Spoilers: Takes place from here within and after the series finale, 'Not Fade Away'
Disclaimer: The show, the cast… they all belong to the brilliant mind of Joss.
At first, the door stubbornly refused to open, even beneath the pressure the two grown men were bestowing upon it. The thick wooden plank that passed for a door was tilted sideways, and badly distorted and cracked as though someone had stuck it in a large washing machine before placing it back in its frame.
Behind them, Spike let out a groan of both amusement and annoyance before finally shoving Wesley and Gunn aside. With a grin that was equally as cocky as the tone in his voice, he stated boldly, "Now watch the pro and learn."
Taking a deep breath, Spike took a few steps backwards before charging forwards into the door, colliding with the solid material in a matter of seconds. The door flew open, and Gunn and Wesley found themselves passing a moaning Spike who was clutching his shoulder in pain.
But Spike even forgot the shock waves running through the joint of his shoulder as he and the others noticed the figure sprawled across the floor like a rag doll on her stomach. He, Lorne and Gunn hovered to the side as Wesley knelt beside Illyria and rolled her gently into his arms, all the while urging, "Illyria, can you hear me?"
The dried blood smeared across the peach and blue tones of her face coated the tops of her eyelids as well and had plastered down her eyelashes in a fashion similar to glue, making the process of opening them painful and slow. Despite this, she fluttered here eyelids slightly, yet what she saw was very different from what she'd been preparing herself for.
"W-Wesley?" She inquired as her mind defogged itself, and her vision came through less blurry. Gently, Illyria set the tips of her fingers upon his left cheek before whispering, "But you're dead…"
The ex-watcher regarded her with curiosity for a moment, but this was cut off as Gunn inquired, "What did this?"
Illyria glanced over at him wearily, recalling that she'd been posed with the same question before, in the same tone and circumstances. Could it be she'd been given a second chance? Or was it a lie? Either way, she knew she'd have to play along—repeat the past in some order, and maybe fix it.
"Hamilton," she replied faintly.
"Hamilton did this?" Angel demanded as he entered the room, his expensive black jacket dancing slightly behind him.
Illyria listened without interest as the scene played on, repeating words she'd heard before and ones she wished she hadn't. "Treat the day like your last, for all we know it is."
And for the man absently cradling her in his arms, it was truly the final day. But she knew she could prevent it…
Wesley gently brushed her hair behind her shoulders and sat beside her so he could properly apply a gauze to the bloodied blue flesh of her neck. Illyria's form tensed slightly as she prepared for the chill and minor sting of the odd cross between a solid and a fluid.
It was as obvious as it had been the first time she'd lived this day that he didn't wish to leave the confinements of the apartment, and would probably return to Wolfram and Hart later. But as she was still unsure whether or not she could save him from the fate that would meet him as the day concluded, Illyria resolved to discreetly make him leave.
"I wish to try this… coffee Angel spoke of," she announced as Wesley applied the other bandage to her wounded skin.
Wesley glanced at her, trying to keep his confused expression appearing somewhat professional. Deciding that coffee, and possibly lunch wouldn't be all that bad and could possibly open new doors for Illyria he nodded, "When I'm done… but you can't go looking like that, it's bound to get attention."
"Neither may I attend as Fred," it was more of an understanding statement than a question.
Wesley paused, before responding in a hoarse tone that symbolized that this was his last choice, "Just this once, you can look like Fred, but don't be her… please don't be her."
With that he climbed to his feet and exited the room, leaving her to watch the door in unspoken confusion. Spike's words echoed in her head, yet she made a point of disregarding them as she changed her genetic makeup.
"To some of us, looking like Fred is the most devastating power you have."
The steaming dark brown liquid in the mug before her finally settled its ripples, which had been swirling across the brim for the past minute. Tilting her head to the side and allowing curled brunette strands of hair to fall across her face, Illyria inquired of her companion, "And you can drink this?"
Wesley shook his head in vague amusement at her misunderstanding of the world around her. In response he took another gulp of his own coffee, and as he set his mug back in its spot on the wooden surface of the table, he told her, "Indeed. You ordered it, so I'd much rather you drink it then waste my money."
Timidly, Illyria brought the cup to her lips and allowed brown liquid to flood her mouth. She swallowed it hastily and with difficulty, before casting her remorseful gaze upon him, "That concoction tastes more vile then poison."
"Really?" Wesley responded, taking another sip of his own before adding, "What did you put in it?"
"You're supposed to put things into this… drink?" She replied, glancing over at the plastic tray loaded with various spices, sugars and syrups positioned at the edge of the table. Picking up the glass container of shredded, thin brown and black strands and holding it above her coffee she asked, "Such as this?"
"No, Illyria, that's pepper," Wesley informed her, snatching it away from her hands. Handing her his own mug he stated, "Try this and tell me if you like it."
Illyria nodded unsurely, and held the cup as though it might attack her at any given moment as she drank some. After a moment she took another sip, then another, apparently not intending to give Wesley his coffee back anytime soon.
Chuckling inwardly to himself, Wesley started adding various crème, several spices and honey into the cup he'd bought for her. Stirring it quickly, he handed the coffee to her in exchange for his own. Of course, by now his was gone. Rolling his eyes, he flagged down a waitress and ordered a refill and a pizza.
"A pizza?" Illyria inquired as the waitress walked away.
Wesley offered her a small smile, "You'll see."
Kitka: Thanks— it is a mess, isn't it?
Oh, Great Evil One: Hated the ending too. And yes, Angel probably won't make it that long.
Kat: Thank you!
White Rabbit: Thanks!
Hieiko: You've nothing to fear—I'm physically incapable of killing off Spike.
Jan H.: LOL, thanks for the review.
Tariq: Okay, ever-so illiterate person here, what's B/A?
Alltorian: Believe me, few words is a talent.
Hearns: grins Possibly…
The Bell and the Black Dragon: Spike can't die! And thanks tons.
Crunchberry: Thanks lots!
Philyra: Thanks a lot!
Tarvalie: You cried too, huh? sniff
A/N: Sorry the chapter's so short, my self-proclaimed beta reader took forever to get around to reading this, and when she did she told me just to post it as it is… next chapter will be longer, promise.Okay, now review please!