DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Buffy, Faith, or any of the other characters that are making Joss Whedon and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich. If I did, this whole college tuition thing would be much less of an issue.
Also, this is my first Buffy fanfic, so be nice.
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting. Use your head. If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: Everything from Season 1 to Season 5 and Angel Season 1 to Season 2; this picks up after S5/S2.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 4:
TWO ALONE
"Los Angeles!" the driver said expansively as he pulled into the gas station just off of I-10. "This where you're getting off?"
"Looks as good as any place," Faith answered. "Thanks for the ride."
"Don't mention it. Not every day I get any company in the cab at all, 'specially not a pretty thing like you."
Faith smiled and shrugged shyly. There was a time when she would have had some fun teasing the poor man before taking off, but a lot had changed since then. She wasn't quite sure how much, but a lot had. So for now, she thanked the driver again and hopped down out of the cab, breathing once again the free--if smoggy--night air of the City of Angels. It was getting on towards four in the morning, but that was as good a time to arrive as any, as far as Faith was concerned. The vampires and other creatures that stalked the streets at night would be heading home, but there was still enough darkness left that she could get to the Hyperion before sunrise. It was almost a mile away, but Faith was in the mood for walking, anyway.
She waved a last fond farewell to the driver as she walked off. Goodness only knew she had traveled with worse company before; the man was already going on about his business, refilling the diesel tank on his truck. There was no pushiness, no attempt to get her to feel any kind of obligation, just a friendly farewell and a thanks for a short time of company on the road. She smiled as she moved out of sight of the gas station; the man had more class than a lot of people she knew that made ten times as much as he probably did.
The streets of L.A. were quiet, but it was definitely a chilly, uncomfortable silence. Things moved in the shadows, some of which were probably simply homeless people or other after-hours wanderers and some of which were almost certainly not. *I guess Angel can't do everything,* she found herself thinking after seeing two or three creatures in a short five-block stretch that she was almost positive weren't of this Earth. He had to have been busy; he hadn't been to see her in just over three months, when before that, he used to come by at least once or twice a month to check in on her. She missed seeing him, hard as that was for the ever-solitary tough girl to admit to herself.
She reached the corner across from the Hyperion and stopped. A frown creased her face. It didn't look abandoned, necessarily, but the place certainly looked a lot worse than it had when Faith had last stayed here. That reminded her of something, and she kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier. The last time she had been free, it was widely known, even if she had never technically been caught there, that she had been hiding out at the Hyperion with Angel before turning herself in. When the search for her got up and running and it became known that she had escaped the immediate area of the prison, this was almost certainly going to be one of the first places the authorities would look. She glanced furtively up and down both streets from the corner as if expecting to see a platoon of police cars and helicopters spring out of hiding bearing down on her, but the street was as still as the rest of the city.
Her attention returned to the former hotel that now served as the base of operations for Angel Investigations. The upper floors in particular looked in disrepair, and what little plant life decorated the exterior of the hotel looked as though it hadn't been kept up all Summer. The lights in the lobby were on, but it looked as though that might be the only lit room in the building.
Until that point, she had planned on going straight in the front doors; she wasn't planning on hiding from Angel, after all, and she doubted she would find any of Angel's gang here at this hour, or if she did, she could get away or defend herself. However, something about both the appearance of the building and the feel of the neighborhood were bringing out her more cautious instincts, instincts that were never far from the surface anyway.
She snuck around the back of the hotel, climbed the fire escape as quietly as she could, and then leapt to a second-floor window that had been left open with the exception of the screen, which she was about to break when she realized it wasn't even locked. She held herself up with a single hand on the windowsill, raising the screen with the other, and then pulled herself into the second-floor room. She stopped to flex her fingers for a moment. For being out of action for more than three months, she realized she was still incredibly spry; she had done all that nearly without thinking about it, despite the fact that she had almost never done anything that demanding outside of combat, when adrenaline took over. She dashed the thought from her mind a moment later, however; self-congratulation had never been part of her style.
She was in a dusty, abandoned bedroom, like most of the bedrooms on the second floor, she guessed. Dust covers covered most of the furnishings, and some cardboard boxes full of miscellaneous junk had been left to gather dust in several corners of the room. The door was closed; Faith listened against it for a moment, and thought she could hear voices, but extremely distant, most likely echoing up from the lobby. She opened the door.
No doubt about it; there were at least two people in the building. The echoes of a conversation drifted along the corridor to her, from the lobby, as she expected. The end of the hall she was in opened up onto the second floor balcony at the head of the stairs. The voices were coming from that direction; she recognized Wesley's British accent and Cordelia's sultry SoCal inflections, but couldn't make out what was being said. In addition, there were other voices there, unfamiliar voices. None of them sounded like Angel.
She crept to the head of the stairs and peered out. Seated on benches in the lobby below was what had to be the entire Angel Investigations team; what they were all doing up at four in the morning, she had no idea, though then again, their lives more than likely revolved around their boss' nocturnal activities, so maybe they had all made a career of night shifts. There were Wesley and Cordelia, as she had heard. There was also a tall black youth and a green demon of some kind, dressed as though he were going to a jazz festival or something. Faith's eyes widened at that, but then again, technically, their boss was a demon, too--just much less obviously than Greenie.
" ... don't think we're going to be able to keep this up much longer," Gunn was saying.
"Well, we've got to," Wesley replied in his typical ask-the-impossible way.
"Wes, we've got enough for another two months, maybe three at most," Cordelia answered, sounding rather subdued.
The black man continued. "People know, Wes. They know Angel's out of it. And, I hate to say this, but, without him, we just don't have the credibility that we need to do this."
"We've been over this before, Gunn. We're still getting work."
