Furious Angel
by Lara

SUMMARY: “Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe that they were here after everything that had happened.”

RATING: FRAO [ESS] [GV] [ML] [FF]

PAIRINGS: Wesley/Fred, Wesley/Illyria

SPOILERS: Through the Angel finale, “Not Fade Away”.

DISCLAIMER: I only wish I were as successful as Joss Whedon. He and Mutant Enemy own this; I just write fanfic for fun while waiting for my own big break.

DISTRIBUTION: Permission granted to the usual haunts. If anyone else wants to archive it, please let me know.

FEEDBACK: Very much appreciated. Please e-mail lara@darling-moon.com. Flames, however, will be used to fuel the fire in Wesley’s next spell casting session.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: A bit of an experiment in fic writing for me. I hope it makes sense. The format for this came from both Rob Dougan’s “Furious Angels” video and a comment my husband made when I was trying to figure this fic out. Thanks to Ann and Tracey for beta-reading.

DEDICATION: To Ann (a.k.a. TnBella), my main Illyria muse for this fic. This one is for you, hon.

It was a stereotypical British autumn day weather-wise – chilly and overcast with not a speck of blue or ray of sun in sight. A light rain began to fall, causing the people waiting for the next Thameslink train at South Croydon station outside London to huddle under what cover was available. Two stood slightly apart from the others near the end of the overhang, the woman shivering a bit despite the jacket she wore. The man noticed this and moved up to stand behind her, opening his London Fog and wrapping it around her so both the coat and his arms encircled her. She immediately stepped back against him, snuggling into his embrace and resting her head against his chest.

“Better?” he asked in a low voice only she could hear

“Much,” she answered, the word coming out as almost a breathy sigh.

Smiling softly, he kissed the top of her head. Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe that they were here after everything that had happened.

After believing everything he cared about was gone.

*****

The chair sat facing his apartment’s living room window, giving him an almost unobstructed view of the city landscape now that the clouds from the recent rainstorms had cleared. He leaned forward, staring at all the glittering lights with disinterest. Illyria was right. This world was small. He could feel it pressing in, cold and empty, could understand now how she had felt when she had said she couldn’t breathe.

Not that he’d be able to tell her. First Fred, now Illyria. Everyone he cared about, those he loved who made this world bearable, were gone now.

Closing his eyes, he crumpled the note in his hand and let it fall to the floor. It was a cruel joke.

“I’ve found you.”

No. This was the cruel joke.

“Wesley.”

He tried to ignore the voice, knowing it would go away, just like everything else. Suddenly, though, hands fell onto his shoulders, then fingers began running down his arms. This had to be yet another dream, he thought.

The fingers trailed up to his face to cup his cheek, a thumb rubbing gently across the stubble of his beard. “Wesley, open your eyes. It’s me. I’m home.”

He didn’t dare. Because if he did, he would find this was indeed a dream. He knew it couldn’t be Illyria because she was gone. Like Fred was gone.

“Oh, my Wesley.”

Then he felt lips on his, warm and soft, just like he remembered. A moment later, her hand slipped up along his collarbone, the way she always did when she kissed him. With a gasp, his eyes flew open to see her standing there, brown eyes shining in the light spilling in through the window, brown hair hanging loosely about her shoulders. Her. Not some dream or illusion, but really, truly her.

He wanted to ask how, why, when – all manner of questions – but nothing came out. Instead, he found himself pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly, still afraid that she might once again disappear, once again fade into something else. Tears began rolling down his face, dampening her hair and cheeks.

“It’s all right. I’m home. I’ll never leave you again.”

She raised her face and kissed away his tears before bringing her lips to his again. Standing up, he lifted her and carried her into his room to the bed, his body aching to touch hers. Once he had set her down, he knelt on the floor in front of her, his hand smoothing over the maroon top and flowered skirt she wore – the same outfit she had been wearing when she had been taken from him.

He didn’t want to think of that now, though. Not when she was there now, alive and whole and so beautiful. God, so beautiful.

“I...” He looked up into her eyes and felt his breath catch in his throat. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks this time. As he wiped them away with his thumb, she wrapped her arms around him. Wesley leaned forward, this time initiating their kiss, while his hands slid down over her shirt again and came to rest at her waist. When she shifted, the blouse rode up, baring skin no longer tinted blue. His fingers caressed over her along the small of her back until he suddenly froze, breaking their kiss and dropping his head.

“Wesley, I know,” she told him softly, causing him to look back up at her. “I know everything. I understand.”

Staring at her for a few moments, he could see that she did. She knew what had happened, what he had done – and she had still returned to him despite all of it. “I love you,” he responded, unable to say anything else.

“I know. I love you too.”

It was the first time she had actually ever said that out loud to him.

Sitting back, she tugged him up onto the bed with her. She snuggled against him, taking his hand and placing it back around her. His fingers began traveling along her spine again, up under her shirt to her shoulder blades. They leaned toward each other at the same time to kiss as Fred’s hand came up to run through his mussed dark hair. Pulling her closer in his embrace, he felt like he couldn’t get close enough to her.

Their kisses, slow and sure, lasted a long time. Then Wesley broke away, trailing his lips down her jawline to her throat, burying his face against her neck. Her fingers caressed his sides before slipping under his shirt and running lightly across the skin of his torso, causing him to exhale a shuddering breath against her collarbone. Her leg moved over to tangle with his, bringing them even closer together, but it still wasn’t close enough. After being apart so long, it seemed like it would never be close enough again.

