Cookie Verse - TBD

[fredless]

Mama had a bad habit of picking up used puzzles and games from yard sales. And it wasn't that bad, not really. 'Cepting for the part where she never could seem to remember what games were already sitting back home in the hall closet. It's how they ended up with three Monopolys and two very battered versions of Life. That, and a whole heck of a lot of puzzle three or four pieces shy of completion. You'd spend the whole of a weekend hunched over the kitchen table, trying to work through one. Only to get to the very end, staring at those spaces where the table shown through.

Almost, but not quite.

That's what it feels like, she thinks. Almost. But not quite.


But not...what's she missing?

They're talking about her. Fred's pretty darn certain of it. But the fact that they're not talking to her, explaining what all those reports and readings are saying? Well that's more worrisome than the variety of needles they're already insisted on sticking her with and why is it...

Why was it so hot?

Wesley was going to have her head.

She was going to have to tell him he'd have to wait for her to be finished with it first.

It really was ridiculously warm.

Fred wondered if Mama still had those puzzles in the hall closet.

Life.

Almost. But not quite.

Comments

[demonologist]

After a brief, urgent consultation with Fred's doctors, Wesley had finally been allowed into the room where they'd placed her. The news had been both grim and perplexing. Despite Wolfram and Hart's resources and best efforts, they still did not know exactly what the the cause of her malady was; whether it was even physical or magical. However, the tests they had run had confirmed that her prognosis was...not good.

It had taken as much restraint as Wes could possibly muster not to add a physical threat to his stern insistence that the doctors work harder to discover the cause and bring her back to full health.

Despite his internal turmoil, he did his best to put on a reassuring face when he moved through the doorway and perched lightly on the side of her bed, instinctively reaching out to brush back a lock of her hair.

When he spoke, his voice was modulated to be calm and soothing, but he couldn't quite hide the tension lurking behind his concerned gaze.

"There you are. I'm not sure that I like being stood up for lunch all that much."

He attempted a soft smile.

[fredless]

...lunch.

Fred's brow knitted itself in obvious confusion. Not that she'd forgotten they were supposed to meet. She'd been counting down the time pretty much since they'd left Wesley's place that morning. No, she was well and familiar with lunch. So how had it gotten past her?

It was that heat again, she blamed it silently. Sticky and fuzzy, her thoughts kept getting caught up in it. And if she was honest, Fred couldn't be certain if five minutes or five hours had passed. The notion scared her a little.

Ok, it scared her a lot.

"...it went and got late all of a sudden. Lorne must've told on me."

He'd been with her when it happened. Her voice sounded raw. Out of practice, even. Fred's gaze met Wesley's.

"How bad is it?"

[demonologist]

"Lorne didn't tell on you," Wes countered, his smile deepening briefly at the thought of it. Lorne was a little more flamboyant and prone to gossip than most people, but he was loyal and an exceptionally good friend.

Then his expression sobered as he took in Fred's more insistent gaze. He contemplated glossing over what he knew, seeking to ease Fred's worry. But he knew that he owed her the truth. After everything they'd been through together, how could he deny her that?

"It's bad." Which, perhaps, was an understatement, but he trusted her to look past his words to infer their meaning. "They don't know what's wrong yet, but believe me, they're going to be moving heaven and earth to get to the bottom of it. And if they don't, they'll have me to reckon with."

It wasn't a boast, it was the truth. Nothing meant more to him in that moment than finding out what ailed Fred and making it right again.

"There's no conclusive data as to whether it's a poison or virus or something mystical, but we're going to find out. We'll beat this and...you'll be good as new. We have the whole firm's resources at our disposal, after all."

He squeezed her hand, trying not to falter too much at the last part. Because in his mind, he couldn't help but blame Wolfram and Hart for what was happening to her. This had to have been an attack - not an accident - his gut instinct told him.

[fredless]

Her eyes closed briefly as Wesley confirmed what Fred already knew. That somehow, in the span of six hours, the whole of her life had gone and been turned upside down. She pulled in a breath, not liking the pressure she met there. A weight already compressing down on her lungs.

Well to hell with it.

They're worked their way out of far worse situations, hadn't they? And there was no way she'd clawed her way out of Pylea to go out in a a hospital bed at a suspect law firm surrounded by no shortage of grating whirs and beeps. Had she been the one to clear the designs for any of these? Because why hadn't she considered the beeping?

Really, the only part of the entire situation Fred was willing to accept was the man in from of her. Fingers curled underneath his hand, as Fred explored that point of contact. The soft friction there grounded her, generated a warmth different that the one pressing in on her from all sides.

"They...," she tried to explain, referring to the nameless staff moving Wesley's Heaven and Earth. He would understand. "They're not me."

[demonologist]

"No. They're not," Wes acknowledged softly, his gaze never leaving hers. "You're a survivor. You always were."

He'd never forgotten the moment he'd first seen Fred in Pylea; standing there with blood dripping from her upraised hand. Afraid and yet not afraid. Distracting Angel from his blood-lust, drawing him away from his and Gunn's position. She'd saved them both that day.

"A fighter." His eyes shone for a moment, allowing his admiration for her inner courage to show plainly on his face. He usually held his emotions in tighter check; his default way of coping with situations.

But not today.

Today he didn't feel quite so in control of himself. His expression then took on a slightly more disapproving mien.

"Which probably means you're going to insist on leaving this bed at some stage, I expect." He knew Fred was the sort of person who could never leave a puzzle alone, he was much the same way. They both needed answers, time was very much of the essence. His own department was already scrambling to investigate the source of her illness. They would most likely need the scientific team to delve into the problem as well. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit over-protective of her.

It couldn't be helped.

"Promise me you won't over-exert yourself."

[fredless]

Fred bit down on the inside of her cheeks. It served two purposes. To fight the wave of nausea passing through her -- and to keep her reply from coming too quickly. To seem at if she wouldn't give his any consideration at all.

Because that was one of the few things she couldn't promise. She'd given up too much, lost too much over too many years to not fight back now. She needed to start going over every chart, ever sample inch by inch.

And because she couldn't lie to Wesley, especially now....

"I'll try," Fred put the offering between them, her voice sounding strange again. Because that's all she could give him, right then. No matter how much she wished things were different.

She could see, right there on his face, how scared Wesley was. And Fred realized that worried her more than anything else. Because if Wesley was at a loss?

"...they have really bad pillows here," she tried, shifting stiffly in the bed. Five minutes from now -- maybe even three -- they'd have far bigger, more frightening things to focus on. But just for that moment she wanted something that was just theirs. That first night he'd stayed over after his apartment was firebombed felt like a year ago now. "Really, really bad pillows. Somebody ought to let them know."

[demonologist]

Afraid that he was putting too much weight on the bed, Wes shifted backwards slightly, trying to give her more space. If the charts were correct, she was in considerable discomfort. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly at her complaint, remembering the banter from weeks before. He couldn't quite manage another smile, however.

"Someone really ought to," he agreed, reaching out to adjust/fluff them as best he could. Then his expression sobered again, despite his intent to keep things as light as he could.

"Can you think of any unusual events in the past few days? Points of possible contagion."

[fredless]

There wasn't going to be any pretending.

But then, that was the point, wasn't. That they didn't pretend between them. It was of the many, many things that'd drawn her to Wesley. Fred's fingers strayed to play over the edges of her blanket. But almost just as quickly they grew tired.

"There was that one demon attack, at the dinner we went to. There might've been some direct contact when I was collecting..."

Fred released a shaky breath.

"We know what it was, Wesley."