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 Seven
This is the way it's going to be
I gave him away, and now I'm free
But he was the life I'm meant to lead
There's nothing left for me
This is my melody
- Nina Gordon
--
The lights of the street drifted through the half closed blinds, painting curious patterns across the wall. Wesley moved away from the window, flipping the crack he had made through the plastic closed with a twist of his fingers, eyeing the pay phone across the street, barely visible in the drizzle.
"Okay."
He turned, a queer awkwardness in the form of a knot in his stomach settling deeper as Faith gathered herself into a large, black robe. He glanced toward the tub, found their clothes side by side, stretched out on the now empty tub, sopping wet.
"Fills you out better than me," she said, tugging the too large robe closer around her smaller form. He smoothed his hands over the cotton of his own – the one bloody thing this motel actually had, besides the complimentary condoms in the dresser.
"Yes, well." He gave a slight shrug, expression on his face freezing when she closed her eyes, hitched in her breath slightly. Sinking into the chair, she gripped the arms, leaning forward, wet strands covering her face from view as she breathed in heavily.
Bloody hell. Coming forward, padding in bare feet, Wesley knelt, carefully tipping her chin up, until he was able to see her face, discern the pain. Without saying a word, he slipped the robe off her bare shoulder, carefully probing the wound.
She flinched, but said nothing. He frowned, forcing his eyes to stay on the shoulder, and only the shoulder, not venture… lower – where the robe covered nothing. Faith was being unnaturally modest, and it was something he pondered, if only briefly, as her hands, connected to arms that were still wounded, hastily bandaged with blood stained remnants of his own shirt, pulled the half fallen robe around her further, keeping her cleavage hidden. She seemed almost nervous, and Wesley, grimacing, stroking her shoulder, using a Kleenex to mop around the wound, didn't blame her.
They were practically strangers: intimate strangers, true – if a half botched watcher/slayer job, and a night of torture counted – but strangers, nonetheless. Her breath hitched in, an erratic heartbeat in her that he attributed to her fever: brought down, but not by much.
At the very least, it made her sane – no longer blubbering about sex with girls with pierced nipples, or car sex – or … other… unpleasant things.
"Wes."
"Yes?" he answered, a little too quickly, looking up and catching a gaze of startling brown, remarkably clear, flushed cheeks and swollen lips.
Her eyes lingered over his, her face almost like a lost child. "How'd you find me? Dumb luck?"
He managed a smile, gently skimming his fingers over goose-bumped skin to pull the robe back over her shoulder, his eyes on his task, and no place else. "Something like that," he admitted. "But we were looking for you. Cordelia had a vision."
Faith's eyes fluttered, she visibly struggled to gain her hold on clarity, as she swallowed, braced herself, and opened them again, staring at him as if he held the very world in his hands. "This is gonna sound crazy, Wes, but I think she-"
"Talked to you? Through the vision?" He received a startled look of surprise, and he gave a gentle nod as he stood, slipped his arms around her tiny waist, and allowed her to use him as her crutch. "I rather believe she did," he answered. "Let's get you to the bed."
Faith seemed bewildered, and he knew she wanted to press the issue, but had not the strength. She gave no fight when her forehead rested against his shoulder, dangerously close to his wound.
He said nothing, let her palms grip his forearms. "If they know I was in trouble, how come you're here?" she asked bluntly, a rasp falling from her lips as he settled her on the bed. "Where's Angel?"
A stab in his inner gut that was rather painful went through him, and finding himself unable to meet her eyes, he instead concentrated on sliding her legs under the covers, the robe big and cumbersome, tangling around them.
"At the Hyperion," he managed in an indifferent tone.
She was quiet for only a second. Faith, fever-ridden and weak not withstanding, had not lost ALL of her thinking facilities. She collapsed against the pillows, shifting over to the center of the full sized bed. When he turned to move away, she caught his arm, a weak grip that both he and she noticed. Their eyes locked on the arm, on the way she struggled to keep her hand closed around it, and with a sob and a jerk of her hand, she pulled away. He swallowed, and sank down on the side of the bed.
