Fic: That White Rush
Title: That White Rush
Author: girlpire
Rating: PG13 or FRT
Pairing: Angel/Fred
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please do not archive this story anywhere.
Summary: Something kinda weird happens to Angel, but it leads to something kinda nice.
Warnings: SCHMOOP, kissing, reference to sex
Author's Notes: This story was written for winter_of_angel, 2008. It's set in early season three of Angel. The title comes from the poem "Leda and the Swan" by W.B. Yeats.
Okay, when I did that poll asking what I should write for winter_of_angel, 9 people said I should write het, 4 people said the girl should be Fred, 15 said the story should be romance, 13 said comedy, 7 said fluff/schmoop, 9 said crack!fic, and 2 said the rating should be PG13 or FRT. This story attempts to combine all of those requests, as well as incorporating the following prompts from a few different people: gravity, upside down, realization, and "it seemed like an ordinary day." That last one comes from makd, and while I didn't use the actual phrase, I interpreted it to mean that something weird happened out of the blue. Which is what this entire story is based on.
Also, this story ended abruptly because I ran out of time, and it turns out I'm not nearly as funny as I'd thought. My apologies. (I'm currently working on two other stories inspired by the poll, but they'll probably just have to wait until spring_spangel starts.)
If you click the cut, beware of fluff. Seriously. I don't think I've ever been this fluffy in my life. It feels weird.
ETA: I won an award!
"Sweet, fun, fluffy, adorable, lovely... yes, this fic is all of those things. And I love it. Angel/Fred is an unexplored pairing for me however I felt that this fic was sufficiently rated in order to avoid squicking me out on my first journey into this territory. And girlpire sold me on it, hook line and sinker. She has a lovely style of writing that is so unobtrusive you're absorbed into their world immediately. Her descriptions and her turn of phrase are exquisite. And she has answered the age old question... yes, angels do have wings. A must read."
*
That White Rush
*
When Wesley asked him about it later, Angel couldn’t actually remember the specific day that he started changing. But he figured it was probably that Tuesday that his back had itched like crazy. Normally he wouldn’t have noticed something so insignificant as an itch - not enough to remember it three weeks later, anyway - but this itching was intense. It was right around his shoulder blades and it started out as just a little tingle, not even a twinge, when he woke up that morning. But by the end of the day, he’d been so uncomfortable that he’d finally excused himself from work, gone up to his room to lie down on the floor, and shifted his body back and forth on the carpet several times to rub out the sting.
The itching got worse over the next couple of days, until Angel had himself absolutely convinced that it was some sort of spell or jinx or curse, and he had just resolved to tell Wesley about it when the itching suddenly stopped. His shoulders, although a little raw from so much scratching and rubbing, were perfectly fine again. It was strange, but since the feeling passed on its own, he didn’t mention it to anyone. Until Wesley asked him three weeks later, because of what happened afterwards.
*
They got really sore. His shoulder blades. Tender like a bruise, or like something hard and blunt was poking him constantly. He kept twitching and trying to shrug it off, and his little movements started to annoy Cordelia, who finally suggested he leave the research on the latest thingamabad to Wesley, Fred, and anyone else who could sit still, and followed up by adding decaf to the Hyperion shopping list.
The soreness intensified over a couple of days in the same way the itching had, until Angel finally decided to tell someone. But then it stopped. The pain completely vanished, like a bubble that had burst and left behind no trace of having ever been there. Except this did leave a trace: two small, rough patches on Angel’s back, one over each shoulder blade, both no bigger than a penny. He didn’t notice at first.
*
He began to notice over the next week or so, when the small patches started to grow. They extended out from his back like extra knuckles, two small, hard lumps, about an inch long. They felt funny beneath his shirts. Sometimes they itched a little and sometimes they were kind of sore. Angel didn’t know what to think about this development, but he was careful not to freak out. Whatever they were, these lumps couldn’t kill him. He could just reach them with the tips of his fingers, and when he felt around them, it was startling that he not only felt the lumps with his fingers, but he could also feel his fingers with the lumps.
As they got bigger, they also got furry. Angel flinched one morning as he snatched a piece of fuzz from one of the lumps so he could examine it. The fuzz was soft and gray, and when he dropped it, it floated slowly down like a feather. The lumps weren’t really lumps anymore. By this time, they were about as long as his fingers, and they even had joints. Angel found he could move them like he could move any other part of his body, and it was disconcerting to say the least. At rest, they lay curled against his back, the soft gray fuzz comfortably snug against his shoulders. He started wearing a jacket more often around the office so these new appendages would be less obvious. They hadn’t stopped growing.
*
One morning, Angel woke up with a tiny white feather in his bed. He assumed it came out of his pillow.
It didn’t.
*
Angel finally told Wesley. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do this, but the problem ended up solving itself one morning when Wesley burst into his room unannounced to inform him of Cordelia’s latest vision. Angel was still in bed, lying on his stomach wondering how to tell his friends about what was happening to him - should he sit them all down together, or maybe just go down to the lobby without a shirt on? - when Wesley ran in saying, “Angel, we need you. Cordelia’s just had a vision and dear God, you’ve sprouted wings.”
Angel gave him a guilty little shrug, which lifted the small wings from his back for a moment, and said, “I was going to tell you.”
“When did this happen?” Wesley demanded. Which was when Angel decided it must have started with the itching.
*
Once his friends knew about the wings, Angel stopped trying to hide them. He no longer bothered to wear a shirt to work, which was convenient because most of his shirts had become too tight to wear over the wings anyway. And they hadn’t stopped growing. When Wesley first saw them, they were about the size of a dove’s wings, but now they were more like the wings of a largish chicken. Cordelia took a Polaroid for him so he could see what they looked like: solid white, but with black tips on some of the longer feathers. He could stretch them up and look over his shoulder at them, which he found himself doing frequently, but he didn’t flap them because it felt silly to try flying when he was obviously too big for such small wings to carry him.
They looked kind of neat, though.
There were jokes. Fred presented him with a toy bow and some suction-cup arrows while Cordelia presented him with a big cloth diaper. Gunn referred to him more than once as Superchicken. Wesley speculated aloud about what other birdlike attributes Angel might develop, such as a beak, or perhaps tail feathers (which Angel began checking for periodically - just to make sure - and was relieved when none became apparent). But other than these things, business went on as usual at Angel Investigations.
*
The difference between chicken-sized and swan-sized wings was about two weeks. By this time, Angel’s wingspan was eight feet and when folded against his back, the top part of each wing extended about two inches above his shoulders while the tips of his feathers reached down to his butt. Wesley and Fred studied Angel’s additions intently and did a lot of research, but spontaneous generation of wings was a woefully under-documented subject. Gunn wanted to know if he could fly yet.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Angel, who had practiced flapping in the courtyard the past couple of nights, said. “Men can’t fly.”
