at·trac·tor –noun
1. a person or thing that attracts.
2. Physics: a state or behavior toward which a dynamic system tends to evolve, represented as a point or orbit in the system's phase space.

--Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)

[Strange] Attractor: A set of states of a dynamic physical system toward which that system tends to evolve, regardless of the starting conditions of the system. ... A strange attractor is an attractor for which the evolution through the set of possible physical states is nonperiodic (chaotic), resulting in an evolution through a set of states defining a fractal set. Most real physical systems (including the actual orbits of planets) involve strange attractors.

--The American Heritage Science Dictionary

Chapter One: The Oracle

Life in Los Angeles was becoming irritating for the Lord of Beverly Hills. The battle with the Circle of the Black Thorn had caused the Senior Partners to retaliate, sending the city into hell. Illyria had taken the vampire Spike as her pet and set him up to help save innocent humans and good demons from the war on the city streets. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had died in that battle, killed by a warlock named Cyrus Vail whom Illyria had killed in vengeance, and Charles Gunn was a vampire now. And Angel--Angel, who had once ruled this place, was dead at the hands of the other Lords of the City. Illyria should have ruled it all, of course; once she had walked this planet as its God King, but time and being reborn in the body of a human--Winifred Burkle--had taken its toll. Her armies had crumbled to dust long since, and she was reduced to this, to trying to save humans from the pitiful remnants of her own kind.

Illyria was an Old One, one of the original, ancient demons that had walked the Earth long before mankind. Once, man and vampire and even the wolf, the ram and the hart had been little more than the muck at her feet. She had warred and conquered, she had ruled supreme, unchallenged save by those worthy to face her and wrest from her what was rightfully hers. She had been one of the most loved and feared of the Old Ones, and when it became clear that her rivals would defeat her, she had laid down plans to ensure that she would one day be reborn. Yet when she had finally awakened, it was to find herself in a human shell. Part of the plan, of course, but she had intended to use the shell to go to her armies, raise them, conquer her world once more. Conquer what had been hers and more, with none to oppose her. Nor had she even been she at the time--the Old Ones had no gender. Sex was anathema, a thing of the human muck. But when she had traveled through the portal to the dimension where her temple had been, she found it crumbling, her armies long gone. Wesley had helped her adjust to the world she was forced to live in, because she looked like his dead love, Fred. She had come to respect him, to care for him, and now she grieved his death. She wondered sometimes if the grief would ever end.

She hated every moment of this existence, had hated it since she'd held Wesley in her arms as he died. She had lied to him, changed her appearance to look like Fred, told him he would be with Fred soon. But she was lying and they'd both known it. Fred's soul was gone, consumed in the fires of her resurrection, only sparks of memories left within Illyria--though Illyria had never intended things to happen that way. Wesley had been bound to the law firm Wolfram and Hart when Angel had agreed for them to work there, and his ghost had only been set to rest by the destruction of the firm's headquarters in the most recent large battle, the battle that had killed Angel. They were between battles now, regrouping, trying to get some rest before more assaults came. Which they would. Illyria knew this. True demons battled as easily as humans breathed, and these pitiful half-breeds were not far behind.

Though Illyria had seldom allowed herself to become consumed by emotions, the reduction in her powers and the fact of living in a human body--not to mention the insistent tug of Fred's memories--had brought her to this. She was standing in Spike's living room, a ridiculous room after the human style of luxury, a thing she had allowed her pet to keep for amusement but was now considering tearing down around his ears. One of his little harem had insulted her, and she was trying to resist killing the woman after merely breaking her arm.

"Why so upset, little Shiva?" There was her pet, sauntering through the door as if he actually owned this place. Platinum blond hair slicked back, black duster, that cocky accent so like Wesley's yet so unlike as well. They were both from the same area, near the Deeper Well, what was it? Ahh, yes, Fred's memories provided: England.

Illyria whirled to face Spike, allowing herself to be angry. Anger was an emotion she understood, more powerful than mere irritation. "I have told you not to call me that. Shiva was an enemy but a respected one, but somehow his worship has continued, while mine--" She cut herself off, angrier than ever that she had admitted weakness. "One of your females gave me an insult. I broke her arm."

