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doyleFinished an hour before the deadline, GMT :)
Title: All the King's Horses
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Faith/Willow
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss Whedon. Despite the misleading title, there are neither kings nor horses in this fic.
Notes: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
krystalshay who requested "Willow/Faith angst; Faith's old Mayor-bought apartment at the high-school." I asked on my journal and people seemed to think the apartment was by the Sun Movie Theater, and would probably still be around in season 7. If I've broken canon, I deeply apologise.
There was a guy she knew a little in prison. He worked there, came by maybe once or twice a month to talk to her or at her about redemption and debts to society. A pastor, priest, she's not sure; he was nervous and biblical, and she used to have idle fantasies about fucking him against the wall outside the kitchen, right by the trash cans.
He had these dumb little phrases. Like: the grass is always greener on the other side. Like: you can't go home again. And Faith had thought about it, because she'd had nothing but time and nothing better to occupy her mind, and she'd decided it was bullshit, because all the grass outside the gates looked pretty damn green, and as for going home? Greyhounds go to every place. Assuming you've a home to go back to.
She looks around her old apartment and thinks that maybe Father Whoever was onto something after all. Hates to admit it, because with all that's happened tonight she's not so fond of religious types.
This isn't home.
But then, she already knew that.
Barring the dust, everything's the way she left it, like she stepped out for doughnuts and got stuck in some really bad traffic. She guesses the Mayor could've left some kind of fund for her or something to keep paying the rent; maybe it's just that nobody wants to live here. Killer view and all, but there's still a bloodstain on the floor from where B. tried to slice and dice her to save Angel's life. Bound to put tenants off.
Behind her, someone clears their throat. Faith spins. "Jeez, Red," she complains, relaxing out of the fighting-ready stance, "heard of knocking?"
"Sorry. The door was... well, not open so much as kicked down."
Her voice is tired. Willow's aged ten years in the last few hours.
"How'd you know where I was?"
"Locator spell."
"Gotta love that magic lojack," she snarks. Faith hates feeling helpless. She hates hospitals, and she hates babysitting a bunch of scared, too-quiet little girls, and she fucking despises people checking up on her. But since Willow doesn't look like this is a laugh riot for her either, she cools her jets and just asks, "how is he?"
The weak smile doesn't come close to reaching her eyes. "Out of it. Sedated. The doctors keep saying he's 'as well as can be expected' but they never tell us what that means."
"Who's with him?" Faith asks. What she means is "who's at mission command?" because even though this sudden responsibility chafes like hell, it's hers, and she's not going to let them down. Not again.
"Buffy and Spike went back to the house. Dawn's still at the hospital. Giles stayed with her. I'll be going back in a little while. I just needed to..." And there she is, that small and helpless girl Faith considers to be real-Willow. "It was too much. I didn't want to lose it."
"Jesus, nobody's gonna blame you for freaking." She came close herself - there are a couple of fist-sized holes in the hallway walls outside, and probably not a vampire left standing in a two-mile radius.
Willow walks past her, sits on the edge of the bed, and if this was another time, another girl, Faith might read that as an invitation. Hell, scratch the 'another girl'. Maybe, she admits, back in the day she had a fantasy or two about Will. But that was right after she'd screwed Xander, and she thinks it might just've been a collect-the-set thing. Slayerettes: Gotta Catch 'Em All.
"Thing is, me with the freaking? Definitely of the bad. The scary, blackhaired, veiny kind of bad." Then, eyes fixed on the picture window and the rising sun, she softly says, "this really is an amazing view."
This avoidance isn't new. Faith's heard the Darth Willow story secondhand, and she tried digging on the drive back from LA, but Willow got jumpy and turned the radio higher. And she's never been big on the talking and sharing, but Faith has to know how this girl, who she still associates with fluffy pinks and pastels, could turn around one day and try to destroy the world.
She crawls onto the bed, sits down with her back to the wall, and waits. And waits.
"You don't know what it's like," Willow finally says, and she could be talking to herself. "All that darkness inside you. For always, and everybody thinks it's gone away and it's 'lalala, happy Willow again!' but you just get scared because..."
"'Cuz it never goes away. All you do is bury it deep."
Willow twists around to look at her. Surprised. "Yeah."
