Getting away ((Solo RP for TM-verse))
Jul. 19th, 2007 03:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
prodigalwatcherCertain things in life are greatly counter-intuitive.
One of those things, Wesley determined, was the best way to escape from a hospital.
His first thought was to wait until two or three in the morning before making his move. The entire wing would be quiet and understaffed. He'd be able to leave his room and quietly steal out of the building with no one being the wiser. Then, he watched as personnel rushed past his door early one morning when another patient down the hallway fell from his bed. Quiet meant no distractions for the staff.
And so, he did the opposite and moved in the middle of the day, at the height of the hospital's activity. Wesley would be capable of everything necessary, he was sure. His physical therapist had not been overly impressed with his progress thus far, mostly because Wesley had been holding back, all the better to lull his captors into a false sense of security.
It had been simple to usher the off-duty orderly into his room. Slipping his forearm around the man's throat and depriving him of enough oxygen to make the man pass out was somewhat less so, but accomplished quickly and most importantly, quietly. Exchanging his gown for the man's coveralls, Wesley kept his eyes low and his gait casual as he calmly walked out of the hospital's front doors. For a few minutes as Cedar-Sinai shrank in the distance behind him, Wesley fretted over the ease with which he'd eluded Wolfram & Hart's watchdogs, but the pressing problems of necessities took precedence.
When he'd joined the others at Wolfram & Hart, Wesley-- ever the pragmatist-- had maintained certain ties to his former independent operations. Some he used in his role at the firm, while others remained secret, as contingencies. Among those resources he retained was a small self-storage locker near the industrial parks. With a wince at the tightness in his middle from the scar evidencing Cyvus Vail's near-evisceration of him, Wesley shrugged into a set of his own clothes, including a battered-until-soft leather coat.
Of course, he had left himself weapons, as well, along with a small lockbox of cash.
There were any number of directions in which Wesley thought to turn. Angel and Cordelia were alive and well and in the area, and Cordy had even extended an offer of shelter until Wesley could find himself a new proper apartment. He'd even made some inroads with Buffy and her faction. And then there was Gwen, who was a much less likely source of aid.
But he couldn't possibly think of anywhere else to go but one place, and he needed to go there immediately. LAX, he knew, would be too dangerous, but Burbank Airport would do nicely.
**********
He'd flown back into LAX, not caring a whit if Wolfram & Hart knew where he was. Wesley was so confused and in such a state of shock, he would have been numb to the plane crashing. In fact, there was a part of him that would have preferred that fate. But with the jet having landed safely, Wesley instead found himself sitting at an airport bar at midnight, staring into the depths of a very large and frequently emptied glass of scotch.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was a man who prided himself on the strength of his intellect the way preening bodybuilders thought of their physiques. But in that moment, he was a man who felt he could not understand anything. Driven and determined, he'd made the trek, but prudence had-- very luckily, it turned out-- stayed his hand. Instead of announcing his arrival, he instead observed and learned. What he learned had sent him staggering away from the city in shock.
Throughout the flight back to Los Angeles, he'd brought the full power of his mind to bear on the truths he did not want to face. And as he had years ago, more years than he now cared to think about, he sought the numbing solace of alcohol and solitude.
Rage and jealousy... denial and confusion... bitterness and resentment... with every ounce, he leapt from one to another, processing it all.
At last, he found himself staring at unassailable facts which could not be denied. He had seen for himself, heard for himself. Happiness. Contentment. Peace. Fulfillment. He had seen and heard, and somehow, he would have to accept. Perhaps he would never really understand. In fact, he was sure he would never really understand. And more than likely, there would always be a part of him that would never forgive. But he had to accept.
Wesley didn't realize when the bartender had placed the mug of coffee in front of him instead of the scotch, but he was grateful for it. It was an hour later when he was sober enough to leave.
He knew where to go, as well. Right now, he needed to remember that he still had friends... that there were still hearts that loved him and cared for him, lest he fall back into the darkness that had claimed him before. At least, not too far.
OOC: This is my personal effort to get TM-Wesley into the place that I'd like him to be, and deal with a few things that I couldn't in good conscience just ignore or undo without making the effort. It's accelerated as far as emotions go, but there will be repercussions. In any case, he's a little freer to go his own way now, and that was really my aim with it in the first place.
