Puppets

by Talula

Copyright © 2004

asifyousaw@gmail.com

Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters and locations of Angel are the sole property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. No infringement is intended. I do this for fun, not for profit.
Distribution:  The Mystic Muse:  http://mysticmuse.net
The End: http://www.asifyousaw.com/fiction/
Anywhere, but ask first
Feedback: Yes please.
Spoilers: Angel Season 5.
Pairing: Fred/Wesley

Foamy and white, the surf rushed up onto the shore and retreated just as quickly. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. The sound was the only sound that she heard. Soon it was accompanied by the sound of sea gulls crying in the distance. The sun was setting on the horizon of the sea, and the sky was a beautiful kaleidoscope of orange. As he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, she smiled in contentment. This was the safest place she could be. There was no evil here. There was no obligation, no worries. Only him, her and the sea gulls.

And a mariachi band.

The music mingled with the waves and sea gulls. She looked to her left and there they were. Three men. One with a trumpet, one with a guitar and the other with a snare drum on a flimsy metal stand. She didn't remember them being there before.

"Where did they come from?" she asked. He exhaled onto her neck and it sent shivers of excitement down her spine.

"I hired them," he replied. "Do you like them?"

"It's kind of weird." She paused and turned to face him. "They just appeared out of nowhere."

"They're interdimensional travelers. They used a portal," he replied.

"You found them through Wolfram & Hart?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Can't we do anything like normal people anymore?" she asked.

"Normal?"

He laughed and led her down the beach toward a hut. As they passed through the door of the hut, they were in the lobby of Wolfram & Hart. She was no longer wearing the bathing suit and sarong that she had been wearing, and he was no longer wearing the swim trunks and tank top he had been wearing. She was in a light pink skirt that fell at mid-calf and a fuchsia, boat-neck top. Wesley was wearing khaki trousers and a light blue, button-down shirt. He led her forward and they made their way to Angel's office. Harmony smiled, happy to see them.

"Hey, Fred. They need you down in the lab," she announced. "Spike keeps biting people."

"I'll be down there in a minute," Fred responded. Wesley opened the door and led her into Angel's office. Lorne was leaning against Angel's desk.

"Hey kids," he greeted them. "Don't forget about tonight. Big fiesta. Lots of singing. We could put on a musical."

"How can we do anything normally when our boss is a puppet?" Wesley asked, ignoring everything anybody had said since they had walked into the evil law firm. The desk chair spun around to reveal puppet Angel—in all his stuffing-filled glory—sitting in it.

"I'm not a puppet, Wes," he said. "I've got Wolfram & Hart right where I want them."

"I need to go deal with Spike," Fred said abruptly. "He's biting people. That's never good."

"Spike," Angel said bitterly. "Him and his soul. He always did like copying me."

"You take that back, you sodding pile of stuffing."

They all heard Spike's voice, and they looked downward. Into the office had walked a small pug. He was wearing a little, black leather jacket. He jumped up onto the sofa.

"I oughtta bite that puffy felt nose of yours clean off," Spike said.

"Spike, I told you to stop biting people," Fred said. "How am I supposed to help you if you keep biting?"

"What? A bloke's gotta eat somehow. I'm not eating that Alpo crap you feed me," he complained. "I don't know who invented that stuff to begin with."

"Someone named Alpo?" Lorne suggested. Then he stood and headed toward the door. "It's been fun, but I gotta run. I have a ten o'clock with Barbara Streisand. Renegotiating her contract. Ciao."

Fred followed Lorne out of the office, ignoring the others who remained behind. She walked absently down a hallway until it began changing. It grew darker. The fluorescent lights were replaced with dim wall sconces. The hall became lined with doors, each with a number on it until she realized she was back in the Hyperion. She came to a room and stopped at the door. When she opened the door, she saw Cordelia lying on the bed. Her hands were folded over her stomach and her eyes were closed. She was dressed in a gauzy white gown. She looked very peaceful and elegant.

"She's sleeping, but she'll come back," a young male voice said. Fred looked over to see a teenage boy. He had a tightness in his jaw and a seriousness to his expression that reminded her of Angel. He also was very familiar to her.

"I know you," she said.

"You changed my diaper once," he said. "But that was fifteen years ago."

"That can't be. I didn't do any babysitting fifteen years ago," she said.

"Doesn't matter. I'm not a part of your world anymore," he commented. "He traded his integrity for my happiness."

"He who?" Fred asked.

"Dad," he replied. "He's a pawn of their game. He doesn't have a clue what he's doing."

"He's a puppet."

"That's right," he confirmed.

"He's a cute puppet," she added.

"I'm not big on cute," he replied.

"What's your name?"

"He called me Connor, but it doesn't really matter. I've had three fathers. They all named me differently," he said. "You can call me whatever you want."

"I like Connor," Fred said.

"A lot of people do," he said. He looked at his watch. "It's getting late. You better go."

"What about Cordy?"

"I'll take care of her," he replied. "I always will."

"Don't forget to change the sheets," Fred said as she walked out of the room.

Instead of exiting out into the hallway of the Hyperion, she found herself on the stage of Caritas. It was in perfect condition, not destroyed at all. The crowd cheered when she came onstage. Lorne passed the microphone over to her, and she took it, not sure what she was supposed to be singing.

"Go on, Fred," Lorne said. "He's listening."

In the front row of the audience, Wesley was sitting there and smiling broadly. She looked at the karaoke monitor, and she began singing.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray," she sang. Suddenly the music swelled up and "You Are My Sunshine" became a rock ballad. Wesley leapt up onto the stage and grabbed another microphone. The two of them sang the rest of the song together as if they were singing a Top 40 hit. The karaoke monitor was gone, and instead there was a band behind them on the stage. The crowd had risen to its feet and everyone was cheering wildly for them. Finally they hit the last line.

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

The audience went wild and applauded. Wesley turned to Fred and wrapped his arms around her waist so that their bodies were pressed up against each other. He looked deep into her eyes and she smiled.

"I love you, Wesley."

She draped her arms around his neck and pulled downward until their lips met. The room spun around them like a camera spinning around them for cinematic effect. They appeared back on the beach, but they were still kissing. Fireworks exploded in the sky above them as they kissed, not even trying to break apart. Fred didn't hear them.

She jolted awake and looked around in confusion. She was in the lab at Wolfram & Hart, sitting at her desk. She wiped some drool from the corner of her mouth and then tried to get her bearings. A file she had been working on was on the desk beneath where she had fallen asleep. A cold cup of coffee sat nearby, untouched.

"Wow," she said. Then she knew what she had to do. She stood from her desk and headed out to Wesley's office. She was a firm believer in meaningful dreams, and if that dream didn't mean something, she didn't know what did.

The End

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