A/N: I apologize for being so mean in the last chapter. I swear that I make up for it in this one. The Fluff Queen hath not lost her touch!
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Chapter Five
Fred stayed curled up on the floor for a long time, never sleeping, unsure of the time. She didn't really care.
She began sobbing again at the thought of the handprint on the wall, her one hope, irrevocably lost. And, through the sobs, Fred's skin began to heat in anger at Illyria's cruelty, and her mind began forming a plan of revenge.
Oh, damn it, who am I kidding? Fred chided herself. I'm sitting here crying at the injustice of it all, and getting nowhere. Illyria is extremely strong, even if her little trick nearly killed her. She was right; I have absolutely no idea what I'm up against.
With a sigh, Fred forced herself into a standing position and somehow made it upstairs and collapsed into bed, where she buried her face in the ice-cold pillows and tried to think through her tears.
And then she heard the voice, soothing and hauntingly familiar.
" Oh, sweetheart, don't cry so."
Fred lifted her face from the linen and turned to face the person. She stared into the familiar eyes. " You're not real, are you?" she murmured, knowing the answer.
A sad shake of the head. " No, baby, I'm not; I'm just here cause you need me."
Fred rose from the tangled sheets to a standing position. " Oh. Right."
The arms outstretched, familiar. " Come here, darlin'. You need a hug."
Fred obeyed, allowing the sweet-smelling embrace to envelope her. She began to cry again.
" Oh, momma," she whispered into Trish Burkle's shoulder. " I miss him so much."
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Wesley had a memory buried in the back of his mind, a memory that, like a fragile but beloved blanket, he used only occasionally, in moments when he needed peace. It was completely ridiculous, this memory, a silly flash to when he was ten years old and had been sitting in a tree in his backyard, reading, on a warm July afternoon. Wesley had looked up through the branches and had seen the flawless blue sky, so unbelievably big. It had occurred to him then, at ten years old, that the universe was so big, and he so small, that there would one day be places where his father couldn't reach him.
A pleasant thought, to be sure, the fantasies of a child who had not yet seen all the horrors of the world.
Wes had retreated into that memory now, sitting near the infirmary with his eyes closed, waiting for Medical to finish testing Illyria.
The ten-year-old Wesley Wyndham-Price inside him waited in dread for his father's voice to call him back inside the house.
Boy and man, the innocent and the killer, the hopeful and the hopeless, they waited for the change together.
" Wesley? Damn it, boy, where are you? Get in the bloody house! Now!"
" Mr. Wyndham-Price? Uh, sir…"
Wesley opened his eyes; the doctors were standing there, blindingly white in their lab coats, staring at him.
" Yes?"
The head of Medical spoke up. " Sir, we've confirmed that Illyria has slipped into a comatose state due to her loss of power; we're not sure how long she will stay asleep, or if she'll even wake up. At this point, anything is possible."
Wesley blinked, and then nodded. " Er, yes, thank you. Is she under observation?"
" Yes, Mr. Wyndham-Price. Twenty-four hour surveillance of two people per six-hour shift; we never let her out of our sight."
See, dad? Wes thought sarcastically, still aware of the ten-year-old memory inside his heart. I work in a Big Office, now. People call me 'Mr. Wyndham-Price' like they're scared of me. Look at me.
He sighed. " Okay. Call me, Gunn or Angel if anything happens, all right?"
" Yes, sir."
Wesley was halfway down the blank white hall, heading back towards the offices, when he stopped, pressing his hand against his chest, trying to assure himself that his heart was still there. It was beating still, but there was nothing left to feel. Wes felt the hole, the void inside himself where hope had once lain, and although it wasn't physical, Wesley felt it as painfully as if his heart had actually been ripped from his chest.
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" Momma, I have to see him. I have to talk to him."
Fred and Trish sat in the kitchen, each with a mug of tea. Fred had showered and changed into a blouse and skirt, her curls falling around her shoulders; the dark circles under her eyes were still there, but not as intense as they had been. She felt miles better, and having someone to talk to—especially her mother—was heavenly.
Trish shook her head. " It's not a good idea, Fred. I shouldn't have even mentioned it. It could kill you."
