Thank you to the couple of people who reviewed the last chapter! Good to hear your feedback and hope to hear more

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Angel. Joss Whedon does. I only use his awesome characters to add to their awesomeness.

"What?" Wesley breathed, his eyebrows immediately knit together in utter confusion and other simultaneously running emotions as he looked at his surroundings with blurred vision. Illyria still looked down at him, her eyes wide as she watched him gather his senses and his breath. Her hand rested gently on his face as their eyes met for a moment; what passed between them was odd for Illyria to process because it was the fact that she was feeling something human.

"Wesley," Illyria said quietly, looking up from him for a brief second to give Drake a quick glare to let him know he could leave right then. When he scampered out, she looked back down at Wesley and her hair fell down to frame her face. Looking up at her with his vision still blurry, Wesley could have almost sworn it might have been a distorted version of Fred looking down at him. He was going to say her name, as if he were picking up where he had left off the night before just before he died, but as his vision started to clear he could see the blue more clearly. He wasn't sure if he was let down; at the moment he was more bewildered than anything else.

He'd died. He hadn't even closed his eyes as he had his last breath. Fred's image was the last thing he saw, so why were his eyes open, why was he breathing, and why was the first thing he was looking at Illyria?

"What? What's goi-" Wesley started, regaining focus, and slowly some coherent thought. "Why am I-" he tried again, looking up at Illyria and then trying to sit up. With some effort and then being propped up by Illyria, he looked around and recognized the room as somewhere in Cyvus Vail's house. He looked at Illyria, his expression confused. "What happened? Why am I alive? Didn't I die?" he asked her, knowing he wasn't dreaming. He didn't dream of being alive again; he had thought for certain that he was finally done…and with Fred. The real one. His dream came true when he died.

"Yes, you did die," Illyria answered, sitting down next to him on the table he'd been lying down on so he could lean on her for support until he got his bearings back. "I lied to you as you asked, and you died in my arms," she answered him, looking off to the side and away from him for the moment as he let it sink in. She was not sure if she wanted to explain why he was back by her doing just yet. It was enough dealing with the human emotions that made her do all of this in the first place. Having to explain them to him would be a nuisance, and difficult for her. "What happened, and why will be explained to you, but not now. I do not wish to discuss it. We must get you out of here. I tire of this place," she said as she got up and helped him to his feet.

Wesley was still wobbly, and his arm was slung over her shoulders for support as she slowly led him out of Vail's house. Illyria would not bring him back to the Hyperion, at least not yet. She wanted to keep him hidden, at least for now. For that, she would have to find a place for him to go.

Spike's old place came to mind as she remembered sitting in front of the TV with the now dead Drogyn playing Crash Bandicoot just only two days before. The others would not think to look there; as far as they knew, it was empty and was of no more use now that they had attacked the Circle of the Black Thorn. It was especially of no more use since they were all in the Hyperion Hotel now. Illyria herself had never been there before yesterday, but she had known her way around it well enough by being able to dig into Fred's memories that still seemed to linger even though the soul was gone. Maybe that was why she had chosen the room she had, but that was of no matter now.

Much to Wesley's dismay, Illyria had carried most of his weight all the way there to the empty Trojan apartment. By then, he had convinced both himself and her that he could walk fine on his own, and it wasn't until they got in that she finally decided to let him walk by himself. Wesley felt grimy, and was desperate for a shower. He had stalked off to the bathroom so he could clean off, and while he did that, Illyria sat on the couch, perfectly still, letting it sink in that she really had just brought him back.

As Wesley rinsed off the blood off of his hands and face, his mind worked to comprehend the fact that he was alive, when he'd been dead only the night before. How he felt about this, he didn't know. What he did know was that he'd been with Fred again for so short a time, probably just shorter than what he had with her when she was actually alive. It wasn't her death that tore them apart this time, it was his resurrection, and he was pretty sure Illyria had everything to do with it. She was the only one there, except for the man who had brought him back. That was easy enough to figure out, but what he couldn't understand was why. Illyria was a self serving being, and she moved only to please herself first and foremost. She'd been there the night before out of concern for him and had shown grief when he was dying, but why would she have him brought back?

Maybe he was happy to be back, but if he was, he wasn't really feeling it at that moment. What was he feeling at that moment? Still ever so confused, in a way depressed, and wondering the big question- why? Wesley let out a sigh as he ran a hand over his face, the water pouring down over him and rinsing him off. His hand moved to his stomach where he had been stabbed, and the wound was completely closed, although it felt like there would be a trace of a scar left over. Was anything that happened even real? Or was it all a lie, one big illusion that he fell for that the Watcher's Council had taught him so much to avoid? It felt like the line that separated reality and the illusion was erased, because nothing seemed to make sense in the past short time he'd been resurrected.


In the Hyperion, Angel was feeling restless. Sore, but restless. And a bit hungry. There was no human food to be had in all of the hotel, only pig's blood for Spike and Gunn. It occurred to him that he could now easily go grocery shopping in the daylight and have nothing happen to him, but doing so might give his new condition away. It was back to the sewers, but then again it wasn't like he had left them, although he would've liked to have back that car pool that Wolfram and Hart had given him. The tinted windows would've kept up a good image.

