Never Alone
by Lara

SUMMARY: After a tragic loss, Fred gets an otherworldly visit...and a gift.

RATING: FRM [SS] [A] [AU]

PAIRING: Fred/Wesley

SPOILERS: Through “Sleep Tight” in Season Three.

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 WNW and Blue Moon Rising. If anyone else wants to archive it, please let me know.

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

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is an AU offshoot that came to mind while I was sitting there minding my own business. I took a bit of liberty with when “Sleep Tight” might have actually taken place date-wise. Thanks as always to Minion and Lanie for beta reading! You guys are the best.

The only sound Fred Burkle could hear was the rhythmic pitter-patter on her umbrella as she stood there, the saturated ground squishing under her feet. The sky was that pale grey color that was enough to make any person feel depressed and think the sun might never be seen again. She couldn’t help but think of how clichéd – and appropriate – it seemed at that moment.

Leaning down, she ran her hand over the smooth stone made slick from the falling rain, biting back tears that wanted to mix with the water already pooling and dripping off into the grass. She then moved lower to trace the engraved letters on the stone, her fingers easily finding the curving contours as she had done this so many times before.

WESLEY WYNDAM-PRYCE
April 15, 1970 – April 1, 2002

She was the only one who ever came out here. The only one who had even made sure that he had received a proper burial after the police had found him, just yards away from his own apartment building. None of the others had even cared. Angel had treated the death with a sort of contempt that would have made an outsider think they had been lifelong enemies and not best friends. Cordelia had brushed it off, focusing more on Angel’s obsession with finding his missing son. And Charles...

At the thought of him, Fred shook her head, not wanting to think of their latest argument over this. Not when she was here. This was his time.

“I don’t know what Angel is gonna do,” she told him. At least, she always felt like she was talking to him. There always seemed to be something, a familiar presence there whenever she visited, one that wasn’t anywhere else. Maybe that was why she came out here so often. “Connor...Stephen...he’s out of control. And things aren’t looking to get any better.”

She sighed, casting her eyes up, the sky partially obscured by the purple canvas of her umbrella. Dark droplets of water beaded on the outside, like stars on a weirdly-colored sky, making her think of the ones Wesley had shown her one night before Angel had returned from his sojourn to Sri Lanka, back when she was just Crazy Little Fred trying to find her way back in the world and Wesley had been the only one to ever pay her any attention. He had been the only one who treated her like a person, not an intrusion or even a porcelain doll.

“I know why you did what you did, Wes.” The words were tight in her chest from her attempts not to break down sobbing. She had never said anything about this before. Had never made mention of what Wesley had done that had led – irrevocably – to this, to where they were now. “I understand what happened. I just wish you could have trusted me, could have told me. I would have tried to help you. We would have found a way. Now you’re dead, and I’m...”

Alone.

Unspoken, the word hung in the muggy air as though she could almost reach out and touch it. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was the truth. She was alone. Had been ever since the night that bitch had murdered him, no one else even trying to understand or care about what had caused Wesley to do what he had done.

And Justine had laughed – had actually laughed and boasted about how she had slit Wesley’s throat. She hadn’t been laughing, though, when Charles had been forced to drag Fred away after she had attacked her, rage and grief pulsing through her. Once outside, she had pushed him away and ran, not knowing where she was going, just knowing she had to find Wesley before it was too late.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have found you. I should have searched harder.”

The memory of Justine laughing reminded her how she had thought it the cruelest joke in the world that he had died that day of all days. At the time, she had even thought the woman who had called them – to ask someone to come down and...identify him – had been a practical joker. Up until she had walked into the morgue, her heart pounding and her mind screaming at her that if this were a joke, it was no longer funny.

She closed her eyes as she finally lost the battle against the tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed. And for a moment – a brief moment – she thought she could feel something on her back, like a gentle touch.

You’re never alone.

She wasn’t sure where the words came from. She thought someone had said them, in an accent that she had been praying to hear again for so long, but there was no one nearby. Perhaps she had imagined them.

Thunder suddenly cracked through the air like a shot, causing her to jump and her foot to skid out from under her on the slick grass. However, just before she fell, she suddenly regained her balance. Uprighting herself, she glanced around. It had felt like someone had caught her, kept her from hitting the ground. She couldn’t explain why. It just had.

Great, Winifred...as if you weren’t crazy enough before.

