Real
by Lara

SUMMARY: What is reality? Wes is about to find out.

RATING: FRT [SR] [V] [L] [A] [AU]

SPOILERS: The Buffy episode “Normal Again” and Angel up to the Season Three episode “Double or Nothing.”

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. Flames, however, will be used to fuel the fire in Wesley’s next spell casting session.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This one is my husband’s fault. After we watched the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode “Normal Again,” we were discussing what the coda – if the mental institution was the actual reality – meant to Angel. To which my husband said something that spawned the plot bunny responsible for this fic. Some of the dialogue in this story was taken directly from the episodes, including “Forgiving,” “Double or Nothing,” “Belonging” and “Waiting in the Wings.” Thanks to Candace for beta reading!

DEDICTION: This is for Rach, who agreed when I said I needed to start working on this again when I mentioned it at the David Boreanaz Event in Brighton.

When the knife slid across his throat and Connor was ripped from his arms, it took Wesley a couple of moments to realize what had just happened to him. His eyes widening in disbelief, he grabbed his neck, feeling the wetness seeping through his fingers. His blood. Things suddenly seemed to go into slow motion as he dropped to his knees while Justine ran with the baby to his jeep and tore out of the car park.

What had he done?

The world began to spin around him as the sudden blood loss sent his body into shock. He tried to crawl forward, tried to follow the jeep that was now long gone with Angel’s son. But his body betrayed him, and he fell into the grass, letting out a gurgling gasp.

This is how it ends, he thought before blacking out.

*****

“Move out of the way! Keep the others back, Parker! Wesley, can you hear me? Wesley? I need a gurney STAT! Wesley?”

*****

“We have a white male in his early thirties, throat slit. Jugular veins intact, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

The voice rattling off his vitals pierced Wes’ consciousness as he clawed his way through the white fog that seemed to envelop him. Slowly, he managed to open his eyes to the blurry sight of doctors working feverishly over him. He instinctively tried to draw a breath, only to have his body rebel as pain wracked him and air refused to fill his lungs.

“He can’t breath! Intubate him!”

Unable to comprehend what was happening, Wesley began struggling against the hands that were attempting to help him. His own were grabbed by several orderlies and forced down onto the gurney. A moment later, things started spinning once again, and slowly, the world became darker. The voices began fading until soon there was nothing.

*****

He was in a warm, inviting room – the walls were a bright yellow, and a handmade quilt in purples, blues and greens covered the bed. Sunlight filtered in through a window framed by multi-colored curtains. A picture sat on the table next to the bed. It all seemed so familiar, and yet... not. Two men stood across the room, talking to each other. They seemed familiar too.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure. He went catatonic about six hours ago. Hasn’t said anything. He seemed to be having problems breathing, but that appears to have passed.”

“Where are the EKG readings?”

“Here.”

“Has someone called her?”

“She’s on her way.”

“I want you to let me know as soon as he wakes up.”

*****

The images of that room gave way to a sterile white room, the sunshine to dimmed lighting. Not sure how much time had passed, he tried to turn his head, and pain shot through his throat. He let out a cry – or at least he tried – but all that came out was a strangled gurgle. A familiar voice called out for a doctor. Fred? Soon, he became aware of a man in a white coat standing over her, telling him that he had been badly hurt but that everything would be okay.

Behind him, looking on, stood Fred. And Gunn with his arm around her.

He heard something about blood loss and needing to take it easy. However, it was all too much. He knew that if Fred and Gunn were here, Angel wouldn’t be far behind. The enormity of what he had done hit him in that moment. He had lost his son. He had failed his friend.

Maybe it would have been better if he had died in the park.

*****

“He’s been drifting in and out for the last hour or so. He’s opened his eyes a few times.”

“Do you think that he’s...that maybe he’s...finally...?”

“I don’t want to give you false hope, buttercup. You know we haven’t had as much luck with him as we hoped when you first transferred him here. But there have been some changes in the EKG readings. It...it might indicate a change. It’s too early to tell.”

Someone’s hand took his as a voice spoke his name as though calling him back. But from where? “Wesley...Wesley, are you there? Come on... please, I know you are. Wesley...”

*****

Slowly, he opened his eyes, almost expecting Fred or Lorne to be standing there and instead finding Angel a few feet away from the bed. Wesley’s hand involuntarily clenched, as if around an invisible person’s hand. He knew this was it.

