Notice me.
Take my hand.
Why are we strangers when our love is strong?
Every time I try to fly, I fall.
Without my wings, I feel so small.
I guess I need you, baby.
And every time I see you in my dreams, I see your face.
It’s haunting me.
I guess I need you, baby.
Why carry on without me?
Once the battle in the alley is over, the three remaining fighters make their way to the Hyperion Hotel. Gunn finally succumbed to his injuries, but while he was able to stand, he gave it his all. Illyria trails behind, quietly. Her hair is matted into wet strands around her solemn face, her eyes are full of unshed tears, and her body armor has been torn in several locations. As they enter the lobby, she walks off to the balcony overlooking the garden.
Spike and Angel plop down onto the circular couches, tired and battle weary.
“So, what now?” Spike asks.
“We relax…the rest we’ll figure out later,” Angel replies.
“Right, then. You, me, and the Blue Meanie…hell of a team, eh?” Spike muses.
“Yeah…hell of a team,” Angel says off his remark.
Spike scans his eyes around the room, and then turns to address Angel again, “Speaking of Her Royal Blueness, where’d she go?”
Angel waves his hand in the air, absentmindedly. “I think I saw her head toward the garden. I guess we should leave her alone for now.”
Spike shakes his head, “Yeah, poor girl. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I feel sorry for the bird.”
Angel sits up in the chair, his face becoming serious. “Wes was the closest thing she had to a friend…or whatever they were to each other. He would have been proud of her tonight. She fought well.”
Spike says, “Fighting spirit…she’s got that, alright.”
He pushes himself off the couch, stretching his strained muscles. “Well, I think I’m gonna catch some Z’s. I’ll be by later, so we can work out the funeral arrangements and such.”
Angel swipes a tired hand over his face and heads in the direction of the office. “Yeah, I need to make some phone calls.”
The two men go their separate way, while elsewhere, a certain ex-god is reacquainting herself with the local botany.
I make believe that you are here.
It’s the only way, I see clear.
What have I done?
You seem to move on easy.
Every time I try to fly, I fall.
Without my wings, I feel so small.
I guess I need you, baby.
And every time I see you in my dreams, I see your face.
You’re haunting me.
I guess I need you, baby.
From her spot on the balcony, Illyria overhears the conversation. She walks down the stairs that lead to the garden, running her gloved fingers over the dead flora in her midst.
‘Death surrounds me from all sides.’
Scowling disapprovingly, she reprimands herself for having such a thought. She does not want to think about anything right now. The pain is too much for her to bear.
But the thoughts remain.
Her Wesley is gone.
When the white-haired one, Spike, says his name to Angel, Illyria closes her eyes against the onslaught of tears rushing to the surface. She utterly despises human emotions. They attack with malice and devour everything in their wake.
‘How am I to function with such limitations?’
‘Is it enough? Is it enough to live on?’
Memories flash through her mind, unbidden. Memories of the man she has grown to love.
‘Love.’
She didn’t used to understand Wesley’s love for Fred, but now…things are different.
Now, it is her turn to grieve.
“What am I to do, Wesley? I feel so lost. Why did you have to leave?” Illyria whispers to herself.
‘Please, Wesley. Why can’t I stay?’
She remembers accessing Fred’s last words and replaying them to Wesley. His reaction was puzzling, yet fascinating. How ironic…Illyria infected Fred with her essence, and in turn, Fred infected Illyria with her emotions. She steels her resolve before the tears can break lose and turns to leave, when a voice stops her in her tracks.
“Hello, Illyria.”
She spins around to glare at the figure standing before her. “You are not here,” she says with barely restrained venom in her voice.
“I assure you that I am. Well, in some form, anyway,” the mystery person tells her. Illyria tilts her head, quizzically. On shaking legs, she approaches the visitor, “If this is a trick, I am not amused. Leave my sight at once.”
The figure begins to approach her, cautiously, “This is no trick, Illyria. It’s really me.”
“You are not real,” Illyria whispers as a single tear rolls down her cheek, “Wesley is dead.”
She wants to scream and rage like she’s never known. Why is this happening to her?
Wesley walks up to Illyria and brushes the tear away. He is bathed in an ethereal golden light, and Illyria stares at him in wonder for he looks like a god. “I know you’re in pain. I’m sorry.”
His eyes look peaceful, she realizes.
“Why are you here?” she asks.
He steps away and smiles at her, sadly. “It seems I get a last request before moving on. I requested to come see you.”
She shakes her head in disbelief, “I don’t understand. I-I…”
“I needed to see you. That’s why I’m here. I have something to tell you, Illyria”
“What could you possibly have to say to me?”
“A lot, believe me,” he replies, taking her by the hand.
I may have made it rain.
Please, forgive me.
My weakness caused you pain.
And this song is my sorry.
The next thing Illyria knows they’re standing in a room.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“We’re upstairs in the hotel. I thought we would have more privacy here. This is the bedroom I would use on occasion when I researched late at night,” Wesley answers, sitting on the bed. The golden aura is gone now, making him look human again.