“But you’re not a man,” Gunn pointed out. “You’re a chicken, boo.” When this got no response, he turned to Cordelia. “Chicken Boo? Animaniacs? Anyone?”
Cordelia shrugged. “I stopped watching cartoons when Angel became Big Bird. This is actually more entertaining.” She waved a packet of peanut butter crackers in Angel’s direction. “Hey Polly, want one?”
*
He didn’t stop helping the hopeless, of course. Fighting-while-winged took a little getting used to, but he learned to keep them tucked close to his back, and the thick feathers provided a little protection - more than a shirt would have, anyway. He used them as a distraction a couple of times, and managed to strike while demons stared at him, openmouthed.
Somewhat by accident, he found that his wings were waterproof. Which was sort of cool.
*
As Angel’s wings continued to grow, going out in public with people became a bit of a hassle. Wearing normal shirts was out of the question; the bulk underneath made him look deformed. Fred tried to assure him that the wings were barely noticeable beneath a loose hooded sweatshirt, but the third time someone referenced a hunchback or a bell tower, he refused to wear it again. He finally settled for a simple glamour spell cast by Wesley, which made him appear fully clothed and wingless to humans who didn’t know his secret. He just had to be careful not to bump into anyone.
*
Fred developed a habit of petting Angel’s feathers whenever he was within reach. She probably didn’t realize he could feel every touch, as though she were softly stroking his bare skin. But it felt good, so he didn’t ever ask her to stop. He managed to refrain from asking her to begin, as well. He would just go stand next to her and subtly flex his wings near her hand, and she would start on her own. And it was... nice.
She wouldn’t have started touching him if he hadn’t grown the wings. Angel found himself thinking about that sometimes.
*
When his outstretched wings were each about five and a half feet long, making his total wingspan an impressive eleven feet, Angel tried flying again. It had been over a month since Wesley had discovered his little dove-wings, and by now the black tips of his feathers touched the back of his knees when he walked. He probably should have warned everyone first, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, a whim. They were all hanging around in the Hyperion lobby, not really doing much of anything, when he walked over to the center of the room and simply began flapping as hard and fast as he could.
When it was over, case files, feathers, newspaper clippings, Cordelia’s magazines, and Wesley were all strewn about the floor. Cordelia and Gunn peeked at Angel over the edge of the counter, wide-eyed, Cordy’s hair blown every which way. The stunned silence was finally broken when Fred came running toward him, clapping and smiling, her hair one giant tangle as she exclaimed, “You did it! Angel, you flew!” She threw her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug, and he couldn’t help but grin, spreading his enormous wings proudly.
“Yes, well,” muttered Wesley, picking himself up off the floor. “Perhaps next time you’ll gain a height of three inches, Angel, rather than a mere two.”
*
A few nights later, Angel stopped by Fred’s room after everyone else had gone home. She answered the door in her pajamas. “I want to show you something,” Angel told her. “I think you’ll like it.”
He took her by the hand and led her silently to the stairs. They climbed up to the fifth floor together, then up the narrow steps to the roof access. Once on the roof, Angel went to stand near the edge, but Fred hung back a little, and he turned and motioned for her to come forward.
"What are we doing up here?" she asked, inching toward him to glance over the edge of the roof. The small courtyard was directly below them, purplish flowers climbing up the latticework.
He gave her a little smile. "You trust me, right Fred?" he asked.
She quickly nodded. "I... yeah, I mean-"
He scooped her up in his arms before she could finish, and she gasped. "Might want to hold on," he told her quietly. "I haven't tried this carrying someone before."
She put her arms around his neck. "Does this mean you can fly more than two inches now?" she asked.
Angel shook his head. "No," he said, and jumped.
Fred squealed and shut her eyes tight, but they didn't tumble to the ground in a feathered heap as she feared. When she opened her eyes again, Angel was chuckling softly, and they were gliding slowly through the air, his outstretched wings still and strong on either side of them. He angled them into a wide arc, and they circled out over the road. Fred had time to wonder what the people in the cars below must be thinking if they happened to glance up and see a man and a woman in her pajamas floating above them, before they finally glided back toward the hotel and landed with a gentle thud in the courtyard. Angel jostled her a bit. "Sorry," he said, "I haven't really gotten the landing down yet..."
"No, it was perfect," she said as he set her down. Her legs felt weak. "That was... Angel, that was amazing."
He seemed pleased. "I thought you might like it."
Out of habit, she had begun stroking one of his wings again, carefully carding her fingertips through the soft feathers. He stretched them forward, enclosing her with himself in a warm circle of white, his feathers tickling her arms. She watched her hand moving slowly against his wing.
"I like it when you do that," he said quietly.
"Do what? You mean-" She stroked him again.
He nodded. "It feels nice."
"Oh," she said, blushing a little.
"When I figure out how to really use these things, maybe we can go throw ourselves off a cliff or something," he offered. "It could be... you know. Fun?"
"I'd, I'd like that," she said.
"Good." He paused. "Well, I guess it's getting kind of late..."
"Yeah, it's-" she nodded, dropping her hand from his wing. "I should really - I mean, we should probably..." She turned, looking a little flustered to be caught inside the circle of his wings, and he hesitated a moment before letting them droop so she could escape. "I'll just. Um. See you in the morning!" she stammered, and then hurried toward the building.
Smiling a little, he watched her go back inside the Hyperion. Then he flapped his wings once to resituate his feathers before folding them against his back.
*
Over the next two weeks, Angel's wings continued to grow. It occurred to him, though, that he hadn't actually gained any weight from the extra limbs - as though they didn't even exist - which was a little troubling to him when he thought about it. It became even more troubling when he started losing weight.
Wesley agreed that the weight loss was odd. "Still, it can't have been much," he reasoned. "You certainly don't look any different. How much did you say you lost?"
"Three pounds since yesterday," Angel said. He did a quick mental calculation to figure out how much that made altogether.
"Oh. Well, that's a little more than I expec-"
"Fifty eight pounds since Friday?" Angel added.
Wesley cleared his throat. "I'll look into it," he said.
The sudden weight loss didn't aversely affect the vampire, though. He didn't look any smaller, for one thing. His body still appeared in perfect health (for a corpse) and he was still as strong as ever. He was just lighter. And that made him run faster and jump higher, which was kind of cool.
Wesley and Fred did a series of tests to determine where, exactly, the weight had disappeared from. They took measurements of different parts of Angel's body and compared them to measurements Angel had taken once out of boredom (and drunkenness) before the whole wing thing started. His friends didn't measure everything he himself had measured, for which he was grateful (although he certainly didn't have anything to be ashamed of) but the parts they did measure were exactly the same size as before - except his waist, which was now about half an inch bigger. (Angel maintained that it was just muscle, but he secretly resolved to add sit-ups to his daily routine.) His body density was also normal, and he hadn't lost any mass. The only explanation anyone could come up with was that gravity simply didn't have the same hold over Angel that it used to.
