Don’t Need to See Him: Smell (2/5)Author:
Wesley has been able to separate Illyria from Fred, but it has come with price.Prompt:
036. Smell.Word Count:
FRT (this part)Author's Notes:
AU Fred POV from near the end of Season 5. Be warned – there’s no sugar-coating of Fred’s time in Pylea in these fics. It was dirty, ugly time for her.
There were always certain smells that I loved when I was younger – the rose perfume mom used to wear on special occasions like Christmas and Easter, the grassy, sweaty odor my dad always had when he came home after spending the day out in the fields on the farm, the damp sweetness of hay in the barn that I used to sit on while finishing my homework on rainy days.
But while I loved that grassy, sweaty smell on my dad, I never liked it on me, especially when it was all I smelled like for days then weeks then months then years. Pylea itself didn’t smell very nice either, at least not where I lived. The slave quarters smelled like urine and feces and sex and sweat and dirt. My cave smelled almost fresh by comparison, but even then, there was rotting moss and sulfuric-smelling water and my urine and feces and blood-soaked rags once a month that I tried to bury deep enough that other creatures wouldn’t pick up their scent and come looking for me.
For a long time after Angel and the others brought me back, my favorite smells were Zest because it meant I was clean and the slightly musty smell of the Hyperion because it meant I had a home that wasn’t one room shared by a dozen others or a cave where I was alone.
Later, when I was possessed by Illyria, I could smell everything
. Every person, every plant, every thing. There was smell in metal and movements and emotions, and Illyria understood what each meant. And somehow, so did I.
Now, smell is how I know Wesley’s near – I can always smell his aftershave when he’s close by, not because he wears a lot but because I know the scent now. I think there’s a little bit of Illyria’s sense left over because sometimes, I swear I can smell his emotions. I can tell when he’s there, and at times, I can tell when he’s sad or when he’s happy, and even though I can’t see him or anything else anymore, I can reach out to pull him closer and bury my head against his chest and breathe in.
And I know that both of us feel safe and loved.