Illyria and Fred stood across from each other as the timestream swirled about them, as events replayed backwards. Illyria considered the dilemma. She could not act--she had to put Fred back, to allow her to change things. But when? What was the moment the Oracle had spoken of? It had left them to find the moment themselves, and Illyria knew they had to do this quickly, before she tired herself too far. It would be easiest to find the furthest point they could change and move forward if they could not change the moment. But where was that?

As Illyria considered, Fred spoke. "Chaos and darkness." She looked up. "Illyria. Why are you doing this?"

Illyria perceived the timestream as swirling white surrounding them, moving as they stood still, like water lapping over their feet. She considered the question, and replied, "I... am not entirely certain. I feel guilt for what happened, and grief, yet those may be your leftover memories. I wish to put things right."

Fred shook her head. "You don't like what happened any more than I do. It's not what you planned. You meant to have an army, and your powers firm within your body. Now you're giving it up. Why?"

Illyria looked up and about. "Perhaps I do not belong here. Perhaps I should go back to my rest, with my kind, and walk the world in the end days when we shall return."

Fred shifted her stance, a thing Illyria knew she did when she was thinking. "The Oracle said you were inevitable. Illyria... the Senior Partners let you be resurrected right under their noses. They would have known an Old One would never serve them. Why allow that to happen?"

Illyria frowned. "They must have helped. Charles Gunn traded the ability to make his mental powers permanent for his signature on the document that allowed my sarcophagus to come to your building. And surely they must have had some idea that my high priest was... my high priest."

Fred blinked a moment. "Charles... he... he brought the sarcophagus in?"

Illyria nodded. "He did not know what he was doing, and he made atonement. You should not hate him for it."

Fred shook her head. "No. No, I don't, I... you're right. Someone set this up, and the Senior Partners let it happen. Why? Angel's controllable--he'll work for the Powers, maybe he'll work for them. But you're doing this because you want to, not because the Powers told you to. You don't feel the need to be part of something larger."

"X Factor."

"What?"

Illyria tilted her head in what a human might have considered an odd manner. "X Factor. That is what Angel called me. He said he 'could not have an X factor like you bouncing around.'"

Fred started pacing, gesturing, an odd sight in the middle of swirling white. "You're a variable. Uncontrollable, unpredictable, undefinable. They couldn't stop you from rising, so they... diminished... you... Illyria." She stopped pacing, turned to face Illyria. "How was the resurrection supposed to happen?"

Illyria frowned. "There is a ritual, and the chosen vessel takes the crystals from my sarcophagus and wears them as a crown before inhaling my essence. I then turn it into a proper shell, a stable and strong--" She understood what Fred was getting at. "That is not what happened."

"No, it isn't." Fred was excited now. "It just showed up, and I touched the crystal, the dust hit me, and suddenly I was sick."

"You were not properly prepared," Illyria growled. "No wonder your body was so weak, could not hold my powers. It was not properly ready for my resurrection."

"Yes, yes, that's it! And... my soul shouldn't have been consumed, either, that's not what was meant, was it?" Fred looked to Illyria, who shook her head. "They're afraid of you, because... you're a variable... that's it, that's it!" Fred started gesturing, looking about at the timestream around her. "The equation doesn't balance the way they want it to, so they're changing the variables. But they couldn't control you, they couldn't predict you, so they diminished your effect on the experiment..."

Illyria tried to follow, but accessing those sparks of memory was difficult. "Fred. I have your memories but I do not comprehend your science. Explain what you mean."

"The universe is mathematical at its core, Illyria, at its most fundamental level. Chaos, chaos. Chaos isn't random. It seems random, but it's not. There is chaos underlying the order, and order underlying the chaos. The initial conditions set the stage for all that follows." Fred started pacing again. "We're butterflies, Illyria. We change the initial conditions. We can flap our wings in Brazil and set off a tornado in Texas."

"Fred! I do not understand your science!" Illyria was becoming exasperated.

The human woman took a deep breath. "Alright. Look. You said to me 'serve no master but your ambition,' right?"

"Yes. I told this to Angel as well. There is no good nor evil, no morals, only the ambition of the ruler and the submission of the ruled."

