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bookishwenchI can't abide being completely late for a ficathon, so I'm at least posting the first parts of this now. Hopefully, the rest will show up later tonight.
Author: Meltha
Rating: FRC
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Melpomenethalia@aol.com
Spoilers: Through Angel season 5.
Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and Fanfiction.net. If you’re interested, please let me know.
Summary: Fred is attempting to give Spike a corporeal body in season 5 of Angel, but things go extremely wrong… or is it extremely right?
Author’s Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eurydice72’s Williamficathon. The request was from tobywolf13 who requested Fred/William, no more than an R, a comedic/fluffy romance, time travel, Texas barbeque, and horseback riding Western style, with no character death, graphic sex, or slash. The fic sort of ran away from me and wound up being several short sections long. Oh, and one last note. I am completely making up any and all science in this.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Out of the Blue
Part 1
“You sure about this, Fred?” Spike said, warily eyeing the machine in front of him. He poked a non-corporeal finger at one of its coils, but of course, it had no effect. “I still don’t quite get how this is going to make me solid again.”
“It’s kinda difficult to explain,” Fred said as she carefully checked the settings on a series of dials.
“Mind tryin’? I mean, I trust you. Course I do,” he said, though when Fred’s back was turned he seemed to be contemplating running out of the room. “But you’re planning on using this thingamabob on me, and I don’t fancy it burning a hole through my torso or some such.”
“No torso holes, I promise,” Fred said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Okay, I’ll try to make it simple. See, my theory is that you don’t have a body because your reality matrix has been subordinated due to your contact with the amulet’s supernatural field of containment plus the power surge that occurred when the transdimensional portal in Sunnydale went kerplooy, so this device should reset your solidity quotient back to its original starting point by using traces of molecular particles that are forming your visual manifestation and magnifying them into a three-dimensional recreation of your earlier matrix calibration.”
“The only word I understood in that was ‘kerplooey,’” Spike said, his expression not showing the least bit of comfort. “Try again?”
“Sorry,” Fred apologized. “It’s like this. The amulet and the hellmouth both working together sort of messed with the fabric of reality.”
“Fabric of reality?”
“Yeah,” Fred said. “It’s just a theory, but, see, we perceive reality only because we have the senses to take it in, right?”
“Okay,” Spike agreed, not sure if he was following completely. “Example?”
“You know how people ask if a tree falls in a forest and nobody hears it, does it make a noise? Well, of course, somebody would hear it or feel it or sense it, and even then, the tree is or was a living thing, so something would know the tree fell, so, yeah, the tree makes a noise. The only way it wouldn’t was if there was a total void, which theorhetically isn’t possible on earth.”
“Uh, Fred? Not a tree,” Spike said.
“Course not, silly,” Fred said, moving to slug his arm playfully but then realizing it was pointless. “But you may have been in a void.”
“Thought you said that wasn’t possible…”
“Theorhetically, no, but if a Hellmouth is imploding due to an amulet wiping out every bit of life for a several mile radius, well, I don’t think scientists would have considered that permutation on the theory,” Fred said with a smile. “So, essentially, when you… you know… uh…”
“Died?” Spike piped up. “Bit the big one? Kicked the bucket? Met the Grim Reaper? Shook hands with the great beyond? Went to Davy Jones’ locker? S’okay, pet, you can use the word.”
“Right, well, except you kinda didn’t die because you were already dead and had been for over a hundred years,” Fred said. “Anyway, you were essentially the tree falling in the void. There was no one there to see you fall, so you didn’t, if that makes any sense.”
“I don’t count?” Spike asked.
“I think it has something to do with the amulet. You were within its field of power, and I think that messed up the perception of reality. Added on to that, the Hellmouth essentially blew up, and that created a multi-dimension power surge, so reality kind of ceased to exist around you for a split second, and that must have been just about the time you… died… or re-died. It’s like a little hole in reality. But reality only blipped out of existence for a second or so, and when reality’s fabric wove back together, you wound up in the amulet. Does that make sense?” Fred asked earnestly.
“Little bit,” Spike said. “Right then. So I’m in the amulet, I get let back out, and I have no body but people can see me. Why?”
“See, I’m thinking that reality is still kind of blipping where you’re concerned. You were at the center of the whole thing when reality broke down, so I think a tiny piece of that hole wound up inside the amulet with you, and it’s been effecting how you’re perceived and how you perceive, too.”
“And since perception is reality, ergo, I don’t quite exist?” Spike asked.
“Ergo?” Fred said in amusement. “People actually use that word?”
“Fred, you just used the words ‘matrix calibration’ earlier. I think you win in the word geek competition betwixt the two of us,” he said, letting out a low chuckle.
“Well, anyway, you’re pretty close to right. That void is also why the air around you has been a little warmer than usual. Reality is doing its best to knit back together again, and its creating a kind of low-level friction with its attempts, kind of like how if you want to warm up cold sheets when you hop into bed at night you rub your feet on them,” Fred said. “See, the plus side is reality pretty much wants you solid because nature hates a void.”
“That’s good then,” Spike said. “So how long does old reality have to knit-one-perl-two me back together.”
“Uh… a while,” Fred said, studying her shoes closely. “From the readings I’ve taken, about, oh, three or four… millenia…”
“WHAT?!”
“But this machine should help!” Fred quickly consoled him. “See, you’re not completely not solid. It’s just that the reality hole is making your molecules spread out too much, but since we can see you, there has to be something there. Tree, forest, noise, perception of reality.”
“Fred, people see things all the time that aren’t there,” Spike said rationally. “I lived with a girl for over a hundred years who did exactly that.”
“Okay, so Drusilla was crazy, but she was the only one who saw those things, right?” Fred asked.
“Well, yeah,” Spike said.
“Those are hallucinations. Unless all five hundred employees of Wolfram & Hart you mooned last Tuesday at lunch in the cafeteria were involved in a mass hallucination, it’s not the same thing,” Fred said with a disapproving look.
“That was fun,” Spike said, grinning devilishly.
“Nice butt, by the way,” Fred said, and smiled a bit as she saw him go slightly pink. “Anyway, the deal is, this machine is like a big magnifying glass for reality. I’m going to catch a couple of your molecules in the crosshairs of lightbeams that will come from these six sensors that form a circle around you. Once I do, I’m going to give them a boost, and that should make your molecules kick the void out and squoosh back together again, turning you solid. There are just a couple problems.”
“Aren’t there always. Problem one, Madame Curie?”
“See, we need a bit more reality than a vampire’s body would normally have. Since you’re not quite alive but not quite dead, reality gets sort of messed up in your field anyway. And if we want this to work, we have to grab molecules that are living as closely within reality’s rules as we can, and you haven’t had those molecules since 1879,” Fred said.
“I’m sensing that’s a large problem,” Spike said with a look of annoyance.
“Well, yes and no. See, all we have to do is set your molecules back to 1879.”
“Set my molecules… back to… 1879… Fred, I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, but I’m not a bloody Swiss watch!” Spike yelled.
“No, but you’re close,” Fred said. “See, time doesn’t stop existing once it’s past. That’s how memory works. It calls past events back into existence within the scope of the brain. All I need to do is convince your molecules to remember that time vividly enough and wham, bam, they’ll sort of create a small field of that reality, and since reality is perception…”
“Then if my molecules perceive that it’s 1879, it is 1879,” he said with a grin.
“Or near enough. And this little beauty should do the convincing,” Fred said, lovingly stroking the machine’s metal casing.
“So what’s problem two, then?” Spike asked.
“You know, just forget I mentioned problem two,” Fred said. “It’s just me, worrying about nothing and all like I usually do. The chances are so infinitessimal of it even occuring that it would be about the same likelihood of tapdancing cheese.”
“I left a wheel of cheddar in the fridge so long once that it practically do the tango. Talk,” Spike said, folding his arms stubbornly.
"Um,” Fred said, not looking him in the eyes, “there’s the smallest chance that the little tiny reality bubble around your molecules that contains 1879 will break and actually create a vortex to 1879.”
