Home ~ Updates ~ Fiction ~ Wallpapers ~ Buffy Babies ~ Art Gallery ~ Links ~ Tuneage
       
  Chapter 42.

POV Buffy.



We sat in tense silence while we waited for the council to arrive at my door again, not exchanging looks, not exchanging words, each of us occupied by thoughts all our own. I’d seen Giles fervently wiping at the sparkling clean lenses of his glasses, had witnessed Angel staring off into a deep unknown, and again I had wanted to share the information that Tara had given to me. I am used to carrying burdens, I am used to my shoulders bearing down with the weight of the world upon them, but this was something that I did not want to carry alone. It was too big, too large a secret for just one girl, even a girl with the strength of a slayer.



As the minutes ticked by, my tongue was crying out to become loose, my fingers knotting in front of me as I considered again all of the things that this could mean. Not only for me, but for me and for Faith, for our family. For the whole damn world. A world of infinite evil, patrolled by an infinite number of slayers. It seemed fairer, it seemed right, it seemed as if it was something that could balance out the odds a little. Perhaps tip those odds straight into the favour of good. And how can that be wrong?



Maybe that was the hidden meaning of my exquisitely torturous dream, maybe the PTB were showing me the way that they wanted me to go, offering me the little glimpse of a future I could embrace if only I took the opportunity presented to us now. We could have an army in every corner of the globe, we could beat down evil wherever it rises, we could put a chokehold on the very cause of all evil. We could win once and for all. Forever.



I imagined myself at the front of the room advocating that very process. How I would look into each of my friends eyes and explain to them, no more. No more sadness, no more suffering, we can live now, we can just take our time and live. I imagined holding Dawn in my arms and expressing the same, being able to assure her that happy endings really do exist, that she would no longer have to be the poster child for bad things happening. She could breathe. She could be as free as the rest of us. It was every secret dream that I had ever had, it was every secret wish, every deep down desire. And it was still so very wrong.



Tara’s words were ringing heavy in my ears still, the look of absolute trust that she had given to me when I told her that no decision made would be a rash one, that I would never make them do something that they thought of as wrong. Would she be able to forgive me if I had lied to her, would I be able to forgive myself?



“Buffy?”



I don’t know how many times Giles had called my name, but by the time I looked up at him, his face was wrapped in fatherly concern, a little worried frown dominating his features. I tried to smile to reassure him, knowing that I could offer something so much better than reassurance if I only opened my mouth and spoke of what I knew.



“Are you quite sure that you are up to this?” My smile becoming tighter as he walked over to me, biting my tongue to stop myself from shouting out. “If you would prefer that I dealt with the council myself, I’m sure that I could manage.”



The words had broken Angel out of his own silent reverie, concern also present in his gaze as he nodded along to the sentiments that Giles was offering. “It’s okay Buffy, if it’s too much, then we can do this for you.”



It wasn’t that they thought I was weak, that I needed protecting, it was because they know that beneath my tough talking words, and shoulders of steel, I am just as vulnerable to hardship as any normal girl. Both men have seen my vulnerability, and both of them love me enough to want to protect me from it. It’s just a shame that I couldn’t spell out to them what it was that had me feeling quite so vulnerable. Not the threat of the council, but the knowledge of a secret that I would eventually have to give direction upon.



“No.” I had risen from the chair and fussed at my hair again, affixed the perky smile to my face, made my eyes shine with strength and leadership. “This isn’t a job that anyone else can do. I may not be the only slayer anymore, but I am the original, the one that they have jerked around for the longest. I want to see the look in their eyes Giles, I want to see how they look when I take back my power, when I take back Faith’s power, and especially when I take back Kennedy’s power.”



“If you are sure?”



“Believe me, I couldn’t be surer.”



About that I was certain. As much uncertainty that I had about the secret, I felt the complete opposite in regards to the council. I did want to see the look in their eyes, I did want to wipe the smarmy smiles from their self important faces.



“Just stick to the plan Giles, and everything will be fine.”



“As you wish.”



He had gone back to his glasses cleaning routine with renewed vigour, perhaps thinking through the part that he would play, the words that he would say. Angel wasn’t dismissed as easily though, for although I had lowered my eyes to continue my thinking, I could still sense his presence right before me. Making my head rise up, a questioning look gracing my face. “What?”



“I don’t know what.”



“Well you’re looking at me all pensively, there must be something.”



I had expected a smile, maybe a quick exchange of banter, but there was none of that. Just his gaze, penetrating me, making me feel uncomfortable with the secret that I was keeping. Held in place by his silent observation, and scared to open my mouth in case all of the wrong words came tumbling out.



“What is it Buffy?”



And damn. Did he really have to ask?



I thought about all of the arguments and answers playing tag through my mind, I thought about the safety that I had always found in Angel’s company, the surety, the security, and I thought about how eased I would feel if I could only speak the words. It would have been so simple to take him into my confidence, to gain the knowledge of all of his many years experience. Maybe he could direct me, maybe he could put me upon the proffered path marked freedom. And maybe it wasn’t his place to put me upon any path anymore.



I had shaken the thoughts of unburdening myself from my mind in the same way I had shaken my head at him. Assured him that really, there was nothing. Everything was just peachy. And then he had shaken his head at me.



“You don’t feel like sharing?”



I felt a lot like sharing, only I had known that he was not the one to share with anymore. The relationship that I have with Faith is so much more than anything I ever imagined I could have, but even so, it is still so young, so fresh, and I do not want to shake our early foundations by confiding in Angel what I hadn’t been able to confide in her. I know how I would feel if the positions were reversed, and I would never make the choice to have Faith feel that way. It meant that I could only offer him another empty shake of my head, an apologetic look that begged for him to back off, to understand that he wasn’t my confidante anymore.



“Sorry Angel.”



Dropping my eyes as he studied every emotion that was crossing my face. Perhaps still trying to see, to understand.



“I’m here if you need me. Don’t ever forget that.”



It is all that he said as he backed away, returning to his place by the wall, to his silent contemplation of the task that lay before us. I wanted to thank him for giving me the space, but I didn’t. I kept my head lowered and lost my thoughts again in the place that they wouldn’t be held back from. My ears keening in the quiet room to try and hear below me, to pick out the presence of Faith, to calm my turbulent spirit.



I think that by the time the knock at the door finally came I was lost within a trance, remembering all to clearly the feel of the sand as it crept between my toes, the feel of her hands as they wrapped me in a tight embrace, the feel of being finished. It wasn’t the best preparation, wasn’t the steely thoughts that I should have been thinking in the moments before answering the door on what was probably our oldest foe. And it took everything that I am to restrain myself from destroying him on sight, from ripping him to pieces for ever even imagining that he had the right to make our lives infinitely more difficult than destiny had already dictated.



“Good evening Miss Summers, I assume that it would be okay to enter now, that you have nothing else more pressing than your duty to take care of?”



“No, no, please Quentin, do come in.”



I felt like the spider offering refuge to the fly. Opening up my parlour with kind words and flattering faces, only to seek his doom upon arrival. It made me smile a little, it made me remember what I was here to achieve.



“Ah Rupert!” Just settling into the background as he remade his acquaintance with Giles, “It’s good to see you. I heard that you had recently returned here.”



Wanting to clap my hands together in glee at Giles’ sterling performance. Recognising the distaste on his features and yet proud of the way that he managed to keep his voice so steady and so even.



“Yes Quentin, you understand how it is. Those slayers need a watcher.”



Like a fish needs a bike. It was actually quite surreal to sit and observe the clasping of hands, and the clapping of shoulders. The goings on in the secret world of the watcher’s council. I bet that they have never experienced the solitude of destiny, have never lay alone at night wondering at being the only anything in all of the world. No, no way. They made sure that their own numbers swelled, that for every one of us, there would be a thousand more of them. Surrounding themselves in a bubble that I was waiting so eagerly to burst.



When Quentin Travers’ eyes had finally settled upon Angel, I knew that it was time to begin.



“What is ‘he’ doing here?”



“Oh, you know Angel?”



“Of course I know who he is Miss Summers, what I asked is why he is here?”



I had seen the little signal he had given to his henchmen then, the way that the four of them gathered around him as if he was something that needed protecting, something worthy of protecting. Just the thought made me want to choke.



“He’s here because I asked him to be here, which is a whole lot more than I can say for you.”



“We are here because of the rogue slayer! Believe me when I say I had no real desire to ever come back to Sunnydale, but the situation rather demanded it. Perhaps if you had fulfilled your duty properly, then it would not have been an issue.”



Oh yes. I had wanted to choke. Had wanted to wrap the strength in my fingers around the weakness of his neck, watching his eyes bulge as I spelt out in detail all of his inhumane crimes to him. That wasn’t allowed though, wasn’t right. Instead I was to try and keep things civilised, I was to tell him what we knew, but at the same time I was to try and not provoke. We didn’t want bloodshed, we wanted an end to bloodshed. We wanted to speak our demands and have them accepted graciously. I wouldn’t bite my tongue though, I wouldn’t hide from Quentin Travers again.



