Author ~ Caro ~ website ~ journal
Title ~ Summer Dreams
Rating ~ PG-13
Timeline ~ Spoilers to end of s4, spec for s5.
Author's notes ~Challenge:
Story written for ~ D.M. Evans
Two requirements ~ Fred, one of Lorne's contacts
Two restrictions (optional) ~ No fluff, not relationship angst.
Spoiler level ~ Unrestricted
Rating level ~ Unrestricted
SUMMER DREAMS
She remembered summers in Texas -- long, hot days under cloudless skies, yet the air so thick with moisture you could never quite get dry. Ice-cold Cokes from glass bottles sipped through straws that bent just so. Sun dresses and flip-flops, impromptu ball games, running and yelling in the water sprinkler.
It isn't just her exile in Pylea that made those summers seem so far away for Fred. It was Pylea and everything she'd seen and done since then. The memories were sweet nostalgia she might take out from time to time when the air-conditioning in the Hyperion crapped out yet again, but she didn't recognize the girl in pigtails and coke-bottle glasses anymore.
One thing did remain; the feeling of malaise that always set in around the Fourth of July. That moment when the first thrill of summer was done and anticipation of the fall had not yet begun. As a child, it had been the moment when she realized school was inevitably approaching, yet not so close that one could actually look forward to new clothes and fresh school supplies.
Fred wasn't quite certain when that feeling had hit her or even if she'd been aware of it before that moment in the limo on the way to the Hollywood Bowl. One moment she was looking at Mrs. MacAnally, and then it was just *there*. She must have made a noise because Lorne broke off from the bitchy, gossipy story he'd been sharing to ask if she was alright. Fred quickly assured him she was and tried to cover by reaching for one of the little puffs that adorned the tray Lorne had ordered to whet everyone's appetite for the picnic dinner that awaited them in their box.
Maybe that was it. The Fourth was hot dogs and snow cones, the family sitting on the hood of the car in a shopping mall parking lot to watch the fireworks. It wasn't a limo with champagne and gourmet munchies. She'd lay odds there wouldn't be a paper plate in sight for their "picnic", given that Lorne had taken charge. There'd be fireworks and Sousa, but Fred still found it hard to believe she'd be sitting in one of the ultra-expensive boxes down front instead of the nosebleed spot in the concrete bleachers she'd been able to afford as a student.
The driver carefully snaked his way through traffic toward the main entrances and despite vague feelings of disappointment and nostalgia, Fred had to admit this was the way to go. No waiting in a parking lot in lingering heat to cram onto a bus with no air conditioning, only to have to fight your way back on to another bus once the concert was over. She didn't have to worry how they were paying for the limo, either; Lorne had simply ordered it up from the Wolfram & Hart motor pool. Remembering how she and Charles had spent last summer trying to figure out a way to survive while they looked for Cordelia and Angel, yes, there were definite advantages to the deal with Wolfram & Hart.
It was time to start enjoying those advantages she decided as the limo driver extended his hand to help her alight from the vehicle. Time to stop shopping at Kmart and hit Nordstrom's so she could dress like the head of the Science Division. Maybe it was time to move out of the Hyperion, too. She'd talk to Charles...no, she'd ask Knox to help her look. She didn't know where she and Charles stood these days and if he helped her find a place, she'd think of it in terms of "them," not "her." There was no "them" with Knox, even if he was cute and had asked her to go to Westercon in Seattle with him.
"Are you alright, dearie?" The voice was sweet but it commanded her attention to the old woman who stood at her side. Mrs. MacAnally was how Lorne had introduced her, though Fred somehow doubted that was her real name. All of Lorne’s guests had served as sources of information for him or had some connection with The Powers That Be, and this was payback time. That he’d consider fireworks and Sousa at the Hollywood Bowl a suitable method seemed a bit strange, even if he’d somehow convinced Wolfgang Puck to the cooking.
Source of demon information or no, Mrs. MacAnally looked like a grandmother should and it felt natural to share as they followed the rest of the party up the gently sloping walk toward the Bowl’s entrance. "Oh, I’m fine. It’s just…" Fred shrugged. "Just summer malaise, I suppose."
