Chapter Sixteen.
Angel let his eyes linger on the form of the sleeping slayer for one long peaceful moment before he turned to leave. Tucking her in with a contemplative gaze, wishing her sweet dreams with one of his drawn out brooding sighs. Every night since her arrival he had done this, and every night he had wondered the same; could he really save someone that didn’t seem to want saving?
He had worked with a refusal to believe it at first. For so many years he had observed the human spirit, had watched with awe and wonder the way that it always seemed to manage to triumph, no matter the depths to which it had plummeted - but not Faith. Sure - he saw glimpses, he caught moments where her eyes had softened and her mouth had smiled, but they were the exceptions. The milliseconds that were buried beneath the hours in a day. She refused a belief in humanity. She almost delighted in tearing it down.
“…yeah, well that’s where you’re wrong. There’s no nasty thing that I could do that hasn’t been done before. People are bad Angel, people are fucked up… that’s life. Sink or swim.”
The philosophy that he had drawn out of her through a constant barrage of conversation. “You think you’re swimming, Faith?”
“What’s it matter?”
Drowning.
And to her, he could see that it didn’t matter. Or it didn’t matter to her whether it mattered to him. He wasn’t sure which. Wasn’t sure if she really was past the needing to be saved, or if she was simply hiding her desire beneath layers more intricate than any that he had previously encountered. Protecting herself from the world which she claimed was only out to get her; had only ever been out to get her.
“…Different voice, same shit. You think I never heard this crap before - oh Faith, you’re so very special, you know you could really be someone? - exact same thing my mom used to say before she’d get tanked and smack the crap out of me. Then there was good ol’ Uncle Pete… he used to love to build me up before he sent me down…”
Eyebrows all a swagger, hips rotating a suggestiveness that he didn’t need to hear. Pretty sure of the down that she meant she’d been sent to.
Angel had learnt over the last few days how much Faith could delight in the depravity of her past - almost wielding it as a new defence - her words able to twist and curse, her face able to find pleasure in the perverse. Something that had begun the more he insisted that they talk about Sunnydale.
Something which she really didn’t want to talk about.
Those were the moments that made him think of the more - of the things that existed beneath the layers - of the things which she was trying so hard to protect herself from. The only word she hadn’t mentioned, made only more ominous by its glaring absence. They had danced around it, had fleeted their feet in steps round the issue - but whereas before Faith had seemed adamant in her need to voice the name of the one that had ruined her life, now she seemed as if that one did not exist. The time when he had tried to force it, being the time that Faith allowed him to see how much her strength had improved, how close she was to complete physical recuperation.
“Buffy’s been calling again. She wants to know if you’re ready to talk…”
“I told you already…”
“You have to face up to it sometime Faith; the hurt that you caused, the people that…”
And she had flown from the sofa. Attacking him with such fury, with such pain, that for a moment he had been unable to protect himself. Inert beneath her, taking the punches.
“Shut up!” Smashing down into his face. “You think I need to hear what she has to say… you think I care about what she wants…”
He suspected that she cared a lot.
It had been another of those moments where the layers were ripped away, where the pain that she had been trying to inflict was only a reflection of the pain that shone so bright in her own eyes. The way that she had gasped to a halt - had rolled herself off of him, away from him.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Seeking refuge in the bed. Pretending at sleep that he knew she was feigning. Her face still twitching with the memories, his face still twitching with the truths that were revealed in her silences. In her punches.
And he knew that he hadn’t been wrong before. Angel had lived far too many lifetimes not to recognise the catalyst behind the slayers deadly connection - why they had grabbed so thirstily for hate - the emotion that existed just beyond the thin line. Always a suspicion, always something that had shone in the green eyes of his girl when Faith was around. Something that still shone in her green eyes now.
He tossed out another sigh as the elevator doors opened up on his empty moonlit office, as he remembered every recent pained and strained conversation that he’d been forced to have with Buffy.
“…She hasn’t mentioned me at all..? Eight days and not once? Not even a little - hey, tell Buffy I wish her dead. Or maybe a vague little list of all the really wicked cool places that she wants to hide my body parts…”
“She’s in denial Buffy, she doesn’t want to confront the thing that terrifies her. She won’t let herself confront it.”
“Great. So now I terrify her?”
“Not you, it’s not that simple. What terrifies her is the way you make her feel - maybe the way you’ve always made her feel. It would certainly explain a lot.”
