Title: Reap The Whirlwind
Author: Loki
Posted: 07-07-2002
Rating: PG-13 (language, innuendo)
Email: lokibard@yahoo.com.au
Content: C/A, undertones for everybody else, including some C/Faith. (Don’t stress, people! I’m too shy and 'shippy for anything overtone-y!)
Summary: Faith’s out and - despite her best intentions - making trouble.
Spoilers: Up To Birthday
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Want, take, have – but please let me know where it’s going.
Notes: I love Faith. I think she’s one of the strongest and most interesting characters ever to appear on either show. And I’m very partial to the old “Faith gets out and joins AI” fic. But I have never quite agreed with idea that it would be easy for anyone involved. Oh yeah, this will probably turn out quite long … and the C/A stuff will be a slow build-up. Hope nobody minds wading through dinner before dessert!
Feedback:
Part 1
Gunn dropped into a chair and put his feet up on Wesley’s desk. Ordinarily, such an infraction would have earned him a reproachful remark, or at the very least a pointed glare, especially when his boss was seated behind it. Subsequently, Gunn waited for his reprimand and was surprised when none came.
Wesley was hunched in his chair, slightly dishevelled. There were open papers and folders in neat piles on every surface, and Wes looked harried. Glancing down, Gunn noted the client name on the top pile. Timms.
Timms was last month, a fairly routine Kill-and-Clear from a well-to-do physician’s surgery in the Hills. Siorath demon, if Gunn remembered correctly. Big nasty. Liked the medications. Gunn looked up at his boss.
“You still clearin’ last month’s cases?” he asked.
“Checking…” Wesley answered distractedly, and flipped open another folder.
“For…?”
“Things.” A vague mumble.
“Of the particular or non-particular type?”
There was no answer. Gunn folded his arms behind his head. This whole thing was a classic Troubled Wes Keeps Himself Busy.
“Somethin’ you wanna talk about, Wes?”
Wesley spared him a curt glance, then returned to his text. “Not particularly.”
“Somethin’ botherin’ you?” Gunn persisted.
Wesley shot him a loaded look. “Someone, actually.”
Gunn raised an eyebrow. This kind of cursory dialogue had been occurring between Wes and every person in the office since yesterday. Gunn lowered his arms and decided to bite the bullet.
“Look, Wes, I don’t see why you and Cordy both got your panties in a bunch. I mean, the girl’s done her time, right? They’re releasing her. She’s gotta be all rehab-y.”
Wesley momentarily stiffened at the subject change, then resumed his reading. “Probationary parole, actually,” he muttered. “Different thing altogether.”
“Whatever. They’re lettin’ her out. Still don’t see why-”
“There have been enough conversations on the subject of her in the last two years. You must have picked up something.”
Gunn snorted. “I don’t remember every damn thing y’all say.”
Wesley lowered the heavy Sumerian curse tome long enough to fix Gunn with an uncharacteristically angry glare. “Then if you’d read the file, you’d know exactly what – as you so charmingly put it – is bunching our panties.” He paused, then closed the book, face accusing. “Did you read the file?”
Gunn avoided his boss’s gaze. “You’re always leavin’ files out. How am I s’posed to know which ones need readin’?”
A light female voice proclaimed, “Maybe the one with the note, Charles? ‘Faith File, Please Read’?”
A thick manila folder fell onto Gunn’s lap with a thud, followed by a friendly slap to the back of his head. Fred.
Both men straightened unconsciously, but it was Gunn who flashed the slender girl a wink.
“Now, Fred, don’t touch what you can’t afford.”
“Right,” drawled the girl. “How much does bald go for these days?”
“Hey, I’m keepin’ it real!” Gunn slid a hand over his shiny scalp. “This rig? Break your bank any day.”
“You an’ fifty cents’d maybe get me a cup of coffee at a roadside diner. In Utah.”
Wesley closed his book with a sharp bang, sending a thin cloud of dust into the hazy air of the office.
“I agree, Fred,” he said icily, “but such observations, however apt, don’t change the fact Gunn hasn’t read the file.” He indicated the folder and gazed at his colleague pointedly. “So, if you please…”
Fred, stung by Wesley’s prickly tone, subsided and studied her feet, blushing. She had been coming out of her shell considerably these days, but it didn’t take much to push her back into it. Wesley’s uncharacteristic duck-shoot had done just that.
Gunn raised an eyebrow in surprise and finally removed his feet from the desk. “S’alright, Wes, no need for the growly.”
“Say that when you know what you’re getting into.” Wesley turned abruptly away and began rummaging through one of his desk drawers.
Gunn blinked, taken aback. “Sorry, man. I’ll get on it now, okay?”