Shaking her head, she reached up and wiped her tears away. The sky was starting to get darker and the rain heavier, so she kissed her fingertips and touched the top of the tombstone before heading for the cemetery entrance. As she hurried away, she glanced back and then stopped, turning to face the section where his grave was located, her eyes blinking in quick succession.

She could have sworn she had seen Wesley standing there.

*****

“Are you crazy, Fred? It’s pouring out there! Where the hell were you all this time? You should have called me rather than walk home in that.”

Fred decided to ignore Charles' tirade as she shook her umbrella off just inside the main door of the Hyperion. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t at that moment. She was already on edge with what had happened at the cemetery, and she didn’t need him getting on her case about the time she spent there.

He decided to anyway.

“Fred...” His voice was slow and deliberate, the way he always got when they were about to have an argument. She didn’t need to look up to know exactly the expression he would have. The patented Charles Gunn face of disapproval.

“What?” she finally asked. They would have to do this sometime tonight, she knew. Might as well get it over with.

“Did you go...there again?”

Knowing that avoiding the question was only going to belabor the point, she nodded. Besides, he wasn’t her keeper. Where she went and how she spent her time was her own business.

“Fred—.”

“Someone has to go!” she said, cutting to heart of the argument. “No one else cares. Everyone wants to forget him. Well, I won’t!”

“He doesn’t deserve to have anyone remember him, not after what he did.”

Suddenly chilled at the tone of his words, at the fact that he would actually say that, she wrapped her arms around her waist to hug herself. “How could you—? You read his journal. You saw what he translated.”

“And it was bogus, Fred!”

“So what? He thought it was real! And until Sijahn told Angel the truth, so did we!”

“He should have come to us then...he should have trusted us.”

Fred knew he was right. After all, she had just told Wes that very same thing not more than an hour ago. “Yes, he should’ve. But that’s not the point now. He made a mistake and paid for it with his life. Why do you have to continue punishing him for it?”

Charles didn’t say anything for a few moments, and she turned away to walk toward the back office where stacks of folders sat neglected. No one had bothered with them since the night Wesley had taken Connor and left. Feeling a need to do something, she picked up one the piles, bringing them out to the filing cabinet behind the reception desk.

“You know...” he finally said, his voice soft, the tone hard, “I think you care more about a dead man than you do me.”

The folders fell out of her hands, scattering papers onto the floor. Her brown eyes glittering in the diffused light of the lobby, her hands now gripping the edges of the counter, she stared at him.

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“I—I...” She couldn’t answer him. She didn’t know what to say to him. How could she? Instead, she dropped her head and stared down at the ground.

Because in a way, she knew he was right.

She wasn’t sure when it had happened. She wasn’t even sure how. All she knew was something had changed the night Wesley had died. It was as if she had lost a part of herself she hadn’t realized was there until it was gone. And now that she realized that...it was too late.

Too goddamn late. Why had it taken her so long to figure it out? Why...? Oh God, Wesley...

“I’m sorry, Charles...” It was all she could make herself say as her hands started to turn white from the strain of her grasp on the desk.

He didn’t say anything more. In fact, the only sound he made was the squeak of his high-topped boots and then the slam of the main door. She didn’t even look up though the bang reverberated through her. It had finality to it. An ending she had known had been coming for a while now.

Fred’s hands were shaking now. Forcing herself to let go of the desk and leaving the folders strewn everywhere behind the reception desk, she crossed the lobby, over the pentagram Angel had managed to permanently etch in the tile floor with his dark magic attempts to find his son, and dropped onto one of the couches. She curled up on herself, her legs folded underneath. Resting her head on the sofa arm, she closed her eyes.

Her mind started replaying the last year in her mind. Why hadn’t she realized? Why hadn’t she done things differently? Why hadn’t she listened to her heart?

She didn’t care that Charles had left. She knew she should, but the truth simply was that she didn’t. She didn’t feel abandoned by Charles. Not the way she felt abandoned by him.

“Why did you leave me alone, Wes?” she asked plaintively, her voice cracked.

Suddenly, as she had in the cemetery, she felt something like a gentle touch to the back of her neck. For a moment, she thought she was imagining things, but the feeling didn’t go away. The pressure on her back instead grew until there was a soft tickle. Someone was stroking long fingers up and down her spine. With a gasp, she opened her eyes and raised her head to find herself staring into a pair of haunted blue eyes she thought she would never see again.

