If Only
Fred and Wes Were in the Wings
(Counterpart to Waiting in the Wings)
"Do you think you can take him?" Fred whispered to Wesley. They were staring at the overlarge, piggish looking security guard thinking in vain of ways to get past him.
"I doubt it. Brute force is more Angel's strength." Wesley replied. "I think a better option is to outsmart him."
"Right." Fred replied. "Any thoughts on how?"
Wesley looked around the barren backstage entrance, searching for something to improvise a clever ruse. He did not want to resort to physical violence, but there did not seem to be many other options.
"Wait… I think I have an idea." Fred said. "I'll be right back." She ran up the stairs behind Wesley leaving him bewildered. A few minutes later, she came back with a half empty bottle of wine she had obviously just nicked from the Lobby bar.
"What's that for?" Wesley asked. Fred smiled and winked. She took a rather large gulp of the wine and purposely spilled a healthy serving down the front of her dress. Wesley then watched as she mussed her hair, took off one of her high heel shoes, and pinched the skin around her eyes so they looked red and swollen.
"What do you want me to do?" Wesley asked.
"Just cover me." Fred replied. "I'm winging it here." She had already begun staggering down the steps, gripping the bottle in one hand and her shoe in the other.
"Well lookie here! I'm in the backstage!" Fred slurred, exaggerating her Texas drawl. She stumbled about, feigning fascination with the backstage area, and spilled a bit of wine on the floor for good measure.
The security guard looked at her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Miss, I'm sorry but you can't be back here. You'll need to go back upstairs."
"Back upstairs? But I wanna see the ballerinas!" Fred drawled faking another swig from the bottle and starting a drunken little jig in front of the security guard. Wesley watched as she 'tripped' and fell against the security guard. "Whoo hoo! Look at the big man! My hero!" Fred drawled. And with that, she placed a slobbery kiss on the security guard's lips.
"Hey, you're kinda cute." Fred said, breaking from the man's lips and giving him a dazzling smile. "You wanna show me the rest of this backstage area? I bet there are some places we could get mighty cozy." Fred said, playfully running her finger along the guard's arm. Wesley, watching from the stairwell, was liking this plan less and less. But, he had to hand it to Fred, she seemed to know what she was doing and exactly what the security guard's weakness would. Wesley watched in disgusted disbelief as the security guard smiled lustfully at Fred and looked around surreptitiously.
"I suppose I could give you a private tour." The security guard said. Wes felt anger flaring in his chest when he caught the way the fat guard's eyes were sliding over Fred's body. "There happens to be a storage room where extra costumes are kept right around the corner. Do you want to try on some costumes for me?"
Fred let out a very un-Fredlike giggle and laced her arm through the security guard's. She took another swig from the bottle and allowed the Security guard to pull her along toward the far end of the room where a door marked "storage" stood. As soon as they were a safe distance away, Wesley quietly crept down the remainder of the stairs and followed the two as close as he dared. Fred was still playing her part well, stumbling and hiccuping like she was intoxicated, punctuated with nuzzles and snuggles with the guard so he wouldn't get suspicious. It took Wesley every bit of will power he possessed not to rush the Security Guard and beat him to a bloody pulp when he saw the foul fat man reach down and squeeze Fred's buttocks. Fred, however, convincingly maintained her act. She lightly pushed the man's hand away.
"Uh, uh, uh." She said. "You gotta let me try on costumes first."
When they reached the door, the security guard fished around for the keys on his belt while Fred feigned disinterest, continuing her act. Wes used the opportunity to sneak a bit closer. He wanted to be as close as possible just in case things went wrong. He did not want to give that snake of a security guard any chance to actually be alone with Fred.
"Ah ha." The security guard said, turning a key in the lock. Fred let out a squeal and clapped her hands.
The guard opened the door and took a step in. In one quick motion, Fred seized her chance. She raised the wine bottle and smashed it as hard as she could on top of the guards head. The guard's knees buckled and he fell to the floor – out stone cold. Wesley appeared right behind Fred.
"Well done!" He praised.
