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
Splash: http://www.stoic-simplicity.net/exposure/graphics/angel/digital/rebelrebel-poster.jpg
Spoilers: Sleep Tight
Genre: Action/Drama – General ensemble
--
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.
--
Chapter Six
You call me strong, you call me weak
But still your secrets I will keep
You took for granted all the times I never let you down
You stumbled in and bumped your head, if not for me
Then you'd be dead – Three Doors Down
--
Wesley stood completely still, feet planted to the ground as suddenly his mind snapped everything into place. There were two seconds of wasted time, when his mouth parted in aching realization, and his hands bunched into fists, that the two Watchers had time to come closer to Faith.
The Slayer turned, and stared, as one held out a gun, the other grabbing her arm, jerking her towards him.
Faith's cry of surprise and pain – so foreign from this particular girl – spurred him into action. Ultimately, and upon later reflection, Wesley wouldn't understand why he was able to be so sure of what he was doing, so unafraid as he gathered the stone from the garden, walked quickly, with powerful paces, and swung the stone into Casper's head, grabbing the gun as it moved toward him.
The shot rang off, and the gun clattered to the ground, as the one he didn't recognize let the Slayer go, catching him with a blinding punch to the jaw. It snapped his head back, tore at his stitches, felling him in a dazed heap.
A heavy weight rested on him, and he grew dizzy with pain, when the calloused hands wrapped around his throat, causing a searing agony as he gasped for breath. Choking, Wesley attempted to push him off, but a fist to his temple blinded him. Darkness was quickly closing in, and still Wesley fought, as the hand roughly rubbed against the stitches, making him grunt with pain.
Suddenly the man was off, the weight lifted, and Wesley blinked in surprise, his senses flooding back to him to discern a girl holding a rock in her hand, staring down at him.
"Hey, Wes," Faith managed. "You look like shit. And you fight like a girl."
Wesley lay his head back on the concrete and took a breath, allowing only a second for recovery before he pushed himself up, immediately locking on the two stirring bodies.
"We have to go," he whispered, blindly reaching for Faith's hand, in hopes of getting them to safety before both men awoke. He wasn't strong enough to fight them, the gun was lost under curb, and he had no time to look for it. Suddenly, the hand slipped, and Wesley jerked his gaze back, just in time to catch the Slayer as she fainted into his arms. "Bloody hell," he whispered, heart catching as his hand lingered on the blood streaked face, the ragged gasps. "Faith," he said gently, stumbling to his feet, every bone in his body aching in protest as he half dragged, half carried her away. "We have to go."
His eyes moved to Cordelia's apartment, but immediately, he dismissed the possibility. They would be trapped if they knew where they were going.
Faith's dark eyes opened, gazed at them with a glazed look of surprise. "Wes," she said dizzily. "You look like shit."
"Come on."
"We going somewhere?" she asked, stumbling as she tried to keep up.
He looked back, saw Murray on his knees, and gasped inward. Immediately panic gave way to reason, which gave way to the part of his brain that obeyed laws, and he moved to the nearest car.
Turning his head away, Wesley smashed the window, wincing as some of the cut glass buried into his wrist.
"Woah." Faith was on her knees, looking on in obvious surprise. "Shit."
Unlocking the door, Wesley came forward, attempting to pull her up. "Faith…" her eyes closed, her head lolling back. Wesley felt his heart jump, and he rasped, "Faith!" Rubbing at her face, he felt his stomach twitch when he got her back. "Faith," he said calmly, carefully. "I need you to hang on. There are some very dangerous men that we have to get away from. Now, can you hotwire a car?"
Faith stared, at first, seemingly through Wesley, and then her pupils dilated and she finally seemed to see him. "You want me to hot wire a car?"
"That would be helpful," he mumbled, pushing her into the car seat, slamming the door.
He ran around the side, sliding into the car, and buckling hastily.
"Sure, I know how," she said, eyes closed, leaning against the headrest. "Donna said that-"
"What?" he asked, turning, looking back to see the men start to walk. "Bloody hell-"
"Donna- big chick. With these boobs out to here-" she demonstrated, molding out a chest that was considerably larger than her own. "And they were pierced-"
Dazed, Wesley stared, and shook himself out of it, fumbling under the hatch. "FAITH! HOW do you do it?"
