Title: Identity
Author: InsinuoAnimus
Disclaimer: Know the drill, love the drill, use the drill. None of the characters are mine. Sorry.
Summary: The line between reality and fantasy are often blurred. If not invisible.

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{ the greatest love affairs started with hello
the greatest love songs started with a note
the mona lisa started with a stroke
maybe me and you could be one of those }



The hours since he woke up in The Retreat have swirled into days. It's been days since he woke up and realized that the only wound he felt was the one across his throat, an old scar that still burned, and the forming scar on his left wrist where he apparently tried to end his life. Wesley doesn't remember the scar on his wrist, he can't help but remember the scar on his throat. Scars were souvenirs that never went away, to Fred scars were marks of a story, each scar told a story. Wesley wasn't sure if this Fred believed that. He had started to make categories. He remembered this Fred as the woman that walked around her quaint looking home in England trying everything to help him remember the man he was supposed to be. He remembered that Fred as the woman he had fallen desperately in love with only to lose her when he finally had her. This Fred and that Fred both looked the same, they both had the texan accent, they both were a sign of weakness for him. This Fred touched his cheek in a way that warmed his heart, this Fred looked at him with a curious look, as if daring herself to believe in the words he spoke to her once, he doesn't remember these words, he doesn't remember anything about this life, he only knows that she's a part of it. That Fred is his life. She haunts him whenever he closes his eyes, the moment he closes his eyes, she comes flooding back to him. She is his heart and when he opens his eyes this Fred is at his side, touching him in that soft, gentle way she does, holding him as he fights his way back to the surface.

On his second day in this Fred's house, her life, her world, he sits in the room she set up for him and takes off the white gauze that wraps around the offending wound, hiding it from his eyes. Piece by piece, he removes the gauze and stares at his wrist. He touches it and has the decency to wince at the pain that shoots through his body. He stares at the offending slash, marveling at how deep it goes and how he knows there will be a scar once the wound heals. He closes his eyes and almost wills the memory to come back to him. Why had he done it? But nothing comes, when he opens his eyes again, that Fred is in front of his eyes. She slides down on the ground so they're sitting together, and together they stare at the wound. When he looks at her again, it's Illyria, cocking her head to the side, asking him why these scars, these marks, these memories mean so much to him.

On his fourth day, he shuts and locks the door to his room. He goes to his dresser and pulls out Angel's ring. He turns it in his hand and touches the symbols of the ring. He puts it down on the top of the dresser, kneels in front of his dresser and watches the ring for close to thirty minutes. Angel doesn't come to him. The ring doesn't glow like it did the first night he encountered it. When he touches it again, he keeps it in his hands for a long time, he doesn't remember when he finally puts it away. It's the only thing that's real. The only real reminder of what he used to be. What his world used to be. He doesn't remember how he gets in his bed, he doesn't remember unlocking his door, he doesn't remember Fred coming into the room. But he wakes up to a warm body, he squints, letting his eyes adjusting to the light and then he moved his head to the side and watches Fred. Like an abandoned child, he moves closer to Fred, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the ring on the dresser.

On his sixth day, Rupert Giles walks back in his life. Wesley listens to the words that come out of Rupert's mouth, he watches how his lips move as the words fly out. Fred sits next to him and squeezes his hand here or there, to give him comfort. Rupert smiles at him in an oddly comforting way. Wesley doesn't remember Rupert ever smiling at him like that before. Later that night Fred tells him that Rupert is his best friend.

On the night of his sixth day, Wesley dreams of that Rupert Giles who thought he was a bumbling fool. He dreams of that Rupert Giles that hadn't been willing to help them save Fred, that Rupert Giles that had hung up on them. This Fred has a bowl of cheerios waiting for him by the time he gets to the kitchen. He doesn't smile at her this time, they don't talk, they just sit together in silence while Wesley wonders once again if this is hell.

The days just keep swirling around him. None of it makes sense. He shouldn't be here.