"Thanks! I took a year of theater in junior college." Fred replied dropping the bottle on the floor next to the unconscious guard. Together, the two pulled the security guard into the storage room and Wesley grabbed his keys. They locked the door from the outside on their way out of the room and sprinted for the backstage door.
"Are you ready?" Wesley asked. Fred nodded. He opened the stage door, and they entered.
It felt as though they had stepped back in time. The long hallway was lined with gas lanterns and a pervasive feeling of antiquated time hung in the air.
"This can't be right." Wesley said. He and Fred turned looked up and down the infinite hallway in fascination. Fred turned around and gasped.
"Wesley, where's the door we came in?" Fred asked. There was alarm in her voice and Wesley could see why. Where the backstage door stood less then a minute before, there was now only a wood paneled wall.
Wesley looked at Fred and she stared back, fear in her eyes.
"It's ok, Fred. We'll figure this out. We best look around to see if we can get some idea of what's going on here." Wesley said. He grabbed Fred's hand and together they began quickly walking the length of the hallway.
It was by some strange magical coincidence that they both stopped right in front of the Prima Ballerina's dressing room. They felt like they were being called to it… like the room was beckoning them to enter. Without a word, Wesley turned the door knob and they slowly stepped through the threshold.
The atmosphere of the room was strong and palpable. Fred could immediately feel it's effects – the warmth, the eroticism, the raw sensuality. Fred sat down at the dressing table and that feeling grew. Somehow, she was eighteen years old again – waiting for her lover to come to her and forge his body with hers.
Fred walked around the room slowly, finally stopping at the dressing table where the prima ballerina's make-up and hair pins sat, left by their owner before she went on stage.
"She would wait for him here." Fred said, running her fingers over the Ballerina's hairbrush. She looked at Wes's reflection in the mirror. She could see that it was him – only it wasn't him. It was Stefan, her secret lover. He was muttering about the warmth of the room.
"Wesley?" She said standing up. Wes turned his attention toward her. 'I want you to undress me."
"Wha… what?" Wesley asked, staring at Fred in disbelief, his eyes wide. Did he just hear her correctly?
"It's just another costume." Fred said, running her hand sensually down the side of her bare neck. "I want you to see who I really am. You're the only one who can." Wesley felt his heart quicken in his chest. Every desire and bit of longing he had ever felt for the woman standing before him was amplified. The urge to take her, to tear her dress off and make passionate love to her was overwhelming. Wesley swallowed hard. He knew this was wrong. This couldn't possibly be Fred – the shy, sweet young lady he had developed feelings for.
"This… this isn't us, Fred. This is someone else… someone is making us act this out." Wes stammered. Fred blinked and shook her head slightly.
"Whoa." Fred said, coming to herself. "Did I… did I just ask you to undress me?" she asked, a blush on her cheeks both from her arousal and her embarrassment. Wes took a purposeful step towards her.
"Is that what you want?" Wesley asked, the powerful spirit of the man who loved his prima ballerina completely taking control.
"Please." Fred whispered plaintively, the ballerina's spirit taking hold of her again. "I…"
"You want me to make love to you right here?" Wesley asked, one of his hands now caressing Fred's neck while the other found the small of her back and pulled her close.
"You know I do." Fred replied passionately.
"But you're afraid." Wesley whispered, his lips moving ever closer to Fred's.
"What if he finds us?" Fred replied. Her lips just barely tracing Wesley's.
"I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of anything." Wesley said intensely. Their breaths were coming fast and heavy now. Their eyes were closed, there lips mere millimeters apart.
"I'm only alive when you're inside me." Fred whispered. With that, Wesley's lips came to Fred's and he began kissing her deeply and passionately. He pulled her as close to himself as possible, their clothing forming an unwanted barrier between them. They were completely overtaken by the desires of the spirits embodying them. Wesley slowly began moving them toward the sofa in the middle of the room.
"This is wrong." Fred whispered against Wes's lips.
"Hush." Wesley responded, kissing Fred harder.
"You don't know him. - He has power." Fred moaned as Wesley lowered her onto the sofa and came to rest on top of her.
