Author: Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com
Rating: Hard R for violence, some sexual situations.
Teaser: When the Watcher's Council comes after Faith, Angel Investigations must pull from the chaos they've become embroiled in to save the renegade Slayer, and Wesley must face a past that has become more haunting than ever.
Archive: http://www.stoic-simplicity.net/imperfect
Spoilers: Sleep Tight
Genre: Action/Drama – General ensemble
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Additional Notes: Done – but posting only a few chapters a day, again, so as not to overwhelm. No, it's not torture. I swear.
Special Thanks To – the readers of 'How to Date'. I doubt I've ever gotten such a great response out of anything I've written. It was gratifying and … heartwarming. Thank you.
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Chapter Four
Fate has led you through it, you do what you have to
do. But I had the sense to recognize that I don't know how to let you go
– Sarah McLachlan
--
Faith was dangerous when she was cornered. Her heart pounded almost painfully in her ribcage, and her mind – GOOD GOD, her MIND – it swirled and exploded into bursts of white hot rage. It was nothing compared to the desperation that coupled with the panic of feeling entirely helpless. Faith's whole life, she had searched for the one thing she had always envied the hell out of Buffy: Control. The power to twitch a finger and slice a knife, and KNOW things were gonna come out your way. The power to not feel so helpless, to not feel like you were drowning in your own vile blood, your own sin, your own torrent of rainfall and guilt.
FUCK. She almost had that. It had been there, slipping through her fingers, tangible, within reach. No one ever forgot, but she was starting to get over the hurt, even in her cell with Stacey snoring above her, during those long nights where she had nothing to do but go over each and every act she had committed, every torment she had inflicted, that had landed her in here.
Her control was splintered now, leaving behind a helpless, twenty year-old girl, with a sliced arm, a bloody forehead, and none of the strength that had kept her alive, brought her out of a coma, and traumatized so many.
The door continued to creak open, at the exact moment her headache flared, and she winced, keeping her eyes open, on the figure that stepped inside, holding the knife steady, way too steady.
Panic. Panic. Panic.
//It's a kill or be killed world, B. That's all it is. Want. Take. Have.//
Faith drew in a ragged breath, straightening as well as she could, hands pressed against the cold, wet concrete.
"How the hell did you get in here?"
Of course he didn't answer. Of course he stood there, and of course, in the little light that drifted from the swinging fixtures in the hall, she could see his eyes perfectly: dark, black onyx.
FUCK.
Faith wanted to cry. She wanted to slide down to the floor, gather her knees to her chest, and sob her heart out, let out all the fear, all the sorrow…
Dizziness overcame her, she shook her head in an attempt to keep herself clear.
This one didn't rush her. He stood in the middle of the cell, regarding her. Faith, breathing erratically, looked around him. "HEY! Someone's trying to KILL ME IN HERE! Do your damned JOB and PROTECT AND SERVE!"
"The LAPD do that."
He spoke, a crisp, clear, English accent. Her eyes locked with the ever consuming darkness of his orbs. "What?" she breathed in startled surprise.
"The Los Angeles Police Department protects and serves. The Sheriff's department runs the jail."
Well, thanks for the damned lesson. Fat lot of good it's gonna do me, now.
She didn't know what to say. She searched for the words – they used to come to easily to her, this word play. She knew the game. The smirk that should have come so easily to her lips, didn't. Her mind, usually quick witted, ready to come back with a great response that would make him stumble, regard her with suspicious eyes, was slow.
For the first time, she was paralyzed with fear. He stepped forward, and immediately, she slammed her body back, against the wall. Fuck, Fuck.
"You are afraid."
"You're fucking delusional, if you think they're going to let you get out of here after you killed me," she whispered.
He smiled. "The prophecy does not lie. We will protect the world."
What?!
The grin that stretched over the thin lips chilled her, she knew that grin. Knew it too well, and when he jerked forward, like a snake, she was almost ready. She jolted away from the wall, the knife flashed, and she let out a startled shriek when she felt the blade slice into her shoulder, a bite that made her stumble, crash into the floor. He almost danced away from the wall, rolling down, the knife swiping, and she scrambled back, seconds away from being impaled.
Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit…
He came down at her again, and her mind snapped into place, palm wrapping around the hand to catch it, twist it down, over his shoulder blade, and wrench up. Break the wrist, force him to drop the knife, and then slice his neck with it.