Spike blinked. "Who? What did she say? Is she alright?"

"The one called... Melanie. She offered to... 'do my hair.'" Illyria growled the last three words. Illyria looked as Fred had--slim body, with small breasts but just enough curve of hip to leave no doubt that she was female. Her long hair had been brown when the body was born, but now had varying degrees of blue streaks as the mood struck her. Once-brown eyes were now an icy blue, and skin naturally pale but with a slight tan from years of sun was also stained with blue along hairline, arms, hands, lips. She wore a comfortable leather jumpsuit, form-fitting, allowing for protection and freedom of movement, covering all of her skin much of the time, save for her neck and face. At times she would shapeshift--she was more than capable--but she was comfortable in this form, the one in which she had awoken. For the sake of Fred's memories she pulled a brush through her hair every day, but otherwise the shell needed little tending.

Spike guffawed then, walking over to a chair that he threw himself into in a most disrespectful manner. "Melanie didn't mean any harm, luv. She just wanted to help you pretty yourself up a bit. Not that you need it," he added hastily.

Illyria frowned. "My memories from Fred indicate that such an offer from one who is not a close friend is often an insult to how one looks. While I care nothing for my appearance, I will not take such insolence. She must go, Spike."

Spike shook his head, examining his fingernails to keep from having to meet Illyria's eyes. She knew how he was, trying to hide his emotions behind insolence and poetry, and references to Fred always made him upset. They had been close, while she was alive. "Fred was a lovely bird, but she was one of those girls that never really realizes how attractive she is. I expect she got picked on a lot during school. Melanie didn't really mean anything by it, though, I'm sure."

Illyria peered at Spike for a moment, feeling her anger slowly subside. Perhaps she should have him recite some poetry. It always calmed her, and allowed him to express his emotions so that they no longer hung on him like a cloud, stinking him up so she didn't want to be near him. His grief for Fred at this moment hung on him like--like it had on Wesley while he still lived. She felt her own grief well up and opened her mouth to ask him to give her a poem when the room suddenly began to shake. "Attack!" she called, diving for cover. This was why life in Los Angeles was becoming irritating--despite her love for violence, she preferred to choose the time and the place.

The shaking nearly destroyed the room, and as the walls began to fall apart demons swarmed in on them. A surprise attack indeed. Illyria moved swiftly, easily, cracking the head of one demon with a high kick before sweeping low on the next. There were many, and she could hear Spike nearby laughing as he faced down a horde. She threw out her hand to slow time and moved among the demons, killing them one by one as she stood outside of the normal timestream. This was foolishness. They could not stand against her, not now that she could slow time once again, despite their numbers. Illyria knew the fight would soon be over. As the last demon facing her fell, she returned to normal time. She heard a shout, she saw a bolt flying toward Spike--and she abruptly time-skipped into the past, was standing over an injured Angel, grasping her stomach in pain--and then Spike was dissolving into dust as the universe contracted back into normality around her.

"No!" Illyria threw a hand to point where the bolt had come from, showing the girls coming down the stairs where to go.. "Find the assailant and kill them!" Anger and grief suffused her. Spike had been her pet, her ally, her... her friend. She nearly choked on bile. God Kings did not have friends. But there it was. He was dead, and she could see more demons outside, waiting to come and finish her off.

"This is insanity," she muttered, and threw out a hand, slowing time and moving forward, out of the house, past the amassed demons. It was time she put an end to this foolishness.

***

The Oracle was bored. It had few visitors with such a tenuous connection to the Powers now that L.A. was in Hell, and few had known about it to begin with. Boredom mattered little, but it was grateful to sense the demon approaching. "Finally," it muttered, then raised its voice. "It took you long enough to get here."

Illyria stopped in the entrance to the Oracle's chamber, clearly surprised that it had known she was coming. The Oracle paused a moment, to muse that an Old One was now so firmly she, before continuing, "Yes, I knew you were coming. Or at least, I hoped you were. I would have thought you would come to me sooner."

"I did not relish the idea of asking the Powers for help... but it seems I have no choice." Ahh, yes, there was disgust in the demon's voice, and anger, and--grief? The demon could grieve, could she? Perhaps the Oracle's job would be easier than it had thought.

