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beer_good_foamyA couple of letters written at some point during 'Not Fade Away' set things in motion for the ones still alive.
This started as a one-shot and suddenly yelled out for more chapters. Part of the reason is that I really love Faith and Wesley's fucked-up Slayer/Watcher relationship and wanted to explore the fallout of Wesley's part in "Not Fade Away". Problem is, I'm stuck. I hope to finish this some day.
Pairing: Faith, Wesley (non-romantic)
Chapters: 3 (WIP)
Rating: PG13 (some naughty language)
Testament
1. New Watcher
Dear Giles,
I am sorry for troubling you, but as the head of the new Watcher's Council and my former mentor, I feel it is only right that you should be the recipient of this.
If the US postal service does what it has promised, you should receive this letter together with a rather large package containing my watcher's diaries as well as some other texts I have written over the years. I expect the earliest entries are good for no more than a laugh, but some of my later findings may be of use for future daemonology researchers. Of course, not having had access to the Council's library for some time, it is possible that I have merely been re-inventing fire, as they say. Nevertheless, feel free to do with these writings as you will. I have been holding on to them for some time, but it seems I may be about to leave on a journey where I shall have trouble bringing them with me.
One volume you may find of particular interest is the newest one. It is not really finished (it certainly needs editing) but I believe it contains some previously unknown information about the oldest daemon races which may still prove useful. (Consider the irony: it would seem I am a watcher of sorts again. At least I have a new charge to teach the ways of the world, although I am not exactly sure who is teaching whom.) In any event, it is in the binder marked “Fred”.
I am also including a book from my private collection. It is not a first edition or a priceless rarity or anything, simply a paperback I picked up at some point, but I have read it several times and it remains one of my favourites: “Norwegian Wood” by Haruki Murakami. In the words of Francis Bacon, "some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested." This is one of the latter, and if you have not read it, I heartily recommend it.
I hope everyone is well at your end. If you are in contact with Faith, I would appreciate it if you could pass on the attached envelope.
Give my regards to my father if you see him.
Sincerely,
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Note: This letter and all except one of the books included with it are archived in the new Watcher's Council library. The letter to Faith Lehane has not been found, and it is assumed that Mr Giles passed it on as requested.
- Dawn Summers, Librarian
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2. Step Away From The Glass
Faith flinched inside as a police car passed her. She knew not to let them bother her – at least as far as anyone could see; after all, it had been over a year since she broke out and so far she'd only had one close call. She was on the other side of the country, one of thousands of wanted fugitives in the US, and as long as she lay low the chances of a cop looking at her and going "Hey, isn't that chick wanted for murder?" were pretty slim.
Still, she flinched.
When she saw another black'n'white heading the other way (gee, two police cars in five minutes in downtown Manhattan, what are the odds... calm DOWN, girl) she ducked into a bar for a breather. It was just her and the bartender, which suited her just fine.
"Double vodka. Plenty ice."
"ID."
"I stole a copy of And Justice For All the day it was released. Just give me a drink, OK babe?"
The bartender shrugged and poured her what she'd asked for. This girl seemed like a type 14 customer to him: the kind who desperately needs to talk to someone but doesn’t really want to, and shouldn’t be too crowded. "I'm Jim, by the way."
"Good for you." Faith pointedly looked past him into the mirror behind the bar as she took the first mouthful. Not that he didn't seem like a nice guy, but... funny, with all the practice she'd had at being alone over the years, she still felt empty now that she wasn't part of the Slayer gang anymore. It had been her decision; they never said anything to her face about it, but she knew having a wanted murderer on the team was a problem. Everyone had to be extra careful at all times, and simple things like buying a plane ticket or renting a motel room became almost impossible; not very convenient for a mobile demon-hunting team. So like so many before her she’d gone to New York to disappear in the crowd, with no one but Giles knowing how to get in touch with her (usually through some outsider, so there was no connection) and hunted alone leaving as few witnesses as possible. And to think that her and B had actually been... OK, getting along might be saying too much, but...
"This seat taken, sweetheart?"
She was awakened from her thoughts as a man planted himself on the barstool next to her without waiting for an answer. Forty-ish, balding, overweight... and obviously bent on more than just conversation. Great, that's all I needed right now.
