Breathe in. Breathe out. Blink. Stand. Walk to table, gulp down drink.
Don't think. Don't think about her. Keep expression stoic and neutral. No
tears. No.
She was so sweet, so perfectly sweet. Throughout it all, everything she'd seen and felt and every monstrous thing ever done to her, she had retained some miraculous bit of innocence he couldn't even remember ever possessing. She'd been broken, enslaved, beaten down, and still she was able to stand tall and smile and tell them all that things would get better, it would all be okay. She held onto her hope no matter what, and she had died, terrified and in pain.
Heat water. Cup, saucer in the cabinet by the sink. Steep, stir, sip. Familiar taste, familiar heat. Don't let it remind you of her. Don't let the focus slip. Sit. Sip.
She was so much like a child at first. Having been treated as a slave, driven mostly mad for so long, she'd idolized her rescuer, Angel, as a child would have. Even up to recent times, as much as things had changed, you could still catch her, in moments of reminiscing or late night Chinese food fests, smiling at him with an affectionate awe. It only ever lasted a moment. It never occurred to Wesley to be jealous of those moments, not even in the mostly un-threatened way that he was always automatically jealous of Gunn. Fred loved Angel, probably had from the moment she met him, as Wesley himself had loved her. But it was an innocent love, a child's love for her hero. It had grown to the respect and familial love of their close-knit little group, but a part of her, that young, untouchable part, would always believe that Angel was the unstoppable hero. It was likely, actually, that she believed the same for all of them. Wesley knew of her brilliant mind, and he knew how capable she was. But he also knew that deep down, she believed that they would protect her, save her, from whatever happened. And they had failed. He had failed her.
Shower, hot as you can stand. Stand there till the sting fades, and everything goes numb. Towels on the top shelf of the closet. Scotch on the end table. Don't bother with a glass. Screw sipping. Gulp. Choke it down.
The brightest moments of his life were those spent with her. The only ones worth remembering. Which made it difficult, now that he needed to forget her. Needed to let her go, quickly, before the ache swallowed him whole. How could he forget the only one who'd ever mattered? How could he destroy a monster wearing her face? Speaking with her voice? Cordelia had been the spirit, the attitude, and it had hurt them all to lose her. Fred was the heart, the warm, beautiful center they all depended on. They adored her. And now she was gone. She was lost, and so were they.
Breathe in. Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't think. Breathe out. Don't miss her. Don't fall apart. Just keep going. Keep breathing. In. Out.
She was so sweet, so perfectly sweet. Throughout it all, everything she'd seen and felt and every monstrous thing ever done to her, she had retained some miraculous bit of innocence he couldn't even remember ever possessing. She'd been broken, enslaved, beaten down, and still she was able to stand tall and smile and tell them all that things would get better, it would all be okay. She held onto her hope no matter what, and she had died, terrified and in pain.
Heat water. Cup, saucer in the cabinet by the sink. Steep, stir, sip. Familiar taste, familiar heat. Don't let it remind you of her. Don't let the focus slip. Sit. Sip.
She was so much like a child at first. Having been treated as a slave, driven mostly mad for so long, she'd idolized her rescuer, Angel, as a child would have. Even up to recent times, as much as things had changed, you could still catch her, in moments of reminiscing or late night Chinese food fests, smiling at him with an affectionate awe. It only ever lasted a moment. It never occurred to Wesley to be jealous of those moments, not even in the mostly un-threatened way that he was always automatically jealous of Gunn. Fred loved Angel, probably had from the moment she met him, as Wesley himself had loved her. But it was an innocent love, a child's love for her hero. It had grown to the respect and familial love of their close-knit little group, but a part of her, that young, untouchable part, would always believe that Angel was the unstoppable hero. It was likely, actually, that she believed the same for all of them. Wesley knew of her brilliant mind, and he knew how capable she was. But he also knew that deep down, she believed that they would protect her, save her, from whatever happened. And they had failed. He had failed her.
Shower, hot as you can stand. Stand there till the sting fades, and everything goes numb. Towels on the top shelf of the closet. Scotch on the end table. Don't bother with a glass. Screw sipping. Gulp. Choke it down.
The brightest moments of his life were those spent with her. The only ones worth remembering. Which made it difficult, now that he needed to forget her. Needed to let her go, quickly, before the ache swallowed him whole. How could he forget the only one who'd ever mattered? How could he destroy a monster wearing her face? Speaking with her voice? Cordelia had been the spirit, the attitude, and it had hurt them all to lose her. Fred was the heart, the warm, beautiful center they all depended on. They adored her. And now she was gone. She was lost, and so were they.
Breathe in. Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't think. Breathe out. Don't miss her. Don't fall apart. Just keep going. Keep breathing. In. Out.