Chapter Eleven: Alone
Awareness sifted slowly through Buffy’s brain. Softness beneath her side. Slightly rough material pressed against her cheek. Hair lying across her lips, moving slightly with each breath. Nothing supporting her back, she realized after rolling over . . . and crashing awake to the floor.
She blinked and stood, taking in her surroundings as the night before came back to her.
Angel. His strong arms around her, their tears mingling on each other’s cheeks as they wept for what might have been.
“Buffy.”
She looked up to see him standing in the entrance, a cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag bearing the Dunkin’ Donuts logo in the other.
“Angel,” she replied, “you . . . are a god,” she exclaimed as he handed her the coffee and they sat down together on the couch. “Sorry for, you know, crashing,” she said, gesturing at the couch and the floor. “In both senses of the word.”
“It’s no problem,” he assured her. “You know you’re always welcome here.”
Deciding not to respond to that, she opened the paper bag to reveal a jelly donut with sprinkles. As she bit into it eagerly, she thought this was one of the best mornings she’d had in a long time, minus the crashing. Although she hadn’t been awake in eight months, and even before that her mornings hadn’t been anything special. Her eyes snapped open as a new thought occurred to her.
“My mom, she’s gonna be freaking!”
“It’s alright,” Angel assured her, “I called her before you woke up. I don’t think she was particularly happy, though.”
Buffy just shrugged, not overly worried.
“How . . . how are you?” Angel said as she closed her eyes in bliss.
She cleared her throat and took a sip of the coffee before answering. “I’m okay. Kind of confused. The whole waking-up-eight-months-later thing is pretty wacky.” And you’re not exactly making it easier, she added silently. I don’t know if you’re staying or leaving; I don’t if Faith . . . I don’t know if I . . . “There’s just a whole lot I don’t know.”
“Can I help?”
You can stay, she wanted to say. You can tell me you’ll never leave me. It took her several moments to find her voice, but when she finally spoke, looking down at the paper bag in her lap, she could not speak the words stuck in her throat. “Giles and Willow and Xander filled me in on a lot of the basic stuff. I hear you’ve been patrolling, helping keep the Hellmouth in check.” When she looked up at him, he averted his eyes.
“Yeah,” he told her. “Did they tell you about Adam?”
“Big creepy Frankenstein Monster? Yeah, they mentioned him. I haven’t really . . . I mean, I should probably be getting back into my game, you know, taking him down and all that. I just . . . I haven’t really been thinking about that stuff.”
“It won’t be easy,” Angel told her, “taking him down. But you won’t be alone.”
The words left unsaid hung in the silence between them as they finally met each other’s gaze.
Buffy could hear Giles and Merrick in her head, telling her of her duty. One girl in all the world. She alone will have the strength and skill to hunt the vampires . . .
“Angel,” Buffy whispered, breaking the silence, “I need to know. What happened to Faith?”
Angel looked away from her and shifted on the couch. “Are you sure? It’s a long story, and . . .”
“I’m sure.”
Angel took a deep, unnecessary breath, and then began the tale. “It was just a week or so after graduation. I asked Willow to do a locator spell for Faith. She didn’t want to, but she did it anyway. So the next night I packed a bag and left for L.A.”
~~~
Angel held back a wince as he stepped into the nightclub. Flashing lights and pounding music did not mix well with enhanced senses. He wove through the pulsating crowd, making his way over to the bar. He leaned over the bar and waved for the bartender.
“What can I do you for?” the man asked.
“I’m looking for Raul.”
The man’s eyes widened slightly. “Back room.” He pointed in the direction of the door next to the stage, where a scantily clad blonde was ‘dancing’.
As Angel turned away, he saw the man crossing himself out of the corner of his vision, but paid him no mind. The vampire pushed his way through the sweaty crowd until he’d reached the small patch of elbow room around the door to the back room. Hauling the door open, he slipped inside the room, lit only by a bare lightbulb fixed to the ceiling. That was all the light Angel needed, though, to make out the two figures in front of him.
“Listen, I don’t know what . . . Would you get that thing out of my face?”