"And why should the Powers That Be help you, hmm?" It did not relish this part, but they had to be sure. "You are an Old One. You would rule this universe if you could. Your rising destroyed the soul of a good person, someone that was important to the fabric of our plans. The Powers do not help your kind."

Illyria frowned and stated, "I do not want power, Oracle, nor am I here to bandy words with a mouthpiece. I wish to ask the Powers to raise Los Angeles from Hell."

The Oracle hadn't quite expected Illyria to come at the matter from that angle. "Not to raise one of your friends? Angel, or Spike--yes, I know he's dead--or Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, perhaps?"

"A God King has no friends!" Illyria's anger caused the demon to pulse for a moment, doubling over, before saying, "I have no friends. But I am tired of fighting this endless war, and I am tired of trying to protect the humans. That is the Powers' job, not mine. They should do what they are meant to do."

The Oracle raised a finger. It looked like a human at the moment, dressed in white robes, an androgynous and eternally youthful human. It was what the memories of the body Illyria possessed would expect. "The Powers That Be are not meant to protect humanity. Humanity must do that itself. However, they might be inclined to grant your request if they were certain of your motives. How can they be sure you don't simply wish the competition out of the way so you can take over yourself?"

"I have no such wish," Illyria growled. "Not here, not now. My army is gone, my powers diminished, and those I had begun to gather to me are dead. What more must I do? Must I beg?" The pride and hurt was clear in the Old One's voice. This conversation would be much shorter than the Oracle had anticipated.

"No, not beg. Merely right a few wrongs." The Oracle gave Illyria a piercing look. "You have gained the ability to control time once more. The Powers are willing to help you if you will help them. First, you must save Fred."

Illyria looked puzzled now. "Save Fred? How can I do that, and still be in this body?" 

"Perhaps more properly, save her soul. Here is what you must do..."

***

Traveling back to this moment was surprisingly difficult. Once, Illyria could have moved forward and back through time at her whim. She had seen the future, had ensured she would reawaken, had set all the proper events in motion--but had not bargained that rising in a human body would diminish her so. Now, she could only slow down time and for a time had not even been able to do that. But for this purpose, the Powers had given her back her true ability. Now she stood in a familiar hall, watching from the shadows as Wesley jumped through the portal she had created to go to where her army should have waited for her. She could not overlap herself and be in two dimensions at once--it had to be this moment.

She waited somewhat impatiently as Spike and Angel, too slow to jump through the portal before it closed, moved away to try and find another way to follow. No one could see her--no one had, and she must not disrupt the timeline too far, not yet. There was her Qwa'ha Xahn, her high priest, dead upon the floor. Dead because Wesley had killed him, shot him down while Angel had spoken of protecting humans from her, no matter how evil. Yet she could not bring herself to be angry, at that. Fred... Fred would have appreciated it, Wesley killing the man responsible for her murder.

This was no time for reminiscence. Kneeling down, Illyria held out a jar toward Knox's body, watching as the soul was siphoned into the container she held. The Oracle had explained the truth of things. Her resurrection had not destroyed Fred's soul because Fred's soul had not been in her body when Illyria had risen. Though she did not enjoy condemning her Qwa'ha Xahn to such destruction, the Powers felt he deserved the punishment, and there had to be a soul in place to fuel her resurrection. The Oracle called it poetic justice. Perhaps it was. This Knox had arranged for Fred to be taken by Illyria because he had considered her the only one worthy. He had befriended her and claimed to love her, and then betrayed her. At least when Illyria had chosen her the Old One had not known who Fred was or what pain would be caused by her death. Not that Illyria should care one way or the other, but Fred's memories had become an insidious thing, lurking within Illyria, giving her thoughts on morality and loyalty, things she should not have cared about.

Illyria shook away the annoying thoughts and the feel of Fred's presence, a thing becoming stronger every day. Knox's soul firmly in the jar, she quickly stepped back into the shadows and focused again, driving herself back and back, further, until she found the right place, the right moment. She dreaded this and she did not know why, but she stayed outside the timestream as she watched for the correct moment.