She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it open, her fingertips tracing patterns across his chest for a few moments. Wesley grasped the hem of her blouse to pull up over her own head, tossing it away, and gathered her closer.

He wasn’t sure what became of the rest of their clothing, but the next thing he was aware of was nothing between them as skin pressed against skin, sending jolts of electricity through them both. Her hand stroked down over him, causing him to suck in a breath, making him feel as though he might lose it right then and there.

He needed her. He needed her then and there and forever. Somehow, she had been sent back to him; how, he didn’t know, and at that moment, it didn’t seem to matter. He just wanted to be with her again, so when she wrapped him tightly in her embrace, he rested his forehead against hers as he sank into her. Their eyes locked, her body rose up to his with each movement, pulling him deeper, showing him that she wasn’t going anywhere without him ever again.

Suddenly, Fred let out a cry, throwing her head back against the pillow while she began trembling uncontrollably. But unlike the last time she had been in this bed, it wasn’t the signal of death – it was the acknowledgement of life. With a few more strokes, he joined her, her name whispered hoarsely, almost strangled.

Collapsing next to her several moments later, he enfolded her into his arms, cradling her to him. She laid her head against his chest, listening to the beating of his heart and closing her eyes. He ran his fingers idly through her hair, stretching out the slightly frizzed curls that sprang back when he came to the end of a strand.

“Fred,” he finally asked softly as he stopped toying with her hair and rested his hand on her bare stomach. “If you’re here...if you’re back, then where’s—what happened to...Illyria?”

Raising her head, she looked at him in the dim light, placing her hand over his.

*****

“Winifred Burkle.”

The voice echoed down through the Great Hall of the Tribunal into infinity, reverberating to Fred’s very core. Dragging her gaze away from Illyria, who stood proud despite her tattered body armor and bleeding wounds, she faced the Adjudicator. The rock-faced demon stood, and humming filled the air, joined a moment later by a crack of thunder. Fred flinched at this though Illyria remained still, her blue eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Winifred Burkle, you are to be returned to your rightful place in your body immediately, as it has been decided by the outcome of the Trial. Do you accept this and the fate of Illyria?”

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and nodded. “I do.”

As the thunder rolled and the humming grew louder once more, a bright white light surrounded Illyria. Her form slowly began to fade; then, with a flash that enveloped Fred for a moment, she completely disappeared.

“It is done. You are free to return to your home.”

The hall began to disappear around her, a wind picking up. Closing her eyes, Fred realized that she would be back with Wesley soon. And in that moment, what had just happened truly hit her.

Illyria had granted her life back.

*****

Four blades, twin-edged scythes wielded by Illyria’s hands, flashed through the air, hitting their target with deadly accuracy. A roar of pain, an acknowledgement of defeat, rang out as the large red crocodile-shaped demon fell to the ground. Illyria spun and drove one of her weapons down into its torso before jerking the blades clean through. The demon’s body crumpled as though a discarded set of clothes then disappeared totally. Tossing one weapon away, Illyria let out a keening cry and turned to face the dais.

“I claim victory,” she announced. Bringing up the remaining scythe she still held, she pointed it at Fred, who stood frozen, her eyes wide in apparent shock. “Winifred Burkle is now mine.”

“This is an outrage!” hissed a bull-headed demon, skin swirling in angry patterns of red, orange and yellow. “I will not release my rightful property to this...mutant.”

There was a flicker, and suddenly, the demon was pressed up against the dais wall, trapped by the two blades of Illyria’s scythe, the tips digging into the rock. The slender blue form of the former God-King held on tightly, her eyes flashing in anger.

“Do no presume to underestimate me simply because I am no longer Demon True. I destroyed your servant, and I can destroy you. Winifred Burkle is mine.”

“Moloch,” the Adjudicator spoke from his seat at the center of the platform. “Illyria has won. As the victor, she has right to claim her prize. Leave now. Winifred Burkle may not be touched by you ever again. Try to reclaim her, and you will face the Tribunal...without a Champion.”

Eyes narrowing, Moloch nodded, finally accepting defeat. Illyria moved her weapon away and stood back, noticeably staying in front of Fred.

“I release Winifred’s soul to you, Illyria. Do with it as you please.”

With that, Moloch was gone in a puff of ash and smoke. Fred suddenly crumpled a bit as though a string had been cut. Two strong hands steadied her and kept her from falling to the ground. Illyria. Both their eyes locked for a moment before the Adjudicator spoke, calling for both their attention.

“The soul of Winifred Burkle is now yours, Illyria. You may decide her fate.”

Fred felt a shiver of uncertainty rush through her, wondering what would happen to her now though she doubted anything could be worse that being a toy for a demon like Moloch.

“I wish for Winifred to be returned to her rightful place on Earth. She should never have been taken. I wish to rectify this now.”

As Fred’s head whipped around, her expression one of astonishment, the Adjudicator’s silver eyes rested on Illyria, silence filling the Hall for a moment. “If Winifred is restored as you ask, you cannot return. You must forfeit the body.”

She answered without hesitation, “I agree.”

“Why?” Fred asked softly.

Illyria cocked her head, the expression in her eyes almost a mirror image of Fred’s, save for the piercing blue. “Because Wesley needs you. What my followers executed in my name was wrong. Neither of us chose this. I wish to put this right. I wish for Wesley to be...happy again.”