Angel let the door snick closed behind him, and the one holding the crossbow redirected it to point a few inches below Angel’s heart. “Wesley,” he said calmly.
“Angel?” Wesley said in surprise. “I mean, hello Angel,” he added in a deeper voice. “I wager you thought you’d never see me again.”
“To tell you the truth I hadn’t given it much thought one way or another. What are you?” the vampire said in surprise, taking in the Brit’s attire.
“El pendejo,” the man in the corner, Raul, muttered.
“Hup-up-up,” Wesley attempted a threatening manner, tightening his grasp on the crossbow while shooting an annoyed and slightly perplexed glance at Raul. “I’m the one asking the questions here. I think it only fair to warn you, any sudden movement and I’d be forced to–”
Angel casually batted the crossbow out of Wesley’s hands, sending it skittering across the floor until it struck a crate with a thunk.
“Right,” Wesley said, “you had a question?”
Angel smirked slightly and walked slowly around Wesley, eyeing him up and down. “Interesting look for you. Leather.” With one hand, he grabbed Raul by the material of his shirt as the short man tried to flee. “The Watchers Council trying out a new image?”
Wesley moved towards one of the many stacks of crates, and leaned against one. “In point of fact, I no longer work for the Council. I came to the conclusion that I was of greater value to the cause working autonomously.”
“They fired you.”
“Hardly,” Wesley protested. “With Faith’s . . . departure and Buffy’s . . . injuries, there was simply no opportunity to function as Watcher. And that’s why I became a rogue demon hunter.”
Angel looked him up and down again. “You’re a demon hunter?”
“Rogue demon hunter,” Wesley insisted. “And I’m on the trail of a particularly nasty bugger right now. So, I suggest you stay out of my way.”
“No, he’s not,” Raul protested from where Angel still gripped him. “Came to ask me for a demon, any demon.”
“Alright, I’m not,” Wesley admitted. “But it did sound good, didn’t it?”
“Terrifying,” Angel said. Angel turns away from Wesley and looks to Raul. “I hear you’re pretty up on the local news, Raul.”
“Ay, and you’re Angelus.”
“Quirl demon, stabbed to death. Know who did it?”
“Sí, Angel, y tú sabes. La asesina está en la ciudad.”
“What did he,” Wesley began.
“Slayer’s in town,” Angel bit out.
~~~
“So Wesley pretty much decided to take matters into his own hands. I think he wanted to prove, to the Council, to Faith, or to himself, that he could do something right.”
“That makes sense,” Buffy said, “although . . . rogue demon hunter?”
“Believe me, I know how that sounds,” Angel said with a slight smile. “Anyway, things didn’t exactly work out the way Wesley planned.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning he found Faith.”
~~~
Faith sat on the bed in the filthy motel room and eyed the brown package. She took it off the demon that came looking for her, after she killed him. Pushing away her dark thoughts, she ripped the package open to find a video tape and a white envelope. Shrugging, she glanced over at the TV and was pleased to see it had a VCR.
“Nothing better to do,” she mumbled to herself as she stuck the tape in and pressed play.
The Mayor’s face popped onto the screen, and she had to blink back tears as his voice washed over her.
“Hello Faith. If you’re watching this tape, it can only mean one thing. I’m dead. And our noble campaign to bring order to the town of Sunnydale has failed. Utterly and completely. But on the other hand, heck, maybe we won. And right now, I’m on some jumbo monitor in the Richard Wilkins Museum surrounded by a bunch of kids sitting Indian style and looking up at my face filled with fear and wonder. Hi kids!”
She snorted softly at his cheery voice before his mirth evaporated.
“But the realist in me tends to doubt it. When you got hurt, I . . . It frightened me. I know there’s a chance that we’ll lose. That I’ll die. And if that should happen, then I don’t want you to be alone in the world. I didn’t want to just give you these things because you’d just laugh at me, you little firecracker. But now, if you’re watching this after I’m gone, you’re probably feeling very alone; but you’re not alone, Faith. You’ll always have me. And,” he added almost as an afterthought, “you’ll always have those nifty little papers in that there envelope. Go ahead, open it. Don’t worry, it won’t bite. That’s my job!” He laughed at his own joke for a few moments before returning to the matter at hand. “When you’ve been around for as long as I have, and led a life like I have, you make friends, powerful friends. I know you’re a smart and a powerful young woman, but without me to watch out for you I’m afraid that the system is working against you. Here’s a little something to help you with that.”
