Disclaimer- as you already know
Siblings in arms
It was business as usual at LAX: another weekday mid afternoon, the halls packed with the traveling commuters, many already awaiting at their own designated gate enduring the grueling, tedious task of awaiting the clearance from the attendants, signaled by the voice amplified over the p.a. system that their seats were in the respective boarding area. There were crowds and by passers at every point, from the several security checkpoint, waiting patiently, albeit begrudgingly, to the ticket areas where they were welcomed with yet another waiting procedure, to the departure gates; some packed and, some not so much. The halls were filled with travelers, both arriving and departing alike, even the bars and fast food outpost were not immune to their presence.
Security people were scattered throughout the airport, some K-9 equipped, doing their duty of keeping order and being on guard for suspicious activity, waiting to act at a moment's notice. The traveling crowds paid them no heed, each one much too preoccupied, lost in their own sordid world, to otherwise.
Outside, taxis and cars drove up every second, either making a pickup or dropping off yet another nameless face into an ever constant crowd of strangers. The long term was packed with coupes, sedans, cycles and SUVs of nearly every known make and model. More people waited at baggage claim as dozens of flights arrived within the same span of a quarter hour, making the wait for luggage to be picked up from the cargo bay of the airbuses and Boeings by carts and to be delivered to the designated area yet another nuisance of travel.
Amidst the hustle and bustle of suits and celebrities, administrative employees, diplomatic attaches, airline staff and families alike, a single young woman, came of the British Airways flight 114 at gate D-3. She seemed to be in her early 20's standing 5'10 or so with a weary expression and, surprisingly, cold hard eyes. Unlike the rest of the occupants wearing uniform, formal or casual garb, her ensemble consisted of a black tank top, black leather pants and mid shin high boots. Tattoos covered both her arms, on her wrists and above her elbows, both plainly visible to the crowd around her. Her wavy black hair fell down her shoulders to her upper back. Her right arm trailed the side of her body, her left in the air holding a knapsack that swung over her left shoulder.
It was evident to her she was thought to be out of place, based upon the looks she received from both the passengers and the flight staff but she didn't dwell on it as others may have.
Faith Lehane wouldn't have spared a second, not given a thought as to others opinions of her. It was who she was, Growing up as she had, with the bounces life threw her way, the cold cruel reality of how the other half lives, she wouldn't have wasted a minute had she worn Prada shoes, a dress of the finest satin, wore mascara and eyeliner like those models in magazines, and had diamond studs in her ears. It was who she was, how she lived. Or at least back then. Six years ago life had thrown her a different curve, of a new variety but her past experiences had caused her to ignore it. She had paid a price for it, lost her soul and her sanity, dwelled so deep where her life had spiraled out of control she had longed for death until an old friend brought her back from the brink, shed some light on her existence and convinced her keep fighting; to not give up. She would return that favor months later, squaring what she had owed, before continuing in her own journey to further make amends for past deeds.
Not once had she thought she would be seeing said friend for the last time.
Friends, not friend she corrected herself.
Finding out the one person who cared; the only one who refused give up upon her, learning of his fate and that of his team had been the breaking point. The fences once mended had been burned, the wounds that healed and scars that faded, had once again come to surface, relations once again severed and cast asunder.
And so, the once rouge slayer found herself in the City of Angels again.
Having no other possessions than those in her knapsack and the clothes on her back, she skipped through the baggage claim and headed for the exits. Once able to hail a taxi, she got in, closed the door and informed the driver her destination.
"Hyperion Hotel."
Connor Reilly sat in his office. His father's journal- his true father's that is- lay open on the table before him.
Halls of Fame played silently on the radio in the corner. It was a song fitting for the occasion as the office once occupied by his father, was now what he had classically dubbed the Hall Of Heroes- both an honorarium and commemoration of those that came before him and what they had devoted themselves to.
Pushing the book aside he focused in on the words as the song entered its second chorus.
Angel had been just about every one of those things.
