Chapter Three – Why Can't We Talk It Over
"Tell me," Wesley started even before they got out of his SUV.
"Tell you what?" she croaked out, throat a little sore from not being able to breathe.
"What did you just experience, Faith?"
She really, really didn't want to talk about what she saw. Talking was not her strong suit. Put her in front of a demon and it was easy, so easy. Make her explain her feelings, the brain stopped functioning.
Wesley grabbed the bags from the back, while Faith slowly walked up to the cabin door. It wasn't a house, it was a cabin. He was out in the middle of nowhere. The last house they passed was more than a mile away, probably further. Surrounded by trees, the cabin would be cozy if it didn't have that weird Unabomber feel to it. She just hoped that Wes wasn't into any crazy shit.
Breathing in deep, she cleared her mind. The sharp tang of pine assaulted her senses. In Boston, it was either exhaust fumes or the smell of one of her mother's boyfriends. In Sunnydale, it had been Buffy's perfume and the sewers. In Los Angeles, the smell of closely packed bodies swaying to a beat and Wesley as she raked her nails down his back, drawing blood. In prison, it was mildew and sweat. Here, it was clean. That was the only way she could describe it. It felt clean.
"Do you remember?" his voice came from behind her.
Wesley had placed the bags on the porch while he watched her. Always the watcher, she thought.
"Not so much," she answered, realizing if she told him what she really saw, he might freak.
Turning his head to the side, he gave her the I-don't-believe-you look. New look for him. She always remembered the You're-my-slayer-you'll-do-as-you're-told look in Sunnydale. And that look in Los Angeles, you're-a-piece-of-shit look that she would never forget.
"We'll need to do some research on what you do remember," he told her as he picked up the bags and passed closely by her to unlock the door.
He smelled different. Depression linked with hopelessness with a sharp side of loneliness. Why did this have to happen now? She never worried about these kinds of things before. The heightening of senses was just one of those things she took for granted being a slayer. Why were these new, extra sensitivities coming out now?
He left the door open for her, not looking back as he casually walked through to the kitchen. Breathing in one more time, she followed, quietly shutting the door.
The kitchen was off to the left, only separated from the living room by a table. It had that log cabiny feel to it. Exposed wood everywhere, small kitchen, ratty furniture with slipcovers. One wall was covered with books. Many of them looked to be really old. Faith almost laughed. Probably brought most of them along with him and didn't have room for the razor. But those books just might save her life this time, so she wasn't judging.
"Faith. Food."
Economy of words for her watcher. The long-winded baby watcher was gone to be replaced by a dark man with piercing blue eyes. Turning to the kitchen, Faith pulled food out of the bags, but didn't know where to put anything.
"Do you alphabetize?" she sniped out.
He gave her a good snarl and jerked the box out of her hand to place it in the small pantry behind him. As he put things away, she watched his movements. Efficient, but it got the job done. Then she looked at what he had bought. Vegetables, fruit, meat, pasta, crackers. No junk food. Shit. Should have put her two cents in at the store.
"I suppose they didn't feed you very well in prison."
"No junk food," came out as an almost whine.
His eyebrows shot up, but he didn't comment. "You're lucky I have anything at all. I usually just sit down to a bowl of canned soup. It'll do you good."
Oh God, watcher mode already. Telling her what to do, what to eat. She'd fucking kill him before this was over. But hey, she might be dead anyway, so she had to deal.
"Yeah, grow big and strong and all that. Not my mother."
"Thank God. What shall we fix tonight? Something easy, so I can take you back to your motel at a decent hour."
Like he was talking to himself. She bet that he did that a lot out here. Who else was there to talk to? Unless he had some kind of girlfriend or something. Nah, he looked wound too tight to have gotten any in a long time. She snorted out loud. Not like she could talk at all. Her dry spell just kept getting longer and longer. Two of a fucking kind.
Wesley picked up some pasta and put a pot on the stove to boil water. He chopped and grated and tossed until her mouth started to water. So, maybe she missed home-cooked meals. The few times she'd had them, they had been special to her.
