Buffyverse - "The Figment" - G (Fred/Buffy)
Title: The Figment
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Buffyverse
Characters: Fred/Buffy
Genre: Gen/Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: Slash..if you squint.
Summary: In Pylea, anything good is just a figment of Fred’s imagination.
Word Count: 2239
Disclaimer: Joss rocks.
Beta’d by: wehavedental
A/N: Requested by deird1, with the prompts of ‘Fred talking about snow’ and ‘Fred/Buffy.’ Hope you like! (Also, for anyone else who feels inclined, I’m still taking Holiday requests for fic here.)
* * * * * * *
It had snowed in Texas, but never like this. There, she’d run out of front door to make snowmen. Now, Fred would have given anything for a front door to hide behind. For a warm bed, for a heater, for anything other than the snow that was falling all around her and freezing the air that blew into her cave. The snow that was blocking up the entrance, and snowing her in.
In the corner she huddled against stolen furs at a fire‘s side, and dreamed of beds, baths, and warm bodies. Of touch and taste and a world where melting snow didn’t remind keenly of fragile sanity, slipping and dripping away through her fingertips - melting and seeping into Pylea‘s dirt, never to come back to her. Dreamed of a world where snow was just that: H2O’s solid form, maintainable only in an environment with a temperature of 32 degrees Fahrenheit or lower, made of molecules held together by two sets of hydrogen bonds..
But logic didn’t work the same way in Pylea. In Texas, it was only logical that people had the right to speak without being electrocuted or hit. That people were never executed in the town square for trying to find something to eat. That people were always people, and never cows.
And in Texas, Fred’s math always worked. Not like here, where she started to run out of space on the wall because no matter how many times she tried, no matter how many times she worked the equation out and cast the portal, it never came where she needed it. Where no matter how many portals she cast, the only one she’d ever seen was the one that plucked her out of the LA library.
And with no portal, there was nothing better to do than dream of Texas, drifting off by the fire.
* * * * * * *
Fred woke to the sound of footsteps beyond the crackling flame, beyond her cave; footsteps loud and crunching in the silence outside, just beyond the wall of snow.
And suddenly her heart was racing.
Because they had found her this time, the little thief that snuck down to town and took scraps. They were going to catch her, pinned where she couldn’t get away - trapped by the snow. They could see the light of her fire though the darkness outside, through the snow, and she knew shouldn’t have lit a fire at night, but it was just so cold, and they were going to know she was there. They were going to set a trap and pin her in til she starved. Even if they couldn’t get in right that minute because the entrance, low to the ground, was sealed shut by a wall of snow, too thick and solid and frozen for anyone to-
Fred smothered her own scream as a fist flew through the ice and snow, sending hunks of ice flying and crumbling on the cave floor.
But through the newly-formed hole she could see, silhouetted against the darkness, light hair and skin. Fair, human, not-green-at-all skin.
Which didn’t prevent her from shrieking again as another punch pounded through, and the last of the snow wall came crumbling down at the stranger’s feet, remnants of Fred’s scream still echoing around the cave.
But it didn’t matter if the blond woman heard her, because the stranger was already looking at her, staring at her with big, green eyes and parted lips, breathing out foggy-breath into the cold. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her body huddled down like she’d never been so cold in her life - silhouetted by snow, but wearing nothing but a tank top and jeans-
Jeans.
Fred remembered jeans. Jeans and sneakers and belts, all like the things the girl was wearing and oh God.
She couldn’t bring herself to move, not even to close her open mouth.
“Hey, uh..” The stranger was shaking almost violently, and her teeth chattered as she shifted under Fred’s gaze, inching forward. “I didn’t mean to scare you, what with the punching and the barging, I was just..” Fred tried to speak, but only something like a squeak left her throat. “I could see light through the snow, and it was cold..I’ve been wandering around since before dark. There was some kind of portal in the park hours ago that something nasty jumped out of, I was fighting it and I think I fell back through with it - and..do you speak English?”
Fred was trying hard to pull herself to her feet, but her limbs were shaking nearly as bad as the half-frozen girl‘s, with her long wavy hair and big gorgeous eyes and sincerity written all over her face, like she really was sorry for pummeling through the wall of snow like it was Styrofoam packing. And suddenly Fred was keenly aware that she hadn’t bathed in days and probably looked like some kind of cavewoman, and that that wouldn’t make any sense to the person in front of her because she wasn’t from around here. And God there really had been a Texas, or a United States, or a planet Earth anyway because this girl was obviously from it, since she spoke English and wore clothes and it was all just too much.
