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.
Disclaimer: none of this is mine. Sadly.

chapter eight: Choices

"I can't take it anymore!"

With a frustrated sigh, Cordelia rose to her feet and began to pace around the diner, her already-gnawed fingernails returning to her mouth. She chewed absent-mindedly for a moment before adding, "Why is it taking so long? Is it supposed to take this long?"

Anya watched her from behind the counter, her face unsympahetic. "Please," she said finally, "stop pacing. It annoys me."

For the thousandth time that day, Cordelia wondered why she was with Anya of all people. Doyle had become far too restless to just sit around and had gone off to bowl and burn off some steam– something about bowling shoes soothing the feet, or something. Tara had to leave to work at the music store, and none of the old gang from Sunnydale– Joyce, Jenny, Jonathan, Larry– knew Wesley all that well, and so they were hardly sympathetic. So for some unexplicable reason, Cordelia found herself with Anya, wondering why the Powers That Be were so inclined to punish her.

"Well, excuse me for being a little on edge, Captain Calm." Cordelia retorted. "One of my best friends happens to be putting his very existence on the line as we speak."

"He'll be fine." Anya said with a quick wave of her hand. "He's British, which makes him naturally resourceful...and his pension for giving away money shouldn't hurt, either."

She said it with a sort of wistful glow about her, and Cordelia shook her head, her memory inadvertantly wandering back to her first meeting with Wesley in Sunnydale. He'd seemed so charming to her then, so debonair. Oh, how the times had changed. Still, she wouldn't trade her brave but lovably awkward Wesley for any of the James Bond wannabes in the world.

To her surprise, there was suddenly a hand on her shoulder. Cordelia looked up to see
Anya smiling rather awkwardly as she patted her in what was supposed to be a comforting manner. "There, there. Everything will be fine. You'll see."

Cordelia merely blinked at her. "You're really not good at this whole human emotions thing, are you?"

Anya ignored this. "You know what always makes me feel better? Counting and stacking money."

Sighing, Cordelia rolled her eyes. Like she was really going to sit around counting money while Wesley's soul was in grave danger.

A moment later, Cordelia and Anya sat on the countertop, counting money and stacking it into neat little piles. Cordelia turned to Anya, smiling grudgingly. "You know...this is actually kinda fun..."

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"Lilah," Wesley murmured quietly.

If she seemed surprised at suddenly being pulled from her dark, cold shelter into a warmly lit den with a roaring fire, Lilah didn't show it. Of course, she'd had years at Wolfram and Hart to practice the art of composure.

"Wesley," Lilah acknowledge him in return. "I'd say it's good to see you, but you might take it as me saying that I'm glad you're dead."

Wesley watched her carefully. "Are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Lilah said, smiling. "If I'd wanted you dead, I had plenty of time and opportunity."

They were silent, both unsure of how to continue. Wesley cleared his throat. "How have you been?"

"Trapped in an unspeakably cold, destitute existence with no hope for escape," Lilah returned coolly. "And you?"

Wesley shrugged. "Worked for Wolfram and Hart."

There was a trace of a smile on her lips. "So we're even, then."

Another uncomfortable silence. Wesley tugged at his collar. "Lilah, I– "

"Take me instead." Lilah interrupted.

Wesley stared at her. "What?"

Lilah met his gaze evenly. "You came to rescue Fred, didn't you? Take me instead."

He paused for a moment, composing himself, then smiled ruefully. "You've never been one for beating around the bush, have you?"

"Wesley." She came around the desk, kneeling down before him, looking plaintively into his eyes. "I've never been one to beg, have I?" He shook his head. "Then you know what it means for me to be here in front of you, on my knees, begging. I can't go back there. I've been brave and I've survived this long, but I can't do it anymore. Please don't make me."

Wesley frowned at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Lilah. I had no idea what you were going through. Truly. But I came down here for Fred..."

"So make a trade." Lilah said simply. "Tell the Mayor you've changed your mind." Seeing the confusion on his face, she moved in closer to him, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Wesley, please...didn't we have fun together?"

He swallowed. "Yes."

She took his hand, guiding it to her lips, where she kissed each fingertip carefully. "And in all that time together, didn't you come to love me, even a little?"

There was pure anguish in his eyes now. "Yes."

Lilah looked at him earnestly. "I loved you, too, Wesley. I couldn't ever say it because I couldn't bring myself to admit it...but I loved you. I love you still. You're the warmth that has allowed me survive all this time. Please, Wesley, if you ever loved me at all, don't make me stay."

He held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes clearly torn. And then slowly, deliberately, he looked away. "I'm sorry, Lilah. I did love you...but I love Fred. I've always loved Fred."

Lilah drew away, staring at him accusingly. "Then you condemn me to that place forever."

Wesley took in a deep, shuddering breath. "I know."

And then she was gone.