The Strange Attractor, Chapter Five: Set Plot to Thicken
In which the team investigates what the prophecy really means and Sahjahn puts a plan into action. (Scenes from "Loyalty" quoted)

(Ugh, another late update. I'm facing a huge cliff in the story--the point at which it'll start to deviate strongly from the show. I can reference what happened, but things are going to vastly change next chapter. It's kinda scary.)

Chapter Five: Set Plot to Thicken

The Father will kill the Son.

It was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over Fred. Just moments before, she'd been quite literally wrapped around Wesley, making out on his couch, preparing to move to his bedroom, finding she didn't really care if things between them were moving too fast. Now, as Wesley held Grammaticus' Third Century Greek Commentaries in his arms, reading over the passage she'd pointed out to him, all she felt was a terrible knot in her stomach.

Of course, she could be wrong. Greek wasn't her best language, and the passage might not even be about Connor or the Nyazian prophecies. Maybe Connor was the "Father," it didn't... it didn't have to mean that Angel would kill his son. Did it?

She reached out a hand to touch Wesley's arm. "Am I wrong? Please, tell me I'm wrong."

Hope faded as Wesley shook his head and took a deep breath, reading from the book. "'On the last day of the second month, the earth will open and the signs shall be known. And you shall know the signs by the words of the spirit emissary, and when those signs appear, be ready, for the time of reckoning is nigh. On the first day of the third month the time will come, for the truth shall be known that the Tro-Clon has come to fruition, and the Son is the key. Should the Son be let to live as any child, the world will end, yet should he be removed from the arena of his birth, the world will be saved from destruction. And so destruction shall not pass, the Father will kill the Son.'"

Fred shook her head. "It can't be true. It can't be. Not... Angel wouldn't hurt Connor. Not ever."

"Not even to save the world?" Wesley set the book aside. "This is only a translation. Unfortunately, it's a highly reliable one. Sources differ on key points, and I was hoping to see what Grammaticus had to say." He sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"And what's Grammaticus say?"

"His interpretation is just what's there--on the first day of the third month of the year, in order to save the world from destruction, the father named in the prophecy will kill his child. If only I had the original scroll... damn that woman."

"And the father is Angel?"

"Yes, 'the vampire with a soul.' It's very clear."

"And Connor's the only child Angel will ever have." Fred sighed and looked down at her hands.
"There may be something..." Wesley picked up the book again. "Here: '...yet should he be removed from the arena of his birth...' Perhaps Angel doesn't have to kill Connor. Perhaps we simply have to... remove him from the area."

Fred frowned. "But what's the 'arena of his birth?'"

Wesley shook his head. "I don't know. This is going to require more looking into. We've got some time, about three weeks, before this will come to pass. Maybe we can... refute it, maybe we can get the original back from Wolfram and Hart."

Fred snorted. "Yeah, that's likely." She looked away. "I'm sorry I ruined the evening."

"Oh, no, no, Fred..." Wesley reached out a hand, touched her face gently. "We needed to find this in time to stop it. There'll be time for us, later. This... this is very important. Angel was right."

"We've gotta tell him."

Wesley looked down at the book and frowned. "Not yet. We need more to go on."

"Wesley, we can't keep something this important from him. It's his son. Connor's gonna bring about the ruination of mankind. Shouldn't Angel know about that?"

Wesley reached up, pulled off his glasses, and rubbed the back of his hand along his forehead. "All right... I'll let him know we found something, but I'm not giving him the details until we're sure. Once we are, we can make a plan."

Fred nodded, but before she could say any more, the phone rang. Wesley went to pick it up, and Fred started organizing their research. It had been a lovely date, but the romantic portion of the evening was clearly over. She wasn't resentful. She loved Connor as much as if he'd been one of her nephews, and she hated the idea that such a sweet little baby was supposed to destroy the world.

Wesley hung up the phone and turned to her. "That was Angel. It seems Ms. Frakes wasn't far off about her fiance."

"So there really was a witch?"

"No, actually, a plant demon of some sort. I'll go have a look tomorrow. Gunn had a bit of a run-in with it, and Groosalugg got himself stabbed, but everyone seems to be all right."

Fred frowned a bit. "How's Angel? Did you tell him...?"

"I told him we were making progress. He didn't quite sound in the mood to hear the truth."

Fred sighed. "Wesley..."

"I'll tell him. When the time is right. We have three weeks, Fred. Don't worry--everything will work out fine. Let's just get back to work, shall we?"

