A new Wes/Lilah fic, sorta
Jun. 12th, 2002 05:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenThis is the kind of thing you get from me on a hot and overcast day.
The Infernal Comedy
By The Brat Queen
Disclaimer: Not mine. All Joss Whedon's, Mutant Enemy's, 20th Century Fox's and all that sort of thing. 'tis but a non-profit, amateur effort, and y'all would need to get in line to sue me anyway.
Rated: PG
Summary: Wes thinks of Lilah, and of their future.
***
The one person, in all of human history, deemed the greatest sinner.
I wonder, Lilah, do I inform you that you've misphrased the question or do we persist in playing your game? You dangle the words before me as though I'll leap to them like a cat. Well I'm injured, Lilah, and even when healthy I was never one for leaping.
Which is ironic, because you know that. You know I don't care for decisions made rashly, and even the time I took you in my bed was naught but the culmination of nights of your torment.
Yes, torment. But not in the manner you'd like to think.
I'm aware of you, Lilah. I rather wish I wasn't. Life would be far more pleasant for me if I was aware of very little. The pain in my throat, the loss of all that mattered to me - oblivion would be ideal, but if I've earned the right to any it's apparently in the post. In the meanwhile I must suffer by being fully cognizant of it, no matter how much alcohol I imbibe.
Would you like to make a joke about the ex-Watcher suffering through his gift of observation? Go right ahead. It's trite and obvious - rather like you, really.
Ah, but there's more. Or I wish that there was. Which places us - if you'll pardon the expression - neck and neck, as it were. We probe one another literally and metaphorically in this strange, slow race we have to see which one of us can find the other's core. You search for the emptiness in me. I look for the point in you.
Were you ever with soul, my dear? I think sometimes of asking your mother - yes, your mother. My erstwhile profession *is* that of a detective, and you aren't as skilled as hiding things as you might think. She's lost her mind, I know, but the language of insanity is one I'm quite familiar with. I wonder what story she'd tell me, if I took the time to ask her.
Was Lilah Morgan ever kind? Was her smile without barbs? What made her abandon it all in the end? Was it a final act or the culmination of what is life here on earth?
Do she think I'll join her?
You want me to. Your invitations are hardly that of pure profession - at least that of the profession that you put on your CV. At times I do flatter myself to wonder if it was myself or Angel Investigations that made you come to me first. After all, it's not as though I'm possessed of many trade secrets. What were you hoping to discover? The location of the key to the front door we never lock? The confirmation that yes, Angel the vampire usually stays home during the day?
And what act from me did you think to cause by bringing me the Inferno?
It's sad, Lilah, it honestly is. I daresay the whole thing meant something to you, as much as anything does. Which isn't to imply that I find fault with your apathy. Quite the contrary. At times I envy it, for all that you accuse me of holding its monopoly.
I know - you wanted to light a spark within me. To push me over the edge. To make me see, at least, the same thing you saw in the moment that you accepted the darkness.
But I can't, my love, and it's entirely your fault.
Do you think I don't want to? Do you think I don't yearn for that comfort? For that stability? We'd be quite the powerhouse, you and I. My brains, your resources, my bed, your tender form…
Ah, Lilah, in a universe out there somewhere we must be quite the pair. Shame it's not this one.
Because you see, you gave me that book. A book which, to all appearances, you've never read - at least not in any theological context. Had you done that, things might be different.
It's a tour of Hell, as you say. Nine circles, each more horrible than the one before. And at the bottom, in the Fourth Ring of the Ninth Circle, are the worst sinners, if the Inferno is to be believed. Those who betrayed their benefactors, trapped forever inside of Lucifer's mouth while the Devil himself is trapped waist-high in ice.
There was even a picture of it, in the volume you bought for me. Nicely done. I confess to having a particular fondness for sixteenth century art.
I took the book to a local copy store. I had them scan the drawing for me, then blew it up to poster size.
That poster hangs by my bed now, as a constant reminder.
I don't care for Hell, Lilah, much though it feels as though I'm living through it at the moment. I can't abide the deepest circle. I'm far too claustrophobic.
So I must thank you, my darling, for saving me. For reminding me of what I must fight against, however tempting you make the alternative.
And, however futilely, I must explain this to you:
It's the greatest misconception of Christianity to think that Judas Iscariot was condemned to Hell for his betrayal of Christ.
Christ had a destiny. Judas played his part. As so many atheists have wisely realized, it makes no sense to punish the man who helped bring about eternal salvation.
No, Judas didn't go to Hell for betraying Christ. Judas went to Hell for betraying God. For losing faith in God's mission - God's divine plan. For giving up on the belief that it would all work out on the end.
It's a Divine Comedy, my love. Moreso now than ever it was. I have to remember that, or else I'll see you in the Devil's jaws.
