2:18 AM
August 7, 1999

It was early yet, but they were heading back upstairs. If Kira was coming along with her tomorrow, then there was no need to make this a late night. Actually, Faith had been forced to insist that the girl go and get some sleep, or she would have happily stayed in the pool for hours. A brief shower in the changing room downstairs had rinsed most of the chlorine smell off of them, but there hadn't been any towels to be found, so both of them were still dripping wet.

"I'm not sure how you're going to explain to the nurses how you managed to get soaked if you never left the your room." Faith was wearing her jeans and snoopy sweatshirt, willing to risk them still being damp tomorrow when it came time for their escape. Not that it should come to actually having to escape or anything. Her plan was for the two of them to just walk out the front door. Nobody down there should be able to recognize them; so there shouldn't be any problem. Kira was climbing the stairs beside her, her Pokemon slippers squishing with every step due to a minor incident that had occurred during their playtime in the pool.

"I've got a shower in my bathroom, so I'll just tell them I forgot to dry off before I put my clothes on. I don't think anyone will notice, though."

That was probably true. Nobody wanted to look at someone who made them feel uncomfortable, for whatever reason. From what the girl had told her, it sounded like everyone made a habit of ignoring her, so long as she didn't cause any trouble. The similarities between her and Kira were kind of spooky.

"All right. So you're going to meet me in my room tomorrow night...."

The girl nodded, and began reciting the plan they had worked out.

"I'm going to see if I can steal a whole bunch of my medicine when the nurses aren't looking. If I can't do that without them seeing me, I need to try and find out where they keep it, so that you can get it for me when it's time for us to leave." She raised her hand and ticked items off on her small fingers. "I should pick out two outfits to take with me, and remember socks and underwear. And shoes."

"Good. Once I find a place to set up we can both get more things, but that might take a couple of weeks. I hope not, but you never know."

Kira smiled brightly.

"I know you'll make everything okay, Faith. Don't worry."

Wow. When was the last time someone had been that trusting, that dependant on her? Mayor Wilkens had believed in her, but he had been well able to take care of himself. Except at the end. She hoped she could do a better job this time, of protecting the person who was counting on her.

At the top of the stairs, Faith put her hand on the handle of the heavy metal fire door, glancing through the small window to make sure the coast was clear. A jolt of adrenaline rushed through her as she glimpsed a man entering her room, just a few feet away.

Just that quickly, playtime was over. Her breathing deepened and she felt every muscle in her body grow tense, trembling with readiness. Behind her, Kira realized that something was wrong.

"What is it?" She was whispering, but even that was too loud. The Slayer dropped to one knee, and spoke softly with her lips nearly brushing the girl's ear.

"There's somebody in my room, and I can't let them go now that they know I'm awake. I have to fight them. Whatever happens, stay here."

That was all she had time for. Opening the door just wide enough to slip through, she moved into the hallway. An instant later the man strode from the room. He was just raising a small cell-phone to his ear when he caught sight of her waiting for him. He froze for a moment, then lowered his hand, folding the phone shut and dropping it back into his pocket.

"Hello. I'm glad to see you up and around."

Faith smiled at that, but didn't lower her guard.

"Oh really? And who are you? Did I kill your brother? Did I kill your dog? Did I kill your brother's dog?" She spread her arms wide, presenting herself to him. "If you're here for some payback, just bring it on. I could use the exercise."

He looked sort of amused.

"I'd rather not fight you. I would, however, very much like to talk."

She looked him up and down. He was good-looking, in a sort of over-groomed way. A trim black man with a runner's build and a smooth confidence in the way he moved. The clothes were understated but very classy, and there was something about that trace of an accent. "Let me guess; you're Bond, James Bond. A Watcher, right?"

He flashed her a smile, his teeth very white against his dark face.

"Coincidentally, my name really is James, though not Bond. And you are Faith." His voice was smooth too. He didn't look scared of her, either, which was interesting if he knew anything at all about what she was and the things she had done. That made her even more wary. "Let's step inside your room here and talk. We don't want anyone to disturb us, do we?"

She nodded in agreement.

"No, no. We don't want that." He made a gesture for her to precede him into the room, and she stepped past him, turning to keep the corner of her eye on him the whole time.

