TITLE: Quicksilver Tears Over Breakfast - Part 4
SERIES: The Unexpected Series
AUTHOR: Jana Kay
EMAIL: jana_kay17@yahoo.com.au
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the WB, and 20th Century Fox. No profit is being made.
RATING: R
CLASSIFICATION: K/F
SPOILERS: S1 up through to 'Sanctuary' in A:tS, and then breaks away from canon after that.
SUMMARY: Against her better judgment and detective instincts, Kate speaks to Faith while the Slayer is in prison. Their subsequent and completely unexpected friendship is sorely needed when Faith, to her anger and dismay, becomes the last resort in stopping a demon underlord. Just how far will Faith go to save a life and earn her redemption?
NOTES: Kate POV
*****
I pull open the main door to the station as I make my way inside. I hum quietly to myself as I briskly pass by the front desk, nodding my head to the casual behind the counter. I look up at the clock on the wall and note that I'm on time. 9:00 exactly. I continue past the counter, and am about to push open the glass door that leads to the stairs going up to the offices, when the casual stops me.
"Is that breakfast, Detective Lockley?"
I pause and turn around, looking down at the bakery bag in my hand as I do. As I look up again, a smile passes over my face that I can't stop.
"Yes it is, Winters."
He looks at the bag in my hand for a second. He's probably taking in the size of it and wondering just what exactly I eat for breakfast, and if this is breakfast, what do my other meals look like.
"You must be hungry."
I smile again.
"I am."
I leave out the part where I tell him this is actually food for two.
To tell you the truth, I really don't know how I'm going to get into Faith's cell with this stuff anyway. Because I know I'm going to have to make up some excuse. You're not supposed to just wander in and out and make friends with prisoners. The only reasons we really have for going in there in the first place are to take them meals, and bring them out for phonecalls, visitors, relocation, police interviews or court discussions with lawyers.
At this moment, I don't really want to think about my two colleagues who witnessed my going into the holding cells last night, and still not being out when they left.
For now, I just want to have breakfast.
My stomach's starting to grumble.
I smile one last time at Winters, then turn back to the door. I pull it open as I take a deep breath, then let it out as the door swings shut behind me, and I start to make my way up the stairs. Walking into the large room filled with desks and the hum of voices, I'm a little surprised to see that the desks aren't all full. There are only about half of my colleagues here. Then I remember that it's Saturday, and not everybody works on Saturdays.
I let out another breath as I realise this will make things a little easier. I make a beeline for my desk as I casually answer the greetings given by people around me. I toss my bag on the desk and carefully place the bakery bag next to it, then I continue walking and make my way to my supervisor's office.
I reach the door with the gold and silver plaque on it, and nervousness hits me. What exactly am I going to say to him anyway?
See, there's this prisoner. Actually, let's be more specific, she's a murderer. And I kind of like her in some strange way, and now I really want to bring her breakfast. Can I go on through? Is that okay with you?
I'll get thrown out on my ear.
Or get sent to therapy.
I shudder as I think of that stupid sensitivity workshop they made us do.
Now that was a strange day. You know at first, I just thought that what happened was really weird events triggered by a full moon or something. It's a common myth that things always get a little crazy around that time. Now I'm not that superstitious, but at the time, it helped to explain the weird events that took place that day.
But now I know better.
Courtesy of Angel, I know it was magick of some type. And the entire precinct got caught in it, including me. Come to think of it, Angel wasn't exactly himself either then. And at Angel's office, Cordelia and Wesley were looking at me like I was crazy as I swung around on that chair. Let's not forget I also broke down at my father's retirement party. And I probably did a lot of other stupid things too, but those are the main highlights.
Wait a minute, it wasn't Wesley at all. It was....Doyle....I think his name was.
Yeah. Doyle.
Whatever happened to him?
It was like he just disappeared one day, then Wesley came along.
Weird.
I bring my mind back to the present as I shake my head slightly, then I raise a hand and rap quickly on Sergeant Matthew's door.
"Come in."
I swallow hard, then turn the knob and go in.
I close the door quietly behind me as he looks up. The Serg is an old guy, but he's a good guy. I've known him since I was a little girl, but of course then, he was my father's friend. They rose through the ranks together. Now he can no longer be my father's friend, at least, not anymore in this lifetime, so he's just my supervisor.
A wave of sadness sweeps through me as I remember my father's death, but then I quickly bring myself out of my reverie. Acting spacy will not help me in this current situation. He'll just think I'm suffering from stress and he'll make me go on vacation.
I'm a workaholic. A vacation is *definitely* not something I need.
"Lockley. How you doing?"
The sun is coming in through the blinds and parts of the rays are hitting his face, highlighting the few strands of black that still stubbornly maintain their place on his otherwise white head. He smiles warmly at me as his silver mustache twitches slightly, and I remember that he always had a soft spot for me. Growing up, he always treated me as though I was his own little girl, and in truth, a part of me always wished my father was more like him.
Of course, whenever I thought that, I'd feel guilty and want to bite my tongue because, at least I still had my father, even though mom was gone.
"Good sir. How are you doing?"
The middle button of his paisley shirt is about ready to pop because of his stodgy frame, and his tie is a horrendous concoction of white, purple and orange. I don't know how he managed to get out of his house without his wife noticing him. Martha is a very strong willed woman. She's the only woman I know who can make the Serg tremble just by looking at him. I know for a fact she would have skinned him alive before letting him walk out the door wearing those clothes.
"Fine, fine."
He waves his arm invitingly as he pushes his chair back from the desk and settles more comfortably against the brown leather.
"Take a seat."
Nervousness runs through my veins again as I grab hold of the closest chair and pull it towards me. Then I sit. My hands instinctively fold together on my lap, and I look down at them as I try to figure out what to say.
"So Katie. Tell me what's the problem."
Okay. I haven't thought of a good excuse by now, so I'm just going to have to lie. I don't like it, but I have to. There's no way that I could tell the truth and still get let in to see Faith. And I want to see her.
"Well sir, you know the young girl that we were looking for last week, who ended up coming in and confessing?"
He strokes his smooth chin as his elbow rests on the arm of his creaky leather chair.
"I remember her, yes. Confessed to murder didn't she? Mighty strange girl that one. Never before met a murderer who wanted to atone for their crimes. At least, not in this city."
I nod my head.
"Yes sir, that's her. Her name's Faith."
He watches me curiously as he lowers his hand from his chin, and lays it out fully on the arm of the chair.
"And you're telling me about her because....?"
I try to imperceptibly wipe the sweat off my palms and onto my pants.
"Well, there're a lot of things that intrigue me about her situation. I wanted to know if I could take her out to ask her a few more questions."
Just then, his phone rings. He leans forward quickly, holding up a finger to stop me from leaving at the same time as he picks up the receiver.
"Hello?"
He pauses.
"Alright then. Just give me a second and then I'll tell you what you need to know."
He covers the mouthpiece as he turns to me.
"Sorry about this Lockley, I've gotta take this call. Now listen, if you feel it's necessary to speak to this girl about her case, then you go right ahead. I trust your judgment."
I start to nod enthusiastically, then catch myself. I get up quickly before he can change his mind, and I'm out the door before he's even taken his hand off the mouthpiece.
As I pause outside his door, I wonder.
Why am I so anxious to take Faith breakfast?
And why am I so anxious to see Faith?
Sure the talk between us last night was....enlightening....and nice in a strange sort of way....and I don't hate her....but why do I want to see her again? Especially so soon after last night. There's no reason for it. Well, no sane reason anyway.
She scares me a little. And the strange part is, it's not because she's a murderer. You know last night, even as she was telling me about the things she did, when I found myself looking at her hands, I wasn't thinking, 'Gee, whose blood does she have on those,' I was thinking, 'Her hands are beautiful.' And I can still picture them now. Pale and fragile, yet undeniably powerful and slender.
