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]

"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."