Fred and Wesley were sitting on the bed in the room she recognized as Fred's bedroom, holding each other, kissing. Illyria recognized this. She was inside Fred now, cooking her organs, hollowing her out to use as a shell. Fred was fighting, but losing. She was close to death, and she was at home with Wesley, to try and have some last time together. They had only become a couple a week before. Illyria realized they were talking now, and made herself listen, though she didn't understand why. Human emotion disgusted her, yet she was fascinated.

"Would you have loved me?" Fred's voice was weak, thready, her forehead resting on Wesley's.

"I've loved you since I've known you." Wesley paused, looked up. "No, that's not... I think maybe even before."

Fred sniffled. "I'm so sorry."

"No, no, no." Wesley shook his head, just barely.

Fred pulled back, coughing, then rested her head on his shoulder. "I n-need you to talk to my parents. They have to know I wasn't scared. That it was quick, that I wasn't scared." She sniffled again. "Oh, God."

Fred pulled back again, Wesley moved his hands to hold her firmly. "You have to fight. You don't have to talk, just concentrate on fighting. Just hold on."

Fred had her hands on Wesley's chest, trying to be brave despite the blue creeping into her body, despite how obviously close she was to dying. Illyria tried to understand it. Why did she fight the inevitable so?

"I'm not scared. I'm not scared. I'm not scared." Fred began to lean back on Wesley's arm, clearly losing the ability to stay upright. "Please, Wesley, why can't I stay?"

Fred's body went still with death, and Wesley just stared at her a moment before he pulled her close to him, burying his face in her chest. "Please," he murmured, the sound muffled. "Please." He was sobbing.

Illyria hadn't known this, hadn't remembered this. Fred had been dead by this time, and she not fully awake. The sight hit her as though a punch in the gut, the whole scene affecting her suddenly now that she stood outside of it instead of experiencing it through Fred's memories. She hesitated, feeling as though she might be sick, as Fred's eyes glazed over and her body began to shake.

This was the moment, but Illyria couldn't move. This was her only chance, but grief paralyzed her. Grief, and guilt. She had done this. She had killed these people, and--were those Fred's memories grieving, or was it her own emotion? She didn't understand why she couldn't move.

The shaking threw both Fred and Wesley off the bed and she knew she had to do this, now, before her past self awoke and it was too late. Stepping into the timestream, Illyria approached Fred's body, writhing on the floor, held out the jar, murmured the words the Oracle had given. Fred's soul flowed out to the jar, while Knox's flowed into the body. A fair trade, perhaps. She could not feel badly about doing this thing to further her own ends, and Fred would have wished the man dead had she known.

The blue was growing in Fred's face, a sign that Illyria's past self was about to rise, and Illyria knew she had to leave. She stepped back out of the timestream before any overlap could occur, and sent herself back to the Oracle.

***

The Oracle's cavern was dark and empty when Illyria landed in the "present." She had a care to set down the jar containing Fred's soul gently, and then found herself on her knees. How had that happened? She was crying. She wanted desperately to hit something, to do violence, to bring the world down around the ears of these wretched humans. Why this grief, why this unending, overpowering guilt?

You took Fred from Wesley. You killed her, you chose a vessel that didn't deserve to die that way, and you hurt him, you killed him, Illyria, you killed him. Cyrus Vail merely did the work, but he was dead as soon as you took her.

Her vocal cords were raw. She was screaming. Why was she screaming? Serve no master but your ambition. She had no morals, no emotions, why was she screaming like this, in pain, in grief...

"You had to see it. You had to know." The Oracle was standing there now, watching her as her screaming faded. Illyria looked up at it, contemptuous, hating it. "You had to know what you did to them."

"You tricked me. You made me go and get her so that I would feel badly. Well, I do not. I am merely angry at your insolence." Illyria stood, faced the Oracle.

It laughed at her. "Do not bother to lie to the voice of the Powers, Illyria. You are partly human now. You will feel these emotions. You must feel these emotions."

"I am not human!" Illyria stepped forward, pondering taking out her need for violence on this... thing in front of her. "Humans are muck, they are worms! I will wipe them all from the face of this planet, I will... I am not human. I am not."

