Comments | unlaid: don't make me say goodbye

demonologist in unlaid

don't make me say goodbye

Jan 12, 2011 16:55

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 ( Read more... )

willow rosenberg, winifred burkle, wesley wyndam-pryce, illyria

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drapetes January 12 2011, 06:10:32 UTC

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 in any dimension she trusted more.

Instead she had to condense it into some strained but tearless murmurs of love and bravery. She didn't regret any of it. Hers was a family of champions. Fred thanked them with her life.

Then, finally, she rested, or mimicked what she recalled rest to be like. Closed her eyes and lay still. Her body was hollow and heavy; curling her fingers became an effort not worth the agony. It didn't even feel like her body anymore. Her skin was no longer skin, her insides were simply no longer. Proneness was the only balm left to her, and it soothed nothing. Breath itself seemed like a tingling toxin to take in - oxygen had become the invader. She must be barely human now.

Fred opened her eyes slowly, as though they'd frozen and frosted shut. She found Wesley in the room, nearby.

She was ready.

She was ready now. Just not to die.

demonologist January 12 2011, 09:35:25 UTC

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 January 12 2011, 09:41:19 UTC

"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 January 12 2011, 10:04:08 UTC

"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."

drapetes January 12 2011, 16:31:26 UTC

And her mom knew how to hold a grudge. Fred wasn't sure she'd feel any different in her shoes, though she had no idea what it was like to be a mother. She always assumed eventually she would. Stopped while in Pylea, but thought maybe, once she was back again. Silly. So inconsequential.

She was just frightened, like her dad. Though they knew about her work, they understood even less about magic than they did about vampires, and they still weren't wrong to be wary. Stabbing her with a regular knife at this point would be less dangerous. But Fred wasn't scared. She wasn't.

"Bring me back," she said conditionally, without any certainty or pleadingness. "She'll bake you ginger snaps."

demonologist January 13 2011, 05:23:42 UTC

"I'm rather fond of ginger snaps." He responded, trying to keep his tone as light as possible. It went without saying that he didn't need any incentive to do everything he could - short of selling his soul (and even then, he'd found himself considering it)- to bring Fred back again alive and well.

batrachophobic January 13 2011, 05:52:24 UTC

Willow knocked on the door, nervous but firm. This idea had seemed good enough when she'd thought about it, but now that it was actually time... but she'd checked and triple checked everything, and nothing else even had a chance of working.

"Hey guys," she said, giving a weak smile. "Got your knife."

drapetes January 13 2011, 06:08:49 UTC

Fred's thank you was a simple, relieved release of breath. It was time. She smiled at Willow, or did her best too, but her face feels as stiff as the rest of her, and looked down at the dagger in her hand. She couldn't make out any details this far but the sheer size of the blade. She wasn't any more worried than she ought to be - the physical pain couldn't be more than the infection, and ninety-nine percent of it would be the soul-rending itself.

She had to remind herself this is the saving part.

demonologist January 13 2011, 06:31:16 UTC

Wes stood, his somber gaze holding Willow's for a long moment. If this worked, he would owe her a debt he would never be able to repay in full. If it didn't, then at least he could be sure that the most talented witch he'd ever met had done her absolute best to save Fred.

"Thank you, Willow."

He moved closer to inspect the blade. "So, all the runes have been engraved correctly? You double checked?" It was just his fear talking. His deep abiding fear of failing Fred one more time, just when she needed him the most. "Of course you did. Sorry...I just...There's no room for error."

batrachophobic January 14 2011, 00:15:31 UTC

"Yeah, I know," Willow said, swallowing hard. "There shouldn't be any mistakes. I mean, I checked and..." she shook her head, backing towards the door. "Fred..." she wasn't quite sure what she should say to Fred. Hope you don't die permanently? Goodbye? I may have secretly had a few lusty feelings I didn't want to mention to you or my girlfriend? Please don't hate me for how much this'll hurt?

"I'll see you later, okay?" she said finally.

drapetes January 14 2011, 09:40:45 UTC

Ooh, that was a good one. Fred gave her the kind of smile she reserved specifically for Willow, that nerdy, kind of embarrassed optimism.

"See you later."

demonologist January 14 2011, 09:54:17 UTC

Wes took the knife, cradling it still in its silk prayer cloth, he wasn't going touch it with his bare hands until he was ready to...complete the ritual.

He waited for Willow to say her farewells, knowing how difficult it was to know what to say to someone who was due to die very shortly.

batrachophobic January 14 2011, 16:28:05 UTC

Willow gave Fred a last smile, then turned to Wes, muttering a hasty "good luck" before leaving the room. She had to start preparing for the resurrection ritual. Hopefully, it would go better than the last time she'd brought someone back.

drapetes January 15 2011, 07:14:17 UTC

The soft sound of door closing behind Willow resonated in Fred's hollow chest. The feeling of the end settled inside her and she felt the sudden urge to kick and scream, wail at the top of her lungs like she had in Pylea when there was a thunderstorm to drown out her fear and anger. But she didn't even have the strength to raise her voice anymore, or cry, though she could have stood to both shriek and weep.

It was hard to make herself do it, but she looked over at Wesley, now one of two things: her savior, or her executioner. She had no idea of knowing which.

"Man of the hour."

demonologist January 15 2011, 08:04:03 UTC

Wes didn't feel like the man of the hour. In fact, the urge to bolt from the room like a rank coward briefly assaulted him. He didn't want to hurt her. To kill her. But someone had to do it. It was their only chance and slim one at that. And it felt wrong to ask anyone else to take up the burden, the responsibility, should their plan fail.

He moved to kneel beside her again, carefully placing the instrument of her salvation - or destruction - on the nightstand for the moment.

"Fred...I'm so sorry that this happened to you."

drapetes January 15 2011, 08:25:32 UTC

It wasn't his fault. She wished she knew whose it was, but it looked like she was going to die with that mystery unsolved, just like Amelia Earhart, the Bermuda Triangle, and the missing socks mom used to complain about when she did laundry. This one felt massively more unfair, though. What didn't?

"I know." She could at least try and ease his pain of being left behind, his guilt from being unable to do anything. She knew that's how she would feel. Useless. Responsible. "You've been so wonderful."

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