A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Lara, who was so kind as to put my stories up on her website Check it out at http:bluemoon.darling-moon.com. Also, if everyone includes their email addresses in their reviews, I'll email you when I update from now on.

Since this chapter is being posted on Wednesday night, before the last episode of Angel, I want to say that if they kill off Wesley, I'll never watch the WB again, but will continue to use both he and Fred in my fics. So don't abandon me if that happens, all right?

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Chapter Three

In her dream, Fred was sitting at a window seat with a blanket draped over her folded legs, watching the pouring rain. It had never rained like this in Texas; this was a torrential flood. The entire room was bathed in the wavy half-light from the water on the window, passing shadows over everything.

" Wesley," she murmured, resting her head against the glass.

" Yes, love?" he asked, putting his book down.

Fred couldn't help but smile at him, and she reached her hand out, indicating that he come to her. " Do you think the rain'll ever end?" she asked softly. Her fingertips pressed against the glass. " Seems like it's never going to be sunny again."

Wesley sighed, coming over the squeezing next to Fred in the window seat, wrapping his arms around her. " It will," he replied, resting his chin in her hair. " It'll get worse before it gets better, but I promise you, everything will be all right in the end."

Fred closed her eyes and leaned back against his chest. " Okay," she whispered. " I trust you."

But then the dream turned into a nightmare too terrible to even remember, and Fred awoke with dread creeping into her blood, freezing her heart.

No, wait. She was already frozen.

Fred got up, trembling with cold. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, Fred went to the window and looked out into a world of white.

The snow was big, almost like hail, and heavy, falling from clouds that were unnaturally dark. Fred had only seen snow a few times over her life; she had always been enchanted by its rare beauty.

However, this snow was wrong. It wasn't supposed to be there.

Fred went downstairs, still holding the blanket around her shoulders, and went straight to the lab. She needed to find something to ward off Illyria.

For the first time in her life, she wasn't very hungry.

.

Wesley arrived at his office that morning with only one thing on his mind: the Latin phrase. Dropping his coat on the chair and putting down his cup of coffee, Wes didn't even give Illyria a second look as he pulled out his source book, brought the spine close to his lips, and said, " Latin dictionary."

Illyria sat down, folding her arms across her chest as Wes opened the book and began to flip pages. Impatient, she finally spoke.

" Wesley."

The Englishman looked up and jumped, nearly knocking his chair over. " Oh, my god!" he exclaimed, slamming the source book shut. " Don't you ever knock?"

Illyria met his eyes, always and ever defiant. " I see no reason to. The door was open."

Wes sighed, flopping back down into his chair. " Well, Illyria, could you please leave? I have a lot of work to do and—you're not leaving until it suits you, are you?"

Illyria unfolded her arms. " You seem to have acquired the ability to read minds overnight," she said. " This is interesting; I wonder if you stole it from me when you depleted my powers. Or perhaps you're trying to unlock them."

Wes stopped, staring at her, trying to discern whether or not she was being sarcastic. Illyria was staring back at him, dominant, never backing down, and Wes felt his heart freeze in fear. Does she know something?

It was Spike who broke the uncomfortable silence; he sauntered into the office, grinning mischievously, oblivious to the tension in the room.

" Blue!" he exclaimed. " I've been lookin for you. I am incredibly bored; want to go find something to hit with me?"

Illyria nodded, her gaze never leaving Wesley's own. " I would. I grow tired of this room."

As the two left, Wes opened the source book with a sigh. That had been far too close for comfort. He had a strong feeling that if Illyria didn't know something already, she would figure it out eventually, and she wouldn't be very happy. Having an angry Old One—even an Old One with weakened powers—on his hands was the last thing that Wes wanted to deal with.

After a moment of thought, Wes gathered his papers, the source book, and his coffee, and headed up to his bedroom, the one place where he really wouldn't be disturbed. He locked the door behind him.

.

Fred carefully poured acid into a test tube, turning down the burner a little. She was experimenting, not really sure what she was looking for yet, and wishing that she had someone—anyone—to talk to.

" Well," she said softly to the walls, giggling slightly. " Not everyone. Not Knox."

