"You're certain?"

"As certain as I can be," Giles said wearily. He looked old, suddenly, and Wes was forced to glance down, away.

"What can I do?" he asked, humbly enough.

"I'm not sure." Giles looked up at him, expression somewhat bemused. "I don't entirely understand your position in all this --"

"I'm from the future," Wes said flatly, tired of the repeating.

"Right." And Giles just looked tired again. Took off his glasses to clean them almost on schedule. "Any magical experience you may have gained." He sighed. "Will it have remained? You obviously have the potential, but at this point it is unawakened, I'm guessing?"

Wes blinked, felt an incredulous less-sane smile form. "I hadn't thought of that." Shook his head, looked down at the spell-paper. "Willow is coming?"

"Certainly." Giles seemed to have regained his composure, and smiled reassuringly in the old Watcher mask.

"Then I'll assist where I can." Ran a hand through his tangled hair, remembered he would prefer it much shorter.

"You agree, then?" Careful, more so than Wesley remembered, of his feelings.

"It seems the best solution." They were all so uncertain here.

"Wesley, if." Giles paused, leaned a bit closer. "If you can't help with anything, I don't want you to." Bad sign that words had failed this man. "It's not your responsibility to fix everything, understand?"

Wes stilled, swallowed his first angry words. "I have to," he said in a forced calm.

"I know you think you have to," Giles began, sensibly validating the patient's position.

"You don't know what's coming, you don't know how bad things will become."

"You might not be able to stop it at all." Giles overrode him, posture tense enough to break. "Some things can't be changed, however you might wish it."

"I've got to try." He spoke through a rising hollowness, a terrible growing resignation like a weakness in his limbs.

He heard Giles move in his chair, and realized he'd closed his eyes.

"I know," Giles said softly. "I just don't want you to blame yourself."

"There's no one else," he whispered, blinking through exhausted tears that wouldn't fall.

"There's me," a voice said brightly through the office door, and Willow poked her head through the opening, grinning a welcome.

The two men shuffled apart a few inches, Giles moving as if to clean his glasses but stopping in a frustrated, awkward moment. Willow looked at him blankly, then at Wesley, who was surreptitiously thumbing at one eye. "Okay," she said slowly, coming all the way into the room.

"What's the hold-up?" Cordelia said, coming in on Willow's heels.

"Nothing," Giles said easily. "We were discussing options."

Wesley managed to look properly grateful.

"Then let's get this show on the road," Cordelia said, impatient but Wesley knew a cover for fear when he saw one.

"How's your head?" he asked softly.

"Okay for now," she said, smiling her big false toothpaste-commercial smile. He just looked at her steadily, barely hearing Willow and Giles in whispered conference beside him. After a moment she softened, the smile melting to something more natural, closer to real. "I'll be okay," she said softly, stepping forward to put a reassuring hand on his arm. "As soon as you get done with this spell, I'll be right as rain."

"That is the idea," Giles said, breaking into their tableau. Willow stood beside him, looking a little too ready, the interest sparking in her eyes. Wesley really looked at her for the first time. Her hair was short, trendy, he supposed. She certainly seemed more sure of herself, more certain. He glanced at Giles, for a moment unsure. She seemed so certain. "We should begin immediately," Giles was saying, and Wes blinked, head clearing as if of a fog. "We have very little time, and this spell requires some preparation."

"Gunn said he'd be back with the ingredients," Cordelia said, a little too easily, eyes fixed on the innocuous scrap of spell-paper. Lorne was good for more than revealing his secrets. His contacts had proven invaluable in the research process.

"It has to be tonight?" Willow said softly, her first sign of indecision (humanity).

"It has to be tonight," Wesley said. He could hear the exhaustion in his own voice, dragging it deep like scotch aged in an oak barrel. Smiled at his own simile, shook his head when she tilted her head in a question. "Is that a problem?"

"I guess not," she said, humoring him now. "Only, who gets the visions?"

"That is the question," he returned. Cordelia only looked afraid, now.

"I thought I was keeping them," she said shrilly, striding forward on lean limbs and he remembered she'd begun training with Angel. He held up his hands placatingly as Giles stepped in.