She makes me feel things that are completely out of character for me. Things I've never felt before, and maybe things I'll never feel again. It was almost like we made a connection last night, and somehow, she got under my skin. And now no matter what I do, where I go, who I'm with, I think of her and what she'd be doing right now. I think of her and how she's feeling at that moment. And no matter now much I itch and dig at my skin, or try to scrub myself free of whatever this thing is between us, it refuses to leave.
I want to protect her, and at the same time, I know that's ridiculous. Firstly, because she's a Slayer and could easily throw me across the room, and secondly, because she's a prisoner, and probably won't be leaving prison for a good long time. Nothing can ever come of....whatever it is that's suddenly sprung up between us.
God, I don't even know what it is.
She's Faith.
I can't put it anymore simply than that.
I want to protect her, and watch out for her. I want to talk to her and observe her. I want to make her smile and joke with her. I want to hear her laugh and know it's because I did it. I want to make her feel human and loved, because deep down, I know those are the things she's furthest from feeling, and really, those are the only things I can hope to give her.
Mainly, I want to be her friend, and I want her to trust me and want to be mine too.
Cause I could do with friendship right now.
It's like now that I've gotten Angel's friendship again, I've suddenly gotten greedy.
I want to be able to build on the friendship between Angel and I now, like I never gave us the chance to do before. Part of me doesn't know why that was. Maybe because I was too attracted to him and I always wanted more than he was willing to give. Maybe because we never fully trusted each other. Well, I'm still attracted. I mean, who wouldn't be? But I trust him completely now. And I don't want a romance with him anymore. Mainly because he's a vampire, and technically dead, and call me crazy but I'm not too comfortable with the idea of that, but also because I know he doesn't feel that way about me. And he probably never did.
I want to be friends with Wesley and Cordelia too, because too often, I feel like I just ignore them. I have no right to do that. They're both nice people that Angel obviously cares for. And I may not know details about them, but the things I do know of them, I'm certain of. Being employees of Angel's means they both have strength, spirit, determination and courage to face the evil they fight every day. And they're humans. They do it for no other reason than because they want to. Angel may do it because he's guilty and is trying to work for redemption, and Faith may have done it because she's a Slayer and was bound by destiny, but Wesley and Cordelia fight the good fight because they know it's the right thing to do.
I don't know too many people who would willingly risk death every other day, just because they know it's the right thing to do.
But most of all, I want to be friends with Faith.
I walk back to my desk, and rifle through the files in my drawer to find the one I'm looking for. As I tuck it under my arm, I use my other hand to grab the bakery bag and my tape recorder. Then I turn and walk to the door that leads to the holding cells, pulling out my keys as I do. I slip the correct key into the lock and turn it as I try to juggle the items in my hands to help me accommodate opening the door.
Peeking over my shoulder discreetly, I give silent thanks to whatever Gods are out there that none of my colleagues have noticed me. With a quiet sigh of relief, I close the door behind me with a soft *thunk*.
I turn around and face the corridor, taking a deep breath as I do, and another wave of nervousness hits me. I mean, honestly. What the Hell do I think I'm doing? This girl probably doesn't even like me. She probably has no desire to see me again. She'll take one look at me and laugh in my face. She'll see the breakfast I bought her, and immediately think 'freak'....but....
I remember the way she latched onto my finger this morning. The softness in her voice
when she thanked me for listening. The obsidian depths of her eyes and the look they held as she settled them on me.
And I know I'm not crazy.
Whatever is going on between the two of us that's drawing me closer to her like a fly wrapped up in a spiders web, is not going to go away. And it's not one-sided.
I know the whispers that carry in the air behind my back. "Lockley's gone loony," "She only answers the monkey calls now," "She should be packing a ouija board, not a gun," and each quiet barb is followed by a snicker and a knowing look. They think I've gone right off the deep end, tracking shadows when the only thing I find is myself at the end of the trail.
They don't know what I live with. They don't know the innocence I've lost that they still have the luxury of calling their own.
They don't have to live with the knowledge that monsters don't just live in nightmares anymore. They're very real, and they rule the underworld and walk the street in the dead of night. And they're evil, and they kill, and so help you if you get caught, a quick death will be the best gift God could ever give you.
Because if you live longer, if you're granted the chance to have your heart beat for a few extra hours or days, you never die with your sanity intact. You see too much. Your entire belief system is shattered and crushed. And the demons that get you aren't interested in explaining the things you don't know, didn't even know, never even thought existed....
And Angel is living (unliving?) proof that I'm not a nutcase. Unbreathing, face-changing, supernatural power holding, proof.
And knowing all this helps reinforce the knowledge that I'm not crazy. There's something between Faith and I which isn't lying. And I finally pull myself out of my negative thoughts and square my shoulders, walking as calmly as I can down the sterile corridor.
As I draw closer, a sheen of excitement starts to course under my skin, running through my veins and ending in tingles in the extremities of my body, pulsing with life, with the rhythm of my blood, as it pounds away buried deep underneath layers of muscle and tissue that hold my body up and keep me walking.
I reach Faith's cell with a look of determination on my face. She's sitting on the cot, her legs tucked under herself and her blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she stares at the tiny window in the corner. The barest amount of sunlight is filtering through, but she seems to relish it. Her chest is rising and falling evenly again, as though she's sleeping, but she's just breathing normally, taking in the little bit of scenery this tiny cell has to offer.
I can't be sure, but there's an air of tension in the cell. And I don't know how that could be because she's been alone in here since I left, but I can still feel it. Some of my determination falters as I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I shiver.
She pulls her gaze away from the light and turns towards me when I stop in front of her cell, and I'm almost sure a smile ghosts over her face before it disappears.
Almost.
She looks at me with big, brown eyes, and the small amount of sunlight glints in them, making quicksilver shadows dance in the chocolate depths. Her face is pale and drawn, blackness mars the skin beneath her eyes, and I *know* it didn't look like this last night. Her lips are dry, even from this distance I can see that, and they look as though they're going to start to crack any moment.
Something's going on here, and I don't know what it is, but my hackles have been well and truly raised.
A smile suddenly spreads over her features, and only years of working with criminals and deciphering their every move lets me realise with a sinking feeling that her smile is fake.
"Kate."
I nod my head at her, fingers clutching spasmodically at the items in my hands.
"Faith. Good morning."
Another fake smile rises to the surface, but this time, it's easier to see the cracks in the facade. A feeling of wariness spreads through me, and I instinctively turn my head to look over my shoulder.
Nothing's there. I didn't expect there to be, but then again, some things are ingrained.
After what started out being a most promising day, I know deep in my gut things have taken a turn for the worse. There's something wrong here. So unbelievably wrong. But what? Trying to figure that out though is like a mouse trying to nibble its way out of a concrete cell.
Impossible.
Faith looks back towards the tiny window, smile still in place.
"Looks like a nice day out there."
Filler conversation. I'm an expert at it and can sniff it out from a mile away. But I don't know what else to say at the moment, so I go along with it.
"It is. A little cold, but still nice."
She nods her head, and the smile slowly drops away, leaving her face blank. A few moments pass, then she turns to me with a soft sigh.
"What is it Kate?"
I decide to go with the truth. There's no harm in it. And maybe the normalcy of breakfast will lift some of the dead mood hanging around the cell. It's stifling, and I can't imagine what it would be like living in here permanently with that hanging over your head. Or at least, semi-permanently, because Faith should be transferred out of here soon.
I pull the bakery bag out from between her file and the tape recorder, and wave it in the air. "I thought you might want some breakfast. Real stuff; not the stuff you get in here."
Her eyes light up for a moment and my heart quickens at the sight, then her face goes blank again and she only nods. When she speaks again, her voice is a whisper.
"You don't have to do this Kate."
My throat works for a moment though no sound comes out, then I gain control of my vocal skills again, and my voice comes out sounding firmer than I feel.
"Don't be ridiculous Faith. I want to."