She blinked. "With a girl?"
"The CAR, Faith!"
"Well, in a car you gotta worry about the gear shift-"
Wesley lost patience, turning and grabbing Faith's hands, pulling them away to find them smeared with blood. Shock. She was going into shock.
"So the backseat-"
"Faith…" Gentle now, he managed to control his breathing, caressing her cheeks, trying to get her to concentrate on him. "Please, Faith. I need your help."
Faith gazed at him, the dark brown softening. "Huh?"
"How do you hotwire a car?"
"Oh…" She closed her eyes, battled for clarity, and opened them again. "Donna said you gotta connect some wires…" she sucked in her breath. "Those guys coming?"
Wesley looked. "Yes."
"Move. Am I the only one that hears that damned music?" She muttered, suddenly moving her head in between Wesley's legs, hands fumbling underneath the steering wheel.
Wesley allowed one delirious thought – of what a policeman would say if he happened upon Wesley in a stolen car with a beautiful, bloody girl with her head between his legs - Bloody hell – maybe HE was going into shock.
The machine roared to life, and Faith pushed herself off of him, burying herself into her side of the car. "There. Going to pass out now. Good to see you, Wes."
She was out cold in a second. Wesley allowed one last look – the men were running toward them now – and he cursed, jerking the wheel and spinning away from the curb, foot slamming on the gas.
--
"Have you ever felt… disconnected?" Lorne looked up, curious when Cordelia spoke.
The Seer gazed at him with a conflicted gaze, unreadable at first. Unsure, the Host simply stared. "How do you mean, sweetie?"
Cordelia, beautiful face marred by an ugly lip that was swollen and split, trickling blood dried – and that thing HAD to ache – sat down beside him, laying out a map of Los Angeles between them. She seemed lost in thought, as if she was working out what she was attempting to say. Lorne had often admired Seers – there was something very… odd about all of them, and Lorne knew that Cordelia was the most original of the bunch.
"I mean – you're connected to the Powers, right?"
He gave her a grim smile, reaching over for a cotton ball, placing it gently on her lip, soaking up a small sliver of blood. "Remotely, sweetie."
"So, it doesn't piss you off that this is all … one-way?" she burst, running a distracted hand through her hair. "I mean, sure it's all well and good that we have a mission: help the hopeless and all that – but SHIT – Lorne… don't they ever let up?" Cordelia slammed her hand down on the table, a testament to her pent up emotion. "Give their Champions a break? IF someone deserves happiness, deserves a break where he DOESN'T have to worry about turning evil, or losing his son, it's Angel. And what about Wes and Fred and GUNN!? I mean – SHIT, Lorne!" Cordelia's hazel eyes were quickly filling with tears, and a taken back Lorne immediately placed his hand on hers.
"Woah, sweetie-"
"And we can't even GO to them, ask them to help…"
Lorne kept quiet, studying the obviously hurting girl. He wondered often why Cordelia was so committed to a mission that had never seemed to bring anything to her but pain. Aura reading hadn't helped on whit when it came to understanding her, and it wasn't until a day, a while ago, when he had looked into her eyes, did he truly felt he understood what the life of a Seer must have been like.
Lorne could choose his missions – he read against wills, but usually, when he allowed someone in, it was his choice.
Cordelia's visions were coupled with a foreboding sense of helplessness. She stood, she watched, she felt – and yet, she could do nothing.
Perhaps the reason Cordelia was so hellbent on helping the hopeless was the fact, that during the ordeals, she was so helpless herself.
"I think you're looking at it the wrong way, sweetie," he said finally, fingering the soft curve of her fingers, eyes drifting over the skin. "You've got the Powers set up like some sort of Guardian Angels – like they can pick and choose who needs help. All they do – is try to keep things fair-"
"But it's NOT fair…" Cordelia whispered furiously.
And people didn't think this woman was a champion. He felt his heart sink, and he smiled grimly, conceding her point. "Maybe. But they do what they can."
"How?"
"You're half demon now, aren't you?" She blanched, but the words hit something, as she leaned back, hazel eyes suddenly darkening.