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"How did we meet?"

Fred looked up, for the first time noticing that Wesley was in the library with her. Putting the book down, she motions for him to come closer to her. She doesn't really know why she does it, Wesley comes to her anyway. He gives her an odd look for a moment before settling down in the chair next to her. Fred takes off her glasses, setting them on top of the book she was reading and stretches. "Good morning to you too."

"Good morning, Fred." Wesley greeted absently, he leaned over and grabbed the book Fred was reading. It's some silly romance novel. He eyes the cover for a moment before turning back to Fred. "How did we meet?"

Fred frowned for a moment, letting her disappointment show, but only for a moment. He still didn't remember. He didn't stare at her like she was a stranger, he looked at her in a way that sometimes scared her, sometimes made those butterflies start to flutter away in her stomach. Pushing those thoughts away and smiling at him, she took a sip of her water before speaking. "I had been living in Los Angeles for a while. You and Rupert were there for some work, research for some of the classes you were doing." Fred paused, waiting to see any recognition come back, when all she got was a frown of confusion, she continued on. "You and Rupert used to teach at the Academy, the same Academy you graduated from. You were a magnificent sight, you know. I used to come by the Academy and sneak into one of your classes just to see you. I felt like a school girl."

"You left Los Angeles?" Wesley asked, tearing Fred away from her nostalgia.

"Oh, yes. Not right away, of course. We had met at a book store. I had been trying to reach for this book, it was too high for me and as I reached up to grab it, I sent it tipping right off the book case and on your head. You looked up at me and handed the book to me. I was so embarrassed, but you told me that pretty young women dropped books on your head all the time. I invited you out to lunch to make up for the concussion I no doubt gave you." Fred paused, letting herself remember that day. She had fallen in love with him then. When those blue eyes had looked up at her, she had been instantly attracted. The same attraction she felt six years later.

"How did you get to England?"

"I spent the next few weeks with you, getting to know you. It seemed we had so much in common. I showed you around my college, you were fascinated with everything. We were always talking about books, calculations, theories. When it was time for you to leave, you told me if I ever came to England, I should look you up. A year passed until we met again. I was in need for something new and for some silly reason, I found myself in England. I guess, a part of me, couldn't forget about you. It was something out of a bad movie. I traveled half across the world just to see you. God, you must have thought I was a lunatic. A stalker."

"You must have really loved me." Wesley said after a few moments.

"Yeah, I did."


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You are so concerned with names, dates, times.

Reality's being changed.

Define change. The world is as it is.

Not necessarily.

You are a summation of recollections. Each change is simply a point of experience.

We are more than just memories.


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When Wesley was a child, he used to sit on the top of the stairs, always making sure he was unseen, he would stay at the top of those stairs and watch his mother. He watched her pick up broken pieces of some lamp, some vase, some plate she dropped. Her hands would shake for no reason except the life she lived. Wesley would lean his forehead against the railing and watch his mother. She was weak. It was funny how Wesley had never noticed that before. His mother was very weak, but of course anyone who showed emotion in the Wyndham-Pryce household were weak. Wesley learned this lesson very soon in his life. But the nights when his father wasn't around, Wesley would stay up past his bed time and he would watch his mother.

Now, Wesley watched Fred. He had watched her since the beginning, all those years ago when he first met her. Really met her. Fred was always an interesting subject. Wesley had watched the relationship her and Gunn had fall apart in front of her. Wesley knew he had been the reason for that, but at the time that hadn't mattered. Fred had always been destined for bigger things. She had been destined for things she couldn't get in Texas. She had been destined for bigger things she couldn't get from Charles Gunn. She had gotten them from him. Wesley didn't feel the satisfaction, the pride in that. He never did. He knew that should be enough, but alas it wasn't.