"You're right. In a way. Good and evil are nothing but philosophical constructs, and they change depending on the person who's doing the philosophizing. The observer changes that which he observes. You follow?"

Illyria nodded, and Fred continued. "Good. Basic relativity and the Heisenberg principle apply here too. Which is to say... we create our own reality, through our perceptions. I know you get that, right now we're proving that the linear progression of time is merely a perception. A useful one, but a simple perception nonetheless. But good and evil... they're mathematical constructs, too. They're equations, or rather, two sides of an equation. The entire universe is just an equation. Normally it resolves into balance. Between the good of the Powers and the evil of the Senior Partners, there is the balance of humanity, of reality. That's why you Old Ones, and the Powers, had to leave. You tipped the equation too far." Fred's eyes were shining. "Illyria, the Oracle said that Jasmine was inevitable. Don't you see?"

"Jasmine." Illyria frowned, dug through the leftover memories. "Jasmine was a former Power that came to Earth to create a world of unending joy and good and love. You stopped her."

"Yeah. Paradise sounds nice, but the reality's not as nice as it sounds, not when it's forced on you. Jasmine tipped the equation too far one way. That's why the Powers don't intervene--they can, but they choose not to, because they understand that they'll change the balance too much. Just one Power, just one former Power changed the balance too much. Oh, Illyria, I know what we're supposed to do. We're going to take down the Senior Partners."

"Do we have the power to do that?"

"Yes, yes!" Fred nearly bounced in her enthusiasm. "We're the X factor! We're the variable they can't control! They set everything up... through Sahjahn, of course... I bet they created the true prophecy to manipulate Sahjahn into creating the false! We can't go back that far, of course, we can't change that, and some things... I still have to exist. And so do you. Because... because if resurrected properly, with my soul in you, you could take them down. And you would." Fred's eyes were suddenly wide in awe. "We can balance the equation, Illyria. We will balance the equation. We're not working for the Powers. We're working for fundamental forces of the universe."

"I do not understand." How it galled Illyria to keep admitting that. How could this human understand so much more than she did?

"Equations have to resolve, Illyria. Humans are the normal resolution of the equation of the universe, the balance, the answer that reconciles good and evil. We're the tipping point around which everything else shifts. Not just humans, either... vampires, less powerful demons. But us, the ones able to make choices. We're the answer. The Senior Partners don't like where the equation resolves. They've been trying to change it, just like Jasmine tried to change it toward her end. But the universe won't stand for that. You can't change the math. When a formula resolves in a way, it resolves, and you have to change the variables to get it to resolve different. It almost worked, but there were those things they couldn't control. Me, with Jasmine. You, with the Senior Partners. Chaos. They can't predict it all, can't control it all, and their failure is in wanting to. But if you ride the chaos, you can learn the patterns, and come up with something close to the outcome you want."

"Throw caution to the wind and learn to trust?" Illyria pulled up a phrase from Fred's memories, and Fred herself smiled.

"Something like that. When I say we're changing the initial conditions... one little thing can change history. That's what the Oracle meant. The Powers want balance, too. They understand that evil is the other side of the equation, that it's neccesary. Angel never got that. He wanted to eradicate it all, but you can't. And that shouldn't be depressing. You have to learn to ride the chaos, to accept the balance."

"How do you know some other being will not just come along and change what we are fixing?"

"Because we're going to resolve the equation where it should resolve. We're going to serve our ambition, and screw destiny, or good, or evil. We're going to create the world we want, and they can't stop us. They can't fight the math."

"Many have said that before."

"How many have been human enough to make the choice but had power enough to create what they wanted? You have to ride the chaos, Illyria, and trust the patterns. I can see it, I... I'm dead, I don't really have a form, and I can see the equations underlying the universe. This feels right. And trust me--they won't see us coming."

Illyria frowned. "Why not?"

"Because we're not going after good, or evil. We'll find balance. Bad things will happen, and good things will happen, and they won't know who's meddling until we whack 'em all into oblivion." Fred grinned.

"So we're going to meddle?"

"Yep. We're going to meddle so bad my granny'll be in awe of our abilities. We're going to make things right, whatever that means."

Illyria put up a hand to stop the timestream. It was getting close to the point where they'd need to step back out. "Where do we start?"

