![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Okay, I'm having trouble counting and/or reading. There are fourteen parts, not thirteen, so this isn't the penultimate one after all!
Previous parts are here
Hollow Heart
by Jane Davitt and Bit
Chapter Twelve
The next day Buffy comes home. Wesley can tell that something's happened as soon as he walks into the Council building. There's an air of expectancy and bustle as if royalty's due to pay a visit.
"What's going on?" he asks Sandra at the reception desk as he signs in.
She smiles at him, chilly efficiency thawed somewhat. "Miss Summers flew in late last night, sir. She's with Mr. Giles and he asked that you join them."
"Do you know where Faith is?"
"She's with Mr. Giles, too," she says.
He nods and moves away without hurrying, but as soon as he's in the lift he starts pacing. Of all the days to be late -- A restless night spent analysing every look, every word Faith had said has left him sleep-dazed and sluggish but concern is driving that away, leaving him ready to do battle if needed.
He's walking along the corridor when Faith appears, eyes flashing, lips set in a mutinous, furious line.
"Faith!" he says, going to her and grasping her arm, keeping his voice low. "What did she do?"
She makes a noise that defies description. "Do?"
"Did she hurt you? Threaten you?"
Her eyes focus on his face and she shakes her head, her hair whipping across her face until she pushes it back impatiently. "No, nothing like that." She sends a fulminating glare back at the closed door of Giles' office. "Worse than that."
He can't see any signs of a fight and security guards aren't appearing from every direction so he allows himself to relax a little. "Go on."
"She congratulated me," Faith says, spitting out each word.
"I beg your pardon," he says, not sure he's heard right. Sleep deprivation can --
"She was all like, 'Ooooh, congratulations on the senior slayer gig,'" Faith assumes a simpering tone, which in all fairness sounds nothing like Buffy. "Fucking bitch. It was, like, a total diss."
Every inch of her is vibrating with tension and he's sure that he if just pressed a finger to her forehead, she'd shatter in a million pieces. "I'm sure that she didn't mean -- "
"You taking her fucking side?" Faith splutters furiously, face squinched up in disbelief. "What the fuck ever! Giles wants to see you so you can fawn all over her in person."
Despite the whole shattering threat and her sheer irrationality, he does try to take her in his arms then, but he only gets within glancing distance before she's shrugging him away with a murderous look, which he wisely decides is fair warning. "Faith, please."
"Gotta go," she hisses and stalks off. If she was a cat, she'd be twitching her tail, fur standing up on end.
He's left to trudge unwillingly down the corridor and knock on the door, which is opened seconds later by Buffy, her face wreathed in smiles. "Hey, Wesley," she beams. And then she does something he'd have sworn on his life that she'd never do, she envelops him in a quick, friendly hug.
"Buffy," he manages to say. "You're back."
He hopes that at some point in the day he stops stating the obvious but right now it's as much as he's capable of it seems.
"Yes, she is," Giles says. There's a quiet, deep happiness in his voice and as Wesley turns to him there's nothing to suggest that Giles bears a single grudge for the way his errant Slayer has behaved.
He can't help wondering just what Buffy would have to do to make Giles scold her -- set off an apocalypse? -- but dismisses the uncharitable thought. It's neither the time nor the place for recriminations.
Buffy's waving her hand around pointedly and Wesley focuses on a glimmer and glint of diamond.
"I -- Congratulations?" he says tentatively, his gaze going to Giles in a 'help me!' fashion that draws a chuckle from the man. It seems that everyone's forgiven today because there's no sign of the coolness that's sprung up between them.
"Xander," Giles says, which is all Wesley needs to paste a fairly genuine smile on his face. Xander. One of them. She could have done worse.
Buffy certainly seems to think so. She looks at the miniscule diamond band as if she can't quite remember how it got there. Then there's another toothpaste commercial smile as the memories come flooding back. "Xander," she confirms dreamily, punctuating it with a soft, little giggle. "You know how it is. You can see someone day in and day out and then suddenly -- " She shrugs her shoulders at her inability to express what's written all over her face, but Wesley knows exactly what she's talking about.
To see someone day in and day out. At their best and their worst. Someone you used to despise and pity in equal measure, before you managed to find a grudging admiration for them. Then you liked them. And then one day, she came into the room with the sun in her hair and a smile as she caught sight of him and he was in love with --
" -- Faith and me, and it might be a bit weird, but I'm only here for a couple of weeks." He realises that Buffy is speaking, alternately turning to him, then Giles who's watching her with paternal pride. "Organising a wedding is actually a lot like getting ready for an apocalypse. There's so much to do!"
Buffy has the peachy look that she used to have when he first knew her. She's softer, rounder, and more carefree and those relentlessly frequent smiles reach her eyes now.
"Depending on the guest list, the actual wedding might feel like an apocalypse too," Giles comments and he's smiling too now.