"Lorne," she said after a moment. "Today, during the vision…"
"Guys!" Both he and Cordelia turned to find Fred burst into the office. "You have to see this."
Curious, Cordelia and Lorne stood, albeit more slowly, weighted down with broken hearts, and searing souls, and followed Fred to the lobby, where the small television set blared.
Cordelia crossed her arms, face frighteningly impassive as she gazed with him at the screen.
"Police are looking for this girl," the newscaster with the bad wig said, eyes dull and voice crisp. Lorne's eyes narrowed at the young, dark haired woman in the picture. Sad eyes, sad mouth – dangerous face.
Cordelia sucked in her breath. "Oh, God…" When Lorne shot her a look, she swallowed. "I just didn't think they'd come after her this quickly. I thought we had time…"
Suddenly tired, Cordelia turned toward the stairs. Lorne's eyes widened, immediately sensing what she was going to do.
"Cordelia-"
"I have to, Lorne. We need him."
He was still staring when Fred came up beside him. He dimly heard her hollowed voice meekly ask, "Do you think they'll be okay?"
The ever unknowing reader of auras shrugged his shoulders, too tired to answer. Instead, he shot her a false smile, and turned back to watch the news, about the escaped convicted killer.
--
There was a painful ache that started from her chest, a weight that made it difficult to breathe normally.
Consequently, by the time Cordelia reached the stairs, she was openly gasping for breath. Her hand felt cold on the doorknob, and she knew that he could smell her even now.
Struggling, she tried to ignore every memory of what had happened in the past few hours, knew very well, that one of the reasons she had avoided coming up here earlier was because she didn't WANT to think of Angel – of Connor.
Now, that she was forced to, she shook, her palms trembled, and she was grateful there was no one here to witness her near breakdown. Gathering herself, she closed her heart, closed her mind, thought of the mission – the damned MISSION – and pushed open the door.
He was pulling on his jacket, pausing only slightly when he saw her. She froze, eyes lingering on his action. "Where are you going?"
His hands wavered, an odd tremor to his tone before it became dismissive. "I'm going to talk to the Powers."
A worry sunk deep within her, a realization that swept through her. "Why?" she asked dumbly, before clamping her mouth shut, and wincing. "Angel-"
"I'm finding my son."
"Good for you," she snapped, slamming the door behind her. The shaking intensified. "Angel," she began, slower, calmer. "I understand about… " her voice wavered at the word, "About Connor, okay? But we have a situation right now – Faith-"
"I told Fred to tell GUNN to take care of it," he snapped, throwing his duffel bag on the bed.
"It's NOT Gunn's mission," she answered, eyes widening in surprise. "YOU'RE the champion, Angel. It's YOUR job-"
"I'm not a champion."
Cordelia swallowed, wishing that she could see his face – maybe then she could find a way to reach him, to talk to him, to try and get him to understand that…
God – there was pain, there was so much pain, but she couldn't voice it now. She couldn't break down, and if she did, she wondered with Angel was so far gone, if he would even care.
"I'm not your hero, Cordelia. Get it through your head." He turned, eyes flashing. "I quit. I'm finding my son."
"You can't QUIT, Angel. This is your mission, it's YOUR life – we can't just QUIT-"
"WE?!" The word was an outburst, and Cordelia found her throat rapidly drying out as he came closer, and closer, eyes hooded and dark: dangerous. "There's no 'we', Cordelia," he said dangerously. "There's me, and my son. And I'm finding him."
Anger was slowly beginning to take hold, ebbing through her frustration, mingling with her despair.
"Oh, really?" she said, eyebrow arching, hazel eyes matching his glare for glare. "If it's just you and Connor, Angel – then tell me: would your son want to see you now? Turning your back on-"
She never got a chance to finish the sentence, before a growl that sent shivers into her spine ripped out from his throat, his hands clasping at her shoulders so roughly, she winced. "Listen, Cordelia," he hissed. "You want a hero so badly? Go find your Groosalug. You want a 'we'? Get him to fight your mission – you left with him, didn't you? Left Connor-"
OH, NO he didn't.
A stab of pain made her heart jump start, her breathing became even, dangerous. A flash of what she used to be resurfaced, mouth set and firm. He was blaming her. He was BLAMING HER for leaving.