Fred was adamant. " If it does, at least he'll know I love him. At least I'll die loving him, and not here, freezing cold," she took Trish's hand, the tea long forgotten. " I know you can do this; you're an invention of this place, and you know how it works."
A sigh, a reluctant nod. " I do, baby, but this is very risky. You'd be feeding Illyria power if you did it. You'd be draining your own life force to enter Wesley's soul."
" I know, but I can regain it. I'm stuck here, remember? I can train, I can do whatever I need to do to be stronger than before. I'm willing to accept the consequences."
Trish sighed again. " Even if it means possibly furthering the disintegration of this place?"
Fred nodded without a moment's hesitation. " Even if it means that," she replied, squeezing Trish's hand. " Listen, momma, I don't plan on staying for long, maybe five minutes, at the most."
Trish stood up, gathering the two cold cups of tea, turning away. " Fred, the instant that you leave this place, you will be feeding Illyria power, do you understand? After thirty seconds, your life force will begin to decline. You will have exactly two minutes until your soul's house will begin to self-destruct under the pressure."
Fred stood too. " Two minutes it is, then."
Trish set the mugs in the sink and turned back to her daughter. " Winifred Burkle, you have no idea what you are asking me to do."
Fred smiled sadly. " Yes, I do, momma. I'm asking you to help me to give Wesley hope again. He needs it, and I need him to have it. I need to tell him I love him. I need him to know that all is not lost, okay?" A pause. " I need to know that all is not lost."
After a long moment, Trish Burkle nodded, and placed both hands on her daughter's shoulders. " Okay, Fred. Close your eyes…focus on calling to him…and don't be scared, all right?"
Don't be scared, Wes…I'll be scared for you.
Remembering her promise to Wesley, Fred said nothing.
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Wesley suppressed a yawn as he walked into the conference room where Gunn, Angel, Spike and Lorne were working. It was only mid-evening, but time had changed for Wes; everything that occurred was on its own plane of space, separate from the actual world. Nothing seemed real; he was moving through events as though they were a dream, slurred and slow and a little thicker than normal life should be. He was exhausted.
The others were all spinning something that clicked softly, and the sound jolted Wes away from his thoughts as he sat down. His brow furrowed.
" What the hell are you doing?"
Gunn held up a small circle of gold with a half-grin. " Don't you recognize these, English?"
Wesley shook his head, taking the small pin from his friend and turning it over in his hands. " I've never seen these in my entire life."
Angel and Spike's respective jaws dropped at about the same time.
" Were you born in a bloody hole?" Spike spat out, shocked.
" You've never seen a decoder pin, Wes?" Angel asked, ignoring the other vampire.
" …should I have?"
Spike slammed his pin down on the wood table and stood up. " Well, Angel, I give up. If these kids today don't know about decoder pins, for the Lady's sake, then we've lost the mission."
Angel, sitting next to him, put his hand on Spike's forearm and forced the blond vampire back into his seat. " That mission, Spike, was done a long time ago. This one is far more important; sit your un-dead butt back down, and stay that way."
Wes rubbed at his eyes. " I'm not even going to ask," he said, handing Gunn's decoder pin back and picking up the one that sat on the table in front of him. " So what do these things do?"
Gunn twisted his pin so that it clicked rapidly, reminding Wesley remotely of a machine gun. " They were used in the fifties, mainly," he said. " Kids had 'em, and the radio shows would give out clues, and you'd figure it out. Like, they'd say, 'Set your pins to V-22,' and then rattle off a bunch of numbers that were a code, and you figured out what it said."
" We figured that, since the Latin phrase is wired that way, we might as well try it," Lorne said. " Gunn and I were out all afternoon trying to find them; we must have gone to twenty different antique shops to get these five pins."
Wes sighed, suppressing another yawn, and gave his pin a half-hearted twist. He really wanted to go to bed. " So," he said, looking at his friends. " What have you found so far?"
Dead silence.
" Anyone?"
Gunn, Spike and Lorne mumbled and looked away; only Angel met Wesley's eyes.
" We haven't found anything yet, Wes," he said.
" Yes, it's a bit difficult when you have no clues and no way to test if any of the infinite amount of numbers in this world will work," Spike snapped, folding his arms across his chest.
