The Strange Attractor, Chapter Four: First Date Jitters
In which Wesley and Fred's first date has an unexpected turn... (scene from "Couplet" quoted)

This took a while because I wasn't entirely sure how to get from Point A (the first scene) to Point B (the last scene)... I have a process in place now, so posting should happen more quickly.

Chapter Four: First Date Jitters

The only reason Wesley managed to get any sleep that night was the painkillers he'd taken--leftovers from Cordelia's old stash, no doubt. He was so groggy by the time everyone else started heading home that Fred and Lorne had to practically carry him upstairs. When he woke, he found himself in a bed in one of the hotel's rooms. He'd been stripped down to his boxers; he sincerely hoped that Fred had left the room and let Lorne do the stripping. Embarrassment faded at the sight of the pill bottle and a glass of water on the bedside table, with a note in Lorne's handwriting: Just in case.

Grateful, Wesley downed just one of the powerful Vicodin and wondered what he was going to do for clothing. Lorne seemed to have thought of everything: there was a set of clothing on the hotel room's dresser--clearly Angel's, but it would fit decently until he could get home. Another note sat atop the clothing: Toiletries in the bathroom. Shower and then come down to get that bandage changed. Have to look good for your new honey!

Wesley smirked at the note and quickly showered, using the travel toiletries he found. Afterwards he dressed, put on his glasses, and headed downstairs, the bottle of Vicodin in hand. Lorne was already down in the lobby behind what had been the concierge counter when the hotel was still active.

"Hey treacle tart, if you give me your key I'll go pick up some things from your apartment. Fred and Cordelia don't think it's a good idea for you to be driving until we're sure those stitches will hold."

Wesley started looking over the mail stacked on the counter and commented, "Why do you insist on calling people pastries?"

"Old habit--and don't change the subject."

Wesley looked up from the mail and peered at Lorne over the rim of his glasses. "I'm fine. I'll run out myself later." This wasn't entirely true, but he was uncomfortable with the thought of letting other people take care of him.

Lorne, elbow propped on the counter, gave Wesley a piercing look. "Unless you ignored the pills I left you, you're not fine. Not to be driving. The keys, Wes."

Wesley looked back down at the mail. "You know, treacle tart was always my favorite when I was a boy. Funny you should mention it."

"Wesley." Lorne's voice was firm now.

Wesley sighed and dug in his pocket, where he'd put the keys after retrieving them from the tuxedo. "Alright, here." He put the keys on the counter without looking up.

"Much better." Lorne grabbed the keys off the counter and said, "Anything in particular you want me to get? Or stay out of?" The green-skinned demon gave Wesley a wide grin.

"My liquor cabinet, for the latter." Wesley finally looked back up, having sorted the mail into three piles for Cordelia: bills, payments, and everything else. "Just bring along a couple changes of clothing and... my journals concerning our time in Pylea. They're all indexed and dated, shouldn't be too hard to find."

"Right. I'll be back in no time, and we'll check your bandage then." Lorne turned and headed up the stairs that led to the door.

Wesley left the mail on the counter and went into his office. He ignored the books on the shelves, the tea set in the corner, the journals and folders already stacked on the desk from yesterday's work, and settled himself in the chair behind the desk. His side still hurt where Gunn's sword had sliced across his ribs--thankfully avoiding anything major--but the Vicodin was dulling the feeling just enough for him to be able to focus.

He hadn't had much of a chance to think over the events of the previous night, and now that he was alone with his thoughts it was somewhat overwhelming. He still couldn't shake the nagging feeling that when Fred got downstairs she'd tell him she'd changed her mind. After so many months of watching her and longing for her, Wesley just couldn't quite believe that she really returned his interest. He looked forward to seeing her, but also dreaded the idea.

The best thing was probably to just continue on the path of building a relationship. So, a date. Tonight, perhaps. He planned to do some research about what Groosalugg being here might mean, but that shouldn't take all day. The real question was, where to take her?

As Wesley sat at his desk considering the issue, he heard movement out in the lobby. He was about to get up when Gunn came into the office, and Wesley settled back into his chair.

"Wes... I'm really sorry about last night. It was that thing, you know? That... hot spot."

"Good morning, Charles, how are you? I'm fine myself, I've got some pills, Lorne's checking the bandage later." Wesley wasn't entirely sure whether he was being mean or just teasing his friend. "Have some tea?"

"I'm serious. I'm really sorry. I just got carried away, and I shouldn't have. I was thinking maybe I should take some time off, if you wanted. Things seem to be pretty quiet."

Wesley shook his head. "We need you. Holtz is still out there, and God knows what else."

Gunn nodded. "Alright. Figured I'd offer." He stood there a moment, as if unsure what else to say.

Wesley sighed. "Gunn, what happened wasn't your fault. Don't think I blame you for this, or want you gone."

"Is it? I dunno." Gunn dropped into one of the chairs in front of the desk, his tone and expression upset. "It was like something took me over, but... I've been sitting up all night, wondering if maybe that was me, just a little. Look, I don't want you to think... I like Fred. She's gorgeous and she's funny, and... man, I'd love to be in your shoes. But I'd never attack you, not over a girl. Still, though... I gotta admit, there's some jealousy there. You got there first though, and I respect that, and Fred, she's obviously into you."