Hands gripping tight to her bare, dirty knees, Fred looked back into to the fire, and pointedly ignored the woman on the other side of it.
Slow, deep breaths.
But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but notice when the woman came to tentatively stand next to her, shivering with her arms stretched over the fire as she spoke with an uncertain awkwardness. “So, uh, you don’t speak then.. I hope you don‘t mind the company, I was just..cold, with the snow..” There was a pause, and Fred was tempted into looking in time to see the other woman’s face screw up as she pointed to her own chest, and cleared her throat, before speaking in a slow, obnoxiously loud voice. “I’m..a friend. Friend Buff-eey.” The stranger pointed to herself again firmly, “Buffy.”
They were silent for a long moment, Fred’s arms wrapped tight over her chest, as she shifted to stare back into the fire.
“That’s an awfully silly name.”
Buffy jumped.
Then she was dropping down beside Fred, sitting, and opening and closing her mouth soundlessly like some kind of fish. By the time Buffy had finally managed to find her voice again, a flush had crept into her cheeks. “I thought you uh..couldn’t talk-”
“Oh, I can talk.” Fred’s fingers toyed with the rough hem of her rag dress, eyes back on the fire. “Better than most, actually. I was almost a language major, ‘til I realized that then I’d have to be a translator or somethin‘, which would mean talking to a buncha strange, foreign people - and people are strange enough in LA without cultural differences and the like, and I never really liked language that much anyway so it wasn’t a big deal, but I can definitely talk. I just don’t want to talk to you.” On the edge of her vision she could see green eyes staring at her, wide as saucers, as she finished, “So..stop trying to talk to me.”
When Fred closed her eyes several seconds later to keep from looking at the woman beside her, Buffy was still gaping.
And the Texan was finally starting to focus, tucking herself away into a mental recitation of the period table, when she heard the clearing of a throat beside her. Fred wrinkled up her nose in frustration as the other woman started, “I know you asked me not to talk, but-”
“Shhhhh!” Fred held her finger up to her lips, eyes never opening. Then, firmly, “Shh.”
A few minutes passed in silence, and she had moved on to the twenty-fifth integer of pi when the voice was back. “So..why can’t I talk?”
“Because!” Fred threw her arms up in the air in exasperation, and the woman beside her jumped again. “You’re not real! And not-real people don’t talk.”
Green eyes blinked. “I’m..not real?”
“You most certainly are not.” Fred’s hand reached out to grab a stick and stoke the fire, stabbing at the logs roughly. “And if I act like you’re here, if I talk to you..” She was picturing the snow, melting between her fingertips. “Then I’ve really lost it. Lost it more than talkin’ to myself and makin’ a song out of the quadratic equation and pretendin’ tree-bark is an enchilada - lost it like seeing people who aren’t there, who can’t be. Because I’m the only one here, the only one to come through a portal..“ She felt her eyes beginning to sting with moisture as she stared into the dancing flames, fingers clenched tight against her thighs. “I always have been.“
The fire sparked and crackled, and her eyes squeezed shut.
Then there was the feel of soft, cold hands closing over the top of hers, and lifting them up; the feel of the other woman bringing Fred’s fingers to Buffy’s cheek, and pressing her palms against fair, smooth skin.
“I’m real.” Buffy’s voice was matter-of-fact, but gentle. Quiet.
Something inside Fred’s stomach that had been clenching twisted, tightened, and she could feel the tears trailing her cheeks as she moved her fingers down the other woman’s face. With shaky fingertips she traced the shape of a sweet nose and the curve of bow lips, then with her gaze outlined the subtle textures in the other woman’s eye, loosing herself in a sea of green.
If the other woman was a dream, it was one Fred never wanted to forget.
Surprisingly strong arms pulled her in against Buffy’s body, Fred’s face falling in against the other woman’s shoulder as she wrapped her arms around her neck, fingers lacing up into Buffy’s hair; tangling into blonde, loose waves.
Breath hit on the shell of Fred’s ear quietly, hesitantly. “So..I’m not in California anymore, then.”
“N-no.“ Fred could feel her teardrops leaking in through the fabric Buffy’s shirt, down to the other woman’s skin. “Pylea. I-it’s a different dimension, as far as I can tell.” She was pulling back slightly, feeling a bit sheepish, but she couldn’t bring herself to move too far. Her thigh still touched Buffy’s, and their shoulders still brushed as she spoke into her knees, rubbing the teardrops from her cheeks. “I’m afraid it’s not a very nice place..we got more demons than people.”
