Her Saving Grace, 12/?, Spike/Fred, R

[authoressnebula.livejournal.com]

Title: Her Saving Grace
Rating: R
Pairing: Spike/Fred, mentions slight Fred/Wesley
Spoilers: Angel S5
Chapter: Twelve of ?
Prompt: #32 - Ankara for tamingthemuse
Warnings: Character death (not the permanent variety)
Summary: An accident one night changes Fred's entire world. Shunned by the people who should care the most, she turns to the one person who does care, and finds something beyond friendship.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Seriously. Not even my mind these days.

Warning: My brain says sleep, so if there's any tremendous problems with this chap, just comment and lemme know, and I'll fix it when I wake up tomorrow morning.

Word count: 2676

Previous parts here



Pretty by me; please don't take.




Pretty by mentalme85


Chapter 12: Friendship's a Good Color On You

“So the fledge that got Fred was hired by someone else to take her out?” Buffy said, munching on her donut.

Spike shrugged while Fred frowned. “Why do you say 'fledge'?”

“In my experience, no one could be stupid enough to do something like that,” Buffy said with a snort. “And no self-respecting vampire would take orders from another.”

“She's right,” Spike said. “We're not talkin' a fledge just popped out of the ground, but a fledge of a few months at the most, maybe. Stupid enough to do it, but smart enough to know how to do it. That knowledge doesn't come immediately as soon as you're turned.”

Fred contemplated that for a moment, casually snagging the last jelly donut before Spike could as she did so. It made sense, when she really thought about it. As far as the demon world was concerned, she was a fledge, too. That thought brought about another question. “How long does a vampire have to be a vampire before they're no longer considered 'fledges'?” she asked curiously.

Spike frowned. “Hmm. Each vamp's different, mind, but the usual amount of time, to me, would have to be half a year. At least. I know it can be as short as a few weeks, and as long as a few years.” Buffy nodded in agreement.

“Where would you put me?” Fred asked, raising her eyebrows.

“In your own category,” Spike said immediately, and Buffy giggled.

“Smart boy,” she said, before reaching for the paper bag she'd brought along with the donuts. What Fred had expected to be breakfast food wound up being something small and metallic. She frowned as Buffy pulled out two cell phones, both of them looking much more elaborate than any cell phone she'd ever seen before.

Spike looked equally as confused. “Um, pet? What are those?”

“Super cells,” Buffy supplied, handing them both one. They weren't huge, and would fit into Fred's tiniest party purse easily, but it certainly didn't flip open or shut, and there were more buttons then her PDA had.

“Is it International?” she asked hesitantly.

Buffy grinned, snagging the last sugar powdered donut and causing Spike to grumble about women stealing all the best sweets. “It's better than International, thanks to Willow. It's Inter-dimensional. More dimensions being added to the network everyday.”

Spike stared at the phone in trepidation, while Fred eagerly grasped hers, hoping for a moment when she could take it and really work with it.

“I've added my number, Will's number, Xander's number, and Dawn's number to the phones, just in case,” Buffy said. “You can call any of those numbers whenever you guys need something. Including Xander,” she repeated when Spike began to object. “You weren't the only one who grew up and changed over the last battle Spike, and you know it.”

Spike leaned back and nodded, though he still didn't look thrilled. “Don't think Harris would want to even acknowledge me bein' back,” he muttered.

“You'd be surprised,” Buffy told him. “I think you'd really be pleasantly surprised. Africa...made him grow up,” she said softly, and her eyes took a distant gaze that made Fred wonder. She'd only met the one-eyed man once, but he'd seemed sweet enough. Pretty cute, too, especially with his easy grin. She hoped he hadn't lost that.

Spike seemed to be regarding that statement thoughtfully, and Buffy eventually shook herself and folded the bag up. “And I'm not heading back to New York until I know that you guys are fine, and not Spike's sort of fine.” Spike mock-glared at her, and Buffy ignored him with an ease that almost made Fred giggle. “I want to make sure you guys are for sure out of the mess.”

“So we're stuck with you?” Spike moaned. Buffy narrowed her gaze at him and kicked him in the shins, eliciting a yelp.

“You're the one who wouldn't give me a straight answer with Fred, and if you didn't want me here, you shouldn't have told me anything at all,” she told him, wiping her hands of the powdered sugar. “Are we going furniture shopping or what, because that's another mess I'm going to help Fred out of. With YOUR sense of fashion, we'll be getting black, black, and nothing but black,” she teased, giving him a grin.

Spike gave her a look, and Fred almost managed to not grin. Almost.

“Good,” Buffy said approvingly. “Now, what sewers would get us there fastest?”

