RE: [buffywantswillow] Fic: Delicate Cruelty (3/?)

[Carol.Clarke@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx]

Looking forward to part 4. Great story

-----Original Message-----
From: Erin [mailto:erin@xxxxxxxxxxx]
Sent: Sunday, July 09, 2000 5:40 PM
To: buffywantswillow@xxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [buffywantswillow] Fic: Delicate Cruelty (3/?)


Chapter 3

"I know I told you 'mi casa es su casa,' but I didn't think that meant
you'd invite over Miss Teen Psycho USA."

Angel pulled Cordelia into the kitchen with an apologetic glance at
Faith. The Slayer was sitting in the living room busily polishing off
the second of four cheeseburgers that Angel had picked up for her on
their way to Cordelia's apartment, and didn't let on that she had
heard. She did, though, every word.

What can I say, she's right, Faith thought to herself. I am a psycho.
I shouldn't have let Angel drag me here.

What did he think he was going to change, anyway? Her pain? Angel
would see that as 'useful,' something to remind her of the past. Her
instincts? Faith's instinct to kill was what made her a Slayer; you
couldn't just beat the vampires up and tell them they had to be good
from now on. Or maybe it was the sheer joy it brought her...

Faith flushed with embarrassment and ducked her head, despite the fact
that she was alone in the room. She killed. She killed and she liked
it. No, that wasn't quite right, she killed and she _loved_ it.

Her stomach twisted into knots and she set down her half-eaten
hamburger. It was like a curse; Faith remembered every single moment
when she, with almost child-like enthusiasm, went out on some hit job
for the mayor. She hadn't cared why, or who; all the Slayer had cared
about was that she got to kill. At those moments, Faith had ultimate
control over that person's life, control which she executed with
vicious efficiency.

Faith's head sank into her hands, and she sat there for a moment,
overwhelmed. She caught a word from the conversation in the other
room, "Buffy," and listened closely, bringing a small amount of her
enhanced hearing to bear.

"I'm not going to tell her. This doesn't have anything to do with
her," Angel said. The strain in his voice was obvious.

"Your funeral," Cordelia replied, her shrug audible. "From what I
heard about the last time, her royal highness wasn't too pleased to be
kept out of the loop."

Angel seemed to pause, considering. "I don't want a repeat of last
time. I think a phone call out of the blue will upset her more than
anything. As long as we can keep all of this quiet, there will be no
reason for Buffy to get involved."

Yep, Faith thought, just call me the dirty little secret.

Angel walked back into the room, and Faith noticed that Cordelia
didn't follow him. He glanced down at Faith's dinner, and said, "You
done already?"

Faith gave the vampire a half-smile. "I suddenly got not hungry."

Angel sat down next to the Slayer, giving her that concerned,
sympathetic look that he was so good at.

Of course he's good at it, Faith thought, he's had a hell of a lot of
practice.

"Anything you want to talk about?" he asked.

Faith immediately got up and took a few steps away, distancing herself
both physically and emotionally. "Not really."

Angel didn't move. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me."

"You can't help me anyway," Faith said, laughing at herself weakly.
"What are you gonna do, huh? Make it all go away? Make it so the past
doesn't matter? Make it so I don't see their faces every time I close
my eyes?" Faith stared, unfocused, at the wall. "They all had names,
didn't they." It wasn't a question.

"Who?"

"My--the people who died. They all had names. Like Allan and Lester.
It's easier with vamps and demons, you know, cuz you never know their
names. It's almost like they're not real, just targets for you to
shoot down. But Lester had a name. Professor Lester Wirth." Faith
passed an unsteady hand over her eyes. "Probably had a family, too.
Not a wife and kids, but a mom and dad. Maybe brothers and sisters.
People to miss him."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Sometimes I wonder what he was
like as a kid. Probably kind of a geek, must've got teased a lot.
Collected rocks maybe. Sometimes...I wonder what his life would have
been like if I had never been born."

* * *

Trinity watched Father Sedona patiently, waiting for him to turn from
the hotel room window and acknowledge her presence. It had been four
days since they arrived in Sunnydale, and every night it was the same
thing: find more of the weak, pathetic vampires that made this place
their home and bring them under the Father's dominion. So far they
had operated in secret, and all had gone according to the priest's
plan.

No, it hadn't taken much to convince the kin of this town that they
were better off coming into the fold. That large man, his friends
said he went by the name of Diablo -- he would prove an adequate
enforcer, now that his loyalties had been made clear. 

Diablo... Trinity shook her head. What a name. The Father had
chuckled at the blasphemy of it.

The phone rang, and Father Sedona walked over to pick it up.

"Yes?...Yes, it is. I would. Is she, now? I know of him. Thank you,
it is useful. No, just keep me apprised. Goodbye."

The Father placed the phone back on the hook, and stared at it for a
moment in a speculative manner. "That was one of my contacts in Los
Angeles."

The young woman raised an eyebrow. "Those jackleg lawyers that you
employ?" The scorn in her voice was clear; she harbored no love for
those who hid behind petty threats and manipulation, preferring
instead serious threats and physical encouragement. "What news did
they bring?"

"It seems that the other Slayer has been placed back on the
chessboard. She is out of jail and staying with a vampire named
Angel."

"Angelus..." Trinity whispered. It had been a long time. There were
a few memories attached to that name, and most of them unpleasant.