And she couldn't stomach that – she could barely stand blaming herself on her own. The last thing she could handle was Angel's dark eyes telling her what she was so afraid to face.
"I left because you TOLD me to," she answered quietly. "You TOLD me to leave. You wanted me GONE – so I left. Leaving wasn't a choice."
He released her, stepping back. "You didn't put up much of a fight, did you? Didn't think much of your mission, then did you? At the prospect of 'com-shukking like bunnies', was it?"
She closed her eyes against the assault, fully aware of the tear that had escaped her lid, inching down her face in a telling trail. Once again, she tried to gain control, tried to remember that this wasn't about her or Angel – but about Connor – of about feeling alone and helpless, and having a child that meant everything in the world ripped out of your arms.
And she could understand that.
She took a breath, took a chance. "Angel," she said softly, reaching for his face, trying to touch the soft skin. "I know you're in pain, Angel. I know-"
He pushed her away, jerked away from her touch, fury in his face, anger in his eyes. "Don't try to get into my head, Cordelia," he snapped. "It's not a place you want to be."
That was it, then – that was that.
What a bastard.
Cordelia shook her head, unable to believe that THIS was Angel. This vampire who snapped like a snake – a selfish bastard who only thought about himself-
"How dare you," she whispered finally, back straight, body tall, too furious to be afraid when she stepped into his face. "HOW. DARE. YOU. You're not the only one who LOST a CHILD, Angel. You're not the only one who LOST A SON. You're not the only one who wants to DIE inside-"
"SHUT UP."
"And your selfish obsession for getting Connor back is going to KILL you and KILL US-"
He grabbed her by the shoulders, shoved her toward the door, visibly battling for control. "GET out."
This time, she needed no encouragement. Grateful, that at least she was able to SEE the door through the blur of her tears, Cordelia wrenched it open, slammed it closed behind her, leaving Angel in his beige aura, all by himself.
And she hated herself.
Because she had to physically push herself away from the door, to keep from going in there again.
--
It had taken the rest of the money in his already nearly empty wallet to secure them a motel room in one of the seediest parts of Culver City.
Wesley had no chance to be picky – he couldn't afford to use his credit card, on the off chance they had a lock on that, and his cell phone, dropped in the chaos outside of Cordelia's, was missing.
Beggars couldn't be choosers.
He winced as he felt the rain soak itself into the back of his muddy coat, carefully pulling Faith out of the stolen car, walking the half block with the girl into the motel room.
He was grateful for the bad weather. One could not easily track someone in rain, everything was harder.
Faith was shivering in his arms, and he held her closer, whispering words of encouragement as they half stumbled into the parking lot, finally making it into the motel room. The girl collapsed as soon as they entered, onto the cheap shag carpeting. Wesley stared at the trembling figure. Briefly, he wondered how it was possible, that this was the same girl who had held a pane of glass to his face, cut jagged shapes in his chest.
Shaking off the images, he closed the door behind him, wincing at his own injuries, before gathering her to him.
"All right, Faith," he whispered, pausing when she immediately turned into him, shuddering as she wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face into his shoulder. For some reason, the sensation made his heart heave. Grimly, he wondered if anyone would ever place this much trust in him, sane. Cradling her to him, he picked her up, her body remarkably light for the powerhouse it had once been, and placed her on the small bed.
Disentangling himself, Wesley reached for the phone on the night stand, picked up the earpiece, and found there was no cord.
Bloody hell.
Cursing, Wesley slammed down the phone, pulled at the base, and found no telephone line. He froze, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together. He had dimly remembered a pay phone across the street, but –
A small moan redirected his attention to Faith. Grimacing, immediately he walked toward the bathroom, grabbing the two cheap cotton towels.
Faith's eyes were open, and focused on him, when he reentered. She didn't say a word, but watched him closely as he settled down, sinking the mattress with his weight, the box springs squealing at his invasion.
Turning her gently onto her back, Wesley carefully began to look at her injuries. The blue shirt was soaked clean through. He bit his lip, caught her gaze. She said nothing.