***

The pain was intense and unrelenting. Heat radiated from her skin, so much that she thought she must be glowing. She could feel that skin hardening, until she felt as though it were baked clay. With so much heat, she'd have thought her organs would just burn up until the only thing left inside was ash. Instead, they were liquefying. She was vaguely aware of being held in someone's arms--Wesley?--and the terrible thought repeating over and over: I'm going to die.

Though she fought and fought, the heat within would not relent. She couldn't hold herself up anymore; she felt her heart and lungs collapsing, jelling together. She couldn't breathe. There was no blood anymore, she couldn't breathe, she knew her brain was about to go, she couldn't breathe. I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want--

Silence. Black. Nothing.

And then arms around her, a voice calling her name. Someone was screaming, and she realized that the screams were coming from her throat, and fought to regain control of her voice. Where was she? What had happened?

"Fred? Fred, are you all right?"

It was Wesley. Fred forced her eyes open. She was in Wesley's apartment, lying on his couch with a blanket over her. The sky outside the window was still dark, but with tinges of light that spoke of day approaching. Wesley was kneeling next to her, cradling her in his arms, stroking her hair.

"Mmm... I'm fine. I think. I had... a nightmare. It was awful, I was dying..."

"You scared me," Wesley said softly, and Fred could see the worry on his face. She smiled reassuringly.

"I'm fine. Really. Just a... bad dream. Did I...?"

"Fall asleep? Yes." Wesley pulled away and stood, straightening his glasses. "I didn't have the heart to wake you."

Fred smiled as she sat up. "Mmm. Well, thanks. I think I needed the nap. Get any further?"
"I think so. There's some disagreement between Grammaticus and other authors on the nature of this 'spirit emissary'..."

"I'm sure you'll work it out. Have you slept at all?"

"Well, actually..." Wesley hung his head. "No."

"You're still injured." Fred stood, discarding the blanket. "Go to bed... no, no protests... go to bed, and I'll come pick you up for breakfast in a few hours. You won't do your best work if you aren't getting any sleep." She started pushing him toward his bedroom.

"Fred, this is important," Wesley protested.

"And so's your health. Bed. Now, buster."

Wesley sighed, gave her a kiss on the forehead, and disappeared into the bedroom.

Once he was gone, Fred let her cheery demeanor drop. The nightmare had really shaken her, but she was certain it was nothing a few more hours of sleep wouldn't fix. She was gathering up her purse when she felt another presence in the room. Straightening, she turned.

"Wesley, I told you to..."

For a moment, she thought she saw a female figure standing in the hallway that led to Wesley's bedroom. Definitely female, in a leather jumpsuit, with long hair, and was that... blue? She blinked, and focused, and... there was nothing. Just the hall, and the painting hung on Wesley's wall.

Fred frowned, wondering if Wesley's apartment was haunted. Well, she'd mention it tomorrow. She turned off the lights and let herself out.

***

Sahjahn paced the floor of the cave he called home. Things had been going so well. Holtz's refusal to kill Angel's child just after its birth had been frustrating and troublesome, but only a minor setback. There were still Angel's people to divide and isolate. He'd targeted Wesley Wyndam-Pryce early on, recognizing him both as an authority whom the others would believe regarding prophecies, and as the one that would be the easiest to convince to do "the right thing," even if that meant betraying Angel.

Of course, that meant keeping Pryce isolated, apart from the others, so that he'd have only his own judgement to rely on. The girl was the weak point of the plan, and Sahjahn hadn't needed to do much to arrange for them to be kept apart. He always preferred the small tweaks, things that wouldn't attract the attention of beings more powerful than himself, things that wouldn't have unforeseen consequences he might not be able to undo. He'd even gotten lucky enough to find the group in a place he could manipulate, some human wizard's pocket of time and space. It had seemed like an easy thing--maneuver the girl to a place where she'd be hit by the wizard's magic and fall for another, keep Pryce from getting there until just the right moment, and then let human nature take its course. He'd watched these people long enough to know how such a situation would fall out. Humans were such easy prey to their own emotions.

It had seemed easy, until that blue-haired woman had come out of nowhere. No--not a woman. A demon was what she had to be, with that strange way of fighting, the fact that they could touch each other, and the fact that no others seemed to know she was there. What part she was playing he wasn't sure, but he hadn't been able to undo her interference, and now it was too late--Pryce and the girl were bonded, and she would never go along with a plot to simply up and kidnap the child.

Sahjahn reached out to grab one of the televisions on his desk, needing the outlet for his frustration, but incapable of violence as he was, he couldn't touch the thing. Instead he yelled, raised his hands to the ceiling, knowing how ridiculous he must look. He went back to pacing the floor. How could he have been reduced to this? He'd seen many possible futures and had chosen the one he liked best--not only because it would get rid of the child, but because it would cause strife and chaos. Not that he cared whether Angel suffered or not--it was the principle of the thing. Chaos was good, strife was better, and pain--emotional or physical--was the best. He'd been putting all the pieces into place when that damn thing had come out of nowhere. Who was she? She seemed oddly familiar...

