Until It Sleeps: Chapter 17
Skipping stones, we know the price now
Any sin will do
How much further, if you can spin
How much further, if you are smooth
Are you on fire From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid Fears?
- Indigo Girls
It was with no jerk that Faith woke this time. Her eyes opened slowly, bringing her stumbling into consciousness with tears ready... waiting to spill out. Her entire being ached with loss so much that it overrode all instincts to fight through the disorientation and identify where she was. She didn't make a sound, she didn't will the tears away. She couldn't have mustered up the strength even if she'd wanted to. They fell one by one, silently, dropping off the bridge of her nose, soaking her pillow.
That last image of Cheerio, smiling sadly at her before he sent her away with all his worldly possessions, had been one she'd historically drawn upon only in her darkest of days. Completely preserved over the years, unmarred by mental embellishment or perspective, she could call it up perfectly every time like a screen capture of a movie. Even though her eyes were open she could see it in the darkness. hear his whispered goodbye in every rustle of wind, every sound that the early morning called up.
And fuck...it hurt... It hurt like hell.
If she could have defined a point in her life when she remembered feeling such a strong connection with anyone, it would have begun with him. Cheerio - a homeless man who she'd never really known - had taught her how to love.
And in the same fucking day, he'd taught her never to love again.
She remembered Doug's face when she ran home for the last time, his comment when he saw her - blood-soaked and sobbing. The satisfaction. the evil satisfaction he had gained.
"Well I see that's that fuckin problem dealt with."
Faith shuddered. Even at eight years old she had understood from the moment she had arrived. She had pieced it all together. Social services had come knocking on their door, and Doug, fearing he'd lose his share in the profits, had gone after the source. That was what Cheerio had meant.
He had died for her.
He had been beaten to death, for her.
For an eight year old, the world could have ended and it would have felt infinitely better.
For Faith, now, even the prospect of feeling better practically spelled the end of the world.
"Buffy?"
"Huh.." Buffy slurred. Angel's voice, mixed with the cool bench surface pressing against her left cheek gave her enough focus to pull her away from the dream - images fading into the background as the kitchen materialized in front of her.
The kitchen? Since when was she in the kitchen?
Slowly, groggily, she sat up, disentangling her fingers from the material of her shirt, relaxing the pressure she was exerting against the spot just above her heart.
She blinked once, twice.
Then, instinctively she looked down, just to ensure it was still there.
And in the next instant the images rushed back at her in a great, rolling wave and she quickly covered her face with her hands, clenching her teeth. "Ouch" She hissed. "Ow."
"Buffy what's wrong?" She felt his hand on her shoulder, firm, yet caring. "Are you hurt?"
Buffy wanted to hate him for it. She wanted to grab him and scream at him that of course she wasn't hurt. She wasn't the one who needed the help, or the comforting. The one who needed all the help was upstairs, alone. What were they doing?
What were they doing!?
All of Buffy's own memories. the mother who loved her, the friends she had, her memories of birthday parties that were so full of laughter and fun... now seemed so.. insulting. Faith had never known what a birthday party was. All that time she hadn't even known when her birthday was. The way she had found out...beaten and molested with her own mother's blessing.
And that old, harmless, homeless man... who had cared so deeply for her. tried to protect her to the very end. had been killed barely two days later.
Another piece to the puzzle - that memory, just as Buffy had been joined with Faith's mind, of a little girl in utter agony. The items spread around her must have been from the man's garbage bag. Buffy must have seen her just after she'd walked away.
It was all so... surreal. So painful that Buffy felt only numbness.
She shivered.
"How did I get here?" She asked, deliberately avoiding Angel's question.
He didn't pursue it. "You..." He paused, trying to find the best explanation before settling on the simplest. "-passed out."
"Oh." She then made a deliberate show of looking around. "And...the kitchen? Comfy."
"Faith is upstairs." Angel said quietly.
"Oh."
"I just-" Angel frowned uncomfortably. He looked almost guilty, glancing away for a moment as if second-guessing himself. "I didn't think it was a good idea-"
Buffy shook her head, cutting him off with a wave of her hand. ""Oh no... It's fine."
"You don't mind that-"
"No!" She cut him off again. "Not at all. Faith. and me. dreaming all dark and disturbing, not a good mix. So-" She said, turning the conversation to the safer realms of `greater implication'. "Did Willow and Tara come up with anything else that would help us against Ammitus?" She drummed her fingers against the bench top. "I still don't know what I'm supposed to do when he shows up."
Angel nodded. Buffy leaned her head forward, waiting for some form of verbal follow-up, but upon receiving none she raised both her eyebrows and slid her palm across the bench towards him.
"Yes to finding more about Ammitus, or yes to how do I kill him?"
