A/N: Hello, my freaky darlings! Back for more, I see? Well, that's good!
Thanks to Leah Day, SpeedDemon315, RabidReject, and The Brat Princess for their reviews!
Disclaimer: Still don't own any of Joss Whedon's kickass character. Sad face.
Freedom farewell
Look in the lens
Answer the questions
Will you behave as required?
When we think the end is here
With nearly all faith gone
There is hope along the way
And there a new age dawns
None are more hopelessly enslaved than those
who falsely believe that they are free
-"Resign to Surrender-A New Age Dawns-Part IV" by Epica
Chapter Five: Interrupted Sleepwalking
The headlights of the glossy black Mazda came to a rest on a large wrought-iron gate, which loomed up out of nowhere, a lonely guardian standing sentinel over a vast manor at the end of a one-lane road several miles outside of Los Angeles.
"Is this where you live?" Lindsey asked incredulously, peering from the backseat, where he rode with Eve and Doyle. Cordelia sat in the passenger's seat up front, while Morrigan drove. She'd spoken not a word the entire ride-matter of fact, she seemed oblivious to everything, from the outside world to her followers to the Lacuna Coil CD that was blaring almost at top volume.
"For now, yes," she replied tonelessly, opening a small compartment on the dash. A small transponder sat inside, bearing one single button. She pushed the button, and the gate slid open effortlessly.
"This place is a mansion!" Eve gasped, awestruck. Cordelia and Doyle, like their master, remained unfazed; this was nothing they hadn't already seen. "How did you find a place like this?!"
"I know a man who owes me a favor." A small grin came to her face as she guided her car up the driveway. "Several, actually."
As if sensing the approach of a car, the garage door opened with a rumble. Morrigan smoothly pulled the car into the cavernous space, before killing the engine and exiting the car. Cordelia, Lindsey, Doyle, and Eve scrambled out and fell into line behind her, following her out of the garage and into a small hallway like ducklings following their mother.
The hallway opened up into a vast kitchen, with gleaming marble countertops and stainless-steel appliances. The kitchen was impeccably clean, not a crumb on the counter or a dirty dish in the sink. A sleek cat with a coal-colored coat meandered up to sit at Morrigan's feet, its tail swishing as it entreated her with a pair of yellow-green eyes. A crimson collar encircled the cat's neck, a charm of a raven matching the one on Morrigan's necklace dangling from said collar.
"Thanatos!" she cried excitedly, bending down and scooping up the feline, who gave a welcoming meow as she did. "How's Mama's little boy?"
The cat purred, butting its head against her chin in a demand to be given attention. Obliging, she gently stroked his head, earning a louder purr for her actions. Still stroking the head of her beloved Thanatos (and looking ever the more like some villain from some old Saturday-morning cartoon), she turned to her followers.
"I'm going to retire for the evening," she informed them. "Cordelia, Doyle, I trust you to show Eve and Lindsey to their rooms without any hassle. And, if you need me, you know what to do."
"Knock before entering," Doyle and Cordelia chorused in unison.
"Very good," she replied, before retreating around a corner, out into the foyer. A sweeping staircase, fit for a castle, rose to the second floor; the wooden banister was intricately carved with a strange, macabre mix of grimacing skulls resting in the center of roses, while the carpet on the steps was the color of freshly-spilled blood. Like a princess, she ascended the stairs, turning left at the top and disappearing behind the double doors at the end of the hallway.
The room was dark; no lights had been left on to brighten the room. Morrigan let the door swing shut behind her, leaving her in blackness completely, and yet, she strode forward confidently, heading for her nightstand. Thanatos jumped from her arms, landing soundlessly on the bed. Meanwhile, his owner opened the small drawer of her nightstand, feeling around blindly until her hand closed around a book of matches. She lifted her hand, opening the book and producing a single match, striking it to set it alight, before putting the flame to a candle on her bedside table.
The ever-growing flame cast light upon a room that was decorated in more shades of black, gray, and red, a paradise for any goth in a room fit for royalty. An armoire made of rich black wood stood regally in the corner, while two nightstands of similar-colored wood flanked the impressive four-poster bed. Nigrine curtains hung down to offer privacy, and a bedspread of the same color covered the bed. It was turned down at the top to reveal satin sheets of red; a small white throw pillow, made of course linen and embroidered with a shamrock, rested docilely on the bed, the only speck of light color amongst the entire room. The candle she'd lit sat perched atop what, morbidly enough, appeared to be a human skull.
