fredless: (Poof by azuremonkey)
[personal profile] 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.

Date: 2015-05-15 05:13 am (UTC)
demonologist: (S5 - caress)
From: [personal profile] 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.

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Fred Burkle

May 2015

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