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punch_kicker15Title: Not the Loneliest Number
Author: punch_kicker15
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Relationships: Fred/Cordelia
Summary: For Fred, her love for Cordelia's all in the numbers. (AU in which Xander was too late to save Buffy, and the Watcher's Council and Initiative teamed up to contain The Master to Sunnydale.)
Word count: 917
Notes: Written for the Foreign Words For Love round at femslash_minis, for
carlyinrome, who wanted the pairing, and Fernweh (German): Feeling homesick for a place you have never been to, and counting, a wedding, one woman helping another get dressed. Fred is counting in a Fibonacci Sequence.
ONE
Once, long before she’d met Cordelia, she’d wanted only one thing: a graduate degree in physics.
ONE
Instead she opened a portal that sent her to Pylea, and sent one Pylean named Lorne to Earth, possibly in a one-to-one exchange (the workings of portals are still mysterious despite her best efforts to study them).
TWO
Sometime later, two people crossed into Pylea; one was Lorne’s cousin, the other was a strong-willed, sharp-tongued brunette whose disappearance led to Fred’s rescue.
That was the first time Cordelia changed the trajectory of Fred’s life; the second time was when she accepted Fred’s invitation for drinks and dinner.
THREE
FIVE
As far as anyone can tell, Fred was in Pylea for five years.
That’s how long she was missing from earth. In her own mind, it’s a lot hazier.
She got so lost between reality and unreality that it could have been several months or decades.
Cordelia leans towards the “several months” theory.
When Fred asks why, Cordelia says, “Your skin’s too beautiful. You’d have a lot more crow’s feet if you’d been playing Survivor for years.”
EIGHT
As Fred zips up the back of Cordelia’s bridesmaid dress, she runs her hand along the scar right between the shoulder blades, the texture smooth but distinct from Cordelia’s unmarred skin.
It’s one of eight visible scars Cordelia carries. This one came from a friendly fire incident during a raid on a vampire nest. Jenny was very sorry, and has promised to stick to weapons that don’t require precise aim.
The second and third scars, the ones at the juncture of Cordelia’s neck and shoulder, are from the time Harmony tried to bite Cordelia. “That was before she got chipped,” Cordelia says. “Not that it matters much. Human, vamped or chipped, she’s the same old Harmony.”
The fourth scar, just above the right knee, is from the time that the Council needed information that only Angelus had, and stupidly let him escape.
The fifth scar, the one that runs across Cordelia’s left palm, is from the time that Amy and Willow needed a virgin’s blood for a spell to unlock the Seal of Raimech to fight a herd of basilisks.
The sixth scar, which runs across Cordelia’s right forearm, is from the time that one of Katrina’s cat-sized robots malfunctioned, and careened around the room until Cordelia smashed it.
The seventh scar, the one right beneath Cordelia’s ribs, is from the time that Chanterelle got possessed by an angry ghost.
The eighth scar, a short horizontal stripe across Cordelia’s abdomen, is from the time Cordelia accidentally swallowed a demon egg, and ipecacs couldn’t bring it back up. “Maggie’s a bitch,” Cordelia says, “but if you ever need emergency surgery, she’s your bitch.”
THIRTEEN
Fred stands next to Cordelia at the wedding dais, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
As she glances over the other bridesmaids, it occurs to her that Willow’s choice of bridesmaid dresses is positively inspired. The rose-colored V-neck style manages to flatter everyone’s body types, from Cordelia’s outrageous curves to her own slender frame and everything in between.
Fred looks out at the guests. The seating is supposed to be unassigned (since it’s an interfaith wedding), but The Initiative members, in their dark blue dress uniforms, cluster together on the left side.
On the right, the men wear dark suits (with the exception of Lorne who is resplendent as always in bright red and yellow) and the women are a rainbow of silk and tulle and jewels.
Fred has always loved history, and this wedding has the feel of a traditional dynastic marriage: Rupert Giles’ favorite daughter and Maggie Walsh’s favorite son, uniting the House of The Watcher’s Council and the House of The Initiative.
Of course, it’s more complicated than that. Willow has one foot in each house. There have been bitter fights over whether Willow’s technological or magical skills are most needed during a crisis.
Willow walks down the aisle. She and Riley exchange nervous grins. Fred zones out while the rabbi and the reverend perform their respective parts of the ceremony.
She starts counting. Between the bride, the groom, the wedding party, and the guests, there are thirteen Sunnydale refugees that she knows well: Cordelia, Willow, Riley, Giles, Maggie, Angel, Jenny, Amy, Graham, Forrest, Katrina, Harmony, and Chanterelle (or Lily or whatever she’s calling herself today).
After the ceremony breaks up, Fred whispers to Cordelia, “Sometimes I wish I could visit Sunnydale.”
“Euch! You have got to be kidding me.” Cordelia sets her bouquet on the table and grabs a flute of champagne. “Sure, everywhere’s paradise compared to Pylea. But no one sane ever wanted to be in Sunnydale. Not even the people who lived there. And that was before The Master rose. Why would you want that?”
Fred sits down beside her, and takes her hand. “Because you and almost everyone I know are from there. You guys are my family now, and I wanna visit my family’s ancestral home, even if everyone else hates it.”
Cordelia wraps an arm around Fred’s shoulder and says, “Fine. As long as you don’t expect me to get homesick for Dallas, I can live with you being homesick for that hellhole.”
Fred smiles at the way Cordelia manages to make Dallas sound only slightly less hospitable than Sunnydale. Cordelia’s no hothouse orchid that wilts under the slightest hardship. She’s a prickly cactus that thrives under withering drought and blistering heat. And Fred can’t help but love the desert that shaped her.