“I’d appreciate that, thank you.” Wesley leant back in his chair, rubbing his forehead.
From where Fred sat, she could see the dark circles under his eyes. Waiting until Gunn left the room with a puzzled frown on his face and the file tucked underneath his arm, she shifted forward and gently patted Wesley’s knee.
“Wesley,” she ventured nervously, “is there anythin’ I can do for you? I know I maybe don’t inspire the heart-to-hearts like Cordelia does, but if I can help…”
Wesley lowered his chair and focused on her for a moment, his tightly wound features softening a fraction at the concern he saw on her face.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you, Fred,” he said, giving her a ghost of a smile, which disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Faith … she … well, she and I…” He trailed off, staring at his desk, and unconsciously traced his fingers across his cheekbone.
“I did read the file,” Fred said quietly. “I know what she did to you. To all of you.”
Wesley swallowed.
Fred leant forward and was about to say something else when Angel appeared in front of them, closely followed by a protesting Gunn. The vampire looked angry, the manila folder dangling from one outstretched hand.
“Wes, what the hell is this?” Angel demanded hotly.
Wesley blinked. “I think that’s obvious.”
Angel moved closer, his tall frame seeming to loom a little more threateningly than usual. The folder abruptly skimmed the desk top to land in front of Wesley, who flinched slightly.
“I know what it is – I wanna know why it’s out here on public display!”
“Fred and Gunn,” explained Wesley. “I asked them to read it.”
“Why? So they could make up their minds about Faith before they even met her?”
“I think it makes sense to be pre-”
“They don’t know her!” stormed Angel. “They should have had the chance to decide for themselves about the kind of person she is now. Clean slate. Start from scratch.”
Fred awkwardly tried to melt into the nearest shadows, which, unfortunately for her, were too far away to help her cause.
“It’s pure common sense,” said Wesley tightly, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I’d never ask any of you to go into battle against a demon without the benefit of research behind you, and in this case-”
Angel cut him off with a sharp gesture of his hand. “She’s not a demon,” he growled. “In case you’ve forgotten, a long time ago she used to be our ally – and after that, someone we all wanted to help.”
“And after that?” Wesley shot at him, eyes flashing.
“She deserves better, Wes. She’s got the deck stacked high enough against her without you fanning the flames before she’s even out!”
Wesley got to his feet, and Fred could see his hands shaking. “What about what we deserve, Angel?”
A calm voice came from the doorway. “How about a rant with no crappy mixed metaphors in it, for a start.”
Neither had noticed Cordelia enter the office.
Angel turned to her. “Cordy-”
Cordelia put her hands on her hips. “Angel.”
“Cordy-”
“Angel.”
At her warning tone, Angel subsided. “You have something to say?” Inevitably, he added to himself, fondly.
“Angel, you need to listen to Wes,” Cordelia said carefully. “Ever since you got that phone call, you’ve been all Mr Save-The-Slayer-From-Herself all over again. Well, maybe you think you need that responsibility, but we sure as hell don’t.” She pre-empted Angel’s interruption with a raised hand. “Nuh-uh. I’m not done yet.”
Moving closer to Angel, she gently touched his elbow, her fingers trailing down to his own, where they intertwined - a gesture not unnoticed by Fred.
“Look,” she continued, “we all have a stake in what happens here ... no pun intended. And when it comes to Slayers, you kinda have a blind spot.” She broke off and muttered to Fred, “Apparently no matter what colour their hair is.”
“Cordy,” Angel protested, “I don’t think-”
“All I’m saying is,” Cordelia persisted, not letting go of his hand, “to expect Wes to be all Ben and Jerry’s vanilla mocha about this? Way not fair. Not right away. She gave him the pay-as-you-go tour of torture, remember?”
Wesley drew in a sharp breath, and Angel briefly closed his eyes.
“I said I’d try, and I will,” Cordelia said. “And I’m sure,” she added, shooting a loaded look at her boss, “that Wes will, too.”
Wesley nodded in agreement. “Of course.”
“But it’s not gonna be perfect straight off,” Cordelia said pointedly. “Okay?”
“Cordy,” said Angel, “I hear what you’re saying. I do. It’s just … I think Faith deserves a better shot. Y’know?”
Cordelia shook her head. “I don’t, actually.”
Angel looked at her, surprised.
“What, you expected me to just roll over and welcome her?” said Cordelia incredulously. “Suddenly I’m all altruistic now because I chose yo– the visions over being famous? I don’t think so – what am I, a saint? When was I canonised?”
Gunn and Fred both smiled at this, but Cordelia was on a roll and didn’t notice.
“Angel, apart from her little Sunnydale murder rampage, she went all Evil Xena and tried to kill you and Wes. Not to mention the shiner I wore for like, a year. Believe it or not, those things are a teensy bit of a roadblock to my Happy-Happy Joy-Joy feelings.”