She had pled ignorance for all of five seconds. Had stood before him and pulled her slayer face, had growled her slayer growl and gnashed her slayer teeth - and he had remained impassive before her. He had known that she would open up when asked; this was Buffy and he knew Buffy. He knew her heart.
When he had explained his theories, had explained a background story that she had always guessed at but never known; explained why it was that Faith needed to manifest her feelings as hatred in the extreme… then she had spoken the words that he asked for. Explained as best she could what she saw as the situation.
“You need to be straight with me Buffy, I need to know what it is that we’re dealing with. Was there ever anything between you and Faith - is there still something between you and Faith?”
“Define, ‘something’.”
“Buffy…”
“Okay - you asked. Yes. To both things. Don’t ask me the what, why or how, because honestly? I don’t have a clue. But something… maybe. Yes. Always.”
“Always?”
Unable to stop himself asking. He may have been the most mature of all men, may have had a double century of years to get a handle on an emotion as jaded as jealousy - but he still needed to ask. Silently grimacing as her eyes had dropped away from him, as she had confirmed his heart’s worst fears.
“There was always something. I didn’t mean it Angel, I sure as hell didn’t ask for it… but it was there. I could feel her. She could feel me.”
“A slayer thing, a supernatural connection?”
“No. That was different… less intense. It was like I…”
Eyes widening that time. Almost as if she had realised at the last what she was about to say - who she was going to say it to.
“What is it Buffy?”
Urging forth the words.
“It sounds weird, but I guess you could say that I… I don’t know. I craved her? It’s like she had a way to get under my skin, she made me feel different. Everything just always felt more with Faith. Do you understand?”
Of course he did.
He had smiled and nodded and swallowed down the last of his disappointment, and he had sat next to her as they spoke further of the ramifications of every denied feeling - how rejection had sought to get tied up with every other bad thing that Faith was already dealing with. How Buffy’s prominence had only ever made Faith feel less - feel worthless. How fate had twisted to make the bad stuff stain. Mistakes. Regret. Revenge. A wrestle for superiority.
“If she can beat you, then she’s no longer beneath you. She can tell herself she’s better than you, tell herself that she’s the one doing the rejecting. It makes sense for her.”
“What if I wasn’t rejecting?”
“You mean…”
“Why not? I can’t deny the way she makes me feel anymore - seems like I’m doing a pretty crappy job of hiding it from people - so why not? If that’s what it takes to make her better…”
“I never said that.”
“No, but it makes sense, right? It’s gotta make more sense than sliding a knife through her stomach.”
And maybe it made more sense to Buffy that way, but Angel still wasn’t sure that it made more sense to Faith. She seemed to want the violence, she seemed to wish that Buffy had finished the job properly the first time. She craved the comfort of the knife in her belly.
But she wouldn’t speak a word of it.
Even Angel, a vampire accustomed to more nights spent brooding than the average re-ensouled demon, was driving himself close to crazy trying to reason through everything that he knew. In one moment he could transcribe one emotion to explain one action, and in the next, totally explode his own theories with explanations for different acts. In truth he wouldn’t know anything until Faith chose to speak.
The last week and a half had seen him try everything. From the unending act of talking constantly at her, to the extreme decision to relax the binds of the Shamen, he had exhausted every possibility. He had watched from afar as she had bunkered down with Xander and a box full of comics - had tried the same technique;
“I had the original edition Batman, from when it first came out - I always liked the caped crusader - all those zany battles with evil…”
“Save your wet dreams for bedtime. I’m trying to read.”
Not given admission into the exclusive comic club. It grated a little. Especially when he had seen Andrew being accepted so graciously onto his bed to discuss whether or not some ultimate evil’s character could be redeemed by one act of complete and selfless bravery.
That was the discussion that Angel wanted to have. They were the foundations for the things that he wished to broach with Faith. Whether she was redeemable. If she was ready to step out of the darkness.
Kept at bay though. His ears only bashed by the subjects that she would let him broach. Pre-Sunnydale. Nothing that really meant anything. Everything that meant something. More and more of those layers to peel back. He had found out where the connection with the comics had first come from - had heard all about the reasons why she’d first put her faith in superheroes.