"We'll help you, Faith," he promised gruffly. "I can't promise I know what is happening, but I have an idea, and-"
"Then tell me what the fuck's going on!" she said angrily. "Just… shit, Wesley! LOOK AT ME!"
He looked. Dark bruises shadowed the pronounced cheekbones. Wet hair framed a sad, panicked face. A remarkably full lower lip trembled with abandon, and tears of frustration seeped from her eyes. The robe had slid off one shoulder, leaving it bare. It was the intact one, there was nothing but smooth skin that seemed to glide over the muscle that was of no use to her.
Carefully, with shaking fingers, he smiled grimly, reached over and pulled it back up, pulling off his glasses to obscure her again, fully aware he was using it as a defense mechanism. His eyes moved toward the window – and thoughts flitted through his mind – the payphone – Cordelia – Angel –
"I believe you've been drugged, much in the way Buffy was. I believe the Council has sent assassins after you, in an effort to kill you. And I believe that Cordelia and the rest at the Hotel will find a way to save you."
She was sullen, silent. "So how come we're not there?" she asked pointedly. "Instead of stuck here in this hooker motel where the next door bitch is fucking her pimp?" she snapped, motioning at the wall that thump, thumped.
"Because it's not safe," he answered firmly.
"The guys after us don't know where we are. How isn't it safe?"
Wesley kept his eyes on the window, on the payphone, his mind someplace else entirely.
A child. A red-head. A father.
"It just isn't."
"Fuck." Faith leaned back against the cheap pillow, kept her arms crossed, closed herself to him as she turned her face toward the thumping wall. Distracted, Wesley stared at the window. All was silent, until he felt fingers on his neck. Curious, he turned, found the blurry form of Faith staring up at him.
"Put the glasses on, Wes," she demanded.
Wesley frowned, flickered his gaze down to the pair of spectacles she held out to him. She shook them at him, irritated. "Put them on," she repeated. He did so, sliding them on, her face coming into focus.
Satisfied, she managed to pull herself up, and began to study his face. His breath caught when her fingers probed his cheeks, slid across his lips, stroked the wetness of his hair. Her expression was earnest, a line by line study of his face, bringing him toward her. Dark eyes were full of mystery as she sent delicate shivers through him, uncertainty fleeting as soft digits traced his eyes around the glasses, down his nose, once again darting against the feather touch of his lips.
Over his chin, her fingers stopped at his stitches. His eyes caught her lower lip as she bit down on it in concentration, and in his whirling thoughts, he wondered what on earth she was doing.
When her lips brushed his, gently, he was surprised. She leaned back, regarding him, as if searching for his next move. When he did nothing, she moved forward again, probing him, exploring his mouth, tilting her head, and sliding in with her tongue, along his teeth, and over the roof of his mouth. Pulling away, she suckled at his lower lip, and flabbergasted, Wesley was unaware he was returning the kiss, savoring it, until she pushed him gently away, separating their lips slowly.
Mouth pursed in open surprise, he stared at her wide-eyed.
Faith's eyebrows knitted together, confusion on her face. "You saved me," she whispered, fingers curled around the lapels of his robe. "You look like you're dying inside, and every thing you say and do makes you look like you're the most pathetic man in the world. It's like you're dead, Wesley – in those damned blue eyes. Like nothing matters. But you saved me. You pulled me back from whatever the fuck I was on and you saved me. ME. The last person in the world you should have cared about. Why?"
It was an angry demand – a confused and bewildered Slayer searching for a last desperate measure of control in a world that was quickly falling apart all around her. But he had no explanation – there was nothing he could say that could explain the way she just read him completely, no way he could understand why his heart was pounding, why suddenly the brown eyes both scared and pulled at him.
"I'm afraid I don't know," he whispered.