Some of the fire I know resides there suddenly flares to life in her eyes, and she throws the blanket aside as she practically leaps off the cot and takes a powerful stride towards me. She's almost hissing as she stares me down.
"Why? Why do you want to Kate? I'm a killer, I told you so myself. I'm worthless! Nothing! Not even good enough to go out with a bang. Instead I'm stuck in here, surrounded by bars, and tiny windows, and my thoughts...." Her voice catches slightly and some of the fire dies in her eyes. "....and dreams...."
She spins around suddenly, and pounds on the wall in frustration with her fists. Through the haze of sunlight, I can see tiny stone dust particles explode in a small shower and float down to settle on the ground. I watch her in shock as she rests her forearms on the wall and leans her head against them, and her back starts to shudder ever so slightly.
Oh no. No way is she crying. I didn't even know this girl could cry, let alone cry over something like....well....whatever this is. A feeling of wrongness seeps through me, almost like poison, as I watch her try to hide what she's doing. I have to stop her. This isn't right. She shouldn't be crying. This girl wasn't built for tears.
Protective feelings rush through me, and I walk slowly down the bars to where she's standing until I'm directly in front of her.
"Faith?"
She ignores me.
"Faith, please. Look at me."
Her body stiffens for a moment, then stills. I watch helplessly, waiting to see what she'll do next, if she'll even acknowledge me. Minutes tick by slowly, and she finally straightens, pushing herself away from the wall. She stares down at the ground as she slowly turns to me.
I want to reach through the bars and tilt her chin up, wipe away tear tracks that I know she's disgusted at having, but I don't. I wait to see what she'll do.
She finally looks up and her eyes lock with mine, quicksilver shadows dancing wildly in echo of the dancing sunlight. Her stare catches me off guard, and I feel like the layers of my soul are being stripped away, leaving me unprotected, unguarded. Open to attack.
When she speaks, her voice is rough and distant.
"Leave Kate. I don't need this right now."
Stubbornness keeps me where I am, and I lift the bakery bag and shove it through the bars, in reach of her hands.
"Yes you do. Everyone needs breakfast."
I purposely misunderstand what she's saying and blithely continue, not pointing out the fact that I know she was crying, even though she must know I realised. I see the gratefulness in her eyes as I keep talking, giving her the chance to properly regroup.
"Anyway, you have to keep your strength up. God knows these cells weren't built for comfort. And you never know, you may get visitors today. You don't want to see them on an empty stomach now do you?"
I push the bag further towards her hands.
"Eat. Once in a lifetime opportunity for fresh bakery goods delivered by me."
I wave it tantalisingly around so you can start to smell the scent of warm baked pastry.
She stares at the bag in my hand, and after a moment, shakes her head ever so slightly as a tiny smile forms on her face.
"You're not gonna go any other way are you?"
I grin as some of my wariness melts away.
"Nope. I'm a hard nose cop, you know. I can stand here for hours and wait."
She shakes her head again as her smile grows an infinitesimal amount wider. Then she slowly reaches forward and takes the bag.
The rest of my wariness melts away as she looks up. The expression in her eyes is soft and warm and I can honestly feel some of my insides melting.
I point towards the bag in her hands.
"Look inside."
She shakes her head again as though she can't believe what's happening, then she carefully opens it and peers inside. Her jaw drops as she takes in the amount of food I bought.
"There is no *way* I'm gonna finish all this!"
I chuckle quietly at the look on her face.
"Well, I was kinda hoping we could share. I haven't had breakfast yet either."
Her head shoots up to look at me in surprise, then her features soften slightly. Her eyes crinkle as she smiles for real this time, and a flush of warmth runs through my body, moving from my chest outward. She looks like a shy young girl right now, with her face stripped of the makeup I have a feeling was acting as her armor. She doesn't say anything. All she can do is nod silently as she extends the open bag towards me.
I smile back at her as I reach in and take out a croissant. Then I suddenly remember the file and tape recorder under my arm.
"Oh. We can go out....I mean, we can do this out of your cell if you want."
She studies me curiously as she reaches in and takes out a blueberry danish.
"Out of my cell? Where would we go?"
I take a bite and chew thoughtfully, then swallow.
"We can go to one of the interview rooms. I need to discuss a few matters with you anyway. We can just take this stuff with us."
She nods her head in acquiescence as she finishes chewing on the bite she took.
I pull my keys out of my pocket with my free hand, and find the correct one for Faith's cell. I stick it in the lock with a little fumbling, trying to juggle my croissant and tape recorder, which are both threatening to fall to the ground. Finally, I shove the croissant between my teeth and turn the key. I pull open the cell door as Faith waits patiently on the other side, bakery bag clutched tight in one hand, danish almost finished in the other.
She swallows another bite again as she walks out and I close the door behind her, then she turns to me with a curious expression on her face.
"Aren't ya gonna cuff me?"
I look at her as I take the croissant out of my mouth, momentarily startled.
"What?"
"Well, anytime I get taken out of here someone always cuffs me. How come you aren't doing that?"
I watch her as I start to walk and she keeps pace next to me, her stride long and graceful.
"Do you want me to cuff you?"
She looks at the danish in her hand as we keep walking.
"But my opinion doesn't count. It's cop protocol right? Why aren't you cuffing me? I'm dangerous."
I'm in the middle of chewing when she says that, and I almost choke as a wave of laughter catches me.
She whips her head up from studying the last part of her danish, and looks at me in shock.
I swallow quickly as I get myself under control, then stop in front of one of the interview rooms.
"Um....sorry. Forget I just did that."
She shrugs as she looks in the little window.
"Already done; but answer my question."
I stare through the window as well as I answer as honestly as I can. I laughed at her after all. She deserves this.
"Because I....I didn't want to. I know you're dangerous Faith, but I feel like I can....trust you. And I know you wouldn't try anything." It's my turn to shrug my shoulders now. "So I didn't."
She lets out a breath, then pops the last of the danish in her mouth and gives a slight nod with her head.
"Cool."
We stand side by side for a minute, then I unlock the door and herd her in, pulling the door shut behind us. I motion her into a plastic chair on one side of the table, and as she's getting comfortable, I slide into the chair opposite her, dropping the file and tape recorder on the desk in front of me.
As I fiddle with my ponytail, trying to tuck a few stray strands away, Faith reaches into the bakery bag and pulls out a croissant. She takes a bite as she taps her finger on the file in front of me. When she swallows she looks up curiously.
"Is this baby mine?"
I finish fixing my hair, as satisfied with it as I'm every going to be. "Mm-hmm."
She props her elbows up on the table, taking another bite of her croissant as she does. I watch her out of the corner of my eye as I pull the file towards me and open it up to the proper section. Before I start talking though, I grab hold of the bakery bag and pull out a custard danish.
I wriggle in my seat again to get a bit more comfortable as Faith gets up and swings her chair around, seeming infinitely more at home as she then straddles it and props her elbows up on the table again, popping the last of the croissant in her mouth.
"So, what's the deal? What matters did you wanna discuss?"
I take a deep breath, then flip through the open file until I find the sheaf of papers I'm looking for. "Your court date actually. The papers were just faxed over yesterday afternoon from the Supreme Court secretary."
I hazard a glance upwards, only to find Faith staring into space, an expression on her face that I'm not able to decipher. I don't say anything. Wherever she's gone, I know she'll be back soon. I have a feeling she needs this time. I wait quietly for her to start talking again, and while I do, I eat the danish. I lick my fingers enthusiastically when I finish. Delicious. It has been much too long since I've had a good pastry for breakfast.
I'm actually so caught up in my reminiscing about baked goods, that I completely miss Faith coming back to earth.
"When you kill someone, your brain isn't really in the now, you know? You're moving and you're acting and you're playing God with people's lives, but you're detached. And that's so weird, because at the same time, you're alive with jittery energy, and your senses have gone into overload, and you can probably categorise every single sight and sound and touch you ever made or felt that day. And the power. You can feel the power, and its heady, but at the same time, you don't really *feel* it. Then maybe a day later, a week later, a month later, it finally catches up, and after what seemed so exhilarating, you're left thinking, what the hell did I do? It was kinda like that for me."
