Chaotic Attractors

Wed, 17 Sep 2008 16:38:02 GMT

Sorry it's been so long. RL's been crazy! My husband was out of work (and just got a new job this week) so I haven't had a lot of time to write, and what time I've had went to other projects. But now I have time (including 3 solid child-free hours every morning) and a real and desperate need to get this story-outlining process ready (as well as some practice on action scenes), so I'm back to the fic.

As for Chaotic Attractors... the time away has cleared my head, and I'm re-vamping the thing. The ultimate story I wanted to tell is intact... but that story changed somewhere between writing Chapter 4 and Chapter 5. Also, I actually went and read After the Fall and watched all of Buffy. :P This is why one should not post writing before one is at least 5 chapters in!

At any rate, outlining the first volume as we speak, it'll get us to the same place I'm at in Chapter 6 but in a more concise manner that'll make more sense with what's coming down the line. If you've liked the fic so far you'll probably love what's to come: more and better Fred and Wesley, more Illyria being, well, Illyria, some surprises, and a much, much more concise and reasonable explanation of time travel.

This should be the only restart I'll need. I usually have to do this once with projects; my initial ideas always lead to something better. :) I know now why the story needs telling, and why in this way, and why I'm spending so much time on a project I won't ever get paid for! Beyond the joy of writing, of course.

Keep checking; I'll make some waves when I've got enough ready to post. :)

Quick Update...

Sun, 06 Jul 2008 06:11:47 GMT

Sorry, it's been over a month! Augh! Been working on some projects I hope to actually make money with, and then my husband went into the hospital last week. He's fine, all is good, but been busybusy.

Working on Chap 7 and beyond. Going in this week to test run a writing process on this fic that should make things get written faster. Fic is handy since I can skip the character/setting making processes (which I have down pat) and get straight to the plot-planning process (which can be harder). Once I've got it nicely outlined the thing should flow... I keep getting stuck going "wait, how was I getting from Point A to Point B here?" And given that I knew how I was doing that from Chaps 1-3... they flowed easily. :)

Incidentally, I'll be doing a bit of a re-write on Chapter 2 at some point, but nothing major will change except some reasoning for things that already happened. :P I plan to give the entire fic an editing run or two once it's all written anyhow, to have a "final" form for, err, posterity. Or contests, or... whatever. :)

Back to work!

The Strange Attractor, Chapter Six: The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men

Sun, 01 Jun 2008 05:32:12 GMT

In which the team races against time to save the world.

Chapter Six: The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men

"God damn that woman!"

Sahjahn was in a rage, trying and failing to grasp at everything in his reach, wanting to destroy whatever he could find. That thrice-damned demon woman had interfered again. He'd set things up so that Burkle would be out of the picture, and all the books Angel would need to find a place to send his son would be destroyed. It had all been neat, and he'd seen where it would lead: Angel and his cronies lost, Pryce in despair, and Connor, the bane of Sahjahn's existence, in the hands of his allies--to be killed at the first opportunity.

Instead, thanks to Illyria, Burkle was alive and the books he'd worked so hard to destroy had been restored. Sahjahn was tempted to simply go and have it out with Illyria, get rid of her once and for all. The only thing that made him hesitate was not knowing what she actually was. If she was stronger than he, more powerful, then it was possible that nothing he did would do any good.

There were rules to playing with time. The first was that his own timeline must remain sacrosanct--he couldn't revisit any moment he'd already experienced, undo anything he'd already done. Nor could he undo or significantly alter his own existence. His ability to play with time was mostly limited to points after his kind had been removed from the physical plane of existence. He could see before then, but anything he actually did before that point would alter his own existence very little. The universe had a way of working fate around to avoid paradox.

The second was that he could not greatly interfere with the work of anything equal to or greater than his own power. If something bigger than him was stomping around, he'd find moments unable to be altered, magics unable to be cast, or sometimes he'd change a great deal only to find that the universe had simply arranged for all the same events to happen in a slightly different manner. It could be frustrating, but he'd learned to work around it. He knew there was something bigger moving around, larger events he was treading upon, but until now it had always seemed that those events had been helping him--as if he'd been playing into a larger plan. It had both gratified and worried him--it made his work easier, but it had also made him worry that this larger agenda might not fit his own.

And now, Illyria showed up and started fixing the things he'd changed. She wasn't really changing anything, just going in after the fact to force a different outcome than he wanted. It occurred to Sahjahn that she might be a balancing force, whether she knew it or not. That would explain why she kept fixing things without truly undoing his work. If Burkle had to remain alive for some reason, if he was butting up against a larger plan, those more powerful beings might just send an agent to keep fate on track. If she was Burkle from a possible future, she might be stuck in a time loop, and simply ensuring that certain events played out as they must in order for her own existence to become justified.

Sahjahn forced himself to become calm. This wasn't a problem to be fixed by violence and anger. Cunning was required, guile and stealth. There were things even the greatest powers could not undo; free will was always a factor, in anything that happened. If he could force such an event, there would be nothing that could change it--not Illyria, not all the forces of Heaven and Hell combined. He'd need to be rid of Pryce, of course--the man's knowledge was irritatingly useful to Sahjahn's enemies--but that was easy enough. In any future, Pryce had an appointment with the blade of a knife wielded by one of Holtz's Moonie freaks. Sahjahn would just have to make sure that appointment proved fatal.

Maybe Holtz would prove useful again. Angel's team was vulnerable, and Lilah Morgan would provide the key to getting Pryce out of the way. If Holtz moved tonight, they could force a confrontation and kill the child. If Holtz hesitated again, Sahjahn had one more trick up his sleeve. The key was getting Angel to take the bait.

***

The team was gathered in Wesley's living room--minus Cordelia, of course, but Angel insisted that she be left out of this. She needed the time, she needed the space, they could stop the world from ending, and how could she get back to L.A. on such short notice anyway? The rest of them had long since given up on arguing with him, and had regrouped to see what they could do.

Wesley had sent Angel back to the hotel to see what could be salvaged, and to everyone's surprise, Angel had found all the books they'd thought lost sitting in neat piles on the desk. Fred had told the others about the woman who'd saved her life, but she still wasn't sure they believed her. Fred, though, was convinced that it was that same figure that had restored the books. She'd even started to think of the woman as a guardian angel of sorts.