"With the first variable we can get at--Wesley. We need to resolve that equation."

"Which moment, then?"

Fred frowned. "The Oracle had said the Billy Blim incident had to happen. So, right after that would be the best place to start."

Illyria searched through Fred's memories, still encased within her function system. What was the first moment that might be the right one? It stood out in Fred's memories and she found it easily, stopped herself, watched from outside the timestream. A past version of Fred--thinner, younger, less world-weary, with far more innocence in the face and a grim sort of determination in her stance--was standing outside Wesley's apartment door, hand raised to knock.

The future Fred, the ghost, silently stepped forward to merge with her past self. Illyria moved around a corner and restarted the timestream, watching.

***

Fred knocked on the door. "Wesley? Wesley, it's me, Fred." She felt terrible for what had happened with Billy. She knew Wesley hadn't meant to hunt her, to hurt her, to try and kill her. She understood, and she had to make him understand.

After a moment the door opened and Wesley stood there. He looked like hell, even after a few days still with a black eye and scratches from the fire extinguisher she'd set up on a rope to knock him out with. He'd been crying by the red in his eyes, and probably not sleeping well. Fred had put on her best smile, but it faded as she stepped into the apartment, reaching out a hand to touch his face. "Does that hurt?"

Wesley moved away from her touch, skittish, and Fred lowered her hand. "Sorry." They stood there in silence a moment, Wesley looking down at the ground, and she put her hands behind her, to keep them away from him. She didn't want to upset him. "I left a bunch of messages."

Finally, Wesley spoke, his voice low, soft. "Yes. I meant to call you back. I'm sorry." He looked right at her and whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Fred shook her head, just a bit. "Wesley, you gotta come back to work."

"How can I?"

"What do you mean? How can you not? You're the boss. We need you." Something in the back of her mind whispered, I need you, but she pushed it away. Silly thought. Wesley wasn't... Wesley wasn't interested in her like that. "You took a few days off. That's good, and, we all did. But now it's time to come back."

"Fred... I tried to kill you." Wesley was still just barely whispering.

Fred shook her head again, put on a skeptical expression. "That wasn't you."

"How can you know that? Something inside me was forced to the surface. Something primal, something..." The pain in Wesley's voice could have broken Fred's heart. Why didn't he understand?

She cut in: "Do you wanna kill me?"

"Oh, God, no." Wesley looked away again.

"It wasn't something in you, Wesley. It was something that was done to you."

Wesley looked at her again. "I don't know what kind of man I am anymore."

Fred huffed out a soft scoff. "Well, I do. You're a good man." She smiled, but he did not.

The voice in the back of her mind prodded at her. Don't leave him here like this. Stay. Talk. Help him. So she said, "Did you want... I mean... do you want to talk about it? I could stay..."

Wesley shook his head just a bit, pulling back more, and Fred sighed. "Well, will I see you back at the office?"

He nodded this time. "Yeah."

"Good." She hesitated a moment, wanting to stay, to comfort him, but she knew he wouldn't welcome it, despite the insistent prodding. He needed to be alone, now... and the voice in the back of her mind seemed to understand. After standing there for that moment she slowly slipped out while Wesley shut the door behind her.

Fred turned back to the door, leaned toward it. She could hear him crying on the other side. She wanted to reach through it, tell him things would be okay... but she couldn't. Not yet. Soon, maybe, but now was not the time.

***

"Wrong moment," Illyria growled, casting out a hand to slow time again. The ghostly future Fred stepped back out of her past self. Illyria sighed. "We will have to keep searching."

They moved forward, following the Fred of the past. She moved about her life, did her job--though that job involved hunting down demons, vampires, and other things that went bump in the night--started work on translating the Nyazian scrolls. "I had so much trouble with the math on that," Fred murmured. "But none of this feels right."

Darla, Angel's sire, showed up, pregnant, shocking everyone. Two vampires should not be able to have a child, but there it was. The impossible had happened, and they'd all been terrified the baby would be a harbinger of evil. Daniel Holtz awoke, too, after nearly two centuries asleep at the behest of the demon Sahjahn. Holtz had hated Angel and Darla for killing his family--but Angel had a soul now, and Darla was being changed by the good in the soul of the baby she carried.