“Wesley?” Her voice caught in her throat, and tears came to her eyes. How could he...? Where did he...? “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

His fingers trailed up across her shoulder and up to cup her face in his palm. Her chin trembling at the sudden rush of emotions washing over her at the feel of his touch, she leaned her cheek into his hand. It was so warm and soft. So real.

“You’re not dreaming,” he told her. “I’m here, Fred.”

With a sudden sob, she threw herself into his arms, which came up to wrap around her, holding her tight. Oh, God, she thought as she buried her face against his neck. She could smell his aftershave, the shampoo he had used every morning.

“How...?”

“I’m not completely sure. The Powers That Be said you needed me, so I’m here.” Crooking a finger under her chin, he lifted her face up so he could look into her eyes, his thumb gently wiping away stray tears.

“But I can see you. Cordelia can’t see Dennis. Why can I see you?”

“My Fred...always asking questions, wanting to know why.”

Her eyes widened at his words as she raised a shaking hand up to rest against his jaw. “Your...Fred?”

Nodding, he moved his thumb to trace her bottom lip. “Always my Fred.” His accented voice was as tender as his caress. “Always my love.”

He had said the words. Had said what she had come to suspect when she had cleared his apartment out, found some of his notebooks with doodles in the margin. It had seemed so unlike him, usually so focused and precise in his work. But she had never dared let herself think they could mean...

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“I couldn’t...” he told her. “I’m sorry, Fred. I should have, but then it was too late.”

She could tell he meant so many things by that. “I’m sorry, too. I wish—.”

“Don’t be.”

Leaning down, he brushed his lips against hers before deepening the kiss, his hand coming up to wind in her unbound long hair. She pressed against him and let her eyes close as she lost herself in his embrace. For the first time in a long while, she felt as though things were right again.

When they finally parted, she looked up at him. “Don’t leave me alone again. Please.”

Without a word, he picked her up, carrying her up the stairs to her room on the second floor. Kicking the door closed behind him, he took her over to the bed. She stared up at him while he lay her down on the comforter and leaned down to kiss her again. His hand trailed over her temples and down her neck until it reached the top buttons of her summer dress. She shivered under his caress as he slowly parted the fabric, revealing she had worn no bra. His fingers then rubbed across the soft skin, causing her to moan softly into the kiss.

God, why hadn’t she seen it when he had been alive? Why did she have to figure it out now? She didn’t want this to be a dream though he told her it wasn’t. She didn’t want to wake in the morning and find herself alone again.

He cupped her breast, his thumb flicking across the nipple to send electricity shooting down her spine. She arched into his touch, feeling the longing he stirred in her become more acute. After he teased her a few moments, he smoothed his hand over her flat stomach, pushing her dress down over her hips. Sitting up, she reached for his shirt, and both of them quickly disrobed the other until the clothes were in a pile next to the bed.

He moved over her, claiming her lips again as he caressed her before breaking the kiss and leaning down to lavish attention on her breasts with his lips and tongue. Fred wound her hands around his neck, throwing her head back, needing more. God, she needed more. It had been so long since she had done anything like this. As though he could read her thoughts, he trailed his fingers down to part her legs and rub her gently.

“Oh, God...Wesley...please...”

She couldn’t make her voice work properly, couldn’t tell him she wanted him. She wanted him – needed him – so badly that she could feel it in ever part of her being. Wanted to pull him within herself and never let him go again.

Letting go of her breast, he raised his eyes to hers and seemed to understand. He rolled to settle between her legs, entering her and slowly moving within her, wanting to make this moment last as long as possible.

Too soon it seemed, though, they were crying out each other’s names.

*****

They made love several more times until she finally fell asleep in his arms, exhausted and content. As he held her tightly to him, their bodies molding to each other, he watched her through the whole night and wished they could have more time together. Soon, however, he could see the first rays of light through the drawn curtains of her window. It was time.

He closed his eyes for a moment. The memories of what they had shared would stay with him once he had gone back. But he had left her with far more than she realized. After kissing her gently so as not to wake her, he traced the lines of her sleeping face. God, she was so beautiful.

“I won’t leave you alone,” he whispered. “Remember I’ll always love you.”

*****

Still half-asleep, Fred reached for the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. She opened her eyes and pushed herself up slightly. He was gone. A lump formed in her throat, a muted cry shuddering in her chest.

He had left her alone.

But lying on the pillow was a ring, its bright-green emerald glistening in the morning light. Picking it up, she stared at it for a moment. Then she slipped it on her left ring finger and rested her hand over her heart.

