By Misty Flores – mistyjox@hotmail.com
Teaser: Lorne has his hands full when three men who love three brunettes reveal three stories that meld surprisingly – and the three brunettes go missing.
Genre: Angel: The Series, Comedy/Romance/Action
Pairing: Angel/Cordelia, Gunn/Fred, Wesley/Faith
Rating: R for sexual situations
Special Thanks to: Vanessa, and her beautiful beta reading abilities.
Additional Notes on previous chapters.
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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Saturday Mid-Morning – The Hyperion Hotel
For Faith, the onslaught of the morning brought both relief, and distress. Relief from the nightmares that came relentless through her hazy nights, and distress, because with the morning, came the sun; and with the sun, came reality. Her eyes blinked against the light that flooded the room, twisting her body, freezing when her palm ran over a sweater, pushing against a still chest. Sitting up in shock, she blinked, pushing her hair out of her face as she realized that Angel was sleeping in her bed.
Oh, crap.
He blinked at the movement, stirring, and turning, his eyes caught hers. It took one second, before he was sitting right up there with her.
"Hi."
"Hi." He pursed his lips, his weight resting on one hand, looking around the room. "Did we -"
"Fall asleep?" Faith asked immediately. "Yeah. Sleep. That's what we did. That's ALL we did… right?"
He narrowed his eyes, but answered immediately. "Yes."
"Oh, thank God." Thanking God that she hadn't done anything of the nookie sort with Angel was something Faith never really expected to do, but now, her entire body flooded with relief, and she gave him a weak smile. "I just… wow."
The response was enough to make him smile, swinging his legs off the bed and stretching once, his large, lean body something to admire. In her bed. But it was okay. Cause they just slept. Friends did that, right? Crap. If Cordelia heard about this -
"I better check on Connor." He immediately went to the door, and unsure why she was adopting the lost puppy route, Faith followed, padding after him in bare feet. She had a headache, that was apparent. Body spent and tired, even from the night of rest, Faith found that the sleep had done nothing to ease the tension in her form. Muscles ached, and inside of her, there was a coiled spring, ready to uncoil, lash out – and it was damn painful, having that inside of her.
Tightness splintered in her chest. And that had to be why Faith followed the vampire. Suddenly lost, that last thing she wanted was to be alone. Bad things happened when she was alone, when she was unneeded. Hands involuntarily curled into fists, and her breath hitched as she fought off another thought of Wesley, and AGAIN, the bastard refused to remove himself from her thoughts. It was just one night. One stupid fuck. What the hell was so different about this? It wasn't different at all.
"Faith?"
The uncertain tone distracted her from her thoughts, and Faith turned gratefully, breathlessly, into the room she recognized as Angel's, found him leaning over an old looking crib. Stepping back helplessly, Faith's mouth opened in startled recognition, when she realized Angel had that baby in his hands, and was walking towards HER with it.
"Uh…"
"Come on…" He offered her a smile, and damn, Cordelia was right, he really did look good when he smiled.
"I really don't think that's a good idea – okay." Faith gave a small pant of insecurity, as the small bundle of living baby, was placed into her hands. Babies… okay, she had held him before, no big deal. Connor stared up at her curiously, as she shifted his weight, trying to remember stuff that she had once heard about holding babies. Like the football, support that head- that was a big one. Gotta support the big, bald head. Getting past the fear of the kid might have been some thing on that list, too. Breathing out raggedly, she shot the vampire an uncertain smile and looked back down at the child, finally taking the time to study him. So… this was the miracle child, huh? She wrinkled her nose, when he began to wiggle, kicking strong socked feet against her, and nuzzling his face into her cleavage.
"Uh… Angel, I think your baby is a perv."
Angel laughed, and she looked up self consciously, but found him only shaking his head. "He's hungry, Faith. Come on." Taking her by the shoulders, he steered towards the door, and it struck her again just how… homey Angel's room. There was a lampshade, there were curtains. There was a little night light in the corner, toys thrown haphazardly around the room. Her mind swiveled back for one brief second to his large, secluded mansion in Sunnydale. Barren, cold.
A man with dark eyes, and dark pain, with a power to do evil that she had craved. He had been Buffy's, and she had wanted him, if not for his demon, for that very reason. Now, his hands were there on her shoulders, his smile was small and almost faltering, his handsome face was distracted, again. Six days ago, she had seem him really smile, at a vision of a brunette haired Seer, holding a child, with cold hazel eyes and a warm smile.
