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 Fourteen - Take the Damned Aspirin

"You don't need to make it sound like an accusation." Faith came closer, then stopped, and sniffed.

"Jeez, Wes, I didn't think you had to resort to drinking away your troubles. You stink!" He opened one eye, and looked at her disparagingly.

"Thank you for that contribution, Miss I Get Beaten Up Every Day And Never Notice." Immediately her smile vanished, and she stepped back.

"Damn it! It was me, wasn't it? Wesley, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Actually, it wasn't." She stopped, and looked at him suspiciously.

"What?"

"The set to I had with your friendly limo driver is mostly responsible for my current pain. You were just the cherry on the cake, so to speak."

"Honest? You're not just trying to make me feel better?"

"Cross my heart and hope to…well, not die, exactly."

"Something almost as crappy."

"Hope to have to hear Angel sing?"

"Angel sings? Get out of here!"

"Not to be disloyal, but most of the time we rather wish he wouldn't. Man can't sing," he added confidingly, in case Faith had missed the gist of what he was saying. Then he laughed in a manner which sounded scarily like a giggle. Faith looked at him, eyes narrowed. Then one eyebrow lifted.

"You're drunk." Wesley sat in concentration for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes." He nodded again. "I'm terribly sorry." She shrugged.

"'Sokay. I can deal."

"Hmmmm." Wesley slid sideways, and in three seconds flat was fast asleep, head resting on a first edition Wodehouse, a sweater and what looked like a pair of boxers. Faith edged closer, and stood looking down on him, arms crossed. Then she sighed.

"God, Wesley, that is so pathetic. You know if you're going to go out and get drunk then you deserve to spend the night on the couch." As she spoke, she knelt down at the end of the sofa, and carefully grabbed one of his feet. Easing off his shoe, she continued her diatribe. "Extremely uncomfortable, and too short for you. Not to mention the mess you'll make with your shoes," and off came the other one, "and I really hope you have a hangover in the morning." She stood up with that, and headed for the bathroom, coming back a minute later with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. "Come on, Wes, wake up."

"Huhmm?" She poked him in the ribs, then rattled the aspirin bottle.

"Sit up and take the damned aspirin already!" Wesley sat up, nursing his head, and looking at Faith with a large amount of dislike.

"I'm up. Aspirin." She handed him the pills and the glass of water. He took them, groaned again, then tipped his head back, resting it on the sofa.

"Piece of advice, Wesley. If you're planning to do a lot of sleeping on that couch, you'd better get one that you fit on."

"Quite. Oh God."

"Wesley?" He didn't say anything, and Faith bit her lip, feeling distinctly out of her depth. "Uh, Wesley, do you think we should go to the hospital?" He shook his head. "Are you sure? 'Cause you're not looking real good from where I'm standing."

"I'm fine." At her skeptical look, he shrugged and rephrased. "I don't need to go to hospital. Go to bed, Faith. I'll be fine here."