“Screw duty Quentin, and screw you.”



“Buffy…”



Giles’ warning tones had echoed across the stunned silent room, so I had turned to him to offer placation. “Sorry Giles, but please? If I had fulfilled my duty?”



What a joke. As if the council had any right to try and define what my duty may or may not be. Giles understood my feelings, and he smiled a little smile to calm my fraying nerves, straightening the tie that went with his suit as he turned back towards the leader of the council. “Perhaps we should all take a seat and discuss this properly.”



“Discuss this Rupert? Other than how we are going to track down the rogue slayer, I don’t see that we have too much to discuss at all. Miss Summers has made her feelings quite clear on the matter.” He sent a dismissive look of displeasure my way before pointing towards Angel. “And I quite simply refuse to discuss anything in a room with one of those present.”



“One of what, Quentin?”



“Have you really become as air headed as your slayer, Mr Giles? A vampire, I refuse to spend my time with a vampire. It’s an abomination, a total disregard for all that we stand for…”



“And what is it, exactly, that you stand for?” Angel’s tone was not threatening, there was nothing in it to suggest that a threat was coming, but still the henchmen surrounding my prey sought to remove wood from their pockets. Snarling worse than any beast as they ran their eyes over his form. It would be their first mistake of the evening.



I hadn’t lied when I said that it would be a different ‘Miss Summers’ that greeted these vermin when they next saw me, and in that moment I made the decision to remind them of the truth. I understood the game plan, the need to try and do this in a way which was non confrontational, and non violent, but they had just taken a very large liberty with my already strained hospitality. You do not come into my home and threaten my friends.



“Tell your flunkies to step down, Quentin.”



My voice had left no confusion over what I wanted, hard and brittle, as close to breaking as my non violent resolve.



“Tell your vampire to leave.”



And he chose not to hear it.



I had taken a quick look in Giles’ direction, seen the almost imperceptible nod that he had given to me, which told me he accepted what was coming, and then I was moving before the council goons knew what hit them. Hard and fast, the most effective way. My tiny bulk perfect for coming straight up between them, confusing them with the speed with which I could move, the gracefulness with which I could disarm them. Not breaking bones, not pushing the limit, but letting them know. Reminding them of just who exactly was the boss in this room. Who would be the one issuing orders.



“Now I’ve taken care of that, why don’t you have a seat Quentin?”



Me the one wearing the smarmy smiles as I held my arm out towards the sofa.



“A seat?” He had cast a fraught gaze over his now prostrated men, met my eyes with astonished bewilderment. “What on earth was the meaning of that?”



“Oh I don’t know, could be a culture difference thing. Assholes make me grouchy.”



“Quentin, I do think it would be best if you took a seat now, perhaps your men could wait outside?”



Giles waded in between us to try and diffuse the situation before we achieved nothing. Perfecting his concerned look as he tried to usher the council leader towards the sofa, taking large steps over the recovering forms of the humbled henchmen.



“Mr Giles, my men will not be going anywhere without me. We came here on the understanding that you would be cooperative when it came to tracking down the rogue slayer, now I see that that is not the case, I shall be taking my leave.” Icy cold eyes flicking quickly to me. “There is more than one way to skin a cat Miss Summers, and there is more than one way to catch a slayer.”



I didn’t like his tone nor his words. I chalked it down as his second mistake of the evening. “Tell me, ‘Mr Travers’…” Feeling the power of his flinch as I walked right into his space. “…how many ways are there to skin the leader of a corrupt watchers council?”



And bam! I saw it flit fast through his eyes. Complete understanding. So many different emotions playing out across his face. First shock, and then fear, and then a smile which reminded me of the deep depravity of Warren. The insanity. The belief that even though we thought we held all of the aces, he still believed that he would be the victor.



“Corrupt? Would you care to explain that comment?”



“Would you care to take a seat?”



I mimicked his condescending tone, the raise of the eyebrows as he did make his way over to the sofa. “I’ll take a seat, but I demand explanations. Need I remind you that as the head of the watchers council, I am, in fact, your superior?”



There was something so off about everything. His pompous attitude in the face of my display of strength, his total calm and relaxed demeanour. I had expected a little fear, a hint of resignation in his voice, but there was none. All that he was exuding was confidence, and it reminded me of my earlier worry. Faith’s caution.



“Well take this as my official resignation.” I sat down across from him, vowing not to move my eyes for a second. “I won’t be working for the council anymore Quentin, not in any form, ever again, so I think you’ll find that your superiority is kind of debatable right about now.”



“Stupid girl.”



“Sticks and stones.”



His weasely eyes narrowed upon me, his hand going inside of his jacket to retrieve his cell phone. “Unfortunately for you, this was a pre-empted move.” Sliding the cover down, pressing a few of the buttons on the keypad. “And what about you Mr Giles, should I take this as termination of your employment also?”



I wanted to catch Giles’ eyes and offer him my strength, but I refused to take my gaze away from the evil sat before me. Wondering what it was that his fingers spoke of as they typed a message to god knows who. Thankfully Giles didn’t need my strength, his voice ringing out with all of the authority that he has always possessed.



“Yes Quentin, please take this as my resignation also.”



“Right you are. A foolish decision, very foolish, but it’s always been noted how your affection for your degenerate slayer has clouded your mind when it came to making sensible decisions.” I watched him shake his head in mock sadness. “It’ll be a shame to lose you again.”



“Yep, boo hoo.” Making him look back towards me. “Now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, how about we make a start on that corruption?”



“There is no corruption in the watchers council.”



“That’s not what Kennedy says.”



Again I didn’t get the reaction I expected. “Ah, Kennedy. How is she?”



“Traumatised. Pissed as hell. Wanting to seek justice.”



His eyebrows knotted in the centre of his head as he settled himself back into the sofa. Still sickly smiling, still unsettling. “Is she ready to return with us?”



“D-uh, hello! Didn’t you hear what I just said?”



“What you said is of no consequence to me Miss Summers. As the official slayer it is her duty to be bound to the council. You may also like to note that I am legally her official guardian until she turns eighteen, and therefore I shall be demanding that she returns to us.”



“Demand my ass. I think we all know why you’re her guardian, not a pretty story.”



“I’m not in the business of telling stories, I am in the business of issuing orders. Now the rogue, where is she?”



I could feel Angel prickling across the room in much the same way that I was. To hear that man speaking about the things he had done in such a blasé manner was beyond sickening, and I could feel my resolve steadily shattering.



“So it is all true then?”



Giles’ voice broke through my silent plan of attack, drawing all of our attention back his way.



“I do believe you’ve just retired Mr Giles, I don’t see how this is relevant to you anymore.”



“Oh for gods sake man! Just answer the bloody question!”



“I will answer what and when I feel like it.” His voice was so calm, so detached. “As to whether the council has seen fit to amass potential slayers for advanced training and preparation, then yes. It was long ago decided that we needed to be forearmed, that reaching the girls as young as possible was the best direction to take in grooming them in the way of the slayer.”



“But your methods…”



“Our methods are no longer your concern. This is the fight against evil Rupert, not a playground scuffle. We use whatever means necessary.”



Whatever means necessary. A philosophy I wanted to adopt.



“It’s inhumane… it’s criminal…”



“Oh do stop blathering.” I noted as he looked down at his watch, looked across at his henchmen, back to me. “Now if we could get back to the whereabouts of the rogue slayer?”



I could sense his tail unwinding.



“I will not be telling you where Kennedy is.” Could feel the power as it washed over my body, no longer dormant or held back by a need to act ‘correctly’. “You’re finished Quentin, your whole messed up council is finished. The things you have done, the things that you have allowed to happen, it’s all wrong. It goes against everything that a slayer is, that a slayer stands for.” I had risen from my seat, was standing before him looking down, feeling inside as if I was towering above him. “And it will not be happening anymore. Ever again.”



“You think that you can dictate to me?”



“I know that I can dictate to you.”



Again he dismissed me with a look to his watch. “Your confidence is misplaced. The slayer only exists as a weapon to be wielded by the council Miss Summers, I know that you believe we are impotent without you, but on the contrary, I think you will find that we are the ones holding all of the power.” He rose himself from his seat then, standing before me, still content to smile. “Slayers are and always have been replaceable, the council has existed forever. Already we have the power to locate potentials, and now we have the ability to assure that one of our potentials will be the one called. Tell me, how long do you think it will be until we can activate all of the potentials at one time?”



Oh crap.



That phrase had broken straight back through to the front of my mind again. Tara’s words smashing fast into my consciousness.



‘We don’t just think that we can find them Buffy…we think that we can activate them… we think that we can ‘make’ slayers.’



So it seemed that the council were flirting with that thought also, and I could never imagine that they would have any of the moral drawbacks that we would have. Not caring about the consequences of their actions, just caring that they had been successful, that their aim was being achieved.



I do not know how long my silence stretched out, but it was Angel that eventually spoke my name, bringing my eyes back into focus upon the sickly smile before me.



“Yes, that’s right Miss Summers. Soon we will have a whole army of disciplined slayers, and I don’t think that even you with your annoying longevity would stand a chance of getting to us through them, do you?”