She breaks off abruptly and stares at the table, unwilling to move her gaze anywhere else, and I'm frozen as I listen to what she's saying; torn between revulsion that she's detailing her murders to me, and torn between elation because this is such an intimate thing, and she trusts me enough to share it, to share her memories, things I know she holds sacred above everything else in her life.
"Out of everyone I screwed over, there's this one guy that stands out. He was some professor dude, and I remember the Boss sending me off to kill him, because the guy had knowledge that could possibly kill the Boss when he turned into a snake. And I turned up on this guy's doorstep, holding this huge knife the Boss had given me as a present, brimming with confidence and arrogance and....he needed me. This was something he couldn't do himself, and he loved me and he needed me. He....he loved me, you know? How could I say no when he treated me so well and he took care of me and he....cared."
She was almost whispering now, and I remained frozen, part of me fiercely wishing she'd stop before I was sick, and the other part aching for her pain. It had become a palpable thing in the room; you could almost reach out and touch it.
"He was the one guy who'd never done anything wrong, you know? The one truly innocent in the crowd. I knocked on the door to his apartment, and he opened it and invited me in, and....I remember looking around, and there were books everywhere. This guy's life, was his books. He probably hadn't had a wife or a girlfriend or even gotten any in so long because he was so caught up and in love with his fucking books...."
"But I didn't care. I wasn't thinking straight. My brain was on a long holiday and I had energy flowing out of all my pores, and I had no idea what to do with it and no brain helping me out. I just had the Boss' words trailing through me and his knife in my hand, and the blade was so sharp and so purely death...."
"I couldn't even let him die in peace. I couldn't make it quick, grant him his one silent request. I had to take out all my frustrations on him. I had to make him hurt for all the wrong things done to me and all the wrongs I'd done myself."
"And it was almost right after that that I got stuck in a coma. I never really had the chance to grieve over what I did to that guy. To wonder what I'd been doing, what I'd been thinking, how I could stop myself from doing it again, because I wanted out. I....I wanted out, I really did Kate, I wanted out...."
Her voice trails off and she's looking at me with wild eyes, desperate for some sign of understanding, for some sign of humanity towards her. She wants me to care, for the people she's killed, for her, I don't know. All I can do is work my throat like an idiot and pray I don't say something I'll regret.
After a few more moments, its obvious she hasn't found what was looking for though, because she takes a deep breath, like she's pulling herself together again, and turns away. When she speaks, her voice is rough and strained. The voice of someone who's lived too long, seen too much, fought too many battles and didn't always win. Someone who's been trapped and screaming for so long, and is just barely holding on to the last thread of their sanity.
"But now....brain's caught up again...."
She's going to bolt, I can sense it. The tension in the air has risen volumes, and I know if I don't do something fast I'm....Angel....the good side....we're all going to lose her. Without even thinking, my hand shoots out and grabs hold of hers.
She looks at me startled, her eyes wide and so brown, swirling with emotions she didn't have time to trap before I touched her. She looks like she's going to say something, but I silence her by reaching over with my other hand, and cradling her cheek in my palm. A brief thought flashes through my mind, and I somehow manage to grab hold of it and make sense of it, before it too whirls away out of reach.
//Instinct is the only thing we really and truly have. We must trust it to guide us. It never lets us down. It never leads us wrong. But first, we must accept it.//
Another piece of my father's advice. Tears well up in my eyes, and I stop them from falling through sheer force of will. God dad, I really miss you. Of course, he'd been talking to his little girl about being a cop. Not about how to save the soul of a terrified Slayer turned murderer who's somehow forged a connection with me. One I can't give up, and am not really sure I even want to give up.
She leans unconsciously into my hand, bringing my mind back to the present, and then suddenly she's crying. Sobbing her heart out on the table and not even trying to hide it. Tears stream from her beautiful eyes and down over her pale cheeks, and her body shakes as she struggles to not break under the onslaught. Acting on the instinct my father nurtured, I jump up from where I'm sitting and round the table quickly, grabbing hold of Faith's shoulders and twisting her slightly to face me. Then I'm hugging her tightly, stroking a hand over her hair, whispering soothing words into her ear and willing my heart to stop breaking.
With her, for her, because of her....I don't even know anymore.
And when she reaches up after a few minutes and hugs me back, so tight I'm afraid she'll crush me, it does a bit, and I continue to pacify her as I hold her trembling body in my arms, and her wounded soul in my heart.
It seems like it's hours later when she finally finishes crying. When the hiccups finally stop and disappear, and the trembles subside until her body is calm again. I continue to hold her for a few moments, then gently pull back. Her arms drop from my sides, and it's like a rush of cool air suddenly engulfs me. I'm about to let her go, but before I do, I hold her at arms length for a moment and study her quietly.
Her cheeks are coated in a layer of tears, dry and fresh, new paths carved into old. Her eyelashes are stuck together and wet, making her eyes seem even wider than normal. There's no sun, but I can still catch traces of quicksilver floating in her brown eyes, flowing down in her tears. Her cheeks have gone a light pink from the strain of gasping and crying for so long. Some of her dark hair has fallen over her face, and without thinking, I raise a hand and push it back, settling the strand over her ear again, where it belongs.
Then she blinks and I pull away. I've done my part now. I kept her heart safe. The rest is up to her now. I don't know what she wants to do. I don't really even know what brought this on. But the next step is hers.
I move back to my seat as she reaches up with hands that only tremble the slightest bit, and wipes the already dry and drying tears away from her face.
Her voice is husky when she speaks, a little raw, but there's a slightly lighter note to it, and I stifle the urge to grin wildly. I may have just stopped her from running, but this isn't the first time, and it isn't going to be the last.
"So the court date. When is it?"
I blink and focus again, looking down at the file to double check.
"It's on Monday. Two days."
She runs her hands through her hair and blinks rapidly.
"Okay then."
I know she isn't going to continue, and I want to leave it at that, but at the same time, I know I have to get her to keep talking. I don't even know if she has a lawyer yet.
"Faith, we need to discuss a law--"
She cuts me off quickly.
"Not right now Kate. I don't wanna talk about this. I....can't. Not now."
I have to let it go, so I do. I nod silently, then shuffle the papers together, push them into the folder and close it.
"Okay Faith. This is your call."
I stand up, knowing my time with her is over and the real world has to come back into being now. I pick up the folder and tape recorder which was never used, as she gets up and swings her chair around, tucking it back under the table the way she found it. She starts to walk towards the door and I begin to follow, but then I remember something. I turn back quickly and walk over to the table, then snatch up the bakery bag. There's still two or three things in there I know Faith will like more than I will.
As I walk back to the door I push it in her hands.
She's about to start protesting but I silence her with a look. Then I open the door and close it behind her as we start to make our way down the corridor. As we reach the door to her cell, she stands back and I open it for her, and she wordlessly walks inside, bakery bag still clutched tight in her hands.
The door closes with a reverberating *clang* as it swings shut, and I click the lock back into place. More for appearances though, because Faith is the only one who's keeping Faith in her cell.
I watch her for a moment on one side of the bars, and she watches me from the other side. Suddenly, the bars aren't bars at all. They're a chasm so big, so wide, I don't know why I even think I can cross it. But I know deep inside I can. And as I watch her stand in the sunlight, her hair glinting slightly and her eyes flickering with quicksilver beams, I know it's worth it.
She's worth it.
I smile softly at her, resting one hand on the cool bars as I do, and she smiles back, her grip on the bakery bag lessening. We're both tentative. More has just happened between us than either of us can grasp right now. And as I take back my hand and take a step backwards, nod my head at her and say, "Faith," I don't say good-bye.
Because this isn't the last time. I know I'll be seeing her again. And I *know* she knows it, just as I do....
And you know what?