Angel dropped his eyes. “But you forgave me, and I’ve … done worse.”
Cordelia flinched slightly, then softened. “Yeah well, that wasn’t you. It was the big nasty inside you. Faith … she had a choice and she blew it, okay? Wes is just trying to do what he thinks is best. And you can’t come in here crashing down all Noble Intentions Guy just because you think you know better. Does that make sense?”
She let go of his hand and stepped back, waiting. Angel was silent for a moment, and during it, glanced around him at the four similarly quiet people in the room. Wes was cleaning his glasses a little too industriously, Cordelia tapping her foot, Fred studying the floor and Gunn studying Fred.
“You all feel this way?” Angel asked finally, heavily.
Gunn raised his hand. “Leave me out of it, man. I don’t even know the girl.”
“Me neither,” Fred offered. “I read the file an’ all … she sounds like she was pretty mixed up … but I’m not really in a position to judge people on their mental state, am I? I mean, hello, I have trouble with doors. An’ lately also, uh, things that are shiny.”
Gunn unsuccessfully attempted to hide a snort of laughter. Cordelia shot him an exasperated glare.
“Wes?” asked Angel.
Wesley cleared his throat. “Angel, I don’t deny that what you’re trying to do is unselfish and good. I merely ask that you keep in mind the rest of us … well, I … may not be as capable of unconditional forgiveness as you seem to be.”
He came out from behind the desk, closer to the crestfallen Angel.
“It’s just a jumping-off place, Angel. For your consideration. I’ll try my best, and I am prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. But I also want Fred and Gunn to know her history in the event we need to be equipped for the worst case scenario.” Wesley paused. “The unlikely event,” he conceded. “It’s the very least I expect of all of you, every day. And just because it’s Faith doesn’t make it any different. All right?”
Angel studied Wesley for a moment, remembering with a flinch the streaks of blood that had criss-crossed his friend’s face, the bruises and welts that had taken more than two weeks to fade completely. And also remembering his own callousness, his single-minded drive to make right for Faith what he hadn’t been able to for himself. Ignoring the concerns and physical injuries of both Cordelia and Wesley, he had done what he wanted, as usual. And Wes had never called him on it. Until now.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, at last. “I see where you’re coming from. I’m sorry.”
Wesley looked at him with undisguised surprise. “Thank you, Angel.”
Cordelia stepped between them. “So everybody sees everybody else’s point of view and all things are of the hunky-dory, right? Do you two need to hug now?”
“Nah, they’re too manly,” said Gunn with a grin.
The vampire and his boss looked at each other warily.
“Don’t you have something musty to be reading?” asked Angel finally.
Wesley cracked his first genuine smile of the day. “Don’t you have a homicidal maniac to get out of jail?” he countered.
Part 2
Not for the first time, Faith wished that she had her leather jacket with her. Not just because of the cold evening air that was chilling the flesh of her bare arms, Slayer-powers or no, but because she felt more herself when she was wearing it. Prepared. Covered. Like armour.
She shivered on the steel bench of the caged-in outdoor ‘departure area’ and glanced over to the guard booth where Fat Leo sat stuffing his face, avidly watching a football game on his tiny black and white television. Asshole, she thought. He coulda let me wait in there with him, but… But that would have required her asking. She had learned many things in prison, but asking for help was not among them.
Seeing her watching him, Leo leant over and cracked the door open a fraction.
“Cold enough for ya, sweetcheeks?” he bellowed, eyeing her up and down. “Or are you just excited?”
“Stow it, Sumo,” Faith replied acidly. “Go watch your homo-erotic grunting match.”
Leo chuckled. “This ride of yours is a little late, yeah? Maybe they figured you’re better off where you are.”
“He’ll be here.”
Faith tried not to let her voice betray her, reveal her deep-seated dread that perhaps Angel would not be here, would not make good on the promise he’d given her on the phone. God knows, she didn’t deserve it. But she didn’t have anywhere else to go. And for once, Faith, ever the loner, knew she couldn’t do this by herself.
“He?” Leo’s tone took a decided turn for the sleazy. “Thought you played for the home girls.”
“I play for whatever team you’re not on, Stay-Puft.”
The guard turned an unattractive purple colour. “Freeze, then. Bitch.” The booth door slammed shut and he turned back to his television.
Faith reflected for a moment. Bitch. Been called that so many times I should change my name legally, or somethin’.
Fat Bastard was right about one thing, though. Angel was a little late. Maybe he’d changed his mind? And here we go with the fear again. Fear was good, though, she told herself half-heartedly. Fear was better than empty, and certainly better than angry. And fear was … old. Comforting.