"Not like we used to," Gunn answered at the same time Cordy said, "Not enough." Wesley threw up his hands.
"So what? Give up?" Wesley asked incredulously.
"Wes, you know me, I'd never say that," Gunn answered. "I'll fight 'til I die, but that doesn't mean that we can't be realistic here."
"You know there's no way we'll find a place as good as this," Wesley pointed out.
The green demon spoke up for the first time. "Well, of course not, it's not every day you find a haunted property that the owner is absolutely begging to rent out."
"I did!" Cordelia said in a moment of mock-levity.
"Yeah, but your ghost still lives there," Gunn replied.
"Hey, Dennis is a good guy."
"I know, but he's also a dead guy."
"Oh, details."
"Guys, I hate to bring you back down to Earth again, but we're running low on time here," Greenie spoke again. "We need to get Angel out of this somehow, and that's something you should know more about than me. He's more human than demon."
"We know that, Lorne," Gunn answered.
In a surprisingly gentle voice, considering what Faith remembered of Cordelia in high school and during the brief time she had come back to L.A. before, the girl added, "if he wasn't human, he wouldn't be acting the way he is right now. That's the problem."
Wesley, ever the rational one, apparently disagreed. "Look, Cordelia, I know you keep saying to give him time, but three months is a long time to spend grieving for someone ... at least, grieving like that. I think he's come up from the basement maybe twice in ... Cordelia?"
Faith had been listening with increased interest as the conversation had developed, and cursed silently at whatever had interrupted its flow; Angel had been out of action for three months? That would explain why he had suddenly stopped coming to see her, and maybe why the streets were a little more ominous and the Hyperion in a little worse shape, too. For what? Grieving? Over what? Or who?
Faith's eyes widened to the size of saucers as she realized the implication of that last question, and suddenly things started falling into place. *B!* she thought, and she let out a sudden gasp as her throat tightened up, surprising even herself. *It can't be ... it can't be ... but there's no one else it could ... dear God,* she finished. Suddenly, her attention was snapped back to the floor of the lobby below, though she found herself trying to concentrate on two things because the thought of Buffy wouldn't leave her mind. Cordelia appeared to be having some kind of seizure; Wes and Gunn were both doing their best to steady her, leaning her back against the soft cushions of the bench she had been sitting on. A moment later, she stopped shaking and sat up, pushing the two men aside as they tried to steady her.
"Turn on the TV!" she said, in a surprisingly commanding voice. Much to Faith's surprise, no one else asked any questions, indeed, they seemed all too much in a hurry to comply. There was an old black and white set that had to be at least twice as old as Faith herself was that had been set up on the back of one of the benches against the wall, and Lorne, who happened to be the closest, flipped it on. It was nothing more than an early morning weather report coming to a close.
Faith was puzzled, but only for a brief moment, because as soon as the weather report finished, someone handed the anchor a piece of paper from off camera, and Faith suddenly guessed what was coming next.
"And now, to lead off the morning crime report, we have the latest updates on yesterday's inexplicable riots at the California Institution for Women and the bizarre events surrounding it.
"As we reported yesterday, it does appear that there were at least two guards involved in the rioting itself, both of which had to be tranquilized and sent to a nearby psychiatric clinic for treatment; reports on their condition will not be available for some time.
"We have confirmed that there was only one fatality among the guards, Officer Crystal White; however, in another strange twist in this strange saga, her body was taken away before it could be claimed by the coroner, apparently by the "special forces" who arrived shortly after the riot started. The Department of Defense still denies that any military personnel were sent to the prison, saying that only civilian law enforcement agents were present, despite several eyewitness accounts of seeing military-grade helicopters flying towards the prison yesterday morning.
"The number of inmates who died is up to three from two yesterday evening; another died of massive internal bleeding during the night. Still unanswered, however, and completely unaddressed by the prison officials, is the issue of the inmate who apparently died immediately before the riot started, possibly creating and at least adding to the panic; 20-year-old Juanita Garrido was found poisoned in her cell, apparently by a booby trap erected at some point while the prisoners were eating breakfast. Obviously, the prison is extremely reluctant to admit to any possibility of foul play but federal officials announced yesterday evening that they will begin a formal investigation.
Faith quickly covered her mouth with her hands to muffle a strangled cry that burst from her throat before she could think about it. *Juanita!* she cried silently, though there was no doubt in her mind that the trap had not been set for her.
"Also, we have just received breaking news as of only hours ago, at three in the morning, after what was apparently a very sleepless night and a search for which everything seemed to go wrong, the prison officials conceded that one inmate escaped during the riot--one moment while we get her picture on the screen--a dangerous maximum-security serial killer known only as Faith, perhaps not coincidentally Juanita Garrido's cell mate."
"Dear God," murmured Wesley under his breath.
"Hey, is that that psycho-chick that Angel's always going to see, or used to?" Gunn asked.
"Boy, you guessed it," Lorne answered him.
"I thought he said she was on the mend!"
"That was three months ago, Gunn. It looks like something changed."
"Great. You don't suppose she's on her way back here?"
"It wouldn't surprise me at all," Wes answered.
Suddenly, Faith tensed. The combined distractions of thinking about Angel, watching Cordelia's seizure, and watching the TV had been so much that she hadn't senses someone creeping softly up behind her. She spun around, her fist raised, and only barely managed to pull her punch. It was just a girl, and an extremely thin and disheveled one at that, who flinched backwards with a frightened squeak when she saw Faith move, bringing her arms up reflexively to shield her face and opening her palms outward in the classic gesture of "don't hurt me."
"S ... sorry," Faith murmured. From the corner of her awareness, however, she heard the man called Gunn downstairs suddenly hiss, "Did you hear something?" and realized that she needed to either run or show herself quickly.