Would that life were just a little different.
Fin.
The Infernal Comedy
By The Brat Queen
Disclaimer: Not mine. All Joss Whedon's, Mutant Enemy's, 20th Century Fox's and all that sort of thing. 'tis but a non-profit, amateur effort, and y'all would need to get in line to sue me anyway.
Rated: PG
Summary: Wes thinks of Lilah, and of their future.
***
The one person, in all of human history, deemed the greatest sinner.
I wonder, Lilah, do I inform you that you've misphrased the question or do we persist in playing your game? You dangle the words before me as though I'll leap to them like a cat. Well I'm injured, Lilah, and even when healthy I was never one for leaping.
Which is ironic, because you know that. You know I don't care for decisions made rashly, and even the time I took you in my bed was naught but the culmination of nights of your torment.
Yes, torment. But not in the manner you'd like to think.
I'm aware of you, Lilah. I rather wish I wasn't. Life would be far more pleasant for me if I was aware of very little. The pain in my throat, the loss of all that mattered to me - oblivion would be ideal, but if I've earned the right to any it's apparently in the post. In the meanwhile I must suffer by being fully cognizant of it, no matter how much alcohol I imbibe.
Would you like to make a joke about the ex-Watcher suffering through his gift of observation? Go right ahead. It's trite and obvious - rather like you, really.
Ah, but there's more. Or I wish that there was. Which places us - if you'll pardon the expression - neck and neck, as it were. We probe one another literally and metaphorically in this strange, slow race we have to see which one of us can find the other's core. You search for the emptiness in me. I look for the point in you.
Were you ever with soul, my dear? I think sometimes of asking your mother - yes, your mother. My erstwhile profession *is* that of a detective, and you aren't as skilled as hiding things as you might think. She's lost her mind, I know, but the language of insanity is one I'm quite familiar with. I wonder what story she'd tell me, if I took the time to ask her.
Was Lilah Morgan ever kind? Was her smile without barbs? What made her abandon it all in the end? Was it a final act or the culmination of what is life here on earth?
Do she think I'll join her?
You want me to. Your invitations are hardly that of pure profession - at least that of the profession that you put on your CV. At times I do flatter myself to wonder if it was myself or Angel Investigations that made you come to me first. After all, it's not as though I'm possessed of many trade secrets. What were you hoping to discover? The location of the key to the front door we never lock? The confirmation that yes, Angel the vampire usually stays home during the day?
And what act from me did you think to cause by bringing me the Inferno?
It's sad, Lilah, it honestly is. I daresay the whole thing meant something to you, as much as anything does. Which isn't to imply that I find fault with your apathy. Quite the contrary. At times I envy it, for all that you accuse me of holding its monopoly.
I know - you wanted to light a spark within me. To push me over the edge. To make me see, at least, the same thing you saw in the moment that you accepted the darkness.
But I can't, my love, and it's entirely your fault.
Do you think I don't want to? Do you think I don't yearn for that comfort? For that stability? We'd be quite the powerhouse, you and I. My brains, your resources, my bed, your tender form…
Ah, Lilah, in a universe out there somewhere we must be quite the pair. Shame it's not this one.
Because you see, you gave me that book. A book which, to all appearances, you've never read - at least not in any theological context. Had you done that, things might be different.
It's a tour of Hell, as you say. Nine circles, each more horrible than the one before. And at the bottom, in the Fourth Ring of the Ninth Circle, are the worst sinners, if the Inferno is to be believed. Those who betrayed their benefactors, trapped forever inside of Lucifer's mouth while the Devil himself is trapped waist-high in ice.
There was even a picture of it, in the volume you bought for me. Nicely done. I confess to having a particular fondness for sixteenth century art.
I took the book to a local copy store. I had them scan the drawing for me, then blew it up to poster size.
That poster hangs by my bed now, as a constant reminder.
I don't care for Hell, Lilah, much though it feels as though I'm living through it at the moment. I can't abide the deepest circle. I'm far too claustrophobic.
So I must thank you, my darling, for saving me. For reminding me of what I must fight against, however tempting you make the alternative.
And, however futilely, I must explain this to you:
It's the greatest misconception of Christianity to think that Judas Iscariot was condemned to Hell for his betrayal of Christ.
Christ had a destiny. Judas played his part. As so many atheists have wisely realized, it makes no sense to punish the man who helped bring about eternal salvation.
No, Judas didn't go to Hell for betraying Christ. Judas went to Hell for betraying God. For losing faith in God's mission - God's divine plan. For giving up on the belief that it would all work out on the end.
It's a Divine Comedy, my love. Moreso now than ever it was. I have to remember that, or else I'll see you in the Devil's jaws.
Would that life were just a little different.
Fin.