There was no chance in here, things were far too crazy to risk ripples until Connor was born. "Fast forward," Fred mumbled, and Illyria did, up until the moment Darla staked herself in a rain-soaked alley to allow her son to be born. Fred watched herself, standing next to Angel as he picked up the baby from the ground, stared down Holtz, who let them both go free. She shook her head. "Further." Illyria threw out a hand again, pushed them forward until after Angel had drawn off the demons and vampires hunting Connor as a miracle child, unprecedented in the history of the world. She recognized the hospital they'd taken Connor to once they were safe, to make sure he got properly looked over. "There! Alright, slow it down. It has to be in here somewhere, between the time Connor was born and Wesley took him."

Time flowed by them again, and Fred smiled to herself. Connor had been such a sweet baby. It was nice to see those moments with him, again, to remember them--even if it hadn't all been happy. She'd nearly lost her head to Nahdrah demons, and Cordelia had nearly died from her visions, but that sweet little baby had made everything worth it. She wondered if they could save him from Quor'toth this time. Or was that one of those things that had to happen, just maybe in a different way?

There was Cordy, on her bed, collapsed from a vision that had nearly killed her on her birthday... they'd all fretted so over her, no chance in here, they were too focused on finding out that the visions had nearly turned Cordelia into a vegetable... now she was floating, revealing to them that she was half-demon while she gave them a painless vision. Yes, the visions could kill a normal human, evidently usually did. So lucky that Cordelia had become part-demon.

And now Angel was ramping up the advertising of Angel Investigations to get more money to raise Connor... maybe in here somewhere? But, no, they'd all been so busy, there wasn't a moment that seemed right for what Fred felt needed to be done. She and Wesley had to get together somehow. So Fred watched the group go different ways, she and Lorne went out to a barge to solve the Nahdrah demons' puzzle, a supposed gift for their prince's birthday, but they were actually looking for someone smart enough to be their Prince's new head... they tried her to take off her head while Lorne and Cordelia (holding the baby, no less) tried to talk them out of it... but Wesley, Charles, and Angel saved her, killed the demons. As they did. Her boys. Her heroes.

Watching closely, Fred suddenly realized what they were coming up on. "Stop!" Illyria did so, frowning.

"What is special about this moment?"

They were standing over the past Fred, asleep in her bed at the hotel. It was night. "This is the night before... the ballet. That's when Charles and I got together. Maybe it's in this day, maybe... maybe the moment happened somewhere in here. If it wasn't after Billy, this is the spot that makes the most sense."

Illyria nodded. "Do you wish to enter the timestream?"

"Yes. Right here. I'll just..." Fred reached over to turn off the alarm clock. This was the morning she and Charles had gone to that breakfast where he'd called her gorgeous, made her think he might have interest in her. Maybe if she could prevent that... she wanted to believe her relationship with Charles had been a mistake. It would make this easier. It didn't seem fair, though. They'd been happy--but he'd never really understood her. She'd been a porcelain doll to him, someone to be protected, cared for. That was sweet and wonderful, and some women might want that. But not Fred. Fred wanted a man who wouldn't protest when she killed a nest of demon eggs with a flamethrower, but would still have her back if she missed one. She wanted Wesley. And if the only way to have him was to erase her relationship with Charles... then so be it. Maybe Charles would find someone better for him. She sure hoped so.

She turned to Illyria. "Alright. I'll come back out if it doesn't work." She focused and felt herself sliding toward her own sleeping body while Illyria watched.

The demon simply watched as Fred sunk into dreams.

***

Fred woke with a start. There were voices downstairs. What... her alarm clock was off. It was ten in the morning. What had happened? Oh, she was late, she'd missed breakfast with Charles...

Fred scrambled about pulling clothing on and then rushed out of her room, down the stairs. Charles was just coming in through the hotel's front door. He was tall, his dark head shaved and brown eyes that seemed far older than his years, and she hated to see disapproval there. "I'm so sorry," she said to him. "My alarm clock was off, and I overslept."

No disapproval hinted in Charles' eyes, though. "No problem, babe. I missed you at breakfast, but--" Charles cut off, noticing Angel. "Ooo, are those the tickets? You got 'em?" He walked down toward Angel, who was behind the hotel's counter with Cordelia and Wesley.