Faith smiles, shrugging at her unusually introspective turn. "Still, alls I did was kill a guy. Plus the whole working for the Mayor and turning on you guys thing. You went major league."
"Yay, me," she says, hollow and shaky, and she moves backwards so they're side by side, shoulders not quite touching.
Faith wants to smoke, or talk, or pace, or slay something, or just goddamn scream and break things. Instead, she thinks about the bible-guy in prison telling her about patience being a virtue, and she stays put. Clenches her fingers in the dusty comforter. Breathes in. Breathes out.
Willow says, "Dawn asked me why I can't fix him. Just say abracadabra and give Xander a new eye." Her voice wavers on his name.
"Sure, make him better," Faith says. "And hey, go back to LA, change the curse so Angel can get down and dirty with B. or, hell, Wes or whoever he's jonesing for. And bring your girl back to life and... damn, fix the lights in this place, I think they killed the power. C'mon, Will. Make everyone's life better."
"Yeah," she near-whispers. "Not that easy."
"Tellin' me."
She's been leaning in during her tirade, and when Willow turns her head they're nearly nose to nose. The girl's eyes are too wide and too sad, and Faith can see where this is going but doesn't move a muscle. Patience, she thinks. Patience, virtue.
Willow's gaze flicks from Faith's eyes to her mouth and back again, and she says, "everybody keeps talking, and I'm so..."
"Tired," she finishes. Speaking for them both.
She moves in a fraction of an inch. Stops. Frowns, and says, "when I kissed Kennedy? I turned into a guy."
Faith considers this. "Fuck it," she says. "It's all good."
It's more hurried than she'd like, because they have to get back, to the girls, to Xander. The sun's climbing and they'll be missed, and Willow keeps her eyes closed the whole time. No way of telling if she's thinking about Tara or her new girl - and it hasn't exactly escaped Faith's notice that Kennedy is pretty much Faith the Sequel, Once More With Privilege.
But when they're dressed and leaving, Willow looks better. Proud of herself for staying in control. And Faith sends her off to the hospital with a smile and an overly flirtatious comment and a promise to not tell anyone.
She walks through deserted streets to the house on Revello Drive, and tries to persuade herself she only imagined the black threads creeping through red hair.
END
Title: All the King's Horses
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Faith/Willow
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss Whedon. Despite the misleading title, there are neither kings nor horses in this fic.
Notes: for
krystalshay who requested "Willow/Faith angst; Faith's old Mayor-bought apartment at the high-school." I asked on my journal and people seemed to think the apartment was by the Sun Movie Theater, and would probably still be around in season 7. If I've broken canon, I deeply apologise.There was a guy she knew a little in prison. He worked there, came by maybe once or twice a month to talk to her or at her about redemption and debts to society. A pastor, priest, she's not sure; he was nervous and biblical, and she used to have idle fantasies about fucking him against the wall outside the kitchen, right by the trash cans.
He had these dumb little phrases. Like: the grass is always greener on the other side. Like: you can't go home again. And Faith had thought about it, because she'd had nothing but time and nothing better to occupy her mind, and she'd decided it was bullshit, because all the grass outside the gates looked pretty damn green, and as for going home? Greyhounds go to every place. Assuming you've a home to go back to.
She looks around her old apartment and thinks that maybe Father Whoever was onto something after all. Hates to admit it, because with all that's happened tonight she's not so fond of religious types.
This isn't home.
But then, she already knew that.
Barring the dust, everything's the way she left it, like she stepped out for doughnuts and got stuck in some really bad traffic. She guesses the Mayor could've left some kind of fund for her or something to keep paying the rent; maybe it's just that nobody wants to live here. Killer view and all, but there's still a bloodstain on the floor from where B. tried to slice and dice her to save Angel's life. Bound to put tenants off.
Behind her, someone clears their throat. Faith spins. "Jeez, Red," she complains, relaxing out of the fighting-ready stance, "heard of knocking?"
"Sorry. The door was... well, not open so much as kicked down."
Her voice is tired. Willow's aged ten years in the last few hours.
"How'd you know where I was?"
"Locator spell."
"Gotta love that magic lojack," she snarks. Faith hates feeling helpless. She hates hospitals, and she hates babysitting a bunch of scared, too-quiet little girls, and she fucking despises people checking up on her. But since Willow doesn't look like this is a laugh riot for her either, she cools her jets and just asks, "how is he?"
