@heartsings | Doyle
"Is anyone else cold? I don't think I'm doing very well…" The register of his voice is softer than usual ( nearly a whisper ), a deepened disquieting sense cloying at the back of his mind. Wesley’s surroundings swim around him, the shadowed formation of buildings and alleyways along 45th Street growing distant as they ebb and flow in time with the panicked thrum of his heart, a trembling hand desperately clutching onto Gunn for support. This hadn’t been the first time that the former Watcher’s life had been in mortal peril ( and it wouldn’t be his last ), glassy blue eyes lifting up to the blackened canvas of the night sky. The man notices it for the first time, an innocent means of wonder setting in to preoccupy his thoughts--- ( ‘it’s true what they say, you really can’t see the stars in LA...’ ).
Palm pressed firmly against his abdomen amidst shuddering breaths, Wesley tries not to overly think about the crimson liquid rapidly seeping through the fabric of his shirt or the nub of metal firmly embedded within his flesh, the stain trickling down slender fingers as his complexion conversely grows increasingly pallid. The next couple of hours meld into one drawn out albeit disjointed motion - laboured attempts to make their way off the streets to safety, resurrected police officers attempting to storm a shelter for youths, a number of thwarted attempts to go to the hospital--- the brunet intermittently blacks out during the whole ordeal, glimpses of Cordelia and Gunn’s distressed visages hovering around him. But---
There had also been someone else. Someone surprisingly familiar who shouldn’t be there, the scarcest outline of a familiar face that had been viewed purely from photographs and an awkward promo video clip ( ‘when the chips are down and you’re at the end of your rope, you need someone that you can count on… is that it? am I done?’ ). Wesley dismisses the thought, logic dictating that blood loss and a subsequent morphine drip could cause anyone to see things during such a dire situation... And yet the man lingers on the notion, slow blinking eyes flickering away from his two teammates as they depart ( no sign of Angel though... ), staring at the sterile walls of the hospital room, silently counting down the minutes until visiting hours the following day.
