A/N: Okay.no idea what's happening in this chapter..so I'm wait and see-
ing. Yeah. It's a bad policy. Ooh, thanks go to gidget, cause again, the
Beta-ing, and the basically, telling me what to put. Another relationship
has been decided, and you're all gonna hate me next chapter.
Mwahahahahaha!!!!
"Lauren! Lauren, honey, you're going to be late!" the harassed looking man called up the stairs. A little cannonball came hurtling down the stairs.
"Not, Daddy!" the three year old protested, hugging her father's legs. He smiled, and bent to scoop up the wriggling little girl, smoothing the pale brown hair. He planted a kiss on his daughter's forehead, and held her tight. Lauren squirmed.
"I'm hungry, Daddy."
Letting the little girl slide to the floor, he poured out a bowl of cereal for her, and settled Lauren at the table. It wasn't a big room, the house wasn't expensive, but he was used to that. It was a lot nicer than his own, growing up.
Happily munching, Lauren began to play with the loops in her bowl, pushing them around with her spoon.
"Hurry, sweetie, you're going to be late," her father encouraged. Lauren met her eyes and beamed happily, a sweet baby smile.
"Love you, Daddy."
"I love you too, sweetheart," he replied, ruffling his daughter's hair. "Let's get you in the truck."
Happily, Lauren gazed out of the high window, perched on the car seat he had fastened to the passenger side. A faded rug was tossed under it, to catch cookie crumbs, or juice being dropped. She was chirping in her own little made up language as he swung himself easily into the driving seat, and smiled at her. The pretty pink overalls were clean for once, and Lauren looked adorable. Shoving the guitar down, he started the truck, and pulled out of the driveway.
Dropping Lauren off, the child hugged him and dropped a wet kiss on his cheek, and he felt a small pang at letting his little girl go. He leaned against the truck, watching Lauren walk into the building with the pre- school teacher, absently rubbing a scar. At least he'd get her back at three. He started the engine, and drove away, heading to the bar.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Yawning, the slayer made her way down the stairs, stretching her arms out. She glanced at herself in the mirror hung in the hall, and grimaced. She'd had better days inside the penitary.
Faith fastened the loose button on her shirt, enjoying the slippery feel of the dark blue silk next to her skin, and padded, barefoot into the kitchen. A young man was seated at the table, eating cereal with the newspaper spread out in front of him. Faith glanced up and down. Black hair, in messy waves across his temples. Light build, more the Wes type than Angel, or Gunn. She folded her arms, the shirt riding up over her thighs.
Sullivan looked up, and almost spat out his corn.things. His eyes widened, and he blushed deep red, diverting his eyes. The brunette woman smiled slowly, and cocked an eyebrow.
"Looked enough?" Sully held up a hand, coughing on the remainder of the cereal he'd swallowed the wrong way.
"Er, uh, er," he spluttered, trying not to look. Faith grinned, and hopped up onto the countertop, swinging long legs.
"Not that it matters," she drawled, "But who the hell are you?" The pink in his cheeks had spread to the tips of his ears.
"My name," he replied, carefully not moving his gaze in her direction, "Is Sullivan. Sullivan Reynolds. You know my..my..uh, sister, my sister, Starr."
Faith's smile broadened. Where the hell did they find these English guys, a monastery?
"So you know Wes, right?" she asked. He nodded, picking up the bowl, and shaking out the newspaper in his other hand. He gingerly moved past her, to place the bowl in the sink.
"Yes. Wesley was in his final year when I joined the school. He was, head boy," Sullivan smiled faintly at the memory. "I myself have become a part of the council."
"You know a woman named Philippa? Philippa Austin?" Faith's smile was bitter sweet, and at his apologetic shake of the head, she shrugged. "Hey, no big deal."
"And I thought Gwen looked slutty," Jess muttered, walking into the kitchen, and glancing at the two adults. Sullivan raised an eyebrow at the young girl. Faith shrugged.
"Good morning, Jess," Sully said, wryly. The Potential ignored him, rummaging for a bowl in the cupboard.
"When do you go back to jail?" Jess asked Faith. Faith shrugged.
"How 'bout never?" she asked. Jess looked up.
"Mr Travers said, 'once a convict, always a convict', and that you'd never change. Is it true you broke one of his best operatives arm?" Jess asked sweetly, pouring out the latest sugar-laden cereal.