His longevity was all that I cared about, welcoming the anger as it flooded my system, letting the rage wrap itself around each of my limbs. He would pay for his crimes, and he would pay by whatever means necessary.



“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”



The worm pre-empting my strike.



“And why would that be?”



“Because right now your house is being surrounded by a team of specialist field agents. Because I have two very highly gifted warlock waiting to reduce your existence to a pile of dust.” He looked not only at me, but at Giles and Angel as well. His sting all encompassing. “I want the rogue slayer Miss Summers, and I want her now.”



I wanted a simple life. Nothing was ever that easy.



“Are you threatening me?”



“I believe that I am, you would do well to take note.”



There was something that I didn’t know. I could feel it as sure as I could feel my fury, the sense that there was more, that his threat of field agents and warlocks was not all the poison that he had in his tail.



“I told you that I wouldn’t be giving you Kennedy. I meant it.”



The sudden intrusive ringing of his cell phone made me almost jump in surprise. I was coiled so tight, so on the edge, so ready to let go. And he was still so fucking calm. Practically turning his back to me as he flipped open the receiver, spoke one solitary word to whomever was listening.



“Proceed.”



I couldn’t stop my eyes from flying to Angel, to Giles, trying to unravel the mystery with the strength of just a look.



“This is your last chance, where is the rogue slayer?”



“Go to hell.”



It was said so easily, with such feeling. What I thought would be the prelude to a fight, only being the prelude to a stiff knock on the front door, another of the sick smiles distorting Quentin’s features. “It would be in your best interest to answer that.”



I was about to repeat the phrase, maybe offer him directions to the hell I wanted him to visit, and then I heard her voice. Pathetically weak, soaked in tears, and seeping through the door to reach me. The real sting in the tail.



“Buffy? It’s me. Please, open the door?”



“Dawn?”



What the hell?



Call it a sucker punch, because it sure had me suckered. I had met his cold eyes for just one instant before I turned to the door, vowing with my glance to kill him in cold blood if even one hair had been harmed upon my sister’s head.



And she looked okay. If okay can be considered effective when you’re a teenage girl being held in the grasp of a gun wielding ‘field agent’.



“Let her go!”



“Now, Miss…”



“I said, let her go!”



I do not like guns. I have never liked guns. They kill without discrimination. They do not take the time to judge, to consider the possibilities of any situation, they are killing machines pure and simple. And right then, there was one pressed tight against my sister’s neck, making her eyes bulge, her tears run freely. I could see the trust in her gaze that I would come to her rescue, but more than that, I could see the fear that maybe I wouldn’t. That she would be gun fodder.



“I offer you an exchange.” His words sounding foreign, sounding ridiculous. He wanted me to trade Kennedy for Dawn? He wanted me to accept this? “If you hand over the whereabouts of the rogue, then your sister will remain unharmed and we shall be on our way.”



Underestimating me was his next mistake. His biggest mistake. And maybe underestimating him, was mine.



I had thought that I would scream, that I would bring into action the plan of earlier, that when I screamed Faith would come, and with her she would bring the witches and Kennedy. They would be no match for our force. But it didn’t happen that way. Instead it was me who was hearing screams from down below, sudden screams, screams of shock, of injury, of anger.



And then all hell broke loose.



POV Faith.



We had sat in silence and listened to all of the fucked up words from up above us, the witches providing us with surround sound technology, no need for fancy speakers, when we had all of their words beamed directly into our ears. Sitting there getting angrier and angrier, knowing without question that there would be bloodshed somewhere here today. I had recognised as B edged closer and closer to the edge of her resolve, the tightness that had crept so surely into her voice, the calmness that had remained in the voice of the asshole that had caused all of this shit to happen. And I had pleaded with the witches.



“This is bullshit, you have to let us out of here.”



“Buffy said that she would signal us if she needed us…”



“Fuck that Red, she does need us!” Pacing around the basement like a caged up tiger, hearing my prey but not being able to see it. “Let me out!”



She had cast her little worried look over to Tara, giving some stupid shrug as if that would pacify me. I couldn’t even look at Kennedy, I knew that if I caught even a sniff of her bloodlust, it would be enough to have me pounding on the witches to get me out of here, and fast.



“Let’s just calm down, wait and see what happens.”



And I could never pound on Tara. I had let her words reach me for a while, throwing myself back down as I was forced to listen to the bullshit of Quentin up above. His disregard of B, of me, of all slayers. His demands that Buffy should give up the ‘rogue’ slayer.



When he had spoken of his warlocks and field agents, I had turned again to Willow. “Well?”



And again she had shrugged, shared another look with Tara, and implored me to wait.



Maybe warlocks weren’t such a big deal to them, being all down with the mojo, but the thought of a bunch of highly trained wizards, waiting to turn my girlfriend to dust, was a little more screwy for me. It took everything I had to remain silent, to hear what more was happening. To set a grim line across my mouth as Buffy had been directed to go to the door. My knuckles cracking when I heard Dawn’s voice, my look no longer questioning when I had turned my eyes to Willow that time.



“Let me the fuck out!”



Growling. Absolute fury flowing from me to her. And I think that I had her. Think that she would’ve let me out, would’ve released the binds that held us, if only she had had the chance. But there was no chance. The only thing I remember is the sound of breaking glass. My eyes flying wide as the windows that ran across the top of the basement all broke inwards, as the unmistakable sound of gunfire filled the echoing walls of the basement.



“Everybody up, hands above your head!”



We didn’t know who the fuck was shouting at us, only that it came from the same windows as the gunshots, and that they came in a coarse English accent. The council. The sting in the tail that I had warned Buffy about, proof that Quentin Travers would not do the decent thing and just fuck off. Using guns was about as indecent as things got in my mind. The cowards way out. Making someone scream, making Andrew cry.



And I did the only thing that I could right then, my hands going above my head in a gesture of surrender, my eyes trying to count how many barrels were pointing down at us, wondering how fast I could move, if I could disarm them all.



“Guys, stay calm, we’ve got this.”



Willow whispering her words into the fearful void, her eyes steady with belief as she sent silent signals to Tara. They had this? Well thank fuck for that.



I didn’t know how they had this, but I trusted their words. I know that Red’s one mean mother when it comes to the magic, and I had seen before the lengths that she could go to when protecting those that she loves. For a brief second I pitied the council goons, and then I counted the seconds until I could join in the fight. Seeing the shield as it went up around us, a shimmering gold force-field, humming with the power that the witches possessed.



“Put your guns down.”



Red’s voice issuing a stern command.



“Put your hands up!”



A little smile spreading across her face as the gunmen ignored what she said. As they fired again into the basement to get us to comply with their wishes. My own smile spreading wide as their bullets bounced uselessly against the side of the shield.



I kinda thought that that would be it. That they would give up, that Willow would let us out of the basement, and that I could then go and collect my pound of flesh from Quentin Travers. Some fucking chance. I’d forgotten about the council warlocks for a minute, been dazzled by the power of our own witches. And then the basement had started to shake. An earthquake style shuddering making us all fall back to our knees, making Red and Tara thrust out their hands to bring them together…



“Looks like show time sweetie, you ready?”



“Let’s fry them.”



A whole fucking light show exploding from the ends of their fingertips. I didn’t have a clue, not one fucking clue what was happening. I was powerless. A little scared. Hunching back into the wall with Kennedy and Andrew, feeling the slayer wanting to go fight crazy, but having nowhere to direct the feeling. All that I could do was watch.



The ends of the guns all glowing red, screams from the people holding them as they became too hot to hang on to. A couple fell through the windows, disintegrated into nothing. And then return fire. Energy which shone just as bright as our girl’s sliding through the holes in the glass, exploding with intensity every time that they rattled against the shield that looked to be weakening.



“Can you hold that thing Red?”



My nervous words shouted out to a witch who was in no way listening. All of her concentration going into keeping hold with Tara, deflecting whatever it was that the warlocks were throwing at us.



“I want to go home…”



Andrew’s voice swung my gaze for a second, offering him what I thought might be a reassuring look, words of comfort. “Just try and stay alive.” Hoping that everybody was listening.



I had no fucking clue what was going on upstairs, what B was doing, whether she was under attack in the same way as we were, knowing that she had no power packed witches to be deflecting blows sent her way. It was driving me mad, I wanted to be at her side, I needed to be at her side. Screaming empty words of let me out, as the girls stayed focused on their task. My mouth eventually closing as I saw Tara drop limp in front of me, saw Red glance down at her before going completely rigid. Her arms stretching out in front of her, her head thrown back. Unknown words being chanted, a chilling wind blowing up around us.



I had no fucking clue, but I was damn right fucking afraid. Tara was down, Red was unreachable, Andrew was sobbing, and Kennedy was lights on, no one home. I had to risk it. I had to take the chance and try to break free, I had to get the fuck out of there. Climbing the stairs to the door, ignoring the burning sensation when I wrapped my fingers around the knob, wrenching it back with a scream, and hollering when it ripped free from its hinges.



