The Strange Attractor, Chapter Three: Take Your Cue
In which Angel Investigations attends a rather odd ballet and both Wesley and Illyria must take the initiative. (Scenes from "Waiting in the Wings" quoted)



Chapter Three: Take Your Cue

Wesley thought that Fred had never looked lovelier than she did this night. He'd noticed her, of course, months ago--he'd noticed her the first time he'd seen her, hand coated in blood, leading a demonic Angel away from him and Gunn. Despite the burlap sack she wore and the dirt there'd been something in that bravery that had made him take notice. The first time he'd really noticed, though, was the first time he'd finally gotten her to venture from her room at the Hyperion--just two steps, and then she'd stood there, swaying, as if she might fall over. She'd looked as though she wanted to be sick, and she'd soon darted back inside, but for a moment she'd looked almost normal, and Wesley could see some of what might be underneath the problems caused by five years living in a cave in a world where humans were treated as little better than cattle.

Tonight, all those things he'd glimpsed and noticed over time were at the surface. She was beautiful in her dress with her hair up--more beautiful, perhaps, than even Cordelia. Fred was truly excited about this--she threw herself into things so fully, she lived so completely, and Wesley wanted very much to step into that world. Cordelia had told him the time was right to make a move, and the night was, as Fred had noted, magical. Valentine's Day was only a few days away, as well. What better time of year for romance?

The lobby of the theatre was amazing, all marble and high ceilings, plush carpets and rich frescos, but Wesley only had eyes for Fred. She gazed up at the ceiling and gasped, smiling, turned around as the group walked though the lobby. She clearly couldn't help but be thrilled by everything around her, the richness of it all, the elegance, and he wanted to drink that in, enjoy the way she looked at him like he was part of that, like they belonged here.

The seats were high up under the balcony, but toward the center, and Wesley positioned himself so he'd sit next to Fred. "Sorry they're not closer," Angel murmured as they filed in. "Getting five seats together--"

"Don't be silly," Wesley replied as he helped Fred remove her shawl. "Best place. Got the whole panorama from here." Closer would have been nice, Wesley privately admitted to himself, but they were on a limited budget, and it was much better to sit together.

"Besides, back here we stand less chance of setting off the under-70 alarm." Cordelia sat next to Angel in the row behind Wesley, Fred, and Gunn.

"Back in the day, I'd always get box seats. Or just eat the people who had 'em." Must Angel always bring up such horrid recollections from his days without a soul, his days as Angelus?

"Don't let's reminisce." That was Cordelia, always saying what everyone else thought. "We're here. Enjoy."

Soon the ballet began. The curtain rose, and onto the stage came the prima ballerina, dancing the part of Giselle. The group watched as the ballet went on, and despite Cordelia being clearly bored already (one could tell by the snoring), Wesley was determined to enjoy himself. He looked to Fred, who smiled back at him and then went back to watching the ballet. Such a lovely creature, Fred. She had just the body for a dancer...

Wesley lost himself in a fantasy that it was Fred dancing down there, beautiful Fred, showing as much grace in everyday life as the ballerina truly before them. In his mind he could see Fred, at center stage--and himself as Loys, the apparent peasant boy that Giselle loved. Just them on the stage, dancing together, and though he couldn't quite imagine himself as graceful and athletic as the men down on the stage--no, who was he kidding? He wasn't like them at all, not someone Fred would ever want to be with. Yet Cordelia had said Fred was interested... he allowed himself the fantasy, however ridiculous he always seemed in his own mind, and was wondering what it would be like to hold Fred, to kiss her, when the lights went up and the curtain came down. He came back to reality with a start.

Gunn, on Fred's other side, had clearly enjoyed himself--he was clapping madly, calling, "Bravo, bravo!"

Wesley could hear Cordelia wake with a start. "I loved it."

Angel told her, "It's just intermission."

The audience began filing out of their seats toward the lobby, to chat or visit the restroom. As they exited, Gunn commented, "I'll say it once, and gloat all you want. These guys are tight, and I am trippin' out."

Wesley was looking over the program. "They certainly live up to their reputation. Has the choreorgaphy changed much since--"

Angel cut in, "No. Nothing's changed." He was looking down over the balcony at the lobby below, turned away from the group.

Wesley said, "Well, it's wonderful they're able to--"

Angel cut him off again. "No, I mean... nothing's changed." He turned back to face the others. "These are the same dancers I saw before."