She had been assigned a counsellor in lock-up – Rochelle – a vocal, tenacious and fiercely committed African-American woman in her late twenties. At first, Faith hadn’t wanted anything to do with her. How could somebody only a few years older than herself have anything to offer in the way of wisdom? But when Rochelle had told her plainly and firmly that Faith was her own ticket out of jail, the Slayer had wised up and started paying attention. To her surprise, some of the psycho-babble had actually been worth listening to.
There was this one thing Rochelle had told her. They had been discussing anger. More specifically, Faith’s tendency toward both harbouring it and acting upon it. Rochelle had said that every emotion in the world was a mask for another, and there were only two things under those masks, motivating all your actions, your thoughts and decisions. Love. Fear.
If it was true, it explained a lot. And she would be lying if she didn’t admit that the prospect of Angel not turning up filled her with cold, right-to-the-bone fear.
Hell, I’m scared he won’t come, and shit-scared he will. Afraid of what’s next. Afraid of Wes, of Queen C. Afraid of what they must think of me. Face it, Faith. You’re wicked frightened no matter what happens now.
But, she heard Rochelle’s voice say in her head, that’s a better start than nothing, right?
***********
Cordelia watched Angel without really wanting to, as he shrugged out of yet another shirt and tossed it onto the bed beside her. The handsome vampire had been at it for a good ten minutes now, and she was almost dizzy with the whirl of dark – and darker – shirts he had been trying on, discarding, and throwing in her direction. She sighed, and began gathering up the rejects, folding them neatly.
He glanced up at her and a grin flashed across his face. “Thanks.”
“Whatever.”
She continued folding, as Angel pulled yet another shirt over his head.
He was going with the black collarless, she noted. She liked the black collarless. On him, it drew attention to the aesthetically pleasing shape of his shoulders. Well, she admitted silently, I notice his shoulders in whatever he’s wearing. Which meant nothing at all. She was a connoisseur of beauty. She enjoyed things that looked better than … other, less attractive things. Nothing wrong with that. But just what was the big production number, anyway?
“Um, Angel?”
He didn’t even glance in her direction. “Mm?”
To ask or not to ask. She eyed him appraisingly as he rifled through the depths of his closet, and decided against it.
“Uh … so, what time are you picking her up? And when do I get Connor back?”
“Eight-thirty. Lorne should be back way before we are.” He bounded across to her then – the unusual alacrity of his movements not lost on her – and held out an ankle-length leather duster she had never seen before. “You think?”
Cordelia eyed him critically, head on one side. “Nah.”
“Too Spike?”
“Too Mister Furious.” At his questioning look, she elaborated: “Pop culture reference. Permission to ignore granted.”
Angel glanced down at himself again. “It’s too Spike.”
Cordelia sighed. Had she just spoken? You’d never know. “She always did go el-horno for the bad boy look.”
“You’re right,” Angel said, after a pause. “The dark maroon?”
“No! The suede thing?”
“Yeah. Why? Too campy?”
Cordelia snorted. “Gold star for the vampire.” She put on a high voice and waved her arms around. “Stake me, for I am suddenly devoid of both fashion sense and embarrassment!”
Angel laughed – not the slight downward tilt of his head with a wry smile laugh – a real, full-bodied chuckle. He moved a little closer to her and dropped a cool hand onto her shoulder.
“Cordy … please try, okay?”
Cordelia wavered. It was only for a few days. Few days, maybe a week. That was nothing. She’d eventually be gone and he’d be … everything would be back to normal.
She looked up at Angel. He was wearing the Face. The one that made her do things that ordinarily would have her Pfft-ing and heading for the latest issue of Marie-Claire. So she did the only thing she could - grumble.
“I said I would, didn’t I?” To herself she huffed that he wouldn’t say anything when she did, anyway. No gratitude, that man.
He didn’t move away; instead, briefly touched her hair. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I hope you know how much I appreciate it.”
Cordelia swallowed. Oops. So she’d been training him better, or something. Angel dropped his hand, kicking himself for his momentary lapse. Cordelia shook off the odd, warm feeling his brief touch had given her.
“Well,” she said breezily, “heartfelt gratitude isn’t enough for me on this one. This is waaay huge. Maybe something involving cookie dough. Ooh, or Jude Law!”
That patented Angel grin surfaced again, the one coming more and more easily to his lips these days. It felt good to see. Cordelia felt an answering smile slip out despite herself.
“She’ll be different,” Angel said eventually, stepping away and adjusting his shirt for the fourteenth time.
Cordelia frowned. “She better be. Or I’ll kick her Slayer ass with my demony powers … when I figure out if I have any.” She slid her hand surreptitiously through her hair. Nope, still no horns. Thank you, Powers.