"Please don't take this the wrong way." He could have sworn that garnered a smirk from her, as his fingers went to the buttons, breath hitching slightly as he carefully pulled them out of their holes, exposing Faith's toned abdomen, ample chest, with every inch. He ignored that, spreading open her shirt, grazing her skin slightly when he pulled her shoulder up, wincing when she hissed in pain.
"Sorry."
"Didn't figure you for a dom, Wes," she mumbled, and it made him smile.
It was an odd partnership, him attempting to repair her, her trying to help, but when they got the shirt off, and she was there, cuts and bruises all over her body, vulnerable and helpless… Their eyes locked, and Wesley wondered if they were both thinking the same thing. Grim, helplessly, irony.
With the flimsy towels, he began to clean the wounds, taking a small one, and holding it to her shoulders, letting the warmed towel seep some heat into the shoulder. She was freezing. There was some thought, and he removed his glasses, thinking it might help alleviate the awkwardness if he wasn't seeing clearly.
"You've got a hell of a blue in those eyes, Wes." He gazed at her blurry face, but she turned it, away from him. Carefully, he peeled off her pants as well, pulling out the sheets from under her and wrapping them around her. "Wes."
He paused in the middle of reaching for his glasses. "Yes?"
She was silent for a moment, staring at him in open contemplation. "Who died and made you my guardian angel?"
"I have no bloody clue."
It was a hollowed laugh she gave, one that made her wince, moving restlessly against the hand at her shoulder.
Suddenly, she paused. Wesley gave her a curious look, and found her eyes locked to the spot on his neck that ached. Trembling slightly, she reached up a weak arm, fingered the stitches.
"What happened?" she demanded, voice much more forceful, panicked.
"I had an accident," he said gruffly, taking her hand and pulling it from the wound.
She looked uncomfortable for a moment. Finally she shifted, rasped from a pain wracked voice, "Did I do it?"
He looked surprise, found an intensity in her eyes as she waited breathlessly for his answer. "No," he answered.
Her entire body relaxed, visibly relieved, and Wesley frowned, reaching up and placing his palm on her forehead. Bloody hell!
He recoiled back, panic flooding through him. He should have bloody noticed – She was scalding to the touch, a burning fever. He looked again toward the phone.
"We have to get you to the hospital."
"No."
"Faith-"
"Not exactly legal, Wesley," she said, eyes fluttering closed, lips beaded with sweat. His lips pursed. Cordelia had told her to escape… she was on the run. "Is it cold in here?" she suddenly asked, eyes opening, unexpectedly bright as she shivered.
Wesley immediately stood, hastily fumbling with the tub handles, spilling water into the tub, hoping he was doing the right thing.
"We have to cool you down," he said, coming back to the bed. When he bent over, her hot body plastered against him, shivering all the while. Her lips touched his wound, and he stiffened, but Faith mumbled her apologies, leaning her head back, gasping for breath.
Wesley moved quickly, gentle as he lowered the Slayer into the tub.
"FUCK!" Her eyes opened. "It's COLD!"
"Trust me," he said quickly, grabbing a washcloth and running it over her skin. "We have to cool you down."
"Trust you?" she repeated, teeth chattering. "I'm fucking COLD! You can't get much colder than a freaking ICE CUBE!" His movements stilled, as he realized the implications of the words, but Faith only held his gaze a moment longer, and closed her eyes, grabbing his hand and holding on tight.
He continued to wash her, gripping her hand all the while.
Some time later, she spoke again. "Wesley?"
"Hmm?"
Her voice was quiet, scared. "What's happening to me?"
He froze, swallowed down painfully. When she gazed at him imploringly, all he could offer her was a squeeze of her hand.
--
Charles parked the truck as quickly as he could, ignoring the ringing cellphone long enough to slip out of it, and close the door.
Walking into the patio, he answered it.
"Hello?"
"Charles?" The voice of his girlfriend was tinny and real.
"Hold on." He opened the door, and found Fred pacing in the lobby, phone in her ear. "Right here, baby," he said into the phone. She whirled, and found him, face breaking into a relieved smile.
"Oh, thank God." Rushing into his arms, she gave him a hard squeeze that made him grunt (Fred had a damned strong grip for a girl) and released him. "Have you seen Wesley?" she asked breathlessly.
