Things were clearer, the next time she came up out of the darkness.
The pain was still there, it seemed like it had always been there, but she was getting better at pushing it into the background. Her head didn't seem to be hurting nearly as much, now, and that was a Very Good Thing. She took a quick inventory. Still no vision, but she wasn't worried about that. Given time, she could heal anything. The worst part was that if someone came after her now, she would be dead meat. Bad, but what could she do? Wherever she was must be safe enough; otherwise she wouldn't still be alive. The tube was still down her throat, but she was breathing on her own, which was at least some improvement. Her ears seemed to be working, too. She could hear a steady beeping, faint voices from some distance off, even the hum that was always there when electronic equipment was nearby.
Where was this? Had Mayor Wilkens found her and taken her somewhere? It was possible.... No, if it were he, then she wouldn't be surrounded by machines. He was a sorcerer, and a powerful one. He would have used magick to heal her, and she would already be up and around. Wait a minute; Mayor Wilkens, and magick. That thought sparked something way in the back of her mind, but her abused brain was slow to respond. There was something that she knew, and it was connected to--
There was the sound of someone moving, right beside her. She started to tense, but managed to stop before she did more than twitch. Damn, her hearing was still messed up, or she would have heard them the second she came awake. Whoever it was had stopped at her feet. There was a rattle, then a faint rustle. And another. A scratching sound, and then the rattle again. They moved up to stand at her left side, and firm, impersonal fingers touched her arm. She held herself still as they touched something that was attached to her, and didn't flinch even when a twinge of pain informed her that there was something impaling her through that arm, just below her elbow. The fingers brushed her hair back from her forehead, lightly touching one of the spots there that throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She heard a sigh.
"Well, how is sleeping beauty today? I see the bruises are fading, and in record time." The fingers raised first one eyelid, then the other. She couldn't see anything, could barely feel her face at all. For the first time she realized that parts of her body were strangely numb. Either she had really been messed up in the fall, or her brain wasn't as fully healed as she had thought. The stranger's fingers were turning her head slightly from side to side, and they spoke again, seemingly to themselves. Herself; it was a woman's voice.
"I wish they had let me keep the EEG; I would love to see if your brain activity has increased." The Slayer wondered if that EEG-thing would show that she was awake, and listening. Probably. "You're breathing fine without the ventilator; which has doubtless impressed the pathetic healers of Sunnydale General to no end. Keep this up and I'll be hailed as a miracle-worker." A sheet was pulled back, and she could barely make out a light touch on her belly. "Hm. Still getting some drainage, but that's not unusual. Except perhaps for you."
Faith frowned mentally. Who was this woman? Not anyone she'd ever met before, though her voice had a faint trace of something that raised her hackles. The sheet was replaced, and a long silence stretched out, broken only by the sound of the bedside equipment. She didn't hear the woman leave, and her hearing was only working at human level; she wasn't able to hear everything around her like she was accustomed to doing. In this case, though, that was unnecessary. She knew the woman was there, she could feel the eyes resting on her face. A long minute passed, and finally the sense of a watching presence faded, and she heard the sound of footsteps moving away. She was alone.
Carefully, she shifted in the bed, seeing if she could at least sit up. Her midsection sent sharp jabs of pain through her at the slightest excuse, so she tried to raise herself up on her elbows. A strange sensation caught her attention, and she reached across with her right hand to feel her left arm. There was a tube in it, and tape around her forearm to hold it in place. She felt the sheets beneath her fingers, heard the faint murmurs of voices from the hall outside her room.
Duh. She was in the hospital. Even through the remnants of cotton filling her skull, she felt disgusted at herself to having taken so long to figure it out. Whoever had found her after the fall had brought her here.