"So, what's your poison, honey? Mind if ol' Billy Bob buys you a drink?"
Is this dude for real? Faith felt a rising urge to just slam his face down on the counter, but reminded herself that she was low-profile girl these days and just clenched her teeth and looked away.
"Come on, darling. Don't be like that. I know you'd like to have some fun..." It was so out of the blue it took Faith a second to register what was happening: Billy Bob had actually reached out and grabbed her boobs. The old Faith would have sent him to the emergency room. The new Faith almost did, but reigned herself in at the last second and instead seized him by one wrist just hard enough to not snap it, part of her feeling way too good about hearing him gasp in pain as he pulled back his other hand so quickly he got caught on her jacket and almost ripped it off.
"Everything OK here?" Jim stepped a little closer as the guy struggled to free himself; in 20 years of bartending, he’d had to intervene more than once to stop a fight. Usually more than once a night. Usually over women not half as good-looking as this one.
"Five by five", Faith remarked casually as she wrenched the fatso’s hand from her chest and slammed it down on the counter. "Mr Three-seconds-from-castration here was just about to leave... ain't that right?" She gave his wrist an extra little squeeze and then let go. He was off the barstool and out the door so fast she was almost disappointed.
No rest for the wicked. Might as well pay up and leave. She reached for the wallet in her inside pocket, and found something else as well: an envelope that hadn't been there before the pervert stuck his hands inside her jacket. Whaddyaknow, one of Giles's couriers... What is it about carrying other people's mail that attracts psychos? She looked at the envelope with her name on it and recognized the handwriting. Rather than paying, she ordered another drink and then read Wesley’s letter.
From over by the register, Jim watched her read and saw her face harden from annoyance to shock to grief.
"Bad news?"
Faith didn't answer for a while, just sat there staring at the counter. Then, just as Jim was about to move closer she crumpled up the letter in her fist. She lifted her glass and toasted thin air, downed the vodka in one gulp and then hurled the glass past the bartender's ear, smashing a couple of bottles and the mirror.
Jim instinctively ducked behind the bar as he was showered with broken glass. It probably saved... maybe not his life, but at least his health, since the glass was quickly followed by two of the bolted-down barstools. He cowered behind the bar as Faith went apeshit on his furniture. When he looked up ten minutes later, she was gone, as was most of his bar; chairs broken, pictures smashed, the jukebox thrown halfway across the room... Jim picked up the phone, which turned out to be broken as well, and then headed outside to find a cop.
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3. Ready To Cut Loose?
Giles opened his eyes on his alarm clock. 3.11 AM. The noise that had woken him up was someone banging at the door of his apartment, which instantly led to equal parts worry and hope; he hadn't slept well recently, and so he'd given specific orders not to be disturbed unless it was really important. Maybe it was good news. He put on his bathrobe as he made his way towards the door, looked through the peephole - Right, so not good news then - and opened.
"Hello, Faith."
"Hiya."
He went back to sleep. That's usually what happens when a pissed-off Slayer punches a completely unprepared middle-aged man.
"You ever get the feeling you done something before, G?"
At first, Giles wasn't sure where he was or why he couldn't move. Then he opened his eyes on Faith, casually leaning back on her chair with her feet up on his dinner table, giving herself a manicure with his sharpest steak knife in a casual display of Slayer abilities. To anyone who didn't know her, she seemed calm. But he knew that smile, that cruel look in her eyes... only she seemed distracted somehow. Like she was making herself do this.
"I mean, I think there's a word for it. You know, when you're sure this exact thing has happened to you already, and you're just repeating it?"
"Déjà vu."
"Right. I keep forgetting how clever you are, Giles!" She pointed with the knife at the ropes that tied him to the chair. " Me and Wesley did this once. I tied him up and tortured him for, like, hours. Beat him, cut him, burned him... weird how I couldn't break him, though." Faith let her legs slide off the table and leaned forward, staring him down. “Wouldn't it be fun to see if you're as tough as he was?”
He didn't look away. "For your sake, I really wish you wouldn't. But if you think you need to... déjà vu. I've been tortured before, by people far more experienced than you."
