Song of choice: "Hollow", "Never Again", and "Bury me Alive" by Breaking Benjamin
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Wendy found the strength to call Tink around 3 a.m. She told her simply to grab the story, which she had shoved under the door, and get it out before she set it on fire.
Pan once again went against orders to rest and he and the staff at the Daily Mirror worked through the night to get Wendy's piece edited, written out, into the printers, copied and sent out to the public by 6.
Wendy woke just after 8 with a sore neck and an empty, gnawing sadness in her chest. The sadness shifted into relief slightly when she saw the pad with her story missing.
Later that morning Dr. Whale released her with a set appointment and prescribed tranquilizers to be taken only when she needed them. Wendy felt she needed half the bottle now and the other half when she faced her father again. The last time she saw him he was bargaining for her life. It was George Darling at his finest moment. George Darling the father and protector. George Darling the reluctant warrior. Still, seeing the full extent of the trouble she was in probably upped his game to get her home.
The walk home brought both relief and paranoia to Wendy. The air felt so relieving and took the hospital smell right out of her hair, but walking past Granny's had her stomach curling.
She paused just at the white fence, watching people going in and out, carrying takeout bags like there hadn't almost been a massacre yesterday. Wendy would have believed that the event hadn't happened at all if it weren't for the yellow police tape closing off the alley. She knew the sane thing would be advert her eyes and keep walking, but she found herself turning to the alley and taking in the mess.
Other than the tape there wasn't a thing out of the ordinary. Wendy stepped closer so that she was pushing against the tape. Further in she could make out the gravel she and Cruella had their showdown at. She crept further in the alley, taking the tape with her, until she was standing in the exact spot de Vil had force her into.
The place the devil woman had been standing was empty now, but Wendy could still see a flash of her standing there, gun poised at her head, eyes full of the deepest hate Wendy had ever seen. She looked to her left and saw the dried smear of blood from her head, courtesy of Pan and Felix's daring rescue. Wendy looked away, chilled now form the memory. She caught sight of the gravel, a cluster of was stained a fresh rusty color.
Wendy covered her mouth and sped from the alley, not stopping until ahe was at the end of the street at the inn. She crouched down at the opening of a sewer and released what little contents her stomach had. Through her blurry vision Wendy could see a cluster of spectators gathering, there for the show only and not to lend a hand.
Granny stuck her head out the door to find the source of the commotion. The second she recognized the blond mass of curls she grabbed her bar rag and ran into the street. "Oh for goodness sake! Get out of here vultures!" She slapped her rag at the lingerers. "And don't come back until you learn some manners!" She took Wendy by the shoulders and led her inside, hander her the rag to wipe her mouth.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Lucas." Wendy apologized as the kind woman put a glass of water in front of her. Felix had mentioned once that Granny was one of the most respected people of Storybrooke, but she didn't pass out respect in return like she did meal plates at the diner. You had to earn it, and it was "Mrs. Lucas" until you did.
"Next time just do it in front of the pawnshop." Granny snickered. "I don't need the quality of my food threatened."
Wendy nodded and took a sip of the water.
"Oh," Granny picked up, "Your pop's checking out today. Came by this morning to let me know."
"He didn't mention it to me." Wendy muttered.
"Probably didn't have the chance." Granny corrected her, "After everything that happened yesterday I'm surprised the poor man had the strength to do anything today. Old goat passed out when you didn't wake up right away."
Wendy nodded, remembering what Edward told her about her father. "Did he say anything about me?"
Granny shook her head. "Just that he was packing and then leaving."
Wendy nodded and redirected herself to the inn right beside the diner. Lo and behold stood her father placing his suitcases in the back of the taxi car waiting for him.
"Wendy!" Mr. Darling called out. "Where are your suitcases? The plane takes off in three hours."
Wendy groaned. "Father, we need to talk."
"We can talk on the plane." Mr. Darling insisted. "Hop in the cab. We'll stop by your flat."
"Father, I'm not going home. I'm staying in Storybrooke and I'm going to continue to work at the Paper."