Sully went pale, looking at the Slayer. Faith just grinned.
"Actually, no. That was B," she answered. Jess scowled.
"But surely if you broke out, you've got to return," Sullivan pointed out, and then looked rather worried, and apologetic when Faith looked towards him. "I mean, it is the law. You did .. murder that man, didn't you?"
"Extenuatin' circumstances," Faith leaned back against the counter, sizing him up. "I didn't break out, I got freed. By whoever the hell wanted Slayer blood. I'm not about to walk back into a cushy little jail cell, while someone's runnin' around with a syringe full of that! I can't."
"Can't, or won't?" The Watcher persisted, getting bolder in his argument.
Jane peeked into the kitchen, and caught the last two sentences. She shivered. The polite, calm voice, 'can't, or won't?', simple question, answer too difficult. She sank down onto the carpet outside, her arms burning as they grazed its surface, lost in thought.
i"Jane, come this way please." Scared, the five year old tried to put a hand into the teacher's, and was slapped away.
"No, Jane. Remember?" The little girl nodded.
A big door, the handle high up. The woman turned it. A chair, and a circle painted around it.
"Sit down, Jane."
Obediently, the little girl sat, dwarfed by the large chair. The woman considered, pausing, tapping a long, white finger against the side of her jaw.
"Jane, make this crystal float." The five year old tried to focus on the crystal, the way she'd been told to, but nothing could induce it to float. It sat on the side, doing nothing.
"Make it float." The voice was icy, and crisp, the words bitten off.
Scared, Jane looked up at her pleadingly.
"I can't."
"Can't, or won't? Won't. Make it float."
"I can't!" Jane howled, and instantly, there were sharp cuts, slashing across her magically, thin lines of red across her body, cutting her arms, torso, face, and legs. Terrified, she twisted in the chair, trying to get down, but she was bound in place, and it hurt, it hurt so bad.
"Make it float." The voice was expressionless, Jane closed her eyes tightly, wishing.
'Mommy. Daddy. Please, come get me. Please!'
"They're not coming back." The child's eyes flew open. Violently, she jerked against the magical control, falling back against the chair.
"No!"
"No?" An element of surprise was in the director's voice. She repeated it. "No?"
"They will! They want me! They're coming *back*!"
"They're dead," the adult voice was like a snake, hissing spite. Tears trickled down Jane's cheeks.
"No," she whimpered. The director inspected her nails.
"Make the crystal float, Jane. " Frightened, and hurting, the child tried once again to make the small piece of rock rise, by the tiniest amount. It sits there, motionless.
"I can't!"
Ripples going through her, it was hot, so hot, there were things running up her arms, under her skin, biting her, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt!!
The five year old screamed.
/i
Jane's eyes were wide, and unseeing, the pupils dilated. She sat silently, her hand wrapped around and twisting in the chain around her neck tighter and tighter, until the fingers were bloodless.
* ~ * ~ * ~ *
Faith met his gaze dead on.
"I can't. As in, I don't know what they hell they did to get me out of there. But they did, and they pulled a lot of strings to do it. There's no 'murderer on the loose' in the news, nothing to show that I'm out, ooh, people should be scared," she stalked forward, her face in his. "So can't. I'm stuck on the outside, even if I want to go back, sort this 'redemption' thing out once and for all." She glanced at the Potential, who was listening eagerly, a spiteful expression on her face.
"Suddenly, I'm not so hungry," she said shortly, leaving the kitchen.
~ * ~ * ~
"
"Hello Starr." She paused, her hands on her hips.
"How did you know it was me?"
"Brotherly intuition?" Sully suggested. Starr folded her arms.
"How did you know it was me?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow at her brother. The 19 year old gave her a sheepish grin.
"Fine. Saw you in the mirror." He jerked a thumb toward the mirror, and the door in direct view from the mirror. She sighed, and rolled her eyes.
"Sully, when will you grow up?"
"Possibly never," he answered thoughtfully. She looked around. The small bag he'd brought the previous night was on top of the made bed, a shirt, and suit neatly folded inside.
"What's happening? Aren't you staying?" she asked. He wiped toothpaste from his mouth, and zipped up the washbag.