*****

Six Years Later

“Mommy?”

“Yes, April?”

“Who’s this?”

Pushing aside her notes, Fred looked down over her reading glasses to see her five-year-old daughter holding up a picture frame. A familiar lump formed in her throat when she saw which one she had picked up from the shelf behind her office desk. She reached down and hauled April up to sit in her lap before taking the picture and holding it front of both of them.

“He’s your father,” she told her.

April seemed to consider this for a moment. “Is he coming back?”

Taking a slow deep breath, Fred bit back the tears that still threatened to spill every time she thought about that, about what had happened to him. “No, Sweetie. He’s not. But he’s watching over us. That’s what he was, you know. A Watcher. You know what a Watcher is.”

“What did he watch?”

“Oh, everything. People, animals, events, books—.”

“How can you watch a book?”

“You’d be surprised.” Fred couldn’t help but laugh. While April took after both of them with her curiosity about everything, she definitely took after her with all her questions. She now finally understood how her mother must have felt. “Maybe I’ll show you when you’re older.”

“Yay!”

With that, April gave her mother a kiss on her cheek and slid down off her lap, running back over to the set of building blocks Fred had brought with them to entertain her while she worked. Before long, a complex structure started taking shape under her short fingers. Fred watched her as she would place one block, consider what she had just done and then replace it with another one.

She could see so much of him in her little girl. It wasn’t just the blue eyes or the shade of brown hair that currently hung halfway down April’s back in wild curls. It was the way she pursed her lips together while thinking about something or fell asleep with a book, something she had been doing since learning to read the previous year. When she did that, Fred could see that April was definitely her father’s daughter.

Sometimes, Fred’s heart ached in those moments. It was those times she realized what exactly she had lost, what she had missed out on because she had been blind to her own feelings, following the safe and easy path after all the pain she had dealt with before instead of the course she really should have taken.

Upon learning she was expecting a baby, she had again tried to choose the safe option. She hadn’t faced the others like she should have but had left Los Angeles, leaving just a vague goodbye note, and had returned home to San Antonio. Her parents had welcomed her back, hadn’t asked questions, knowing she would talk when she was ready. They had simply made her life as uncomplicated as possible while her pregnancy progressed.

Then Charles had found her, six months along and showing. He had demanded to know who the father was, and in that moment, she had realized that attempts at safe, easy routes never worked. So she had told him the truth.

And he had called her crazy – so obsessed with a dead man that she had gotten herself knocked up and created a fantasy about him being the father – before storming out. She hadn’t seen him since.

“Hey,” a voice came from the door to her office.

“Auntie Will!” April cried happily, jumping up from the floor and running over to the red-headed woman standing there as Fred turned her head.

Willow picked up the little girl and gave her a hug. “Hi there, Chipmunk. I heard you came in with your mommy today.” She rested April on her hip and smiled over at Fred. “How’s the translation coming?”

“All right.” She tossed her glasses on the notebook she had been jotting in and shook her head. “But I think April will probably be able to do this before I ever figure out all the subjunctives and tense shifts. Sometimes, I wish—.”

“Yeah,” the other woman said before she could finish. “We all do, Fred.” She glanced down at April. “You know, Kennedy found this cool little magic gizmo while we were out shopping this morning. You want to see it?”

April bounced vigorously with excitement, and once Fred had nodded her head in agreement, Willow disappeared with her down the hall.

Sometime after April’s birth five years before, Rupert Giles had contacted Fred out of the blue. He had told her that he had been in touch with Wesley on occasion until his death and that the younger Watcher had often spoken highly of her and her abilities. Would she willing to help him and Willow restart the Watchers’ Council?

At first, she had wanted to say no. But then, she had thought about all that Wesley had done for her, what had he had given her, and she had agreed. She knew it was what he would have wanted.

She would continue his work as she had his bloodline.

Smiling softly, she rubbed her finger over the emerald ring she hadn’t taken off in six years. A happy shriek came from the hallway, causing her to look up in time to see April run past the office door, chasing after some little gold flying doodad. With a laugh, she then glanced at the picture now sitting on her desk – it was the one Cordy had taken of Wesley and Fred that night at his apartment when he had invited the whole gang over for dinner. The last night they had all truly been together as friends before everything had torn them apart.

“You didn’t leave me alone,” she whispered, reaching out to trace the lines of his image. “I love you, Wesley.”

© July 2003

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