Title: In the Interest of Family
Author: Misty Flores mistyjox@hotmail.com
Teaser: Faith learns a few things about family, when hers goes to hell.
Rating: R, for Faith's use of language, and dark themes.
Genre: Ummm… no actual parings, but you could say, Faith/Wesley, with implication of Angel/Cordelia, and Gunn/Fred
Spoilers: Ummm… I guess, Provider but nothing very concrete. LOTS of speculation.
Notes: Just a little bit of a story of where I thought all the current plotlines could go, if Faith was suddenly mixed in. If you get a little lost at first, don't worry about it, you're supposed to be. :-)
--
She slipped in the mud, hand lashing out, a jolt of pain flashing up her wrist, as she caught herself before her chin hit the ground.
The tired Slayer scrambled to her feet, sloshing, fighting against the rain soaked dirt that clung to her leather boots, soaked her black pants with mud.
Again, Cordelia's words rang in her ears, and she fought against them, against what they implied.
"You have to go. You have to, Faith. I can't leave him."
Fucking shit.
Faith swallowed, apprehension flooding her as the rain beat down on her head, pounding droplets of liquid sliding down her cheeks, under her jacket, making any protection it had offered before, suddenly obsolete.
She didn't ask for this. She hadn't asked to become a savior. She wasn't a savior. She knew what she was supposed to be, and she knew what she wasn't.
Her hand kept the knife clutched to her side, the blade shining despite the darkness as she continued to move, over dirt, and through the fierce winds.
Again, the flashes of images, thoughts, words, continued to pervade her mind. Angel on the bed. Cordelia standing vigil by his side. Fred in the hospital. Gunn missing.
And the last one, the one that she had been sent to save, was here, waiting.
For who? For her? Why the hell would anyone expect her to save lives?
She had been released, only to become immersed in the darkness. Her time in jail had been a picnic compared to the utter hell their lives had become. A son stolen, a poisoned vampire. A small, deadly vampire killer, and a betrayer-
Faith sucked in her breath, fighting to push away the chaos of the preceding events: Fred's broken hearted whisper that he had taken Wes, taken him away and Angel was sick, and from the back of her mind, Cordelia's stoic hazel eyes flashed again at her.
"You have to save him, Faith. You're the only one who can."
Heart hammered with fear, beat against her chest, and with every beat, came a painful breath, dark eyes glinting brilliantly over the scene before her. The tree in the middle of the clearing, the old shack standing slip shod next to it.
He wouldn't be expecting her, would he? He wouldn't be expecting her to walk through that door, stare into his blue eyes, and hold him tightly. He wouldn't expect her to save him, take him back to where he belonged.
He had believed she could save them, he had said so, one night on the roof, when he found her staring at the stars. In the midst of the hell that had slowly begun to stir, rumblings of chaos in the distance, he had spoken quietly.
"One day, Faith. You may have to save us all. It's not enough anymore, for Angel, for Cordelia."
She had told him, that day was never coming. She had said 'fuck it', it wasn't going to be her. Not any time soon. Angel was the champion. Cordelia was the Seer.
But the team was severed, broken, and now the mud reached her ankles, and her tired body still rebelled against what was becoming increasingly clear.
Perhaps, it was the fear that made this so hard, to just move, making it through the rain and the mud, to where she KNEW he was. Gunn had contacted her, Gunn had told her, cutting in between the cussing, that he had managed to save him, salvage his life, was doing what he could, but what could he do, the fucking traitor?
Fred had wanted to understand, he had been desperate for her to understand, but not Faith. Faith would kill him if she saw him.
And now, here she stood, saving Wesley.
She reached the door, and found Gunn had kept his word. There was only one guard, and she didn't hesitate to pierce his throat, draw blood and push the body to the side, pulling open the door.
Inside, it was dark and musty.
The image in the room split her in two: a young man tied to a chair, body bruised and broken, blood oozing from various scratches on his face.
"Wes." The syllable was torn from her throat, aching and needy, emotion flooding her, and ironically, freezing her to the spot.
But he heard her, head raising wearily, gazing upon her with those beautiful blue eyes, so reminiscent of a time long ago, when she had held him in much the same way, tortured him until he nearly cried. And still, his spirit had remained unbroken.