Fred frowned just a bit at Angel. "That's impossible. We're watching the exact same troupe you saw in 1990?"

Gunn noted, "I think he said 1890."

The expression on Fred's face became even more incredulous--exactly how Wesley felt. "Oh. Okay, that's much more impossible."

Angel was also frowning. "So somebody wanna tell me how we're watching a show starring people who should've died 60 years ago?"

For a moment, no one answered, then Cordelia said, "Well, it's a puzzler." She looked up at Angel. "Are there snacks?"

Wesley sighed. As far as Cordelia had come, sometimes she could still be so very shallow. He drew the conversation back to the topic at hand. "So what are we thinking? Vampires?"

"That would explain the precision and the athleticism, I mean, some of those jumps were--" Gunn put a hand to his chest, obviously moved, then grew more stoic. "You know, I was cool before I met y'all."

Cordelia said, "Dancing vampires. Who's not scared?"

Angel shook his head. "Not it. I'd know. I'd sense it."

Wesley smirked incredulously. "Even all the way back there?" Angel looked at him with a hurt expression and Wesley realized he'd said the wrong thing. "With the... panoramic view." Why was he always such an ass?

Fred covered the stumble, for which he was grateful. "Maybe afterward we should head backstage."

Angel replied, "I was thinking now. You guys should go back. I'll snoop." He started to move away.

Cordelia said, "I'm with snoopy," and followed.

"How will the dancers keep time without your rythmic snoring?" Wesley teased.

Cordelia turned back and smiled as the lights began to blink and a small bell went off to let the patrons know that intermission was ending. "Don't think that's not coming back to haunt you," she said good-naturedly.

Gunn only said, "Hurry," as he followed Fred and Wesley back to their seats.

When they returned, Wesley could not keep his mind on the ballet. The dilemma they faced consumed his thoughts. Besides vampires, who or what could live for so many years, unnoticed? Had the Blinnikov World Ballet Corps been doing the same ballet again and again since 1890? How had no one noticed Giselle was not only their signature piece, but their only piece? Dark magics, perhaps?

This train of thought became frustrating to Wesley. They were supposed to be having a nice night out, a night away from work, and Angel had to find some problem to fix, a case to solve. Well, Wesley wasn't going to fall prey to that again. He turned his thoughts to Fred. If tonight was the night, how? When? He couldn't help but stare at her in that dress the way it showed off her creamy skin and the form of her collarbones. Maybe if he just slid a hand over... hers were both resting in her lap... yes, that was it. A slow, subtle approach, and she didn't have to let him hold her hand, after all.

Fred suddenly started. "Angel!" she whispered.

Wesley pulled his hand away quickly. She couldn't be on about that again, could she? But all he said was, "What?"

"And Cordy. They--they've been gone way too long." Fred looked rather nervous, really.

Wesley realized how close the ballet was to ending and looked to the empty seats in the row behind them. "You're right. Come on." He and Fred started to get up.

Gunn protested, "But we're gonna miss the end." After a moment he got up anyhow.

The trio made their way out of their seats, whispering apologies to those they passed, and hurried through the lobby toward the stairs leading backstage. The door was open and a security guard slumped on the floor. Gunn, in the lead, commented, "At least Angel left us a trail." He stepped over the body and then helped Fred over as Wesley glanced around, then followed them backstage.

Backstage was an archaic place, still lit with flickering glass lamps. By silent agreement, the three split up and went different ways to explore the area. The way back out was gone, and the corridors seemed to have no end. After a short time wandering about, they found themselves meeting at a junction. "This is very not right," Gunn commented as they met up.

There was a sound of moaning coming from somewhere nearby. Fred turned to look over her shoulder. "Do you hear--"

Wesley turned back the way he had come. "There's something. Someone's in pain."

A moment more of listening, and Fred noted, "Either that, or someone's in fun." Wesley gave Gunn a look behind her back, though he had to admit to himself that the sounds made him think of things... best left not thought, with Angel and Cordelia missing in this odd, endless place.

They moved down the hall, to an open area filled with crates, clearly a space for storage. They stopped, trying to find the source of the sounds, which had changed to sounds of fighting. "Now that sounds less like fun," Gunn said before suddenly yelling as he was attacked.

Fred turned, hollered, "Charles!"

Wesley turned too, watched Gunn elbow a strange-looking man in the face. He heard laughter behind him, and turned to face a similar fellow. The men were dressed in black, both held swords, but... they seemed to have masks, one with a comical grin, the other with an exaggerated frown. The one with the grin laughed madly; the other just cried. Comedy and Tragedy, of course. Appropriate for the setting. "Fred, stay between us," he said.

