Work Text:
Author: Lucinda
rating: pg? pg13?
main characters: Angel, Fred Burkle
disclaimer: any character, situation or concept from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series is the creation of Joss Whedon and his writing staff.
distribution: Jinni, Cat, Paula - anyone else ask
notes: Poetry Challenge Week #8, for Mare who asked if I could do Frangel. I hope this works.
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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts be dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes there is more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
~Shakespeare, Sonnet 130
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She wasn't perfect. He couldn't even tilt his head, squinch his eyes, and pretend that she was perfect, the way he had with Buffy. But she was always in his mind, in his thoughts. It was partly because of her imperfections and quirks that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was just so... Well, she had a different way of looking at the world.
Especially since unlike most people, Winifred Burkle could actually compare this world to another one, instead of just comparing Los Angeles to Texas. She’d been to Pylea, after all.
Everyone called her Fred. Angel wasn't quite certain why, it wasn't as if her name was that difficult - Winifred. And calling her Fred made her sound like she was just... as if she was just some random guy, nobody to concern yourself with. Or maybe there wasn't much room for women in the baffling halls of physics? Fred was a genius with physics, and she could make the most astounding inventions with a few tools and some parts. Sort of like that MacGuyver character from television, back a few years...
He would never mistake her for one of the guys. Even if she cut her long hair, which fell around her like a curtain, separating her from the world. Even if he couldn't see the way that her clothing flowed over rounded hips and soft breasts... There was the sweet sound of her voice, as she would go on about things that he couldn't quite follow, about particle movement and electron imbalances. Or the way that she would recite what sounded to him like a string of random numbers - though that was apparently pi, stretched out a few hundred decimal places.
She was pretty, and feminine in a way that didn't depend on elaborate gowns or delicately painted features. Not the classical idea of beauty, but... She stuck in his mind, in a way that some of the beautiful women of his past didn't.
"Angel... There you are. Wesley was wondering where you'd gone to, something about a pack of sasparilla demons? No, that's not quite right... Maybe it was demons drinking sasparilla? Anyhow, he wanted to find you, and have a talk about these demons. And I wanted to know if there was another blue marker?" Her soft voice was like thick syrup, rich and sweet as it flowed over him, laden with the scent of pancakes.
"I think there was something about demons trying to get Sasparilla." Angel smiled as he stood up, his fingers itching to run through her hair, to touch her cheek.
"Why would there be a bunch of demons trying to get sasparilla?" She frowned, her fingers twitching as if gripping a pen.
Shrugging, Angel glanced over his desk. "I'm not sure. Something about a ritual that I couldn't pronounce. And Fred, why a blue marker?"
She waved her hand, as if trying to deflect the question. "Are we sure what this ritual does?"
"Wesley might be. And I think I've only got a red one." Angel moved towards the doorway, where she was standing. He came to a halt right in front of her, unable to leave the office unless he moved her, not quite willing to do that. Closing his eyes, he inhaled her scent, pancakes and maple syrup, and Fred... Winifred...
"Angel?" She was looking at him, her eyes so large and soft and full of questions about everything. But unafraid - she had never been afraid of him.
One hand reached out, almost against his will, and touched her hair. Perhaps it would be better to say against his wisdom - he wanted to touch her hair, wanted to touch more of her. But it wasn't wise. Not with the danger of Angelus. He leaned closer, his body almost touching hers.
For a moment, they stood there, his hand now tangled in her hair, and hers pressed right over his heart, their eyes locked together. But then there was a clattering from the lobby, followed by the sound of Gunn swearing. Both of them jumped in startlement.
"oh, the toaster!" Fred gasped, and turned towards the lobby. "I hope he didn't get hurt too badly..."
More slowly, Angel moved to follow her. Part of his mind was wondering just how a toaster could have been responsible for all of that noise, and another part was just admiring the sight of her retreating body. He shouldn't think of her like that. He shouldn't wonder what she would taste like if he kissed her. He shouldn't want to offer her the secrets of pleasure and passion that he'd learned in his many decades.
But he wanted to. He'd best just try to resist the temptation.
end For Her Quirks.