Wesley sat back and laced his fingers together in his lap. "I know what you're going through. Wondering if that was really something inside you, if you could ever be pushed to the point where you'd do the things the spell made you do." He frowned, remembering the way he'd hurt Fred when infected with Billy Blim's blood, the terrible things he'd said to her. After that, how could she want... he shook the thought away. "I'd like to think not. I'd like to think that we'd never come to blows over a woman... but I'm not going to be naive about the issue." He sighed. "Charles, all I can say is... that capability may be in you, but you can choose to control it. You can choose to ignore the jealousy. You're my friend, and my co-worker, and office romances are always a touchy thing. I don't even know if Fred will want to take things any further. I wouldn't worry about it too much."

Gunn laughed at that. "The way she was acting last night? She'll want to take it further." He sighed, became more serious. "You're probably right. I think I've just gotta get my mind on something else. Any cases yet? I'm dying to kill me a demon or two."

Wesley shook his head. "Not yet. I haven't even eaten anything, but I'm sure Lorne will see to that."

His tone must have been rueful, because Gunn laughed again. "It'll be alright, man. You can assert your independence once those stitches heal." He stood, and paused. "I really am sorry. And, y'know, I gotta say it: hurt her and I'll break your arm."

Wesley looked up at Gunn and said, quite seriously, "If I hurt Fred, I'll break the arm for you."

Gunn nodded. "Long as we're clear." He turned to head back out, leaving Wesley to his thoughts.

***

Lorne walked through the hotel's front garden and past the fountain, whistling as he went. He carried a small bag with a few of Wesley's personal items, two changes of clothing, and the journals he'd been asked to find. The man was obsessively organized and a compulsive journal-writer, but fortunately the indexing system wasn't hard to figure out. He didn't know how long Wesley would be staying at the hotel, and he'd wager a guess that the man would want to get home and have some time alone with Fred, injured or not. Still, it never hurt to be safe.

As he came in the front doors, he glanced toward the window separating Wesley's office from the lobby and saw Gunn in there with a serious expression on his face. Worried, he started over that way, but Fred was just coming in from the courtyard, humming to herself. Lorne could easily read her aura--an air of happy contentment, for the most part, though some worry. She was going to have a good day, and she'd definitely found the right match in Wesley, but there was darkness coming, and... something he'd never seen in her aura before. A huge destiny, so big it almost scared him. How could such a small, adorable girl do what was going to be asked of her?

The worry must have shown on his face, because Fred bounced right up to him and gave him one of those ear-to-ear grins he'd come to treasure. "You're in early," she commented. She was dressed today in a thin white blouse and brown corduroys, her hair nicely braided. Lorne suspected she was trying her best to dress up without being obvious about her intentions.

"Hey there, creamcake. Yeah, I wanted to make sure someone looked after Wesley and made sure Angel didn't go off the deep end. Cordelia took Groo home last night, you know."

"Oh, did she?" Fred frowned, her nose wrinkling. "Poor Angel. I mean, I'm glad for Cordy and all, but..."

"Yeah, I hear you. I could've sworn I read those two differently." Lorne sighed, then brightened. "But, hey, I read at least one couple right, huh? You and Wes made any plans for tonight?"

"Oh, well... no, not really, I mean... he was all drugged up last night, I dunno if he'd even want to, I mean, he got hurt and all, and maybe he blames me, and... did he say anything, I mean, d'you think he wants to go out tonight?" Fred managed to go from frowning and gesturing off to the side to looking up at Lorne with her eyes wide at the end of the sentence.

Lorne chuckled. "You should probably ask him, sugarpie. I've got some of his stuff here, why don't you take it in to him?"

Fred looked at the bag and nodded, reaching over to take it as Lorne pulled it off his shoulder. "Ugh, it's heavy. What's in here?"

"Just some journals and clothes. Wes said he wanted to look into what Groo showing up will mean."

"Huh. You think it's got anything to do with everything else going on? I mean, did you read him?"

"No, but you know, maybe I should. Not that I doubt him, but dimensional travel doesn't happen every day."

Fred shouldered the bag and frowned at Lorne. "Well, if it isn't that, then why were you looking so gloomy when I walked in? I was humming... it wasn't me, was it? I'm not gonna die a horrible death or something, I'm too young!" Her brown eyes got even wider at the prospect.

Lorne smiled, and this time, sadly enough, it was faked. "Not to worry, Fredikins, it's nothing to do with you." How Lorne hated to lie, especially to Fred, but how could he tell her the truth? Especially since it wasn't entirely clear what the truth was. "I see you destined for a good day and a wonderful evening."

Fred's expression went from panicked to relieved and smiling once more. "Oh. Good. Well, I hope whatever it is gets better." She paused as Gunn left Wesley's office and waved her free hand. "Hey, Charles, I missed you at breakfast."

Gunn had been heading toward the concierge's counter, but changed direction to meet Lorne and Fred where they stood in the middle of the lobby. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I needed some time to think things over."

Fred tilted her head, gave Gunn a bit of a smile. "And what'd you think over, huh? You're not still worried about that whole stabbing Wesley thing, are you?"

Gunn sighed. "I don't know... look, Fred, I'm sorry, I... I just need some time, okay?" Fred's expression grew hurt, and Gunn waved his hands. "I'm not mad at you or nothing, I just think it'd be better if you and I don't hang out too much right now."

"But... Charles, I thought we were friends..."