Fred didn't really listen, though--Gunn was falling to the floor, clutching his side. She hit Tragedy in the face with a bucket, then called, "Wesley!" She threw a sword she had picked up and Wesley caught it, then turned to face Comedy, parrying its attacks.

"Can you handle the other?" Wesley asked of Fred--who indeed seemed to be handling Tragedy, beating it senseless with the bucket. "Well then," Wesley said, turning back to Comedy. "Just us." He attacked, and Comedy started backing away, taking him away from Fred and Gunn, down a corridor and around a corner. The odd creature was fighting to kill--when Wesley got up close, it took the option of punching him, then began pushing him back against a staircase. Wesley grabbed a piece of cloth with his left hand and waved it at Comedy, using it as a foil to distract the creature. Thank God they'd taught swordplay at the Watcher's Academy. He finally ran the thing through, and quipped, "Who's laughing now?"

The thing was still chuckling insanely, and Wesley sighed, "Well, you, but..." He pulled out the sword and left Comedy there, going back to find Fred. He was going to tell her now, and bugger the timing. If a simple trip to the ballet could turn deadly... there was no more time to lose.

***

Illyria was watching Wesley from just outside the timestream. He fought well, but with a lack of economy in his movements she'd come to expect from humans. He defeated the strange-faced being and turned away, back toward where he'd left Fred and Charles Gunn, and Illyria froze the moment to give herself a chance to think.

Except for a conversation with Cordelia earlier in the day, everything was occuring just as Fred's memories told Illyria it would. Soon, Wesley would come upon Fred and Charles Gunn kissing. He would give up on any thought of being with Fred for quite some time, would isolate himself from the group, and ultimately take the child Connor, starting a cascading series of events that had led... here. Was there no way to stop this? She knew they were skirting paradox in what they did, but there was one more thing the Powers had given back to Illyria: the ability to exist outside of linear time. The normal rules no longer applied to her, so as long as she remembered what had happened, she could continue to endeavor to change the past.

Still, perhaps this was the wrong moment. Or perhaps there had never been a moment. Fred's idea to take down the Senior Partners was a good one, but Illyria knew she could simply let the future happen as she remembered, take the power she now had, and take them down herself. She would gather an army from Hell itself, move before the Powers had a chance to take away her abilities, and when she was done with "Wolfram and Hart," the Powers would give her rule over it all once more. In the end days, the Old Ones were supposed to walk the earth. Who was to say these were not the end days? Why was she dallying here with these mortals?

"Who the hell are you?"

Illyria turned to face a demon that stood taller than she was, with strange markings on his face, long straggling hair, and volumunous dark robes. She recognized Sahjahn from the Oracle's picture and frowned. What was the demon doing here?

"I don't know of anyone else who has interest in this little group--not that can stand outside of time like this anyway--so like I said, who the hell are you?"

Illyria considered knocking the demon down for its insolence, but she realized that something didn't track. Sahjahn hadn't been here, in Fred's memories. She needed to know what was going on. "I am called Illyria," was all she said.

"Illyria, huh? That rings a bell." Sahjahn walked over toward Wesley, looked at the man critically. "What interest do you have here? Maybe we can work together."

"I would ask the same of you." Illyria dug through Fred's memories. Sahjahn had created the false prophecy, had manipulated events to be sure Wesley and Fred stayed apart so Wesley would believe the prophecy. But Sahjahn hadn't been here. The backstage area, confusing and endless, had been created by a human wizard. And yet, Sahjahn had been a demon that lived just outside of things, unable to touch reality but able to speak and hear and see, able to move through time and manipulate space...

Fred would have called it the "click," the point where everything made sense. "You're controlling this timeshift," Illyria stated. "Why?"

"Let's just say there's something I want to be sure happens the way I want it to happen. You're not gonna get in my way, are you?" Sahjahn sounded proud, confident, full of himself. Illyria never doubted she could take him down.

Yet, for a moment... she could have creation under her sway again. She did not have to change this moment, or any moments at all, until closer to the end. She could go speak to her Qwa'ha Xahn, tell him the proper ritual, rise with her proper powers... she could keep Wesley from dying. Wesley, and Angel, and Spike. She would have her army back, and Wesley could learn to love her.

