Disclaimer: Since my name is not Joss Whedon, 'Buffy: The Vampire Slayer', 'Angel' and the characters associated with the show belong to someone who in't me. I also do not own the storyline, that is taken from gidgetgirl's 'The Lost Child Challenge' (details below) posted at the Chocolate Covered Strawberries Archive.

The Lost Child Challenge

When Faith was fourteen, she was raped by her mother's boyfriend. After that, she left home on her own, pregnant with the rapist's child. When she was found by the Council, her first Watcher took the baby, assuring Faith that it would be taken care of... the Watcher then was killed by Kakistos before she could give Faith more information. Now, years later, the child has come back into Faith's life.

Requirements:

Faith dealing with mixed feelings about the child: a mother's love and the memory of the rape.
The child having a Faith-esque attitude problem
The council having had some hand in the child's conception
The child having an amazing destiny
Faith wanting to save her daughter from her own mistakes

Author's Note I: To dawn-roberts, pheonix452 and MsHellFire2005 - Well done! 'H' does indeed stand for Hereditary, a Slayer who inherited her Slayerness from her foremothers. 'S' stands for Spontaneus, any Slayer that isn't a Hereditary. Basically, a Slayer's daughter is always a Potential, as are all of her descendants in the female line.

Author's Note II: Sorry it's taken me so long to get this story updated. Am I the only one who hasn't been able to log in to over the past three days?

Chapter 6

"I wonder what's taking so long. Jeeves said that she'd be right down." Faith, fed up of sitting in the room with the other three, who were staring at her as if she'd grown several extra heads since she had announced her decision not to tell little Eleanor what they had learned about Travers, stood, making her way to the door to find out what was taking so long.

Outside, the five year old heard her approach but she couldn't have moved if she had wanted to.

"Eleanor?" Faith did her best to smile. "I was just coming to look for you."

Her daughter was silent.

"Honey?" Faith asked, worriedly. "Are you alright, you didn't. . .Did you hear what we were saying in there?" The devastated look on the little girl's face was all the answer she needed. "Eleanor. . ."

The little girl dodged her mother's outstretched hand, backing away and dashing up the stairs, her blue eyes brimming with tears.

"Great!" Faith swore. "Just great!"

It wasn't true.

It couldn't be.

Uncle Quentin had told her all about what had happened when she had born, how her not-a-mother had been angry when she found out that she was going to have a baby, that she hadn't wanted to listen to Uncle Quentin when he said that her baby was going to be a very special baby who was going to do a lot of good, how she had said that she didn't want a baby, that she was going to run away from the hospital and leave her there, that only he had saved her, that he had wanted her even when her not-a-mother didn't.

Uncle Quentin had been the only one she could count on, even after he was dead she had been happy to know that he was watching over her from Heaven.

Had he been lying to her?

Could Uncle Quentin have lied? Could he have hurt her mother? Could he have stolen her? Had he said that she was dead so that he could take her away?

It seemed blasphemous to even think of such a thing.

"They're lying!" She declared fiercely, glaring at her reflection in her full-length mirror.

But why would they lie?

They hadn't known that she was standing outside the room. Eleanor was pretty good at reading people and her not-a-mother had been genuinely shocked and upset to see her outside the room.

She hadn't wanted her to hear what they had said.

She hadn't wanted her to know.

Flopping down on her bed, the little girl allowed her tears to flow.

Uncle Quentin had been the one constant in her life, the only person who was always there for her, the person she could count on, the only person who really loved her.

Had all that been a lie?

She clutched her favourite teddy-bear close, remembering the day she had been given her bear, whom she had named for his donor.

To her just turned three year old eyes, the box in front of her was huge, and her hands were too small to manage the large bow.

"Would you like some help with that, my little Ella?"

Although he carried a penknife rather than a sword, he was as much her knight in shining armour as any of the heroes of the legends that Nanny Hopkins told her as he carefully untied the broad red ribbon, handing it to her ceremoniously before slitting the wrapping paper and Sellotape to open the box, producing a plush brown teddy bear as tall as she was.

"Happy Birthday, little one."

Her eyes lit up as she took her gift into her arms, hugging it tightly.

"What's his name?"

He smiled paternally at her. "He's yours, Ella, it's your job to name him."

Her blue eyes were full of adoration as she looked up at him. "Mr Travers." She said decidedly. "His name's Mr Travers."

Screaming in rage, she flung the unfortunate Mr Travers across the room, leaving him to hit the wall with a soft thud.

He had lied!

She couldn't force herself to pretend that he hadn't.

If he had lied about her mother, what else had he lied about?

He had said that he loved her.

Was that another lie?

Hearing a soft knock on the door she sat up, hastily wiping her eyes.

"Come in."

"Eleanor?" Faith approached warily, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. "About what you heard downstairs. . ."

"It was true wasn't it?" Eleanor regarded the young woman keenly, seeing her internal debate over what she should say. "Please don't lie to me."

"I'm sorry, it's true."

"I see." As she always did when she was upset or disturbed, she veiled her emotions with unchildlike poise and dignity. "It seems that I owe you an apology. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about that." Faith reached out to comfort her daughter but thought better of the gesture. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine." The five year old insisted.

"Are you sure?"

"Tears are for the weak." She rested her chin in her hands, her eyes darkening in thought. "I should have known. Everybody always leaves me. I should have known that Uncle Quen. . .Mr Travers didn't really care. Is there something wrong with me?" She asked, her adult aura dropping, leaving her looking very young and very vulnerable. "Is that why nobody wants to stay with me?"

"Of course not!" Faith hastened to reassure her. "There's nothing wrong with you, I promise. I'm sure that Travers really did care about you."

"He lied to me." Her response was implacable. "He hurt you. He was a bad person."

"I'm not going to argue that point." Faith conceded. "But even bad people can care about people." Seeing her daughter's skeptical look, she hurried to elaborate. "I once knew a guy who was really bad - he wanted to be a demon."

"That was stupid of him."

"I know, but he did a lot of really bad things so that he would be able to be a demon, he hurt and killed a lot of people."

"He sounds evil."

"I suppose he was, but do you know what was funny?"

"What?"

"He cared about me. I think he even loved me."

"But you said he was bad."

"I know, but he still cared about me, he was like my dad."

"How do you know that he did?"

"I just know, deep down. I can feel it." Faith tried to find the words to explain. "Do you feel that Travers cared about you?"

Eleanor considered the question gravely. "I think so."

"Then I'm sure he did."

"What about you?" The question was tentative. "Did you. . .I mean, before, did you ever. . ." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Want me."

"Yes." Faith told her firmly. "I was surprised when I knew that I was going to have you, but I've never hurt so much as I did when I thought you were dead." She touched her daughter's cheek gingerly, relieved that she didn't shrink away from her hand. "What do you think? Can we start again?"

Eleanor nodded slowly.

Her not-a-mother. . . no, her mother looked happier than any person she had ever seen before.

In an unusually impulsive gesture, the little girl reached out and gave her a small, awkward hug.

"I love you, Eleanor." Faith hugged her little girl tightly.

Looking up at her, the five year old made what was, for her, a huge concession. "You can call me Nell if you like."

TBC.