Sahjahn stopped his pacing. He knew where he'd seen her before. The demon that had attacked him had looked remarkably like the girl. What was her name? Winifred Burkle. But the demon had called herself Illyria. He knew that name from somewhere, but what was important was that the demon was taking the girl's form. It was tied to her somehow--a protector, maybe? Or some version of her from a possible future? The girl herself wasn't a demon, Sahjahn was certain of that.

It didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to get around the girl, not without this Illyria interfering. Whatever the other demon's interest was, it was clearly able to manipulate space and time as he was. And able to touch him. That gave him heart. A real adversary, instead of just events to be manipulated, would be a welcome change. It would almost make up for not being able to break up Angel's little team.

A new plan began forming in Sahjahn's mind. The prophecy would only need slight tweaking--he would just have to convince Pryce and Burkle that Angel would have to kill his son in order to save the world, and that wasn't far off from the truth. Six words were all he'd need to change. And, of course, the bribes to the appropriate powers. Let Illyria meddle as she wished--Sahjahn knew people, and these people would do anything for the "greater good." Especially if he gave them some incentives. He knew who he needed to talk to. But first, he had a prophecy to alter.

***

Sahjahn was feeling good about himself as he materialized in the lawyer's office. He'd succeeded in altering the Nyazian prophecy, and had watched Pryce and Burkle translating the thing. That damn demon had been there again, keeping him away, but he'd seen enough to know that his alterations had worked. The pair were now scrambling to track down other translations, to find the "spirit emissary" mentioned and discover the signs. He hadn't been able to change that, the Loa were well off-limits even to him, but the spirits were so vague that if he could time everything right things still might go his way.

The next piece would add some more chaos to the mix, keep the group off-balance, and hopefully separate them at a crucial juncture. It was like juggling sometimes, keeping all these pieces up in the air, but Sahjahn thought he could manage.

Lilah Morgan was on the phone as he materialized in front of her desk, and looked up at him. "I'm gonna have to call you back," she said into the receiver, and hung up the phone. "You don't have an appointment."

Sahjahn was disappointed. "That's it? No, 'Wow, how'd he do that?' No screaming in terror? You 21st-century types are so jaded."

"You're Sahjahn, aren't you?" Lilah was smiling, and Sahjahn found himself taken aback. She continued, "I may be jaded, but I do my homework, and there's a girl downstairs. She's got records on everything that's ever happened." She sat back, looking content as a cat that had just polished off a bowl of cream. "My company rocks."

"Yes. I'm familiar with your firm." Sahjahn started walking around the side of the desk. "In this and other dimensions."

"Great. Let's shorthand. You're a time-shifter. You recruited Holtz in the 18th century, put him on ice for a couple hundred years, so he could pop up and stake Angel when he's least expecting it. But considering I've yet to put on my boogie shoes and dance on Angel's pile of dust, I'm imagining that Holtz isn't working fast enough for you, which leads me to believe you think my firm could expedite the process."

"More or less." Sahjahn was grateful that he'd at least made Wolfram and Hart believe that Angel was his true target.

"I hate to disappoint you, but Wolfram and Hart's official policy is to let Angel live until he becomes useful." Lilah was bent over a pad of legal paper on her desk, writing something with a Sharpie. "I'm sworn to obey that policy. Is there some other way we can help you?"

Lilah was holding up the pad of legal paper now, upon which she had written, "Count me in."

Sahjahn glanced around. The modern age was always the most troublesome, with all its surveillance. Still, he felt Wolfram and Hart might just be amenable to his plan. He cleared his throat and Lilah put down the pad as Sahjahn settled himself on the edge of her desk.

"I have a plan. But for it to work, I'll require certain events to be arranged, to go off at a particular time. Convince Angel and his groupies that the Apocalypse is coming. If we pull this off, we can divide Angel's little group and leave him vulnerable. Then your firm can sweep in and... pick up the pieces."

"And just how are you going to convince the Good N' Plenties that these signs mean what you want them to think they mean?"

Sahjahn waved a hand. "Already taken care of. I'm a time-shifter, remember?"

Lilah sat back. "I thought you wanted Angel dead."

Sahjahn shrugged. "Tortured and turned to evil is as good to me as dead--maybe even better. I just want revenge--and I know how to get it."

Lilah smiled and said in a near-purr, "Go on..."