"Congratulations again, Buffy. I'm very happy for you and Xander," he says softly, aware of Giles' approving nod. And he's even happier that she'll be back in the States in a fortnight, away from Faith who evidently is not sharing the glad tidings for the forthcoming nuptials.
"Thanks, Wes." Buffy squares her shoulders. "Sorry about what happened before I left."
Wesley waits for her to elaborate on the apology. Maybe promise that it will never happen again but she's steadfastly refusing to meet his eye and he realises that that's as good as he's going to get.
There's a small sound of protest from Giles, smothered when Buffy gives him a swift look, but enough to make Wesley feel glad that he's not the only one who finds Buffy's contrition a little thin.
"You're invited, of course," Buffy says and Wesley swallows. Faced with a choice, he'll take the apocalypse, thank you.
"Both of us?" he enquires and Buffy looks thoughtful, then grateful as Giles chimes in.
"Unfortunately, Buffy, someone has to be in charge of this menagerie and if Xander's really insistent that I give you away --"
"Totally," Buffy says with an eye roll and a smile. "You wouldn't believe how stubborn he can be. Men!"
Wesley and Giles choke in unison and recover quickly.
"So you see," Giles goes on smoothly, "Wesley will be needed here, isn't that correct?"
"It looks like it," Wesley says. He raises his eyebrows. "Do let me see your gift list though; I'm sure Faith and I will want to commemorate the occasion appropriately."
There's half a moment's pause, enough time for her to start to wrinkle her brow then think about it. Unusually for Buffy, she takes the path of least resistance.
"That's cool. You and Faith grooving in Watcher/Slayer harmony. Like me and Giles." And her eyes flash with triumph as Giles makes a pleased noise and Wesley makes a mental note to do everything in his power to ensure that Buffy never finds out what happened at the cottage because hell really would be unleashed on earth.
"Well, I'm sure you and Giles have a lot of catching up to do and I need to -- do -- stuff."
They're not even listening to him but regarding each other with a steady, warm gaze and Wesley knows then that Xander will never have all of her heart, and it makes him feel sad and sorry for a man he never met and the boy he can barely remember.
"You should probably find Faith," Giles all but chirps. "Could you give her a hand with her evaluation reports?"
As he retraces his steps along the corridor, Wesley contemplates ducking out for the rest of the day. Faith's already in a filthy mood thanks to the return of the prodigal Slayer, but having to write reports on top of that may just push her over the edge completely.
A sense of duty -- or morbid curiosity -- drives him onward though and he pushes open the door to her small office and stands in the doorway watching her stab viciously at a piece of paper, a pen clutched in her hand like a stake.
"Is that an attempt at Braille?" he asks mildly.
The pen whizzes past his head fast enough that he wouldn't have been surprised to find it embedded, quivering in the wall when he turns his head, but it's simply landed on top of a filing cabinet and disappeared behind it.
"Not in the mood, Wes," she hisses. "Unless you've come to tell me she's caught some disease that means she'll need surgery to get that fucking grin wiped off her smug little face."
"She's happy," he says, closing the door and walking over to her. "In love."
He's taunted demons twice his size, whilst armed with nothing but a dagger, and been in less danger, but Faith's not the sort of girl a coward would bother falling in love with and he's well able to keep a cool smile on his face as he sits on her desk and waits for the explosion.
There's nothing too incendiary at first. She just snatches another pen from her drawer and prods at the paper with it.
She's muttering an invective under her breath that features the phrase "fucking bitch" with alarming regularity and he watches in fascination as the prodding becomes more frenzied and her voice gets louder and angrier.
"Always smells of fucking roses -- pulls shit on people and it's poor Buffy, she's so fucking conflicted and, like, all I have to do is, like, miss the trash can and I'm never fucking allowed to forget it. Couldn't even say sorry to me!"
The pen can't take it anymore and splinters under the force of being smashed against wood several times. She looks up at him and it's like he's falling seven years back into the past because there's a malicious, bright smile that doesn't go with the shadowed, hurt look in her eyes.
"Let it go, Faith," he says softly. "Let her go. She's in -- "
"Love," she spits out the word like it tastes rotten in her mouth. "Yeah, you already said that, Wes. With Xander fucking Harris, who I had first by the way."
There are icy fingers clutching at his heart. He knows that she's had other men, that she's had Harris. It's not as if he ever expected or wanted her to come to him untouched. It's the way she screws up her face every time she says the word. And he can't help picking at it like it's an oozing scab.
"There's nothing wrong with being in love."
"Yes there fucking is!" She out of the chair now, one knee up on the desk so she can gather up his shirt front in her fists and yes, he's in danger now and yes, he's bloody terrified. Words always hurt the worst. "We're Slayers. We're not made for love; we're made to fuck and fight and that's it and if you can't deal with that, Wes, then get the fuck out of here."
It takes him long seconds to prise her hands off him and walk to the door. He closes it behind him with a gentle click.