"Fred, I know that, but... I was ready to kill Wesley last night, and you too. That's... something I've gotta come to grips with. And once I'm cool, we can hang out again, alright?" It didn't take an empath to see the real reason Gunn wanted to avoid Fred for now, and from what Lorne had heard of last night's events, he wondered if maybe some of the spell's effects had struck a nerve.

Fred continued frowning at Gunn for a moment, before nodding. "Alright. But, hey, don't be a stranger, okay?" She smiled and turned to head into Wesley's office.

For a moment, Lorne and Gunn just watched her go, and then Lorne said, in a low tone, "Do you think you can just be friends with her?"

Gunn gave him a surprised look and then hung his head. "I don't know, man. Wesley's my best friend, you know. We've been through a lot together--guy took a bullet for me. I went and lied to him about my old gang's involvement in killing those innocent demons and it nearly got a lot of people hurt, and your club all busted up, and he was right to be mad at me for that. I thought we'd built up the trust again. Last night..." He took in a deep, shuddering breath, looked directly at Lorne. "I wanted to kill him, last night, because I saw him kissing Fred. If Angel hadn't stopped me, I would have. I don't know how much of that was me and how much of it was the spell."

Lorne put a hand on Gunn's arm. "I get what you're saying, and I don't blame you. Fred... she's a looker, and with brains to boot. If I thought I was anywhere in her league..." Lorne sighed, rueful of the fact that the women who interested him--gorgeous, tough, smart women--would always look at him more as a shoulder to lean on than any sort of romantic interest, not least because he was a demon. "It's hard, standing on the outside with so much to give. Trust me, I mean, you've met the women of my race. My type they're definitely not." He chuckled and then continued, "I wish I could say something that'll make you feel better, but Fred and Wes, that's a match that doesn't come along very often. Those two were made for each other. I'm telling you this because I don't want to see you try to get in the way and get anyone hurt. But I'll also tell you that someone who's right for you is going to come along someday."

"How do you know? You've never read me."

"I just know, Gunn. If you want me to take a reading, hey, I'd love to set you on your path. But I get the feeling you'd rather figure it out yourself."

Gunn nodded, sighed, looked back toward Wesley's office, where they could just barely see Fred sitting on the edge of Wesley's desk, laughing. "Yeah. I just... I don't want to lose her, as a friend."

"Then don't. But don't lie or torture yourself about it, either. Wait until you can accept the idea. She'll understand."

Gunn managed to smile. "Thanks."

"Hey, don't mention it. That's what I'm here for." Lorne smiled, but privately he still worried: what was that he'd seen in Fred's aura?

***

Wesley had just finished sorting through the piles of folders on his desk when Fred came in, shouldering a small duffel bag. "Hey there," she said with a smile. "Lorne sent me in with your clothes and stuff."

Wesley folded his hands on his desk and smiled at Fred. "Oh, thank you. That'll be... quite good." He noticed, as always, how she was dressed, how her hair was done. He'd never seen the outfit before, hadn't even known she owned corduroys. And her hair... not in her usual girlish pigtails or pulled up in a hurry, but a nice braid that had obviously taken some time. Somehow, the care she'd obviously taken when she dressed this morning only served to make him terribly nervous.

Fred set the bag down next to the desk and examined Wesley for a moment. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well enough, I suppose." Wesley sighed and settled back, trying to cover his nerves with a cool, nonchalant demeanor. "I never sleep well away from my own bed, but given that, it was a decent night. I don't really remember dreaming."

"Good." Fred smiled and started toward him. "I really ought to check your bandage."

"Oh, no, that isn't..." Too late; Fred was already lifting the just-slightly-too-large shirt to get a look at the bandage along Wesley's left side. He cleared his throat and studiously examined one of the pictures on the wall while Fred's soft fingers felt along the edges of the wounded area.

"Mmm. You re-did this yourself, didn't you?" Fred's tone was clinical as she lifted the bandage to look at the wound itself. "Well, the stitches are holding pretty well. Get someone to change the wrappings once you're in your own clothes."

"I'll, ahh... I'll do that." Wesley couldn't keep his attention on the picture for long; his gaze came down to the top of Fred's head, right in front of him, the room's light casting a gold halo on her brown hair. Damn it, he'd never get any work done if he couldn't keep his mind off the woman for five seconds. He really ought to send her away. Not that he wanted to, remotely, but there was always so much to do.

Fred began to straighten, and suddenly her face was right in front of his. She smiled shyly, glanced down and away as she lowered and patted his shirt, then straightened fully. She only took a step back, though, said, "Well, umm, I'm glad you're doing alright. Have you eaten?"

"No, I hadn't. You?" Wesley couldn't seem to think of anything much to say. So much for cool and nonchalant.

"Yeah, but I could probably eat again. I'm always pretty hungry, I mean, you noticed that, you're always making sure I get fed, and..." Fred trailed off. "I'm rambling again. Umm. Well." She looked down again, hands twisting in front of her.

"Well."

"Well, I guess I'll... see you around the office?" Fred still wasn't looking at him, hadn't moved away just yet, and her tone was far too casual for the way she was staring at her hands and twisting them so tightly the knuckles were white.

Wesley frowned, then suddenly a possible source of her behavior dawned on him. "We do have a lot to do today, but, um... Fred, would you like to... would you like to have dinner with me? I mean, tonight. After work." He managed to get that out without too much of his dread of rejection going into his voice.