“…so I’m all wide eyed and innocent, looking through this guy’s collection, and next thing you know his dick’s in my face. Seriously - like this dude is supposed to be some Outreach for Care-kids leader, and he sticks his fucking dick down my throat. Said if I did it good I could keep the comics - figured I’d be doing it anyway, may as well get something out of it…”
Thrown out so nonchalantly. Her voice only offering the slightest betrayal at the last.
“…been hooked ever since. Guess it’s funny the things you can forget about, when you’ve got somewhere else to go.”
And she had smiled sadly, without masks. Had buried her eyes back in her latest edition. The gifts from Xander. Except that he had noticed how long it took for her to turn that first page - just staring blankly - her mind a million miles from anywhere that she had ever allowed him to follow. Finding her refuge in that somewhere else.
All of it had prompted him to seek help in the most unlikely of places. The first of the most unlikely of places. Xander Harris. Summoned into his office after one of his many visits and asked for help. Angel had wanted to choke on the words, didn’t really have any wish to be asking for help from Xander, but he’d swallowed the discomfort and made the sacrifice. He had become intrigued by Faith. Attached to her. He wanted to help her not for his own redemptive quest, but for hers. He wanted to save her soul.
“…So you see, nothing I say makes any difference. I’ve exhausted all of the angles I can think of - I don’t know what else to offer her.”
“And you want my help?”
“Yes.”
“I guess you could say that you need my help?”
“Is this really necessary?”
“Not at all - it is kinda enjoyable though. It’s like therapy for the high school years - I’m feeling all warm inside.”
“That’s nice. Do you want to talk about how Faith feels inside?”
And he knew Xander too. As much as the guy irritated him, and he irritated him a lot, he had utmost respect for the person that he knew him to be. For all the time that he had stayed at Buffy’s side, happy to play in the background as long as he was allowed to help.
“What do you need me to do?”
As easy as that.
Angel had explained the lay of the land to him, had disclosed just the smallest of secrets in an attempt to broaden his horizons, and he had sent him into battle. Seeing if he was the one who could persuade Faith to talk about the past that wasn’t so distant; the things that she cried out about when her eyes were closed and sleeping…
Almost causing a catastrophe of the most explosive proportions.
With the great gift of hindsight, Angel could see how wrong his judgement had been; he should never have asked Xander. He should never have taken away from Faith the one and only thing that had seemed to bring her any level of happiness. His mistake realised as he had listened silent behind the door, as he had heard the words that tripped so fast towards disaster.
“…I told you, no! We’re not doing this - we’re not going there. We don’t have to talk about this. Isn’t that what you said?”
“I know what I said Faith, I meant what I said… I don’t know though, maybe you need to talk about it? I spoke to Angel…”
“You fucking what?”
“He told me some stuff, he thinks that I could help.”
“Just couldn’t resist it, could ya?” Instantly recognising the sound of danger. The nastiness that was creeping up on her tone to wrap tight around the words - “Throwing out fakes of the straight guy, when it’s all about fucking me over again. Did she send you… are you still playing errand boy for Buffy?”
“Faith…”
“Don’t act scared Xander. You wanted to get in the game; I’m ready to play. Is this what you’ve been dying to talk about?”
The sounds of a struggle had urged him into throwing back the door. Finding a scene straight out of a memory: Faith’s hands squeezing the life from Xander’s throat, her face lost somewhere in the look of a killer. And she hadn’t turned on his entry, hadn’t even noticed his arrival. Everything focused on destruction - everything screaming out to him that he would have to conclude the scene in the same old sorry way. Prepared to strike her - determined to hold her back. His punch restrained by the words from Xander’s throat - the desperate plea for Faith, the strangled sounds of stop. Like a moment of clarity. Her eyes wild and panicked. Edging slowly back.
“Get away from me… stay the fuck away from me!”
Refocusing. Fleeing. Dragging her body away from Xander with savage shakes and the sweat of surrender.
It had only enforced all of Angel’s beliefs that Faith needed to face up to her past in Sunnydale and she needed to do it soon. He had seen behind the wild eyed look. Had understood exactly what she had been terrified of in that instant. And it wasn’t Buffy, it wasn’t the things that Buffy could make her feel - it was herself - the things that she was seeing herself do, the acts that she was capable of committing. And maybe even with hindsight, Angel would’ve still sought to use Xander in his quest to save a soul. For the realisation he had seen in Faith’s eyes that night was worth a thousand catastrophic explosions, a million misplaced friendships. He had seen regret and revulsion. He had witnessed the spirit still fighting inside.