"Oh, that's awl raight," the girl said in a thick rural accent. "But ah don't think yer really s'posed t' be here ... or are you? I don't know all of Angel's friends." The girl seemed both completely unthreatened and completely unthreatening. Faith was much more nervous about the steps approaching from below. This was not the way she wanted to meet Angel's gang again. Nonetheless, thinking as best she could under the circumstances, she decided that she might as well let them see her; she didn't want to hide from them. On the other hand, she figured that they would probably all feel safer if she were talking to them from a distance.
"Wait!" she cried out back over her shoulder.
The footsteps on the stairs stopped momentarily, but Wesley's voice rang out a moment later. "Wait ... I know that voice."
"Yeah, it's me," Faith said as she walked out onto the balcony. Cordelia, Wesley, and the man named Gunn were only five steps from the top; all of them were carrying weapons. The demon Lorne had remained in the lobby.
"Faith." Wesley's voice was tight with strain, and it was clear that the only thing that was keeping him in place was the fact that he couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to attack her immediately or retreat back down the stairs.
"Wes," Faith deliberately kept her voice level.
"She doesn't look that psycho ..." Gunn said.
Faith actually laughed. If he was willing to say that in front of someone who had just been characterized as a serial killer on local television, then he had to be made of pretty strong stuff. Faith liked that. "Nope, just me," she answered.
"That's pretty psycho, last time I checked," Cordelia pointed out.
The other girl popped her head out of the hallway. "She doesn't look too psycho to me, either ... but then, I guess I wouldn't know."
"Fred?!" Wesley asked, as if surprised to see her. "Have you been talking to her?"
"Well ... not much, you kind of interrupted," the scrawny girl observed.
Wesley appeared to be momentarily at a loss for words, or perhaps thinking about what he would say next. Faith took the opportunity to move a short distance out onto the balcony, past the stairs, putting a little distance between herself and the trio, whose knuckles whitened as she did but otherwise made no move to stop her.
"I hope you didn't come here looking to hide out again, 'cause you know, that's just what we need at the moment."
"I ... had, actually, but I won't stay if you don't want. I didn't know Angel was in such bad shape, I haven't seen him in three months. And I didn't know that B ... that she ... she is, right?" the look in Cordelia's eyes was all the confirmation she needed.
"I'd still like to see him, though," Faith finished.
"I don't think that's really a good idea," Wesley answered.
"I get that, but ... well, there aren't a whole lot of good ideas in my world at the moment."
"Ours, either," Cordelia answered.
"Then let me see him," Faith pleaded.
"Why should we?" Wes butted in again.
"Because ... because I think he'd want to see me," Faith answered honestly.
"He'd want to see a serial killer?" Gunn asked pointedly.
"Hey, EX-serial killer there, EX-serial killer."
"Oh, my bad," Gunn responded. "Been all of what, a year now?"
"Look, if he kicks me out, he kicks me out. Just let me see him."
Wesley drew a stubborn breath. "Faith, let me be very blunt with you. You're an escaped felon, and it was known that you were connected to Angel. I'm betting we're going to get a visit from the police sometime in the next twenty-four hours. I don't need to tell you how bad it would be if you were here ..."
"I wasn't planning on staying," Faith interrupted.
"... but I don't think you understand how bad it could be even if it just comes out that you were here at all, and Angel won't lie. The last thing we need is for the business to get in legal trouble as well as financial trouble--and the longer you stay here, the more likely that becomes."
Faith hadn't thought of that.
"Also, Faith ... the last time you were here was the last time Buffy was here. He's seeing her everywhere he looks already. I don't want to find out what seeing you would do to him."
"How bad is he?" she asked, partially to change the subject and partially to set herself up for an exit. She had already decided that, whatever their answer, she would concede that it was right to give him some more time. She had survived on her own for years once her first Watcher was killed; she could handle herself on the streets of L.A. if she had to.
A pained look passed across Wesley's face, and for the first time, he lowered his guard, though it was clearly out of weariness, not trust. An empathetic look passed between the three people on the stairs.
It was Cordelia that answered. "We've had to stop him from walking into the sunrise four times in the last three months, that's why we're always up at this hour. The first month was the worst, but he hasn't gotten any better in the last two months, either. He'd probably have starved by now if we weren't bringing blood in from the butcher shops for him. He comes out of there maybe once a week, sometimes less. Most of the time he just sits like he's been turned to stone or something, and when he isn't, he's completely out of control. The entire basement is wrecked. I've never seen anything like it."
Faith forced herself to keep her breathing steady as she absorbed all of this.
"All right, I'll give him some time, but I ... I'm going to need to talk to him at some point. Someone tried to kill me. Officer White's body never showed up in the coroner's office because she was a demon. I think that trap that ... that killed Juanita ... was intended for me, too."
Cordelia's eyes were wide, as though she were actually sympathetic; Gunn appeared to be taking everything in stride. Wesley, however, was unmoved. "You have enemies?" he asked pointedly. "What an unexpected surprise."
"Wesley!" even Cordelia seemed to think that he'd gone a bit far with that one.
"All right, all right, I'm leaving!" Faith cried. "If that's all right with you?"
Wordlessly, Wesley backed slowly down the stairs, followed shortly by Cordelia and Gunn. The girl, Faith noticed, hadn't moved to join them, and had simply struck a shy pose by the top of the stairs. Faith moved by her silently and down the stairs toward the front door. She had just reached the door and was about to head out without looking back when Wesley's voice sounded out from behind her.
