The room where they found themselves was only dimly lit by the strip light over the headboard of the single bed and the light box where a bunch of x-rays were pinned up, and, when Faith saw the bandage on the watcher's throat, she wondered for an instant if somehow they'd caught up and were looking at what was happening now... at least until Angelus crooned his delight.
"Hooo-eeee!" the vamp yelled. "This is very nearly fun. First we get the kiddie porn and then we get to watch me smother you... Well, Angel smother you. I know it'd probably make you feel better if you thought that I was in charge but that was Soulboy all the way."
Faith followed Wes to the far side of the bed where a version of him, nearly indistinguishable from Current Day Wes, lay staring at the ceiling. She did a mental recap of the synopsis of events that Wes had given her during the drive from Stockton, where she had been imprisoned until he talked her into escaping, to Los Angeles. "So this is after you took Angel's kid, and the slayer wannabe slit your throat and left you to bleed to death?" she checked, getting a brief nod of assent from the watcher.
"Justine... Yes."
"And this is where your hero, Angel, comes tumbling off his gold-plated pedestal and tries to kill him for it," Angelus announced smugly.
However, the footsteps that sounded, unhurried but even, in the hall were too high-pitched to be anything other than a woman's heels. Faith knew, even before they got close, that it wasn't a nurse. Nurses wear flats, maybe an occasional quiet squeak of rubber soles on linoleum, not clack, clack, clack. The room didn't have a window but the hall outside was too quiet for it to be official visiting hours. Someone obviously thought they were too important for rules, not that Faith had a problem with that, but she was pretty certain that it also meant that this wasn't simply a social call. When Fred appeared in the doorway with a cardboard box full of stuff wrapped in newspaper and a willow-patterned teapot perched on the top, rather than the more traditional balloons or fruit basket, that just confirmed it.
The Texan seemed to pause for a fraction of a second in the doorway before she knocked, maybe just checking whether Cutthroat Wes was awake or not.
The man in the bed turned his head toward her, the action slow and careful, as if he feared that turning too quickly might pull his stitches. Faith thought that he seemed curiously detached, whether from the drugs he was most likely on, or whether he'd been expecting this or maybe it just hurt too much to smile.
"Hey!!" Angelus protested. "Are you telling me that I tried to kill you and it doesn't even make the highlight reel?"
Wes directed a bitter glance at the vampire, who stood at the end of the bed. "You really do think the world revolves around you, don't you?"
Fred gave a smile that had the slayer wondering just how much bleaching powder she used and then she swallowed and thrust her chin forward. "Hi, Wesley... How are you feeling?"
Cutthroat Wes lifted a listless arm from the blankets and waved a hand in the general direction of his throat as Fred set the box down on a chair some way from his bed.
"Oh," She suddenly seemed to realise the stupidity of the question and shambled forward, her hands clasped in front of her, her apparent desire to be anywhere but there at odds with her sympathetic tone when she spoke. "It's not permanent though... I brought you some of your stuff from the office. Things there... Well, things..." She paused at the bed's side, where just an extra inch or two would have allowed her to take Wes's hand. Her shoulders swung back and forward, pivoting around the hands that remained firmly clenched and just out of Wes's reach. There was a false brightness in her voice as she continued. "Gunn and I found your notes about... the baby, the prophecy..."
Faith saw something that came close to hope in Cutthroat Wes's eyes and felt her own hands clench into fists and her gut fill with a burning hatred for the Texan.
Fred switched attitude again, this time going for deathly serious. "You took him away because you thought Angel was gonna kill him. You were trying to protect him... both of them." The pitch of her voice became higher, her words more clipped and abrupt. "I just wanted you to know I understand that... And I also wanted to say, I thought what Angel tried to do to you was wrong... and I'm sorry... But he was right to blame you, Wesley."
Any hope Cutthroat Wes might have had was extinguished and Faith fumed in silence as the physicist began to rant at the man who couldn't even say a word in his own defence, and somehow Faith knew that that was exactly why the visit had come then rather than after he was discharged.