"Well, you see, I got to the ticket place, and--"

Wesley, standing over near Cordelia's desk, smiled at Fred brightly. "Good morning, Fred." Fred returned the smile and walked over. "Hey." She leaned over the desk to see what he'd been working on. A book lay open with a picture of a six-breasted demon inside. All Fred could think was "yuck."

Charles was talking to them, she realized, and he sounded excited. "Mata Hari is the tightest band in L.A. You guys are gonna be tripping out."

Fred half-listened to what Wesley was telling her about the demon that was supposedly coming to take revenge on the humans who'd killed her mate, paying attention to him while still listening in on the other conversation.

Angel was clearly a bit nervous. "The only thing is..."

Charles didn't let him explain. "Look, I said I'm good for it, man. Don't have to worry about dippin' into Connor's college fund. The time I saw Mata Hari at the Troubador, they were--'The Blinnikov World Ballet Corps.'" His voice lost its excitement. "What's goin' on?"

It was Angel's turn to be exicted. "I'm tryin' to tell ya. I got to the ticket place, and boom. Tonight only."

"But--you got ballet on my Mata Hari tickets?" Charles sounded completely crushed.

"This is the Blinnikov World Ballet Corps," Angel replied.

Cordelia put in: "He's been saying that like it has meaning."

As Angel continued, Fred finally looked up and over. "This is one of the premier companies in the world, and they're doing Giselle. It's their signature piece!" Angel was definitely excited. Fred didn't think she'd seen him this excited by anything in a while.

Charles said, "This is all like some horrible dream."

Wesley spoke up. "I think I've heard of them. Very ahead of their time."

Angel nodded agreement. "Oh yeah, yeah. I saw their production of Giselle in 1890. I cried like a baby. And I was evil."

Fred grinned. "I think it sounds exciting." It did, really. She'd always loved ballet. The chance to get dressed up, go out on the town... it was like a dream, somehow.

Wesley turned to smile to her. "Yes."

Charles shook his head. "No. No!"

Angel started, "Gunn--"

Charles cut him off. "This is not Mata Hari. This is tutus and guys with their big-ass packages jumpin' up and down. This is just--I will never trust you again. The trust is gone."

Fred liked Charles, and had been growing closer to him lately, but couldn't help but be amused at his reaction to ballet. What was he going on and on about? Angel and Wesley sure seemed excited. They could always see Mata Hari another time, but a world-famous ballet corps might be a once-in-a-lifetime event. Besides, she'd always wanted to see Giselle.

Cordelia expressed Fred's thoughts fairly well: "Oh, get over it. Do we get dressed up?"

"Of course," Angel replied.

"I'm in." Good old Cordy.

"Guys, seeing real ballet live, it's--" Angel sighed. "It's like another world. Gunn, these guys are tight, and you're gonna be trippin' out."

"Don't be using my own phrases when we've lost the trust." Charles really was upset about this.

Cordelia broke the tension. "Come on, guys. Working day, cases to solve."

Charles watched as Angel and Cordelia walked over toward Wesley and Fred. "Okay, but I'm not still payin', right, 'cause this is... it's like a nightmare."

Fred grinned at him. "Oh, c'mon now, it'll be fun. Quit griping and get over here so we can get to work."

***

The workday passed rather quickly, all things considered. Angel went on about the ballet, Charles glowered, Cordelia pondered about what to wear. Fred got Wesley to tell her the story of Giselle, though she already knew it, but it was nice to sit and talk about it at lunch. Heightened the anticipation. So she listened with interest while Wesley told her about the young maiden Giselle, in love with a man she knew as Loys. Loys was really Albrecht, a nobleman, and he was betrothed to Bathilde--daughter of the Duke. When Giselle discovered the truth she went mad with grief and died. But Giselle still loved Albrecht, and when a ghost forced him to dance again and again Giselle intervened, allowing him to dance only until sunrise. The ghost returned to her grave at sunrise and so must Giselle, but first she told Albrecht that she forgave him, and they pledged their love despite the fact that they would be forever separated. Fred found the whole story lovely and sad, and it was supposed to be one of the best ballets that had ever been created. She found herself thinking about who she might like to see opposite her, were she Giselle. Who could she possibly pledge undying love to? At first Charles was in her mind--so sweet, so commanding, so comfortable. But from somewhere Wesley kept intruding. Silly thought. Wesley didn't have any interest. Did he?