That thought chilled Illyria to the bone. She wanted Wesley to love her. It was pure, and simple, and true, and it hurt in a strange way. Wesley had loved Fred, worshiped Fred... Illyria had once been loved and worshiped, yet even her Qwa'ha Xahn had become such so he would be drawn to and choose the proper vessel. The people around Fred had tried to be rid of Illyria time and again, to bring their loved one back. Angel and his followers had taken on an impossible fight in order to make Fred's death mean something. In the end, Wesley had wanted Fred to hold him as he died. Illyria was jealous, she realized, irrationally jealous of a human. Stupidity. She could make them all love her. And yet...

"Fred loved them back," Illyria whispered.

"What?" Sahjahn looked confused.

That was what Illyria was jealous of--the connection. The ability to love a being, to care for a being, the power it gave one. She understood what the Oracle had been talking about, now. Love between humans was, and should be, a connection that went both ways, a thing that existed between the people involved, a thing that had a life and power all its own. When she had seen certain defeat, she had made plans for her revival and thrown herself into the fray, accepted her fate. Fred refused to do that, because of the people she loved. Because she wanted their lives to be better, just for a little while--and Fred's plan might just take down beings far larger than she was.

Illyria settled her feet, squared her shoulders. Perhaps she could not love, but she could feel Fred's love from the leftover memories. She would give Fred and Wesley this time, and ensure that their plan came to fruition, that the universe became balanced as Fred wished. Maybe through watching, Illyria would eventually understand. But she would first be rid of this nuisance before her.

"You are meddling," Illyria accused. "You are trying to keep Fred and Wesley apart, and taking advantage of the manipulability of this timeshift in order to do so. You will not succeed."

Sahjahn snorted. "What, because you're going to stop me? What do you care?"

For answer, Illyria jumped, spun, threw a leg out to kick Sahjahn across the face. Sahjahn staggered, reached up a hand to where she'd hit him.

"You can touch me!" Sahjahn seemed almost gleeful at this prospect. "It's been a long time since I got to do this." He made a fist and swung it at Illyria's head.

Illyria dodged the punch by shifting her torso to the side, slid past Sahjahn, and struck him in the back of the head. Her ability to slow time would do no good here outside the timestream, but she hardly needed that. Sahjahn staggered again, not expecting the move, and Illyria jumped again, spun, and kicked him in the head once more. This time he went down, and shimmered, faded away.

The demon wasn't gone for good, but Illyria knew that she'd changed what needed changing. Sahjahn could no longer meddle in this moment, and Illyria would see to it that events happened as they had been meant to happen. She could see the changes Sahjahn had made--lengthening the corridor in front of Wesley just far enough to keep him from getting back to Fred before Charles could tell her of his feelings. Illyria felt no remorse for fixing the corridor so that Wesley would make it back as he should. She had thought she could not act, that this was up to Fred, but perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps this was how things had been meant to be.

"The Powers That Be have a strange sense of humor," she murmured, and was not even bothered by how utterly human the statement was.

***

Fred knelt in front of Charles, who sat on the floor with his back to a crate. The wound she had feared would be deep had not been all that bad, and he was teasing her about the matter as she tended to him. It was endearing, in its way, but also annoying. "Stop that," she muttered. "I really thought you were hurt."

Charles was still amused. "It was just a scratch."

"I know, I just... I don't know what I'd do if... anything happened to you." Their magical night had turned to terror--Charles hurt, Wesley gone. She was worried about them both, terribly. She knew Wesley could take care of himself, but he'd been gone a long time, and those weird men clearly meant business.

"Does it mean that much?" Charles smiled at her, and Fred felt the damn butterflies again. Confusion settled in. Did she like Wesley or Charles? Why did she feel like this around both of them? She wasn't used to dating, and while she'd been thinking of Wesley all night after that conversation with Cordy, the butterflies in her stomach told her of attraction to the man sitting before her. Confusion swirled, with maybe a hint of magic, and Fred blushed a bit, looked away.

It won't work, whispered a voice in her head. Charles is sweet and kind, but you know that's not all you want. Wesley's taken care of you, he can definitely talk on your level, but there's darkness there and he might not make a move. There's no right answer here, no formula, but when it's right, you'll hear the click.

"Hey, you there?" Charles reached out for her chin, tugged her face back so she'd look at him.

Fred managed a smile. "Well, you're a good friend, and I..." She tilted her head a bit, imagined being with Charles. No click. Then why the butterflies? "Well, I..."

