3rd POV sample for Wesley. Altn. S6
"Will you be waiting here?"
"Of course I will, Fred love. Don't worry."
"Okay, sweetie. See you later then."
"I'll be right here."
The park is quiet, tranquil in some parts. The part where he is sitting now is anything but. Children were playing, building sandcastles, climbing on the play house, sliding the slides, swinging on the swing. Wesley imagines himself here, with Max. Fred standing on the side, smiling, rubbing her swollen stomach which shows she's carrying their second child. Wesley himself would coax little boy Max down the slide, telling him it isn't 'scary' and it'll be fun.
He imagines the laughter of their son when he does finally dare to slide down. He imagines himself grinning. He imagines the proud, adoring look on Fred's face as she watches them.
//The summer sun is fading as the year grows old. And darker days are drawing near...The winter winds will be much colder. Now you're not here.//
"Mister Wyndam-Pryce?"
"Yes? Oh, doctor. Are the tests done?"
"Errr... Why don't we go into my office?"
"Your-- did something go wrong? Where's Fred?"
"Mister Pryce, lets go into my office."
Leaves are changing colors, some of them already touching the ground. Wesley thinks fall must be approaching. He realized that he has no idea about time. Not of the seasons, not the hours, not the day, not the week. Perhaps he stopped counting by the time he felt as though he stopped breathing.
He's been in Hell before. Oh, he's been in several Hell's before. Wesley supposes when he died, he ended up in Hell as well, but he can't actually remember. Aside from that? He's been living in Hell on earth several times. When he was tossed out of the group. When he was researching the whole Connor prophecy. When Illyria took over Fred. When….
And yet nothing could have prepared him for this. For the here and now.
"What the hell is going on! Nurse!"
"pulminary failure!"
"I need a crash-cart in here! Stat!"
"Yes doctor!"
“Flat line!”
“Hurry dammit!”
That wasn't supposed to have happened.
No, what was supposed to have happened was that Fred would have come home. Would have picked up Max, hugged him, kissed him on his tiny head, played with him, spoiled him and things would be perfect. He and Fred could finally start the life, the family they had wanted. He'd gather up the courage to ask her to marry him.
In his dreams she'd cry and say yes. She'd be wearing that brilliant, bright smile while tears brimmed her eyes.
They tuck in Max together. Read him a bedtime story. Fred would kiss Max goodnight while Wesley made sure no bedbugs would actually bite. They'd be such a happy, sappy little family it would make other people's teeth ache. But that was alright, as long as *they* would be happy. And they would be.
That's what was supposed to happen.
Not this. Never this.
It wasn’t fire falling from the sky, nor a demon attacking her, nor a vampire sucking her dry, nor a hell-dimension she would be killed as slave.
In the end it was a simple medical failure thousands of other people had died of as well.
//I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky. And one by one they disappear. I wish that I was flying with them. Now you're not here//
"I'm terribly sorry, Mister Wyndam-Pryce."
"--Sorry? For?"
"There was a blood-clot. It was unexpected, hadn't shown up on any previous testing. It went very fast, Sir, she hasn't suffered."
"--Suffered?"
"I'm sorry Sir, but your-- wife? Girlfriend? She passed away half an hour ago."
He remembers yelling then. He remembers hitting a wall hard enough to splinter the cast on his arm. He remembers people telling him to calm down. He remembers those same people asking him if they should call anyone.
He doesn't remember getting into the car. He doesn't remember driving away. He doesn't remember how he ended up here, in the park, watching the mothers with their children.
He doesn't remember if he said he loved her before they took her away.
"I have to work this. I've lived in a cave for 5 years in a world where they killed my kind like cattle. I am not going to be cut down by some monster flu. I am better than that. What a wonder...how very scared I am. "
Was she scared this time? Did she call out for him? Did she know she was never going to see Max? Never hold her son? Never make love to each other? Never see the sun again? Or the rain? Never taste the chocolate she secretly was addicted to? Never discover some new formula or invent something crazy.
Had she known? Had she fought it? Did she even have a chance to fight it?
Wesley doesn't know. He doesn't feel. All he feels is numbness, stone cold deep inside. He knows she'd want him to move on. He knows he has their son to think of, so he *has* to move on. Has to keep going, even though he doesn't feel like doing so right now.
//Through autumn's golden gown we used to kick our way. You always loved this time of year. Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now. 'Cause you're not here//
So he hauls himself up from the bench where he's sat for what seemed like hours. Walks slowly over to his car, has to look for it, because he has no idea where he's parked it. Sits inside for another hour and then drives home, taking as many de-tours as possible.
How is he going to tell his son that he'll never know his mother's love? That he'll never know Fred's touch, her kiss, her gentle smile, her proud look, her beauty, her quirky sense of humor?
How is he going to tell his son that he'll grow up without a single memory of his mother?
How is he going to tell Angel, Gunn, Cordelia, all the others that Fred is gone? Will they blame him? Just like he himself is doing?
He doesn't know.
All he knows is that on Friday 9:05 am Winifred Burkle woke up. That at 9:30 am he rushed into the hospital to find her smiling at him. At 9:35 he kissed her-- for the last time. At 9:45 am he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear for the last time. At 9:50 he assured her things would be fine. At 9:55 am he smiled at her. And at 10:05 am he watched her being wheeled out of the room.
Little did he know that would be the last time he’d see her. Alive.
On that same Friday at 10:38 am, on a sunny morning at the beginning of fall, Winifred Burkle died.
Wesley doesn't remember when he told her he loved her, for the last time.
He doesn't remember telling her if he loved her at all.
"Would you have loved me?"
"I've loved you...since I've known you. No, that's not...I think maybe even before."
//A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes. As if to hide a lonely tear... My life will be forever autumn. 'Cause you're not here!//
He finally arrives home, long after dark. Cordelia will be pissed, some voice in the back of his mind tells him. Glancing up at the house, he sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. He can't cry now, or ever. Crying is for the weak, a voice that sounds like his father tells him. And he can't be weak.
He needs to be strong. For Max. For the others.
After taking a few deep breaths, he gets out of the car, mechanically closes the door and stiffly walks into the house.
"I'm not scared. I'm not scared. I'm not scared. Please...Wesley...why can't I stay?"
"I don't know, love. I don't know."
As Wesley Wyndam-Pryce passes the threshold of their home at 1:06 am on Saturday morning, he steps into a new life, and knows it'll be up to him not to turn it into the living Hell it seems to be.
"Would you have loved me?"
He just wished he could remember if he told her he loved her.
Before she died.
All he knows is that his last words to her? Were a lie.
//Like a sun through the trees you came to love me. Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away...//
Lyrics: Forever Autumn by Jeff Wayne/Justin Hayward