***

The next few days were busy ones for Wesley and Fred. Angel had sent Cordelia and Groo on vacation, so the agency itself was quiet. There wasn't much to be done with no visions from Cordelia, and the usual clients weren't exactly pouring in. They took a few cases, but both Angel and Gunn volunteered repeatedly, likely trying to keep their minds off of their respective problems.

Figuring that Angel didn't need more worries, Wesley upheld his conviction to keep the nature of the prophecy from him for now. The "spirit emissary" mentioned was noted several times as likely being one of the Loa, a sort of spirit worshipped by practitioners of vodoun. Wesley began digging into his contacts while Fred wrestled with the dates in the prophecy so that they could pinpoint precisely when these events were supposed to occur.

Their research was often interrupted by displays of affection, but the need to find a way to keep Angel from having to kill Connor for the sake of the world placed physical desires on the back burner. Mostly, there was a closeness, a sense of companionship. In just a few days they fell into an easy rhythm of the sort they'd had before--different now, with the physical and romantic dimension. They'd sit in the office long after the others had left, reading, comparing notes, sometimes taking a break to joke or fool around. They were still both nervous, and sometimes keeping their hands off of each other was like torture, but they knew that what they were doing was important.

Valentine's Day was, by mutual agreement, a day of rest for the entire office. Wesley found a silver necklace with small turquoise stones that he thought Fred would like, and enjoyed the way her face lit up as she told him that she preferred turquoise as a birthstone to December's modern stone, blue topaz. Fred had arranged a day of movie-watching, with old screwball romance comedies and kung-fu action, as well as a musical or two for Lorne. She'd explained that she felt badly for single people on Valentine's, having often been one herself, and felt that the celebration of "love" should include friends as well as romantic partners. So the group spent the day together in Wesley's flat watching movies, pointedly ignoring Cordelia's absence and having a wonderful time. If Gunn and Angel felt out of place they didn't show it, and Wesley was considerate enough of his friends' problems to keep a distance from Fred throughout the day. Connor was well-behaved, and all in all, things seemed to be looking up. Fred stayed after the others had gone, but they were both so tired from days without proper sleep that they fell asleep on Wesley's couch before they could even manage to kiss each other goodnight.

February 15th dawned bright and sunny, as was usual for Los Angeles. Wesley spent the day negotiating with a local wizard to gain access to the Loa. Fred had woken up screaming again in the middle of the night, and Wesley was beginning to worry about her. He suspected that the nightmares she wouldn't fully admit to having were part of the reason she hadn't been sleeping well. If she had another one tonight, he'd have to push her to tell him what it was about. He was already beginning to be unable to imagine his life without her there.

The wizard finally agreed, Wesley had his dust and incantations, and after leaving Fred at the hotel to work on the date problem once more, he headed out to consult the Loa. He was supposed to be looking for a statue, presumably something quite old. He found the right coordinates with his GPS, and found himself in the drive-through of a Jollyburger. The drive-through sported a large, smiling hamburger with eyes, arms, and legs. Given that there was nothing else that resembled a statue nearby, Wesley figured this must be the place.

He ignored the teenage employees that were locking up the restaurant for the night, and stepped up to the giant hamburger. He sprinkled dust over its top and said the incantation. Not expecting much, he stepped back--and the statue grew, its eyes began to glow red, and it intoned, "How dare you call on the Loa!"

Wesley swallowed and made his voice respectful. "I--I come in supplication, O Great One, begging for answers to questions only your power can reveal."

The hamburger pointed a finger at him. "You have answers, human. You search now only for the question."

Wesley swallowed. "Is it true? Will Angel's son truly bring ruination on mankind as it says in the prophesies?"

"That the vampire's child must leave this world to stop its destruction is certain. That the final battles are coming is also certain. The dark question you harbor is only... when?"

Wesley shook his head. "No. The dark question I harbor is how do we stop it?"

The statue gestured widely. "It cannot be stopped."

"It has to be stopped. We will not kill an innocent--"

Lightning arced from the statue's eyes, throwing Wesley to the ground. "Your insolence is displeasing."

Wesley struggled to get up and muttered, "You try chatting with a cranky hamburger." He managed to make it to his knees, feeling at his side to be sure his wound hadn't reopened. Thankfully, it hadn't.

"You risk your life, human, calling on the Loa. And for what? The child need not die."

"What?" Wesley felt a great weight lift from his shoulders and he stood. "But the prophesies--"

"State that the child must leave this world in order to save it."

Wesley found himself actually smiling as he made the connection. "But, that's terrific. We don't have to kill Connor, we just have to take him to another dimension. Everything's going to work out just fine." He could almost have laughed. Days of worry, for nothing.

