Author notes at the end. I can't believe I'm writing this right now, because the kids have school tomorrow (yeah, first day). But the reviews pushed me onward.
Chapter Six – The Diaries
A fine layer of dust covered the surfaces in Wesley's apartment. Faith had only been there once, right after the Beast had beaten her into a bloody pulp. She hadn't paid that much attention to the surroundings other than to note how many damn books the man had. Her watcher was much worse than Giles.
"I wonder if Angel will want all these books?" Faith asked as she stepped through the door. Spike stood in the hallway, not wanting to enter. "He's dead, remember."
"Yeah. Just thought that maybe it wasn't true and I'd be bounced."
God, Faith would never get used to the fact that Spike actually had a soul and that he did care for the humans around him. Spike stepped over the threshold after her.
"Guess it's true then."
The final confirmation of what she knew to be true. Faith swallowed, staring all around her. She had no idea where to start. "This is gonna take a while."
"Yup," Spike answered, looking around too.
Faith could still smell Wesley. Just like he'd been in the room. She could smell his aftershave, mingling with the books, the smell of brewing tea, and even a hint of whiskey. It was amazing how much she could remember from her very brief visit. He wasn't there to comfort her now like he had been. He'd patched her up, given her a pep talk of sorts and sent her on her way to capture Angelus. So long ago in her memory.
"I don't know if I can do this," Faith told the vampire.
"We'll get some help. Illyria."
"No. Keep her away. I'll stay here for a while. Angel's not too keen on seein' me right now."
Faith turned on a lamp to ward off the shadows in the room. It was already evening. The day had flown by so fast. Visiting Gunn, getting a new door to the hotel installed. And not once over the course of the week had Faith wanted to patrol. She hadn't wanted to hit anything, save Angel.
"I'll go fetch the boxes from the car," Spike said, turning to leave.
"We'll need more. Lots more."
Faith finally convinced Spike to leave a couple of hours later, after all the boxes they had brought were full. They'd have to hire someone to move all the stuff. She had some money saved, so hiring someone wasn't a problem.
Faith just didn't want the responsibility. She had just wanted to do her job and go home satisfied that she'd done some good in the world. Now she didn't care whether she picked up a stake again, ever.
Maybe, once she grieved, that feeling would pass and she'd be her old self again. But there would still be that hole in her heart, in her world. Nothing would ever be the same.
As she sat down on the worn couch, she contemplated food. All of the food in the frig was trashed, having been in there too long. Her body was too tired to run and go get something. Her wallet too lean at the moment to order in. So she sat, watching the dust motes dance in the air.
Sitting on the coffee table was a stack of mail. It wasn't what she and Spike had brought in, so Wesley must have left it there not long before the final battle. Flipping through it, she found bills, flyers, and a card. You could always tell cards because of the size. Not worried that anyone would complain if she opened it or not, because the man was dead anyway, she ripped it down the side. As she pulled it out, the words birthday appeared before her.
"Dammit," she said out loud.
It had been his birthday and no one knew. The card must be from his mother. It looked like one a mother would buy. She hadn't contacted anyone in his family, other than to tell Giles what had happened. She wondered if the watcher would tell them for her. Having no idea even how to reach them because there was no return address, she opened the card, seeing the cursive 'Your Mother' signed at the bottom. That was all that was written on the inside. Even his mother didn't seem care about him enough to even write the word love before the name.
Faith wondered if anyone cared about the ex-watcher save Angel and his gang. To go through life with no one to care whether you lived or died was hard, she knew. She'd lived that life for way too long. And sometimes she felt like slipping back into that life just because then she wouldn't have to care about anyone else dying. That reciprocation thing was always hard to follow.
Stomach growling now, she stood up and wandered into the kitchen. Knowing that the food in the frig was bad, she rummaged through the cabinets, finding some macaroni and cheese and some tuna. Now she saw why the man was always so skinny. He either didn't eat because he couldn't cook or didn't have the time to cook. Always had his head buried in a book, never coming up for air had been her impression of him.
So she set about fixing a meal so her stomach would leave her alone. Too much more work to be done. After finishing her food, she went exploring again, trying to figure out what she might want to keep and what she might want to give away. Maybe the man had a will, but until she could find one, she'd make a mental list anyway. After storing all the stuff at the hotel, then she could figure out the rest.
The bedroom was just as unkempt as the rest of the place. That had not been the case when she'd been there before. Yes, he had books everywhere the last time, but at least most of the place was tidy. Guess he hadn't given a damn any more, she thought.
Entering, she noticed a pile of dirty clothes in a corner and the bed unmade. Going into the bathroom, there were towels draped over the shower rod, and a razor haphazardly sitting on the sink counter. What amazed her was looking at all of these everyday objects and thinking that these were the last things that he used before he died. She was sure that he didn't think about that, but now she could.
