Her arm was burning by the time they finally made it back to the hotel room. Partly from exertion – the other barn had been empty, but a nest of vampires were… or rather, had been lairing in the farmhouse. They'd managed to take them out without any more serious injuries, but it had left them both bruised, and scraped a little, and sweaty. The sweat had managed to get under the temporary bandages on her arm, and the salt in it had turned the raw sting of the lizard demons scratches into a burning agony.
"You go through first, I've seen how you keep rubbing at your arm. It's not going to help it, but a shower, ointment, and new bandages might." Mort looked tired, but mostly intact. He waved her towards the bathroom, swaying a little as he did. "I'm just going to go fall down. Wake me up if you need help with the bandages?"
Faith sort of nodded, and made her way into the bathroom. The hot water felt good, almost but not quite intolerably hot as it sprayed over her sore muscles. God, had Slaying always been this exhausting, or was she still trying to get back into condition after her coma? The downside was the way that the soap stung when it got onto one of the many scrapes or cuts, causing her to swear and try to rinse it away.
The room was quiet by the time she finished her shower. Clad only in a tank top and a pair of underwear, she peeked out into the semi darkness, wondering just why it was so quiet. Mort had stretched on his bed, laying on his stomach, his back probably sore from going through that barn wall. He wasn't moving, and there was a rhythmic noise, sort of a gurgling sound that emerged. "Guess he was serious about going over and falling down, poor guy looks exhausted."
Edging closer, she pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing dark mottled bruises and a few scrapes. That had to be painful, and had probably been the result of the barn wall. He hadn't really said much, which sort of made her feel guilty for taking him along. Was she going to get him killed helping her? But he'd said that he wanted to help, surely that meant she wasn't making him do something that he didn't want to, wasn't forcing him into danger.
She settled into her own bed, wondering if sleep would come, and if it did, what she would dream about. She lay there in the darkness, her eyes trying to see swirls of color, hints of shapes. Twitching at every loud car, the occasional squeal of tires or creak of the floor in the hallway. Eventually, her tension ebbed away, and Faith slipped into sleep.
Images danced through her mind, fragments of the past, wrestling the alligator of one particularly odd Master Vampire blending into the one real wrestling show that she'd been to – a taping of the World Wrestling Federation back when she was no more than twelve. A series of guys, trying to figure out why she seemed so confident, so certain of herself when they were sure that she was no more than a cheap tramp, the sort of girl that you go visit on Friday night and ignore Monday morning. Images of demons, which somehow twisted into another wrestling show, only this time, all of the wrestlers were demons, and there would often be blood and gore in the ring.
Suddenly, there was a hand at her elbow, tugging her away from the arena. "You aren't supposed to be on the sidelines of life, Faith."
She looked over, feeling intense shock at the sight of Mellie. Her hair, that sort of oak hued mass was in her habitual loose pony tail, a few wisps having escaped, shimmered with only the proper colors, untainted by blood or bone. Her hazel eyes hinted at good humor, but they were currently serious.
"But Mellie, you're dead." The soft words emerged before she could stop them.
Her watcher sighed, shoulders drooping slightly. "Yes, and I must say that it was a remarkably painful way to go. But death is not always the end, you've seen more than enough to know that already, my girl. The soul is not so fragile as the flesh. I can't be checking in all the time, but I wanted to have a few words. Just a little bit. I'm not allowed to stay very long, or I would stay much longer, but…"
Faith gave her Watcher a hug, the tears prickling at her eyes. "I've missed you, Mellie."
"I've missed you to, Faith." Mellie hugged back, her grip firm and hearty. "Now, as I said, you're a Slayer. That means you don't just stand by through life, watching things, that's for Watchers to do. You go out and do things. Help people, save them from dangers that hey can't fight."
"Mellie, where do mutants fit into things?" Faith had to ask.
"Well, the majority of mutants are humans, a couple random changes doesn't change that, sweetie. But… here's the important thing. Humans aren't the only species that hold mutations. You've heard about two headed snakes and albino squirrels, well… it extends into the demon circles as well. They can also produce mutants. And mutants can be turned into vampires." Mellie looked serious, and worried.
Suddenly, they were walking through a grassy meadow, speckled with bright flowers. "It isn't the job of a Slayer to worry about evolution, or the political impact of mutants on society. You are supposed to protect the helpless from dangers that they aren't capable of fighting. This means defending mutants from vampires, or saving children from falling buildings if it comes up. It certainly doesn't mean listening to those yellow banded idiots who think that… well, I digress. You aren't quite like everyone else, Faith. Destiny has a purpose for you, and it wasn't to become the top hit-man of an aspiring demon. Remember that."