"You can cook," she said to him as he placed the pasta in the now boiling water.
"I can follow directions. One of the few things that I know how to make. I hope that it will be adequate."
"Fuck, I could eat a tire right now, I'm so hungry."
Wesley looked at her strangely. Like he was trying to figure her out.
"Did you have lunch?"
"Nah. Short on funds. It's alright. Been hungrier than this. I get through."
She didn't want any more sympathy. He got the clue by turning after her confession. Opening a box of crackers, he handed her one while taking one for himself.
"I'm cool."
"You need to eat. If you don't eat correctly, then your strength will leave you if you have to fight for any length of time."
"I deal. No biggie. Don't stress."
It came out a little harsh, but that's just the way her life always was.
"I don't stress, Faith."
She'd love to smack that smug look off of his face, but she kept quiet. The few crackers that she downed made her stomach quieted down a little, but not much. She hoped that he didn't mind having any leftovers, because once she started, she'd have to finish it all.
"Plates," he said as he handed her plates, forks, napkins and all the other stuff that went on a table.
She took the plates and spread them out and put the forks down next to them.
"Like this," he told her softly, showing her where everything went.
"Oh, I knew that," she replied, so not knowing where the freakin' forks were supposed to go.
He brought the pasta with the sauce to the table in addition to a salad and some bread. A meal fit for a king, or in her case, a slayer. She bet that Buffy never had to go without. Her mother would have her sitting down to a meal like this all the time. Faith even had sat down to a few meals like this with Joyce. She wondered if Buffy counted her lucky stars to have a mother that cared.
Digging in, Faith stuffed herself until she couldn't stuff anymore in. Her jeans were a little tight, but that didn't matter. They hadn't felt that way in a long time.
"Buffy's mom sometimes did this for me. When Buffy was around, of course."
Wesley nodded, then got that pensive look on his face.
"Faith, since you've been incarcerated, you, no one informed you that Buffy's mother died. I'm very sorry. She was a lovely lady."
Faith put her hand over her mouth, trying to hold down the meal she just ate. The bile rose in her stomach, making the meal that she consumed taste awful.
"I didn't mean to upset you. I thought that you needed to know."
Wesley bowed his head down, like he was remembering her too. Or maybe his own mother.
"Anybody else die that I didn't know about? Except for you, almost?"
His hand grasped his wicked scar on his neck.
"Buffy died."
Faith didn't react. She figured that one out a long time ago. Those slayer dreams again. "Knew that. But she didn't stay in the ground."
"Indeed. Willow's girlfriend was shot to death, for which she tried to end the world."
"Whoa, go back, go back. Willow had a girlfriend. No, wait. I remember now. Some mousy girl, really shy. Fuck. She tried to end the world? Red, playin' in the big leagues now. Buffy have to spank her down?"
Wesley smirked a little. It must be better than that. "Actually, from what I heard, Xander did the actual spanking."
"You're kidding. Harris? The fuck-up human playing the big hero?"
"We humans can sometimes perform miracles, Faith. Remember that."
"So how'd you get that wicked scar? No, don't tell me. Almost bled out. Kinda figured that out already. As a matter of fact, felt every fucking moment of it."
Wesley abruptly stood up, scraping his chair away from the table. "What?"
"Yep. Wicked dream. Catch the bitch who gave you the necklace? Need someone to teach her a lesson?"
She would do it, just to prove that she had changed. This woman in her dreams, no matter whom she was, she tried to kill her watcher, which in her book, wasn't good. Not that she hadn't wanted him dead two years prior.
"You saw? How?"
"Dunno. You wanna tell me how you knew about the bad guys in my dream?"
Wesley's brow furrowed intensely, like he was trying to access all that information in his big, ole' brain.
"I had a similar experience it appears. Luckily you didn't have any mishaps in prison."
"Nothing to write home about. We braided each other's hair and painted our toenails. What do you think happened in prison?"
