"Of course, sir," the medical technician said, leaning down to inject a painkiller into Wesley's arm. The last thing he remembered was Mr. Giles entering the ambulance just before it took off for the hospital.
Sunnydale Memorial Hospital
8:43 PM
Wesley awoke to the cool touch of a woman's hand on his forehead. * Mum? * he thought briefly, then remembered that his mum was in England, and he had called her earlier to inform her that he was no longer working for the Council. His father hadn't enjoyed that news all too much.
Slowly the day's activities started coming back to him. Being fired, planning an attack, fighting the mayor, the Ascension, blowing up the high school, kissing Cordelia…good Lord, had he really kissed Cordelia? Maybe that's who was here at his bedside. He opened his eyes, and came face to face with a large woman in a stark white uniform. Definitely not Cordelia. Must be the ER nurse. "Hello."
She smiled down at him, and he noted that her ID badge said her name was Clara. "Hello Mr. Wyndam-Price, how are you feeling?" she asked.
He paused for a moment, checking his extremities for any pain. None. "Actually, I feel quite good. Is this morphine?" he asked, nodding his head towards the drip IV they had attached to him. She nodded, and he grinned. "It's bloody wonderful," he enthused.
"You were pretty beaten up when you came in," she explained, gently pulling the IV out. "But the doctor's prescribed some painkillers, and you're free to go whenever you feel ready."
"Thank you," Wesley said politely, blushing when she winked at him on her way out. Strange women winking at him? That wasn't normal. But now was not the time to dwell on that. He needed to get up and dressed. Climbing carefully out of the bed, he walked across the room to where his clothes were folded neatly on the visitor's chair.
As he dressed, he went over his options. Originally he had planned to return to England after the battle, but as he was no longer working for the Watcher's Council, there was no need to do that. He could not go back to his parent's…besides the fact that he was nearly thirty and it would be deeply embarrassing to go running home with his tail tucked between his legs, he had no doubt that his father would not allow him to live at home.
But there was no reason for him to stay in Sunnydale anymore. Buffy had made it clear that she didn't want him to be her Watcher, not that it mattered anymore. Faith was in a coma. Things had not gone well with Cordelia. He was very much aware that his mere presence annoyed Mr. Giles.
For the first time in his life, Wesley was on his own.
Once he had finished dressing, he made his way up to the third floor, to Faith's room. There was nobody around, so he simply walked in and pulled the chair close to the bed.
"I have no idea if you can hear me right now," he said, looking down at the still form of the Slayer he had failed. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I wasn't a very good mentor to you, and I partially blame myself for the things that have happened to you.
"We beat the mayor. I know you probably don't want to hear that, but I'll always hope that deep down, you weren't truly on his side. That you were simply gathering information, and that at the last minute you would have come to us, offered to help. I'm probably fooling myself, though. It wouldn't be the first time.
"I came to tell you that I'm leaving. I was fired…that should make you happy. I'm going to be doing things my way now, not bending and scraping to a bunch of snobs who have no idea what's really going on. I'm off to be a lone wolf, searching out evil and fighting it where I can. And I want you to know that if you wake up and want to join me, I would welcome the chance to make up for my failures.
"Just ask around. I'll be out there…Wesley Wyndam-Price, Rogue Demon Hunter."
1013 Duke Lane, Apt 14
9:42 AM
"Right. These clothes will just not do at all," Wesley muttered, staring into his closet at the row of clothes, sorted by style and color. On the left were the suit jackets, followed by pants and dress shirts. His shoes were all lined up neatly on the floor, and the tie rack on the back of the door was organized into stripes, polka dots, and solids. Of course, Cordelia had liked his clothes, but they weren't exactly in style. And they probably wouldn't do in his new line of work. He didn't even own a pair of jeans.
So it was off to the mall. Maybe he should copy Angel, and dress all in black. That was mysterious, and it was hard to not match. He would keep that in mind, he promised himself, as he stepped into the first store.
Twenty minutes later, he stepped out again, three large bags of clothes in hand. He had actually willingly purchased a pair of leather trousers. His mother would have a heart attack if she knew. And his father would call him a pansy. But the salesgirl had said he looked "hot," and apparently that was a good thing, so he bought them. As well as a matching leather jacket. The next stop was to get boots. When he was sure he looked tough enough to intimidate at least the lessor demons, he went back out to his car, a mid-seventies era station wagon. That, of course, would have to go as well. No self-respecting demon hunter could drive around in his '74 wagon with wood paneling on the side. Just wouldn't do at all.
And so, after a quick stop at home to drop off the bags, that's how he found himself talking to a used car salesman, and trading in his Chevy for a sporty little motorcycle. And a helmet, of course. He wouldn't want to get pulled over for breaking the helmet law.
On the way home, he drove by the high school. The fires had been put out, of course, and all the emergency personnel had gone. All that was left now was a blackened building. The ground was still wet from the attempts to extinguish the blaze, and he realized that his new boots were getting muddy, but he didn't care. People had died the night before, trying to save the town. Trying to save the world. People he'd known. Cordelia's friend Harmony, for one. Principle Snyder, who hadn't been a pleasant man, but who had shared Wesley's love of discipline and rules. He'd read in the paper this morning that Larry, who had been the captain of the football team, had died. It was for people like them that he had to move on. For people like Chad Watkins, whom he had never met, but who had given his life to help them.
Deciding against going back home right away, he pointed the motorcycle toward Mr. Giles' apartment. Ten minutes later, he was pulling up behind the librarian's car,
"Hullo? Rupert?" Wesley called, finding his mentor on the front terrace, sipping a mid-day cup of tea.
Giles looked up, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the younger Englishman's new look. "Err…Wesley, what can I do for you?"
"I've come to say goodbye."
"Oh, you're leaving us, then?" Giles asked, and Wesley could detect the faintest hint of a surpressed smile. "The Council's called you home?"
"No, in fact, I'm not with them anymore. And so I'm off to use my talents elsewhere."
"What, you're going to become a professional know-it-all?" the older man mocked.
Wesley glared at him. "No," he countered huffily. "I'm going to track down rogue demons. A bounty hunter for the underworld, per se." He ignored the other man's laugh as he continued. "And I was going to ask you to join me, as I don't believe you really have a library to go back to, but if this is your attitude, then I believe I'm better off alone."
Giles stopped laughing, apparently realizing that Wesley was indeed serious. "Right then. Cheers," he said, raising the teacup in a mock salute. "I wish you the best of luck, and godspeed."
"Thank you," Wesley said, ignoring the fact that Rupert was probably being a bit sarcastic. "You'll tell the others, then?"
"Of course," Rupert assured him. Not that the others, save perhaps Cordelia, would care. They hadn't liked him much in the first place, they most likely wouldn't care if he stayed or went. Well, that wasn't exactly true. They would probably prefer it if he went.
But now he was dwelling in negativity, and he had promised himself he wouldn't do that. So, with a final cheery wave towards Mr. Giles, he turned and headed back down to his motorcycle and sped away.
Two hours later, he was on the road. To where, he had no idea. It didn't matter. He was a demon hunter now, and a hunter could find prey wherever he roamed.