"No," he shook his head. "I'm needed back there. Watchers being all Watcher- y, we tend to find it distressing if one of our number is, well, unwatchable. I wasn't really supposed to come out here. I thought I'd handed you over to a maniac! Mind you, Jess could take care of any maniac," he added, closing the bag. "She's become even more bloody, if that is possible."
"Oh God," Starr groaned. "It was enough trying to keep her in hand on the journey. Mind you, Wesley isn't insane. A little different, perhaps, to the Wesley you remember."
"Hmm," Sullivan mused, with a wry grin. "I wonder why it is, the Watchers that tend to stray into the grey area of the world always seem to survive, their slayers included, and the ones who stay whiter than white get killed within days?"
Starr snorted. "Because the Watchers are raving mad?"
"Point," Sully answered thoughtfully, then burst out laughing. Starr hugged him tightly.
"Really have to go?" she asked. He nodded.
"Yes."
"I hate the council," she grouched. He chuckled.
"Yes, indeed, I loathe it on occasion. But I do have to go back. This morning, actually," he said apologetically.
"Yeah. I know. Go do the white hat thing," she sighed.
"I'll let myself out. Pass on my thanks to Angel for allowing me to stay the night. I gather he is .. occupied," Sully smiled.
"*That*s what they're calling it?' Starr queried, arching a dark brow.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Angel watched the dust motes spiral in the thin shard of sunlight peeking between the curtains, and then down at his sleeping over. Cordy was lying flat down on the bed, her face mushed against the pillow, one arm draped across him. He smiled, lying back, but glanced at the clock on the side- table, and groaned.
"Cordy?"
"Aschleep." The automatic fuzzy response made him laugh.
"C'mon Cordy. It's twelve thirty. We've got to get up." Grouchily, the Seer sat up, shrugging off the sheets.
"Why?" she asked, plaintively giving him big, sad, hazel eyes. The vampire felt his resolve melt.
"Because-" he began, trying to remember his reasoning, as she traced a line up his arm with a finger, sprawled on her side, her head propped up with her right arm, swathed in the white linen sheet.
"Because it's late," he answered finally. She pouted.
"It's not *that* late."
"Cordelia," he answered, trying not to laugh, "It's about as late as it gets before afternoon."
She leant back against him.
"Not really. In vampire time, it's like, one in the morning. Can't we make it one in the morning?" she appealed, lightly kissing his jawline.
"I suppose we could consider it," he agreed. She smiled, and trailed a kiss closer.
"And if anyone tries to reach us-"
"We'll just, resist," he finished.
"Not getting up," she nodded decisively. She smirked. "Okay. Maybe just a little."
"Cordy!" he exclaimed. She gave him an innocent look.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Hello? Angel?" the woman walked quickly through the lobby, looking for the vampire. She paused, seeing the little girl seated on the floor, Faye beside her, an arm wrapped around Jane's shoulders, calling Jane's name.
She moved forward, and crouched to Jane's height. Gwen caught the blank look, and the unconscious movement with the necklace, and sat down, with a sigh, placing her fingers over Jane's.
"Hey," she said softly. Jane blinked, and looked at her. Her gaze flickered over her, and then away.
"It's okay, you know,"Gwen said lightly. Jane met her eyes. "You can get it taken off." She fiddled with the tag.
"No, I can't, see, it's welded on," Jane lifted the chain to show her, but Gwen shook her head.
"Nope. Metal can be cut. You can get it cut off, if you want." She watched the little girl's reaction. "You could put the tag on a chain, a real one. Then you could take it off, or wear it. If you wanted."
Faye got up slowly, moving away from the two people. She headed upstairs, still thinking about the lost, blank look in Jane's eyes, deep, and dark.
Gwen paused, hugging her knees to her chest, memories of the place dancing through her mind, making her feel eighteen again, just having escaped. "See, people like us, Jane, we've done a lot. You can see the tags as a kind of.medal.that proves you went through it. You might forget about it when you get older, but the necklace proves you were there."
She smiled at Jane, and said, finally, "Whatever happened, at least we survived."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The phone rang in the dusty bar, breaking through the final chords of the music. He strummed the guitar, enjoying the feel of it, as the final note hung in the air. The drinkers gave him a smattering of applause, and the bartender handed him a beer. Taking a swig of the frosty liquid, he felt in glide past his vocal chords, soothing them.