Wesley picked up his plate to place in the sink. Ignoring her flippant comment, he grabbed her plate also, making her realize that she was done with food for the moment.
"We should research your bad guys, as you say. Can you draw them?"
"Nope. Only can draw stick figures. Never could do that. You?"
"No, unfortunately. Angel usually . . . ," Wesley said, stopping his mouth from talking.
"I'm thinkin' Angel had something to do with that lovely scar you try to hide under that beard of yours. Am I close?"
Wesley moved to rinse off the dishes as she walked closer to the sink. She hated it when he turned and closed down on her, and she'd only been with him for a few hours.
"I don't think that I owe you any kind of explanation."
"Sure don't. Just curious. Hey, who am I to judge? With me bein' the fucked up slayer and all."
That she believed one hundred percent. She wondered if he still believed that.
"You seemed to have made some progress," he gritted out as he washed the dishes.
"Kinda hard to admit?"
He handed her a drying towel and a dish to be dried. She hated doing the dishes.
"Of course not, Faith. Just an observation."
"Yeah, cuz that's what you do best. Observe, watch?"
Then Faith did the unbelievable. While she had one free hand, she reached up and traced his scar lightly. She never thought his hand could move that fast. Hell, she didn't even see it move. It snatched her hand away, making the dish he held in it go crashing on the floor. Now he looked at her. His eyes blazed because of her actions. She visibly swallowed. Maybe he was fucking crazy.
"Don't touch me," he whispered to her.
His grip was tight enough to cut off the circulation in her hand, but she wasn't going to tell him that. He'd gained strength over the past couple of years. And speed, if she judged by his reaction time right. But she wasn't going to apologize for what she did.
"Did I hurt you?" she asked him, truly wanting to know if it still hurt after all this time.
"Not this time," he ground out, letting go of her wrist.
Faith shook it a little to gain back the blood that he had not permitted to flow through her veins. The cold look he still gave her made her own blood freeze.
"Where's your broom?" Faith said as she looked around for something to get the broken plate up and into the trash.
Wesley pointed, then went back to work on the dishes. He didn't open his mouth again until the dishes were washed and dried. Wesley strode over to his bookshelves and started pulling down old books.
"You said they wore robes? Were they human?"
No, let's go do research. He was right into it.
"Yeah, they kinda looked human. Didn't fight human. Super strong. Wicked with those knives they had. The robes were red, I think."
She sat down on the couch while he kept pulling, opening books, placing them on flat surfaces.
"Did they speak at all? Any kind of chanting?"
"Nothin'. Just attacked me while I was . . . ."
Faith stopped. This was the thing that put her over the edge the first time. Why should she care that he was already dead in her dream? Maybe because it could have been her fault? Or that she was going to join him in a fat hurry?
"What were you doing? Because whatever it was, it cannot be as bad as dying by being slashed to death by robed creatures."
He gave her that serious look. This kind of made her a little ill again.
"Your funeral," she mumbled. "I was standin' over your grave." She said it out loud.
"Which would imply that I had already died prior to your encounter."
He was now scribbling on a notepad. What did he just say? Fuck yes, he was already dead. Didn't that faze him?
"Didn't you hear what I said? You, dead, in the ground. Doesn't that freak you out some?"
"No, not in the least. Besides, Faith, I already knew that part. I apparently had the same, exact dream."
"You had the same dream?" came out a little screechy.
"I believe so. I wasn't watching from my grave, mind you. But I saw what you saw. Is that why you couldn't breathe in the car?"
Oh, shit. She really didn't know why she couldn't breathe. Yeah, she didn't want to be the cause of any more pain for him. Looked like he had already had enough shit come his way.
"Nah. Just kinda freaked. Can't explain it."
Wesley was still scribbling frantically while she just sat there, staring at how fast the man's hand could move as he wrote. Without breaking stride, he handed her a book.
"Look through this one. See if you can find a picture of our sightless foes."
