Cordelia
Ok so I had this thought, not to long ago, that I knew what pain was. I mean I had the vision, and my I just reiterate on that count, ow, so pain and me, acquainted. Right? Wrong. I have never felt anything like I'm feeling right here right now. Its like I have no chest. My chest has been ripped out and used as a paperweight somewhere. And my head, it's spinning. My mouth is dry; I can't seem to form entire words, just parts of them, and not together. My hands are shaking, the way Katherine Hepburn's do. My vision is blurry from the tears that just don't seem to clear the lids. And my nose is all runny and red and not attractive at all.
And those are just the physical symptoms. In my mind, well in there it's much worse.
But for me It must be only a fraction, a mere glimpse at he pain that drove Angel in to the shell he's barely beginning to break through. I, I really just can't imagine that. I don't even want to begin to. Right now I'm simply allowing myself to comfort him, to hold everything in and be the strong one.
I think if Lorne walks that path anymore he will ware a hole in the floor, he's trying to be strong too, I think its killing him.
I can tell from the look on Groo's face that he just doesn't know what to do. This is like nothing he's faced before. This isn't an enemy he can charge in and vanquish for us; this is just loss and pain. There really is no cure for them but time, and even then I'm not sure all of us will completely recover.
"Why don't you wait for me at home Groo. There's really nothing else to do here. Let Dennis know what happened and he'll help you get settled in." yep that's my bestest smile. I can tell because he gets that noble crusade look on his face. You can almost hear him square his shoulders and decide that indeed is what needs be done.
He couldn't be any cutter if he tried, and still I find no comfort. Great, that just adds a whole new thing to be sad about. And sadly sighing does not seem to relieve the weight residing on my absent chest.
Has it only been two days, Two days of waiting, not knowing. Two days with Wes in the hospital and Angel unspeaking. It seems like a lifetime. What I wouldn't give for that ignorance to continue.
I'm finding it hard to focus, I wonder if anyone else is having this difficulty. I would guess yes, seeing as Lorne almost got run over by Groo on his way to fulfill my wish and wait at home. And I can't seem to locate what in the corner of the stairs has held Gunn's interest so raptly. Fred's just a mess.
I can see the turmoil in Gunn's eyes, I'm sure it resides in Fred's too, I just cant see hers seeing as she hasn't taken them from Gunn's chest since they arrived.
They have the same warring thoughts that I do. I grieve for the child, the one that was almost the child of us all; he held a portion of all our hearts. And I grieve for the soul of my friend.
Wesley and I have always had a special connection, at first we thought it may be romantic or carnal, that was a flop let me tell you. No our connection was deeper then that, friendship, trust, belief, loyalty. If ever I were in danger I would go to Wes. I think I may have even gone to him before Angel. Angel was forever overreacting; Wes was solid, sturdy, wise. And he just got better. Gunn and I wouldn't have made it without him.
Now I guess we'll have to. The most painful thing though is, not knowing why. Why were we deprived of these two most precious parts of our lives, why did they leave with out a word to explain their destination or their reason for abandoning us, why…is Lorne clapping, and jumping up and down with his mouth open, is that really appropriate.
~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~
Wesley
It's amazing how hard it is to get a cab wearing only a robe and carrying an infant. You would think my state of undress and choice in traveling companion would scream my need for assistance and my willingness to do whatever it took to get said assistance, evidently it doesn't.
Unless you're a truck-driver, a woman, and over the age of sixty-five. All of which Ethel Brogan was. And bless her for that I must say. She may smell like rotten onions and diesel, but she handled the road marvelously and Conner seemed to adore her. Those things being the case, as far as I was concerned, she was a gift directly from the PTB.
"You know honey it's awful dark and chilly to be out in only a rob. Not that I'm judging mind, I'm just observen. But boy you have the cutest little bundle I ever did see." For the fourth time there are 'goochie gooes and drooling' the drooling coming from both parties I'm afraid to say.
And seeing as I can't say anything, it's once again with the nodding as well.
I am definitely sitting beside the anti-typical truck-driver. She is so small she almost needs a buster seat, and I swear she styles her hair after Lucille Ball, in her younger years.
But a ride is a ride, Wesley, and you never look a gift horse in the mouth as they say. Ah and here is the destination now. So no harm done.
Since nodding seems to be my words of the day, I'll have to settle for doing it again as a thank you.
"No problem deary, you just get that youngen in and warmed up. Might I suggest given yourself a little attention too honey. And don't let that woman at you again, you hear." What with her yelling over the engine I cant help but.
And here goes more nodding, man these truck cabs are high, I almost need a ladder. Ahh, solid ground at last, if I wasn't holding an anxious child I would kiss it right now. Alas.