It almost wasn't enough. Just as she went through the doorway, his right hand darted forward, holding something she hadn't seen until that instant. Whatever it was, he had produced it from his sleeve, and was using it like a weapon. Faith spun back and into him, using her left forearm to block the little shiny cylinder away from her side, where it had been about to strike home. That left them face-to-face, too close for her power moves, so she grabbed at his wrist. She managed to capture it, and grinned with triumph as she squeezed.

He ignored her, using his left foot to sweep her legs out from under her, grabbing her shoulder with his free hand and pivoting her as she fell. She landed flat on her back, and an instant later his knee was planted firmly in her stomach, driving the breath from her lungs. She still had a hold of his wrist, but her grip wasn't exactly grinding his bones to powder like she had intended. She was used to taking advantage of her full strength in a fight, and right now she wasn't even close. In fact, his right arm was proving stronger than her left. He was slowly pushing the little device towards her throat, despite all she could do.

"Sorry, girl." His voice shook slightly with the effort of what he was doing, but his face was calm. "Nothing personal; but we can't have you running around. Time for another nap."

Her right hand was fumbling at him, clawing and tearing at his chest and stomach in an attempt to hurt him. It wasn't working; he was wearing some kind of light body armor under those expensive clothes, and she couldn't get enough leverage for a bare hand strike that would do injury. She arched her back, lunging up with all her might, trying to throw him off of her, but he kept his grip on her shoulder, and used his greater weight to force the hand with the device closer to her. It was some kind of auto-syringe; she could see the bore of the recessed needle now. It was only inches away, and she wasn't going to be able to stop him. If only she had a weapon; a knife, a club, anything.

Even a gun; yeah, a gun would work fine. His tailored jacket was hanging open, showing her a bit of the shoulder holster he wore on his left side. She reached up and grabbed the butt of the pistol there, yanking it free just as he realized what she was doing. He grabbed at her arm with his left hand, and an instant later he had dropped the syringe and was using both hands to try and control where she pointed the gun. She had to admire his priorities; no use in injecting her if a second later she blew his head off, right?

She was free to use both hands now too, but she couldn't quite manage to bring the weapon in line with any part of his body. The safety clicked off, so that was a step in the right direction, but right after that her hands (and the gun) were forced up over her head and down onto the floor. James don't-call-me-Bond was one strong guy, and a surprisingly good fighter. He had made a mistake in pinning the gun, though. He'd shifted too much of his weight onto their hands; his center of mass was over her shoulders now, which left her with a way out. Maybe.

Her legs were free, so she reached out and hooked her ankles around the frame of her hospital bed. As he was concentrating on prying the gun out of her hands, she flexed her legs as explosively as she could, pulling herself halfway out from under him. Only halfway, though, and he was on the verge of getting the gun back. Snarling with the effort, she twisted and writhed, managing to roll onto her stomach, though she still couldn't get her hands away from him. He was straining to keep hold of her, though, maybe even breathing hard. She had to get up; in a wrestling contest the bigger and stronger person was usually going to win. He tore one of her hands away from the gun, and she knew she was in trouble. With a desperate surge she came up onto her knees. She had to get away from him before-

He hammered his elbow down into the center of her back, sending a searing bolt of agony and white noise up and down her spine and dropping her instantly to the floor. He took the gun from her momentarily strengthless fingers, and stood. She rolled frantically, fully aware that it was not going to be enough. He was going to shoot her, shoot her dead and there just wasn't enough time or a place to take cover before he... didn't shoot. She came up slowly, tossing her head to get her still-damp hair out of her eyes, and he was on the other side of the room with the gun, just standing there. Watching her.

"Well? Are you gonna kill me or what?"

He shook his head.

"I'm not here to kill you. If we wanted you dead you wouldn't be standing here and talking to me. I meant what I said: We can't have you walking around. If you're not locked up at our headquarters in England, then you have to be kept under control by some other means."

Goddamned Watcher freaks. Why couldn't they just leave her alone?

"'Some other means' means drugged stupid, right?"

"In a word; yes." He trained the gun on her stomach. "The injector is lying on the floor behind you. Pick it up and press it against your arm."

She laughed, she couldn't help herself."

