A/N: This fic was written for the fic on demand LJ community. Someone requested a Wesley/Cordelia "what if" sort of fic, and this is what my brain churned out. But if you read it, it's really more of a Wes/Fred fic at heart. It's also meant to be a ONE SHOT. If I have time, I may add something to it at a later date, but for now, it's supposed to stand alone.
Wesley could feel his life slipping out onto the floor beneath him. Everything was so cold. The floor was cold, his body was cold, even she was cold, although she was trying her best to feign warmth for him in his last moments. But his heart still burned. Burned in outrage at his failure to be of any help whatsoever. He couldn't save Fred. He couldn't even save himself. Somehow, he thought he was meant for more than this.
But unlike so many other lost and dying souls, his anger did not go unheeded into the night. As his soul slipped from his cooling body, he was caught up between worlds, and out of the ether appeared one of the last people he would ever have expected to see waiting for him on the other side.
"I dare say this is a surprise," Wesley said to the vengeance-demon-turned-human he had met briefly during his stint as a naïve Watcher.
"I must admit, I am perplexed as to where I am and why you are here," Wesley said, trying his best to maintain his British sense of decorum despite the circumstances. "I had heard that you fell in battle, but I can't fathom why your soul would be sent to great me after my death."
Anya gave Wesley a conciliatory smile. "Wes, you of all people should know that the dead don't always stay dead."
Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Do explain."
"Basically, I got my old job back," Anya replied. "D'Hoffryn had been itching to get me back in the biz for ages, but silly me thought that I still had things to live for. You know, human things like orgasms and money. But when faced with the prospect of death or being a vengeance demon again, well, it wasn't a hard choice to make. D'Hoffryn snatched me up right before I was about to cross over. Kind of like what I'm doing for you."
"Not to sound ungrateful, but why me? I always thought that Anyanka was the patron saint of all women scorned," Wesley said dryly.
"Well, you were certainly rather girly when I first met you," Anya said bluntly.
Wesley glared at her, but refrained from commenting. She was offering to help him after all.
"So, I may be stretching the rules just a teensy bit. But you are angry and bitter about the injustices done to you, angry enough that I could hear your call from across dimensions. I can work with that. And let's just say that I have a soft spot for my old human acquaintances. All you really need to know is that you have a chance to make it all better. So tell me, what do you wish for deep down in that black heart of yours?"
Wesley stood in silence for several long moments, trying to weigh his options carefully even though his head was spinning. He could sense that he didn't have long before he would be beyond any sort of help, demonic or otherwise. He felt he should wish for something noble, something that would guarantee that his friends won the battle that was still raging on Earth. But when he tried to dream of a future he would want to be part of, all he could see was Fred's face smiling up at him, a face that bore no sign of possession by an ancient demonic god.
"I wish for her," Wesley sighed. "I wish that Fred were still alive, that she had never been possessed by Illyria."
Anya looked sad for a moment, as if she knew something he didn't, but she only said the word "Done" as her face shifted to show her demonic nature. There was a flash of green light, and then Wesley was gone, his essence sucked into a parallel dimension that fit the characteristics of his wish.
When he came to his senses, he could immediately tell that things were different. For one, he was no longer lying in a bloody heap on the floor. Actually, he seemed to be back in the Hyperion Hotel, where they had all lived and worked before getting mixed up with Wolfram & Hart.
He was sitting at a desk with research materials spread out around him, nothing too uncustomary. So at least he hadn't changed all that much. The same could not be said for the others. For one, both Angel and Spike were present, and they seemed to actually be getting along. They were sitting next to one another and talking amicably, without a single attempt on one another's life. Very strange indeed. And Cordelia was also present, chatting happily with Gunn while he polished his weapons. That was quite the happy surprise. He had deeply mourned her passing in his own dimension.
But his happiness at seeing his friends alive and well paled in comparison to the joy that flooded his heart when Fred walked into the room. His Fred, bearing not even a hint of blue on her pale skin. He abruptly stood from his desk, ignoring the odd stares he received from everyone else in the room.
"You're alive," he said reverently as he rushed to her side and pulled her into a tight embrace. Without thinking, he kissed her deeply, reveling in having her back in his life once more.
He was drowning so deeply in this moment of euphoria that he did not notice Fred's less than eager response. He didn't even notice the sudden chaos that erupted around him at his actions. He continued to shower Fred with kisses until a pair of strong hands roughly pulled him away from the stupefied girl.
"Wes, man, I know you've been at the books a while, which might make anyone a bit batty, but you're going to be in a serious world of hurtin' if you pull a stunt like that again," Gunn said angrily, trying his best to wait for some semblance of a reasonable explanation before throttling his coworker.
"I…I don't understand," Wes said, his joy slowly being replaced with a deep feeling of unease as he finally began to notice all of the concerned and moderately angry eyes staring at him.
"Well, that makes two of us," Fred said timidly, still shook up by what had just happened.
Suddenly Wesley felt a sharp finger jab him in the side. "I think what Gunn is trying to say is that if you molest his wife again, you're gonna have a nasty run-in with his favorite axe," Cordelia said with a glower. "And if that doesn't do the job, I'll be happy to finish you off."
"Wife?" Wesley choked out as he felt his newfound world collapsing around him.
"Yes, Gunn is married to Fred, and you are married to me. I didn't realize it was that hard to keep straight," Cordelia snapped, her anger acting as a thin veil for the hurt she was feeling.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Wesley murmured as he sank to his knees.
True, once upon a time, he had worshipped the ground that Cordlia Chase walked on, but after loving Fred, a woman who was not only stunningly beautiful, but also his intellectual equal (perhaps even superior), the thought of spending the rest of his life married to Cordelia was sickening in comparison, a pale shadow of what he knew real love could be like.
He should have known better! He had studied vengeance demons in depth while in the Watcher's Academy. He knew that their wishes never turned out the way they were supposed to. But he had been too blinded by his love for Fred, and so very trusting of the convenient Deus ex Machina that had come to save him from his fate when it seemed all hope was lost. He truly believed that Anya had his best interests at heart. But it appeared that she could only bend the rules so far. She had followed the letter of his wish while ignoring the intent, as all vengeance demons must do. And he had been foolish enough to leave more than enough room for a wide array of interpretations. Being near death certainly hadn't helped his ability to think clearly.
As his friends circled around him, Wesley began to numbly recount his tale. He saw the looks of sympathy and sorrow flit across their faces, and he realized that not only had he failed to regain Fred in the way he truly desired, but he had also caused a great deal of damage to his friends' counterparts in this dimension. To Cordelia especially. He had stolen away her loving husband and left her with a shell of a man whose only thoughts were of another woman. Vacuous as she could be at times, she did not deserve to have her life so suddenly torn to pieces in such a way.
Yet again, Wesley had accomplished nothing and done more harm than good. All of his efforts were in vain, and he had brought nothing but sorrow to those he was supposed to care about. Death seemed preferable to this life, where he would constantly be forced to see his love in the arms of another man…so close, yet forever unattainable. It was as if he'd been transported to his own personal hell. He wished deeply that Anya had just let him die in his own dimension rather than teasing him with the promise of something wonderful only to snatch it away. But it was too late for that now. He would not take the coward's way out by ending his own life. He would have to live with the consequences of his foolish decision.
He really should have been more careful what he wished for.