"Fuck." Faith fell back, wiping at her eyes hastily. "If I could, I'd kick your ass, you know that?" she muttered angrily. He had to manage a smile at that, even as her furious, tired eyes glared at him. It was something so incredibly insane, and for some reason, in a deep, dark, chasm in his heart – in a place that wasn't occupied with payphones and fathers, and babies – he laughed.
"Fuck you."
The smile widened slightly. He pushed his way to a sitting position, suddenly fully aware he was exhausted when his knees gave out, medicine given to him at the hospital making him slightly woozy. A hand clamped on his arm, and Faith was now staring at him again.
"You look like shit."
"You've said that more than once."
She studied him, a hard glint in her eyes, and suddenly she shifted over again, lifted the covers. When he stared, she arched an eyebrow. "Just get in," she said finally. "You're no good to me if you're half dead and bleeding." He couldn't fault her logic. With a heavy sigh, he moved toward the open space. "Take off your robe. That shit's all cotton and scratchy as hell."
This time, he paused, narrowing his eyes at her. "Faith, there must be some measure of decency-"
"Decency? You and I are practically swiss cheese thanks to your buddy's knives and you're talking about decency? Listen, you horny fuck – I'm not in the mood for anything like that, alright? I just want to sleep."
He rolled his eyes, ignoring the wave of anger, in favor of using the energy to pull off the robe, leaving him in his boxers. She tried to move, found herself tangled again in her robe, and cursed.
Seconds later, her own robe was off, and dropped to the floor.
If Wesley weren't so exhausted, he might have had a bloody heart attack. Instead, he only sighed in resignation, mentally made a note to ask God why on earth he was always in charge of the insane Slayers, and slipped under the covers.
There was absolute quiet, until she shivered, moved over, and invaded his personal space by pressing her naked body against his. When he stiffened, she shifted, muttered something about him being a pervert, slid her arm around his waist, and drifted to sleep.
Wesley closed his eyes, slipped off his glasses, and with the hand that wasn't pinned under Faith's body, kneaded at his temples.
Gently pushing Faith's dark strands off her shoulders, he raised his weary head to the blinds, thought again of the pay phone, and tightened his hold.
It was odd – it was only when the bloody Slayer pressed herself against him, absently brushed her lips against his throat, and fell a dead weight against him – was Wesley finally overcome with the true exhaustion.
It would be all right to sleep for a minute, wouldn't it? Just rest his head and sleep – regain some strength, and then call Cordelia, worry about assassins, get to payphones.
Heavy lids overcame his dogged resistance. Just for a minute – then he would worry. They were safe for now. Just for a minute.
--
Mr. Pryce was going to be pissed.
Murray craned his neck, massaged at the aching muscles of his back awkwardly, and threw a glance over his shoulder.
The older man held his hands behind his back, fingers clasped together, staring out the window with this dark gaze that had intimated many lesser men.
Glancing at Lee, Murray wondered if sometime the man took his job just a little too seriously. Sure, the Council was sacred stuff, and sure – the fate of the world was in their hands, and all that, but a man had to live a little. Otherwise, what was the point?
No one had really appreciated the very sarcastic and tacky comment he made about the girl's penchant for blood – and Mr. Pryce REALLY hadn't appreciated Murray's comment about the possibly of his son getting a blow job – although that had been real.
Some people really needed to lighten up.
Casper Lee stood, eyes flickering over the video monitors that Murray had set up next to the magic mirror, and stepped over the incantation orbs.
"Forgive us, sir. We have failed you."
We? Murray cocked an eyebrow. Bloody pissant. He hadn't failed anyone – they were under orders not to hurt Wesley, from Pryce himself. If anything – it was Pryce's fault.
Still, despite these reassurances in his head, Murray still waited with bated breath, until Mr. Pryce turned, his dark blue eyes searching them both.
It was a bloody tense moment, until Mr. Pryce flashed a quick, barely there smile. "Don't concern yourself. Wesley was foolish for getting involved. I should have known better than to present myself to him. He has done us a favor, however."