“You—you care for him.” Fred found herself almost reeling from the idea of this. She had felt what Illyria was, had known when she had been hollowed and burned out of her own flesh. To see that this demon who now wore her face had developed affection for the man she loved was mind-boggling.

“I do.” Illyria raised her hand, and blue electricity began to flow between the tips of her thumb and forefinger. “Though it should never have been so, I have many of your memories. I shall now share mine, so you may understand why I do this. And I have...a request as to my fate.”

She reached her hand out to Fred, who didn’t flinch when the electricity jumped, arcing through the air to hit her forehead. As Illyria opened her hand up, the source of the current shifted to her palm and widened until all of Fred’s face was bathed in a brilliant blue glow.

She saw it all. Everything that had happened since her death. It flew by in a rush of images, sensations and feelings – despite the fact that Illyria the God-King wasn’t supposed to feel. Tears came to her eyes while the memories filled her.

Then she felt a gloved hand on her cheek, wiping the tears away, and that voice so familiar yet alien was speaking to her, making her request.

It didn’t take but a moment; however, Fred knew she would grant Illyria what she wanted. She had risked everything for her and Wesley after all.

*****

The Great Hall was silent, a vast stone mausoleum that stretched from the raised platform on one end into infinity, enormous columns acting as unmoving guards. Suddenly, a portal flared to life, disrupting the quiet and causing the pillars’ marble patterns to shift as though woken up. Illyria strode through the gateway she had created with a body, limp as the rag doll from Fred’s memories, slung over her shoulder.

Stopping in front of the dais, Illyria tossed the body onto the first step, watching while blood spread from the wound. As soon as the thickening liquid dripped onto the stone, a loud ringing sound thundered through the air, rolling over Illyria like the wind when she would fly outside her once-glorious temple.

Before her, the column embedded into the wall at the back of the platform began to move. Slowly, it turned around, a body, face, arms and legs taking shape from the stone. Within moments, a large statue-like demon had developed. He walked forward to the edge of the steps leading down to where Illyria stood.

“Who calls on the Tribunal?” his deep voice boomed, echoing down into the infinity behind her.

“I, Illyria, God-King of the Primordium, Shaper of Things.”

“Illyria...” He gazed down upon her with what appeared to be surprise etched into his features as the columns along the length of the Hall’s edge began to hum and vibrate at the sound of her name. “Word of your rebirth had reached us. Why are you now here?”

“I come to make my claim for the soul of Winifred Burkle, she who occupied this body before. I know she still exists.”

“That soul has been claimed by Moloch. Do you now wish to issue a Challenge?”

“I do.”

“Beware, Illyria, God-King of the Primordium. There will be a price if you are not successful.”

Illyria turned to the rest of the Hall and the unmoving columns of the Tribunal. “I challenge Moloch for the soul of Winifred Burkle!” she proclaimed, causing another wave a hums in response.

“Summon Moloch. A Challenge has been made and must be answered.”

A few moments – or what seemed like it – later, a large plume of smoke appeared a few feet away from Illyria. This soon developed into a large fire, from which stepped a demon with a bull’s head, skin that mimicked the atmosphere of Saturn, and a long staff that appeared as though it had been fashioned from molten lava. He took no notice of the small figure of the fallen God-King, focusing instead on the dais.

“Adjudicator, members of the Tribunal, why have I been summoned?” he asked, his voice hissing and crackling.

“You have been challenged for the soul of Winifred Burkle.”

“That human’s soul is mine by right! Who dares challenge my claim?”

“I do.”

Rearing back, Moloch turned to face her, for a moment not seeming to realize who she was while studying her. Then, the massive head inclined a bit, and recognition sparked in the orange eyes. “That soul was payment for my assistance in your rising. You have no right to challenge me.”

“I have every right.”

“Will you allow this...thing to sully this sacred Hall? Illyria is no longer Demon True.”

“She has made her challenge in the proper way. You will answer her or forfeit,” the Adjudicator stated.

Moloch seemed to consider this for a moment. “I refuse to lose my prize without a fight. I accept on two conditions – my servant Ammon fights for me as my chosen Champion in the Trial, and when Illyria loses, she is mine as well.”

Illyria noted the emphasis on her recently adopted gender, almost as if mocking her. She had also expected such stipulations. “I accept.”

“Do you wish to choose a Champion?” the Adjudicator asked.

“I fight my own battles.” Illyria tilted her head to stare straight at Moloch as she said this.

“Summon Ammon. And the soul of Winifred Burkle.”

Humming filled the Hall again as Moloch’s eyes closed. Chanted words from a language Illyria hadn’t heard in millennia joined the Tribunal’s song. Up on the dais, an ethereal human form appeared while another demon, shaped like a fire-colored bipedal crocodile, stepped out of a smoke plume at the foot of the steps. The servant immediately bowed before its master, but Illyria took no notice. She was more concerned by Winifred, who stood unmoving by the Adjudicator’s chair, her visage pale and sallow.

Her eyes, however, were full of fear. Illyria recognized it from a memory she had of crawling, as Fred, through a darkened room and catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror while Wesley – a dark, primitive Wesley so unlike the one she had come to know, so unlike the one whom Fred herself loved – called her name.

“What have you done to her?” she demanded. “Why can she not move?”