"You should have come to us. You should have trusted us instead of going to Holtz behind our back. You're supposed to be our friend and you didn't even..." The vision's face twisted into a petulant moue as she ran out of words to express Wes's betrayal, not that of Angel by taking his son, but what she saw as his betrayal of her. Backing away toward the room door, she continued in her bitter monologue. "If Angel sees you again, he'll kill you, Wesley. This time for real." She made a quarter turn as if unable to look at Wes any longer and then seemed to force herself to look him in the eye again, even though she kept backing away until she stood beyond the end of the bed. "Don't come back to the hotel... ever."
This time she turned for real, remaining with her back to the man in the bed, but Faith moved so that she could watch her face.
The distracted hand reaching up to her temple before dropping again was, Faith thought, a particularly artistic touch.
"The prophecy was false. Angel was never gonna hurt Connor," Fred added in a brittle tone. She gave a defeated sigh. "It was all for nothing," she concluded, and walked out of the room without a backward glance, with Faith walking backwards ahead of her.
"Faith?" the present day watcher called out after her and began jogging to catch up.
Angelus stayed where he was and looked in disgust at the watcher in the bed. "Am I not even scary or something? What's the deal, huh? Do you want to die? No, wait, you just shot yourself full of orpheus... Forget I asked."
Faith glared at Fred as she bounced backward on her toes, watching the Texan's face like a hawk.
"Faith?" Wes tried again, and paused when, with a grin of triumph, the slayer stopped moving and let Fred walk through her.
The slayer closed the gap between her and Wes. "Just had to make sure."
"Make sure of what?" Wes asked, confused.
"Don't you get it, Wes? If someone's mad at you, really mad like she was pretending to be, they start with the shouting, not with the sympathy. I've been in that hotel one day and I picked up on the lovesick puppy vibes. She's meant to be some kind of super-genius. You telling me she didn't know that that would hurt most coming from her? Or that your karaoke demon couldn't have done it?"
"I— I—" Wes struggled to find an answer.
"Can't you see beneath the damn cover, Wes? She'd rehearsed that whole scene for maximum effect. I grew up with girls like her. They play it all helpless and innocent and sweet and all you heroes rush to defend them, but it's just another way to get what they want. She had Gunn, but she wanted to keep you hanging on a string as back-up... Only you went against Angel and forced her to choose sides and, better still, you did it without giving her the chance to go, 'But, Wesley, you shouldn't... It's wrong...'." Faith did her best impression of a simpering Southern belle. "Couldn't you tell that that was what really pissed her off? It wasn't that you took Angel's kid. It was that you spoiled her little plans, so she decided to twist the knife. You were on the outs. She didn't have to keep up the act."
"It's not— I mean Fred isn't like that. She—"
"Then explain why she walked away with a smug little smile on her face. Bet you anything you like she heads straight back to the hotel and jumps the brother's bones. She sure as hell isn't going to be moping in the dark."
Wes's mouth was still hanging slightly open when Angelus came out into the corridor.
"Seriously, the whole trying to kill you doesn't even get a mention?"
Wes turned to the vampire, giving him a scathing glance as the walls around them began to spin. "When I decided to take Connor, I did it knowing that Angel would never forgive me. I did rather hope if the others found out the full story that they might understand." The room in which they found themselves began to settle into place and Wes realised as he finished talking that the vampire was no longer standing next to Faith and him.
The room they were in wasn't all that different to the one they had just left, a bit more basic, a bit less modern, a lot more beds, though all bar one were currently empty, and even a window, letting in some bright summer sunshine, which explained Angelus's absence.
"What the hell is this?" demanded a voice from near Wes's ankles and the watcher bent over to look beneath the nearby bed. Angelus lay on his back on the floor in the rectangle of shade cast by the mattress.
The watcher couldn't help but smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he answered.
The slayer took a seat on the bed one over from her younger self and Wes was shocked to see that tears were already welling in her eyes. Two nuns made their way into the room, the first pushing a woman in a wheelchair, the second following with an incubator.
