Title: Rebel, Rebel
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
--

Chapter Eleven
I don't know how to leave you, and I'll never let you fall
And I don't know how you do it, making love out of nothing at all. – Air Supply

--

It seemed that ever second, every mistake, every failing, every insecurity, every piece of filth in his life had been boiled down, seared, branded upon his soul. And it had all led up to this.

Wesley held the gun, just feet away from his father's chest, in an attempt to save the life of a woman who had tortured him, who had killed in cold blood, who had made a game out of his life, his pain, his agony.

His mouth was set in a grim, determined frown, as he openly shook, voice deceptively steady as he kept his palm firm on his pistol.

"Let her go, Father," he clipped.

His father studied him, eyes floating over his body, and Wesley felt as if he was back in gradeschool when his father's mouth twitched. "That's a familiar weapon. Saved it for a special occasion, did you?"

Wesley's fear had almost beat him, had it not been for the anger, as he glanced behind him, and saw Faith. Her face was almost unrecognizable, staring at him through an eye smeared with blood.

He almost closed his eyes against it, physical pain sliding through him as his hands shook with fury. "How dare you?" he whispered. "How dare you treat another human like this?"

"She is not human. She is a Slayer. A tool."

"She's a girl!" Wesley said roughly, throat coated with tears. "When did you become a killer?"

"Wesley…" the words were barely given breath, proof of Faith's weakness.

Wesley's hard expression softened, and never taking his eyes off his father, he spoke. "It's all right, Faith. I'm here."

Mr. Pryce was still, staring at his son with an unrecognizable expression on his face. Murray twitched in the corner, still holding his incantation books, his spells.

"When did you become a disappointment?" he returned finally.

"That was probably around the same time his dad became a smart ass," Gunn cracked from behind, dragging in two men, throwing them to the ground. "Sorry about being late, ya'll. These dudes thought they were gonna be all smart and sneak in, but they ended up being all stupid, instead." Gunn straightened, shouldering the baseball bat he carried, and giving the room a curious onceover. He whistled. "Man. Is this place, stuffy." He turned, found Wesley's father, and nodded. "'Sup." His eyes found Faith, and he froze. "Oh, shit. You bastards."

Wesley's father gave his son a hard glare, a silent request for an explanation.

"Father, meet Charles Gunn. He's our Go-To Guy."

"And the muscle!" Gunn piped up, tapping his bat. "And Mr. Common Sense, so you, Mr. British Short Dude, you just get your hand OFF those spells, or I club this bat straight to your face. And don't think I won't miss."

Wesley finally managed to take his eyes off his father, afraid to look at Faith, for fear he would erupt in fear, and saw the candles, the books, the pentagrams. He hissed inwards. This was more than a simple extermination.

"Are you fully aware of what you're doing, boy?" Pryce demanded.

It was a simple question, but Lord, how it was loaded. Every second, of every moment, in his life, he had been taught to respect this man. At this moment, he was pointing a pistol directly at the heart of his FATHER.

HIS. FATHER.

His hands trembled, but he managed to keep the gun up. Again, the blue eyes drifted to Faith, and her eyes closed, ragged breathing coming from her body, and the gun miraculous straightened.

"Perhaps for the first time in my life," he clipped. His eyes drifted over the pentogram, and a very fear enveloped his heart.

"Wesley, now I need you to understand," his father spoke easily, brusquely. "There are things you don't understand, things about prophecies-"

Good GOD, PROPHECIES.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, swiveling the gun back in his direction.

"Wesley, you will stop swinging that silly gun in my hand, or I shall be very angry," Pryce snapped, coming forward, steps faltering when Wesley cocked the trigger. His eyes flashed, anger visible in his features. Wesley's heart pounded.

Faith whimpered from across the room. "God, Wes…"

"You wouldn't kill me."

There was a long, tense moment, until Wesley sighed, his shoulders aching. "Commit patricide?" he asked. "Perhaps not. But I'm not above shooting you, Father. You would have KILLED her," he whispered roughly, brokenly.

"And I shall. I have a mission, and I assure you, Wesley. She is a dead woman."