Fred sighed, watching the heated mixture foam up and spill over the sides of the test tube, dripping onto the counter but leaving no mark. The burner was doused as well, but it kept aflame, unaffected. Fred knew she was going to miss this lab if she ever got out of here.

" When," she corrected herself. " When I get out of here. When."

As Fred took a step away from the counter, something small exploded in her brain, rupturing with the horrible feeling of finality. Fred felt her eyes cloud over even as they were open, and she fell to the ground, dropping the acid. She remembered the sound of breaking glass as monumentally loud, echoing in her ears and swamping her in pain.

She was shaking again, like she was being electrocuted, her limbs flailing on their own whim.

Fred curled up on the ground, trying to make herself as small as possible. She knew she had blacked out for good when the floor beneath her seemed to fall away, and she plunged.

.

Wesley's eyes widened as he finished jotting down the translation to the Latin phrase.

" My god," he whispered, looking around at the writing on his wall, then back to the paper. " It…this makes no sense. Why would Illyria choose this phrase?"

Scribbled on the paper were these words:

Reperire præter amare – Find Past Love

Wes closed the source book and ordered it to find everything on the Kei-An Box. Sitting on the bed, surrounded by the muted silence, Wesley began to read, unaware that his day was about to go straight to hell—literally.

.

" Illyria?" Spike turned around to see the blue demon frozen in the hall. " Why the hell did you stop? The training room's around the corner!"

Illyria had begun to tremble slightly, just a little, and she looked at Spike with blue eyes that were beginning to cloud over.

" Vampire," she whispered, raising her hand, trying to reach him. " I know not what happens to me."

Spike jumped forward and caught Illyria as she fell, going limp in his arms. As he watched, Illyria's complexion began to change. Her blue hair softened to a natural brown, and her face changed a little, shifting to the features of another. Even the clothes changed, forming into jeans, a T-short and a lab coat overtop.

Spike could hardly believe his eyes. He gently shook Fred, trying to wake her, as workers filed around him in the hallway, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was holding the body of their former co-worker—the body that was living, breathing, warm, and undeniably her.

" Oh, bugger, where is Wes when you need him most?" he said to himself. Raising his head, Spike took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs. " Someone give me their bloody phone!"

Instantly, a cell phone was handed to him, and Spike, silently thanking the obedience of the temps, dialled Wesley's office. Resting Fred against his chest, he waited for the pickup that never came.

Spike hung up and lapsed into a stream of muttered curses. Reaching up, he grabbed the sleeve of an assistant in Sales.

" Get Angel here! NOW!"

As the young man ran to obey him, Spike turned back to Fred's lifeless body. " Come on, pet, wake up, why don't you? We can go and see Wesley, have a nice little reunion…come on…"

Fred shifted a little, and opened her eyes. She was crying.

" Spike…"

The blond vampire nodded, grinning. " Hi, pet. How are you?" he helped her stand, but Fred couldn't support her own weight. She leaned on him.

" Spike, it hurts," Fred whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. " Oh, god, it hurts…"

At that moment, Angel came running in, shocked. He took one look at Fred's sickened form and pointed down the hall. " Get her in my office, Spike. Now."

Spike chose not to come back with a snippy remark; instead, he obeyed the vampire, picking up Fred and carrying her to the couch in Angel's office. Once there, Fred drifted into unconsciousness again.

Spike turned to Angel. " Where are you going, mate?"

" To get Wes," Angel replied.

The blond vampire shook his head. " He didn't answer when I called his office, Angel. I think he may have disappeared into thin air."

Angel opened the door. " I'll find him, all right? Watch over Fred, make sure that she keeps breathing."

He was gone in the next instant.

Spike turned to see Fred open her eyes again, drawing in silent, slow breaths. Spike knelt by the edge of the couch.

" Hey, pet. How are you?"

" Spike, I need to…talk…to…" her words were forced, and she was still obviously in great pain.

" Percy's coming," Spike said. Fred shook her head.

" Never mind…no time," she clutched at Spike's hand. " Tell him…he needs to unlock the…Kei-An box…okay? And that he's running out…of time." She gasped and jerked as pain shot through her.

