Orpheus
author: Elizabeth5
pairing: W/F, with some C/D, C/A, and other tidbit pairings from the Buffyverse
summary: After Wesley's death, he learns that there is still a chance to save Fred's soul. It's all about closure, baby.
category: romance, angst, action/adventure
rating: PG
author's note: There's no denying that Joss Whedon is a genius, but I need a little more closure. So here it is. Thanks for all the great reviews (keep 'em coming), and I apologize for misspelling Lindsey's name. ;)
Disclaimer: none of this is mine. Sadly.

chapter five: The Gift

"I'm sorry," Tara said, and seemed as though she meant it. "But the last time I sang, I was under a spell. I can't just make up songs off the top of my head."

"Oh come on," Anya cajoled, trailing closely behind her. "It's easy." She stopped, clearing her throat, then began: "Money...it is good...I like it a lot." She stopped, smiling brightly. "See? Easy."

Behind her, Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Step aside, Elton John." She moved toward Tara, clasping her hands together. "Listen, Tara, I know this isn't going to be easy, and I know that you don't know us directly so there's no real reason for you to help us...but the truth is, we need you. You're kind of our only hope, Obiwan."

Tara hesitated, obviously torn. "I wish I could," she said finally, "but there has to be a reason for me to sing. The spell brought it out of me, but usually I'm t-terrified," She shook her head quickly, clearing herself of her old stuttering habit, "terrified of singing in front of people. I can't even make a sound." Seeing their dejected looks, she gave a sympathetic smile and offered, "I'm sure there's someone else here who can sing..."

Cordelia let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Where is Lorne when you need him? That guy never stopped singing..." She shook her head. "Well, we might as well go back to the library. Regroup."

"Good idea," Doyle said.

They took a few steps in the opposite direction. It took everyone a moment to realize that Wesley wasn't with him; he had remained behind and was holding Tara's gaze. The two remained in silence for a long moment, merely watching one another.

"Please," Wesley said finally, "have you ever known what it's like to love someone? To be willing to risk pain and death for her? I'm willing to do both of those things. All we need from you is a song so I can have the chance. Please."

Tara pressed her eyes together and was silent. Then she nodded. "All right." she said. "I'll do it."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"This is the conduit to the Powers That Be?" Wesley inquired dubiously.

They were standing in front of what appeared to be an ordinary telephone booth on what appeared to be an ordinary street. Wesley craned his neck around to make certain that he was looking at what Cordelia was pointing to, but there was only the telephone booth.

"I know it's a little weird," Cordelia admitted, "but there's your intercom to the higher powers, Wes." She clapped him on the back, giving him an encouraging shove forward. "Good luck."

Wesley reluctantly entered the telephone booth, shutting the door behind him. He expected a great blur of light that would teleport him to the throne of some magnificent creatures, but instead he found himself...still inside the telephone booth. He shrugged at his friends, who were watching him from the street. Doyle motioned for him to pick up the phone, and Wesley sighed but obeyed.

There was a beep, and then a nasally voice greeted him. "Name and purpose, please."

"Ur...Wesley Wyndham-Pryce," Wesley said, "retrieving Fr–Winnifred Burkle from another plane."

"Please hold."

Finally, the blur of light came. Wesley found himself seated on a rather long couch, accompanied by Cordelia, Doyle, Anya, and Tara. Before them was a massive fireplace with a warm fire already burning inside.

Doyle glanced over at Wesley. "So, what's the deal? Did they give you any instructions?"

Wesley frowned at this. "Well, no...at least, I don't think so. What if I missed the instructions?"

"Take it easy, Giles the next generation," Anya instructed in a no-nonsense voice. "Worrying will only annoy me."

"You'd do well to listen to the girl."

Wesley started at the sound of the voice. He glanced around the room, then blinked at the fireplace before him. Suddenly, there was what appeared to be a giant head in the flames.

Cordy seemed similarly taken aback. "That's...well, that's a giant head." She giggled despite herself. "Hey, Zordon."

"I am Ector, conduit to the Powers That Be," the giant head boomed.

Tara was laughing now, too. "It looks like the great and powerful Oz."

Doyle shrugged. "It does have a Harry Potter-ish vibe, doesn't it? The whole communicating through fireplaces thing..."

Ector rolled his eyes. "All right, all right. It's goofy. We're working on rennovations." He cleared his throat, falling back into his deep and booming voice. "But for now, we will discuss the proposition made by one Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

"I am he." Wesley said, stepping forward.

"You wish to remove Winnifred Burkle from a separate plane, correct?" Wesley nodded, and Ector continued, "You must offer a gift to the Powers That Be in order to be granted such a favor."

