Disclaimer: I do not own anything Angel. Joss Whedon does. I only use his awesome characters to add to their awesomeness. Also, this first chapter pretty much mirrors what happens in the series finale, but I add a small bit. I don't own any of it, but I appreciate using it as a running start so please don't hurt me!
"I'm curious," Cyvus Vail wheezed as he slurped a spoonful of his soupy dish, looking from it to Wesley across the table. "What makes you think I won't kill you where you sit?" he asked, as if it couldn't be a more obvious question.
"Because," Wesley replied, his exterior cool as he spoke, sitting across from the powerful sorcerer. "You're smarter than the others. Smart enough to have your doubts about Angel, and rightly so. He's…unpredictable. And worse, he has a conscience."
Cyvus groaned. "You make a very persuasive argument." He sounded like he was going to say something more, but Wesley spoke again.
"Wait. It gets better," he said while under the table he held his palm facing up, a small red-orange glowing ball of magic forming in his hand. He let it sit a moment and gather more before he spoke again. "He'll betray you, because even if he acts like he's on your side, he'll turn on you because it suits him, and for his reasons alone. He'll isolate himself from you, and do only what he wants. Are you sure you think you can trust that?" he asked, his expression still cool as memories of what he had seen dealing with Angel in the past flashed through his mind. In the end, it still didn't mar what Wesley thought of him, because in the big picture, Angel was good.
Cyvus was about to speak again, when Wesley moved quickly. He tossed the ball of magic energy and hit the old sorcerer square in the chest with enough force to knock him back in his chair. Wesley jumped up from his chair and started to build up another magic ball, moving closer to serve a more direct and effective hit in the chest. Cyvus raised his hand first, his fingers bent slightly, and lifted Wesley off the ground in an invisible but magical iron grip. The old sorcerer took his time getting back up, groaning and coughing slightly, but still suspending Wesley.
Walking slowly, he moved away from the table, into a more open space. He knew there was going to be a fight, and even though he knew he was going to win as fragile as he was, the thought of Wesley trying to beat him was entertaining. He slowly walked around Wesley, amused and smug as he was looked down on with a pained expression, Wesley struggling to move even though he was slowly rotating as if he were a car in a show.
"Did you really think you had a shot at this?" Cyvus asked with a scoff, looking at him as if there were an obvious answer. "I can bend the very fabric of reality to my will. Your parlor tricks could never kill me, boy," he laughed, letting his arms hang at his sides as he stared Wesley down, standing to face him.
"Then I'll just have to do it the old fashioned way," Wesley said, straining to speak. From his hand, a little pocket knife opened up and with a rush of energy, he moved to stab Cyvus in the stomach. Cyvus grunted as he caught Wesley's hand before he could be stabbed and stopped him.
"Yes, I suppose we will," he agreed as he lifted a hand and glanced over at a nearby wall where two kukri hung, crossing over each other. A second later as he looked back at Wesley, one of the kukri flew to his hand and he caught it. He looked at it appraisingly before stabbing Wesley in the stomach.
Gasping, Wesley felt the sharp knife in him, and grunted in pain as it was then twisted inside him. Even still, he slowly started to raise a hand as he worked to build up a last small, glowing ball of magic, forcing it into Cyvus. It caused a small wave to form in between them and Cyvus was knocked back, pulling the knife out in the process, hitting the wall and knocking him down. Wesley had his feet on the ground again and one hand clutched his stomach.
He staggered, grunting in pain as the doors behind him flew open to reveal Illyria's arrival. She was already done with her assignment in killing a group of demons in the Circle of the Black Thorn. "Wesley," was all she said before she moved again. It only took her a few long steps to come up to his side, and she pulled him down to lie on the floor before he fell. She looked at his pained face before glancing over to look at the bloody puncture wound in his stomach. Her hand cradled his head as he gasped for air, and her face was as expressionless as ever.
"This wound is mortal," she announced as Wesley put his hand over it again. Illyria looked down at it, and put her hand down there as well, just touching the tips of his fingers.
"Aren't we all?" Wesley asked gasping, looking down towards it again before looking up at Illyria. She looked back at him as he spoke. "It was good that you came," he said, nodding slightly to let her know it was indeed a good thing.
"I killed all mine. And I was-" Illyria paused, looking off to the side. She was trying to find the word to use while still acting like she came only because it suited her.
"Concerned?" Wesley offered, still looking up at her with the smallest smile.