"Nuns!" came a growl from under the bed. "You two had to bring me where there were nuns and I can't even scare them, let alone eat them. Stuck cowering under a damn bed. When I get out of here I'm gonna eat a whole convent and make both of you watch."
Wes and Faith both ignored him as he continued his rant.
The first of the nuns helped the woman into one of the beds on the other side of the ward and a few down and then closed the curtains around the bed before she exited, no doubt leaving the second nun to get the woman settled with her newborn infant. Instead of leaving, the first nun came over to the bed where a young, hollow-eyed and sweat-slick Faith was lying propped up against her pillows, her long brown hair matted to her head.
The nun picked up a clipboard from the stand beside Teen Faith's bed, flicking over the pages before she turned to her. "You haven't signed them yet, child," she pointed out.
"Can't I even see her?" Teen Faith asked.
"It's not a good idea, darlin'," the nun explained. "It'll just make it harder to let go, but I promise I'll ask her new family to send you some photographs. You're nought but a child yourself. You know you can't look after her. If you sign the adoption papers, we'll have a new family all lined up for her in no time. A good family who'll take care of her and love her like their very own. If you don't sign she has to go into the foster system an' who in their right mind is goin' to want to give their heart to a wee babbie whose mother could come along in two or three or four years time and decide they want them back. It wouldn't be fair, not on them, not on the kiddie and not on you."
Faith looked up at the woman, trying to make her understand. "She's all I've got. They're putting me in a home when I get out. I can't even see my mom without a social worker in the room, and that's assuming she sobers up enough to remember when she's meant to visit."
"And it's because she's so precious that you have to let her go. What sort of future could you give her?"
Silence settled as Faith realised there was nothing she could say that would make the nun's words any less true and, however much she might want to keep her daughter, it would be the worst thing for both of them.
"Can I at least name her?" the girl asked.
The nun gave a little grimace. "Sure ye can. There's no guarantee that the new parents won't change her name when the adoption goes through, but you can name her for you... an', maybe if they like it, they'll keep it."
"Hope, then," the girl replied, taking the papers and sliding the pen out from underneath the clip. "Faith never got me very far, but maybe Hope is better..." The nun pointed to the bottom of the page and Faith added her signature there and wherever else the woman indicated until, satisfied, the nun took the clipboard from her hands.
"You're doin' the right thing. I'll make sure and enter her name on the paperwork." The nun left the room and tears spilled in an unblinking stream down Teen Faith's cheeks as well as those of the girl Wes was beginning to think of as his Faith.
There were no words for this. Nothing that could take away the hurt and so much of the Faith he had first met had its roots in this scene and the one before that he wondered that he hadn't just looked at her and known. A girl pregnant at her age, it wouldn't have mattered that it wasn't by choice. That would never even occur to the other kids in high school. She would just be the whore who was shunned by the 'good girls' and the 'princesses'. She wouldn't lack for male attention, but it wouldn't be because the guys were interested in her personality. She would get hurt a few times but then she'd learn and, knowing Faith, it wasn't hard to imagine her deciding that if she was going to be called a slut and a whore, then she'd damn well earn the titles and have fun doing it... and, then, somewhere in the middle of this hell, she'd been called. Wes took a seat on the bed beside her and rested an incorporeal hand on top of hers.
Lorne's gaze flicked between the two unconscious figures on the twin beds and he swapped his seat on the edge of Wes's bed for one by Faith's side.
The girl was moaning softly, her head tossing from side to side and Lorne took her hand and tried to soothe her. Wes, for now, seemed to have moved beyond the fretful stage, his body motionless, except for the incongruous tears that flowed from the corners of his eyes.
"They're in the barrens now," the demon said in a gentle voice, looking over to where Connor sat in an armchair in the corner of the room. "They cry for a while. Quiet mostly. Like they're letting go of everything that meant something."
"How long?" Connor asked. "Till...?"
Lorne drew in a deep slow breath before he answered. "Not long. If you hold Faith's hand I can keep an eye on Wes."