“No.”

“What?”

“Absolutely not, Spike.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Why the hell so?”

“Bloody hell woman, you don't appreciate...”

“I appreciate what I need to appreciate, and THAT doesn't come close.”

“You're the Slayer of more than vampires: you're the Slayer of fashion.”

“I am NOT! I wear more than one color, which is more than I can say for some people.”

“Yeah, but you don't wear 'em right, so you lose your color points.”

“Then why don't you wear them? Afraid to try and lose your 'color points', and I can't believe I just said that.”

“Hey, I wore red.”

“Oh, how original for a vampire. Blood red. Seriously, Spike. How about a yellow?”

“Yellow?!”

Fred stayed silent, stepping alongside the bickering duo, enjoying their running commentary while they looked around the furniture. The sound of their easy squabbling kept her smile constantly on her lips, and every now and then, there'd be a giggle from their banter. Most of the time, she looked around and tried to envision the pieces in their apartment.

She had to agree with Buffy about the last piece: Spike had found a solid black dresser, and it was as plain as it was ugly. Personally, considering Spike's choice in the apartment, Fred was sure he'd picked the piece just so he would argue with Buffy. It wasn't an angry arguing between them, and she got the feeling they'd done a lot of this in Sunnydale. Their digs at each other didn't go deep enough to hurt, and they both seemed to almost enjoy it.

Some things just didn't make any logical sense to her scientific mind. Her heart understood, though.

“...wrong with yellow, Spike. If you're man enough to wear it, that is.”

“What, is that like the bloody pink thing?”

“Fine, no yellow. Maybe a blue? You wore blue once, and you looked good in it.”

Fred had to admit, Spike would look good in blue. Very good. It would match his eyes perfectly.

“Once. I'd rather have my black, thanks so much.”

“What about white?”

Spike sputtered so much before answering that Fred was able to put her thoughts. “I think you'd look beautiful in white,” she said sincerely. He would: he'd look like the models from the front of the romance novels she didn't have in her boxes from her apartment. Just textbooks there; no romance novels of men that tenderly caressed the women, big and muscular as they gently wrapped themselves around their damsel in distress and...

“Oh don't you start,” Spike said, shaking his finger at her. “I'm on to you. What, you think I'll wear white because you say it looks good on me?”

“That is a good suggestion; good thinking Spike!” she said cheerfully, turning away to glance at a wood dresser. She heard Buffy's snicker from behind, and her own lips rose in a grin. Then she really looked at the wood dresser in front of her and let her lips part in awe.

The wood was a darker color, but there were little veins that almost looked like gold and cherry red. Five drawers total, with two faded gold knobs on each drawer. The wood was polished, and felt smooth under her fingers. When even she couldn't feel the different grains, it was well polished.

“Now that is absolutely beautiful,” Buffy said, wonder and awe in her own tone. “Simple, but elegant. Rich without a steep price tag. Nice choice.”

“I saw a dresser like that once,” Spike said softly, and Fred glanced from her newfound treasure to him. “Dru and I were goin' through Turkey, and we stopped at a small bed and breakfast place of sorts in Ankara. She loved it so much she wanted me to take it with us, but I managed to talk her out of it. Personally, I think I needed to be talked out of it too,” he admitted, smiling. “It was beautiful. I wouldn't be surprised if that right there is the same one I saw in Turkey all those years ago.”

“How long ago was that?” Fred asked.

Spike bit his lip and thought back. “It was in the 20's, I think. When everything glistened. And it looked just like that then, so it had to have been older than that.”

“I forgot you guys went all over the world,” Buffy mused, turning back to the dresser. Fred's eyes went round.

“All over?” she asked eagerly. “Like...?”

Spike nodded. “That story about Angelus? That was just the tip of the iceberg, luv. I'll tell you one day, and see if I can't take you around and let you see everythin' for yourself.”

“Well, if you guys head to the Bahamas or somewhere else nice and warm, you let me know, and I'll book my flight with you,” Buffy said, and she and Fred shared a grin.

“This one, luv?” Spike said as he stepped forward right behind Fred.

“It's for both of us,” she said softly. “I want you to like it too.”

“I already told you I had to be dragged from the last one I saw like this. And I saw the way your face lit up. I want to see it like that again,” he added quietly, and she glanced up to meet his eyes. There was the usual concern, though it was slightly hidden by a softness and affection and what she was starting to think might even be love.

She just wasn't sure yet. And she didn't really know what type of love it was, but she was fairly certain it wasn't the brother-sister type of love. It was more relationship love. Like love-love.