"Simple mortal, your pain is just beginning." The Loa's voice was stern as ever, and Wesley's smile faded. "Betrayal, hardship, and agony lie in wait... and time is running out." It leaned over him, stared him down. "Yet still you ignore the question."

"All right, then, when? When will this happen?"

The Loa stepped forward, held up a finger. "The first portent will shake the earth." It held up another finger. "The second will burn the air." It held up both hands. "The last will turn the sky to blood." Now it had its hands in fists, almost as if daring Wesley to fight back.

Wesley frowned. "An earthquake? That's the first portent? We live in California."

"Earthquake, fire, blood." The statue gestured at each of these words, then put its hands on its hips and leaned over Wesley. "Be heedful of the signs, human, and trouble the Loa no more." It went back into the position he'd first seen it in, and shrunk back down to its normal size, losing its glow.

Wesley just stared at the spot for a time, not certain whether to feel relieved or worried. They didn't have to kill Connor--yet the Loa claimed more pain was coming. He stood there until he realized just how dark it was. Fred would be worried. He shook his head and went back to his Jeep, ruminating on what the Loa had told him as he drove away.

***

After calling the hotel to let Fred know things had gone well and he'd be there shortly, Wesley made a stop at his flat to gather up a few books he'd left there, mostly volumes regarding dimensional travel. If the dates in the prophecy were correct, they'd have at least two weeks to decide where to send Connor, but he didn't want to be wasting time. He parked his car and hurried into his apartment, not intending to take more than a few minutes.

As he started gathering what he'd need, there was a knock on the front door. He set the stack of books on the coffee table and went to open the door--and found Lilah Morgan standing there.

Wesley resisted the temptation to simply slam the door in her face, and instead asked, "Ms. Morgan. To what do I owe the... why are you here?"

The lawyer simply smiled and said, "I had an offer to make you."

"Really? I'm afraid pieces of silver don't go for much in the modern world, so if you'll excuse me--"

Lilah put her hand on the door frame, and Wesley briefly considered simply shutting the door on her fingers. Shame to break such well-manicured nails, but some things had to be endured. He listened to what she had to say, however. "I know what's going on, with Angel, and his child. That Nyazian prophecy?"

"What of it?" Wesley eyed Lilah. What was she playing at?

"I'm here to take the problem off of your hands. Wolfram and Hart are prepared to take the child out of this dimension to a place where he'll be quite safe and well-taken-care of."

"Don't you mean dissected? How am I supposed to believe your bosses actually want to stop the world's destruction?"

"My superiors don't like people infringing on their territory. The Senior Partners may be planning an Apocalypse, but it isn't this one. I guarantee the child's safety. Connor is important, and if you bring him to us, you'll be able to ensure his safety."

Wesley raised his eyebrows. "You're offering me a job?"

Lilah stepped right up to him, close enough that he could smell not only her perfume but her shampoo, both clearly chosen for impact on the male sense of smell. "I'm offering you much more than that," she purred, reaching up a hand to straighten his collar.

Lilah was certainly attractive, and Wesley's body was very much aware that he hadn't had sex in nearing a year and Fred would never, ever have to know. He reached up to take her hand, and she smiled, evidently thinking she'd at least started to convince him. "That's a tempting offer," he admitted with his own smile--which he quickly dropped as he shoved her out into the hallway. "But I know what goes with giving into temptation."

The look on Lilah's face, for just a moment, showed her surprise--so sure she must have been that Wesley was the one likely to betray Angel for Connor's good, so certain that the way to convince him was to play on the "repressed Englishman" card. Wesley wondered if these people ever bothered updating their files. The look quickly passed, however, and she said, "I've read the prophecy, too. Angel's going to kill that child and you know it. We can save him."

"That's not your decision--nor is it mine. Connor is Angel's son." Wesley didn't bother mentioning that there was another way around the issue. "Now if you'll excuse me, I really have a lot of work to do."

"Wesley--" Lilah's next argument was cut off as Wesley closed the door in her face.

He considered the encounter as he went to gather up his things. There'd been a certain sense of desperation in Lilah's manner--as if, just possibly, she was telling the truth. Were the Senior Partners really concerned about this Apocalypse? Certainly they'd try other methods than just sending Lilah Morgan to him, if they were. Moreover, there'd been a definite sense not only of surprise but of frustration at rejection. Wesley filed away the encounter for later reference. It might provide a valuable tool for keeping Wolfram and Hart out of their hair while they solved this issue with Connor.