The only thing that threw her off was that, as she slept that night, she had a dream of looking in a mirror and seeing that other woman, with blue hair and enlarged eyes, creeping blue on her skin. No, not a dream--a nightmare, accompanied by utter terror. Being that woman was a horrible thing, a thing that meant Fred was dead and gone. Fred wondered why she'd dream of her savior in such a terrible way, but she didn't mention the dream to anyone else. There were more important things going on.

While she'd slept, Wesley had filled in the others on the prophecy, what the Loa had said it meant, and what their options were now. According to Fred's calculations, Connor had to be in another dimension or dead by midnight tonight, February 16, to stop the world from ending. They'd pored over books, discussed options, but nothing was forthcoming.

Fred was curled up on the couch with Wesley beside her; they were close but not touching, to keep from being distracted. Charles and Lorne were at the dining room table and Angel was pacing the floor with Connor. They'd rotated baby duty through the day--he'd been exceptionally fussy.

"This is useless." Charles tossed aside the book he'd been looking through, ignoring Wesley's wince. "We're never gonna find a dimension we can get to tonight that'll be safe for Connor, that we can also go back and forth to at will. Hell, I don't even know that we can find a demon dimension we can get into tonight, let alone one that's safe that we can get back from. How easy are these portals to open, anyhow?"

"As easy as reading out of a book," Fred muttered. Then she looked up. "It is as easy as reading out of a book, if you're in the right place."

Wesley looked over. "You don't mean--Pylea?"

"Well, why not?" Fred uncurled as everyone else stared at her. "We know how to get there, we know how to get back, it's relatively safe. We've been so busy searching for a place our enemies won't find us that we've been overlooking the obvious."

"I thought you hated Pylea." This was Angel, still pacing.

"Yeah, when it was run by evil demons that worked for Wolfram and Hart. It sounds a lot better now, and besides, I don't have to go there, Connor does. I bet he'd be welcomed with parades and stuff, child of a big hero and all." Fred managed to keep most of the bitterness out of her voice. When she'd arrived in Pylea, she'd been captured and made a slave. She didn't want to even start thinking about the things that had happened to her there, but that was all behind them now. Humans were no longer "cows," they no longer wore collars that might make their heads implode if their masters became upset with them. The fact that Cordelia had been made a princess when she got there didn't even really bother Fred anymore--after all, that had turned out badly for Cordelia as well. Everything had been horrible until they'd gotten rid of the priests that used to rule the dimension.

"She's got a point." Wesley put down his own book. "You're known there, and so is Lorne. You might be able to find safe haven while we sort out how long Connor needs to be gone."

Lorne held up his hands. "Oh, no. No way am I going back there again, not after the goodbye my mother gave me last time."

Angel shook his head. "You don't need to go, Lorne. Just me and Connor." He looked to Fred. "Do we know where the book is?"

"Hopefully back in the library. Otherwise, this might be sorta shot." Fred frowned. "If it isn't there, I might be able to work out the formula to open the portal on my own. I sure repeated it often enough."

Wesley nodded, standing. "Right. Gunn, you head to the library, see if you can find that book. Fred, work on the formula--Lorne, Angel, you help her. I'm going to go see if I can't send Wolfram and Hart down the wrong track, keep them off our scent. And who knows, they might still have a way to get into Pylea."

Charles nodded and got up, started moving across the room. "Better than sitting around here. I'll give you guys a call once I know anything." Then he was gone, out the door.

Fred looked up at Wesley and frowned. "How're you gonna...?"

Wesley looked back down at her. "Lilah made me an offer, remember?" He paused at the look on the faces of the others in the room. "Don't worry. I'm not going to take it. But if she thinks I am, I might be able to get something out of her."

Fred sighed. "All right. Be careful, Mister Man. We're gonna need you if Angel's gone."

Wesley smiled and leaned down to give her a kiss. "I'll be fine," he whispered, then straightened, looking at Angel. "Keep in touch. If I don't call before Gunn finds the book or Fred works out the formula, don't wait for me. Getting Connor somewhere else is the most important thing, right now."

Angel nodded, and watched with Fred and Lorne as Wesley walked to the door, pulled on a jacket, and stepped out. Then he turned to Fred. "What's going on with you and Wesley?"

"Me and--what?" Fred blinked, then stammered, "We're just... we're dating, that's all. I mean, it's nothing bad." She wondered why she suddenly felt so defensive.

"Is that why Gunn's been moping around, acting all... jealous?" Angel sighed, clutching Connor more closely. "You know, this stuff always complicates things."

Fred frowned. "We're not complicating anything, Angel. We like each other. We're dating. Maybe it's more than that, maybe it isn't, but that doesn't have anything to do with anyone else."

"Yes, it does." Angel waved off a protest from Lorne and looked at Fred seriously. "Gunn's work is slipping over this, and you two aren't far behind. If Wesley doesn't come back from Wolfram and Hart, are you gonna go off after him? Are you gonna be able to focus if he's in trouble? And what if you're in danger, will he put you over the rest of the team? Or maybe just your happiness, your needs, over the greater good?"

"Angel... I don't... Wesley wouldn't do that. And neither would I. We know what's at stake here." Fred frowned, and stood. "And besides, Wesley's the boss, if he doesn't have an issue with it--"

"It's not about work, Fred! It's about saving the world! How can you focus on that when there's emotions involved, other things... I mean, you're not the type of people that'd send each other to hell to save the world, are you? No, you're just two normal, everyday people, and you don't... you can't understand..." Angel trailed off, as if he couldn't find the words for the thoughts he was trying to express.

Lorne got up and started walking over. "Hey, hey, Angelcakes. Slow down. What's going on?"
"I just can't keep doing this." Angel turned away from them. "I can't keep having to choose between people I love and the fate of the world."

Fred walked around to stand in front of Angel, reached up to put a hand on his arm. "This isn't about me and Wesley, is it? It's about Connor. And Cordelia."

Angel was still looking away, down at the floor. "I can't ruin her vacation, Fred. Groo, he... he makes her happy. I can't give her that. I know she'd want to be here, but I can't..."

"You can't face that you might have to choose between her and the rest of the world. Or have her watch you choose between Connor and everything else."

Angel just nodded. Then, after a moment's silence, he said, "I can't kill Connor. Even if it means the rest of the world dies."

Lorne stepped closer and said, "It isn't fair, the things they make us do, the twisted ways fate plays out. I should know. But you won't have to choose. It's the love that makes us strong. You care, I care, we all care, and that's why we go out and do these things. It's not about saving the world. It's about saving a little boy. Or whatever helpless person we have to help. It's about one person, one at a time, helping them, rescuing them. We're rescuing Connor from the fate that made his life possible, but also made it full of fear. We're going keep him from that sort of life, because we love him. Emotions aren't a weakness, Angel. They're our strength."