"Oooh, that sounds like a challenge!" She flashed him what was obviously intended as a bright smile... which faded quickly. "But I'm not gonna. We're just gonna have a talk, where one of us asks the questions while the clever one gets to sit in that chair until he answers them. Starting with an explanation of what happened in LA two weeks ago, and it better be good."
Giles sighed and winced at the pain in his jaw. "We... we don't know everything that happened. It seems Angel and his colleagues went after the circle of the Black Thorn, one of the most powerful demon cabals in the world, and as far as we can tell they wiped them out. But they paid for it. There was a huge battle, and... well, apart from Wesley, we can't be sure."
"So Wesley's really..."
"Dead." Giles watched Faith sink back in her chair, her jaw muscles working, and found himself wishing - not for the first time in the last two weeks - that he didn't have to be the one delivering the bad news. "Someone brought his body back to his flat, arranged his weapons around him and left the door open so he would be found. As for the rest, we have no idea. Spike called Buffy just before the battle started, but all we know about the outcome is that there were an awful lot of dead demons. But the fact that we've been unable to locate or contact them since then would suggest that..."
"They're all dead," Faith mumbled. Giles had never been told exactly what happened between Faith and Angel, but he knew they shared a bond of some sort. Even if he hadn't, the pained expression on her face spoke volumes. For a second he thought she would... then she forced it back and was all cold business again. "OK. So we know who was there. Let's talk about who wasn't."
"Excuse me?"
"You know what I mean." She pointed the knife straight at his face, raising her voice. "You command the biggest demon-fighting squad since Army Of Darkness, G. Exactly how many of your girls were sent to help them?"
"We couldn't..."
"Bullshit! You've got your witches and seers and secret agents and I know they asked you for help. Wesley wrote -"
"For once in your life, will you SHUT UP AND LISTEN?" Giles was just as surprised as Faith when he snapped at her, and at the ragged edge in his voice. He tried to calm down again, and looked away from her. "We did receive a request - or perhaps I should say a demand - for help some time before all of this. What I told Angel then still stands: the Watcher's Council does not help the CEO of Wolfram & Hart, no matter what his credentials. Surely you remember - they were the ones who hired YOU to kill Angel. I've no doubt that Angel thought he was doing good, but neither do I doubt that he was being used. That battle was a suicide mission, Faith, a desperate last stand, and they knew it. Sending Slayers to die for a lost cause would have been senseless. I'm not proud of that decision, but it was the right one."
"Right. And it just happened that the people who paid for that decision were Angel, Wesley and Spike - none of who was ever on your best friends list."
"If you're suggesting -" He almost snapped at her again, but she didn't give him a chance.
"I ain't suggesting shit. I'm saying that you sat on your bony British butt and let them die without lifting a finger! And I can't let you get away with that." Faith was standing up now, shouting, and her grip on the knife had tightened. For a while, it was a staring contest, both having said too much, neither willing to back down. Again, it was Giles who looked away first.
"Faith... I know this is hard. But I also know you. You've worked long and hard to make up for what you've done in the past. You do not want to step across that line again."
Faith kept staring at him for a second or two. Then suddenly she was in his face, the knife - THUCK! - buried several inches deep in the table right over his lap. "Well then quit fucking MOVING the line on me! You can't..." And once again she reeled herself in, pushing the fury down and turning her back on him, her knuckles white around the knifehandle.
"I... I did what I had to do, Faith. We all make our choices and live with them. They understood that. I know you want someone to blame, but somewhere inside you understand that too."
When Faith spoke again, her voice had lost all fire and was shaking badly.
"You don't sell your friends out, Giles. THAT'S the line you don't cross. The one that puts you on probation for the rest of your life. 'Cept it only applies to some people, I guess? The good ones get away with anything, but..."
Giles grimaced as he thought back on the last two weeks. Tell that to Buffy. Faith sat down on his couch, reached into her pocket and produced a crumpled and torn piece of paper. She didn't read it, just held on to it as she wiped at her eyes with the back of the hand holding the knife.
"H-he believed in me. God, I ruined the guy's LIFE, and he still... him and Angel were the only ones who ever did."
"Then prove them right."
"I'm sorry, Giles, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do this... any of this..."
They sat there, two lonely people, both looking at the knife as Faith turned it over and over in her hands. Then she got to her feet and walked over to Giles.