Connor didn't get up straight away. Offering comfort didn't come naturally to him but after some time he rose to his feet. He didn't make it to Faith's bedside though.
Fred knocked on the door, and then leaned into the room, one hand on either side of the frame until she caught Connor's eye. "We're ready," she announced, sounding slightly awkward. When she turned to go back downstairs, Connor followed her.
Lorne gave a sigh as he watched them leave. He knew the others had things to do, but it didn't make it any easier for him to tend to both Wes and Faith at once. He felt as if they had earned better, but, for now, it looked as if he was all there was.
He rinsed his washcloth free from the salt of Wes's tears, wrung it out and set to work, dabbing away the drops from Faith's cheeks. "Don't you worry, princess. It'll all be over soon. I've seen lots of girls go through... just what you're going through now..." He dropped the cloth back in its basin, looking down at the two unconscious forms and, then, he settled on the edge of Faith's bed and wrapped her hand in both of his.
He began to sing, not loud and cheerful, but the musical equivalent of whispering at a dying man's bedside. "There'll be another song for me... And I will sing it... Oh, there'll be another dream for me... Someone will bring it..."
"There'll be another song for me... And I will sing it... Oh, there'll be another dream for me... Someone will bring it..." Wes didn't know the song, but it was definitely something from the disco era, as was the outfit that Angel wore when he walked into the empty diner. Brown striped shirt open halfway down his chest, its pointed collar turned down so that it sat on top of the even larger collar of his chocolate brown leather coat, and pale grey pants. His hair was long and hairspray seemed to have matted it so that it looked like a bad wig.
"Please tell me you're not wearing a medallion," Wes remarked dryly, though the evidence in front of him was impossible to refute. It sounded frivolous to his own ears but the watcher wanted to get the vampire's mind on their current situation and away from any idea of exploiting Faith's emotional vulnerability.
The cashier kept on wiping down the counter as Bad Taste Angel made his way to the jukebox and took out some coins. Evidently this was a familiar occurrence.
Angelus watched from the corner of the room with his arms folded across his body as Wes and Faith slipped side by side into one of the booths. "Bring on the pain!" he yelled sarcastically.
Bad Taste Angel made a selection on the jukebox, the song that had been playing stopping immediately to be replaced by a piano introduction. The souled vampire closed his eyes and sighed, beginning to sway in time to the melody.
With a snort of disgust, Angelus threw himself down onto the bench opposite Faith and Wes.
"Mandy, huh?" the slayer asked with a smile. "It must kill you he's got a jones for the power ballads."
Angelus swatted at the air by his head, as if he expected there to be a huge fly somewhere just beyond his peripheral vision, but no insect made any appearance.
"Worst were the concerts," he grumbled, staring lustfully at a young couple who emerged from the back of the shop. The couple seemed barely to notice anything but each other as they made their way to the door, all dressed up ready for date night. Angelus watched them until they disappeared from view and then let his head drop forward into his hands.
"You know what that's like?" he demanded. "Every time he gets close, I feel it. Wanting to tear their flesh apart... the hunger... It's like a blade in my gut!"
Wes gave the vampire an impatient glare, unable to comprehend how he could remotely expect to garner sympathy for not being able to rip someone apart when he had just seen Faith having to sign away all rights to her newborn child. Only people didn't matter to Angelus, not Faith, definitely not him, so the vampire failed to realise how pathetic and petty his complaints made him appear.
"Only it's not your gut, princess," Faith reminded him. "Angel's the one that belongs on the outside. Not you."
The vampire lifted his head again, looking the slayer straight in the eye. "You think it's that cut and dry, don't you? That if Angel gets his soul back—"
"When he gets it back," Wes corrected him.
"You'll just hang up your spurs and ride off into the sunset, knowing you put the monster back in his cage... But... I'm always here, Faithie." Angelus tapped at the centre of his chest. "Deep in."
Angelus watched in anticipation as another young man walked into the diner.
This time the cashier stopped cleaning and got ready to take the man's order. "Hi. Can I help you?"