“Hey, Wes...” Angel stepped forward to the edge of the bed. Wes didn’t know what the vampire was thinking, and he couldn’t ask, so he just lay there, eyes on the other man’s face. “I just...I want you to know I understand why you did it. I know about the prophecies, and I know how hard it must have been for you to...do what you did.”

Wesley couldn’t believe it. He surely couldn’t be forgiving him this easily. He had lost his son. As he continued staring up at Angel, he looked for any glint of emotion in his friend’s brown eyes. His hand stayed curled.

“You thought I was going to turn evil and kill my son. I didn’t turn into Angelus. It’s important to me that you know that. This isn’t Angelus talking to you; it’s me, Angel. You know that, right?”

It certainly appeared so. Wesley blinked in response – the only one he could give.

“Good.” Reaching down, Angelus picked up a pillow that was lying on the chair next to the bed. “That’s good.”

When Angel moved toward him, for a moment, it seemed as though everything might be all right. That maybe he had actually forgiven Wesley for what had happened.

Until everything went black, and the horrible, sinking sensation of not being able to breath pressed down on Wesley’s chest. He was being smothered. He began struggling, trying to knock the pillow away. Trying to draw in breath. Trying to...

“Angel!” a voice cried. Fred.

Monitors were beeping wildly. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t...

*****

“Stop it! Oh, God, what’s going on! Someone! Someone help us! Please!”

“He can’t breath again! Parker, get me the oxygen mask!”

*****

“Stop it!” Fred’s voice continued to cry in the background, the loudest voice in the din of chaos. “Someone stop him!”

“You took my son! You took my son! I’ll never forgive you. Never! I’ll kill you! You're a dead man, you hear me?! Dead!”

He gasped for breath...

*****

“Wesley! Wesley! It’s okay. You’re safe! Nothing’s happening to you. You’re at Saint Patricia’s.”

The smothering feeling disappeared, and as Wes settled down, the gasps dying away, he suddenly became aware of the fact that his nose and mouth were actually covered with a breathing mask and the pressure on his chest was several pairs of hands. A doctor – though not the same one as before. And...

Fred. But she didn’t look the same. Her face was far more drawn and pale than it had been mere moments before. Her eyes were more haunted, as though she had been through far more horrors than she had already dealt with in her life. And her hair – it was a bit longer than it was supposed to be...and shot through with strands of white.

What the hell? What had happened to her? How long had he been out?

“It’s okay, Wesley. It’s okay,” she murmured softly as his eyes stayed locked with hers. Her hand moved from his chest to his temple in a gentle caress, a gesture that in his confused state of mind seemed familiar and new all at once. “I’m here. You’re safe. Please come back to me.”

Fred, what’s happening?

She looked over at the doctor, who nodded as he removed the breathing mask from Wes’ face. “Keep talking to him, pumpkin. The more he hears you and not the fantasies, the better.”

“Do you understand me, Wesley?” She tilted her head back towards him as her fingers began stroking through his hair. “Say something. Please tell me you understand, that you know who I am. Please tell me that you’re back. I need you back.”

I can’t, he thought. Didn’t she realize that? He opened his mouth and shook his head to demonstrate.

“You can talk. Say something. Please.”

He shook his head again, this time reaching up to pat his neck. But instead of finding the expected swath of bandages, his hand contacted bare skin. There should have at least been stitches or something, but there was nothing. Nothing at all to indicate that his throat had been slashed, that not that long ago he had been fighting for his life.

“Fr—fred?” he finally managed to say, confusion and uncertainty choking his voice.

Her eyes widened at the sound of her name, changing the appearance of her entire face within seconds, making her look far more like the Fred he knew. “Wesley? Oh God, Wesley!”

She leaned down to throw her arms around him, burying her head against his shoulder and crying. He could feel her tears, hot and damp on his neck, and the confusion rolled through him again. Slowly, he raised his arms up to wrap around her, running his hand over her hair, feeling as though he had done this thousands of time, but at the same time...

“Wh—won’t Gunn...? Does h—he...?”

Fred raised her head, looking at him with confusion in her own eyes. “Gunn? You mean...?” She glanced over at the doctor.

“Your boyfriend,” Wesley said, his eyes flicking back and forth between her and the doctor.