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This started as a one-shot and suddenly yelled out for more chapters. Part of the reason is that I really love Faith and Wesley's fucked-up Slayer/Watcher relationship and wanted to explore the fallout of Wesley's part in "Not Fade Away". Problem is, I'm stuck. I hope to finish this some day.
Pairing: Faith, Wesley (non-romantic)
Chapters: 3 (WIP)
Rating: PG13 (some naughty language)
Testament
1. New Watcher
Dear Giles,
I am sorry for troubling you, but as the head of the new Watcher's Council and my former mentor, I feel it is only right that you should be the recipient of this.
If the US postal service does what it has promised, you should receive this letter together with a rather large package containing my watcher's diaries as well as some other texts I have written over the years. I expect the earliest entries are good for no more than a laugh, but some of my later findings may be of use for future daemonology researchers. Of course, not having had access to the Council's library for some time, it is possible that I have merely been re-inventing fire, as they say. Nevertheless, feel free to do with these writings as you will. I have been holding on to them for some time, but it seems I may be about to leave on a journey where I shall have trouble bringing them with me.
One volume you may find of particular interest is the newest one. It is not really finished (it certainly needs editing) but I believe it contains some previously unknown information about the oldest daemon races which may still prove useful. (Consider the irony: it would seem I am a watcher of sorts again. At least I have a new charge to teach the ways of the world, although I am not exactly sure who is teaching whom.) In any event, it is in the binder marked “Fred”.
I am also including a book from my private collection. It is not a first edition or a priceless rarity or anything, simply a paperback I picked up at some point, but I have read it several times and it remains one of my favourites: “Norwegian Wood” by Haruki Murakami. In the words of Francis Bacon, "some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested." This is one of the latter, and if you have not read it, I heartily recommend it.
I hope everyone is well at your end. If you are in contact with Faith, I would appreciate it if you could pass on the attached envelope.
Give my regards to my father if you see him.
Sincerely,
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
Note: This letter and all except one of the books included with it are archived in the new Watcher's Council library. The letter to Faith Lehane has not been found, and it is assumed that Mr Giles passed it on as requested.
- Dawn Summers, Librarian
Back to top
2. Step Away From The Glass
Faith flinched inside as a police car passed her. She knew not to let them bother her – at least as far as anyone could see; after all, it had been over a year since she broke out and so far she'd only had one close call. She was on the other side of the country, one of thousands of wanted fugitives in the US, and as long as she lay low the chances of a cop looking at her and going "Hey, isn't that chick wanted for murder?" were pretty slim.
Still, she flinched.
When she saw another black'n'white heading the other way (gee, two police cars in five minutes in downtown Manhattan, what are the odds... calm DOWN, girl) she ducked into a bar for a breather. It was just her and the bartender, which suited her just fine.
"Double vodka. Plenty ice."
"ID."
"I stole a copy of And Justice For All the day it was released. Just give me a drink, OK babe?"
The bartender shrugged and poured her what she'd asked for. This girl seemed like a type 14 customer to him: the kind who desperately needs to talk to someone but doesn’t really want to, and shouldn’t be too crowded. "I'm Jim, by the way."
"Good for you." Faith pointedly looked past him into the mirror behind the bar as she took the first mouthful. Not that he didn't seem like a nice guy, but... funny, with all the practice she'd had at being alone over the years, she still felt empty now that she wasn't part of the Slayer gang anymore. It had been her decision; they never said anything to her face about it, but she knew having a wanted murderer on the team was a problem. Everyone had to be extra careful at all times, and simple things like buying a plane ticket or renting a motel room became almost impossible; not very convenient for a mobile demon-hunting team. So like so many before her she’d gone to New York to disappear in the crowd, with no one but Giles knowing how to get in touch with her (usually through some outsider, so there was no connection) and hunted alone leaving as few witnesses as possible. And to think that her and B had actually been... OK, getting along might be saying too much, but...
"This seat taken, sweetheart?"
She was awakened from her thoughts as a man planted himself on the barstool next to her without waiting for an answer. Forty-ish, balding, overweight... and obviously bent on more than just conversation. Great, that's all I needed right now.