"You will be, ultimately," Giles explained, stepping between Cordelia and Wesley as if to offer his protection. "However."

"However?" Cordelia yelped.

"However," Giles said repressively. "In order to alter the structure of your brain we will need to temporarily remove the visions. Temporarily," he repeated when she opened her mouth to scream. She drew a breath, glared.

"So, you take out the visions, turn me into a half-demon whatsit, then stick them back in?"

"Essentially, yes," Wesley said quietly. Divide and conquer, you know.

"That's a good question, though," Willow said. "I mean, do you stick the visions in one of us? Or in a jar? Only if they could go in a jar why not leave them there? And then you could alter a Mirror of Taraltas to kinda look and see if anything's happening."

"Yes, well, they can't go in a jar," Wesley snapped, throwing her words back in a quick rush of temper. She glared at him, timid but for a moment flashing a dangerous rage, and he sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. But we've checked. And I did a great deal of research while working for Wolfram and Hart. This is the only way that won't render the visions useless or alter their bearer beyond recognition."

"That's okay." And just like that she was smiling again. Wes blinked. Bit his lip, decided it was Giles's problem, not his. "So, Wolfram and Hart, wow," Willow continued. "Is that more of the future stuff?"

"I'd assumed that Cordelia would have filled you in," Wes said, confused by the change in topic.

"I didn't exactly give her your Resume-That-Never-Will-Be," Cordelia snapped. "God."

"Could we go over the spell, please?" Giles said, tone of long suffering.

"Yes, of course." Wesley was the first to speak, instantly chastened. He was just so tired. "We just need someone for the visions."

"It has to be Gunn, doesn't it?" Cordelia said, voice low and sick. Wes touched her hand, offered, "I'll take them."

"We need your help with the alterations," Giles reprimanded gently. Alterations. Like a conversation at the tailor's.

"We could do it," Willow protested, straightening up behind the desk. "I could do it."

"And Charles Gunn hasn't exhausted himself to the point of illness in the past week," Giles said easily, too-reasonably, the near-violent undercurrent to his words mostly hidden. "And you aren't doing this alone." Speaking ostensibly to Wes (who was - barely - upright, only through stubbornness), but the words were for Willow.

Wesley tightened his grip on Cordelia's hand when she would have intervened, just watched them carefully until Willow dropped her eyes. Belly-up to the alpha.

"Alright," she muttered, parody of sulking.

"You don't need to protect me," Wesley said carefully. Giles turned to him, softening visibly.

"I know. But we could use another set of eyes."

"Of course." Wesley gave in gratefully. He didn't really want to be that brave.

"Hey," Angel said, easing in behind Wes, bouncing Connor lightly in his arms. "How's it going?"

"Good," Cordelia said, freeing her hand from Wesley's with a falsely cheerful smile. "We've decided to give Gunn the visions, stir a magical stick through my brains, and stuff the visions back in."

"Okay." Angel glanced at the others, spreading about his bemused look. "That's the plan?" he asked Wesley under his breath. It was a stage whisper; Willow smiled at the words, and Giles grimaced.

"Essentially," Wesley said, unable to repress his own smile. Cordelia had snuck over and was waggling her fingers at Connor. "The visions shouldn't harm him in such a few hours."

"And the magic stick is actually more like stereoscopic surgery," Willow said enthusiastically, her hands making vague motions of illustration. "We can use it to look inside her brain while I bind her DNA to Jerco DNA. It'll be like magical gene therapy." She was shining.

"I don't understand any of that," Angel admitted. Cordelia stole Connor from his arms, and he stuck his hands in his pockets.

"It doesn't matter, really," Giles said dismissively. "The effect will be to strengthen Cordelia overall. It should repair any present damage and prevent future damage."

"And the pain?" Angel asked.

"Should be lessened greatly," Wesley said. He smiled tightly against the dragging exhaustion. Trying for reassuring.

"This isn't going to," Angel paused, looked profoundly uncomfortable. "Change her. Physically, I mean."