"You’re far too young and pretty to be feeling that, Winifred Burkle. I mean, Lorne’s been telling me that there’s all sorts of exciting things going on for you."
Fred found herself pleased the woman knew her name and took and interest, but she couldn’t remember Lorne introducing her as anything beyond just "Fred." "I was thinking how different this was from Fourth of July when I was growing up."
Mrs. MacAnally slipped her arm through Fred’s. "Things change and I know it can be unsettling. But change is a natural part of life; without it we stagnate and die."
The words were comforting and Fred exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. They were almost to the box, the crowd much thinner here. She glanced upwards toward the benches that ringed the upper rim of the Bowl and caught flashes of brown paper bags, coolers and white takeout boxes, the very type she used to pack. Down here, candles already glowed on many of the tables, far from necessary in the early California evening, but adding to the ambience. There were tablecloths along with plates, utensils and glasses that didn’t look disposable. Delicious odors surrounded her, making her mouth water and her tummy rumble.
Lorne settled them all into their places, apparently having decided upon the seating order in advance. When he started to steer Fred toward a place at the opposite end of the table from Mrs. MacAnally, however, she patted the chair next to her. "Here, dear."
"Actually, I was thinking that Fred would be best…" Lorne began. A single look, though, and his tune quickly changed. "Fred, sit next to Mrs. MacAnally. Kiros, be a sweetie and scoot down one and I’ll just put Lucky there."
Once they were seated, the waiter stepped forward to begin filling the glasses. A second waiter appeared almost instantly with plates of salad with tiny tomatoes and long thin shavings of mozzarella sprinkled with basil and a light oil and vinegar dressing. The chattering among the group subsided slightly, but the mood was warm and relaxed. Surrounded by people, hearing the clink of silverware against plates, Fred told herself she’d been being a bit silly; yes, she’d originally envisioned the trip to the Bowl as a chance for Angel Investigations to spend time together, but Cordelia was still in a coma and as Angel had pointed out, the sun wouldn’t finish setting for a while, so it’d be a little difficult for him to join in the fun. As for Charles Gunn, well, the less said there the better. He was probably off with a beer watching a baseball game.
The only other member of Angel Investigations who’d come beside herself and Lorne was Wesley, and even he had declined at first. Only when he’d learned whom Lorne had invited did he suddenly decide to join them. He was engaged in intense conversation with Targal, a large man with markings Fred wasn’t certain were birthmarks or tattoos and she didn’t need to eavesdrop to know what -- or rather, *who* -- the discussion was about.
"I don’t know," Targal said. "I actually prefer his sizzling mussels. He makes this marinara sauce to go with it that’s to die for."
So maybe they weren’t discussing Lilah. "I did consider the Onion Soup Grantine," Wesley countered, but I think the salad is more appropriate for the setting."
"And a salad is so much healthier," Mrs. MacAnally whispered in Fred’s ear. "You know whatever Lorne’s ordered for the main course is going to be loaded calories, never mind that some of us have to watch our girlish figures."
Without thinking, Fred laughed, letting it spill forth in simple delight for the first time in she couldn’t remember how long. Most of the party spared her only a passing glance before returning to their conversation, but both Lorne and Wesley stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown another head. Let them, she decided. For so long she’d been concentrating on the job at hand, finding Angel, saving the world, keeping a roof over her head, whatever needed to be done. Time to stop and enjoy life.
Mrs. MacAnally looked at her approvingly. "That’s the spirit, Winifred. Don’t let the bastards get you down."
The woman looked so kindly as she said it, Fred couldn’t help laughing again, this time remembering to cover her mouth with her napkin so she wouldn’t look completely dreadful. The waiters had begun clearing and the one behind her hesitated with his hand outstretched to take her plate, waiting until she had more control over herself before asking if she was done.
The entrée was as delicious as the salad, a simple chicken with garlic, parsley and lemon whose taste was anything but simple, accompanied by Tuscan Potatoes that seemed to sing on the tongue. Given the way everyone seemed to be enjoying their meal, it seemed Lorne had been right to seize the opportunity to give a little payback. Maybe she should suggest he do this more often; after all, even with Wolfram & Hart’s vast resources, it wouldn’t hurt to have sources outside the firm, information that wasn’t dependent just on formerly-evil lawyers. Besides, she was feeling firmly in the middle of things for once and she liked it. If Lorne couldn’t do it, maybe she could act as host.
