102 - A Message Made From Bones

28

"...There she is!... Oh god, is she...?" Quiet, urgent words spoken by a man with a familiar American accent.

"...No, she has a pulse. It's weak..." Mo? "Just—get her up... Get her up now—please! And careful!"

"The Doctor..." My voice—spoken from lips that feel far away. "... Jay..."

Moira shushes me as arms wrap around my back and behind my knees. I let myself relax into whoever's arms I'm in, smelling earth and hazelnuts, and I drift back to sleep thinking of puppy paws.

† † †

A cold hand against my forehead jolts me awake, and pure reflex has me snatching the thin wrist out of the air, my vise-like grip making the person yip. I recognize the voice and the bone structure in my grasp, then glimpse the pale skin and red hair upon opening my eyes... and let Moira go.

"Took you long enough," I joke wearily by way of greeting, slowly pushing to my elbows. My wrists and ankles have been freed from their shackles, and there's no sign of stress—no rawness, no bruising.

"Don't try standing up right away, or you'll faint again." She speaks with utter plainness, careful to hide the panic I remember hearing earlier.

"We have to go back for Jay," I insist, grunting as the hotel lobby wobbles. My elbow gives out from under me, and I slam back onto the hard mattress.

"Oz left to send Faith after him," Moira says, handing me a bottle of water; I choke down my first sip, coughing.

She tuts her tongue, shooting me a flat look. "I let you out with one boy, and you immediately get yourself into trouble."

Her joke is a distant whisper as I rasp, "I left him alone."

Moira cocks her head, grey eyes shining with sympathy. "You had no choice. Eat." A granola bar lands on my chest.

"I could've tried—"

"Listen to me," Moira interrupts, moving from Faith's mattress to mine so she can look me directly in the face. "Your hands were literally tied. And I'm glad you got out when you did; you know the first rule of vampire slaying."

"Don't die?" I reply sarcastically, though Buffy's words are permanently ingrained in my mind:

If your gut is telling you to run, then run... Understand the vampire's instinct and use yours against it.

"Well, that's certainly part of it," Moira grumbles. "You've cheated death twice now."

I offer a satisfied smirk, but it fades fast, my body too tired to work the muscles in my face and chew at the same time. "What if he's not there when Faith—"

"We'd know—if you didn't lose my phone." She raises her brows at me, "but I guess now we're just going to have to wait and see."

"Surely, I had that planned from the beginning," I deadpan, dragging a hand down my face as though I could wipe away the exhaustion.

"I just hope we can get it back from the Doctor—or the Organization owes us two new phones." She almost sounds a little too happy about it.

I chuckle, wincing at the pain that has returned to my ribs, but push myself upright regardless—or try to; Moira places a hand on my chest, pressing me down, and I don't have the energy to fight.

"Another few minutes," she says. "The hematonic still needs time."

I scoff. "We don't have—"

She pushes her hand harder into my chest, the mattress a solid wall at my back.