"Fuck you. Why don't you come over here and do it yourself?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "What's the matter, are you scared?" He lowered the gun and she tensed as she realized he was about to kneecap her. "Hold on there, spy-guy. Think it through." Talk fast Faith, you won't be doing much running tomorrow if you have to grow a new pair of knees first. "Even if you shoot me, I'm still going to fight you. I doubt you'll get that stuff into me before a bunch of hospital people show up, wondering what's going on." He was watching her, considering her words. Most importantly, he hadn't shot her yet. "I'll bet your bosses would just love to see the interview I'll give the local tee-vee people after you fight your way out of here, too. The one where I tell them all about this bunch of rich English guys who tried to kidnap me. Should be good."

He kept that level stare on her for another few seconds, and then lowered the gun. With a quick movement, he stripped the clip out of the weapon and tucked it into his back pocket. The pistol he tossed onto the bed.

"All right then. We'll do it the hard way." He slipped off his jacket, folding it neatly and laying it across the chair beside the door. She blinked as he flowed into a stance and waited. Well, okay then. So long as he wasn't willing to hurt her and she could hurt him, this seemed like an excellent way to go. She shook out her arms and twisted her upper body first one way, then the other. The shot to her spine didn't seem to have done any permanent harm; everything was working, more or less. She moved forward, her hands curling into fists. Her lips curled up slightly and she put as much sneer into her voice as possible.

"C'mon then. Show me what you've got."

She leapt at him.

* * * * *

Obviously, there was a lot of room in James's mind between 'not killing her' and 'not hurting her'. Because he wasted no time in hurting her quite a lot. She hadn't even gotten close enough to try a kick or a punch when he shuffled forward in an oddly balanced and graceful way, then whipped one foot up and across her face, hurling her into the wall. She bounced off and came right back at him, and this time he waited for her. When she fired a fist at his jaw, he used one hand to divert it past his head, and jabbed the stiffened fingers of the other into the center of her chest, into the hollow just below her sternum. Wheezing for breath, she staggered back.

All right. She was used to fighting people (and things) that had the reach on her. What she wasn't used to was fighting someone who was both stronger and faster than she was. She had to admit it; she was way off her game. If she couldn't find a higher gear in the next minute or so, this man, this human being, was going to wipe the floor with her. She found her balance, glaring at him as he stood there, waiting for her. She moved forward again.

Feints this time, little jabs and kicks that she could do without giving him much of an opportunity to land a solid shot. Whatever fighting style he was using, he was good at it. That was the problem with being a Slayer: you were so strong and fast that you really didn't need to learn good technique. If someone tried to teach you how to fight, you could kick the shit out of them as proof that you didn't need to learn. (Which was why so many vampires did flashy spin-kicks and stuff. Their supernatural abilities let them mimic the things they had seen in martial-arts movies. Which was fine, except without the training, they didn't know how to put the moves together in an effective way.) Now Faith was faced with someone who was a better fighter than she was, without the edges that would ordinarily have let her win.

James was countering her probes with blocks and deflections; tight, circular movements that diverted the force of her blows without trying to stop them. He used his superior speed to sneak in a solid blow to her side, just under her ribs. She staggered away, slapping away the follow-up kick that would have taken her in the jaw. She was hurting, and that was no fun, but she had the strangest feeling.... She was enjoying herself. She had been laying there, helpless, for so long, that even a fight she was losing was something that felt (in some odd way) good.

Go figure.

Her sudden grin seemed to catch the Council thug by surprise, but that didn't affect his reflexes any. When she came back at him he was ready; her kick missed cleanly, in a single smooth movement he was underneath her attack and then right in her face, driving iron-hard fists into her stomach, one after the other. She managed to block one, and he took the opportunity to grab hold of her arm and pivot, driving his elbow back into her side. She half-expected to feel ribs crack, but either she was tougher than that or he was trying to go easy on her. Maybe a little of both. He finished off his combination with a vicious backhand across the face that sent her spinning to the floor. She knelt there, stunned, as he stepped past her. He was going for the injector. She shook her head, fighting to clear it.

No. No way was she going to lose. She hurt, but she'd been hurt hundreds of times before; thousands if you counted the times when she was a little girl. She could deal with it; ignoring pain was the first thing she had ever learned. Pain told you that you were still alive, that you could still fight.