I didn’t wait to see if anyone followed me, I just made my way to the front room, my blood boiling with hatred, my sights fixing upon one man, taking in the whole picture, but resting solely upon him. It was easy to know which one he was, stood confidently with his goons, more guns in sight, a helpless Dawn held firmly in one guy’s grasp.



“You fucking asshole.”



Stalking him. My movements quiet, non alarmist, but stalking him all the same.



“Ah, Faith. What a displeasure it is to meet you. Please, do take a seat.”



I caught Dawn’s eyes and offered a wink, caught Buffy’s eyes and offered a smile. “It’s world war three down below Quent, and my girl’s on top…” At least I figured she was. “…maybe you should be the one taking a seat. You can unhand Dawn while you’re at it.”



“I was just explaining to Miss Summers that I would be willing to exchange her sister for the whereabouts of the rogue slayer, now it seems we know where the rogue slayer is, that deal has become rather irrelevant. Wouldn‘t you agree?” He didn’t wait for my answer, just offered a nod of his head to one of his gun carrying bitches, sent down yet another order for my extermination. And it’s a good fucking job that I’m quick.



I recognised the look in his eye, the dismissive glint I had seen in so many eyes before his, and I moved before he had a chance to even think about it. Dropping to the ground and rolling, coming to rest at the feet of the asshole holding Dawn, cracking his knee with my elbow, making them both scream, pulling him down to the floor. I had no plan, no words to shout at the others, I just trusted that they would be backing me up. Buffy, Angel, Kennedy. Hell, maybe even Giles. The room exploding with gunfire like the basement before it, no time to take stock, just time to keep moving. I saw Dawn take cover in the corner, I saw Andrew emerge from the stairs to take a bullet to his body, dropping as fast as he had risen. I saw Kennedy join the fight, her limbs just as agile as mine and B’s, her moves just as fluid. The punch of earlier forgotten, as the three of us fought side by side. Not stopping until the explosion of bullets had ceased, until the only sound left ringing thro ugh the front room was the scream of Kennedy’s anguish, her burning rage, her call for justice.



“Ken… let him go.”



Maybe I knew that she wouldn’t, but I had known that I had to try. We’d disarmed every fucker in the room, and every stupid fucker that had tried to follow them. Not killing, that wasn’t our job, but rendering them useless. Taking away their cowardly weapons and leaving only the option to fight with their fists. Not surprisingly, none of them took it. Just sitting or laying where they had fallen, some casting their eyes towards Kennedy and Quentin with paralysing fear. I guessed it must hurt to see your leader reduced to nothing but a quivering rag doll in the hands of a vengeful slayer.



“No Faith, he has to pay.”



Her words left no room for argument, but I tried again. I understood too well the consequences of what she was about to do. Not defending herself, not forced into action, but about to commit a murder in cold blood. I appealed to her, Buffy appealed to her… but she only shook more as our voices spoke up. She kept looking down at his head in between her hands, the way that her fingers were braced and ready to turn. Her brow sweating, her breaths coming in short violent gasps.



It had felt like the end. The crack that split our ears from down below reminding us suddenly, and with force, that this was not the only fight still raging. My mind flew to Willow and to Tara, turning to face the basement again, to go below to help if needed, frozen in my spot when the space of the door had filled with a shape. The shape of Red supporting her girl up the stairs, stopping at the top and placing her gently on the floor.



“Red…”



“It’s okay Faith. I dealt with it.”



I had no fucking clue again. Didn’t ask how she had dealt, what she had done, just smiled and pointed towards the front room. “We could use your help in here.”



“Yippee.”



Her sarcasm obvious, but not harmful. Her tired eyes widening as they fell upon the scene that greeted her. Dawn now held in Buffy’s arms, Andrew bleeding and being tended to by Giles, and Angel trying to talk down Kennedy, her hands still held tight around the head of that piece of crap Travers. “Never a dull day, right Faith?”



“You said it. Can you stop it?”



She ran her eyes that way again, her mouth starting to move with unknown words, some more of the mumbo jumbo that she seems to wield so well. And again I thought that it was over, that she would stop her. But she didn’t. Or she couldn’t. The way that she tells it, Kennedy’s rage was too strong to restrain, her power to raw to be deflected. I just remember the fucked up howl Kennedy gave as she twisted his head in her hands, the sickening pop as his neck broke, the sound of flesh ripping as she tore it clean from his falling torso.



“Holy fucking crap.”



The curses not mine, but B’s. The shock belonging to everybody. The field agents had been stunned into silence, eventually rounded up and placed in the basement until Giles could get to deal with them. It was one hell of a mess. A fucked up fucking mess.



I let it all go on around me, barely speaking, barely moving, until finally, now, Buffy was stood in front of me. Standing there and shining, looking like my saviour, her fingers reaching out to tuck a little piece of hair back behind my ear.



“Hey, you sure took your time getting up here.”



“You never screamed, Red wouldn’t let me out unless you screamed.”



“You okay?”



No.



“Yeah.” Slipping my eyes away from hers. “What about Dawn, she okay?”



“She will be. I still can’t believe they did that… I can’t believe they took Dawn.”



“They’re evil.”



“That’s an understatement.”



I nod along as she tells me about how they had taken her sister, watching the house, and following Xander’s car when he had left. It seems that Quentin had pre-empted our plans, had guessed that we had the newest slayer already under our protective wing, and he was not prepared to let her go. I wonder if he had been prepared to lose his head over it.



“What the fuck are we gonna do with Ken?”



“I don’t know Faith. Angel has her upstairs, talking to her…”



“Right. That’ll help.”



Although I don’t know if it will. I hope that this is her anger vented, that this one act of vengeance will be enough to calm her rage, to let her lay her demons to rest.



“Hey…” Her fingers slip between mine, warmth against my skin. “…are you sure you’re okay?”



And no again.



“I’ll be cool B, it’s just a lot to handle. Man, I knew this was all bullshit, but what the fuck?” I try and think of how to say it. “They wanted to kill me again, they would have killed all of us.” She gives me the gentlest little smile in reply, a tiny shake of her head.



“Well they didn’t manage it, did they?”



“No, but…”



“No buts baby. Andrew’s got a little girly flesh wound and other than that we’re fine. Wills obliterated the warlocks and the leader of the council is currently missing his head. Stop thinking.”



Stop thinking?



How the fuck do you stop thinking?



“How?”



“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could try kissing me.”



My eyes travel around the decimated room, pausing on bullet holes in furniture, upended sofas, general chaos. “You think it’s appropriate?”



And smiling at her laughter.



“When have you ever worried about appropriate?”



Good point.



“Come here.”



My arms going out to encircle her body, feeling the silent shakes as she quivers under my touch. “What about you, are you okay B?”



She goes to nod yes, but then stops herself, takes one huge fucking breath and blows it out as a sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but then I don’t really care. We can do okay later, just now, just for this minute, just kiss me Faith. Please?”



And I can be happy with that. We’ll do okay later. Not as good as the other kind of later that I was looking forward to, but it will do. I can live with it. All that I want now is the promise in her lips, the reassuring touch of her mouth. We have so much shit to sort through, so much of what happened to still understand. But as far as this moment goes, it is over. We won. And I want to taste our victory.



Chapter 43.



POV Faith.



I know what it’s like to hit rock bottom. To go to sleep every night with the hollow feel of desperation grinding a hole through your guts. To have every pillow case you rest your head upon, drenched through with the bitter tears of disappointment. Wanting so bad to wake up and have it all be a horrible nightmare, but instead, only ever opening your eyes on the same old sorry story that is your existence. Yeah. I remember exactly what that feels like. The panic in believing that you’ve kissed your only chance goodbye, that the shit that you’re wallowing in is gonna be your shit forever.



And damn. I can’t help but feel sorry for her.



The first day after the shambled showdown, all that I had wanted to do was to pound on her. She was so fucking defiant, so full of the exuberance of beheading an ogre.



“But you killed someone!”



“I. Don’t. Care.”



Her shining eyes haunting me just as much as her words. It was like she had almost expected us to get down on our knees and praise the fucking lord that she had done what she did.



“I neutralised the threat. You should be thanking me; I only did what you and Buffy were too scared to do.”



As fucking if.



I had stalked around the kitchen in front of her just dying to get in her face, my fingers itching to dish out some slayer style, power packed punches. It was all so fucking painful. I had stood in exactly the same place as her, my boots had marched their way down the same path marked bullshit, and watching her trying to commit the same stupid mistakes as me had me filling with intense fury. In truth, the only thing that had managed to hold me back had been Angel’s quiet words. His reminder that attacking her at this time would only push her further away from us. We needed to accept what had happened and then make her accept it. Easy as that.



The next couple of days had been mostly uneventful. She had lost the look of crazed and manic, had even stopped with the shaking a little bit. There were no more words though. Her eyes had switched to dull and her conversation wasn’t any better. Just grunts. Stupid fucking shrugs of shoulders and gazes which centred on the same slice of ceiling for hours on end. I voted that she’d had a breakdown, that maybe what she’d done had sent her totally over the edge, but then Red had poked her thoughts a little and assured us that her mind was definitely in working order. She was just hiding. Taking a moment. A moment that lasted three fucking long days.