Shaking her head, Fred turned back and reached out to touch his face, her thumb stroking his jawline. “I don’t know anybody named Gunn,” she told him. “Wesley, don’t you remember? I’m your wife. We’ve been married for almost six years now.”

*****

Staring at the ceiling, watching the slowly shifting patterns of shadow caused by the sun, Wesley tried to figure out what was going on, the analytical part of his brain kicking into gear. Fred still sat in the chair next to the bed, watching him intently, her legs pulled up underneath herself. The doctor had decided to give them some time alone and had left.

Wife. Fred was his wife? For almost six years? But he had only known her for about a year now. Yes, he loved her. God knew he loved her so desperately sometimes it scared him, but this was...

“What year is this?” he finally asked.

“Two-thousand-two.”

The same year? But how could that be? Fred looked older, and he felt like he had been asleep for so long. And there was the little fact of their apparently long-term marriage.

“You still think you’re part of that group, don’t you?” she asked, her voice soft. “Angel Investigations. The one from your delusions. You don’t remember anything about us...about what happened.”

Wesley turned his head to look at her. “Delusions?”

Tears came to her eyes again as she nodded. “I thought maybe if I moved you here...away from that girl...let Kevin try his treatments on you, you would finally come out of it...but you’re still there. You still think that’s your world.”

Wesley’s heart ached to see her in such obvious pain, and he wanted to reassure her, make it better, but he didn’t understand. His world? Weren’t they both part of it? Had he been attacked by some demon, made to think that he was hallucinating something?

“Angel...? Angel Investigations isn’t real?” he asked, deciding to play along for the moment.

She shook her head. “No.”

“But we worked there. Our friends were there. You lived in the Hyperion Hotel where our offices were located.”

“The Hyperion is a rundown rattrap that hasn’t been used by anyone other than vagrants and drug pushers for fifty years. We lived in an apartment near the UCLA campus before...” She stopped and dropped her head, an obvious shudder wracking her slim frame.

“Before what, Fred?” he wanted to know.

“Before...you...he...” Suddenly, she jumped out of the chair, running for the door. “I’m sorry...I—I’m sorry...”

“Fred, no! Wait!”

He instinctively tried to follow her, only to become tangled in the bed sheets. By the time he had managed to extract himself and get to the room door, she was gone. There was no sign of her in the hall. Standing there, he watched as a patient walked by, pointing at different spots in air in an almost methodical manner while murmuring to himself. After stopping long enough to wave at Wesley, who returned the salutation in confusion, the other man went back to what he was doing. A moment later, a scream came from down the hall, causing him to jump.

“You made me lose count!” the man yelled back up the corridor and then resumed his random air pointing while he continued on his way. “One...two...three...”

“Don’t mind him,” a voice said from next to him. Wesley turned in surprise. “We call him Mister Pointy.”

“Lorne?” No...this man was human – the doctor who had been in the room earlier when he woke up. But he had the same short and spiky blondish-brown hair, the same square jawline, even the same smile.

“Doctor Kevin Lorneson, actually. Nice to finally meet you, so to speak,” he said.

“Am I...? This is a—?”

“Saint Patricia’s Mental Hospital in San Antonio, Texas. But you can call it the Funny Farm, the Loony Bin, the Insane Asylum, the Nut House. Everyone else does.” Lorneson motioned into the room. “Why don’t we go in and talk.”

“But Fred...she ran out. I don’t want to—.”

“It’s okay. She’s with Doctor St. John.” The doctor took his arm and gently steered him into the room, shutting the door behind him. Wesley pulled away and started wondering around the room. “I know this all must be a bit disorienting.”

“Is understatement your specialty, Doctor?” he asked, emphasizing Lorneson’s title as he ran his hand along the wall.

“Okay...a lot disorienting. But we’re here to help you, Wesley. That’s all your wife wants.”

Turning away from the wall, he fixed his gaze on the other man. “Help me? One minute I’m in a hospital in Los Angeles after getting my throat slashed, and the next I’m here in a mental hospital in Texas and Fred is my wife and you look like the human version of my demon friend, and you want to help me? You can tell me what the hell is going on.”

“What do you think is going on? Listen to yourself. Listen to what you just said and think about it. Me a demon? Doesn’t that sound just a little crazy to you?”