She tried to ignore the familiar urge to panic and flee that reared its ugly head with that thought. That was the old Fred, the graduate student who’d slaved for a professor who’d been so threatened by her work he’d felt forced to ship her off to another dimension instead of following the accepted practice of sabotaging her thesis before it reached committee. She was the new Fred, who shopped at Nordstrom’s or was going to start shopping at Nordstrom’s after tonight and was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
There was a bit of delay in bringing desert, which allowed the group to concentrate on conversation once more…and for Wesley to look across the table and address Mrs. MacAnally. "I was hoping we might speak at some point this evening. I’m currently doing some research and I was hoping you might have some information that might be of use."
For just an instant, Mrs. MacAnally’s smile flickered. "I’d really rather not discuss that right now, Mr. Wyndham-Price. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves and I don’t think the topic would be appropriate."
Wesley looked unhappy, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he began to push the apple tart and ice cream the waiter has just place before him around the plate with his fork. Savoring the taste of apple-flavored ice cream melting over her tongue, Fred decided that if he wasn’t going to eat it, she wouldn’t let it go to waste.
"Everyone having a good time?" Lorne asked as talked dwindle almost to nothing. Satisfied with mumbled agreement from mouths filled with desert, he looked happy. "I thought traditional was best, it being the Fourth. Isn’t the Green Apple Gelati to *die* for?"
Oh, yes, it was. This was the stuff of childhood; not the actual taste, but the tastes you remembered longing for, the tastes that were so good in your mind that your mouth began to water at the merest thought of them. This was summer.
Wesley wasn’t eating his desert and made no protest when Fred switched plates. Mrs. MacAnally and Targal smiled, looking at each other as if they were exchanging a private joke as the musicians took the stage and began to tune their instruments. Then the pie and ice cream was gone and the waiter whisked the plate away as the lights that ringed the seating area began to dim.
It’d been ages since Fred had actually had a chance to see a concert; there’d been the stay in Pylea and then the fact she’d stayed in her room for months after her return. When she finally came out, things were too busy for the group to take time out to enjoy cultural activities beyond what could be found at on the local PBS station (the Hyperion not being equipped with cable). There had been the ballet, but that was a one-time thing. Charles’ taste ran to contemporary music and Wesley had been shy about asking her out before she and Charles -- and he and Lilah -- became an item.
Randall Craig Fleischer stepped onto the stage to the applause of the audience and bowed before leading the Philharmonic directly into their opening number, the Overture from Bernstein’s *Candide*. With a smile, Fred remembered her lit classes in college and the arguments over just what Voltaire had meant by "the best of all possible worlds." Bernstein was followed by Copland and that was when she really began to relax, letting the music wash over her.
The first section ended with a rendition of *America the Beautiful* that found the audience joining in…even Lorne’s varied associates, which was a strange and happy sight. Then the lights came up and it was time for intermission, everyone standing to stretch muscles that had become slightly cramped from sitting. Conversation started again, some debating the merits of what they'd just heard while others picked up threads of conversations suspended with the start of the program. Fred debated making a restroom run, which would mean standing in a long line for the length of the intermission. Much easier to just rest here against the low cement wall that divided their box from the next.
Such mundane thoughts were forgotten when Wesley drew close to Mrs. MacAnally. "I can understand not wanting to speak now," he said quietly, "but I was hoping we could set a time, perhaps early next week."
His voice held that odd intensity it had taken on of late whenever the topic turned to Lilah, a desperate search for a way to bring her back from the dead or break her contract or something equally creepy. Fred didn't understand the relationship between him and Lilah and was pretty certain she didn't want to understand. She did her best to avoid such talks which was relatively easy considering she was spending more and more of her time in the lab.
She was considering making that bathroom run just to avoid hearing what Wesley had to say when Mrs. MacAnally spoke. "I don't think we'll be having that conversation, Mr. Wyndham-Price. It is simply not appropriate. There are forces at work of which you have no comprehension...and in whose arena you should not be trespassing."