She thought about it a long time. Charles was wonderful, but looking back, she realized that Wesley was the one who'd taken care of her until she'd come out of her shell. She remembered glances she'd brushed off, the way he'd stammer and smile when she was about. No, no, that was silly. Wesley was the boss, their leader, he was strong and kind and nice, just a bit older, and British besides. He wouldn't be made nervous by her. Would he?

Silly girl, whispered that voice that sometimes talked to her, her own voice. She figured it was her subconscious. You remember what he said when he was infected by Billy's blood. That wasn't him, though, saying those things, telling her how much the way she looked and smelled drove him mad. He hadn't... he hadn't really wanted... but what if he did see her that way? He'd never said anything, but then, neither had Charles. The way they both looked at her, though... was it possible they were both interested?

After work, Cordelia took Fred out dress shopping. They went to an upscale boutique, and Fred felt uncomfortable the moment she walked through the door. She'd never been especially good at dressing fashionably, though Cordelia'd been helping her along. This was way out of her league, such lovely dresses and shoes. Looking around, she said, "Are you certain this is the place for us?"

"Well, we could always get our outfits at Cavegirl's House of Burlap. But that's just so last season." Fred sighed at the reference to her time spent living in a cave--she'd been in a burlap smock when she'd first met her current friends--and walked over. Cordelia was looking through a rack of very expensive clothing. "The guys are all renting tuxes, we've gotta step up."

Fred looked over the dresses on the rack. Beautiful, every one. Too beautiful for her to wear. "But aren't we, you know, poor?"

"There's a custom amongst my people. It's called buying a dress, wearing it once, and then returning it the next day. It's all about hiding the tags while it's on."

"Oh. Okay." Cordelia always knew so much about these things---shopping, clothing, men. Men! Fred realized that the person to ask about her dilemma was right under her nose. "I'm very excited about tonight. I love the ballet. I mean, I haven't seen that much, but my family used to go to the Nutcracker every Christmas, and I had my first sexual dream about the Mouse King."

The look Cordelia gave her told Fred that perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. Fred rambled too much sometimes, and it made people uncomfortable, she could tell. Maybe that's why Wesley and Charles looked at her that way. Not interested, but put off. All Cordy said, though, was, "Face me." She held up a pink dress to Fred's body, but shook her head, put the dress back on the rack.

That was why Fred liked Cordelia. She seemed to be able to just gloss over the silly stuff Fred said, focus on making her friends happy. It was nice to know someone beautiful and elegant like Cordelia would want to hang around with nerdy old Fred Burkle, champion of the chess team and computer lab, usually stuck up in a room reading and with no idea how to talk to men. Cordy would definitely know what to do about her dilemma.

As Cordelia began to move away, Fred spoke up. "Can I ask you something?"

"I think you guys are perfect for each other," Cordy responded without turning.

Fred blinked. That wasn't what she'd been about to ask. "Who? I mean, I... I'm kind of kerflummoxed as to... who do you mean? I thought that Charles... but maybe Wesley..." She felt something odd in her stomach, like she'd been shifted sideways without moving. How strange.

"Gunn?" Cordelia laughed, turned away from the rack of clothing she'd been flipping through. "Oh, no, honey, it's Wesley you want to be looking at. I have magic powers, remember?"

"Really? He hasn't said anything. I mean, I don't even know if he feels--"

"He feels."

"Feelings?" Fred couldn't believe it. Cordelia was teasing her. Not Wesley, he'd never... not once had he said anything.

"There's definite feelings." The way Cordelia was smiling and nodding was like something was happening she'd waited for a long time. Then she turned back to her rack. "We find the right outfit for tonight, there may be actual feeling."

Well, who was Fred to argue with Cordelia Chase, master matchmaker and seer? She came up a bit closer to Cordelia, looked at the dresses over her shoulder. Fred was just an inch or so taller than Cordelia, which made this easier. "And then we have to find a dress for you... something that will make Angel crazy."