"Oh?" Casper looked genuinely intrigued.
Mr. Pryce turned to Murray, and the younger man arched an eyebrow curiously. "Yeah?"
"Keep an eye on the brunette that was with them before."
"The Seer?" Casper asked. "Do you think he'll contact her?"
"Most assuredly." Mr. Pryce regarded them both, eyes dark with thought. "Or someone will. A Seer is a Mecca of communication, and when in doubt, you follow the one link. She is it."
Murray stood, his orders well in hand, grabbing his gun and putting into his pockets, rubbing at the spot where the Slayer bitch hit him.
"Let's go," he drawled to Casper.
"Mr. Lee." Casper stopped, turned immediately. Mr. Pryce was once again facing the windows, back toward them.
"Yes, sir."
There was a moment of silence, and then, "Tell the men to begin the preparations. There will be no more delays, no more restrictions. We have lost too much time as it is, too many things gone wrong. No mercy."
Murray frowned, saw Casper grin, and shook his head. No mercy. Of course, no mercy. They were saving the world, right? Who the hell cared about mercy when they were saving the world?
--
Fred Burkle had had to concentrate very hard to get her mind in working order. While Charles sat at the counter, glued to the small television set in hopes of finding some news on Wesley, she sat, looking over the books that had been taken from Wesley's apartment. She frowned, removing her glasses to squint at the pages. Prophecies and incantations were riddles, tainted riddles at that. She often wondered their point was, if it was true that there wasn't anything that could be done to circumvent them.
Her eyes flickered to the patio, where Cordelia waited, leaning under the canopy, watching as the rain drizzled over the bushes that Fred had found some time ago, had made excellent listeners. In her old, faded jersey, and her messily pulled back hair, Fred wondered if Cordelia could benefit from a talk to those bushes.
"What are you doing?"
Fred jumped, a near shriek coming from her lips as she jerked her body back, and found Angel's hard form nearly a foot a way, glaring down at her.
"I … uh… bushes," she found herself stammering, hands moving back to Wesley's books, closing them protectively from Angel's stare. She felt her heart pound, the heavy breathing, and she finally believed she knew what a vampire was, the power they had. He carried a duffel bag, slung over his shoulders, the black trenchcoat covered dark black pants and a black shirt. She found herself wishing for the beast he had become in Pylea. That one, at least, she felt she knew.
"What'd you find?" he demanded.
She glanced helplessly at the pile of volumes around her, felt herself inwardly groaning when she could offer nothing more than a shrug.
"I- Angel, I don't even know where to start-"
His eyes narrowed, silencing her with a stare. "Keep looking," he clipped, shifting the weight of the bag.
Gunn had moved from the counter to the open doorway. His glare to Angel was open hostility. Fred closed her eyes, tried to contain her nervous agitation. She glanced back toward the patio. Angel immediately followed her stare. Fred turned back, and saw the features harden at the sight of the women waiting in the rain. He shifted, turned, nearly pushed Gunn out of the way.
"Where are you going?" Fred asked, rising out of her chair, fingers sliding over the books as she moved around the desk.
He never answered, just kept going. Gunn turned, fists clenched. "Angel, we're in the middle of a-"
The front door slammed, cutting off Gunn's words. It was a helpless situation, one she had no control over, and it slipped further from her when Charles, HER Charles, strode to the weapons cabinet, and pulled out a broadsword. Angel's favorite.
A tug in her heart twisted awfully, as a dawning realization came, and she cried out, "Charles, no!"
"Fred, someone's got to," he said. Her boyfriend never looked at her, as he strode through the hallway, matching Angel step for the step, the lobby door slamming behind him.
Crap. Fred swallowed down hard, her blood rushing through her veins at a furious pace, holding on to her glasses so steadily, they nearly cracked.
"What happened?" Cordelia asked, coming into the lobby, staring at her with clear bursts of hazel.