But Faith was very much alive, and Wesley fully intended on it remaining that way. "You will NOT. You will LET her GO." He was demanding now, eyes stinging with tears as he shook the gun at his father. HIS. FATHER.

"I mean it, dude! Don't touch those books!" Charles looked ready to cleave the bat to Murray, who hastily put the books away. "You were saying?"

Mr. Pryce ignored him, eyes on his son, edging toward the desk, Wesley's gun following him every step.

"There is a prophecy, Wesley. One concerning her. Concerning this woman. Her involvement in the latter days. If she LIVES, Wesley, she will be one of the key figures to sway the apocalypse." Wesley's gun wavered.

"Father," he whispered…'

"LISTEN to me, boy!" His father reached for the papers strewn about the desk. "I taught you myself about translations. Study them yourself."

Faith was silent, eyes hollow as she listened, sinking against the chair.

"If you allow her to live, you make it that much harder to save the world."

"Wes, man, don't listen to him," Gunn said quickly. "The Powers brought us here to save her, man."

"Did they?" Mr. Pryce quirked his lips. "Wasn't it your Cordelia's visions that brought us to her in the first place? That allowed her to escape so we could find her? She would have been safe in the prison. Sooner or later, a prison warden would have kept watch on her, but no, she left."

"She lost her strength in there," Wesley said quietly. "Don't tell me the Council hadn't already made their connections."

"She is EVIL, Wesley. It is her destiny." His father waved the papers, threw them on the floor, and sank into the chair. "Bloody hell, boy! Listen to me! A nature of evil is always that: evil. Her future is foretold – should she be allowed to live, she may become instrumental in bringing down the good – as long as she lives, there IS no new Slayer. It's a chain reaction, and it's documented-"

"So, instead of killing her, you do this. Tie her to a chair, torture her, bit by bit, break her spirit?"

"The incantation called for it," Mr. Pryce said methodically. "Faith needed to recount every sin, sacrifice herself willingly, give herself to the Powers-"

"You USED her, the same way you've used me, Father," Wesley whispered, eyes darkening in rage. "You treated her like an animal-"

"Wesley…" Faith's voice broke through, soft, lilting. Wesley paused, eyes shifted to her, and she gave him a pleading look, her expression so horrified by the words.

And she believed them.

"Father, you yourself have never believed in a lack of free will."

"I've had time to change my mind. You yourself have a destiny, boy. You know that."

"I refuse to live my life based on prophecies, Father!" Wesley spat, eyes moist, angry. "I will NOT. I will NOT ruin another life-"

"Your job lies inherently IN them. You're immersed in them, always have been."

Charles shifted, agitation obvious. "Wes…"

"Like me, you know your role, your duty. You may have chosen a new 'family', but the work stays the same, and how is that work, Wesley? Where has it gotten you? Where was your 'family' when you were lying motionless in a park, dying?"

Bloody, hell.

"Wesley, don't listen to him, man. We got other things to worry about."

Wesley's eyes closed, an open sob catching him in his throat as the tears slid down, every nerve in his body suddenly shutting down, and then coming alive in flagrant pain.

"Wesley!" His eyes opened, and his eyes closed again when he saw the five men who entered, each brandishing weapons. "Crap," was Gunn's response.

"Put down the gun, Wesley, and you will not get hurt."

Wesley didn't put down the gun. He kept it up, and he held it still. "You will NOT harm her. I failed my family, Father. But I will NOT fail her."

"Yeah, you did."

Wesley blinked, and everyone swerved when one of the men pulled off the baseball cap, and emerged in vamp face.

With a speed that left Wesley breathless, Angel grabbed the gun from the man nearest him, swiveled, pivoted, and kicked his foot into the second's face. A back hand got the third before he had a chance to blink, and the fourth shot into the vampire.

Of course, all that did was piss him off.

Gunn finally made good on his threat to club with his bat, and he caught the fifth in the chest, the gun rapidly shooting into the ceiling, but giving no harm.

"Angel?" Wesley breathed. Faith's eyes were closing now, her lips were moving silently.

"Bloody hell, Wesley! Did you have you bring your vampire, here?" Mr. Pryce sniffled angrily. Angel strode around the pentagram, kicking over the candles as he jerked the gun from Wesley's hands.

