Disclaimers, etc, see part one.

* * *

Wesley didn't often look at his mail before he opened it these days. Early on he had spent time on each envelope, excited by just having received it. But it was late, and he was preparing to leave before he remembered that he had received anything at all. At first he was too distracted to notice that the paper was heavier than usual, or the script old-fashioned. He did notice when he unfolded the heavy pages and something fell to the floor.

He stooped to pick it up. It was old, and he had to look at it for several moments before he recognised himself in the centre. When he did, he smiled. He had been so naïve at twenty, and so ridiculously dressed. At least he was poking his tongue out, he thought — that showed some life.

The night was forever imprinted in his mind as alcohol, an in depth discussion and a beautiful young woman with red hair. He looked at the letter, which would at least remind him of her name. "Dear sir… I was friends… Halloween of that year… sorry to have to tell you…"

Somehow he made he way to the couch and sat down. He tried to read the letter again, to absorb the words properly. He had managed to turn off most of the lights before remembering his letters and the present darkness let him forget his own life. For a moment he could hear her say her name, and feel her hand in his. He had only thought of her once in fifteen years, and hadn't even remembered her name. So why could he feel his heart so heavily at learning she had been dead long before then?

It was Fred who found Wesley, not long before midnight. He was supposed to have met her, Gunn and Knox for a drink, and she had been worried when he didn't show. She found him in his office, sitting on his couch, trying to read by the light of one small lamp. He didn't acknowledge her knock, so she entered and sat next him.

Wesley was barely aware of her presence at all. One hand held a forgotten piece of paper, the other an old photo. Fred leaned closer to see it, and he handed it to her absently.

She was sure that the man in the middle was him. He looked much more stiff upper-lippy there than he did now, and also rather drunk. He was poking his tongue out at the camera and Fred smiled. She rarely saw such a silly side in Wesley. It was nice to know that it was there.

"Wesley?" she said, quietly.

He blinked and turned slowly to face her.

"When was this taken?"

"Long time ago," he said. "Fifteen years ago, maybe. We'd just graduated, and she was going into hiding."

"Who?"

He waved the question away. Fred looked back down at the photo. There wasn't any woman in it. Perhaps she had taken it? Wesley sighed in aggravation.

"There was something about prophecies," he said.

Fred just waited for him to continue.

"We were talking about prophecies. There was a prophecy about her, and her son, and she was going into hiding, but she didn't want to. She wanted to fight whoever was after them. She didn't want to be bound by the fates. And I remember thinking that worse than knowing what a prophecy said was knowing that there was a prophecy about yourself, and knowing that there was nothing that you could do."

He sighed again and pushed himself to his feet. Fred stood too, still holding the photo gently. Wesley paced across the room.

"When did you– when did you get this photo?"

"Just now," Wesley said. "It was sent from England days ago. But that's not the point. The point is that I remembered that night, I remembered what she taught me."

Fred tried to make her voice light. "Of course you do. Someone sent you the photo she took."

"Not now, last year!" he growled.

Fred took a step back. Wesley stopped pacing and took a deep breath to calm himself.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Last year, for some reason, something made me think of her. But I can't remember what. I just know that it's important."

"Who is she?" Fred asked.

She took another step, closer to Wesley and peered through the dark, trying to make out his face. He looked as though he were going to cry.

"Was," he said. "She was… just this woman we met in a bar after graduation. She had a son, and a husband, and a prophecy. We drank, and talked. She beat me at a game of pool. She knew about the Slayer. She was impressed that we were going to be Watchers."

Wesley's recollections petered out and he sank slowing to the floor. Fred crouched next to him. She placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder. He didn't flinch, so she leant on him to keep her balance. He was staring intently at nothing on the other side of the room.

"She died?"

"Years ago," Wesley said. "Soon after I met her. There was a prophecy, see."

He giggled, a sound which sent shivers down Fred's spine. She repositioned herself so she could sit next Wesley, with a hand on his back.

"You're allowed to mourn her," she said, quietly, thinking that 'cry' probably wasn't a good word to use.

Wesley shook his head.

"She's gone," he said. "She died years ago. And I don't remember what she looked like. I didn't even remember her name."

The office was dark, and the image that he saw was a dingy bar on the other side of the room, with a few gruff locals. Fred's presence was all that kept him awake and aware of the rest of the world. He passed her the letter that had come with the photo.

Fred read it silently. It was short, simply laying out the fact of Lily Potter's murder, that she was betrayed. The friend who wrote it, Remus Lupin, thanked Wesley for the small measure of peace he and his friends had given her and bade him remember her well.

Fred gave a small sigh of remorse as she read and Wesley smiled. He knew that she would be sympathetic, that she would understand that even after such a long time the death of someone you barely knew could move you close to tears, however foolish it would be to cry.

Wesley could still remember himself then. He had been so confident, so sure after one evening of freedom that he knew what the world was like and was ready to confront it. If he closed his eyes he could see her, on the other side of the pool table, red hair in the flickering light. He had wanted to impress her. They had drunk together. He was going off to be a Watcher to young Slayer who would able to fight without the threat of prophecies. And Lily was going to survive to see the resolution of the prophecy about her son.

But she had died, and he had aided Faith's escape from prison to help Angel.

Fred stood up, jerking him out of his thoughts. She offered a hand to pull him up, and he accepted it gratefully. Suddenly he was standing too close to her as she smiled at him.

"You should go home, Wesley," she told him. "Or you won't be able to do anything tomorrow."

Wesley nodded. They had work to do here. Important work, he knew. And there was the Shanshu prophecy to translate, and any number of other texts that would important in days, months, years to come.

Fred was smiling at him, encouraging him to believe her and leave the office for the day. He folded the photo back into the letter and slid them gently into the inside pocket of his jacket. Fred took his hand lead him out of the building.

She hugged him briefly before they parted and he knew that everything was still just as it had been. Everything would be okay.

* * *

THE END