Angel finally looked up. "Are you saying I've been looking at this all wrong?"

"I'm saying we all have. Look... if the Apocalypse comes tomorrow, do you really want Connor to have to live in that world? Isn't it better to take him somewhere he'll be safe, until this crisis passes?"

Angel frowned. "I guess I hadn't thought of it that way."

Fred smiled. "Well, you ought to. It makes this a lot easier." She jerked her head toward the couch. "C'mon, and help me remember the words that open the portals to Pylea. For Connor's sake?"

"Yeah. For Connor's sake." Angel smiled, and Lorne sat down on the couch with them both, and they started trying to remember.

***

Wesley parked his car in the visitor's garage at Wolfram and Hart. Much as he hated to even be on these premises, let alone park in their garage, he was trying to keep up appearances. He'd called Lilah on the way over and was gratified to find that she was working late. The sun had already set, and Wesley privately admitted to himself that walking through a lit garage was more comfortable than walking up to Wolfram and Hart in the dark. Who knew what evil and otherworldly security they employed?

He found the walk up to Lilah's office almost uncomfortably easy. She was expecting him, of course, but the sound of each door closing behind him felt dangerously final. He could get in, but could he ever get back out?

Finally he was in her office, a larger room than he'd expected, in the same wood-and-glass motif as the rest of the building. The decor was more functional than decorative, though Lilah clearly had a taste for expensive things--evidenced by the outfit she wore, a jacket and skirt combination that probably cost as much as he made in a month. Wesley could see why people might want to work here, especially people less principled than he and his associates. There were certain rare volumes he'd love to get his hands on, but the price... the price to work here was surely far too high.

He let none of that show, however, as Lilah rose from her chair and moved to greet him. "Wesley. Alone, and not carrying any obvious weaponry. Could it be you're actually considering my offer?" She'd stopped a foot away, folded her arms across her chest in a manner that showed off her manicured nails.

Wesley, standing a couple feet inside the double doors, replied, "We're running out of options." He'd never be able to pull off the complete lie, so he'd decided to play the angle of desperation. It wasn't entirely an act, either--they were desperate, and these people might be able to help. He took a deep breath and continued, "Some of our books were destroyed in the fire, and we've found out our timetable's much shorter than we'd anticipated. Everything has to happen tonight, and there just isn't time."

"Is that so?" Lilah's lips curved in a slow, sly smile. "So you thought you'd just... come running over here, and your sworn enemies would help? Our help doesn't come free, you know. But for people who pay up, the rewards are..." She inhaled, the smile widening and her eyes half-closing as if the next word was intoxicating, "...unimaginable."

"I'd imagine they are." Wesley stared at the woman for a beat as her expression became more neutral, then said, "What do you want, Lilah? A contract signed in blood? My first born, my eternal soul? You don't have to beat around the bush. I know what's at stake here, and I'm willing to pay whatever I have to. We cannot allow the world to be thrown into the chaos the prophecy foretells."

Lilah laughed, dropping her arms to her sides. "Wow, you good guys really are focused, aren't you? We're not just offering help saving the world. We're offering you a position, a future with this company."

Wesley sneered. "You really think I'd work for you?"

"I have to try, don't I?" Lilah shook her head and turned to walk back toward her desk. "We'll find your price someday. We always do." She stopped, turned to face him again. "What is it--knowledge? Power? Money?" A pause, to examine him. "No, I don't think it's any of those things. And since I don't seem to have much effect on you, I'd have to say it's probably a woman. Maybe..." She held out a hand next to her head. "So tall, big brown eyes, Texan accent?" She dropped the hand. "Am I getting anywhere?"

Wesley frowned. "What does Fred have to do with this?"

"Ah-ha! I knew it." Lilah put a finger on her chin. "It's a shame, too, what's going to happen to her--unless you stop it, of course."

He took a step forward, finding himself suddenly angry. "What are you blathering on about? What's going to happen to Fred?"

Lilah took the finger off her chin and shook it at him. "Now, now, the world needs saving, remember? Unless, of course, that's going to set you all down a path that'll lead to her slow and painful death." She looked back down at her desk, fiddling with something there, giving the impression that what she said had no real importance. "Has she been having nightmares lately? Seeing things? Maybe a woman with blue skin and hair--"

Wesley crossed the room in two strides, grabbed Lilah by the arm to pull her back to face him. "What are you doing to her? What game is this you're playing?"

"I'm not playing a game," Lilah told him. "We didn't have anything to do with this."

Wesley reached out to grab a letter opener from Lilah's desk and pressed it to her chest. The metal wasn't incredibly sharp, but a hard enough thrust in the right place would pierce the heart. "Why don't I believe you?" His voice was hard and cold, surprising even him.

The woman had strength, Wesley had to give her that. Though she was clearly startled she didn't let any fear show in her eyes. She was absolutely still, her voice was measured, but it was more a stance of reasoning down a threat than begging for her life. "Let me go and I'll tell you what I know. Then you can decide... what you want to do. Kill me, and you'll never know."

He let go of her and stepped back, taking deep breaths to calm and steady himself. Lilah was evil, but she was still human, and his willingness to attack frightened him. He didn't want to think himself capable of such things. It was in a half-daze that he listened to what Lilah was saying.

"I don't know the specifics, but I do know that there are currently two options. Option number one: Connor stays here and the world is thrown into chaos. Some force will come along to protect you, and you'll both live long and healthy lives, at the price of... probably half the world's population. Option two: Save the world, and in a few weeks you're going to start watching her die. It might take weeks, it might take months... at the outside, she'll have around two years. And before you ask, I don't know how she's going to die. I just know that blue-skinned... thing that's been running around has something to do with it." She paused a moment, then said, "There's a third option, though. You come to us, we can stop whatever's going to happen to her. Save the world, save the girl. Everybody's happy."

Wesley's mind raced. Lilah had every reason to lie to him and none at all to tell the truth. "Why should I believe you?"

"You don't really have any reason to, do you? I could simply offer to keep her safe, well, and happy if you come to us--no matter what. And you with her. Long, healthy, happy lives. Bundles of kids and grandkids if you want." Lilah said this in a tone of near-disgust. "You wouldn't even have to hand them over to the company."