"Angel…" she paused, turning around hesitantly. Licking her lips, she stared at him.
"What is it?" The concern in his voice melted her, and her eyes went soft, moist at his pain.
"I know where Cordelia is." He paused, stiffened, and then gave her a grim smile, carefully taking Connor from her arms, and pushing around her, jogging down the stairs carefully. She waited, somewhat dumbstruck with the fact that Angel had just completely ignored what she had just said. Never one for being completely disregarded, she followed him, running down the stairs, and turning into the lobby, where he stood, his back to her, putting some bottle into microwave.
"Angel, did you hear me?" she repeated, irritation drifting into her tone. "I know where she is, today."
"That's great, Faith," he said tersely, never even shooting her a look.
She waited again, and took a breath, coming around the counter to grab his arm, forcing him to face her. "That's a hint," she suggested, eyebrow arching with barely constrained impatience. "That you maybe go talk to her."
He shook her off, holding his son closer, settling into an old wooden chair that was pushed into the industrial sized kitchen, looking down at his son. "She said to give her time, Faith. I'm tired of fighting with her. I'm tired of arguing…" The volume of his voice was quickly rising in volume. "Why is this any of your business?"
Yeah, Faith, she found her inner monologue coming forth. Why the hell DO you care? It's NOT your business who the hell Angel screws. It's not your business, and who the hell are you to fuck with Cordelia's chance at a good time?
"Because she loves you, and I know it, and so do you." Faith blinked, surprised at the outright way she answered herself. Squaring her shoulders, she stared at him defiantly, her heart tremoring in her body, one solid shake that she felt, a chill overtaking her body at her realization. "And someone on this damn world deserves to be god-damn fucking happy, all right? Someone needs to know how the hell it feels to love someone with all your damn heart, so much that you're willing to DIE for them. Someone needs to be with a guy, to have him fill her, and give her one second of peace and NOT turn evil the next day."
He flinched, moving back, mouth parting in a dumbstruck way that looked almost foreign on Angel's beautifully formed face. The tears slipped down her cheek almost unnoticed, and surprised, she wiped at her eyes, coughing and turning away, wavering, and then turning back, grabbing the baby from him and holding the bottle at an awkward angle.
"Okay, Angel. I'm going to let you in on a little secret, okay? Cordy's fucking clueless. She's just clueless. She runs around playing Mommy, and doesn't know the first thing about it. Not like any of us do, right?" Swallowing past the hard lump that had emerged in her throat, she sat down on her chair. "And she's a stubborn ass, too. So you just grab her, shove your tongue into her mouth - or something you consider romantic," she amended, when his jaw dropped. "And make her believe in you. You make her, Angel."
He was quiet, hands dropping to his sides. Faith continued to stare at him, almost as if she was daring him to contradict her, to tell her that everything she said wasn't exactly what he didn't want to do at that exact second. But the vampire took the hint, suddenly jerking to the coat hanger in the corner, grabbing his dark black trenchcoat, slipping it on. "Where is she?" he asked, his words coming out in a tumbled rush of breath.
The way her face slid into that big old grin was almost embarrassing, but Faith couldn't help it, as she shifted Connor in her arms, and said lightly, "Beverly Hills Country Club. Pre-Party luncheon."
"The country club."
"Yeap."
He turned, striding to the door, and Faith could have sworn she heard trumpets and violins in his wake. Pushing herself up out of the chair, she watched his exit with a small smile on her face. Curse smurse. At least he could try and get Cordy off, give her mind a break from those damned visions by giving her a damned good orgasm.
Alone in the hotel once more, Faith was suddenly faced with grim reality, when her eyes drifted down and she discovered she was holding the bottle in a completely foreign way, and poor Connor was trying to do freaking acrobatics to get the nipple into his mouth. She watched for a second, and then took mercy, placing the bottle over his mouth, letting him suck on the tip greedily. "Perv," she said again, grinning at the kid, smile faltering as her gaze drifted over the empty hotel.
It was empty to the point of suffocation, but Faith didn't mind the space, or the fact that she was alone. The loneliness she had learned to dealt with, and she was glad that there was no one here now, to witness the tremor in her heart, the way her eyes closed against the images that assaulted her when her mind told her it was all clear to reminisce. Self-directed anger jolted her eyes open, and she gasped, shaking her head against the memories that had held her captive.
FUCK.
A very clear, very audible snore came out of nowhere.