"We've brought a gift," Wesley informed him. He motioned to Tara and brought her forward. "We offer a song for the pleasure of the higher powers."

Ector seemed to consider this, then nodded. "Continue."

Swallowing, Tara took in a deep breath and began.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fred was still crying when Lindsey returned. He carried with him a worn duffel bag that clinked with every step he took. At the sight of Fred on the ground, he set the bag down on the table and moved toward her. Awkwardly, he squatted down and patted her on the back. "Hey...it's all right. I know it's an adjustment, but this place isn't really all that different from L.A. Just a few more mindless zombies...or less, depending on how you look at it."

She sniffed and sat up, rubbing at her eyes. For a moment, she tried for a feeble smile but couldn't quite make it. "I miss my friends," she admitted.

Lindsey smiled sympathetically. "Ahh...come on. I'm better than all those guys put together. There's nothing they do that I can't do just as well, or even better."

He stood up abruptly, pushing up his sleeves. "Look– I'm Angel." The smile faded from his face and his features became surly and brooding. It was actually a very good impression, and Fred laughed, despite herself.

Seeming pleased with this, Lindsey cleared his throat and then started again. "All right, now I'm Spike." He shook his head, adopting a devil-may-care expression and a Cockney accent. "Bleedin' bloody brawlin' blokes...boy, do I hate Angel."

He was really getting into the game now. "And then there's Gunn...What's up, homies? Man, ya'all are white..."

Fred laughed again, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. "Don't forget Lorne," she suggested.

Lindsey tensed a bit at the name but obediently threw back his shoulders and belted out a high note in a surprisingly good voice. "It ain't easy being green," he sang, and then grinned at Fred, taking an elaborate bow.

Fred clapped, delighted. Lindsey bowed again and then took a seat beside Fred on the wall, grinning at her reaction. "That was great," Fred said, "you should have been an actor."

"I was an actor," Lindsey informed her. "I acted so much that I forgot who I was, and what I wanted."

The atmosphere had suddenly become more sober. "And what did you want, Lindsey?" Fred inquired. "Angel counted you as an ally once...well, sorta. What changed that?"

Lindsey shrugged. "Who says anything changed? I just realized there was no use fighting anymore. There was no way we could win. And if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right?"

Fred shook her head. "No. You have to go on fighting, even if there's no reason to. You have to believe that everything will turn out right, in the end."

He merely laughed at this. "And look where it got you. Here, with me. There you are, the epitome of good, but because you were fighting the good fight, you were recruited to become the body of an ancient demon, and your soul got sucked out and spit out here. Is that the way things were supposed to turn out, Fred?"

She was silent for a moment, smiling ruefully. "It's not so bad, I guess. Besides...I'm not as good as you might think. Maybe I deserve to be here."

"No." Lindsey shook his head. "Not you. You're better than you think...better than the rest of them. I could tell that just by looking at you."

They were silent for a moment. Lindsey turned to her suddenly, his gaze intense. "I forgot one of your friends. I forgot to be Wesley. He's a hard guy to nail down an impression– too complicated, I guess." He raised his hand and trailed a finger along her jawline, leaning in. "But that doesn't mean I couldn't substitute for him..."

Fred turned away, hugging her knees with her arms. Lindsey sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry," he said. "It just...it gets cold down here sometimes."

"That's all right," Fred said, though she didn't look at him.

There was a laugh from the front of the room. "Well, well, well, what a Kodak moment," Lilah said, stepping into the light. "Forgive me for spying, but that almost got interesting. Leave it to Pollyana to keep everything G-rated, though."

"Shut up, Lilah." Lindsey said bitterly.

Lilah smiled, but her eyes were cold. "No need to get all snippy. Don't forget that I'm the one who saved you, Lindsey. No matter how warm Fred is."

His face turning red, Lindsey rose to his feet. "I told you to shut up--"

He had almost made it to Lilah when the building began to tremble. Lilah and Lindsey both grabbed onto the table to steady themselves, and Fred rose uncertainly to her feet. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," Lindsey said. He glanced at Lilah questioningly.

She shrugged. "Don't look at me."

There was a flash of light and a loud cracking noise, and the room was filled with smoke. As the area began to clear, it became readily apparent that there was now a fourth occupant in the room. He was a tall man, in his forties or so, with red hair and a great big beaming smile.

"Well, hey there," he said, his voice unnaturally chipper after such an entrance, "I'm Richard Wilkins the Third, but feel free to call me Mr. Mayor. Most people do."