Building on Faith
Chapter 3
Disclaimers and ratings preceed chapter 1
Oz stepped out into a grey, foggy September morning taking a deep breath of clean air. Quite refreshing after a night in *that* house. The clothes he'd found wadded up in a corner were damp and noisome, but at least they covered him. Hopefully he could get back to the van soon to change. And to get a proper dressing on his leg. The traces of silver left by the bullet wouldn't kill him - not in his leg - but they burned like hell.
A man stepped out of the house next-door wearing a blue uniform jacket unzipped over a white t-shirt and pants not quite as dark brown as his skin. The look of surprise at seeing someone standing there was quickly replaced by one of disgust. The man turned away and walked slowly towards the street muttering, "Damn junkies. Street isn't even safe for families anymore. What's a man gotta do?"
Oz just thought to himself, 'You have no idea...'
Oz started down the hill, hoping he remembered correctly which way he'd come, and then stopped cold. There, not 20 feet in front of him was Billy. Surely the band's bassist would freak at seeing him after watching him wolf out and attack that guy in the club last night.
Billy exchanged cash for a little plastic zip-lock bag of something with a short man - er boy - who looked about 14, wearing a Joey Porter jersey that didn't quite match the Baltimore Ravens cap caddywampusly set atop his head. The boy glanced his way, spun on his heels and strode off with a gait that suggested way more inertia than his slight frame ought to have.
Billy looked up, did a surprised double-take and then smiled. "Oz, man it is good to see you in the fleshyness! The way you ran those psychos off last night we didn't know what the hell to think. You some kinda superhero or something? The Avenging Guitarist?" He giggled at himself.
"No, not exactly," said Oz. So, apparently they didn't see anything... or at least they don't think - won't admit - that they saw what they must have.
"Naw, but it was pretty frickin' trippy, man. They found two bodies out back, but did you see that dog man? That thing was huge? I guess it mauled the guy... but he was shot too. And they don't know what killed the girl. Hey, you didn't shoot them did you?"
"No. No, I didn't shoot anyone. They... I ran off once we got outside." Oz shook his head. 'The girl's dead?' he thought. 'She looked fine when she was sighting on my hide.'
"Hey, I don't blame you man. Buncha nuts. Speakin' of nuts: what the heck are you doin' in this neighborhood so early in the morning? Man, I would't come down here ever except... well, you know, good prices and all."
"Right. No, just needed a place to crash."
"Yeah, I'm sure." He sniffed at Oz. "And it smells like you crashed pretty hard, dude." He shrugged understandingly, "Hey, I've been there. You might not want to let Jeff know though. He, uh, doesn't like the idea of anyone in the band doing drugs if ya know what I mean." he tapped the pocket where'd he'd stuffed the zip-lock bag.
When Oz didn't say anything, Billy figured he got the message and added, "So you might want to change before practice this afternoon?"
Oz looked up. "Practice?"
"Yeah, man at three. We're getting together to get you a little deeper into our original stuff. Didn't anyone... Oh, I guess you were gone by the time we decided that huh?"
"I guess so..."
***
Jo was still confused, her vision blinded by tears when the report of a rifle echoed off the walls of the tiny room and down the hallway. She tried to clear her vision, but all she saw was a red mess in front of her. Another shot rang out and the red mess twitched. That was all that was left of her father.
His skull had pretty much exploded with the first shot, splattering the rest of his body - and her - with blood. The second shot had left a large whole in the beast's chest, making it clear that he was dead.
She felt her chains moving and knew the gunman was leaning right over her, trying to free her bounds, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the wolf's corpse - her father's corpse. "Why?" she whispered.
The gunman straightened up, her metal bounds were now loose, however solidly her mental bounds held. "Why? Well, it's an animal. It did what it..." he paused, examining the pained expression on her face. "You knew him, didn't you?"
She tore her eyes from the body and looked up at him. Short, thick grey hair capped a worn-looking face dotted by two bright blue eyes that gleamed ferocious intelligence at her. She looked away and mumbled, "He... it... that was my father."
The man's shoulders drooped in sympathy. He looked for a place to sit on the bed or the floor, but the room seemed to be covered with blood. Some beast, some human, all wet.
"No. That wasn't your father."
She looked at him in disbelief. Did he think she was making this up? "Yes it was! I saw him come in here. I saw him change... just like he changed when he killed mom." She began to sob, melding this evening with the horror of a month ago tore any semblance of reason and composure from her.
The man removed his jacket and draped it over her. The room was getting chilly and she was still naked, though she hardly noticed.
"No, I understand - I'm sure you did see that." He faltered, muttering to himself, "God for you to have seen that..." He resumed, "But if your father turned into that, he died long before tonight." She turned her head toward him, but her eyes were blank, uncomprehending.
"Look, I'll teach you what I can, try to explain things... but the first thing you have to understand is that isn't your father lying there. That's a beast. Just like the beast that killed him. And the beast must be destroyed."