"Fred?" It was Wesley, coming up from the side, hurrying along. "Charles? Are you badly hurt?"

Charles tugged his shirt down over the bandage Fred had put on him. "Not really, and all bandaged up now thanks to our little Amazon. Did you see the way she took that thing out? What are those things, anyway?"

Fred had blushed when Charles had called her "Amazon"... it was certainly better than "crazy taco lady," if less accurate... and stood, smoothing down her skirt. "I'm glad you're alright. I was kinda worried when you didn't come back."

Wesley replied, "I think there may be some sort of spell at work here... the hall seemed impossibly long, coming back, and then abruptly shortened."

Charles stuck his hands in his pockets. "So, what, you're thinkin' some sort of magical mojo's keeping the dancers alive for so long? If we find Cordy and Angel and deal with it fast enough, we might catch the end."

Wesley looked to Charles and nodded. "Yes, that's probably best. Why don't we split up again, and meet here in five minutes if we haven't found them."

Charles nodded and started off, but before Fred could go too far Wesley caught her arm. "Fred, I need to talk to you." His voice was low, urgent, and determined. This was important demon-hunting voice, and Fred supressed a sigh.

"What is it?"

"I... I know this isn't the right time for this, but..." The urgency and determination seemed to drain out of Wesley, replaced with a sort of nervous earnest. He stepped closer to her, one hand still on her arm. "Fred, I... ever since we met, I've really... you're very smart, and you've been a terrific help to us..." He paused, then shook his head. "No, no, that's not what I meant to say..."

The butterflies were threatening to fly right out of Fred's mouth. She stepped closer and swallowed, trying to push them back down. Her voice came out as a whisper. "What'd you mean to say, then?"

"You're the loveliest thing I've ever seen." Wesley's voice, too, was a whisper. "Your beauty, your grace..."

Fred's face would go permanently red from all the blushing, she thought, and glanced down to try and hide the color in her cheeks. "I'm not all that graceful," was all she could murmur. "You've seen me trippin' over my own feet. I'm a klutz."

"No, no, not at all." The earnestness in Wesley's voice made Fred look back up at him. "You're not a klutz, you're... amazing."

The way the light from the gas lamps hit Wesley's glasses made it hard for Fred to see his eyes. She reached up and tugged them off, held them off to the side with one hand. His eyes were blue, a deep blue that shone with such intensity she was almost afraid of him. She knew what he could be like in battle, on the job, and she'd been afraid of that intensity being directed at her, afraid it might swallow her whole. Now, she felt... oddly safe. As if standing here in this strange place pulled out of time, she was totally protected as long as she was with him.

"You shouldn't hide your eyes like that," Fred murmured. "They're so pretty."

Wesley smiled, and then looked away himself, as if searching for words. "Fred, I... everything I want to say sounds trite."

"Then don't say anything?"

Wesley's smile grew, and then he leaned down to kiss her. The world spun, and Fred was almost yanked off her feet as she felt something in her middle tug, sharply. She clutched Wesley for balance as much as in passion, and returned the kiss with fervor.

When they finally pulled apart, Fred smiled up at Wesley. "Click," she whispered.

"Hmm?" Wesley frowned, seeming reluctant to let go.

"Everything makes sense again." Fred's smile widened to a grin before she reached her arms up around his neck to draw him down into another kiss.

***

The moment froze, a tableau of emotion that both repelled and fascinated Illyria. She could almost see the thing between Wesley and Fred, a line of connection between them that glowed and pulsed. With time the connection would strengthen and grow, until it would become a thing that could overcome any obstacle, break all boundaries. It had been there before, too, it was what had driven Fred to defy all laws of reality and fix time the way she wanted it to be. Illyria turned away, unable to look any longer.

"Love is a many splendoured thing." This from Fred, the ghost, the future version, stepping back out of her past self. "I think we did it, Illyria."

Illyria didn't turn to look again. "Good," was all she said.

"What now?" After a moment, the ghost stepped around to look at Illyria, making no swirls in the timestream now, leaving the pearly white untouched. Fred was misty, seeming distant.

"You're fading," Illyria stated. "Soon you will no longer exist, except as a memory."

Fred looked down at herself, held up misty hands, and smirked. "Well, I guess that makes sense. The memories I'm made of no longer exist."

"Sahjahn tried to interfere. I stopped him."

A nod from Fred. "Good. You'll watch and make sure he doesn't any further? Nor the Senior Partners?"

