don't make me say goodbye

[demonologist]

Wesley sat in the dimly lit room, watching the bed and Fred's frail pain-wracked form lying prone upon it. He knew in his heart that she only had a few hours left, at most. She'd already said her final goodbyes to the others and he'd dutifully asked them all to leave. Fred's parents had protested strongly but he'd done his best to remain firm as

Comments

[drapetes]

God, she was exhausted. It was awful but it was literally too hard to say goodbye. She didn't have the strength to tell everyone the things she wanted to tell them: her dad that she was gonna miss making him proud, and angry, and worried; her mom that she was still sorry she had never been a normal little girl, not like she ever tried much, and how thankful she was to have a mother who never had to think twice about loving her Slayer-blasting, weed-smoking, conspiracy theorising weirdo of a daughter; Cordy how beautiful she was under the skin, brighter than anything Gucci or Prada or Louis Vuitton could ever think of capturing, that Fred sometimes didn't know why people even bothered to notice her when Cordy was in the room; Charles that it wasn't his fault, though she still would have omitted any outright forgiveness; Lorne that he was really, really one in eleven billion (a rough approximation of the combined populations of Earth and Pylea); and Angel how part of her wished it could be him to save her again, because there was no one

[demonologist]

Wes noticed that Fred's gaze had shifted towards him, as if searching for his presence. He pushed himself out of the chair to move to her bedside. His own muscles and joints were aching from the constant vigil, but it was nothing compared to what she was enduring.

"It's almost time. Willow will be back soon." His words were soft, as soothing as he could make them. Everything seemed to cause her pain now: sounds, illumination, the faintest touch or shift in weight on the bed. Wes knelt next to the bed, not touching it. Not touching her, even though he wanted to desperately. But that would have only comforted himself, and so he was careful to not jar her in any way.

[drapetes]

"With the life knife?" She'd thought of that a little while ago, long after the blade itself had been explained. She clung to it in her mind, the wit that used to be instant, that now floats into reach only to slip immediately back out again. It was the last joke she was going to make.

Honesty only, from now on. In case things didn't go right, and not a lot had recently.

[demonologist]

"Yes, with the life knife." Even though it was the farthest thing from a laughing matter, Fred's quip still caused Wes to smile briefly and expel a breath as if he were repressing chuckle. But it caught in his throat and he fell silent again.

There was so much he felt he ought to say. Just in case. His heart was so heavy and full of emotions he'd never had the courage to express. But to do so now might make it seem like he had no hope at all of bringing her back and he had to have her believe there was a chance. He needed her to cling to that last hope. To will herself to come back.

"I don't think I'm in your mother's good books anymore. You should have seen the look she gave me when I closed the door on them all."