Author: Meltha
Rating: PG
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Through Angel season 5.
Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and 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 Eurydice 72'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.
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 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 carriages, 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 beggars 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 curtsey, 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 wood smoke 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 unraveling, 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 Winifred 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 curtsey 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-privileged 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 acquainted 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 servants 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.