“That’s convenient.“ The other woman’s hand closed over hers again reassuringly, squeezing. “Demon-fighting is kind of my specialty.”
“Fighting them?“ Fred‘s still-moist eyes blinked. “Like..a superhero?”
“..Yeah, kinda.“ Buffy blinked back at her slowly, “No cape or anything, but there‘s the super-strength, and that kind of thing.”
Well, that did explain bowling over the wall of ice, and the not dying from the cold.
“Oh.”
They were quiet for another moment, before Fred blurted, “It’s my fault that you’re here.” There must have been a guilty blush rising up in her cheeks, she could feel the heat. “I didn’t mean to..I was trying to conjure a portal home, and you must have gotten caught in it, and this is a terrible place to be, and even though I‘m glad for the company I wouldn’t wish this place on anybody, so I really am sorry, and I understand if you don‘t want to talk to me anymore, especially since I called you a figment of my imagination-”
“Conjure?” The other woman was leaning forward, closer. “You conjured it..like with magic?”
“..In a round-about, mathematical sense,” she offered. The woman next to her was starting to smile, and Fred felt her heart skip a hopeful beat. “Why? Do you have magical powers, too?”
“A friend does.” Buffy was smiling full-on now, “If we can contact her somehow, send out any kind of energy..I’m sure Will can find us, piece of cake.”
“She can do that?”
“I sure hope so.” Buffy leaned in closer to the fire slightly, “I don’t wanna have to go find someone magical here, it’s too cold out there.”
“You’re awful positive about this whole thing..“ Fred squinted suspiciously, “Sure you aren’t a figment?”
The shoulder against hers shrugged, “I have finals this week. Demon dimension? Definitely better.”
The fire crackled, and between it and the warmth of the woman beside her, Fred felt safer, and more hopeful, than she had in what felt like forever.
She could get used to his. “I’m Winifred, by the way. But folks call me Fred.”
“Pfft.“ The other woman‘s hand squeezed over hers, shooting her a smile. “And you made fun of my name.”
Fred squeezed back, and smiled.
Yep, she could definitely get used to this.
* * * * * * *
Nominated at Round Four of the Running With Scissors Awards for Best Short.
Nominated at Round Eight of the Rogue Poet Awards for Best General Fic (non-spuffy).
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Buffyverse
Characters: Fred/Buffy
Genre: Gen/Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: Slash..if you squint.
Summary: In Pylea, anything good is just a figment of Fred’s imagination.
Word Count: 2239
Disclaimer: Joss rocks.
Beta’d by: wehavedental
A/N: Requested by deird1, with the prompts of ‘Fred talking about snow’ and ‘Fred/Buffy.’ Hope you like! (Also, for anyone else who feels inclined, I’m still taking Holiday requests for fic here.)
* * * * * * *
It had snowed in Texas, but never like this. There, she’d run out of front door to make snowmen. Now, Fred would have given anything for a front door to hide behind. For a warm bed, for a heater, for anything other than the snow that was falling all around her and freezing the air that blew into her cave. The snow that was blocking up the entrance, and snowing her in.
In the corner she huddled against stolen furs at a fire‘s side, and dreamed of beds, baths, and warm bodies. Of touch and taste and a world where melting snow didn’t remind keenly of fragile sanity, slipping and dripping away through her fingertips - melting and seeping into Pylea‘s dirt, never to come back to her. Dreamed of a world where snow was just that: H2O’s solid form, maintainable only in an environment with a temperature of 32 degrees Fahrenheit or lower, made of molecules held together by two sets of hydrogen bonds..
But logic didn’t work the same way in Pylea. In Texas, it was only logical that people had the right to speak without being electrocuted or hit. That people were never executed in the town square for trying to find something to eat. That people were always people, and never cows.
And in Texas, Fred’s math always worked. Not like here, where she started to run out of space on the wall because no matter how many times she tried, no matter how many times she worked the equation out and cast the portal, it never came where she needed it. Where no matter how many portals she cast, the only one she’d ever seen was the one that plucked her out of the LA library.
And with no portal, there was nothing better to do than dream of Texas, drifting off by the fire.
* * * * * * *
Fred woke to the sound of footsteps beyond the crackling flame, beyond her cave; footsteps loud and crunching in the silence outside, just beyond the wall of snow.
And suddenly her heart was racing.