Fred looked up, brightening. "Yes! Yes, I'd love to... have dinner. Tonight. With you." She smiled.

"Good." Tension he hadn't even known was there left Wesley, and he reached out to take one of Fred's hands, gently untangling it from the other. "Around seven, maybe? There's a nice little Italian place around the corner I've been meaning to look into."

Fred nodded agreement. "Alright. Umm. Yeah. So, it's a date." She tangled the fingers of her hand with his this time, still smiling at him.

"I suppose it is, at that."

For a moment she just smiled down at him, and he slowly returned the smile. Then abruptly, as if doing something before she lost her nerve, Fred leaned down to kiss him again. This kiss was soft and sweet and lingering, like she was pulling something from his lips, the only other contact their intertwined fingers. He closed his eyes and savored the moment, the taste of her lips, her scent so very close. When she finally pulled away--slowly, reluctantly--she only went so far as to sit on the edge of his desk, still holding his hand.

Wesley opened his eyes, smile widening. He cleared his throat and said, with a bit of a stammer, "Keep doing that and I won't need any more painkillers."

Fred laughed. "You really think we'd get away with that, being all smoochy in front of the clients?"

"Mmm. I suppose not." Wesley shifted in his seat, frowned in mock annoyance. "If I knew how to make money without any clients..."

Fred gave him a look that was clearly supposed to be stern and disapproving, but ruined it with a giggle and settled for smiling at him with one side of her mouth, head tilted. "You know you don't mean that. We'll just have to find chances when no one's around. Like now."

"There are people out in the lobby. I can hear them."

"So? They're not clients. Let 'em watch." She leaned down and kissed him again, more confident this time.

This could work, Wesley realized as he returned her kiss. The trouble he'd had with women in the past had been a lack of confidence--and with his last girlfriend, Virginia Bryce, the danger of his lifestyle. Somehow, though, he and Fred kept connecting despite themselves, and the danger clearly wasn't an issue. Moreover, astoundingly enough, Fred obviously returned Wesley's attraction and interest. The pleasant thought of what more might be to come, what there might be beneath Fred's often shy, quirky exterior, was indeed quite enough to take his mind off the pain of his wound.

All too soon, the kiss was over again, Fred was pulling back, eyes sparkling. "So what important business is to be done today, hmm? Any helpless people show up yet?"

"Not one. We've got some ongoing cases, though, and a woman coming in for an appointment later. Something about her fiance being under a spell." Wesley found that once he actually got the business of kissing Fred out of the way, he could think clearly in her presence again. Something to note for the future, or he'd really never get any work done. "Other than that, we'll wait to see if anyone comes in or Cordelia has a vision."

"Well, I hope not, I'm kinda looking forward to--"

Fred was cut off as Angel entered the office, carrying a young baby--Connor. "Hey, Wes, can I talk to you for a second?"

Wesley sighed as Fred let go of his hand, a rather startled expression on her face. She looked as embarrassed as he felt. "Certainly," he replied, shifting himself to try and cover his own surprise. "What is it?"

Angel hugged the cooing baby closer to him and said, "I've been wondering, about the Nyazian scroll, all that business with the Tro-Clon. We never really got a clear answer about what was going to happen." If Angel had noticed anything he wasn't showing it outwardly.

Fred stood, turned to look at Angel. "I thought Holtz was the Tro-Clon. Or, at least, all the events surrounding the baby being born."

Wesley shook his head. "There's more to it than that. The Tro-Clon is a confluence of events that is supposed to bring about the ruination of mankind."

"Exactly." Angel pointed at Wesley with his free hand. "And Connor's involved in that somehow. I want you to track down every prophecy that might have to do with Connor, starting with this whole Tro-Clon business, and figure out what else might be on the way. Think you can manage that?"

Wesley nodded. "I'll have to make some calls, but there are a few volumes I might be able to acquire."

"Good. I need you on this as soon as possible. How soon can you get those volumes?"

"Probably later today, if they're in."

"Great. Then you can get started tonight."

Wesley glanced to Fred, then back to Angel. "Tonight may not be the best--"

Angel cut in, "He's my son, Wesley. He's all I've got. If he's supposed to bring 'ruination'... I have to know what to do."

Fred frowned. "He's not all you've got. You've got us."

Angel sighed. "I know, Fred, I just... I'm just worried, that's all."

Wesley eyed the vampire for a moment. Worry was clearly taking a toll on him--worry for his son, for what these prophecies might mean. And, Wesley suspected, worry that Angel might yet again lose something dear to him, as he'd lost so much else in his life--his soul to death, his family to his own depravity, any chance for happiness to the curse that had restored his soul, Buffy to that curse, and now, it seemed, Cordelia--to Groosalugg. Besides that, focusing on these prophecies might be a way for Angel to cope. Still, there was no reason to get in such a rush. He was just about to tell Angel that he'd find the books as soon as he could and get started tomorrow when Fred spoke up.

"Tonight'll be fine. I'll pitch in and give Wesley some help--he's got all his journals and stuff over at his place, we can order in and make a night of it."

Wesley stared at Fred for a moment before realizing just what she was suggesting. Sitting around translating prophecies wasn't his idea of a proper first date--but she was clearly thinking along the same lines he was, regarding Angel. Still, Fred at his flat, alone with him? That was a nervous prospect.

Angel was smiling. "That's great. Thanks, guys, really."

"We all love Connor," Fred said seriously. "If there's a threat to him, I want to know."