I’d stayed well out of the mix during that time. Much happier keeping watch on a comatose slayer, than dealing with the aftermath of what had happened. Leave that to the thinking men, the guys that wanna know how the council’s gonna be disassembled, I just care that it’s gone. That there’s gonna be no more evil dictating the legacy of the slayer. This is our gig now, our rules, our way.



Sure I’d caught snatches of conversations when I’d wandered my way through their midst to go get a soda, or when I’d interrupted their thoughts to switch on the TV, but it was all just words which meant very little;



‘We’re gonna try and get the Angel Investigations thing off the ground…’ Blah, blah, blah… ‘Giles is gonna deal with the remaining structure of the council…’ More blahs… ‘Gather resources, recruit good watchers…’



And on and on it went. I’d voiced a curse of concern at the whole watchers thing, but really I was happy to stay well away. Buffy has been wading her way through the thick of it and I trust that if I need to know anything, then she will tell me. It works for me. And like I said, I’m much happier just keeping watch over the comatose Kennedy, standing at the side of the barrel and wondering when she’ll hit the bottom. Speaking endless sentences that she never has any answer to.



But today has been different.



Today I’ve felt her skittered glances when she thinks that I’m not watching. The little pause of eye contact when I had offered her some lunch. Today it feels like we might just get somewhere, like maybe someone is ready to give up the bullshit and begin to accept the truth. Those tapping fingers stilling on the bed sheets as another glance is thrown my way.



“You got something on your mind Ken?”



And how quick she removes those eyes from me.



A part of me still wants to ride her hard, remembering the sneers of the first few hours, the sound of a human head ripping from shoulders. But then I centre again on what this feels like and I remember everything that she doesn’t need.



“You know that if you’re ready to talk then I’m here to listen.” Fingers tapping again. “I’ve been where you are, remember? I get what you’re going through.”



I’ve already used this tactic to try and break through to her, the ‘oh look-we’re both cold blooded murderers’ line, but so far it’s gotten me nowhere. Usually a couple of grunts, never anything more substantial. It makes me think that I’m not cut out for this caring and sharing crap anymore than I used to be, but then if it’s a choice between being here and the downstairs planning committee, then here is where I’m at.



“How do you know it’s the same?”



Her voice makes my head turn quickly back her way. My eyes straining wide with surprise that she had spoken.



“Wow, it talks.”



“Fuck you Faith.”



“Don’t let B hear you talking that way, you know how well that will end.” I make my way over to the bed all the time that I’m talking, letting my cocky voice keep the situation normal. We’re not gonna chat about murdering evil scumbags and the consequences of that action, noooo; this is just your normal Friday evening pow-wow. Hanging out on Buffy’s bed and just shooting our mouths off. Uh-huh.



She doesn’t speak again and I lay myself on my back beside her, not too close, not threatening, but letting her know that someone is there. That I’m here for her.



“So how’s it going?”



“Are you kidding me?”



“Course not Ken. Straight up, how you going?”



The rhythm that she’s making with her fingers on the bed is only getting faster. Like little angry stabs into the softness of the duvet. “I’m great. Just fucking great.”



“Serious? Cos you know you look like shit?”



“Are you trying to piss me off?”



“No.” Well, not really. I’m just trying to keep her talking. This is a breakthrough. “I’m just trying to find out if you’re okay.”



“I’m okay.”



“I meant what I said about looking like shit.”



The words make her turn her head my way, anger and defiance still lighting her eyes.



“And I meant what I said.” Maybe deepening a little to rage. “Fuck you.”



“Sweet sentiment, really.” I offer her my brightest smile. “But I’m still sticking to B. Maybe if I get desperate in the next few years I’ll give ya a call. Don’t go counting on it though.”



It’s fun to watch the fight go on across her face. All that wanting to strike out, all that wanting to play the game. Wondering which will win.



“It’s your loss.”



And there she is. Willing to play.



“You really think so? I’m thinking you’re a bit too bratty for me. Probably selfish in bed… I know the type.”



“Yeah? I bet Buffy does too.”



I flick my glance to her fingers, noting the sudden steadiness. The silence. “Not from me she doesn’t, I’m all about the giving.”



“That’s not what I heard her saying to Willow.”



Her eyes flash a welcome twinkle and I show some mock shock. As sure as I am that the sun rises in the morning, I KNOW that there’s no-one out there complaining about my skills. Some things just don’t happen. I’m keeping her talking though. Just showing her the way back.



“Bullshit. I got mad skills Ken, ain’t no-one arguing with that fact.”



“Who’s arguing? I’m just saying what I heard…”



I nudge her with my arm and pull myself up to sitting, not too close still, just close enough to observe her faces, what she’s thinking.



“So aside from hearing Buffy trashing my loving, you heard anything else?”



“Like what?”



“Like council stuff, what’s happening next stuff?”



And there go the faces. All the anger and defiance, the loss and the confusion.



“I don’t care about the council. Quentin’s dead. That’s all that counts.”



“You took care of that.”



“Yep.”



She turns her head the opposite way, denies me the sight of what flashes through her eyes. I just carry on talking. Not letting it lie.



“I don’t know much myself, too busy hanging with you. I know that Giles is planning a major coup, gonna go in there and take what’s good, get the knowledge and leave what’s bad.”



“It’s all bad.”



She keeps her head turned away. Her words of finality steeling back across her shoulder.



“You don’t know that, none of us knows that. If there is any good though, then Giles is the guy for the job.



Silence greets my belief in Giles. And again I go on talking.



“Then there’s the whole Angel gig. We’re gonna get that working for us here, and you guys are gonna keep it going in LA…” I pause as her shoulders stiffen. “…you are still going to LA, right?”



“Anywhere’s gotta be better than here.”



I used to think that too.



“You’ll be surprised how much it grows on you.”



“The only thing growing on me here is the fungus.”



I nudge her again, this time with my elbow. “That’ll explain the smell then. Wicked gross.”



“Funny.”



“More like funky. You do know we have bathrooms?”



She doesn’t answer, but throws her head back my way. Angry again, still defiant.



“Can’t you just fuck off!?”



Tempting, but no. Her words make me drop my joking tone, my easy shift of shoulders. My resolve and stance stiffening, but my eyes gently softening. I remember her feelings so well.



“Not gonna happen Ken. I know where you’re at and I’m not going nowhere.”



She holds my gaze.



“Anywhere.”



“What?”



“You’re not going anywhere.” Her voice is hushed, her eyes unsure. “Otherwise it’s a double negative, it would mean that you were going somewhere.”



“Right.” I shrug off her correction. Whatever. “Well I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”



I know that she wants to tell me to ‘fuck off’, some more. Can feel the buzzing from her body as the force inside argues to be let out. But her eyes don’t move. So I don’t move. Keeping my gaze firm upon her face as she looks for whatever it is that she needs to see.



Can she trust me? With her life. Do I want to help? Abso-fucking-lutely. Does she need the help?



And there’s the stumper.



I know that she does. It’s why I am here. But does she believe it?



I try and keep my eyes steady, opening them up, letting her see, remembering every bad thing, every misdeed. Take a look Kennedy. See just how bad it gets…



“Okay.”



“Okay?”



She shifts herself up the bed to sit alongside me, her head dropping down to investigate the sheets between her legs. ‘Boston Check’, I want to inform her, but I don’t. I just sit and I wait.



“Okay. I don’t want you to go ‘nowhere’” She grins a little. I grin too. “Stay up here with me?”



“I told ya Ken, I’m not going ‘anywhere’”



And she grins a whole lot more. Not shifting the sadness that’s settled in her eyes, but at least she’s letting me see. Sharing her own demons.



“You ready to talk about it?”



“I hate talking.”



“I get that.” I touch her knee gently in a gesture of solidarity. “You do have to though, it’s like a rule thing; you can’t start healing till you spew up the sickness.”



No matter how bad the sickness tastes.



Her fingers strike up with the damn tip-tapping again and I want to tell her to stop. Want to urge her into speaking. Smiling when she does it all on her own, whispering down to the duvet.



“I know that I was wrong.”



“You do?”



“I think that I do. In my head I hear it was wrong… but…”



“But what?”



The silence of waiting hums steadily through the room. Her eyes meeting mine and showing the battle that’s raging inside. So many emotions and all of them fighting hard for dominance.



“Fucking hell!” She balls her fingers up into fists, pounds a punch of frustration down onto the bed. “It felt right. It FEELS right!” Placing my hand on her arm to steady her anger. “Inside Faith, it doesn’t matter what I know, what you tell me… inside I’m still screaming in victory.”



Yet she doesn’t look so victorious.



“You’re sure about that?”



She shakes my hand loose and crosses her arms across her chest. Holding them tight about her. “Yes.”



“I don’t believe you. I think you’re full of crap.”



“Fuck you.”



“We’re back to that then?”



My body tenses in response to hers. Hearing the whisper of a challenge. Relaxing only when she raises herself up from the bed. Pacing footsteps across the carpet.



