Fred
practically hugged the wall as she glided down the hallway, trying not to be
seen by blending into the horrible period wallpaper. The wall felt rough
against her cheek but smooth to her fingertips, all of which were jolted
slightly each time she reached a door with its wooden moldings and protruding
doorknob. But she kept going until she reached one room where the door stood
ajar, revealing its contents to her.
There were
permanent markers behind both her ears and she pulled one out and fingered it
nervously, tugging the cap off, then snapping it back into place. She bit down
on it lengthwise and chewed on the plastic while her tongue darted over the
smooth surface of its side. It was easier being around people like this. Invisible. Silent. The marking pen
kept her from talking, babbling, rambling. But it also kept her hands still,
which was also a mark chalked in the pro column. Only a few doors down the hall
and her hands were already itching to scribble down the next equations.
Fred peered
in to the open room, having been drawn out of her bedroom sanctuary because of
the sounds. But she stood to the side so most of her could not be seen.
"Yes, yes,"
the brown-haired woman was saying. "There's always something to read or
translate or decode or whatever. But right now you need to just rest. And whadda you know? Lots of empty rooms here
in a hotel." She turned down the covers of the bed and pointed until the
man walked to the bed and sat down on the edge.
He had been
out of sight until then, and Fred jumped in surprise when he appeared. She knew
him but didn't know him as well as she knew the woman. Not that she really knew
any of them. But she hadn't mucked stalls beside him or shared a cave with him.
Though he was quite handsome. Not handsome like Angel
but handsome in his own way. And she didn't think she would have minded mucking
or sharing with him.
He reached
down and slid his shoes off one at a time. Then he lay down in the bed without
changing out of the rest of his clothes. Pressed khakis.
A button-down shirt. Brown socks. Glasses.
They'd been
there, though. The man with the glasses and the woman.
And everyone else. Well, not everyone of course. Most of this world didn't know a thing about Pylea or demon dimensions and it was better that way. But
these people did. They all knew. They knew she'd been there. And they had all
been there, too. All these humans. And
Angel. Angel who'd saved her and brought her back and then left her
alone again. Fred closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. She ran her hand
through her hair nervously and jumped again when another loud noise startled
her.
"HehhShooo! Herschhhh!"
"Ew, Wes. Tissues. Tissues are here
for a reason. Use one. Or a whole bunch. Here."
Fred leaned
back over and watched him blow his nose into a whole bunch of tissues. "Whole
bunch," Fred whispered, clapping a hand over her mouth so she wouldn't be
heard. They hadn't heard, in part because the man was sneezing again. Sneezing a lot. Shaking beneath the covers the woman had
pulled up to his neck. He didn't look well at all.
"I'll put
on some tea. You'd like that, right?"
The man
smiled appreciatively. "All Englishman jokes aside... God, yes please tea. Thank
you, Cordelia."
She smiled
down at him. "One steaming hot cup of tea coming up."
Realizing
the woman was turning and about to walk right towards her,
Fred squeaked and fled back to her room. Her safe room.
Safe and empty except for words and thoughts and her.
Immediately
she touched her marker to the wall and began to scribble out in tiny letters her
stream of consciousness. She'd been brave to leave her room, and nothing bad
had happened to her. And these people seemed so friendly. But it was still
safer in the room. Still easier to read words rather than
faces. Still easier to trust equations. People
only let you down. Like Angel. She scribbled down more.
It was a
while before she ventured out again. When she did, it was because she heard more
sounds. More voices. More sneezes.
But not the woman's voice. The woman.
Cordlia.
Cordy.
Names were funny. Fred'd had a name. Had it again now. Even if it still sounded strange to hear
coming out of someone else's mouth instead of echoing around in her head.
Everything made so much more sense inside her head. Or
written down. Hard to disagree with things when they were written down
and worked out. Hard to forget them, too.
"Wes, just
let me get your temperature. You know I can take you in a fight if it comes to
that."
Wes.
Wesley. That was his name. Cordelia... Wesley...
"Charles--"
Cordelia...
Wesley... Charles. These names sounded nice in her head. Not exactly
familiar, but nice. Pleasant. She peeked back
into the room. Wesley was sitting up in bed, back against several pillows.
Charles was hovering over him the way Cordelia had been.
"I'm not
feverish. It's just a touch of cold."
The other
man frowned. "Prove it, English."
The man in
bed gave a labored sigh. "Very well. But if I should
sneeze..."
