Title: Lie To Me

Author: Poodle

poodle75567@yahoo.com

Fandom: Angel

Characters: Wes, Illyria, Vial (No Pairing)

Rating: PG

Pairing: None

Spoilers: *Major* spoilers for the series finale.

Summary: The first lesson a Watcher learns is to separate truth from illusion.

Disclaimer: Never owned them, never will.




LIE TO ME
by Poodle

*The first lesson a Watcher learns is to separate truth from illusion. Because in the world of magics, it's the hardest thing to do
~ Wesley Wyndam-Pryce*

"Do you want me to lie to you now?" Expectation sparked in the depths of her golden eyes even as a twist of something she was powerless to understand washed over her.

The human lay crumbled on the floor at her side.

*Her* human?

Eternity paused, then weakly he nodded. "Yes."

Illyria felt the change pass over her, melting the hue of her skin. Once, he called her a Smurf. After a night spent poisoning his system with the toxic substance that had become his constant companion, his words spiced with obscenities were intended to wound emotions she no longer possessed. He glared at her that night, the blue of his eyes burning a hole where her soul should have been.

*Would* have been if Fred still inhabited this fragile shell.

But now those eyes held a different light as they softened and silently passed over her. "I missed you."

Something stirred where the husk of her heart should be. "We'll be together soon." She heard the words as if from far away.

A smile touched the thin, pale lips. An expression he so seldom graced her with in life.

Why did it matter now?

Slowly, the human slipped from this realm of existence. To where? The thin, pale wisp of a girl, pressing her lips to his cooling cheek, might never know nor hope to comprehend. Such realms were not for the likes of Gods.

The light blazed then quietly faded from his gaze, leaving her in darkness.

Someone was speaking, angering her with the intrusion of his words. Something about a meaningless death. Weren't all lives and deaths of these mortals meaningless?

The wizardly creature was croaking at her, spewing more of its irrelevant drivel as it wavered toward her, wheezing. Its words were meant to taunt, inflame emotions she did not possess.

*Could* not possess.

She stood and glanced a final time at the crumpled form lying cold and unmoving on the floor, and something stirred within her in the very spot where blood still seeped from her mentor's wound. She parted her lips to ask him about this strange phenomenon before realizing the futility of her impulse. There would be no more questions.

No more answers.

"Take your best shot, little girl."

The words echoed in her ears.

And she did.

~*~*~*~*~*

Something whispered along his senses, drawing him toward reality as if he'd been sleeping for a long, long time.

Voices.

Illyria

Cyvus Vail.

Then silence.

Moments passed or maybe hours. Years or mere seconds, Wesley couldn't tell, before a touch broke though the darkness that surrounded him and his vision slowly cleared.

The floor was cold.

Ice cold.

But the eyes that met his were colder still.

Vail.

He flinched and pulled away.

The decrepit wizard grinned into his face, the gesture far more unnerving than a scowl could ever be.

Wesley fought to speak, to sit up and scoot away, but found that he could not. Those eyes held him firmly locked in place, the chill of the concrete beneath him, leaching into his bones.

"Welcome back."

The words wheezed into his ears.

"What? How? Why…?"

"All in good time, boy. *My* time."

Vail drew closer and the Englishman cringed away. His mind struggled to make sense of it all. Vaguely, he remembered Fred, and a feeling of warmth washed though him.

No.

It was Illyria.

His heart fluttered in his chest.

Blood!

Shouldn't there be blood?

He clutched his gut but his hand came away clean.

"Illusion…" A chuckle froze him to the bone. "Come now, Watcher. The first lesson you learn is to separate truth from illusion."

"Illyria?" The word pushed from his throat in a painful whisper.

"That part was real. But your god is gone now. You see, the true art of bending reality is to give the creatures around you what they truly want. They are far less likely to question its authenticity when you do."

Wesley frowned and struggled to sit up. Still feeling the ghost of the blade and his life draining away. "What we…want?"

"Your heart's desire." A smile snaked across Vail's lips and Wesley shuddered at the sight.

The implications of the wizard's words burned into his brain. "Illyria wanted...?"

"To be your precious Fred for you. If only for a moment."

"And I wanted…?"

"To rest." Again, he grinned. A sight more fearsome than a glare. "We shall leave it at that."

Wesley swallowed hard. "Why? What purpose does this charade serve?"

"The ones who survive will not come looking for you. Your god will tell them precisely what I want them to hear."

He blinked in confusion. "Why me?"

"Potential, boy. It sings though your veins, calling to those of us powerful enough to sense it. The Circle knew. Your father knew, as well."

The shock must have registered on his face because Vail continued.

"Your father knew what you had the potential to become, the power that surged untapped within you, and it frightened him. Darkened cupboards, debasements, even beatings could not quell it. Power sings to power. Angel may very well win this battle, but I have won the war. I claimed the prize he never knew he had."

Wesley pulled himself up straight and glared at the fiend. "Whatever you're planning, I won't cooperate."

He shuffled closer, mere inches from the ex-watcher's face. "Give it a century or so. I am infinitely patient. Far more so than you might imagine."

Wesley fought the tremors pulsing though him. "But…why? What could you possibly hope to achieve?"

"Angel and his insufferable ego believes it's all about him. Champion to the Powers! He'll battle on and maybe even survive. But as he chases yet another apocalypse, I have snatched the prize I was seeking all along from beneath his arrogant nose." The finality of his words settled into Wesley's soul like the chill of the grave, when he breathed, "*You* are that prize, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

He swallowed hard. "But…what am I to you?"

"You, my boy, are what I have searched eons to find…" Vail reached out with a crooked hand and lightly traced the young man's cheek that trembled beneath his touch. "The only one worthy to be deemed my protégé."


The End