Wesley nodded. "Done, then. I'll make some calls. After I change." He stood, picked up the bag Lorne had brought. It was heavy, but that was to be expected, with the journals he'd asked for. "Oh, I was also going to look into what Groosalugg's appearance might mean."

"Huh? Oh, him. Well... see if you can fit it in," Angel muttered.

Lorne stuck his head around the door frame. "Cordelia's back, and she had a vision. I think you'll want to hear this."

Angel nodded and started out for the lobby, but Fred lingered. "You need any help?"

"No, I'll be fine. Fred... are you sure you're alright with helping me tonight?" Wesley found that carrying the bag in his right hand was easier than trying to put the strap over his shoulder.

"I'm looking forward to it. And if it goes well, you can take me to the Italian place another time. Besides, you and me, alone in your apartment? It has... possibilities." Fred smiled, a rather mischievous look in her eyes, and Wesley gulped, trying to ignore his body's reactions to her expression and what it might mean. Before he could respond, she continued, "Go get changed and I'll have Lorne go in to help with your bandages." And then she was gone, out into the lobby.

"Between demons and women, this life is going to kill me," Wesley muttered to himself, then grinned. Death by Fred might not be so bad. He was humming as he headed for the bathroom to change.

***

The day was busy enough at first that for a few hours Wesley thought he'd have no time to fit in research about Groosalugg. Cordelia brought in a vision, Wesley determined the subject of her vision was a Senih'd demon, and the team went out after it--Angel and Groosalugg in the fore, of course, and Fred was very firm that Wesley not get himself in too much trouble. Angel and Groosalugg tracked the thing through the sewers and fought it. Groo saved the day when the Senih'd went into the sunlight where Angel couldn't follow, and saved a woman who it otherwise might have killed.

Yet after this, the day just seemed to drag. Groosalugg entertained everyone with his re-enactment of his fight with the Senih'd. They had one client, a Ms. Frakes. She requested help tailing her fiance, who she believed was being seduced by a witch. Despite his feeling that there was likely nothing to worry about, Wesley sent Gunn off anyhow--maybe there'd be a demon for him to fight. Angel was jittery and clearly upset over how close Cordelia and Groosalugg were to each other. Lorne kept finding excuses to get out of the room whenever Wesley and Fred were alone, yet Angel would come pacing right back through, sometimes carrying the baby.

Around five o'clock, Fred disappeared upstairs to "get ready." What she could possibly have to do that would take that long Wesley didn't know, and wasn't sure he could bear thinking about, or he'd be utterly useless for the next two hours. Instead, to soothe his nerves and get Angel to stop his constant pacing, Wesley offered to take Angel along with him to pick up the commentary he'd managed to find.

The book store was musty and cluttered, but there was a sense of familiarity in such places that Wesley found comforting. Angel had been quiet along the way, but as they entered he started griping. "I don't know, maybe they should just do it. You know, get it over with."

Wesley, distracted by a rare pressing of Rimaldi's Four Demons in Repose--could that possibly be an original? No, hardly likely--turned to Angel and said, "I'm sorry?"

"Cordy and Groo. She's being all noble for the good of the team. She should just make it with the com-shuck. That's what she wants."

"Oh." Com-shuck was the word the Pyleans had used to describe the ritual mating Cordelia and Groosalugg were supposed to have undergone--that she had refused, in order to keep her visions. Earlier, Cordelia'd been complaining about how she couldn't have sex with Groo, because she was worried she might still lose her visions. Wesley himself found the dilemma understandable, but he wasn't entirely comfortable hearing as much about it as Cordelia had divulged.

The man behind the counter said, "May I help you?"

"Yes," Wesley replied. "I phoned earlier about Grammaticus' Third Century Greek Commentaries."

"Of course. The GTCGC. I'll be just one moment." The shopkeeper smiled as Wesley thanked him, and headed off to a side room.

"I mean, why not, you know? Life's short. Okay, not mine, but you know, most people." Angel had moved away from the counter, was touching things as he went along, and Wesley suppressed the urge to warn him that he'd have to buy anything he broke. "And if Groo does it for her, she should go for it. Make him happy, make her happy. Everybody happy."

"Still... office romance--it complicates things. What if they should have a row, or break up?" Which Wesley meant for himself as much as for Cordelia. Breaking up with Fred was unthinkable, but he did have to think about the team. And, perhaps, on some level he wanted Angel's approval of his relationship with Fred before going further with it--even if that approval was only tacit.

"All of us fight with each other at some point. It's not like anybody else is having a romance. I don't see it changing things much."

Wesley almost laughed--how dense was Angel, anyhow?--but continued in the role of Devil's Advocate, glancing the way the shopkeeper had gone, then leaning closer to Angel and whispering, "Well... she said it herself. Could risk the visions."

"Yeah, okay. So the visions pass to Groo. He gets 'em instead of her. So what?" Angel spoke in a more normal tone, though still low.

Wesley frowned a moment, then started walking over to where Angel was pulling down books, flipping through them. "Are you suggesting Groosalugg could replace Cordelia?" The thought was rather shocking. Cordelia had been a key part of the team since its inception.

"Maybe not Cordelia," Angel muttered.

And finally, Wesley understood the source of Angel's frustration. "I see. You think he could replace you."