Cordelia called him Powers' Pet. "They give you wings and a mystical weight-loss plan, and all I get are these stinky hi-def migraines?" So Angel gave her some extra paid vacation time. He was feeling generous.
Altogether, Angel lost eighty-four pounds in fourteen days without managing to shrink at all. And when his longest black-tipped feathers brushed his ankles as he walked, the wings finally stopped growing.
*
"Ready?" he asked.
Fred nodded, tightening her arms around his neck. "Ready," she said.
"Sure you don't wanna stop somewhere for ice cream first? Or tacos? We could get tacos."
She giggled softly. "You're just stalling now."
"Yeah." He looked over the edge, then quickly averted his eyes. "It's just. Really high up."
"It's not that high," she said.
"It feels high."
"Only because you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. I don't get nervous."
"I know. But it's okay if you are."
"It just feels higher when you're about to jump off."
"We're not jumping," she said. "We're flying, remember?"
He sighed. "Right. Flying. We're just flying." He looked over the edge again. "From a... really high place."
"It's only 73 stories."
"It feels like at least 74."
"We don't have to," she said suddenly. "If you changed your mind, or..."
"No, no. I haven't changed my... It's just really high." He paused and looked out over the wide expanse of L.A. from atop the Library Tower. "I'm good, though. I can do this. The flying thing."
"Good." She grinned and adjusted her arms around his neck again.
"It'll be just like gliding. Only I'll flap more."
"Right."
"Sure you don't want a taco?"
"Angel."
"Okay, okay... Count of three. One..."
"Wait. You've... I mean, this isn't your first time, right?"
"You really think I'd come here if I hadn't practiced first?"
Fred smiled. "Okay, just wanted to make sure. I'm ready now."
"You saw me do it. In the lobby. At the hotel."
"You mean when you... when you flew two inches? Is that when you mean?"
"It was more like two and a half."
"But you haven't done it again since then?"
"Fred, I can fly. Trust me." He cleared his throat. "I mean, I'm bound to be able to. I've got these big wings and everything..."
"Oh... kay. I'll just, you don't mind if I don't look, right?"
"One... Two..."
"Oh God." She squeezed her eyes shut.
Fred didn't hear the word three. He might not have even said it out loud, but the next second they were moving fast through the air, and the wind in her ears would have muffled any words he muttered anyway. She tightened her arms around him and even buried her face in his neck for a few moments before she realized that the cool wind roaring past wasn't the sound of them plummeting to her death. She could feel the vampire laughing, and she finally peeked away from the safety of his neck to see what was going on.
Her first thought was that Angel was right: they were up high.
The rest of her immediate thoughts were a fragmented jumble of things, like they usually were when she was around Angel. Of course there were the standard thoughts that everyone would probably have on finding themselves suddenly flying high over L.A. at night - how beautiful everything looked from this height, how spectacular the sensation of being so far above it all, how neat to see familiar places from such a new and unique perspective. And there were other things about flying too that she hadn't really thought about before but was noticing now, like how it wasn't an entirely smooth ride like the gliding had been, that they were actually bobbing up and down with each powerful beat of Angel's wings, that this was definitely not the way to travel if you're prone to any type of motion sickness, and that it felt really strange for her feet to just be dangling like this. Her scientific mind was also busy calculating their speed and velocity, how many flaps per minute would keep them at this particular height, how much their combined weight must be, how long exactly Angel's enhanced strength and stamina would allow him to keep up the flapping without getting tired.
And then there were the thoughts that she found herself thinking about again and again after it was over, even weeks later, things she didn't tell anyone when she described this night them, things she kept to herself because they were about Angel, and she wanted a piece of him to be just for her - the part no one else ever saw, the part of him that could fly.
Flying made Angel happy.
Not too happy, of course, but happy just the same. Happy in a way nothing else ever seemed to make him, happy in that way that makes you laugh because you don't quite believe you're feeling the way you are and you keep expecting it to end but it doesn't. Angel laughed as he flew. He held Fred close, his arms curled beneath her shoulders and knees, her arms around his neck, and she could feel him laughing, could even hear him sometimes, when the wind paused for a second to clear its throat before pelting her with steady noise again. She hardly ever heard Angel laugh, and never like this, with the distinct sound of wonder in his voice. When he glanced over at her, he didn't look like a 249-year-old vampire anymore, but like a little boy who had discovered something amazing and wanted to make sure he wasn't the only one who could see it.
Even with all the different thoughts rushing through her head, Fred couldn't help but stop thinking for a moment when Angel looked at her, just long enough to share the wonder and laugh with him.
*
Estimated total flight time: thirteen minutes.
They landed in a small park in the middle of a neighborhood, Angel staggering a bit and actually falling to his knees in the grass. He was sweating a little, breathing, but still grinning proudly as he let Fred slide out of his arms onto the ground in front of him. He braced his upper body with his hands in the grass as he knelt, his tired white wings drooping down on either side of him so that from far away he sort of looked like a small igloo with a head, but even though his body was worn out, he couldn't have looked more pleased. Fred lay on her back on the grass, smiling at him, watching him take deep breaths.
When his panting slowed, Angel glanced over at her. "That was pretty cool, huh?" he breathed, grinning.
Fred just nodded. After being so moved by the experience of flying with Angel, it was actually difficult to come up with something to say to him.
"It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be," he told her. "I mean, it was hard, but..."
So she sat up and kissed him instead.
"...in a good way," he finished. He stared at her.
Fred was suddenly mortified.
"Um," said Angel. "You just..." He tilted his head. "Did you just-?"
"No!" Fred blurted. "I didn't. I mean yeah, I did, a little, but I didn't mean to - it just sort of... It was an accident!"
Angel raised an eyebrow. "You accidentally kissed me?"
"I-I'm sorry," Fred told him. "We should - I should just... We should go now. Back to the hotel, because I'm sure you're real tired - what with flapping for thirteen minutes straight and flying and all and carrying me and I'm really sorry I put my lips on your mouth like that I mean I know you don't want me that way and that's fine I just thought I'd take a chance but it definitely won't happen ag-"
Their second mid-sentence kiss was better.
When Angel pulled back, Fred's parted lips followed his for a second before she opened her eyes. He smiled at her. "I don't really feel like going back yet," he said. "What do you think about tacos now?"
*
"There's got to be a reason for them," said Wesley, frowning at Angel's wings. "One doesn't simply grow wings for no reason."
Angel shrugged. His shrugs had a greater effect these days. "One doesn't normally grow wings at all, right?"
Wesley sighed. "No, I suppose one doesn't."
"Well, one obviously does," Cordelia pointed out.
"I guess that means I'm setting the standard," mused Angel.
"Yes," Wesley agreed tiredly. "The standard for growing unreasonable wings."
