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Feedback: Gets framed and treasured forever. Thanks go to Euley, bluecarru, Cayt, Skydiver and Ruth Quist for their friendly words. Any suggestions for improvement are gratefully received and all comments are warmly welcomed.

Author's note: Just a short one for now folks with much bitterness ahead. Knots must be worked out before the rest can be uploaded, but feel free to kick start me back into action.

Faith wrapped her arms more tightly around her body, trying to squeeze a little more warmth into her shivering frame. Aside from the fact that she stuck out like a sore thumb on the streets of Los Angeles in her prison jumpsuit, the thin material wasn't doing much to shield her from the damp night air.

She'd walked for God knows how long, and she hadn't paid much attention to where she was going. She might even have said that she'd gotten herself lost, if she'd had any idea where she was to begin with. Wandering around had seemed like as good an idea as any, at least while she tried to figure out what she was going to do next. Asking the nearest bum for directions to the county penitentiary was, at this point, the worst possible option. She was drawing enough stares as it was.

Not that she cared much about that. She didn't need unwanted attention, and certainly not any interference from either well-meaning do-gooders or the more unsavoury inhabitants of the streets. At this time of night, muggers and rapists were the least of her worries, but she knew how to handle herself, so she paid the ever present threat little mind. She was busy thinking.

As soon as the sun had begun to go down, she had started preparing herself for her rescue. Angel was no doubt desperate to come after her, and she was surprised that it had already taken him this long. The more the cold seeped in, the more attractive his arrival seemed, and she found herself becoming impatient. He had proved his point.

Her mind switched back again to just what the hell she thought she was doing. She didn't know exactly what she had hoped to achieve by running out, or even why she felt she'd had to. She was angry, that much was obvious, and she'd acted on instinct. Angel had no right to bring her here, or tell her what she had to do. Add to that the fact that she had been scared shitless by the whole experience, not to mention unprepared for the awkward reunion, and a run for cover suddenly seemed like the perfect reaction. But since when did she ever retreat and scuttle away like a coward?

She had always known that she'd have to offer apologies some day and have them spat right back in her face. The counsellor had said that an acceptance wasn't the point, but that the act itself would help her come to terms with herself. It didn't stop her secretly hoping for forgiveness, of course, and fearing that it might never come often prevented her from making any headway with the problem at all. Sure, they had a postal system in jail, it's just that she'd only ever gotten as far as the corridor junction before beating it back to her dark little hovel of self pity. She'd gotten real good at it.

The more she thought about it, the less she wanted Angel's help. This was something she had to work at on her own. She didn't turn herself in to sample the culinary delights of the inmate's kitchen. She had to get out of here, but she had nowhere to go. She didn't even know where here was exactly, and she was cold. Stupid thoughts had brought her back full circle, she realised, but at least she knew why she had left. Confused was the only word her mind could come up with to explain its behaviour. She snorted derisively at herself, a cruel little smile mocking her own actions. Way to act like a cornered animal, Faith. Respect.

The smile soon melted miserably away and she tucked her chin further into her collar. Keeping her head down didn't exactly give the confident don't-fuck-with-me impression she usually went for when trying to be ignored by the world at large, but at least it did its job. She didn't want anything to do with anyone, and the occasional rare pedestrian that still walked the street kept the hell out of her way. They probably figured she was bad news.

An old woman with a trolley shambled past her, giving her a wide berth. The woman went out of her way to move around, staring suspiciously as she went, and managed to quicken her step. Faith glanced quickly at her from under her ragged bangs and noted the woman's curled lip, her ego stinging pitifully before she remembered not to give a shit. She must be looking haunted if even the bag ladies were avoiding her like she was contagious.

After another hour of fruitless dwelling, it became clear that Angel was not coming. She became angry at the thought despite herself, her conflicting emotions making her feel like a hypocrite. What the fuck did she expect? She'd made it clear to him that she didn't want his help, told him to his face how pissed off she was with him, and now expected him to come and fetch her? She'd hit him for Christ's sake.