I'm looking forward to it.
End.
SERIES: The Unexpected Series
AUTHOR: Jana Kay
EMAIL: jana_kay17@yahoo.com.au
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the WB, and 20th Century Fox. No profit is being made.
RATING: R
CLASSIFICATION: K/F
SPOILERS: S1 up through to 'Sanctuary' in A:tS, and then breaks away from canon after that.
SUMMARY: Against her better judgment and detective instincts, Kate speaks to Faith while the Slayer is in prison. Their subsequent and completely unexpected friendship is sorely needed when Faith, to her anger and dismay, becomes the last resort in stopping a demon underlord. Just how far will Faith go to save a life and earn her redemption?
NOTES: Kate POV
*****
I pull open the main door to the station as I make my way inside. I hum quietly to myself as I briskly pass by the front desk, nodding my head to the casual behind the counter. I look up at the clock on the wall and note that I'm on time. 9:00 exactly. I continue past the counter, and am about to push open the glass door that leads to the stairs going up to the offices, when the casual stops me.
"Is that breakfast, Detective Lockley?"
I pause and turn around, looking down at the bakery bag in my hand as I do. As I look up again, a smile passes over my face that I can't stop.
"Yes it is, Winters."
He looks at the bag in my hand for a second. He's probably taking in the size of it and wondering just what exactly I eat for breakfast, and if this is breakfast, what do my other meals look like.
"You must be hungry."
I smile again.
"I am."
I leave out the part where I tell him this is actually food for two.
To tell you the truth, I really don't know how I'm going to get into Faith's cell with this stuff anyway. Because I know I'm going to have to make up some excuse. You're not supposed to just wander in and out and make friends with prisoners. The only reasons we really have for going in there in the first place are to take them meals, and bring them out for phonecalls, visitors, relocation, police interviews or court discussions with lawyers.
At this moment, I don't really want to think about my two colleagues who witnessed my going into the holding cells last night, and still not being out when they left.
For now, I just want to have breakfast.
My stomach's starting to grumble.
I smile one last time at Winters, then turn back to the door. I pull it open as I take a deep breath, then let it out as the door swings shut behind me, and I start to make my way up the stairs. Walking into the large room filled with desks and the hum of voices, I'm a little surprised to see that the desks aren't all full. There are only about half of my colleagues here. Then I remember that it's Saturday, and not everybody works on Saturdays.
I let out another breath as I realise this will make things a little easier. I make a beeline for my desk as I casually answer the greetings given by people around me. I toss my bag on the desk and carefully place the bakery bag next to it, then I continue walking and make my way to my supervisor's office.
I reach the door with the gold and silver plaque on it, and nervousness hits me. What exactly am I going to say to him anyway?
See, there's this prisoner. Actually, let's be more specific, she's a murderer. And I kind of like her in some strange way, and now I really want to bring her breakfast. Can I go on through? Is that okay with you?
I'll get thrown out on my ear.
Or get sent to therapy.
I shudder as I think of that stupid sensitivity workshop they made us do.
Now that was a strange day. You know at first, I just thought that what happened was really weird events triggered by a full moon or something. It's a common myth that things always get a little crazy around that time. Now I'm not that superstitious, but at the time, it helped to explain the weird events that took place that day.
But now I know better.
Courtesy of Angel, I know it was magick of some type. And the entire precinct got caught in it, including me. Come to think of it, Angel wasn't exactly himself either then. And at Angel's office, Cordelia and Wesley were looking at me like I was crazy as I swung around on that chair. Let's not forget I also broke down at my father's retirement party. And I probably did a lot of other stupid things too, but those are the main highlights.
Wait a minute, it wasn't Wesley at all. It was....Doyle....I think his name was.
Yeah. Doyle.
Whatever happened to him?
It was like he just disappeared one day, then Wesley came along.
Weird.
I bring my mind back to the present as I shake my head slightly, then I raise a hand and rap quickly on Sergeant Matthew's door.
"Come in."
I swallow hard, then turn the knob and go in.
I close the door quietly behind me as he looks up. The Serg is an old guy, but he's a good guy. I've known him since I was a little girl, but of course then, he was my father's friend. They rose through the ranks together. Now he can no longer be my father's friend, at least, not anymore in this lifetime, so he's just my supervisor.
A wave of sadness sweeps through me as I remember my father's death, but then I quickly bring myself out of my reverie. Acting spacy will not help me in this current situation. He'll just think I'm suffering from stress and he'll make me go on vacation.
I'm a workaholic. A vacation is *definitely* not something I need.
"Lockley. How you doing?"
The sun is coming in through the blinds and parts of the rays are hitting his face, highlighting the few strands of black that still stubbornly maintain their place on his otherwise white head. He smiles warmly at me as his silver mustache twitches slightly, and I remember that he always had a soft spot for me. Growing up, he always treated me as though I was his own little girl, and in truth, a part of me always wished my father was more like him.
Of course, whenever I thought that, I'd feel guilty and want to bite my tongue because, at least I still had my father, even though mom was gone.
"Good sir. How are you doing?"
The middle button of his paisley shirt is about ready to pop because of his stodgy frame, and his tie is a horrendous concoction of white, purple and orange. I don't know how he managed to get out of his house without his wife noticing him. Martha is a very strong willed woman. She's the only woman I know who can make the Serg tremble just by looking at him. I know for a fact she would have skinned him alive before letting him walk out the door wearing those clothes.
"Fine, fine."
He waves his arm invitingly as he pushes his chair back from the desk and settles more comfortably against the brown leather.
"Take a seat."
Nervousness runs through my veins again as I grab hold of the closest chair and pull it towards me. Then I sit. My hands instinctively fold together on my lap, and I look down at them as I try to figure out what to say.
"So Katie. Tell me what's the problem."
Okay. I haven't thought of a good excuse by now, so I'm just going to have to lie. I don't like it, but I have to. There's no way that I could tell the truth and still get let in to see Faith. And I want to see her.
"Well sir, you know the young girl that we were looking for last week, who ended up coming in and confessing?"
He strokes his smooth chin as his elbow rests on the arm of his creaky leather chair.
"I remember her, yes. Confessed to murder didn't she? Mighty strange girl that one. Never before met a murderer who wanted to atone for their crimes. At least, not in this city."
I nod my head.
"Yes sir, that's her. Her name's Faith."
He watches me curiously as he lowers his hand from his chin, and lays it out fully on the arm of the chair.
"And you're telling me about her because....?"
I try to imperceptibly wipe the sweat off my palms and onto my pants.
"Well, there're a lot of things that intrigue me about her situation. I wanted to know if I could take her out to ask her a few more questions."
Just then, his phone rings. He leans forward quickly, holding up a finger to stop me from leaving at the same time as he picks up the receiver.
"Hello?"
He pauses.
"Alright then. Just give me a second and then I'll tell you what you need to know."
He covers the mouthpiece as he turns to me.
"Sorry about this Lockley, I've gotta take this call. Now listen, if you feel it's necessary to speak to this girl about her case, then you go right ahead. I trust your judgment."
I start to nod enthusiastically, then catch myself. I get up quickly before he can change his mind, and I'm out the door before he's even taken his hand off the mouthpiece.
As I pause outside his door, I wonder.
Why am I so anxious to take Faith breakfast?
And why am I so anxious to see Faith?
Sure the talk between us last night was....enlightening....and nice in a strange sort of way....and I don't hate her....but why do I want to see her again? Especially so soon after last night. There's no reason for it. Well, no sane reason anyway.
She scares me a little. And the strange part is, it's not because she's a murderer. You know last night, even as she was telling me about the things she did, when I found myself looking at her hands, I wasn't thinking, 'Gee, whose blood does she have on those,' I was thinking, 'Her hands are beautiful.' And I can still picture them now. Pale and fragile, yet undeniably powerful and slender.