“I’m just telling you how it is! Fuck you if you don’t believe me!”



“Damn. I bet you spend a whole lot of time fucking yourself.” She halts, spins and glares. “Cos you don’t believe what you’re saying, anymore than I do.”



Rage coiling tight around her. My words prickling. Those same panicked breaths as in the instant before Quentin.



“You wanna throw down Ken? Is that it?” I pull my own bulk up from the bed. Getting right in her face. “Cos if you need me to pound the sense into you, then I can sure as hell do it.”



Matching her breath for breath. Mimicking the danger that sits in her eyes.



I bring my hand up to nudge her shoulder again, giving her a little push. A gentle shove. “What do ya say? Wanna rumble?”



Flexing every muscle for good measure.



“No.”



“No?” She shakes her head. Steps back into space. “Well stop acting like such a fucking idiot then and sit your ass back down.”



I meet her one last look, the final fleeting thought of combat. “Sit!”



Using my arm not to nudge her this time, but sliding it behind her shoulders to guide her back over to the bed. “I know this sounds like crap Ken, but really, you start spewing and it does get easier.”



“I was… spewing.”



“No, you were talking crap.”



I know that I’m pushing her, tripping all of her defences, but I damn well want to get in there. Want to know how she’s feeling, how I can help her. Tightening my grasp as she goes to shake away my arm again, bringing her down to sit.



“I don’t know what you want me to say.”



“For fucks sake Ken.” Releasing my hold to run my hands through my hair, flopping back on the bed in something like frustration. “Just tell me what the fuck happened! You have to know that it was wrong… Jeez, at least tell me that you’re a tiny bit remorseful?”



“You expect me to feel remorse for Quentin? You expect me to care?”



“Damn fucking right I do.”



“But what he did…”



“What he did was evil. What you did is cranking up a close second.”



I roll onto my side to gain a better view, not surprised to see her gaze locked onto the hands that still shake in front of her. More memories. More pain.



“It takes a while to shift the stains.”



“What?”



“It takes a while for the blood to come off.”



Her fingers ball back into fists and she rams them under her knees. Locking that gaze straight onto me now. “I told you, I don’t care about Quentin. If his blood stains my hands then I’ll wear it like a fucking tattoo. There’s nothing that happened to him that he didn’t deserve…”



Ignoring her words to catch her tears. Her eyes that look so lost.



“I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it Ken. I’m saying that you shouldn’t have done it.”



“Right. I should’ve let him get away with what he did… forget my friends, my comrades… he should’ve just walked away.”



It pains me to say it.



“Yes.”



“That’s not…”



“Fair?”



“Right. It’s not right.”



Her eyes are pleading with me to tell her that she is right. That what she did is excusable. That it was the lesser of two evils. That she can walk away unscathed. And I can’t tell her any of that.



“Jesus Ken. Don’t you get it?” Moving from the bed again to stand in front of her. “We don’t get to make the call on right and wrong, we don’t get to balance the scales…”



“He had to pay.”



“He would have paid!”



“No he wouldn’t!”



God damn it.



Remembering with pain the feeling of hell. How it had crept inside of my senses, how it had held me down and tortured me with the knowledge of every bad thing I had ever done, every ounce of hurt I had ever inflicted. And damn right he would have paid.



I blow out the feeling that the memory gives me, the sickening stench, the sensation of failure. My sigh echoing through the silent room, making her eyes question me. Demanding answers.



“Believe me Ken, there’s places, places I hope you never have to go to… places I’ve been to. Quentin would have got his.” She rolls her eyes in dramatic fashion, dismisses my words. “Now you just have to figure out if you’re gonna get yours.”



“Whatever.”



“You think I’m joking?”



“You think I care?”



And again I want to pound on her.



“Why the fuck am I even bothering?” Her gaze asks me the same and I throw a look towards the door. Considering not bothering, the easiness of walking away. I can’t do that though, can’t let her hit the bottom without at least doing my best to pull her up. Straightening my shoulders to continue the onslaught. “Are you really that stupid to think that you’re something special? You think the rules don’t apply to you, that you can do whatever the fuck you want and damn the consequences?”



And she isn’t so sure when she meets my eyes this time. Not so cocky with her glances.



“It isn’t like that.”



“Screw you. You can’t kid a kidder, Ken.”



“It isn’t.”



And now it’s my turn to do the dismissive roll of eyes. Partnered with a sneer. Doing whatever it takes to bait her into dropping her walls. Just telling the truth like the damn truth is. “Sure it isn’t.”



“You don’t even know me Faith. Don’t talk to me like you think you know me.”



“You really believe that?“ A dangerous smile alighting my lips. “Because here’s the fucking beauty of it all; I was you.”



Slapping her in the face with the reminder that I know exactly what I’m talking about. You can’t kid a kidder. You can’t dismiss someone who has walked in your shoes.



“You think I don’t know what you’re feeling, that I can’t remember the taste of the darkness?”



“Shut up!”



“What, you don’t wanna talk about it?” My tone mocking her attempt to make me stop. “The things that are there when you close your eyes… the voices that make it okay, that tell you it doesn’t matter… whispering how powerful you are, how much better you are…”



“I said shut up!”



“You felt the power didn’t ya Ken? Holding pathetic little Quentin right there in your hands, knowing that you could end his life, that you had the strength to stop his heart beating, just like that…” I mimic the twisting of hands, the cracking of necks. “…I bet it feels really good, bet that victory party of yours is one hell of a funfest.”



Her breaths are going manic again, not just her arms shaking but her whole fucking body shaking. Her eyes routing around me to find a way of escape.



“No, come on, settle down girl. Let’s kick back and swap stories.” I lean against the door, an easy pose blocking her only exit. “Tell me how good it felt to rip off his head and I’ll tell you how fucking great it felt to slice and dice a harmless old scientist.”



And silence.



“You want me to start? Cos I can remember it like it was yesterday. Holding the knife in my hand, how little effort it took to slice through all the major organs…” No reaction. “…damn, maybe you wanna know how he sounded? How he looked? Is that where you get your kicks from?”



“Please…” It slides out a whisper, no more defiance in her tone, just weariness. “…can you stop? Can you please just stop?”



Not a chance.



“What?” I move from the door and return to standing in front of her. “I thought you were down with this shit Ken? Nothing matters right, killing humans doesn’t matter?”



“I didn’t say that.”



“Sure ya did, cos believe it or not, Quentin was human. Doesn’t matter what he did, he was still what he was.”



I wait for the comeback, the argument.



“I know.”



My eyebrows arching in surprise. “Huh?”



“I said I know!” Not anger making her voice raise, just the desperate sound of defeat. “I know that he was human! I know that I was wrong! I know that I screwed up!”



And now I don’t say a word. I don’t need to say anymore.



“I couldn’t help it okay? It was just… I had him, right there… and I could feel it, how he was laughing at me… how he looked at me…” Her hands are stretching out in front of her, her eyes fixed and vacant. “…and I could hear you, I could hear Buffy and Angel… over and over, don’t do it. I knew I shouldn’t do it, I knew I should’ve just let go… just dropped him. But I couldn’t… just one twist. Just one twist to make him stop, just one twist to make him feel how much he hurt me…”



She stiffens up as her voice breaks, crossing her arms back across her chest. “I know how wrong I am Faith. I know how bad this feels… I just had no self control. I knew that it was wrong and I couldn’t stop myself… I just couldn’t stop myself…”



“It’s okay.”



My voice is hoarse and I choke to clear it. “You’ll be okay.”



Her head not lifting, her eyes not meeting mine.



“I know what it’s like to not be able to hold back Ken. I know that feeling, that rage… and I learnt to control it. You can learn too.”



“That’s it?”



“It’s all I can give ya.” She looks up at me and still she looks lost. I try to give more. “What you did Ken, that was bullshit, crazy shit… ain’t no use in denying that. But it’s what you do now that counts. I stood in your shoes and did it the hard way, reached the bottom and dug down for more… don’t go making the same mistakes as I did. Don’t pretend you don’t give a shit.”



“What difference does it make?”



“It makes the world of difference.” I find another sigh as I settle back down onto the bed beside her. “You can learn self control, but no-one can teach you to care. You said that you know you were wrong, well cling onto that. Nurture it. What you don’t do is go walking around here as if you’re something special, as if killing in cold blood makes you some kind of super warrior. It doesn’t.” I lift up her hands, take them in mine. “All it does is make you a murderer Kennedy, and there is nothing special in that.”



I don’t know if holding onto her hands will let her feel the honesty in my words, but I hope so. Hope that she will be able to take something from my truth and make it count.



“I’m sorry.”



“You what?”



“I said I’m sorry. I’m such a jerk.” Her head is shaking as if she can’t believe how much of a jerk she has been. “I never… I just…”



“It’s pretty hard admitting you fucked up?”



“I really fucked up.”



“You really did.”



I let go of her hands and she runs them across her face. Her breath no longer coming in panicked gasps but in long drawn out sighs. And this is the Kennedy I have been waiting to see. The reason that I pushed and pulled at her defences, the reason that I kept my compassion hard and resolute. You can’t take baby steps around murder, it doesn’t work that way. I learnt that in a dingy, dark, rain soaked alleyway. Maybe she will take the easy option and accept it now.



