A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.

Title: Borrowed the title from The King… And no, I don't think Elvis is still alive. He may be a vampire, however….. *grins*

*****

Faith was alone in her cell, removed from the general noise of the prison, or 'correctional facility' as per the popular term. The guards knew her rap sheet, had to know it. She was dangerous. A cold-blooded killer. Crazy. Simply put, but not so simply understood.

She had been quiet since being moved to this facility outside the city limits of LA. She never gave the guards a problem, and stayed to herself. Didn't speak to anyone save a word of thanks, with the exception of a dark haired young man with a tragic air. He visited her at the end of the allotted time, one every two weeks or so. They talked in hushed tones, occasionally smiling, mostly just talking.

The silence wasn't exceptional this evening, and Faith slid into her thoughts as she usually did. She wasn't a shrink, but she did know she had problems. It seemed right that she try to work them out herself. After all, she was the only one who knew all of the problems, even if only in her own head.

Buffy, Xander, Willow, Giles. Family, friends, lovers, enemies. Her mother, who faded while she was still young. Her father, abusive and always touching her. The older boy next door, when she was fourteen, who was her first. Her calling to the duties of a Slayer. Her first hunt, her first kill. Her loss of direction, an ironic loss of faith. She hadn't been sure who she was, still didn't know. At least now she had an idea of who she wasn't.

The first screams drifted to her cell, shaking her from the battle with her inner demons. It happened sometimes, even when the inmates were locked in the single or double cells. These were different, and the feeling in the pit of her stomach. Then, the screams made sense. The pain, fear… and finality. Death.

She knew instinctively that her solace was done. The chance to heal, to regroup, was over. The world wouldn't let her rest forever. Her heightened slayer senses knew the killers for what they were, and what that meant for her.

Vampires stalked the halls, killing wantonly. Guard and inmate alike were torn limb from limb, the pools of blood spreading chaotically across the once clean concrete floor. After about two hours they gathered in front of Faith's cell, looking hungrily at the caged Slayer.

"This was easy," a biker by his leather jacket and pants. "Guess we could have taken our time with the rest."

"Thinking too far ahead," Faith said. "I'm not dead yet."

"But you are behind bars, without any wood," a petite redhead laughed, her otherwise pretty face horrific in vampirism.

The biker walked over to the cell door while the rest, a neat half dozen, watched hungrily. Faith backed into the middle of the cell, giving her as much room to defend herself as possible. The odds were definitely not good.

"Guess you haven't heard I'm retired," Faith said, her voice calm and clear in spite of the small, gnawing fear in her chest.

"Your blood still has power," the redhead said as the biker continued to work on the lock. "The other slayer is surrounded by friends, who know what we are. You, on the other hand, are…"

"Completely alone," Faith finished quietly.

"Yes," the redhead hissed, both in confirmation and pleasure as the biker finally shoved open the door to her cell. "Take her alive. Hurt her, but she has to be alive."

"Fine," Faith said, "Let's play." She set herself in a relaxed stance as three of the vampires moved into the cell, right by the door. They stood there for barely a second, sizing her up, before all hell broke loose.

The three vampires outside the cell never saw him approach, and the first two never saw who killed them. Twice the blade flashed in the dim light, and two vampires burst into ash at almost the same instant. The redhead, barely comprehending the threat, caught a bare glimpse of the man before the flash of steel removed head from shoulders.

Faith saw him approach, a tall, lean man wielding a sword and dressed in black. He threw a wooden stake at her even as he brought his sword around to take down the first vampire. Faith was glad for the reassuring feel of the wood in her hand as the three vampires moved against her, unaware that there was another threat outside the cell.

Movements and reflexes she thought were forgotten during her incarceration came back suddenly and effectively. The first vampire, the biker, opened his eyes in shock as she slid under his roundhouse and pierced his heart. His body burst into dust as his two allies over-reached the slayer. The second vampire died from a stake through the back, realizing his mistake a second too late.

The third vampire was a different story. She had fought a slayer in her long past, and knew not to underestimate the slayer in spite of the disadvantage. She followed her original attack, finding herself facing the slayer as her second ally died. Without thought, she lashed out with her claws, scoring wickedly from the slayer's left shoulder to the right side of her ribs, fairly shredding the thin prison uniform.

Faith stumbled backwards, out of the cell, feigning more pain than she felt, but not by much. The vampire followed her out of the cell, and was genuinely surprised when the man brought his sword around evenly, severing her head before the shock truly registered.

"Michael," the man said, sheathing the sword at his hip.

"Faith," she answered, handing the stake back to him.

"Keep it," he said as he stripped his shirt off and handing it to her. "You might want to cover up, it's kinda cold out there."

Laughing softly to herself, she complied with his suggestion, and then looked at him seriously for the first time. It had been quite some time since she had seen a man without his shirt on, and this one was looking pretty good. Faint scars crisscrossed his chest, and a fresh one stood against his slightly tanned side. All in all, not a bad view. Too bad he seemed to be all business.

"We've got to get out of here," he said after a moment. "You have anything here?"

"Nothing important," she answered, thinking of the impersonal items still in the cell. "Why are you helping me?"

"It's not by choice, slayer. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'"

"I see." They began walking out of the prison, barely noticing the dead that were scattered, mostly in pieces, throughout the halls. "Who?"

Michael took a few moments, apparently thinking about the answer to her question. He hadn't answered her by the time they walked out of the prison and through the main gate. His car, a metallic blue Mustang, was still running right outside the gate.

"A very bad man," he finally answered as he slid his sheathed blade in the back. "One who, for some reason, wants you."

"Good enough for now," she said, easing into the soft leather seat. Sighing, she looked over at him. "I'll need something better when we get to where-ever we're going."

"A hotel I'm staying at," he said as he pulled away from the now-empty prison. "I'm guessing you want to clean up, and get into something that doesn't scream 'fugitive'."

"Wake me when we get there," she said as she drifted off to sleep.