Angel paused a moment, shelved the book he'd been holding. He turned to Wesley, his expression concerned, not really able to meet his friend's eyes. "I don't know. It seems to me here's a guy who can do everything I can... and a few things I can't."

"That's not true."

Angel looked up at Wesley. "You saw what happened this afternoon. If Groo hadn't have been there--"

"Then the rest of us would have." Wesley paused a moment, to consider how best to say what needed to be said. "Angel... you're the reason we've all come together. It's your mission which animates us. We each contribute, it's true. But you--you're unique. You're like one of these rare volumes. One of a kind."

Angel smiled a bit and Wesley was feeling proud of his pep-talking abilities when the shopkeeper came back through holding several books in his hand. "I got three of 'em," he said.

Well. That was a way to ruin a perfectly good speech. Still, Wesley reaffirmed the point on the drive back to the hotel, and felt confident that Angel was a bit more upbeat. With a promise to contact Angel once he'd discovered anything, Wesley started gathering up the day's work in preparation to head home.

As he packed up the bag Lorne had used to bring his things over, he heard a knock on the office door. He turned and saw Cordelia standing there. "Got a minute?"

"Certainly, come in. Where's Groosalugg?"

Cordelia came in and leaned on the desk. "I sent him upstairs to change. I wanted to check up on you. How's the wound?"

Wesley stretched, raising his left arm. "It's fine, a bit sore. It wasn't as bad as it seemed at first, really."

"Good, good. And things went well last night?" Cordelia was smiling, and Wesley returned the smile.

"Things went rather well, I think."

"So what're you and Fred up to tonight?"

Wesley cleared his throat. "Well... I'd meant to take her out, but..."

"But Angel came in and insisted you research all night." Cordelia sighed. "It's a pain, but he means well. He's just worried about Connor."

"I know. And I am too, when it comes to that. We really do need to have an idea of what's happening."

"So... why's she still upstairs getting ready?" Cordelia tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, which Wesley knew was an expression which meant she'd have nothing but a straight answer from him.

"She suggested that she come over to my place and help with the... research."

"Ahh, so she's moving fast, is she?" Cordelia had brightened, and slapped Wesley on the arm. "Good to see someone around here might be getting lucky sometime soon."

Wesley cleared his throat again. Cordelia had a way of making him terribly uncomfortable. "Well, I don't think it's as fast as all that. We're just... researching."

"Oh, come on, Wesley. She could've said 'let's stay at the office,' but she didn't. She wants to be alone with you, in your apartment, and she's definitely thinking of it as a date."

"I suppose you're right. What do I do, then? To make it... a proper date."

Cordelia stood, took a few steps across the room as she spoke. "Well, candles... good food... wine, definitely wine. Maybe some music." She turned to face him. "And the researching can take the place of dancing. I know how much those books just turn you on." She grinned at him.

Wesley gave her a stern look. "There are serious forces at play here, Cordelia--"

"--and you're going on your first date with a girl you've been obsessing over for months. If you two don't get to it, I'll never hear the end of this."

Wesley sighed, tossed the last book in his bag. "I don't want to make a mistake on this."

"You won't. Look, the world's not gonna end tomorrow."

"We've been surprised before."

Cordelia grinned. "Well, probably not anyway. If you get a little... distracted... you can always finish your research in the morning. It'll probably take more than one night to be sure anyhow, right?"

Wesley nodded, conceding the point. "You're probably right." He gave Cordelia what he was certain was an almost helpless look. "What should I wear?"

She laughed in response. "Something casual, but nice. You want to look relaxed, but appealing. And go light on the cologne, you'll be in a close place."

"What would I do without you?"

"Probably be a bachelor for the rest of eternity." Cordelia grinned, then clapped her hands together. "I've got it! Oh, this'll be perfect. Go, have fun, and tell Angel to come talk to me, okay?"

"Uhh... alright. Is something going on?"

Cordelia was already heading out the door. "I know how I'm going to have sex with Groo, that's all."

Wesley watched her go with a sigh. Deciding he didn't want the details, he went to find Angel, informed him Cordelia wanted to talk to him--and didn't speculate on what Angel had to do with Cordelia and Groosalugg having sex. With a promise to Angel to call him if they found anything, Wesley headed home to prepare for Fred's arrival.

***

The better part of an hour was spent in internal debate. What to eat was an easy decision, and ordered at 6:30. But what to wear? How to set the mood and still leave some possibility that they'd get something done? A restaurant or movie or other such traditional date provided answers to these sorts of questions, but Wesley had intended formality and romance and now found himself facing the problems of juxtaposing that with research. Finally he decided to dress in blue turtleneck and black slacks--nice, but not overly reaching. Simple. Despite Cordelia's insistence on candles, he split the difference in lighting--he'd leave it low for dinner, but once they started researching, there were lamps to turn up that wouldn't entirely spoil the mood. He dug out music that always helped him focus (and was soft and soothing enough for a date), and was feeling rather pleased with his efforts when the doorbell rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was the delivery man, and Wesley quickly shooed him off, with a hefty tip for the speed, then set to pacing. Seven o'clock came and went, and no Fred. Wesley started counting the minutes. Seven-oh-one, seven-oh-two... somehow a single minute was an agony. Should he call? Maybe she was stuck somewhere, or hurt. Except, it hadn't been that long, and he'd seem over-anxious if he called her now. No, better to wait. Until when, though? Five past? Ten?