"Mr McDonald?" the woman's voice was husky, throaty with smoke, and drink. He turned.
"Yeah?"
"Phone call."
The regulars watched the man lean easily against the bar, propped up by the long wooden length. His checked shirt was half undone, showing a plain tee shirt underneath, and his blue eyes, the women knew from experience, were unreadable. He had a more cultured accent than most around here, but McDonald didn't give a hell of a lot away. Not many people had a reason for being out here, but that life had given them a rough hand. They sipped their beers, and looked uninterested, until he hung up the phone.
He took off, his guitar left by the bar, running like a bat out of hell for his truck.
"Hey, you forgot-!" the bartender called, but the key was in the ignition, and moments later, the man drove out of the lot.
Arriving at the school, he pulled into the parking lot, leaving the keys in the slot, battered blue door open, as he ran to the front door. A woman met him, apologetic, tears streaming down her face. Ignoring her, he ran past her.
It was easy to find. Paramedics surrounded her, packing up equipment, sliding sympathetic looks at him. It wasn't a pretty sight. Light streaming through the windows, beams coloured by the bright tissue paper stuck there by the kids. Artwork, messy, and sprawling, covered the walls of the hall, and the faint smell of lemons was perceptible, coming from the polish on the wooden floor.
She was lying across the floor, flung out. Her happy go lucky smile was wiped from her face, he couldn't remember a time when she hadn't looked up at him, blue eyes wide, and bright, and the sweet smile had spread across her chubby little face. The overalls and pink tee shirt were spattered with dark red, from three holes crusting over, piercing her throat. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, from the years he'd worn a suit, and been part of 'special projects', he remembered it as a ritual way of taking blood. And the last thing that defiled her, was in each of the upturned palms of the fat little hands, had been burnt a symbol.
His breathing shuddered, and Lindsey jerked, bright blue eyes focused sharply on his daughter, then walked away from it, past her, down the hall, out into the lot, before throwing up.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ A/N: Okay, the Faith/Jess conflict didn't happen yet, I promise you, the little bitca will get what's coming soon. Just another thank you, which I didn't want to come before, because surprise would have gone buh-bye, background info on Lindsey, and characterisation stuff came from Imzadi, so big thanks there, and kudos. Next chapter, further developments.
"Lauren! Lauren, honey, you're going to be late!" the harassed looking man called up the stairs. A little cannonball came hurtling down the stairs.
"Not, Daddy!" the three year old protested, hugging her father's legs. He smiled, and bent to scoop up the wriggling little girl, smoothing the pale brown hair. He planted a kiss on his daughter's forehead, and held her tight. Lauren squirmed.
"I'm hungry, Daddy."
Letting the little girl slide to the floor, he poured out a bowl of cereal for her, and settled Lauren at the table. It wasn't a big room, the house wasn't expensive, but he was used to that. It was a lot nicer than his own, growing up.
Happily munching, Lauren began to play with the loops in her bowl, pushing them around with her spoon.
"Hurry, sweetie, you're going to be late," her father encouraged. Lauren met her eyes and beamed happily, a sweet baby smile.
"Love you, Daddy."
"I love you too, sweetheart," he replied, ruffling his daughter's hair. "Let's get you in the truck."
Happily, Lauren gazed out of the high window, perched on the car seat he had fastened to the passenger side. A faded rug was tossed under it, to catch cookie crumbs, or juice being dropped. She was chirping in her own little made up language as he swung himself easily into the driving seat, and smiled at her. The pretty pink overalls were clean for once, and Lauren looked adorable. Shoving the guitar down, he started the truck, and pulled out of the driveway.
Dropping Lauren off, the child hugged him and dropped a wet kiss on his cheek, and he felt a small pang at letting his little girl go. He leaned against the truck, watching Lauren walk into the building with the pre- school teacher, absently rubbing a scar. At least he'd get her back at three. He started the engine, and drove away, heading to the bar.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Yawning, the slayer made her way down the stairs, stretching her arms out. She glanced at herself in the mirror hung in the hall, and grimaced. She'd had better days inside the penitary.