***
Jo stood up from the van, wiped a tear from her cheek and reloaded her rifle. "Yes," she said. "The beast must be destroyed."
***
The footsteps continued toward Faith's cell. Too sharp to be a guard's boots, the echoing steps were new men's dress shoes. The window to her box in solitary slid open and she looked up.
The man was youngish, mid-twenties maybe. Clean shaven, neat haricut and, from what she could see, he was wearing an awfully expensive suit for a corrections department employee. His voice was soft and expressive; he almost seemed sincere in his concern asking, "How are you doing, Faith?"
She didn't answer. He'd get to his point or he wouldn't - it didn't really matter to her. Then she heard the jangle of keys in her cell door. The man swung the door open wide and stood there, looking all junior executive, leaving plenty of room for her to pass through. "Why don't you come along? This is no place for the chosen one."
Her eyes sharpened on him. He had the stuffy look of someone from the Watcher's Council, but the bland American accent and downright stylish clothes were all wrong. Besides, if they wanted her out of prison, why would they have waited so long? She stood and stepped to the door, looking up and down the hall for a guard ready to beat her back into her cell. For someone to save her. She turned to him.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled. He was pretty darn good at the whole 'looking sincere' thing too. "David Archer. We've met before, though briefly, when you were employed by my organization. I've sort of been assigned to keep tabs on you since... we lost touch. My supervisors thought it was time we got reaquainted."
"You're one of thier goons," she said noting that he was quite disturbed at her opinion of him. "Well, I don't care how nicely they dress you up, you can all go fuck yourselves. I'm not coming back. And if you - or anyone - tries to force me back, I'll shove your head so far up your ass you won't be able to tell a sneeze from a fart." She went back and sat on her cot, a thought occuring to her. "Did something happen to Buffy?"
"Buffy? The other slayer? Well, she's not my department but I've heard quite a bit's happened to her actually. She died for one thing." He noticed Faith's distraught look and added hurredly, "Oh she's okay now. Her friends managed a ressurection that took us quite by surprise. We're all kind of anctious to see if a third slayer is called. I don't see what that has to do with you though..."
"Well, if Buffy's okay, what do you need me for? You have your precious golden-haired girl fighting the good fight, so go back to England and tell the damned council to fuck off."
"The Council?" he said, looking puzzled. "I'm not your Watcher, Faith. I'm your lawyer."
*****************
AN: And more yet on the way
Chapter 3
Disclaimers and ratings preceed chapter 1
Oz stepped out into a grey, foggy September morning taking a deep breath of clean air. Quite refreshing after a night in *that* house. The clothes he'd found wadded up in a corner were damp and noisome, but at least they covered him. Hopefully he could get back to the van soon to change. And to get a proper dressing on his leg. The traces of silver left by the bullet wouldn't kill him - not in his leg - but they burned like hell.
A man stepped out of the house next-door wearing a blue uniform jacket unzipped over a white t-shirt and pants not quite as dark brown as his skin. The look of surprise at seeing someone standing there was quickly replaced by one of disgust. The man turned away and walked slowly towards the street muttering, "Damn junkies. Street isn't even safe for families anymore. What's a man gotta do?"
Oz just thought to himself, 'You have no idea...'
Oz started down the hill, hoping he remembered correctly which way he'd come, and then stopped cold. There, not 20 feet in front of him was Billy. Surely the band's bassist would freak at seeing him after watching him wolf out and attack that guy in the club last night.
Billy exchanged cash for a little plastic zip-lock bag of something with a short man - er boy - who looked about 14, wearing a Joey Porter jersey that didn't quite match the Baltimore Ravens cap caddywampusly set atop his head. The boy glanced his way, spun on his heels and strode off with a gait that suggested way more inertia than his slight frame ought to have.
Billy looked up, did a surprised double-take and then smiled. "Oz, man it is good to see you in the fleshyness! The way you ran those psychos off last night we didn't know what the hell to think. You some kinda superhero or something? The Avenging Guitarist?" He giggled at himself.
"No, not exactly," said Oz. So, apparently they didn't see anything... or at least they don't think - won't admit - that they saw what they must have.
"Naw, but it was pretty frickin' trippy, man. They found two bodies out back, but did you see that dog man? That thing was huge? I guess it mauled the guy... but he was shot too. And they don't know what killed the girl. Hey, you didn't shoot them did you?"
"No. No, I didn't shoot anyone. They... I ran off once we got outside." Oz shook his head. 'The girl's dead?' he thought. 'She looked fine when she was sighting on my hide.'
"Hey, I don't blame you man. Buncha nuts. Speakin' of nuts: what the heck are you doin' in this neighborhood so early in the morning? Man, I would't come down here ever except... well, you know, good prices and all."
"Right. No, just needed a place to crash."