Fred was softly stroking one of Angel's wings. The repetitive motion was soothing, and he kept closing his eyes. Yesterday, she actually did this until he fell asleep at the front desk, his head resting on folded arms near the telephone. It was cute. "I think they're reasonable," she said. "I mean, Angel can fly now. Achieving flight is a reason for growing wings, right?"
"But why would Angel require that ability?" Wesley asked. "He was already super-powered before the wings and had no especial need for them in order to fulfill his mission." He turned to Angel. "You haven't needed wings before this point, have you?"
Angel thought about it. "I guess not. But they probably would've come in handy a time or two if I'd had them earlier."
"Yes, but my point is that you got by well enough before you had them. So why now? Why suddenly grow wings?" Wes frowned. "There has got to be a reason."
Almost as soon as he said this, Gunn burst excitedly through the front door, startling everyone. "Man, you guys gotta come see this," he told them. "It's like a Hitchcock movie out here! Only bigger. And uglier." He hurried to the weapons cabinet and grabbed his favorite axe. "Good thing Angel's got wings," he added.
*
Cue epic battle sequence.
The legions of flying monsters turned out to be a single monster who could be in many places at once. It took two days to figure this out, and that the way to defeat it was to draw all of the manifestations into one body and kill that one. The monster only condensed itself in order to eat (primary food source: human women, of course) so with Fred as volunteer bait, the Angel Investigations team implemented a plan of defense and counterattack.
Which they won. Huzzah.
Not to diminish it in any way! The epic battle sequence was very epic and battle-y, as well as being a sequence. Cordelia almost died, even. So did Gunn and Wesley, at different times, and Angel while trying to save them. By the end of the battle, the winged vampire had managed to snatch each member of the team out of harm’s way at least twice and physically move them into safe’s way before dropping them to the ground from a greater height than they would have liked. Except Fred, whom Angel never actually let within fifteen yards of harm’s way to begin with, despite the fact that she was supposedly the bait. (When confronted about this later, he very stubbornly denied it, although he did have the grace to thank Cordelia for her spur-of-the-moment replacement bait act, which had been quite convincing.)
Also by the end of the battle, Angel had learned how to manage his wings sufficiently to fly upside down, dart around quickly, hover in one place, swoop and dive, turn on a dime, and dismember a giant Kanigladonkle in midair.
His landing still left a bit to be desired.
*
Following the battle (which was truly epic; everyone said so) and a long, hot shower, Angel allowed Fred to care for his injuries. There were surprisingly few, and more had resulted from the landing than the actual fight to the death. (Gunn had actually sustained the most injuries from Angel’s landing - or rather, from avoiding Angel’s landing.) The vampire’s wings weren’t harmed at all, but his arms and legs had some cuts and bruises and his stomach had two long, ugly gashes from the Kanigladonkle’s talons. He sat on his bed, clean and naked, with a towel draped over his lap while Fred knelt on the floor and bandaged his scraped knees. He paid no attention to the fact that these injuries didn’t actually need any doctoring as they would be gone within an hour or two. When she moved to bandage his stomach, Angel also conveniently ignored the fact that he could have easily done this for himself.
"Wesley thinks this was it," Angel said.
"It?" asked Fred, carefully cutting a piece of surgical tape with a tiny pair of scissors.
"The reason I grew wings," Angel clarified, watching her small hands move. "He thinks it was because of the Kanigla... thingy."
"Oh," she replied quietly, "Well, there's no way we could have defeated the Kanibble-donkle if you hadn't been able to fly..."
"So you agree? That the Kadingle-doggy was the reason?"
Fred began taping the bandages over Angel's wounded stomach. Her hands were warm. "I don't know," she said. "I just know that if you didn't have wings, that Canoodle-donkey would have eaten Cordelia. Maybe all of us."
"It's just that... Wes thinks if the Powers gave me wings for the purpose of fighting the Klingon-dinky, then... now that the Canada-dinkle's dead, they might..."
Fred's eyes widened in realization, and she looked up from Angel's stomach to his face. "Oh!"
Angel pouted. "Yeah."
"Well, they... they can't! Just because their stupid Kanipple-diggle is gone doesn't mean they can just-"
"They can do whatever they want, Fred," he said. "They're the Powers."
"But what if... what if another Kanippy-docker shows up? And you don't have wings anymore? Who'll save us then?"
"I guess the point is that the Powers find a way to even out the battlefield, no matter what they see coming. I mean, look what they did to me." Angel spread his wings a little in illustration. "If another Koala-dippy does show up, maybe someone else will grow wings."
Fred looked down, biting her lip. She looked so sad at the notion that Angel might lose his wings.
"Fred," Angel said softly. She looked back up at him. "I don't want you to be sad if my wings disappear or... if they fall off, or something." Angel was a little disturbed at this image, but continued, "I mean, I know you like them - and I'm glad you do - I like that you like them, too, but they're not really me, you know?" He paused for a moment, then went on. "There's something happening. Between us. And I like that. I like you. But I sort of need to know if it's happening because you like me, or if it's because of the novelty."
Fred didn't say anything.
"It's just, I'd like to think that I grew wings for more than just a Kadonkadonk. But when the wings are gone, I want the other stuff - the stuff between us - to stay."
Fred swallowed. "Angel, I..."
"You don't have to answer right now," he told her hurriedly. "Especially if you're going to tell me you just like the wings."
She blushed, smiling a little. "That isn't what I was going to say," she said.
"Oh. Good." Angel was relieved. "What were you going to say?"
"Well, first, I was going to tell you that your towel slipped..."
Angel quickly looked down to adjust the towel modestly over his lap once more.
"...and then I was going to do this."
A moment later, Fred was on the bed straddling Angel's thighs, her arms around his neck, kissing him on the mouth. The kissing went on for quite some time, and meanwhile the towel slipped significantly, but neither one of them bothered to fix it again.
*
The wings didn't disappear right away. They actually stayed until Fred became accustomed to waking up in Angel's bed, cocooned inside their softness with him. Which is to say about four more weeks. During those four weeks, Angel took Fred out almost every night to fly with him. He was able to go for longer and longer periods of time without tiring, but he never did get the landing down right. Fred didn't mind.
Also during that time, Angel learned that sex in midair was incredibly dangerous, as well as being exhausting. But, as with most things, it got better with practice. So they spent a lot of time practicing.
Then one day, Fred woke up next to a regular, run-of-the-mill vampire with a soul, the wingless version, on top of a pile of white feathers with black tips. She wasn't sad exactly, but for a long time afterwards, the sight of a swan (or sometimes a featherduster) gave her a feeling of nostalgia. Angel was actually more disappointed than she was, but Fred suspected he had just gotten used to not having to wear a shirt.
Fred did keep a few of the feathers, though. She saved them in a shoebox with old letters and other things she wanted to keep forever. But she never got them out to look at. She still had the rest of Angel, the real him, to stroke softly with her fingers, and the memory of his face during their first flight together, and that was always enough for her.
*
Three days later, in a seemingly unrelated series of events, Wesley began to develop flippers.