Faith fastened the loose button on her shirt, enjoying the slippery feel of the dark blue silk next to her skin, and padded, barefoot into the kitchen. A young man was seated at the table, eating cereal with the newspaper spread out in front of him. Faith glanced up and down. Black hair, in messy waves across his temples. Light build, more the Wes type than Angel, or Gunn. She folded her arms, the shirt riding up over her thighs.
Sullivan looked up, and almost spat out his corn.things. His eyes widened, and he blushed deep red, diverting his eyes. The brunette woman smiled slowly, and cocked an eyebrow.
"Looked enough?" Sully held up a hand, coughing on the remainder of the cereal he'd swallowed the wrong way.
"Er, uh, er," he spluttered, trying not to look. Faith grinned, and hopped up onto the countertop, swinging long legs.
"Not that it matters," she drawled, "But who the hell are you?" The pink in his cheeks had spread to the tips of his ears.
"My name," he replied, carefully not moving his gaze in her direction, "Is Sullivan. Sullivan Reynolds. You know my..my..uh, sister, my sister, Starr."
Faith's smile broadened. Where the hell did they find these English guys, a monastery?
"So you know Wes, right?" she asked. He nodded, picking up the bowl, and shaking out the newspaper in his other hand. He gingerly moved past her, to place the bowl in the sink.
"Yes. Wesley was in his final year when I joined the school. He was, head boy," Sullivan smiled faintly at the memory. "I myself have become a part of the council."
"You know a woman named Philippa? Philippa Austin?" Faith's smile was bitter sweet, and at his apologetic shake of the head, she shrugged. "Hey, no big deal."
"And I thought Gwen looked slutty," Jess muttered, walking into the kitchen, and glancing at the two adults. Sullivan raised an eyebrow at the young girl. Faith shrugged.
"Good morning, Jess," Sully said, wryly. The Potential ignored him, rummaging for a bowl in the cupboard.
"When do you go back to jail?" Jess asked Faith. Faith shrugged.
"How 'bout never?" she asked. Jess looked up.
"Mr Travers said, 'once a convict, always a convict', and that you'd never change. Is it true you broke one of his best operatives arm?" Jess asked sweetly, pouring out the latest sugar-laden cereal.
Sully went pale, looking at the Slayer. Faith just grinned.
"Actually, no. That was B," she answered. Jess scowled.
"But surely if you broke out, you've got to return," Sullivan pointed out, and then looked rather worried, and apologetic when Faith looked towards him. "I mean, it is the law. You did .. murder that man, didn't you?"
"Extenuatin' circumstances," Faith leaned back against the counter, sizing him up. "I didn't break out, I got freed. By whoever the hell wanted Slayer blood. I'm not about to walk back into a cushy little jail cell, while someone's runnin' around with a syringe full of that! I can't."
"Can't, or won't?" The Watcher persisted, getting bolder in his argument.
Jane peeked into the kitchen, and caught the last two sentences. She shivered. The polite, calm voice, 'can't, or won't?', simple question, answer too difficult. She sank down onto the carpet outside, her arms burning as they grazed its surface, lost in thought.
i"Jane, come this way please." Scared, the five year old tried to put a hand into the teacher's, and was slapped away.
"No, Jane. Remember?" The little girl nodded.
A big door, the handle high up. The woman turned it. A chair, and a circle painted around it.
"Sit down, Jane."
Obediently, the little girl sat, dwarfed by the large chair. The woman considered, pausing, tapping a long, white finger against the side of her jaw.
"Jane, make this crystal float." The five year old tried to focus on the crystal, the way she'd been told to, but nothing could induce it to float. It sat on the side, doing nothing.
"Make it float." The voice was icy, and crisp, the words bitten off.
Scared, Jane looked up at her pleadingly.
"I can't."
"Can't, or won't? Won't. Make it float."
"I can't!" Jane howled, and instantly, there were sharp cuts, slashing across her magically, thin lines of red across her body, cutting her arms, torso, face, and legs. Terrified, she twisted in the chair, trying to get down, but she was bound in place, and it hurt, it hurt so bad.
"Make it float." The voice was expressionless, Jane closed her eyes tightly, wishing.
'Mommy. Daddy. Please, come get me. Please!'
"They're not coming back." The child's eyes flew open. Violently, she jerked against the magical control, falling back against the chair.
"No!"
"No?" An element of surprise was in the director's voice. She repeated it. "No?"
