Author: InsinuoAnimus
Disclaimer: You know the drill. All the characters belong to Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt.
Summary: There is no hello. There is no goodbye.
Spoilers: Season 5.
Most stories, conversations, memories, start with a hello and they end with a goodbye. The beginning of things bring forth a hello, while the end of things bring forth the goodbye, that's how things usually are. But for Wesley Pryce it didn't start with a hello. It started with a series of shy smiles and inane run on sentences about things that sometimes made sense and sometimes didn't. There was a bubble of laughter that seemed to spread throughout her body and the warmth that spread throughout his heart. There was talk of translations and calculations. There was talk of tacos - the better kind that you could get with a large coke, the worse kind that were made of tree bark and smashed berries. There was talk of theories and scientific terms. It was never a hello.
It ended with heartache. There was never a goodbye. He held her in his arms while she asked him why she had to leave. He cried. But there was never a goodbye. His life ended in the arms of the demon that had inhabited her body, the demon known as Illyria that he seemed to grow an odd attachment to. A lie, taking the form of the girl he loved. There was never a goodbye. There was just a river of tears, an ocean of heartache, blood and fear mixing in with the pain and tears. But much like the beginning, it was never formal. No hello. No goodbye.
There's a story though. A story that started out well enough. The girl was trapped in her own prison, rescued by the vampire named Angel and his jolly good men, and woman who had turned out to be named the princess of this foreign place, while the girl of this story had never been named a princess, but instead a slave, a cow in their language. But Angel, who would for a while be known as her hero on the famous but stereotypical white horse, brought the girl back to their world, what once was her world. She would learn to live in this world again and find comfort in her new family. While the man of the story, grows feelings for the girl and for a moment in time it seems like there would be a relationship, but enter the drama. Billy. His blood making the man of the story violent toward the very same girl he was trying to woo. Then the girl falls in love with man's best friend.
Wesley was never a fan of fairy tales anyway.
In all reality, Prince Charming was a frog. A toad maybe. He'd end up cheating on Cinderella with Sleeping Beauty and maybe visiting Rapunzel a few times. While mice and the fairy god mother continued on with their silly songs of hope and love and everything else that never ended up lasting forever. Because nothing is forever.
Maybe he could deal if there was a hello. No shaking of hands, no formal greeting. It was deeper than that, of course. Wesley thought maybe, sometimes, he hated that. That even in the beginning, he had known she would be special to him. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't have Gunn moved faster? Why did he have to witness those nervous smiles and random babblings while Angel was away grieving for Buffy, or trying to. Hello was for strangers that probably wouldn't even end up staying in touch, hello was forced. She smiled at him. Tucked her hair behind her ear. Called him smart. Watched him when he absently pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, when he wore glasses that is. That was their hello. Never spoken. Just hanging in the background, lingering there with the feelings that seemed to make Wesley feel like a high school boy with a foolish crush.
Goodbye wouldn't be right, not after where their story took them. Even as he held her in his arms, answering her question - Would you have loved me? I have always loved you, I loved you the moment, no, I think I loved you before I met you - there was no goodbye. His heart was breaking, one more Fred-scar being etched in his already scarred heart, his last thread of hope still hanging onto the slight chance that maybe someone would let him be happy for once. Was it too much to ask for? Couldn't they just let him be with the girl he loved? It wasn't enough time. He had loved her for so long, but she had never been his. Now that she was his, they were taking her away. Even as he felt her die in his arms, he couldn't say goodbye. Even when she rose as Illyria, he couldn't say goodbye. Even when he heard of what Gunn had done, even when he heard that her soul had been destroyed in the resurrection of Illyria, even as Gunn's blood was on his hands, he couldn't say goodbye.
As the alcohol burned down his throat, as he listened to the monotone and always questioning voice of Illyria, as he watched the sun rise and fall with broken blue eyes, he couldn't say goodbye. When he looked at Illyria he found it painful to breathe sometimes. If he didn't look at the way her eyes were different or the blue coloring in her hair, that was Fred. Another ache in his heart. Another painful breath. Still no goodbye. Never goodbye.
Fred's dead. You're still alive, so start acting like it.
Wesley never apologized to Gunn. It would have been too awkward. But deep down, Wesley wasn't sure if he could apologize. It wasn't Gunn's fault, Wesley reminds himself of that, even now. Gunn would have never done it. He would never done it if he had known. Much like Wesley would have never taken Connor, if had known the prophecy was fake. But much like the glint of mistrust that sometimes flashed in Angel's eyes, Wesley's anger flared in his heart. Wesley had taken Connor, the best thing of Angel's life. Gunn had taken Fred, in his own way, the best thing of Wesley's life. It seemed that history did repeat itself. A continuous circle. Repeating past sins.
No hello. No goodbye. No end to the story that keeps on going.
I trust Angel... knows what he's doing.
Was Fred the price?
He's no longer following your orders.
Wesley, you have to trust me.
I can't do that anymore.
As he destroyed the box that held all their memories, the memories that had been taken away to give Connor a better life, Wesley still didn't say goodbye. Wasn't that what it was all about? Trying to bring back Fred? No matter the cost, no matter the pain. Wesley does notice the devastation in Angel's eyes and it almost throws him back, it almost makes him grip onto that box, it almost makes him not drop it. But goodbye is not an option and he throws it to the ground and feels it rip through him. Memories. The father will kill the son. You're a dead man, Pryce! Don't come back to the hotel, ever. He'll kill you. The prophecy was a fake. No hello. No goodbye. No in between. Just him. Just Illyria. Just Angel and his son that pretends not to remember, his son that can no longer live this life, his son that no longer hates his father. Later that night his eyes are devoid of tears, his scar burns for no reason at all, visions of Justine slitting his throat is dancing in his head. He doesn't move from the chair he always sits in, the wooden chair that seems to be his only friend, beside Illyria. When she tells him that she has two sets of memories and asks which set Wesley wants her to remember, he tells her the other set. The memories that were made to help them endure it. To live through it. Fred isn't different, he tells himself later that night.