For just a moment, Wesley found himself tempted. Fred safe, and them together, and happy. The world safe, too. He'd be selling his soul to this evil law firm, but it would put her out of harm's way for good. While she might be lying to get him into a contract, she had to know he could check on it, do his own research. Time was of the essence, but he didn't have to sign on with the firm to get their help. He could be rid of all threats to Fred's life--though not to her soul.

He considered what Lilah offered, and then rejected it, internally. There was probably a kernel of truth in what she said, but more likely, she was stretching or exaggerating the truth--or was mistaken about it in the first place. How often had prophecy seemed to say one thing and really meant another? How often had someone's fate to "die" turned out to mean a radical change, or even, in the case of Buffy Summers, a period of death of mere minutes, after which she'd been revived by CPR?

Outwardly, though, he sighed, let his shoulders slump, his gaze drop to the floor. He tossed the letter opener back on the desk. "I'm not signing anything until I'm sure Connor will be safe. That's why I'm here, and the most important thing."

"Of course." Lilah smiled, clearly thinking she'd won him over. "You go get him, bring him here. The girl, too, if you want. Then we'll keep you all safe."

"Safe," Wesley repeated, then looked up. "Where are you going to take him, anyhow?"

"You don't need to worry about that," Lilah replied. "Just rest assured that we will keep him alive and happy and whole. We'll even put it in the contract if you like."

Wesley found that he was suddenly sick of this charade. He wasn't going to get anything out of Lilah. He'd thrown her off the scent, and the others needed his help. He desperately wanted to see Fred. But to Lilah, he simply nodded. "There isn't much time. I should go get Connor." He turned to the door, then turned back. "Where should I meet you?"

"Just bring him here. We'll be waiting."

"Right. I'll... I'll call you, if there's any trouble. And you'll protect Fred? You won't let her die?" Wesley hoped he'd put enough worry and desperation in his voice.

Lilah shook her head. "She'll be safe. We'll make sure of it."

Wesley nodded, and didn't have to pretend to look tired and worn down. He already felt it, more deeply than he could ever remember feeling that way. "I'll be back shortly."

As he left the office, he mulled over the conversation. His actions troubled him, but what troubled him more was the temptation. He hadn't taken their offer because there wasn't an immediate, compelling need to do so, but he had considered it. Wesley had always thought that he was above that sort of thing. Despite the caution his teachers at the Academy had always warned of, that everyone had their price, he'd always figured that he was stronger than that, better. He'd do what was neccesary and right, no matter what it cost him personally. He'd told himself that anyone who had that sort of price was weak, not sufficiently dedicated to the cause.

Now he knew his price. If Fred truly was in danger, he'd do anything to save her--because without Fred, the cause didn't mean anything. Without Fred, the world wasn't worth saving. The fact was frightening, but heartening at the same time. Knowing his price meant he could, just maybe, avoid having it used against him.

These thoughts carried him back to the elevator, down through the lobby and back to the parking garage. He crossed the nearly-empty visitor's area and climbed into his Jeep, reaching into his pocket for the keys as he slid into the driver's seat.

As Wesley settled himself, he felt a sudden sharp, cold pressure at his neck, and a voice hissed in his ear, "Don't move." He froze, his thoughts racing. Who was in his car--and why did they have a knife to his throat?

***

Gunn parked his truck near the public library and got out. He knew he'd been off his game lately, but it wasn't for the reasons the others seemed to think. Wesley and Fred had been circumspect in their relationship and he was pretty sure it was at least partly because of him. Lorne had tried to have another heart-to-heart, and Angel had even hinted around at the matter--but they were barking up the wrong tree. Sure, he liked Fred, she was smart and pretty and fun to be around. She made him feel comfortable, and it was hard to see her with another man. He'd never really thought he had much chance with her, though. She'd even noted it to her parents--he was the muscle. She surely wanted more, and definitely deserved more. Oh, he'd fought a hard battle for her attention, but he'd all but given up by the time he'd come upon them kissing anyhow. If she wasn't going to notice his interest on a night like that, after he'd practically told her outright that he wanted to date her, when else would she notice?

So, no, it wasn't really about Fred. She'd chosen, and she was clearly happy, and Lorne insisted there was someone for him. It hurt but he dealt with it in the best way he knew--fighting things. Killing things. It wasn't like he'd never liked a girl that he couldn't pursue before. No, what was really getting to him was how it affected the way the others saw him. He wasn't just the muscle anymore--he was the guy that had stabbed his friend over a girl, the guy that had allowed a spell to take him over so that he nearly killed one of the team. He knew they'd trust him again, but first he had to trust himself. He had to show himself he was still up to this, that he was still okay with his role.

Except, he wasn't okay with being "the muscle" anymore. He wanted to be more than that. Not so Fred would notice him, not so any woman would notice him, but for himself. He was tired of just being the guy that hit things hard. Once, with his crew, he'd been a leader and a tactician, but he still doubted how much of that had truly been him, and how much had been others--had been his sister. He was glad he'd taken on this job, that Wesley had thought him capable of doing this alone. Tracking down a strange book that, last they knew, had fallen to the ground outside the Paramount studio gates was going to be tough, and they had to do it quickly.

The library first, he figured. They might have extra copies of the book, or know where to get one. If not, he'd have to head over to Paramount. Not something he was looking forward to, but he wasn't going to let the team down again.

As he approached the library, two large men stepped from the shadows of an alley. The larger one placed himself in front of Gunn with a menacing look. "Where you goin'?"

Gunn held up his hands. "I don't want any trouble. Just headin' to the library, that's all."
"Yeah?" This was the one behind him. "What's a guy like you need with a library, huh?"

"Y'know, I really don't have time for this. How about we get to fightin', I'll beat your ass, and I can be on my way, okay?"

Gunn was relying on a confident manner to scare off the thugs, but they didn't seem to be buying. The one in front said, "There's two choices here. You can come with us, or you can die. Either way, you're not gonna interfere with us any more."

"Interfere?" Gunn lowered his hands and smiled, edging a hand toward the stake he kept in his pocket. Something sharp and pointy in the thigh would keep them from following him, at least. "Now why would I be doing that? Unless you two're planning on causing some trouble 'round here, 'cause that I might want to interfere in."

"Don't play games," said the one behind Gunn. "You work for Angelus." He spat. "Filthy vampire-lover."

"Holtz." Gunn frowned. "You guys work for Holtz."

