Catholics became very annoyed when one pointed out to them how Mass was simply symbolic cannibalism ritualized until it became familiar and thus accepted.
In this case the format had been dictated by Fred’s parents, who had even specified their own minister for the service.
Illyria’s customary arrogance both repelled and fascinated him. Although she seemed to be completely alien in attitudes and values, there were moments like this when Fred’s intelligent, questioning mind seemed to emerge momentarily to produce a hybrid Illyria that was far more difficult to reject as totally as she deserved to be.
At times in the past week he had looked at her face and glimpsed Fred. He had stood and watched her sleeping and almost reached out to the memory of Fred. Then he would hear her ordering her ‘minions’ to obey in Illyria’s demanding and strident tones. Then he could not avoid seeing the monster shining through. Not if he was to have any hope of remaining who he was at his core. No matter how much he might wish otherwise.
Yet how could he give up what small fragments of Fred still remained? How could he finally kill the love that had grown slowly but surely over the months they had worked and fought together. Particularly when some of Fred’s mannerisms and speech patterns still surfaced from time to time as if she were calling out for a help that could never come.
As always, when emotion threatened, he took refuge in his analytical Watcher’s persona created many years ago as armour against the pain and impossible demands of life.
“What you see as love is simply the remains of my feelings for the host body. You fool yourself if you see anything more.”
Rather than provoking anger, his response seemed to pique her interest further.
“Your species does not make sense to me. Why would you wish to work with me if you feel this way? In my continuum bloody and endless wars were fought over issues that were regarded as trivial even by those who directed the battles. The feelings I sense within you and your companions would have inspired blood feuds and genocide. Why do you not attempt to attack me?”
Wesley took refuge in a partial truth.
“We need weapons in our fight against our enemies….”, he began.
She cut him off angrily.
“I am not a tool for any being!”, she exclaimed. “Those who would have used me so in the past are now dust beneath my feet and less than dust! I have destroyed them all unto the last generation!”
Wesley cut in quickly to head off the developing rage.
“No! Not a tool! An… ally. Someone with interests and goals that are shared in common with us. Someone who gains as much from our skills as we do from hers.”
Illyria settled slowly back into her seat and gazed at him thoughtfully.
“Others have thought to forge similar alliances with me in the past. Only I remain. I will think upon your words. However, you may find that you come to regret this path.”
Although he made no further comment aloud, Wesley had no doubt in his mind that they were of one mind on that point.
<<< [2] >>>
Thus ends part two. Don't hold your breath for part 3 because I think I really need to work out what I want to say & where I want to go before I write any more on this. Again, any feedback is very welcome.