Faith gingerly propped the book on her lap. It smelled funny. Old and musty. Kind of like the library in Sunnydale had smelled sometimes. Lightly flipping through the pages, she saw lots of scary pictures of demons, but by the time she was finished, there was no joy. Nothing matching the description of her assailants.
"Not in here."
"I didn't think they would be."
"Then why did you give me that one?"
"We need to look at all the resources."
Handing her another tome, she flipped through, no success yet again.
"Fuck. This is not working," she said impatiently.
"Faith, research takes time. It may take us days, possibly weeks before we make some progress."
All Faith wanted to do was hit something. Wesley could do the research now that he had a full description. Only he handed her another book.
"I need to make a pit stop. Be back," she bounded out of the room.
"In the back," he yelled as she went down the hall.
Peeking into a bedroom, she saw an old quilt spread on a large bed. A small light by the bed illuminated the room just enough where she could see into it. Tiptoeing, she looked around, curious about how Wesley lived. She never got the opportunity in Sunnydale to see this side of him. It totally smelled like him. His soap, a little toothpaste, a little whiskey if her senses were correct.
She ran her hand over the softness of the quilt. There were no pictures to speak of, only a small book on the bedside table. Turning it over, she saw that it was a book of poems. Otherwise, there was nothing to point her in the direction of figuring him out.
The small closet in the room was open, so she decided to take a look in there too. From what she could feel and see from the soft lighting, mostly jeans, a few pair of khakis, probably for work, and lots of button-down shirts. Several sweaters and a leather jacket. One suit, dark in color. She could still remember the proper suits he always wore in Sunnydale. The ones that made him look so pompous and so above her.
"Faith, what are you doing?"
His voice startled her. The gravely pitch in his voice made him sound like an entirely different person if she didn't look directly at him. Of course, she had already concluded that he wasn't the same person. Not even close.
"Got turned around."
"That's the closet."
"Yeah. Just figured that out. Thanks."
Faith brushed past him as she walked out the door. The slight shiver that she got from him made her curious. Was he still scared of her or something else?
Wesley spread out his research on every available surface he could find in the living room. Nothing seemed familiar, but he had to check every source he had. Then he would try outside sources. He didn't want to clue anyone in that he was looking into the robed figures. Faith took her time, so he decided to see if some of the papers he had stored under his bed would help. As he walked into his bedroom, Faith stood at his opened closet door, hand running down one of his button-down shirts.
"Faith, what are you doing?"
The question was a tad redundant, since he saw exactly what she had been doing. Snooping through his things. Just her style. He saw her jump a little too, which was a first.
"Got turned around," she answered in return.
"That's the closet," he replied, stating the obvious.
"Yeah. Just figured that out. Thanks."
She brushed past him as she headed to the hallway. Her closeness still made him uncomfortable. He could feel the energy radiate off of her in waves. She was itching for a fight. How long had it been since she slayed? That they would work on tomorrow. Now he needed to get her back to her motel.
"I should drive you back. It's getting late."
"Yeah. Whatever. Not down with the researching anyway."
"I don't have to work tomorrow. So we should be able to get more done."
If he could convince her it would be best to help him. He had a lot of information to look over. He could use a fresh set of eyes. Faith quickly made her so-called "pit stop" and gathered up her thin jacket so they could leave.
As they had been researching, the wind had picked up outside, making the trees bend to the wind. Pulling the door open, it slammed back slightly before he could catch it. Those first snowflakes had turned the landscape white. Luckily he had snow tires, so he didn't think it would be a problem to take her back.
He watched as Faith shivered as she walked out the door. She would definitely have to get a warmer jacket. Seeing her freeze to death wouldn't solve his problems.
"It's fucking cold out here," she groaned.
"It's winter," he quipped back, making her give him the finger. He only chuckled back a little.
"Hey, not entirely dead in there, watcher."
Yes, it had been quite a long while since he even smiled, much less laughed. It felt good speaking with someone, even if that person at one point hated him with a passion.
"Let's go," he commanded.
"Keep your pants on."
They made their way over to the car. Snow blew into their faces, obscuring his vision just slightly. They needed to hurry if he was going to get her back before it became white-out conditions.