Mr. Darling dropped the bag he was holding and stared at Wendy in disbelief. Wendy watched the contrast of the small bandage on his reddening a forehead and knew that the next hour was going to be headache on top of a migraine.
Mr. Darling stepped to the cab window, eyes never leaving Wendy, and said something to the driver. He picked up his suitcase and threw it, open and all, into the back with the others.
And Wendy knew right then and there that she had screwed the hell up.
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Pan had the last three stories from the Mirror spread out before him.
SPOTLESS: STORYBROOK'S DOGS GO MISSING
REPORTERS DOWN: Reporters in Hospital after an investigation gone wrong
And the most recent publication:
A DANCE WITH THE DEVIL: Reporter's epic showdown with the Storybrook's dognapper leads to death
Pan smirked at the not-so-ironic pun in the third headline, happy that this whole experience hadn't killed is writing drive.
He was drained however. More drained than he'd ever been in his life. It had taken one of Tink's lattes with a double shot of expresso just for him to do the proofreading. Reading Wendy's story had been like watching the event again on a giant movie screen. Every detail, from scent to sound, was splayed both on paper and in the part of Pan's brain where he sent all the unpleasant events of his life. There were plenty there already, some he was able to keep buried in the depth of his subconscious, others kept pecking at the lining of his brain day and night.
There was no guilt when these events came up. Peter Pan didn't regret what he did for a living. Ever. But there were some things that tugged at the very thin strings to his heart.
If the events Wendy endured had happened to him, he would have drunken himself into a semi-coma for a day or two and jump right back up. Wendy was different than he was. She came from different breeding, nicer stuff than him. She probably never got into anything close to this back in London.
Two weeks ago he would have jumped for joy if something like this scared her off for good. Now that he had stood beside her while a maniac held a gun to their heads, it felt like letting her leave would be the same as if he hadn't showed up in time to help her.
Pan groaned and laid his head on the desk. He was so tired. Too tired to care about anything.
A slamming door twitched Pan's last nerve, singed it when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders.
"There's the other half of my paper pushing savior!" Sydney Glass praised, shaking Pan's shoulders the way a proud father would.
"Get. Your damn hands. Off me."
Though muffled, Glass recognized the darkness in Pan's tone and put a few feet between them at once.
He cleared his throat. "So, where's Wendy Darling? I wanted to kiss the ground she walks on."
Pan lifted his head on top of his arm, glaring at the wall ahead. "Probably rocking back and forth in her apartment. This whole thing had her pretty racked."
Sydney rubbed his hands together nervously. "How racked? Like needs a two-week vacation racked or putting in her two weeks' notice racked?"
"Like leaving town racked."
Sydney and Pan turned around to find Lily Tigress shaking off her coat before heading to her desk. "Just saw her with some oldie hopping into a cab."
"What!" Sydney roared. "You're kidding right? You're playing one of your vindictive sick jokes, right?"
Pan lifted his head towards the action.
"Nope." Lily grinned, opening her files for the next edition. "Sorry delicate-as-glass, looks like your big-bucks' journalist is going sayonara."
Sydney looked like he wanted to wring his miscellaneous writer's neck, but instead grabbed his hat and coat.
"Pan, get up."
Pan's head shot up. "I beg your pardon?"
"You're going to her and you're going to kiss up and do whatever it takes to stop her from getting in that cab."
"Like Hell I am!" Pan yelled defiantly. "I didn't even want her here to begin with. She can get on that plane and fly into the Bermuda Triangle for all I care."
Sydney took off his hat and walked up to Pan, spinning him around in his chair and banging his hands on either sides of the desk.
"Listen you little shit." Sydney growled in his face. "I've put up with you and your superior complex for three years for the sake of this paper. I let you do what you want! Hell, who you want, all to keep this paper from going under. But it just barely kept us from drowning!"
Pan's face and neck erupted in heat. "You're saying I failed?" Pan inquired in a low, dangerous tone, "I never fail! This paper was a day away from being boarded up when I stepped in!"
"That might be so," Sydney admitted, standing eye to eye for the first real time in years, "but your actions have made us as many enemies as paper sales. You're brash and destructive. A damn good writer, but you burn everything in your way and I'm sick and tired of mopping up the ashes."