The change, however, doesn’t faze her a bit.
Illyria continues to stare at him in shock. “This can not be real. Surely, I have succumbed to madness.”
He misses this…her reactions to things unknown. Wesley lets out a chuckle, motioning for her to sit next to him. “You have not gone mad. Come over here.”
She doesn’t move.
“You find humor in this?” she angrily inquires to him.
‘Right, wouldn’t do to upset her further. I need to tread lightly,’ Wesley reminds himself.
He wipes the smirk off his face and tries again. “I apologize. That was inappropriate of me. Please, come sit.” Illyria furrows her brow but reluctantly complies. Too afraid to get any closer, she sits but stays several inches away.
“It’s okay, Illyria. You can get close. I’m not a danger to you,” he states, gently.
Her eyes study his features for any signs of dishonesty…but she finds none. Despite what Wesley says to the contrary, though, Illyria keeps distance between them while she attempts to quell her anger and pain. “Very well. What is your message?”
Wesley asks her, “I want to know how you’re dealing with my death?”
‘How dare he ask such a thing?’ Illyria wonders as the rage builds to a fevered pitch. ‘I will not be interrogated by anyone. He has no right!’
Making up her mind, Illyria jumps to her feet and turns twin pools of burning ice in his direction. “I do not wish to inform you of my feelings. This is absurd. I will be leaving now.”
Wesley gets up and stops her before she can storm out. “Please, Illyria. I need to know.”
She spins around to yell at him, but as soon as sees the sincerity in his eyes, the rage and grief become a volatile mix that she no longer can control. “I feel like I’m dying! These emotions are poison in my veins! What have you done to me?!”
“Illyria…”
“You were my guide! You are not allowed to die! You were mine!” He watches as the enraged former goddess stalks up to him and begins pounding her fists into his chest. “I cannot do this alone! You left me all alone! I need you to guide me!” Wesley lets her yell until the anger is spent, and she finally crumbles at his feet. He barely hears the tiny, “Why?”, that escapes her lips. He picks her up and sets her on the bed. Illyria wraps her arms around his neck and sobs into his shoulder.
Wesley holds her while she cries. “I’m so sorry. I know it hurts. This is what being human is all about, Illyria. We are who we are…because we feel,” he says, hoping to ease some of her pain. He tenderly strokes her hair and waits for the tears to subside. With one last snuffle, she sits up to wipe off the evidence of her grief.
“Better?” He had asked her the same thing when he was dressing her wounds. Illyria doesn’t say anything. Hanging her head in shame, she avoids eye contact with him.
“There’s no need for you to hide. What happened just now was normal.” He lifts her chin up and caresses her cheek. “It happens when you lose someone you love.”
Her eyes harden, and she states, “I do not feel love.”
Wesley places a gentle kiss on her forehead. “That’s where you’re wrong. You do feel it. I didn’t realize it until I was dead, of course, but I heard what you said to me as I was dying. It was extremely thoughtful of you to show me Fred, however I knew it wasn’t all a lie. You meant it, when you said you loved me. I saw the tears in your eyes. It was real. I watched as you rose and smashed your fist through Vail’s head. I saw everything, Illyria. You became human in that instant. Your grief gave you power, and the power gave you strength. It filled me with pride. Perhaps, I did make a difference in this world.”
Illyria is too stunned to speak.
Wesley looks into the bright blue of her eyes. “I taught you how to be human. Granted, I wasn’t the best example of one, but you changed and grew into something more than you were. I’m proud of you, Illyria. Please, don’t let the grief control you. Don’t be like me. You’re stronger than that. You’re better than that.”
Not taking her eyes from his, Illyria says, “You taught me how to grieve. You slowly disappeared right before my eyes. I saw the life leave your body. It is an image that will haunt me forever. If this is ‘being human’ as you say, I would rather be dead. I have no more purpose here. I feel nothing.”
He shakes his head, sadly. “That’s the grief talking, Illyria. All of that will pass in time.”
She is confused by this and inquires, “Your grief stayed with you. It did not pass. What makes you think I can survive?” Wesley knows he can get her to understand, if he appeal to her ego. “Because…you’re Illyria, God king of the Primordium, remember?” A smile slowly appears on her face, and Wesley smiles back. “You can do anything.”
Fresh tears spring to her eyes. He asks, “Do you understand what I’m saying?” She nods her head, “You want me to move on.” He smiles, sweetly, “Yes. I know it’ll be difficult at first, but you’ll do just fine without me.” The moonlight coming through the windows highlights her outline like an angel. “I want you back.” He really needs her to understand that he isn't coming back. “It doesn’t work that way, Illyria. It was my time. I was ready.”
Wesley takes her hands, desperately wanting her to listen. “Don’t you see? You’ve been given a second chance at life. Think of all the new and wonderful discoveries that await you. You have so much to learn.”
“You were my guide,” she says as if he’s completely ignorant of his duty to her.