Because they had found her this time, the little thief that snuck down to town and took scraps. They were going to catch her, pinned where she couldn’t get away - trapped by the snow. They could see the light of her fire though the darkness outside, through the snow, and she knew shouldn’t have lit a fire at night, but it was just so cold, and they were going to know she was there. They were going to set a trap and pin her in til she starved. Even if they couldn’t get in right that minute because the entrance, low to the ground, was sealed shut by a wall of snow, too thick and solid and frozen for anyone to-
Fred smothered her own scream as a fist flew through the ice and snow, sending hunks of ice flying and crumbling on the cave floor.
But through the newly-formed hole she could see, silhouetted against the darkness, light hair and skin. Fair, human, not-green-at-all skin.
Which didn’t prevent her from shrieking again as another punch pounded through, and the last of the snow wall came crumbling down at the stranger’s feet, remnants of Fred’s scream still echoing around the cave.
But it didn’t matter if the blond woman heard her, because the stranger was already looking at her, staring at her with big, green eyes and parted lips, breathing out foggy-breath into the cold. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her body huddled down like she’d never been so cold in her life - silhouetted by snow, but wearing nothing but a tank top and jeans-
Jeans.
Fred remembered jeans. Jeans and sneakers and belts, all like the things the girl was wearing and oh God.
She couldn’t bring herself to move, not even to close her open mouth.
“Hey, uh..” The stranger was shaking almost violently, and her teeth chattered as she shifted under Fred’s gaze, inching forward. “I didn’t mean to scare you, what with the punching and the barging, I was just..” Fred tried to speak, but only something like a squeak left her throat. “I could see light through the snow, and it was cold..I’ve been wandering around since before dark. There was some kind of portal in the park hours ago that something nasty jumped out of, I was fighting it and I think I fell back through with it - and..do you speak English?”
Fred was trying hard to pull herself to her feet, but her limbs were shaking nearly as bad as the half-frozen girl‘s, with her long wavy hair and big gorgeous eyes and sincerity written all over her face, like she really was sorry for pummeling through the wall of snow like it was Styrofoam packing. And suddenly Fred was keenly aware that she hadn’t bathed in days and probably looked like some kind of cavewoman, and that that wouldn’t make any sense to the person in front of her because she wasn’t from around here. And God there really had been a Texas, or a United States, or a planet Earth anyway because this girl was obviously from it, since she spoke English and wore clothes and it was all just too much.
Hands gripping tight to her bare, dirty knees, Fred looked back into to the fire, and pointedly ignored the woman on the other side of it.
Slow, deep breaths.
But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but notice when the woman came to tentatively stand next to her, shivering with her arms stretched over the fire as she spoke with an uncertain awkwardness. “So, uh, you don’t speak then.. I hope you don‘t mind the company, I was just..cold, with the snow..” There was a pause, and Fred was tempted into looking in time to see the other woman’s face screw up as she pointed to her own chest, and cleared her throat, before speaking in a slow, obnoxiously loud voice. “I’m..a friend. Friend Buff-eey.” The stranger pointed to herself again firmly, “Buffy.”
They were silent for a long moment, Fred’s arms wrapped tight over her chest, as she shifted to stare back into the fire.
“That’s an awfully silly name.”
Buffy jumped.
Then she was dropping down beside Fred, sitting, and opening and closing her mouth soundlessly like some kind of fish. By the time Buffy had finally managed to find her voice again, a flush had crept into her cheeks. “I thought you uh..couldn’t talk-”
“Oh, I can talk.” Fred’s fingers toyed with the rough hem of her rag dress, eyes back on the fire. “Better than most, actually. I was almost a language major, ‘til I realized that then I’d have to be a translator or somethin‘, which would mean talking to a buncha strange, foreign people - and people are strange enough in LA without cultural differences and the like, and I never really liked language that much anyway so it wasn’t a big deal, but I can definitely talk. I just don’t want to talk to you.” On the edge of her vision she could see green eyes staring at her, wide as saucers, as she finished, “So..stop trying to talk to me.”
When Fred closed her eyes several seconds later to keep from looking at the woman beside her, Buffy was still gaping.
And the Texan was finally starting to focus, tucking herself away into a mental recitation of the period table, when she heard the clearing of a throat beside her. Fred wrinkled up her nose in frustration as the other woman started, “I know you asked me not to talk, but-”
“Shhhhh!” Fred held her finger up to her lips, eyes never opening. Then, firmly, “Shh.”
A few minutes passed in silence, and she had moved on to the twenty-fifth integer of pi when the voice was back. “So..why can’t I talk?”
“Because!” Fred threw her arms up in the air in exasperation, and the woman beside her jumped again. “You’re not real! And not-real people don’t talk.”