"YOU!" He said, pointing a finger into the Watcher's face. "I've got BIG problem with you, pal. You did everything wrong. You should have TOLD us. You took my trust, you toppled it and you-"

"Fuck…" Faith was still, good eye suddenly wide open. "He's really pissed."

"You are SO going to get it later, Wesley." Turning back to Wesley's father, Angel grabbed the older man roughly by his throat, and slammed him against the wall, banging the gun against the old man's chin. "Listen, Mr. Pryce. We're walking away with Faith, now, and the ONLY reason, I haven't ripped off your skin, soaked you in acid, and left you for the dogs, is because you've got Wesley's blood in you, blood I'd rather not see."

Mr. Pryce struggled for breath, hands wrapping around Angel's. "Vampires. You, Angel – you who yourself have a dark role in the prophecy-"

Angel's hands clenched tighter around his throat, cutting him off with a squeak. "What is it with Pryce's and their damned prophecies?! Let me tell you something, pal, I've lived through three of these damned things – and gotta tell ya – NOT THAT SCARY." His eyes flashed yellow, and he whispered, inches from Pryce's face, fangs grazing his skin. "Not compared to me."

"Angel…" Wesley was quiet, ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"Not one WORD, Wesley," Angel hissed, never looking back. "I'm here for Faith, I'm here for Gunn, and I'm attempting to be here for you, because you're family. But DON'T push me."

"Damn, Angel." Faith looked confused and bewildered. "Whatever the fuck it is, get over it."

"Faith, he stole my son, got him kidnapped, and let him get sucked into an alternate hell dimension."

"Oh." Faith blinked. "I'm sorry. That's gotta suck." Wesley sucked in his breath, closed his eyes against the guilt, and moved forward, around Angel, who still held his father by his throat.

Tenderness clouded his features as he knelt in front of Faith, carefully tracing her skin with his fingers. She regarded him, eyes locked with his. "Hey, Wes?" she managed, words mangled with blood, pain.

"Yes?"

"You wanna untie me, or you going to go all dom on me, again?" The smile she offered was a painful one, but it managed something, a smile from his own tear-streaked face, as he moved around her, carefully cutting the rope with the dagger lying on the ground, laced with her blood.

The bonds fell away, and Faith tipped with them, no longer able to hold herself up. Gunn moved forward to help, but Wesley was already there, gathering her carefully into his arms.

"I've got it," he said quickly, waving Charles away, gently shrugging off his jacket to wrap her shivering form in it.

When Faith shuddered, buried her face into Wesley's neck, Angel watched. He noted Wesley's lips as they brushed Faith's forehead, the way Wesley lifted her, as if he carried something infinitely precious.

The hope in a man's eyes, that a woman could believe in him, despite all the wrong he had committed, the fatal mistakes – the absolution that came from it.

There came a sudden clarity that made the demon fall from his face. He pulled away from Wesley's father, and grabbed the scrolls, throwing them into the fire.

"So, we leaving?" Gunn asked, heading toward the door.

Wesley, Faith cuddled in his arms, moved past his father, fully prepared to pass, until he heard his father speak.

"You may have damned us all, Boy."

Wesley froze. "Your tie, Father," he said finally. "It's loose." Without another word, he stepped over the fallen men, and exited.

Mr. Pryce's eyes were flint, cold, angry, but the expression was quickly replaced with fear when the vampire came forward again.

"You ever come near Wesley, or Faith, or anyone in my family again? I'll kill you," Angel hissed. "You don't deserve to be a Father. And coming from me? That's saying something." Mr. Pryce straightened, fully prepared to retort, until Angel cracked a punch against his jaw, knocking him to the floor.

Stepping over him, Angel left the suite.

--

Gunn remembered once, when his sister had the cold. She had been sick, and although Gunn knew there was no way in hell they could afford it, he had brought her into a stark, white hospital like this one.

All his homeboys had come with them, and Gunn had remembered the nurses face as she checked her face, took her pulse. It was all methodical, and it just pissed him off. There was no heart in that place. It was cold. Sterile.