"You drive in this shit?"
"Quite often."
She was shivering down to her bones when they jumped into the SUV. He turned on the car with the heat on full again, and made the wipers fly furiously over the windshield. As they drove down the road to get to the main highway, he kept his eyes peeled to the front just in case they came upon any snowdrifts in their way.
"I haven't seen this much snow in so long. We used to get a fuck-load of snow in Boston. Piled so high sometimes, you couldn't walk across the street. The roads would be plowed and the sidewalks would be plowed and they would pile it up until it was like ten feet tall. We had to climb over it just to get to the other side of the street. The plows sometimes came along and trashed someone's car."
England had snow, but nothing like what she was describing.
"School would be cancelled, so we'd go to the hill down the way and slide on cardboard boxes. It was almost like flying. I loved it when we'd all crash at the bottom of the hill."
Sounded like she had some good memories from her childhood. He sometimes thought her childhood was dismal, not unlike his. This kind of fun was never tolerated in his household. He couldn't remember ever sledding down any hill at any time in his life.
"Wesley, deer," she yelled, just before he saw it in the headlights.
He swerved to miss it, spinning on the slick road. He tried to control the vehicle, but ended up slamming into a quickly building snow bank, which must have had something solid beneath it. His chest smashed into the steering wheel with great force, making him wince with pain as the car came to a stop.
"Shit. You OK?"
More concern from Faith.
"I'm fine. We need to get the car out of the snowdrift."
Breathing slowly through the pain, he tried backing it out but it spun the tires even deeper.
"You're just makin' it worse."
"Then get out and push," he growled back, pain radiating from his head to his chest.
Faith pushed the door open, looking back at him to sneer his way. Only her eyes opened wide.
"Fuck. You must have hit the steering wheel hard."
She reached over to brush his forehead. Blood came back on her fingers. No wonder he felt like he had been in a fight. Faith looked down, contemplating just what it meant to have his blood on her fingers again. She started to shake her head no, like she couldn't believe that he had been injured because of taking her back to the motel.
"Faith," he commanded. "You need to see if you can push the vehicle out. Do you hear me?"
"What? I'm sorry. You're hurt. I should help you," came out disjointed from her mouth.
He really didn't need his slayer having another episode over just a little blood.
"Now, before it gets worse."
And before he passed out, which he just might do if she didn't hurry. She climbed out and started to push. The vehicle didn't move. She put her back into it and it didn't budge. Wesley unbuckled his seatbelt and went to join her. He knew she was much stronger than he was, but maybe with his leverage, they could jar it loose.
"Faith, let me help."
"What are you doing out here?"
She looked angry at him. His vision started to fuzz around the edges, making him a little woozy. Hopefully she wouldn't notice his effort to stand upright and attribute it to the slick snow.
"Helping."
Only he didn't make it to the front of the car, slipping on the snow. He fell hard, knocking the wind out of him. His ribs, which were sore from slamming into the steering wheel, now protested even more. And his ankle didn't feel all that well either.
"Shit. Why don't you listen?" he heard her say as she made her way over to him.
Leaning down over him, her hair tickled his nose just for a moment before she moved it out of the way to tend to him. This all was so new to him, having someone tend to him, care about him, if just so they could get away from him.
"We need to get you back in the car. Can you get up?"
"I'm not an invalid."
"You will be if you keep this up."
She was right. His ribs hurt like hell, his head was about to fall off, and now his ankle twinged. Slowly, with her help, he sat up. He clumsily got to his feet, with her steadying force right next to him. She wrenched his door open and literally threw him into his seat. The world was spinning a bit more as he sat and watched her trying to push the car backwards. It finally moved as he put it in neutral. She cheered a little and got back into the passenger side.
"You're not drivin'. We'll have an accident."
Damn girl. She didn't know how much pain he could take.
"I'm fine. Let's go."
As he reached over to drag his seatbelt on, he groaned in pain. That settled that. He panted out as he finally was able to get it to the hole on the other side. Only he couldn't figure out where it was exactly because of the blood dripping down in front of him.