Illyria returned the nod. "I will. I... promise. Fred..."

The ghost stepped forward. "Don't. We'll meet again, and you can say whatever you want to say then. That you're sorry, that you hate me, that I'm a meaningless worm and you'll conquer the earth using my body." Fred wrinkled up her nose a bit. "I suspect that one's kinda out of the picture now, though, isn't it?" She was looking toward Wesley, and her voice softened. "I know why you did this. I know a little bit about you pure demons... you don't have the same emotions we do. Why do you think you agreed to work with a human, to lose your power and your chance at ruling the world again?"

Illyria tilted her head. "Perhaps because of your memories. Perhaps because my world is gone, and I must learn to live in this one... and I do not wish to live in a world where the wolf, ram, and hart control so much."

Fred smiled. "I know the answer, even if you won't admit it. Maybe we can work on that when we meet again." She paused, and sighed. "I'm gonna go back now. I'll see you... when I see you. Think about what I said. I think it's gonna matter later." The ghost walked forward, back toward her past self, and through Illyria. There was a strange pulling sensation, and the demon turned, forced herself to look at the pair still standing there with their arms wrapped around each other and their lips locked together.

The ghost turned back just before stepping into her past self. "Oh... in case we don't see each other again... thank you. For giving me this time. You could've just stepped right into me at any moment, I bet."

"It would have done no good. The shell would not be ready, I would have no power base."

"But you could appear to Knox. Tell him the proper ritual." Fred raised a hand. "You don't have to say anything. I get it. So... thank you. And for comforting Wesley, before, while he was dying." Then, a harsh look. "But don't ever impersonate me again, got it? Or we'll have words. And that goes for trying to change anything more, too. Just watch, Illyria. Your time will come."

It seemed Fred had no more power left to continue talking; she stepped back into her body and faded, and Illyria stared. The human threatened her? The shell dared give threats to what it had been created to hold?

After a moment or two spent pondering that, Illyria laughed aloud. "What a fool I am," she muttered. Fred was no shell--not anymore, nor would she ever be again. She'd gotten an Old One to gain help from the Powers That Be to change her life, and she'd use that power to take down the greatest threat humanity currently faced. Shell? No, Fred was no shell. Fred, Illyria realized, was the one thing she'd never truly had before: an equal that was not an enemy.

Together, they would change the world.

***

The kisses were everything Wesley'd dreamed they'd be and more. Fred's lips were soft and sweet, the taste of her lipstick a strange and heady thing. He handled her gently, trying not to muss up her hair or dress; she seemed to let go of inhibition and tangled her hands in his hair, holding onto him so tightly he was afraid he'd never be able to catch his breath again. Not that he wanted to. To kiss Fred was bliss that promised so much more, an eternity of joy wrapped up in a moment. He was almost afraid for the moment to end, for reality to crash in on them, for her to say it was a mistake, to push him away. Let this not be a dream, or a fantasy, please, God, let this be real.

"I should have known I would find you here, like this."

It was Gunn, and there was anger in his voice. Wesley reluctantly pulled away and turned to the other man. "I'm sorry, we got caught up in--" He cut off as he noticed that the other man held the sword Wesley had discarded. "Run into more of those odd men?"

"She is mine!" Gunn advanced on the pair, staring them down. "How dare you take what is mine?" There was more than anger in his eyes--murder lurked there.

Wesley stepped forward, trying to shield Fred. "Now, Gunn, I don't know what you think happened, but--"

Fred cut him off. "Please, it was not what you think! It was... just a moment of weakness, please, let him go."

Wesley stared at her back for a moment, confused, hurt... and then something swept over him. He felt anger rise up at this man who thought to own the woman he loved. He no longer saw Gunn, but the man who owned the ballet, a shorter man, Russian, in nobleman's dress. "You don't own her, Kurskov," he snarled. "We love each other. We're going away."

"Never! She is mine! She dances for me! Only me!" Gunn/Kurskov took another step forward.

"No, Stefan... please, do not hurt him, let him go!" Fred was between them now, and Wesley knew that this madman would hurt her if he didn't protect her. Before Wesley could move, though, the Count... Gunn... took her and shoved her aside, Wesley heard the clatter of crates as Fred fell. The other man was advancing on him with a sword. Well, then, he would die to protect her.