Sighing, Wesley moved his eyes to where Fred was now. He looked at her from the top of his book. He watched her as she continued to read her book, it wasn't the same romance novel she had been reading from before, no this was some book on mythology. Wesley wasn't sure how she went from romance to mythology, but he didn't make himself known, he didn't make a sound as she bit down on her lip, frowning at some passage in the book. There were some many versions of this Fred that reminded him of the Fred he remembered. This Fred was swirling around him, sometimes faster than his eyes could adjust to, sometimes when he looked at her, she was that Fred, and he found it made his heart ache. He wanted to touch her, to tell her how much he missed her. How he's been dying every day since he lost her. He wants to tell her how he's been lost without her. He wants to tell her how he stabbed Gunn, how he killed Knox, he wants to tell her all of his sins and wait for her reaction.

But this Fred, despite how she looks, sounds, or even smells, is not that Fred.

"Wesley?"

Wesley lowers his eyes down to his own book, ignoring the voice of this Fred. She speaks to him softly, gently, voice full with understanding, and still she is not his. He is not hers. So he just turns the page of his book, pretending to be engrossed in what he's reading. She looks at him for a few more moments then gives up.

Is this it?

It?

Where we say goodbye?

Not yet.


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You betrayed Angel. You stole his son. He tried to kill you.

Yes.

Are these the memories you needed back? Does this now make you Wesley?

At least I know what happened.

Do you? There are two sets of memories—those that happened and those that are fabricated. It's hard to tell which is which.

Try to push reality out of your mind. Focus on the other memories. They were created for a reason.

To hide from the truth?

To endure it.


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"Still fighting it?"

Wesley looked up from his book and almost smiled with relief when he saw him. But he stopped himself before he did such a thing. He shouldn't be relieved or happy to see him. None of this was real. Wesley was still convinced this was just a part of the moving on. Layers. Like Dante's Inferno. There had been layers, levels of hell. This is what this was. It was a test. Testing his memories, his emotions, his strength, or lack thereof. But nonetheless, Wesley closes his book, not bothering to save the part he was reading. He studies him for a moment, taking in his sight. He's wearing his usual black clothing. Wesley's eyes bounce over to Angel's hand and noticing how bare it looks without the ring. Wesley digs in his pocket and takes out the ring, offering it to Angel.

Angel looks at the ring for a moment and shakes his head. "I don't need it anymore."

"I tried to kill myself."

"Already?" Angel grinned, taking a seat next to Wesley. "That's a record."

"No." Wesley extend his arm, taking off the white gauze. He lets out a breath as Angel touches his wrist, his fingers don't touch the wound, just brushes the outside of it. Angel stares at his wrist for a few more moments, then brown eyes are on Wesley's blue ones. There is a little sadness there. "I don't know why I did it."

"Maybe it was too much for you."

"What was?"

"Living in two worlds." Angel stretches out his legs, not even caring about the water on the ground, left over from a rainstorm the previous night, were going to soak into his pants and ruin them. "There is so much the mind can handle before it just can't take it anymore. You just want it to end. The pain. The nightmares. When I returned from hell, I was like that. I couldn't stand it. I was always weak, but god, it was too hard. I would wake up screaming most nights, Buffy would be there, trying to soothe me, but sometimes it didn't work. I remember Christmas day, I had nearly ended it right there. I just wanted to be strong. Buffy had told me that being strong was fighting, that it was hard and it was every day, but we could do it together." Angel paused and snorted. "Didn't work out like that. I'm not too sure if fighting is always the right thing to do. I fought. I lost."

"Maybe I should have fought harder."

"You were done, Wesley. You had lived and fought as long as you could. When Fred died, it was like you died with her. When we're done, we're just done. Do I wish you had fought harder? Of course, I do. But you fought as hard as you could. Toward the end you got restless, the reason you had fought for so long was gone."

"Fred."

Angel nodded, then turned to look at Wesley again. "It's time to stop fighting again."