Realizing that Lorneson had a point, he leaned against the wall and ran his hand through his hair. It felt shaggy, unkempt. Raising his head, he looked at the mirror across the room, seeing himself for the first time. What he saw was a rumpled version of himself – the quintessential young older man.

“Where are my glasses?” he asked.

“You’ve never needed them, Wes.”

He dropped his head, staring at the worn blue carpet. “What happened to me?”

“Well...simplest version?” Lorneson hitched himself onto the edge of Wes’ hospital bed, clasping his hands together around one knee. “Something very...bad happened to you and Fred a few years ago. Several months after that, you...tried to commit suicide.”

“Sui—suicide?” Wesley immediately pulled his arms away from the wall to look at his wrists. There weren’t any scars there to indicate he had tried to kill himself that way.

Lorneson shook his head. “No...you downed half a bottle of pills. During your physical recovery, you suffered a psychotic breakdown and created an alternate reality as a vampire hunter in your mind to deal with everything that happened. Your doctors had you admitted to a mental hospital outside L.A. While you were there, you ended up interacting with another patient – a teenage girl – and you absorbed some of her delusions into your own. When this made you worse, Fred had you transferred here to my care. I’ve known Fred since we were kids. You probably don’t even remember that I was at your wedding.”

Shaking his head, Wesley looked at him wearily. “That was the simple version?”

“In this case...yes.”

“But I know those things happened. I didn’t dream them! They were real!” he insisted.

“To you, they were. To us, they were nothing more than ravings. Although I don’t think Doctor St. John took to being cast as a demon in your...fantasies as well as I did. At least I was a good guy.”

Feeling overwhelmed, Wes slid down the wall into a sitting position. He stared at the doctor, seeing his friend – a friend he had betrayed – so clearly. He could remember how it all felt. The lump in his throat after he had incapacitated Lorne. The fear about whether he was doing the right thing but knowing he had gone too far to turn back. The pain...

“What happened to me? Why did I try to commit suicide? Why did I breakdown? I can’t remember.”

“I think that’s something Fred should talk to you about. I wasn’t there when it all originally happened, but I do know that it got worse as time went on. I’m not exactly sure why you came out now other than the obvious violence of the delusion might have finally caused some part of your mind to rebel and make a grab for reality.”

“I don’t know...” Wes said, burying his head in his hands.

He suddenly wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to be either place.

*****

He opened his eyes to find himself back in the white hospital room, the light again dim. When he moved his head, his entire body seemed to scream with the pain, starting in his neck and shooting in every direction at once. If he turned slowly, it wasn’t as bad. Blinking his eyes, he stared at the wall though everything was blurry again.

It had been a dream. It must have been.

Suddenly, there was a soft knock at the door. He didn’t look. It was probably just another nurse, wanting to make sure he was all right.

“Hi, Wesley,” Fred’s voice came from the door.

Hearing her made him turn his head – slowly. She was standing there, looking as she always did though obviously a bit tired. She held a white box in her arms, almost using it like a shield.

“How are you feeling?” When Wes reached up to his throat and shook his head just slightly to indicate he couldn’t talk, Fred looked somewhat stricken. “Oh...but it’s not permanent, right?” As he indicated that it shouldn’t be, she walked closer and hefted the box slightly. “I brought some of your stuff from the office. Things there are...well, things...”

She hesitated for a moment before setting the box down, and Wesley could tell there was something she wanted to say but didn’t know how. He looked at her, wondering, wanting to ask, unable to.

Finally, she continued, “Gunn and I found your notes about...the baby. The Prophecy. You took him away ‘cause you thought Angel was gonna kill him. You were trying to protect him. Both of them. I just wanted you to know I understand that. I also wanted to say...what Angel tried to do to you was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Wesley looked at her gratefully. She was always the only one who understood, no matter what. And it made what she said next hurt all the more.

“But he was right to blame you, Wesley. You should’ve come to us. You should’ve trusted us instead of going to Holtz behind our back. You were supposed to be our friend, and you didn’t even...” She stopped, apparently unable to bring herself to finish her thought. “If Angel sees you again, he’ll kill you, Wesley. This time for real. Don’t come back to the hotel. Ever.”

Wes felt his throat tighten, the overwhelming pain in his body suddenly insignificant. He wanted to cry out, to make her understand, make Angel understand. He had never meant to hurt any of them. He had been trying to save them.