The thug in front of him smiled. "That's right. The Captain doesn't like the idea of killing innocents, but me, I don't think you're too innocent. You work with a vampire, after all."
Gunn could almost feel the wheels turning in his brain. Holtz had sent these thugs after him. They had to have followed him--which meant they were probably watching Wesley's apartment. If they were trying to take him out now, that meant--an attack? That was the most likely thing. He had to get back there, and help them.

No. No. He had to find the book first. That was what was important. They had to get Connor away, keep him safe, keep the world safe. He didn't have time for this.

"Well, I might work for a vampire--but at least he pays me pretty well. Holtz doesn't seem like a good boss. Probably don't even have a dental plan--which is gonna be a shame." Gunn didn't give the man time to reply--he just slammed his fist into the thug's square jaw.

The thug staggered back wide-eyed, shouting wordlessly. The other man lunged out from behind, arm raised, but Gunn was expecting that; he turned to meet the new attacker and held the lanky hand as it came down. They had eye contact for just a moment before Gunn leveled the man with a right cross that crunched bone.

As soon as the second thug was down, Gunn took off toward the library. Time was of the essence, and Gunn needed range. These were vampire hunters. They might have crossbows, but they wouldn't bother with guns, especially not in a public place. He hoped they wouldn't, anyway.

He didn't get twenty paces away before agony flared through his right leg, sending him toppling down in a heap. He blinked back the pain, glanced down, and saw a wooden stake jutting out from the back of his calf. The square-jawed thug he'd sucker-punched was coming down the sidewalk, too, with renewed determination. Given the distance, the thug must have thrown the thing, taking a page right out of Gunn's book, damn him.

Gunn tried to move the leg, clutching at the wound, but only got flashes of hot pain for his troubles. He'd had worse, but it'd be hard to walk for a while.

The thug lazily closed the distance, towering over Gunn with a scowl. "I told you--come with us or die."

Gunn glared back at him. "You idiot. This is about more than your boss and his damn revenge. Something bad is coming, unless we stop it. The word Apocalypse ring a bell?"

The man sneered. "We know the kind of games you people play, convincing yourselves you're helping the innocent, saving the world. It's just a cover and we know it. Get up."

"I would," Gunn answered with a smirk, "but there's this piece of wood stuck in my leg."

The thug spat out a curse and leaned down to grab Gunn's shoulder, and Gunn saw his opportunity - he twisted aside and lurched up to get an arm around the man's neck. The thug struggled, but it was useless - Gunn slid his good leg around the thug's ankle and leveraged him down to the ground. Less than a minute of wild thrashing later, it was over.

Gunn wrenched the stake from his leg and tore a piece of cloth from the thug's shirt to bandage it with before pulling his pant leg back over the wound. He limped toward the library and looked around. Luckily, the cops seemed to be absent and no one was paying attention. Good, he thought. Questions would only slow him down. Wincing with every step but otherwise ignoring the pain, he entered the library.

***

Wesley didn't dare swallow past the knife pressed to his neck, so he left the lump in his throat as it was. He forced his breathing to remain slow and even, moderated his tone to be calm, and said, "Who are you?"

"Hands up. I want to see them. Now!"

Wesley opened his hands and dropped the keys to the floor, held his arms up in the air. He glanced to the rearview mirror, but could only barely make out a sheaf of long red hair, the curvature of the cheekbones of a female face. Who had red hair that might want to threaten him? Willow Rosenberg and Virginia Bryce were the only red-heads he knew offhand, but neither fit. Virginia's hair was curly where this woman's was straight--and he'd know his ex-girlfriend's voice anywhere. Willow would have no reason to attack him unless her forays into magical power had turned truly dark, but he thought he'd recognize her voice, too. This woman's tone was deeper, and there was a hard edge to it he couldn't imagine on either of the red-heads he knew. There was an almost grating tone, and a way of dropping consonants that spoke of either a lack of education or a lack of care.

"Who are you?" he repeated, though he hardly expected an answer.

"That's not important," the woman replied. "What matters is who I work for. I think you know Daniel Holtz?"

"Only in passing. The man's tried to blow me up a couple of times, leveled a crossbow at my friends. Things of that nature." Wesley found himself leaning toward flippance in his tone, a stance he'd begun to adopt in the last couple of years when faced with dangerous situations. He found sometimes it put people off-guard--and he also found that it bolstered his own courage.

"Daniel's a good man." There was a hitch in Justine's voice, the way she said Holtz's name, that Wesley hoped he was reading correctly as an indication of affection. "And we know you are too."

"Been following us, have you?"

"Have to stake out the vampire somehow." There was a dry sort of wit to the woman's tone.

"Look..." Wesley glanced to the mirror again and caught a glimpse of brown eyes. "Whoever you are, if you'd like to talk reasonably, you can come up here and put the knife away and talk."

The knife pressed harder to his throat. "I don't think so. See, I'm not sure you get to live yet."

"Alright, alright... could you at least tell me your name, if you're going to be killing me?" Wesley's calm tone covered real fear this time. His heart was racing, but he forced himself to take long, slow breaths. He had to think clearly, or he'd almost certainly wind up dead.

There was a long pause from the backseat, and then, in a gruding tone, the woman said, "Justine."

Wesley risked a small smile. "Justine. Nice name." When she didn't respond, he continued, "Let me guess, Justine. You lost someone dear to you, lost them to vampires. Holtz found you and recruited you to work for him. Promised revenge on the evil kind that killed your... lover? Parents?"

"Sister. And how do you know?" There was the crease of a frown on the woman's brow, just visible in the rearview.

Wesley knew he was making guesses and taking an awful risk, but his greatest hope was that a security guard would come along and notice them, and give him a chance to get away. For that to happen, he had to keep her talking. So he continued, drawing from his studies and experiences. There were many common traits among those who chose to fight evil, and hopefully he'd hit on the right one. "It's an old story. I've been trained from a young age to fight vampires myself. Most Watchers aren't in it for revenge, but most rogue demon and vampire hunters are. You train yourself, you go out and fight, secretly hoping every day that you'll die yourself. Then someone comes along to teach you, to train you." Justine had been silent so far, so Wesley gambled again, drawing on the hints of affection toward Holtz he'd garnered from the woman's tone. "He offers you a purpose. A reason to live, an enemy to fight. Now, you work for him, and you never question his integrity. His purpose."

Justine's voice matched the sneer he could glimpse at the edge of the rearview. "And what'd Angelus offer you?"