Faith lay there for a while, thinking. She was in the hospital, Sunnydale General hospital, the woman had said, which was in Sunnydale. Wait a minute.... Something was wrong with that picture. What day was today? If it was the same day that she had been hurt, then today was the Ascension. After the Ascension, there would BE no more Sunnydale. The Mayor would level it, feeding on the people, using the power he gained to open a gate to a demon dimension. He would let them pour through and gorge themselves on the locals, thus repaying them for their assistance in his transformation. Then they would return through the gate, since true demons could no longer exist indefinitely on Earth. That would leave Faith as her boss's agent in the mortal world, with him coming in occasionally to visit. He had promised her power, and money, and the chance to kick ass to her heart's content. Which would be nice, she had to admit. But what she really wanted was the sense of purpose that he gave her life. The knowledge that someone knew her, valued her... cared about her. And he did, she KNEW that he did. He had never lied to her, not even once.
But she was in a bed, in the hospital, in Sunnydale. She had lost track of time, but it felt like a lot longer than a few hours. It might have been days since she had been hurt, and the Ascension HAD to have happened by now.
Sunnydale was still here. Which naturally led to the conclusion that something had gone wrong.
Faith swallowed, but the lump in her throat remained.
Buffy had been what had gone wrong. Had to be. Which meant that Richard Wilkens was dead. Faith had not been there to help him, and Buffy had shown up with her god dammed friends, and done their little slayer and the slayerettes thing, and the only person who had ever cared for her was dead.
Because she hadn't been there.
Faith did not cry, ever. It was a weak, stupid thing to do, and she had not let herself do it for a long, long while. She cried now. She couldn't help it, and there was no one to see her anyway, not even herself. Tears flowing from her unseeing eyes, she wept as quietly as she could, fresh pain stabbing through her torn middle with each sob. That was fine, she deserved to be hurt. Because, in the end, he hadn't failed her; she had failed him. She hadn't been smart enough, or strong enough, or good enough. Not when it counted, not against Buffy.
Faith lay there in the hospital bed, in Sunnydale, alone.
Crying.
* * * * *
12:09
pm
June 1, 1999
The man sat on his couch, watching the evening news. An attractive lady newscaster was staring out of the television screen, reciting the latest happenings in the usually placid town of Sunnydale. Placid on the surface, at least. Until recently, the most powerful man in the area had taken steps to prevent the truth about the town, and the dangers associated with it, from coming to light.
That man was gone now, and Rupert Giles sat a bit straighter as the scene shifted to show a young girl lying motionless in a hospital bed.
"-Nearly two weeks after the destruction of Sunnydale High, the revelations continue. Despite the failure to identify his remains, Mayor Richard Wilkens has been declared dead, and the legal documents filed by his attorneys have led to the surprise announcement that he had an adopted daughter. Faith Wilkens, a young woman with no discernible past, was adopted by the Mayor, in secret, just over one month ago. All of his considerable fortune has been willed to this mystery girl, but it is increasingly unlikely that she will ever have the chance to enjoy it. Early on the morning of May twentieth, just twelve hours before her adopted father's death, Faith was the victim of a vicious attack that left her perilously near death. The surgeons at Sunnydale General did their best, and managed to save her life, but she remains in a coma, and Doctors there say that it is unlikely that she will ever recover.
However, even though she is not aware of it, this young woman is now a player in a scandal that may reach every part of this small town's government. Evidence has surfaced that the former Mayor may have been involved in a wide range of illicit activities while in office. An anonymous tip has led investigators to several anomalies in Richard Wilkens's financial records, and several members of the town council have been implicated in what may be a scheme, orchestrated by the Mayor, to control land development in the Sunnydale area. With Wilkens dead, people are stepping forward and revealing to police that they have long been victims of blackmail and extortion by both him and others."
Giles nodded thoughtfully. He supposed that if Faith had not been incapacitated, then none of those individuals would have had the courage to step forward. It seemed that she had been serving as the sorcerer's chief enforcer, as well as his personal assassin. He smiled faintly. At least some good had come of Buffy's confrontation with the rogue Slayer. She had not said anything to him, but it was clear that she was feeling a measure of guilt and depression over what she had done to the younger girl. Watching her punish herself over something that had been so manifestly necessary was painful to him, but seeing the Mayor's careful plans collapse so completely was eminently satisfying.