I watch as her posture seeps down into humble. Observing in silence as she wipes at a stray tear creeping out from the edge of her eyes. Sorry is just a word. You can say it a thousand different ways and it still means nothing… but real sorry is something that you can’t ever hide. The pain that wraps around tired eyes, the hopeless hunch of weary shoulders…



“Yeah. You’re gonna be just fine.”



I say it as I think it, my arm reaching around to offer comfort, to back up my absolute belief in her chances of redemption. My eyes changing direction as the door to the bedroom opens.



“Oh…” And there’s my girl. “…not interrupting anything am I?”



I don’t move my arm and she doesn’t move her gaze. Not quite scorching me with its intensity, but pretty damn close to burning. “Because if I am interrupting, I can go away again, come back later?”



And fuck me she’s gorgeous.



Her gaze wrapped in cuteness as it flits back and forth over my arm holding Kennedy. Keeping her smile in place the whole time that her mind is no doubt jumping to all sorts of crazy explanations. Yeah. My girl has green eyes for a reason.



“Nah B. You stay. I’m just imparting some wisdom on the young.”



Smiling as she closes the door behind her. Her head cocking to the side. “Oh yeah? And how’s that working out for ya?”



“Turns out I’m kind of wise.”



Wise enough to know how much I love her. Wise enough to pick myself up from the bed now to greet her on the carpet. Not throwing myself into her arms like some sapped out movie script, but freezing in front of her. Just feeling her presence.



“I knew that already Faith.”



“You did?” She nods. “Why didn’t you tell me?”



“Your ego is hard enough to manage as it is. Why fuel the fire?”



She is the fuel to my fire. I offer a grin as my eyes drop her gaze, as they start the lazy journey down across the smooth line of her neck, sliding along her jaw line and up to her lips. Perfect pink lips. Wanting to groan as her tongue peeks out to tempt me the last step forwards.



“Right. I think I’ll go… uh… maybe get some food.”



Groaning instead at the reminder of Kennedy.



“It’s okay Ken, you’re cool.”



“No, you two hang out, I’ll go find Angel…”



She looks so uncomfortable and I think to let her have her way. Alone time with B would be kinda nice. There’s something been a little… off, or something, with Buffy the last few days. Not off, off. Not like being an ass… but something. Like she’s thinking even more than usual… like there’s sadness in her eyes for reasons that I don’t know of. That I want to know of.



I don’t get to give my approval though, because the girl in question speaks before me, denies me the alone time that I so very much want. “No Kennedy. Stay.” Stepping around me to stand before Ken, straightening her shoulders out. “Angel’s gone for the night and besides, I wanted to talk to you.”



“You did?”



Kennedy looks about as surprised as I am. Buffy’s made no real effort to be near her at all since the other night. Staying with the planning crew, hanging with Dawn.



“I do.”



“Oh.”



“Hey, don’t look so shocked. I know this is a few days late, I’ve been kinda busy dealing with the decapitation aftermath… but about the punching…”



Her tone is doing that always perky thing. No matter the sitch, it keeps on bouncing.



“The punching?”



“Right. I punched you for running your mouth off and acting like a brat.”



I wonder if this is the prelude to an apology.



“Oh. That. It’s forgotten.”



“No. I don’t want you to forget it.” Maybe not an apology? “What I did was wrong, I accept that. You had me pissed and I let my emotions control me. I’m a slayer, I should know better…”



I watch Kennedy’s face. See the understanding that’s going on there. Look to Buffy and marvel at how damn smart she can be. I know what she’s doing.



“We all make mistakes?”



“Exactly, Kennedy. We all make mistakes. Then we accept them and then we make amends.” They lock eyes and I try to follow them. “I’m sorry I hit you, it won’t happen again.”



“Thanks. And I’ll try not to be such a brat, it’s hard sometimes… I blame it on my upbringing.”



“I blame it on your age. You’ll grow out of it.”



And how has she got to where I was with just a few simple words? It’s taken me days to get more than a fucking grunt out of Ken, and now B is number one gal pal after, ‘we all make mistakes’? I need to work on perky, maybe it’s the perky.



“So how are you bearing up?”



“I’m okay. Kind of. Faith’s been helping…” Her voice has snuck back to unsure again, her head nodding softly up and down. “…I guess it’s nice to feel understood. Like I’m not alone.”



“You have no chance of that Ken. You need to put in a written request to get alone time around here…”



“No.” She straightens up again, gives meaning to her words. Her hand tapping a steady beat against her chest. “In here. I mean in here… when they killed my friends I thought that that was it. Me against the world. And now… not so much, now I don’t feel so alone.”



“You’re not alone Kennedy. I promise you that.”



And maybe it’s not perky. Maybe it’s just Buffy. A quality she has that makes people listen, a need to believe in what she says.



I leave my consideration behind when the door opens again, Tara creeping in with the phone receiver held tight in her grasp.



“It’s Dawnie, she wants to know if she can stay over with Cordy?”



“She doesn’t want to come home?”



“They’re leaving on Monday, Buffy, she wants to spend some quality time…”



“Does she have bedclothes?”



Tara shrugs and speaks back into the phone, repeating to us what Dawn says;



“Cordy is lending her a T-shirt and she’s getting a manicure and please, please, please can she stay?”



“Okay, okay… tell her I’ll call later. And don’t forget to floss!”



We watch as the news is relayed, as Tara ends the call with a smile, telling Dawn to have a nice time.



“She’s sounding happy.” Speaking with confidence, knowing what the words will mean to Buffy.



“It’d make a nice change.”



“Just give her time, she’s gonna be fine.” Tara tosses the phone easily onto the bed, smiling when it lands near Kennedy. “What about you guys, anybody want anything?”



“A soda would be good.”



“You’re kidding me B?”



“What?” She breaks her gaze from Tara to throw confusion my way. “Is there something wrong with wanting a soda?”



“Jeez, after the week we’ve had?” She still doesn’t get it, so I look to spell it out. “It’s Friday night, we’ve been through hell, the kid’s just let us know that she’s staying out and you wanna drink a soda? It’s wrong.”



“I’m tired.”



“Nah-uh. More like dull.” I wink at her disgruntled face, passing my eyes to Tara to find a comrade in arms. “Tara’s gonna have a beer with me, ain’t ya T?”



“I am?”



“Hell yeah!”



She offers me a lopsided grin, a quick sparkle of her blue eyes. “I suppose I could have a beer or two, just for relaxation purposes. It has been a tough week.”



I turn to catch Kennedy’s affirming nod. “Right then, that’s three beers and a nice tasty soda for Buffy.”



“Wait… I’ll have a beer.”



“You sure you can handle it?”



God, I love teasing her. Narrowing my eyes as she tries to stare me down, blowing her a kiss when she flips me the bird.



“Four beers please Tara.” And laughing out loud at the tone in her voice.



“Fuck B, I love it when you’re playing pissed.”



“Who’s playing, F?”



Damn right I love it. The energy that sparks across the room, that makes my throat raw with anticipation.



“Right... okay… that’s four beers then?”



That makes my subconscious growl as the spell is momentarily broken.



“Thank you Tara.”



Or not.



I try and calm my libido by counting the seconds that it takes her to return, maybe the idea that she was leaving Kennedy stuck between us making her move even faster, bringing the beer back as quick as if by magic…



“Willow is just finishing her homework, then she’ll be up to join us.”



“Thanks Tara.”



We all offer appreciation as she hands round the refreshments, my fingers popping the top as soon as I catch it, drawing long, hard and deep from the liquid inside. No words for the moment. Just each of us sitting here and lost in our bottles, private thoughts enforcing the silence. When Buffy starts to speak, I have to shake my head to clear my mind, making my ears hear.



“…didn’t really know what that was all about. What about now? Are you feeling better?”



And she’s talking to Tara. Magic talk again, questions about what happened down there in the basement. Why she collapsed, what Willow had done. And I’ve asked her myself a couple of times.



“It was nothing. I wasn’t strong enough to channel the power, those warlocks were pretty fierce. Willow just took what she needed…”



“And you’re okay with that?”



“What do you think Buffy, wouldn’t you be?”



“Me be?”



“Exactly. If Faith and you were in a fight and you were weakening, if she could take your strength and finish the fight… wouldn’t you let her? Wouldn’t you force her to?”



I meet Buffy’s eyes and raise my bottle in salute, absolutely knowing that she could take anything that she ever needed from me, her return raise of beer assuring me of the same.



“Well I wouldn’t let anyone take MY power, no chance. I don’t care who they are, it’s not gonna happen.”



I can’t get a reply out quick enough to beat Tara’s fast words. Breaking it down and explaining for the young one. More wisdom for the youth.



“I love her, Kennedy.”



The simplest explanation.



“That’s it?”



She looks to me and I nod my agreement, chuckling at the distaste that crosses her features. “You wait till you find yourself a honey… a ‘single’ honey, then you’ll see. Love makes ya do the wacky Ken, that’s all there is to it.”