She makes me feel things that are completely out of character for me. Things I've never felt before, and maybe things I'll never feel again. It was almost like we made a connection last night, and somehow, she got under my skin. And now no matter what I do, where I go, who I'm with, I think of her and what she'd be doing right now. I think of her and how she's feeling at that moment. And no matter now much I itch and dig at my skin, or try to scrub myself free of whatever this thing is between us, it refuses to leave.
I want to protect her, and at the same time, I know that's ridiculous. Firstly, because she's a Slayer and could easily throw me across the room, and secondly, because she's a prisoner, and probably won't be leaving prison for a good long time. Nothing can ever come of....whatever it is that's suddenly sprung up between us.
God, I don't even know what it is.
She's Faith.
I can't put it anymore simply than that.
I want to protect her, and watch out for her. I want to talk to her and observe her. I want to make her smile and joke with her. I want to hear her laugh and know it's because I did it. I want to make her feel human and loved, because deep down, I know those are the things she's furthest from feeling, and really, those are the only things I can hope to give her.
Mainly, I want to be her friend, and I want her to trust me and want to be mine too.
Cause I could do with friendship right now.
It's like now that I've gotten Angel's friendship again, I've suddenly gotten greedy.
I want to be able to build on the friendship between Angel and I now, like I never gave us the chance to do before. Part of me doesn't know why that was. Maybe because I was too attracted to him and I always wanted more than he was willing to give. Maybe because we never fully trusted each other. Well, I'm still attracted. I mean, who wouldn't be? But I trust him completely now. And I don't want a romance with him anymore. Mainly because he's a vampire, and technically dead, and call me crazy but I'm not too comfortable with the idea of that, but also because I know he doesn't feel that way about me. And he probably never did.
I want to be friends with Wesley and Cordelia too, because too often, I feel like I just ignore them. I have no right to do that. They're both nice people that Angel obviously cares for. And I may not know details about them, but the things I do know of them, I'm certain of. Being employees of Angel's means they both have strength, spirit, determination and courage to face the evil they fight every day. And they're humans. They do it for no other reason than because they want to. Angel may do it because he's guilty and is trying to work for redemption, and Faith may have done it because she's a Slayer and was bound by destiny, but Wesley and Cordelia fight the good fight because they know it's the right thing to do.
I don't know too many people who would willingly risk death every other day, just because they know it's the right thing to do.
But most of all, I want to be friends with Faith.
I walk back to my desk, and rifle through the files in my drawer to find the one I'm looking for. As I tuck it under my arm, I use my other hand to grab the bakery bag and my tape recorder. Then I turn and walk to the door that leads to the holding cells, pulling out my keys as I do. I slip the correct key into the lock and turn it as I try to juggle the items in my hands to help me accommodate opening the door.
Peeking over my shoulder discreetly, I give silent thanks to whatever Gods are out there that none of my colleagues have noticed me. With a quiet sigh of relief, I close the door behind me with a soft *thunk*.
I turn around and face the corridor, taking a deep breath as I do, and another wave of nervousness hits me. I mean, honestly. What the Hell do I think I'm doing? This girl probably doesn't even like me. She probably has no desire to see me again. She'll take one look at me and laugh in my face. She'll see the breakfast I bought her, and immediately think 'freak'....but....
I remember the way she latched onto my finger this morning. The softness in her voice
when she thanked me for listening. The obsidian depths of her eyes and the look they held as she settled them on me.
And I know I'm not crazy.
Whatever is going on between the two of us that's drawing me closer to her like a fly wrapped up in a spiders web, is not going to go away. And it's not one-sided.
I know the whispers that carry in the air behind my back. "Lockley's gone loony," "She only answers the monkey calls now," "She should be packing a ouija board, not a gun," and each quiet barb is followed by a snicker and a knowing look. They think I've gone right off the deep end, tracking shadows when the only thing I find is myself at the end of the trail.
They don't know what I live with. They don't know the innocence I've lost that they still have the luxury of calling their own.
They don't have to live with the knowledge that monsters don't just live in nightmares anymore. They're very real, and they rule the underworld and walk the street in the dead of night. And they're evil, and they kill, and so help you if you get caught, a quick death will be the best gift God could ever give you.
Because if you live longer, if you're granted the chance to have your heart beat for a few extra hours or days, you never die with your sanity intact. You see too much. Your entire belief system is shattered and crushed. And the demons that get you aren't interested in explaining the things you don't know, didn't even know, never even thought existed....
And Angel is living (unliving?) proof that I'm not a nutcase. Unbreathing, face-changing, supernatural power holding, proof.
And knowing all this helps reinforce the knowledge that I'm not crazy. There's something between Faith and I which isn't lying. And I finally pull myself out of my negative thoughts and square my shoulders, walking as calmly as I can down the sterile corridor.
As I draw closer, a sheen of excitement starts to course under my skin, running through my veins and ending in tingles in the extremities of my body, pulsing with life, with the rhythm of my blood, as it pounds away buried deep underneath layers of muscle and tissue that hold my body up and keep me walking.
I reach Faith's cell with a look of determination on my face. She's sitting on the cot, her legs tucked under herself and her blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she stares at the tiny window in the corner. The barest amount of sunlight is filtering through, but she seems to relish it. Her chest is rising and falling evenly again, as though she's sleeping, but she's just breathing normally, taking in the little bit of scenery this tiny cell has to offer.
I can't be sure, but there's an air of tension in the cell. And I don't know how that could be because she's been alone in here since I left, but I can still feel it. Some of my determination falters as I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I shiver.
She pulls her gaze away from the light and turns towards me when I stop in front of her cell, and I'm almost sure a smile ghosts over her face before it disappears.
Almost.
She looks at me with big, brown eyes, and the small amount of sunlight glints in them, making quicksilver shadows dance in the chocolate depths. Her face is pale and drawn, blackness mars the skin beneath her eyes, and I *know* it didn't look like this last night. Her lips are dry, even from this distance I can see that, and they look as though they're going to start to crack any moment.
Something's going on here, and I don't know what it is, but my hackles have been well and truly raised.
A smile suddenly spreads over her features, and only years of working with criminals and deciphering their every move lets me realise with a sinking feeling that her smile is fake.
"Kate."
I nod my head at her, fingers clutching spasmodically at the items in my hands.
"Faith. Good morning."
Another fake smile rises to the surface, but this time, it's easier to see the cracks in the facade. A feeling of wariness spreads through me, and I instinctively turn my head to look over my shoulder.
Nothing's there. I didn't expect there to be, but then again, some things are ingrained.
After what started out being a most promising day, I know deep in my gut things have taken a turn for the worse. There's something wrong here. So unbelievably wrong. But what? Trying to figure that out though is like a mouse trying to nibble its way out of a concrete cell.
Impossible.
Faith looks back towards the tiny window, smile still in place.
"Looks like a nice day out there."
Filler conversation. I'm an expert at it and can sniff it out from a mile away. But I don't know what else to say at the moment, so I go along with it.
"It is. A little cold, but still nice."
She nods her head, and the smile slowly drops away, leaving her face blank. A few moments pass, then she turns to me with a soft sigh.
"What is it Kate?"
I decide to go with the truth. There's no harm in it. And maybe the normalcy of breakfast will lift some of the dead mood hanging around the cell. It's stifling, and I can't imagine what it would be like living in here permanently with that hanging over your head. Or at least, semi-permanently, because Faith should be transferred out of here soon.
I pull the bakery bag out from between her file and the tape recorder, and wave it in the air. "I thought you might want some breakfast. Real stuff; not the stuff you get in here."
Her eyes light up for a moment and my heart quickens at the sight, then her face goes blank again and she only nods. When she speaks again, her voice is a whisper.
"You don't have to do this Kate."
My throat works for a moment though no sound comes out, then I gain control of my vocal skills again, and my voice comes out sounding firmer than I feel.
"Don't be ridiculous Faith. I want to."
Some of the fire I know resides there suddenly flares to life in her eyes, and she throws the blanket aside as she practically leaps off the cot and takes a powerful stride towards me. She's almost hissing as she stares me down.