*
Author: girlpire
Rating: PG13 or FRT
Pairing: Angel/Fred
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please do not archive this story anywhere.
Summary: Something kinda weird happens to Angel, but it leads to something kinda nice.
Warnings: SCHMOOP, kissing, reference to sex
Author's Notes: This story was written for winter_of_angel, 2008. It's set in early season three of Angel. The title comes from the poem "Leda and the Swan" by W.B. Yeats.
Okay, when I did that poll asking what I should write for winter_of_angel, 9 people said I should write het, 4 people said the girl should be Fred, 15 said the story should be romance, 13 said comedy, 7 said fluff/schmoop, 9 said crack!fic, and 2 said the rating should be PG13 or FRT. This story attempts to combine all of those requests, as well as incorporating the following prompts from a few different people: gravity, upside down, realization, and "it seemed like an ordinary day." That last one comes from makd, and while I didn't use the actual phrase, I interpreted it to mean that something weird happened out of the blue. Which is what this entire story is based on.
Also, this story ended abruptly because I ran out of time, and it turns out I'm not nearly as funny as I'd thought. My apologies. (I'm currently working on two other stories inspired by the poll, but they'll probably just have to wait until spring_spangel starts.)
If you click the cut, beware of fluff. Seriously. I don't think I've ever been this fluffy in my life. It feels weird.
ETA: I won an award!
"Sweet, fun, fluffy, adorable, lovely... yes, this fic is all of those things. And I love it. Angel/Fred is an unexplored pairing for me however I felt that this fic was sufficiently rated in order to avoid squicking me out on my first journey into this territory. And girlpire sold me on it, hook line and sinker. She has a lovely style of writing that is so unobtrusive you're absorbed into their world immediately. Her descriptions and her turn of phrase are exquisite. And she has answered the age old question... yes, angels do have wings. A must read."
*
That White Rush
*
When Wesley asked him about it later, Angel couldn’t actually remember the specific day that he started changing. But he figured it was probably that Tuesday that his back had itched like crazy. Normally he wouldn’t have noticed something so insignificant as an itch - not enough to remember it three weeks later, anyway - but this itching was intense. It was right around his shoulder blades and it started out as just a little tingle, not even a twinge, when he woke up that morning. But by the end of the day, he’d been so uncomfortable that he’d finally excused himself from work, gone up to his room to lie down on the floor, and shifted his body back and forth on the carpet several times to rub out the sting.
The itching got worse over the next couple of days, until Angel had himself absolutely convinced that it was some sort of spell or jinx or curse, and he had just resolved to tell Wesley about it when the itching suddenly stopped. His shoulders, although a little raw from so much scratching and rubbing, were perfectly fine again. It was strange, but since the feeling passed on its own, he didn’t mention it to anyone. Until Wesley asked him three weeks later, because of what happened afterwards.
*
They got really sore. His shoulder blades. Tender like a bruise, or like something hard and blunt was poking him constantly. He kept twitching and trying to shrug it off, and his little movements started to annoy Cordelia, who finally suggested he leave the research on the latest thingamabad to Wesley, Fred, and anyone else who could sit still, and followed up by adding decaf to the Hyperion shopping list.
The soreness intensified over a couple of days in the same way the itching had, until Angel finally decided to tell someone. But then it stopped. The pain completely vanished, like a bubble that had burst and left behind no trace of having ever been there. Except this did leave a trace: two small, rough patches on Angel’s back, one over each shoulder blade, both no bigger than a penny. He didn’t notice at first.
*
He began to notice over the next week or so, when the small patches started to grow. They extended out from his back like extra knuckles, two small, hard lumps, about an inch long. They felt funny beneath his shirts. Sometimes they itched a little and sometimes they were kind of sore. Angel didn’t know what to think about this development, but he was careful not to freak out. Whatever they were, these lumps couldn’t kill him. He could just reach them with the tips of his fingers, and when he felt around them, it was startling that he not only felt the lumps with his fingers, but he could also feel his fingers with the lumps.
As they got bigger, they also got furry. Angel flinched one morning as he snatched a piece of fuzz from one of the lumps so he could examine it. The fuzz was soft and gray, and when he dropped it, it floated slowly down like a feather. The lumps weren’t really lumps anymore. By this time, they were about as long as his fingers, and they even had joints. Angel found he could move them like he could move any other part of his body, and it was disconcerting to say the least. At rest, they lay curled against his back, the soft gray fuzz comfortably snug against his shoulders. He started wearing a jacket more often around the office so these new appendages would be less obvious. They hadn’t stopped growing.
*
One morning, Angel woke up with a tiny white feather in his bed. He assumed it came out of his pillow.
It didn’t.
*
Angel finally told Wesley. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do this, but the problem ended up solving itself one morning when Wesley burst into his room unannounced to inform him of Cordelia’s latest vision. Angel was still in bed, lying on his stomach wondering how to tell his friends about what was happening to him - should he sit them all down together, or maybe just go down to the lobby without a shirt on? - when Wesley ran in saying, “Angel, we need you. Cordelia’s just had a vision and dear God, you’ve sprouted wings.”
Angel gave him a guilty little shrug, which lifted the small wings from his back for a moment, and said, “I was going to tell you.”
“When did this happen?” Wesley demanded. Which was when Angel decided it must have started with the itching.
*
Once his friends knew about the wings, Angel stopped trying to hide them. He no longer bothered to wear a shirt to work, which was convenient because most of his shirts had become too tight to wear over the wings anyway. And they hadn’t stopped growing. When Wesley first saw them, they were about the size of a dove’s wings, but now they were more like the wings of a largish chicken. Cordelia took a Polaroid for him so he could see what they looked like: solid white, but with black tips on some of the longer feathers. He could stretch them up and look over his shoulder at them, which he found himself doing frequently, but he didn’t flap them because it felt silly to try flying when he was obviously too big for such small wings to carry him.
They looked kind of neat, though.
There were jokes. Fred presented him with a toy bow and some suction-cup arrows while Cordelia presented him with a big cloth diaper. Gunn referred to him more than once as Superchicken. Wesley speculated aloud about what other birdlike attributes Angel might develop, such as a beak, or perhaps tail feathers (which Angel began checking for periodically - just to make sure - and was relieved when none became apparent). But other than these things, business went on as usual at Angel Investigations.
*
The difference between chicken-sized and swan-sized wings was about two weeks. By this time, Angel’s wingspan was eight feet and when folded against his back, the top part of each wing extended about two inches above his shoulders while the tips of his feathers reached down to his butt. Wesley and Fred studied Angel’s additions intently and did a lot of research, but spontaneous generation of wings was a woefully under-documented subject. Gunn wanted to know if he could fly yet.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Angel, who had practiced flapping in the courtyard the past couple of nights, said. “Men can’t fly.”
