Nothing Matters...

[_fredless]

[She's tucked up on the roof again, legs up under her as Fred considers the last few weeks. Her part in them, and even more? Her part out of them. She's not surprised by the weariness that follows her thoughts, causing her to press her cheek hard down into her knee. The pressure is oddly soothing

Comments

[ectobabble]

[having been in the game room, Ray heard her voice over the journal. and since he could hear the wind, he guessed she had to be outside, somewhere. he makes his way up to the roof, just in time to see her dancing alone, with her eyes closed. he watched her for a moment, then pursed his lips into a cross between a frown and a wistful smile. he knows that look - it's the one he gets whenever he thinks about Camp Waconda, about his family all being there together ...something that they'll never be, again, Paradisa or not. once she's finished singing, he steps forward, hesitantly.

he knows better than to offer anything trite, but ... he'll shoot her a sheepish smile and offer a hand. no need to dance alone. even if the box step is probably the only thing he knows]

[_fredless]

[When she opens her eyes, Ray is there with a hand extended. Something in the quiet offer makes her laugh. But not a him. Ray gets a smile as she pulls herself out of thoughts of home. It's easier when someone else is there. It reminds her where she is]

Are you sure you want to do that?

[There's something else under that question as Fred again feels the damage she caused this week]

[ectobabble]

[his reply is completely, and totally innocent - he's her friend, and she's sad, and this is what friends do. they do nice things. with no ulterior motives whatsoever]

Well ... yeah. I mean ... I'm sorry in advance if I step on your toe, and I'm no Fred Astaire, but.

[he shrugs, and smiles. dance with the puppy, Fred.]

[_fredless]

[He smiles and Fred feels herself smile back. Her face reminds her it's been a few days since that happened]

That's good, then. Because I'm definitely not Ginger.

[After another moment she drops her hand into his]

[demonologist]

[Wesley has come up to the roof in the hopes of consulting with Fred about a possible project but finds himself transfixed by the sight of her singing and dancing by herself. Seeing her like this makes a familiar ache come to his chest and he wishes he hadn't come up to the roof at all now. He has frozen in place by the fire exit, not wanting to disturb her reverie. In fact, he's waiting for the right moment to slip back down the stairs again with Fred none the wiser.]

[_fredless]

[She's done before she is actually done, the words of the song trailing off well before Fred finishes her last steps along the plane of the roof. It's not even herself then, more an echo of a memory of a man that's not even there.

Roger is dancing with Trish.

Fred's enjoying the feel of the night air as it slices across her skin, the cool edges of it reminding her just how new spring is.

Finally she stops, and after a long breath that's made of more out than in she opens her eyes...

...to see Wesley, standing just to the right of her. Somehow she's not surprised, any more than she is embarrassed by the display she might've made of herself.

It just is]

[demonologist]

[It's too late, she's seen him watching her. Even if she's not embarrassed, he is a little. Because a less than noble part of him would have liked to have been the man in her imagination, despite what reality dictates.

After a silence about as long as her breath had been, he finally offers words in order to move past the moment.]

I didn't want to interrupt you.

[_fredless]

You didn't.

[She's quick to fill the space and less inclined to take the time to examine why she even felt that quiet, pressing urgency. Instead Fred just keeps taking]

I'm not even sure what I was doing... [Which is certainly true enough. And somehow, a note in her voice betrays those words might be about more than the roof. Which she seems to sense.

And try and correct]

And if I don't know, there's really no way you could interrupt is there?

[spongetastic]

[Peter can't sleep, and Fred's voice is nice. It's a beautiful song. He listens, almost tempted to speak but not wanting to disturb her. So he hums the last few lines with her]

[_fredless]

[It doesn't work, the not speaking. She recognizes his voice anyway]

Peter.

[spongetastic]

[of course she does]

Hi, Fred.

[_fredless]

[It's what happens. You talk to a person long enough, you get to know things like voices]

Any spontaneous singing, yet? Or is it just me?

[mysticalvender]

[Lorne would so respond to this if he wasn't locked in the soundproof basement of Caritas waiting for this day to end]

[_fredless]

[Fred adores you anyway, Lorne. And she's thinking of you, locked up that way down there]

Fred

[lawyerlarry]

[Larry hears this come over the journal and he stops whatever he is doing and just listens with a small smile on his face. When she's done he gives it a few moments before speaking up quietly.]

That was beautiful.

Larry

[_fredless]

[...it's been a bit of a night. Of a week. But her expression ticks upward into something warmer at Larry's voice]

That was the castle.

Fred

[lawyerlarry]

It was still beautiful.

Larry

[_fredless]

I don't know about that. I'm no you when it comes to singing.