~~~
Faith scrubbed at her burning eyes with the back of her hand as she held the papers aloft. She knew what they said: she was innocent, she hadn’t done any of those things the police thought she had. But she had, she knew she had, and no piece of paper could trick her into thinking otherwise. With that in mind, she angrily struck the match and held the flame to the bundle of papers, dropping them into the sink as they burst into flame.
~~~
“Faith.”
When her shoulders tensed, muscles bunching visibly beneath the tight t-shirt, Wesley had a few seconds to ponder the wisdom of alerting this very volatile Slayer to his presence before she spun around, eyes wild and uncertain.
“Wesley?”
Her voice was hesitant, almost afraid, and he dared to hope that she would come willingly. Then her face hardened, and the next words she spat at him forced him to reassess his hope.
“Come to get me?” The threat was clear in her harsh tone, in the violent set to her mouth and brow. “Cause honestly, I thought you’d learned from last time. Unless,” she suggested, her tone shifting as she began to slink towards him, sultry and dangerous, “beneath that rich-boy face, you really do have a thing for chains.”
Against his will, he backed away from her, but he knew that it was too late to back out now. He’d never make it out of this dingy motel room alive, unless he could control her. “It’s not too late,” he told her in what he hoped was a placating tone.
“For cappuccino? ‘Cause it just keeps me up,” she joked, while her hand snaked behind her to pull a knife out.
“It’s not too late to let me help you,” Wesley clarified, holding his hands out in a sign of peace. “I realize there have been failures, on both sides. But I also believe in my heart that you are not a bad person.”
Abruptly, she was upon him, holding him above her in the air with one fist around his neck, her right hand holding the knife against his cheek. Then she dropped him, and he lay gasping on the ground as she stood above him, hands planted defiantly on her hips.
“What do you believe in your heart now?”
“You could have killed me,” he gasped out. “You didn’t. That has to mean something.”
“Oh it does, does it?” she hissed, pulling him to his feet. “I’ll tell you what it means. It means I’m bored.” She hauled back her right arm, the one holding the knife, and drove the hilt of the blade into his temple.
When Wesley awoke, he was bound tightly to a chair, still in the motel room. He lifted his head and saw Faith, leaning against the wall, arms crossed across her chest.
“Look who’s awake,” she said. “Took long enough.”
“Faith,” he tried again, desperation building inside of him, “I was your Watcher. I know you. I can help you.”
“You said that already, Wes. And if you know me,” she said, picking up a stake from the small table in the dingy room, “then you know. I. Hate. Being. Bored.” She punctuated each word with a stride across the room until she was right in front of Wesley. She drove the blunt end of the stake into his cheek, pulling the punch just enough to keep him conscious.
~~~
Angel quietly leaned against the door, gripping the doorknob in one hand only to find it locked. So much for stealth. He drew back and, with one powerful kick, smashed the door off its hinges. As he stepped through the wreckage, he saw Wesley, bound, bruised, and bloody in a chair, and Faith standing beside the ex-Watcher. She stared at Angel, conflicting emotions playing across her face. She held a knife in her right hand, and her knuckles were white with tension.
“How’d you find me?”
The words slipped from her throat, and Angel knew they weren’t what she meant to say.
“Wasn’t hard,” he replied, taking a slow step further into the room. “You didn’t exactly cover your tracks.” He quickly appraised their chosen battleground: a sparsely furnished room, containing just a bed, a table, the chair Wesley sat in, a door that presumably led to a bathroom, and a window to the dark alley two stories below.
“You killed him,” Faith whispered. “Now, what, you here to kill me?” She searched his face. “No, no, you haven’t got the balls. You came to sweet-talk me like Watcher-boy, here. What makes you think you’ll do any better?”