"They both just left. Angel left, and Gunn just followed…" Fred waved tired arms to the door, sank down on the orange couch, and considered crying.
When Cordelia stared at the door, she fully expected some sort of anger, but what she got was worse.
Cordelia didn't say a word. The Seer only pursed her lips, shifted her glance away from the direction that Angel had disappeared to, and turned back to the patio. "Figures," was the only thing Cordelia said.
The resignation, the lack of emotion at Angel and Gunn's actions, affected Fred more than any outburst of anger. She felt furious, nervous hope in her heroes of Angel Investigations deflating into something worse: despair.
"Aren't you going to do something about it?" she blurted out, making Cordelia's retreating form pause, stare back at her uncertainly. Gaining Cordelia's attention, Fred stepped forward again, body tall, back straight, face flushed and red. "You can't just let things get this bad, and just leave it alone, Cordelia! You're the heart-"
"I'm the heart?!" Cordelia hissed, turning back on her like a panther. Fred stepped back, her bravery shrinking. "The heart?" Cordelia looked beyond pissed, as she stared down the Pylean refugee. "Who's heart, Fred?"
"Cordelia-"
"No! I want to know! WHO'S? Not Angel's! Not Wesley's, or Gunns! WHO'S heart, Fred?" Cordelia demanded, coming closer all the time.
Fred had never been one to back away from what she deemed correct, but Cordelia had never fought her logic before. The Seer's eyes were flashing in a way she had never seen, as she continued to advance. The Princess of Pylea.
"You don't believe it?" she asked, suddenly afraid. If Cordelia didn't believe, if Cordelia lost hope in the group as a whole, it was all gone – Fred wasn't anything but glue, and even then, she was weak glue – she wasn't the heart- Cordelia was the heart-
"How can I believe in something so… stupid, Fred?" Cordelia demanded. "I'm Cordelia! I'm the nastiest bitch of Sunnydale High! I can't be anyone's HEART. I can't be anything for anyone because-"
"You'll let them down." Fred's eyes widened in realization, as the redness of Cordelia's face, the tears in her eyes, suddenly gave it all away.
Cordelia was silent, hostile frame staring Fred down, until her mouth opened, and her eyes suddenly held a faraway, glassy look.
When the vision came, Fred was unprepared. Her heartbeat was still bumping erratically against her chest, when Cordelia froze. It was so quiet, Fred wouldn't have even known it was happening if it wasn't for Cordelia's eyes snapping open, now wide and scared.
"Cordelia?"
At the sound of her name, the Seer jerked her gaze to meet Fred's, dawning clarity now coupled with horror. "Oh, God, Fred. CALL GUNN." Fred stood, bewildered, hands tangled together as Cordelia ran to the phone, pushed it to her ear and hastily began to dial. "FRED!" she said again, and the lanky girl stumbled into action, rushing behind the counter and picking up the other line, punching in Gunn's cell number.
"Cordelia, what's going on?" she almost cried.
"Wesley," Cordelia snapped, cursing as she slammed down the phone, picked up and dialed again. Fred fumbled the receiver, and she whimpered as it clattered to the ground. She scrambled to retrieve it. "He has Faith – and they're about to find them. They're about to-" her eyes closed, and she shook her head. "GOD. I can't even talk – I was able to talk to them before…" she slammed the phone down, looking near panic.
A lump, large and painful, lodged itself into Fred's throat, as she stood, frozen to the floor when Cordelia strode to the weapons cabinet, grabbed the tazer, and HER favorite sword.
"Cordelia…" she said hastily. Gunn's phone kept ringing and ringing. He wasn't picking up. Cordelia grabbed a post-it from the counter, scribbled down hastily. "Get a hold of some one. ANYONE. Tell them to get to THIS address. Hopefully, Groo will get here in time, but-"
"Cordelia, you can't go alone!"
"I have to, Fred!" The two women locked glances, and Fred felt the truth sear into her heart when Cordelia whispered, "There's no one else."