She looked at Mellie, fearing to see disappointment in those eyes. "I'm sorry about that."
"Faith, everyone has a few things in their past that they aren't proud of. I tried to run away from home and join a rock band once. We were terrible, or else I would never have become a Watcher, but I think the worst part of that was the god-awful haircut I had for a few months. It's happened, and we can't change it, but I hope that you learned a bit from it." Mellie looked at her, eyes sad, but lacking anger.
"I think so, but Mellie, why did everything in Sunydale just…" Faith let the words falter, uncertain how to describe that nightmarish mess.
"Into every life, a little rain must fall." Mellie's voice was growing faint, and her image was fading, the colors dimming, the whole image going translucent. "But Slayers were not truly intended to stand alone."
"Mellie?" Faith woke up, her face damp with tears, reaching towards her watcher, the image of Mellie's face still dancing in her mind. "Mellie? Are you… ohh, Mellie…"
But there was no guiding pool of wisdom waiting in the silence, no wry voice telling her exactly how to deal with the problems of her life. The only answer was the sound of Mort's even breathing as he slept.
end part 10.
Faith knew that she'd never be able to just flop back onto the bed and drift back to sleep after that. Besides, the bits of sunlight slipping past the blinds made it clear that it was actually daytime, so she could use that as an excuse not to sleep. Or more honestly, not to toss and turn on the bed, questions dancing in her mind as the bruises and scrapes pained her body. She pulled on clothing, and started packing their things, making certain that they had everything, not that that was a large collection.
"Faith? What… is it time to go already?" Mort's voice sounded sleepy.
She smiled at him, glad that she wasn't alone, glad that Mellie seemed to approve of her not being alone. "I think we can wait for you to have a shower. You smell like sweat, Mort."
"Yeah, yeah… I can feel the love." He grinned, slowly climbing from the bed, fumbling for some clean clothing before staggering to the bathroom. "Any chance of you getting us some breakfast before we head for the hills?"
"We can stop at that waffle place on the way out of town. This place is just… I've had enough, and we've killed all the baddies." She paused, considering that statement carefully. "We've killed all the demons and vamps, anyhow. Not supposed to kill the human baddies, that way is prison."
The sound of the shower muffled his words a bit. "Waffles? Right, that'll work."
After a last check to make certain they hadn't missed anything, they were out the door, fastening their possessions to the rebuilt motorcycle. Faith ran her hand over the dark gray metal, the faded leather of the seat. "All we have to do now is hope that it runs."
"It will." Mort looked at her, his dark eyes intense. "I can do mechanical things, Faith. It will run."
It did indeed run, and actually sounded smoother and more consistent than most motorcycles that Faith had heard before. It didn't have a deep, intimidating growl like a Harley, but it wasn't a little whining buzz like those pitiful little bicycles with an engine. Faith smiled against his back as she wrapped her arms around Mort. This was definitely better than Greyhound.
They had breakfast, waffles and bacon and juice, savoring the meal and the fact that they didn't plan of fighting anything that day. Just… travel. "We're just going to go… I'll know when to stop. Sort of a feeling, you know?"
Mort had nodded, swallowing a mouthful of waffles and syrup before he spoke. "It's occasionally good not to have a detailed travel plan. Keeps people from finding out and skipping ahead to ambush you."
"There is that." Faith sighed, almost hating the fact that something like that was so probable in her life. She looked at him, not quite certain how to put it into words, but wondering if he had the same feeling. "Do you ever… Does it get to you? That we aren't trying to do anything wrong, and still…"
"Yeah. They still hate, still fear, still go after us. I hate it. But there's not a damn thing that I can do to make it just stop. Maybe over time, but do we have that time? If things ever get so that different doesn't always gather fear, will we even still be alive to see it?" His eyes were full of questions and sorrow and old anger.
Faith thought for a moment about the life of a Slayer, about all the dangers that they'd face, had already faced. "Probably not."
"And on that cheerful note, let's get a move on it." He stood up, dropping some money on the table.
"Sounds good, we're out of here." Faith slid out of the booth, feeling restless and sad and frustrated. Sometimes, people could just be so… But then, wasn't she the same way? Hadn't she pushed people away, ignored their advances? Maybe some of them had only wanted to use her, but Giles had only wanted to help, maybe Wesley too. And Willow and Xander had wanted to be her friends, even if she did feel like they were comparing her to B all the time. How would things be if she'd become part of the group?
She shook her head, not wanting to get lost in 'what if's again. Mellie had been right – you can't change the past. It didn't matter how things could have been, they weren't. This was what she had to live with, and maybe it wasn't that bad.