Fred stood there for a moment then turned away, walking toward the door as though she couldn’t bear to stay there any longer. When she reached the door, though, she paused, and Wesley felt his heart leap into his throat. “The prophecy was fake. Angel was never gonna hurt Connor. It was all for nothing.”

With that, she left, leaving Wesley shattered. Fake? No...it couldn’t have been. He had seen it with his own eyes. Had seen the signs. It couldn’t have been. It wasn’t a mistake...

No, Fred, he thought. Please don’t leave...you don’t understand. It couldn’t have been fake. I’m sorry...I didn’t know. Don’t leave...please, come back. I didn’t mean to...I’m sorry...I’m sorry. Don’t leave, Fred...I love you...

*****

“I’m sorry...I didn’t know. Don’t leave...please, come back. I didn’t mean to...I’m sorry...I’m sorry. Don’t leave, Fred...I love you...”

“Wesley. Wesley, wake up.”

His eyes snapped open to the sight of Fred sitting with him on the bed, her white-shot brunette hair pulled back from her face, her thin hands – as thin as they had been when she was a slave in Pylea – holding his tightly. He was back in the yellow room though now it was night.

“You were dreaming,” she told him, her voice hushed but full of concern. “You were back there, weren’t you?”

He nodded at her and pulled one hand away to check his neck, pressing his fingers against the spot beneath his jawline, still able to remember the sensation, the pain. “I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

Placing her hand over his, she squeezed tightly. “Feel that? That’s real. I’m real.” She held up her left hand so he could see her modest engagement ring and wedding band. “These are real.”

Wesley closed his eyes as her hand moved to touch his temple again. He wanted so much to believe in this, to know this truly was his reality. That this was the way she was supposed to touch him. “You left,” he murmured, his tone betraying his fear and uncertainty about either reality.

“I was...it’s been so hard, Wesley,” she whispered, and he could feel her hand begin to shake. He opened his eyes to see the depths of anguish in hers. “You don’t remember anything, and I remember everything. Do you know what that feels like? To know that? To feel so alone? To feel that you’re separated from the only person who could possibly understand by a chasm so wide that you can barely see him on the other side?”

Unable to stand it anymore, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close into his embrace and feeling an instant jolt of recognition – one that he had also felt the few times she had been in his arms before. Was this why he had always felt the way he had? Was this why he had fallen so in love with her so quickly? Because a part of him still remembered reality even when so out of touch and drowning in delusions?

“I’m sorry,” he told her, rocking her back and forth, not knowing what else to say. “I’m sorry.”

Crying now, Fred buried her face against his chest, wetness spreading across his t-shirt, seeping through the material and causing it to stick to his skin. “Don’t be sorry,” her muffled voice pleaded with him. “Just come back to me. I can’t do this alone anymore.”

Wesley rested his cheek against to top of her head, continuing to hold her close. As he did, he caught just a hint of fragrance in her hair. “You smell like oranges,” he whispered.

It was a scent that caused him to pause for a moment as fleeting images suddenly flitted through his mind. An orange grove somewhere in California. Running through the trees, laughing like maniacs. Kneeling in front of Fred...

“I proposed to you in an orange grove.”

Lifting her head, Fred looked up at him with wide eyes. “You remember?”

“Not much...but I remember a little bit of that...” He took her left hand and held it up slightly. “And you clearly said yes.”

She smiled, the first time he had seen her do so since he had woken up here. It brightened her eyes and made her seem younger – her true age – again. Reaching over, she picked up the picture sitting on the table next to the bed and held it up to him. The photo was from what had obviously been their wedding day – Fred was wearing a flowing white dress while Wesley wore a tuxedo. They had their arms wrapped around each other as they smiled for the camera. Wesley took the picture from her to examine it, his fingers moving to trace the lines of Fred’s image.

“You look so beautiful. You are so beautiful.”

Fred blushed, casting her eyes down, and once again, she was the girl he knew so well. He crooked his finger underneath her chin and raised her face back up so he could look at her.

“Tell me about us,” he asked, his thumb absently stroking her cheek.

“Where should I start?”

“The beginning – how did we meet?”

Shifting slightly, they settled back together against the headboard of the bed, Fred curled into his arms, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. She nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder and rested her hand on his chest so it rose and fell with his breathing.

“We met at the library at UCLA in Nineteen Ninety-Five. I was a junior, majoring in Physics and working there to help supplement my scholarship. You had just started your Graduate work in ancient languages.”