"The power to do this?" Wesley said, moving his hand to her mound and squeezing gently. Fred gasped in ecstacy.
"Stefan, his power is unnatural. He could..." Fred was now loosening Wesley's bowtie and working the buttons on his shirt.
"What? Kill us?" Wesley asked skeptically. Fred had now worked the last of his shirt buttons loose and slid the garment from his body.
"Worse." Fred said. She leaned up and kissed his chest softly.
Wesley took Fred's chin gently in his hand and angled it so he could look her in the eye.
"Kurskov owns the company. He doesn't own you." Wesley said softly. He lowered his lips to her neck and kissed her softly.
"He doesn't know that." Fred said, tears now gleaming in her eyes, her gentle Texas drawl being replaced by the hint of a Russian tongue. "He thinks I'm his. That I dance for him. He is nothing but a deluded fan. He thinks I love him."
"Come away with me. Now. Tonight. We'll disappear. Even he won't find us." Wesley said, softly pulling the hairpins from Fred's hair so it fell around her shoulders and face.
"I... - Stefan, everything I worked for is here." Fred said plaintively, her hands caressing Wesley's chest.
"You can still dance." Wesley said. He was now slowly working down the zipper on the back of her dress.
"Can I? I don't... Not yet. - Maybe when we're..."
"Don't. Don't make promises." Wesley said intensely, pausing in the act of undressing Fred.
"Help me. - Help me be not afraid." Fred pleaded.
Wesley worked the zipper the remainder of the way down Fred's back and pulled the silky fabric away from her body, baring her breasts. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, then worked their way down her body. He kissed her exposed flesh gently and she was completely overrun with desire. She wanted nothing more then to feel Stefan inside of her.
"Stefan." She whispered, her eyes closed in ecstasy Wesley continued to kiss her breasts, her abdomen, migrating down to her most intimate areas.
"Wesley." Fred moaned. Her eyes immediately shot open. Saying his name – his real name – broke the spell. "Wesley!" She cried, coming back to herself. She kicked Wesley (who was just in the act of unzipping his slacks) off of her and he fell to the floor. Wesley looked at her with an expression of hurt, then confusion, then utter shock. Fred hurried to pull her dress up before she was overcome again. Already, she was feeling a desire to help Wesley lose the pants.
"We've gotta get out of here." Fred said, jumping from the sofa, her Texas drawl now back. Wesley looked slightly punch drunk.
"Yes… of course. This…This is wrong." Wesley replied. Fred could not help but notice the hard lump at the front of Wesley's now re-zipped pants and it scared her how much she wanted to let it free – especially because she wasn't exactly sure who she wanted anymore – Stefan or Wesley.
Wesley began backing toward the door, but before she could help herself, Fred had wrapped herself in Wesley's arms, kissing him furiously again. They stumbled toward the door, entwined in each other's embrace, Fred finally bumping against it with her back. This only intensified their actions, however. Wesley used the door as a brace to hold Fred against as he began tugging her dress up. Fred moaned, her hands groping furiously at Wesley's pants. They were both breathing heavily against each other's lips, lost again in the spell the room had put them under.
A turn of the doorknob, a scream as they fell through to the hallway, Wesley landing on top of Fred, a gasp from Cordelia and a surprised expletive from Angel broke the spell.
Wesley, quickly realizing the compromising position they were in, pushed himself off of Fred, who was doing her best to pull her dress back down. Wesley was doing his best to hide his bulging manhood.
"DON'T GO IN THERE!" Wes and Fred cried together as Angel and Cordelia began stepping toward the door.
"The room is cursed! There seems to be some sort of residual haunt going on. The spirits possessed me and Fred." Wesley said quickly.
"Possession? Is that what they're calling it now days?" Cordelia said with amusement.
Wesley stood up and helped Fred to her feet. They were both very red and doing their best not to look at each other.
"Well, we have to figure out what's going on so we can stop it." Angel said.
