YELLOW BRICK ROAD
By: Lisette (lisette@chaletian.co.uk)
Rating: PG-13 so far - might change later on.
Distribution: Want, take, have. Just e-mail me first.
Summary: Faith is released from prison - but there's a catch.
Feedback: God, please.
Angel, Buffy, the whole lot, belong to JW, Mutant Enemy, and anyone else who officially owns them. I don't. Big surprise.
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Chapter Two - Filing Theory 101
And ten minutes later, Faith had agreed. She was out of jail because of Wolfram & Hart, and they could pay her, and pay her well. Angel had promised to help her, to help make the darkness go away, and it hadn't. She had been left with it 24/7, stuck in a cell, wearing bright orange. Left with nightmares and demons and guilt, and the unstoppable desire to hurt, to lash out. A funny look from one of the other girls, or the warden, and she had to clench her fists, bite her lip till the metallic taste of her own blood filled her mouth. And here was the opportunity to give in, go back to what was easy, and felt good.
And maybe, just maybe, if she immersed herself in enough blood, if she inflicted enough pain, all the voices in the night, and the unstoppable ache in her chest would disappear.
*** *** ***
Angel Investigations was not a place of calm. Or order. Or anything approaching reliable organisation, which is why, on Thursday morning, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, head honcho, was on his knees in front of the filing cabinet trying to find a file about a case of possession by a Phonak demon. It wasn't under P. The possessee had been a young girl by the name of Emily Andrews, but it wasn't under E or A. Cordelia's filing system was, as she liked to put it, perfectly logical. Logical, that is, for someone who regarded the alphabet as an inconvenience. He advanced this theory as he rummaged through F.
"Wesley! Who looks up P when looking for a large orange demon? Is P the first thing you think of? No, you think about that large tentacles and the brain sucking."
"T?" he ventured.
"B," came the reply. "For the whole brain sucking thing. It stands out."
"It's not in B," Wesley responded irritably, getting up and shooting Cordelia an unpleasant look. She looked up from the magazine she was perusing, and shrugged.
"Try O. Or maybe S - that was the really smelly one, right?" Wesley took a deep breath, and tried to think patient thoughts.
"Cordelia. Much as I appreciate your…creative approach to filing, I think it a better method could be found than by cataloguing cases by the personal characteristics of the demon involved."
"You know, Wes may have a point." Angel, looking slightly harried with a restless Connor in his arms, came down the staircase, and leaned over the front desk. There were times when he almost resented Wesley's position as their leader, but at times such as this - and Angel had been well versed in the joys of looking for a case about a Mirwaur demon only to find it under G for gross - the job was all Wesley's.
Cordelia took Connor, and raised her eyebrows at Angel, who backed off quickly. He wasn't going to piss off Cordy unless it was strictly necessary - and this fight was Wesley's.
"Wes, you've just got to start thinking outside the box."
"Outside the box? Cordelia, filing, traditionally, goes in the box. It's right in the middle of the box. In alphabetical order."
"My filing is alphabetical!" In the ensuing sniping, nobody heard the door swing open. Nobody heard the faint snick as a bolt slid into place in a crossbow. Nobody heard anything until she spoke.
"Gee, Wes, and there was me thinking you'd managed to get that stake out of your ass."