“God, I hate science,” Spike said in disgust. “No wonder all those physicists look like they’re bonkers. So what’s the outcome of that little scenario?”
“It wouldn’t kill anybody or anything like that, but it might possibly send something really small back through time, like maybe a paper clip or a pin or something,” Fred said.
“Or a disease microbe that wipes out half of London in the Victorian age and changes human history completely,” Spike said angrily. “Nothing doing.”
“You think I hadn’t thought of that? The lab’s been sterilized, Spike. There’s not so much as a cold germ in here,” she assured him.
“You’re absolutely certain of that? No harm is going to come from this?”
“I give you my word of honor. I can’t promise you this will work, because it is only a theory, but if it doesn’t, there won’t be any harm done,” she vowed. “So, will you do it?"
Spike paced back and forth for a minute, the tails of his duster flickering through the lab tables as he passed, his mouth squeezed into a tight line. Finally he paused, took a deep breath, and turned round to face her. Without another word, he quietly stepped onto the red X that marked the center of the circle of sensors, closed his eyes, and nodded.
“You won’t regret this,” Fred said, throwing a switch that started the machine humming loudly. “All you’ll feel is a slight tingling sensation, and then, whoosh, back in your own body. Or, you know, not.”
Spike opened his eyes to give her a rye look before saying, “Let’s get this done, yeah? Got booze to drink, cigs to smoke, and Angel to deck before he realizes I can.”
Fred shook her head with a laugh, then pushed the button to make it all begin. The humming of the machine increased in volume until it was nearly deafening, the sensors glowed a bright white, and then a loud bang was heard. One sensor exploded, then another, and another. Fred desperately tried to pull the plug on the machine while Spike looked around wildly, when suddenly a swirling double helix of light shot from the central meeting-point of the three remaining beams. It latched onto the first piece of living material it could find, engulfed it in rays of blinding orange light, and then disappeared as fast as lightening.
Unfortunately, the only living material in the lab had been Fred.
Part 2
Fred landed with a dull thunk on a hillock covered in soft grass, and the spiraling lights that had surrounded her disappated into nothingness. For a long minute, she remained with her nose pressed against the earth, panting in terror, trying to calm the racing of her heart. The soft smell of dew-covered earth and the green grass pressing into her face calmed her a little, though she would have been much happier to see the white tile floor of the lab below her instead.
“Okay, Fred,” she said to herself out loud, “think. Are all your parts here?”
She tried to move her arms and legs, fingers and toes, and found that all of them seemed to be in working order. With a sigh of relief, she rolled over onto her back and stared up at the sky, breathing deeply. She was just starting to calm down enough for her brain to function when a familiar face came into view above her, upside down.
“Miss? Are you… are you quite well?” asked the man in a delicate English accent.
Fred stared up at him, her mouth hanging open from shock.
“Spike?” she asked, her brain refusing to wrap itself around the only logical explanation for what she was seeing.
“Spike? Did you fall on something sharp?” the face said, it’s brows immediately knitting in concern.
Fred groaned, but it wasn’t in physical pain. She knew where she had to be.
“It’s 1879, isn’t it?” she asked gruffly as she pulled herself up into a seated position.
“Yes, of course,” the young man said assuringly. “I don’t quite understand what I’ve just seen, but are you certain you are alright.”
“I’m okay,” Fred said, rubbing a bruised elbow. “But what exactly did you see?”
“You… um… you’ll forgive me I hope if you think this quite mad, but I saw you fall out of the clear sky, surrounded in a spiderweb of light,” the man said as he carefully helped her to her feet. “You’re not an angel, perchance?”
“Nope, just a plain old American girl,” Fred said, stretching her aching back. “I just happen to be from the future.”
“The what?” the man said, his mouth hanging open as hers had a few moments before.
“I’m from about a century and change from now,” Fred said, “and, oh boy, I guess I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Quantum Leap was right. Time travel really does Swiss cheese your brain a little.”
“You’re a time traveller?” the man said, and there was an undeniable note of excitement. “Oh, but this is wonderful! This is utterly unheard of! How simply splendid!”
“You don’t have any trouble believing this?” Fred asked.
“Well, I did see you drop from nowhere with my own eyes, and I’ve always believed that humanity is capable of great creations, so why shouldn’t a time machine be possible,” he replied thoughtfully. “After all, who would have believed in locomotives before they had come about. Is it so far-fetched to believe that we might invent something to harness Cronos as well?”
Fred blinked and took in what was undoubtedly the human version of Spike. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, knocked slightly askew in his haste to see whether she was alright. His clothes, a simple pair of brown woolen trousers with a matching coat, a pale cream shirt, and a maroon ascot, seemed worn in places, but they had obviously been mended with great care. His hair was much longer and a warm, light-brown shade that showed reddish highlights in the sun and curled into soft waves over his forehead. He was adorable. There was no other way to put it, and she smiled a little at the thought of what Spike would say to that.
“Oh dear,” he suddenly said and went several shades of red at once before immediately turning his back to her. “Ehm, Miss, you seem to have a rather large predicament.”
“You mean besides being in the wrong century?” she said wearily.
“Yes. It appears that your, um, your clothing didn’t all travel with you,” he said, stuttering.
“What!” she said, glancing down. She was relieved to see her labcoat, the hem of her gray skirt peeking out from under it, and even her shoes exactly where they should be. “Yes, they did.”
“B-b-but, your, em, limbs,” he said, gesturing frantically with his back still towards her. “They’re quite visible.”
“My limbs? Oh, geez, what am I thinking! I must be half-naked for Victorian England,” she said, smacking her head.
“Quite,” he replied in a voice that squeaked a little.
“I don’t suppose you could help me with that at all, could you?” Fred asked, feeling suddenly very embarassed.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help a lady in distress,” he assured her. “Perhaps it would be best, though, if you moved off the green? You’re in the middle of a public park. It’s sheer luck that no one else has come along yet. The hydrangea bushes over there may provide suitable, ehm, privacy.”
“Thanks,” she said, quickly dashing the thirty or so feet to a thick row of hedges. “I’m, uh, all covered up now.”
“Thank heavens,” he breathed quietly before he turned around rather stiffly. “I live not far from here along with my mother. I could run home quickly and return with one of her gowns for you, but I fear leaving you alone in your current, ehm, predicament.”
“Oh, I’ll be okay for a minute. If anyone tries to hurt me, I’ll just slug them,” Fred assured him. “I can hit hard for a little thing.”
“Well, as there’s no other alternative, I’ll return as quickly as my legs will carry me, you may be certain,” he said, then was as good as his word as he sprinted down the park path with a speed that was extremely encouraging.
Left alone in the bushes, Fred began to go over in her mind all her options. She had, after all, been through a portal once before this, and she’d managed to come home again in one piece, relatively safe and sound, though not particularly sane for a while. She slowly came to the realization that this time, though, was intensely different. While Pylea had been in another dimension, it had at least existed in the same time frame as Earth. The same number of years had passed in Pylea as passed in her world. But now she was in the past, and it had happened entirely by a fluke. She supposed she might be able to build another device and attempt locking it in on her own molecules to send her back to her own time, but trying to find a power source, the equipment, the materials, the basic components…
“I’ve returned,” said the voice from outside the bush. Immediately afterwards, she heard a soft rustling of leaves as a dress was laid across the bush’s branches. “I think this will fit well enough.”
“Thank you,” she said as she grabbed the dress and threw it awkwardly over her head. It took her quite a while to do up all the buttons and hooks and laces, and she’d had to start over twice because things weren’t matching up, but at long last she managed to complete the task well enough to be decently clothed by the Victorians’ standards.
She finally came out from behind the leafy screen to find the one-day-Spike still standing with his back to the bush, obviously keeping a look out for any possible passers-by.
“Thanks again,” Fred said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.
“No trouble,” he replied and smiled at her warmly if shyly. “Well, that much is taken care of, at least.”
“Yeah,” Fred said. “Now all I have to worry about is… everything.”