The Oracle shook its head. "Not as such, no. But you can feel what they feel. You can love. Love is more powerful than you can imagine, Illyria. Love, and hope. When your kind would give up in the face of something larger than itself, or fight for no reason but to fight, love and hope cause humans to go on, to resolve their differences. They are the most powerful creatures in the universe. They can change, they can grow, they can choose."

"Their power is as nothing next to what I was."

"And what are you now? A faded remnant of your former glory. You Old Ones, you pure demons, you took what you had and you squandered it, you fought and fought until you were all dead. Humans rose from the muck and bettered themselves every moment. They are more than they were, and someday they will be more than they are, and they will not squander it. Life is not simply about conquest, Illyria. Life exists to be lived, to be experienced."

"I experienced." Illyria drew herself up. "I walked a thousand worlds, I saw sights--"

"You saw nothing!" Was the Oracle angry? How odd. "You saw beauty and wonders beyond count, yes, but you never truly experienced it, you never felt it in your soul. Because you had no soul, in the way humans do." It gestured to the jar. "That was supposed to be your soul. You chose Fred as your vessel, you ensured that the one who would be your Qwa'ha Xahn would choose her, but something went wrong." It stepped forward. "This is a gift, Illyria. Do you think the Powers didn't know about your plans? Others of your kind had plans, and they have come to naught. You were chosen for a reason, just as she was."

Illyria stared at the Oracle. It could not be telling the truth. The God King of the Primordium was no puppet to others. "You are lying," she accused.

"I am not. You know I am not. This is a gift. We are giving you power beyond your comprehension, and a way to use it, but you must prove yourself worthy first. You must learn to love, and to hope."

Illyria remembered another time, another place. She was standing with Wesley in Fred's office, staring down at her sarcophagus in the lab below. Wesley had just agreed to help her learn how to walk in this world, because she looked like Fred. She had said, "Is there anything in this life but grief?" And from Wesley: "There's love. There's hope... for some. There's hope that you'll find something worthy, that your life will lead you to some joy... that after everything, you can still be surprised." Illyria had asked, "Is that enough? Is that enough to live on?" Wesley had just looked at her for a moment, the grief and pain pouring off of him, but perhaps hope, too. And he had turned away.

Now Illyria turned away from the Oracle. "I loved Wesley," she whispered, remembering how kindly he had treated her wounds before going into the battle that had killed him. "But, no, that is not me... that is Fred... Fred's memories, inside me. She loved Wesley. Not me. And he loved her. Not me."

"Perhaps that is enough," the Oracle said, its voice calmer now, sympathetic, perhaps. Another time Illyria would have struck it for the insolence, but now... she turned back to it.

"What can I do to make it right? I cannot stand this guilt. I have to make it right."

The Oracle gestured to the jar. "First, we wake her up."

***

Fred was drifting, drifting, in a silent place, a place without light yet lighted. The pain of dying had faded to nothing, no body to hurt. She existed, yet she was not in Heaven nor Hell. She simply was.

As she drifted, Fred dreamed of Texas. Her family, a mother and father long left behind, yet kind and loving from afar. The long open spaces, the low mountains, the sun. Oh, the sun on her back, on her face, not like the harsh California sun. Softer, sweeter, like the taste of cold sweet tea in the afternoon. Wesley was there usually, her sweet Wesley, laughing, smiling, loving her. There was no time in the dream, no pain, just her and him, and a sense that her friends were nearby should she need them.

And yet... there was something wrong. Somehow, though Wesley was there, she could never really touch him, never really feel him, like he was an image or a ghost she couldn't quite catch. She tried not to think about it, and just enjoy being together, but it began to bother her. And where were the others? Close, yes, but she couldn't see them. She started straining to see them. Silly Fred, never taking anything at face value. Then there was pain, and she screamed at its suddeness, at the world exploding into being around her. She reached out for Wesley, called his name, but he wasn't there. Where was he? He'd been there, when she'd died. She thought she'd died. Where was she?

"Wesley is dead."

It was her voice, yet not, deeper and without her Texan accent. Fred looked up at its owner to see... herself. Streaks of blue in her hair, her irises turned a lighter blue and enlarged, more blue creeping over her skin like an invading virus. Fred was on a cold stone floor, she realized, in the dress she'd died in. She scrambled to her feet, stared down her double. What was this?