“She will be,” Angel insisted, pulling on his regular leather jacket. “I’ve been there, you know?”
“Where? Shower block B?”
Angel paused, unfocused for a minute. “Purgatory,” he said finally. “That middle place. When you’re not anywhere, or anything and all you can do is remember what you did and how you got there.” He was silent for a second, then seemed to let it go. “It’ll have changed her.”
“Well, not in a prison-movie way, I hope,” Cordelia said lightly. “That’d make me and Fred her bitches.”
Angel laughed again.
“What’s with all the genuine mirth?” asked Cordelia. “You actually look happy. Look at you, you’re bursting with fruit flavour.”
Angel patted her shoulder again, still grinning. “Cordy, you’re gonna be good for Faith.”
Cordelia sighed.
***********
“I can’t just letcha out, Faith.” Leo leant back in his chair, eyes fixed on his television screen.
Outside, Faith impatiently shifted from one foot to the other. “Sure you can.” She waved a paper at him. “Release form right here.”
He didn’t even look at her. “Nuh-uh.”
Faith gritted her teeth and forced a smile. “Dude, listen. It’s real easy. I go to the gate. You unlock the gate. I walk through it. You watch the back of my head gettin’ smaller and smaller.”
Leo shook his head. “You’re a minor. Minors gotta have someone meet ‘em.”
Faith bit her lip and pushed away the urge to just smash the door in and smack Leo down. She could do that. Hell, she could probably knock over the fence or tear the wire apart with her bare hands. But…
“Minor, whatever. That’s just a technicality, Leo.” With difficulty, she sweetened her voice. “My birthday’s next week, all right?”
“Listen up girlie, maybe it’ll sink in.” Leo’s meaty finger jabbed in the direction of the low steel bench. “Just sit your fine ass down until your friend gets here.” He mimicked her tone. “All right?”
Faith turned away, her fists clenched. GOD, she wanted to rip off his extra chins and make him eat them. She could feel her breath coming a little shorter, and that was always the first sign of trouble. So she did what she had learnt to do in jail to blow off steam: paced.
Angel wasn’t there. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t come. It was forty minutes past the time they’d agreed on, and he wasn’t there.
If he doesn’t come, I gotta go back in there and try to call Rochelle, get her to take me somewhere like the frickin’ Y.
Her steps were short, given the space of the area she was in. Though she didn’t realise it, she was echoing the pacing she had done in her cell. Five steps long, three steps wide, five steps long, three steps wide…
Gotta get outta here. Ten more minutes with this freak I’m gonna take him down, parole or not.
She dimly registered panic. At least, she thought it was panic. It could have been nausea. Dropping to the bench, she buried her face in her hands.
On the phone he said eight. I think. He said he’d be here.
“Faith?”
And if I gotta get Rochelle to get me outta here, what do I do next? Do I go to their hotel and see ‘em?
“Faith?”
Can’t handle this. I can’t handle this. Like a frickin’ animal. These bars, I can’t stand ‘em for another sec-
“Faith.”
Her head shot up.
Angel was standing on the other side of the gate. Black from head to toe. He came. He looked good. More than good, actually, he looked amazing. Like one of those seraphs from that crappy movie with Meg Ryan. Which wasn’t entirely inappropriate, she supposed.
Faith got slowly to her feet, mute, and crossed the space between them. Near the gate, she bent to pick up her duffle bag and slung it over her shoulder. She came to stand in front of the wire, a mere three feet from Angel. Neither spoke, regarding each other gravely. Faith’s chest was so suddenly tight that it scared her. He’d come.
Leo lumbered from the guard booth, a clipboard in his hand. “Mr…?”
“Just Angel,” responded the vampire, never taking his eyes off Faith.
“Are you family?”
A slight smile crossed Angel’s face. “Yeah.”
Faith choked on a sob. Leo pushed the clipboard through a small rectangular slot in the fence.
“Sign here, please.”
Angel scooped it up and signed it quickly.
Leo cleared his throat. “There’s just a few things-”
“Open the gate,” Angel interrupted, shoving the papers back to Leo.
“Some formalities-”
“Open the gate.”
Leo swallowed. “Mr Angel, if-”
Angel shifted his eyes to the guard. Slow. Dangerous. “Open. The. Gate.”
Suddenly Leo had better things to do. In his booth. Which was waaay over there.
A key clicked in the lock, and he scurried away.
Faith suppressed a helpless smile of joy and disbelief as Angel reached out and pushed the gate open. The vampire and the Slayer simply stood there, watching each other. Finally, Angel stepped aside and Faith walked out to join him, a million emotions threatening to consume her at once. She had so much to say to him. She just wanted to throw her arms around him and cry like a little girl. Tell him thank you. Tell him she was scared. Tell him she was different now. Tell him he looked happy. Just fall on her knees and thank whoever was looking out for her…
She took a deep breath. “Hey.”