"Well see ya, love, you take care now you here." And with a slam, a smile, and a poof of diesel smoke, she's gone.
Now for the hard part, walking. I feel like I've been walking for three days, and what with the drugs and my lack of ability to tell time for a period, I very will could have been. All I know is I hurt, I'm tired, and Conner is most defiantly wet.
And unhappy about it.
Is it just me or are these door unnecessarily huge, we should really take care of that. They, I mean they should take care of it. There probably is no 'we' anymore.
This is not going to be fun to face, I can see it now. Ok I can't seem to walk through the doors. Like a vampire uninvited. Oh my I don't know if I can do this. Well I'm not leaving him on the steps that's for sure, which means I have to go in.
If my knees don't give out before I get inside the door. Which they very well might. One step at a time, Wes, you can do this, you have faced worse I'm sure, just think back and try and find it.
And why do we have clapping?
~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~
Cordelia
I cant breath.
I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing. That it. That's the problem I'm hallucinating. I just think Wes just walked through the door carrying a bundle and fell to his knees. That Lorne cant stop jumping and Gunn and Fred our staring as dumbly as I at what cant be there. And Angel...
~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~
Angel
I remember the initial shock, the pain like nothing I ever felt in Hell, the noises and the wait. I remember Cordy vaguely at first, then with more clarity as time wore on. I wanted to tell her what happened, but if I did it would be real, and I would give anything for it just not to be real.
I remember them discussing Wesley, and the new pain I felt, and the anger, and the betrayal. I remember when everyone arrived, when everyone knew, and the silence. Most of all the silence.
But the specifics don't start until the scent I thought never to smell again wafted past my nose. It was followed closely by the sound of distant clapping and the noise of someone falling.
That scent though, the one what now wafts smoothly to my nostrils as I greedily drink it in, that is the scent of salvation. He's here, I know, I felt him outside, but I thought it was a phantom, like the pains that remain when a limb is removed.
But here he is, wriggling in the arms of the broken man just inside the front doors.
My son.
If I don't burst in to flames from this joy, the sun will never hurt me!
**A/N: hey guys let me know if its favorites worthy, this ones just flowing for some strange reason, and it gets more reviews then the fics I spent way more time one, maybe I should do them all in first person?
Ok so I had this thought, not to long ago, that I knew what pain was. I mean I had the vision, and my I just reiterate on that count, ow, so pain and me, acquainted. Right? Wrong. I have never felt anything like I'm feeling right here right now. Its like I have no chest. My chest has been ripped out and used as a paperweight somewhere. And my head, it's spinning. My mouth is dry; I can't seem to form entire words, just parts of them, and not together. My hands are shaking, the way Katherine Hepburn's do. My vision is blurry from the tears that just don't seem to clear the lids. And my nose is all runny and red and not attractive at all.
And those are just the physical symptoms. In my mind, well in there it's much worse.
But for me It must be only a fraction, a mere glimpse at he pain that drove Angel in to the shell he's barely beginning to break through. I, I really just can't imagine that. I don't even want to begin to. Right now I'm simply allowing myself to comfort him, to hold everything in and be the strong one.
I think if Lorne walks that path anymore he will ware a hole in the floor, he's trying to be strong too, I think its killing him.
I can tell from the look on Groo's face that he just doesn't know what to do. This is like nothing he's faced before. This isn't an enemy he can charge in and vanquish for us; this is just loss and pain. There really is no cure for them but time, and even then I'm not sure all of us will completely recover.
"Why don't you wait for me at home Groo. There's really nothing else to do here. Let Dennis know what happened and he'll help you get settled in." yep that's my bestest smile. I can tell because he gets that noble crusade look on his face. You can almost hear him square his shoulders and decide that indeed is what needs be done.
He couldn't be any cutter if he tried, and still I find no comfort. Great, that just adds a whole new thing to be sad about. And sadly sighing does not seem to relieve the weight residing on my absent chest.
Has it only been two days, Two days of waiting, not knowing. Two days with Wes in the hospital and Angel unspeaking. It seems like a lifetime. What I wouldn't give for that ignorance to continue.
I'm finding it hard to focus, I wonder if anyone else is having this difficulty. I would guess yes, seeing as Lorne almost got run over by Groo on his way to fulfill my wish and wait at home. And I can't seem to locate what in the corner of the stairs has held Gunn's interest so raptly. Fred's just a mess.
I can see the turmoil in Gunn's eyes, I'm sure it resides in Fred's too, I just cant see hers seeing as she hasn't taken them from Gunn's chest since they arrived.