"Where am I?" Fred's eyes darted about the small cavern, seeing the candles in small alcoves, the altar at the center, a strange androgynous being standing to one side, watching her.

He (she? it?) said, "I am the Oracle of the Powers That Be. You are in my home."

"But... I died. I died, I remember that, how am I here?"

The Oracle nodded. "You died. Illyria saved your soul from destruction, and brought you here. Los Angeles is in Hell now, so you can exist here without being a ghost."

Fred nodded, slowly, and then the one thing Illyria had said hit her. "Wesley's dead?" she whispered, closing her eyes. She couldn't believe it, it wasn't real. This wasn't real.

"I held him as he died." The blue thing-that-was-her-but-not was talking again. "I lied to him, I appeared to him as you. I think it comforted him."

Fred shook her head. "This doesn't make any sense. Why am I here? Why is that... who are you? Why do you look like me?"

The Oracle stepped forward. "Illyria is the Old One that possessed your body, Fred. She saved your soul just after you died, and replaced it with the soul of the one called Knox."

"Knox?" Fred frowned, turned to the Oracle. What did her assistant, a man she had briefly dated, had to do with this? "Why Knox? What did he--"

"He worshiped me, and killed you to house me, because he loved you. He loved you, yet he betrayed you." Illyria looked pained. "He was my Qwa'ha Xahn, my high priest."

Fred stared at Illyria now, confused at this thought. Knox had loved her? Knox had betrayed her? How could he have been responsible for her death, how could he have worshiped this demon? Sure, he'd worked at Wolfram and Hart, but he'd seemed so... nice. "Knox? Knox... worshiped you? But... but he seemed... I mean, he didn't seem that way, he... you destroyed him? Your high priest, and you destroyed him?" What was this creature that had taken over her body?

"Something went wrong," the Oracle said before Illyria could reply. "Fred, listen to me. The way things have gone... is not the way they were meant to be. There are some things that were prophesied and inevitable, but much has happened that should not have, and much that should have happened did not. That's why you're here. Illyria has asked the Powers to intervene."

"They never have before," Fred mumbled, annoyed. "We always just had to fend for ourselves."

The Oracle nodded. "Exactly right. You must do things for yourselves, make your own decisions... but you cannot do that if there is an influence changing things." It waved a hand, and one wall shimmered, showed an image Fred recognized. "Do you know this demon?"

"Sahjahn." Fred stepped away from Illyria, who had turned to look with interest. "He wrote the false prophecy, the one that Wesley believed, when he... when he took Connor." She could remember, now that she was dead. Remember Connor, and remember not remembering. Connor had been Angel's son by Darla--the only child he could ever have. Darla had killed herself to ensure that Connor could live. Fred had been there when it had happened. Angel had been so happy, but Wesley had found a prophecy claiming that Angel would kill Connor, had tried to refute it in vain, and had taken the baby to protect him--only to be betrayed by Daniel Holtz, Angel's mortal enemy. Holtz had stolen Connor himself and taken the child to a hell dimension, raised him to hate Angel. Wesley had been separated from the group. And in the meantime, they had discovered that the prophecy was false. Sahjahn had just been trying to get rid of Connor.

The Oracle nodded once more. "Sahjahn was prophesied to be killed by the child of two vampires--Connor. This was a small part of a much larger plan, but Sahjahn abused his power, used it to try and change things so Connor would die before he grew to manhood."

Illyria frowned. "But the boy killed that demon anyhow. The prophecy was fulfilled."

The Oracle pointed to Illyria. "Just so. Yet the Nyazian prophecy was also fulfilled, and should not have been."

"I don't understand." Fred frowned. "Angel didn't kill Connor. He... he made us all forget him. Wait, did Angel kill Connor after all? No, Illyria said that Connor killed Sahjahn..." She could believe that of Connor. After the boy had returned from Quor'toth--suddenly grown to 18 years old from the way time ran in the other dimension--he had shown himself a great fighter. Things in Quor'toth had even been afraid of him, had called him the Destroyer.