"There's a homeless shelter, eight blocks south and three blocks west from here," he called. "You should be able to stay there. Tell them ... tell the owner that you're a friend of Angel's." Faith's eyes widened a fraction of an inch; it had to be hard for Wes to say that. The former Watcher continued, "five blocks west from there is an occult shop called the Ancient Eye. They probably have the best resources in the city besides us and Wolfram & Hart, which I hope you're not going back to."
"Hadn't planned on it," Faith responded dryly. "And ... thanks."
"You're welcome."
* * *
It never occurred to Faith to go anywhere but the shelter that Wesley had mentioned. She didn't think he was the kind to send her into a trap, and he probably hadn't had time to set anything up; the most he could do was call the cops, in which case Faith still gave even odds on her chances of escaping. Faith had lived in some ratty neighborhoods in Boston and elsewhere growing up, so the thought of spending some time in a homeless shelter was not exceptionally daunting to her; she had seen some fairly unsavory places in her day. Nonetheless, the neighborhood she was walking through towards the shelter was still the worst she had been in in a long time, so she was not expecting much more than a little place with four walls and a roof. Because of this, she did a double take when she finally caught sight of the shelter itself.
The South Central Humanitarian Haven was one of the most well-kept buildings on the street, or for that matter, in the entire neighborhood. It had two wings that looked like they had been constructed within the last two years, apparently by buying unused properties on both sides and demolishing whatever rickety structures had stood there previously. It was hardly a luxury estate--the emphasis in its building had obviously been size, not quality--but it was much cleaner and more well-maintained than just about any other building in sight.
Faith approached the doors. A painted seal that spanned both doors showed a picture of a dove carrying an olive branch surrounded by words that read "An island of rest for those tossed by the storm." The inside had clearly been as diligently maintained as the exterior. A little girl, only about fifteen or sixteen years old, looked up from a rickety desk on the left side of the lobby as Faith walked in.
"Lookin' for a bed?" she asked.
"Um, yeah, I guess," Faith asked.
"All right ... uh ... yeah ... OK, I forget what I'm supposed to do now."
"Huh?"
"I'm supposed to work the desk, but I don't know how."
"Here, Tanya, I'll handle it. I can't sleep anyway," a soft voice said from a doorway behind the girl. A shadow detached itself from the doorway and formed into the shape of a slender woman of perhaps two or three years older than Faith, thicker than the scrawny girl at Angel Investigation had been and without the athleticism of Faith, but nonetheless with a certain innocent, everyday beauty about her. Tanya, apparently grateful for the relief, flashed a toothy smile at the newcomer and then disappeared into the next room.
"I tell everyone here that they need to do a little bit of volunteer work keeping the place running if they want to stay, but I don't have the heart to enforce it very much," she said as she watched Tanya depart.
"I'm Anne," the girl continued as she sat down in the seat that Tanya had just vacated. "I own this place."
"That's nice," Faith answered. "I'm ..."
"You're Faith, I know."
Faith's eyes widened. "You know ..."
"I keep an odd sleep schedule. I saw your picture on the news this morning. Don't worry, no one here will rat on you. At least, I don't think so."
"So ... uh ... forgive my asking, but how much do you know?
"Angel talked about you from time to time, back when he still talked to anyone. If he trusts you, then so do I. I owe him that much."
Faith actually fought down the urge to blush. Even without ever getting to see Angel, even while he waded through his grief that might last another century or two, he was still helping her. What had she ever done to deserve that? To cover it up, she asked, "why do you owe him so much? How do you know him?"
Anne smiled. "He made this possible," she said, with a gesture around the room. "This place would be a third of this size and would probably be falling apart without his help."
Faith stared incredulously. Angel could barely afford to pay the rent on his own building, but had helped build one of what had to be the largest homeless shelters in the metro area? "You know he may be joining you soon," Faith pointed out, "considering he may be in danger of losing his own home not too long from now."
"I'd heard," Anne answered. "I've never met anyone who gave so much of themselves. I've thought of trying to repay the favor, but we don't have a whole lot of money to spare; it's all tied down. I might be able to buy them some extra time, but it won't do any good if Angel doesn't come back to us soon, and 'soon' may be a relative term in his case."
Faith smiled. "You know, he probably wouldn't even want you to get involved," she answered. "He probably appreciates what you're doing here too much. He'd think you were giving up something for his sake, and he hates it when people do that."
"I know," Anne replied. "But anyway, let's see if we can get you a room. I'm not going to make you sign in the way I do most people, since I'm not going to make you work and I'm not sure I really want your name on the guest list, anyway." A moment later, she added, "and it would probably be better if you slept in my room, with me. I don't believe anyone would say anything about seeing you here, but it can't hurt to be a little careful."
Faith had no problem with that, so she followed Anne back down the hall to her little single room. "You live here?" Faith asked.
"When everyone else is sleeping eight to a room and only half of them have so much as cots, getting one room to myself with a real bed sometimes seems a little much."
"I guess, but still."
"I've gotten used to it by now. It doesn't take that long. If you stay a few days here, you won't even notice after a while."
Anne's room was spartan, and all of the furniture in it looked like it was secondhand, but it was at least large enough for her to have a second mattress brought in and set on the floor at the head of her bed. "Do you mind taking the floor?" Anne asked. "I have trouble enough getting to sleep even with my own bed."
Faith, awake for nearly twenty-four hours running, was already toppling onto the mattress as Anne spoke.
* * * * *
COMING SOON: Chapter 5, "Guess Who's Back ... Back Again?" Buffy must cope with an incredible amount thrust upon her extremely quickly, and while her friends do her best to help her through it, they realize it will be a long time before she's up to speed. Also, I didn't get to it this chapter, but another old-school face will resurface.
As always, classes are torture, so it may be a long time between updates. I shouldn't be working on this as much as I am ... but it's just so much more fun than schoolwork. As always, feedback is appreciated, the more specific the better!