With a shuddering gasp, the full enormity of her situation, the fact that she was stranded in a time when the only person she knew had never seen her before, when her parents hadn’t even been born yet, when she had no home, no friends, no family, and wasn’t even in her own country came crashing down around her all at once. She tried to think of any possible solution to her problem, but there was none. With a small cry, she felt herself returning to that horrible, panicky place her mind had been imprisoned in for so long on Pylea, and her legs collapsed beneath her. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she found herself weeping uncontrollably, curled into a ball on the ground.
“Miss?” the man said, obviously horrified. He crouched beside her on the ground, tentatively searching for her hand.
Fred could only continue to cry until finally one coherent sentence passed her lips: “I don’t think I can never go home.”
“Oh, no,” he said, and the pity in his voice was obvious. “Oh, that’s dreadful! You poor thing. But, come now, Miss. We can’t have you stay out here in the park. As I’m the only person you must know in London, I’m responsible for you. Please, come home with me. Mother and I will look after you, and we’ll sort all this out.”
Fred blinked up at him, her tears distorting her vision, but she managed to give him a small smile as he handed her a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes furiously and then blew her nose before allowing him to carefully help her to her feet.
“I don’t see what other choice I have but to say okay,” Fred said with a sniffle. “Thanks again.”
“Pardon my forwardness, but may I enquire as to your name?” he asked as he led her along the path.
“Fred Burkle,” she said, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Pleased to meet you. Well, sort of.”
Instead of taking her hand, he awkwardly caught it in one of his own and gave it a light kiss.
“William Gordon at your service, Miss Burkle,” he replied, then paused a moment. “They name women Fred in your time? How extraordinary.”
“My real name is Winnifred, but my friends all call me Fred,” she explained, “and you’re the only friend I have in this place.”
“Then I may call you Fred?” he asked hesitantly.
“You sure can, William,” she said. She took his offerend arm in hers and began to walk through the streets of Victorian London, determined to find a way to make her life here work.
Part 3
The short stroll from the park to the Gordon household was extremely distracting. Everywhere Fred looked, she was confronted with yet another sight that drew her attention. The streets were full of horse-drawn carrages, Hansom cabs, carts full of produce pulled by donkeys, and enough dogs and cats to make a noise like Noah’s ark. She’d never seen so many animals in one place before, and William was obliged to help her thread their maze without soiling her skirts on the animals’ lovely little by-products on the ground.
If the animals were fascinating, the people themselves were astounding. In L.A., everyone tended to stay inside their cars, homes, and offices. People rarely went walking around the streets. But the sidewalks were incredibly crowded here. Women in fine dresses with narrow crinolines and bonnets, carrying parasols and reticules, covered from toe to neck bustled along the walkways, and men in three piece suits, each with a hat perched atop his head, strode quickly from one place to the next. Children in varying states of poverty or wealth according to their clothes played games on the sidewalk: marbles, tig, Ring Around the Rosy, jacks, running races, skipping rope. Fred had never seen so much activity, and yet there was a strange sense of politeness, safety, and familiarity in the air.
Still, not all was pleasant. She noticed a large number of beggers on corners, often blind or lame. Ragged children followed adults who seemed particularly dressed, begging them to buy flowers or matches. Her own time had poverty, certainly, but there seemed to be so much of it here, and the results were startlingly bad. The poor were far too thin, and painful-sounding coughs wracked many of them. She saw William quietly slip a coin into a cup held by one child whose dress was in tatters.
“Bless you, Mister William,” she’d said with a courtsey, but he’d just given her head a quick pat and kept going.
The smells of the city were also strange to her. There was, of course, no smell of exhaust or gasoline. But smoke poured from chimneys spouting from every building they passed. The scent of woodsmoke hung heavily in the air, but beside it was the thicker smell of coal burning. The animals, too, contributed to the smell. Manure was everywhere, of course, and the scent of working animals and, she suspected, unwashed people added to the overall impression.
All this seemed to pass in a blur or color and sound as Fred was led through the streets. She did have a vague impression that a few heads had turned as she passed, had heard snatches of whispered questions about the strange new woman. All in all, she was thankful to arrive at the simple brick two-story building that was William’s home. It had an inviting look about it. A pair of potted red geraniums stood on the doorstep, one to either side of the front door, and window boxes on the floor above were filled with more of the same blossoms. William turned the brass doorknob and opened the door, allowing Fred inside.
“It isn’t at all luxurious,” William assured her, “but it is a happy
home, none the less.”
Fred stepped inside to see a staircase leading to the next floor on one side, and a parlor painted a cheery yellow on the left. Simple furniture, a bit worn but comfortable, stood about the room and faced the fireplace, where a warm blaze crackled invitingly. A door in the back of the room seemed to lead to the kitchen, and the heavenly aroma of fresh bread baking greeted Fred’s nose from that direction.
“It’s a lovely home, William,” she said, giving him a smile, which he returned with thankfulness. “But, your mom… what exactly should we say?”
“Why the truth, of course,” he said, sounding a bit shocked.
“You think she’ll believe I fell out of the sky and I’m from the year 2003?” Fred asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’ve never lied to Mother,” he said firmly. “If we tell her what has happened, I assure you, she will believe us.”
“Okay,” Fred said with a shrug, “but if we wind up in a mental institution, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
William laughed a bit, then became serious again. She could tell something had occurred to him, but he wasn’t quite ready to explain it. He picked up a poker beside the hearth and stirred the ashes thoughtfully, lost in his thoughts for a moment.
“She’s at a meeting of the Ladies’ Aid to Orphans and Widow Society,” he finally said. “She’ll be home in an hour or so. Are you perhaps hungry after your, ehm, trip?”
“You know, now you mention it, I’m starved,” Fred said as her stomach answered with a loud growl.
“Well, then, tea is in order, and perhaps a sandwich or two,” he said, rubbing his hands together rapidly and seeming glad to have something to do. “I shouldn’t like a lady from the future to have a poor opinion of our hospitality.”
“Considering you’ve already taken me into your house, like, an hour after meeting me, I think you’re plenty hospitable,” Fred said with a grin while following him into the kitchen.
“Pray, don’t mention it,” William said off-handedly as though taking in strange women from other centuries was a perfectly normal matter.
Fred sat at the small, rough-hewn kitchen table and watched with avid interest as William put a kettle on yet another fire in here, waited for it to sing, then added loose tea to a plain ceramic pot and let it steep for a few minutes.
“I’m sorry to say we haven’t any sugar about the place,” William said, looking uncomfortable. “There’s milk, though, if you wish.”
“That’s okay. I usually just drink it plain,” Fred said quickly.
He handed her a delicate white porcelain cup painted with butterflies and took a different one for himself. Observing it closely, she noticed that it was chipped in a few places. Along with the tea, William placed on the table a plate that held part of the loaf of bread she had smelled when she first stepped in. He sliced it into thin pieces, buttered them, and presented them to her on a smaller plate that didn’t quite match her cup, keeping a single slice for himself, which he ate to keep her company.
“This is real nice of you,” Fred said. “I mean, you know, everything.”
“I imagine this whole ordeal must be most distressing for you,” William said, stirring his tea before taking a sip. “I take it you weren’t trying to come here?”
“Nope,” she said, folding up a slice of bread and practically swallowing it whole. “An experiment went wrong.”
“Might I ask where you were prior to this?”
“I was in Los Angeles, California,” she said softly.
“I thought you were American,” he said excitedly. “So you’re a Californian. Are they still having the gold rush there?”
“No, that’s been over a long while now,” Fred said. “I wasn’t born there, though. I’m a Texas-girl from birth.”
William looked absolutely enthralled. “I’ve read stories of the West! All sorts of interesting things happen there. Tell me, have you ever seen a cowboy?”
“There were a few in the town where I grew up,” she said, pleased to see she could at least be an interesting guest in return for his kindness. “Some of the still ride horses and do cattle drives, but mostly they use trucks now for that.”
“Trucks?” he asked.
“They’re machines that are sort of like carriages, but without horses,” she explained, refilling her teacup. “Oh, geez. I probably shouldn’t tell you too much about the future or else it might change history or something.”
“I suppose so,” William said, looking crestfallen.
