The joys of life

"Is there someone that can pick you up?"

That line echoed through Wesley Whyndam Price's head. For one thing, he wanted to hit the idiot doctor who asked him that, considering he clearly couldn't talk.

The thought would be hilarious if it wasn't so tragic. Two weeks ago, if this man had asked him if he had someone to help him, he could've named four. Now…

Wesley sighed, he supposed he kinda needed somebody. Walking down Los Angeles with an open box full of goods venomously thrown at him by one Winifred Burkle and absolutely no protection whatsoever is like holding a neon sign saying 'Please, steal me now!' over his head. And his car was stolen by the bitch that slit his throat, he thinks as nonchalantly as if she was her mailwoman, or something. Hell, compared to what he's lost, his throat slit seems to be a minor grievance.

He stood out of his bed for the first time in weeks, steps onto the floor, nearly collapses and only stopping himself from crashing, and went to his coat. He grabbed a phone out of his coat pocket. His own, obviously. He wasn't low enough to resort to stealing. Yet.

Looking through the names, he had a hard look at the Greek tragedy that was his social life. How little numbers he had was amazing, and he had to get rid of most of them. Maybe Justine will give him his number, they're such good friends a he moment…

Hen he noticed a person's name. Someone he hasn't thought about in quite a while.

Virginia.

"Damnit!"

And with a massive push, Virginia Bryce flew into her apartment.

"Wonder what the retail price on doors is?"

She looked around, studying the emptiness.

"And you're talking to yourself again, Ginny. That's always a good sign".

She picked up her grocery bag and went towards her kitchen. She considered talking to yourself as a sign of craziness a very big misconception. I mean, when you're alone for a while, you tend to pick up the habit. She can't even remember the last time she had sex with a guy, never mind actually having the amazing concept of a relationship. Guess losing all your money kinda makes the guys turn off you.

Yep, the daughter of megabucks warlock Magnus Bryce is broke. It's kind of her own fault, anyway, so she can't complain. After going crazy with her trust fund as a way of giving daddy dearest a big old up yours, in a classy way, said trust fund began to shrink. When it began to do that, she contemplated how she's wasted her life and saved a failing orphanage with her remaining cash. Now, she works in a low-management job and in a crappy apartment, in charge of a failing orphanage and not exactly going places in life. It'll amaze you how people get turned off by you once your account dries up.

"L.A. Fakest city on the planet?"

Breaking her chain of self pitying thought, she picked up her mail and began flicking through it when her cell rang. She took it from her pants pocket and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Bryce?"
"Yes?"
"This is Dr. Pao from the Los Angeles General. We have a Wesley Whyndam Price here. He informs us you are acquainted to him".

"Yes. God, what happened?"

"That is not for me to tell, Miss. I just called to inform you he asked for you to pick him up from the hospital, he's been discharged",
"Oh, okay, thank you".

She put down the phone. Wesley Price, there's a name she hasn't thought of in a while. They really had an amazing time together. She smiles as she reminisces, when she catches up with herself and remembers what the doctor said.

"Always do that!"

She grabbed her keys and runs out, slamming the door shut.

She arrived at the hospital, where a scraggly, roughly dressed and suicidal Wesley was waiting for her.

"Wesley. Oh, God!"

She rushes over to hug him.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

He pulls down his jumper a bit, revealing a horrible scar on his throat. It'd been slit. She went silent for a beat.

"Who the hell did this?"

He opened his mouth and pointed into it.

"Oh, sorry. Still can't talk, huh?"

He nods, sombrely.

"Well, whatever happened, it's really affecting you. You look…like you're about to go on a shoot-out in downtown L.A., actually".

She was going to say 'sexy', because the whole Dark Avenger thing was really working for him, but considering how their relationship ended, and the fact that he now has a worse wound then the one that caused them to break up, she thought against it.

He nodded in the direction of her car, indicating that he wanted to leave, which she didn't blame him for. He walked towards it, sat into the car and put on his seat belt, not once changing the dead expression on his face.

She couldn't stop thinking about how rude she was being as she got into the car, he clearly isn't in a good place at the moment, but god, here he is, injured again, after not seeing him for a year. She had a million questions, the topper being why the hell did he call her. Last time she looked in, she found out that Angel guy went back to their organisation (working for him, which she just loved), Gunn and Cordelia were still there, and they had a new girl, Ferd, or something. All three excellent candidates to pick him up. But, instead, he goes for the redhead he hasn't spoken to in about a year.

Sighing, she twisted the key and started driving.

Unsurprisingly, the journey was particularly silent, Wesley was just sitting there, appreciating Virginia's quirky yet eloquent taste in music, and in deep contemplation. They stopped at his apartment.

"Place looks…well, I always thought this building looked drab, but you always made your apartment loo pretty good".

He didn't even make a sound, just continued to stare.

"Well, I'll see you around, Wes".

"Connor".

She was stunned for a while, then pursed her lips.

"I think you're really not paying attention, Wesley…"

He looked at her, and shook his head.

"Sorry. Connor is…Angel's son. His only son. Only one…he could ever have".

His voice was gravely, low and pretty hazardous, and that really wasn't why she didn't like what she was hearing.

"I…I followed a prophecy, something about a father killing his son. I thought it related to Angel…and Connor. So, I turned my backs on my friends, not discussing the risk or any other options, and kidnapped Connor. I got this scar for my stupidity and…I lost him. I lost Connor. I lost his son".

Virginia looks at him, softly, eyes full of concern. Wesley stares at her, catching it.

"Don't you feel sorry for me". he muttered acidly. "I don't need it, and I certainly don't deserve it. I took a man's son, the only son he could ever have. I was rash, and I was stupid, and I was too self-absorbed to ask my friends for help, and for what? It was a fake. All that for nothing; other then heartbreak and despair and unbearable pain. Because of me.

"I thank you for the lift. But don't expect to make a big deal out of it. Because it's not".

He gets out of the car.

"And it never will be".

With that, he closes the door. Virginia, both confused and hurt, drives off, leaving the dead man walk to his coffin.

He gets inside and looks around. It's empty.

There's nothing there.

Nothing.