“But you’re not a man,” Gunn pointed out. “You’re a chicken, boo.” When this got no response, he turned to Cordelia. “Chicken Boo? Animaniacs? Anyone?”
Cordelia shrugged. “I stopped watching cartoons when Angel became Big Bird. This is actually more entertaining.” She waved a packet of peanut butter crackers in Angel’s direction. “Hey Polly, want one?”
*
He didn’t stop helping the hopeless, of course. Fighting-while-winged took a little getting used to, but he learned to keep them tucked close to his back, and the thick feathers provided a little protection - more than a shirt would have, anyway. He used them as a distraction a couple of times, and managed to strike while demons stared at him, openmouthed.
Somewhat by accident, he found that his wings were waterproof. Which was sort of cool.
*
As Angel’s wings continued to grow, going out in public with people became a bit of a hassle. Wearing normal shirts was out of the question; the bulk underneath made him look deformed. Fred tried to assure him that the wings were barely noticeable beneath a loose hooded sweatshirt, but the third time someone referenced a hunchback or a bell tower, he refused to wear it again. He finally settled for a simple glamour spell cast by Wesley, which made him appear fully clothed and wingless to humans who didn’t know his secret. He just had to be careful not to bump into anyone.
*
Fred developed a habit of petting Angel’s feathers whenever he was within reach. She probably didn’t realize he could feel every touch, as though she were softly stroking his bare skin. But it felt good, so he didn’t ever ask her to stop. He managed to refrain from asking her to begin, as well. He would just go stand next to her and subtly flex his wings near her hand, and she would start on her own. And it was... nice.
She wouldn’t have started touching him if he hadn’t grown the wings. Angel found himself thinking about that sometimes.
*
When his outstretched wings were each about five and a half feet long, making his total wingspan an impressive eleven feet, Angel tried flying again. It had been over a month since Wesley had discovered his little dove-wings, and by now the black tips of his feathers touched the back of his knees when he walked. He probably should have warned everyone first, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, a whim. They were all hanging around in the Hyperion lobby, not really doing much of anything, when he walked over to the center of the room and simply began flapping as hard and fast as he could.
When it was over, case files, feathers, newspaper clippings, Cordelia’s magazines, and Wesley were all strewn about the floor. Cordelia and Gunn peeked at Angel over the edge of the counter, wide-eyed, Cordy’s hair blown every which way. The stunned silence was finally broken when Fred came running toward him, clapping and smiling, her hair one giant tangle as she exclaimed, “You did it! Angel, you flew!” She threw her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug, and he couldn’t help but grin, spreading his enormous wings proudly.
“Yes, well,” muttered Wesley, picking himself up off the floor. “Perhaps next time you’ll gain a height of three inches, Angel, rather than a mere two.”
*
A few nights later, Angel stopped by Fred’s room after everyone else had gone home. She answered the door in her pajamas. “I want to show you something,” Angel told her. “I think you’ll like it.”
He took her by the hand and led her silently to the stairs. They climbed up to the fifth floor together, then up the narrow steps to the roof access. Once on the roof, Angel went to stand near the edge, but Fred hung back a little, and he turned and motioned for her to come forward.
"What are we doing up here?" she asked, inching toward him to glance over the edge of the roof. The small courtyard was directly below them, purplish flowers climbing up the latticework.
He gave her a little smile. "You trust me, right Fred?" he asked.
She quickly nodded. "I... yeah, I mean-"
He scooped her up in his arms before she could finish, and she gasped. "Might want to hold on," he told her quietly. "I haven't tried this carrying someone before."
She put her arms around his neck. "Does this mean you can fly more than two inches now?" she asked.
Angel shook his head. "No," he said, and jumped.
Fred squealed and shut her eyes tight, but they didn't tumble to the ground in a feathered heap as she feared. When she opened her eyes again, Angel was chuckling softly, and they were gliding slowly through the air, his outstretched wings still and strong on either side of them. He angled them into a wide arc, and they circled out over the road. Fred had time to wonder what the people in the cars below must be thinking if they happened to glance up and see a man and a woman in her pajamas floating above them, before they finally glided back toward the hotel and landed with a gentle thud in the courtyard. Angel jostled her a bit. "Sorry," he said, "I haven't really gotten the landing down yet..."
"No, it was perfect," she said as he set her down. Her legs felt weak. "That was... Angel, that was amazing."
He seemed pleased. "I thought you might like it."
Out of habit, she had begun stroking one of his wings again, carefully carding her fingertips through the soft feathers. He stretched them forward, enclosing her with himself in a warm circle of white, his feathers tickling her arms. She watched her hand moving slowly against his wing.
"I like it when you do that," he said quietly.
"Do what? You mean-" She stroked him again.
He nodded. "It feels nice."
"Oh," she said, blushing a little.
"When I figure out how to really use these things, maybe we can go throw ourselves off a cliff or something," he offered. "It could be... you know. Fun?"
"I'd, I'd like that," she said.
"Good." He paused. "Well, I guess it's getting kind of late..."
"Yeah, it's-" she nodded, dropping her hand from his wing. "I should really - I mean, we should probably..." She turned, looking a little flustered to be caught inside the circle of his wings, and he hesitated a moment before letting them droop so she could escape. "I'll just. Um. See you in the morning!" she stammered, and then hurried toward the building.
Smiling a little, he watched her go back inside the Hyperion. Then he flapped his wings once to resituate his feathers before folding them against his back.
*
Over the next two weeks, Angel's wings continued to grow. It occurred to him, though, that he hadn't actually gained any weight from the extra limbs - as though they didn't even exist - which was a little troubling to him when he thought about it. It became even more troubling when he started losing weight.
Wesley agreed that the weight loss was odd. "Still, it can't have been much," he reasoned. "You certainly don't look any different. How much did you say you lost?"
"Three pounds since yesterday," Angel said. He did a quick mental calculation to figure out how much that made altogether.
"Oh. Well, that's a little more than I expec-"
"Fifty eight pounds since Friday?" Angel added.
Wesley cleared his throat. "I'll look into it," he said.
The sudden weight loss didn't aversely affect the vampire, though. He didn't look any smaller, for one thing. His body still appeared in perfect health (for a corpse) and he was still as strong as ever. He was just lighter. And that made him run faster and jump higher, which was kind of cool.
Wesley and Fred did a series of tests to determine where, exactly, the weight had disappeared from. They took measurements of different parts of Angel's body and compared them to measurements Angel had taken once out of boredom (and drunkenness) before the whole wing thing started. His friends didn't measure everything he himself had measured, for which he was grateful (although he certainly didn't have anything to be ashamed of) but the parts they did measure were exactly the same size as before - except his waist, which was now about half an inch bigger. (Angel maintained that it was just muscle, but he secretly resolved to add sit-ups to his daily routine.) His body density was also normal, and he hadn't lost any mass. The only explanation anyone could come up with was that gravity simply didn't have the same hold over Angel that it used to.