He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly in apology. "We still don't know how best to kill him." He clarified. "But Tara and Willow have both had experience in traveling through the Ethereal plane, and they're going to try and find the Accountant."
She blinked. "Tara and Willow. are going to try and find the Accountant."
"Yes."
"Who is somewhere...in a great, expansive, otherworldly plane."
"Yes."
"According to a two thousand-year-old rumour."
"We don't have a lot of choices, Buffy." Angel lifted his hand and scratched the base of his neck. "Anya has no reason to believe the rumours are false."
Okay. 5am. She was being deliberately argumentative. Buffy passed her own hand wearily over her face.
"I know." She sighed. "It just sounds like trying to find a needle in a haystack."
"It is." He said. "Except the needle is microscopic and the universe is the haystack." Then quickly, he added "I'm confident they'll find him. I'm just not sure how long it will take them."
The same picture of the old man's sad face flashed in front of Buffy's eyes. She winced.
"We only have six days before this thing hits the fan." She murmured. "I don't even know if Faith has six days."
Funny, she thought to herself. Even when she tried to think of the bigger picture, it all seemed to come back to Faith.
"What is she seeing?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
And there it was again - the question. Inviting her to share a burden that wasn't hers. For a moment, Buffy rationalized that perhaps Angel already knew - that his relationship with Faith would have extended to some, if not all of her past. She looked up at him expectantly, searching for the glimmer of that would sit behind his pupils... that would tell her he had seen it too.
But all she saw was a soft concern, one that comes from a good friend who wants to know, but doesn't.
She dropped her eyes, and shook her head.
"Angel, this doesn't feel right." She whispered. "I can't do this. I shouldn't be seeing these things."
There was no sign of disappointment, or surprise she didn't answer his question. Just a small nod..
"Why?" He asked softly. "Because of the past?"
"Yes because of the past." Buffy's eyebrows flicked upwards. "You can't exactly call our history `sharing caring'."
"Not sharing, no."
She furrowed her eyebrows at his omission of the second word. "Or caring, Angel."
"I'm not sure about that."
What would have normally disintegrated into a shouting match fizzled at the soft expelling of a sigh from Buffy's lips. "We hated each other. We tried to kill each other. Several times." She shook her head. "Have you forgotten?"
"No, I haven't forgotten." Angel said, resting his fingertips on Buffy's arm.
"Then-" She waved her hand in a random pattern, indicating for Angel to `join the dots' himself.
"Did you care about Faith?"
Uh. wrong dots.
"Of course I did." She said. "Until she decided to betray us and destroy the world."
"Really?"
Frustration flashed across Buffy's face. "You were there Angel. You saw what she tried to do."
"That's not what I meant." His fingers slipped away. Buffy looked up at him, momentarily confused. Then she nodded.
"Did I stop caring about her." She closed her eyes, the hurt still fresh in her heart.
Someone had once told her that you could never truly hate a person you hadn't once cared about. They were the only ones who could truly hurt you - take your insides and twist them around until you couldn't breathe with the pain of it all. Faith had done that to Buffy. so many times had bombarded her pillar of trust, pulling it down into dusty rubble at her feet.
And Buffy had hated her for it. So much so it consumed her until she had tried to take Faith's life.
But even still, when she found out Faith was out of prison, underneath the fear and concern was still something soft. something warm that felt, at the very least, happy for her.
It was only now that Buffy was giving that part of her more voice.
"No." She whispered, finally opening her eyes and blinking through a sheen of tears. "No I didn't."
"Then you're wrong, Buffy." One corner of Angel's mouth turned up in a faint, lop-sided smile. "Of all people, you're the only one who could be seeing this."
Buffy made a face "Nobody should be seeing this." She snapped. "There's nobody right to see this. Angel... if Faith finds out- " She shook her head, glancing at the ceiling. "-it won't matter. With who she is. all she's seen-" Her eyes darted back to Angel. "I couldn't imagine how it would feel to know someone had been in my head watching all the time."
"Buffy I won't lie to you." Angel placed his other palm against the bench, tensing up his body in an external show of his sudden discomfort at the suggestion. "I hope she never finds out." Then he let out a short breath and shifted his weight. "But we don't know enough to be sure she won't."
"Come to my funeral?"
Angel laughed softly, and took a step back.
"I'm going to see how the others are going." He said, as he moved towards the frame dividing the kitchen from the lounge room.
Buffy didn't need to ask again. The truth was, nobody really knew what would happen. That had been the attraction of Faith for so long - the unpredictable streak in her that left everybody guessing. However, there was little doubt in anybody's mind that if and when Faith did find out, the storm, in whatever form it took, would be utterly ferocious.
Angel paused.
"Don't forget, Buffy." He said, turning his head only slightly - enough perhaps that she would appear in his peripheral vision.. "- that she cares about you too."