![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I don't understand.
Dec. 12th, 2008 03:23 am"It's not always about holding hands..."
I don't understand, she wanted to say.
I don't understand why you think I won't.
I don't understand because I don't.
I don't understand how you can watch me the way that you do -- because she's never not aware of it anymore, the watching -- and not understand me at all. Not even a little bit.
It's not about Lilah, he though he's trying to make it that.
It's Connor. Connor, Angel's son. That Fred watched being born, huddled in a dark alley. The one that they all stood in the doorway watching Angel set up a nursery for, because he just had to touch everything himself. That they hold held, his little fists finding chest and cheek, and occasionally catching some hair. She could still remembered they way his breath smelled, a mixture of formula and naps and the dewy-fresh air from brand new lungs.
And Fred doesn't care how surprised they were, or lonely they were, or distanced from everything they new. She doesn't care about there here to there of things. Because he is Angel's.
She can't ever understand crossing that line. To hold him the one way, only to embrace him in the other? It just isn't how they were all supposed to end up. She is sure of it.
She gets Lilah, in a way. And knows that even before Wesley, she's long before been twisted up by the thought of the other woman. Since she caught her on the desk with the Angel that later turned out to be not. But there's no denying she's beautiful. And smart. But she's also unapologetically evil, and everything they were supposed to be against.
How do you let that much of yourself go? Distance yourself that far from everything you are? Because when you do, what are they actually left kissing and touching and filling? And what are you even able to feel while they're doing it?
Because there's a point when mindless touch just becomes empty.
Wesley understands that Fred likes holding hands.
And she does. That's true.
But there's so many other thoughts in her head. Big, small and in between. Kind and less so. Judging and forgiving. Hot and cold, love and less. That there's looking at a thing, and seeing it. She understands a pretty good bit of the world around her.
What she doesn't understand? Is why he thinks she doesn't.
I don't understand, she wanted to say.
I don't understand why you think I won't.
I don't understand because I don't.
I don't understand how you can watch me the way that you do -- because she's never not aware of it anymore, the watching -- and not understand me at all. Not even a little bit.
It's not about Lilah, he though he's trying to make it that.
It's Connor. Connor, Angel's son. That Fred watched being born, huddled in a dark alley. The one that they all stood in the doorway watching Angel set up a nursery for, because he just had to touch everything himself. That they hold held, his little fists finding chest and cheek, and occasionally catching some hair. She could still remembered they way his breath smelled, a mixture of formula and naps and the dewy-fresh air from brand new lungs.
And Fred doesn't care how surprised they were, or lonely they were, or distanced from everything they new. She doesn't care about there here to there of things. Because he is Angel's.
She can't ever understand crossing that line. To hold him the one way, only to embrace him in the other? It just isn't how they were all supposed to end up. She is sure of it.
She gets Lilah, in a way. And knows that even before Wesley, she's long before been twisted up by the thought of the other woman. Since she caught her on the desk with the Angel that later turned out to be not. But there's no denying she's beautiful. And smart. But she's also unapologetically evil, and everything they were supposed to be against.
How do you let that much of yourself go? Distance yourself that far from everything you are? Because when you do, what are they actually left kissing and touching and filling? And what are you even able to feel while they're doing it?
Because there's a point when mindless touch just becomes empty.
Wesley understands that Fred likes holding hands.
And she does. That's true.
But there's so many other thoughts in her head. Big, small and in between. Kind and less so. Judging and forgiving. Hot and cold, love and less. That there's looking at a thing, and seeing it. She understands a pretty good bit of the world around her.
What she doesn't understand? Is why he thinks she doesn't.