Satisfied that he had everything he needed, Wesley checked the hall and found it clear before hurrying out to his car. He could still remember the way Lilah had smelled, and he was determined to wipe the woman from his mind, replace her with Fred--who he was sure would be happy of the attention.

***

Fred hung up the phone with a sigh. Wesley's call had only reassured her somewhat--it was good to hear that things had "gone well" with the Loa, but what did that mean, exactly? She reached up to run a hand along the turquoise-and-silver necklace he'd given her for Valentine's and decided to wait until he got back to the hotel before worrying too much further.

Angel walked into Wesley's office cradling Connor, who was cooing softly. "We're going to completely turn his schedule the wrong way around, you know, the way we stay up all night around here."

Fred looked up from the laptop she'd placed on Wesley's desk and smiled at Angel over the rim of her glasses. "I bet he'll manage. There's worse things than being a night owl."

Angel smiled at Fred and then looked down at his son. "Yeah. I guess there are."

Fred watched them for a moment, still smiling faintly. The problem she was working on was complex and difficult--enough so that she kept feeling like she was missing something. Last time she'd worked on dates on the Nyazian scroll, they'd actually had the original in hand. Since Lilah Morgan had stolen the scroll, work on the prophecies had become ridiculously difficult. The commentaries and reference books stacked on the desk helped, but nothing could beat the original. It was nice to just watch a quiet moment, clear her head a little.

The thought that this innocent child had to die in order to save the world made her stomach clench despite her internal decision to not worry. Sure, they'd all speculated on what the baby might be before he was born. Would he be a demon, or just some dark thing born to bring terror to the world? Yet since his mother had sacrificed herself to allow him to live--a vampire sacrificing herself for her child--things had seemed different. Fred had always felt that he was a normal baby. She'd cared for other children, through babysitting and her own nieces and nephews, and every one seemed a tiny miracle, proof of the world's basic goodness. That Connor's birth truly was a miracle, a thing that should not have been able to happen, only reinforced that. How was two vampires having a child really any different than scientists mixing a sperm and an egg in a tube and a baby being born from that? Both were instances of humans getting around nature. What did it matter if that was through magic or science? Connor was a miracle baby, but so were plenty of others. Sure, his birth was foretold in prophecy, but really, so was the birth of anyone else who ever showed up in a prophecy. He was a sweet little baby to Fred, and that was that.

All this business with Connor having to die in order to stop the Apocalypse was beginning to make Fred angry. It was unfair, and it was wrong. She understood the concept of sacrifice, but that should come from adults able to choose. How did Connor have a choice in any of this?

Her frustration must have shown on her face, because Angel walked closer and tried to peer at her laptop screen. "What're you working on there, Fred?"

"Just number crunching." Fred sighed. "There are some dates on the Nyazian scroll that I hadn't worked out yet, and it's hard going without the scroll itself. All these different sources contradict each other."

Angel nodded. "Yeah, I get that. I never really believe these things until I see them happen. These prophecies are always saying the end is coming, and it hasn't yet." He paused a moment, looking around. "Where's Wesley? I thought he was working on this stuff with you."

"He had to go out," Fred replied absently, peering at her calendar conversion program again. "Track down verification of something we found in the prophecy."

"You found something?" Angel's tone became interested, and he shifted Connor, stepping closer to the desk. "Something about Connor? Is it something bad?"

Fred looked up, frowned at Angel. Should she just tell him? Keeping this from Angel was getting frustrating. He'd seen things like this before, maybe he could see a way out of the problem. She took a deep breath and stood, pushing the chair back. She had to say this eye to eye. "Well, we... we haven't finished translating it yet, Angel, but..."

As Fred gathered the courage to tell Angel what the prophecy said about Connor, Wesley burst in with a grin on his face and a bag in his hands. "We were wrong!" he announced, striding around the other side of the desk from Angel. He gripped one of Fred's arms and proceeded to kiss her within an inch of her life. Fred was vaguely aware of Angel, behind her, saying, "Wrong about what? Wesley?"

The kiss kept going; it had been some time since they'd touched each other and Fred was just as eager as Wesley seemed to be. Finally, Angel cleared his throat. "Uhh... should I leave you two alone...?"

Fred came to her senses and broke away, peering up at Wesley. "What was that for?" she asked quietly.

"I just... really missed you." Wesley smiled down at her and she couldn't help but smile back.

"So... we were wrong? Wrong about what, Wesley?" Angel's voice was growing impatient, and Fred turned to face him.

"About the prophecy." Wesley put his bag on the desk and opened it, started removing books, his enthusiasm not so much fading as dampening. "We don't have to kill Connor."

"Wait--what?" Angel took a step back, away from both Fred and Wesley. "Kill Connor? There will be no killing of Connor. Where did you get that idea?"