There was still no hello. There was still no goodbye.
Nothing is different. Not the big memories. Gunn still loves her. Wesley still loves her. Angel still loves his son more than anything. Angel's eyes still have the ability to hold that 'shit, I'm sorry, but you wouldn't understand why I had to do it' look. Cordelia was still possessed by a demon. Jasmine still existed. And oh yes, Cordelia was still dead too. Add that extra sting while we're there. Some memories were altered, but they needed them.
There's a clock in his head that keeps on ticking and counting off the minutes. As he stays in his office, books scattered everywhere, things highlighted and circled in black ink, things that are about Illyria, Wesley hears that clock stop. He often brings his wrist up to his ear, listening to his watch. He feels Gunn's eyes on him. He hears Lorne's warning, Lorne telling him not to go in there. They think he's crazy. Split personalities, probably. One moment he's almost catatonic, next he's crazy as a bat, needing to find more about Illyria. His newest obsession. Oh, she's a wonder, he almost says out loud, but he figures that all of Wolfram and Hart (including his friends) think he's crazy enough. He develops a twitch in his normal body functioning, his hands twitch, he counts things off on his fingers, his fingers twitching in the air as if he's writing something down. He writes in his own little language, little words and sentences that blend in with the wrong notes. Moments where he's lost in his thoughts. His thoughts, ideas, theories of Illyria. His obsession keeps him up at nights, he thinks of her when he can't sleep, although he would never admit it. But this obsession is nowhere near as satisfying as Fred had been. He often thinks of them both. Swallows down the urge to write thoughts on the wall behind his head.
No hello. No goodbye. No hello. No goodbye. No hello. No goodbye.
When Fred's parents come to visit, a surprise visit nonetheless, he feels another scar forming. Fred's parents. The sweet parents that they had all wished were their own parents. They want to surprise their baby girl. Wesley doesn't feel the tears prick at the back of his eyes, he doesn't think he can cry anymore. He will have to tell them that she's dead. He'll have to break the news that he couldn't keep her safe. They'll never even know how much he loved their daughter. They'll never know of the few moments where they had been together. In love.
But Illyria walks in like a nightmare, she's wears the form that once belonged to the girl he loved. Wesley feels that clock tick in his head. His throat is dry and sore. He fights the urge to dig his fingernails into his palm. Devil wearing a blue dress. Demon wearing my girlfriend's body. Get out. Get out. Get out. Wesley doesn't close his eyes, he doesn't let out a deep breath, he doesn't kill Illyria on the spot, although he feels like it. He lets her play this game, he follows along, only because the Burkles are far too nice. Nothing like his parents. He realizes that he loves them, they'll never know, of course. And they love him. They love him in a way that his family didn't. Fred's mother hints at how she would like Wesley to sweep her single daughter off her feet. Mom! Illyria shouts in that embarrassed Fred voice, with a laugh, almost too forced. Their single daughter. She hadn't been single at all. She had been his. Then Gunn, Knox, Illyria, they all took her away. They all wanted her. She had been his. Not in the way Gunn used to label her, no Wesley wouldn't have put labels. He just wanted to love her. It's all he wanted. She hadn't been single at all. She had been in love. She had been someone's girlfriend. Someone's love.
They're gone as soon as they came, and Wesley is left with Illyria again. He wants to know if she got what she wanted. He wants to say how playing games with people's emotions isn't right. It's not right to wear that body, that face, that image. It's not fair to play with his emotions. But he doesn't say it, he can't. Illyria mentions she wants to know more of this emotion. Love. She decides she would like to learn it from him. He won't give it to her. God, he won't. She is soon almost pressed against him, and for a moment, oh god it's Fred. It is. He could cross the line. Kiss her. Take her into his arms. Do what he couldn't before. But that's not Fred. It's just an image. Illyria playing with him the way she always does, except she takes it a step further. She thinks she knows what he wants. You're wrong, he wants to tell her. You're just making me sick. You're not her. Be whatever you want, just change from that body. You'll never be her. He leaves the office and even through the closed door, he hears those words - as you wish. As you wish. As you wish. As you wish. Another voice that echoes in his head. The clock ticks. The voices of both Illyria and Fred resound in his head. Flashes of Justine slitting his throat. You're a dead man, Pryce. Images of Angelus in a cage and him on the outside. Modern day Hannibal and Clarice. It's sweet. You're wrong, it's not sweet. The kiss Wesley had given Fred, ending only a second or two before Gunn arriving, eyes flaring with anger, Fred wide eyed. Why, why do I have to leave, Wesley? Would you have loved me? I'm scared. The clock ticks again. It's only a matter of time. As you wish. It always repeats.
No hello. No goodbye.
No beginning. No end.
As the clock slows down, he can hear Illyria, he can hear her ask if he wants her to lie to him. The last thing he sees can't be this world, it can't be the pain, it can't be the darkness. He wants to see her. He wants to see the girl he loves. He wants to see her brown hair, her eyes, her odd little smile that always made his heart feel incredibly warm. It was never a fairy tale, it was almost better. For a few moments, it had been better. He had loved her, and she had loved him. In that one moment, she had loved him. It was okay. He wasn't a burden after all, it wasn't an obsession, it was love. And this world can not, it absolutely can not be the last thing he sees.
It has to be her.
It's not a hello. It's not a goodbye.
It's not a beginning, it's not a conclusion.
It's what it has always been. Him seeing her. Only seeing her. The last thing he sees is Fred.