Fred regarded him for a minute. She was still stunned to find this version of Spike so sweet, gentle, and bashful. Still, there had been moments when the vampire’s bravado had cracked a little and she had seen hints at the man he must have once been. It fit in a very strange way.
“Do you have family who will be searching for you?” William asked tentatively.
“There’s my mom and dad,” she said unhappily. “They’re going to be upset.”
“But no husband or… or sweetheart?” William asked while studying the pattern on his plate intently.
“No,” Fred said. “I do have a lot of good friends though: Wesley, Gunn, Angel, Harmony. Well, maybe not so much Harmony. But Spike’s going to be blaming himself up one side and down the other for this, like he doesn’t have enough problems as it is.”
“Spike,” William said. “That’s the name you called me when we first met.”
“Yeah, well, you look a little alike,” Fred said evasively. If there was one topic she really shouldn’t touch to keep history from unravelling, it was William’s alter ego.
Just at the moment, the sound of the front door opening was heard, and William immediately got to his feet.
“Mother must be home,” he said nervously. “I’d best introduce the two of you.”
Fred nodded, the butterflies on her teacup having somehow seemed to land in her stomach where their wings were currently beating fast enough to start a hurricane. She stood up a bit too fast and accidentally knocked over the entire table, sending the teacups flying and succeeding in spattering William’s coat with enough tea to almost drown. She groaned.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, immediately getting to her hands and knees and trying to set the table upright again.
“William? Is that you, dear?” said a female voice.
At that moment, Anne Gordon entered the kitchen and beheld the scene before her: her son drenched in tea, and a young woman who was a complete stranger sitting on the floor, picking up the bits of their broken tea service and dressed in her second best gown. She had to fight back a smile. After all, it did look rather promising.
“Mother!” William said, surveying the damage around him. “Believe me, I can explain!”
“Don’t distress yourself so, William,” she said. “Are you and your friend quite well?”
“Yes, m’am,” Fred said, springing to her. “I’m real sorry about this. This is all my fault.”
“Accidents happen, child,” William’s mother said. “I am simply glad you are unharmed. William, aren’t you going to introduce me this young lady.”
“Oh, yes, of course! Mother, this is Miss Winnifred Burkle from America,” he said, ushering her forward. “Miss Burkle, this is my mother, Mrs. Anne Gordon.”
“Please to meet you,” Fred said trying to decide whether a courtsey or a handshake was in order.
“And I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance as well,” Anne replied, giving the girl a kiss on the cheek. “My, you must be far from home.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Fred confided wearily.
It fell to William to explain to his mother what he had seen and what Fred had told him, and he did exactly that. Mrs. Gordon, for her part, listened, never once speaking a word until William had finished his tale.
“I see,” she said switching her gaze from William to Fred. “Is this true, Miss Burkle?”
“Hard as it may be to believe, yes, m’am,” Fred said, feeling extremely small. She was painfully aware of how farfetched the story must seem, and William’s mother’s eyes were glued to her, pinning her with a look.
A long pause stretched across the room for several minutes, with William alternately looking at his mother and Fred, Fred becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and Anne sitting quite still.
Slowly, Anne nodded. “If you say this is true, then I will believe you,” she said. “William has never lied to me, and I don’t sense any deception from you. As William has already said, you have the hospitality of our home such as it is.”
Fred breathed a sigh. She’d never even realized she had been holding her breath to begin with. William sighed as well, and Fred caught his eye, exchanging a glance with him of pure relief.
“Thank you, Mrs. Gordon, but I don’t mean to be a burden here for long,” Fred said gratefully. “I’m going out to get a job first thing tomorrow. I earn my keep.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Gordon said, nodding in approval. “What is it that you can do?”
Fred could have provided several dozen answers to that question if it weren’t for a very serious problem: she had absolutely no references here. Added on to that, not many places would hire a woman.
“Oh, dear,” Fred said, the corner of her mouth screwing up. “I don’t suppose anyone you know wants to hire a quantum physicist, do they?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Gordon said with a shake of her head, “not that I know what one is. Do you perhaps do stichery work?”
“Um, no.”
“Can you cook?”
“I can do okay in my time, but I don’t know how to use one of your kinds of ovens.”
“Have you ever taught school?”
“No, but I’m good in math, chemistry, biology, anatomy, astronomy,” Fred began listing off on her fingers. “There’s more, but I don’t think they’ve been discovered yet.”
Mrs. Gordon raised her eyebrows, duly impressed, and said, “I think, perhaps, I may be able to help you. The Ladies’ Aid to Orphans and Widows Society is attempting to open a school for the daughters of under-priviliged and impoverished Londoners. Thus far, we’ve found instructors for reading and writing, including my son, but no teacher of any qualifications would agree to teach math and the sciences to a group of girls for what, I must admit, would be very little pay. In fact, our meeting today concerned exactly that. Do you think you might be interested in the position, Miss Burkle?”
Fred’s mouth gaped open before she could at last stutter out a reply. “That’s… that’s perfect!”
“Then it is settled,” Mrs. Gordon said happily. “The school will not open for another month yet, so you will have some time to become aquainted to your new home, which will, of course, be with us.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose,” Fred began, but Mrs. Gordon interrupted her.
“I insist. I was thinking of boarding the teacher anyway to supplement the small salary,” she said.
“Mother,” William broke in, “will you be wanting me to ready Pe… a room for her, then?”
William’s mother looked up quickly at that first broken syllable, and Fred saw a look of pain shoot through her.
“You can say Peter’s name, dearheart,” she said, though Fred noticed she stumbled a bit over the name herself before turning to Fred. “Peter was my other son, seven years younger than William, but he died of the influenza three years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Fred said, and without realizing just how she was kneeling on the floor in front of Mrs. Gordon, taking her hand in her own.
Anne took a moment to recover herself, and her eyes seemed overly bright, but she smiled at Fred warmly. “It’s alright, my dear. I’m quite certain Peter wouldn’t mind you taking his room.”
William slipped out of the room delicately, leaving the two women alone so that he could quickly air out the small room that had once been his brother’s and put fresh sheets on the bed. The Gordons had no servents at all, and though the neighbors and the alumni of William’s university looked down on them for it, as well as for their poor financial circumstances in general, he was unashamed of doing for himself. He did wish he could make his mother’s life easier, though. Ever since his father had died, followed by Peter a year later, things had been very difficult for them.
When he returned an hour later, he found Fred and his mother sitting amiably in front of the fire, laughing and chatting. His mother had just let out a great fountain of laughter, a sound William hadn’t heard since long before Peter’s death, and he felt intensely grateful to the young woman for provoking that sound. He looked at the two of them, unobserved from his vantage point in the doorframe, and felt a soft stirring in his heart. Fred really was quite lovely, especially when she laughed, and even dressed in Mother’s worn clothes that didn’t quite fit, she somehow radiated a quiet beauty. In a way, she reminded him of Cecily, and yet, there was something in Fred’s face that he never saw in Cecily’s. It took him a moment to place what it was, but when he did, it was a revelation: kindness.
Just at that instant, his mother began to cough, more than likely brought on by the bout of laughter, but it quickly progressed into the far more troubling wracking cough that the doctors said meant consumption. William moved beside her in an instant.
“Mother? Shall I fetch a glass of water for you?” he asked softly, but his mother shook her head.
“Is there something wrong?” Fred asked. “That’s a bad sounding cough.”
William’s mother closed her eyes for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself before answering Fred. “Yes, I’m afraid it is quite bad, and unlikely to get any better. But, let’s not discuss it now. You must be very tired, I’m sure. William, is the young lady’s bedroom ready?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”
“Thanks, William. I am kind of tired,” she said, yawning widely.
Carefully lighting a taper, he led the way up the stairs and to a small room that held a bed, a chair, a tiny table, and a chest of drawers. He set the candle on the table and turned around.
“Sleep well, Fred,” he said, then turned and left Fred to her thoughts. Fred didn’t have time to ponder her new state of affairs for long, though, before she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
There. At least I can live with myself until the rest is done.
Author: Meltha
Rating: FRC
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Melpomenethalia@aol.com
Spoilers: Through Angel season 5.
Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and Fanfiction.net. If you’re interested, please let me know.
Summary: Fred is attempting to give Spike a corporeal body in season 5 of Angel, but things go extremely wrong… or is it extremely right?
Author’s Note: Written for
eurydice72’s Williamficathon. The request was from tobywolf13 who requested Fred/William, no more than an R, a comedic/fluffy romance, time travel, Texas barbeque, and horseback riding Western style, with no character death, graphic sex, or slash. The fic sort of ran away from me and wound up being several short sections long. Oh, and one last note. I am completely making up any and all science in this.Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Out of the Blue
Part 1
“You sure about this, Fred?” Spike said, warily eyeing the machine in front of him. He poked a non-corporeal finger at one of its coils, but of course, it had no effect. “I still don’t quite get how this is going to make me solid again.”
“It’s kinda difficult to explain,” Fred said as she carefully checked the settings on a series of dials.
“Mind tryin’? I mean, I trust you. Course I do,” he said, though when Fred’s back was turned he seemed to be contemplating running out of the room. “But you’re planning on using this thingamabob on me, and I don’t fancy it burning a hole through my torso or some such.”
“No torso holes, I promise,” Fred said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Okay, I’ll try to make it simple. See, my theory is that you don’t have a body because your reality matrix has been subordinated due to your contact with the amulet’s supernatural field of containment plus the power surge that occurred when the transdimensional portal in Sunnydale went kerplooy, so this device should reset your solidity quotient back to its original starting point by using traces of molecular particles that are forming your visual manifestation and magnifying them into a three-dimensional recreation of your earlier matrix calibration.”
“The only word I understood in that was ‘kerplooey,’” Spike said, his expression not showing the least bit of comfort. “Try again?”
“Sorry,” Fred apologized. “It’s like this. The amulet and the hellmouth both working together sort of messed with the fabric of reality.”
“Fabric of reality?”
“Yeah,” Fred said. “It’s just a theory, but, see, we perceive reality only because we have the senses to take it in, right?”
“Okay,” Spike agreed, not sure if he was following completely. “Example?”
“You know how people ask if a tree falls in a forest and nobody hears it, does it make a noise? Well, of course, somebody would hear it or feel it or sense it, and even then, the tree is or was a living thing, so something would know the tree fell, so, yeah, the tree makes a noise. The only way it wouldn’t was if there was a total void, which theorhetically isn’t possible on earth.”
“Uh, Fred? Not a tree,” Spike said.
“Course not, silly,” Fred said, moving to slug his arm playfully but then realizing it was pointless. “But you may have been in a void.”
“Thought you said that wasn’t possible…”
“Theorhetically, no, but if a Hellmouth is imploding due to an amulet wiping out every bit of life for a several mile radius, well, I don’t think scientists would have considered that permutation on the theory,” Fred said with a smile. “So, essentially, when you… you know… uh…”
“Died?” Spike piped up. “Bit the big one? Kicked the bucket? Met the Grim Reaper? Shook hands with the great beyond? Went to Davy Jones’ locker? S’okay, pet, you can use the word.”
“Right, well, except you kinda didn’t die because you were already dead and had been for over a hundred years,” Fred said. “Anyway, you were essentially the tree falling in the void. There was no one there to see you fall, so you didn’t, if that makes any sense.”
“I don’t count?” Spike asked.
“I think it has something to do with the amulet. You were within its field of power, and I think that messed up the perception of reality. Added on to that, the Hellmouth essentially blew up, and that created a multi-dimension power surge, so reality kind of ceased to exist around you for a split second, and that must have been just about the time you… died… or re-died. It’s like a little hole in reality. But reality only blipped out of existence for a second or so, and when reality’s fabric wove back together, you wound up in the amulet. Does that make sense?” Fred asked earnestly.
“Little bit,” Spike said. “Right then. So I’m in the amulet, I get let back out, and I have no body but people can see me. Why?”
“See, I’m thinking that reality is still kind of blipping where you’re concerned. You were at the center of the whole thing when reality broke down, so I think a tiny piece of that hole wound up inside the amulet with you, and it’s been effecting how you’re perceived and how you perceive, too.”
“And since perception is reality, ergo, I don’t quite exist?” Spike asked.
“Ergo?” Fred said in amusement. “People actually use that word?”
“Fred, you just used the words ‘matrix calibration’ earlier. I think you win in the word geek competition betwixt the two of us,” he said, letting out a low chuckle.
“Well, anyway, you’re pretty close to right. That void is also why the air around you has been a little warmer than usual. Reality is doing its best to knit back together again, and its creating a kind of low-level friction with its attempts, kind of like how if you want to warm up cold sheets when you hop into bed at night you rub your feet on them,” Fred said. “See, the plus side is reality pretty much wants you solid because nature hates a void.”
“That’s good then,” Spike said. “So how long does old reality have to knit-one-perl-two me back together.”
“Uh… a while,” Fred said, studying her shoes closely. “From the readings I’ve taken, about, oh, three or four… millenia…”
“WHAT?!”
“But this machine should help!” Fred quickly consoled him. “See, you’re not completely not solid. It’s just that the reality hole is making your molecules spread out too much, but since we can see you, there has to be something there. Tree, forest, noise, perception of reality.”
“Fred, people see things all the time that aren’t there,” Spike said rationally. “I lived with a girl for over a hundred years who did exactly that.”
“Okay, so Drusilla was crazy, but she was the only one who saw those things, right?” Fred asked.
“Well, yeah,” Spike said.
“Those are hallucinations. Unless all five hundred employees of Wolfram & Hart you mooned last Tuesday at lunch in the cafeteria were involved in a mass hallucination, it’s not the same thing,” Fred said with a disapproving look.
“That was fun,” Spike said, grinning devilishly.
“Nice butt, by the way,” Fred said, and smiled a bit as she saw him go slightly pink. “Anyway, the deal is, this machine is like a big magnifying glass for reality. I’m going to catch a couple of your molecules in the crosshairs of lightbeams that will come from these six sensors that form a circle around you. Once I do, I’m going to give them a boost, and that should make your molecules kick the void out and squoosh back together again, turning you solid. There are just a couple problems.”
“Aren’t there always. Problem one, Madame Curie?”
“See, we need a bit more reality than a vampire’s body would normally have. Since you’re not quite alive but not quite dead, reality gets sort of messed up in your field anyway. And if we want this to work, we have to grab molecules that are living as closely within reality’s rules as we can, and you haven’t had those molecules since 1879,” Fred said.
“I’m sensing that’s a large problem,” Spike said with a look of annoyance.
“Well, yes and no. See, all we have to do is set your molecules back to 1879.”
“Set my molecules… back to… 1879… Fred, I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, but I’m not a bloody Swiss watch!” Spike yelled.
“No, but you’re close,” Fred said. “See, time doesn’t stop existing once it’s past. That’s how memory works. It calls past events back into existence within the scope of the brain. All I need to do is convince your molecules to remember that time vividly enough and wham, bam, they’ll sort of create a small field of that reality, and since reality is perception…”
“Then if my molecules perceive that it’s 1879, it is 1879,” he said with a grin.
“Or near enough. And this little beauty should do the convincing,” Fred said, lovingly stroking the machine’s metal casing.
“So what’s problem two, then?” Spike asked.
“You know, just forget I mentioned problem two,” Fred said. “It’s just me, worrying about nothing and all like I usually do. The chances are so infinitessimal of it even occuring that it would be about the same likelihood of tapdancing cheese.”
“I left a wheel of cheddar in the fridge so long once that it practically do the tango. Talk,” Spike said, folding his arms stubbornly.
"Um,” Fred said, not looking him in the eyes, “there’s the smallest chance that the little tiny reality bubble around your molecules that contains 1879 will break and actually create a vortex to 1879.”
“God, I hate science,” Spike said in disgust. “No wonder all those physicists look like they’re bonkers. So what’s the outcome of that little scenario?”
“It wouldn’t kill anybody or anything like that, but it might possibly send something really small back through time, like maybe a paper clip or a pin or something,” Fred said.