Pan's jaw clenched. "Is that why you wanted her here? To replace me with someone less smoldering?"
"Not to replace you; to level you out. I thought-"
"You thought wrong." Pan growled. He grabbed his crutch, still reluctantly in need of its assistance. "Let's go."
Sydney held his tongue until Pan was out the door, a sense of dread spreading through his stomach now that he had so easily gotten his way.
"You're dead." Lily Tigress stated, eyes never leaving the computer screen.
"Oh be quiet." Sydney retorted, grabbing his hat and heading for the door.
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Wendy had taken Mr. Darling back to her apartment, both refusing to go near the diner until it was cleansed by a priest in the very least.
She had made tea for him in hopes of calming him into submission, but two cups and a box of gingersnaps later Mr. Darling was still seething. He wasn't angry per say at Wendy's resistance to return home, but he was utterly frustrated that she would even consider staying after that mad women nearly put a hole in her skull.
Wendy excused herself to the restroom to splash cold water on her face and kick the wall to help with her frustrations. After what happened yesterday, she didn't want to damage what could be a rekindle to their strained relationship. However, George Darling would argue with her until he was hoarse and would then sign the rest of his grievances.
She left the restroom ready to lay it all out and let him react as he would but instead found herself silenced by the sight of her father idling on her laptop.
"Your password is still Nana95, is it not?" Her father inquired.
Wendy cringed at the password she had used for every electronic device she owned when she was 13.
"No it is not. What are you doing?"
"Trying to contact the one person who can talk sense into your thick head!" Mr. Darling typed away. "Blast it all what is it?"
Wendy snatched her laptop from him and covertly typed her laptop awake. "There." She pushed it back to him. "Now who are you trying to contact?"
Mr. Darling searched around for the skype icon and entered a username.
"Your Mother."
Wendy froze. She hadn't spoken to Mary Darling since she left London. She had begun treatment for her sudden bout of breast cancer and hadn't had the energy to talk more than five minutes. She was sick enough; if she learned all at once that her only daughter had nearly died the day before…God only knows what it would do to her.
"Father," Wendy grabbed his wrist, "Stop. You said yourself that this could do anything to her."
"She needs to know Wendy!" He pressed a key and Mrs. Darling's face was splayed on the screen as a connection tried to be made.
Wendy tried to close the laptop but Mr. Darling fought her off with one arm.
"Move!"
"No!"
"Give it here!"
"Enough!"
The screen flickered and Mrs. Mary Darling's tired face appeared on the screen. Seeing her husband and daughter on the screen together sent a brief wave of joy through her tired form. Then seeing them struggling made her both confused and slightly worried.
"George? George!"
Wendy and Mr. Darling seized their struggle, breaking apart and dropping into their designated chairs, glaring at each other briefly before giving their attention to Mrs. Darling.
"Hello dears." Mrs. Darling said to them both.
"Mary," Mr. Darling began, straightening in his chair. "Your daughter has committed a series of unspeakable acts that need to be addressed!"
Mrs. Darling's lip twitched in amusement. "I see nothing's changed then. Wendy, what's happening, love? And what happened to your head?"
"She's being reckless and absurdly foolish!"
Wendy glared at her father. "I'm two feet from you!"
"George Dear, I'd like to hear Wendy's side if you please." Mrs. Darling intercepted, picking up her tea cup and taking a tentative sip.
Wendy readied her tale but paused at the interruption of a knock.
"Wendy! I'm coming in whether you're ready or not!"
Wendy was barely on her feet before the door burst open, a very hostile Pan emerging into her domain, has hostile as anyone could look with a crutch at least. Sydney followed a moment later, hovering at the entrance before deciding it was safe to enter.
"Now see here!" Mr. Darling shouted at the intruders.
"Sit down!" Pan yelled back. "This don't concern you."
"Don't you dare yell at my father like that!" Wendy stepped in. "And who the blazes do you think you are, bursting into my apartment like you-"
"Are you staying or not?"
Wendy froze. "Staying? What are you talking about?"