Faith froze, hands tightening around little Connor, suddenly hit with the dreadful fear that was shifted her breath and made her narrow her eyes in panic. She wasn't alone. Immediately, her face swiveled in the direction of the noise, and there, through an open doorway, she saw a man sleeping on a desk… Oh, God. How could she have-
Her heart tore, raw and bleeding inside of her. Once again, it astounded her at this pain, making her shiver and shake- betrayal and anger she had only felt once before: with Buffy. And here, and now, she was once again alone, but there was a child in her arms, and he was asleep, and… oh God, had she hurt him?
Biting her lip in an effort to contain any embarrassing whimpering that might have occurred, Faith began to walk forward hesitantly, looking down at the happily slurping Connor for reassurance that he would not give her stalking away. In his domain, his office, she still felt foreign, invasive, as she walked one step at a time, moving around a fallen book and reaching the edge of the desk.
There he was, eyes closed, body numb, torso splayed over the desk amidst various books and open notepads. She held Connor closer, shifting him and moving around the desk, trying desperately to ignore the way her breath sped up, the way her heart pounded inside of her weak body. Gulping down the emotion, she stared, the way his chin sloped slightly. She must have had hit the other eye, because the one available to her was closed, with beautifully long eyelashes that touched his skin.
Yet AGAIN, the urge to touch him rose within her. Dammit. She looked toward the door, and the realization came to her nagging body that it would probably be a good idea to leave before the bastard awoke, but her eyes returned to linger on his lips, on his closed eye, faintly catching the bruise that was hidden from his profiled face. Connor was eerily silent, staring up at her with a solemn expression. Faith tried to ignore it, biting down on her the meaty portion of her lower lip as her fingers drifted toward his features.
His lips brushing over hers, his palms as they caressed her cheeks, his eyes as he told her to go slow…
"Hidey Ho, Winslows!!"
Jerking her hand back, she stumbled in surprise, bumping into the bookcase and nearly disrupting the slew of tomes that lay scattered across it. Eyes widened in panic when Wesley began to stir, and stumbling forward, she moved as quickly as she could to the entrance, running through, only to almost plow into the green guy.
"Woooaah!" Lorne stepped back, arms splayed out, an apologetic grin on his face. "Chill with the speed limit, sweetie. This is a 'no running with the baby zone'!" he said, grinning. "And what a cute little tyke he is! Angel around, lemme see the little munchkin…" Lorne drifted off, eyes moving up to glance at her, a small frown over taking his face.
Oh, shit. He was doing it. He was trying to read her. The bastard was going to read her, and that was bad -
"Here," she said hastily, shoving the kid into Lorne's arms and pushing past him, sprinting up the stairs. Lorne stared after her, perplexed. Scratching at his fairly itchy horns, he once again sniffed himself, before finally giving up, heading for his room. Still… his senses made him pause, look back to the door of Wesley's office and back up thoughtfully to the stairs that Faith had taken.
The girl was once complicated aura, too complicated, and after the rough morning of fighting over prices and legal issues that abounded when one was a green skinned, red horned demon, he was not exactly in the mood to attempt to deconstruct. Cradling Connor to him, Lorne bemoaned the fact that he once again, was stuck with babysitting duty. Did these guys just unanimously forget that he was the Host? Bad ass messenger to the Powers that Be?
The last place he wanted to be was in the Love Hotel – hell there wasn't even a good theme song. Lorne closed his eyes, sighed, and with Angel's baby in his arms, headed to his room. He just wanted to sleep.
--
Present – The Hyperion Hotel
Krevlorneswath of the Deathwock clan was a drama queen. He was the first to admit it. There was nothing particularly wrong with that assumption or with admitting to that. He enjoyed making the most out of a situation, enjoyed drinking, biting into the irony of life, discovering the soul of pain, the aura of love – the sweet, bitter pulse of life.
What he did NOT enjoy, was everyone looking at him, like he actually KNEW what to do about every little romantic quibble that went his way. Who did he look like, cupid? Wings? Please. Sighing, he scratched at his horns, grimacing in his own dark corner, doing the thing that Angel liked best. Honestly, maybe this whole brooding thing was entirely underrated. Angelcakes had done it for a couple hundred years, and heck, even Brown Eyes was getting into the act.
The fact of the matter was, the more this night wore on, the more impossible the entire situation seemed. The place was rife with confliction, and once again, Lorne bemoaned the fact he had chosen to hook up with these wannabe Melrose residents at all. The baby was perhaps the only perk.