No, she was on her own now, and fuck them all, that's what she wanted. Might as well make good on an unusual opportunity. If going back to jail wasn't an option, then she'd have to get along fine without it. In fact, what was wrong with her? She was free! This was what she'd dreamed of and fantasised about, if sadly and kinda guiltily at the time, and now she had the perfect excuse to stay out.

Fate had a twisted sense of humour. After all she'd done, she finally makes the effort to do something about it, to repent her sins and punish herself quietly, and she's not even left to do that in peace. Something comes along and dumps her in this shit, messes up her already screwed up life, 'cause clearly there ain't enough things going wrong as it is. Maybe this is what she deserves after all.

Well, you know what? Faith is no one's whipping boy. She can't keep up with the game anymore, and she's fed up of trying. The good girl mantle never sat comfortably on her shoulders anyway. She raises an imaginary middle finger to the powers that be and, with one last look at the sky, sheds this mood forever. It's time to get even with it all. Goodbye pseudo-Faith, welcome back the real McCoy.

And suddenly, it feels like a weight is lifted from her as all the pretence and falseness falls from her. If she's going to set things right, she'll do it her own way. The Slayer powers never faded, and there has to be a reason. Destroying herself this way is not the answer. She was chosen, and she likes to think it has a small amount to do with who she is. Transforming herself into someone else is not going to work; sweet, contrite, placid little girl-next-door ain't never gonna cut the demon mustard.

She mustn't let them tame her. It's just what the vamps need.

………………………

It doesn't take long for her to find what she's looking for. The lost and scared look obviously came off convincingly, 'cause it took all of five minutes for some scumbag to start following her down an alley.

She could feel her blood rushing in a way it hadn't done for months. It felt good. Getting angry again had managed to snap her out of her funk, and she thanked her quick temper for the favour. She hadn't been seeing things as clearly as she was now. Having a goal in mind to concentrate on sure made things easier.

She took a moment to peer shyly over her shoulder, easily picking out the shadowy form of a crook. He made no effort to conceal himself, sticking to the shadows only to further agitate his prey. The cocky saunter suggested an air of confidence that would play right into Faith's hands. She was going to enjoy this.

She turned her head back abruptly and quickened her pace, earning her a quiet snicker from her pursuer. The end of the alley loomed from the dark, boxes, trash and the general scattered crap the only witnesses to the chase. It was perfect.

Stopping at the chain link fence she flexed her hands, waiting for the first move. The awful stench of rotting garbage assaulted her senses and the cold, dirty puddle water began to soak up her ankles. She wanted to get this over with quickly. The mugger wasn't playing ball.

"C'mere darlin'," he drawled, standing some distance away. "I ain't gonna bite."

Faith rolled her eyes in annoyance but didn't turn around. He wasn't close enough yet, and she didn't fancy a sprint after him if he decided to bolt too soon. She refrained from tapping her foot in impatience.

"Wassa matter?" he asked when she remained silent. "Don't feel like talkin'? Spoils all the fun. What's a girl like you doing out here all alone, anyways? Didn't ya know there are dangerous criminals out here at night?"

"Yeah, I knew," she replied, tensing as he approached. "I'm the worst."

She whipped round just as he reached her, snapping her fist towards his outstretched arm. Screaming when it connected, the mugger spun and went down, cradling his hand to his chest. Faith frowned, appalled. That was too easy, and she was disappointed.

"That was it?" she laughed incredulously. "What the hell kind of rapist are you?"

"You broke my arm you fucking bitch!" he squealed. He continued to squirm and grimace in the filth, groaning occasionally. Faith couldn't even bring herself to give it another try.

"What a waste of time," she mumbled to herself as she leant her back against the alley wall. "You know, all I wanted was a decent fight. Is that so much to ask? Can't a girl get a break around here?"