“Or a disease microbe that wipes out half of London in the Victorian age and changes human history completely,” Spike said angrily. “Nothing doing.”
“You think I hadn’t thought of that? The lab’s been sterilized, Spike. There’s not so much as a cold germ in here,” she assured him.
“You’re absolutely certain of that? No harm is going to come from this?”
“I give you my word of honor. I can’t promise you this will work, because it is only a theory, but if it doesn’t, there won’t be any harm done,” she vowed. “So, will you do it?"
Spike paced back and forth for a minute, the tails of his duster flickering through the lab tables as he passed, his mouth squeezed into a tight line. Finally he paused, took a deep breath, and turned round to face her. Without another word, he quietly stepped onto the red X that marked the center of the circle of sensors, closed his eyes, and nodded.
“You won’t regret this,” Fred said, throwing a switch that started the machine humming loudly. “All you’ll feel is a slight tingling sensation, and then, whoosh, back in your own body. Or, you know, not.”
Spike opened his eyes to give her a rye look before saying, “Let’s get this done, yeah? Got booze to drink, cigs to smoke, and Angel to deck before he realizes I can.”
Fred shook her head with a laugh, then pushed the button to make it all begin. The humming of the machine increased in volume until it was nearly deafening, the sensors glowed a bright white, and then a loud bang was heard. One sensor exploded, then another, and another. Fred desperately tried to pull the plug on the machine while Spike looked around wildly, when suddenly a swirling double helix of light shot from the central meeting-point of the three remaining beams. It latched onto the first piece of living material it could find, engulfed it in rays of blinding orange light, and then disappeared as fast as lightening.
Unfortunately, the only living material in the lab had been Fred.
Part 2
Fred landed with a dull thunk on a hillock covered in soft grass, and the spiraling lights that had surrounded her disappated into nothingness. For a long minute, she remained with her nose pressed against the earth, panting in terror, trying to calm the racing of her heart. The soft smell of dew-covered earth and the green grass pressing into her face calmed her a little, though she would have been much happier to see the white tile floor of the lab below her instead.
“Okay, Fred,” she said to herself out loud, “think. Are all your parts here?”
She tried to move her arms and legs, fingers and toes, and found that all of them seemed to be in working order. With a sigh of relief, she rolled over onto her back and stared up at the sky, breathing deeply. She was just starting to calm down enough for her brain to function when a familiar face came into view above her, upside down.
“Miss? Are you… are you quite well?” asked the man in a delicate English accent.
Fred stared up at him, her mouth hanging open from shock.
“Spike?” she asked, her brain refusing to wrap itself around the only logical explanation for what she was seeing.
“Spike? Did you fall on something sharp?” the face said, it’s brows immediately knitting in concern.
Fred groaned, but it wasn’t in physical pain. She knew where she had to be.
“It’s 1879, isn’t it?” she asked gruffly as she pulled herself up into a seated position.
“Yes, of course,” the young man said assuringly. “I don’t quite understand what I’ve just seen, but are you certain you are alright.”
“I’m okay,” Fred said, rubbing a bruised elbow. “But what exactly did you see?”
“You… um… you’ll forgive me I hope if you think this quite mad, but I saw you fall out of the clear sky, surrounded in a spiderweb of light,” the man said as he carefully helped her to her feet. “You’re not an angel, perchance?”
“Nope, just a plain old American girl,” Fred said, stretching her aching back. “I just happen to be from the future.”
“The what?” the man said, his mouth hanging open as hers had a few moments before.
“I’m from about a century and change from now,” Fred said, “and, oh boy, I guess I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Quantum Leap was right. Time travel really does Swiss cheese your brain a little.”
“You’re a time traveller?” the man said, and there was an undeniable note of excitement. “Oh, but this is wonderful! This is utterly unheard of! How simply splendid!”
“You don’t have any trouble believing this?” Fred asked.
“Well, I did see you drop from nowhere with my own eyes, and I’ve always believed that humanity is capable of great creations, so why shouldn’t a time machine be possible,” he replied thoughtfully. “After all, who would have believed in locomotives before they had come about. Is it so far-fetched to believe that we might invent something to harness Cronos as well?”
Fred blinked and took in what was undoubtedly the human version of Spike. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, knocked slightly askew in his haste to see whether she was alright. His clothes, a simple pair of brown woolen trousers with a matching coat, a pale cream shirt, and a maroon ascot, seemed worn in places, but they had obviously been mended with great care. His hair was much longer and a warm, light-brown shade that showed reddish highlights in the sun and curled into soft waves over his forehead. He was adorable. There was no other way to put it, and she smiled a little at the thought of what Spike would say to that.
“Oh dear,” he suddenly said and went several shades of red at once before immediately turning his back to her. “Ehm, Miss, you seem to have a rather large predicament.”
“You mean besides being in the wrong century?” she said wearily.
“Yes. It appears that your, um, your clothing didn’t all travel with you,” he said, stuttering.
“What!” she said, glancing down. She was relieved to see her labcoat, the hem of her gray skirt peeking out from under it, and even her shoes exactly where they should be. “Yes, they did.”
“B-b-but, your, em, limbs,” he said, gesturing frantically with his back still towards her. “They’re quite visible.”
“My limbs? Oh, geez, what am I thinking! I must be half-naked for Victorian England,” she said, smacking her head.
“Quite,” he replied in a voice that squeaked a little.
“I don’t suppose you could help me with that at all, could you?” Fred asked, feeling suddenly very embarassed.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help a lady in distress,” he assured her. “Perhaps it would be best, though, if you moved off the green? You’re in the middle of a public park. It’s sheer luck that no one else has come along yet. The hydrangea bushes over there may provide suitable, ehm, privacy.”
“Thanks,” she said, quickly dashing the thirty or so feet to a thick row of hedges. “I’m, uh, all covered up now.”
“Thank heavens,” he breathed quietly before he turned around rather stiffly. “I live not far from here along with my mother. I could run home quickly and return with one of her gowns for you, but I fear leaving you alone in your current, ehm, predicament.”
“Oh, I’ll be okay for a minute. If anyone tries to hurt me, I’ll just slug them,” Fred assured him. “I can hit hard for a little thing.”
“Well, as there’s no other alternative, I’ll return as quickly as my legs will carry me, you may be certain,” he said, then was as good as his word as he sprinted down the park path with a speed that was extremely encouraging.
Left alone in the bushes, Fred began to go over in her mind all her options. She had, after all, been through a portal once before this, and she’d managed to come home again in one piece, relatively safe and sound, though not particularly sane for a while. She slowly came to the realization that this time, though, was intensely different. While Pylea had been in another dimension, it had at least existed in the same time frame as Earth. The same number of years had passed in Pylea as passed in her world. But now she was in the past, and it had happened entirely by a fluke. She supposed she might be able to build another device and attempt locking it in on her own molecules to send her back to her own time, but trying to find a power source, the equipment, the materials, the basic components…
“I’ve returned,” said the voice from outside the bush. Immediately afterwards, she heard a soft rustling of leaves as a dress was laid across the bush’s branches. “I think this will fit well enough.”
“Thank you,” she said as she grabbed the dress and threw it awkwardly over her head. It took her quite a while to do up all the buttons and hooks and laces, and she’d had to start over twice because things weren’t matching up, but at long last she managed to complete the task well enough to be decently clothed by the Victorians’ standards.
She finally came out from behind the leafy screen to find the one-day-Spike still standing with his back to the bush, obviously keeping a look out for any possible passers-by.
“Thanks again,” Fred said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.
“No trouble,” he replied and smiled at her warmly if shyly. “Well, that much is taken care of, at least.”
“Yeah,” Fred said. “Now all I have to worry about is… everything.”
With a shuddering gasp, the full enormity of her situation, the fact that she was stranded in a time when the only person she knew had never seen her before, when her parents hadn’t even been born yet, when she had no home, no friends, no family, and wasn’t even in her own country came crashing down around her all at once. She tried to think of any possible solution to her problem, but there was none. With a small cry, she felt herself returning to that horrible, panicky place her mind had been imprisoned in for so long on Pylea, and her legs collapsed beneath her. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she found herself weeping uncontrollably, curled into a ball on the ground.