Gunn looked as though he wanted to murder the vampire, but Wes nodded and stood up, leaving his pin on the table.
" All right, then, Spike; if that is how you all feel, I will go and do more research," he said, exhausted and irritable. " Or, perhaps, you can all go home, have dinner, sleep, and you can leave me to do it. I can do it all; I really don't need any of you, if this is a waste of your time."
With that, Wes left the room without looking back. He knew his actions were irrational, but right then he was too tired and drained to care.
He made it fifty feet before he blacked out and collapsed silently in the hall.
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" Good lord…this can't be his soul's house, can it? I mean, he couldn't just be happy with this. It's so…plain."
He opened his eyes to a world of pure white, almost like the White Room but not nearly as foreboding. It was strange but familiar, almost as if he had known it his whole life.
Someone had spoken. Wes turned to look, but he knew who was standing there before he moved.
" Fred."
Her eyes met his, like she was seeing him there for the first time—which she probably was—and her hands flew to cover her mouth in shock. She laughed in delight, the sound so much like bells in his ear.
Wesley could hardly believe she was standing there. " Fred," he repeated in a whisper, adoring the sound of the name. " Fred."
" Just tell me one thing—why white? This is your soul's house, after all. Shouldn't it be paradise?"
Wes shrugged. He knew the answer to that one. " Because you're my paradise," he replied simply. " Without you, there's nothing for me."
Fred came to him; her smile was radiant. Wes reached out and touched her cheek softly, holding her other hand tightly. She was warm.
" Fred, how—"
" I don't have time," she murmured. " Just kiss me."
Wesley obeyed without hesitation, pressing his lips to hers as Fred's hands curled around his neck. She was smiling under his kiss, and Wes felt her tears on his face; his hand traced the line of Fred's jaw and caressed her cheek as the kiss grew in intensity, their tongues locked in silent battle. God, she was so warm, her hands moving over Wesley's hair, his shoulders, his face, everywhere.
They may have kissed for a minute, or an hour, or maybe even a lifetime; it didn't matter. Fred was there; Wes could feel her heart beating in time with his, her little body so perfect, so familiar, so wonderful to touch.
Fred pulled away for breath, her forehead pressed against his. She was crying.
" I love you," she whispered. " I love you, I love you, Wesley, I love y—"
Wes cut her off with another kiss, to which Fred complied gladly, lacing her fingers through his. Crying.
A light went on in Wesley's mind as he kissed Fred desperately, a sudden, simultaneous exchange of unseen information. Fred inhaled softly at that moment, and whispered against his mouth, " Oh."
Then, she faded away, disappearing like she had never been there, and Wesley fell back into his own body.
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He found himself staring up at the ceiling of Wolfram and Hart's hallway, suddenly charged with a new knowledge. Wes jumped up and ran to his office, grabbing the source book before rushing into the conference room.
" Well, well, Wes," Gunn said. " I hope you're in a better mood now."
" And have realized that what Spike says should never be taken seriously," Angel added, ducking as Spike swatted him.
Wes took the decoder pin and spun it, his eyes glittering. " I know the number," he said excitedly, looking at the eyes of his friends. " I know how to prove it. I know how to use it. I know how to get her out."
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In the bedroom of her soul's house, snug under the covers, Fred opened her eyes
" Oh my god," she whispered. " He must be kidding."
During the last seconds of their amazing kiss, Fred had had a sudden idea pop into her head, spoken by an English accent, almost as if Wesley's subconscious had given her the information she needed to help him.
But…she couldn't believe it. If that was true, then Fred needed to get working, and fast.
When she tried to get out of bed, Fred fell to the floor, weak as a lamb, her limbs like rubber.
" Right," she remembered, suddenly sheepish, crawling back between the sheets. " I forgot about the whole loss of life force thing. Must remember that."
She fell asleep, scheming, with a hint of a smile on her face, as her body worked to revive itself and her heart soared with hope.
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Deep in the heart of the Medical facilities of Wolfram and Hart, Illyria stirred, mumbled softly in her sleep, and settled again. The techs on duty, too busy playing checkers, did not notice the faint glow of blue beneath her hands that slowly faded away, nor how her eyelids fluttered, but did not open. Not yet.
But soon.