"They will! They want me! They're coming *back*!"
"They're dead," the adult voice was like a snake, hissing spite. Tears trickled down Jane's cheeks.
"No," she whimpered. The director inspected her nails.
"Make the crystal float, Jane. " Frightened, and hurting, the child tried once again to make the small piece of rock rise, by the tiniest amount. It sits there, motionless.
"I can't!"
Ripples going through her, it was hot, so hot, there were things running up her arms, under her skin, biting her, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt!!
The five year old screamed.
/i
Jane's eyes were wide, and unseeing, the pupils dilated. She sat silently, her hand wrapped around and twisting in the chain around her neck tighter and tighter, until the fingers were bloodless.
* ~ * ~ * ~ *
Faith met his gaze dead on.
"I can't. As in, I don't know what they hell they did to get me out of there. But they did, and they pulled a lot of strings to do it. There's no 'murderer on the loose' in the news, nothing to show that I'm out, ooh, people should be scared," she stalked forward, her face in his. "So can't. I'm stuck on the outside, even if I want to go back, sort this 'redemption' thing out once and for all." She glanced at the Potential, who was listening eagerly, a spiteful expression on her face.
"Suddenly, I'm not so hungry," she said shortly, leaving the kitchen.
~ * ~ * ~
"
"Hello Starr." She paused, her hands on her hips.
"How did you know it was me?"
"Brotherly intuition?" Sully suggested. Starr folded her arms.
"How did you know it was me?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow at her brother. The 19 year old gave her a sheepish grin.
"Fine. Saw you in the mirror." He jerked a thumb toward the mirror, and the door in direct view from the mirror. She sighed, and rolled her eyes.
"Sully, when will you grow up?"
"Possibly never," he answered thoughtfully. She looked around. The small bag he'd brought the previous night was on top of the made bed, a shirt, and suit neatly folded inside.
"What's happening? Aren't you staying?" she asked. He wiped toothpaste from his mouth, and zipped up the washbag.
"No," he shook his head. "I'm needed back there. Watchers being all Watcher- y, we tend to find it distressing if one of our number is, well, unwatchable. I wasn't really supposed to come out here. I thought I'd handed you over to a maniac! Mind you, Jess could take care of any maniac," he added, closing the bag. "She's become even more bloody, if that is possible."
"Oh God," Starr groaned. "It was enough trying to keep her in hand on the journey. Mind you, Wesley isn't insane. A little different, perhaps, to the Wesley you remember."
"Hmm," Sullivan mused, with a wry grin. "I wonder why it is, the Watchers that tend to stray into the grey area of the world always seem to survive, their slayers included, and the ones who stay whiter than white get killed within days?"
Starr snorted. "Because the Watchers are raving mad?"
"Point," Sully answered thoughtfully, then burst out laughing. Starr hugged him tightly.
"Really have to go?" she asked. He nodded.
"Yes."
"I hate the council," she grouched. He chuckled.
"Yes, indeed, I loathe it on occasion. But I do have to go back. This morning, actually," he said apologetically.
"Yeah. I know. Go do the white hat thing," she sighed.
"I'll let myself out. Pass on my thanks to Angel for allowing me to stay the night. I gather he is .. occupied," Sully smiled.
"*That*s what they're calling it?' Starr queried, arching a dark brow.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Angel watched the dust motes spiral in the thin shard of sunlight peeking between the curtains, and then down at his sleeping over. Cordy was lying flat down on the bed, her face mushed against the pillow, one arm draped across him. He smiled, lying back, but glanced at the clock on the side- table, and groaned.
"Cordy?"
"Aschleep." The automatic fuzzy response made him laugh.
"C'mon Cordy. It's twelve thirty. We've got to get up." Grouchily, the Seer sat up, shrugging off the sheets.
"Why?" she asked, plaintively giving him big, sad, hazel eyes. The vampire felt his resolve melt.
"Because-" he began, trying to remember his reasoning, as she traced a line up his arm with a finger, sprawled on her side, her head propped up with her right arm, swathed in the white linen sheet.
"Because it's late," he answered finally. She pouted.
"It's not *that* late."
"Cordelia," he answered, trying not to laugh, "It's about as late as it gets before afternoon."
She leant back against him.
"Not really. In vampire time, it's like, one in the morning. Can't we make it one in the morning?" she appealed, lightly kissing his jawline.
