A/N: And the chapters just keep rolling right on out, don't they?! Needless to say, I have inspiration and I'm bored, expect chapters within at least two weeks of each other. I can't help it, I'm excited! Anyways...get ready for a hell of a surprise in this chapter, and thanks to SpeedDemon315, Rabidreject, and The Brat Princess for their reviews!

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon still owns Wesley, Fred, and all the other amazing Angel peoples. Anyone you don't recognize might be mine, though...

"Call me a doctor of defense

Maybe I'm a fix

(Baby, I'm a mess)

A diagnosis you'll forget

Call me baby, call me crazy

Yeah yeah yeah

Take these pills everyday

To kill your apathy for living

Yeah, for living

Yeah yeah

This is the sound of your body under fire

These are my eyes finding you in the dark

We are the voices of an underground choir

Save your breath

You won't be hurt"

-"Under Fire" by Halifax

Chapter Two: Mindfreak'd

The lights of the nighttime Los Angeles skyline seemed to stretch on for miles and miles, an endless array of luminosity. Looked at from a philosophical point of view, the lights could be seen as beacons, beckoning all the misplaced souls to city that once had been (appropriately) deemed The City of Lost Angels.

But, looked at from a superficial point of view, they were just lights.

Tonight, she didn't know what point of view she wanted to look at things from.

Sequestered between the fifty foot tall H and O of the Hollywood sign, she observed the bustling city with quiet observation. Even at a distance, she could hear the sirens of police cars screaming, the steady droning of engines as planes departed or approached LAX, and the impatient honking of horns on the notorious Los Angeles freeways.

She leaned gently against the H, her dark sapphire eyes still fixed on the glistening, gleaming city ahead of her. A generously applied layer of kohl outlined her eyes, while dusky eye shadow completely the shadowy eye effect that was all the rage. By the light of the waxing gibbous moon, her skin was pale, and had the airbrushed, flawless appearance that any average teenage girl would have been insanely jealous of. Hair the rich black color of a raven's feather tumbled down her back, ending past her shoulder blades, left loose and free. She had the slim, toned body of an athlete, which was presently decked out in a sleeveless black dress that ended around her knees. Three decorative straps were affixed to the front of the dress, while the straps resting upon her shoulders were adjustable, almost like a belt. She wore a pair of combat boots, while a pair of laced up fingerless gloves adorned her hands. A silvery chain hung around her neck, baring a simple charm of a crow.

As she stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in her mind, a twig cracked behind her. Though she made no sudden movement, her lithe body tensed slightly, prepared for whatever may have been coming behind her.

In a rustling of leaves, another young woman appeared at the side of the first woman. She appeared to be like any other girl of the Los Angeles night life: Her brown hair had been left to hang around her shoulders, with small braids intermingled, and she wore a short white dress and matching heels, accenting her lightly-tanned skin. But her eyes, while a lovely shade of brown, seemed devoid and somewhat blank, as if she lacked a soul. She bowed her head respectfully to the black-haired woman.

"Milady," she voiced gently.

"Ah, Cordelia-I should have known you would be back first. Has she come back around yet?"

Cordelia nodded. "She was discharged from the hospital earlier this evening."

"Even better!" the dark-haired woman exclaimed, her pale coral lips turning upward slightly. "Already, things seem to be off without a hitch."

"Marvelous, milady."

"Now, where is your associate?"

"Right here, milady," a voice carrying a thick Irish accent piped up. A young man appeared at the other end of the Hollywood sign, strolling the length of it. Unlike the first woman, he was no gothic lord, and unlike the second woman, Cordelia, he was no night-life looker. Rather, he looked like an average slob plucked from the streets; his dark, close-cropped black curls were mussed, his plaid shirt was untucked, his jeans were discolored at the knees, close to being frayed, and his brown sandals had seen better days. Like Cordelia, his eyes held a devoid, soul-sucked look.

"Nice of you to join us, Doyle," the first woman greeted. "I was beginning to worry."

"Sorry to keep you waiting, milady," he apologized, bowing his head respectfully.

"What's the news, Doyle-does Wolfram and Hart still stand?"

The Irishman shook his head. "Nope-the Senior Partners reduced it to rubble."

"I figured as much."

"But…"

Suddenly, she turned her full attention on the Irishman, he deep cerulean eyes fixed intently on him. "But what, Doyle?"

"I sensed a body somewhere in the rubble-a possible candidate. Part of the lobby is still standing; we could access it and determine if it's worthy."

"That reminds me, milady, I sensed a body on my way back from the hospital, in an old apartment building. Another possible candidate," Cordelia offered.

A pleased smile curled the woman's lips. "Truly, I am blessed to have you both in my service."

"Thank you, milady," Doyle and Cordelia replied at the same time.

She straightened up, tugging on the hem of one of her fingerless gloves, as if it were coming off. "Well, you both said you had potentials for me to see to-lead the way. We're burning moonlight."

***

Wesley placed his hands on Fred's shoulders, gently, so as not to startle her, and pushed her away, holding her at arm's length and studying her like the metaphorical bug under the microscope. The woman of his dreams was standing before him, not quite as he remembered, but, unlike the last time he'd seen the true Fred, she was breathing.

She was…alive?

Someone's playing a trick on me, a very cruel trick, he concluded inwardly. Of course-the culprit is obvious.

