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.
Okay, a few notes. Firstly, I haven't seen any of season 3 yet, though I know vaguely what happens. So, definitely after "Billy", and Fred and Gunn are getting with the happy, but "WITW" never happened.
Please, please review - I need to know what people think! I have a fragile ego and it needs bolstering! Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed - you have made me a happy person!
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Chapter Thirteen - Apt B, 1532 Colonial St.
Faith walked quickly, hoping not to attract any undue attention. When she judged that she had got far enough away from the motel, she looked down at the piece of paper clenched in her fist; a piece of paper Wesley had slipped there as she squashed the air out of him. She opened it out curiously, to find a key and a message written in Wesley's precise hand: "Apt B, 1532 Colonial St. Make sure you're not followed, and no one sees you go inside."
Colonial St. was a quiet road, and at nine o'clock in the evening, most of the residents were safely tucked in their houses, watching TV or whatever. Faith lurked in the dark shadow of a somewhat profuse bush, watching for any signs of someone keeping an eye out for her. All was quiet, however, and she walked nonchalantly across the street to number 1532, before running up the stairs to the first floor [NB: I'm English - if you're American, I think I mean the 2nd floor.] apartment. The key fit the lock; she turned it and went in.
It was unmistakably Wesley's apartment. Bare of any decoration, it was simple in design, and could easily have looked cold. But Wesley obviously wasn't the most tidy of men, or had had too many things on his mind recently, because the apartment most definitely looked lived in. Clothes were strewn over the sofa and chair; a pair of socks dangled off the edge of the coffee table. But the overwhelming theme was "books". There weren't any bookshelves, which struck Faith as bizarre, but books were stacked in piles against the far wall. They took up an entire chair, and teetered dangerously on the window sill. Faith grinned. She'd taken Wesley to be a sort of mahogany and leather, old English library type of apartment man, but this - well, this worked too.
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Wesley hurt. All over. And he had drunk just enough to be feeling decidedly cross about it. Not content with inviting Faith - Little Miss Violent - to beat the crap out of him, as Cordelia had so elegantly phrased it, he had also gone a couple rounds with the limo driver at the start of the proceedings, which had been harder than one would imagine.
He limped up the stairs, wondering if Faith would be there or not; if she'd just run. Opening the front door, he felt a moment's disappointment. The lights were out, and there was no indication that anyone else was in the flat. Then a rustle made him turn, and there was Faith, hair dripping wet, self-consciously fiddling with the belt to his dressing gown. It was dark red with a paisley print, a present from his mother, and Wesley had the irreverent thought that she had never intended it to be worn by someone like Faith.
"I hope you don't mind." He was jerked back to reality by Faith's voice. He stared for a moment, and she looked down, tucking one wet strand of hair behind her ear. "I took a shower and…"
"It's fine. Never wear it anyway." He limped to the sofa, moved aside yesterday's shirt, and flopped down.
"You're hurt!"