Thanatos strolled to her side of the bed, his eyes watching curiously as her hand delved back into the drawer, coming up with a stick of incense. She touched it to the candle's flame, setting it alight before she snuffed the tiny flames out, leaving the incense smoking, filling the room with the scent of clove, sage, juniper, and a slightly muskier, unnamed aroma.
Thanatos mewed inquisitively.
Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths, inhaling the potent scent of burnt incense before opening her eyes again. The familiar dark sapphire of her irises now hid behind the opalescent sheen of a dead man's stare.
Another curious mew escaped her cat.
The necromancer's lips curled into a smile as she stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes.
"There you are."
Winifred…Winifred…Wake up, Winifred.
With a small sigh, Fred rolled over, trying to block out the voice that kept whispering her name. She felt indulgently lazy, her limbs still heavy with pleasure after a night of very vigorous activity with Wesley. She had no intentions of waking up anytime soon.
I told you to wake up, Winifred.
She made a small noise of protest, snuggling deeper into the gray comforter of Wesley's bed, which, despite its drab appearance, was actually quite comfortable.
You will wake up, Winifred.
The voice resounded harshly through her mind, stunning her senses; her eyes snapped open, their warm, chocolate depths devoid of emotion, of everything, making her look as though her soul had been sucked right out.
She threw back the covers, revealing Wesley's hands wrapped tight around her waist, his body spooned against hers. Her expression still blank, she pried his hands off, then stood and headed for the door, not caring that she wore not a stitch of clothing.
The hallways of the Hyperion were empty as she moved through them, driven to one single point for one single purpose that the voice in her head was calmly ordering her to do.
Bring me Angel. Bring him alive.
She could vaguely remember where he slept, recalling how, after being rescued from Pylea, a few nights of fleeing to Angel's room like a scared child, pouring out her fears about the nightmares that plagued her. He would always assuage her fears before taking her back to her room, just like a father with his daughter.
She stopped before Angel's room, her small hand closing around the knob. With a quick twist of the knob, she thrust the door open, expecting to find the vampire asleep in his bed.
But he wasn't there. Instead, Nina was sprawled across the bed, the covers bunched around her knees, one arm flung across a pillow, as if there was supposed to be a person there. She was dressed in a turquoise tank top and a pair of striped shorts that barely brushed mid-thigh, and snoring lightly as she slept on.
Fred's features hardened slightly in frustration, but it was fleeting-she knew where else Angel could be. He may have been in his office. He was a notorious insomniac, anyways.
Abandoning her position at the door, she wandered down the hallway, until she found the point where the walls of the upper corridor disappeared, creating a sort of balcony overlooking the lobby. The vast room was empty, sunlight streaming through the frosted-glass doors onto the gleaming marble floors. The ghostly stain of the blood pentagram they'd painted on the floor trying to summon Connor back from Quor-Toth could still be seen in the middle of the lobby floor, but Fred paid no mind to that, or anything else in the lobby for that matter.
Angel wasn't here, either-but his office was right through the lobby.
She descended the stairs, down into the lobby, and began towards the back rooms, figuring that if Angel was nowhere else that he usually haunted, he'd be in his office. As she walked, she glanced at the weapons storage cabinet, which served to stop her in her tracks. She turned to the cabinet and peered at it, cocking her head to one side in a way reminiscent of Illyria.
Angel might come more willingly if she had a weapon.
The Hyperion Hotel was harder to find than Wolfram and Hart. Especially when driving.
Connor realized this as he turned onto the wrong street for the third time and was forced to drive five blocks before he could turn around. After twenty minutes, he finally found the hotel, breathing a sigh of relief as he parked his beat-up old truck in the pothole-ridden parking lot. With a flick of his wrist, he killed the engine and removed his keys, depositing them back into his pocket before strolling into the hotel. The weak afternoon sunshine streamed down, just barely overtaking the sky-not quite perfect weather for a vampire, but for someone like Connor, it was a good day.
The lobby of the hotel was dimly lit, owing to the opaque glass on both the front and back doors. It was also empty, which didn't surprise Connor-he knew everyone living at the Hyperion Hotel tended to keep a nocturnal schedule, so of course it was empty.