Gunn had hated hospitals, there was no warmth, and even now, Charles Gunn was tired, his shoulder ached, and the bruise that Angel had given him was going to turn purple.

The coldness even came from Angel, who winced as they walked.

Gunn pursed his lips, knowing that that came from the wound he had inflicted. "That hurt?" he asked bluntly, keeping his stride straight.

"Like hell," Angel said.

"Good." Angel gave him a surprised glance, and Gunn shrugged. "Don't tell me you don't think you deserved that."

Angel was silent only a moment. "No, I did."

The silence that followed was an awkward one, as both men walked side by side, moving toward the room that held the two most important women in the world to them.

"Hey, Angel?"

"Yeah," the vampire answered gruffly.

"We're gonna find Connor, man." Angel froze, and Charles tilted his head, absolute sincerity in his voice. "We're gonna find him, and we're gonna get him back. He ain't gonna lose out on none of that stuff, all right?" Angel was dumbstruck, staring at Gunn with an overcome expression, as if he didn't quite believe what Charles was saying. Charles grinned, and slapped his shoulder. "We ain't a family if we don't got Connor, right?"

"You really are the Go-To guy, Gunn," Angel managed behind a splintered throat.

"Pffft. What're friends for, if it ain't for beating the shit out of you?"

"Gunn!"

Charles turned, and a tiny, waif girl buried herself in his arms. He wrapped her into him, smiling widely, as Angel watched. Fred's eyes were misty with tears, relief clear on her face as she pressed herself against him.

"I love you, Fred," Gunn said simply, tracing her face with a tip of his index finger. Angel couldn't help the soft tilt in his heart as Fred stared up at Gunn, transfixed, such awe in her gaze.

"I love you, too," she whispered. When he grinned, and squeezed him, pecking him once, blushing as Angel looked on. "Where's Faith?" she asked hurriedly.

"Wesley's checking her in."

Angel left as Gunn explained, his eyes locked on the room from which Fred emerged.

Cordelia's attention was on the television screen, as a reporter in a big wig stood freezing in front of a hospital that looked suspiciously like this one, spoke hurriedly into her microphone.

"- has been found, brought in barely alive, by a Mr. Wesley Pryce. Police officials are standing by, but there has been no indication, that she will stand trial-"

A flip of the switch, and Cordelia shut it off, finally turning her head. Hazel eyes captured his dark ones.

"She's okay."

He swallowed, nodding hesitantly as he came forward, one foot in front of the other. "She's going to live, if that's what you mean."

"Wes with her?"

"Yeah."

Silence descended, in which Angel was able to study the tile on the floor, note the mildew hidden in the cracks, breathe in Cordelia's scent.

"And you?" Looking up, he found her staring at him. "How are you?"

It was a different kind of question, she was asking. One not without anger, not with out pain, but pure unfiltered emotion, as his Seer gazed at him through moistened orbs, testing him, trying him, attempting to fix something that was broken.

Something that would take so much TIME to fix…

"Not good," he finally responded. Her eyes watered slightly, but she remained quiet, never speaking, staring at him as if he was her very world. It undid him, uneasiness and pain that drew a painful knob in his throat, that he couldn't get rid off, even with a ragged breath and a hard swallow. "There's an aching hole, Cordelia, in my heart. Every second, my body aches for my son. Every minute, my soul screams that a piece of it is missing. I'm ready to go crazy, Cordelia, not knowing where he is. Not knowing if he's safe, not having him here with me. I was alone, Cordelia, and suddenly I wasn't. And this little life, this little Connor, he was MY boy. MY boy. Who looked at me, and loved me, trusted me unconditionally… and it aches where it used to love. It's broken, Cordy…" his voice broke, tainted with tears. Every word dripped with anger, anguish. "I'm going to go crazy, and inside me is the urge to kill, and maim, and destroy everything that drove me from Connor. And I can't do anything, Cordelia. I can't do anything." His fists clenched, and he hiccupped, shoulders shaking as his eyes closed. "I've never been so helpless, Cordelia. I've never felt so lost. And it's never going to get better. I've lost Connor, and I've lost you."