"So, what's your poison, honey? Mind if ol' Billy Bob buys you a drink?"
Is this dude for real? Faith felt a rising urge to just slam his face down on the counter, but reminded herself that she was low-profile girl these days and just clenched her teeth and looked away.
"Come on, darling. Don't be like that. I know you'd like to have some fun..." It was so out of the blue it took Faith a second to register what was happening: Billy Bob had actually reached out and grabbed her boobs. The old Faith would have sent him to the emergency room. The new Faith almost did, but reigned herself in at the last second and instead seized him by one wrist just hard enough to not snap it, part of her feeling way too good about hearing him gasp in pain as he pulled back his other hand so quickly he got caught on her jacket and almost ripped it off.
"Everything OK here?" Jim stepped a little closer as the guy struggled to free himself; in 20 years of bartending, he’d had to intervene more than once to stop a fight. Usually more than once a night. Usually over women not half as good-looking as this one.
"Five by five", Faith remarked casually as she wrenched the fatso’s hand from her chest and slammed it down on the counter. "Mr Three-seconds-from-castration here was just about to leave... ain't that right?" She gave his wrist an extra little squeeze and then let go. He was off the barstool and out the door so fast she was almost disappointed.
No rest for the wicked. Might as well pay up and leave. She reached for the wallet in her inside pocket, and found something else as well: an envelope that hadn't been there before the pervert stuck his hands inside her jacket. Whaddyaknow, one of Giles's couriers... What is it about carrying other people's mail that attracts psychos? She looked at the envelope with her name on it and recognized the handwriting. Rather than paying, she ordered another drink and then read Wesley’s letter.
From over by the register, Jim watched her read and saw her face harden from annoyance to shock to grief.
"Bad news?"
Faith didn't answer for a while, just sat there staring at the counter. Then, just as Jim was about to move closer she crumpled up the letter in her fist. She lifted her glass and toasted thin air, downed the vodka in one gulp and then hurled the glass past the bartender's ear, smashing a couple of bottles and the mirror.
Jim instinctively ducked behind the bar as he was showered with broken glass. It probably saved... maybe not his life, but at least his health, since the glass was quickly followed by two of the bolted-down barstools. He cowered behind the bar as Faith went apeshit on his furniture. When he looked up ten minutes later, she was gone, as was most of his bar; chairs broken, pictures smashed, the jukebox thrown halfway across the room... Jim picked up the phone, which turned out to be broken as well, and then headed outside to find a cop.
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3. Ready To Cut Loose?
Giles opened his eyes on his alarm clock. 3.11 AM. The noise that had woken him up was someone banging at the door of his apartment, which instantly led to equal parts worry and hope; he hadn't slept well recently, and so he'd given specific orders not to be disturbed unless it was really important. Maybe it was good news. He put on his bathrobe as he made his way towards the door, looked through the peephole - Right, so not good news then - and opened.
"Hello, Faith."
"Hiya."
He went back to sleep. That's usually what happens when a pissed-off Slayer punches a completely unprepared middle-aged man.
"You ever get the feeling you done something before, G?"
At first, Giles wasn't sure where he was or why he couldn't move. Then he opened his eyes on Faith, casually leaning back on her chair with her feet up on his dinner table, giving herself a manicure with his sharpest steak knife in a casual display of Slayer abilities. To anyone who didn't know her, she seemed calm. But he knew that smile, that cruel look in her eyes... only she seemed distracted somehow. Like she was making herself do this.
"I mean, I think there's a word for it. You know, when you're sure this exact thing has happened to you already, and you're just repeating it?"
"Déjà vu."
"Right. I keep forgetting how clever you are, Giles!" She pointed with the knife at the ropes that tied him to the chair. " Me and Wesley did this once. I tied him up and tortured him for, like, hours. Beat him, cut him, burned him... weird how I couldn't break him, though." Faith let her legs slide off the table and leaned forward, staring him down. “Wouldn't it be fun to see if you're as tough as he was?”
He didn't look away. "For your sake, I really wish you wouldn't. But if you think you need to... déjà vu. I've been tortured before, by people far more experienced than you."