And still she would not speak it.
Angel had done his best to pacify Xander, had allowed Faith the time to cool off after her outburst - and then he had approached her again. Had used his most soothing tones to draw her in and offered his most placating phrases to draw her out. All of it discarded in the same way that she had sought to discard the comics. Trashed by the bedside. Torn to pieces. Not even the twisted tales of a former youth offered up that night.
Two nights ago. The time when he had finally decided against all of his better judgement and started listening to the voices in his head. Though not really in his head; more like surrounding his head. Doing everything they could to make sure that they were heard. Constantly.
“…Stop being such a bloody poof - you know I’ve got a special touch with slayers. Let me at her.”
“Let you at her? Is that gonna be your whole approach?”
“I’m not talking approaches, I’m talking a little light entertainment. So how crazy is she?”
It had been a constant assault. At first Angel had fought back through ego - he did not want Spike, albeit a ghostly form of Spike, succeeding in a place that he had not succeeded. It was hard enough to listen to his constant tales of conquering Buffy - Angel doubted that he could deal if Spike became Faith’s champion too.
Then he had fought back with sense. William the Bloody was hardly anyone’s likely choice for role model of the year. Except here they were dealing with Faith, and nothing else seemed to be working.
He was only waiting now. Sat uncomfortable in the comfy chair in his office and awaiting Spike’s appearance. The moment when he would give a reason for saving Faith’s soul - something a whole lot more meaningful than light entertainment - another chance for Spike to be Buffy’s champion.
And Angel only hoped that it worked. That he could get the self-centred vampire to help him in his quest.
He really had nothing else left.
Far across town, in a basement that should have sat empty, there was still somebody stood there, solemnly on guard. Keeping a silent vigil. Thinking through in their own mind all of Faith’s latest and greatest exploits into yet more madness.
Xander couldn’t help being down there. In amongst everything that was happening, it seemed the only safe place to be. His throat still a little sore, his heart still a little bit broken. And he supposed he should have known, he supposed he shouldn’t have pushed… but…
But he had wanted to help.
The things that Angel had told him, the secrets that he had charged his ears to hear, were not the things of bedtime reading. Oh no. They were words that he had recoiled from hearing, situations that he had thanked god most heartily that he hadn’t had to survive. He had realised in an instant why Faith couldn’t trust - and in the instant after, he had proven it to Faith yet again. So stupid. So thoughtless.
He had been lost in a need to go to her though, wrapped up in some dumb fantasy where his friendship would’ve been enough to have her stripping down her walls and letting him in. Not holding him up against those walls with a fist wrapped firmly around his throat. She had stopped though. She had heard his plea.
It was offering comfort.
“Xander? What are you doing down here?”
His head turning now, as Buffy’s voice broke through his lengthy self recriminations. Surprising him a little, making him jump.
“Oh, Hey. Why with the sneaky slayer?”
“Who’s sneaking? I didn’t think anyone was down here. Why are you down here?”
“I’m hiding out from the joy fest upstairs. There’s way too much joy involved.”
“There’s a joy fest? We’re festing?”
“Something like that. Will has all the girls whipped up into a frenzy about leaving - she even played the duty card. Apparently we’re putting lives at risk by taking time off. Now everyone’s running around screaming about where they want to go, when they want to go……”
“Willow’s such a spoilsport. I like time off, time off is of the good. You know I actually read a book last week. A whole one, with big words. I haven’t read a book in years.”
“Yeah? How are Dick and Jane?”
“It’s Jill and Jane nowadays, the world has gone progressive.”
“What happened to Dick?”
“I think he’s renting a condo down in the Keys. It’s all a bit vague.”
He laughed at her humour as they lapsed into silence. Both of them staring emptily at the cage. Both of them wishing that they didn’t feel quite so empty. Xander could sense it encompassing Buffy as easily as he felt it consuming himself. She was hurting, he was hurting.
“Where do you think you’ll end up, Buff?”
“Probably not the Keys. I don’t know. Dawn wants to stay with Giles - I guess I’d like to stay with him too. At least for now - till I find my feet again.”
“England then?”
“Mother country beware! It seems as good a place as any, and Willow liked it there. What about you - where in the world’s getting the pleasure of Xander?”