She fought now, reaching out to grab hold of his shin, sliding on the slick floor so that she was lying on her back, driving her foot up and into his groin with all of her strength. He managed to half-turn; half-block the blow with his hands, but the impact still lifted him off of his feet and sent him stumbling backwards. She came up and went after him, and her fury was a fire that was growing hotter and brighter with every passing second.

He was still on his feet; the body armor he wore included some crotch protection, but even so he looked just a bit unsteady. He ducked away from her roundhouse swing, punching her in the back when she overextended and presented him with an opening. She tried to backhand him on the recovery, but he caught her arm with both hands, shifting his grip in preparation to break it across his knee.

So much for not damaging the goods.

She threw herself on top of him before he could do it, which both staggered him and let her tear her captive arm free. He grabbed her by the hair and used it to hurl her off of him, sending her several feet back before she could get her feet under her again. He was looking seriously pissed, now, and that made her smile with vicious joy.

"Oh baby. I like the way you play." She could feel her heart pounding, now, her blood pumping. She was waking up, coming alive; and she wanted more. "Come on. We're just getting started." She went at him, and this time he threw himself forward with a yell, using everything he had. He snapped kicks into her, too fast to avoid, too strong to block. He delivered twisting, snapping punches that lifted her off the ground and threw her back, doubled over. He drove her across the room, dealing out enough punishment in those moments to destroy any man, anything human. When she reached the wall, he grabbed both of her wrists, holding them and pinning her against the wall with his hip to keep her from kneeing him.

"Stop it! Stop fighting me!" His voice was rough, desperate. "I don't want to kill you, Faith." Poor boy, he must not like beating up on girls. Or maybe his bosses wouldn't like it if he came back with a corpse. That was the last thing he needed to worry about. She shook her hair back and looked up at him, watching his eyes widen as he noticed the absence of bruises on her face, the bleeding from her nose that stopped even as he watched. Suddenly, she stretched up and landed a kiss right on his lips. Smiling at his shocked expression, she whispered.

"More."

He pulled away, out of repulsion or reflex, and she twisted free. She attacked now, and it seemed like the more she fought, the longer things went on, the faster and more fluid the moves came. The rust was being blown off, and it was feeling more and more natural with every passing moment. She felt her smile turn into a snarl as one of her punches got through his defense, rocking his head back.

"Nobody. I'm the Slayer and you're nobody!" He gave her a punch to the face in return, but she took it and kept right on coming. That seemed to disconcert him a bit. Her body moved in wild, unpredictable bursts of motion, and his carefully structured fighting style was becoming less and less effective. She drove her hands at him, spun, kicked, and punched again. If he was still stronger than she was, it wasn't doing him much good. Her fists pounded into him, and even though he was still landing as many solid hits as she was, his didn't seem to faze her at all, while hers were battering him mercilessly. With a look of desperation in his eyes, he threw himself across the bed and towards the door. She bounded after him, taking him from behind just as he reached the doorway.

"No!" She hurled him back into the room, and he skidded across the floor on his butt before clambering painfully to his feet. She smoothed her tangled hair back with her hands, giving him a hungry smile. "No way you get me all revved up and then leave me hanging." She stalked forward.

James looked scared now.

"What's the matter? You didn't believe all those stories about the Slayers?" Man, she had missed this. Nothing felt better than kicking the shit of out somebody; scaring the shit out of them. It made her feel good, powerful. Well, there was one thing that felt better, but first things first. He reached behind his back and pulled free a knife, a long, narrow blade about ten inches long. She faltered for an instant; flashing back to the last time she had faced someone with a knife.

She forced herself to smile.

"Ooh, knives. I like knives." She moved forward warily. She could take him; it had been Buffy who had stabbed her, beaten her, not this guy. He was just a human being, a nobody. He didn't have what it took to kill her. No way. And if he did? Well, then she would just as soon let him do it and put her out of her misery.

He lashed out at her, wide sweeping cuts that kept her at bay. He knew what he was doing with a blade, too. A well-rounded guy, this James. She was back in the groove now, though. She didn't try to think about what she was doing, she just kept her focus and let her body move. She knew what to do, and so long as her brain didn't get in the way, she was fast enough to take him. The old anger was still moving through her like a living thing, coiling in her middle, sliding down her arms and legs, making her strong. She looked at this thing that thought he could take her, put that knife into her belly, and the hate she felt for him made hell seem like a cold and pleasant place.