"Angel offered me nothing but a job, and a team to work with." Wesley drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I already believed in fighting evil, but Angel's mission goes beyond even that."

"Fighting evil." Justine chuckled softly. "Yeah, sure, Angelus fights evil."

"Angel," and here Wesley emphasized the name, "has a soul. He has a conscience. He's done terrible things in his past, but he's trying to atone. He does good. He saves people."

"Is he here to save you?"

Wesley paused a moment, then said, "I imagine Angel has more pressing matters to attend to at the moment."

In the mirror, Wesley could see a corner of Justine's mouth pulled up into a smirk. "I bet he doesn't even know where you are. Trafficking with the enemy behind your friend's backs is dangerous business, you know."

"Angel knows where I am."

Wesley could hear the woman shift just a bit behind his seat, and felt the pressure of the blade loosen. "Does he now," Justine said. "I'm curious, Wesley... can I call you Wesley?" Without waiting for his reply, she continued, "You're a good man. You seem reasonable, and righteous. I'd think you'd be working for someone like Daniel, not a vampire."

"Holtz is a fanatic." Wesley said this without really thinking, and he felt the blade press close to his skin once more.

"You think so? Really?"

Wesley took a deep breath. "What I meant to say is... Holtz's methods are... not something I would find entirely acceptable. There is a concept of atonement..."

"Angelus will atone when he's in hell." Justine said this with a degree of bite. "Just like every other vampire."

"Is this Justine talking, or Holtz?" Wesley locked eyes with the woman in the mirror. "Do you believe, or do you just say what he tells you?"

"I believe. We're doing something important, and we're not working with vampires to do it." Justine paused, then said slowly, "You could come work with us, you know."

Wesley almost laughed. "When you've got a knife to my throat? The offers just keep coming today."

"What, like these people here? This... law firm that represents so much evil? What'd they offer? Shiny cars, pretty women, maybe some really old books?"

Wesley smirked. "You have been watching us. No, they offered... security. I knew better than to take the offer. What I let them think... is another story."

"I'm sure it is."

"Look, why don't you just... put down the knife, at least. We can talk, like civilized people."

Justine laughed. "And let you attack me?"

"No, you can stay right where you are. But certainly your arm must be getting tired. I'll stay here, I won't move, but we can talk more freely."

Justine didn't respond at first, and Wesley wondered whether she'd agree or not. Then, he felt the blade move away from his throat and heard Justine shift so that she was sitting down. "There. Happy?"

"Good," Wesley said. "Let's make this short. I have business to attend elsewhere." He couldn't quite see his wristwatch, so he had no idea what time it was. He was, however, still quite anxious. How long would it take security to make a sweep?

"Do you? Something about... a prophecy? Killing a baby to save the world?" There was both the sense of motion and movement in the mirror as Justine shook her head. "Only a vampire would kill his own child to save the world. 'Course, it's all a lie that Sahjahn thought up... but that's just how evil Angelus must be."

"What?" Wesley drew in a sharp breath, eyes widening. He was close enough to hear Justine's whispered curse. Clearly, she'd said too much. Wesley started thinking very fast. Sahjahn. He knew that name. Where did he know that name from?

"Angel's not going to kill Connor." Wesley was trying to buy time, to think. How could the prophecy be a fake?

"Well, good, 'cause Daniel isn't either. He has something else in mind. Sometimes there's better revenge than death, y'know?" Justine's tone was almost laconic, as though she was trying to draw Wesley's attention away from the subject by speaking casually.

"Listen to me, Justine." Wesley couldn't gamble on the thought that the prophecy was a fake; he had to be sure they got Connor away no matter what. "This is very important. We know the prophecy is wrong. Angel doesn't have to kill Connor. He just has to get him to another dimension before midnight, or the world will end."

"Another dimesion?" Justine laughed derisively.

"Yes, I... look, I know it sounds outlandish, but it's very important. If this Sahjahn or whomever claimed to fake the prophecy, maybe he wants the world to end."

"Maybe. But either way, your vampire friend isn't going to live to see midnight anyhow."

Wesley frowned. "You're going to attack. That's why you have me... he probably sent some people after Gunn as well. You're watching my flat. You're going to kill everyone there." Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice gibbered, Oh, God, Fred, but he pushed it away.

"Not everyone. Just Angelus. Sahjahn wants the kid and the woman dead, but we don't think it's right to kill a child, and Winifred Burkle won't die unless we have to defend ourselves."

Wesley couldn't help himself, now. His hands were shaking, his pulse racing, his breathing shallow. His friends were outnumbered, burdened with a child, and they were going to be attacked when they should be fleeing to Pylea. Gunn had surely been waylaid, and though he might get away in time he might not. Wesley had to warn them, somehow. But warn them of what? Why would Sahjahn want Fred dead? Or Connor?

"Who's Sahjahn?"

"Why should I keep answering you?" Justine's tone was cold and suspicious.

"Because you want me to come over to your side, yet you've waylaid me in my car and you threaten the lives of my friends. If you truly want my help, you'll answer my questions. Who is Sahjahn?"

There was another pause and then Justine said, grudgingly, "Well, I already let the cat out of the bag." She sighed. "He's a demon. He can travel through time or something, and he brought Daniel here to kill Angelus. Daniel isn't working with him directly anymore, but they keep in touch."

Realization came to Wesley all at once. He remembered where he knew the name Sahjahn from: a prophecy, that he'd thought might concern Connor but had set aside as something to worry about at a later date. The one sired by a vampire with a soul shall grow to manhood and kill Sahjahn. That was why Sahjahn wanted Connor dead, why Holtz had been brought forward in time before Connor had even been born--why Holtz had attacked them when Darla was in labor with Connor, and why he'd ultimately stood down. Sahjahn probably hadn't even told Holtz that Darla was pregnant, hoping that Holtz would simply kill the vampire before Connor could be born.

Connor was almost certainly the only child Angel would ever have. Angel was the only vampire with a soul in the history of the world. Connor almost had to be the one spoken of in that prophecy. Wesley could connect the dots from there. Sahjahn, capable of time travel, changed ancient copies of the Nyazian prophecies--more likely than creating the whole thing, as so much had happened to fit, and Wesley wasn't certain this demon could confound or bribe the Loa. If Holtz wouldn't kill Connor, then maybe Sahjahn could convince Angel he had to, and if Angel wouldn't, maybe Connor would just die in a crossfire. Why threaten Fred, then? Was she important to the prophecy somehow?