That's what should have happened. That's what should have fucking happened.
But she couldn't hold the hand, the knife sliced into her skin, and her eyes widened when he jerked away, tossing her to the other side of the room. Her head snapped against the concrete, blinding pain filled her senses, and she crashed into a heap on the floor.
Fuck.
Pushing herself up with every damned bit of strength she had left, Faith watched. He wiped the blade on a cloth he had taken from his pocket, inches away from the open door.
Okay, okay… strength not gonna work here. How the hell did Buffy do it?
She licked her lips, and closing her eyes, she took what she could get. He came forward, and she waited.
One seconds… two…
The blade came down, and she yelled, launching into a somersault, crashing with her body weight into his knees. He stumbled, hands flying back, and with a fragmented mind, Faith twisted her legs, keeping her steel toe boots straight. Both toe points crashed into his unprotected face. The hand with the knife slammed against the floor, the blade clattering away. He was stunned for a minute, and that was all Faith needed. With hasty, shaky, trembling and damned clumsy fingers, Faith tore at her boots, removing her laces.
As a kid she had stolen a boy scout manual from this guy, read it and fantasized, and no one knew how to do a better knot than she did. Stumbling up, erratic pants coming from her, Faith closed her eyes, practically falling backwards.
A flash slid before her, in her mind, words that came almost foreign-
"Get OUT of there, nitwit. Through the hall, through the sewer, the way he came in. Get to Angel Investigations – we'll be waiting."
Her eyes opened, and Faith didn't bother to wonder what the hell happened. The blood was streaming from so many different places, she was covered in it, and GOD, she felt faint. She reached down, grabbed the bloody knife, and ran for as fast as she could toward the door.
The figure left behind was silent, but alive.
--
Wesley slammed the telephone down with a curse.
"Bloody hell…" he whispered, gripping the handle in a clasp that could have very well broken it, had it been under a stronger hand. "Cordelia, no one is picking up…" His voice faltered as he turned around, and looked up.
"GET to Angel Investigations- we'll be waiting." Cordelia was floating four feet above the ground, hand on her head, eyes shut closed.
"Cordelia?" he whispered, throat constricting at the sight. Her eyes flashed open, and suddenly whatever was holding her up gave way, and Cordelia crashed to the floor.
"OWW."
"Cordelia!" Falling to his knees, Wesley helped the Seer up, guiding her to the couch as she blinked, shaking her head.
"What the HELL?!" Cordelia ran her hand through her streaked hair, looking at Wesley with wide, relieved eyes. "She's okay. She got out of there…" Wesley's frown deepened.
"How do you-"
"I…" Her relief quickly turned to an expression of panic. "I don't – Wesley, I think I was able to get into her head, talk to her, maybe THAT was why I was getting the play by play…"
What the bloody…
Things were going entirely too fast for Wesley to process. He stared dumbly at Cordelia, his beautiful friend bewildered, scared, like a mutant in that movie they had been dragged to see – the young one who discovered with a kiss. she could damn the world.
"I… Wesley…"
She stared, hazel boring imploringly into his, seeking an answer for what had just happened. He had no answer – had she learned nothing?
"Part-demon, Cordelia," was his quiet answer. She stared at him, and he began to see the way her mind worked then. Part-demon reminded her of her birthday, her birthday of Connor, Connor of Angel – and Angel… when it was Cordelia, it always came back to Angel.
Her eyes darkened, closed in pain. Exhaling slowly, she waited only a second, gathering her senses, before she reached for his hand. "Help me up." He did so, as well as his injury could allow. "We needed to get to the Hyperion. I think I told Faith to meet us there. I need to see Angel. You need to come with me."
Wesley stilled, his heart beat hammering, thumping, skipping, never resuming its normal beat. "You think you told what to whom? To where?" She grabbed his hand, leaving no room for argument, dragging him toward the door. "Cordelia, Angel warned me-"
"Angel has to get over it." she paused, a curious expression floating over features masked by pain, before she turned, stared at him frankly. Cordelia had a gift for frankness, as her delicate fingers slipped over his palms, held them close to her. Had she ever figured out, that perhaps SHE was the real boss of Angel Investigations? "We have a mission, Wes," she began slowly, blinking away tears that made the hazel brilliant and captivating. "And… GOD – I hate the powers. I hate them. They should have told me, they should have – but they didn't – and there's a damned reason for that – We're saving Faith-"
"Despite the torture," he found himself adding, starting in surprise as he did. She gave him an even gaze, cool and almost angry. He swallowed, looked away, knowing she was thinking of Connor. Again his heart gave, his stomach dropped, he became almost nauseous.