“I have bound her, of course,” Moloch answered, almost offhandedly. “I can not have her soul roaming free, so I bind her. I release her from time to time...when it amuses me.”

Illyria glared, her expression filled with poison, knowing what it was like to be bound so, frozen yet aware. “Let us commence with this. Now!”

“Champions of the Trial, choose your weapons,” the Adjudicator instructed.

“I give Ammon my scepter.” Moloch handed over the molten-lava wand.

Illyria considered her own options as she studied the scepter from her position a few feet away. The staff appeared unremarkable, save for its sharp end, but she knew that could very well be a deception. The weapons she had once wielded in battle against her enemies would be too enormous for her now, yet in combat such as this, they would serve her best. Staring down at her hands, she concentrated, and two double-bladed scythes, these small enough for her to brandish in her current form, materialized. Their weight was comforting, making her yearn briefly for her kingdom and the way of life she had once known.

Though she truly knew now the world she had ruled over was gone forever. Never to return.

“The Champions are ready,” the Adjudicator announced once Illyria and Ammon had taken up position facing each other and Moloch had moved up onto the dais to stand next to Fred. “Let the Trial commence.”

Making the first move, Ammon stepped forward, swinging the staff in an arc over its head as though preparing to use it as a bludgeoning tool. At the apex, however, a ball of fire shot out towards Illyria, who quickly danced out of the way and used one of her scythes to deflect the orb. Several more volleys came in quick succession. Illyria managed to ward off most of them, but three of them hit her on her shoulder, leg and hip and burned through her body armor. Wincing at the pain that came from being bound to a human body but refusing to let it slow her down, she whirled around, bringing one of her weapons to bear on her opponent. The upper blade caught the juncture of Ammon’s neck – if it could be called that – and torso. The lower blade went into the trunk.

Ammon swept the wand across the floor to trip Illyria. As she fell, she twisted her body, using her strength to heft the servant demon with the still embedded scythe and throw it towards the steps. She then dropped her weapons and tucked herself into a roll when she hit the ground. After somersaulting once, she landed on her feet and reached out to grab one of the scythes, the point of which she used to pivot to grab the other one.

A fire ball shot through the air, catching Illyria’s side, followed by a slash from the sharp end of the staff that she just managed to keep from actually running through her. As she fought for a moment to regain her bearings, memories of the humiliation she had suffered at the hands of that lesser creature Hamilton came to mind. She would not allow yet another unworthy being to do the same.

Turning, she struck out with her right arm, the upper blade of the scythe slicing across Ammon’s trunk. The servant let out a roar and fell back, tripping over the body that Illyria had brought with her as the required sacrifice for the Tribunal. Ammon picked it up and threw it at her, but she simply batted it out of the way.

The former Doctor Sparrowe went flying and hit one of the columns, which let out a loud buzz of annoyance. A beam of light shot out from the offended pillar, enveloping the body and causing it to disappear.

Illyria snorted as she launched herself at Ammon, prepared to end this then and there. Too bad the doctor would never understand how important his sacrifice had been.

*****

“You shouldn’t use that voice for a few more days yet. Your new vocal cords need a bit more healing time before you go audition for—.”

The door to Richard Sparrowe’s examination room suddenly came off its hinges, falling to the floor with a loud bang and causing the doctor to jump back from his patient. Illyria stalked into the room over the broken door. Her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of him, and before he could react, she grabbed him and threw him against the wall, holding him up by his throat. The patient looked like she wanted to scream but couldn’t – or wouldn’t.

“Leave,” Illyria ordered her. “Now!”

The young woman immediately jumped out of the chair, stumbling as she scurried over the door and out of the room. Once she was gone, Illyria turned her attention to Sparrowe, who was choking and pawing ineffectually at her grasp.

“I—Illyria...your highness...”

Tilting her head, she stared at him, her eyes unreadable. “You speak my name. You know who I am.”

“Of...of course...I—I helped with the preparation for your...return.” He coughed, and Illyria loosened her grip a bit to allow him to speak more freely. “I am one of your devoted servants. I—.”

“Charlatan,” she hissed, knocking him back against the wall. “Your deceit rolls off you as easily as your perspiration. If you were indeed as devout as you profess, you would have been there with that paltry excuse for a Qwa’Ha Xahn this world saw fit to send to me.”

“I swear to you...”

“Do not attempt any further deceptions with me. I demand truth – what happened to soul of Winifred Burkle when I returned to this world in her body?”

“She died. Her soul was destroyed, consumed by the fires of your resurrection.”

Illyria pulled Sparrowe away from the wall and threw him to the floor, stepping on his chest. Reaching over to the table, she picked up what she recognized from Fred’s memories to be a laser scalpel. Without a word, she flicked it on and aimed it at his left ear, burning its edge. He let out a scream of pain, his hand reaching up to grab his ear while he tried to bolt upright. She pressed down harder with her foot and pointed the now-off scalpel directly at his neck.

“I know that is not what happened to her. Souls cannot be destroyed.” She leaned down closer to him. “What. Became. Of Winifred?”

“It’s...she’s as good as gone,” he gasped out, tears of pain streaming down his face. “Your—your regeneration required a sacrifice. To Moloch. She belongs to Moloch now.”

Illyria knew of Moloch, one of the ancient ones, even older than herself – the demon of unwilling sacrifice. He was one of the breed that never set foot on Earth or any other world but stayed on a plane where very few could ever – or would ever – go.