"Stop, you dumbass."
She got out and went around to the driver's side, opening the door. Managing to push him over to the other side, she climbed in and settled herself. How hard could it be to drive, he asked himself? She wasn't going back into town, obviously. He'd need his injuries tended. He smacked into that steering wheel fairly hard. Then he could take her back when the storm subsided.
"You don't know how to drive."
"Uh, no."
"Back up very slowly. Then turn the wheel to go back to the cabin. We'll never make it into town," he told her as he held his aching head in his hands.
A handkerchief had stopped some of the bleeding as he instructed her on how to drive. They made it back in one piece, with a few minor scares along the way.
"Bleeding's stopped," she stated as she turned the car off. "No airbag?"
"No. Never had it replaced the last time it was in an accident." Justine had crashed it not long after stealing it from him.
"Hey, stay right there so I can help you."
There she went again. He didn't need her help. He pushed the door open before she could make it over to him. Putting his feet down on the ground, she caught him as he went tumbling.
"Do you have a freakin' death wish?"
He could see that she still shivered in the cold air. Then he looked down through the gaping of the jacket to see her chest. Now he was really losing his mind. He just thought how soft it would be to lay his head there and rest for a bit.
Faith put his arm around her shoulder, half carrying, half dragging him up the stairs. Digging into his pocket, he felt her hand rummaging around until she found the key. As she pushed the door open, she also flipped on the outside light. He had left the inside lights blazing when they left. Coming home to a dark house wasn't at all appealing to him.
Depositing him on the couch, she ran to the back. His head lulled back against the cushions, wanting to just rest for a moment. It seemed like she took an eternity to come back with the first aid kit.
"You better not have a concussion."
"I've had plenty of concussions, Faith. This is not a concussion." Faith snorted back at him. "And it's not funny. It bloody well hurts."
"Yep. Sure does."
Faith cleaned up the blood and bandaged his head sufficiently. Taking his shoes off, she examined his ankle. He could see that it had started to swell a little. Her prodding wasn't making it feel all that much better.
"It'll be fine. I just need to put it up."
Coughing a little, he grabbed his ribs at the intense pain it caused.
"You hit your ribs too?" she asked, a little perturbed that he hadn't said anything.
She gently took his coat off and flung it to the floor. Every movement, every time she touched him, he flinched. It wasn't just because she was unpurposely hurting him. No one had really touched him in so long. Her fingers were cold to the touch, but gentle when it counted.
"I gotta pull the sweater off. Unless you want me to cut it off. Probably gonna have to bandage the ribs."
"Do it," he grimaced.
Tugging it from him, she slowly pulled it over his head. He almost cried out in pain, but held it in. Breathing a sigh of relief, he sat back against the couch as she searched for an ace bandage.
"Good," she said as she finally found it. "Sit up."
He rolled his eyes at her attitude. "Bossy aren't we?"
"You aren't always in charge, boss."
"Don't ever call me that again," he growled out.
Faith jumped back at the sound of his voice. He hadn't meant to frighten her. He just wanted her to know that he would never be anyone's boss ever again.
"OK," she agreed slowly.
He sat up as he started to unbutton his shirt. When he got them all unbuttoned, Faith yanked it back and off so she could reach all the way around him.
"Oh, God," she cried.
The look of horror on her face even made him wince in pain. He didn't think about what she would say if she ever saw his scars. Some of which she had inflicted, but more that he had obtained in the last couple of years.
"I did all that?"
"No, Faith. Not all of them. Don't worry about it. It's past," he quietly told her, watching her shake.
"You, I never knew. I am so sorry. Sorry. Please believe me," she cried out.
"I do believe you."
She swallowed as she really listened to him accepting her apology.
TBC
Next: I have no idea. I'm just writing what they're telling me to write. But it'll just be the two of them.
Thanks to everyone who's reading. I'm not gonna reveal who they're looking for just yet. Patience. Please review and enjoy!