“Miss?” the man said, obviously horrified. He crouched beside her on the ground, tentatively searching for her hand.
Fred could only continue to cry until finally one coherent sentence passed her lips: “I don’t think I can never go home.”
“Oh, no,” he said, and the pity in his voice was obvious. “Oh, that’s dreadful! You poor thing. But, come now, Miss. We can’t have you stay out here in the park. As I’m the only person you must know in London, I’m responsible for you. Please, come home with me. Mother and I will look after you, and we’ll sort all this out.”
Fred blinked up at him, her tears distorting her vision, but she managed to give him a small smile as he handed her a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes furiously and then blew her nose before allowing him to carefully help her to her feet.
“I don’t see what other choice I have but to say okay,” Fred said with a sniffle. “Thanks again.”
“Pardon my forwardness, but may I enquire as to your name?” he asked as he led her along the path.
“Fred Burkle,” she said, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Pleased to meet you. Well, sort of.”
Instead of taking her hand, he awkwardly caught it in one of his own and gave it a light kiss.
“William Gordon at your service, Miss Burkle,” he replied, then paused a moment. “They name women Fred in your time? How extraordinary.”
“My real name is Winnifred, but my friends all call me Fred,” she explained, “and you’re the only friend I have in this place.”
“Then I may call you Fred?” he asked hesitantly.
“You sure can, William,” she said. She took his offerend arm in hers and began to walk through the streets of Victorian London, determined to find a way to make her life here work.
Part 3
The short stroll from the park to the Gordon household was extremely distracting. Everywhere Fred looked, she was confronted with yet another sight that drew her attention. The streets were full of horse-drawn carrages, Hansom cabs, carts full of produce pulled by donkeys, and enough dogs and cats to make a noise like Noah’s ark. She’d never seen so many animals in one place before, and William was obliged to help her thread their maze without soiling her skirts on the animals’ lovely little by-products on the ground.
If the animals were fascinating, the people themselves were astounding. In L.A., everyone tended to stay inside their cars, homes, and offices. People rarely went walking around the streets. But the sidewalks were incredibly crowded here. Women in fine dresses with narrow crinolines and bonnets, carrying parasols and reticules, covered from toe to neck bustled along the walkways, and men in three piece suits, each with a hat perched atop his head, strode quickly from one place to the next. Children in varying states of poverty or wealth according to their clothes played games on the sidewalk: marbles, tig, Ring Around the Rosy, jacks, running races, skipping rope. Fred had never seen so much activity, and yet there was a strange sense of politeness, safety, and familiarity in the air.
Still, not all was pleasant. She noticed a large number of beggers on corners, often blind or lame. Ragged children followed adults who seemed particularly dressed, begging them to buy flowers or matches. Her own time had poverty, certainly, but there seemed to be so much of it here, and the results were startlingly bad. The poor were far too thin, and painful-sounding coughs wracked many of them. She saw William quietly slip a coin into a cup held by one child whose dress was in tatters.
“Bless you, Mister William,” she’d said with a courtsey, but he’d just given her head a quick pat and kept going.
The smells of the city were also strange to her. There was, of course, no smell of exhaust or gasoline. But smoke poured from chimneys spouting from every building they passed. The scent of woodsmoke hung heavily in the air, but beside it was the thicker smell of coal burning. The animals, too, contributed to the smell. Manure was everywhere, of course, and the scent of working animals and, she suspected, unwashed people added to the overall impression.
All this seemed to pass in a blur or color and sound as Fred was led through the streets. She did have a vague impression that a few heads had turned as she passed, had heard snatches of whispered questions about the strange new woman. All in all, she was thankful to arrive at the simple brick two-story building that was William’s home. It had an inviting look about it. A pair of potted red geraniums stood on the doorstep, one to either side of the front door, and window boxes on the floor above were filled with more of the same blossoms. William turned the brass doorknob and opened the door, allowing Fred inside.
“It isn’t at all luxurious,” William assured her, “but it is a happy
home, none the less.”
Fred stepped inside to see a staircase leading to the next floor on one side, and a parlor painted a cheery yellow on the left. Simple furniture, a bit worn but comfortable, stood about the room and faced the fireplace, where a warm blaze crackled invitingly. A door in the back of the room seemed to lead to the kitchen, and the heavenly aroma of fresh bread baking greeted Fred’s nose from that direction.
“It’s a lovely home, William,” she said, giving him a smile, which he returned with thankfulness. “But, your mom… what exactly should we say?”
“Why the truth, of course,” he said, sounding a bit shocked.
“You think she’ll believe I fell out of the sky and I’m from the year 2003?” Fred asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’ve never lied to Mother,” he said firmly. “If we tell her what has happened, I assure you, she will believe us.”
“Okay,” Fred said with a shrug, “but if we wind up in a mental institution, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
William laughed a bit, then became serious again. She could tell something had occurred to him, but he wasn’t quite ready to explain it. He picked up a poker beside the hearth and stirred the ashes thoughtfully, lost in his thoughts for a moment.
“She’s at a meeting of the Ladies’ Aid to Orphans and Widow Society,” he finally said. “She’ll be home in an hour or so. Are you perhaps hungry after your, ehm, trip?”
“You know, now you mention it, I’m starved,” Fred said as her stomach answered with a loud growl.
“Well, then, tea is in order, and perhaps a sandwich or two,” he said, rubbing his hands together rapidly and seeming glad to have something to do. “I shouldn’t like a lady from the future to have a poor opinion of our hospitality.”
“Considering you’ve already taken me into your house, like, an hour after meeting me, I think you’re plenty hospitable,” Fred said with a grin while following him into the kitchen.
“Pray, don’t mention it,” William said off-handedly as though taking in strange women from other centuries was a perfectly normal matter.
Fred sat at the small, rough-hewn kitchen table and watched with avid interest as William put a kettle on yet another fire in here, waited for it to sing, then added loose tea to a plain ceramic pot and let it steep for a few minutes.
“I’m sorry to say we haven’t any sugar about the place,” William said, looking uncomfortable. “There’s milk, though, if you wish.”
“That’s okay. I usually just drink it plain,” Fred said quickly.
He handed her a delicate white porcelain cup painted with butterflies and took a different one for himself. Observing it closely, she noticed that it was chipped in a few places. Along with the tea, William placed on the table a plate that held part of the loaf of bread she had smelled when she first stepped in. He sliced it into thin pieces, buttered them, and presented them to her on a smaller plate that didn’t quite match her cup, keeping a single slice for himself, which he ate to keep her company.
“This is real nice of you,” Fred said. “I mean, you know, everything.”
“I imagine this whole ordeal must be most distressing for you,” William said, stirring his tea before taking a sip. “I take it you weren’t trying to come here?”
“Nope,” she said, folding up a slice of bread and practically swallowing it whole. “An experiment went wrong.”
“Might I ask where you were prior to this?”
“I was in Los Angeles, California,” she said softly.
“I thought you were American,” he said excitedly. “So you’re a Californian. Are they still having the gold rush there?”
“No, that’s been over a long while now,” Fred said. “I wasn’t born there, though. I’m a Texas-girl from birth.”
William looked absolutely enthralled. “I’ve read stories of the West! All sorts of interesting things happen there. Tell me, have you ever seen a cowboy?”
“There were a few in the town where I grew up,” she said, pleased to see she could at least be an interesting guest in return for his kindness. “Some of the still ride horses and do cattle drives, but mostly they use trucks now for that.”
“Trucks?” he asked.
“They’re machines that are sort of like carriages, but without horses,” she explained, refilling her teacup. “Oh, geez. I probably shouldn’t tell you too much about the future or else it might change history or something.”
“I suppose so,” William said, looking crestfallen.
Fred regarded him for a minute. She was still stunned to find this version of Spike so sweet, gentle, and bashful. Still, there had been moments when the vampire’s bravado had cracked a little and she had seen hints at the man he must have once been. It fit in a very strange way.
“Do you have family who will be searching for you?” William asked tentatively.