"Oooh, that sounds like a challenge!" She flashed him what was obviously intended as a bright smile... which faded quickly. "But I'm not gonna. We're just gonna have a talk, where one of us asks the questions while the clever one gets to sit in that chair until he answers them. Starting with an explanation of what happened in LA two weeks ago, and it better be good."
Giles sighed and winced at the pain in his jaw. "We... we don't know everything that happened. It seems Angel and his colleagues went after the circle of the Black Thorn, one of the most powerful demon cabals in the world, and as far as we can tell they wiped them out. But they paid for it. There was a huge battle, and... well, apart from Wesley, we can't be sure."
"So Wesley's really..."
"Dead." Giles watched Faith sink back in her chair, her jaw muscles working, and found himself wishing - not for the first time in the last two weeks - that he didn't have to be the one delivering the bad news. "Someone brought his body back to his flat, arranged his weapons around him and left the door open so he would be found. As for the rest, we have no idea. Spike called Buffy just before the battle started, but all we know about the outcome is that there were an awful lot of dead demons. But the fact that we've been unable to locate or contact them since then would suggest that..."
"They're all dead," Faith mumbled. Giles had never been told exactly what happened between Faith and Angel, but he knew they shared a bond of some sort. Even if he hadn't, the pained expression on her face spoke volumes. For a second he thought she would... then she forced it back and was all cold business again. "OK. So we know who was there. Let's talk about who wasn't."
"Excuse me?"
"You know what I mean." She pointed the knife straight at his face, raising her voice. "You command the biggest demon-fighting squad since Army Of Darkness, G. Exactly how many of your girls were sent to help them?"
"We couldn't..."
"Bullshit! You've got your witches and seers and secret agents and I know they asked you for help. Wesley wrote -"
"For once in your life, will you SHUT UP AND LISTEN?" Giles was just as surprised as Faith when he snapped at her, and at the ragged edge in his voice. He tried to calm down again, and looked away from her. "We did receive a request - or perhaps I should say a demand - for help some time before all of this. What I told Angel then still stands: the Watcher's Council does not help the CEO of Wolfram & Hart, no matter what his credentials. Surely you remember - they were the ones who hired YOU to kill Angel. I've no doubt that Angel thought he was doing good, but neither do I doubt that he was being used. That battle was a suicide mission, Faith, a desperate last stand, and they knew it. Sending Slayers to die for a lost cause would have been senseless. I'm not proud of that decision, but it was the right one."
"Right. And it just happened that the people who paid for that decision were Angel, Wesley and Spike - none of who was ever on your best friends list."
"If you're suggesting -" He almost snapped at her again, but she didn't give him a chance.
"I ain't suggesting shit. I'm saying that you sat on your bony British butt and let them die without lifting a finger! And I can't let you get away with that." Faith was standing up now, shouting, and her grip on the knife had tightened. For a while, it was a staring contest, both having said too much, neither willing to back down. Again, it was Giles who looked away first.
"Faith... I know this is hard. But I also know you. You've worked long and hard to make up for what you've done in the past. You do not want to step across that line again."
Faith kept staring at him for a second or two. Then suddenly she was in his face, the knife - THUCK! - buried several inches deep in the table right over his lap. "Well then quit fucking MOVING the line on me! You can't..." And once again she reeled herself in, pushing the fury down and turning her back on him, her knuckles white around the knifehandle.
"I... I did what I had to do, Faith. We all make our choices and live with them. They understood that. I know you want someone to blame, but somewhere inside you understand that too."
When Faith spoke again, her voice had lost all fire and was shaking badly.
"You don't sell your friends out, Giles. THAT'S the line you don't cross. The one that puts you on probation for the rest of your life. 'Cept it only applies to some people, I guess? The good ones get away with anything, but..."
Giles grimaced as he thought back on the last two weeks. Tell that to Buffy. Faith sat down on his couch, reached into her pocket and produced a crumpled and torn piece of paper. She didn't read it, just held on to it as she wiped at her eyes with the back of the hand holding the knife.
"H-he believed in me. God, I ruined the guy's LIFE, and he still... him and Angel were the only ones who ever did."
"Then prove them right."
"I'm sorry, Giles, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do this... any of this..."
They sat there, two lonely people, both looking at the knife as Faith turned it over and over in her hands. Then she got to her feet and walked over to Giles.
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