She didn't raise her voice nor did she seem particularly angry, though there was a...tone to her voice. No flashing lights or crackling energy, none of what Fred had come to expect to from mystical happenings, but there was very much a sense of power...and that her word was final.
Wesley had to sense this; Fred could see him almost flinch as she spoke. Still, he pushed forward with grim determination. "If you would just hear what I had to say..."
"I said, *no.*"
This time, her voice was sharp and the feeling was physical. Heads turned as Wesley took several steps backward, looking far more flustered than the words warranted. No, not flustered. *Shaken.*
Almost immediately, Mrs. MacAnally was all smiles again. "There's no reason we can’t still have a pleasant talk as long as we understand each other. Oh, Lorne's providing us with cookies; would you like one, Wesley?"
Fred didn’t miss the fact this was the first moment Mrs. MacAnally had called Wesley by his first name since the evening had begun...nor that Wesley very meekly took the cookie he was offered.
Talk stayed pleasant and neutral for the rest of the intermission, but Fred found the mood had altered. Malaise was one thing, but reality was another...and she had just been reminded of the reality of the life she found herself in. The people around her in these exclusive boxes had no idea of the things she had seen and done, nor was she certain they'd accept it if they did – just as they seemed to ignore Lorne's presence save for one or two furtive glances as people retook their seats for the second half.
Fred had originally thought it'd be great fun to tell her mother she'd seen Kenny Rogers in concert, but somehow "The Gambler" and "You Decorated My Life" weren't enough to hold her attention. She found herself sneaking glances at the others seated in the box with her, looking for some sign of the "otherness" of these creatures. There were none to be seen, though, merely music lovers listening attentively as the Philharmonic launched into Sousa's "Washington Post March," "Semper Fidelis," and "The Stars and Stripes Forever."
The firework lit up the skies as the brass and piccolos played and for one magnificent moment Fred was back in the shopping mall parking lot, caught in the awe of exploding lights. A final burst and the crowd was on its feet, filling the air with thunderous applause. Even Wesley seemed to have caught the spirit, standing and applauding with the rest of them.
A few encores let the feeling linger, but the lights came up at last and reality returned as the crowd around them began to disperse. Lorne indicated they shouldn't rush as the limousine would wait, though Wesley chose to rise anyway. "Tell Lorne I'll meet you out front. I just...I need to walk."
He cast a wary glance at Mrs. MacAnally before looking back to Fred. "Be careful."
He was gone before she could say anything, leaving Fred to wonder just what he knew about the woman. "He's right," Mrs. MacAnally said quietly. "You should be careful."
It was on Fred's lips to ask why when Mrs. MacAnally took her by the arm. "Shall we look at the reflecting pool? Seems a shame be sitting this close to it for once and not actually enjoy it."
Fred let herself be pulled along, hoping her instincts were right and this sudden interest in the pool that separated the stage from the audience was an excuse for some private conversation. For a moment as they gazed that the water it looked as if she might wrong, but just as she gave up hope, Mrs. MacAnally began to speak. "You to need to watch Mr. Windham-Price," she said. "He's walking a very dangerous path."
She didn't need to ask why he was walking that path; what she did ask was "How can I keep him from it?"
"Only he can make that choice, but he will need friends." Mrs. MacAnally smiled up at Fred. "Just as I hope he will be yours."
The words were simple but unsettling. "I'm not quite certain I grasp..."
"Oh, I think you do. You see much more than you let on. You watch from the sidelines and you *see*...except where your own heart is concerned, but that happens to most of us. You watch and you see and you do what you can to help without ever asking to be the center of attention."
Almost guiltily, Fred remembered her thoughts earlier that she could host a gathering such as this one. "It's not that I don't ask."
"Demand, then. You usually put the good of the group before yourself without even a conscious thought. Don't tell me you're just a simple little girl; there's more steel there than you let on. Look what happened with Jasmine, how you worked to let others know what you had learned."
She remembered Jasmine and remembered the running and hiding and that the blood was important. But there was something else connected to the blood and she couldn’t quite remember what it was, as if the information was just outside her grasp. "I didn't do that much."
"Modesty has its place, dear, but too much can be as big a sin as pride. You have your place in things, as does Wesley and Angel and Charles Gunn. Yes, even Lorne has his place."