Opening the medicine cabinet, she found that aftershave he used, and some leftover Vicodan from some previous injury, probably the neck slash if she remembered correctly. Other things, like floss and toothpaste, sat unused. Maybe she'd ask Gunn where to take things like that, since he was from the neighborhood and might know where they were most needed.
Then she decided to see what he had stored in his closet. Hopefully, it wouldn't be more books. As she opened the door, his smell drifted strongly over her. Gone were the days of perfect suits and ties that he had used in Sunnydale. Sure, he still had suits, but they looked unused, pushed to the very side. No, his uniform of the day was slacks or jeans and some kind of dark shirt. The man had way too much dark in his closet. Way too much like that damn vampire, she thought.
Everything in the closet though was of good quality. She could tell just by feeling the material. Maybe Cordelia had rubbed off on him somewhat. Maybe she even had a hand in buying some of this stuff. Faith took one of the shirts off the hanger and put it on. Since she was used to good old cotton, the silk of the shirt felt sinful against her bare arms. The gray against his skin probably made him look a little paler than he normally was. Could bring out his eyes though.
Not wanting to take the garment off yet, she searched a little more, thinking that maybe she'd find something interesting. The leather pants at the very back made her smirk. Leather on him? Might have been interesting to see. On the floor lay several pairs of shoes and a few shoeboxes. Picking up the boxes, the first held nothing.
The second one, a little worn around the edges, felt full. As she opened it, she found a little treasure trove. It looked like mementos from childhood. A few shells, pictures, an old ID, a tie way too small for an adult, and other various things one would keep in a shoebox. Things that Faith never really got to keep save a few pictures.
Feeling around, she found back behind the clothes and shoes more boxes. Man, the guy kept everything, she thought. While she could fit most of her stuff in a backpack for an easy getaway, Wesley kept the smallest of items that were important to him.
Pulling out the first box, she dragged it to the edge of the bed and sat down. It was one of those file boxes, she noticed. Pushing the top off, she saw the initials WWP and the number 1999 on the top book. She picked the book up and opened it to the first page.
"Watcher Diary, volume one, 1999," she read aloud. Damn, she'd found his watcher diaries. He'd kept them, even after being fired from the Council. Guess they didn't want them because he'd done such a piss poor job back in Sunnydale. Since she had felt several more boxes next to the one she pulled out, made her realize that there were lots to go through. She wondered that if he was as pompous a writer as he was a watcher.
She scanned the first line. "Today I have been informed that I will be the next watcher of an active slayer." Whoopie, she thought. He had arrived not too long after this entry. The next lines contained things about duty and honor, blah, blah, blah. But Faith felt she had to keep reading. Maybe she'd gather some insight on the man. Also, there was a good chance that she'd see what he first thought about her. Since these were official, he probably wouldn't reveal too much of his true feelings.
So she made herself comfortable on the bed and started reading. When she found the first entry relating to her, she sat up in bed to make sure she'd not miss a word.
The comments about Buffy were amusing to say the least. Undisciplined, sarcastic, too entrenched with her friends, family and watcher were his first impressions of B. His first impressions of Faith weren't too much different, except for the part about being too entrenched.
"Faith seems to take her job much more seriously than Buffy does. It's a wonder Buffy hasn't made more mistakes than she has. But her record speaks for itself. Mr. Giles must be doing something right in his teachings. I will have to see how far along Faith is with her studies. I have found the handbook to be quite helpful in many situations so far."
Faith's mouth dropped open. "There was a damn handbook and no one told me," she said to herself. She was certain that B didn't have one either, or the slayer would have thrown that back in her face. No wonder Faith sometimes felt like she was flying blind.
So his first impressions had been much more favorable to Faith than to Buffy. The fact that Giles's name seemed to be peppered throughout his ramblings probably had something to do with it. Sometimes sentences bordered on resentment, and sometimes in awe. So Wesley didn't think that Giles walked on water, but he did see the value of the man's experience. It never came out in anything he actually told Giles though.
From what she remembered, no one save Cordelia thought very much of him as a watcher or a person. Maybe that's why when he described Buffy's friends the tone was cold and uncaring. All the man could write was about sacred duty to the Council.
He described his first encounter with Angel too. It was funny that he thought that Buffy put too much faith in the vampire. That was what she thought too, at first. Since she relied on no one but herself back then, B's commitment to Angel had baffled her from the start. Yeah, he was a hottie and was good in a fight, but he was a guy, a dead one at that. One way or another, Faith knew that he would screw her over, which he did by leaving Sunnydale for good when Faith was in a coma. Guys never stuck around, she learned from hard experience. Her most recent being Robin, her string of bad luck was just that. It proved her motto strongly, which was get some, and get gone.
The thing that fascinated her watcher the most were the demons that Buffy and she encountered on a daily basis. That was mostly what he had written about, describing each in great detail. No wonder the man had such a brain for detail and research. She just wanted to know how to kill it. Leave the details to someone else.