Cordelia was busy pulling out dresses, holding them up to look at. "Fred, sweetie, Angel is crazy."

"Well, I know he's gonna wanna look his best for you." Fred might have been blind to men interested in her, but she could see the interest of others pretty well. Cordelia was gorgeous, dark hair always cut just right, a lovely face with deep brown eyes, all the right curves, and a graceful way of moving and speaking. Kinda funny, Fred thought, that someone with hair and eyes such a similar shade to her own could pull things off so differently.

"That's right. The world's champion's gonna spend all day worrying about his outfit." Cordelia laughed, and Fred couldn't help but join her. Angel might be interested in Cordelia, but his outfit? Nah, Angel surely had more important things on his mind.

***

The right dresses had been picked out, along with shoes and shawls--even Los Angeles was cold on a winter's night. They'd found Fred a red dress, sleeveless and strapless, with sequins sewn onto it in a pattern that looked like cherry branches. She'd protested, but Cordelia had insisted, and Fred had to admit that the effect, the way the dress emphasized her usually small bust and hugged her thin body, left her shoulders and arms bare, was nice. With her hair piled atop her head in messy-yet-ordered curls, Fred looked in the mirror and almost couldn't believe it was her. Nerdy Fred Burkle looked like an elegant woman ready for a night on the town, and she'd turned to Cordelia--who'd dressed Fred and done her hair--and hugged her for three whole minutes, whispering, "Thank you, thank you," over and over. Cordelia'd had the grace not to look embarassed.

Now she stood down in the hotel's lobby, staring over at Wesley's office, where Charles was hiding from her. "You've got to promise not to laugh," he said.

"I promise." Fred rolled her eyes. How bad could it be?

"It's gotta come from the heart."

"Will you stop being such a little girl? I said I promise."

Charles finally came out of the office, looking disgruntled. He wore a black tux with white shirt and black bowtie. Somehow, the dark only made his skin look more like rich chocolate, made his bald head look handsome and dashing. Fred couldn't help but stare. The abruptly, she burst out laughing, brought her hands to her mouth. "Oh!"

"This is what your promises are worth? I'm having a lot of trust issues at this time in my life."

"I'm sorry. It's just--" Fred sighed. "My God. You're so pretty." Could Cordelia be wrong, maybe? If she wasn't, Fred envied whatever girl snagged Charles.

Charles looked down at the floor. "You know, there's not a lot of people could say that to me and live." He looked back up. "But the way you look, there's no way I could fight you."

Fred looked down at her dress, embarassed, ran her hands along the flared skirt that reached the floor. It was pretty. She was pretty, for this one night anyhow. She took a deep breath, looked back up. "Tonight feels--I don't know--kind of magical. Is that stupid?"

"Not at all." It was Wesley, with her shawl. He brought it about her shoulders and she turned to give him a smile. He cleaned up well, too--tuxedos had been made to fit those lean English frames, and somehow his glasses only made him look more sophisticated with the tuxedo on.

Wesley turned to look at Charles, walked toward him. "Finally came out of hiding."

Charles opened his arms to show off the tux. "And look at my reward."

Wesley turned back to look at Fred. "Yes. Isn't she a vision?" Fred couldn't help but smile and managed to hold Wesley's gaze, felt the butterflies she'd had all day leap into action.

"There's a lot of that goin' around." Charles was looking up toward where Cordelia was coming down the stairs on Angel's arm. And she was, too, a vision of loveliness--dress the color of dark wine with a plunging neckline and jeweled accents, hair piled atop her head. Cordelia still stole the spotlight, and Angel--well, Angel was more used to this sort of thing. Fred's hero-worshipping crush had mellowed in recent months, but she still had a flicker of jealousy for Cordelia. What a lucky woman. Fred felt dazzingly lucky herself, to have such wonderful friends, such a lovely night.

"Thank you, no. There will be no visions tonight." This from Cordelia.

Angel asked, "How can you be sure?"

Cordelia smiled at him. "I had a vision."

Wesley walked over and helped Cordelia put her shawl and and they all headed for the doors. Fred felt like Cinderella, all dressed up for the ball. What a magical night it would be.