TITLE: Sacrifice
AUTHOR: Merzibelle
DISCLAIMER: These are not mine. I lay no claim to them. Joss & co. own all… I am merely a mom
SUMMARY: Captain Wesley Wyndham of Eagle Squadron discovers his fiancée was killed at Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941. Meanwhile, Wes and Fred discover that they have more in common then they thought. 
DISTRIBUTION: Archive permission is hereby granted to: Bookish; A Whole New World; Wishing Hearts; and Is It That Obvious? Anyone else, please ask.
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Wes/Fred
SERIES: A Matter of Destiny
FEEDBACK: Much appreciated; please send to: merzibelle@hotmail.com
AUTHOR’S NOTES: The first story in the 1940s series, A Matter of Destiny, Fred and Wes start to realize things about themselves.

Sacrifice

2001—Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles  
Wesley shuddered as the sounds echoed in his office: the high-pitched squealing of the bombs dropping, screams of frightened people and the girls sobbing in time to the events on the screen. 

He couldn’t believe that either of them could honestly want to watch that film. It brought memories that he didn’t want to remember to the surface of his mind. More screams, these female, were audible in the office and Wes clenched a hand on the desktop. Reaching down, he opened a drawer, pulling out a set of framed photographs, and sighed. “I don’t know if I can do this again, sacrifice everything we could have had,” Wes murmured.

Closing his eyes, Wes allowed the noises to fade into the background, the sound of Roosevelt’s speech lulling him deeper into things he didn’t want to remember.

1941 – Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles
Captain Wesley Wyndham, most recently of Eagle Squadron, threw the newspapers on the bed in his hotel room. He stared in disbelief at the papers, knowing that his assignment to London would be terminated immediately. Even so, that wasn’t what had him so worried. Wesley wasn’t worried about himself, but his fiancée. The last letter that he’d received from her said that she had completed her training and, with her friend Delia, was being stationed at the best of the western naval bases, Pearl Harbor. Now this had happened. Wesley tossed his hat onto the bed, sitting quickly and snapping the paper open. Reaching over he flipped on the radio, listening with half an ear as the President began his speech.

Yesterday, December 7, 1941-a date which will live in infamy-the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

Wesley flipped pages rapidly in the paper, finally finding what he was seeking: the early lists of the dead, wounded and missing at Pearl. He began scanning the lists, running a finger down the page, pausing on occasion when he came across a name he recognized. Just when he thought everything was going to be fine, he found it. Her name, in stark plain text, last on the list; it mocked him for not being there to defend her or to hold her as she died. 

Angrily he flung the paper away, reaching for the picture frame on the bedside table. That picture had accompanied him from Texas to London and then to Los Angeles on his way to her. They were planning to wed at the New Year. Sighing, he stroked a finger over the glass, remembering her soft laughter and shy smile. 

Laying the picture on the bed beside him, he reached across the bed for his service revolver. He held it in his hands, a cold and heavy weight. He was torn, torn between his duty and his love. He knew that he should report in, find out where he was to be assigned. He was an experienced combat pilot, yet he couldn’t. He wanted her back. 

A soft, whispery voice nagged at him, reminding him of how he’d left her to die alone. He tried to ignore it, yet it pervaded his consciousness. Wesley’s mind provided images, stark and bloody, to match the voice. 

Winifred running to the hospital, intent on doing her job, assisting the wounded and dying; her eyes determined, ignoring the danger inherent in her situation. He could see the Japanese pilots, flying low, strafing the buildings on the base, determined to do as much damage as they could, to cause chaos and keep America off-balance. He could see her, so involved in her job that she never saw the fighters coming in, never saw the shots that likely killed her. 

He stared down at the revolver, shifting its weight, trying to ignore the voice that whispered to him. Drawing a breath, he spun the cylinder, listening to the metallic ring of it spinning. His eyes fell on the photograph again and he slowly laid the gun on the bed beside it. “No, I can’t. I’m sorry, baby. Wait for me, Winifred.” Wesley leaned back against the headboard of the bed, the fingers of one hand caressing the picture. He sat there, closing his eyes, listening to the end of Roosevelt’s speech, and knowing what was likely to occur. 

I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.

2001 – Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles
“Watcha lookin’ at?” Fred’s tear-choked voice caused Wes to jerk, dropping the double picture frame that held his attention. 

“Family pictures,” Wes replied, turning the frame so that she could see it and leaning across the desk toward her. “The man is my namesake, my granduncle, Wesley Wyndham. He was killed in action during the D-Day Invasion in 1944. No one in the family knows the woman’s name, only that she was his fiancée and died at Pearl Harbor.” 

Fred stared at the pictures in shock and started shaking her head. She backed up a couple of steps, and then whirled, running out of the office and for the stairs. “I’ll be right back,” she called as she left. 

Wesley stared after Fred, wondering why she’d been shocked by the pictures. He settled back into the chair, looking at them, and waited. After a moment, he refolded the frame and tugged the back off the picture of his granduncle; however, just as he was about to pull out the picture he had previously discovered hidden under there, Fred returned. 

“Her name was Winifred. Momma named me for her,” she said quietly, sniffling as she tossed an old photo frame on the desk between them. “After Pearl Harbor, her friend Delia brought her things back to Dallas for the family. That picture was in among them. She signed it on the back: Wesley and I at the airport. Delia had taken it.” Fred gestured at the picture. “That’s your granduncle, isn’t it?” 

Wesley stared at the framed picture that she’d tossed on the desk, nodding, then finished pulling out the one he’d been after, laying it across hers. “Yes, he hid his copy of that picture. I found it accidentally yesterday.” He looked up from the pictures to stare at Fred across the desk. “Mother asked me to find out who she was. She thought it would distract me from my problems. Will you tell me about her so I can tell Mother?” 

Fred laughed, dropping into a chair and curling her legs under her. “Only if you tell me about him. I always wanted to be her. He was so in love with her. I wanted to find a love like that.” She blushed and looked away. “Winifred kept the letters he sent her. They are so sweet and romantic.” 

“You will, Fred.” Wes spoke softly, shifting in his chair so that he could prop his feet on the desk, watching her as he so often did. “One day, you will. You’ll find the man who’s waiting for you.” 

Fred looked up; catching Wesley’s look, her blush deepening, and smiled shyly. “Will I? No one could love me like that.”

“Trust me, Fred. Someone does.”

Disclaimers: All original material, including fan fiction, artistic renderings and essays on this and associated pages is copyright 2002 by Merzibelle. No infringement on the rights of Mutant Enemy, Inc., Greenwolf Corp., Lazy Dave, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, Twentieth Century Fox Television, UPN or The WB, or any other legitimate holders of copyright for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, or any characters contained therein is intended. All photographs and caps have been taken from several sites, including but not limited to YesWes, Forums4Fans (where pictures are posted without notation as to original sites) and the WB.