The sun shone in through the front doors, casting a long bright mimicry of the glass doors that stretched to the round chair that sat nearby. Spike lounged on the side of the chair that was kept in the shade, his arms behind his head as he sat comfortably.

"You really should get yourself some food, mate. I'm sick of hearing your stomach growl," he said, leaning his head back and turning it lazily towards Angel, who stood leaning against the front desk, just near the edge of the light. It was habit that he just shied away from it, always standing just next to it but never in it. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stood there, his face showing signs of slight annoyance.

"Yeah, man, seriously. Get some grub. I knew when you hungry your stomach talks, but I don't think I ever heard it this loud," Gunn added, only making Angel scowl. He was still playing around with his fresh new vampire strength, trying out different moves and fighting the air. The exertion made no difference; he didn't need to catch his breath, and he was finding it was coming in really handy. Angel grumbled to himself and started walking away from the front desk, grabbing his typical black leather coat.

"I'll be back," he muttered, skulking out of the main lobby. He stopped for a moment and turned around to look at Spike and Gunn. "Hey, do you guys know what happened to Illyria this morning?" he asked as it occurred to him to wonder. Both vampires shook their heads and shrugged uselessly, and Angel rolled his eyes as he headed towards the basement where he could access the sewers. He wondered how good the food would taste after a trip in the sewers, if walking through them actually did anything.


Wesley stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in clean clothes and looking…more alive than he had just been only that morning. He was quiet, and his face was straight, holding no discernable emotion that Illyria might comment on. He debated having a drink to dull all that he was feeling, but he decided against it. Remaining wordless, he walked slowly over to the dining table and spun a chair around to face Illyria.

She hadn't missed Wesley's entrance into the main room, but she had kept motionless, a statue the whole time. She saw him pull up a chair and move it so that he could face her. Her eyes looked over at him before her head turned to acknowledge his presence. It was so quiet that even the near-silent swallow of Illyria's throat could be heard.

Wesley took a seat across from the couch that Illyria sat on, and crossed his arms over his chest. He sat up straight, his face still plain and expressionless, but there was curiosity in his eyes. He pursed his lips slightly, and opened his mouth to speak.

"I suppose you want to know why you are alive again," Illyria said before Wesley could even say a word. She had been looking somewhere on the floor, just so that something other than Wesley could fall under her infallible stare for the moment. She still refused to look up at him, and wouldn't yet. The time to explain herself, she could tell, was drawing near, but she still did not wish to. She shifted her gaze to something else in the room as she tilted her head, deliberating with herself on what she should say next.

"You'd suppose right. Illyria, what is the meaning of this?" Wesley asked, his tone flat, but there was an underlying curiosity there that was dying to know the reasons for everything. "Why am I back? I died. And yet, here I am, sitting here," he said, leaning back a little bit in his chair as his arms tightened slightly over his chest. He looked right at her, his blue eyes demanding that she look back at him and give him straight answers.

"I," Illyria started, making herself look at him as she could feel his stare on her, "I do not need to explain my actions to you. I do as I wish, and it suited me to have you brought back," she said with a finality to it, as if that was all she needed to say. By now though, she had learned enough about Wesley to know that it would not be enough for him, but he would have to deal.

"Did it now?" Wesley asked, his head tilting slightly as he began to smirk. "Are you sure you aren't developing more human emotions that are making you do more human things? Because, if I didn't know any better, I'd think it was…no, I wouldn't. You aren't capable of feeling something so beneath you, am I right?" he said, wording it the right way to get it out of her. He knew how she refused to admit to much of anything that connected her and humans, and she'd be quick to prove him wrong. He often used this to get what he wanted to know out of her.

Illyria glared slightly, her mouth shut tight. He was doing it again, the way he worded questions just so she'd tell him what he wanted to know. It was an unfair thing, and it didn't fail here. Her eyes narrowed slightly at him and his abuse of that ability, and pressed her lips a little bit tighter together. This was not something she wanted to crack open about, and she would not give it away so easily. Wesley merely continued smirking at her, knowing it was working. He said nothing more, and just looked at her while she refused to speak.

The stalemate lasted only a few minutes longer before Illyria sent Wesley glares that only made him smirk more. It wouldn't be long before he would finally know why. There was something she didn't want to tell him, but he was going to find out.

Illyria continued glaring at him, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. You were brought back because I wanted you back here. Ever since the time I Fred's form for the sake of her parents and yours, I was curious. You did not speak to me for a while after that, but I did not understand why. Spike had told me it could hurt you all more than any of my powers could, and then I began to understand. I had asked to explore the Fred persona, but it was clearly out of the question. However," she said, looking away from Wesley and began looking somewhere on the floor again, "When you died, I found that I wanted to know about other things as well… Felt other things. I will not ask if you wish for me to use the Fred persona again, but, I was not done with you when you died last night," she said, her voice showing no emotion as she spoke. Her stare remained on the floor as she thought she had more than explained herself. At least, that was as good as it was going to get.

Wesley sat across from her, feeling somewhat bemused. So he had been right, but he hadn't been expecting the last of what she had said. He knew she had been starting to feel human emotions after being around him and the others long enough, but it seemed he was just given a small idea as to how far her feelings about things were beginning to stretch.

OOOOOoooo! What do we think Wesley's gonna say? Who knows?! Until the next chapter…Review please- be kind…rewind!