Also, this is my first Buffy fanfic, so be nice.
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting. Use your head. If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: Everything from Season 1 to Season 5 and Angel Season 1 to Season 2; this picks up after S5/S2.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 4:
TWO ALONE
"Los Angeles!" the driver said expansively as he pulled into the gas station just off of I-10. "This where you're getting off?"
"Looks as good as any place," Faith answered. "Thanks for the ride."
"Don't mention it. Not every day I get any company in the cab at all, 'specially not a pretty thing like you."
Faith smiled and shrugged shyly. There was a time when she would have had some fun teasing the poor man before taking off, but a lot had changed since then. She wasn't quite sure how much, but a lot had. So for now, she thanked the driver again and hopped down out of the cab, breathing once again the free--if smoggy--night air of the City of Angels. It was getting on towards four in the morning, but that was as good a time to arrive as any, as far as Faith was concerned. The vampires and other creatures that stalked the streets at night would be heading home, but there was still enough darkness left that she could get to the Hyperion before sunrise. It was almost a mile away, but Faith was in the mood for walking, anyway.
She waved a last fond farewell to the driver as she walked off. Goodness only knew she had traveled with worse company before; the man was already going on about his business, refilling the diesel tank on his truck. There was no pushiness, no attempt to get her to feel any kind of obligation, just a friendly farewell and a thanks for a short time of company on the road. She smiled as she moved out of sight of the gas station; the man had more class than a lot of people she knew that made ten times as much as he probably did.
The streets of L.A. were quiet, but it was definitely a chilly, uncomfortable silence. Things moved in the shadows, some of which were probably simply homeless people or other after-hours wanderers and some of which were almost certainly not. *I guess Angel can't do everything,* she found herself thinking after seeing two or three creatures in a short five-block stretch that she was almost positive weren't of this Earth. He had to have been busy; he hadn't been to see her in just over three months, when before that, he used to come by at least once or twice a month to check in on her. She missed seeing him, hard as that was for the ever-solitary tough girl to admit to herself.
She reached the corner across from the Hyperion and stopped. A frown creased her face. It didn't look abandoned, necessarily, but the place certainly looked a lot worse than it had when Faith had last stayed here. That reminded her of something, and she kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier. The last time she had been free, it was widely known, even if she had never technically been caught there, that she had been hiding out at the Hyperion with Angel before turning herself in. When the search for her got up and running and it became known that she had escaped the immediate area of the prison, this was almost certainly going to be one of the first places the authorities would look. She glanced furtively up and down both streets from the corner as if expecting to see a platoon of police cars and helicopters spring out of hiding bearing down on her, but the street was as still as the rest of the city.
Her attention returned to the former hotel that now served as the base of operations for Angel Investigations. The upper floors in particular looked in disrepair, and what little plant life decorated the exterior of the hotel looked as though it hadn't been kept up all Summer. The lights in the lobby were on, but it looked as though that might be the only lit room in the building.
Until that point, she had planned on going straight in the front doors; she wasn't planning on hiding from Angel, after all, and she doubted she would find any of Angel's gang here at this hour, or if she did, she could get away or defend herself. However, something about both the appearance of the building and the feel of the neighborhood were bringing out her more cautious instincts, instincts that were never far from the surface anyway.
She snuck around the back of the hotel, climbed the fire escape as quietly as she could, and then leapt to a second-floor window that had been left open with the exception of the screen, which she was about to break when she realized it wasn't even locked. She held herself up with a single hand on the windowsill, raising the screen with the other, and then pulled herself into the second-floor room. She stopped to flex her fingers for a moment. For being out of action for more than three months, she realized she was still incredibly spry; she had done all that nearly without thinking about it, despite the fact that she had almost never done anything that demanding outside of combat, when adrenaline took over. She dashed the thought from her mind a moment later, however; self-congratulation had never been part of her style.
She was in a dusty, abandoned bedroom, like most of the bedrooms on the second floor, she guessed. Dust covers covered most of the furnishings, and some cardboard boxes full of miscellaneous junk had been left to gather dust in several corners of the room. The door was closed; Faith listened against it for a moment, and thought she could hear voices, but extremely distant, most likely echoing up from the lobby. She opened the door.
No doubt about it; there were at least two people in the building. The echoes of a conversation drifted along the corridor to her, from the lobby, as she expected. The end of the hall she was in opened up onto the second floor balcony at the head of the stairs. The voices were coming from that direction; she recognized Wesley's British accent and Cordelia's sultry SoCal inflections, but couldn't make out what was being said. In addition, there were other voices there, unfamiliar voices. None of them sounded like Angel.
She crept to the head of the stairs and peered out. Seated on benches in the lobby below was what had to be the entire Angel Investigations team; what they were all doing up at four in the morning, she had no idea, though then again, their lives more than likely revolved around their boss' nocturnal activities, so maybe they had all made a career of night shifts. There were Wesley and Cordelia, as she had heard. There was also a tall black youth and a green demon of some kind, dressed as though he were going to a jazz festival or something. Faith's eyes widened at that, but then again, technically, their boss was a demon, too--just much less obviously than Greenie.
" ... don't think we're going to be able to keep this up much longer," Gunn was saying.
"Well, we've got to," Wesley replied in his typical ask-the-impossible way.
"Wes, we've got enough for another two months, maybe three at most," Cordelia answered, sounding rather subdued.
The black man continued. "People know, Wes. They know Angel's out of it. And, I hate to say this, but, without him, we just don't have the credibility that we need to do this."
"We've been over this before, Gunn. We're still getting work."
"Not like we used to," Gunn answered at the same time Cordy said, "Not enough." Wesley threw up his hands.