The man pulled a gun from inside his jacket and fired a bullet into the ceiling. "Give me your money! Give me the cash in the drawer," he demanded, sweat on his brow and his hands trembling slightly.
"O... okay," the guy behind the counter acquiesced.
"Open it! Now!"
"All right, all right... I... I just have to..." The words he failed to say might just have saved his life. He fumbled in his pocket to find the key for the register and the robber panicked, shooting him in the chest.
As the cashier dropped to the floor, the robber glanced over at Angel. For a second he hesitated, torn between the desire to flee and the knowledge he shouldn't leave any witnesses, but then he bolted from the diner.
Bad Taste Angel made his way around the counter go to the aid of the injured man, but the crimson stain was spreading too quickly on the white cotton and the man struggled for every breath.
"It's gonna be okay," Seventies Angel lied as he lifted the man's head onto his lap. "I'll get you to a hospital. You're gonna be okay. Everything's—"
"It hurts."
"Yeah," soothed the vampire Samaritan. "I know."
"Doc, I think we're losing him!" Angelus drawled in a mocking tone, his eyes gleefully watching the faces of his companions, waiting for the moment when they would realise what was about to happen. "God, I love this episode." He swatted again at the air around his head, not happy at the noise that was disrupting what he expected to be a prime opportunity to twist the emotional knife in the slayer's gut. "What is that buzzing?"
Cordy's heavily pregnant body sat on the bed in her room, but it wasn't the former cheerleader who commanded it and used it as its tool. Resting on its outstretched palm, a crystal glowed like a white-hot coal.
"Hear me, Angelus," the being inside Cordy commanded. "Heed my warning. Awaken at once. Return from the darkness."
It waited, counting out the seconds in the rapid heartbeats of the child in Cordy's womb.
"Or just lay there and let that red-headed meddler put your soul back. Whichever..."
"God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Seventies Angel whispered as the cashier's body went limp in his arms. He stared at the bright arterial blood like a giant scarlet blossom on the dead man's shirt and then his head turned this way and that, listening for the sound of anyone else in the building, maybe more customers through in the back where the young couple had come from.
He forced himself to his feet and backed away, but still his head swivelled back and forth, checking for witnesses with his eyes as well as his ears, now that he could see over the counter.
"So..." Angelus pinned Faith in his gaze, aware that Wes already knew that Angel was capable of far worse. "Who's your big hero now?"
"It wasn't even his fault," the slayer protested. "God, does the guy gotta pay for everything?"
"Choices, little girl," he purred. "The ones you make with your heart of hearts... like giving away your own flesh and blood."
Seventies Angel shook his head and then made for the door. He had his hand on the handle before he hesitated, looking back at the dead cashier.
"Uh-oh." Angelus sing-songed. "What's gonna happen?"
"He won't..." Faith whispered.
"He will," Wes gently prepared her for the worst. "He'd be screaming at Angel now the way he did when he spared that flapper girl, otherwise."
Bad Taste Angel pushed the door closed, locked it and turned the sign to say closed. He made his way back to the body and stood beside it for a second, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. Then, he fell to his knees and cradled the body in his arms.
"I'm deep in, Faith." Angelus smirked. "Soul or no soul."
"Angel!" Faith shouted out, willing him to hear her and turn away from what now seemed inevitable.
Seventies Angel's features shifted into their vampire guise. He bit deeply into the dead man's neck.
Faith made an involuntary grimace and shook her head. Then she winced and her hand lifted slowly to her neck. When she drew her fingers away they were sticky with blood.
She twisted in her seat, checking for and finding a bleeding bite mark on the side of Wes's neck. The watcher gave the tiniest of nods.
"He was going to save him," she argued, not understanding this new development.
"Or did he choose to be a little slow on the draw?" Angelus suggested gleefully. "Whoops! Dinner by armed robbery. Look at him, Faith. You're a murderer. You know just how good that blurry line tastes... You really thought he could save you, didn't you? But he can't even save himself."
"She doesn't need Angel," Wes replied in a controlled, frosty voice.
Angel lifted his blood-flecked face from the cashier's neck with an anguished howl.