He had been a student. A student to his parents, to Darla, to Whistler, to his own inner turmoil- every one of them was in some form, no matter how successful, regardless of intent had been the teacher to his student. Under his father he was, as Angel himself put it, a drunken wretch, ignoring the lesson the older man had repeatedly tried to him, casting them out of his mind, until the old man simply gave up. Under Darla he learned the art of the kill, the pleasure in delivering mental and physical trauma upon the most innocent and unsuspecting, and even then that was just the tip of the iceberg. With her, he allowed himself to molded, to be crafted and built, to leave a frightening legacy not forgotten until this day, and most likely, forever. Under Whistler he learned to be someone to be counted on, not just a nameless face in sea of billions, learned to show concern for another and for the first time in useless life to do something worthwhile. Under himself he learned of the infinite guilt and remorse that had plagued him, how to bottle it up, how to deal with it and how to keep going. Granted it took him a while to learn the last.
Angel also was, in some sense, teacher. The Slayer, his team, strangers he'd helped, he was the equivalent of the teacher to their student. With Buffy Summers he taught her how to survive, how to deal with her unwanted task of being the slayer. He'd offer advice, warn her of danger, even help out in her battles, when needed. And when not needed. To his team he'd shown there wasn't a black and white line between humanity and LA's other inhabitants, as with the case of Charles Gunn, or that you couldn't live in a closed box while the world was going on without you, or how to live after losing all hope, while trapped in another dimension as in the case of Winifred Burkle. To his enemies he'd taught that good people wouldn't roll over while the wicked did freely as they pleased. To those he helped them find the courage they needed, like with Melissa Barnes or top find piece within themselves like with Faith Lehane. Angel even tried to be a teacher his own son several times, despite Connor's unwillingness to listen or to accept. Not exactly the literal definition one would find in the dictionary, or the spitting image of the many professors at Stanford, or, as his false memories provided, middle or high school, but you could not argue he wasn't.
A politician- he wasn't sure Angel could be attached to that label. Maybe, if you thought long and hard enough, searched, dwelled deep into his persona, his mannerisms, his beliefs and those of his enemies, you might some connection.
A preacher. Connor could pretty much write an anthology on this one. Angel did preach his own press, whether to those around him or to those he was helping. He'd talk about the importance of not giving up, of doing good despite its seemingly useless effect on an uncaring word as whole. He'd talk of forgiveness, of second chances, of doing what's right.
Believers. Angel had believed in great deal of things. He believed in his fight, in his principles. He believed in the strength of those he helped, when they were afraid to see it. He believed in his own new found humanity, the gift of the prophesied life he would one day be rewarded.
Leader. That one had been self explanatory.
Astronaut. Truth seeker.
Champion. This could be said of more than just his father. Everyone in Angel Investigations had been. Something he had not been a part of. Something he was now. Better late than never.
The office doors opened.
Connor remained seated, lifting his head to look at who had intruded, knowing Nina wouldn't have done so without knocking.
His eyes settled on the familiar figure, the young girl who had he had come to know quite well, or rather whose fists he had come to know quite well during the time Angel had willingly allowed the removal of his own soul thus acquainting him with the monster known Holtz had told him of most of his life- Angelus. That encounter, later did show the differences between his own father, and creature Holtz sought to destroy, though he would not truly admit till much later.
The slayer had made it clear or their course and when he wavered, insisting on doing things his own way, whether of his own accord, or Jasmine's manipulations, he found himself on the receiving end of her kicks and punches. Several times.
He had not seen her since with her having left along with the witch for a place called Sunnydale.
He stood to greet her. "Faith"
The drive to the Hyperion Hotel had been a quiet one. Faith had been grateful for it as she would not have been much of a conversationalist. If the driver had attempted to engage in small talk, she was most certain her hostility would make itself known, which would no doubt lead to more trouble. Trouble which she did not need. The anger she felt was should be towards another. Best not redirect it to those who did not deserve it.
With sometime and distance still between her and her destination, the slayer slunk back in her seat and closed her eyes. Only 48 hours ago, things had been very different. She'd been considering her own role in Buffy's new slayer organization, debating whether to stay with Buffy's squad, or go solo- a quest to stop others from following in her footsteps, make her mistakes, as she knew she hadn't the tact or the discipline to act as squad leader. 'Add patience to that list also' she thought.