As of now, Gunn, Wesley, and even Mr. Broody were looking for him to solve an insolvable problem. What was he? Mr. Fix-it? He couldn't get a freaking sanctuary spell to work, for Chrissake. Retreating to this dark corner for a brief moment of silence before he continued to hear their story had been a last resource, a last ditch effort to avoid the urge to slam their skulls together. He was a lover, not a fighter, but after a night with these broody, handsome idiots, he was seriously rethinking his mantra.
The phone rang, and listlessly, he picked up, certainly not his charming self. "Angel Investigations."
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. "I… uh… hi. May I speak to Lorne, please?"
"Speaking, you lucky flutter budget."
"Oh." The line on the other side was unfamiliar, and Lorne frowned, listening carefully, before he got a harried, husky tone again. "Uh… hi. I- my name is Kate. I'm a … friend, I guess, of Cordelia's, and she said I couldn't call Angel."
"Oh, she did, did she?"
"They don't know I'm calling. Right now they're all… Bonding, I guess. Look…" the whisper got lower. "I just want you to tell Angel that they're okay. I'll get them home as soon as the liquor wears off."
"That Cordy." Lorne leaned his head against the wall, resignation in his tone. "Brown Eyes certainly is a colorful character when she lays out the Tequilia's."
"Who?"
"Cordelia."
"Her eyes are hazel." The voice was flat, matter-of-fact. No room for nonsense, no exploration or embellishment, and it was enough to irritate Lorne just slightly.
"Fine, Ms. 'Nit-picky'," he said, somewhat aggravated. "You're Miss 'I see the glass half empty and dribbling', aren't you?"
"What?!"
"Rain on my rather colorful parade. That's a damned cute nickname, I'll have you know. Better than 'crazy cop lady', any day."
By now the bewildered voice fell silent. He could almost hear her mind whirling, attempting to process the words.
Finally, she blurted out, "Who calls me that?"
"Doesn't matter. They're safe, I got it, thanks-"
"Wait!" The voice interrupted before he could hang up. "I just… Cordelia called you The Host."
"Former, sweetie. I am the Host of nothing, lately."
"But you still help people, right?"
He closed his eyes, dreading what was coming next. "Reluctantly, yes."
"I don't know what to tell these girls. I keep getting the feeling that they want me to… give them some sort of freaking advice, and considering I'm a poster child for dysfunctional family ties, I don't think -"
"Hey, hey, hey!" Lorne sat up, suddenly exasperated. "Now why does everyone think I've got the answers? What am I? God? I don't know what to do! I screw up, too, you know!"
"I heard you're green."
"What?!"
"That true?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" he snapped.
"Nothing. Just a thought that crossed my mind, wanted to ask it," she answered matter-of-factly. "Now calm down. The last thing I want is help from a green guy, no offense. But Cordelia's greatest logic at this moment in a case for MY wisdom, is that fact that I'm BLONDE, so who the hell am I to judge?"
The comment was ludicrous enough to make him smile, and he had the distinct impression he had just been played, as he sank back against the wall and blew out his breath. "So?" he asked flatly. "What do you want from me?"
Kate was hesitant to answer that, cupping the phone closer to her, pulling the wire under the bathroom. "I don't know," she said honestly. "But I think… something has to be done. Fred and Faith's problems… as complex as they sound – that's just love. Misunderstandings and anger and yeah, it hurts, but it can be fixed…"
"But Angel and Cordelia is much deeper," Lorne answered shrewdly.
Biting her lip, Kate sighed. "I don't know if it can be fixed."
"I know it can't."
She was quiet for only a second. "So? What do we do?"
"Nothing." He closed his eyes, dreading the sentence, knew that he had
to say it. "I've coddled Angelcakes too much. For this one, he's on his
own."
--
Saturday Morning – The Warehouse
When his hand reached for the body he had become accustomed to feeling, and found nothing, Charles' eyes blinked open, sitting up on the bed in near panic.
"She'll be back. Don't freak." He blinked, turning and focusing his eyes, trying to wipe away the sleep, and encountered Justine sitting on the mattress, inches away from him.
"What the FUCK?!" Scooting back, he nearly toppled off the mattress in his explosion of anger, and it startled her, the self confident stance fading away as she stood, away from him.
"Uh… hi."
"What are you doing here?!" he demanded, standing up now, reaching for his sweater and eyeing the room for weapons.
"One of the boys let me in, I needed to talk-"
"Get out."