"You took the action, you face the music."
When she pulled on his hand, he had no choice but to follow.
--
Wesley had always been better at the research.
Fred was a physicist. A good one, granted. A multi-tasking one, okay. But she wasn't a translator. Slipping off her glasses with a sigh, Fred took a moment to rub at her temples, put aside the books, and stare at the stairs.
Fred checked the clock on the wall, the one Wesley insisted they have, when she began her experiment on time and it's implications on modernity. It was an odd subject, Cordelia's eyes had promptly crossed, and even poor Angel stared down at Connor blankly.
Only Gunn and Wesley had listened, nodding at all the appropriate parts.
Wow. It seemed ages ago. She wondered if this was another relevant point in her theory, mind floating back to her thesis, before her wandering eyes caught a lone figure sitting on the orange couch, hands tangled into his fists. Immediately, she stood, forgetting about the books, just for a minute, venturing forth into the lobby.
Fred had never really taken care of anyone. Before Pylea, she had her parents taking care of her. In Pylea, she had herself to keep alive – nevermind anyone else. After Pylea, she had looked onto Angel Investigations to take care of her. It had never dawned on her that this might happen in a relationship, in friendship: the overwhelming urge to take care of someone – to worry about what might happen to one person, or five.
Fred was quiet, always quiet, and yet he always knew when she was coming. Charles turned, gave her a small smile, and looked back down at his hands. She stood still, taking in the slumped shoulders, the deep sigh that came from his body, and her big, beautiful Gunn just looked… small.
An aching hurt filled her, in the spot that had been hit several times since she had kissed him, starting the moment she turned in that ballet house and saw the demon stick the knife into Charles' back. Settling down beside him, she waited a moment, taking an unsure breath.
Carefully, quietly, Charles reached forward, took her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing it against his lips, holding it there as he leaned forward, eyes staring at something straight ahead. She held her breath.
Gunn closed his eyes, shuddered once, and pulled her hand away from his lips, into his lap. "It's happening all over again." Fred waited, not quite sure what he meant. Craning her head, she gently used her free hand to tip his chin toward her, until she caught her eyes. Her breath caught when she saw moistness.
"Charles…"
"I'm losing my family, Fred. It's happening all over again. I let down my guard, and it happened. I can't do this again. I can't lose it all." Her vision was blurry, stinging in her eyes made her blink, as she gently palmed his cheek. He stared at her imploringly. "The only person I can believe in is you, Fred."
Her heart broke then, as her hand slipped around his waist, and his body leaned forward. She cradled him, pressed her lips against his scalp and murmured reassuring words into his ear. He was still, shuddering occasionally, eyes pressed tight, cheek pressed against her breasts. He held her tightly, tighter than she had ever been held by him before.
It was desperate, and needy. He needed her. Fred closed her eyes, pulled him closer, and suddenly understood that in this moment, there was no one else but she and Gunn.
Because she needed him, too.
--
Angel had gotten to know his 'family' pretty well.
The habits of a predator were never truly lost, and although Angel understood his family – their patterns and weaknesses – ways they could be overcome – he had forced himself to be blind to them. For some reason, they all came to the surface to his mind with startling clarity, now. Gunn, and his need to be impulsive. Fred, and her naivety – the gut instinct of a survivor underneath that made her just as dangerous. Wesley – his blind faith.
Cordelia…
Angel closed his eyes, sniffed, and immediately moved toward the door. When Lorne walked in, he had him by the collar, held up against he door, before the Pylean demon could even open his mouth to speak.
"You're going to talk to the Powers," Angel began crisply, in a voice that was husky with exertion, self control barely keeping the demon face from emerging, even as the eyes began to glow gold. "And you're going to tell them that unless they want their Champion to take a permanent vacation, they're taking me to Connor."
Lorne was flabbergasted, jaw dropping, mouth opened, for the moment just stunned. "Angel-"
Angel kept him pinned. "Do it."