"No, certainly not," Giles said with a gratifying immediacy, picking up one of the books and turning it toward Angel, finger tapping one of the etchings. "The Jerca are very close to a human norm, any differences are almost imperceptible, and we're altering Cordelia on a genetic level."

"Which means that the change won't manifest physically," Wes translated, almost smiling at Angel's usual confusion. "It'll be fine."

"Okay." Angel shrugged, looked down. "I trust you with this. I'm just worried, you know?"

"Yes," Wesley said gently, answering both. "I know."

"We should start soon," Giles said pointedly.

The front doors swung open.

"We're back," Fred called.

"And we got dinner," Gunn added.

Wesley ducked out of the office, found Gunn tipping a large paper sack from his arms to the front counter. Fred like a shadow at his side, something Wesley wasn't to touch. It was like a lesson in real life, these upcoming months. Save the girl, can't get the girl. Get the girl, and can't save her.

"Is that dinner or the spell components?" he asked doubtfully, the doubt itself an affectation, staring fixedly at the grease stains on the bottom of the bag. Caught Fred's grin from the corner of his eye and very carefully did not watch her carry a second sack into his office.

"This, my man, is the best Italian food you're gonna find outside of Italy," Gunn returned proudly, delving into the sack for a Styrofoam container. "You want eggplant or chicken?"

"Chicken, I suppose," Wes said slowly. Gunn pushed the container toward him, and began unpacking the rest. "Charles, I need to ask you something."

"Shoot, English."

Wes just looked at him for a long moment, remembered the future and the look of doubt just before Giles's arrival. He glanced down, didn't notice Gunn's worried look.

"Perhaps we should sit down."

"What are you telling me, Wes." He looked frightened, now. Like people do just before you tell them you have cancer. Wes bit his lip. He was doing this all wrong.

"Let's just." Wesley stopped, drew Gunn away from the counter as Willow and Giles emerged from the office, heads close in whispered consultation. Gunn was patient until they'd reached the hall near the basement door, then refused to go any further.

"What is it," Gunn asked, low and serious. Wesley'd not been the object of that focus since he'd been shot.

"We need you for the spell," Wes admitted.

Gunn seemed to relax, let out a breath and straightened into his usual slouch. "Yeah, man, whatever you need."

"No, Charles, we need to give you the visions." Caught the growing fear. "Temporarily," he added hastily. "Just for a few hours."

"Hours," Gunn said flatly.

"Just until we can take care of Cordelia."

Gunn watched him for a moment, Wesley too nervous to look away. Then Gunn nodded, smiled again. "Yeah, sure."

"Sure?"

"You got it." Held out his hand, and Wesley moved through their ritual with crystalline joy rising in his breast. He'd missed this. "This gonna hurt?"

"It shouldn't," Wes smiled. Almost lightheaded with it. "Even were you to have a vision, it wouldn't cause permanent damage. Not in a day."

"If you say so." Gunn shrugged, tuned back to the lobby. "C'mon, English, I'm hungry."

"Yes," Wesley murmured, following more slowly. He'd forgotten what it was to be trusted so instantly, so absolutely. Hard to remember now that it was conditional.

Angel had come out of the office with Connor, and was watching the others eat. Fred was coming down the main stair (she'd changed, pulled her hair back into a braid), and smiled warmly to Gunn when she caught sight of them. They brightened to see one another. Wesley kept walking when Gunn stopped to wait for her, kept walking to stand by Angel.

"You okay?" Angel asked, preoccupied with some snag in Connor's onesie.

"Yes," Wesley said evenly. "I talked to Gunn."

"What did he say?"

"He said yes." Wesley smiled faintly. "We can begin."

"Great." Angel paused, looked over at Wesley to peer at him closely. "You should eat something, then. Have to wait for Willow and Giles, anyway."

"Yes, of course," Wes said vaguely, and wandered over to the counter, not seeing Angel's worried glance.

Willow was on the computer, alternating between spaghetti and the flickering screen. Giles was eating steadily, staring forward at nothing as though in deep thought. Wes retrieved his chicken parmesan and leaned against the counter to eat. The plastic take-out fork felt awkward in his hand, like his fingers had swollen.