It didn't matter. Connor and Fred were in danger, Angel and Lorne with them. Gunn was likely waylaid by others working for Holtz. Wesley had to warn them that there would be an attack. His cell phone sat on the passenger seat--he'd left it there before going up to meet with Lilah.

"Did you hear me?" Justine leaned forward, and Wesley realized he'd been silent too long.

"Yes. I did. Justine..." Wesley decided to make one final gamble, and steeled himself, slowed his breathing and hence his racing heart. "Angel isn't Sahjahn's target. It's Connor. It's always been Connor."

"What?"

"There's a prophecy, about Connor and Sahjahn. It says Connor will grow to manhood and kill Sahjahn. Whatever Holtz does, Sahjahn is going to try to force someone, somewhere, to kill the boy."

"Then Daniel will see to it. He'll make sure Connor fulfills his destiny." Justine said with a smile of triumph. "He always said the boy was special."

"Holtz is going to kidnap Connor?" Wesley eyed the cell phone. Could he reach it before she moved? He threw out a hand toward the phone and Justine lunged forward. Wesley threw up his right arm to stop her getting the knife to his throat again, but she got her left around his neck and began to squeeze.

"Let go," she hissed. When he didn't move, she squeezed harder. "Let go," she repeated.
Wesley released his grasp on Justine's right arm and felt her left loosen. "You're not going to kill me."

"Don't be so sure!" Justine put the knife blade against his throat once more, on the left side this time. Wesley wondered if he'd injured her right arm.

"If you were going to do it, you would have just now." Wesley had to force his breathing to calm again. "You're hesitating. How long do you have to keep me here? Until midnight? Do you really think you can keep me hostage until then?"

"If I kill you, I won't have to. Are you going to work with us or not?"

Wesley closed his eyes for a moment. "The man you work for is no better than the vampire I work with." He opened his eyes again. "Both have souls. Both have killed. Angel has done terrible things, but Holtz is willing to kill people that won't work with him. Or is this just a threat to keep me occupied, Justine? Is Holtz truly the good man you say he is? A good man wouldn't have you kill me."

"I..." Justine hesitated. "I was supposed to kill you if you were working with Wolfram and Hart. Otherwise, just... keep you busy."

Wesley tensed his left arm. "I'm not working with Wolfram and Hart. I will never work with them. So there's no reason to threaten me. Let me go, and--"

"And you'll warn your friends we're coming to attack. I don't think so." Justine moved forward so that she was breathing right in Wesley's ear. "Maybe Daniel doesn't want you dead, but I see what you are. You defend the vampire. You're convinced he's right. What'll it take to just... push you over the edge, huh? Can you tell me you wouldn't kill me in order to save your friends?"

"Not unless I had to." Wesley took a breath, judged the moment, and moved. He reached up with his left hand to grab Justine's arm and pull it away from his throat, while his right shot out toward the cell phone again, praying that he'd truly hurt her right arm.

Injured or not, Justine grabbed his own right arm and wrenched it back against the seat. Wesley gasped in pain as he both felt and heard the shoulder dislocate. Justine twisted her left wrist around, trying to break his grasp on her arm. Wesley fought through the pain to try and keep his hold on her, to keep the knife from his throat.

"You won't kill me," he repeated as they struggled. "You're not that sort of person."

"Incapacitating you sounds good right about now." Justine was having a hard time twisting her wrist from Wesley's grasp, hampered by the seat between them. She grunted and tugged harder on his injured arm, causing him to cry out in pain.

Whether that was what finally brought security around, or whether fate just liked to play ironic tricks on him, Wesley would never know. It certainly seemed as if the security guard who suddenly came up next to the car had been summoned by his cry. The guard seemed to take in the struggle in a moment, then aimed his gun at the closed back window. "Let him go and step out of the car." Justine jumped in surprise, tugged at Wesley's arm again. With another grunt of pain, Wesley dropped her knife arm so she could get out--he didn't want the woman to get shot.

Justine immediately drew the knife across Wesley's throat. It felt like a line of fire flashing across his skin. He brought his hands up quickly to try and staunch the bleeding, though he knew it was likely of no use. He couldn't tell how deep she'd cut, but he was bleeding out. If only the security guard brought Justine down, he might be able to get help before Wesley bled to death.

Wesley felt his body slumping against the door. He heard the back door open and a grunt from the guard. He could just barely see the man staggering back, Justine's knife in his stomach. Justine herself was staring at what she'd done, though Wesley couldn't see her face and hence couldn't judge her emotions. He could only watch as Justine pulled the knife back out of the man and ran off.

That hope was gone, but... the cell phone. Wesley tried to push off the door with his elbow. He couldn't die here. He had to warn the others--they were in danger and Justine, at least, was willing to kill. He fell across the front seats with his head near the phone. He tried to reach up his right arm to grab the phone, but it was useless, and he needed the left to cover the wound.

Just a little more effort, and he could reach it. His vision was fading, sensation was fading, but he had to warn them. If he just forced his arm to move, he could get the phone. Everything was going black, but he couldn't die, not yet. Just a little further...

***

Gunn gave the librarian who'd helped him a friendly wave as he limped back out of the building. The woman had been very nice, and eager for news about Fred, who'd worked at that same library years before. The book he needed, the one that would open portals to Pylea, hadn't been on the shelf, but the library had extra copies down in storage. No one had requested it in some time, so they hadn't thought to bring it out and shelve it. Probably a good idea, Gunn thought, given that reading aloud from the book could open a portal to another dimension if you were standing in the wrong place while you did the reading.

He hurried along the sidewalk as fast as his injured leg would let him move. The thugs that had attacked him before were gone, but he didn't let down his guard. They might still be around somewhere.

As he approached his parked truck, his cell phone began ringing, with the specific tone he'd given to calls from Wesley. He fished it from his pocket and flipped it open. "Hey, Wes. I got the book. How goes it on your end?"

There was silence on the other end, and Gunn repeated, "Wes? Wesley, you there?"

He strained to hear more clearly, but all he could hear was a kind of rattle, like heavy breathing, on the other end. He sighed. "Pocket call." He raised his voice. "Hey! Wes! Turn your phone off, it called me by itself!"

Gunn didn't think there'd be a response, and as he now heard voices from the other end, figured Wesley must not be able to hear him. He shrugged and shut his phone to end the call.
The action gave him pause. The entire team had flip phones--partly so they didn't make random calls in battle or other tense situations. Wesley couldn't have just accidentally hit a button on his phone that would speed-dial Gunn. But if Wesley'd called Gunn on purpose, why hadn't he said anything?