"Why? Why do you want to Kate? I'm a killer, I told you so myself. I'm worthless! Nothing! Not even good enough to go out with a bang. Instead I'm stuck in here, surrounded by bars, and tiny windows, and my thoughts...." Her voice catches slightly and some of the fire dies in her eyes. "....and dreams...."
She spins around suddenly, and pounds on the wall in frustration with her fists. Through the haze of sunlight, I can see tiny stone dust particles explode in a small shower and float down to settle on the ground. I watch her in shock as she rests her forearms on the wall and leans her head against them, and her back starts to shudder ever so slightly.
Oh no. No way is she crying. I didn't even know this girl could cry, let alone cry over something like....well....whatever this is. A feeling of wrongness seeps through me, almost like poison, as I watch her try to hide what she's doing. I have to stop her. This isn't right. She shouldn't be crying. This girl wasn't built for tears.
Protective feelings rush through me, and I walk slowly down the bars to where she's standing until I'm directly in front of her.
"Faith?"
She ignores me.
"Faith, please. Look at me."
Her body stiffens for a moment, then stills. I watch helplessly, waiting to see what she'll do next, if she'll even acknowledge me. Minutes tick by slowly, and she finally straightens, pushing herself away from the wall. She stares down at the ground as she slowly turns to me.
I want to reach through the bars and tilt her chin up, wipe away tear tracks that I know she's disgusted at having, but I don't. I wait to see what she'll do.
She finally looks up and her eyes lock with mine, quicksilver shadows dancing wildly in echo of the dancing sunlight. Her stare catches me off guard, and I feel like the layers of my soul are being stripped away, leaving me unprotected, unguarded. Open to attack.
When she speaks, her voice is rough and distant.
"Leave Kate. I don't need this right now."
Stubbornness keeps me where I am, and I lift the bakery bag and shove it through the bars, in reach of her hands.
"Yes you do. Everyone needs breakfast."
I purposely misunderstand what she's saying and blithely continue, not pointing out the fact that I know she was crying, even though she must know I realised. I see the gratefulness in her eyes as I keep talking, giving her the chance to properly regroup.
"Anyway, you have to keep your strength up. God knows these cells weren't built for comfort. And you never know, you may get visitors today. You don't want to see them on an empty stomach now do you?"
I push the bag further towards her hands.
"Eat. Once in a lifetime opportunity for fresh bakery goods delivered by me."
I wave it tantalisingly around so you can start to smell the scent of warm baked pastry.
She stares at the bag in my hand, and after a moment, shakes her head ever so slightly as a tiny smile forms on her face.
"You're not gonna go any other way are you?"
I grin as some of my wariness melts away.
"Nope. I'm a hard nose cop, you know. I can stand here for hours and wait."
She shakes her head again as her smile grows an infinitesimal amount wider. Then she slowly reaches forward and takes the bag.
The rest of my wariness melts away as she looks up. The expression in her eyes is soft and warm and I can honestly feel some of my insides melting.
I point towards the bag in her hands.
"Look inside."
She shakes her head again as though she can't believe what's happening, then she carefully opens it and peers inside. Her jaw drops as she takes in the amount of food I bought.
"There is no *way* I'm gonna finish all this!"
I chuckle quietly at the look on her face.
"Well, I was kinda hoping we could share. I haven't had breakfast yet either."
Her head shoots up to look at me in surprise, then her features soften slightly. Her eyes crinkle as she smiles for real this time, and a flush of warmth runs through my body, moving from my chest outward. She looks like a shy young girl right now, with her face stripped of the makeup I have a feeling was acting as her armor. She doesn't say anything. All she can do is nod silently as she extends the open bag towards me.
I smile back at her as I reach in and take out a croissant. Then I suddenly remember the file and tape recorder under my arm.
"Oh. We can go out....I mean, we can do this out of your cell if you want."
She studies me curiously as she reaches in and takes out a blueberry danish.
"Out of my cell? Where would we go?"
I take a bite and chew thoughtfully, then swallow.
"We can go to one of the interview rooms. I need to discuss a few matters with you anyway. We can just take this stuff with us."
She nods her head in acquiescence as she finishes chewing on the bite she took.
I pull my keys out of my pocket with my free hand, and find the correct one for Faith's cell. I stick it in the lock with a little fumbling, trying to juggle my croissant and tape recorder, which are both threatening to fall to the ground. Finally, I shove the croissant between my teeth and turn the key. I pull open the cell door as Faith waits patiently on the other side, bakery bag clutched tight in one hand, danish almost finished in the other.
She swallows another bite again as she walks out and I close the door behind her, then she turns to me with a curious expression on her face.
"Aren't ya gonna cuff me?"
I look at her as I take the croissant out of my mouth, momentarily startled.
"What?"
"Well, anytime I get taken out of here someone always cuffs me. How come you aren't doing that?"
I watch her as I start to walk and she keeps pace next to me, her stride long and graceful.
"Do you want me to cuff you?"
She looks at the danish in her hand as we keep walking.
"But my opinion doesn't count. It's cop protocol right? Why aren't you cuffing me? I'm dangerous."
I'm in the middle of chewing when she says that, and I almost choke as a wave of laughter catches me.
She whips her head up from studying the last part of her danish, and looks at me in shock.
I swallow quickly as I get myself under control, then stop in front of one of the interview rooms.
"Um....sorry. Forget I just did that."
She shrugs as she looks in the little window.
"Already done; but answer my question."
I stare through the window as well as I answer as honestly as I can. I laughed at her after all. She deserves this.
"Because I....I didn't want to. I know you're dangerous Faith, but I feel like I can....trust you. And I know you wouldn't try anything." It's my turn to shrug my shoulders now. "So I didn't."
She lets out a breath, then pops the last of the danish in her mouth and gives a slight nod with her head.
"Cool."
We stand side by side for a minute, then I unlock the door and herd her in, pulling the door shut behind us. I motion her into a plastic chair on one side of the table, and as she's getting comfortable, I slide into the chair opposite her, dropping the file and tape recorder on the desk in front of me.
As I fiddle with my ponytail, trying to tuck a few stray strands away, Faith reaches into the bakery bag and pulls out a croissant. She takes a bite as she taps her finger on the file in front of me. When she swallows she looks up curiously.
"Is this baby mine?"
I finish fixing my hair, as satisfied with it as I'm every going to be. "Mm-hmm."
She props her elbows up on the table, taking another bite of her croissant as she does. I watch her out of the corner of my eye as I pull the file towards me and open it up to the proper section. Before I start talking though, I grab hold of the bakery bag and pull out a custard danish.
I wriggle in my seat again to get a bit more comfortable as Faith gets up and swings her chair around, seeming infinitely more at home as she then straddles it and props her elbows up on the table again, popping the last of the croissant in her mouth.
"So, what's the deal? What matters did you wanna discuss?"
I take a deep breath, then flip through the open file until I find the sheaf of papers I'm looking for. "Your court date actually. The papers were just faxed over yesterday afternoon from the Supreme Court secretary."
I hazard a glance upwards, only to find Faith staring into space, an expression on her face that I'm not able to decipher. I don't say anything. Wherever she's gone, I know she'll be back soon. I have a feeling she needs this time. I wait quietly for her to start talking again, and while I do, I eat the danish. I lick my fingers enthusiastically when I finish. Delicious. It has been much too long since I've had a good pastry for breakfast.
I'm actually so caught up in my reminiscing about baked goods, that I completely miss Faith coming back to earth.
"When you kill someone, your brain isn't really in the now, you know? You're moving and you're acting and you're playing God with people's lives, but you're detached. And that's so weird, because at the same time, you're alive with jittery energy, and your senses have gone into overload, and you can probably categorise every single sight and sound and touch you ever made or felt that day. And the power. You can feel the power, and its heady, but at the same time, you don't really *feel* it. Then maybe a day later, a week later, a month later, it finally catches up, and after what seemed so exhilarating, you're left thinking, what the hell did I do? It was kinda like that for me."