At seven-oh-six the doorbell rang and Wesley jumped again, hurried over. He took a moment to compose himself and opened the door. He was trying affect a cool, composed demeanor. Yet any ability to be "cool" flew out the window at the sight of Fred standing on his doorstep, in a red dress that reached her knees, held at the top with thin straps, the bodice cut low enough to show off a generous amount of her chest, the entire thing hugging her thin body rather closely. She wore sandals with about an inch of heel and her hair was down, making the whole thing casual, more like a sun dress than anything else. Somehow that just made it more intimidating. No, no ability to be cool, or composed, and what was he thinking trying to research tonight at all? Wesley stood in the door and gaped at Fred until she grinned at him and said, "Aren't you gonna invite me in, silly?"

Shaking himself, Wesley stepped aside a bit. "C-come on in. Please. Umm. You look... lovely." Rational thought had taken leave once again.

Fred stepped in just far enough to close the door, then wrapped her arms around Wesley's neck and drew him down for a kiss. It wasn't soft and lingering like earlier in the day--this was a kiss that meant business, a thing of passion and fire. Wesley wrapped his arms around her, held her close, inhaling her scent--no perfume, that wasn't Fred's way, just the smell of her. He did his best to resist the urge to just pick her up and take her to the bedroom right then. Dinner, whispered a voice in the back of his mind, and you promised to research. You should at least take a crack at that. He ignored the voice, but restricted his hands to her hair, her arms, her back, as much as he might like to explore elsewhere.

He wasn't sure how much later it was--a good two minutes at least--when Fred finally pulled away. She seemed to have a fondness for mussing up his hair that made him wonder if he shouldn't simply keep it in a messier style. The room was fuzzy, and he blinked a few times before Fred put his glasses back on. When had she removed them?

"That's how good you look," Fred murmured, grinning, and then stepped out of his embrace with a deep breath. "It's nice."

"Mmm-hmm." Wesley shook his head, managed to collect his thoughts into a semblance of order. "I ordered dinner. It's not Italian, but, ah... well, I think you'll like it." He smiled, and she smiled back.

"I'm starving," Fred said as she headed toward the dining table. Well, when wasn't she, really? It was astonishing the amount of food Fred could put away in one sitting. Wesley sincerely hoped he'd ordered enough. He'd already set the table with the plates, a bottle of wine, and two glasses.

"Enchiladas!" Fred exclaimed, and beamed up at him as she sat.

"Well, I... it's from your favorite place. Or at least, the one you told me to call the most often. And I remembered the other day you said you hadn't had them in weeks."

"Nope. Back home I'd have them, like, twice a week, my friend Francesca's mom had the very best recipe. But these are almost as good."

Wesley poured the wine and sat down himself. "I know it's not... well, it's not... it's not what I wanted to do, you deserve better than... than..." He lost his train of thought, staring at Fred in the candlelight.

"It's perfect," she said, smiling, and proceeded to take a bite of the food. "Oh!" She closed her eyes, tilted her head to the ceiling as she chewed. "Heaven." The expression on her face when she looked at him again was indescribable.

How he managed to get through dinner, Wesley wasn't afterward certain. Fred enjoyed food to an almost sinful degree, and watching her eat would have been pleasurable all by itself. The food was good, too; Wesley had gained an appreciation for Mexican and Tex-Mex cuisine after Fred had joined them, with her constant cravings for tacos. He inquired after Francesca and kept Fred talking, not trusting himself to say anything interesting or even coherent, just now. She rattled on, animated and bright, and slowly the surreal quality of being alone in his flat with Fred began to fade. He was even able to start holding up his end of the conversation.

When dinner was done, Wesley went back to the kitchen to get dessert--which elicited another excited reaction from Fred. "Flan! Oh, that's my very favorite! How'd you know?"

"Well... I... I didn't, really, it was just... I knew you liked it..."

"Oh, yes, I do." Fred beamed again at the sight of the caramel-covered custards, and as Wesley set her plate down in front of her she kissed his cheek. "You are the very best boyfriend a girl could ask for."

Wesley slid back into his chair with a thump, stammering, "B-boyfriend?"

Fred was still talking, likely not having heard him. "And this is the best date ever, and is likely to be the best relationship ever. Which is setting us up for high expectations, I know, but I think we can manage." She grinned at him, nose wrinkled up.

Wesley tried to think of something to say in response. He must have waited too long, because Fred's expression began to sink. "Oh," she said, "well, if you don't... I moved too fast, didn't I?" She sighed. "I always do that, I move way too fast, I don't know how to handle these things and I like you so much, and I guess I just sort of assumed, and I'm really sorry, it's just been such a nice night--"

Wesley cut in. "Fred, I'm not upset."

Fred blinked. "You're not?"

"No." Wesley smiled. "I'm not. I'm just... not used to... this."

"What?" Fred looked around with a frown.

"This." Wesley gestured. "Dinner, and candles, and... you. A girlfriend, at all, let alone one who won't run off at the first sign of danger."

Fred grinned. "Danger? I laugh in the face of danger. Ha, ha, ha!"

"That's it exactly." Wesley leaned forward. "Most girls, most people, when they encounter the dark forces at the edge of our world, they... run away, or try to hide from it, try to pretend it doesn't exist. I don't really blame them. But you accept it, and fight it, despite all the terrible things you've been through."

"Well, it's not like I had much choice, stuck in a demon dimension for five years."