There was a yell from one of the corridors, and instead of being run through, Wesley felt the sword slide along his side. He groaned in pain and reality came flooding back as he saw Angel tackling Gunn. Fred was getting up from where she'd fallen, helped by Cordelia. Wesley pressed a hand to the side of his shirt and came away with blood. "Well, so much for renting this, then."

The floor came up to meet his knees and he heard the sounds of fighting, shouting. Then it stopped, and voices swirled around him through the pain.

"He's been hurt, but I don't think you hit any vital organs. He'll be okay." Cordelia. Cordelia's hands, ripping the shirt, tending the wound. He couldn't see her.

"Oh, God, oh God, what'd I do, what'd I do?" Gunn was somewhere nearby, sounding panicked.

"It's probably another one of those hot spots; we hit one before. The prima ballerina had a lover, but the owner of the company was jealous--"

"--and he killed the lover. Dragged her into this crazy-ass place with his magic. Is he gonna be alright? Tell me he's gonna be alright."

"He'll be fine, Gunn, just sit over there and calm down so I can deal with this."

Fred's face swam into view; she looked ashen and pale. He was on the floor, he realized. How had he gotten there?

"Hold on, Wesley. Just hold on. It'll be okay." Fred managed a small smile as she took his hand.

Wesley closed his eyes, pressed them shut for a long moment, tried to sort out all the confusion going on in his brain. He managed to pull himself up, waving off Cordelia's protests. "Shock, from the pain, and the possession. I think it's passed, now. How bad is it?"

"Well, the tux is a loss, and you'll need stitches, but if you don't move around too much you should make it out of here. If we can figure out how to get out of here." Cordelia looked shaken, but steady, and Wesley gave her a grateful smile.

Angel stood to one side, frowning. "Alright, so this guy Kurskov, he's in love with the ballerina and he finds her with another man and he... what, kills them?"

Gunn, sitting on a crate, nodded. He was staring down at his hands. "He found them here, together. He got so jealous he killed the guy and grabbed the girl, did some sort of spell to keep her trapped back here forever."

"So how do we get rid of it?" This was Fred, looking to Wesley. He was the one who knew magic; he had to figure this out.

"Just a normal human magician?" Wesley looked to Gunn.

Gunn nodded. "Seems like."

"Alright. This sort of magic's hard to maintain. He'll have a power source, he probably keeps it on him. If we can find a way to overload him..."

"Like that?" Cordelia had stood, and pointed to where Tragedy was rising, split in two, creating its double, Comedy. Beyond, they could see the facade shimmer, show the theatre's true form.

"Like that," Wesley agreed. Such creatures were hard to create and control. If they could force him to create enough of them... Comedy and Tragedy moved forward but Angel was already attacking them, helped by Cordelia and Fred. The two were soon down again, and Wesley said, "Angel, go find the Count, we'll overload the spell from here." Angel nodded and moved off down a corridor.

Wesley got to his feet with Fred's help while Cordelia grabbed swords for them all. "You sure you'll be able to fight? That was a bad cut."

He gave Cordelia a thankful smile for her concern and said, "I'll do what I have to. Charles?"

Gunn got to his feet, hands clenched in fists at his sides. "You know I'd never do that on my own, man. You know that, right?" His voice was distressed.

Wesley nodded. "I know. It wasn't you. It was..."

"...Something that was put in you." That from Fred, who gave Gunn a smile while she took Wesley's hand, squeezed it gently.

"Uhh, guys, hate to break up the group hug, but... incoming!" Cordelia pointed to where Comedy and Tragedy had fallen. the pair had risen and each of them were splitting in two.

With Fred's help, Wesley led the group away from the open area, finding a corner with crates stacked nearby where they couldn't get surrounded. Wesley placed himself near the crates so he could support himself between bouts of combat. Gunn positioned himself near the front, seeming determined to make up for what he'd done earlier. Wesley wasn't really angry, though he did have to wonder how much had been the spirit of the Count and how much had been Gunn himself. He knew the man had been eying Fred, but he hadn't thought it serious.

No more time for such thoughts; Kurskov's minions had found them. A fierce battle ensued, the creatures with the strange, mask-like faces attacking in pairs. First there were four, and that was enough of a problem for the group. Wesley tried his best to keep Fred behind him, but she insisted on stepping in front of him, taking on one of the ever-laughing representations of Comedy on her own after it had knocked him back. She wasn't a terrific fighter, but she'd had some practice and determination was on her side. Bucket in one hand and sword in the other, she beat the thing down and helped Cordelia run another through. Gunn took care of the other pair by himself and they had a respite during which Fred turned to make sure Wesley's bandage was secure; then the things rose again.