She didn't even realize she had made her move until she had done it. Sliding forward just behind one of his swings, turning inside the reach of his arms, taking his knife hand in both of hers and turning it, twisting it until his fingers spasmed and the warm handle dropped into her palm. He instantly tried to reclaim it, grappling with her, trying to use his size and mass to bear her down to the ground. She remembered how their first wrestling encounter had gone; no need to try it again. She needed some way to distract him, divert him.

Putting the blade deep into his chest seemed like a good way of doing that, so that's what she did.

James gasped, a priceless look of surprise making him look sort of comical. She twisted the knife, to get maximum effect. That Kevlar or whatever didn't seem to work so good against sharp things. One reason why she never wore the stuff. He sagged, and she eased him down, drawing the knife out of him along the way. The scent of the blood, the sight of it as it dripped down the steel, it finished what the fight had started. She felt her body come alive, an ache she'd not felt in far too long suddenly growing inside her. The man had ended up in a sitting pose, propped up against the wall. She pushed him flat onto the floor, and then lowered herself on top of him.

"James? That was great, but are you up for some more? Who knows? If you're nice to me, I might let you live. How about it?"

She whispered the words as her lips moved over his battered face, her tongue darting out to taste the blood flowing from a cut beside his eye. The knife was in her right hand, laying flat against his chest, her other hand was busy with the fastening of his pants.

He wasn't dead or anything; unlike her sister Slayer she wasn't into boinking the dead. One stab wound didn't kill somebody, not that fast, and not unless you hit the heart or an artery. Sometimes not even then. One thing it did do was take the fight out of someone. Well, usually. James recovered enough to lash out at her while she was distracted, the hard edge of his hand striking her throat a glancing blow. She bared her teeth in fury; that crap hurt! The exertion, the pain, the blood and now the need for sex were all combining to make her a little crazy, and his resistance pushed the wrong button at the wrong moment. With a strangled scream of rage, she raised the knife and plunged it down into him. The Kevlar managed to blunt the force this time, and the blade stopped about halfway through. To her mind, that was just one more thing that was thwarting her, and she went into a frenzy of stabbing, driving the weapon down with all her strength, over and over. He jerked and fought, but after the twentieth time or so he finally went limp. It was another full minute before she slowed and then stopped, and by that time his face was no longer recognizable. She knelt there atop him, shuddering in release. Spraying blood had streaked her face, and she licked some of it away, leaning back to take a deep breath. She felt good. Alive. Better than she had in months, actually.

"Whoof." Looking down at the man's body, she grinned. "Well, James. That's not my favorite way to get off, but it doesn't suck, either." Something was tugging at her attention, and she cocked her head, wondering what it was. Ragged breathing, coming from behind her...? She turned her head to look.

Kira stood in the doorway, her eyes as wide and staring as those of the corpse underneath her. The little girl was as pale as a sheet, and her lower lip was trembling as if she were on the verge of tears. Faith felt frozen in place; suddenly more frightened than she had been at any point during the fight.

"Kira?" She wiped her face with her hand, smearing the blood there without really getting any of it to come off. She swung herself around until she was off of the body and kneeling on the floor. Kneeling in the spreading pool of blood that was leaking from the dead man. The girl's eyes were locked on her other hand, and she realized that she was still holding the knife. Moving slowly, carefully, she set it down on the floor. "Kira, it's okay." Those eyes flicked to hers, and she swallowed at the raw terror she saw there. "This was a bad guy. He wanted to hurt me, so I had to kill him. Understand?" Fuck, how long had she been standing there, watching? Faith slid forward a little, still on her knees, and reached out with one hand. "Come here. I'll explain it to you, and then we can figure out what we're gonna do. Everything's going to be all right."

The girl took a step back, then another, shaking her head back and forth without a word. Faith eased forward a little more, trying to think of what to say to calm her down. She never had the chance; the girl gave her a final look, tears spilling from her eyes and down her face, then she whirled and ran. Faith could hear her footsteps as she ran down the hall towards the nurses, her own room. She knelt there, in the blood, and stared at the empty doorway for what felt like an eternity.

"Kira? Everything.... Everything is going to be all right."

* * * * *