Soon, she was once again clinging to Mort, leaning against his back as the wind tugged at her hair and roared in her ears. All her worries and what if's were blown away, and for a brief time, all she did was just live. Just be Faith, and experience the moment.
End part 11.
"You go through first, I've seen how you keep rubbing at your arm. It's not going to help it, but a shower, ointment, and new bandages might." Mort looked tired, but mostly intact. He waved her towards the bathroom, swaying a little as he did. "I'm just going to go fall down. Wake me up if you need help with the bandages?"
Faith sort of nodded, and made her way into the bathroom. The hot water felt good, almost but not quite intolerably hot as it sprayed over her sore muscles. God, had Slaying always been this exhausting, or was she still trying to get back into condition after her coma? The downside was the way that the soap stung when it got onto one of the many scrapes or cuts, causing her to swear and try to rinse it away.
The room was quiet by the time she finished her shower. Clad only in a tank top and a pair of underwear, she peeked out into the semi darkness, wondering just why it was so quiet. Mort had stretched on his bed, laying on his stomach, his back probably sore from going through that barn wall. He wasn't moving, and there was a rhythmic noise, sort of a gurgling sound that emerged. "Guess he was serious about going over and falling down, poor guy looks exhausted."
Edging closer, she pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing dark mottled bruises and a few scrapes. That had to be painful, and had probably been the result of the barn wall. He hadn't really said much, which sort of made her feel guilty for taking him along. Was she going to get him killed helping her? But he'd said that he wanted to help, surely that meant she wasn't making him do something that he didn't want to, wasn't forcing him into danger.
She settled into her own bed, wondering if sleep would come, and if it did, what she would dream about. She lay there in the darkness, her eyes trying to see swirls of color, hints of shapes. Twitching at every loud car, the occasional squeal of tires or creak of the floor in the hallway. Eventually, her tension ebbed away, and Faith slipped into sleep.
Images danced through her mind, fragments of the past, wrestling the alligator of one particularly odd Master Vampire blending into the one real wrestling show that she'd been to – a taping of the World Wrestling Federation back when she was no more than twelve. A series of guys, trying to figure out why she seemed so confident, so certain of herself when they were sure that she was no more than a cheap tramp, the sort of girl that you go visit on Friday night and ignore Monday morning. Images of demons, which somehow twisted into another wrestling show, only this time, all of the wrestlers were demons, and there would often be blood and gore in the ring.
Suddenly, there was a hand at her elbow, tugging her away from the arena. "You aren't supposed to be on the sidelines of life, Faith."
She looked over, feeling intense shock at the sight of Mellie. Her hair, that sort of oak hued mass was in her habitual loose pony tail, a few wisps having escaped, shimmered with only the proper colors, untainted by blood or bone. Her hazel eyes hinted at good humor, but they were currently serious.
"But Mellie, you're dead." The soft words emerged before she could stop them.
Her watcher sighed, shoulders drooping slightly. "Yes, and I must say that it was a remarkably painful way to go. But death is not always the end, you've seen more than enough to know that already, my girl. The soul is not so fragile as the flesh. I can't be checking in all the time, but I wanted to have a few words. Just a little bit. I'm not allowed to stay very long, or I would stay much longer, but…"
Faith gave her Watcher a hug, the tears prickling at her eyes. "I've missed you, Mellie."
"I've missed you to, Faith." Mellie hugged back, her grip firm and hearty. "Now, as I said, you're a Slayer. That means you don't just stand by through life, watching things, that's for Watchers to do. You go out and do things. Help people, save them from dangers that hey can't fight."
"Mellie, where do mutants fit into things?" Faith had to ask.
"Well, the majority of mutants are humans, a couple random changes doesn't change that, sweetie. But… here's the important thing. Humans aren't the only species that hold mutations. You've heard about two headed snakes and albino squirrels, well… it extends into the demon circles as well. They can also produce mutants. And mutants can be turned into vampires." Mellie looked serious, and worried.
Suddenly, they were walking through a grassy meadow, speckled with bright flowers. "It isn't the job of a Slayer to worry about evolution, or the political impact of mutants on society. You are supposed to protect the helpless from dangers that they aren't capable of fighting. This means defending mutants from vampires, or saving children from falling buildings if it comes up. It certainly doesn't mean listening to those yellow banded idiots who think that… well, I digress. You aren't quite like everyone else, Faith. Destiny has a purpose for you, and it wasn't to become the top hit-man of an aspiring demon. Remember that."
She looked at Mellie, fearing to see disappointment in those eyes. "I'm sorry about that."