"Yeah, I'm sure." He sniffed at Oz. "And it smells like you crashed pretty hard, dude." He shrugged understandingly, "Hey, I've been there. You might not want to let Jeff know though. He, uh, doesn't like the idea of anyone in the band doing drugs if ya know what I mean." he tapped the pocket where'd he'd stuffed the zip-lock bag.
When Oz didn't say anything, Billy figured he got the message and added, "So you might want to change before practice this afternoon?"
Oz looked up. "Practice?"
"Yeah, man at three. We're getting together to get you a little deeper into our original stuff. Didn't anyone... Oh, I guess you were gone by the time we decided that huh?"
"I guess so..."
***
Jo was still confused, her vision blinded by tears when the report of a rifle echoed off the walls of the tiny room and down the hallway. She tried to clear her vision, but all she saw was a red mess in front of her. Another shot rang out and the red mess twitched. That was all that was left of her father.
His skull had pretty much exploded with the first shot, splattering the rest of his body - and her - with blood. The second shot had left a large whole in the beast's chest, making it clear that he was dead.
She felt her chains moving and knew the gunman was leaning right over her, trying to free her bounds, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the wolf's corpse - her father's corpse. "Why?" she whispered.
The gunman straightened up, her metal bounds were now loose, however solidly her mental bounds held. "Why? Well, it's an animal. It did what it..." he paused, examining the pained expression on her face. "You knew him, didn't you?"
She tore her eyes from the body and looked up at him. Short, thick grey hair capped a worn-looking face dotted by two bright blue eyes that gleamed ferocious intelligence at her. She looked away and mumbled, "He... it... that was my father."
The man's shoulders drooped in sympathy. He looked for a place to sit on the bed or the floor, but the room seemed to be covered with blood. Some beast, some human, all wet.
"No. That wasn't your father."
She looked at him in disbelief. Did he think she was making this up? "Yes it was! I saw him come in here. I saw him change... just like he changed when he killed mom." She began to sob, melding this evening with the horror of a month ago tore any semblance of reason and composure from her.
The man removed his jacket and draped it over her. The room was getting chilly and she was still naked, though she hardly noticed.
"No, I understand - I'm sure you did see that." He faltered, muttering to himself, "God for you to have seen that..." He resumed, "But if your father turned into that, he died long before tonight." She turned her head toward him, but her eyes were blank, uncomprehending.
"Look, I'll teach you what I can, try to explain things... but the first thing you have to understand is that isn't your father lying there. That's a beast. Just like the beast that killed him. And the beast must be destroyed."
***
Jo stood up from the van, wiped a tear from her cheek and reloaded her rifle. "Yes," she said. "The beast must be destroyed."
***
The footsteps continued toward Faith's cell. Too sharp to be a guard's boots, the echoing steps were new men's dress shoes. The window to her box in solitary slid open and she looked up.
The man was youngish, mid-twenties maybe. Clean shaven, neat haricut and, from what she could see, he was wearing an awfully expensive suit for a corrections department employee. His voice was soft and expressive; he almost seemed sincere in his concern asking, "How are you doing, Faith?"
She didn't answer. He'd get to his point or he wouldn't - it didn't really matter to her. Then she heard the jangle of keys in her cell door. The man swung the door open wide and stood there, looking all junior executive, leaving plenty of room for her to pass through. "Why don't you come along? This is no place for the chosen one."
Her eyes sharpened on him. He had the stuffy look of someone from the Watcher's Council, but the bland American accent and downright stylish clothes were all wrong. Besides, if they wanted her out of prison, why would they have waited so long? She stood and stepped to the door, looking up and down the hall for a guard ready to beat her back into her cell. For someone to save her. She turned to him.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled. He was pretty darn good at the whole 'looking sincere' thing too. "David Archer. We've met before, though briefly, when you were employed by my organization. I've sort of been assigned to keep tabs on you since... we lost touch. My supervisors thought it was time we got reaquainted."
"You're one of thier goons," she said noting that he was quite disturbed at her opinion of him. "Well, I don't care how nicely they dress you up, you can all go fuck yourselves. I'm not coming back. And if you - or anyone - tries to force me back, I'll shove your head so far up your ass you won't be able to tell a sneeze from a fart." She went back and sat on her cot, a thought occuring to her. "Did something happen to Buffy?"
"Buffy? The other slayer? Well, she's not my department but I've heard quite a bit's happened to her actually. She died for one thing." He noticed Faith's distraught look and added hurredly, "Oh she's okay now. Her friends managed a ressurection that took us quite by surprise. We're all kind of anctious to see if a third slayer is called. I don't see what that has to do with you though..."
"Well, if Buffy's okay, what do you need me for? You have your precious golden-haired girl fighting the good fight, so go back to England and tell the damned council to fuck off."
"The Council?" he said, looking puzzled. "I'm not your Watcher, Faith. I'm your lawyer."
*****************
AN: And more yet on the way