Lorne was still, and maybe Angel should have given the Host more credit. The messenger for the Powers was straight and tall, the fear that Angel had seen before, disappearing before his very eyes. "What's the matter, Angel?" he asked crisply. "Losing a little steam, there?"
Angel's hands tightened around the lapel, dangerously close to his throat. "Don't, Lorne. You don't know who you're dealing with."
Lorne's red eyes darkened, flashed in anger. "You're wrong, honeybuns. I know exactly who I'm dealing with. And it's still Angel." His hands closed over Angel's. "The Powers that Be care about the mission, Angel. They don't care about your so-"
A growl, low and angry, escaped in a violet outburst. The haze of anger slid over him, seeping over the soul like boiling water in an overflowing pot, and when Angel blinked, Lorne was suddenly across the room, bleeding from his lip.
Angel stepped back, shaking his head, suddenly unsure. What the-
"Had fun?" Lorne said, picking himself up from off the ground, straightening his suit. "Fine. I'm done. I'm leaving you alone, Angelcakes. I'm tired of playing valet, and your personal beating toy. You wanna be dense? Be dense." Moving toward the door, his hand on his lip, Lorne paused, staring angrily back at him. "Let me ask you one thing, Mr. Revenge. You've already lost your son – you really willing to lose everyone else?"
He had no one else.
Angel glared, hands into fists. He was exhausted, damned exhausted, and maybe that was why he didn't bother to toss Lorne to the other side of the room.
Lorne slammed the door closed, and Angel, thankful for the silence, sank to the floor. Hands that were curled into fists, slammed into the carpeted floor, muffled thumps that did nothing to alleviate the rapidly growing tension.
Angel didn't move, his face buried into the carpet, eyes closing, knees drawing into his chest. He couldn't move: he moved, and he exploded.
Angel took in a deep, sucking breath, almost painful, if his lungs were actually alive and working. He kept his eyes shut tight, and he whimpered, growled… drifted…
The bed was soft… warm. She nestled into his side, backside pressed comfortably against his hips. When she shifted in her sleep, he hissed, head lolling back as he stilled her body from provoking anymore response from his groin.
Blueballs, he could handle – but not the mortifying embarrassment that would happen if Cordelia, who had once again fallen asleep in his bed, discovered the fact that he was most certainly, blessedly, NOT a eunuch.
She grumbled against the constraint, eyes fluttering sleepily as she twisted, tightening her hold on his son. Angel pushed himself up onto one elbow, a smile drifting lazily onto his features at the scene.
Connor began to squirm, and he frowned, carefully pushing off the bed, padding around the side, gently, delicately, extracting the child from the exhausted Seer's arms. She mumbled in protest, but allowed it, locked away in dreamland. He gave a soft smile, and glanced down at Connor.
The child gave him a gummy grin. He grinned back. He had been doing that a lot lately.
The cradle was a little too stuffed with stuffed animals. Gunn and Fred had gone on a spree. Cordelia had cooed over them, more so than Connor, who liked his worn old rattle just FINE, thank you very much. Fred had preened, Wesley had smiled. Cordelia had elbowed Angel until he had thanked them, and even Gunn – that big manly… man – looked proud of his purchases.
Angel considered, and removed a large teddy bear, placing Connor in its place, turning back toward the bed. His Seer hadn't moved, still curled into the same position. Angel sank down beside her, placed the bear carefully in her arms, and watched, contented, as she tightened her arms around it.
"Angel?" she murmured lazily.
"Yeah."
"Admit it. You're going to miss this…" He blinked, as her eyelids fluttered, and suddenly, brilliantly hued orbs gazed up at him.
"Miss what?"
Her fingers stole to his, slid up his palms, to his forearms. Angel was completely still, as her soft delicate digits gently massaged at his forearms. "These dreams," she whispered. "Big old pervert." He stared. "You know what I mean – I mean, sex dreams coupled with big family drama? About me? You're gonna miss it."
He swallowed, hard. "Why am I going to miss it?"
"Well…" Cordelia closed her eyes, shifted against his sheets, her scene wafting to him. "When it all becomes real, I refuse to let you cheat on me with a sex dream. Even if it IS of me."
He laughed, he couldn't help it. "Deal."
