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‘I don’t see why.’
Angel sighs.
‘It’s just a precaution Fred. We still have no idea who she is.’
‘She’s done nothing but help!’
‘It’s just a precaution,’ reiterates Wesley, ‘until we can find out who she is or who sent that amulet we have to assume the Senior Partners had something to do with this.’
‘And now that she’s back on the material plane…’ trails off Gunn.
Fred rounds on him.
‘She’s going to start the apocalypse?’
Gunn shrugs.
‘It’s happened.’
‘She just has to sing Fred,’ tries Angel, being as patient as he can, ‘let Lorne read her.’
Fred sighs.
‘She’s not going to like that.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Been better.’
Fred offers her a small smile, hovering over Shaw’s clinical bed. Re-materialisation had been successful, but Shaw still wasn’t up to full strength and Fred had ordered the medical staff to give her round the clock care, visiting herself when she could.
‘So are you here to talk or just stare?’
‘Talk.’
‘I feel fine Fred. It worked.’
‘It’s…not about that. Although I’m glad it worked even if you do look slightly paler than before and considering you were a ghost that’s quite a feat really,’ Shaw watches, eyebrow slightly raised and Fred backtracks, ‘but you look well!’
‘What is it Fred?’
Fred’s eyes are settling anywhere but Shaw and suddenly her lab coat seems to hide her like a cloak, providing her something to withdraw into.
‘It’s the others.’
‘Angel?’
Fred smirks briefly at the immediate assumption, but doesn’t deny it.
‘They need you to sing.’
Shaw looks at Fred, waiting for any sign of a joke but Fred seems deadly serious and also fully aware of what she’s asking, and Shaw’s probable reaction to it.
‘No.’
Fred’s eyes dart to Shaw’s face.
‘Sam…’
‘I don’t sing.’
‘It’s two lines-’
‘No.’
Fred sighs.
‘Please, Shaw.’
Shaw’s response is less immediate this time.
‘No.’
Fred keeps her eyes locked with Shaw’s for a moment longer, searching for any sign that she might give in. As feared, Shaw seemed unmoving.
‘Lorne,’ she calls towards the door and Shaw’s eyes flash with betrayal.
‘Fred,’ she warns, tone low and menacing, but Fred had already begun to tighten the restrains on the bed, moving around to the other side. Shaw lets her other wrist be bound as Lorne strides into the room, flamboyant as ever.
‘Sorry Sam.’
Shaw shoots her a look and at least Fred has the decency to look sheepish.
‘Is she ready?’
Fred shakes her head.
‘I’m not singing.’
‘It’s only a line or two,’ assures Lorne in his sing song voice, ‘it’ll be over before you know it. Any song. Just…not Doris Day.’
‘What’s wrong with Doris Day?’
‘What isn’t wrong with Doris Day?’
The three remain in the room, Shaw staring down Lorne as he waits for her to begin. It didn’t take long for him to lose patience.
‘Look, I’ve put some very important clients on hold for you so if we could get this over with that would be great.’
‘I’m not singing.’
‘Sam…’
‘Traitor,’ shoots Shaw, petulant as a child and Fred raises an eyebrow, arms crossed.
‘Child.’
‘I. Don’t. Sing.’
‘I can wait all day.’
‘I can’t,’ Fred shoots Lorne a look, who puts up his hands in defence, ‘I have clients.’
Fred turns back to Shaw who stares resolutely ahead. Round about now she was wondering just why exactly she’d bothered making her way back to the world of the living.
‘The longer this takes the more people will die,' Shaw looks at her from the corner of her eye, eyebrow skeptically raised, ‘the longer I’m out of the lab, the less research I’m doing and the less research I’m doing means more people susceptible to evil demons and Angel can only kill so many so the longer you keep me here the more people you kill and you might not like singing but I know full well you can sing and if you care one dot about saving innocent lives you’ll sing for Lorne so we can all go back to our lives.’
‘Really? Guilt tripping me?’
Fred shrugs.
‘I can stay here as long as you need me to,’
‘Are you going to sing or not?’ interrupts Lorne, watching the two women as their attentions were drawn into an apparently vital staring match; one that Shaw lost as she slowly turned to look at Lorne.
‘This never goes outside of this room,’ she warns, threat deadly and evident and Lorne knows she means it.
‘Scouts honour,’ swears Lorne.
Shaw sighs, psyching herself up before she takes a deep breath, beginning in a low, tuneful droll:
Sweet Home Alabama,
Where sky are blue,
Sweet Home Alabama,
Lord, I’m coming home to you.
Fred keeps her eyes on her as she sings, Shaw looking at a blank space on the wall as each line seems like it saps the life force from her to sing.
So dramatic.
Lorne nods.
‘She’s clean. Little fuzzy on the future front but she’s not evil.’
‘You thought I was evil?’
Fred shakes her head, eyes still glistening with affectionate amusement that Shaw wholeheartedly ignores.
‘Angel insisted. I told them you wouldn’t like it.’
Lorne looks between the two women, taking in the scene for just a second and he suppresses his own affectionate smile as Fred addresses him.
‘Anything else?’
He doesn’t reply immediately.
‘No. She’s clean as a whistle.’
Fred looks like she doesn’t quite believe him but lets it go, nodding before she goes to untie Shaw’s restraints.
‘Lynyrd Skynyrd?’
Fred’s eyes are focussed on untying the leather bands as Shaw’s searches them out.
‘What’s wrong with Lynyrd Skynyrd?’
‘Nothing,’ there’s the edge of a giggle in her voice, ‘always more of an Eagles fan myself.’
Shaw scoffs.
‘What?’
‘Figures.’
Fred grins, loosening the last restraint.
‘I’m free to go?’
Fred nods.
‘A few more days bed rest just to check over things-’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I know. Just to make sure,’ soothes Fred, voice soft.
Shaw fixes her with a withering look but seems to acquiesce despite her own eagerness.
‘Welcome to Hotel California,’ she mutters so low Lorne barely catches it, but Fred breaks out into a toothy grin.
Lorne decides to leave the two content in their own bickering, shutting the door softly behind him: some things, he thinks, are best discovered for yourself.