This time, there were eight, and while not all of them could get through at one time, it was still tough. Wesley grit his teeth and threw himself into the fray, ignoring the pain of his wound and accepting that he couldn't be in the forefront of the battle. Cordelia and Gunn took that role; Wesley and Fred kept the sides clear, Fred with her bucket and Wesley with his sword. They were pressed back, though, hemmed in--Cordelia was not much of a front-line fighter and Wesley was still injured--and it was a relief when the spell dissipated, leaving them in the modern backstage of the theatre.

Wesley slumped against a nearby crate as Fred moved to check his wound. Angel returned and explained what he'd done: he'd found the ballerina, and she'd told him of her lover, how he'd ask her to go with him but she'd waited too long. Kurskov had made her dance the exact same ballet again and again for over a century, but Angel had convinced her to dance something different, and it had overloaded Kurskov, allowing Angel to find him and destroy his power source.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet. The night had been quite eventful, and Wesley was looking forward to being able to rest. Something nagged at the back of his mind, though: had what happened between him and Fred only been because of that spell? They'd been in a "hot spot"... had she merely played her role? She was being affectionate, but that could be simple friendship and worry for his injury. He brooded on the matter along the way, and was still brooding when they reached the hotel.

Cordelia got him settled on the circular sofa in the middle of the hotel lobby and eyed his wound for a moment before going to get the first aid kit. Fred sat right next to him, holding his hand. "I know what you're thinking," she said in a low voice.

"Oh?" Wesley looked at her, somewhat amused. "Have you gained the ability to read minds, then?"

"No, I just know what you're thinking. You're thinking I only kissed you because of the spell."

"Well... I..." Wesley ducked his head a bit. "Well, yes, actually, I was."

"You're silly," Fred stated firmly. "Cordelia and I had a chat earlier, and she told me how you felt. Well, sorta. Generally, that you felt... something. I didn't know if you'd say anything, though." She smiled, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek. "So, no, that was me, with the kissing."

"Oh. Good." Anything further he wanted to say was cut short by Cordelia's returning and offering him painkillers.

"Not much else I can do right now, I'm afraid." Cordelia waited for Wesley to down the pills before starting in on the stitches. They hurt, but Fred squeezed his hand every time he winced, and with time the painkillers kicked in strongly enough that he just felt pleasant, almost like he was floating.

Angel came over, trying to get Cordelia's attention, but she was firm on finishing the stitches--and then as she did so, she suddenly said, "Groo!" Wesley turned his head to see a tall man coming down the stairs.

The heavily muscled man was dressed in medieval-looking leathers, carried a sword, and by his long hair and eyes that were bright blue with no whites, Wesley recognized the Groosalugg, a half-demon from Pylea, the dimension from which Angel Investigations had rescued Fred. The Groosalugg was a great champion despite his part-human heritage being "dirty" to Pyleans, and was supposed to mate with Cordelia and thus gain her visions. On discovering that the priests who ruled Pylea were evil, he opted instead to stage a rebellion and help the Angel Investigations team return home. The last Wesley had known, the Groosalugg had been installed as monarch of Pylea, ruling over a society where the Pylean natives and the humans, who had once been their slaves, would live together.

Cordelia ran up to embrace the Groosalugg, and Lorne, the green-skinned, red-horned empath demon (who happened to be a native of Pylea as well), came over, saying, "He just showed up. I guess they had a revolt and became democratic, and he had nowhere else to go. So he came here to find his true love."

Angel seemed distressed but while Wesley felt bad for his friend, he couldn't help but enjoy the way Fred was leaning her head on his shoulder and the pleasant feeling the painkillers gave him. He decided to try putting an arm around Fred's shoulders and managed to succeed, sighing contentedly.

Cordelia was busy kissing the Groosalugg and Angel pushed past them to go up the stairs, likely to check on Connor. Lorne looked down at the two on the sofa and grinned. "I see the night was magical for at least one couple, huh?"

"Seemed to be," Fred replied with a grin.

"Well, I'm glad one of my readings came through tonight." Lorne glanced at where Cordelia was chatting animatedly with the Groosalugg, Gunn having just gone over to join the conversation. "But I guess even I have to be wrong sometimes."

Fred commented, "I know. I thought for sure Cordy and Angel were destined to be with each other. I guess you never can tell with those things, hmm?"

"You never can tell," Wesley murmured in response.