Her eyes narrowed, green glittered with anger. "It's not your place to tell me to get out, CHARLES," she said, her words mocking and sadistic. "You chose your family, didn't you?"
He froze, stumbling a little in an effort to return life to his still woozy body. "I said, 'get out'."
"Gunn… I'm sorry." Her voice was completely different now, suddenly sinking against the mattress, body trembling as she sat with her back to him, almost as if she couldn't face him. "Dammit… I didn't – this isn't what I came here for."
He paused, eyeing her warily, knowing he didn't want to ask, and also knowing he couldn't help it. "What did you come here for?"
Her eyes were on the dusty floor, flinger fussing idly with the clasps on her leather jacket. Her form was slumped, no longer on her damned high horse, and it threw Charles, made him wonder, mind drifting back to a phone call. Later on, he would probably question why he did this, why he stuck his hands in his pockets and waited, why he never doubted that there was no danger in her being here, when he would still see Holtz and shoot the bastard at first sight.
"Did you really mean it?" she finally asked dully. "What you said about family? Because… you had a family. A real one."
A sister.
He swallowed hard, trying to fight off the pain as he closed his eyes, her image flashing over his brain. His young baby girl. Tough and hard, and sensitive and sweet. Vulnerable and strong… Dead and dying….
"Yeah. I had a familiy." His voice was hoarse, and a little bit angry, an indication he wasn't glad she brought it up.
"But you've got another one. A vampire…" she closed her eyes. "And you… help people. How did you do that?"
Confusion swamped him as he studied her blankly, eyes shifting over the room in a sudden effort to locate Fred. "Do what?"
"Make the emptiness stop." Her breath was rushed, unsteady as she put out her words. "The ache in your stomach, the need to grab something and destroy it, to do anything to make it stop. How'd you do that?"
A sudden chill went over him, raw, searing pain settled into his stomach and he nearly lurched, clarity coming with a single glance. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Justine was… fuck…
"You lost someone?"
He got a barely perceptible nod in response.
"Who?"
"A sister." The answer was so low he almost missed it.
Unsure what to do now, Gunn's fists clenched, looked around the room again, and this time, was grateful Fred wasn't around. She was understanding, but… this was something very few people could get. But he got it. The nightmares he had was proof about how much he got it.
Carefully, he stepped around the mattress, sinking down on it next to her, arms resting on his kneecaps as he stared straight ahead, careful not to touch her.
"It's not gonna stop." She was quiet. "It's not gonna stop," he said again. "It don't matter how many of those lives you destroy, how many vamps you kill, it ain't gonna stop. It's gonna eat at you and eat at you until you've got nothing left inside you but hate. And it's so painful, you'd chew your left arm off to make it stop, to shake it off… but it doesn't." He swallowed down hard. "Not until you… not until you let it go."
"I can't." It was choked, angry.
"You have to."
"I can't."
"You have to."
"FUCK you, Charles." And then she began to cry. He tilted his head to watch, her body crumpling, giving way to the sobs that seemed pent up. He waited. He knew. The sobs kept coming, and when she turned into him, he was ready, pulling her into him, holding her tightly, letting Justine break against the pain of the wall of hate that had been built, brick by brick. His shirt was sodden when they reduced to a whimper, but he gave her a smile when she looked up hesitantly.
"I don't know what to do," she said honestly.
He had no answer, but locked their dark eyes in an intense gaze, pondering what to do with a broken girl when he was broken himself, and then heard the soft cry that drifted through the room.
When he looked up, he saw the look of betrayed shock on Fred's face. He saw the way the bag fell from her lifeless fingers, and he was up in an instant, grabbing her by the elbow before she could run away, pulling her back and into another room.
"It's not what you think," he said immediately.
Fred Burkle knew exactly what he thought she thought, and she also 'thought' it was downright ridiculous to think she would assume that Charles would have sex with Justine in a room with a bunch of other sleeping people. But it didn't stop the pain, or the suspicion.
"You actually trust her?" she said incredulously. "Gunn, do you REMEMBER last night?"
"She wants to change."
"She never said that?!" Fred's heart was pounding almost painfully. Stepping back, craning her head to look up into his eyes, she had never noticed his height until now. He was so tall, looking down at her like that, and Fred had never felt stupid in her life, but she felt stupid now, and she had no idea why she felt so… stupid.
"Fred…" he licked his lips, tried again to get past Fred's irrational - okay, a little rational. Justine HAD tried to kill them last night - anger. "I think I can help her. That's all she's asking for."