“And I came into the library to research one day, I imagine, and was helped by one stunning undergraduate physicist.”

He felt her smile against him. “The others used to joke that I had become your personal assistant because I was always the one that helped you when you came in.”

“You were the only one I trusted and who understood what I was talking about,” he commented. Then he paused for a moment. Where had that come from? He couldn’t remember what she was talking about – not really although Fred in his...other reality?...delusions?...had worked at the UCLA library too. It must have been where that had come from. And she had always been the only one he trusted to understand what he was talking about when they researched demons or prophecies. There had to be a reality basis for that as well.

“You always said that,” she told him. “You were the first person who never seemed to get annoyed at me when I rambled and actually listened to me when I talked about things. I always looked forward to you coming in to research. And for the longest time, I wondered if you would ever ask me out.”

That certainly sounded familiar. “What finally brought me around?”

“I kissed you in the stacks.”

Wesley about choked on that tidbit of information. “You...in the...?”

“It was quite innocent. You were the one who backed me up against the shelves.”

He could feel the heat suddenly rise in his face and neck. How often had he daydreamed about doing just that in the back office? His mind was almost spinning now – how many of his supposed daydreams and fantasies had actually happened...here...in reality? “Did we...? Did we make love in that orange grove?”

When she nodded, he felt as though his entire world had just been skewed yet righted at the same time.

“When did we get married?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“May Seventh in Ninety-Six. Here in San Antonio.”

“My family wasn’t there, were they?”

Fred paused for a moment then shook her head.

“Of course not.” Obviously, his father was as much a bastard in reality as in his...delusions. “I came to America to get away from them, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

They sat there, entwined together on the bed, neither of them saying anything for a long time. Wesley tried to cast his mind back, tried to find memories that he could follow to other ones, but all he could recall were half-dreams and fantasies that went nowhere. He wanted to remember; for her sake, he wanted to.

“Fred...what happened to us?”

At the question, her entire body tensed, and for a moment, Wesley thought she was going to run out on him again. He could feel the tightened muscles begin to tremble slightly. Whatever had occurred, it had been even worse than Dr. Lorneson had indicated.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, caressing his hand across her back in an attempt to calm her. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I...I just can’t.” Her voice was almost non-existent. “Not yet.”

*****

Wesley stood at the window of his room, looking out on the San Antonio morning. The hospital was just outside the city in a ranch-like setting, and it was peaceful. Fred had gone back to change and shower at her parents’ house, where she had been staying for the past few years after bringing him down here, and was supposed to be back soon.

“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”

He turned from the window to find a nurse standing next to the bed, holding out a set of clothes. He was once again in the sterile room in the hospital in L.A. He was being sent home. As he changed, he reached up and found the bandage on his neck. What the hell was happening to him? Had he finally gone completely barking?

No one was waiting for him, and he wasn’t sure exactly how he got home. Soon though, he was walking down the corridor to his flat with the box Fred had brought him. Fred... Everything he had imagined at the hospital, it hadn’t been real. As much as he wished it so, he knew it hadn’t been.

When he reached his door, he slowly unlocked it, balancing the box in one arm. Once it swung open, he stood there and stared into the empty apartment before stepping inside and closing the door. When he turned back around, the apartment had changed. It wasn’t the place he had lived in for the last three years.

Instead, it was a slightly larger flat with his shelf of books lining the wall nearest him. The belongings were again familiar and not at the same time. He could see things that he knew were a man’s while the others had more of a feminine touch.

Suddenly, he realized. This was his and Fred’s apartment.

And as he stood there by the door, the box in his arms now a bag of groceries, the place felt even more empty than even the other apartment. There was a pit in his stomach that seemed to grow wider with each moment.

The phone on the stand next to the couch began ringing, and Wesley found himself automatically putting the bag down and moving to answer it. However, as his hand hovered over the handset, he stopped. A voice in his head screamed at him not to pick it up. He just knew that if he did, something bad was going to happen. The ringing continued, and the voice got louder, and Wesley backed away, staring at the phone with a deep-rooted fear he couldn’t even begin to explain.

Not Fred. Not Fred. Not Fred. Not Fred.

