He wasn't looking at her. Not when she took on this form, not when she played the part with such perfection. Anyone who didn't know would be thoroughly fooled by her play. But she wasn't Fred, she was Ilyria. She would and could never be Fred. Fred was gone...really gone.
"There's nothing wrong with my behavior," Wesley grumbled, glaring back at the doctor. Maybe he should mention not having an insurance anymore. With Wolfram and Hart down, that would be lost as well. That should get him released pretty fast over here in America. Stupid country.
"Of course not," the doctor snorted. "It's quite normal for patients to be stubborn as mules and decide on their own what kind of medication they need and decide on when to go home or not."
Home, the word tasted foul in Wesley's mouth. He no longer had a home. His home died with his chosen family. Sure he had his apartment still, but he had never considered that home. It was just a place to sleep and sometimes eat. "What?" he looked up startled, noticing everyone was looking at him with some expiration.
"I asked if you had a medical degree," the doctor sighed.
"I should by now," Wesley grumbled.
"Miss?" the doctor turned toward Illyria. "You have my sympathy. He has to be the most stubborn one I have ever seen here."
"I'm not stubborn," Wesley pouted, crossing his arms over his chest while he glared at both the nurse and the doctor who looked at him incredulous.
She nodded, patting Wesley's hand. She knew he didn't like this, but... "He is that," she smiled. "But I'm sure he will take all his medication this time, won't you, Wes?" she looked at him, still smiling. "It will get you released sooner, right?" she glanced hopefully at the doctor.
"As I said, Miss, we'll see. Mister Pryce, Miss," he nodded, making the last note on the legal pad and heading out, nurse following quickly, with a final smile at Illyria and warm glare at Wesley. "Take care of him, honey."
She smiled again, nodded again and staid with a smile on her face until the door closed. The smile disappeared, and she cocked her head left, rising to her feet and looking at Wesley expectantly.
Wesley yanked his hand away and felt the urge to wash it. He hated it when she did this. Hated it when she played the part of Fred. And she knew it, he had told her as much the last time she pulled this stunt.
But he knew she had very little choice now. Even though it pained him, annoyed him...hurt him more then any physical wounds could. He knew her true appearance would only lead to questions.
Sighing, he dropped himself back into the pillows, tube in his arms momentarily forgotten. He was so tired, he blamed the medication for that though. He tried to keep his eyes open as he looked at her. "What did you do with Gunn?" he asked softly. If he was going to be here longer, they needed to preserve the body somehow.
It hurt. She was used to that by now, to the feelings she hated. Hatred was a new emotion too... But somehow it hurt more when she was in this form. As if with Fred's appearance she took on all her feelings too.
"They took care of the body. Told me to call the morgue about funeral arrangements," she offered. "You should do this when you're feeling better," she added, willing him to take a rest at last. "If you obey doctor's orders I shall convince him to release you as soon as possible." This form had its advantages when it came to this, but she didn't think mentioning it would be a good idea.
The morgue? Gunn was in the morgue. Wesley didn't want to think about Charles Gunn being all alone in the cold morgue. At least the Hyperion had some familiarity for him, even if he was dead and probably couldn't care less. It made feel Wesley feel better, knowing his friend was at a place he knew.
Knowing Charles Gunn was at the cold, sterile morgue, didn't do much good at all.
Sighing, he brought up his hand, trying to rub away the headache that wouldn't go away, not matter how much medication they pumped into him. He couldn't keep his eyes open, he was so tired. Also due to the medication, no doubt, he thought. He really hated those. "It would appear I've little choice," he said with a soft, sleepy voice, already starting to drift off into a blissed state of unconsciousness.
She sat in the chair, her legs curled under her, her head resting on her hand, elbow on the table next to the bed. She stayed like that for a long time, watching Wesley breathing.
The nurse came in twice, asking her to go home and sleep, but she declined, her eyes huge and teary and she was left alone, she even got a cup of tea. Yes, the shell definitely had its advantages.
"There's nothing wrong with my behavior," Wesley grumbled, glaring back at the doctor. Maybe he should mention not having an insurance anymore. With Wolfram and Hart down, that would be lost as well. That should get him released pretty fast over here in America. Stupid country.
"Of course not," the doctor snorted. "It's quite normal for patients to be stubborn as mules and decide on their own what kind of medication they need and decide on when to go home or not."
Home, the word tasted foul in Wesley's mouth. He no longer had a home. His home died with his chosen family. Sure he had his apartment still, but he had never considered that home. It was just a place to sleep and sometimes eat. "What?" he looked up startled, noticing everyone was looking at him with some expiration.
"I asked if you had a medical degree," the doctor sighed.
"I should by now," Wesley grumbled.
"Miss?" the doctor turned toward Illyria. "You have my sympathy. He has to be the most stubborn one I have ever seen here."
"I'm not stubborn," Wesley pouted, crossing his arms over his chest while he glared at both the nurse and the doctor who looked at him incredulous.
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"As I said, Miss, we'll see. Mister Pryce, Miss," he nodded, making the last note on the legal pad and heading out, nurse following quickly, with a final smile at Illyria and warm glare at Wesley. "Take care of him, honey."
She smiled again, nodded again and staid with a smile on her face until the door closed. The smile disappeared, and she cocked her head left, rising to her feet and looking at Wesley expectantly.
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But he knew she had very little choice now. Even though it pained him, annoyed him...hurt him more then any physical wounds could. He knew her true appearance would only lead to questions.
Sighing, he dropped himself back into the pillows, tube in his arms momentarily forgotten. He was so tired, he blamed the medication for that though. He tried to keep his eyes open as he looked at her. "What did you do with Gunn?" he asked softly. If he was going to be here longer, they needed to preserve the body somehow.
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It hurt. She was used to that by now, to the feelings she hated. Hatred was a new emotion too... But somehow it hurt more when she was in this form. As if with Fred's appearance she took on all her feelings too.
"They took care of the body. Told me to call the morgue about funeral arrangements," she offered. "You should do this when you're feeling better," she added, willing him to take a rest at last. "If you obey doctor's orders I shall convince him to release you as soon as possible."
This form had its advantages when it came to this, but she didn't think mentioning it would be a good idea.
"Would you rest now?"
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Knowing Charles Gunn was at the cold, sterile morgue, didn't do much good at all.
Sighing, he brought up his hand, trying to rub away the headache that wouldn't go away, not matter how much medication they pumped into him. He couldn't keep his eyes open, he was so tired. Also due to the medication, no doubt, he thought. He really hated those. "It would appear I've little choice," he said with a soft, sleepy voice, already starting to drift off into a blissed state of unconsciousness.
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She sat in the chair, her legs curled under her, her head resting on her hand, elbow on the table next to the bed. She stayed like that for a long time, watching Wesley breathing.
The nurse came in twice, asking her to go home and sleep, but she declined, her eyes huge and teary and she was left alone, she even got a cup of tea. Yes, the shell definitely had its advantages.
Too bad downside was a lot worse.
Wesley stirred and she looked up.
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