One of those things, Wesley determined, was the best way to escape from a hospital.
His first thought was to wait until two or three in the morning before making his move. The entire wing would be quiet and understaffed. He'd be able to leave his room and quietly steal out of the building with no one being the wiser. Then, he watched as personnel rushed past his door early one morning when another patient down the hallway fell from his bed. Quiet meant no distractions for the staff.
And so, he did the opposite and moved in the middle of the day, at the height of the hospital's activity. Wesley would be capable of everything necessary, he was sure. His physical therapist had not been overly impressed with his progress thus far, mostly because Wesley had been holding back, all the better to lull his captors into a false sense of security.
It had been simple to usher the off-duty orderly into his room. Slipping his forearm around the man's throat and depriving him of enough oxygen to make the man pass out was somewhat less so, but accomplished quickly and most importantly, quietly. Exchanging his gown for the man's coveralls, Wesley kept his eyes low and his gait casual as he calmly walked out of the hospital's front doors. For a few minutes as Cedar-Sinai shrank in the distance behind him, Wesley fretted over the ease with which he'd eluded Wolfram & Hart's watchdogs, but the pressing problems of necessities took precedence.
When he'd joined the others at Wolfram & Hart, Wesley-- ever the pragmatist-- had maintained certain ties to his former independent operations. Some he used in his role at the firm, while others remained secret, as contingencies. Among those resources he retained was a small self-storage locker near the industrial parks. With a wince at the tightness in his middle from the scar evidencing Cyvus Vail's near-evisceration of him, Wesley shrugged into a set of his own clothes, including a battered-until-soft leather coat.
Of course, he had left himself weapons, as well, along with a small lockbox of cash.
There were any number of directions in which Wesley thought to turn. Angel and Cordelia were alive and well and in the area, and Cordy had even extended an offer of shelter until Wesley could find himself a new proper apartment. He'd even made some inroads with Buffy and her faction. And then there was Gwen, who was a much less likely source of aid.
But he couldn't possibly think of anywhere else to go but one place, and he needed to go there immediately. LAX, he knew, would be too dangerous, but Burbank Airport would do nicely.
**********
He'd flown back into LAX, not caring a whit if Wolfram & Hart knew where he was. Wesley was so confused and in such a state of shock, he would have been numb to the plane crashing. In fact, there was a part of him that would have preferred that fate. But with the jet having landed safely, Wesley instead found himself sitting at an airport bar at midnight, staring into the depths of a very large and frequently emptied glass of scotch.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce was a man who prided himself on the strength of his intellect the way preening bodybuilders thought of their physiques. But in that moment, he was a man who felt he could not understand anything. Driven and determined, he'd made the trek, but prudence had-- very luckily, it turned out-- stayed his hand. Instead of announcing his arrival, he instead observed and learned. What he learned had sent him staggering away from the city in shock.
Throughout the flight back to Los Angeles, he'd brought the full power of his mind to bear on the truths he did not want to face. And as he had years ago, more years than he now cared to think about, he sought the numbing solace of alcohol and solitude.
Rage and jealousy... denial and confusion... bitterness and resentment... with every ounce, he leapt from one to another, processing it all.
At last, he found himself staring at unassailable facts which could not be denied. He had seen for himself, heard for himself. Happiness. Contentment. Peace. Fulfillment. He had seen and heard, and somehow, he would have to accept. Perhaps he would never really understand. In fact, he was sure he would never really understand. And more than likely, there would always be a part of him that would never forgive. But he had to accept.
Wesley didn't realize when the bartender had placed the mug of coffee in front of him instead of the scotch, but he was grateful for it. It was an hour later when he was sober enough to leave.
He knew where to go, as well. Right now, he needed to remember that he still had friends... that there were still hearts that loved him and cared for him, lest he fall back into the darkness that had claimed him before. At least, not too far.
OOC: This is my personal effort to get TM-Wesley into the place that I'd like him to be, and deal with a few things that I couldn't in good conscience just ignore or undo without making the effort. It's accelerated as far as emotions go, but there will be repercussions. In any case, he's a little freer to go his own way now, and that was really my aim with it in the first place.