Grabbing his head, he turned and headed for the front door, throwing it open and running out blindly. He didn’t know where he was going; he just knew that he had to get away from that phone. The ringing seemed to follow him as he flew headlong into the darkened corridor outside the apartment. He ran down a flight of stairs and out of the building.

And the ringing stopped.

Wesley glanced around, trying to figure out where he was. He knew this street. He had been here before, he was sure of it. Up ahead, he saw Gunn with two other young men – being harassed by a cop who had his back to him. Without thinking, he ran toward them.

“Wait! Officer, wait! This man is a friend of mine! A very good friend. I’m sure he hasn’t committed any...”

Before he knew what was happening, the police officer had spun around, and the sound of gunfire resounded in the air. A moment later, a searing pain ripped through his abdomen. As he staggered, he looked down at himself, seeing the dark-red blood seeping through his fingers.

When he looked back up, though, the officer was no longer there. Instead, a vampire – or what looked to be a vampire – was holding the just-fired gun. A scream rang out as Wesley dropped to his knees. Fred. That was Fred. Fred was screaming.

The vampire had grabbed her and was pulling her away. Wesley tried to reach after them, tried to get back to his feet, but his injured body protested, and instead, he collapsed to the ground, Fred’s screaming ringing in his ears.

The scream then changed into the sound of an incessantly buzzing doorbell. He raised his head to find himself lying on a bed covered with the purple, blue, and green quilt. A pill bottle sat discarded next to him, several tablets scattered around it. And clutched in his hand was a UCLA campus newspaper with the headline, “Police Fear Body Is Missing Physics Undergrad”. A picture of Fred, a smile on her face and a locket around her neck, was underneath with the caption “Winifred Wyndam-Pryce: Missing since Halloween. Allegedly kidnapped by assailant who shot her husband.”

Wesley closed his eyes, trying to block it all out.

“She wears a locket, shaped like a ball or...or an apple, I think?”

“An apple? Fred wore one of those.”

“Fred?”

“Winifred. Everyone called her Fred.”

“Do you know where we can find her?”

When he opened his eyes, the newspaper had changed, and instead it was a Missing Person’s flyer, showing Fred with the name “Winifred Burkle”. He was standing in the UCLA library looking over Angel’s shoulder.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Nothing made sense anymore.

“It’s an apple.”

“The universal symbol for learning and knowledge. And since those are two subjects I know you love, I thought it rather appropriate.”

“It’s beautiful, Wesley.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Flatterer. Put it on me.”

He placed the locket around her neck, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her neck. Leaning down, he placed a kiss at the junction of her shoulder and throat, a smile crossing his face at the purr he felt rumble through her.

“I love you, Wesley.”

“And I love you, Fred.”

Reaching over, Wesley dimmed the lamp sitting next to the couch.

“And all I ask...is one last kiss...as the light is dimming.” Gunn’s laughter suddenly echoed everywhere around him, and Wesley found himself standing backstage at the ballet, watching his best friend and the woman he loved from a distance.

“You think that’s funny?”

“It’s just a scratch!”

“I thought it was...I...”

“Hey...hey...you really that worried about me?”

“You probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I think if you care that much...the wound is definitely deep.”

“The light is dimming?”

“And all I ask...is one...last...” Gunn and Fred moved together, their lips meeting. And Wesley’s heart broke.

No. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Wesley knew that. Gunn knew that. His friend knew how he felt. And yet...he had hurt her. He had let her down. Did he even deserve her anymore? Had he ever deserved her?

I betrayed you, Fred. I let you down. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please come back. You can’t be gone. You can’t. Come back to me.

I want my life back. I want our life back...

*****

“He’s back again.”

Wesley blinked, staring up at the crowd of doctors, nurses and orderlies gathered around. He was on the floor, and Doctor Lorneson had a syringe in his hand – obviously he had just injected him with something. But that wasn’t foremost on Wesley’s mind as he struggled to sit up.

“Whoa, Wes. Take it easy. You just had a relapse in a big way.”

“No, I didn’t. Where’s Fred? I need to see Fred.”

“I’m here,” her voice came from outside the knot of medical personnel surrounding him.

She pushed through and knelt down next to him. Wes pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, never wanting to let her go. Fred turned her head to face Lorneson, and before she had said a word, he started ushering the others out of the room.