Gunn's phone was still ringing as Cordelia disappeared through the front door.
--
It was still drizzling when he stepped gingerly out of the motel. It didn't matter, the clothes he had slipped into were still damp.
Wesley pulled the jacket closer around him, keeping his hands shoved into his pockets as he looked both ways, glanced back up at the motel, and jogged across the street. As if on cue, the rain pounded slightly harder now, soaking into his jacket, sliding down his cheeks, rendering the bandage at his throat almost useless.
Moving into a run, Wesley huddled close to the payphone, located at the corner of the liquor store, music blasting from inside. Shivering, he fished into his pockets for the coins he had found under the cushions and deposited them into the slot.
His fingers were shaking with the cold. It was true, this city spoiled you. Sunless skies were considered the end of the world. He grimaced. At least this time, they weren't that far off.
Turning, he heard a car screech to a stop, but barely paid it attention, rubbing at his eyes before he could register the brunette emerging from it, turning away to keep his eyes on the window that had to be his and Faith's.
The phone continued to ring, and finally, FINALLY, Cordelia's voicemail picked up. Wesley cursed, waited in resignation until her cheery, happy, voicemail message went through, and he was able to say hastily, "Cordelia, it's Wesley. I have Faith, but we're in trouble. When you get this message – the Motel 8 on Sepulveda and Venice. I know it's far, but they were following- I'll tell you later. I'll call back."
He put the phone back, staring at it hard, almost as if it was this particular phone's fault Cordelia wasn't answering. He had before, considered calling the Hyperion, had decided against it when the fleeting thought that Angel might answer had come to him. Now, it seemed he had no choice. With trembling hands, he fished for another quarter and dime, and slipped them in, hearing them register their presence with two pronounced clanks.
This time, Fred's breathless hello came after the first ring. Wesley blinked in surprise, shifted.
"Hello?"
"Fred?"
"Wesley! Oh, thank God!" Fred's breathing was erratic, her tone was nearing a screech. "Where are you?"
"I'm at-"
"You have to get Faith, and get OUT! Cordelia had a vision – they're coming, Wesley! They're coming-"
A slow, deliberate sound made him stiffen. It was immediately recognizable, unmistakable.
Fred's words fell on deaf ears as Wesley turned, and a very familiar man held the cocked gun directly to his chest.
"Hang up the phone like a nice chap, Wesley," Lee said, eyes hard as steel. "Or we'll kill you, too."
Liar, Wesley silently chided. He willed himself not to look at the motel, and obeyed.
Fred's voice was cut off with a click, when the phone found its cradle.
--
The truck screeched, burning rubber filling his nostrils as Charles clenched his hands around the steering wheel, made another hard right.
Angel was taking him into the middle of nowhere, and that was just fine with him. A nameless ghetto was as good as any place to kick Angel's ass. Gunn was panting, a loss of control so apparent, that it scared even him, and angered him even more, as his soul twisted into his gut.
The car screeched to a stop, Charles grabbed his sword, kicked open the door, and strode out into the empty parking lot.
Angel was already walking the other way. If he noticed Gunn coming toward him, he didn't give any indication. Charles was no man to stab another in the chest, but kicking he was okay with. Quickening his pace, Gunn felt a satisfying thump in his chest, when he launched his foot, caught Angel in the small of the back, and saw the vamp fly face first into the gravel.
"That's right, man. How you like that?" Charles said, standing over him, all but spitting as Angel rolled himself over. The gameface emerged, and Charles was just fine with that, too. "Yeah, man. You remind me who you are. Cause I forgot. And I promised you I wouldn't, didn't I?"
"Charles…" A low growl that would have frightened anyone but him rumbled from the killer vamp's throat. He stood, slowly, a predator, the duffel bag overflowing with weapons upon weapons.