Now, his eyes were sunken, sad, and they stared at her almost unseeingly. "Faith…"
The words jerked her from her state, making her move forward, sniff away the sobs that seemed intent on coming, settling in behind him and ripping off ropes, quickly moving to catch the slender body as it fell from it's precarious perch.
And now she had him, drenched with sweat and bloody, face grimy and dusty, glasses broken, scratched with scars. Her heart welled into her throat, painful and agonizing, as she pulled him to her, gathering him into her lap, hastily putting down the blade and wiping at his face, attempting to clear the redness from his features.
He was breathing shallowly now, sucking sounds that made it clear he was in bad shape. She hadn't saved him, yet.
"Wes," she breathed, thumb lining his cheek. "You fucking bastard… what the hell were you thinking?"
He focused on her after some time, a slow, pained smile descending on his lips. "I'm bloody stupid."
"Damn straight," she muttered, a choked laugh escaping as she pulled him closer.
He blinked, swallowed thickly, and then moved his arms up her sleeve. "You're drenched."
"You're bleeding," she shot back.
"It was the only way." She rolled her eyes, relief making her laugh bitterly as she slid a hand under his arm, helping him up. "We had to make it look real."
"I'm killing him, Wesley."
"He was only doing what we were asking."
"I'm killing him." The words were short, raspy. "He can't do this to you and get away with it, double agent or not. Fucking Angel's poisoned and Connor's gone, and this- and he's still playing sides? FUCK THAT. FUCK THAT."
Wesley's eyes were somber as they stepped into the rain.
He was quiet, but he held her closer, keeping her stronger body next to his. "Thank you, Faith," he whispered.
She swallowed away the words, keeping her eyes on the dirt, on the outside. "Fuck, Wes. You would have done the same for me."
He was still for a minute, and then, so slowly she could barely hear, "I would have died for you…"
She didn't comment, only tightened her grip, recognized how hot he was, and made another mental note to kill Gunn.
--
Her eyes were on his form as he twisted the sheets, weary body moving, head sliding on the pillow.
Arms were crossed as she waited, not moving, keeping her eyes on Wesley, concentrating on breathing in, breathing out.
It was the only way she could contain the rage.
Cordelia stepped through, moving past her to settle on the bed, checking Wesley's wounds. The pair of friends locked eyes, and Cordelia offered Wesley one soft smile, before she kissed his forehead, allowing him to close his eyes again.
There was a moment, as Cordelia ran her hands over Wesley's chest, his arms, studying the wounds, wincing sympathetically, and turning back to Faith.
"He's okay. Nothing major, thank God. Can you do this?"
Faith's eyes narrowed, flashing angrily at the stoic hazel. "FUCK YOU. You could have told me."
Cordelia was silent, and she stood, putting aside the bandages and grabbing Faith's arm, trying to drag her out.
Faith flung her off. "You should have fucking told me."
Cordelia, twenty-two years old, tired and old, stared at her, the challenging, dangerous slayer with the killer stance.
"Come on." She moved outside, and the only reason Faith followed, was she didn't want to wake Wesley.
Her hand slammed the door closed, as Cordelia calmly collected herself, moved into the hallway, her voice a whisper. "We couldn't tell you."
"And Fred? Why the hell didn't you tell her? She's fucking-"
"We had to make it real-"
"It IS real! Wesley's almost DIED!"
"But he didn't." Cordelia's answer was easy, firm. "He didn't die, but Gunn would have, if Holtz found out he was still working for us. Wesley made a sacrifice, so Charles' cover wouldn't be blown. That's what friends do."
Faith closed her eyes. Fuck Friends. Fuck Gunn.
"Fred's "
"Heartbroken, but alive," Cordelia answered wearily.
"Tell me, what's the difference if you're alive, but your heart's bleeding, Cor?"
Cordelia swallowed, her stance wavered, but her tone was firm. "Gunn saved her. He saved all of us."
"And Angel?" Faith whispered, so taken over with emotion she could barely see straight. "What the hell about him?"
And that's when she got a reaction from Cordelia, a soft liting of hazel that gave away the horror, the pain softening the ice in her eyes. "We couldn't control everything, could we?" Faith swallowed, suddenly no longer able to look her in the eyes. "Can you take care of Wes? I need to get back to Angel."