Angel smiled. “Hey.”
Part 3
“It was right over … here, I think,” said Faith, heading for a distant row of lockers. She dug a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and squinted at the scrawl of writing on it. “Yeah. One-nine-four.”
Angel kept up, hands stuffed in his pockets, the harsh fluorescent lights of L.A.X showcasing a pallor usually reserved for the deathly ill ... or a vampire. He quickened his pace as they passed a long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows.
“What?” asked Faith, glancing outside, before catching clear sight of herself walking along with … herself. “Oh. Right. Y’know,” she said, giving the vampire a grin, “that really is kinda cool.”
Angel cast an edgy glance at the bunch of teenagers flanking them. “In the way that leads to the panic and shrieking thing, sure.”
“Them?” scoffed Faith. She jerked a thumb at a blonde scooting along at the side of a lanky youth. “They’re so wired they’d forget it before they got their mouths open.”
Angel shot a fleeting look at the blonde girl. Her brittle, vacant grin and glassy eyes were testament enough to her habit, if the tracks on her arms weren’t.
Faith shrugged. “Saw a lot of that kinda shit in the last two years. You get to know which ones of them are gonna start even before they do.”
“How’s that?”
The Slayer stopped in front of a locker and compared the number on it with her paper. “I know a downward spiral waitin’ to happen when I see one,” she said gruffly, not looking at him.
Angel wisely chose not to comment. Faith spun the combination lock, referring occasionally to the paper in her hand. When the battered door finally swung open, her face fell. “Shit!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Someone cleaned me out.” Faith slammed the door shut with a growl. “S’pose I shoulda expected it. Right now there’s some homeless dude swankin’ it up round the fire barrel in my leather pants.”
Angel winced at the image. “I’m sure we can find something for you at the hotel. Cordy and Fred…”
“Queen C’s clothes?” scoffed Faith. “I’m not lookin’ to play nice with frat boys, A. Who’s Fred? Her boyfriend?”
“Fred’s a girl.”
It was Faith’s turn to react. “First Red, now Queen C? I got my suspicions about Sunnydale water, y’know.”
“It’s Cordelia,” Angel said firmly. “Or Cordy. Not Queen C. All right?”
Faith grinned slightly. “Ah … sure.”
“And, and,” Angel continued, “drop the innuendo shtick, okay? Fred and Cordy aren’t, uh, involved. We clear?”
Faith blinked at his unintentional vehemence. “Shiny crystal, A.” She would have bet Angel had no idea how much he was smouldering right now. She eyed him for a second and landed, with her unnerving intuition, right at the doorstep of the truth. Aha. Exposed.
Aloud, she said, “So … are there any office romances I should know about?”
Angel visibly started. “What?” he stammered. “No, no, of course not. No. Why would you ask that?”
Bingo. “No reason. Gotta be hard to meet people in your line of work. Thought there might be a few sparks from the home fires.”
“There’s no sparks!” protested Angel, feeling his cheeks warm unaccountably for a man who had no blood flow. “No fires. No flammable substances of any kind.” You’re yammering, Angel. Shut. Up. “Not even dry sticks. Nope. Wet ones, maybe,” he finished lamely.
Faith smiled, a glint in her eyes. Angel was decidedly uneasy with this conversation, and she immediately doubled his dismay by saying, “I gotcha. Just didn’t wanna step on anyone’s toes, you know how it is. Listen, I’m all crampy, I’m gonna run for a bit.”
Angel blinked. “You’re … huh?”
“Run. I’m cold, and I’m pissed about my stuff. Gotta get the kinks out.”
“In an airport?”
Faith tilted her head. “What, like there’s a law? Might even do a few laps of the runway if I feel like it.”
Angel considered this for a moment, then shrugged.
She winked at him. “See ya at the car.” With that, she turned and jogged off down the endless walkway toward the parking lot.
Angel watched her go. Oh, boy. This is gonna be a loooong month. He hunched his shoulders again, from habit, not from cold, and set out after Faith. She had started him thinking, which just lately had never been a good thing. More importantly, she had struck a nerve.
“Office romance, my undead ass,” he muttered between his teeth, eyes locked on the rapidly disappearing back of Faith’s head as she ducked through a throng of people near one of the duty-free stores. He paused near a display window for a moment, fiddling with his cell phone. There was a really beautiful necklace resting on blue velvet just below his eye-line … and he had to suddenly suppress a bizarrely intense urge to call Cordy.
For no reason.