Author: punch_kicker15
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Relationships: Fred/Cordelia
Summary: For Fred, her love for Cordelia's all in the numbers. (AU in which Xander was too late to save Buffy, and the Watcher's Council and Initiative teamed up to contain The Master to Sunnydale.)
Word count: 917
Notes: Written for the Foreign Words For Love round at femslash_minis, for
ONE
Once, long before she’d met Cordelia, she’d wanted only one thing: a graduate degree in physics.
ONE
Instead she opened a portal that sent her to Pylea, and sent one Pylean named Lorne to Earth, possibly in a one-to-one exchange (the workings of portals are still mysterious despite her best efforts to study them).
TWO
Sometime later, two people crossed into Pylea; one was Lorne’s cousin, the other was a strong-willed, sharp-tongued brunette whose disappearance led to Fred’s rescue.
That was the first time Cordelia changed the trajectory of Fred’s life; the second time was when she accepted Fred’s invitation for drinks and dinner.
THREE
There are three Freds, and they fit inside each other like nesting dolls.
There's the Fred who existed before Pylea, who was much more trusting of the world than either of the other two Freds. Then there's the Fred she was in Pylea, a mad genius who somehow managed to survive.
The third Fred is post-Pylea Fred, the one who loves sharing tacos and demon-fighting strategies with Cordelia. Post-Pylea Fred tries to integrate the first two Freds as much as she can.FIVE
As far as anyone can tell, Fred was in Pylea for five years.
That’s how long she was missing from earth. In her own mind, it’s a lot hazier.
She got so lost between reality and unreality that it could have been several months or decades.
Cordelia leans towards the “several months” theory.
When Fred asks why, Cordelia says, “Your skin’s too beautiful. You’d have a lot more crow’s feet if you’d been playing Survivor for years.”
EIGHT
As Fred zips up the back of Cordelia’s bridesmaid dress, she runs her hand along the scar right between the shoulder blades, the texture smooth but distinct from Cordelia’s unmarred skin.
It’s one of eight visible scars Cordelia carries. This one came from a friendly fire incident during a raid on a vampire nest. Jenny was very sorry, and has promised to stick to weapons that don’t require precise aim.
The second and third scars, the ones at the juncture of Cordelia’s neck and shoulder, are from the time Harmony tried to bite Cordelia. “That was before she got chipped,” Cordelia says. “Not that it matters much. Human, vamped or chipped, she’s the same old Harmony.”
The fourth scar, just above the right knee, is from the time that the Council needed information that only Angelus had, and stupidly let him escape.
The fifth scar, the one that runs across Cordelia’s left palm, is from the time that Amy and Willow needed a virgin’s blood for a spell to unlock the Seal of Raimech to fight a herd of basilisks.
The sixth scar, which runs across Cordelia’s right forearm, is from the time that one of Katrina’s cat-sized robots malfunctioned, and careened around the room until Cordelia smashed it.
The seventh scar, the one right beneath Cordelia’s ribs, is from the time that Chanterelle got possessed by an angry ghost.
The eighth scar, a short horizontal stripe across Cordelia’s abdomen, is from the time Cordelia accidentally swallowed a demon egg, and ipecacs couldn’t bring it back up. “Maggie’s a bitch,” Cordelia says, “but if you ever need emergency surgery, she’s your bitch.”
THIRTEEN
Fred stands next to Cordelia at the wedding dais, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
As she glances over the other bridesmaids, it occurs to her that Willow’s choice of bridesmaid dresses is positively inspired. The rose-colored V-neck style manages to flatter everyone’s body types, from Cordelia’s outrageous curves to her own slender frame and everything in between.
Fred looks out at the guests. The seating is supposed to be unassigned (since it’s an interfaith wedding), but The Initiative members, in their dark blue dress uniforms, cluster together on the left side.
On the right, the men wear dark suits (with the exception of Lorne who is resplendent as always in bright red and yellow) and the women are a rainbow of silk and tulle and jewels.
Fred has always loved history, and this wedding has the feel of a traditional dynastic marriage: Rupert Giles’ favorite daughter and Maggie Walsh’s favorite son, uniting the House of The Watcher’s Council and the House of The Initiative.
Of course, it’s more complicated than that. Willow has one foot in each house. There have been bitter fights over whether Willow’s technological or magical skills are most needed during a crisis.
Willow walks down the aisle. She and Riley exchange nervous grins. Fred zones out while the rabbi and the reverend perform their respective parts of the ceremony.
She starts counting. Between the bride, the groom, the wedding party, and the guests, there are thirteen Sunnydale refugees that she knows well: Cordelia, Willow, Riley, Giles, Maggie, Angel, Jenny, Amy, Graham, Forrest, Katrina, Harmony, and Chanterelle (or Lily or whatever she’s calling herself today).
After the ceremony breaks up, Fred whispers to Cordelia, “Sometimes I wish I could visit Sunnydale.”
“Euch! You have got to be kidding me.” Cordelia sets her bouquet on the table and grabs a flute of champagne. “Sure, everywhere’s paradise compared to Pylea. But no one sane ever wanted to be in Sunnydale. Not even the people who lived there. And that was before The Master rose. Why would you want that?”
Fred sits down beside her, and takes her hand. “Because you and almost everyone I know are from there. You guys are my family now, and I wanna visit my family’s ancestral home, even if everyone else hates it.”
Cordelia wraps an arm around Fred’s shoulder and says, “Fine. As long as you don’t expect me to get homesick for Dallas, I can live with you being homesick for that hellhole.”
Fred smiles at the way Cordelia manages to make Dallas sound only slightly less hospitable than Sunnydale. Cordelia’s no hothouse orchid that wilts under the slightest hardship. She’s a prickly cactus that thrives under withering drought and blistering heat. And Fred can’t help but love the desert that shaped her.