“You can count me out then, the only thing I wanna go wacky on is the undead.”



“Kinky. You and B have something in common!”



It’s not like I think before I speak.



“Faith!”



Cos if I did think, then I would’ve known which words were coming and I would’ve kept it clamped. I offer an apologetic smile Buffy’s way, topping it off with a cocky wink and then turning back to Kennedy.



“Serious though Ken, it gets ya when you’re least expecting it.”



“It does?”



“Hell yes. Take me and B and the here and now. I didn’t come back here looking for the warm and fuzzy feelings and I damn well didn’t come back here looking to find them with Buffy. It still bit me on the fucking ass though.”



“You carry on Faith and it’ll be me biting you on the ass.”



Sounds good.



“Promises, promises, B.”



I duck to avoid the flying cushion, rolling to my left and grabbing a pillow of my own, pulling back my arm…



“Don’t do it!”



“Or what?” My eyebrows hitting all the horny notes. “You’ll bite me harder?”



I freeze on my throw as the door opens up again, Willow struggling through with five bottles of fresh beer.



“Guys, I brought refreshments…” Her eyes widening as she takes in my mid-throw stance on the bed. “…ooo spectator sports. My favourite. Who’s up?”



Restraining my urge to toss the pillow Willow’s way, only because she is carrying the beer. Instead vowing to Buffy with my eyes that she will get hers later.



“We were just instructing Kennedy in the art of love, sweetie. She’s a cynic.”



“She is?” We all sombrely agree with the nodding of heads. “Maybe the pillow throwing put her off? Did you tell her about the good stuff too?”



“They told me about biting asses and then the pillow throwing… I can’t help but be cynical.”



Red rolls her eyes and hands out the beers, me and Kennedy perched on the bed being the last to receive. Waiting expectantly as she stands in front of us looking down.



“You’re feeling better?”



Not asking me. Asking Kennedy.



“Uh… yeah. Thanks.”



“That’s good.” Taking the time to say a bit more. “I know what it’s like to go a little crazy with the power… if you, uh… maybe if you needed someone to talk things through with and Faith was busy or Angel, or anyone else that you asked, well then, if you wanted to, you could talk to me…”



Ken’s mouth is just hanging open, maybe surprised at how fast that came out, or maybe shocked at the little pinkish tint that crossed Red’s cheeks when she had looked at her. Looks like B isn’t the only slayer that Willow’s thought about at bedtime…



“Hey Red, you ever had the naughty thoughts about me?”



“Huh?”



And I won’t torture any truths out of her. Not now. I will be though. If she’s had the low down rumbles for B and for Ken, makes me wonder if I haven’t starred in there somewhere myself. It’s always the quiet ones.



“Doesn’t matter. I’ll ask you later.” Smiling serenely now. Nudging Ken with my elbow again. “And you’re right, this girl is feeling a little bit better. I’m sure she’d love to…” How can I phrase it?



I catch Tara’s eyes and phrase it the nice way. “…‘talk’ with you. Yep. She loves the chit chat does our Ken.”



It’s a good job that everybody doesn’t have pillows, because I think that Red would be getting her spectator sport and it would all be aimed at me. There is no violence though, only silence. My words seemingly robbing the room of the easy chit chat.



“So what happened?”



Until Kennedy’s voice raises all of our heads, sounding soft beside me.



“What happened what?”



“You and Buffy. How did it bite you on your ass? What happened?”



What did happen. There’s a question. Destiny happened? Fate happened? Fuck knows what happened. I look across to the girl that carried the bite, her sparkling eyes, questioning smile. And does everyone expect an answer?



“I dunno Ken. Buffy happened.”



I can’t say better than that.



I block out the groan from beside me and settle into sharing a secret smile with my girlfriend.



“They’re skipping the hard part Kennedy…” Flicking my eyes to Willow. “…they had to go all death, hate and horridness before they got to here. Be glad you missed that part.”



“Be glad?” And I have to ask, because, hello… “That was just foreplay Red, it was all about the getting to here.”



“It was?” She looks a little bewildered at that.



“Sure it was. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”



I don’t know if I’ve suddenly grown an extra limb, but Willow is now peering at me like I’m some kind of freak.



“You’re turning all kinds of mushy Faith, did you know that?”



And what?!



I spit the beer from my mouth in a perfect arc across the room. “Screw you!”



“No, I like it. It’s really kinda cute…”



“Red!”



“All hard on the outside, soft on the inside…”



“I’m warning you.”



“Uh-huh.” She raises her bottle and clinks it with B. “What you gonna do, hug me to death?”



Both of them cracking up at my expense. “Bitches.”



“Hey baby, how about we leave Faith alone now..?”



“Nah, it’s cool Tara, I can take those two on.” My confident smile flashing across the room at her.



“I’m sure you can, I’m just worried that your new softer self might start crying.”



And what the fuck?



“Okay, that’s it. You’re all bitches and I’m through with ya.” I turn Kennedy’s way. “You want a roommate in LA, I’m thinking on heading out…”



“Fungus. Right?”



She casts a conspiring eye over my tormentors, my own following her path. All three of them huddled together and laughing so hard. So fucking funny. Bitches.



“Yeah, fungus.”



And it’s a shame she has to go. I could use someone in my corner, facing down the cackling threesome with some ammo of my own.



The thought has my damn softer side sneaking up on me again, my eyes serious as I turn to face her. “You know, it’s a shame you can’t stay Ken. This is… nice.” I throw my arm out to encompass the now far too happy with themselves threesome. All smirking at my apparent tenderness. “You will come back right? For visits and shit?”



“Yeah, of course I will.” And maybe it is me and her who really have something in common. Her voice searching out that something that she has never really had. “We’re like family now, aren’t we?”



So much hope. So much need.



“We’re fucking sisters, girlfriend.” Toasting her with my beer, accepting her soft high five.



It has me believing again that she will be okay. She’s like me, yet not like me. I never could have accepted all of this when I was her. I’d have been trying to rip it apart for being what I’d never had, not smiling out gratitude with the force of a thousand watt light-bulb.



“Hey, ‘girlfriend’?”



Buffy’s voice brings my smile her way, my mouth raising higher to match the pattern of her eyebrows. “Yeah?”



“That was kind of beautiful.” Not sure if she is teasing me still, needing to check the gentle faces of the other two before I can accept it for what it is.



“Right. Uh… thanks.”



Her eyes rolling as she makes her stand, comes over to sit on the bed with me and Kennedy. Her hand resting snugly on my ass. “Well it was. And it goes for me too Kennedy. I think LA will be good for you… Angel will be too, but we all need a break sometimes. If you ever want a home in Sunnydale, then you have a home in Sunnydale.”



And that was kind of beautiful too. We’re all fucking sap heads.



I’m saved from the outpouring of emotion by a right on cue Buffy special. Releasing the serious with talk all light. Leaning across me to tap a reminder against Kennedy’s shoulder.



“You do realise though, that if we’re all family now, then you get Dawnie as a younger sister by way of default? Enjoy yourself with that!”



Sending mock horror creeping across Kennedy’s face. “Yo, that’s harsh.”



“Aw, the kid’s cool. She grows on you as well.”



“More fungus?”



“The nicer kind.”



She catches my eye and I hold it. “I’m just kidding Faith. I like family. It’s nice.”



“Yeah, it’s special.”



And Jesus Faith! Shut the hell up.



My cheeks threatening to turn red with all of the soft speech that is falling from my mouth. I swear my rep is shot to shit. Everyone in the room fully aware that when it comes right down to it, I’m about as hard as fucking marshmallows. Yeah. Fucking beautiful.



“To family then, yeah?”



“Huh?”



I glance back up from my pensive stare at the bed, to catch Kennedy holding her bottle aloft, not just to me, but to the room. Asking them all to accept her now, to forgive her and to welcome her. None of us met Kennedy under the best circumstances and she never tried hard to make us like her, alienating us with lustful glares and defiant bullshit. A whole lot closer to making enemies than friends. But this is different. This is asking for that fresh slate, this is asking to forge a bond with everyone.



I swear I know who will be first to accept her toast and I am not disappointed. Tara’s bottle raised in the air and accompanied by her special kind of smile.



“To family, Kennedy.”



“To family.”



Five voices joining together. Not to find the fun or to joke and to laugh, but to reaffirm the truth of what it is that’s most important. People who will love you, who will always be there for you, who will pick you up when you just can’t stop falling.



And I can’t help that my eyes have fallen on B. Sat by my side and with her hand still resting snugly on my ass. I keep my bottle raised just that second longer, my silent toast of To Buffy, etched upon my lips. My silent kiss wanting to etch itself upon hers.



Damn right family is important. And to me, the heart of my family is Buffy.



And holy fuck.



I am so much softer than marshmallow.

Next

 
Home ~ Updates ~ Fiction ~ Wallpapers ~ Buffy Babies ~ Art Gallery ~ Links ~ Tuneage
Copyright © 2004, All Rights Reserved. | Contact Owner Contact Webmaster