Disclaimer: I do not own Wanted.
A/N: Pushing time right now. Bell rang a few seconds ago and I'm still writing. Hope you like it!
Chapter 25
Wesley woke up, expecting to see the familiar dark gloom of the Recovery Room and, instead, saw the interior of an apartment he had never been inside before.
A million questions shot through his head at once.
Where am I?
Whose apartment is this?
How did I get here?
Who has one of these baths in their apartments?
Where's Fox?
Is she okay?
Why am I worried if she's okay?
Wesley breathed deeply and slowly, pushing the questions out of his head long enough for his heart to beat slowly and him to be able to dress in to the pair of dry pants waiting for him.
Stepping out of the room, Wesley recognized the familiar, hideous scenery through the window in the room he was headed to. This apartment looked directly toward his old apartment.
Wesley stepped toward the window and looked at that which was once his. Inside, he could see Cathy pacing around the room, talking on the phone.
"I promised your father I'd bring you back."
Wesley spun around so quickly that his neck hurt and felt his heart beat double its normal speed.
"What the fuck?" Wesley cried in shock, breathing deeply.
"He said it was the only way you'd believe him." The man sitting in a chair a few feet away from Wesley answered. Wesley recognized him as Pekwarsky.
Noticing the framed pictures on the furniture surrounding them, Wesley passed Pekwarsky and picked them all up. He shuffled through them each, recognizing the baby boy who looked back at him.
He stared at the photo on top and remembered where it had been taken. It had been years ago and Wesley was nine. His mom had recently started dating the man, who would become his step-dad for exactly four months before they separated, and Wesley was meeting him for the first time. Bill, the man who would become his step-dad, was in the picture. The back of his head and side of his face took up most of the frame but it was the boy behind him that was making Wesley hyperventilate. That boy, dressed in a pair of corduroy pants and a black jacket, with the goofy smile and awkward hair, who was sitting on the seat of his soon to be step dad's crappy motorcycle, was a nine year old Wesley Gibson.
Wesley looked at the next picture and recognized it as his third grade class photo. He was dressed in a blue collared shirt and striped time and his hair looked awkward even though it had been combed. To perfect the picture, Wesley had morphed his lips into something that was supposed to be a shy smile but actually just proved to the world that he was pathetic.
The next picture was recent and had been taken in the room Wesley was sitting in. Cross had taken the picture through the windows as Wesley sat on the couch in his apartment.
He had been there all along.
Wesley tried his best to choke down the tears that were forcing their way up to the surface and failed miserably at calming his breathing.
Pekwarsky watched silently as Wesley took in the information, confirming the truth to himself. Finally, he looked up.
"He was my father."
Wesley's voice was choked and hoarse when he said it, almost to himself. Pekwarsky remained silent, knowing there was more.
"And I killed him." Wesley finished.
"To your father," Pekwarsky began "Protecting you was worth giving up his life."
At this, Wesley smiled the disbelieving, unstable smile that made hairs stick up and goose bumps appear.
"Protect me?" Wesley asked with a small laugh.
Wesley's smile faded quickly and his eyes darkened. He looked just as unstable as he had a second ago but now he was furious. A homicidal glint gleamed in his eyes and Pekwarsky read the bloodlust in his expression.
"He was trying to fucking kill me!"
"No." Pekwarsky corrected calmly, getting up as he spoke, "He wasn't trying to kill you. He was trying to rescue you.
"When Cross left the Fraternity, Sloan hunted you down. Ever since Fox had her teeth in you, he's been trying to separate you from them."
Wesley felt a new wave of rage poor over him as Fox's name was mentioned. It was a different rage. It wasn't the kind of rage that made people punch holes in walls and, in extreme conditions, kill people. This was the kind of rage that was really pain. The kind of rage that was easier to deal with then the pain.
"Your father never wanted you in the fraternity. He wanted a different path for you."
Wesley turned away from Pekwarsky in denial, as if that would keep the truth from being true.
"Things that he could never have" Cross continued "A home. Peace.
"He wanted you to find your own way." Pekwarsky finished.
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