"So what does all of this mean for the girl lying here? Well, with the several million dollars in cash and assets that Wilkens had left to her now frozen pending a full investigation, plans to transfer her to a private care facility have been put on hold. It may be weeks, possibly months, before all the facts are known, and until they are, Faith Wilkens will remain a guest of Sunnydale General. If the Mayor's mysterious daughter does wake from her coma, it is certain that police will be keen to question her about the schemes of the late Richard Wilkens. You can rest assured that there are many people who will be watching Faith's progress closely."
The newswoman continued on with another story, but Giles was no longer listening. There were beings in and around Sunnydale who knew what Faith was, and now.... Now they knew where she could be found, and that she was utterly helpless. He removed his glasses and wiped his hand across his face, staring at the shelves of magical implements on the far side of the room.
"Crap."
* * * * *
She faded back in, slowly this time.
Still lying on her back, still had a tube in her arm and a bigger one that went in one nostril and then down her throat. That one was really irritating, and made her mouth taste faintly of vomit. She wondered what had been going on while she was out. How much time had passed? She had no way of knowing. Opening her eyes, she had blink rapidly to clear the crusty gunk that seemed to fill them. It was dark, but she made the shift that brought her nightvision up, and the room came into focus. A hospital room, obviously. Television hanging from the wall, empty chair to her left, open door beyond showing a little of the hallway. To her right, a pair of windows looked out into the night. She grinned with relief, realizing that she was able to see again, finally.
Slayer healing; love it, love it, love it.
When she turned her head to look around, her face and neck still hurt, but not as badly as they had. Everything else still hurt too; it looked like they weren't wasting any painkillers on her. No big deal, part of the Slayer package was the ability to shut out pain. Mostly. Her belly was still killing her.
She surprised herself with a giggle, and then hissed as the moment strained the wound. 'Killing her' was just what the knife in her stomach had been supposed to do. But she was too tough for that.
Barely.
Still, the searing cold that filled the wound worried her. That was no ordinary knife that she had been stabbed with. Buffy couldn't have picked a more lethal weapon to use in their showdown. Faith concentrated, and managed to move her right arm, clumsily, to put her hand over the injury. It was covered with bandages, of course, but even through the material she could feel the cold radiating from it. She wondered what the doctors thought of it, or if they had even noticed. It didn't matter what they thought, not really. They couldn't save her from the magic that was still lodged inside her, that was still trying to kill her. She would have to help herself; there was no one else to do it for her. Just like always.
She moved her thoughts farther back in her mind, pulling away from the outside world, focusing on her body. Her eyes closed, and her breathing grew slower, deeper. Her pulse quickened slightly, and her body temperature began to rise. She concentrated, making the changes in the energy flows that moved through her, feeling the movement of blood follow in its turn. Faith smiled grimly, though her lips barely twitched. Buffy didn't know everything; she had learned a few tricks of her own, these last few months. She'd had to, to survive the things she had done, the enemies she had fought. Now she would gear all the resources of her flesh to healing the wound that was still trying to destroy her, and all of the Slayer energies that she could gather would be directed at defeating the knot of ice that was gnawing at the cord of her life.
When she had the new rhythms in place, and stabilized, she relaxed her concentration slightly. The darkness was calling her again, and the processes she had set in motion had exhausted her. She drifted, waiting to heal.
It would take time.
She had time.
* * * * *
3:41
pm
June 1, 1999
Giles entered the room slowly, his eyes never leaving the girl lying unconscious on the bed. Behind him, the nurse had stopped in the doorway, watching. The former Watcher stood for several moments, looking down at the girl, before speaking.
"Can you tell me anything about her chances for recovery?" He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the woman grimace.