Pan pointed behind his shoulder at Sydney. "He wants to replace me with you. I need an answer. Like, now."
Wendy looked at Sydney who sighed and shook his head.
"I'm not leaving-" Wendy began.
"Now see here!" Mr. Darling chimed in.
"Well, bye then." Pan began to limp away. "It's been fun, delicate-as-glass."
"Okay just stop." Sydney stepped in front of him and closed the door. "Everybody just stop for a minute!"
"Get out of my way." Pan growled.
"Mr. Glass what is he talking about?" Wendy questioned.
"Whatever it is," Mr. Darling boomed, "could it please wait until we are done with our family business?" he motioned to the laptop screen where Mrs. Darling sat utterly confused.
"Oh." Sydney took off his hat and nodded to Wendy's mother. "Ma'am."
"Pleasure." Mrs. Darling nodded back. "Wendy," Mrs. Darling motioned to Sydney and Glass.
"Mother, this is my boss, Mr. Glass. And this is…" Wendy looked at Pan, really looked at him since the night they were sent to the hospital together. His face was bruised, lip split, and the bags under his eyes were darker. The crutch made him look smaller, weaker even, but the scowl on his face gave the indication that he was still no one to intimidate.
"This is Peter." Wendy finally said, feeling the need to look away from his smoldering eyes.
Mrs. Darling nodded. "I don't suppose this conversation is needed because you've gained a boyfriend, is it?"
"NO!" Pan and Wendy shrieked in unison.
"Damn woman, don't be daft." Pan mumbled.
Mr. Darling glared at him. "You'll hold that language around my wife, boy."
Sydney pulled him back before he could retort.
"George dear," Mrs. Darling spoke up, "I'd like you and Wendy to tell me what's going on now."
"She's just going to tell you that there's nothing to worry about when there is plenty to worry about!"
"It's over and done with now!" Wendy shouted at him. Deep in her mind she didn't believe a word of it.
"Not for me it isn't young lady!" Mr. Darling shouted back. "You almost died! That devil of a woman had a gun pointed at your head!"
Wendy felt her jaw involuntarily clench at the memory. "I know-"
"You're my daughter Wendy! My only daughter! I'm sole purpose in this world is to protect you at all costs, and if that means dragging you back to London kicking and screaming then so be it-"
The fuzzy but distinct sound of china crashing caused the entire room to become eerily hushed. Even Pan had seized his bickering.
"Died?" Mrs. Darling breathed out. "Devil woman? George w-what…what…"
Though the quality of video was gritty, the sudden loss of color on Mrs. Darling's face was all too clear.
"Mom!"
"Mary!"
Mrs. Darling waved them off and searched the table with shaky hands.
"Christ!" Sydney cursed behind them. "What do we do?"
"Just be quiet! Let her calm down." Mr. Darling croaked. "I should be there with her." He added lowly.
Wendy watched in horror as her mother pulled out a familiar green bottle and, after a brief struggle, pulled out a pill.
"She's on Paxil again?" Wendy whispered to her father.
"Yes," Mr. Darling swallowed as Mrs. Darling took deep soothing breaths. "The chemo triggered the panic attacks."
Pan watched the display before him with mild worry. "Take deep breaths." He suggested to the computer. "And count; forget it all and relax."
Wendy felt her eyes burning with tears for her mother. Mrs. Darling had always been an indestructible pillar of strength in Wendy's eyes, but seeing her now, shaking and fragile, Wendy didn't know if the women recovering behind the screen was really her mother.
"Mom." Wendy sobbed. "Mom I'm sorry. I can explain everything I promise."
"You better believe you will young lady!" Mrs. Darling shouted through a gasp. Mrs. Darling rarely raised her voice, believing quiet firmness was a more powerful method of child-rearing than yelling.
"I mean," Mrs. Darling soothed, taking a few more breaths to recompose herself, "would you please tell me what is going on?"
So Wendy, begrudgingly, told her tale of dealing with the Devil Woman. About her running after the dog nappers and about being cornered in the diner. She watched her mother turn a nauseating shade of white, her lips pressed together in a withered line. Wendy spared her the gory details, fearing if she turned any paler she'd pass out or trigger another attack. Luckily the Paxil seemed to be doing its job since Mrs. Darling stayed composed through the entire story.
