A/N: Chapter four and I am LOVING writing a Drop Dead Fred fanfiction

That's right, FANFICTION. I don't claim to own it

The flashbacks are fun to write – oh, and also I got a copy of Drop Dead Fred recently

Big shout out to my friend G, who was doing a Drop Dead Fred role-play with me and that's where I got some ideas for some of this chapter from!

Also, there's a blatant (if you've seen it) The Young Ones reference in here… I've started writing most of my chapters longer than I used to but this chapter feels a bit like filler… I'm sure a plot will come soon

Chapter Four: Lizzie's New Life Begins

The only time Lizzie had ever gone out to dinner with her parents before Fred's arrival, it had not gone too well. Luckily she never remembered much of it.

Once, she went out to dinner with her parents when Fred was with her. Although she didn't remember much of it, she remembered that Fred had put food in her mother's hair and spilt drink all over her mother's dress for criticising Lizzie about not wanting to eat the grown-up food and vegetables.

This time, however, Fred had been visible. He'd restrained himself nicely – again, for the most part – although he'd disappeared back off to Mickey's house when Velcrohead had called him to tell him the prank was about to happen. Lizzie had later on asked how Imaginary Friends contacted each other over long distance and Fred told her it was one of those things you can do but you can't explain, like knowing what a certain word means.

Mickey had offered to let them stay at his house until they figured out something more long-term. The attic, he explained, had been converted into a spare bedroom because they didn't have a spare of their own. He offered to let them stay in the spare room as long as they looked after Natalie (and Velcrohead). Fred, as it turned out, was a bigger fan of the idea than Lizzie had been expecting; but like he told her later, he liked the home-y-ness of the Bunce house.

Besides, it was cheaper than a motel room.

The attic-room was big. Of course it was; it was in the attic. The roof slanted above their heads but there were windows with blinds above them. The trapdoor had unfolding steps, of course, but a wall with a door had been constructed to make it feel more like a room – even if, like in the apartment Lizzie used to share with Charles, the walls didn't go all the way up (there was a small gap near the peak of the roof).

The floor was mostly wood, but it was thick and sturdy, and there were several rugs on the floor, mostly thick and fluffy. The double bed was opposite the wall lengthways and directly underneath one of the overhead windows. A couple of lamps were spread about the room to give light when it was dark, but the windows gave plenty of natural light during the daytime.

That night, Fred and Lizzie sat on opposite sides of the foot of the bed like awkward newlyweds in the soft glow of the lamp on the night stand. Lizzie had not taken many clothes with her when she'd ditched Charles and she regretted that the pyjamas she'd taken with her were neither interesting nor sexy. Just plain. She'd made a note to get herself some more clothes in the morning.

"I've never seen you wear pyjamas," Lizzie said suddenly, catching a glance of Fred in the full-length mirror by the dresser (and cardboard boxes). "You normally just sleep in your suit. Even when I was a child."

Fred wore a green button-up pyjama top with yellow bottoms and bright red slippers. He smiled a little bit. "I still get my own choice of clothes. It's one of the perks of being an Imaginary Friend."

"Are there drawbacks?"

"Sometimes. Like it can be really upsetting seeing your charge getting in trouble because even if you stick up for them, they're the only one who can hear you. But usually pulling a good prank or two makes up for it."

"That was genius tonight, by the way. It's a good thing Mickey's got great babysitters like us, or he'd never get another babysitter ever again."

"Ah, it was nothing. Just a little something I'd originally cooked up for Charlie-boy."

Lizzie laughed and wrapped her arms around Fred. Still laughing, she kissed the side of his neck and the two of them fell back onto the bed, Fred kicking his slippers off.

They made love for real that night. There was none of the crazed giddiness of Fred being real; none of the adrenaline of leaving Charles. There was just Fred and Lizzie, two real people who really cared for one another. Neither knew if they could use the word love in the sense of having fallen in love just yet, but both supposed it would happen. They fell asleep gazing up at the stars together.