“We ready for sofas? Or should we be looking for the love-bird seats?” Buffy teased, and Spike gave her a look that didn't carry any annoyance thanks to his chuckling.

They wound up finding a beautiful beige sofa that was comfortable (they'd tested it for ten minutes or so), and some barstools that were equally comfy, but not so tall that they made Buffy or Fred feel like they had to jump down. Everything was simple, elegant, with a modern touch, and Fred was fairly confident as Spike signed the check that they'd made good purchases.

Buffy left just as the manager took them over to finish the sales, and by the time they were done, she was back with the moving truck she'd rented for the purpose of the moving. They made sure that the manager and the other employees weren't looking, and then the three of them started putting everything in. If they'd glanced outside, they'd have seen a small, skinny girl lifting a dresser like it was a box of tools, and Fred would rather if they didn't shock the poor employees like that.

Once everything was inside, Buffy headed for the driver's seat, and the two vampires headed into the cargo space of the truck, taking seats on the sofa as they drove safely across the sun-lit town. They had gotten a love-seat, but it was shoved in the back, hidden behind a dresser and a bed frame.

They still managed to get close and cozy on the sofa, and despite the bit of a bumpy ride and her wondering about Buffy's driving skills, it was nice. Just sitting on the sofa with her head on his shoulder, his right arm wrapped around her shoulders, his other hand entwined in the space between them with her left hand, and it was perfection. No words, nothing but him wrapped protectively and tenderly around her, and it was better than anything she'd had in a long time.

Finally she felt two turns before the truck was stopped and backed up. At the apartment, then. “Ready to do some heavy liftin'?” Spike asked finally, and Fred just gave him a look.

“You did see what I did with the dresser, didn't you?”

“Yeah, but don't get too cocky,” he warned. “There's gonna come a time when you can't lift it on your own. There's gonna be things that are too strong, even for you.”

“But I can still get cocky,” she said, smiling. “Because I know you'll be there to help me.”

Spike blinked for a minute, before his face lit up in that gorgeous smile again. “Then get cocky all you want.” The message was clear: I AM here, and I always will be.

The back door lifted, and Fred surprised herself by bracing to flee. The demon wasn't the least bit afraid of Buffy who was opening the door, but it was afraid of the sun. It remembered the first encounter of fear and panic trying to escape the rays. She didn't blame it.

Fortunately, the sun was now laying over the opposite side of the building, making the back shady and safe, and her demon began to calm. “Ride's over,” Buffy said. “Moving time.”

“And a bloody good thing, too,” Spike grumbled, hopping out of the truck. He reached back to grasp Fred gently by the hips with a smile, lifting her and placing her carefully on the ground despite her being perfectly able to jump the two feet down to the cement. He turned back to Buffy again, giving her a look again. “Who the hell gave you a license? No, blame goes further back than that: who the bloody hell taught you to drive in the first place?”

“Uh, that would be you,” Buffy said, and Fred giggled at Spike's sudden freeze. His face had a horrified, stricken look to it, and he glanced up at Buffy in despair.

“I didn't think you'd take those lessons to heart!”

Buffy just shook her head and reached for the sofa.

The furniture was easier to carry then it was to navigate around the stairwells, and Fred found that extra strength didn't do anything to help that aspect of moving. It did, however, make it easier to pause when they had to sit and figure out how to adjust the furniture to get it up and around the curves. Finally the big pieces were in, and it was down to the barstools.

“Start moving things where you need them to; I'll be back with the barstools,” Buffy promised. As Buffy hurried out with a bounce in her step, Fred stared after her with an incredulous look on her face. Truth be told, she was starting to feel tired, weariness pulling on her limbs like the lead weights she'd imagined when she'd first been turned.

“You want to sit?” Spike asked, and she didn't have to look him in the eyes to know that his concern was overpowering his affection this time.

“I'm good,” she promised, giving him a smile. “Just starting to hit that tired part. It's been a long day, and we're not done yet. Where should the sofa go?”

Spike pointed to the wall opposite the kitchen, but his voicing of his opinion was stopped by the knocking at the door. He rolled his eyes. “Shouldn't have closed the door when she knew she was comin' back in with the stools,” he muttered. He headed towards the door, but Fred waved him off.

“You move the sofa, and I'll let Buffy in. It's just the barstools left, right?” she asked, and he nodded.

Another knock, and Fred grinned, grabbing the handle and swinging the door open wide. “You can come in, silly,” she said, freezing as she stared out the doorway.

Red eyes met hers sorrowfully. “Are you sure, sweetie?” Lorne asked softly.

< --- >


Oh come ON! It's been ages since a decent cliffy! You had to know it was coming. ~_^

~Nebula