The weak smile doesn't come close to reaching her eyes. "Out of it. Sedated. The doctors keep saying he's 'as well as can be expected' but they never tell us what that means."
"Who's with him?" Faith asks. What she means is "who's at mission command?" because even though this sudden responsibility chafes like hell, it's hers, and she's not going to let them down. Not again.
"Buffy and Spike went back to the house. Dawn's still at the hospital. Giles stayed with her. I'll be going back in a little while. I just needed to..." And there she is, that small and helpless girl Faith considers to be real-Willow. "It was too much. I didn't want to lose it."
"Jesus, nobody's gonna blame you for freaking." She came close herself - there are a couple of fist-sized holes in the hallway walls outside, and probably not a vampire left standing in a two-mile radius.
Willow walks past her, sits on the edge of the bed, and if this was another time, another girl, Faith might read that as an invitation. Hell, scratch the 'another girl'. Maybe, she admits, back in the day she had a fantasy or two about Will. But that was right after she'd screwed Xander, and she thinks it might just've been a collect-the-set thing. Slayerettes: Gotta Catch 'Em All.
"Thing is, me with the freaking? Definitely of the bad. The scary, blackhaired, veiny kind of bad." Then, eyes fixed on the picture window and the rising sun, she softly says, "this really is an amazing view."
This avoidance isn't new. Faith's heard the Darth Willow story secondhand, and she tried digging on the drive back from LA, but Willow got jumpy and turned the radio higher. And she's never been big on the talking and sharing, but Faith has to know how this girl, who she still associates with fluffy pinks and pastels, could turn around one day and try to destroy the world.
She crawls onto the bed, sits down with her back to the wall, and waits. And waits.
"You don't know what it's like," Willow finally says, and she could be talking to herself. "All that darkness inside you. For always, and everybody thinks it's gone away and it's 'lalala, happy Willow again!' but you just get scared because..."
"'Cuz it never goes away. All you do is bury it deep."
Willow twists around to look at her. Surprised. "Yeah."
Faith smiles, shrugging at her unusually introspective turn. "Still, alls I did was kill a guy. Plus the whole working for the Mayor and turning on you guys thing. You went major league."
"Yay, me," she says, hollow and shaky, and she moves backwards so they're side by side, shoulders not quite touching.
Faith wants to smoke, or talk, or pace, or slay something, or just goddamn scream and break things. Instead, she thinks about the bible-guy in prison telling her about patience being a virtue, and she stays put. Clenches her fingers in the dusty comforter. Breathes in. Breathes out.
Willow says, "Dawn asked me why I can't fix him. Just say abracadabra and give Xander a new eye." Her voice wavers on his name.
"Sure, make him better," Faith says. "And hey, go back to LA, change the curse so Angel can get down and dirty with B. or, hell, Wes or whoever he's jonesing for. And bring your girl back to life and... damn, fix the lights in this place, I think they killed the power. C'mon, Will. Make everyone's life better."
"Yeah," she near-whispers. "Not that easy."
"Tellin' me."
She's been leaning in during her tirade, and when Willow turns her head they're nearly nose to nose. The girl's eyes are too wide and too sad, and Faith can see where this is going but doesn't move a muscle. Patience, she thinks. Patience, virtue.
Willow's gaze flicks from Faith's eyes to her mouth and back again, and she says, "everybody keeps talking, and I'm so..."
"Tired," she finishes. Speaking for them both.
She moves in a fraction of an inch. Stops. Frowns, and says, "when I kissed Kennedy? I turned into a guy."
Faith considers this. "Fuck it," she says. "It's all good."
It's more hurried than she'd like, because they have to get back, to the girls, to Xander. The sun's climbing and they'll be missed, and Willow keeps her eyes closed the whole time. No way of telling if she's thinking about Tara or her new girl - and it hasn't exactly escaped Faith's notice that Kennedy is pretty much Faith the Sequel, Once More With Privilege.
But when they're dressed and leaving, Willow looks better. Proud of herself for staying in control. And Faith sends her off to the hospital with a smile and an overly flirtatious comment and a promise to not tell anyone.
She walks through deserted streets to the house on Revello Drive, and tries to persuade herself she only imagined the black threads creeping through red hair.
END