Spike pressed Fred's cold, trembling hand against his lips. " No," he replied. " You're going to tell him, Fred. You're not leaving again. You just have to hold on until he gets here."

Fred smiled sadly. " My dear…wonderful Spike," she murmured, her tears soaking the leather couch. " I love him. Tell him that…love you, too...all…of…you."

She slipped back into the dark.

.

When Wesley arrived moments later, out of breath from running down from his bedroom, he found Illyria lying on the couch, unconscious, and Spike sitting beside her body, holding back tears.

The blond vampire could not look him in the eye.

.

Fred awoke on the floor of the lab in her soul's house, sprawled on her stomach with her nose pressed against the tile. Her body still hurt, but not as bad now; the stinging, sharp pain that had consumed her every moment was now a throbbing, steady with her pulse beat.

It's getting worse.

The last time that Fred had awoken in her own body, it had hurt, but not like this. Fred had hardly recognized Spike's face, and tears had slid unbidden from her eyes, which were too weak to hold them. Fred knew that the agony had nearly torn her apart.

However, now it was her heart that hurt the most.

Rolling onto her side and cautiously curling up into a ball, Fred sobbed out loud, knowing that there was nobody to hear or comfort her outside the room. She cried until the pain had subsided a little, and she was able to stand up and drag herself to the Hyperion room.

Fred sat in the corner, her arm wrapped around her knees, and she tried to figure out what to do next. She had run out of hope.

Grabbing a marker, Fred wrote Wes' name over and over again, trying desperately to will him into existence.

She knew, though, that she was alone.

.

Wes somehow managed to make it up to his room, walking blindly, unable to recognize or acknowledge anyone. Shutting the bedroom door behind him, Wesley let his legs crumple and he slid to the floor, tears welling up in his eyes. Suddenly all his research seemed for nothing.

She had been here. Fred, his beautiful Winifred, had been here. She had been in unimaginable pain, and, for the second time, Wes hadn't been there to comfort her. The extent of her suffering had been so horrific that it had brought Spike to tears.

Wesley angrily looked up, imagining God—or whatever lunatic controlled all this—to be living on his ceiling. Hasn't she suffered enough?

It was then that he noticed the words being written on the wall.

Wes Wes Wes Wes Wes Wes Wes

Fred's handwriting scrawling itself across his bedroom wall.

Wesley picked up the marker from his desk and approached the wall. He wrote: Fred. I'm here.

The repetition of his name stopped abruptly. Then, more words appeared beside his own.

Where are you?

Wesley wrote back instantly. In my bedroom. Where are you?

A pause, a long pause during which Wes did not breathe. And then:

I am lost.

.

Fred had screamed when Wesley's script first appeared on her wall. She nearly dropped the marker, but managed to write back: Where are you?

Within seconds, his response. In my bedroom. Where are you?

Fred stopped. She couldn't move. How could she possibly explain where she was? In the Hyperion? In her soul's house? She had no strength left to explain. Leaning her forehead against the wall, Fred wrote each word of her response like it was a separate sentence: I am lost.

When he didn't write anything back, Fred rushed to scribble. Don't be worried, Wes. I'm okay, I promise. I want to get out of here. I want to see you again. Please don't be scared, Wes. I'll be scared for you, I have nothing to be afraid of, just don't be worried and don't be scared. Okay?

Okay.

Fred knew he was lying, but let it slide. It felt so good to be in contact again.

Wes wrote more: I miss you, Fred.

Fred felt the tears slide down her cheeks, and she let the marker drop to the floor, wiping away the tears with her fingers. Then: Don't cry. Please don't cry.

She picked up the marker. How did you know?

Please, Fred. I know these things. It's all right; I'm here, I never left you. I never will. I'm here.

And then, There was a drawing beside the writing, the outline of a left hand. She understood in an instant.

Through her tears, Fred pressed her right hand against the outline, pressed as hard as she could against the hard plaster wall. And, somehow, inexplicably, surreally, although it may have been her imagination, she could feel the smallest bit of warmth coming from the other side.