"Faith, everyone has a few things in their past that they aren't proud of. I tried to run away from home and join a rock band once. We were terrible, or else I would never have become a Watcher, but I think the worst part of that was the god-awful haircut I had for a few months. It's happened, and we can't change it, but I hope that you learned a bit from it." Mellie looked at her, eyes sad, but lacking anger.
"I think so, but Mellie, why did everything in Sunydale just…" Faith let the words falter, uncertain how to describe that nightmarish mess.
"Into every life, a little rain must fall." Mellie's voice was growing faint, and her image was fading, the colors dimming, the whole image going translucent. "But Slayers were not truly intended to stand alone."
"Mellie?" Faith woke up, her face damp with tears, reaching towards her watcher, the image of Mellie's face still dancing in her mind. "Mellie? Are you… ohh, Mellie…"
But there was no guiding pool of wisdom waiting in the silence, no wry voice telling her exactly how to deal with the problems of her life. The only answer was the sound of Mort's even breathing as he slept.
end part 10.
Faith knew that she'd never be able to just flop back onto the bed and drift back to sleep after that. Besides, the bits of sunlight slipping past the blinds made it clear that it was actually daytime, so she could use that as an excuse not to sleep. Or more honestly, not to toss and turn on the bed, questions dancing in her mind as the bruises and scrapes pained her body. She pulled on clothing, and started packing their things, making certain that they had everything, not that that was a large collection.
"Faith? What… is it time to go already?" Mort's voice sounded sleepy.
She smiled at him, glad that she wasn't alone, glad that Mellie seemed to approve of her not being alone. "I think we can wait for you to have a shower. You smell like sweat, Mort."
"Yeah, yeah… I can feel the love." He grinned, slowly climbing from the bed, fumbling for some clean clothing before staggering to the bathroom. "Any chance of you getting us some breakfast before we head for the hills?"
"We can stop at that waffle place on the way out of town. This place is just… I've had enough, and we've killed all the baddies." She paused, considering that statement carefully. "We've killed all the demons and vamps, anyhow. Not supposed to kill the human baddies, that way is prison."
The sound of the shower muffled his words a bit. "Waffles? Right, that'll work."
After a last check to make certain they hadn't missed anything, they were out the door, fastening their possessions to the rebuilt motorcycle. Faith ran her hand over the dark gray metal, the faded leather of the seat. "All we have to do now is hope that it runs."
"It will." Mort looked at her, his dark eyes intense. "I can do mechanical things, Faith. It will run."
It did indeed run, and actually sounded smoother and more consistent than most motorcycles that Faith had heard before. It didn't have a deep, intimidating growl like a Harley, but it wasn't a little whining buzz like those pitiful little bicycles with an engine. Faith smiled against his back as she wrapped her arms around Mort. This was definitely better than Greyhound.
They had breakfast, waffles and bacon and juice, savoring the meal and the fact that they didn't plan of fighting anything that day. Just… travel. "We're just going to go… I'll know when to stop. Sort of a feeling, you know?"
Mort had nodded, swallowing a mouthful of waffles and syrup before he spoke. "It's occasionally good not to have a detailed travel plan. Keeps people from finding out and skipping ahead to ambush you."
"There is that." Faith sighed, almost hating the fact that something like that was so probable in her life. She looked at him, not quite certain how to put it into words, but wondering if he had the same feeling. "Do you ever… Does it get to you? That we aren't trying to do anything wrong, and still…"
"Yeah. They still hate, still fear, still go after us. I hate it. But there's not a damn thing that I can do to make it just stop. Maybe over time, but do we have that time? If things ever get so that different doesn't always gather fear, will we even still be alive to see it?" His eyes were full of questions and sorrow and old anger.
Faith thought for a moment about the life of a Slayer, about all the dangers that they'd face, had already faced. "Probably not."
"And on that cheerful note, let's get a move on it." He stood up, dropping some money on the table.
"Sounds good, we're out of here." Faith slid out of the booth, feeling restless and sad and frustrated. Sometimes, people could just be so… But then, wasn't she the same way? Hadn't she pushed people away, ignored their advances? Maybe some of them had only wanted to use her, but Giles had only wanted to help, maybe Wesley too. And Willow and Xander had wanted to be her friends, even if she did feel like they were comparing her to B all the time. How would things be if she'd become part of the group?
She shook her head, not wanting to get lost in 'what if's again. Mellie had been right – you can't change the past. It didn't matter how things could have been, they weren't. This was what she had to live with, and maybe it wasn't that bad.
Soon, she was once again clinging to Mort, leaning against his back as the wind tugged at her hair and roared in her ears. All her worries and what if's were blown away, and for a brief time, all she did was just live. Just be Faith, and experience the moment.
End part 11.