Or was it?
He noticed that the weapons cabinet was open, and someone's feet could be seen poking out from under the door, which puzzled Angel's son.
"Hello?"
Suddenly, the door slammed shut, revealing to him none other than Fred (of whom he only had the vaguest recollections, and whom he knew had died months ago) standing there, clutching Gunn's scythe-like ax in her small hands. Her blank brown eyes started intently at Connor, who had instantly averted his eyes to her nakedness.
"Oh, hey, Illyria…I guess I came at a bad time, should have knocked or something," he stammered, trying and failing to hold back the blush creeping over his cheeks. "You, um…wow, you look…different…you know, less…well, less blue."
"That is because she is not me," Illyria answered, strolling into the lobby from the back offices. "She is my former shell. They call her Fred."
"Oh-wait, Fred? How?"
"Fred?" Wesley's voice echoed from the upper floors, sounding a bit panicky. "Fred, are you down there?"
His voice came through the fog in Fred's mind clear and strong, slowly melting away the commanding voice, her blind obedience, and the singular goal she had in mind. Blinking, she shook her head as the haze lifted.
"Huh?" she asked, looking around at the lobby. "How'd I get down here?"
Wesley appeared at the top of the stairs, having heard her voice; he wore an old, loose shirt and pair of black pajama pants, both clearly thrown on in haste. At first, he looked relieved to see Fred, but then, a surprised look overtook that.
"What?"
"Bloody hell!"
Fred glanced over her shoulders, finding Spike, Angel, and Gunn behind her, all staring with the same shocked expression that Wesley wore on his face.
"What? What is it?"
"Fred," Angel began slowly. "Where are your clothes?"
At his words, her gaze dropped downward, only to find that, sure enough, she was completely naked. With an ear-piercing yelp, she dropped the ax, her small, shaking hands flying to cover herself in a vain attempt to preserve her decency. Her lover hurried down the stairs, pulling off his shirt as he did. As soon as he reached her side, he pulled his shirt over her head, helping her slide her arms through the sleeves.
"Fred, what are you doing down here?" Wesley inquired softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"I don't know!" she told him. "I just…I woke up and I was here! I don't remember how I got here!"
"She was in here when I came in," Connor piped up, his face still a bit red. He gestured to the ax on the floor. "She had that."
"I don't know why I did…"
"Hello, Connor," Angel greeted, trying to diffuse some of the awkwardness of the situation. "What brings you here?"
"Just, um…just wanted to talk to you about something," his son replied. "About helping out here."
"I thought you had an apprenticeship or an internship or something to do with some kind of ship."
"Well, I do. But I could always use a day job. Well, I mean…night job."
"I see." Angel nodded, trying to be casual, but the awkwardness in the air still stubbornly remained. "How about we go discuss this in my office?" He made a motion to Wesley, indicating that he should take his lover back upstairs. The Englishman nodded, guiding the trembling physicist back towards their bedroom.
"By the way, Fred," Spike called after her, a mischievous grin on his face. "Never knew you had such a nice asset, if you catch my drift."
Her face flushed a brilliant scarlet, while both Wesley and Angel groaned. Spike snickered, and Gunn seemed to be torn between hiding his face in his hand and chuckling; a snort escaped him as he tried to hold back laughter. As the sound of the blonde vampire's laughter reached her ears, Fred jerked away from Wesley, strode up to Spike, and slapped him soundly across the face. It wasn't hard enough to really do any damage, but it did leave a red mark in the shape of a hand on his face. She punctuated her slap with an angry glare, then turned to Gunn.
"I didn't do anything!" he quickly argued, taking a step back, seeing her hand tense in preparation to slap him.
Still glaring, she turned away and stormed off up the stairs, Wesley hurrying after her, on the borderline of shocked and amused. Angel and Connor disappeared into the back offices, and after a moment, Gunn chased after them, leaving Spike alone in the lobby with Illyria. The vampire raised his hand to his cheek, still bearing a slightly-stinging outline of Fred's hand, looking a bit stunned.
"You deserved that, you know," Illyria informed him bluntly. "Wesley has informed me that, in human culture, it is rude to make comments such as that to a woman when her male companion is present. So once again, you deserved it."
"I know. But it was bloody worth it."
A/N: Oh, Spike, you and your shenanigans...