"I suppose we could consider it," he agreed. She smiled, and trailed a kiss closer.
"And if anyone tries to reach us-"
"We'll just, resist," he finished.
"Not getting up," she nodded decisively. She smirked. "Okay. Maybe just a little."
"Cordy!" he exclaimed. She gave him an innocent look.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Hello? Angel?" the woman walked quickly through the lobby, looking for the vampire. She paused, seeing the little girl seated on the floor, Faye beside her, an arm wrapped around Jane's shoulders, calling Jane's name.
She moved forward, and crouched to Jane's height. Gwen caught the blank look, and the unconscious movement with the necklace, and sat down, with a sigh, placing her fingers over Jane's.
"Hey," she said softly. Jane blinked, and looked at her. Her gaze flickered over her, and then away.
"It's okay, you know,"Gwen said lightly. Jane met her eyes. "You can get it taken off." She fiddled with the tag.
"No, I can't, see, it's welded on," Jane lifted the chain to show her, but Gwen shook her head.
"Nope. Metal can be cut. You can get it cut off, if you want." She watched the little girl's reaction. "You could put the tag on a chain, a real one. Then you could take it off, or wear it. If you wanted."
Faye got up slowly, moving away from the two people. She headed upstairs, still thinking about the lost, blank look in Jane's eyes, deep, and dark.
Gwen paused, hugging her knees to her chest, memories of the place dancing through her mind, making her feel eighteen again, just having escaped. "See, people like us, Jane, we've done a lot. You can see the tags as a kind of.medal.that proves you went through it. You might forget about it when you get older, but the necklace proves you were there."
She smiled at Jane, and said, finally, "Whatever happened, at least we survived."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The phone rang in the dusty bar, breaking through the final chords of the music. He strummed the guitar, enjoying the feel of it, as the final note hung in the air. The drinkers gave him a smattering of applause, and the bartender handed him a beer. Taking a swig of the frosty liquid, he felt in glide past his vocal chords, soothing them.
"Mr McDonald?" the woman's voice was husky, throaty with smoke, and drink. He turned.
"Yeah?"
"Phone call."
The regulars watched the man lean easily against the bar, propped up by the long wooden length. His checked shirt was half undone, showing a plain tee shirt underneath, and his blue eyes, the women knew from experience, were unreadable. He had a more cultured accent than most around here, but McDonald didn't give a hell of a lot away. Not many people had a reason for being out here, but that life had given them a rough hand. They sipped their beers, and looked uninterested, until he hung up the phone.
He took off, his guitar left by the bar, running like a bat out of hell for his truck.
"Hey, you forgot-!" the bartender called, but the key was in the ignition, and moments later, the man drove out of the lot.
Arriving at the school, he pulled into the parking lot, leaving the keys in the slot, battered blue door open, as he ran to the front door. A woman met him, apologetic, tears streaming down her face. Ignoring her, he ran past her.
It was easy to find. Paramedics surrounded her, packing up equipment, sliding sympathetic looks at him. It wasn't a pretty sight. Light streaming through the windows, beams coloured by the bright tissue paper stuck there by the kids. Artwork, messy, and sprawling, covered the walls of the hall, and the faint smell of lemons was perceptible, coming from the polish on the wooden floor.
She was lying across the floor, flung out. Her happy go lucky smile was wiped from her face, he couldn't remember a time when she hadn't looked up at him, blue eyes wide, and bright, and the sweet smile had spread across her chubby little face. The overalls and pink tee shirt were spattered with dark red, from three holes crusting over, piercing her throat. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, from the years he'd worn a suit, and been part of 'special projects', he remembered it as a ritual way of taking blood. And the last thing that defiled her, was in each of the upturned palms of the fat little hands, had been burnt a symbol.
His breathing shuddered, and Lindsey jerked, bright blue eyes focused sharply on his daughter, then walked away from it, past her, down the hall, out into the lot, before throwing up.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ A/N: Okay, the Faith/Jess conflict didn't happen yet, I promise you, the little bitca will get what's coming soon. Just another thank you, which I didn't want to come before, because surprise would have gone buh-bye, background info on Lindsey, and characterisation stuff came from Imzadi, so big thanks there, and kudos. Next chapter, further developments.