When Lizzie woke up she couldn't see Fred. She could see his slippers abandoned by the bed and swore she heard him breathing, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A note lay on the pillow next to her; she picked it up and read it with an almost greedy look in her eyes. In green crayon, Fred had written, in an almost childish scrawl:

Dear Snotface,

I don't know if you'll be able to see me in the morning. I exhausted a lot of my powers and energy with that prank last night – and with you. Just wanted to let you know I'm still here, but I'll probably be taking a nap when you get up and my visibility might be temporarily gone. Don't know how long it'll last.

I'm still new to being part-real and I'm only just discovering all the new stuff but I reckon I should be up and visible again by midday. See you then.

Fred.

X

Lizzie smiled gently to herself. It must have taken Fred a while to write that note in his own childish handwriting. But she was pleased he'd written it. Carefully, she reached out to the supposedly-empty space next to her in the bed, touching only thin air – and then her hand made contact with something solid. It was Fred's arm, she realised, as he slowly materialised before her, green wisps of light at first which formed his shape and then turned into Fred. He was still a little see-through.

He lay fast asleep on his side, facing her, his chest rising and falling gently. His lips were just slightly parted and a soft snoring sound came from between them. His eyelids twitched when she touched his arm but he remained asleep. Lizzie leaned over to kiss his temple and then got up. He faded back into thin air when she lost contact with him, but she swore she could still hear him breathing. Again, she smiled to herself. Then she dressed in a loose white shirt and brown trousers with suspenders, and headed to the rest of the house.

"Did you sleep well?" Mickey asked. He was cooking breakfast while Natalie sat at the table rubbing her eyes and yawning. There were still hints of chocolate on her skin from part of the prank last night.

"Yes, thanks," Lizzie said, sitting down next to Natalie. "Fred's still asleep. He's exhausted." Then, in a quiet voice, she added, "He disappears when he's drained of energy."

"That's so cool," Mickey said. Then he turned to Natalie. "Natalie, I know you had fun last night, but I don't think you and Velcrohead should pull big pranks like that on Lizzie and Drop Dead Fred. They were masters when we were younger. I'd dread to think how a prank war between the four of you would turn out."

Lizzie and Natalie giggled. Lizzie thought she might've also heard Velcrohead laugh.

"Got any plans for today?" Mickey asked. "Apart from letting Fred sleep?"

"I have to get myself some more clothes," Lizzie said. "But I might put it off until later. I don't want to leave Fred on his own."

"Don't worry about it," Mickey replied. "You go take care of him. I have to get Natalie to school anyway, and then I'll go to work. I'll leave you the spare key."

Lizzie smiled. "Thanks."

"Hey! I have to ask you something!"

In his dreamland, Fred had the option to have a dream or to control his environment to the detail. Right now, he wanted to talk to Them – and as an Imaginary Friend, it was something he could do.

"That is natural, Fred. You are experiencing something new and have questions."

"Can't I talk to you in person? Or to a face?"

Suddenly, Fred was in what looked like the drawing room of a student flat in London in the early 1980s, sitting on a bright red sofa next to a spotty punk with a bright ginger tri-hawk and four stars on his forehead.

"What questions do you have?" asked the punk, in Their voices.

"I won't suddenly disappear or die or something, will I?"

"No."

"Will I be invisible when I wake up?"

"You lose your visibility when you are drained of either energy or power. You will be visible again once you recharge."

"How come I could make Lizzie and Mickey see Velcrohead?"

For a while Fred sat on that red sofa, questioning Them through the ginger punk, who at last said, "Some things are best discovered in time, Fred. As you continue through your new life as a real person, you will grow stronger and gain more energy. We will be here if you require assistance, but though you are inquisitive, try to discover some of these things on your own. You should probably wake up now. Elizabeth is waiting for you."

When Fred opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Lizzie's face. She was resting her chin on the pillow next to him, watching him wake up and smiling at him. "Feeling better?" she asked quietly.

"Much," he grinned, and it wasn't even remotely untrue. He wasn't sure how many questions he'd asked Them, and he couldn't in truth remember all of his questions or the answers, but somewhere within himself he felt reassured. There was an air of permanence about his situation: about Lizzie.

"Good," Lizzie said, her smile widening just a bit. "You look less tired now. You must've slept well."

Fred sat up. His body was tired and a bit stiff. "Maybe a bit too well."