"Where did Cordelia go?" he asked after a moment, aware he should've noticed much sooner.

"To the bathroom, I think," Angel said, somewhat absently.

"For so long?" he asked, beginning to be worried.

"Should we check on her?" Angel asked. Connor seemed to pick up on the rising tension, and began to turn restlessly against Angel's chest.

"I'll go check on her," Wes said, dropping the Styrofoam box to the counter and stepping toward the employee's bathroom. Angel caught his shoulder.

"Hey, Wes." Angel was trying for soothing, juggling Connor in the crook of his elbow, and Wesley's shoulder too-warm under his hand. "We're taking care of it. You have time to eat."

"I'll check on her," Willow offered brightly, looking very aware that she was eavesdropping.

"Thanks, Willow," Angel answered for both of them. She swallowed, left quickly, didn't seem concerned that Giles didn't notice or move.

Wes listened to her go, unable to look away from Angel. After a moment Angel ducked his head, released Wesley's shoulder with a last gentle pat. "Go on, Wes," he said quietly. "Eat your dinner."

"I'm not sure I can," he whispered.

"Alright," Angel said agreeably. "Come sit down?"

Wes just nodded, and followed Angel to the couch in the lobby. Angel sat next to him, very close, pressed against his side. Wes found himself leaning into the touch, and felt a little bit safer.

"Are you up to this?"

"I suppose I have to be." Wesley smiled, looked down at his hands folded in his lap. "We can't put this off."

"No," Angel agreed. They sat quietly, side by side, until Cordelia eased her slow way out into the lobby.

"Was it a vision?" Wesley said, carefully not asking how she felt.

"No," she said shakily, managing a trembling smile. "The headaches are worse." She spoke quietly, looked almost ashamed to admit it, lowered herself to the couch opposite them on shaking hands. Wes had to look away. She'd developed a permanent low-grade shaking in her hands, a sure sign of neurological damage.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For telling me."

She smiled at him, a little stronger now as the pills, whichever combination today, began to take effect. "Is there any point in hiding it?" she asked, barely managing her usual cutting tone.

"No." He pulled off a return smile, barely. Angel's free hand went to his knee, offering an anchor. "Not now."

"Wesley?" Giles, sort of stand-hovering at the edge of the counter as if afraid to intrude. "We need to begin."

"We're ready?" he asked. Gave Cordelia what he hoped was a reassuring look.

"Will you be okay?" she asked softly, showing a rare concern. He smiled.

"Everything will be fine," he said with a very real feeling of almost having completed his purpose. "Everything's going to be alright."

Angel had been Irish, once. Wesley rarely considered Angel's accent, or anyway his use of that particular American accent that Americans jingoistically interpret as a lack of an accent. Wesley'd had a professor at Oxford who'd also been Irish, once, but who had spent fifteen years in that area of the United States called the Midwest. That professor had sounded like Angel must have in the early twentieth century. Ostensibly American, enough so that he'd routinely been mistaken for an American. But with just a slight broadening of the vowels, an occasional lilt that betrayed his nationality.

Angel had long-since lost that slight hint of foreignness. Wesley felt himself losing it, at times. Knew that if he only stayed in this place long enough (a few hundred years) he would sound as American, as native, as generalizable and reassuringly familiar to them as any other emigrated native of this benighted city.

"Is everything going okay?" Angel asked softly, staying near enough the door that Wesley felt justified in walking over to him. Gunn remained in his corner, staring at Cordelia fixedly. Cordelia was staring at the ceiling, lying utterly still while Giles and Willow moved around her.

"Yes, it's all going according to plan." Wes murmured. They were almost touching, Angel's coat brushing against Wesley's shirt. "Fred has Connor?"

"Yeah, she's got him down in your office. Lorne, too." He shrugged. "Seemed the safest place."

Wes nodded absently. "You might want to join them."

Angel smiled his wry smile. "I'll be fine here."

Wes raised an eyebrow, but nodded after a moment.

"Wesley, we're ready," Giles called. He and Willow were watching him expectantly, and he glanced briefly back at Angel.

