For idolstolemylook

To say it'd been a long week wasn't really being all that accurate. In some ways every single day since she'd been pulled out of her life felt long, longer than even the ones she put in at Wolfram and Hart. And by Fred's reckoning (and she reckoned math pretty darn well) she'd now collected over two months of them.

Almost a month ago now she'd taken to visiting Spike at least every few days at the bench he'd claimed as his own in one of the parks. The first night she'd brought him a pillow. After that she brought blood by the bottle, whenever she could. But mostly Fred was content to just bring herself. Inevitably conversation followed. The sort that made everything else around her feel a little bit less after.

And that counted for a whole lot.

Tonight, though? Well tonight was a bit different. Somehow in quiet, unassuming buried-in-a-bubble-underwater Gebo Fred had managed to go and find a bottle of tequila. Good tequila too, as much as she could tell. Of course, all those days and weeks and months being what they were? Telling wasn't good enough. She aimed to know.

Sliding onto the bench next to Spike, Fred silently placed the bottle between them.