"Angel…" The word was edged in need, and it haunted him, forced him to look and found a woman with tears sliding down her face, in her expression acceptance, love – and understanding, heartbreaking understanding. Her arms were outstretched, and the need for the warmth was undeniable. Angel fell, into her embrace, wrapping his hands around her waist, sobbing into her shoulder.

Desperation coupled with loss held them together, broke them from their earlier restraints, severed them from the anger that had kept them at bay before. Now, two companions clutched each other, sobbing, taking comfort in the only thing they had left.

"Oh, God, Angel…" Cordelia's hands were gentle as she kept his trembling body close to hers, fingers running along the nape of his neck, eyes shut tight against him. "It's okay to have these feelings, Angel. It's okay to feel. He was your son. And you loved him. And he was taken from you." She pulled back, cupped her friend's face and regarded him with absolute love and heartbreak. "We are NEVER going to stop looking for Connor, Angel. Never. We're going to find him, and in the meantime, we have to live. Now, more than ever, we need to live for HIM. Because when we get him back, he'll need you. The way you are. The way we need you, now."

He pushed down the lump with a swallow, absolutely still as she tenderly wiped the tears from his eyes with her fingers, completely disregarding the salty droplets that were slipping down her own.

Overcome, Angel suddenly understood. His world tilted, slipped, and he encountered a reality he had only suspected, one he never dared voice because it had given him too much hope. Trembling fingers reached forward, touched the salty wetness on Cordelia's skin.

"You loved Connor," he said gruffly. "Like a mother loves a son."

It wasn't a question. There was no answer that was needed. There was only truth. There was only Cordelia. Her eyes closed, and together, they leaned foreheads on shoulders, slipped arms around waists, a tangled embrace of desperation and love.

Breathing her in, Angel heard her whisper even as he gave it.

"I'm sorry."

Neither knew what they were apologizing for.

Perhaps, it was for everything. Perhaps it was for a future, perhaps for a past, but it didn't matter.

All that mattered was now.

--

Wesley rather felt like the little pig Wilbur in that children's book his mother had read to him so long ago.

Charlotte's web. A pig, whose stomach was empty, and mind was full, watching over a spider. He remembered a passage in the book, where the pig discovered that the spider killed. The loss of innocence in Wilbur, as he cried, begged for Charlotte to release the flies.

She did so, even as she gave her last hours to save his own life.

Wesley managed a choked laugh, as he leaned forward, fingers carefully caressing Faith's bruised hands.

The Slayer slept peacefully, for the first time in forever, he imagined. Too exhausted to have the dreams that had woken her up before, thrashing in his arms. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing evenly. Her face was discolored, a gash on her lip and on her forehead was equally matched with the stitches that were carefully etched on her cheek.

Wesley was still, gentle as he reached up, brushed her hair away from her forehead. He was exhausted, but like Wilbur, his stomach was empty, and his mind was full.

He was still holding on to Faith's hand when Angel stepped into the room. Wesley didn't move, as the tense form lowered himself into the chair opposite his. Dark eyes glared into his blue, and Wesley found he could not look into Angel's face.

The shame permeated him, weighed on him. He kept his gaze on Faith's hands.

Angel was quiet, openly breathing, trying desperately to keep his control. Wesley breathed raggedly. It was obvious, in the way Angel's hands shook as he folded Faith's other palm in his own.

There was a moment of complete silence, before Angel slid his thumb against Faith's skin, and glaring over her sleeping body, said low, angry, desperate. "Talk to me, Wesley. Tell me what happened. Make me understand."

Wesley ached. "I don't now if I can."

"Try."

Hooded eyes from a vampire stung him, and Wesley had no choice. Removing his glasses, clutching tightly to Faith's hand, he did.

--

It was so weird, to wake up without a jerk, without a half sobbed cry caught in her throat.

There was no music. Instead, as her body became weighted with reality, and her body was stuck in some medicated limbo, there was complete silence. For a moment, fear pounding through her, as the past events flood through, and her heart skipped in her chest, fully expecting to find herself lashed to chair.

Bracing herself for whatever violence was necessary, Faith opened her eyes, hissed, and closed them immediately, as the bright glare of the hospital lights bit into her brain.