"So what? Give up?" Wesley asked incredulously.
"Wes, you know me, I'd never say that," Gunn answered. "I'll fight 'til I die, but that doesn't mean that we can't be realistic here."
"You know there's no way we'll find a place as good as this," Wesley pointed out.
The green demon spoke up for the first time. "Well, of course not, it's not every day you find a haunted property that the owner is absolutely begging to rent out."
"I did!" Cordelia said in a moment of mock-levity.
"Yeah, but your ghost still lives there," Gunn replied.
"Hey, Dennis is a good guy."
"I know, but he's also a dead guy."
"Oh, details."
"Guys, I hate to bring you back down to Earth again, but we're running low on time here," Greenie spoke again. "We need to get Angel out of this somehow, and that's something you should know more about than me. He's more human than demon."
"We know that, Lorne," Gunn answered.
In a surprisingly gentle voice, considering what Faith remembered of Cordelia in high school and during the brief time she had come back to L.A. before, the girl added, "if he wasn't human, he wouldn't be acting the way he is right now. That's the problem."
Wesley, ever the rational one, apparently disagreed. "Look, Cordelia, I know you keep saying to give him time, but three months is a long time to spend grieving for someone ... at least, grieving like that. I think he's come up from the basement maybe twice in ... Cordelia?"
Faith had been listening with increased interest as the conversation had developed, and cursed silently at whatever had interrupted its flow; Angel had been out of action for three months? That would explain why he had suddenly stopped coming to see her, and maybe why the streets were a little more ominous and the Hyperion in a little worse shape, too. For what? Grieving? Over what? Or who?
Faith's eyes widened to the size of saucers as she realized the implication of that last question, and suddenly things started falling into place. *B!* she thought, and she let out a sudden gasp as her throat tightened up, surprising even herself. *It can't be ... it can't be ... but there's no one else it could ... dear God,* she finished. Suddenly, her attention was snapped back to the floor of the lobby below, though she found herself trying to concentrate on two things because the thought of Buffy wouldn't leave her mind. Cordelia appeared to be having some kind of seizure; Wes and Gunn were both doing their best to steady her, leaning her back against the soft cushions of the bench she had been sitting on. A moment later, she stopped shaking and sat up, pushing the two men aside as they tried to steady her.
"Turn on the TV!" she said, in a surprisingly commanding voice. Much to Faith's surprise, no one else asked any questions, indeed, they seemed all too much in a hurry to comply. There was an old black and white set that had to be at least twice as old as Faith herself was that had been set up on the back of one of the benches against the wall, and Lorne, who happened to be the closest, flipped it on. It was nothing more than an early morning weather report coming to a close.
Faith was puzzled, but only for a brief moment, because as soon as the weather report finished, someone handed the anchor a piece of paper from off camera, and Faith suddenly guessed what was coming next.
"And now, to lead off the morning crime report, we have the latest updates on yesterday's inexplicable riots at the California Institution for Women and the bizarre events surrounding it.
"As we reported yesterday, it does appear that there were at least two guards involved in the rioting itself, both of which had to be tranquilized and sent to a nearby psychiatric clinic for treatment; reports on their condition will not be available for some time.
"We have confirmed that there was only one fatality among the guards, Officer Crystal White; however, in another strange twist in this strange saga, her body was taken away before it could be claimed by the coroner, apparently by the "special forces" who arrived shortly after the riot started. The Department of Defense still denies that any military personnel were sent to the prison, saying that only civilian law enforcement agents were present, despite several eyewitness accounts of seeing military-grade helicopters flying towards the prison yesterday morning.
"The number of inmates who died is up to three from two yesterday evening; another died of massive internal bleeding during the night. Still unanswered, however, and completely unaddressed by the prison officials, is the issue of the inmate who apparently died immediately before the riot started, possibly creating and at least adding to the panic; 20-year-old Juanita Garrido was found poisoned in her cell, apparently by a booby trap erected at some point while the prisoners were eating breakfast. Obviously, the prison is extremely reluctant to admit to any possibility of foul play but federal officials announced yesterday evening that they will begin a formal investigation.
Faith quickly covered her mouth with her hands to muffle a strangled cry that burst from her throat before she could think about it. *Juanita!* she cried silently, though there was no doubt in her mind that the trap had not been set for her.
"Also, we have just received breaking news as of only hours ago, at three in the morning, after what was apparently a very sleepless night and a search for which everything seemed to go wrong, the prison officials conceded that one inmate escaped during the riot--one moment while we get her picture on the screen--a dangerous maximum-security serial killer known only as Faith, perhaps not coincidentally Juanita Garrido's cell mate."
"Dear God," murmured Wesley under his breath.
"Hey, is that that psycho-chick that Angel's always going to see, or used to?" Gunn asked.
"Boy, you guessed it," Lorne answered him.
"I thought he said she was on the mend!"
"That was three months ago, Gunn. It looks like something changed."
"Great. You don't suppose she's on her way back here?"
"It wouldn't surprise me at all," Wes answered.
Suddenly, Faith tensed. The combined distractions of thinking about Angel, watching Cordelia's seizure, and watching the TV had been so much that she hadn't senses someone creeping softly up behind her. She spun around, her fist raised, and only barely managed to pull her punch. It was just a girl, and an extremely thin and disheveled one at that, who flinched backwards with a frightened squeak when she saw Faith move, bringing her arms up reflexively to shield her face and opening her palms outward in the classic gesture of "don't hurt me."
"S ... sorry," Faith murmured. From the corner of her awareness, however, she heard the man called Gunn downstairs suddenly hiss, "Did you hear something?" and realized that she needed to either run or show herself quickly.