"You were never real." This time it wasn't a question. Wesley's voice was resigned, he looked at Angel, maybe hoping Angel would tell him otherwise, but the vampire with a soul just looked at him sadly. The part of Wesley that had lived in this fabricated world with Angel, screamed out that this was the lie. This was just another lie. Angel was real. Angel was still fighting. Angel was going to save the world or die trying. How could it all be fake? Angel's story, his life, his journey, had begun before Wesley had even met him.

"No. I was real."

Wesley frowned. That part of him that had been resigned before started to come back to life.

"Don't get your hopes up. You still can't go back. You still can't leave this place. Listen, I was real. To you, I was. I'm not your imaginary friend, I'm your real friend. But your time in that world is over. Your identity in that world died. You can never go back. In your heart, I was real. In your mind, at the time, I was real."

"Oh god. I am crazy."

"You had two identities. For the longest time, you were asleep in this world. While you were proverbially sleeping in this world, your other identity in the other world, our world, lived on. You lived as Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, former Watcher. But when you died, so did your identity. It's why you woke up here."

"To sum it up, I'm crazy."

"Pretty much, yeah." There was rustling of clothes and shoes, Wesley didn't pay attention. He shut his eyes tightly. He was not crazy. Good god, he couldn't be crazy. He was a lot of things, but he really didn't want to add an absolute lunatic to that list. "Stop fighting it. You have love here, Wesley. In Fred. She's still Fred."

Wesley didn't say anything, there was a long, thick silence until Angel spoke again.

"Good bye."

When Wesley opened his eyes, Angel was gone.


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"Fred."

With a sound of surprise, Fred nearly dropped her cup of tea. Willing her heart to go back to normal, she placed her cup of tea down on the table and turned to look at Wesley. "Wesley, you scared me."

"Ah, sorry." Wesley said, walking further into the room. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Fred was running up to him with a concerned look on her face and in her eyes. Wesley looked down at himself and realized he was shaking. Turning his head to the window, he noticed that it was raining. He had been out on the roof, long after Angel, or at least the Angel in his mind had disappeared. He had been trying to convince himself that he wasn't crazy. That this was all in his mind. Wesley laughed out loud, turning back to look at Fred, who looked a little startled at his laugh. This whole time he had been saying all of this was in his mind, and it seemed that was the only thing he was right about. Everything he had ever known was in his mind.

"You're shaking." Fred said, disregarding the laughter that had spilled out of Wesley's mouth a few moments ago. "Were you out there in the rain? Are you--" Fred paused, mentally chastising herself again. She looked up at Wesley and saw the smirk on his face. "I didn't mean it like that." Sighing, she pulled his now soaked jacket off of his body and let it drop the floor. "What were you doing out there? God, say something will you?"

"I thought I was dreaming." Wesley felt another shiver rip through his body as he felt the air whip across his chilled body. Fred went to rub his arms again, but he grabbed her wrists. He watched the surprise in her eyes. "When I first woke up, I thought I was dreaming. But I wasn't. You see, I was finally waking up."

"Wesley..."

"He's gone. Everything. It's all gone."

Fred let out a breath when Wesley finally let go of her wrists. She felt her heart beat refuse to go back to normal, instead her heart started to beat violently against her chest, much like it did the first night Wesley was here, just like it did the night Wesley showed up six years ago telling her about things that couldn't exist. He had the same look in his eyes, the same intense, wild look dancing in his blue eyes. His already short hair was sticking to his face, in result of the rain, his clothes did the same thing, sticking to his body. She brought up her hand to touch him, disregarding the way he had grabbed her wrists before. She laid her hand upon his cheek, feeling the way it chilled her to the bone, just by touch. "You can tell me about it, I won't leave you this time..."

"You're the only one left. You were the only one that mattered."

Wesley moved a few steps forward, closing off all space between him and Fred. He leaned in and crushed his lips against Fred, he felt her stiffen in surprise and then he felt her body melt against him and her return the kiss. Wesley pulled away from the kiss, he looked at Fred a moment before diving in for another kiss.