"Angel did not physically kill Connor. However, his deal with the Senior Partners, to change the memories of Connor and just about everyone else, killed Connor in essence. The father killed the son--the son he had, that Holtz had given him. Memories shape a person, and Connor's new memories made him different. In a way, Angel really killed Connor when he allowed Holtz to take him to Quor'toth."

Fred took a deep breath, looked from the image to the Oracle. "What does this have to do with me?"

"There are turning points in the universe, moments when a decision, a word, can affect the course of history." The Oracle waved a hand and the image on the wall changed, now showing a standoff between Angel, Holtz, Sahjahn, and Lilah Morgan, the moment when Holtz jumped through the rip Sahjahn had made in reality, taking Connor with him to Quor'toth. "This was not supposed to happen. Daniel Holtz should never have gone to Quor'toth, nor raised that child. Once he did, the rest of what happened since has been a lock-step. Connor had to return to this dimension, yet when he returned he hated Angel. The only way to turn him into someone that would kill Sahjahn, would even have access to Sahjahn, was for the Nyazian prophecy--the false prophecy--to be fulfilled. The ripples from that moment were enormous. But that was not the decision point." He waved a hand again, and now there was Wesley, taking Connor from his crib at the Hyperion Hotel.

"Wesley's choice." Fred stepped forward, reached out a hand toward the image. "Wesley's choice to take Connor, to betray Angel, is what caused all of this."

"Yes. But what would bring Wesley Wyndam-Pryce to such a moment? What would cause him to look to nothing but books and scrolls, to keep what he feared from those closest to him, and ultimately betray them?"

Fred looked down and away. "We didn't pay attention. We knew something was wrong, but we ignored it, because... Charles and I were so wrapped up in each other, Angel was wrapped up in Connor and Cordy, Cordy was wrapped up in the Groosalugg... and Lorne... I don't know why Lorne didn't see it, until it was too late." She looked up again, and noticed that Illyria was watching her. She looked away. She wasn't sure she could meet those blue eyes in her own face. "So, maybe if... if Groo hadn't come, or if someone had noticed how bad Wesley was getting, maybe they would've said something to Wesley, or intervened." She paused, realizing. "But I'm here. Which means that I'm important somehow."

The Oracle sighed. "The thing that ultimately isolated Wesley was losing you to Charles Gunn. Wesley is not the type of person to bother his friends with something he thinks he can handle on his own. No one else would have gotten through to him--not Angel certainly, not Charles who was his rival. Cordelia may have, but his sense of isolation and frustration, his sense of losing anything that mattered, may have kept him from listening to her. And there... is more. More that was to happen, between you two. There was a reason Cordelia was given a vision of rescuing you when she was, at a time when Angel could be taken out of the picture, to mourn the loss of his love, Buffy."

"All I could see was Angel," Fred whispered. "My hero, the handsome man who saved me. When he left... Wesley took care of me." She looked to the Oracle. "That's why it was timed that way, so Wesley would take care of me, so we'd bond. And I did like him, and I thought he liked me, but then... he pulled away. And then Charles was there, and I thought... I just didn't want to be alone, and he liked me so."

Another sigh from the Oracle. "Sahjahn knew that you could be the flaw in his plan, so he ensured that you and Wesley would not connect. He arranged matters so that Wesley would recieve a dose of Billy Blim's blood, would try to kill you."

"But he didn't." Fred frowned, remembering Billy Blim, the half-demon that could infect men with some sort of primordial hatred of women. Wesley had been infected, had hunted her down, tried to kill her. After, she had gone to him and tried to talk to him, but he'd pulled away. That was when he'd begun isolating himself, she realized. He'd hated himself for what he'd done, even though he'd not been himself.

"No, but he separated you just when you were about to begin connecting, so that you would not be as close when you gained the Nyazian scrolls and tried to translate them, so that none of you would see Sahjahn trying to manipulate you to believe his false prophecy." The Oracle sighed again. "And thus, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce betrayed Angel, and the future began to go wrong."

"So... what, we need to stop Wesley from getting a dose of Billy's blood?"

The Oracle shook its (his?) head. "The Billy Blim incident was important, for other reasons. There is another moment when chance, when luck... went the wrong way. You said a thing you should not have, a conversation went the wrong way, and a situation... escalated beyond control. You went left, and what was supposed to be went right. These things are complicated, and so much comes down to choice, to chance. The Powers cannot intervene directly. They cannot simply change the past, nor force you to say or do what you would not have said or done naturally."