Then she had heard.
Running on complete adrenaline, she unleashed her barrage of emotions on the first person she found- Giles, demanding answers as to why he and the others had abandoned Angel's team in their darkest hour, and why she hadn't been told. Her anger towards the aging watcher who had since become her mentor, Buffy having outgrown him as he self proclaimed, having learned of the groups unanimous decision to cut ties with Angel's crew long before. Hearing Giles say he refused to help Angel when he called for aid in helping the girl-Winifred- Faith lost it. She saw red and smelled blood in the water and went in for kill. Not wanting to hear his reasons behind it, and not caring either she sent him flying towards the far wall, before proceeding to wail upon him until her shouts and the sound of her fists brought a crowd around them. It took Buffy and two other slayers to pry her off the man. When her sister slayer demanded why she had done, after reprimanding her first, Faith's aggression found a new target- Buffy. She and Giles after all did trust each other, even if it had its constraints in the past. Perhaps the two were in cahoots, the group even.
Buffy stared in disbelief at the other slayer. She was reminded of the time five years ago when Faith had in fact been working against the scoobies as a double agent of mayor Wilkins and the fight the two had after the dark haired woman poisoned Angel, causing Buffy to go after Faith once Wesley had told her of the council's refusal to aid them.
"Explain to me Faith" Buffy voice was calm, yet angry. She glanced briefly at Giles, still on the floor, bloodied and bruised who was being patched up by the other girls. "Explain why I shouldn't I shouldn't have you extradited and tossed back in that cell of yours."
"Ask your father figure." Faith spat before turning towards her first victim. "Tell her Giles. Tell her how Angel called you for help, begging to help save Fred and you turned him away without even listening." Tears threatened to spill from her eyes but her anger was reaching its peak and far outweighed her sorrow. "Do you know what became of them? Gunn, Wes- they're dead! All of them ! They died and we weren't there. Convenient how you saw fit not to tell me."
"They were working for Wolfram and Hart- willingly." Buffy retorted.
"Angel let himself be corrupted as did his team." Giles stated matter of fatly.
No sooner had the words left the man's mouth, he was met with vicious uppercut sending him back to the floor.
"Don't you dare speak his name."Faith's voice was cold and threatening. "And you don't know that for sure."
Nothing had been settled in that banter; only further yells were exchanged and accusations and blame thrown around by each side on whom they thought was deserving. It was then she decided she'd had enough.
Faith glared at the group that stood across from: Buffy, Giles, Xander, Rona and twelve other slayers. Her eyes once filled with anger, cold and accusing, now held nothing but complete and utter indifference.
"I want nothing to do with any of you any longer."
She'd left that evening, never once looking back at the castle. As far as she was concerned it was a place of hypocrisy and its inhabitants had it in abundance. Trekking through Scotland she'd made it to Craignure where she spent the night at inn. The following morning she'd secured a passage to Edinburg, where she'd booked a ticket to L.A. via Manchester.
She would have wanted to be, to fight at Angel's side, regardless of the outcome. Even if they'd fall at least she'd have fallen alongside him, at least she'd fight for a cause.
"Miss. We've arrived"
Faith snapped out of her musings. There'd be plenty time later to reminisce as well as regret.
Getting her bag she paid the fare. When the driver attempted to hand her change she shook her hand as well her head.
"Keep it. Won't do me any good."
She watched the cab turn the corner before walking into the hotel. Angel may be gone but she wasn't. Perhaps she could carry on the fight- if she found it in her.
Upon entering the lobby she saw the concierge desk where Cordelia had once worked abandoned, but a light had had been present from a side office.
'Good a start as any.' She thought walking over.
Upon opening the doors to find a figure seated behind a desk. A large book lay unfolded on the side of the table.
The occupant raised his head, his eyes meeting that of the Slayer.
Faith looked him. It was a young man, of about 20, with brown hair and bluish-grey eyes. Judging from his height seated at the chair he was about 6 feet, just a few inches taller than her. Question was who was he?
He rose to meet. Her name escaped his lips
"Faith." Recognition problems
The blow came hard and unexpected.