"Oh, that's awl raight," the girl said in a thick rural accent. "But ah don't think yer really s'posed t' be here ... or are you? I don't know all of Angel's friends." The girl seemed both completely unthreatened and completely unthreatening. Faith was much more nervous about the steps approaching from below. This was not the way she wanted to meet Angel's gang again. Nonetheless, thinking as best she could under the circumstances, she decided that she might as well let them see her; she didn't want to hide from them. On the other hand, she figured that they would probably all feel safer if she were talking to them from a distance.
"Wait!" she cried out back over her shoulder.
The footsteps on the stairs stopped momentarily, but Wesley's voice rang out a moment later. "Wait ... I know that voice."
"Yeah, it's me," Faith said as she walked out onto the balcony. Cordelia, Wesley, and the man named Gunn were only five steps from the top; all of them were carrying weapons. The demon Lorne had remained in the lobby.
"Faith." Wesley's voice was tight with strain, and it was clear that the only thing that was keeping him in place was the fact that he couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to attack her immediately or retreat back down the stairs.
"Wes," Faith deliberately kept her voice level.
"She doesn't look that psycho ..." Gunn said.
Faith actually laughed. If he was willing to say that in front of someone who had just been characterized as a serial killer on local television, then he had to be made of pretty strong stuff. Faith liked that. "Nope, just me," she answered.
"That's pretty psycho, last time I checked," Cordelia pointed out.
The other girl popped her head out of the hallway. "She doesn't look too psycho to me, either ... but then, I guess I wouldn't know."
"Fred?!" Wesley asked, as if surprised to see her. "Have you been talking to her?"
"Well ... not much, you kind of interrupted," the scrawny girl observed.
Wesley appeared to be momentarily at a loss for words, or perhaps thinking about what he would say next. Faith took the opportunity to move a short distance out onto the balcony, past the stairs, putting a little distance between herself and the trio, whose knuckles whitened as she did but otherwise made no move to stop her.
"I hope you didn't come here looking to hide out again, 'cause you know, that's just what we need at the moment."
"I ... had, actually, but I won't stay if you don't want. I didn't know Angel was in such bad shape, I haven't seen him in three months. And I didn't know that B ... that she ... she is, right?" the look in Cordelia's eyes was all the confirmation she needed.
"I'd still like to see him, though," Faith finished.
"I don't think that's really a good idea," Wesley answered.
"I get that, but ... well, there aren't a whole lot of good ideas in my world at the moment."
"Ours, either," Cordelia answered.
"Then let me see him," Faith pleaded.
"Why should we?" Wes butted in again.
"Because ... because I think he'd want to see me," Faith answered honestly.
"He'd want to see a serial killer?" Gunn asked pointedly.
"Hey, EX-serial killer there, EX-serial killer."
"Oh, my bad," Gunn responded. "Been all of what, a year now?"
"Look, if he kicks me out, he kicks me out. Just let me see him."
Wesley drew a stubborn breath. "Faith, let me be very blunt with you. You're an escaped felon, and it was known that you were connected to Angel. I'm betting we're going to get a visit from the police sometime in the next twenty-four hours. I don't need to tell you how bad it would be if you were here ..."
"I wasn't planning on staying," Faith interrupted.
"... but I don't think you understand how bad it could be even if it just comes out that you were here at all, and Angel won't lie. The last thing we need is for the business to get in legal trouble as well as financial trouble--and the longer you stay here, the more likely that becomes."
Faith hadn't thought of that.
"Also, Faith ... the last time you were here was the last time Buffy was here. He's seeing her everywhere he looks already. I don't want to find out what seeing you would do to him."
"How bad is he?" she asked, partially to change the subject and partially to set herself up for an exit. She had already decided that, whatever their answer, she would concede that it was right to give him some more time. She had survived on her own for years once her first Watcher was killed; she could handle herself on the streets of L.A. if she had to.
A pained look passed across Wesley's face, and for the first time, he lowered his guard, though it was clearly out of weariness, not trust. An empathetic look passed between the three people on the stairs.
It was Cordelia that answered. "We've had to stop him from walking into the sunrise four times in the last three months, that's why we're always up at this hour. The first month was the worst, but he hasn't gotten any better in the last two months, either. He'd probably have starved by now if we weren't bringing blood in from the butcher shops for him. He comes out of there maybe once a week, sometimes less. Most of the time he just sits like he's been turned to stone or something, and when he isn't, he's completely out of control. The entire basement is wrecked. I've never seen anything like it."
Faith forced herself to keep her breathing steady as she absorbed all of this.
"All right, I'll give him some time, but I ... I'm going to need to talk to him at some point. Someone tried to kill me. Officer White's body never showed up in the coroner's office because she was a demon. I think that trap that ... that killed Juanita ... was intended for me, too."
Cordelia's eyes were wide, as though she were actually sympathetic; Gunn appeared to be taking everything in stride. Wesley, however, was unmoved. "You have enemies?" he asked pointedly. "What an unexpected surprise."
"Wesley!" even Cordelia seemed to think that he'd gone a bit far with that one.
"All right, all right, I'm leaving!" Faith cried. "If that's all right with you?"
Wordlessly, Wesley backed slowly down the stairs, followed shortly by Cordelia and Gunn. The girl, Faith noticed, hadn't moved to join them, and had simply struck a shy pose by the top of the stairs. Faith moved by her silently and down the stairs toward the front door. She had just reached the door and was about to head out without looking back when Wesley's voice sounded out from behind her.
"There's a homeless shelter, eight blocks south and three blocks west from here," he called. "You should be able to stay there. Tell them ... tell the owner that you're a friend of Angel's." Faith's eyes widened a fraction of an inch; it had to be hard for Wes to say that. The former Watcher continued, "five blocks west from there is an occult shop called the Ancient Eye. They probably have the best resources in the city besides us and Wolfram & Hart, which I hope you're not going back to."