Shit. Trying again, she peered, and found herself in a bed. A curiously cold pair of fingers was stroking her left hand, and another, warmer, calloused pair, stroking her right.

It took her a full minute to convince herself she hadn't gotten herself in the middle of a threesome again. The white door ten feet away was closed, and she noticed Angel (cold hands) , and Wesley (warm hands) sitting on either side of her, staring at each other.

Damn. If it wasn't for the headache, and acute nausea, she would have made a smart ass comment by now. She closed her eyes, took a ragged breath, and tried anyway.

"You guys look like you belong in some stupid stand off at the O.K. Coral."

Okay, lame. But worth a shot. It at least got their attention, eased the tension someone, when both men turned their heads, discovering her.

"Faith." Wesley squeezed, his voice rough and emotional. "How are you feeling?"

She flinched, pain searing up her arms, and on her face, on her torso. Pretty much everywhere.

"Scared," she said softly. "But…" she shifted, felt the pain flare, but… not as bad. Not torturing, at least. "Getting better."

Her hand instinctively tightened around his, fingers soft against him, squeezing with a force that was… stronger, some how.

"The doctors got that stuff they injected out of you. You're healing faster, you'll get your strength back," Angel said, his voice tight. Faith turned, regarded the vampire, and then the Watcher, both holding her hands as if she was some barrier between them.

Fuck. Maybe she was. Breathing out raggedly, Faith turned to Angel, and gave him a smile. "Hey, Angel."

He managed a tight smile, genuine warmth in his eyes as he regarded her, thumbing along her cheek tenderly before drawing back. The haunted sadness of his eyes wasn't lost on Faith, and neither was the trembling in Wesley's palm.

Paranoia gave way to her weakness, and she found herself swallowing hard, thickly asking a question that she almost didn't want to know the answer to. "Cordelia-"

"She's fine," Wesley said, and relief like she had never known it, flooded through her, so deep and consuming, she damn near cried.

"Good to know," she managed.

The silence that followed was an awkward one. Faith's vision was impaired, as her left eye was still semi swollen, heavy lidded. She regarded him as well as she could. There was an uncertainty now, and it filled her with an uneasy nausea.

Angel sat in silence, and suddenly, after another glance at Wesley, he stood abruptly. "I'm going to check on Cordelia," he announced.

Faith watched him go, caught sight of a blue uniform in the hallway, as he closed the door behind him. Bewildered, Faith closed her eyes, trying hard to understand, to recollect. She had a headache, and her mind felt splintered, but her body remembered, in her aches and pains, in her gashes, now covered up by bandages and compresses.

She still felt naked. The pressure on her hand increased, and Faith was made aware of Wesley again, as the young man stared blankly at the white sheet.

"Wesley."

He glanced up at her, and it struck her, the sorrow, full of unbridled intensity in his blue, blue eyes. It was guilt, of the magnitude she had seen reflected in her own, in Angel's dark orbs.

It was odd, standing on this side of the fence, to stare, to understand.

Her voice was soft, weak, as she asked, "Did you really do that, Wes? Take Angel's son?" He froze, continued to stare at her as if he hadn't heard the question. Faith stared at him frankly, and when he looked away, uncomfortable, her stomach dropped.

Fuck, was it over? All the trust, and all the sharing, and the holding – was it over? Just because she wasn't gonna die anymore? Her eyes flickered toward the doorway, heart hammering in sudden fear. Was it over?

Her eyes closed, no longer curious about Wesley's misfortunes, chest panting as her mind began to whirl with possibilities.

"It's true." The world stopped turned, slowly tilted, came back. She opened her eyes. Wesley was silent only for a minute, dark blue eyes moistened with tears. "It's all true."

She glanced at the door. It was as if Angel could barely look at Wes. "Why?" His hands shook, and when his mouth opened feebly to explain, she suddenly didn't need the explanation anymore, not it if hurt him that bad.

"Forget it," she said hastily. "You must have had a reason."

He stared, startled, and his mouth closed for one quick swallow. "Thank you," he said gruffly. Leaning back in his chair, Faith was completely still as his fingers opened her palm, traced the lines found there. "It's a long story," he said. "But we've reached an understanding."