"I remember him," the Father responded, tapping his clean-shaven chin
thoughtfully with a delicate finger. "A young one. One of your
countrymen, if I remember correctly. Rash, unfocused, and
ineffectual. But this other Slayer, now she shows promise. Should
the first Slayer prove difficult, perhaps the new one would be
more...accommodating." A crooked smile emerged on his patrician
features. "Her name is Faith. Quite auspicious, don't you think?"

Trinity leaned forward intently. "What is your plan, Father?"

"All in good time, my child," Father Sedona chuckled. "All in good
time. For now, our strategy remains the same. The next step requires
the book."

Trinity smiled, eager to be accomplishing something useful. "You wish
me to retrieve the book now?"

The priest stepped forward and ran a gentle hand down her face, cold
fingertips brushing cold skin. "Ah, Trinity. So eager, so helpful.
Yes, I wish for you to retrieve it. And do be careful not to get
carried away. I know how you so love your work."

* * *

Giles took a sip of tea and glanced up from the book he was reading, a
second edition _Tale of Two Cities_, to the clock for what seemed like
the third time in fifteen minutes. The tea was peppermint -- it
wouldn't do to drink caffeine at such a late hour -- but it still did
nothing to soothe his nerves.

Something, some instinct was making him feel disquieted; occasionally,
in his more frivolous moments, he thought of it as Watcher's
Intuition. But regardless, he had the distinct feeling that something
bad was happening, or going to happen shortly. And his thoughts, as
they often did when danger was involved, shifted to concern about
Buffy.

It had been easier on the Watcher when Buffy was in High School, he
realized; every morning she would give an accounting of her previous
night's patrol, and he would try to divine if there were a more
sinister evil brewing. Every afternoon the two of them would dedicate
an hour or two to training and weapons practice. The routine worked
well, and forged them into quite a formidable team.

That was then.

Now, he'd be lucky to get a daily phone call, or perhaps a short
visit; and never after a routine patrol. No, only something unusual
would cause Buffy to enlist his help with research. And the two of
them never trained together anymore.

Giles sighed and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose
in a futile attempt to ward off an oncoming headache. Finally, he
decided not to ignore his intuition any longer. Picking up the phone,
he consulted a list of telephone numbers and dialed.

"You have reached the Summers' residence. No one can come to the
phone right now. Please leave a message--"

Giles hung up the phone, consulted his list again, and dialed.

After the third ring, he heard Willow answer on the other end.
"Hello?"

"Hello, Willow, sorry to disturb you."

"Giles! Hi." Willow's voice faded a little as she spoke to someone
else in the room. "It's Giles, Giles is on the phone."

He could almost hear her blushing furiously, and decided he was better
off not knowing. "Yes, Willow, I called because--"

"Hi Mr. Giles." A faint voice could be heard in the background. Was
that Tara? He shook his head, and decided he was _really_ better off
not knowing.

"Tara says hi," Willow said, and with a small gasp, cut herself off
abruptly. 

Giles winced. "Yes, well say hello to Tara for me. The reason why I
called--"

Willow began to babble nervously. "Not that Tara's staying in my
room. I mean, she's in my room now. But we weren't doing anything.
I mean we were, but nothing bad--"

"Willow, please," Giles interrupted, massaging his temple now. "I
would really rather not know. I'm trying to get ahold of Buffy, do
you know where she is?" Not with you two, I assume, Giles added
silently.

"Oh, Buffy." Willow coughed apologetically. "I think she's spending
most of her time over at Riley's lately."

"I was rather surprised to get her answering machine this late at
night, actually," Giles responded.

"Yeah, I think Buffy's mom is working until after midnight most nights
at the Gallery. She told me when I called that she's getting caught
up with some shipment, and since Buffy is spending all her free time
with Riley..."

Giles nodded in understanding. "Do you have his telephone number?"
Another glance at the clock suggested that it was probably too late to
call, but it would be useful to have a contact number for her
nonetheless.

"Um, I don't think so. I've been trying to get ahold of Buffy for a
couple days now, but we've been playing phone tag."

"I see. Well, thank you anyway, Willow. I'm sorry for calling at
such a late hour."

"Oh, no problem, Giles! You really weren't interrupting--"

As Willow appeared to be well on her way to another nervous babble,
Giles cut her off. "Goodnight Willow," he said, hanging up the phone
with a smile.

The Watcher stood, and took another sip of tea. The feeling of
foreboding had lessened somewhat, now that, he assumed, Buffy was
safe. If not, he probably would have heard from Riley by now. And
yet...

A sharp knocking on his front door startled him, causing him to set
down his tea with shaking hands. "Ah, yes, coming," he called out,
and taking a moment to steady himself, opened the door, half expecting
to see the worst.

What he saw instead was a distraught young black-haired woman with
mud-caked shoes and splattered jeans, looking like she was very much
in need of help.

She smiled at him, apparently relieved. "Um, hello sir. I'm really
sorry to bother you this late, but I saw the light in your windows.
My car broke down not too far away, and I didn't realize my cell
phone's battery was dead," she held up said phone, "so I really need
to use someone's telephone.

"Can I come in?"

END Chapter 3
-- 
"Eliza. Does she not in fact rock the very world? Yes."
-- Joss Whedon, Exec. Producer, BtVS
*email: erin@xxxxxxxxxxx
*web: http://www.heckman.net/erin

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