He looked down, confused. "Not since I left him at Cordy's. Why?"
"We need to find him," Fred said, entwining their fingers as she led him to where Lorne was sitting. "The news says that Faith-"
Oh. Yeah. That. "I heard it on the radio," he said, nodding. "That's why I came back here. Figured maybe she'd be here, and we could find a way to…" he trailed off at the look of uneasy sadness in Fred's face. "What? What's wrong?"
"She's not here…" Fred said breathlessly.
"Times running out," Lorne said, glancing back toward the stairs.
"And Cordy?" Gunn asked hopefully. "Didn't have a vision or nothing, did she?"
"She's upstairs," Lorne informed him. "Maybe you should try Cordelia's again," he told Fred.
Fred gave Gunn a look, but seemed to agree, because she fumbled with the phone, and began to dial. Charles noted her trembling, and gave Lorne a questioning look.
The Host looked just as tired, once again looking toward the stairs.
An urge to panic was quickly settling into Gunn's stomach, but he stilled it, long enough to gather Fred into his arms and drop a kiss on her forehead. She gave him a distracted squeeze back, just to let him know she appreciated it, and turned away.
Gunn and Lorne waited, watching as Fred waited. "Hello?!" she yelped suddenly, tugging a strand of hair back over her ear. "Groo? Hello! Hi! Yeah – No, we're fine – Is Wesley there?" She waited, and her shoulders slumped. "No." She listened, and when Gunn cocked an eyebrow, she hastily explained, "he went shopping or something – got lost on the bus trying to get back- "No, it's… everything's fine!"
Charles shook his head, and reached for the phone, taking it from Fred's hands. "Groo?"
"Gunn, my friend! Your Fred sounds harried – is everything all right?"
Charles weighed his options, ignored the dagger look Fred was throwing, and made his decision. Damn family – fat lot of good it was doing him right now – Family Boy Angel upstairs wasn't doing shit.
"Hey, man – you think you could get here?"
"Is that Groo?" Charles looked up to find Cordelia's eyes fixed on him, hand poised on the banister, staring down at him as if he was some sort of servant at her event.
"Hold on," he said mechanically into the phone. "Yeah. It's Groo."
Cordelia clamped her jaw, and continued her descent. "Where's Wesley?"
"We can't find him," Fred said breathlessly.
Cordelia appeared lost in thought, and finally, she took the phone from Gunn, turning away from them. "Groo? Hey. No, listen… I need you to come here. We kinda need you."
Charles felt that panic flare up again, and it was an ugly feeling, as he swallowed down hard, crossing his arms. Taking in the positions of everyone around him, from Fred's nervous stance, to the look of bitter despair in Lorne's, he wondered if he had missed something important.
When Cordelia clicked off the phone, he asked flatly, "What about Angel?"
Cordelia froze, and then she turned her back on him, her voice remarkably unaffected when she answered, "He's not working for the mission anymore."
--
Fred's heart sank, the hope that had been burgeoning despite all that had become apparent bursting.
It was what they had all be unconsciously waiting for, the final nail in the coffin that told them, this wasn't going to be okay – and if Cordelia said it – if Cordelia MEANT it-
Gunn's hand clamped over hers, and she numbly let him lead, away from Cordelia and Lorne, into the patio, just before the open courtyard, where the rain splattered out in big raindrops. She turned to Gunn, and found her boyfriend's face dark, intense, worried.
"Angel's losing it," he said fiercely. "You saw what happened today." His voice was almost squeaking in emotion, and Fred, slightly dazed, felt her eyes tear up. "We gotta do something soon, Fred, 'cause hell – we all loved Connor – but Angel's gotta get a grip!"
"Charles-"
"I ain't having Angelus making an encore appearance, Fred!" he said finally, voice breaking. "I can't handle the thought of him going after you or …"
"It won't happen."
"How do you know?" He demanded, and it struck her that he was pleading, asking for reassurance. And the fear hit when she realized she had no reassurance to give.
Gaping at him like a gutted fish, Fred trembled, and suddenly just buried herself into his arms, holding him tightly, breathing in his slightly wet, manly scent, anything but get away from what she was beginning to realize.
Things were quickly going to a very dark place.
--
end chapter six