Charles
plucked tissues out of the box, one by one. Fred counted eight before he
stopped. Had enough. Was ready.
He raised the thermometer and was just about to insert it when Wesley did
sneeze. Viciously. Multiple times.
After the first, he reached blindly for the tissues Charles offered, then buried the lower half of his face in them. "Hehh-CHSHHHH! hahChphhh! ehhhChufffff! hehhChuhmphhh! KShmphhh! Chiffff!"
Fred covered her mouth again, as well, smiling.
As he blew
his nose, Charles slid his hand across Wesley's forehead. Dark skin and light
skin and touch. Comforting touch. Charles paused,
considering. He looked sweet when he was thinking. "You're right. Not
feverish."
"Yes,"
Wesley sniffled, agreeing with a nod. "Just a cold in my
nose."
Fred
giggled silently. That was cute. People didn't say that sort of thing in Texas.
And definitely didn't say that in Pylea. Of course,
people weren't really supposed to say anything
in Pylea.
"EhyChooo!" Wesley snapped in half, then slid down under his blankets again.
"Bless,"
said Charles, patting some part of Wesley's upper body through the blankets.
"Maybe you should try going to sleep? Unless you need
something else?"
Wesley
shook his head. "Thank you, no. A nap sounds like just the thing. Thank you,
Charles."
"Yeah. Sleep well, then," he said with a shrug and began to
move to leave.
Again, Fred
darted back to her room before she could be spotted. She stood just inside,
against the back of her closed and locked door. Her fingers scratched
noiselessly at the writing-covered wood. Symbols and pictures
and words. Things with meanings. Things put
together to create more things.
Her heart
beat fast, racing wildly as heavy footsteps came down the hallway towards her.
They grew louder and louder and Fred twitched, resisting the instinct to cover
her ears and crouch down in the far corner.
"Fred?"
Charles. Saying her name. It actually didn't sound so
strange this time. Though it still made her jumpy. Had
he seen her? Would he make her come out? "We're ordering Mexican tonight.
Getting the same thing as last time, if that's all right with you?"
There was a
knock once for 'yes' and twice for 'no' system in place which seemed to work
quite well. But after two courageous and successful times outside her room
today, Fred felt brave enough to answer back in words. "That'd be fine!" She
actually felt giddy to speak to him. Even if it was through
the door.
Dinner came
very shortly after, and she devoured it hungrily while staring up at her
partially-covered walls. She considered making a space on the wall just for
names, but felt it might fit over the doorway a bit better. She left her empty
cartons and wrappers on the floor just outside her door and waited to hear them
taking the trash away before she left her room again.
It was
curiosity that compelled her, and made her ignore her fear and that nagging voice
reminding her that the world was scary and unpredictable and filled with things
like nice-looking books containing words that opened up portals to demon
dimensions. But as she stood shrinking in the open doorway of the room down the
hall, she realized there was nothing to fear here. He couldn't hurt her. He was
helpless. Just a man asleep in bed with a bad head cold.
A man. A Brittish
man. An angelic man. A man who was hugging a
book as he slept, probably having fallen asleep reading it; she knew that
feeling. A man with soft features and brown hair and glasses.
Glasses while he slept. That wouldn't do. That was a good way to break glasses
was what that was.
Fred
checked over her shoulder to be sure no one was there, watching. Then she
reached down and slid his glasses off his face. She gripped them at the bridge,
pulling them down his nose. The ends followed, coming off his ears and sliding
against his cheeks. He twitched at the sensation and sniffled. And for a moment
it looked like just a quick disturbance. She folded the glasses neatly and set
them down on the nightstand with care. But then his nose gave a good twitch and
he came awake with a strong, violent sneeze. "Ehhhgiihshhhhhh!"
When he
opened his eyes afterwards he was staring straight at her. She held her breath
and remained motionless. Sometimes when she did that, monsters couldn't see
her. And this man needed glasses, after all. So she stood a good chance of
getting away unnoticed yet again.
Seconds
later, he relaxed with a sigh, closing his eyes. "Thank you, Fred," he
whispered, then fell back to sleep.
A smile
brightened her face. She reached out and gently touched his forehead with her
fingertips. He was warm and it felt strange to touch someone else. She'd
touched Angel, but he hadn't been warm. Not like this.
Feeling
encouraged, she reached down and slid his book out from his clutches as well.
She set it on the nightstand, too, and then ran her hands through his hair ever
so gently. "Feel better, Wesley." Then, still smiling, she snuck back to her
room and picked up her marker again.