I couldn't believe I was still thinking about Spike when I went on my afternoon shopping adventure. Okay, not thinking of Spike exactly; I hadn't completely lost it--unlike some people who I love and probably can't help. My mind kept going back to our conversation; the one that we had before we started bitching about Sonny and Jason. General Hospital talk was probably Spike's way of changing the subject to something less painful. I appreciated that, even more so, I appreciated how he tried to make me feel better about the things that I was dwelling on. I don't know how to tell Wesley or Angel how much I miss Fred without sounding like my grief is more important to me than theirs. Wes doesn't know that one of the things that has kept me up at night is my fear that we're losing him too. If he did, either I'd get a half-hearted assurance, or his version of the truth. My heart isn't ready to hear it, but if he comes to me about it, I'll find a way to make it ready.
I get the feeling that Hell will freeze over before he does that, and yet, stranger things have happened.
Last year happened. Sometimes we still pretend that it didn't, but for those of us who know, it changed everything.
In our world, everything changes everything.
I headed up to my room and practically tossed the shopping bags onto my bed. One of the few things that I love about Italy is the wide variety of designer merchandise that is almost affordable in its home country. The salespeople are nearly overbearing in their flat out obnoxious behavior, but half of the time I can't understand them anyway. You would think that after all of the years I've spent flipping through spell books for one disaster or another, I'd be able to comprehend almost anything. No such luck. My goal was never to learn from it, all I had to do was hand it to someone who had a clue.
I really miss the good old days.
I attempted to sit on the bed and examine my latest purchases, but jumped up when I realized that I had plopped down on something.
"What the hell do you think youre..." I trailed off when the 'someone' sat up and pushed back the covers so that I could see her. "...doing here?"
Fred. No. Not Fred, I'm wrong. It can't be Fred. It's Illyria. Because obviously all of that hair coloring and shapeshifting has gone to her head, and now she's getting our rooms mixed up.
"Illyria, you're in the wrong room. And before you ask; no, I don't know where Wesley is. But I think that if you care about him at all, you'll change back before you find him."
((Open to Fred))