It was hard to speak. She was healing quickly, but her lower lip was still a mess, but her sarcastic nature won over the pain, and she blurted, "He's not going to kill you?"

Shit, Faith. Cause THAT wasn't callous and idiotic. But Wesley surprised her, he had been doing that a lot lately. He only gave her a dark, searching gaze, and smiled wanly. "Something like that. A thing like I did, it can not be forgotten."

Didn't she know it. She remembered every day. Again, the quiet descended, as her eyes fell on his hands. Forgotten, human nature… Mr. Pryce continued to swirl in her head, and her heart shuddered within her, painfully, as a dark, low feeling settled into her stomach.

Oh, God.

She began to breathe harder now, fighting for control, as her fingers tightened around his, and she licked her lips, eyes wide. "Wesley." She tried so hard to sound like she didn't care, but her words edged in aching need, in fear. "Do you believe what your …" she tripped on the word, flushed over it. It was Wesley's FATHER. "Father said… about the prophecy… and me… That I'll be evil?"

Everything that had ever meant anything in her world hinged on what he would say to her. She kept her gaze on those blue eyes, drowned herself in them, hanging on a precipice that wasn't healthy, wasn't safe.

Safe. A safe place. In her world of torture, her safe place had been him. And fuck, if that wasn't Freudian, she had no idea what was. She wasn't safe anymore, as her hand clutched his, in a grip that was rapidly becoming painful. Her chest rose and fell, as Wesley stared at her, and she found herself trembling.

Cause Wesley knew about these things. Wesley knew her. And if Wesley believed… there wasn't anything. There wasn't anything at all –

"Faith." His voice was heavy, laden with guilt and anger, and so many things she couldn't possibly understand. He was in a whole new world, from a place that she had never known. The glasses glinted, and this time, when he tried to remove them, her hand moved, held them into place. She knew why he did that, and she wanted him to see her when he said it.

"Prophecies," he mumbled, a heavy sigh drifting over his body, as he ran a rough hand over an unkept face. "Prophecies." His eyes closed, and he was still, before he looked up, and said gravely, but firmly, "Fuck prophecies, Faith. Believe in choices. In free will."

The words seemed unbelievable at first, but they worked their way through her, and the dam that had been building in side of her, a torrent of emotions hinging on this man, suddenly flooded, breaking through. A sob, mingled with a hysterical laugh of relief, and overwhelmed with emotion, Faith leaned forward impulsively, ignoring painful swollen wounds to press her lips once, hard, against Wesley's.

Her eyes drifted closed when his head tilted, frozen in shock, and then softening, opening his mouth to welcome the caress. His calloused thumb stroked her cheek, and a gentle slip of his tongue against hers made her gasp, fall weak against his caress.

When his lips drifted away, her eyes opened, shock filtering her system as he stared at her.

"Do me a favor," she whispered.

He blinked, wonder in his blue eyes, and she couldn't blame him. This wasn't exactly… hell, what the hell was going on? Were they like… gonna date or fuck or –

Oh hell, who the fuck cared.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Scratch my nose." He blinked, and she managed a smile, husky voice tinged with laughter. "You won't let me move my hand, Wes. And I'm itching like crazy."

A moment of blank shock was ended when Wesley did as she asked, scratching at her nose delicately, and never letting her hand go. Faith gazed at him, and then at the door, her heart tremoring once more. "When are they gonna take me back?"

His hesistant smile gave way to uneasiness, and his answer was heavy. "When you can move freely. Couple days or so."

Jail. Again. Figured she'd get carted back to jail, the moment she finally felt just a little bit free.

"Okay," she said thickly, swallowing hard. Her eyes opened, and she couldn't help but ask, and nervous as hell as she did it, "How long will you stay?"

"I bloody live in this hospital, Faith."

The blue eyes had never been more mesmerizing, and Faith wondered how she had never noticed it before, as her eyes closed, exhaustion taking over.

He never did let go of her hand, and Faith was just fine with that. Cause Wesley believed in choices, not prophecies, and he was choosing to stay right here.

It was the choosing that made all the difference.

It was the choosing that gave her hope.

--

end chapter