He wanted to call her for No Particular Reason. Just to hear her voice. And no doubt to be cheerily sniped at. She’d say something affectionately nasty, and he’d respond in kind, and so it would go on until he was grinning like an idiot. Then he would go home, spend the rest of the evening just being … around her, in the way that he had. Until she left, and he would go upstairs to spend his nights thinking of comebacks in advance, practicing confessions on Connor, and trying not to dream.
Angel sighed, and quickened his pace. You, he told himself, are a dead man in more ways than one.
***********
“Guys?” called Angel, as Faith lowered her bag at the top of the steps. “Where is everyone?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Faith said, her voice low. “They probably-”
“No,” said Angel, “they were all here half an hour ago. And Fred lives here.”
“Up here!” called a man’s voice from the staircase.
Faith nervously followed Angel further into the lobby and looked up. The two faces she had expected were conspicuously absent, and two she did not know were gazing down at her from the first landing.
“New players?” she asked Angel.
“This is Charles Gunn,” Angel said, indicating Gunn, who descended with an easy smile and shook Faith’s hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Congrats on gettin’ out.”
“Thanks,” Faith said, warming to him. “Good to be out. Smell that foul LA air again.”
Gunn chuckled. “Welcome to the family.” He turned to draw Fred forward. “This is Fred. She’s our resident competition for Wes in the brains department.”
The girl blushed, and Faith was struck by how out-of-place she looked. There was nothing hard about her, no corners or edges. This girl was all soft and tiny.
“Hi,” Fred ventured. “I’ve met all kinds of demons and monsters, but I’ve never met someone like you before.” Faith raised an eyebrow. Fred caught herself and turned a fiery red. “Oh, god. Sorry.”
“S’alright,” said Faith, grinning. “Pretty sure I never met someone like you before, either.”
Gunn jumped in. “Fred spent five years in a hell dimension. Sometimes she-”
“That’s right!” Fred blurted gratefully. “I did spend five years in a hell dimension.” She turned to Faith. “So I ‘spect we’ll have heaps to talk about.”
Faith frowned, surprised, and grasped Fred’s shyly proffered hand. “You … went to hell? What for?”
“Not the hell,” Fred clarified, pulling on a braid nervously. “Not like all Dante’s Inferno and the ninth circle or anythin’. Just the kind where your head could explode and you gotta eat bark.”
Faith didn’t attempt to hide her confusion, and Gunn grinned at Fred fondly. “It’s a long story,” he told Faith.
“She’s got time now,” said Angel, and Faith smiled at him.
“That I do, A.” She turned to Fred and Gunn. “Tell ya what. Us three should go out sometime for tequila and hell stories. Get to know each other.”
“You got it,” agreed Gunn amiably.
Fred grinned and pushed her glasses back into place. “Okay! I got lotsa questions ‘bout the whole Slayer thing. I wanna know how it all works biologically, like how it changes your physical make up or if it affects your blood or anythin’. I could run some tests…” Seeing Faith’s amused face, she coloured again. “If … if you don’t mind, that is.”
“Don’t mind,” said Faith, letting out a breath. “I got nothin’ to hide anymore.”
“Right. ‘Cause you were so zealous with the shy last time.”
The voice came from behind Faith. She turned. Cordelia was standing in the doorway.
Part 4
Faith felt her heart quicken with apprehension, yet nevertheless forced a smile to her face. “Cordelia, there you are,” she said lightly. “Thought I smelled class.”
Cordelia raised her chin a fraction. “Faith,” she replied, her voice cool as she sauntered toward the group. “Thought I smelled prison-issue rayon.”
“Touché.”
Angel mouthed Try! at Cordelia as she stopped at his side. She merely glared at him. Fred took a surreptitious step backwards, closer to Gunn.
With slight surprise, Faith looked Cordelia up and down. The ex-Sunnydaler did not look at all as she remembered … her hair was tousled, she was wearing running shoes, cargos and *gasp* a sweatshirt. But there was something in her bearing, something new, that Faith instantly recognised. Confidence. Real confidence. Not the kind that came with Donna Karen or Daddy’s Jewellery.
“Nice,” Faith said, meaning it. “You look good, C.”
“Yeah well, you look like crap.”
Faith drew in a breath and glanced across at Angel. The vampire afforded her the tiniest of shrugs. There was little he could do and he knew it. Faith turned back to Cordelia, who was watching her with cool appraisal.
“Thanks. Brought to you courtesy of the California Penal System.”
Angel cleared his throat. “I’m not sure where Wes-”
“So, jail,” Cordelia cut in. “I hear it’s just like the Hilton, only shitty.”
Faith shuffled her feet a little. The words were bantering, but the intention behind them was not. Competition. Faith smelled it in the air, felt it burn beneath her skin. Old habits die hard, and with a playful sneer in her voice, Faith rose to the occasion.