“Let’s give him some room.” Once everyone was gone, the doctor glanced back at Wesley and Fred. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“No...please stay.” Once Lorneson had nodded and shut the door to give the three of them privacy, Wes took a deep breath and shifted so he was facing Fred, their eyes locked on each other, his hand cupping her cheek. “We were attacked... Halloween night...by a man dressed as a vampire.”

A small gasp issued from Fred, and tears welled in her eyes. “It was Professor Siedel. We knew he had been showing an inappropriate interest, but we never thought...” She trailed off, unable to continue.

“He shot me. Shot me and kidnapped you. The police couldn’t find you. You were gone for months, and I didn’t know what to do. I felt so guilty, like I should have done something to stop him, and I hadn’t. And then the police called. They thought they had found your body. And I didn’t want to live anymore...not without you.”

Sobbing, Fred rose up to her knees and threw her arms around him, holding him tightly, her tears running down his neck. “All I could think of was getting back to you, and then when they found me and I could finally see you again, you weren’t there. You had gone somewhere where I couldn’t reach you, and I didn’t know what to do.

“I’m so sorry, Fred. Please forgive me.”

“Promise me, you’ll never leave me again, Wesley. Please.”

“Never. I’m not going back there. I want to be here with you. I’m staying here. I promise.”

*****

“The vampire hunter scenario you originally created isn’t surprising, given what your assailant wore. And it makes sense that you would have gravitated toward another patient with similar delusions.”

Wesley gazed at Kevin Lorneson as they sat in his office. “But why was I so...klutzy and inept in my early...at the beginning? I would have thought if I was fantasizing about going after something that had such meaning, I would have envisioned myself as being good at it.”

“The mind’s a tricky thing, and fantasies and delusions aren’t always about what a person wants. They can also be manifestations of the issues a person is dealing with.” Lorneson sat forward in his chair, and for a moment, Wesley was again struck by the odd feeling that he looked wrong, that he should have been green with horns and red eyes, not human. Sucking in a deep breath, he shook his head and tried to remain grounded. “You said you felt guilty about not being able to stop Fred’s kidnapping. That guilt most likely impacted how you saw yourself and how you acted.”

“So because of that, every time things seemed to be going well, it would all go pear-shaped because somewhere inside, I didn’t think I deserved it?”

“Something like that. There was a reason for most everything that happened in your delusions. Your wearing glasses was probably indicative of you feeling blind to something.”

“Siedel’s attentions to Fred,” he said dully.

Lorneson nodded in agreement before rubbing his chin. “The demons you believed you fought were no doubt literal representations of your issues.”

“And Fred...?”

“The most complex issue for your mind to deal with. For a long time, you didn’t. You didn’t want to face anything about her because of the obvious pain it caused you, so in the world you were in, you didn’t even believe she existed. It was easier than dealing. And when you finally began to, Pylea was the way your mind represented her disappearance.”

“So why did I make Pylea your...er, Lorne’s home?”

“On some level, you knew that the real world Lorne – me – had been childhood friends with Fred, so you linked Pylea to me as well.”

Wes ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in amazement. “And her falling in love with Gunn instead of me?”

“Feelings of unworthiness.”

“Why would she choose me when I had let her down,” he realized. The incident with Billy had been his fear that he had betrayed her, had hurt her by not being able to stop something from happening. In his delusions, the infection of Billy’s blood; in reality, Professor Siedel.

As he thought about this, something clicked. Fred had said she hadn’t known a Gunn. But Wesley suddenly realized he did.

“Gunn...or the man I based him on...he was one of the police officers investigating Fred’s kidnapping.”

“The one who would have saved her in your mind.”

Leaning back in the chair, Wesley stared up at the ceiling. It was so much to deal with, so many years worth of created memories to sort out. He wondered if he would ever be able to function normally again after all that had happened. But he knew for Fred, he was willing to try. No...he knew that he would.

*****

“I still dream about them – about being there.”

Fred leaned against Wesley as they walked the hospital grounds. “Kev said you probably would.”

“It’s just...it’s a lot to figure out.”

“I know.”

Stopping, he turned and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “Fred, do something for me?”

“What?”

“Tell me what happened.”

Her chin began trembling as she stared down at the ground. “I don’t...I can’t...it’s...”

“Fred,” he said softly, “I want you to tell me. Please. I want to know.”

Raising her head, she gazed at him for several moments, unshed tears glistening. Then, finally, she nodded.

© September 2003

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