"How the hell do you know my name?" she questioned
Connor looked at her like she was kidding. Of course he would who she was. Unless Slayers had memory she should know that as well as know him.
"You're joking right?"
Faith's expression hardened.
"I'm in no mood for games junior. Now answer my question before I beat it out of you."
'Of course' Connor remembered. 'Reality alteration spell.' When his father accepted the devil's deal to run Wolfram and Hart, his own existence was erased from the minds of everyone but Angel. Faith then wouldn't have known who he was because to her ha had never existed. And she would not know him now as she wasn't present when the Orlon window was shattered by Wesley. While he regained back his memories, Faith was still in the dark about the miracle child. Come to think of it he should have been prepared for this as he remembered his encounter with Willow back in Brazil.
Connor pondered for a minute what would be the better option. If he told her the truth she'd not be likely to believe and denial would be followed by hostility, anger and a brawl that do extensive damage. If he'd lie now and she found out later … he couldn't a see positive either way.
"Well." Faith questioned impatiently. "I'm waiting. Are you talking or do I have to force it out of you."
The young man took a breath before answering.
"My name is Connor Reilly. I'm Angel's successor."
Faith was still as a statue, long after Connor finished his story and had sat back down.
She had come here hoping to mourn for a while, to remember, maybe somehow feel some part of the one person who had unconditionally cared for her, who brought her out of that darkness she herself had willingly and knowingly entered. She wasn't even sure if she should take up the mantle, continue where Angel left off, but now after learning …..
Connor hadn't had as close a kinship with Angel as she did, hadn't been through the same things, hadn't done them. They hadn't fought tooth and nail for each other willing to sacrifice what they had such as Angel risking his wavering friendship with Buffy, or her willingness to swallow that drug in an attempt to consciously reach him on mental plane when a physical one wasn't possible.
"Are you still with us?"
Faith nodded. Looking around the office she turned her attention to the wall, the very one on which hung the framed photos of Angel and his crew.
"The photographs- your work ?" she asked
Connor nodded. "I found actuals of the other 4 but Angel's had to be sketched from memory. It's not exactly the best work."
'Some kind of memory.' Faith noted. No way could someone capture Angel's likeness so well if their association was anything that Connor said it was. Something was amiss here no doubt. She needed to find out what, if only to ease her curiosity. The question was how.
Staying here would be the best bet. She'd already disassociated herself from the slayers; there was nowhere for her to go.
All that's was left was to find out if it's possible.
"So you're really gonna do it then? The whole help the helpless and all"
Connor hesitated.
Faith, like him, had been one those people whom Angel had helped and perhaps she too felt there was something undone between them. On the other hand, from what he had remembered of her and what he knew from Angel's journal, secrets were not something she responded rationally to.
'Perhaps I should have told her the truth.' He thought.
"He chose me for a reason. Gave me the journal for a reason. I need to find out why. Maybe by doing I find my own answers."
Faith nodded seeming satisfied with the boys answer, though her instincts told her there something more. Maybe it was that poker face the boy wore when he spoke. Whatever it was she was determined to find out.
"I want in." she said. "Angel saved my life also. I was tethering on the edge and everyone else would have watched me fall. He wouldn't give up on me. He was the only one who didn't. I owe him that much."
Connor brought his hand to his chin, considering the possibilities. It was true with Faith they could get more done, but they were both fragmented; shattered and put back together without glue or adhesive. Angel was the one thing them from falling apart. On top of that of that there was the emotional state to consider. He had blamed himself for what became of his father. If Faith ever found out, especially if they had gotten close, companions sharing in each other's pain…..
Ah. There it was the loophole he'd searching for.
All that was left was to address it
"There are rules. Just one for now really."
"Which is?" Faith questioned
"Don't get attached to me. Angel let others in. It cost them all their lives. I wouldn't want to have something hanging over your head." 'Or my own he added silently.'
And so an alliance begins. To for my few loyal readers, and I'm not sure how many of you there are I'm still working on the next chapter of Penance for my Sins. I've landed a consulting job and it's been taking up a ton of my free time. I'm also having problems with My Own Worst Enemy but I'm looking to get that up soon as well.