“She can never be brought back,” he continued. “There’s no way.”

“None that you as a puny mortal would know,” she responded, turning on the scalpel again. “However, I was not mortal. And since you saw fit to sacrifice an innocent female, I now shall sacrifice you to retrieve her.”

Sparrowe’s eyes opened wide as the scalpel laser burned into the skin of his neck, a scream gurgling from him. “Why...?”

She reached down to dip her index finger in his welling blood and then began to draw an invisible pattern in the air to open a portal. “For him.”

*****

Wesley muttered, tossing fitfully in his sleep, as Illyria sat next to him on his bed, watching over him. Reaching out, she pushed a damp lock of his short hair back from his forehead with a bare hand – her own hand. She then caressed her fingers down over his temple, resting them on his neck, where the pulse of his heart throbbed powerfully, in complete contrast to the pulse of his soul.

She knew of whom he was dreaming.

Rising from the bed, she headed out into the living room area of Wesley’s apartment, her body armor spreading back across her body as she walked. Over on the dining table, his books and papers sat haphazardly, piled there after he had emptied his office before the battle with the Wolf, Ram and Hart. Illyria had often seen him studying the texts and scrawling in different notebooks though she had never actually made an attempt to examine what he had written.

Hopping onto the table, she crouched down and picked up one of his notepads. Though the writing was almost indecipherable and in English, she found that she was able to read it, once again due to Fred’s remaining influences on the she—the body she inhabited. These were notes about Illyria herself...or more exactly, about Illyria, God-King of the Primordium.

Sitting on the tabletop, she began reading through the notes, casting occasional glances toward the open bedroom door. As she flipped a page over, she shook her head in disbelief, wondering exactly where some of the information Wesley had discovered had come from. “Inconsistencies, all of this,” she muttered darkly. “I did conquer the Hordes of Pangenta. Whoever alleges differently should be castigated for such an offense to my honor.”

On the next page, she hesitated, her fingers tracing over a sketch obviously done by Wesley’s hand. It was a picture of the central vestibule of her temple, filled with her followers bowing to her statue, the representation of her true form. Raising her hand from the page, she gazed at her gloved palm for a moment, then back at the image. Not so long ago, she would have agreed to anything to be granted that form back. Now, she found, looking at it, that it seemed alien to her, an intangible memory like those she had been left with upon her rebirth.

And yet, she realized, stretching her hand out and spreading her fingers, this body was no more hers either. Crumpling up the sketch, she tossed it away, no longer wishing to lay eyes upon it.

The page underneath had scribbling that had been marred, smeared slightly by drops of water. The annotations there had to do with Fred – her infection...and death. Wesley’s unstable hand had written a name – Richard Sparrowe – and beneath it, “He says soul destroyed...can’t recover...Fred...gone...”

She could almost physically sense the anguish behind those words, having experienced the very reality of them every day she had been with Wesley since asking him to become her guide. But she also knew the fallacy inherent in what he had written, the falsehood that had been perpetuated against him.

Placing the notebook aside, she slid off the table and crept quietly back into his room, where she crawled onto the bed by his side to continue her vigil over him. Her thoughts turned to all the turmoil and suffering he had endured because of her, because of what had been done in her name.

She leaned over to place a kiss on his forehead. "I apologize for your pain, Wesley," she whispered more to herself than to him. "I would undo all of this – if given the chance."

Her eyes sparkled with very human tears while Wesley slept on. And as she remembered all that had happened between them, what they had shared, she decided that she would indeed do all she could to restore that which would restore him as well.

Returning to the dining table, she took a blank piece of paper from his notebook and picked up one of the writing implements she had seen him use. Her body seemed to instinctively recall how to use the pen, her hand moving across the page, forming the letters.

My Wesley,

I realize that I can no longer stay here with you. You were correct when you said this was not my place in this world. I wish to tell you, however, that all your lessons, everything you showed me, did not go unheeded.

I know now what I must do. I must attempt to rectify what has happened.

I will not be returning, but our time together, especially this last night, has meant more to me than you will ever know.

*****

The cloud-laden sky cast a dim pallor over the approaching dusk. Wesley stood on the roof of his apartment building, his face tilted down and his eyes closed as he breathed in slowly and deeply. His hands gripped the edge, trying to find a comfortable purchase, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t seem to find one.

“Wesley?” her voice inquired from behind him.

“Why did you do it, Illyria?” he asked, pushing back from the edge. “Why did you bring me back?”

She walked over to stand next to him, both of them staring down into the street below, watching as everyone went on with their lives. “You were needed in the battle.”

“My not being there wouldn’t have changed the outcome.”

“I also could not...” She hesitated for a moment at what she was about to admit to him. “I could not bear the grief of your loss. When I realized what I could do, I wanted to bring you back.”

“I—I think it would have been better had I remained lost.”

Her head jerked up at this, her eyes focusing on him in the growing dark. “Why would you say that? Is not life preferable to death?”

“Normally, yes. But not when you know...” He sighed deeply and looked up at the cloud cover that blanketed Los Angeles. “She’s gone, Illyria. I had always held out just the tiniest bit of hope that she would be waiting for me, but she wasn’t. Sparrowe was right. At least where I was, I didn’t have to really...deal with it.”