A hard question. Xander had started to think it through as soon as Willow had started the suggestion. So funny how keen she was to leave - how soon after her little one on one with Faith she had looked to raise the idea. He had confronted her about that - had looked to find the explanations behind her words. But he hadn’t. She had swished him aside with talk about danger, about protecting Buffy from a revenge fuelled Faith. When he had asked her more specifically about her exact choice of words, she had done the wide eyed look of innocence and told him that he should talk to Buffy if he wanted to know the truth.
But he hadn’t. Not yet.
It was easier to hide in a basement and mourn the loss of a friendship. Mourn the space that he had placed between himself and his comic book buddy. Thinking out loud now… close to the truth.
“Where will I go? What does it matter? - you don’t need me anymore, you’ve got more than enough cover for your back with all of the slayerette newbies. Maybe I won’t go anywhere.”
“This from the man that saved my life. Twice! You really think I don’t still need you - are you crazy Xander? I’ll always need you.”
“Maybe I’m needed more here.”
“Here? Is this because of Faith?”
The answer was all in his gaze. Lifting up from the floor of the cage to settle into green.
“Aren’t you going to England because of Faith?”
“Where did that come from? Has she said something?”
A smile tugging soft at the corner of his mouth. “Are you kidding me? The one and only time that Faith has mentioned your name was in the second before she went all throttle crazy again. I’m just guessing… trying to make sense of the insanity.”
“Well, no. I’m not going to England because of Faith. I’m going because of Dawn and Giles. And me. And when the heck did Faith go throttle crazy - is that a motorbike thing?”
“No. More a hands around the neck thing. Day before yesterday.”
“Oh. Wait - what?! Are you okay?”
“Great. She stopped before she crushed my windpipe and I like the taste of the lozenges. So if Faith wanted you to stay, you’d still just go off globetrotting?”
Xander knew that he was pushing again, but in the mood that he was in, he didn’t much care. Just sick of seeming to be the only one not clued into the loop. Not getting to hear from the horse’s mouth what everyone else was whispering about.
“If Faith wanted me to stay, I’d probably die from the shock. What’s this all about Xander - what’s going on?”
Her eyes penetrating deep.
And Xander got to see for himself in the dingy light of the basement why everyone else was whispering. A certain softness that wasn’t there before. A certain acceptance. Giving him the confidence to speak out loud without feeling quite so crazy.
“You and Faith, what you said to me before… about the way she makes you feel, what it’s like when you’re together. You meant all of that, didn’t you? You were telling me something, but I didn’t listen.”
“And now you’re listening?”
“Now I’m listening. I think I’ve got it, I just don’t understand it. You and Faith - I mean, did you ever…”
“Xander! No!”
He hadn’t been able to say those words out loud; had used his hands to mime the action, or what he thought the action might be. Had caused shock just the same.
“I never… we never… god, you think I… wow…”
“Sorry.”
“No, just - wow. I’m not even going there. I care about her Xander, I want to make things right between us, and maybe, if we don’t kill each other in the process; I’d like to get to know her better. But that - I can’t… I don’t think my brain can handle the images right now.”
“They are kinda steamy.”
“And that’s the PG rated version.”
And he laughed again. He laughed properly. Accepting that maybe Buffy did still need him in her own special way. Delighting in igniting her eyes, bringing the smile back to her face. Finding banter to soften the blow of her latest romantic adventure.
Buffy and Faith.
It had merit when compared to Buffy and anyone dead. Or enlisted. The aesthetical advantages of Faith far outweighing anyone in a uniform. But… wow. Holy cow. So the slayers were secret members of Willow’s secret society..? With the group meets… and the group… stuff. And the…
Willow.
It hit him hard and sudden and it all made perfect sense. So much sense that he almost forgot himself and launched himself into Buffy’s arms. Almost. He truly had been the one that saw. All of the dynamics. All of the back biting. All of the out of proportion jealousy that fuelled the still burning animosity. Xander realised in that moment that he had not been the only Scoob who had harboured secret fantasies of Buffy dressed in little more than a rain mac. Who had harboured secret fantasies about breaking into her heart.
And it made the basement pointless. He had found his answers. He knew all of the secrets. Now it was time to prove that he was still useful for a whole lot more than just fetching donuts and whittling stakes.
Xander had asked for Faith’s friendship. Now he was going to find a way to earn it.
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