She breaks off abruptly and stares at the table, unwilling to move her gaze anywhere else, and I'm frozen as I listen to what she's saying; torn between revulsion that she's detailing her murders to me, and torn between elation because this is such an intimate thing, and she trusts me enough to share it, to share her memories, things I know she holds sacred above everything else in her life.
"Out of everyone I screwed over, there's this one guy that stands out. He was some professor dude, and I remember the Boss sending me off to kill him, because the guy had knowledge that could possibly kill the Boss when he turned into a snake. And I turned up on this guy's doorstep, holding this huge knife the Boss had given me as a present, brimming with confidence and arrogance and....he needed me. This was something he couldn't do himself, and he loved me and he needed me. He....he loved me, you know? How could I say no when he treated me so well and he took care of me and he....cared."
She was almost whispering now, and I remained frozen, part of me fiercely wishing she'd stop before I was sick, and the other part aching for her pain. It had become a palpable thing in the room; you could almost reach out and touch it.
"He was the one guy who'd never done anything wrong, you know? The one truly innocent in the crowd. I knocked on the door to his apartment, and he opened it and invited me in, and....I remember looking around, and there were books everywhere. This guy's life, was his books. He probably hadn't had a wife or a girlfriend or even gotten any in so long because he was so caught up and in love with his fucking books...."
"But I didn't care. I wasn't thinking straight. My brain was on a long holiday and I had energy flowing out of all my pores, and I had no idea what to do with it and no brain helping me out. I just had the Boss' words trailing through me and his knife in my hand, and the blade was so sharp and so purely death...."
"I couldn't even let him die in peace. I couldn't make it quick, grant him his one silent request. I had to take out all my frustrations on him. I had to make him hurt for all the wrong things done to me and all the wrongs I'd done myself."
"And it was almost right after that that I got stuck in a coma. I never really had the chance to grieve over what I did to that guy. To wonder what I'd been doing, what I'd been thinking, how I could stop myself from doing it again, because I wanted out. I....I wanted out, I really did Kate, I wanted out...."
Her voice trails off and she's looking at me with wild eyes, desperate for some sign of understanding, for some sign of humanity towards her. She wants me to care, for the people she's killed, for her, I don't know. All I can do is work my throat like an idiot and pray I don't say something I'll regret.
After a few more moments, its obvious she hasn't found what was looking for though, because she takes a deep breath, like she's pulling herself together again, and turns away. When she speaks, her voice is rough and strained. The voice of someone who's lived too long, seen too much, fought too many battles and didn't always win. Someone who's been trapped and screaming for so long, and is just barely holding on to the last thread of their sanity.
"But now....brain's caught up again...."
She's going to bolt, I can sense it. The tension in the air has risen volumes, and I know if I don't do something fast I'm....Angel....the good side....we're all going to lose her. Without even thinking, my hand shoots out and grabs hold of hers.
She looks at me startled, her eyes wide and so brown, swirling with emotions she didn't have time to trap before I touched her. She looks like she's going to say something, but I silence her by reaching over with my other hand, and cradling her cheek in my palm. A brief thought flashes through my mind, and I somehow manage to grab hold of it and make sense of it, before it too whirls away out of reach.
//Instinct is the only thing we really and truly have. We must trust it to guide us. It never lets us down. It never leads us wrong. But first, we must accept it.//
Another piece of my father's advice. Tears well up in my eyes, and I stop them from falling through sheer force of will. God dad, I really miss you. Of course, he'd been talking to his little girl about being a cop. Not about how to save the soul of a terrified Slayer turned murderer who's somehow forged a connection with me. One I can't give up, and am not really sure I even want to give up.
She leans unconsciously into my hand, bringing my mind back to the present, and then suddenly she's crying. Sobbing her heart out on the table and not even trying to hide it. Tears stream from her beautiful eyes and down over her pale cheeks, and her body shakes as she struggles to not break under the onslaught. Acting on the instinct my father nurtured, I jump up from where I'm sitting and round the table quickly, grabbing hold of Faith's shoulders and twisting her slightly to face me. Then I'm hugging her tightly, stroking a hand over her hair, whispering soothing words into her ear and willing my heart to stop breaking.
With her, for her, because of her....I don't even know anymore.
And when she reaches up after a few minutes and hugs me back, so tight I'm afraid she'll crush me, it does a bit, and I continue to pacify her as I hold her trembling body in my arms, and her wounded soul in my heart.
It seems like it's hours later when she finally finishes crying. When the hiccups finally stop and disappear, and the trembles subside until her body is calm again. I continue to hold her for a few moments, then gently pull back. Her arms drop from my sides, and it's like a rush of cool air suddenly engulfs me. I'm about to let her go, but before I do, I hold her at arms length for a moment and study her quietly.
Her cheeks are coated in a layer of tears, dry and fresh, new paths carved into old. Her eyelashes are stuck together and wet, making her eyes seem even wider than normal. There's no sun, but I can still catch traces of quicksilver floating in her brown eyes, flowing down in her tears. Her cheeks have gone a light pink from the strain of gasping and crying for so long. Some of her dark hair has fallen over her face, and without thinking, I raise a hand and push it back, settling the strand over her ear again, where it belongs.
Then she blinks and I pull away. I've done my part now. I kept her heart safe. The rest is up to her now. I don't know what she wants to do. I don't really even know what brought this on. But the next step is hers.
I move back to my seat as she reaches up with hands that only tremble the slightest bit, and wipes the already dry and drying tears away from her face.
Her voice is husky when she speaks, a little raw, but there's a slightly lighter note to it, and I stifle the urge to grin wildly. I may have just stopped her from running, but this isn't the first time, and it isn't going to be the last.
"So the court date. When is it?"
I blink and focus again, looking down at the file to double check.
"It's on Monday. Two days."
She runs her hands through her hair and blinks rapidly.
"Okay then."
I know she isn't going to continue, and I want to leave it at that, but at the same time, I know I have to get her to keep talking. I don't even know if she has a lawyer yet.
"Faith, we need to discuss a law--"
She cuts me off quickly.
"Not right now Kate. I don't wanna talk about this. I....can't. Not now."
I have to let it go, so I do. I nod silently, then shuffle the papers together, push them into the folder and close it.
"Okay Faith. This is your call."
I stand up, knowing my time with her is over and the real world has to come back into being now. I pick up the folder and tape recorder which was never used, as she gets up and swings her chair around, tucking it back under the table the way she found it. She starts to walk towards the door and I begin to follow, but then I remember something. I turn back quickly and walk over to the table, then snatch up the bakery bag. There's still two or three things in there I know Faith will like more than I will.
As I walk back to the door I push it in her hands.
She's about to start protesting but I silence her with a look. Then I open the door and close it behind her as we start to make our way down the corridor. As we reach the door to her cell, she stands back and I open it for her, and she wordlessly walks inside, bakery bag still clutched tight in her hands.
The door closes with a reverberating *clang* as it swings shut, and I click the lock back into place. More for appearances though, because Faith is the only one who's keeping Faith in her cell.
I watch her for a moment on one side of the bars, and she watches me from the other side. Suddenly, the bars aren't bars at all. They're a chasm so big, so wide, I don't know why I even think I can cross it. But I know deep inside I can. And as I watch her stand in the sunlight, her hair glinting slightly and her eyes flickering with quicksilver beams, I know it's worth it.
She's worth it.
I smile softly at her, resting one hand on the cool bars as I do, and she smiles back, her grip on the bakery bag lessening. We're both tentative. More has just happened between us than either of us can grasp right now. And as I take back my hand and take a step backwards, nod my head at her and say, "Faith," I don't say good-bye.
Because this isn't the last time. I know I'll be seeing her again. And I *know* she knows it, just as I do....
And you know what?
I'm looking forward to it.
End.