Ashes to Ashes Chapter 1—A Fitting Place
Usually the smog in LA was stifling, but today there was more than pollution that coated the air and stifled the lungs. Today there was smoke and dust from utter destruction. These weren't the effects of the Santa Ana winds picking up, or the dry brush of the Simi Valley hills, it was from the remains of the Wolfram and Hart offices and a major part of the city. Faith stood amongst the destruction watching Connor dig.
"Angel?" he cried out hoarse after hours of searching the thin boy's fingers where raw and blistered from pawing through the wreckage. "Dad? Where are you!"
Faith didn't have in her heart to tell him they probably wouldn't find him, and if they did, they more than likely wouldn't be able to tell his dusty remains from that of the building whose tenants never thought to clean. Her boots slowly maneuvered over the debris that littered the streets.
"Faith, we found something!" Vi called from somewhere behind her. A downy red head poked out of a building's doorway and waved her closer.
Snapping from her reverie she looked back, Faith's brow furrowing as she took charge of her emotions and nodded jogging over to the other slayer who was in the mouth of a doorway, Connor at her heels, "Yeah what's—Wes…"
As Vi and Jen lead her in then stepped aside and Faith had a full view of Wesley Windham-Pryce splayed dead on the marble floor. A decrepit maroon-ish demon with a shattered head defeated and equally dead across from him against the wall.
"Damn Wes, look at the mess you made," she said giving a glance around as she knelt beside him and picked up his glasses which had fallen to the floor and gently slipped them into one of his pockets. "See you decided to take a few lessons from me, huh? Guess kamikaze tactics work after all."
"I can still hear him in my head even though he's been gone for almost two days now." The small lilting voice came from a door near the hall. Faith looked up to see Fred standing there wringing her hands in uncertainty.
She met her eyes for a moment, "You're okay. I mean, you look--"
Fred only nodded moving to kneel beside Faith.
Conner frowned still peering at the body, "Two days, and he doesn't smell?"
"Magicks," Fred answered tilting her head as she reached out and stroked Wesley's cheek tears in her eyes, "they're preserving him. I couldn't let him just—just rot away."
Faith was quiet for a moment a pull tugged at her chest a feeling of loss and regret filling her. They shouldn't be dead, they're the good guys. None of them should be dead. That's when Conner's steady stare and voice pulled her back again, "Faith, that's not Fred."
"I know. It's just easier this way," She said with a shrug as she got up without batting and eye turned back to the smaller woman, "Why'd you preserve him?"
Fred's head turned and cocked almost mechanically and a much colder more precise regal voice came from her lips, "Would you rather I'd let his form whither and stink?"
"My nose is saying no," her face twisted at the thought of inhaling that kind of decay, "It's just that you could have buried him."
"In the rubble outside? That's not a fitting place for a fallen hero. You are still searching vainly for your fallen there. You will not find Angel among them." Illyria looked at Conner, "He still lives."
"Are we playin' the cryptic card? Cuz let me tell you how bad I am at that game. Are you telling us he's really still alive, or that he lives on because Conner here does? Cuz the last one is the crypto one."
"He still walks among the living."
"Well good, then you can go home, Conner, and wait for him there. Vi, call up Giles and let him know we found Wes and… the thing living in Fred. We'll need a memorial and let B know Angel's still waiting for cookie batter or whatever."
She turned back to Illyria again, "Gunn… where's Gunn and Mr. Green Jeans?"
"Among the destruction outside, he is dead, fallen where Conner was birth-ed." She said solemnly then added, "The green one has gone, I don't know where, while the blonde one walks."
"Yeah Buffy's fine, sure," Faith answered giving Illyria an odd look. "She's all about walkin' around."