The guy didn't answer and simply watched her fearfully from his place on the floor. Faith sighed and shook her head at him, tsking like she was reproaching a naughty dog. She threw her hands in the air and pushed herself off of the wall.

"Well, guess I'll just have to find something a bit more challenging. But first things first."

Her face fell from jovial to intentional as she approached her victim until she stood leaning over his head. He shrank back from her and tried to crawl away, only to be trapped by the wall.

"You're crazy, lady," he told her as she studied him for a moment. Something inside of Faith revelled at the freaky look he was giving her.

"I need your money and your clothes," she ordered. "Strip."

The guy's eyes widened with shock and disbelief. She couldn't help but smile to herself.

"What!" he cried, "No way!"

His protests were cut off abruptly as Faith's heel slammed down across his throat, her heavy work boots crushing the air from him. He tried to cough, but couldn't choke a single breath out. As he flushed red, Faith leant a little further over, just to accentuate her point. Her foot squeezed a little harder.

"I said… strip."

…………………….

If he was completely honest with himself, Wesley hadn't really had any intention of finding Faith at all. Or at least, he hadn't expected to find her. He was more concerned about getting away from that place as quickly as possible, and it wasn't important where he ended up. If Gunn and Fred believed him, they would assume he didn't need their help and would have no reason to object. Angel, who probably knew better, wouldn't be able to follow him until the sun went down, and by then, he'd already have a head start.

The simple fact was that Faith could have gone anywhere. It didn't take any special insight into her character to realise that Wesley had nowhere to start and nothing to go on, and the chances of stumbling across her in a city the size of LA were incredibly slim. And that suited him just fine. It was no great loss. Then again, he couldn't seem to stop his body from at least going through the motions.

He could tell himself he was just pretending to keep the others off his back, but that seemed absurd. It was a weak excuse and his conscience knew it. It laughed at him heartily and his inner alcoholic growled. He cursed his noble set of morals.

He couldn't be sure, but he had his doubts that the lingering unsteadiness hampering his steps was entirely down to the whiskey. He didn't like to dwell too intently on where he might have gone for those few seconds between hearing Angel recite his spell and then finding himself in the middle of the floor, the entire group around him. Wherever it was, it didn't agree with his sense of balance, and he certainly didn't agree with the continual ache he'd had in his head since. The buzzing didn't seem to want to go away either.

Rubbing painfully at his eyes with trembling fingertips eased the insistent throbbing somewhat, and he promised himself a good few hours sleep when he eventually made it back to his bed. A bag woman with a stench that seemed to precede her for several metres gave him a disgusted sneer as she ambled past him, the mad glint in her eye a clear sign to passers-by that it was nothing personal; she was offended by everyone. Wesley barely managed a nonchalant glance in her direction before dismissing her and returning his thoughts to his route.

There was nothing for it but to head towards the apartment and hope for the best. At least that way he had something to look forward to at the end of his pointless little romp into the backstreets of bumville. He hoped to God he had enough change in his back pocket to take the next bus that crossed his path.

It was no great surprise to him, then, when a distant snarl alerted him to the presence of a vampire. Only the newest and most pathetic demons preyed on the homeless and defenceless, the more discerning amongst them making it a point of pride to avoid such easy meals. That, and the smell and general poor quality of the catch usually made for an assault on the senses that just wasn't worthwhile. That fact alone would have put Wesley at ease, if not for the steady improvement of his skills and the general habituation that came with it. Few things overtly worried him anymore, and as it was, he was hardly in the frame of mind for anxiety. Most of that had already been used up just lately.

So it was with a flat sense of purpose that he approached the source of the noise, an almost disinterested air to his calm movements. The fledgling vampire was too busy greedily feeding to have noticed his observer anyway and, despite the rather exposed location he had chosen in which to make his kill, seemed to have paid little attention to the possibility of an interruption. Either he was extremely confident in his new found status, or his hurried movements really did indicate desperation.

Wesley found he felt little sympathy.