"Yes, but... you could have gone home, with your parents. Instead, you stayed here with us, to 'fight the good fight,' as it were. The rest of us don't have a lot of choice. Cordelia has her visions, Gunn and I grew up fighting monsters, and Angel and Lorne are what they are. You could go home. Have a normal life. You don't have the ties to this life that we do, and you have other options. You could walk away from all of this. Yet you choose not to."

Fred shrugged, tilted her head. Her tone was uncomfortable. "I can be a help, and I like you guys."

"You've done amazing things here, with us." Wesley took a deep breath. "I've always wanted to believe the world was worth saving. That all this effort we put in means something. But I never really understood why it was worth saving until I met you."

Fred smiled and ducked her head shyly. "You really mean that?"

"Yes." Wesley was always best with words about the battle they fought between good and evil, and somehow, expressing what he felt for Fred was easiest to couch in those terms. At least he wasn't falling all over himself unable to get out even a coherent sentence.

They ate dessert in silence. When they were both done they stared at each other for a full minute before Wesley shook himself. "We should get to researching," he said.

"Yes. Umm. We should."

They both got up from the table. Wesley cleared the dishes while Fred went over to the couch. She sat down and looked over the books and journals he'd laid out. "So what're we looking for?"

Dishes taken care of, Wesley sat down next to Fred--leaving just enough space between them that he'd be able to focus. "Well, we already did quite a bit of work on the scroll, of course, before Lilah Morgan... well. No use crying over spilled milk, hmm?" It was easier to fall back into old modes for the moment, with so much work to do, Fred so close, and their relationship not yet consummated. "What we're looking for, really, is what to do next. Perhaps some glimpse of the larger picture, what all this might mean. I know you think we can avoid the supposedly 'inevitable'... but we have to know what's coming in order to avoid it."

Fred nodded, and leaned over to pick up one of the books. She'd fished her glasses out of her purse and now had them perched on her nose. "I think I have just enough Latin to manage this," she commented as she flipped through it. "But I might need your help on the trickier bits."

"Of course." Wesley smiled at Fred, then picked up the book he'd bought earlier in the day. "Let's get to it, shall we?"

They began reading, one or the other of them occasionally making notes on the paper Wesley'd set out. There was a familiarity to the process, but also a strange sense of novelty. Wesley was very aware of how close Fred was, how good she looked, the wine in both of them helping them relax. He did his best to focus and began to feel that perhaps they might actually get somewhere before the night went too much further.

After a little while, Fred kicked off her sandals, turned sideways on the couch, and deposited her legs in Wesley's lap. She gave him a little grin and then went back to reading. Naturally, this utterly destroyed his ability to concentrate. He tried to focus for a few minutes, but finally gave up. "Fred."

"Mmm?" Fred looked up at him through her glasses, raising her eyebrows.

"Fred, I can't get anything done with your legs... right... there."

"Do you want me to move them?" Somehow she managed to sound both hurt and sensual at the same time.

"Well, no, not really..."

"Then why'd you mention it?" She grinned.

Wesley sighed. "I... want to be able to just relax like this, but right now..." He couldn't quite say it, but she'd never been this close, and her legs were so smooth, and she was driving away rational thought again. He had to wonder if she was doing it on purpose. Did women do that kind of thing? He'd always suspected...

Fred laughed and swung her legs down off his lap. "I'm just teasing, silly." She scooted over next to him. "Wanted to see if I could crack the book man when he's doing his thing."

A vague annoyance that she'd moved her legs was replaced by heightened sense of their proximity. "Well, you succeeded. H-happy?"

"Mmm. Not quite." Fred pulled off her glasses and leaned in to kiss him, pulling off his as well. The books were forgotten for several minutes, and Wesley barely even noticed when both of their volumes made identical thumps on the floor. To hell with research, he thought, and pushed Fred back on the couch, the moan that escaped her only making him more excited. He let his hands go where they wished, felt her curves through the fabric of her dress, the softness of flesh over firm muscles. She responded in kind, untucked his shirt and pushed her hands up beneath, careful to avoid the bandaging even as she was tracing fingernails down his back.

Sense returned just long enough for Wesley to pull back and stammer, "Fred, I... I don't want to push you into..."

"Into what?" Her voice was dreamy and she barely seemed to notice what he was saying, tugging at his head to try to bring him back down to kiss her.

"Into anything. I'm not really... you've seen me at my worst, and..."

Fred frowned, tilted her head, seeming to come back to herself. "You're not gonna make me do anything I don't want to do, Wesley. That's not how you are. I want this." She paused, trailed a finger along his jaw line. "I want you."

"R-really?"

"Mmm-hmm." Another frown, and she pushed at his chest. "But not in here. Bedroom?"

"Mmm. Yes." Wesley straightened, and leaned over to pick up the books.

Fred had already grabbed his, which had fallen so that it lay open. She peered at it with a giggle. "I knew you liked books, but I didn't--" She suddenly stopped, gasping, eyes widening.

Wesley turned to her quickly. "Fred? Are you alright?"

"Y-yes... it's just... this... am I translating this right? I can't be. There's no way." She held the book out to him, pointing to the line in question.

Greek was a language Wesley was very comfortable with, so he had no trouble translating the piece of text Fred had pointed out, and he could see why it bothered her so much. Desire and passion were quenched in an instant as Wesley read six words that made his stomach clench:

The Father will kill the Son.