"But I can." Illyria spoke now, staring at Fred, who still could not meet her eyes. "They gave me back my ability to move through time so that I could change the past." Illyria turned to look at the Oracle. "Why not do this before? Why put us through all of this?"

"Because you had to ask." A hint of a smile crossed the Oracle's face. "You must ask, and you must act, but they can give you the tools. You must choose. You don't like this future, the way things are. Neither, I'd wager, does Fred. Nor should you--this is not how it was supposed to be. The Powers can send visions and abilities, they can poke and prod, but ultimately humans must act or free will means nothing. You, however... you are powerful, but you are not a Power. You have power on the level of Sahjahn in your current form, and you can work for the Powers, to right what he set wrong."

Illyria smirked. Who knew an Old One could smirk? "Am I to be your champion, then?"

"After a fashion."

"What must I do?"

The Oracle waved a hand and the wall-image disappeared. "First, you have to understand the price. If you do this, you will never again be what you were. You will have power beyond your imagining, but you will never conquer the universe with it, nor even just the world. The power is beyond your imagining because your thoughts run to conquest and rule, but there are others things, other powers, that may yet be greater than what God Kings hold."

"Love." Illyria frowned. "Love, and hope. Wesley spoke to me of them. I am still uncertain that they have such power as you claim, but..." Illyria turned to Fred. "Do you want me to change your past? We cannot know what will come if we change what was. It may be less than you had hoped, but I cannot... I cannot decide for you."

Fred had to wonder what it was that had taken her body. Wesley had told her, but she hadn't quite imagined... this. Not that she'd been in much state to imagine anything, sick as she'd been, but she hadn't imagined that a pure demon would have so much care, would speak so of love. The thing spoke of Wesley with a fondness that made Fred almost jealous, caused a reaction she knew was irrational. This demon had had more of her boyfriend than she ever had. How was that fair?

"I love Wesley," Fred said simply. "And I never wanted what happened. None of it, I... I've wanted to change it all, so many times I've wished I could go back and change it."

The Oracle put a hand on Fred's shoulder. "Some things are inevitable. Jasmine... Illyria. Some things were fated, some things you cannot avoid."

Fred looked to the Oracle. "Will Wes and I be together? For a little while, at least, long enough, to have... something? The things we should have had, and didn't?" There was no point, otherwise.

The Oracle nodded. "For a little while, at least. That was always meant to be."

Fred looked down at her hands. "I hold the fate of the world. It doesn't seem right. I'm not... I'm not big enough for it."

"You are human." This from Illyria. "But you are strong enough. I know you."

Finally, Fred could look up and meet the demon's eyes. "I want to change the past because I want to be with the man I love. How is that a good reason to change the fate of the world?"

Illyria tilted her head, looking almost confused. "How is it not? Serve no master but your ambition, Fred."

Fred drew herself up. Maybe the demon wasn't so bad after all. "Then do it. Take me back. Change the past."

Illyria looked to the Oracle, who nodded. Then the demon that wore Fred's body stepped forward and pressed her hand to Fred's chest. "This is dangerous. I may not be able to take you with me, and you may die. We may not find the right point. We may change things even further. You must let go of your fear, and trust me."

The room was fading, things were getting dark. "Is it always like this? The darkness, and the terror?"

"I am not afraid," Illyria replied softly. "But to step outside of time is a dangerous and unstable thing. It is natural you should be uncomfortable."

"Chaos and darkness," Fred murmured. "Cavemen win. Of course the cavemen win."

"What?"

The room faded entirely. "Just something I heard once."

***

The Oracle watched the pair fade, and sighed. Its part was done. Now all it and the Powers could do was hope that Illyria and Fred figured things out on their own. This moment had been long in coming--rarely did anyone ask the Oracle to change things so utterly. It hoped that the Powers' faith in those two was not misplaced, and that the choices they made would be the right ones. Events were spinning out of control, and the situation was far larger than the Oracle had dared let them know.

"Good luck," it murmured, and then returned to its waiting.