They have the same warring thoughts that I do. I grieve for the child, the one that was almost the child of us all; he held a portion of all our hearts. And I grieve for the soul of my friend.
Wesley and I have always had a special connection, at first we thought it may be romantic or carnal, that was a flop let me tell you. No our connection was deeper then that, friendship, trust, belief, loyalty. If ever I were in danger I would go to Wes. I think I may have even gone to him before Angel. Angel was forever overreacting; Wes was solid, sturdy, wise. And he just got better. Gunn and I wouldn't have made it without him.
Now I guess we'll have to. The most painful thing though is, not knowing why. Why were we deprived of these two most precious parts of our lives, why did they leave with out a word to explain their destination or their reason for abandoning us, why…is Lorne clapping, and jumping up and down with his mouth open, is that really appropriate.
~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~
Wesley
It's amazing how hard it is to get a cab wearing only a robe and carrying an infant. You would think my state of undress and choice in traveling companion would scream my need for assistance and my willingness to do whatever it took to get said assistance, evidently it doesn't.
Unless you're a truck-driver, a woman, and over the age of sixty-five. All of which Ethel Brogan was. And bless her for that I must say. She may smell like rotten onions and diesel, but she handled the road marvelously and Conner seemed to adore her. Those things being the case, as far as I was concerned, she was a gift directly from the PTB.
"You know honey it's awful dark and chilly to be out in only a rob. Not that I'm judging mind, I'm just observen. But boy you have the cutest little bundle I ever did see." For the fourth time there are 'goochie gooes and drooling' the drooling coming from both parties I'm afraid to say.
And seeing as I can't say anything, it's once again with the nodding as well.
I am definitely sitting beside the anti-typical truck-driver. She is so small she almost needs a buster seat, and I swear she styles her hair after Lucille Ball, in her younger years.
But a ride is a ride, Wesley, and you never look a gift horse in the mouth as they say. Ah and here is the destination now. So no harm done.
Since nodding seems to be my words of the day, I'll have to settle for doing it again as a thank you.
"No problem deary, you just get that youngen in and warmed up. Might I suggest given yourself a little attention too honey. And don't let that woman at you again, you hear." What with her yelling over the engine I cant help but.
And here goes more nodding, man these truck cabs are high, I almost need a ladder. Ahh, solid ground at last, if I wasn't holding an anxious child I would kiss it right now. Alas.
"Well see ya, love, you take care now you here." And with a slam, a smile, and a poof of diesel smoke, she's gone.
Now for the hard part, walking. I feel like I've been walking for three days, and what with the drugs and my lack of ability to tell time for a period, I very will could have been. All I know is I hurt, I'm tired, and Conner is most defiantly wet.
And unhappy about it.
Is it just me or are these door unnecessarily huge, we should really take care of that. They, I mean they should take care of it. There probably is no 'we' anymore.
This is not going to be fun to face, I can see it now. Ok I can't seem to walk through the doors. Like a vampire uninvited. Oh my I don't know if I can do this. Well I'm not leaving him on the steps that's for sure, which means I have to go in.
If my knees don't give out before I get inside the door. Which they very well might. One step at a time, Wes, you can do this, you have faced worse I'm sure, just think back and try and find it.
And why do we have clapping?
~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~
Cordelia
I cant breath.
I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing. That it. That's the problem I'm hallucinating. I just think Wes just walked through the door carrying a bundle and fell to his knees. That Lorne cant stop jumping and Gunn and Fred our staring as dumbly as I at what cant be there. And Angel...
~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~1~~~~
Angel
I remember the initial shock, the pain like nothing I ever felt in Hell, the noises and the wait. I remember Cordy vaguely at first, then with more clarity as time wore on. I wanted to tell her what happened, but if I did it would be real, and I would give anything for it just not to be real.
I remember them discussing Wesley, and the new pain I felt, and the anger, and the betrayal. I remember when everyone arrived, when everyone knew, and the silence. Most of all the silence.
But the specifics don't start until the scent I thought never to smell again wafted past my nose. It was followed closely by the sound of distant clapping and the noise of someone falling.
That scent though, the one what now wafts smoothly to my nostrils as I greedily drink it in, that is the scent of salvation. He's here, I know, I felt him outside, but I thought it was a phantom, like the pains that remain when a limb is removed.
But here he is, wriggling in the arms of the broken man just inside the front doors.
My son.
If I don't burst in to flames from this joy, the sun will never hurt me!
**A/N: hey guys let me know if its favorites worthy, this ones just flowing for some strange reason, and it gets more reviews then the fics I spent way more time one, maybe I should do them all in first person?