"Hadn't planned on it," Faith responded dryly. "And ... thanks."
"You're welcome."
* * *
It never occurred to Faith to go anywhere but the shelter that Wesley had mentioned. She didn't think he was the kind to send her into a trap, and he probably hadn't had time to set anything up; the most he could do was call the cops, in which case Faith still gave even odds on her chances of escaping. Faith had lived in some ratty neighborhoods in Boston and elsewhere growing up, so the thought of spending some time in a homeless shelter was not exceptionally daunting to her; she had seen some fairly unsavory places in her day. Nonetheless, the neighborhood she was walking through towards the shelter was still the worst she had been in in a long time, so she was not expecting much more than a little place with four walls and a roof. Because of this, she did a double take when she finally caught sight of the shelter itself.
The South Central Humanitarian Haven was one of the most well-kept buildings on the street, or for that matter, in the entire neighborhood. It had two wings that looked like they had been constructed within the last two years, apparently by buying unused properties on both sides and demolishing whatever rickety structures had stood there previously. It was hardly a luxury estate--the emphasis in its building had obviously been size, not quality--but it was much cleaner and more well-maintained than just about any other building in sight.
Faith approached the doors. A painted seal that spanned both doors showed a picture of a dove carrying an olive branch surrounded by words that read "An island of rest for those tossed by the storm." The inside had clearly been as diligently maintained as the exterior. A little girl, only about fifteen or sixteen years old, looked up from a rickety desk on the left side of the lobby as Faith walked in.
"Lookin' for a bed?" she asked.
"Um, yeah, I guess," Faith asked.
"All right ... uh ... yeah ... OK, I forget what I'm supposed to do now."
"Huh?"
"I'm supposed to work the desk, but I don't know how."
"Here, Tanya, I'll handle it. I can't sleep anyway," a soft voice said from a doorway behind the girl. A shadow detached itself from the doorway and formed into the shape of a slender woman of perhaps two or three years older than Faith, thicker than the scrawny girl at Angel Investigation had been and without the athleticism of Faith, but nonetheless with a certain innocent, everyday beauty about her. Tanya, apparently grateful for the relief, flashed a toothy smile at the newcomer and then disappeared into the next room.
"I tell everyone here that they need to do a little bit of volunteer work keeping the place running if they want to stay, but I don't have the heart to enforce it very much," she said as she watched Tanya depart.
"I'm Anne," the girl continued as she sat down in the seat that Tanya had just vacated. "I own this place."
"That's nice," Faith answered. "I'm ..."
"You're Faith, I know."
Faith's eyes widened. "You know ..."
"I keep an odd sleep schedule. I saw your picture on the news this morning. Don't worry, no one here will rat on you. At least, I don't think so."
"So ... uh ... forgive my asking, but how much do you know?
"Angel talked about you from time to time, back when he still talked to anyone. If he trusts you, then so do I. I owe him that much."
Faith actually fought down the urge to blush. Even without ever getting to see Angel, even while he waded through his grief that might last another century or two, he was still helping her. What had she ever done to deserve that? To cover it up, she asked, "why do you owe him so much? How do you know him?"
Anne smiled. "He made this possible," she said, with a gesture around the room. "This place would be a third of this size and would probably be falling apart without his help."
Faith stared incredulously. Angel could barely afford to pay the rent on his own building, but had helped build one of what had to be the largest homeless shelters in the metro area? "You know he may be joining you soon," Faith pointed out, "considering he may be in danger of losing his own home not too long from now."
"I'd heard," Anne answered. "I've never met anyone who gave so much of themselves. I've thought of trying to repay the favor, but we don't have a whole lot of money to spare; it's all tied down. I might be able to buy them some extra time, but it won't do any good if Angel doesn't come back to us soon, and 'soon' may be a relative term in his case."
Faith smiled. "You know, he probably wouldn't even want you to get involved," she answered. "He probably appreciates what you're doing here too much. He'd think you were giving up something for his sake, and he hates it when people do that."
"I know," Anne replied. "But anyway, let's see if we can get you a room. I'm not going to make you sign in the way I do most people, since I'm not going to make you work and I'm not sure I really want your name on the guest list, anyway." A moment later, she added, "and it would probably be better if you slept in my room, with me. I don't believe anyone would say anything about seeing you here, but it can't hurt to be a little careful."
Faith had no problem with that, so she followed Anne back down the hall to her little single room. "You live here?" Faith asked.
"When everyone else is sleeping eight to a room and only half of them have so much as cots, getting one room to myself with a real bed sometimes seems a little much."
"I guess, but still."
"I've gotten used to it by now. It doesn't take that long. If you stay a few days here, you won't even notice after a while."
Anne's room was spartan, and all of the furniture in it looked like it was secondhand, but it was at least large enough for her to have a second mattress brought in and set on the floor at the head of her bed. "Do you mind taking the floor?" Anne asked. "I have trouble enough getting to sleep even with my own bed."
Faith, awake for nearly twenty-four hours running, was already toppling onto the mattress as Anne spoke.
* * * * *
COMING SOON: Chapter 5, "Guess Who's Back ... Back Again?" Buffy must cope with an incredible amount thrust upon her extremely quickly, and while her friends do her best to help her through it, they realize it will be a long time before she's up to speed. Also, I didn't get to it this chapter, but another old-school face will resurface.
As always, classes are torture, so it may be a long time between updates. I shouldn't be working on this as much as I am ... but it's just so much more fun than schoolwork. As always, feedback is appreciated, the more specific the better!