milliways_bar: Not Fade Away.
It was time. More than time, if Fred were honest with herself, which she tried to be. It was hard not to be when you'd had all that time with just yourself (future versions of that self nonwithstanding.) It was time, and she'd made her peace.
Just one or two things left to do.
Three letters, to be left with Bar on her way out:
For Wesley:
Dear Wesley,
I didn't say anything when we talked the other night. Maybe I should've, but I couldn't. It seemed so much like old times, back when it was just all of us at the hotel - you and me and Angel and Cordy and Gunn, and sometimes Lorne. Back when saving the world seemed fun, and we were all so sure we were going to come out all right in the end.
I guess we didn't do too badly, huh? We saved the world more than once. We even helped save this place, outside of everything. And for the longest time I tried -- I really did -- to think of this place as another home. As a second chance. It's been that for so many people. Maybe that's what it is for you. But me? I kept waiting. I kept looking for a way out when the way out was right there in front of me the whole time. My door never opened because I didn't want to see it, so I spent most of my time holed up in this tiny room, looking for something that wasn't there.
It's there, now. Or it will be, when I stop writing and go downstairs. I know it like I know the first 542 digits of Pi. Like I know that this'll never be home, and like I know that in spite of what's waiting for me, there's still something important I have left to do. My home's back out that door, where it's always been. It's time I went there.
I've left some things behind, if you want any of them. All my wild theories; all the research I did in trying to get out of this. They're all yours if you want them; but I don't blame you if you don't. They're pretty indecipherable in places, and I'm not really sure you can solve any of the problems this place gets with math. But, well, I wanted to leave you something, and I figured you didn't really want my clothes or Feigenbaum.
So, I guess that's it. There's more I could say, but none of that belongs here, now. I don't want to walk out that door feeling sad, because I've got a lunch date with you that I've gotta walk out that door and back into your past intending to keep.
Bye, Wesley. I'll see you soon.
For Illyria:
Illyria,
You know everything that's important to know, already. You even know this, before I write it, so I guess you know why I have to write it.
You and I were never gonna be friends, and we couldn't ever really be enemies, either. I know I can't ask anything of you, because all this... it's already written, to you. So either you'll do it, or you won't. But for all the things you know, there's some things I know, too. I've seen more than you realize, and I'd like to think there are some secrets left that are always going to be mine. Maybe that's stupid and mortal, to you, but it's important to me.
There are two things I'm leaving behind that meant anything to me. One's Feigenbaum. He's just a silly stuffed animal, but he's got to belong to someone, and if I take him back with me he won't be unique in the universe any more because there'll be two of him.
I think you more than anyone see the trouble with that. So: Feigenbaum's all yours. He can keep your plant company.
The other thing's not mine to give, and I think it's something you have, anyway. I've seen the way he looks at you. But more importantly, I've seen you looking back.
Just... after I'm gone, don't let him do anything stupid, okay? He's Wesley; sometimes I think he majored in doing stupid things. I know one day that door will open for him, too, but until it does, try to be nice to him sometimes.
The rest of it? That's up to you, now.
For anyone else who knew her:
Hey, y'all.
I know I've been lousy at keeping in touch, and well, I can't say that's going to change any time soon.
I'm sorry I didn't get to know some of you better. Guess that's what happens when you think you've got more important things to do.
As it so happens, I've got one last important thing to do. If you really want to know what it was, you can ask that blue girl who looks a little like me. She'll tell you how it all turned out.
Thanks for being my friends for the past two years.
- Fred Burkle
And on the wall (the perfect, pristine wall -- she'd never taken to writing on it here, not even the days she was sorely tempted), in slightly loopy and messy handwriting, said with a whispered almost-prayer to whatever magic kept this place running to let it stay for a while, just long enough that someone would know, and remember an existence that had been lead quietly and often incredibly strangely, but lead nonetheless:
Winifred Burkle was here.
Just one or two things left to do.
Three letters, to be left with Bar on her way out:
For Wesley:
Dear Wesley,
I didn't say anything when we talked the other night. Maybe I should've, but I couldn't. It seemed so much like old times, back when it was just all of us at the hotel - you and me and Angel and Cordy and Gunn, and sometimes Lorne. Back when saving the world seemed fun, and we were all so sure we were going to come out all right in the end.
I guess we didn't do too badly, huh? We saved the world more than once. We even helped save this place, outside of everything. And for the longest time I tried -- I really did -- to think of this place as another home. As a second chance. It's been that for so many people. Maybe that's what it is for you. But me? I kept waiting. I kept looking for a way out when the way out was right there in front of me the whole time. My door never opened because I didn't want to see it, so I spent most of my time holed up in this tiny room, looking for something that wasn't there.
It's there, now. Or it will be, when I stop writing and go downstairs. I know it like I know the first 542 digits of Pi. Like I know that this'll never be home, and like I know that in spite of what's waiting for me, there's still something important I have left to do. My home's back out that door, where it's always been. It's time I went there.
I've left some things behind, if you want any of them. All my wild theories; all the research I did in trying to get out of this. They're all yours if you want them; but I don't blame you if you don't. They're pretty indecipherable in places, and I'm not really sure you can solve any of the problems this place gets with math. But, well, I wanted to leave you something, and I figured you didn't really want my clothes or Feigenbaum.
So, I guess that's it. There's more I could say, but none of that belongs here, now. I don't want to walk out that door feeling sad, because I've got a lunch date with you that I've gotta walk out that door and back into your past intending to keep.
Bye, Wesley. I'll see you soon.
For Illyria:
Illyria,
You know everything that's important to know, already. You even know this, before I write it, so I guess you know why I have to write it.
You and I were never gonna be friends, and we couldn't ever really be enemies, either. I know I can't ask anything of you, because all this... it's already written, to you. So either you'll do it, or you won't. But for all the things you know, there's some things I know, too. I've seen more than you realize, and I'd like to think there are some secrets left that are always going to be mine. Maybe that's stupid and mortal, to you, but it's important to me.
There are two things I'm leaving behind that meant anything to me. One's Feigenbaum. He's just a silly stuffed animal, but he's got to belong to someone, and if I take him back with me he won't be unique in the universe any more because there'll be two of him.
I think you more than anyone see the trouble with that. So: Feigenbaum's all yours. He can keep your plant company.
The other thing's not mine to give, and I think it's something you have, anyway. I've seen the way he looks at you. But more importantly, I've seen you looking back.
Just... after I'm gone, don't let him do anything stupid, okay? He's Wesley; sometimes I think he majored in doing stupid things. I know one day that door will open for him, too, but until it does, try to be nice to him sometimes.
The rest of it? That's up to you, now.
For anyone else who knew her:
Hey, y'all.
I know I've been lousy at keeping in touch, and well, I can't say that's going to change any time soon.
I'm sorry I didn't get to know some of you better. Guess that's what happens when you think you've got more important things to do.
As it so happens, I've got one last important thing to do. If you really want to know what it was, you can ask that blue girl who looks a little like me. She'll tell you how it all turned out.
Thanks for being my friends for the past two years.
- Fred Burkle
And on the wall (the perfect, pristine wall -- she'd never taken to writing on it here, not even the days she was sorely tempted), in slightly loopy and messy handwriting, said with a whispered almost-prayer to whatever magic kept this place running to let it stay for a while, just long enough that someone would know, and remember an existence that had been lead quietly and often incredibly strangely, but lead nonetheless:
Winifred Burkle was here.