She stared at him through heavy, sleep laden lids. "Isn't this when I kiss you?"
He grinned, heart bursting at the smile on her mischievous lips. "Yeah."
She smiled, a giggle bursting from her as he fell into her arms, into her lips. She pulled him over her, legs slipping upwards to wrap around his hips, and pulling him down closer. Angel laughed when she nipped him.
"HEY!"
"What! Only YOU get to bite?" Heart full, Angel cradled her cheeks carefully.
"I'm not going to miss this." Before she could answer in huffed reply, he continued. "Because I'm never letting you go."
Her lips welcomed him, tongue tangling with his, and when Connor wailed his protest at the moans, Angel laughed-
The loud crash from downstairs brought him out of his fantasy. Keeping still, Angel found himself flat on the floor, torn between images that never existed, and a room that was charred and burned – in a room that was reality.
Pushing himself up, Angel felt truly dead, and it was an odd feeling. He hated being the dead one, but it was where he belonged, where he was accepted – time and time again proved he had no place among the living.
His eyes lingered on the bed, drifted toward the crib, and he saw Cordelia there, so close he could almost taste her scent on his tongue. She held Connor in her arms, cradling him, singing an off-key tune.
"Go to sleeeep, my baby peeeep…"
And in her eyes was such LOVE-
The searing pain came then, forcing him to get up, remember a Cordelia who had walked into this room earlier with haunted eyes laced with guilt. The desolation was so clear, but she had been here, she had offered herself to him, to take solace, to attempt to understand…
And his soul wanted to badly to bury himself into her arms, pretend she loved him, understood – to take whatever he could get, now that he had nothing at all… She had always tried to understand…
Moving toward the door, Angel walked into the hallway, throat dry and hoarse as he called out to Fred and Gunn, jogging down the stairs. Charles turned, and Angel called out hopefully, "Have you seen Corde… lia." He paused, when the slim figure turned, beautifully familiar eyes stared up at him hopefully.
He paused, relief flaring through him, and something besides the pain, something remarkably similar to hope.
His shoulders slumped. "Cordelia."
"Angel," she whispered, coming forward. He reached out, anticipating her warmth, until a familiar scent caught him, and an unwilling growl turned his attention.
Wesley stepped into the room, and Cordelia moved beside him.
"Hello, Angel."
The soul stretched tight, and the relief shattered.
--
Figured – on the lam, scott free, walking the streets, and Faith actually felt safer in prison.
Hello to the irony.
She gasped, stumbling when the wound in her shoulder flared up, making her land against the side of the building, in the alley. Raising her blood streaked face to the sky, she wondered how long it would be before the bastards followed the blood trail. She looked back, eyeing the dark patches. 'Cause she sure as hell was leaving behind a lot of it.
Come on, Faith. Do what the fucking voice in your head, told you to do.
Sure – maybe she was going crazy, but at the moment – the damned annoying voice had had a better plan than she did. Get to Angel – get to Angel and he would fix it. Maybe get away from the baby sitting and kill the bastards coming after her. Maybe that Cordy he seemed to crush on so much lately could have a vision or something, figure out what the hell was wrong with her.
She turned a corner, found a blissful sigh of relief emanating when she saw the old office, and she very nearly ran from her shadows, into the building, until she remembered something that the damned voice forgot to remind her.
New place – some damned hotel, they weren't here anymore. Oh, SHIT.
Faith collapsed against the wall, sucking in her breath as she held her injured limbs to her, felt the pain in her chest twist and sear, and GOD, if she could just lie down in a box and sleep for years –
She shook herself, wiped hastily at the tears. No fucking way. She was getting to SOMEONE.
Closing her eyes, she willed the voice to come back, tell her where to go, where to find Angel – cause she could have sworn he had told her where he was – but damned if she could remember with the blood seeping into her eyes, making them sting.
A couple turned the corner and she slipped back into the shadows, holding her breath as they walked past, talking and laughing.
Okay, okay… think…
Her eyes snapped open. Cordelia. The damned Seer/May Queen/Priss that was practically raising Angel's kid. She hadn't moved, right?
The bitch better not have moved.
With an agonized groan, Faith closed her eyes, sucked in her breath, praying for strength to hold out before she fainted, and pushed away from the wall, once again turning into the alley, stumbling through as quickly as she could.
--
end chapter four