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. Brother Anselm is all mine, though!
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 Nineteen - Lasagne, Patrol, and Horniness
Faith sat at a kitchen stool, revelling in the normality of her current position. A glass of wine was on the counter before her, and she sipped it occasionally as she watched Wesley prepare their dinner. Angel had agreed, rather reluctantly, to let Faith report on Connor's location, on the understanding that she did everything possible it find out exactly what they wanted with him, and Wesley had suggested that, as long as they were careful, there was no reason why she shouldn't stay in his flat. Fortunately, his building had a basement that was connected to the labyrinthine network of Los Angeles sewers, and there was no reason for Faith to get caught.
"Thanks for letting me stay, Wes," she said suddenly. Wesley, engrossed with measuring the precise amount of milk to go in his cheese sauce, didn't look up.
"Not a problem. Anyway, I'd rather you were somewhere safe." Measuring finished, he poured the milk into the pan, and turned up the heat. "Perfect! Now, can you pass me the lasagne? It's in that cupbaord." He pointed, and Faith jumped off the stool. Finding the pasta, she handed it over, and watched silently as he readied the rest of the meal.
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"That was great, Wesley!" Faith sat back, rubbing her stomach. "I haven't eaten a home-cooked meal in...pretty much forever."
"A man must be self-sufficient in the kitchen," intoned Wesley, smugly, as he cleared the dishes. "Gone are the days when a man has a wife to rely on." She laughed at his expression, but then sighed and wriggled in her seat. Noting the discontented grimace, Wesley looked at her curiously. "Is something wrong?"
"No...yes!" At his inquisitive look, she burst forth: "I just...I really want to..." Her fists were clenching and unclenching, and Wesley, putting two and two together and coming up with the requisite four, smiled.
"Go out - go and patrol."
"Patrol."
"Yes, you know, go for a walk, take a pointy stick..."
"Iknow what patrol means, Wesley. I just - I haven't done that in a while." Wesley finished clearing the dishes, then leaned on the counter and looked at her seriously.
"You've obviously got a lot of excess, er, energy stored up. Patrolling is an effective - and useful - way of getting rid of it."
"But what - what if, you know, something happens. Something goes wrong, or I-"
"Faith, I trust you. Go out, patrol, kill a few vampires - save a few lives. Make sure you're back here at-" he consulted his watch - "one o'clock."
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Half past midnight, and Faith was on good form. She had patrolled the back alleys around the clubs - always - a favourite hunting ground for vamps - and rescued a number of poor souls about to be exsanguinated. Then she had come upon a nest of vampires merrily making plans for mass destruction; plans which had been equally merrily terminated.
But though she had shaken off most of the restlessness that had been plaguing her, she was faced with the second problem associated with slaying. She was horny. There was nobody ahndy to shag, and for some reason she didn't want to go looking for a one night stand in one of those clubs. Besides, Wesley had told her to be back by one, and there though wasn't any reason to obey him, she found herself wanting to do as he said. Wesley - no! He was, well, not her watcher, not any more, but... No! Really not an option! Besides, she wasn't attracted to Wesley; it was just that she was kind of desperate, and he was the only man around, if you excluded Angel, which she did, because a) he really wasn't her type and b) if she knew anything about men, he was still hung up on Buffy.
Lost in her internal musings, Faith was surprised to find herself already at Wesley's apartment building. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. After a moment it was opened cautiously, then wider as Wesley realised who was there.
"How did it go?" he asked, as they sat down in the living room.
"Okay, I guess. Killed a few vamps, the usual."
"Good. Well, I'm just going-" As he spoke, Wesley leant over to pick up a book on the floor. Faith moved at the same time, then seemed to slip, and collided against him. She was suddenly breathless, and Wesley went still for a moment, before standing and continuing as if nothing had happened - "to the off-licence. I, er, said I'd pick up a bottle of Scotch for Angel. I'll take it down to him, so I'll probably be a couple of hours." He shrugged on a jacket, and was off before Faith could think of anything to say.
"Shit!"
Getting ready for bed, she was blushing with embarrassment, something she hadn't done for a long time. Wesley had known exactly what she was thinking - and had been the perfect gentleman about it. Nothing left to do but deal with it herself.