Cordelia called him Powers' Pet. "They give you wings and a mystical weight-loss plan, and all I get are these stinky hi-def migraines?" So Angel gave her some extra paid vacation time. He was feeling generous.
Altogether, Angel lost eighty-four pounds in fourteen days without managing to shrink at all. And when his longest black-tipped feathers brushed his ankles as he walked, the wings finally stopped growing.
*
"Ready?" he asked.
Fred nodded, tightening her arms around his neck. "Ready," she said.
"Sure you don't wanna stop somewhere for ice cream first? Or tacos? We could get tacos."
She giggled softly. "You're just stalling now."
"Yeah." He looked over the edge, then quickly averted his eyes. "It's just. Really high up."
"It's not that high," she said.
"It feels high."
"Only because you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous. I don't get nervous."
"I know. But it's okay if you are."
"It just feels higher when you're about to jump off."
"We're not jumping," she said. "We're flying, remember?"
He sighed. "Right. Flying. We're just flying." He looked over the edge again. "From a... really high place."
"It's only 73 stories."
"It feels like at least 74."
"We don't have to," she said suddenly. "If you changed your mind, or..."
"No, no. I haven't changed my... It's just really high." He paused and looked out over the wide expanse of L.A. from atop the Library Tower. "I'm good, though. I can do this. The flying thing."
"Good." She grinned and adjusted her arms around his neck again.
"It'll be just like gliding. Only I'll flap more."
"Right."
"Sure you don't want a taco?"
"Angel."
"Okay, okay... Count of three. One..."
"Wait. You've... I mean, this isn't your first time, right?"
"You really think I'd come here if I hadn't practiced first?"
Fred smiled. "Okay, just wanted to make sure. I'm ready now."
"You saw me do it. In the lobby. At the hotel."
"You mean when you... when you flew two inches? Is that when you mean?"
"It was more like two and a half."
"But you haven't done it again since then?"
"Fred, I can fly. Trust me." He cleared his throat. "I mean, I'm bound to be able to. I've got these big wings and everything..."
"Oh... kay. I'll just, you don't mind if I don't look, right?"
"One... Two..."
"Oh God." She squeezed her eyes shut.
Fred didn't hear the word three. He might not have even said it out loud, but the next second they were moving fast through the air, and the wind in her ears would have muffled any words he muttered anyway. She tightened her arms around him and even buried her face in his neck for a few moments before she realized that the cool wind roaring past wasn't the sound of them plummeting to her death. She could feel the vampire laughing, and she finally peeked away from the safety of his neck to see what was going on.
Her first thought was that Angel was right: they were up high.
The rest of her immediate thoughts were a fragmented jumble of things, like they usually were when she was around Angel. Of course there were the standard thoughts that everyone would probably have on finding themselves suddenly flying high over L.A. at night - how beautiful everything looked from this height, how spectacular the sensation of being so far above it all, how neat to see familiar places from such a new and unique perspective. And there were other things about flying too that she hadn't really thought about before but was noticing now, like how it wasn't an entirely smooth ride like the gliding had been, that they were actually bobbing up and down with each powerful beat of Angel's wings, that this was definitely not the way to travel if you're prone to any type of motion sickness, and that it felt really strange for her feet to just be dangling like this. Her scientific mind was also busy calculating their speed and velocity, how many flaps per minute would keep them at this particular height, how much their combined weight must be, how long exactly Angel's enhanced strength and stamina would allow him to keep up the flapping without getting tired.
And then there were the thoughts that she found herself thinking about again and again after it was over, even weeks later, things she didn't tell anyone when she described this night them, things she kept to herself because they were about Angel, and she wanted a piece of him to be just for her - the part no one else ever saw, the part of him that could fly.
Flying made Angel happy.
Not too happy, of course, but happy just the same. Happy in a way nothing else ever seemed to make him, happy in that way that makes you laugh because you don't quite believe you're feeling the way you are and you keep expecting it to end but it doesn't. Angel laughed as he flew. He held Fred close, his arms curled beneath her shoulders and knees, her arms around his neck, and she could feel him laughing, could even hear him sometimes, when the wind paused for a second to clear its throat before pelting her with steady noise again. She hardly ever heard Angel laugh, and never like this, with the distinct sound of wonder in his voice. When he glanced over at her, he didn't look like a 249-year-old vampire anymore, but like a little boy who had discovered something amazing and wanted to make sure he wasn't the only one who could see it.
Even with all the different thoughts rushing through her head, Fred couldn't help but stop thinking for a moment when Angel looked at her, just long enough to share the wonder and laugh with him.
*
Estimated total flight time: thirteen minutes.
They landed in a small park in the middle of a neighborhood, Angel staggering a bit and actually falling to his knees in the grass. He was sweating a little, breathing, but still grinning proudly as he let Fred slide out of his arms onto the ground in front of him. He braced his upper body with his hands in the grass as he knelt, his tired white wings drooping down on either side of him so that from far away he sort of looked like a small igloo with a head, but even though his body was worn out, he couldn't have looked more pleased. Fred lay on her back on the grass, smiling at him, watching him take deep breaths.
When his panting slowed, Angel glanced over at her. "That was pretty cool, huh?" he breathed, grinning.
Fred just nodded. After being so moved by the experience of flying with Angel, it was actually difficult to come up with something to say to him.
"It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be," he told her. "I mean, it was hard, but..."
So she sat up and kissed him instead.
"...in a good way," he finished. He stared at her.
Fred was suddenly mortified.
"Um," said Angel. "You just..." He tilted his head. "Did you just-?"
"No!" Fred blurted. "I didn't. I mean yeah, I did, a little, but I didn't mean to - it just sort of... It was an accident!"
Angel raised an eyebrow. "You accidentally kissed me?"
"I-I'm sorry," Fred told him. "We should - I should just... We should go now. Back to the hotel, because I'm sure you're real tired - what with flapping for thirteen minutes straight and flying and all and carrying me and I'm really sorry I put my lips on your mouth like that I mean I know you don't want me that way and that's fine I just thought I'd take a chance but it definitely won't happen ag-"
Their second mid-sentence kiss was better.
When Angel pulled back, Fred's parted lips followed his for a second before she opened her eyes. He smiled at her. "I don't really feel like going back yet," he said. "What do you think about tacos now?"
*
"There's got to be a reason for them," said Wesley, frowning at Angel's wings. "One doesn't simply grow wings for no reason."
Angel shrugged. His shrugs had a greater effect these days. "One doesn't normally grow wings at all, right?"
Wesley sighed. "No, I suppose one doesn't."
"Well, one obviously does," Cordelia pointed out.
"I guess that means I'm setting the standard," mused Angel.
"Yes," Wesley agreed tiredly. "The standard for growing unreasonable wings."
Fred was softly stroking one of Angel's wings. The repetitive motion was soothing, and he kept closing his eyes. Yesterday, she actually did this until he fell asleep at the front desk, his head resting on folded arms near the telephone. It was cute. "I think they're reasonable," she said. "I mean, Angel can fly now. Achieving flight is a reason for growing wings, right?"