Gunn frowned. He hadn't heard Wesley's voice--just heavy breathing, and... a rattle. Like someone was trying to talk, but couldn't. And then two voices, one male but neither one Wesley's.

He opened the phone again and hit Wesley's speed dial as he continued toward his truck. The line rang several times before Wesley's voice mail picked up.

"You have reached the voice mail of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I'm unable to take your call at the moment, so please leave a detailed message and I will contact you as soon as I am able."

Gunn growled at the beep and said, "Wesley, it's Gunn. I got your call, and I'm guessing you're in trouble. I've got the book, so just hang on and I'll come find you. Just... just hang on, man." He ended the call, not sure what else to say.

He stood next to his truck now, and by habit checked the area around for anyone that might be waiting to ambush him. In doing so, he noticed that something was wrong with his tires. He crouched down next to the front driver's side tire, grunting as the movement strained his wound. He reached out to touch the rubber, finding it shredded as if by a sharp knife.

"Damn." He looked around, but couldn't see anyone nearby. The sky was darkening, and he knew it was getting late. He opened his phone again and dialed the number for Wesley's apartment.

"Hello?" It was Fred. She sounded hoarse.

"Hey, Fred, it's Gunn. Is Wes back yet?"

"No, he hasn't even called. Is everything all right?"

Gunn straightened, and started walking in the direction of the hotel. He'd leave his truck behind for now, and call for a tow later. "I just got a call from him, but he didn't say anything. I heard other voices, though. I think he might be in trouble."

"Did you get the book?" Fred's voice sounded strained now, more high-pitched than usual, and Gunn knew she must be holding back worry for Wesley.

"Yeah, I got it, but I had to deal with a couple of Holtz's thugs when I got to the library, and now somebody's slashed my tires. Seems like someone's trying to keep Connor from getting where he needs to go."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Gunn lied. "Look, can somebody come pick me up now I've got the book? Then we can find Wesley."

"Yeah, sure, I'll send--" There was a clatter and a shout on the other end.

"Fred? Hey, Fred!" There was a click and Gunn knew the phone had been hung up.

"Damn it!" Ignoring the pain in his leg, Gunn started running.

The Strange Attractor, Chapter Five: Set Plot to Thicken

Tue, 06 May 2008 06:02:33 GMT

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>

The Strange Attractor, Chapter Four: First Date Jitters

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 23:31:13 GMT

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.

The Strange Attractor, Chapter Three: Take Your Cue

Sat, 15 Mar 2008 23:50:38 GMT

In which Angel Investigations attends a rather odd ballet and both Wesley and Illyria must take the initiative. (Scenes from "Waiting in the Wings" quoted)

Chapter Three: Take Your Cue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gunn noted, "I think he said 1890."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fred suddenly started. "Angel!" she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fred turned, hollered, "Charles!"

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

"Who the hell are you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fred loved them back," Illyria whispered.

"What?" Sahjahn looked confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then don't say anything?"

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sahjahn tried to interfere. I stopped him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Together, they would change the world.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gunn nodded. "Seems like."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Strange Attractor, Chapter Two: Variables

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 21:20:55 GMT

In which Fred explains what is happening and begins to implement a plan. (Scenes from "Billy" and "Waiting in the Wings" quoted.)

Chapter Two: Variables

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"X Factor."

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do we have the power to do that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Many have said that before."

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

Illyria frowned. "Why not?"

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

"So we're going to meddle?"

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

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

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

"Which moment, then?"

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

"How can I?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded this time. "Yeah."

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is special about this moment?"

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

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

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

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

The demon simply watched as Fred sunk into dreams.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wesley turned to smile to her. "Yes."

Charles shook his head. "No. No!"

Angel started, "Gunn--"

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

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

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

"Of course," Angel replied.

"I'm in." Good old Cordy.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He feels."

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

"It's gotta come from the heart."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angel asked, "How can you be sure?"

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

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

The Strange Attractor, Chapter One: The Oracle

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 20:19:51 GMT

In which Illyria decides she doesn't much like the way things are, and makes a demand of the Powers That Be. (Scenes from "A Hole in the World" and "Shells" quoted.)

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

--Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)

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

--The American Heritage Science Dictionary

Chapter One: The Oracle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fred sniffled. "I'm so sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

"Wesley is dead."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"After a fashion."

"What must I do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

***

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

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

Welcome!

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 18:48:56 GMT

To friends new and old, welcome to Chaotic Attractors!

This is an Angel fanfic series in four parts. It's still in progress but I have the plotline planned out through to the end. The four parts will be "The Strange Attractor," "The Toroid Shape," "The Limit Cycle," and "The Final Point." Obviously, I'm writing "The Strange Attractor" first.

This series will contain spoilers up through After the Fall volume #2 (which obviously came after "Not Fade Away"), and is an attempt to answer a very simple question: if Wesley and Fred had gotten together around the time of "Waiting in the Wings," how different would things have been? What that happened in the later seasons of Angel was preordained and what was by choice? Can one still hit the beats that prophecy demands and yet change the future?

The fic will travel from after Season 5 back to Season 3, and then through Seasons 4 and 5 back to, well, after--definitely changing the ending of the series. This is a decidedly Wes/Fred fic, but there's also definite aspects of Wes/Illyria, and possibly other pairings. This is wish fulfillment of a sort--I always thought Wesley and Fred should've been together--but things will not neccesarily be happy and fun. This is PG-13 for the moment.

For those who're here because I'm writing this--what the heck? Since when do I write stories about other people's characters? Well, for one thing, the writer's block that's plagued me for years has finally broken, and the words are coming out in a flood. The Angel characters are people whose heads I can get into, and I have Fred on one shoulder and Illyria on the other going "write this, write this." Those who know me know what that means, and how impossible it is to ignore. :) Don't worry, the novels will get written, but with how prolific I'm being I somehow doubt this fic will suffer for it. I wrote 15,000 words on this thing in three days!

Anyhow. I will post the Chapters as they are finished (written, with a few editing passes) and open for comments and the like. There may be occassional "reality" interludes--I'll try to make it clear which is which.

I'll also be posting this to various communities, so if you checked me out from there--welcome! Sorry things are so bare for the moment. I'll be adding as time passes.

And now, on to the fic!