“Wesley,” she said softly, reaching out to him. The moment she touched him, a rattling sob suddenly escaped him. He turned to her, and Illyria found herself enveloping him in her arms, holding him close as he leaned down and rested his forehead against her shoulder. They stood that way for several minutes. “I would...if you wish me to...”

“No,” he told her, raising his head. “Please, don’t. I don’t want you to be her. I don’t want anymore lies. I want you to be you. I need you to be you.”

She unwrapped one of her arms from around him and placed her gloved hand against his face, cupping his cheek against her palm. He let out a shudder and closed his eyes for a moment, a tear rolling down to the tip of her index finger. Suddenly, he realized that he no longer felt leather but instead cool skin against his. Opening his eyes, he saw that while Illyria was still standing before him in her blue form, the sleeve of her body armor had disappeared, leaving her arm bare. A streak of blue ran from her shoulder down over the curve of her elbow to the tips of her fingers.

Wesley raised his hand up to trail along the streak as he stared at her in amazement. “You haven’t...you’ve never touched me without...as yourself...”

Illyria moved her hand away from his cheek to glance at her palm. “It is not proper for a God-King to touch a lesser being, certainly not without protection.”

At this, his hand dropped away. “I see.”

“But you are not a lesser being, Wesley,” she responded quickly. Her hand found his, and she threaded their fingers together. “You are more than my Qwa’Ha Xahns ever were.”

“And this is why you brought me back?”

“Among other reasons.”

She didn’t need to state what those were; he understood – had since the night of the battle when she had gone to find him at Vail’s. If it hadn’t been for the raindrops that started to fall, it might have seemed that she had frozen time around them at they stared at each other, words faltering in that moment. Their lips suddenly sought out each other’s, crashing together in passionate release. Illyria’s arms wound around Wesley, pulling him tightly against her, while he picked her up off the ground. He moved them back towards an air conditioning unit, which he sat her upon, still kissing her fiercely. The rain intensified, plastering his shirt to his chest and her hair to her forehead.

Illyria’s fingers found the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one before pushing it off him. Wesley trailed his hand up over her bare arm to the shoulder of her body armor. He was able to hook one finger underneath but couldn’t get it to come away from her skin.

“Does this...? Can you get rid of this?” he breathed into the kiss.

She nodded, and a moment later, the suit rippled, completely disappearing and leaving her nude. Veins of blue ran riot over her whole body, down her sides and her legs. Wesley looked at them in awe though the downpour caused him to squint a bit. He traced them with his hand, down over her breasts then to her legs to the inside of her thighs and up, where he pressed his palm against her, rubbing lightly.

Illyria gasped at the sensations this sparked at her, feelings coursing through her like electricity. She had never felt anything like this despite all the things she had seen, all the wonders she had experienced. Her hands splayed against his water-slicked chest, massaging over the muscles then sliding down to his waistband. Driven by a need she barely understood but felt deep down inside, she unsnapped his jeans and pushed them down along with his underclothes. Once he had kicked the garments away, he broke the kiss, standing before her.

“So fragile yet strong,” she murmured, her fingers curling around him, drawing a throaty groan of veneration. Hearing that eclipsed every memory of her followers shouting in worship, offering prayers of supplication.

The need was growing stronger. For both of them. They kissed again, and Wesley positioned himself in front of her, tugging her closer and sliding into her. The feel of him within her caused Illyria to moan and tilt her head back. The rain hit her face, running down her neck and over her chest, while he moved in and out, encouraging the sensations now running rampant through every part of her.

She wrapped her legs around him, reflexively trying to pull him deeper. Her body began shaking as though she might fall apart, but before she could react to this feeling, everything exploded, and she let out a cry – his name. Wesley wasn’t far behind, his body letting go with one last stroke. Trembling, he collapsed against her, his arms enveloping her and embracing her tight.

She felt a warm wetness against her neck, different from the cold rain that poured down from the sky. Wesley was crying. And as she held him, she could feel it. He was still dying inside. Though he was physically whole, his soul was still broken and lost.

She knew she had done what she had thought right, but at what cost to Wesley?

*****

“Spike, where are you?” Angel’s voice came through the mayhem that reigned in the streets near the Hyperion.

“Where do you think I am, you bloody plonker?” Metal clanked together nearby, followed by the watery thud of a body hitting the ground. “How’d the fight with that dragon go?”

“Oh...it was a blast.”

“If we get out of here in one piece, I am going to stake you.” Spike slashed through another ugly that wanted to skewer him and skidded to a stop next to the other vampire, who was standing over the slain carcass of the dragon. “Any sign of the Blue Ox or Gunn?”

“No. I don’t think Gunn is still—.”

“Don’t count me out quite yet!”

Angel and Spike spun around to see Gunn hacking his way through a group of nasty bug creatures. He seemed to be moving like his old self with no sign of the injury that should have killed him long before.

“Gunn, how did you...? Shouldn’t you be—?” Spike asked.

“I’m not sure. I thought I was gone, but the next thing I knew, Illyria was next to me and my wound was healed.”

Angel took out a couple of vampires who jumped down from a nearby window. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. She up and disappeared.”

“The God-King tucked tail and ran?” Spike said in disbelief. “There’s no way.”

A shadow suddenly loomed in the rain over the three fighters, causing all of them to turn around and look up. A large dragon – larger than the one Angel had just slain – flew toward them, its roar shaking the street as though an earthquake had hit.