“I know what you’re after.”
“Really?” she said, raising the knife. “Then you know why I have to kill you.”
Wesley suddenly threw himself and the chair backward, just as Angel launched himself at Faith, kicking her away from the damaged Brit. She scooped a piece of wood off the floor and lunged at Angel. They exchanged blows and Angel managed to knock the makeshift stake out of her hand. They parted for a few seconds, circling around each other. Faith was breathing hard, and Angel was not breathing at all.
“Is that all you got, vampire?” she said in a low voice. “Get in the game.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“You’re right. It’s payback.”
“For what?” Angel asked quietly, knowing he was treading a thin line. “Trying to help you? Failing?”
“For killing him!” Faith screamed, hurling herself across the distance between them, knocking them both to the floor.
“You killed him, you killed him,” she shrieking, hitting Angel in the face. “You killed him, you killed him, and I killed her.” Her blows began to weaken with the last admission, and tears glistened in her eyes. “I killed her.”
Angel caught her fist easily as she tried to strike him again. “You didn’t kill her, Faith. Buffy’s not dead.”
“Really? Then why isn’t she with you now? You call that living? That’s not living.”
In one move, Angel threw her off him and rose to his feet. “And this is?”
As they faced off, Angel saw her pain, her incoherent hatred, shift to anger directed solely at him. “You judging me, vamp? Think you can take me?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Angel saw Wesley wriggling in his bounds to reach Faith’s knife which lay discarded on the floor beside him.
“You can’t take me!” Faith cried. “No one can take me, not even B!”
She aimed a kick at his head, but he ducked. Her next assault came before he could recover, though, and sent him flying face first into the wall. He heard her moving behind him and spun around, grabbing her by the back of her neck and slamming her face into the wall. She broke out of his hold and threw him away from her only to pick up a piece of wood and run at him again. This time he turned to the side, grabbing her as she reached him, and used her momentum to throw both of them out the window. They landed side by side on the hood of a car, rolling off to struggle to their feet on the concrete.
“You’re gonna die!” Faith screamed at him, punching him in the head. He didn’t retaliate, and she continued to punch and kick him. “You hear me? You don’t know what evil is!”
Rain began to fall, but they didn’t pause.
“I’m bad!” she shrieked at him. “Fight back!”
Her punches were getting sloppier by the minute, and he easily evaded the next hit, stepping forward to grab her arms.
“Nice try, Faith,” he told her as he threw her away from him. He strode over to where she now knelt, wiping hair and water out of her eyes. “I know what you want.”
She straightened and slammed her fist into his face, but he remained steadfast. He sent her to the ground with a neat right-hook, but she leaped back up and at him, crying out with each ineffectual blow.
“I’m not going to make this easy for you,” Angel told her as he ducked under a wild punch.
Faith threw herself at him, slamming her fists into his chest, her body shaking with the force of each blow and accompanying cry. “I’m evil! I’m bad! I’m evil! Do you hear me? I’m bad! Angel, I’m bad!”
Angel just watched, still and silent, as her cries degenerated into sobs, fresh tears intermingling with the rain water already coursing down her cheeks.
“I’m bad,” she wept, gripping his shirt and shaking him. “Do you hear me? I’m bad! I’m bad! I’m bad. Please. Angel, please, just do it. Just do it. Just kill me. Just kill me.”
Angel wrapped his arms around her and they slowly sank to the pavement. “Shh,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s all right. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here. Shh.” Angel could think only of the wretched girl in his arms, and he prayed that they would both be able to make it through the coming days. That she would find the strength to overcome the darkness, and that he would find the strength to see her through her trials, despite everything she had done to him and his beloved. He could think only of her, and so he barely noticed the rain pounding against his back, the pavement hard and slick beneath his knees, and the sharp clatter of the knife falling from Wesley’s hands as he watched the stunning tableau.
TBC
AN: I borrowed a bunch of lines from the Angel episode “Five by Five,” and also a couple from “This Year’s Girl”. Unfortunately, it may be a while before the next chapter. I’m going away for most of July, so I’ll try to get it out before then, but . . . we’ll see.
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