"Good luck?" Angel said hesitantly, and smiled.

He couldn't answer, could only try a last tilt of the head like a confirmation before he turned away.

Wesley took his place beside Willow at the side of Cordelia's bed. He caught Gunn's eye (across from Wesley, beside Giles), and they exchanged the same subtle nod. Wesley looked down at Cordelia. "How are you doing?" he asked.

Cordelia's smile was trembling, brittle. "A little nervous," she said. "But I'm ready."

"Excellent." His smile felt a little realer, though mostly for her sake. It shouldn't have meant the end of all their planning, that moment.

The fine lines at the corners of her eyes, the ones they'd all sworn a pact not to mention to her, tightened just a moment before her back arched up off the table. She screamed, strangled on a gasping breath and Willow stumbled back from the table, shocked out of her complacency and Giles was helping him hold Cordelia, his arms pinning her thighs and Giles across from him grasping at her shoulders. Gunn was helping Willow, and even before Cordelia had stilled Angel appeared among them with a prescription bottle and a glass of water in his hands.

"Take these," he said before they had her sitting up properly. Her hand went to her temple, shaking like the rest of her body was shaking. This hadn't happened last time.

"Oh God," Wesley murmured. Cordelia was bringing the glass to her mouth, slopping water everywhere but she got enough down to swallow. Everyone was concerned with her progress, Gunn back at her side and rubbing her shoulder gently now that Willow could stand on her own.

"What is it?" Angel asked, as quietly. None of the others had heard.

"She didn't have this vision the first time," Wes whispered, knowing Angel would hear. "Someone's trying to stop this."

"What did you see," Gunn was asking quietly. He knew the drill. Giles reappeared with a towel, began to soak up the water. Wesley hadn't noticed him leave.

"A girl," Cordelia managed. "She's a vampire, I think. It's a school." Her eyes lifted, sought out Angel as always. "It's a school play. And she has demons with her."

"What kind?" Wesley asked. It felt like playing a part, his voice very far away.

"I don't know," she wailed, obvious signs of pain marking her face. "They had crests, like those weird owl dinosaurs in Jurassic Park."

"Okay," Wes assured her. "That's good. Those sound like Sci'or, Angel, you and Gunn on this one." He turned back to Cordelia. "Did you see which school, how much time do we have?"

"None, it's happening so soon," she whispered. "The other kids in the audience were wearing patches, on navy uniforms. Like a cross with wheat, maybe?"

"Fred can find that online," Gunn said quickly.

"Excellent. You can handle this." Wes smiled briefly. "Beheading's quickest, or the heart."

"You'll be okay?" Angel asked. He knew what this would mean. Gunn hadn't realized.

"I'll be fine." Smiled again, barely. "Go."

They ran downstairs, Gunn already calling for Fred. Wes swallowed, took up rubbing Cordelia's shoulders while she tried to hide the pain, box it away again.

"Wesley," Giles said quietly.

"What?"

"We needed him for the spell."

"You didn't really need my help." Threw Giles a knowing smile. "I'll take the visions."

"I don't think--"

"It's the same risk Charles was willing to take!" He pushed himself to his feet, worried that Cordelia didn't seem to hear them. "I won't be harmed in just a few hours, any more than he would've been."

"It will take more than a few hours, Wesley," Giles said, face lined with compassion. Willow was uncharacteristically silent, staring at Cordelia with a pale, haunted expression.

"Yes, I know," he admitted. Looked down at Cordelia. "It doesn't matter. There's no one else."

"There's Fred …" Willow suggested hesitantly.

"Absolutely not!" Felt himself grow faint. "I can't lose her again, she is not to be risked!"

"Again?" Giles asked softly. Wes felt himself swaying on his feet, and forced it all down.

"I have to do this," he finally said. "There's no one else."

Giles stared at him intently for a long moment. Cordelia had laid back against the pillows with Willow's help, and was watching them with a certain resigned bewilderment that came in the aftermath of intense pain. After a time, Giles nodded.