"Kurskov!" Fred exclaimed, remembering suddenly the dialogue that had taken place between her and Wesley when they were enchanted. "He's responsible. He's in love with the prima ballerina and has cursed her somehow so she will always be his – always dance for him. Angel, that's why you recognize her! It is the same ballet you saw in 1890!"
"Alright…" Angel said, agreeing instantly with Fred's realization. "I'm going after Kurskov. You guys stay here. We ran into some nasty… uh…"
"Minions!" Cordelia screamed.
"Yeah, minions, on the way to finding you guys and…"
"No! Minions!" Cordelia cried again pointing behind where Angel and Wes were standing side by side. Two sword wielding masked men – one bearing a smile, one a frown – were upon them in seconds. Wesley and Angel, having no weapons of their own, launched an offensive using the only weapons at their disposal - their fists. Angel, with his super human strength, successfully knocked out the 'comedy' minion within a minute. But, Wesley, with no weapon with which to defend himself, was no match for the armed 'tragedy' man. Before Angel could throw himself into the fight, the masked man drew his sword sharply along Wesley's abdomen.
"Wesley!" Fred screamed as Wesley crumpled to the floor, blood pouring from the wound.
"Hey!" Another voice yelled. Fred looked up in time to see Gunn arrive, sword blazing, and stab the tragedy man through the heart. To her astonishment, she watched as the downed masked men stood up as though impervious to their wounds and then begin to replicate.
"Uh oh." Fred said. She was frantically working at Wesley's wound – attempting to stifle the flow of blood with her shawl.
"Angel!" Wesley yelled from the floor as Cordy, Gunn and Angel all readied themselves for battle. Angel knelt down next to Wes. "You must find Kurskov! Find whatever power he's using to keep the ballet going and destroy it! It's the only way to stop them." Wesley said, gesturing toward the now half-dozen masked minions.
"What about you?' Angel asked.
Wesley looked down as his abdomen, Fred's shawl wrapped firmly around it, then at Fred. There was such worry and fear in her eyes. He just wanted to reach out and hold her – comfort her.
"It's just a scratch." Wesley said bravely. "Give me a sword."
Angel and Fred helped Wesley to his feet and Angel handed Wesley a long broadsword.
"I'll end this as quickly as possible!" Angel said. He took off down the hallway.
Fred grabbed a heavy piece of railing – a discarded prop no doubt – and stood next to Wesley. Cordelia and Gunn were already engaged in battle with the minions who fortunately, despite their presumed invincibility, we not very skilled fighters.
A minion charged at Fred and Wesley, and they hit it simultaneously, Fred knocking it over the head with the rail and Wesley running it through with his sword.
The fighting continued for several more minutes, with more than one near misses for all involved. Then, suddenly, the masked men dissolved in front of their eyes.
"What? What happened?" Cordelia asked.
"Angel. He must have found Kurskov." Wesley said.
"Wes? You ok, man?" Gunn asked, noticing Wesley's pale face.
"I just need... to sit down." Wesley said, collapsing.
"Wesley! Oh, God!" Fred said, dropping down next to him. Her shawl, she noticed, was drenched through with blood.
"Gunn and I are going to go find Angel and get some help. Fred, stay here with Wes." Cordelia commanded. Fred nodded, unable to speak because of the tremendous knot in her throat.
Cordelia and Gunn ran off the same way Angel had while Wes propped himself gently against the wall of the hallway. Fred placed a hand on the location of Wesley's wound and applied firm pressure. Wesley winced.
"I'm sorry. I'm trying to apply pressure to stop the blood." Fred said shakily. There were tears in her eyes which she was trying to hide from Wesley.
"Fred? Are you alright?" Wesley asked. Fred let out a pained laugh.
"You're the one bleeding and you ask me if I'm alright." Fred replied. She laughed again, but it quickly dissolved into a sob. "I thought… I thought he stabbed you."
"Fred." Wesley said softly, brushing a strand of hair back from Fred's face. "It's just a scratch. I'll be fine."
"I don't know what I would have done if you…" Fred started, her voice breaking.
"Shhh… hush." Wesley soothed as Fred broke down. Fred buried her head in the crook of Wesley's neck while still applying pressure to the wound with her hand. Wesley put an arm around her and held her tightly. They stayed like that until help finally arrived.