"You gotta forgive me, Angel," he said, kicking at Angel, feeling the boot connect with a chin, seeing his former boss and friend whip over. "'Cause I kinda forgot about some rules. Forgot about vampires, forgot about their tendency to obsess, revert to stuff – and I ain't having that, Angel. I got myself a family. Thought you did, too. Wrong, wasn't I?"
Angel's fist came up fast, too fast. Charles reeled with the pain of it, practically back flipped with the force. Landed on his back, dazed.
"I don't have time for you, Gunn," Angel growled, yellow eyes flashing, seething. "Don't get in my way."
"You don't got time for NOBODY, Angel! Not time for Fred, or Cordelia or Wes- well guess what? I ain't them, man!" Charles pushed himself to his feet. "I don't CARE if you're feeling all sorry – cause you know what? It ain't always ABOUT YOU, Angel. So, I don't CARE if you got no time. You're making the time. And if I gotta beat your sorry ass – then so be it."
Angel snarled at him, turned his back and moved toward the building.
"You take one more step and that big ass head with the gel you like so much is gone, Angel," Charles said, wielding his sword, holding it up.
Angel paused, narrowed his eyes, and turned. Charles gave a small jerk of his head.
"Fine, Charles. You wanna fight? Be a big boy? Come on, then."
In two seconds, the vampire had swept up another sword, and the blades crossed with a bang. Charles felt the surge go through his arm, and it only fueled his anger, pushing it away, swinging his foot and catching Angel in the gut.
The vamp wanted to throw down? Cool. Vamp wanted his ass kicked? Even better.
It was anger that coursed through him, and Gunn never stopped to ponder why. He had forgotten what Angel was, and he shouldn't have. He shouldn't have, not for one second. Cause Angel was a vampire.
And vampires got staked. No mission, no vampire.
Simple as that.
--
Cordelia gave up all pretense as she banged on the door, quick, harsh raps.
"FAITH! WESLEY!" She was practically panting, soaked from the drive over, rain drops still dripping off her nose as she waited impatiently. Her hand, now sore from banging, kept right on at it, the visions stills dancing in her head.
When the door finally pulled open, Cordelia nearly fell in, and encountered a woman she hadn't seen in years.
"Faith," she blurted. "You look like crap."
"Lot of that going around," Faith replied easily, hand on the doorknob, giving Cordelia a critical onceover. "What'd you use to cut your hair, garden shears?"
Cordelia stared at her blankly. "Yes, Faith," she said patronizingly. "I cut my hair with garden shears."
Faith narrowed her eyes. "When the fuck did you go blonde? Who the hell do you think you are, Marilyn Monroe? The streaks-"
Oh, yeah. THIS was fun. "Great, so now that we're all caught up," Cordelia snapped, pushing Faith into the motel room, banging the door shut behind her. "Where the hell is Wesley?"
Faith, dressed in a robe that was way too big for her, crossed her arms, rubbed at her shoulder. "Said he had to make a phone call."
Cordelia blew out her breath, striding to the open window, and proceeded to twist the blinds closed. Faith's eyes narrowed, settling on the glistening blade in Cordelia's hand. "What the fuck's going on?" Cordelia came forward, hands immediately tipping Faith's face, inspecting the damage.
The door pounded, nearly crashed forward with the force of the blow.
"Long story really, really, Martin Short short? We're in trouble," Cordelia answered, as both girls swiveled their gazes, and the frame rattled with another bang.
--
Desperation was a tricky thing.
Fred was not a 'sit and wait' type. She couldn't wait, alone in this hotel, with no one, not even Lorne, who disappeared to who knew where, to assure a half-crazed ex-Pylean who lived in a cave for five years (and she never, ever forgot that), that everything was going to be okay.
Fred was fully aware of her new responsibility, she remembered her conversation about taking care of people and being taken care of, and Fred knew that at this moment – no one was going to take care of her.
And she no longer cared. Grabbing Cordelia's note, Fred scribbled her own message, in a long, nearly illegible scrawl, dumped it on the counter, and ran to the weapons closet.
