Faith closed her eyes for a moment, grasping at Angel's arm, to ensure she didn't fall over.
"Faith, are you ok?" Angel asked, grabbing for her elbow.
"Ye - "
Faith wavered, and then fell to the ground, her face an alarming shade of grey, her eyes sunken and black, resting atop colourless cheeks.
Angel scooped her up and headed for the labs.
"Fred!" he yelled.
"Lay her here," Fred said, pointing to a guerny.
"Did she come to see you the other day?" Angel asked, hovering worriedly, as Fred hooked Faith up to an array of machines, drips and needles.
"No. How long has she been sick?" Fred answered, checking the Slayer's pulse.
"She started looking sick... I don't know, for a few days now."
~*~*~*~
Angel rubbed the bridge of his nose and picked up the phone, dialling in the mansion's number.
"Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngster's," Bree said, pleasantly into the phone.
"Hi, this is Angel from Wolfram and Hart. Could you put me through to Dr Henry McCoy, please?" Angel rattled off, rather impatiently.
"Sure thing," Bree said, then connected the call down to Hank's line in the medlabs.