"Illyria," he began in a flat, unamused tone. "What did I just tell you in my office? Remember, our little talk about Watchers, truths, and illusions?"

"I am not doing this, Wesley," the said demon argued bluntly, moving to stand beside Fred. "I was standing behind you the entire time."

"Wes…" Fred's voice was gentle, almost pleading, with a hurt note in it. "Wes, it's really me. It's really Fred. I'm back…I'm back."

He turned his attention back to her, taking her in for a long, silent moment. Her cheeks seemed slightly more sunken in than they usually were, while her hair was carelessly thrown into a messy braid. She wore a pair of plain jeans, slightly baggy on her petite form, and a gray tee shirt bearing the emblem of the local hospital where a breast pocket would have been. Her arms bore large, bruised patches, presumably where needles had been to pump fluids into her system. She wasn't quite perfection, that much was evident.

But she was alive, and she was real. That in and of itself was perfection in his eyes.

"Fred." The word escaped him in a choked gasp, almost a sob. Something-tears, perhaps?-prickled and stung the corners of his eyes, and, with no further hesitation, he pulled Fred back to him, practically crushing her tiny frame against his as he enveloped her in a hug.

"Wes…" she murmured lovingly into his shoulder, resting her head against his chest. He lowered his head, until his brow was resting on the top of her head.

"I thought I would never see you again-see the real, living, breathing you."

She smiled, reaching up and caressing his unshaven cheek. "Oh God, Wes, I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too."

"Yes, yes, that's all fine and well, you missed her, she missed you, it's been one big miss-fest," Spike cut in loudly, stepping up beside them. "Don't keep her all to yourself now, Wesley, pass her around!"

"Spike, do you always have to ruin the moment?" Angel complained, following him. Nina, who had gotten to know the Texan physicist reasonably well between the time she was bitten and he time Fred had died, followed after.

"Pass me around?" Fred asked, looking around. "You all missed me?"

"Of course we missed you, Fred!" Angel insisted. "You're part of the family-having you back is the greatest!"

"So come on over here and give us a welcome back!" Spike finished, a huge grin on his face. Wesley gently relinquished his hold on the woman he loved, and she shuffled over to Spike, who, in a rather surprising gesture, opened his arms and embraced her.

"You're not going soft on me, are you, Spike?" she asked teasingly.

"Consider this a 'welcome back' plus a 'thanks for trying to turn me corporeal that one time' present," he answered, smirking.

"There's the Spike I know," she said, moving on to Angel. The dark-haired vampire pulled her into a hug, holding her almost as tightly as Wesley had.

"Good to have you back, Fred. We all missed you."

"I missed you all, too." She glanced over at Nina, who gave a wave and a small smile, and a grin lit up her face. "Did you and Nina get together while I was gone?"

"Well, um…kind of but not really, see she moved out of his sister's house and needed a place to stay, and we have so much space here so I invited her to stay with me-I mean, obviously not in my room, she has her own room, but she's staying here," Angel stammered out, clearly flustered, rubbing the back of his neck. Everyone could practically see the sweat drops that had to be rolling down the back of his head.

Fred giggled. "Calm down, Angel, I understand what you mean."

"Thank God," was his murmured reply.

"Good to see you again, Nina." She embraced the female werewolf, who hugged her back.

"Nice to have you back, Fred." She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially into Fred's ear. "Maybe Angel will be a little less broody now; you're one of his favorite people."

"Not likely-he's always like that," she whispered back.

"Hey, I heard that!" the aforementioned vampire groused.

Fred then moved to Gunn a hug, only to find he wasn't standing with the others. There was at least ten feet, if not more, between her and Gunn-hell, Illyria was standing close than he was.

Illyria meandered closer, cocking her head to the side as she studied Fred. "You are the shell, Winifred Burkle," she announced, sounding vaguely perplexed. "This is not possible. I overtook your body and destroyed your soul."

Wow, what do you say to that? Fred wondered. "Well, um…"

"You are stronger than I thought, to have come back," the ancient demon decided. She held out an armor-clad hand. "I deem you a worthy figure. Even more so than my pet, Spike."

"I'm not your bloody pet!" he yelled back.

"Um, thank you," Fred replied uncertainly, shaking Illyria's hand. They both let go after a moment; Fred had to admit, it felt awkward shaking hands with the demon that had usurped her body-in a way, it was like shaking hands with herself. Pushing that thought aside, she moved towards Gunn, who looked more and more eager to turn tail and run with every step she took towards him.

"Gunn?" she asked, confused. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he insisted, a little too quickly.

She closed the distance between them, placing a hand on his wrist. He flinched, moving to draw his arm away.

"Gunn? I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're not?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"No." She stepped back slightly, opening her arms. "I was going to give you a hug!"

Gunn reluctantly allowed her to embrace him, the entire time looking as though he'd love nothing more than to be able to crawl out of his skin and run. Fred let go after a moment, and two things happened: Gunn practically sprinted halfway across the lobby, and Wesley promptly zipped to Fred's side.

"If none of you mind, I'd like to spend a little alone time with her."

"Go right ahead," Angel replied.

He looked down to the woman he loved. "Is that all right with you?"

She looked back up at him, giving a cute smile that could melt his heart over and over again until the end of time. "I'd love nothing more."