“I think mum’s here to avenge junior’s death, Peaches!”

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Angel replied as they ran for cover.

“You were my first bloke!”

“If we make it out of this, I’m going to stake you!”

They dived behind a dumpster in the alley just when a fire ball soared through the air – but from just beyond them, not from the sky above. The orb hit the dragon in its underbelly, causing it to let out another earth-shaking roar. It bore right and headed toward the source of the first attack, only to be hit by an onslaught of several more.

“Where the hell did those come from?” Gunn asked.

The three men cautiously poked their heads around from behind the dumpster to find Illyria standing in the middle of the alley...next to Wesley. She was keeping the ground-force beasts away while he conjured the attack on the mother dragon.

“I thought Percy had shuffled off this mortal coil!” Spike stated, squinting through the rain. Angel whapped him upside the back of the head. “What?!”

The fire balls weren’t doing much more than annoying the dragon, which zeroed in on Wes and Illyria. As soon as it was close enough, it spit its own fire back at them. Wesley was prepared for this, however, throwing a protective field of magic up around the two of them. The flames reflected off the shield and incinerated the demons that had been attacking them. Once the fire died away, Wesley produced a spear, which he handed to Illyria, and murmured the spell to drop the barrier. Quickly taking aim, she threw the weapon, hitting its heart. The large creature flew over them, faltered and then crashed to the ground at the end of the alleyway, taking out a few more demons at the same time and splashing water and blood everywhere.

“What a waste,” Illyria remarked, watching the dragon shudder once more then stop moving entirely. “Dragons are honorable creatures.”

“But they can be seduced by evil, just like any man,” Wesley responded before turning to see his friends coming out from behind the dumpster – and several more demon hordes behind them. “Angel, look out!”

The vampire ducked just in time to miss being decapitated by a low-flying boomerang. He, Spike and Gunn ran through the puddles spreading through passageway and skidded to a stop next to the other two.

“We may all be dead in five minutes, but it’s good to see you,” Angel told Wesley.

He just nodded, his eyes on the advancing multitude. Everyone prepared for the second onslaught of fighting. However, before the demons reached them, the unmistakable sound of crossbow bolts whistled through the air. Several of the hordes went down, and the rest turned to see where the unexpected attack had come from.

Standing at the other end of the alley were Faith, a black man and a huge group of Slayers.

“Need some help here?” Faith called out.

“Always!” Angel called back.

The newcomers ran into the fray. The Senior Partners’ army hadn’t expected the arrival of the cavalry and soon found themselves outnumbered and overpowered. A moment later, an explosion rocked through the streets, throwing everyone off their feet. When the dust cleared, the demons – bodies and all – were gone.

“What the hell was that?” Gunn asked, picking himself up off the ground.

Angel looked toward the skyline. “I would say that my last little surprise just had the desired effect.”

“Surprise?” Spike repeated.

Angel pointed to the pre-dawn horizon, where all the high-rise buildings could be seen...save one.

“What the...? Where did the bleedin’ office building go?”

“Special interdimensional bomb I found in the firm’s vaults. I’d say the building and its conduit to the Senior Partners are now landing in Quor’Toth or someplace similar right about now.”

“Nice for not leaving a trace.”

“Or taking out anything else in the process.”

Faith and her companion joined them, shaking her head in amazement. “Nice job there, Angel. Maybe you didn’t need us after all.”

Angel turned and smiled at her. “I’m glad you came, but how...?”

“A little green songbird thought you might need some help and called us early this morning, gave us the skinny. Taking on the Senior Partners, man – that takes balls. Me and the Wood-Man here got all the American-based Slayers mobilized, and we jumped the first flights we could.”

“And Buffy?”

“Still in Europe. Kind of hard to get a last-minute flight from Italy.”

Raising his eyebrows, Angel stared at her for a moment. “You didn’t tell her.”

“I didn’t tell her. I know how she and Giles felt about your little venture into the corporate arena.” Faith glanced over to where Wesley was standing with Illyria, taking in his tattered appearance. “Hey, Wes...you look like you’ve seen better days.”

He looked down at himself, his hand pressing over his stomach area. “You could say that.”

Angel walked over, standing in front of both him and Illyria. “What happened? I mean, I’m glad to see you standing here alive and everything, but I thought you were...?”

“I was.”

“Did she...?”

Wesley nodded and locked eyes with Illyria.

*****

The door to Fred’s bedroom flew open, and Illyria ran in. It was dark, the only light that from the city lights shining through the window. Wesley’s still body lay on the bed where she had left him. Kneeling down beside him, she reached out, placing one hand on the stomach wound Vail had inflicted on him and the other on his forehead. Her head tilted back, and her eyes closed as she let out a vibrating cry.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then a soft light began to glow around Wesley’s body, outlining his shape on the dark-colored quilt. Illyria’s song grew louder, and the air rippled around him, taking on an almost water-like quality.

Time appeared to reverse within the waves. The jagged edges of his skin began to seal up until there was no sign of the wound. His shirt became whole again. The blood that had stained both his clothing and his hands disappeared.

Lifting her hands away, she sat back on her heels, watching. As soon as the air returned to its normal state, Wesley began breathing again. His eyes opened, and his hands flew down to his stomach. Not finding the injury he expected to be there, he bolted upright, finding the glittering blue eyes of Illyria in the dimness.

“Illyria, how...?”

