Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Whisper Lies
by Lar

EMAIL: HERE
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Angel/Illyria
DISCLAIMER: They belong to M.E., not me.
SUMMARY: Lie to me.
A/N:for nomelon, whose prompt was "Angel/Illyria, strange things."

--- She stares at him, her head on that odd angle, one that reminds Angel too vividly of broken necks he’s known.

“You are grieving. And angry. Yet you linger here with me when we could be doing violence. Explain.” Her head rights itself, abnormal eyes blinking so precisely he thinks they might actually make a clicking sound, robotics of a sort that would give Disney a happy even in his grave.

“I can’t,” Angel admits and licks his lip, stares out past Illyria’s shoulder to the rain-soaked alley behind her. “Humans grieve in different ways.”

“You are no longer human,” she points out with annoyance in her tone. “And still you cling to their weaknesses such as emotions. Wesley held this flaw of yours in high regard.”

He startles at the mention of Wesley’s name and the pain in his chest should mean there was a heart beating there to carry the ache. There isn’t one but he hurts as if there was. “What else did he say?”

“Many things. He liked to speak about you. Often I could not make him change the topic unless I threatened violence.” She frowns, the emotion odd on her normally blank face. “He wished me to lie to him at the end. He wished me to be her, the other whose body I inhabit.” She watches Angel’s reaction, notes the subtle change in his eyes, his mouth. “Would you like to know what it was like?”

He opens his mouth to deny it but she sees too well and he’s too close to what may be the end to leave any more questions unanswered when he doesn’t have to. “Yes.”

She steps over to him, her features shimmering into Fred’s and then, as warm fingers reach up to touch his face, into someone else. It’s a kaleidoscope moment, every emotion sliding into another and flipping back again, folding in on itself and expanding into something new. She smiles with Wesley’s mouth and presses it to Angel’s. She speaks with Wesley’s voice and whispers into his ear.

Then she is Illyria again, cool and composed as she steps back from him, the contact with his body broken and her eyes sliding closed and open, head at that peculiar arc, nothing changed as Angel says nothing and presses past her into the rain that still falls in the alley.

-end


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