“Well, I did have a doorman. Doorman with a nightstick, but still? Bitchin’.”
Cordelia stiffened slightly. “I should have visited more often. I need to catch up with those 1978 issues of Women’s Home Mechanics.”
“More often than never?”
Cordelia moved closer, gaze unflinching. “I think that’s enough with the snappy patter. Let’s cut right to it.”
Faith’s grin faded. Game over. Cordelia – one, Faith – zero.
“So,” Cordelia said. “Welcome. And all that. No more with the bars and the murder, good for you. And let me just say, since living with a reformed psycho, I do mean that.”
“Thanks,” said Faith, surprised. “I th-”
“I’m fine with you being here,” Cordelia cut in. “I’m fine with Angel’s little parole plan, I’m even fine with having to look at you for the next however long. But if you’re expecting hugs and girly chats, you’re expecting wrong. Okay?”
“I know,” Faith said, her voice husky. “I just-”
“There is no ‘just’.”
The room was silent for a moment. Faith was acutely conscious of Fred and Gunn’s discomfiture, Angel’s uneasiness, and Cordelia’s quiet satisfaction. More, though, she was aware of the fact she had earned this moment of humiliation, earned it and ten thousand like it – and while not receiving the first from the person most justified to be dealing it out, it had to be faced.
“I know there’s nothin’ I can say,” she began, “but I also know it’s probably best to start with an apology.”
Cordelia blinked. “Your forté, I’m sure.”
Faith looked her right in the eyes. “I’m sorry for what I did to you, Cordelia,” she said plainly. “I know I fucked up. Big time. Can’t go back from it, but I’m tryin’ to go forward instead. ”
Gunn nodded approvingly to himself, and even Angel was surprised at the simple effectiveness of the apology. It was lent more weight by the abject sincerity of Faith’s tone.
Caught off-guard, Cordelia had no answer. Not a thing. She unconsciously touched her temple and shot an uneasy glance at Angel.
“All I can do,” Faith continued, “is promise you it’ll never happen again.”
Cordelia raised her chin. “Damn straight.”
Faith extended her hand to the taller girl, and Angel could see the slight tremble in it. He could also smell her fear.
“Friends?” asked Faith.
Cordelia’s face remained cool for a moment, before she cracked and offered a reluctant smile. “Why don’t we start with ‘associates’?” she suggested, taking her hand.
Faith broke into a radiant grin. “Hey, any step up from mortal enemies is a big one in my boo-” She broke off and her eyes widened as Lorne came in through the doorway behind Cordelia, humming. “Holy shit! C, look out!”
Faster than thought, Faith barrelled forward and shoved Cordelia aside. She lunged for Lorne.
“Gyah!” Lorne hollered, skittering sideways. He shielded Connor protectively in his arms.
“Faith, stop! It’s okay!” called Angel, leaping.
But it was Gunn who reached the Slayer first. He quickly looped an arm around her waist, lifting her off her feet. Faith struggled wildly in his grasp, trying not to hurt him. One hand reached for the stake tucked into her waistband.
“I can take him, let the hell go of me!”
“Hey! Hey, Joan Crawford!” screeched Lorne, waving a hand in supplication. “Baby on board here!” He retreated behind the swinging doors.
Angel reached out and plucked Faith’s stake from her hand.
“Faith, relax!” Gunn entreated as she pulled herself fiercely out of his grip. “That’s just Lorne.”
“Who?” Faith asked in confusion, her eyes darting from the demon to Angel.
“Lorne,” Gunn repeated, as Cordelia rolled her eyes. “He lives here.”
Faith shook her head slightly. To the onlooker, it appeared as if she were ridding herself of something. To Faith, the tiny mental switch being flipped was exactly that. Down Girl. She could still feel her back muscles taut to straining point as she turned to Gunn.
“Sorry, G. Instinct.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gunn told her with a casual wave. “Kinda happens a lot.”
Lorne poked his head cautiously around the door.
“It’s all right now!” Fred called out.
“Tell it to Annie Get Your Stake over there!” Lorne eyed Faith dubiously, before sidling forward.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Faith said, giving him a guilty grin.
Lorne narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Hey, cookie dough, before I come any closer you think you could croon me a little, I dunno, Indigo Girls?”
The Slayer suddenly did a double-take, and every single person in the room waited for the inevitable question. Some were anticipating the aftermath more than others. Cordelia actually smirked.
“Whose baby?”
Lorne stepped forward with a flourish. “Introductions all around, oh Angelic Master Of The House.”
Faith looked to Angel expectantly, and Cordelia smirk broadened to a wicked smile.
TBC