Her eyes became heavy even before she was through volume one. So she lay back against the soft sheets, putting the book down beside her, just to take a little nap so she could continue. He was a vivid, imaginative writer, but it just couldn't keep her awake. She'd been going since the early morning hours. When her head hit Wesley's pillow, she sighed into it, curling her body to the side and pulling the sheet over herself. She finally felt relaxed enough to let the sleep take her under. She just hoped that the bad dreams would stay away for just one night.
Wesley had no idea how he was supposed to learn all of the material he had in front of him. He guessed that the most important things he had to remember were that he wasn't corporal, so he couldn't touch anything, and that he couldn't directly interfere in his charge's life. Unfortunately the book was not clear on the second count, although it did say that there were repercussions to be had if he did.
Guidance was the key. Subtlety was the instrument to use. Good Lord, what was he to do? Faith would never be guided by anything subtle. He knew for a fact that punching her in the face had a greater effect than any hints he could give her. He'd have to find a way around that suggestion.
Why on earth had he agreed to do this? He wasn't at all prepared to handle anyone at the moment, much less Faith. He had gotten himself into this, so he better figure out the best way to handle her. He made notes along the way, jotting down some of the things that he would try first. Making contact with her would be tricky, since the book said that the preferred method was to not appear to his charge unless absolutely necessary. He wondered how Doyle handled that one.
He guessed that she was still in Cleveland, since that was where she had headed after Sunnydale was destroyed. He had received a postcard and a short phone message, but nothing more. He knew she didn't have a watcher also. Keeping up with her hadn't been easy. But he figured that she was alive and well.
"Whoa. You took notes?" Doyle said, coming in the door. He looked down at the table where Wesley had opened the book.
"How do you think that I should tackle this assignment? Go off all half cocked, not knowing where to start?"
Doyle shook his head no. "Of course not."
"You didn't have the first clue where to start with Cordelia, did you?"
"Not in the least," Doyle told him, plopping down in a chair across from Wesley. "Thank goodness nothing went wrong, because she would have kicked my ass, if I'd been corporeal that is."
"Where did you start?"
"Dreams and stuff. Seemed like the best way to speak with her. I guess it worked, at least for a while. Didn't want to take my advice sometimes."
Would Faith take his advice or tell him where to shove it? He'd definitely have to listen to her to make sure he gave the right advice.
"What was your first piece of advice?" Wesley asked.
"Oh, not to take you on, but did she listen? No."
Wesley glared at the man. Was he baiting him or telling him the truth? "Why would you say something like that?"
"I just thought that Angel needed someone with muscle, not brains. But it worked out eventually. That Gunn character came along. That was my doing, you know."
Angel had found Gunn, not Cordelia, he knew. But Gunn had joined them more because of Cordelia insistence than anything else. And the fact that Angel was doing more good fighting evil than he was with his crew.
"Your suggestion, you mean?"
"Yeah. Her saving him that one time was my doin'. That was my vision." Doyle patted himself like he had just tasted victory.
"Those visions that you gave her almost killed her." Wesley had been there too many times, watching Cordelia brave the pain, to not mention that to Doyle.
"I know. If I'd known. Damn PTBs."
The two sat in silence for a few moments, not knowing what to say to each other.
"So, Faith. She's a looker. Must have made your choice much easier."
"Doyle, she tortured me for hours, so no, it didn't make it that much easier."
"So why, man?"
"I didn't exactly do right by her when I was living. I thought that maybe I could make up for it." Wesley slammed the book shut, not wanting to reveal too much to Doyle. He didn't even know him.
"Hey, what's past is past. We all make bad choices. Look at me. Cordy didn't exactly get a world full of flowers, now did she."
Wesley shook his head in agreement. "I just hope I don't make your mistakes."
"Who said that I made mistakes? The woman does as she pleases."
"Well, maybe if you'd read the book, she'd be alive today."
Doyle stood up, glaring down at Wesley. "What do you know? You'll see how hard it is."
"And I got the distinct impression that it was a breeze to perform this job," Wesley said to him, sarcasm dripping.
"We'll see how many times you screw up then bucko."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Damn straight."
Wesley stood beside the man, trying to use his height to his advantage. He'd never been one to intimidate people with his body like Angel did, but in this situation, it seemed appropriate.
"We'll see now won't we?"
Next: OK, so I lied. Spike will be in the next chapter, I promise. It just didn't fit in this one. Hope you liked. Is this too dark and depressing? Let me know. It won't stay that way forever.
Author note: Many thanks to everyone who read chapter five. WhiteRabbit, Imzadi, Steph, EternalDragon101(yeah, new reviewer), Jess, Dduck (another new person!!), and Slayerfan. Woohoo!! And to Dduck, no, I probably won't bring in too many characters because it is so hard to write in that many POVs. I'll try to stick with Wes, Faith, and some Spike for now. Probably some Angel sprinkled here and there. We'll see. Thanks a bunch to everyone else that might come across this. Just drop a line to say you've read and you'll make my day!!!