"Wesley? Can I come in?" Fred's voice called through the door to the room at the Hyperion where Wesley would be spending a few days. Cordelia had insisted Wesley not spend his first few days out of the hospital at his apartment alone lest he try to do too much for himself and rip any of the dozen stitches holding his abdomen together.
"Of course." Wesley called back from the bed, looking up from the book he was reading on demonic possession.
Fred opened the door. She was holding two mugs in one hand. Wesley caught the scent of English tea.
"I thought you could use something hot to drink." Fred said, walking over to Wesley and handing him one of the mugs.
"Thank you." Wesley replied. "Please, have a seat."
Fred sat down on the chair adjacent to the bed where Wes was propped up, surrounded by books.
"What are you working on?" Fred asked, glancing at the pile.
"Oh… I was just researching some information on possession… spells that would cause them and such."
"Oh." Fred said. An awkward silence fell between Wesley and Fred. Fred sipped her tea loudly while she and Wes avoided each other's gaze. She wanted to talk to him, to tell him that she felt something that night – something outside the possession. But, how could she admit that? And what if Wesley didn't feel anything back? That would just be embarrassing and devastating.
"Well, I should go." Fred said after a few more minutes, rising suddenly, determined not to humiliate herself by broaching this subject with Wes. "You probably need to rest. Twelve stitches is nothing to fool around with."
Fred stood, turned and walked purposefully toward the door.
"Fred…" Wesley said. She stopped and turned around. He was looking at her desperately. "I... um... would you stay a little longer?" Fred exhaled slowly and walked back toward Wesley's bed. She sat down on the edge of it and looked at Wesley.
"Fred, I don't want things to be uncomfortable between us. What happened at the ballet… well… just remember that it wasn't us. You were the prima ballerina and I was Stefan. I can only imagine the horror you felt when you had that moment of clarity and realized who was… with you." Wesley looked down in embarrassment.
"No!" Fred cried. Wesley raised his head, a surprised expression on his face, and looked in Fred's soft, brown eyes. "No… I mean… It wasn't horrible being... with you. It was just… well… surprising, you know? If that were to ever happen with us… I mean, if we – the real we - were ever in that situation… I just didn't want us to do anything when it wasn't really... us." Fred stammered. She did not even realize she was slowly leaning closer to Wesley. "But, it definitely wasn't horrible." She said quietly, now only inches from him. "Was it horrible for you?"
Wesley swallowed hard. "Not at all." He replied softly.
Fred placed her lips on Wesley's and she kissed him gently. They pulled apart momentarily to gaze at each other, and seeing the mutual desire in each other's eyes, their lips met again. They kissed sweetly but passionately, the feelings they felt for each other finally laid bare.
They continued on like this for several minutes before a niggling voice in the back of Wesley's head got the better of him.
"Fred… maybe we shouldn't do this." Wesley moaned while dropping his lips to Fred's neck. "We might be under some sort of residual effects from the…"
"Wesley." Fred cut him off.
"Hm?" Wes said.
"Shut up." She said.
"Ok." Wes agreed and placed his lips to Fred's again.
They remained in each other's embrace for several more minutes before finally breaking apart – both of them breathless. They kept their arms around each other though and gazed in each other's eyes, both smiling softly.
"Do you really think this is still some sort of effect from the spell?" Fred asked Wesley softly, her fingers tickling the back of Wesley's neck.
Wesley shook his head.
"The way I feel about you, Fred… it's much stronger than any spell, and much stronger than what Stefan felt for his Prima Ballerina." Wesley answered honestly. Fred smiled.
"I know what you mean." Fred replied.
Wesley smiled too and leaned in to place a sweet, soft kiss on Fred's lips again.
"I was wondering if you would like to go out with me on Saturday night." Wesley asked.
Fred grinned.
"I'd like that." She said.
They spent the rest of the day curled up together in Wesley's bed, discussing date ideas. Neither needed to say it, but the ballet was decidedly off the table.