Mrs. MacAnally turned back toward the box. The crowd was thinning somewhat and it looked as if Lorne was preparing to shepherd everyone toward the entrance. "You all have your mission. Angel may be the champion, but he does not fight alone. Remember when I said change was a part of life?"
"Yes."
"Not all change is good. Certainly not all change that looks good is good. The trick is to know the difference."
She turned to look at Fred and suddenly there was that feeling again, much the same as when Wesley had roused Mrs. MacAnally's ire. The grey eyes that had seemed so kind and gentle held her firmly, so that she couldn't look away even if she wanted to. "We cannot interfere directly; if we could, we would have no need of champions. We need those who can make choices and take risk and who can tell truth from falsehood. You proved yourself to be one of those people this spring; can you do it again?"
Fred couldn't have told a lie at this moment if her life depended on it. It was as if she was being weighed and measure, sorted and categorized. "I...I think I can."
She felt the release, bathed in a warm and friendly smile. "That is why you are here. You are important, Winifred. Don't let yourself be too distracted by trinkets and apartments and handsome young assistants. He's in Seattle, isn't he?"
They talked about Knox all the way out to the limousine, walking slowly together. Lorne was waiting for them by the car, clearly a bit anxious, but nothing but smiles as they approached. "Have a nice chat?"
"You have such interesting friends, Lorne. Perhaps you can bring some of them with you when you visit...and perhaps you can visit sometime when the world isn't about to end."
There was a gentle scold to her voice and Lorne took it in good humor. Fred let her climb inside the limousine first, then followed, finding herself on the seat opposite. It was nice, basking in the afterglow of the evening. Her malaise of earlier was gone, and she no longer felt quite so out of sorts with herself. She'd get that apartment, she thought, but perhaps she should try doing it on her own with help from Knox. Mrs. MacAnally was right; he was terribly cute, but she didn't really know anything about him and taking it slow was probably a good idea.
The fact that she hadn't told anyone she found Knox cute, much less told Mrs. MacAnally didn't seem much of a concern. It felt good to sort through her feelings with someone, get them out in the open. It made her realize that being confused and upset about her feelings for Charles was not a good reason to go diving headfirst into a relationship with someone she didn't know.
The hour was late by the time the limousine returned them to the Hyperion, still their home for the moment. Lorne burbled happily about the success of the evening to Angel, who was waiting up. He listened, then turned to Wesley. "Did you..."
"She advised against it. I even realize the rightness of her position, but that doesn't mean I can stop trying." Wesley offered a hint of a smile. "The music was lovely and the food excellent. Shame you had to miss the fireworks."
Angel shrugged. "I watched that part on KTLA. How about you, Fred? Did you enjoy yourself?"
She thought for a moment before answering. "I did. In fact, I feel much better than before I went."
The look that passed between the three men was impossible to miss. *Friends watching out for each other.* "Angel, would you mind if I started looking for an apartment?" she asked abruptly.
Angel looked a bit startled, but not at all upset, which she had feared. "No. In fact...well, I've been thinking of giving up the Hyperion, getting something closer to the office."
"Are you sure that's wise?" Wesley asked.
"Wesley has a point," Lorne put in. "After all, where would we retreat if the Senior Partners rear their ugly pointed heads?"
"If we stay here," Angel countered, "they know exactly where to find us. If we find someplace new, someplace they don't know about...Fred, could I ask you to do that while you're apartment hunting, see if you can find a 'safe house' for us?"
"Sure," she agreed instantly, a bit surprised to find herself assigned such an important task.
"There's one problem; if you're doing that, I'd rather you didn't ask Gunn to help you. It's just a feeling, but I'm not certain I want him to know. Not yet, anyway."
She understood, but she wasn't sure how to explain why she did. "I was thinking of looking on my own anyway, spread my wings a little. After all, change is a natural part of life; without it we stagnate and die."
Angel smiled as she said her goodnights, though Wesley looked as if he recognized the words. Maybe he just recognized the truth of them, she thought as she climbed the stairs. Maybe she finally did.
Her sleep was peaceful that night as she dreamed of running across flat fields under a hot, cloudless sky.