"That's what I was going to tell you." Fred sighed again. "The Nyazian prophecy seemed to say that... the only way to save the world was to kill Connor."

"What?" Angel started to frown. "No. No way. I'm not going to--"

"You won't have to, Angel," Wesley cut in. "I talked to the Loa. Connor doesn't have to die to avert the world's destruction. We simply have to... take him elsewhere."

"So, what another dimension?" Fred sat back down, started looking at her numbers again. "That might explain the ambivalence of some of these dates. If people have been incorrectly interpreting the prophecy to mean death..."

"...That might lead to the rest of the prophecy being incorrectly translated." Wesley paused in pulling books from his bag, holding one in his hand as he stared into the distance as if sorting possibilities. "Yes. Which makes all of those dates suspect, you're right."

"And me without the original. Terrific." Fred pushed her glasses back up her nose as she re-calculated the numbers.

Angel was frowning at the two of them. "You've known that Connor might have to die... and you didn't tell me?"

Wesley put down the books in his hand, straightened, and faced Angel fully. "We didn't want to worry you if we were wrong. We were planning on telling you once we were sure."

Angel only nodded, the frown not going away just yet. "What exactly did you find out?"

"The prophecy claims--and the Loa verifies--that if Connor does not leave the world in the next few weeks, it will be destroyed. Most translators have taken this to mean that you will choose to kill Connor to save the world." Wesley held up a hand to stall Angel's protest. "But as I said, I spoke to the Loa, and it pointed out that Connor simply has to leave."

"Where? For how long?"

"I don't know. But I may have a lead on getting the original scroll back. Lilah Morgan visited my apartment while I stopped there to pick up a few things, and let slip that Wolfram and Hart are worked up about this. She offered to give me a place with them and take Connor for themselves. She claimed that Connor is 'important,' which would imply that he's meant to return--and indeed, that is what my readings of the prophecy have been indicating."

"What makes you think her offer was genuine?"

Wesley cleared his throat. "She was very... persuasive... but desperate and a bit clumsy. She also seemed to have a... personal interest in the matter."

Fred glanced up at that, raising her eyebrows, a tinge of jealousy clutching at her chest. "Really?"

Wesley turned to her with a slightly apologetic look. "She's an evil bitch who works for an even more evil company. I'd never let her get past my front door. Still, we might be able to use her to our advantage."

Fred rewarded him with a faint smile. How could she think Wesley would even look twice at that woman?

Angel sighed. "Wolfram and Hart's been trying to play games with Connor's life since before he was born. Why should I expect them to stop now?"

On a whim, Fred grabbed up the most basic dates and called up a simple calendar conversion program, plugging in the numbers.

"Don't worry, Angel." Wesley had turned back to the vampire. "We'll keep Connor safe. We have a few weeks, and--"

Fred cut them both off as she peered at her program. "We may not." Both men turned to look at her. "I've been using more and more complex algorithms to try and make this make sense, but the dates never really agree. So I tried just converting the dates from the Gregorian calendar to the Julian--which doesn't make any sense, because why would you need to convert it backwards when--"

"Fred? Get to the point, please?" Angel was rarely so rude, but there was urgency in his voice.

"Sorry." Fred wrinkled her nose in apology. "Anyhow, I think what happened here is that the dates originally given were, unlike most of the rest of the scroll, meant to be read literally, which one commentator noted could be seen from the context, but nobody else really agreed. Most translations assume that the context of that section means that the dates are supposed to be in the calendar in use in the middle of the 9th century, the Julian calendar. Well, if you assume that the dates given were Gregorian--our current calendar--but the most common translation took those dates as if they were Julian and translated them to Gregorian, so then you translate them back to Julian and then read that as if it were just our normal calendar..."

Fred paused. Both men were standing side by side by now, staring at her. It made her nervous, for her opinion to be so important. The fate of the world could hinge on this. Reluctantly, she said, "We should be seeing the signs today. And Connor has to leave tomorrow."

As if on cue, the room started to shake. The books on the edges of the desk began to slide off, one of the pictures on the wall fell, and Fred found herself tossed from her chair. She hit her head and the world started spinning blackly. Wesley was hollering something and there was suddenly a horrible smell.

Heat, pain, fear. Wesley was screaming her name. Fred's vision cleared enough to see that the office had gone up in flames, and she was lying dumbly on the floor, Wesley on the other side of the fire, trying to find a way to get to her past the rubble.

Suddenly there was another figure, clad in a leather jumpsuit, blue hair swinging as she--it was definitely female--leaned down and hauled Fred to her feet. "Go!" the other woman commanded. "You cannot die here."

