walkswithheroes | [For Spike]

Fred knows it's not his fault.

She knew that back in the rec room a few weeks ago, when she'd yelled at him, kicked over the projector and made a scene again. People on the island probably made bets on how long it'd be before crazy old Fred went crazy again. At least this time, it'd only felt like half the island had seen.

She hasn't done much in the weeks since then. When she hasn't been with Jason, she's filled her days with research, looking through old texts that she'd previously dismissed because the information in them didn't get her any closer to opening up a portal home. Now she's looking for something else.

It's been back to the proverbial drawing board.

And the actual drawing board too, come to think of it, since the Island Powers That Be had seen to it that she had a nice big dry-erase board of her own.

She's so wrapped up in translations— and feeling really conflicted over wishing Wesley was around to help out, given what was on the reel she saw— that she doesn't hear about Buffy for days. And it's a few more days after that until she finally goes looking for Spike.

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He was sober and it was bloody awful.

He couldn't for the life of him remember why he'd let it happen. Hidden behind sunglasses and a scowl, he'd trudged up to the compound, hunched inside the heavy weight of his coat, in search of coffee.

If he was going to continue feeling sorry for himself, he might as well be alert, for once.

Running into her along the path to the compound was pure coincidence. Or perhaps he'd been hoping to see her.

At first, he didn't say a word. Dropping his cigarette to the boardwalk and crushing it under his boot, his steps slowed to a stop and he glanced away, his weight shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Even though she's gone looking for him, Fred doesn't really expect to find him so easily. But it's a small island, and for the most part, everybody pretty much hangs around the same places, so it's just a matter of time.

It figures, times like this are when odds and probability work like they're supposed to in this dimension.

"Hey," she says, even though there are about a gazillion other things she should be saying instead.

Sighing, he forced himself to look at her, his lips drawn into a thin smile.

"Hello, love," he murmured, feeling a bit like a kicked dog with his tail between his legs.

"So I guess this is the part where I apologize for goin' kinda crazy on you, huh?" Fred says, and she tries for a weak and tentative smile too. It's just the first of a lot of stuff she should probably be saying to Spike right now, but she's got to start somewhere.

"No harm done. Never should've kept you in the dark," he admitted with an awkward shrug.

"Finding out that way... I can't blame you for taking it how you did."

Of all the reactions to her apology, this is one she doesn't really expect. Though, when it comes down t it, she's not really sure what she should expect. It's not like there's exactly a precedent for apologies about finding out about your probable death.

Not that she's glad that he kept it from her, but she does understand why. How are you supposed to even begin a conversation like that?

"It's okay. I know why you did it. It's not like it's really anyone's fault," she says, and her smile fades, just a little. "Are you okay? Because I heard... I heard about Buffy."

"I'm..." he trailed off, letting out a bitter snort of laughter. "I don't know, love. Should be glad to be free of her."

He'd told himself that, every time he'd lost her, but being truly convinced of it was another story.

"She's glad to be home, I'd wager. Back to Dawn and the Scoobies or whatever it bloody is they're calling themselves these days."

For a second, Fred's not sure that she can argue with that. Buffy has her own business to tend to back in her home dimension, and now she's finally able to get back to it. But the idea that she's glad to have left them all behind there seems more cruel than she'd like.

"I'm gonna miss her too," Fred replies, even though she doesn't know Buffy as well as he does.

Heaving out a sigh, he offered a tight-lipped smile.

"Yeah," he admitted, "No way 'round it, I suppose."

He'd mourned the girl's death, and that still didn't make losing her this time around any easier. He could hope he'd see her again, someday, but he didn't allow himself to truly believe it.

"Sometimes... you've gotta wonder if maybe we're all only here for a predetermined amount of time. Like, if it's set from the second we show up here, no matter what happens," Fred says, though she doesn't like the sound of it. It sounds too much like The Powers That Be back home and their crazy prophesies that never really came true in the first place.

"But that feels too much like fate to me, I think."

"Don't believe in fate, I take it?" he said, arching a brow. He didn't either, of course. His destiny was his own, and he'd be damned twice over if he was letting someone write it for him, but they all knew something was guiding this island. Some force, whether it was sentient or not.

The way they were brought to the island, specifically, often from the same places. If it were random, people taken from the vastly infinite universe, there was a very slim chance so many of them would know each other.

Fred fervently shakes her head in response. If there's one thing that prophecies back home have taught her, it's that everyone makes their own fate. Angel was supposed to kill Connor and didn't, and just because she's seen some crazy film reel where she died doesn't mean it's actually going to happen.

"You?"

"'Course not," he said with an easy shrug, "Seen my share of prophecies come to nothing. There's something setting up the pieces, sure, but we've all got a hand in where we go from there."

[For Spike]

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