Green eyes blinked. “I’m..not real?”
“You most certainly are not.” Fred’s hand reached out to grab a stick and stoke the fire, stabbing at the logs roughly. “And if I act like you’re here, if I talk to you..” She was picturing the snow, melting between her fingertips. “Then I’ve really lost it. Lost it more than talkin’ to myself and makin’ a song out of the quadratic equation and pretendin’ tree-bark is an enchilada - lost it like seeing people who aren’t there, who can’t be. Because I’m the only one here, the only one to come through a portal..“ She felt her eyes beginning to sting with moisture as she stared into the dancing flames, fingers clenched tight against her thighs. “I always have been.“
The fire sparked and crackled, and her eyes squeezed shut.
Then there was the feel of soft, cold hands closing over the top of hers, and lifting them up; the feel of the other woman bringing Fred’s fingers to Buffy’s cheek, and pressing her palms against fair, smooth skin.
“I’m real.” Buffy’s voice was matter-of-fact, but gentle. Quiet.
Something inside Fred’s stomach that had been clenching twisted, tightened, and she could feel the tears trailing her cheeks as she moved her fingers down the other woman’s face. With shaky fingertips she traced the shape of a sweet nose and the curve of bow lips, then with her gaze outlined the subtle textures in the other woman’s eye, loosing herself in a sea of green.
If the other woman was a dream, it was one Fred never wanted to forget.
Surprisingly strong arms pulled her in against Buffy’s body, Fred’s face falling in against the other woman’s shoulder as she wrapped her arms around her neck, fingers lacing up into Buffy’s hair; tangling into blonde, loose waves.
Breath hit on the shell of Fred’s ear quietly, hesitantly. “So..I’m not in California anymore, then.”
“N-no.“ Fred could feel her teardrops leaking in through the fabric Buffy’s shirt, down to the other woman’s skin. “Pylea. I-it’s a different dimension, as far as I can tell.” She was pulling back slightly, feeling a bit sheepish, but she couldn’t bring herself to move too far. Her thigh still touched Buffy’s, and their shoulders still brushed as she spoke into her knees, rubbing the teardrops from her cheeks. “I’m afraid it’s not a very nice place..we got more demons than people.”
“That’s convenient.“ The other woman’s hand closed over hers again reassuringly, squeezing. “Demon-fighting is kind of my specialty.”
“Fighting them?“ Fred‘s still-moist eyes blinked. “Like..a superhero?”
“..Yeah, kinda.“ Buffy blinked back at her slowly, “No cape or anything, but there‘s the super-strength, and that kind of thing.”
Well, that did explain bowling over the wall of ice, and the not dying from the cold.
“Oh.”
They were quiet for another moment, before Fred blurted, “It’s my fault that you’re here.” There must have been a guilty blush rising up in her cheeks, she could feel the heat. “I didn’t mean to..I was trying to conjure a portal home, and you must have gotten caught in it, and this is a terrible place to be, and even though I‘m glad for the company I wouldn’t wish this place on anybody, so I really am sorry, and I understand if you don‘t want to talk to me anymore, especially since I called you a figment of my imagination-”
“Conjure?” The other woman was leaning forward, closer. “You conjured it..like with magic?”
“..In a round-about, mathematical sense,” she offered. The woman next to her was starting to smile, and Fred felt her heart skip a hopeful beat. “Why? Do you have magical powers, too?”
“A friend does.” Buffy was smiling full-on now, “If we can contact her somehow, send out any kind of energy..I’m sure Will can find us, piece of cake.”
“She can do that?”
“I sure hope so.” Buffy leaned in closer to the fire slightly, “I don’t wanna have to go find someone magical here, it’s too cold out there.”
“You’re awful positive about this whole thing..“ Fred squinted suspiciously, “Sure you aren’t a figment?”
The shoulder against hers shrugged, “I have finals this week. Demon dimension? Definitely better.”
The fire crackled, and between it and the warmth of the woman beside her, Fred felt safer, and more hopeful, than she had in what felt like forever.
She could get used to his. “I’m Winifred, by the way. But folks call me Fred.”
“Pfft.“ The other woman‘s hand squeezed over hers, shooting her a smile. “And you made fun of my name.”
Fred squeezed back, and smiled.
Yep, she could definitely get used to this.
* * * * * * *
Nominated at Round Four of the Running With Scissors Awards for Best Short.
Nominated at Round Eight of the Rogue Poet Awards for Best General Fic (non-spuffy).