"But why would Angel require that ability?" Wesley asked. "He was already super-powered before the wings and had no especial need for them in order to fulfill his mission." He turned to Angel. "You haven't needed wings before this point, have you?"
Angel thought about it. "I guess not. But they probably would've come in handy a time or two if I'd had them earlier."
"Yes, but my point is that you got by well enough before you had them. So why now? Why suddenly grow wings?" Wes frowned. "There has got to be a reason."
Almost as soon as he said this, Gunn burst excitedly through the front door, startling everyone. "Man, you guys gotta come see this," he told them. "It's like a Hitchcock movie out here! Only bigger. And uglier." He hurried to the weapons cabinet and grabbed his favorite axe. "Good thing Angel's got wings," he added.
*
Cue epic battle sequence.
The legions of flying monsters turned out to be a single monster who could be in many places at once. It took two days to figure this out, and that the way to defeat it was to draw all of the manifestations into one body and kill that one. The monster only condensed itself in order to eat (primary food source: human women, of course) so with Fred as volunteer bait, the Angel Investigations team implemented a plan of defense and counterattack.
Which they won. Huzzah.
Not to diminish it in any way! The epic battle sequence was very epic and battle-y, as well as being a sequence. Cordelia almost died, even. So did Gunn and Wesley, at different times, and Angel while trying to save them. By the end of the battle, the winged vampire had managed to snatch each member of the team out of harm’s way at least twice and physically move them into safe’s way before dropping them to the ground from a greater height than they would have liked. Except Fred, whom Angel never actually let within fifteen yards of harm’s way to begin with, despite the fact that she was supposedly the bait. (When confronted about this later, he very stubbornly denied it, although he did have the grace to thank Cordelia for her spur-of-the-moment replacement bait act, which had been quite convincing.)
Also by the end of the battle, Angel had learned how to manage his wings sufficiently to fly upside down, dart around quickly, hover in one place, swoop and dive, turn on a dime, and dismember a giant Kanigladonkle in midair.
His landing still left a bit to be desired.
*
Following the battle (which was truly epic; everyone said so) and a long, hot shower, Angel allowed Fred to care for his injuries. There were surprisingly few, and more had resulted from the landing than the actual fight to the death. (Gunn had actually sustained the most injuries from Angel’s landing - or rather, from avoiding Angel’s landing.) The vampire’s wings weren’t harmed at all, but his arms and legs had some cuts and bruises and his stomach had two long, ugly gashes from the Kanigladonkle’s talons. He sat on his bed, clean and naked, with a towel draped over his lap while Fred knelt on the floor and bandaged his scraped knees. He paid no attention to the fact that these injuries didn’t actually need any doctoring as they would be gone within an hour or two. When she moved to bandage his stomach, Angel also conveniently ignored the fact that he could have easily done this for himself.
"Wesley thinks this was it," Angel said.
"It?" asked Fred, carefully cutting a piece of surgical tape with a tiny pair of scissors.
"The reason I grew wings," Angel clarified, watching her small hands move. "He thinks it was because of the Kanigla... thingy."
"Oh," she replied quietly, "Well, there's no way we could have defeated the Kanibble-donkle if you hadn't been able to fly..."
"So you agree? That the Kadingle-doggy was the reason?"
Fred began taping the bandages over Angel's wounded stomach. Her hands were warm. "I don't know," she said. "I just know that if you didn't have wings, that Canoodle-donkey would have eaten Cordelia. Maybe all of us."
"It's just that... Wes thinks if the Powers gave me wings for the purpose of fighting the Klingon-dinky, then... now that the Canada-dinkle's dead, they might..."
Fred's eyes widened in realization, and she looked up from Angel's stomach to his face. "Oh!"
Angel pouted. "Yeah."
"Well, they... they can't! Just because their stupid Kanipple-diggle is gone doesn't mean they can just-"
"They can do whatever they want, Fred," he said. "They're the Powers."
"But what if... what if another Kanippy-docker shows up? And you don't have wings anymore? Who'll save us then?"
"I guess the point is that the Powers find a way to even out the battlefield, no matter what they see coming. I mean, look what they did to me." Angel spread his wings a little in illustration. "If another Koala-dippy does show up, maybe someone else will grow wings."
Fred looked down, biting her lip. She looked so sad at the notion that Angel might lose his wings.
"Fred," Angel said softly. She looked back up at him. "I don't want you to be sad if my wings disappear or... if they fall off, or something." Angel was a little disturbed at this image, but continued, "I mean, I know you like them - and I'm glad you do - I like that you like them, too, but they're not really me, you know?" He paused for a moment, then went on. "There's something happening. Between us. And I like that. I like you. But I sort of need to know if it's happening because you like me, or if it's because of the novelty."
Fred didn't say anything.
"It's just, I'd like to think that I grew wings for more than just a Kadonkadonk. But when the wings are gone, I want the other stuff - the stuff between us - to stay."
Fred swallowed. "Angel, I..."
"You don't have to answer right now," he told her hurriedly. "Especially if you're going to tell me you just like the wings."
She blushed, smiling a little. "That isn't what I was going to say," she said.
"Oh. Good." Angel was relieved. "What were you going to say?"
"Well, first, I was going to tell you that your towel slipped..."
Angel quickly looked down to adjust the towel modestly over his lap once more.
"...and then I was going to do this."
A moment later, Fred was on the bed straddling Angel's thighs, her arms around his neck, kissing him on the mouth. The kissing went on for quite some time, and meanwhile the towel slipped significantly, but neither one of them bothered to fix it again.
*
The wings didn't disappear right away. They actually stayed until Fred became accustomed to waking up in Angel's bed, cocooned inside their softness with him. Which is to say about four more weeks. During those four weeks, Angel took Fred out almost every night to fly with him. He was able to go for longer and longer periods of time without tiring, but he never did get the landing down right. Fred didn't mind.
Also during that time, Angel learned that sex in midair was incredibly dangerous, as well as being exhausting. But, as with most things, it got better with practice. So they spent a lot of time practicing.
Then one day, Fred woke up next to a regular, run-of-the-mill vampire with a soul, the wingless version, on top of a pile of white feathers with black tips. She wasn't sad exactly, but for a long time afterwards, the sight of a swan (or sometimes a featherduster) gave her a feeling of nostalgia. Angel was actually more disappointed than she was, but Fred suspected he had just gotten used to not having to wear a shirt.
Fred did keep a few of the feathers, though. She saved them in a shoebox with old letters and other things she wanted to keep forever. But she never got them out to look at. She still had the rest of Angel, the real him, to stroke softly with her fingers, and the memory of his face during their first flight together, and that was always enough for her.
*
Three days later, in a seemingly unrelated series of events, Wesley began to develop flippers.
*