“There’s my mom and dad,” she said unhappily. “They’re going to be upset.”
“But no husband or… or sweetheart?” William asked while studying the pattern on his plate intently.
“No,” Fred said. “I do have a lot of good friends though: Wesley, Gunn, Angel, Harmony. Well, maybe not so much Harmony. But Spike’s going to be blaming himself up one side and down the other for this, like he doesn’t have enough problems as it is.”
“Spike,” William said. “That’s the name you called me when we first met.”
“Yeah, well, you look a little alike,” Fred said evasively. If there was one topic she really shouldn’t touch to keep history from unravelling, it was William’s alter ego.
Just at the moment, the sound of the front door opening was heard, and William immediately got to his feet.
“Mother must be home,” he said nervously. “I’d best introduce the two of you.”
Fred nodded, the butterflies on her teacup having somehow seemed to land in her stomach where their wings were currently beating fast enough to start a hurricane. She stood up a bit too fast and accidentally knocked over the entire table, sending the teacups flying and succeeding in spattering William’s coat with enough tea to almost drown. She groaned.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, immediately getting to her hands and knees and trying to set the table upright again.
“William? Is that you, dear?” said a female voice.
At that moment, Anne Gordon entered the kitchen and beheld the scene before her: her son drenched in tea, and a young woman who was a complete stranger sitting on the floor, picking up the bits of their broken tea service and dressed in her second best gown. She had to fight back a smile. After all, it did look rather promising.
“Mother!” William said, surveying the damage around him. “Believe me, I can explain!”
“Don’t distress yourself so, William,” she said. “Are you and your friend quite well?”
“Yes, m’am,” Fred said, springing to her. “I’m real sorry about this. This is all my fault.”
“Accidents happen, child,” William’s mother said. “I am simply glad you are unharmed. William, aren’t you going to introduce me this young lady.”
“Oh, yes, of course! Mother, this is Miss Winnifred Burkle from America,” he said, ushering her forward. “Miss Burkle, this is my mother, Mrs. Anne Gordon.”
“Please to meet you,” Fred said trying to decide whether a courtsey or a handshake was in order.
“And I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance as well,” Anne replied, giving the girl a kiss on the cheek. “My, you must be far from home.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Fred confided wearily.
It fell to William to explain to his mother what he had seen and what Fred had told him, and he did exactly that. Mrs. Gordon, for her part, listened, never once speaking a word until William had finished his tale.
“I see,” she said switching her gaze from William to Fred. “Is this true, Miss Burkle?”
“Hard as it may be to believe, yes, m’am,” Fred said, feeling extremely small. She was painfully aware of how farfetched the story must seem, and William’s mother’s eyes were glued to her, pinning her with a look.
A long pause stretched across the room for several minutes, with William alternately looking at his mother and Fred, Fred becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and Anne sitting quite still.
Slowly, Anne nodded. “If you say this is true, then I will believe you,” she said. “William has never lied to me, and I don’t sense any deception from you. As William has already said, you have the hospitality of our home such as it is.”
Fred breathed a sigh. She’d never even realized she had been holding her breath to begin with. William sighed as well, and Fred caught his eye, exchanging a glance with him of pure relief.
“Thank you, Mrs. Gordon, but I don’t mean to be a burden here for long,” Fred said gratefully. “I’m going out to get a job first thing tomorrow. I earn my keep.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Gordon said, nodding in approval. “What is it that you can do?”
Fred could have provided several dozen answers to that question if it weren’t for a very serious problem: she had absolutely no references here. Added on to that, not many places would hire a woman.
“Oh, dear,” Fred said, the corner of her mouth screwing up. “I don’t suppose anyone you know wants to hire a quantum physicist, do they?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mrs. Gordon said with a shake of her head, “not that I know what one is. Do you perhaps do stichery work?”
“Um, no.”
“Can you cook?”
“I can do okay in my time, but I don’t know how to use one of your kinds of ovens.”
“Have you ever taught school?”
“No, but I’m good in math, chemistry, biology, anatomy, astronomy,” Fred began listing off on her fingers. “There’s more, but I don’t think they’ve been discovered yet.”
Mrs. Gordon raised her eyebrows, duly impressed, and said, “I think, perhaps, I may be able to help you. The Ladies’ Aid to Orphans and Widows Society is attempting to open a school for the daughters of under-priviliged and impoverished Londoners. Thus far, we’ve found instructors for reading and writing, including my son, but no teacher of any qualifications would agree to teach math and the sciences to a group of girls for what, I must admit, would be very little pay. In fact, our meeting today concerned exactly that. Do you think you might be interested in the position, Miss Burkle?”
Fred’s mouth gaped open before she could at last stutter out a reply. “That’s… that’s perfect!”
“Then it is settled,” Mrs. Gordon said happily. “The school will not open for another month yet, so you will have some time to become aquainted to your new home, which will, of course, be with us.”
“Oh, I couldn’t impose,” Fred began, but Mrs. Gordon interrupted her.
“I insist. I was thinking of boarding the teacher anyway to supplement the small salary,” she said.
“Mother,” William broke in, “will you be wanting me to ready Pe… a room for her, then?”
William’s mother looked up quickly at that first broken syllable, and Fred saw a look of pain shoot through her.
“You can say Peter’s name, dearheart,” she said, though Fred noticed she stumbled a bit over the name herself before turning to Fred. “Peter was my other son, seven years younger than William, but he died of the influenza three years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Fred said, and without realizing just how she was kneeling on the floor in front of Mrs. Gordon, taking her hand in her own.
Anne took a moment to recover herself, and her eyes seemed overly bright, but she smiled at Fred warmly. “It’s alright, my dear. I’m quite certain Peter wouldn’t mind you taking his room.”
William slipped out of the room delicately, leaving the two women alone so that he could quickly air out the small room that had once been his brother’s and put fresh sheets on the bed. The Gordons had no servents at all, and though the neighbors and the alumni of William’s university looked down on them for it, as well as for their poor financial circumstances in general, he was unashamed of doing for himself. He did wish he could make his mother’s life easier, though. Ever since his father had died, followed by Peter a year later, things had been very difficult for them.
When he returned an hour later, he found Fred and his mother sitting amiably in front of the fire, laughing and chatting. His mother had just let out a great fountain of laughter, a sound William hadn’t heard since long before Peter’s death, and he felt intensely grateful to the young woman for provoking that sound. He looked at the two of them, unobserved from his vantage point in the doorframe, and felt a soft stirring in his heart. Fred really was quite lovely, especially when she laughed, and even dressed in Mother’s worn clothes that didn’t quite fit, she somehow radiated a quiet beauty. In a way, she reminded him of Cecily, and yet, there was something in Fred’s face that he never saw in Cecily’s. It took him a moment to place what it was, but when he did, it was a revelation: kindness.
Just at that instant, his mother began to cough, more than likely brought on by the bout of laughter, but it quickly progressed into the far more troubling wracking cough that the doctors said meant consumption. William moved beside her in an instant.
“Mother? Shall I fetch a glass of water for you?” he asked softly, but his mother shook her head.
“Is there something wrong?” Fred asked. “That’s a bad sounding cough.”
William’s mother closed her eyes for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself before answering Fred. “Yes, I’m afraid it is quite bad, and unlikely to get any better. But, let’s not discuss it now. You must be very tired, I’m sure. William, is the young lady’s bedroom ready?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”
“Thanks, William. I am kind of tired,” she said, yawning widely.
Carefully lighting a taper, he led the way up the stairs and to a small room that held a bed, a chair, a tiny table, and a chest of drawers. He set the candle on the table and turned around.
“Sleep well, Fred,” he said, then turned and left Fred to her thoughts. Fred didn’t have time to ponder her new state of affairs for long, though, before she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
There. At least I can live with myself until the rest is done.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-05 08:22 am (UTC)and of course William
great stuff more more more!!
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Date: 2004-12-05 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-05 08:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-05 07:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-05 08:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-08 02:13 pm (UTC)I'm definitely looking forward to the rest.
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Date: 2004-12-10 01:35 pm (UTC)Thanks for the lovely feedback!