“I realize that, however, you no longer require my guidance. Just follow your instincts, they will guide you now,” he replies. Turning her head away, Illyria whispers, “You hate me.” Wesley is puzzled at this. “Illyria, that isn’t true, and you know it. I would not have helped you, if I didn’t care.” She tilts her head as if she’s thinking very hard, “But if it was not hate, why did you regard me with so much contempt?”
“It wasn’t contempt. I was…frustrated and upset,” he responds. He observes the furrow in her brow getting deeper, and she asks, “The more you say, the more confused I become. Tell me again, why you are here?” Wesley suddenly becomes nervous before answering her. “I’m here to help you work through your grief…and…”
Illyria prods him further. “And what?”
With sincerity in his eyes, Wesley says, “And tell you that I have become very fond of you.”
Wesley realizes there’s only one way to get through to her. He needs to show her.
He gives her a sweet kiss and says, “You’re beautiful, Illyria. Goddess or not, you are beautiful.” Before she can utter a word, he moves in again, and this time when he kisses her, they don’t stop until Wesley removes his clothes and the tattered body armor from her lithe frame. He trails gentle kisses along her blue collarbone before re-directing his attention to her small breasts. He laps at each nipple with precision and then moves further down, continuing his exploration. Illyria gasps and moans in pleasure, even though she does not understand why. He studies the intricate, blue lines over each curve and indentation. His fingers moving over her flat stomach, Wesley stops at her sweet center. She stiffens momentarily, but when he gently caresses the slick lips of her sex, the muscles relax to welcome his long digits. He works her body to the breaking point. She has never felt so alive. Heat rises off her as an orgasm hits like a powerful jolt, nearly lifting her from the bed.
Once Illyria recovers, Wesley moves up her form, placing baby kisses here and there as he goes. He pushes inside her, watching her reactions as she adjusts to the new sensation. He goes slow, wanting Illyria to experience every moment to its fullest. She bites her lip for a second, and he thinks it’s an ironic site to see her so docile. He begins thrusting, slowly, but with enough force that it makes her moan on the down stroke. Illyria locks her eyes onto his and counters his movements with her own. Finally, Wesley can’t hold back anymore, so he increases his thrusts until they both reach climax. She goes tumbling into oblivion, but unlike the darkness of her sarcophagus inside the Deeper Well, this is exciting…new…unbelievably intense. It makes her senses explode into a kaleidoscope of colors.
Wesley withdraws and lies down beside her, watching her categorize and examine all the things that just transpired. He strokes her hair with a lazy smile. She opens her eyes. “How are you feeling?” Illyria thinks for a moment and then sits up. “That was a most curious experience. It affected every part of my mind and body. How is that possible?” He mimics her position, trying to come up with the best way to explain this new discovery to her satisfaction. “I recognized that you were lost, and I suppose you could say I gave you a gift tonight.”
She is intrigued now. “Gift?”
Wesley gives her another sweet kiss on the forehead. “Yes, I gave you a piece of my heart. I may never love you the way I loved Fred, but I know now that if I had lived, I could have loved you. I know it’s what you really meant when you asked me if you could be her on the last day. You wanted to feel love, didn’t you?” Illyria looks down, squeezing her eyes against the tears that want to spill yet again. Quietly, she says, “I love you, my Wesley.” He grabs the blanket at the foot of the bed and wraps her in it. “I know you do. Lay back. You need rest.” Illyria lifts the soft material and gathering him close, she curls herself into a ball; safe in his protective embrace. Just before she drifts off, she thinks she hears Wesley whisper in her ear. “Remember what I told you. Trust your instincts. Let go of the grief. Embrace your new life. You’re not alone. I'll watch over you. Always.”
At night, I pray that soon your face will fade away.
Every time I try to fly, I fall.
Without my wings, I feel so small.
I guess I need you, baby.
And every night I see you in my dreams, I see your face.
You’re haunting me.
I guess I need you, baby.
The morning sun shines through the slats of the blinds, casting golden rays across Illyria’s face. She wakes, shielding her sensitive eyes from the obtrusive light. The blanket falls from her still naked body, as she stands and tries to remember how she became to be in this state. Her body suit is in shred on the floor at her feet. Picking it up, she accesses the damages. Illyria decides it is beyond repair, and instead, she closes her eyes, concentrating on replicating the destroyed item in her hands. Ancient art leather spreads over her until she is completely covered with another suit. Discarding the other one, Illyria realizes she is missing something, yet she doesn’t feel that anything is amiss.
Then, it hits her…
“Wesley,” she breathes.
No sooner does she utter his name that a memory flashes in her mind.
“Remember what I told you. Trust your instincts. Let go of the grief. Embrace your new life. You’re not alone. I'll be watching over you. Always.”
Stumbling backwards like she’s been physically struck, Illyria falls back to the bed. She understands now. Wesley came to visit her. He said he loved her. He filled her with renewed life. “Thank you, Wesley,” she whispers.
Illyria gets up and makes her way to the door. She turns and looks at the bed one last time letting the events of the previous night flood back to her.
‘I will live for him.’
She smiles fondly at the thought and prepares for the dawn of a new day.