“A degree of my powers have returned,” she answered, standing up and assisting him off the bed. “I cannot manipulate time as I once did, but it is enough. We must hurry – the battle is still going on, and we are needed. I will explain more along the way.”

*****

Wet steel glinted in the light from the nearby streetlamp as Illyria easily evaded the blade a large demon swung at her. Bringing up the sword she had appropriated from another opponent, she ran this one through, adding its blood to the other stains that decorated her weapon, trophies of the battle. She would rather have had her scythes as they were better for combat such as this, but she made do with the primitive blade. The weapon didn’t matter in a fight such as this – only victory and making these creatures pay for Wesley’s demise.

Nearby, Gunn had just decapitated another demon with his axe. As the head rolled away, splashing into a puddle of water, he dropped his weapon, stumbling backwards into Illyria, who grabbed hold of him but was unable to keep both of them on their feet. He drew in a rattling breath and closed his eyes. She knew he was finally surrendering to the mortality of his wounds.

As his heart stopped beating under her touch, she felt the grief she had been experiencing multiply. This human had been a friend of both Wesley and the shell—Fred, cared for by both of them. He had been an admirable warrior, fighting until he could no longer stand, and that alone deserved tribute. Raising her head toward the sky while still holding him, Illyria let out a cry.

Suddenly, a light began to outline Gunn, and the air around him rippled. Before her eyes, his wounds began to dwindle, closing up in upon themselves until they vanished completely. His clothes mended, and his heart once more began beating.

Illyria raised her hand from him, staring at it in wonder. She had thought her time-control powers completely gone, yet she had just reversed time and brought Wesley’s friend back. Looking up, she could see that the demons she had slain were still dead, so her influence was only over a small area.

But it was enough.

Gunn opened his eyes, coughing while he sat up, a bit confused as to what had just happened. When he turned around to ask Illyria, however, she was already on her feet, running down the alley, her focus no longer on the battle. She had to get back to him before it was too late.

*****

Kicking open the door, Illyria entered Fred’s bedroom, carrying Wesley’s body in her arms. She hadn’t wanted to leave him on the floor of that sorcerer’s house, so she had brought him here, to the place where they had spent most of their time together away from the offices of the Wolf, Ram and Hart, to the place she knew best in this human-infested world.

He was beginning to stiffen up, turn cold. Gently, she placed him on the bed, taking his hands and folding them over his chest in the customary death pose. Tears slid down her cheeks, falling onto the quilt, and she felt as though her chest might come apart from the aching she felt inside.

“I do not understand this,” she told the still form, her hands moving up over his chest to his face. “I do not understand this...pain I am feeling. I want to strike out and destroy things because you have been taken from me. I want revenge on those who are responsible for this happening to you.”

Her fingers traced over his lips, which were beginning to turn as blue as hers.

“Why am I feeling this way? Why? By all rights, you should have worshipped me. You should have bowed to me the moment I rose again, done my bidding without question. But you didn’t; instead, you showed me insolence and grief...and compassion and friendship. And now I find that I am the one who worships you...who loves you.” She pushed herself away from the bed, staring down at him. “I find I would do anything for you, Wesley. I would die for you, I realize. And now it seems I am going to.”

Turning away, she left the apartment to head to the alley where she was to meet the others in preparation for the final confrontation with the Senior Partners. She was not certain what the future held – or if she would even have a future after that night.

*****

Epilogue

The temple her followers had built for her millennia ago had been huge and imposing, meant to impress her opponents with her power, to show them that she was the God-King and Shaper of Things, the one who ruled them all. This temple, however, was everything that temple had never been – warm and full of light. This place had been created from love, not a fearful love but a true, abiding human love.

Those followers who had built her first temple were long gone from the earth – she no longer had the adoration of millions. Instead, she had only the worship and devotion of two people...two humans.

And that, she found, was more important to her.

*****

The Thameslink train finally arrived, and the crowd waiting on the platform rushed forward to get out of the rain. Wesley and Fred boarded the coach nearest where they had been standing to find that all the spaces were taken. A teenage boy noticed them, however, and immediately stood up, indicating that Fred should take his seat. With a grateful nod of thanks, she sank down, letting out a sigh of relief and stretching her legs out a bit.

Wesley stood over her in the aisle as the train pulled away from the station. Reaching down, he rested a hand on her abdomen. “Are you all right?”

Placing her hands over his, she smiled up at her husband. “Illyria and I are fine.”

The elderly woman sitting in the seat next to Fred looked over at them. “Is that what you’re naming your baby? Illyria?”

“Yes,” Fred answered with a nod.

“That’s quite a pretty name. Unique. May I ask where you got it?”

She and Wesley exchanged a look. “From someone we know.”

*****

“Winifred, without you, Wesley’s soul is dying, and I can not – and should never – take your place, no matter how much I...love him. I realize I probably have no right to ask this of you, but I now have only two options open to me. Either I return to the Deeper Well, or I allow myself to truly die and be reborn. Due to what has happened, I am no longer Demon True. I am now more human, thanks to you and Wesley. Because of this, I wish to be reborn as a human, to truly experience the journey for myself instead of through stolen memories. And I wish for my guides in this to be you and Wesley, as Wesley was my guide in this life.

“I wish to become the daughter I know you and Wesley will create upon your return. If you will agree to my request.”

© July 2004

Return to Fanfic