YELLOW BRICK ROAD
By: Lisette (lisette@chaletian.co.uk)
Rating: PG-13 so far - might change later on.
Distribution: Want, take, have. Just e-mail me first.
Summary: Faith is released from prison - but there's a catch.
Feedback: God, please.
Angel, Buffy, the whole lot, belong to JW, Mutant Enemy, and anyone else who officially owns them. I don't. Big surprise.
Okay, a few notes. Firstly, I haven't seen any of season 3 yet, though I know vaguely what happens. So, definitely after "Billy", and Fred and Gunn are getting with the happy, but "WITW" never happened.
Please, please review - I need to know what people think! I have a fragile ego and it needs bolstering! Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed - you have made me a happy person!
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Chapter Thirty-Five - The Waiting Room
St Mary-le-Bow Church had been erected in 1873 by an English clergyman anxious to bring the civility and stability of Victorian London to the wilderness that was the American west. Amazingly, it had stood through earthquakes, fires and floods, and was still standing. Its front was weathered and grey, but it was beautiful in its simplicity. Its chief renown was for its bell tower and the clarity of its bell, which was ringing out the hour.
As the fifth toll died away, Angel stood impatiently, and began to pace again. Asleep in a chair was Fred, her head resting against Gunn's shoulder. She shifted restlessly, and he looked down, a tender expression in his eyes, before he remembered why they were there, and grim anxiety reappeared. Opposite, Faith sat in another hospital chair, cross-legged, picking at a loose thread in the sweater Angel had found for her. Cordelia sat beside her, still stroking her hair.
Angel found time to marvel yet again at the changes in Cordelia from when he had first known her. The spoilt princess of five years ago would never have bothered to comfort the distraught girl; wouldn't have known what was needed. But when the three remaining members of Angel Investigations had turned up at the hospital, Cordelia had taken one look at Faith, crying in Angel's arms, and taken her under her wing, whisking her off to the ladies' to let her cry herself out, before washing the blood and dirt away, and putting her in the sweater. Then she had sat with her, not saying anything, just being there.
"Mr Angel?" At his name, Angel whirled round, ready to confront whatever was to come. A young doctor walked up to him, still dressed in theatre scrubs. Behind him, Angel was aware of the others rising, coming forward, but he kept his eyes on the doctor.
"What's happened?" he barked. The doctor's eyebrows rose at the menacing tones, but he was used to dealing with patients' families, and took it in his stride.
"We've operated on Wesley. We stopped the bleeding and repaired most of the damage done by the weapon. He's in recovery now." Cordelia came forward.
"So, that's it, right? He's going to be okay?" The doctor's face was grave.
"It's too soon to say. He lost a lot of blood, and there was a great deal of damage to his internal organs, particularly his right kidney. I'm sorry, but at this stage it could go either way." He stopped, sensitive to the effect his words were having on the group standing before him. This was undoubtedly the worst part of his job. When you were in surgery, you were in control, you knew what you were doing. But having to tell the family bad news - that really sucked.
"Can we see him?" The voice was small, and it took the doctor a moment to localise it. A woman, clad in leather pants and a strangely out of place UCLA sweatshirt, looked at him pleadingly from behind the big guy in the black coat. He opened his mouth to say no, then changed his mind. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was in a bad way, and a visit or two wasn't going to make him any worse than he already was. He nodded reassuringly.
"Of course. One at a time, though."
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Faith looked down at Wesley, her mouth dry, her throat tight, the words she had intended to say lost. He looked so pale, lying there. White against the white sheets. The sterility of the hospital room seemed out of place, after what had happened, as Faith saw once more the brilliant red of the blood pouring from his body. Her throat seized, and she battled down a fresh sob.
"I…" She stopped, not knowing what to say, lost in the horror of what had happened, of what could still happen. "Wesley, please. Please don't go. I - I need you so much. We all need you, more than you know. Please…" This time she couldn't stop the tears, and they fell, though she had been sure that she had none left. She reached out one hand, and softly stroked one pale cheek.
"Please, Wesley."