ethrosdemon ||| Buffy & Angel

Wedding Rose
by ethrosdemon

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com
Distribution: Ask me, and I will cry from joy.
Disclaimer: Joss made it up, too bad he is an incompetent ninny. Mutant Enemy and others own the rights. No suing please.
Rating: PG-13 for dark themes
Pairing: Angel/Wesley no nooky, though
Feedback: if I make your eyes bleed, you might want to tell me before I start posting every day and making you consider moving to Nepal
Dedication: To my betas Vera and Pandora who volunteered for the pain! Yah you! Also, to Christina for encouraging me to write something of my own and for her fics which I adore.
Note: SPOILERS FOR "FIRST IMPRESSION" This is my first fic. Look out, it might burn you.

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How many times has it been just like this? The words skittering for purchase, writhing and sliding just under my tongue, just at the back of my throat. Focus my eyes on something other than the back of my hand or the warp and weft of the material of my pants, anything Other to distract my thoughts. Right now it has to be Wesley'spracticed movements with the teapot and cups. The veins in his hands stand out from the skin. His left hand is tilted towards me as he pours the tea, and I can see the fine, black hairs standing out from the parchment white and shocking blue.

Small talk: "Wes, how many times do I have to tell you I diedbefore tea came into vogue? I can barely taste it; it's just hot waterto me."

He tilts his head up, and the light from the overhead fixtures obscure his eyes as it bounces back at me from the lenses of his glasses.

Large talk: "I am sure your lack of enthusiasm over the beverage choice is really not the reason you are about to shatter the arm of the chair. Feel free to tell me the actual reason for your sudden ferocity towards wood furniture any time you want.'

There's a smile attached, but the words are a small violence. When was the last time he was this direct? The Faith Situation? The light has shifted off of his glasses with a redirection of his posture, and I can see that he is looking in my eyes.

The words are thrusting, scratching for Wesley now. They know he is the one. There is no judgement there. Full and complete acceptance. The secret isn't even mine to keep, but the guilt ties me down,and I can't ever seem to shake it off. The lie is so utterly beautifuland pure that I welcomed it gladly from the first time I heard it. Who was it that came up with it? Buffy? Glies? Willow even? I doubt I will ever know. It belongs to me now. I own it.

"There is no separation."

"Angel, I am sure that statement was the continuation of some dialogue in your head, but I missed the preamble." He punctuates that by lifting his cup and drinking from the chipped pink, white, and gold tea cup he keeps here ("Wedding Rose. I always wonderedwho the poor soul was who sold it to the shop. Do you think it was divorce or death?" he asked to me when I questioned him aboutit.).

"I am Angelus, Wes. All the time." I can't look directlyat him, even though a large and forceful part of me wants to see his face when he realizes. Mine. He is mine whether he knows the truth or not. The face he and everyone else see when they look at me, Angel, "the soul" cherishes and adores him as a true friend.. In several human lifetimes, there have been few enough friends that the word retains meaning. Cordelia is another, but this conversation isn't one she could have now. Her line of vision has beenreduced to black and white only. All I can ever be is gray.

"By that you mean, you carry his memories? The memories of thedeaths he caused? We all know that. It's why you are here." He's extremely earnest in this, and it almost makes me laugh.

"No, Wes, what I mean is that all the deaths are mine to carry.Did it ever occur to you to wonder why I am being punished for things I didn't really do? The PTBs seem pretty omnipotent, right? Notlikely to miss a important point like that?" The anger is seeping outnow. The anger at the convenience of the lie. The anger at having to maintain it and wanting so desperately to maintain it…to reveland indulge in it. To live it. It wasn't me at all. All that timeit was just a demon in my body while I was somewhere in the Ether. How righteous it feels to claim those words. At the same time, it strains and pulls and smothers me. It was me. Pride. The kind that comes before a fall. The Fall. The bringer of death. Exulting in the kill. Each as savory as another, many toned and textured. I can almost taste Wesley now. His heartbeat is starting to kick up and the adrenaline is hitting his system. Lick my lips and scent the air. Wesley would be sweet and heady like homemade apple wine. Guilt lies there, and the knowing that the possessiveness is RIGHT. The possession is in me. The side he would call demon. The part of me that isn't even a part, just IS. It is the violence and desireand passion I bundle up and only let out accidentally or in short bursts while killing for the PTBs.

"Do you mean that you feel responsible for what you can donothing about? It was not you Angel. .." His hand is slightly shaky, buthe still reaches across the table to touch mine, but I snatch at his before he can. Pull him forward slightly. There is no going back. He will understand.

"Wesley. You will listen and not hear what I am not saying," my teeth are starting to itch, and I know the ridges are sliding, sidling up and back down again. My grip has to be bruising him, but he is still, still, every muscle straining in nonmovement.

"When I became what I am now, I did not lose what you call mysoul. It was there all along. My self was intact. My instincts altered, and I craved the kill and the blood and so much else I will not show you." The human guise is now totally put aside, and I can'thold back the panting, wanting to taste the fear and the blood rolling off Wesley. "The desire for the kill was alive in me and would not besubsumed. There was still me. Now, I can control the impetus for the kill, if not for the hunt. The Powers use that to their advantage." Hefalls back against his chair, sucking for breath. His body language tells me what I need to know. He believes me. Rigid back, and averted gaze.

"How? Why would you never say this? They cursed you! The Rom,they cursed you with a soul…that's what the texts say, that'swhat Giles told me…what everyone.."

"Wanted to believe. The curse was to let my conscience reemerge. To let me feel emotion first and the desire to kill sometime afterward. The lie was too precious. I couldn't tell them, Wes. Do yousee?"

"No. I don't see. What about the drug? That was you? Thatwas you trying to kill us?" He whips his head around to look me in theeye, and suddenly he is all steel and anger. Rogue demon hunter. Kicked dog rearing to take the next foot clean off.

"It was me. It was me without the ability to suppress myimmediate thoughts and looking to kill and feed as soon and as often as possible. In my bent way of seeing the situation at the time it was me trying to get you to stand up for yourself. I was never going to kill you."

"What the hell do you mean you were never going to kill us? You threaten and degraded us! You…"

"I would have never killed you…in a final way. You belong toME. I was going to bring you over. You and Cordelia. I wanted you as childer, as companions." Far more growl than I intended. Angeron both sides now. Completely different reasons. "I didn't want anyone else to ever hurt you or for you die and leave me!"

"However deep my abandonment complex may go, and no matter howneedy I might feel from time to time, I can honestly say that I never thought about killing someone to keep them to myself." His chair bangs on the ground. Shatter of porcelain above my head on the wall, and the door slamming.

I should have fed before tea. I'm really so exhausted. It just couldn't live inside me anymore. He'll come around, right?He loves me, I know it.

Maybe I'll just lay down for a while before Cordelia storms inhere with her crossbow, tears, and hysterics. Maybe Darla will be there to take my mind off of doing the right thing for a while.



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