Never Was a Story of More Woe
Wesley won't accept Fred's death that easily. Crossing with Pushing Daisies; dark.Disclaimer
: I don't own Angel or Pushing Daisies, and I'm not making any profit from them.Note
: Begins to deviate at the end of "Shells." (Also, I love Pushing Daisies – this is just my mind going to weird places with it.) Warning: character deaths.
Ned walked in to the Wolfram and Hart lobby, surprised that a law firm would have such an extravagant headquarters. An unshaven man quickly strode up to him, took his arm, and pulled him into an office. The man had a look that Ned recognized, and he reflected that that was an unfortunate consequence of his... not-so-normal hobby, as Chuck thought of it. His face was full of grief and loss.
"This is a somewhat unusual situation," Wesley said.
"Every situation like this is unusual," Ned replied. "If it were a usual situation, you wouldn't need me." He thought for a moment. "Speaking of that, how exactly did you know that you needed me? I try to keep a low profile about this sort of thing."
"There isn't a profile low enough to hide from Wolfram and Hart," he said, and Ned thought he sighed. "And this is unusual even for you," he continued. "Winifred Burkle is dead, but there's something possessing her body."
"Possession? That seems a little..."
"Far-fetched?" he finished, raising an eyebrow. "You raise the dead. Surely you don't believe that you're the only one who's out of the ordinary?"
Ned nodded. "You do understand that if I don't put her back within a minute, someone will take her place."
"I'm prepared to accept the risks," Wesley said.
At that moment, the door opened and a lithe woman in a blue and red catsuit stepped through. "Wesley, I require an explan–" she stopped, cocking her head. "Did you think I would not detect your treachery?"
"Do it now," Wesley said to Ned. He looked at him, and then at Illyria, hesitant. "Now!"
Ned put his finger on Illyria's exposed shoulder, and there was a small flash. The blue color receded from her hair and eyes, although the catsuit remained.
She blinked, looking around. "Wesley?" she asked, her voice wavering.
"Fred," he breathed happily, walking over and putting his arms around her.
"What happened to me? I think I was sick..."
"You were, but you're better now. I'm just sorry I couldn't save you sooner." He cupped her cheek with his hand, bringing her lips to his.
After a few moments, he slumped in her arms. "Wesley?" she asked again, alarmed.
Ned looked uncomfortable. "This was the price for bringing you back to life," he said. "He knew what it would be."
She didn't seem as shocked by the knowledge of her own death as Ned would have predicted. "Then bring him back like you did for me!" she demanded, with a tone of desperation.
"It doesn't work like that," Ned replied. "I haven't tried it before, but he died because you stayed alive. If I brought him back, two more people would have to die."
"What am I supposed to do now?" A tear slid down her face.
"Live," Ned suggested. "He obviously thought you were worth it."
He had never seen someone look as lost as Fred did now. He took pity on her. "If I touch you again, you'll be dead, forever. Maybe you'll be together in wherever we go after this."
She couldn't ask him to kill her, after Wesley had died to bring her back, but her eyes begged him to put her at peace. He did, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Life fled her, but the blue tones did not return. He laid her down next to him, and left the building.
"For never was a story of more woe," he said softly to himself, "than this of Juliet and her Romeo." He tried to ignore the similarities to his own personal life as he hailed a cab. He didn't quite manage to succeed.