She was quiet when she finished, nodding as she let all Wendy said sink in. Finally, she took a deep breath and straightened her spine as she readied a command. Pillar of strength, Mary Darling.
"Wendy, dear, I'd like to speak your father alone for a moment."
"Right." Wendy stood to let her father have the seat closest to the computer screen.
"Alone please."
"…right." Wendy turned to Pan and Sydney who had been watching the retelling of Wendy's adventure with a melting pot of awe, amusement, and pride.
"I guess…" she motioned towards her bedroom, the only other room besides the bathroom and kitchen-living room.
"You will do no such thing!" Mr. Darling protested.
"Father, he's my boss!"
"I don't care if he's the king himself! You will not have two grown men in your bedroom like some street women!"
"Oh poppycock!" Wendy exclaimed, grabbing the chuckling Sydney and Pan and dragging them into the hallway."
"I thought my old man was tough." Sydney chortled when Wendy slammed the door.
"I thought your old man would have run screaming at the sight of you." Pan chimed.
Sydney made some intangible noise through his nose and slummed against the wall beside Wendy, playing with the rim of his hat. "Either way, this really brings me back to my school councilor days. Dealing with parents that is."
"Oh that's right," Pan mused, sliding on the other side of Wendy as carefully as he could with his crutch. "You dealt with brats before buying the paper."
Wendy glanced at Glass. If she put him behind a desk and put a pair of spectacles on him she could almost see him in a school setting.
"So," Pan sighed, "Are you leaving or not?"
"What made you think that?" Wendy inquired.
"You almost died. That's kind of a turn off to the adventurous life."
Wendy could almost agree. Being a journalist wasn't the stunning adventure she thought it would be. It was messy and coated with PTSD inflicted writers block. But now that the threat was gone—dead and gone—Wendy could almost see herself staying. She'd probably want nothing but desk work for the next month, but eventually she'd want another adventure.
"Well Panny," Wendy smirked, "you once again underestimate my patience with chaos. I'm not going anywhere."
Sydney burst out laughing while Pan gaped.
"Who they hell do you think-" Pan paused and shushed Wendy's question, listening at the sound of a light tapping coming around the corner.
Wendy watched with mixed wonder as Pan paled, his eyes filled with a sorrowful emotion she couldn't quite place.
Suddenly Pan jumped up, eyeing the hallway uneasily, before stepping over Wendy and bursting into her apartment.
"Pan!" Sydney called after him.
"Excuse me!" Mr. Darling yelled at him.
Wendy watched as Pan ignored all the yelling and yanked open her window which conveniently led to her fire escape. Pan climbed out the window, leaving behind his crutch, and scaled down the escape.
Mr. Darling turned to Wendy. "Why?"
Wendy just sighed and closed the door, far too uninterested in all the foolishness.
"Oh no." Sydney gasped.
"Now what?" Wendy turned and saw, much to her chagrin, Mr. Gold limping towards, his cane the reason for the sound.
"Don't make eye-contact." Sydney whispered as Mr. Gold approached.
"Miss Darling," Mr. Gold greeted, a sinister smile spreading over his face, "lovely to see you up and about."
"Mr. Gold…" Wendy stared at the sinister man. There last and only meeting at Firefly Hill had been over a week and a half ago and Wendy still felt a wave uneasiness when his dark brown eyes wracked over her. "It's nice to see you again." Wendy greeted half-heartedly. It was nice to see anyone who wasn't pointing a gun at her
"Likewise." He returned, stanced predatorily in the middle of the hallway where no one could go past him.
Feeling uneasy, she glanced at Sydney who had found a sudden interest in Wendy's doorframe.
"Is there something you needed?" She inquired as calmly as possible.
"Oh god." Sydney squeaked.
"As a matter of fact there is." Mr. Gold answered, the offer of niceties no longer existent. "The end of the month is on Monday and I expect the rent due by the following day."