"Very well, then." Giles forced a smile, and Wes felt something in his breast unclench. Giles seemed to study him for a moment more, and the smile became a bit closer to real. "You really have changed," he murmured, almost too softly. Wes ducked his head, didn't answer. Didn't know what to say.

"We should get started," he murmured instead.

"Yes, right." Giles paused, seemed visibly to decide to let it pass. "Willow, begin on Cordelia just as soon as I've got the visions. I'll worry about getting them into Wes in my own time."

"Right," Willow said, very determined, very focused. Wes almost felt reassured as she began chanting in Latin. She'd memorized the spell, that was something.

Cordelia's breathing slowed, the lines of pain fading from her face as she grew very silent, very still. She lay as one dead, utterly paralyzed by Willow's spell. The next part would be more difficult. Willow stopped chanting after a moment, seemed to hold her breath until sure Cordelia wouldn't shake off the paralysis and force them to start again. Then Giles began.

Wesley had known exactly how much of his help they would require, and so had only glanced briefly over this spell. He didn't listen to the words, just Giles's voice, and watched the concentration so obvious in his face. It was a good face, strong, handsome with the mark of long years. A face he could trust.

It was the trust that did it, sending him beneath the surface like a diver silk-slipping into a lake, a mountain lake, lucid as the newly-sane. Giles had begun his incantation, Egyptian, and he didn't even feel it coming. Cordelia arched up off the table, still limp as a coma and Wes could imagine the visions pouring out of her and diving into some deeper recess of his brain.

Giles was still chanting, voice rough now with effort. There was nothing to see, really, and when it actually happened he felt nothing. He knew that something had happened, because Giles's voice thundered to a crescendo and went abruptly silent, and Wesley felt everything becoming clearer, as one just awakened.

Willow was at work now, and couldn't be interrupted whatever sudden misgiving Wesley felt. Giles watched her for a moment, then stepped over to Wesley and eased him into one of the plush hotel chairs. Wesley let him, feeling his legs strangely weak and a faint tingling in his hands. But everything was fine. Not what he'd expected at all.

"Are you alright?" Giles whispered. Wesley just nodded, his steady gaze not leaving Willow's still form. Only her lips moved. Her eyes were black, pupil, iris, sclera, like emptied holes in her too-pale face.

Giles' hand was warm on Wesley's shoulder. The faint tingling had spread up his arms, his legs. Willow was moving now, widdershins around the cushioned table scattering herbs that smoked faintly on contact with bare skin. Wesley watched all of this passively, his head resting against the back of the chair. He felt very tired.

Willow paused suddenly, and a look of almost smugness crept into her empty eyes and crooked smile. Wes was watching her carefully. Couldn't feel his feet now.

"Wesley?" Giles was saying very quietly into his right ear. He sounded concerned.

There was no physical sign of the change, but Willow turned to Giles with shining eyes, almost glowing, panting lightly with exertion. "It's done," she said.

Had it been so much time, then? He couldn't remember any sense of time passing, other than the slow-creeping numbness. He was tired.

"I would appreciate another set of eyes," Giles was saying, and they were moving about Wesley's chair. "Wesley, can you get up?" Giles asked gently. Wesley turned his head and blinked at the older man a little sleepily.

"I don't think so," he tried to say. His lips moved, threading a breath of sound. Giles leaned in closer. Looked worried now.

"Okay, alright." Giles was trying to sound soothing, but only succeeded in panicked.

"What is it?" Willow, suddenly afraid. "What's wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure," Giles said, voice low, words clipped and impatient. Oh God. Wesley began to worry, in a vague distant way that was more like knowing he should worry. "I can probably … See if he has a copy of the Dornhanm Codex downstairs, would you?"

"Yeah, sure," Willow said breathlessly, already running for the door. Wesley swallowed, tried to catch Giles's eye. Rupert's. He could call the watcher Rupert now. Ex-watcher? Had he been rehired? Wesley frowned, tried to swallow again. "It'll be okay," Giles was saying. Rupert was saying. Wes tried to smile. Fade out.

A/N Title taken from "Don't Let Me Die" by Flogging Molly. A few thoughts stolen from Cathy Caruth's Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History.