"Welcome to the world of real people, Fred. Everyone gets that way sometimes. Don't worry about it."

"Lizzie?"

"Yes?"

"I never thought I'd see the day when you were telling me not to worry about something."

Lizzie giggled and Fred hopped out of bed, stretching as far as he could.

They had lunch together and then Lizzie took the spare key and some of the cash she'd taken with her; then she picked up the keys to Charles' convertible and asked Fred if he wanted to go to the mall with her.

"You might not like it, though," she warned him. "I'm just getting myself some new clothes."

"I'm going," Fred told her. "We always do everything together."

"Okay – but could you please wear something other than your suit? Please? Just to – you know – blend in a bit."

"Oh, alright," Fred replied, rolling his eyes just a bit.

When they arrived at the mall, Lizzie was wearing the clothes she'd dressed in earlier, and Fred wore his red shoes with faded denim jeans that were just slightly tinted green, a pale yellow t-shirt and a green jacket. Lizzie doubted the colour scheme of his clothes was ever going to change, but she wasn't complaining. He always made whatever he was wearing look natural on him.

"Where to first?" he asked quietly. Fred had never really liked shopping much, and shopping malls sometimes gave him sensory overload if he didn't have something to focus on, but he and Lizzie always did everything together. Still, he wanted it over and done with as quickly as possible.

"Patience, Luke," Lizzie teased softly. "Anywhere that sells clothes will be fine."

And so Lizzie Cronin and Drop Dead Fred managed to waste an afternoon – which went quicker than he was expecting – picking up clothes for Lizzie. He gave her as much advice as he could: "Yuck, who'd wanna wear that?"; "Lizzie, if you even touch that thing, I'm taking you to get your head checked!"; "That one looks more like a big bruise than the dress you wore to the Charlie party."; "No, Snotface, we're staying out of this shop! The clothes in there are the same kind your mother wears!"; and the occasional "Bloody hell, Lizzie! You look great in that – for a girl…" summed up his clothes-shopping advice pretty well.

Working together, they found clothes that were normal for Lizzie to wear; ones that she always wanted to wear but Charles or her mother had never let her; and even some things that were outside of her comfort zone. However, it seemed that like usual, Fred knew what would be best for her. Just as he sometimes used to chop her hair off in the night so it could be cut shorter and look better on her, he knew which clothes she'd look good in and which ones would end up in the back on her closet. He wouldn't let her get anything that didn't suit her, either.

Fred didn't mind the mall too much overall, mostly because he'd had a focus. Waiting idly while Lizzie changed into some of her new clothes in the public restrooms made him a little uncomfortable, though, especially when a group of high school girls – probably only seventeen, tops, he decided – began to stare at him and giggle. He was grateful for Lizzie's return.

She wore something he had picked out for her; they'd had a bet on that he couldn't pick out something good for her to wear. She totally owed him three cookies.

He had picked out a gold strappy top with thick, diagonal scarlet stripes, the largest of which stretched from her left shoulder to her right hip, the others running paralell. To go with the shirt, he'd chosen a pair of dark trousers that weren't too loose but didn't hug her figure either, and a pair of doc martens.

"You look bloody brilliant," he said. As they turned to leave, grinning at each other, they heard somebody call her name.

"Lizzie, right?"

They turned.

"Annabella?" Lizzie asked.

Standing before them was the curly-haired blonde woman Charles had cheated on Lizzie with. Lizzie might have tried to get Charles back, but she realised she didn't resent Annabella. Fred was right: the problem with her marriage was that she had thought she loved Charles, but she'd never been happy with him. She felt Fred give her shoulder a small squeeze and felt happier than she had with Charles for a long time.

"Look, I'm sorry about Charles," Annabella said, walking up to Lizzie and Fred. "When I met him, he told me you were this mousey girl and all these other things. I didn't realise until the other day what a manipulative jerk he was to not just you, but me as well. So when I recognised you just now, I thought I should tell you I've told him he can get lost."

"I told him the same thing," Lizzie said. "No hard feelings. I'm glad I'm rid of him. I gave him divorce papers yesterday."

"Good luck with that."

"Thanks."