Wendy felt like she had been sucker-punched. With all the chaos of the missing dogs and De vil, she had completely forgot about the debts she owed to reality.
He owns the town.
Your landlord just let me in.
Wendy continued to sour under Mr. Gold's gaze. Of course he was her landlord; it just took a reminder that eviction was probable to let it all click together.
"She'll have it by then." Sydney stepped in.
Mr. Gold gave the reporter a look that made him and Wendy both shrink. "I should hope you pay your employees, Glass."
Wendy and Sydney both gulped at the coldness in his voice. "A-anything else?" Wendy forced out.
"There's the matter of all the yelling." Mr. Gold deadpanned in a way that reminded her so much of Pan.
"Sorry Mr. Gold. My family's in town. I'll tell them to keep it down."
"See that you do." Mr. Gold warned.
"In fact," Wendy said, "I'll do that now." She went to open her door, Sydney slipping in the second it was wide enough. Wendy followed, closing the door without another glance at her apparent landlord.
"Sorry kid." Sydney apologized, "I'm already two months behind rent and I don't need an eviction notice now that things are starting to pick up. The guy hates excuses."
"No kidding." Wendy breathed.
Mr. Darling cleared his throat and Wendy stood at attention.
"Your mother would like to speak to you." He said lowly. He then headed to the couch, intent on listening to the conversation. Wendy however picked up her laptop and carried it to her room, closing the door on her father's protests.
"So…" Wendy said when she was situated.
"And here I was thinking my problems ended with you after high school." Mrs. Darling's tone was dry but her smile was there abet a little dim.
"Mom, I know all of this seems…"
"Erratic? Infandous? Ostentiferous?"
"I was going to say insane but all those works too."
"Wendy," Mrs. Darling sighed, "Your father and I agreed that when you decided to go to America that we would step out of the way so that you could make your own decisions. However, I'm greatly concerned with the kind of decisions you are making." Her eyes didn't meet Wendy's eyes but instead the bandage on her forehead.
"This," Wendy tried to explain, "was just an investigation gone wrong. It won't happen again."
"Wendy, you're supposed to be writing the stories, not going out looking for them."
"On the contrary a journalist does go looking for the stories. Then we write them."
Mrs. Darling frowned unamused. "There are plenty of opportunities here."
"London has all the short-skirt coffee grabbers they need. I came here because I wanted a change from my country. I wanted…I don't know…a little crazy."
Mrs. Darling looked unconvinced. "And your certainly found it." Her expression changed then to one of nausea. "Is everything you told me before true? Were you almost…" she dared not finish the sentence, afraid of the gory truth.
"The best thing about a town as small as Storybrooke is that help arrives in the nick of time without all the city traffic."
For a moment, Mrs. Darling looked shocked that her daughter would make such lightness of a near-death experience. But then mother and daughter erupted with laughter, worn nerves finally edging away both their defenses.
"Okay young lady," Mrs. Darling sighed, "I know as well as your father that neither one of us can talk you into coming home, so I'm just going to have to put up my white flag on this."
Wendy nodded, glad to have her mother's seal of approval on her decision.
"But you have to promise me that you will never do what you did again. No running after leads, or jumping in a jail cell with an unstable."
"I never did that."
Mrs. Darling shook her head. "You father and his exaggerations…"
Wendy chuckled. "I'll go get him."
"Actually dear, I'm rather tired. I'm going to take my medicine and lie down."
Wendy felt rather guilty now. She had done nothing but cause her mother stress and hadn't even asked her about her treatment or how the boys were doing.
"We'll talk more next week." Mrs. Darling confirmed. "Tell your father I'll see him tomorrow."
"Goodnight mom." Wendy said, closing her laptop and wishing they had time to say more.
Sighing, she stood to opened her bedroom door and was almost smashed by the two men using her best glasses to ease drop.
Mr. Darling shot up, straightening his clothes and trying to pretend he was in no way involved in such a classless act.
"It was his idea." Mr. Darling scapegoated.
"What?" Sydney smirked, shaking the glass. "It's the first trick they teach you on the job."
"It's a despicable one." Mr. Darling fought, but then added begrudgingly, "Though it did serve the required purpose. You're staying."