She chose HER favorite weapon – a crossbow, and ran for the lobby doors, leaving the Hyperion empty behind her.
--
It was easy to forget that this was Angel. Easy to forget all about Connor, and the itty bitty hockey sticks, and playing with them in the middle of the lobby.
It was way too easy, to forget about glass breaking, to forget about holding a crossbow to a vampire in the middle of a haven that had been decimated by his crew. Easy to forget glancing into the office and finding the vampire crouched in front of a crying Cordelia, hands covering hers soothingly. Just as easy to forget Angel coming down the stairs, arm in arm with a hot Seer, looking happy and human-
Angel's fists crashed against his jaw, and Gunn stumbled back, managing to duck as Angel launched over him, barely holding on to his sword.
Easy to forget that Angel might someday become human, easy to forget going to a second hand thrift shop and finding the perfect cart for Angel's kid.
His pager went off, it had been going off for a while, but Gunn didn't hear it. His mind was on other problems, on other heartbreaks and other betrayals.
He was too busy trying to forget.
--
Faith sagged against her, a warm weight that made it almost easy to get her courage back, as she slipped an arm around the Slayer's waist, helping her stay put.
"Get the fuck out – that was your plan?" Faith managed to snap, as they stepped back from the doorway. Cordelia took in a ragged breath. It would give any minute. "That was your fucking plan? Escape from jail and get myself killed?"
"Oh, shut up," Cordelia responded, pulling her back, moving to the open window. "You're alive, aren't you?"
"NO fucking thanks to YOU- when the hell did you move?"
"When the hell did I- what? You know what, nevermind." Cordelia shifted Faith, and dropped her sword for only a second, pushing up the window. "Get out onto here."
"What, now we're leaving?"
"We stay here, and we're dead." Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Figures when I get a Slayer, she's damned near impotent."
"Oh, Fuck you, Chase." Faith at least had enough strength to flick her off.
"Nice, USE that anger, and get your ASS onto the fire escape. LET'S go," Cordelia said, pushing Faith out onto the landing. The door continued to rattle, each thump pushing Cordelia's heart further into her throat. Faith managed to land in a heap in the wet metal, and Cordelia quickly followed, slamming the window shut and shimmying down, her sword gripped into her hand.
It was cold. Her teeth chattered as she stumbled, helped Faith get to her feet. The visions hadn't lied. Faith was slowly getting some strength back, but not enough, and Cordelia bore the brunt of the weight for both of them, gritting her teeth, almost slipping on the wet steps as the rain began to pound now.
She was quickly getting tired, but she managed to get them both onto the ground, landing them in an alley that was dark and shadowed, and just as scary.
It was okay, though, because they were on the ground, and only about twenty feet from the car, and it would be okay.
She wasn't aware she was even saying that out loud until Faith said, "Geez, Cordelia. You sure ramble when you're scared." But Faith clung to her, dark eyes almost black with fear.
It was so… WEIRD, to be doing this. Hobbling through the alley, keeping her sword in her hand, and letting Faith – FAITH. KILLER FAITH – hold on to her like she was Auntie Em or something. What was it about Cordelia ALWAYS ending up with no strength Slayers? What was it about her? A big sign tattooed on her forehead? 'Weak Slayers! Come to me now!'
But Cordelia had hope.
"We're almost there," she said. "We'll just get you back to the Hyperion and…" she trailed off.
Faith froze, dug her fingers in Cordelia's shoulder. "Get surrounded by lame-ass Brits carrying guns?" she asked helpfully.
Cordelia froze, holding Faith to her as her heart skipped a very deliberate, very scary, heartbeat. There were three on one side, walking through the rain, and when she turned her head, she spotted the two coming from the other side.
Not to mention the two who had just landed from the fire escape.
Faith sighed. "Well, this shit just keeps getting better and better." Cordelia shoved Faith behind her, her sword in her hand. "Any idea how we're going to get out of this one, 'C?"
Cordelia swallowed hard. "Alive? Not really."
--
end chapter