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.
Thanks again for all reviews. Syn: I've completely stolen your crappy waitress job for Faith!
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Chapter Thirty-Nine - Running Away Again
Four dollars thirty-two, four dollars forty-two, four dollars forty-three. Faith stared at the small pile of change she had just counted out, and sighed. Heck, she'd made more than that in tips when she had been thirteen and serving popcorn at the local (now defunct) drive-in. She lay back, gazing blindly and the water-marked ceiling. Well, this is it, Faith, she thought to herself. Back in crap motel land once again. She rolled over onto her stomach, and fiddled idly with the bed cover. It was orange and decidedly unattractive, and a previous occupant of the room had spilled coffee all down one side.
It was over a month since she had left the Hyperion, since she had walked through the double glass doors without a backward glance. It had been the right thing to do, she was sure of it. She was dangerous; no matter what Wesley had said, she knew that violence was a part of her that could spiral out of control at any point. And it was so scary, to look at someone, to look at Wes, or Cordelia and know that, one day, in one moment, you could hurt them. To be with people you trusted, who you wanted to be a part of your life, but to know that it couldn't happen.
Faith sighed again, rolling over restlessly. It was very simple. She would just get a job, get somewhere to live, and slay the rest of the time. She didn't have to have other people around to do what she was born to do. And every day, she would try to keep control of herself. Not let it happen again. Unwillingly, her mind wandered back to that day in the warehouse…
…Wesley, lying there, his eyes fluttering closed as the blood spilled over her hand…
…the knife sinking deep into soft human flesh, life flickering away…
…blood on her hands, blood that stayed no matter how she scrubbed…
No! She wouldn't let it happen again. No one would be responsible for her, no one would be put on the line for her. And she would never kill anyone again. She would start a new life, and try and put the blood behind her.
You keep telling yourself that, girl. Faith closed her eyes in irritation, trying to will away the derisive voice in her head. It didn't work. You want to start a new life, but you're living in the same motel you were in when Wesley came after you. You don't want to have anyone waiting for you, but you're sitting here every day waiting for…
She was waiting for Wesley. Waiting for him to come and rescue her again, waiting for him to come and smile that patient smile and tell her it didn't matter, that he trusted her and wanted her to come back. To come home.
"Fuck, I'm pathetic!" Faith jumped up, and grabbed her bag, putting her scant belongings in it with more speed than care. She slammed closed a drawer, pulled on her jacket, looked around. Shook her head. This was it, she had to start anew. She couldn't wait for someone else to decide how her life was going to be.
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The bus station was dark, damp, and, frankly, grotty. Faith's face was a picture of distaste as she bought a ticket for as far away as she could afford, and tried to shake off the feeling that someone was following her. Paranoia was a bitch. She had felt that she was being followed for weeks now, and she hadn't seen anybody. It was beginning to piss her off, and she determinedly ignored the pricking in the back of her neck.
Clutching her ticket for Des Moines in her hand - after all, Iowa was as good a place as any - Faith wandered over to correct stop and sat down, ignoring the inebriated leer of the man on the seat next to hers. Half an hour later, she was still waiting, and the man was still leering, though three cans of beer had increased the inebriation factor.
"Running away again, Faith?"