By this time, she had managed to regain some of her control, crossing her arms stiffly and looking down. "She's playin' you, Charles." Eyes opened wide, imploring her friend to believe her. "She's got you where you're vulnerable."
"What? My sister?" Charles shook his head, almost wincing at the mention of it. "That ain't like her, or Holtz. They ain't deceivers."
"What? Now you know them? Charles, he wasn't above killing YOU!"
"That wasn't her!"
"Oh, make up your mind!" Fred turned away, huffing and holding hands to her ringing head. "You say one thing, do another. First we're family, next no one understands you. You have all these mixed priorities and it's a jumbled box of crayons, where I can't find the red -"
"What are you talking about?" Gunn asked, confused, voice tilting slightly as she shifted, pushing her hair out of her face in a nervous gesture. She shifted again, and he blinked, taking a step back in surprise. "Fred, I thought you said, you trusted me."
The hurt on his face was enough to sear her, to make her eyes well up with tears, for her anger to ebb away, just a little bit. Feeling her frustration overwhelm her, Fred closed her eyes, tried to regain control, and did her best not to look at the hurt expression in Gunn's face.
"I do," she said finally, taking in a breath and letting it out slowly. "I just… Gunn, I don't trust her."
"But you said you trusted me, right?" he repeated, coming forward, trying to touch her, and she couldn't handle that now. Not his big palms on her shoulders, not his heat sinking into her skin. She stepped back, body shuddering with anticipation and fear. "Fred - you took a chance, didn't you? You took a chance on ME. It's all about taking that chance -"
"I'm not going to take a chance with HER, Charles," Fred insisted stubbornly, never more aware of her mother's constant insistence that Fred could be as stubborn as an ox when she wanted to be, and that was both a blessing and a curse. She wanted to believe Gunn, she did. And she wanted to look at Justine and be able to believe that she truly wanted to change, but her mind was still ringing with the images of the woman in Gunn's arms, and it wasn't RIGHT. It wasn't supposed to make her feel this way, like a twisted up knot, and it had never physically HURT before. So that she wanted to suffocate and just hit something.
"How can you…" His hands fell to his side, and he turned away from her, posture tense and angry, finally losing patience.
"It's not like you need my assurance, Gunn," she found herself stumbling through, eyes narrowing as her mouth once again ran away from her. "It's not like –"
"Not like what?" he snapped, turning back, eyes narrowed and angry. "Not like what, Fred?"
"Not like-"
"You're my girlfriend? Not like I need and care about you? Not like I care that you're the only person I know who's never given up on me, turned their back on me, CARED about me, and UNDERSTOOD?!" She shrank back as his voice got louder, more and more angry, and she had never seen his face like that. Dark and angry and, just a little bit scary. His words were rushed, and they made her take in a deep breath. He waited a minute, for her speak, as if he wanted something from her, but her hands were clenched into fists, and she was shrinking away, and it wasn't enough, because suddenly his shoulders deflated and his tone was low, broken. "No. I guess it's not." Lowering his head, he turned back, away from her, and dug into his pockets.
Fred was silent, suddenly nervous that she had done something wrong. "Charles -"
"Here," he interrupted, digging into his pockets and pulling out a set of keys. "Take the truck back the hotel. I'll find my own way back."
"You want me to leave you -"
"Just GO, Fred."
He was making her leave. Her eyes were once again drawn to the keys, twinkling and tinkering with each other, and she felt suddenly inhibited. Something had happened here, something unexpected, and her mind replayed the conversation and suddenly her heart shrank within her.
Her eyes watered and her fingers tangled together uncertainly, stepping forward hesitantly. "Gunn…"
"Fred, please." His voice was hoarse as he turned, eyes flashing and blazing and HURT as he pressed the keys into her palm, and took a huge step back, away from her, almost as if he couldn't look at her anymore. "I can't have you here, right now."
He was pushing her away, because she had hurt him. She had hurt him, and it ached inside of her, to have that realization come the way it did, with the metal in her hands, and the sucking in of her chest, the sudden blurring of the tears. From around the corner, Justine walked in, her eyes green and moist. She had been crying. Charles gave her one last glance, and in that look was heartbreak, and cold unfamiliarity.
He was shutting her out of this, and Fred understood, as her body trembled and her eyes filled with unshed tears. She wasn't a part of this. She wouldn't understand. And it no longer mattered, her being here. Hoping to hold herself together, at least until she got to the car, Fred took a deep breath, and walked away.
--
end chapter