"Sir.... It's difficult to say. All we know is that the head injury was severe, your niece's brain was badly damaged... and there seemed to be very little activity there." She put a sympathetic expression on her face, but she'd obviously gone through all of this many times before, and was only going through the motions. "I'm very sorry."
He nodded.
"Thank you. Would you please leave us?"
The nurse withdrew with obvious relief, and he looked down at the bundle of flowers he had brought with him as part of his 'visiting relative' disguise. With a sigh he tossed them onto the bedside table and slipped the strap of the carry bag from his shoulder. He'd been prepared to tell the nurse that it contained his laptop computer, but she had not asked. Carefully not looking at Faith, he removed his coat and laid it across the back of the single chair. The room was a single-occupant, fortunately, and its position at the extreme end of the hallway gave it even more privacy. He took a moment to pull the door closed, then moved to begin removing his equipment from the bag.
This would not take long, but it was critical that he not be disturbed.
* * * * *
Giles finished the recitation and lowered his arms. He was no natural magician; his workings relied on tried and proven formula and ritual. Still, he had been practicing for over two decades now, and he could cast a warding with the best of them. Moving briskly, he extinguished the smoldering herbs, fanning the residual smoke out of the open window before closing it. A square of silk on the table held a small Amethyst crystal, which was glowing faintly. He picked it up and stood looking around the room. He had no intention of coming back here on a regular basis to reinforce the protections, so he had anchored the defensive spells to the gemstone. The power within it would maintain the barrier for several months, if necessary. The only question was, where to hide it?
He wandered around for a few moments, considering then discarding several possible choices. Ultimately he crouched and wedged it firmly into a cranny underneath the frame of the bed. Straightening, he glanced away from Faith's motionless form. He had been careful to avoid looking in her direction since that first moment when he had entered the room, and he kept his eyes fixed on the floor as he quickly tucked his magical paraphernalia back into the shoulder bag. When everything was hidden away, he stood.
There, it was done. The girl was as safe from supernatural attackers as he could manage; now he could leave. He picked up the flowers from where they lay on the table, turning them slowly in his hands, thinking.
"I didn't do this for you, you know." He spoke softly, never looking at the girl who lay there, so still and quiet. "I'm not protecting you; you've given me ample proof that you neither want, nor deserve my aid. No, this is to safeguard the life of the girl who would become the Slayer, were you to die. It's a terrible burden, and I'm no longer as certain as I once was that using a young girl in this manner is justifiable. Besides which, you've shown me just how dangerous an unscrupulous Slayer can be."
He stared out of the window at the bright afternoon sunshine.
"Also, though it would be a kind of justice for a vampire or demon to devour you, I'll not allow one of them to use the power that resides within your body for their own purposes."
He stood there for a minute or two, sorting through his thoughts. Obviously the girl could not hear him, but he wanted to clarify things for himself. The person lying here, the evil that she had done, was at least partly due to his failure to properly guide her. He harbored no illusions that she herself was blameless; far from it. Faith had made her own choices, had decided her own fate, but at the same time....
"It's for Buffy." He considered that, nodding slowly as he followed that line of reasoning. "I'm preserving your life so that she's spared any further pain. She's suffered quite enough because of you, and you'll not add to her trials by dying."
He gave in and turned to look at her. Her pale face still showed faint signs of bruising from either the fight or the fall. Buffy had only spoken of those events once, describing her confrontation with the younger girl in a few terse sentences. Her anguish over what she had been forced to do was heart wrenching to someone who looked upon her as a daughter, and he had never asked her to elaborate on that night.
"I do not wish you dead, despite your crimes. But neither can I bring myself to wish you well."
She didn't look like a heartless murderer, lying there. She looked almost childlike, innocent. He knew better.
"It would be best for everyone if you simply remain as you are." He sighed, looking down at the flowers he still held. Moving slowly, he set them back down on the stand beside the bed. "I pray your dreams are happier than was your life, child of darkness."
He turned away and left that place without looking back.
* * * * *