"I think so," she answered slowly, looking back at him briefly before inspecting his wound again. "But I can't help. You'll be dead within moments," she said in her monotonous voice, meeting Wesley's eyes for a second before he looked off.
"I know," he said, admitting it to himself that he knew he was going to die. He had survived having his throat slit and being left to lie behind a tree for God knows how long, and had been through so many rough times and made it through them, but he knew this was the last one. And he wasn't going to see any more after it. His eyebrows knit together slightly at the verbal realization.
"Would you like me to lie to you now?" Illyria asked softly, looking down at the dying man. He looked up at her, his eyelids starting to droop lazily as he kept getting weaker. It was clear Illyria's estimation was right, and he was dying quickly.
The first thing a Watcher learns is to separate truth from illusion, because in the world of magics, it's the hardest thing to do. And since I don't intend to die tonight, I won't accept a lie. Wesley remembered what he had told Illyria earlier in the day, and saw himself eating his words. He was going to die tonight, and because he knew it for sure, he could allow himself this one often forbidden luxury. It didn't matter anymore, and more than anything else, he wanted to see his Fred.
"Yes, yes. Thank you, yes," he replied quietly, his voice lower and weaker as he was no longer able to put any effort into anything.
An ungloved hand slowly and softly caressed his face, and Fred was there instead of Illyria, dressed in the outfit she died in, but looking as if the demon dust had never affected her. Her iced over blue eyes were Fred's warm brown, and Illyria's streaked blue hair was that shade of brown and her face showed no traces of any blue.
"Hello there," Wesley said, slurring, looking up at her with a weak smile on his face. Fred smiled down at him, her hand gently holding his face as tears started to well up in her eyes.
"Oh, Wesley," she said softly, sniffling as he reached a hand up to touch her shoulder. "My Wesley," she said, smiling at him lovingly, but sadly.
"Fred," Wesley moaned quietly, looking up at her with weak but relieved and love-filled eyes. "I've missed you," he whispered as she smiled at him again, a tear falling down. Fred bent down and kissed him gently, and then again as he had done for her, before kissing his forehead.
"It's gonna be okay," she said, her voice cracking slightly as she looked at him with hope. "It won't hurt much longer, and then you'll be where I am. We'll be together," she said, starting to cry, even though she still smiled at him.
"I- I love you," Wesley stuttered weakly, trying to smile and open his eyes wider, but his heavy lids wouldn't let him and he didn't have the strength to smile.
"I love you," Fred replied, sniffling again. "My love. Oh, my love," she got out as she started to sob, though she never looked away from him. By the time she had finished speaking, Wesley's eyes were wide and empty and his mouth hung open slightly. He didn't move. He was dead.
Fred gently laid his head down and sniffled again and gathered herself before she rose to stand. Her face was still tear stricken even as she heard Cyvus behind her begin to speak.
"How very touching his meaningless death was. But this fight was never for mortals," he said, shaking his head at Fred's back. Her expression no longer held a smile, growing only more solemn and grave. She turned to see him, giving him cold eyes and he exclaimed amusedly before laughing. He held out his hands to challenge her. "Take your best shot, little girl," he said, looking smug.
Fred pulled her fist back, but as she let it fly she morphed back into Illyria. Her punch hit Cyvus square in the face, and his whole head, skull and all shattered into a million tiny pieces in a killing blow. "It was better than yours," she said coldly, watching his body fall down among the dust and small debris that had been his head.
Now that she had taken care of her targets, and then Wesley's, she needed to meet the others who had survived thus far where Angel had told them to go. And she would, because she wanted to do more violence. Wesley's death had made her bitter and angry, and she wished to kill to her heart's content. She needed to get out this new aggression at both the fact that Wesley had been wounded, more so that he had died. She lied for him and she told him how long he had, but she didn't want him to die. She granted his last wish, but she didn't accept that he was gone.
Illyria wanted to explore more into the Fred façade, especially after this. It intrigued her, and she had found herself bearing concern and an overwhelming sense of grief and sadness over his death. She would go to fight with Angel and the others, but this was not over yet. Before she left, she picked his body up and carried it to a safe place in the dead sorcerer's home. She knew he had to have something around useful for this. It would hold his body until she could return to it, and make it so that Wesley would not be gone.
After she had placed his body somewhere she deemed good enough, she stroked her gloved hand gently over Wesley's face. Her expression looked the same as ever as she did so, and she took one last look before turning on her heel and heading to the Hyperion.