"And what now?"
Cordelia paused, and all Faith got was a soft shrug. "I don't know."
Faith was left alone in the hallway, closing her eyes against the emotion and pushing open the door.
"Faith." Cordelia stared at her. "It's what families do."
The words 'fuck family' got stuck in Faith's throat, and all that she managed was a short, heavy nod.
--
Faith was no Florence Nightingale.
Her fingers were shaking as she pulled open the roll of bandages, studied the alcohol, looked at the band-aids.
Who the hell thought she would be patching people up instead of killing them?
He turned over, almost on cue, and she quickly unbuttoned his shirt, spreading it wide, gently pulling up one shoulder to slide the shirt out from under him.
The movement caused him to stir, and when his eyes opened and locked with hers, she gave him only a grim nod, pulling out the bloody shirt and throwing it carelessly in a heap, on the floor.
"Faith…"
"Shut up, Wesley," she said, voice gritty and full of pain. Her eyes averted from his chest as she pulled the leather belt out of its buckle, pulling down the zipper of his pants, peeling the dirty, wet slacks away from his body.
His socks, once perfectly white, now dirty and almost black, came off next, adding to the dirty pile on the floor, next to her.
Naked Wesley, except for a pair of boxers, now lay on the bed. Carefully, she took the bandages, sloppily began to wipe at his cuts, trying to ignore the way her eyes lingered over the old scars.
"Fuck, Wesley," she breathed, breath hitching in emotional anger.
He was unusually quiet, eyes dark blue as he watched her tasks, almost as if he was watching a scene that he was not a part of.
Her inward hiss displayed her sympathy, moving her hand over the discolored flesh.
"You don't understand," he finally said softly.
"I understand that bastard put you in danger."
"He hurt me, to save me."
"You've got some twisted family values, Wesley," she snapped. "And what
the hell are you ON?"
"It hasn't occurred to you that he's having the worst of it?" Wesley
asked. "Making Fred believe he didn't love her?"
"I know perfectly well, how he feels, Wesley." Her eyes lingered on his, before he looked away. Of course she understood. She knew what it was like to have someone you once considered a friend stare at you with eyes of hate. She knew what it was like to hurt someone so badly, you wanted to ache inside.
She knew the danger in losing everyone you loved.
She knew it. FUCK.
She lived it.
"Then you should understand what had to be done."
"FUCK you."
Her eyes were dangerously close to tears, as she spread white gauze over a slash in his chest, moving over the lean muscles of his torso, nearly straddling him in an attempt to get it on right.
"You almost died," she finally whispered, body trembling above his, arms aching and heart breaking with emotion she never dared show before. Not to him, not to anyone. There were feelings that developed in a few short months, that Faith was afraid to admit, even if she was sure, he already knew.
When she finally had the courage to look, his eyes locked on hers, and his expression was curious. Without another word, Wesley's palm wrapped around the nape of her neck, and he lowered her head, carefully tasting her, a warm, soft, gentle kiss.
When their lips drifted apart, her eyes widened, startled emotions suddenly rushing to the surface.
But Wesley only smiled, in spite of his pain, and with a caress of his fingers against her cheek, he whispered, "But I didn't."
She swallowed. But what about the next-
Did he-
"You're drenched."
His fingers were moving over her jacket, pushing it off her shoulders.
She pulled it off numbly, moving back to the side of the bed. "Wesley…" The words were unsure.
"Sleep here." It wasn't a question… Faith didn't know what it was. The room was dark, and they were alone. Cordelia was keeping vigil over Angel, Fred was safe, watched over by Lorne in the hospital, nursing her broken heart…
Gunn was gone, lost in his double agent stint…
And there was Wesley. For the moment, there was only Wesley.
Carefully, she pulled off her shirt, shivering in the cold. Her pants were kicked off next, and when Wesley moved over, she slid under the sheets, her cold body immediately met by a warm one, skin hot with fever.
Her head rested on his shoulder, and Faith knew it was only a moment. They were living in hell, now. In a few hours, she would get up, continue to fight, at this time, she was the only one that could.
But for now, her lips pressed against Wesley, her complicated relationship with him never making more sense than it did now.
She took comfort in his arms, held him close, drifted to sleep.
It was what families did.
FIN.