The woman picked Fred up and threw her through the office window into the lobby outside. Fred managed to land on one of the couches and immediately tried to get up and see where that other woman was--but she was gone. Fred frowned in confusion. Now that she thought about it, that woman had sounded like her, had looked like her. What was going on?

Angel was standing near the office door; as Wesley rounded the concierge counter Angel shoved the screaming baby at him. "Gotta get a fire extinguisher. Get them out of here--gas main broke." And then he was gone.

Fred stood, backed away from the office and the fire growing within. "Oh, God, Wesley. The books, the scrolls..."

"I know, I know, it doesn't matter." Wesley grabbed her arm and started dragging her out toward the back door. "Are you all right? Your face is all over with blood."

"I'm fine, a little dizzy--did you see that woman? She saved my life."

"What woman?" Wesley gave her an odd look over his shoulder as they pushed out into the fresh air.

"Doesn't matter," Fred replied. "Here, let me take the baby, you're shaking."

"The Loa," Wesley said. "Earthquake, fire, blood."

"What?" Fred gently took the baby from Wesley's arms, bouncing him to calm him down as they made their way across the garden toward the back gate.

"Those are the signs." Wesley looked to Fred. "The signs that the time is coming. The portents will shake the earth, burn the air, and turn the sky to blood."

Fred frowned. "But... that doesn't make sense. The earth shook, and sure, the fire burned the air, but the sky isn't blood."

"Your face," Wesley whispered. "These things aren't literal, Fred. You almost died. That, for me, would've..." He trailed off as if unable to articulate what he meant, but Fred understood. If she died, it would be the end of his world.

She swallowed, unsure how to respond to such depth of emotion. "I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner," she said softly.

Wesley shook his head, holding the gate for her. "You figured it out exactly when you were supposed to." He leaned over and kissed a clean patch on her forehead. "We need to get you cleaned up."

Angel was coming out the back door, his arms full of books. "All of us need to. I grabbed what I could, but I think we lost a lot."

Wesley turned back. "Is the fire out?"

Angel nodded. "Call Gunn and Lorne, tell them to meet at your place. We'll have to get someone in here to fix the gas line before we can come back in."

Fred turned back to look at Angel as he came around the garden's fountain. "Shouldn't we call Cordelia, too? If the world's ending--"

"I want her to have what happiness she can, Fred. If she has a vision about it, she'll call us. For now, let's just... figure this out."

Fred sighed, nodded, and, with Wesley's arm around her shoulders, headed out the hotel's back gate.

***

Illyria watched the humans leave. She was exhausted. Materializing, if only to Fred, had taken a great deal of power from her. While she didn't think she could physically connect with anyone else, she'd have to be careful about using her power in the future, or she might find herself unable to speak to Fred at all. That might still be necessary at some future juncture.

She'd known her presence would change things. There was no way around it, really--she was tampering with the flow of time. The Powers had allowed her to do this, so she concluded it must be an appropriate thing to do. Fred and Wesley would have their time, and when the moment came, Illyria would be reborn without Fred having to go away at all. In the meantime, Illyria kept an eye on Fred. She was no longer jealous or upset about the matter, but found herself growing fond of these people she had fought next to, had watched die in a different future. She even found a faint glimmer of care for the child's welfare that she was certain must come from what was left of Fred within her.

Illyria turned to look at the fire-gutted office, wondering why must the Powers use such ridiculous efforts to give their champions signs. Would clear communication not be easier? Staring at the charred remains of much of Angel Investigations' research library, Illyria felt a stab of annoyance. Without really thinking about it, she shifted the books out of time, replacing the ashes with the proper volumes.

The use of her power hit Illyria like a physical blow, and she gasped. What was she thinking? Not only was that a wasteful use of a small and precious resource, it was a paradox that would only confuse the humans. Why would she ever...?

Wesley. Of course. Wesley would be upset by the loss of the books. If not now, then in due time. Not only that, but the humans would need the books to save the child, and the world. She'd felt the need to do what little she could to make their task easier.

Illyria flexed her hands and relaxed, letting her presence be drawn back toward Fred. She'd find Sahjahn soon and take out her need for action on him. Violence she understood, and it was better than this strange need to be helpful. Whatever else happened, she decided, she would retain some vestige of what she'd once been. Illyria, God King of the Primordium, reduced to merely human stature. It was a gigantic cosmic joke, but she would turn it on whoever might dare laugh. And if that meant she courted paradox, so be it.

Besides, she couldn't wait to see the look on that meddler Sahjahn's face when he realized what he was truly dealing with. It would make all the waiting worthwhile. </b>