"Yes!" Sydney sang. "I tell you kid I was not looking forward to looking for more candidates. No one wants to move to Nowhere, Maine."
"I wonder why." Mr. Darling muttered, rubbing his eyes and near collapsing on Wendy's couch. "I think you're making a mistake."
"You always do."
Mr. Darling shook his head. Wendy was sure his scowl was forever etched into his face. He stood, picked up his hat and coat and headed to the door, apparently as through with this as she was.
"I need to get to the airport. Edward went ahead with his things."
Wendy tensed at the memory at their heated argument. "Why did you bring him here?"
He had his back to her, refusing to look at her. He was sore that he hadn't gotten his way and was agitated that he had to bow to will of the women of the Darling household.
"He knows this country better than I." He answered. "His family used to vacation here."
"Is that the only reason?" Wendy pressed, although she was near certain she already knew the answer.
"Of course he wanted to see you Wendy." Mr. Darling barked. "The poor boy wanted to marry you at one point."
Wendy looked away, recognizing her father's guilt trip method. "Tell him I said goodbye?"
"I'm sure he already knows." With that said, he nodded to Sydney Glass and left, closing the door much too calmly to match his mood.
"Goodbye to you too." Wendy sighed. She hated it when they left each other with a mood floating over their heads.
"Well," Sydney hissed, now awkwardly out of place in his co-worker's apartment, "that's a sad ending for the two of you."
Wendy curled up on her couch, hugging her knees tightly and glaring at her feet. "He's always like that. He'll be fine in a few days or he'll be like this forever. Honestly I don't care." She fell to her side, wishing the firm and hardly comfortable couch would swallow her whole. "I'm over all of this."
So much for fixing their relationship.
Sydney looked at the exit and back at his secondary journalist. He was not supposed to get involved in his employee's personal affairs though he had already stepped out of line by coming here in the first place. What more harm could he do?
"I'm not going to tell you to run to the airport after him with a boom box, mainly because I ran here and can't give you a lift."
Wendy scoffed.
"But at least call him. Hell, convince him to take out a subscription on the paper, see how great you're doing."
"Somehow I think you have an ulterior motive to all this."
Sydney winked at her. "Whatever gets business out there." He picked up his hat and headed for the door. "I was going to give you the rest of the weekend off anyway. See you on Monday."
"Bye." Wendy sighed, immediately making plans for a two-day nap.
Sydney stopped just as he was closing the door. "Oh, and Wendy?"
Wendy looked up, her eyes already half-lidded.
"Thanks for sticking around."
Wendy smiled, feeling a comforting warmth pooling in her stomach. Her father may disown her for what she was doing, but Sydney appreciated her sacrifice. That was enough with her.
The door closed and Wendy was left to bask in the appreciation. And the quiet. And the nerve-gripping uncertainty of what tomorrow would bring.
She sat up, rubbing her feet against the soft plush carpet she had brought from home. For the first time since her dance with De Vil, she had time to think. To scream or cry. To process what had done to her instead of force it all out at once. Now that she had an extra day to do so, all she wanted to do was run.
Her heart started escalating and Wendy recognized the buzz of a potential breakdown coming on. She wondered briefly if she had inherited her mother's panic attacks and decided against the theory. She glanced around and noticed with dismay that Pan had left his crutch leaning against her window when he had made a run for it. She groaned and grabbed it, deciding she'd run after Glass so that he could return it for her. She did not want to lay eyes on his stupid face for the rest of the weekend.
She opened the door and barely stepped out when she felt a strange sensation hit her. It started as a weak buzzing in her ear and slowly escalated to thumping.
No, not thumping.
Clicking.
She looked down the hallway could hear it getting louder yet saw no one coming.
It was weaker than that of Mr. Gold's cane and yet terrifyingly familiar.
Like a pair of heels.
No.
"No please you said she was dead."
Wendy lurched forward and let out what little was in her stomach, feeling for the door and slamming it before the clicking could reach her doorway, the crutch left beside the pool of bile.
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Just a finish-upper chapter before it's time for another case!