The worst part about it all, as he walks, numb and distant, to his office, is that she's absolutely right. Buffy has no business falling in love. Any of the times. As ever, Faith's the one setting the example of what a Slayer should be.
A weapon. A power in an endless battle, poured into a shell that ultimately, always, breaks and shatters.
Only the lineage is eternal. The girls themselves -- and he should call them 'women' but they're so young, all of them, so heartbreakingly young -- are mortal. Hard to kill, yes, but given what they do, the odds they face, they should count themselves lucky at the end of every night.
She's right to keep him at a distance, to refuse to commit. She has to stay focused; everything that gives her the strength of a Slayer is telling her that. Fight. Slay. Die. Nothing more.
And if her body, keyed-up and wired seeks release in sex, as violent and swift as the death her hands deal, then who is he to deny it her?
He's not been seeing her as his Slayer for weeks now. Just Faith. He's been letting her down, juggling his duty and his desires and never managing to keep both in the air.
He's failing her. Selfish.
He's so very fucked-up and he still can't stop loving her.
Part Thirteen
Previous parts are here
Hollow Heart
by Jane Davitt and Bit
Chapter Twelve
The next day Buffy comes home. Wesley can tell that something's happened as soon as he walks into the Council building. There's an air of expectancy and bustle as if royalty's due to pay a visit.
"What's going on?" he asks Sandra at the reception desk as he signs in.
She smiles at him, chilly efficiency thawed somewhat. "Miss Summers flew in late last night, sir. She's with Mr. Giles and he asked that you join them."
"Do you know where Faith is?"
"She's with Mr. Giles, too," she says.
He nods and moves away without hurrying, but as soon as he's in the lift he starts pacing. Of all the days to be late -- A restless night spent analysing every look, every word Faith had said has left him sleep-dazed and sluggish but concern is driving that away, leaving him ready to do battle if needed.
He's walking along the corridor when Faith appears, eyes flashing, lips set in a mutinous, furious line.
"Faith!" he says, going to her and grasping her arm, keeping his voice low. "What did she do?"
She makes a noise that defies description. "Do?"
"Did she hurt you? Threaten you?"
Her eyes focus on his face and she shakes her head, her hair whipping across her face until she pushes it back impatiently. "No, nothing like that." She sends a fulminating glare back at the closed door of Giles' office. "Worse than that."
He can't see any signs of a fight and security guards aren't appearing from every direction so he allows himself to relax a little. "Go on."
"She congratulated me," Faith says, spitting out each word.
"I beg your pardon," he says, not sure he's heard right. Sleep deprivation can --
"She was all like, 'Ooooh, congratulations on the senior slayer gig,'" Faith assumes a simpering tone, which in all fairness sounds nothing like Buffy. "Fucking bitch. It was, like, a total diss."
Every inch of her is vibrating with tension and he's sure that he if just pressed a finger to her forehead, she'd shatter in a million pieces. "I'm sure that she didn't mean -- "
"You taking her fucking side?" Faith splutters furiously, face squinched up in disbelief. "What the fuck ever! Giles wants to see you so you can fawn all over her in person."
Despite the whole shattering threat and her sheer irrationality, he does try to take her in his arms then, but he only gets within glancing distance before she's shrugging him away with a murderous look, which he wisely decides is fair warning. "Faith, please."
"Gotta go," she hisses and stalks off. If she was a cat, she'd be twitching her tail, fur standing up on end.
He's left to trudge unwillingly down the corridor and knock on the door, which is opened seconds later by Buffy, her face wreathed in smiles. "Hey, Wesley," she beams. And then she does something he'd have sworn on his life that she'd never do, she envelops him in a quick, friendly hug.
"Buffy," he manages to say. "You're back."
He hopes that at some point in the day he stops stating the obvious but right now it's as much as he's capable of it seems.
"Yes, she is," Giles says. There's a quiet, deep happiness in his voice and as Wesley turns to him there's nothing to suggest that Giles bears a single grudge for the way his errant Slayer has behaved.
He can't help wondering just what Buffy would have to do to make Giles scold her -- set off an apocalypse? -- but dismisses the uncharitable thought. It's neither the time nor the place for recriminations.
Buffy's waving her hand around pointedly and Wesley focuses on a glimmer and glint of diamond.
"I -- Congratulations?" he says tentatively, his gaze going to Giles in a 'help me!' fashion that draws a chuckle from the man. It seems that everyone's forgiven today because there's no sign of the coolness that's sprung up between them.
"Xander," Giles says, which is all Wesley needs to paste a fairly genuine smile on his face. Xander. One of them. She could have done worse.
Buffy certainly seems to think so. She looks at the miniscule diamond band as if she can't quite remember how it got there. Then there's another toothpaste commercial smile as the memories come flooding back. "Xander," she confirms dreamily, punctuating it with a soft, little giggle. "You know how it is. You can see someone day in and day out and then suddenly -- " She shrugs her shoulders at her inability to express what's written all over her face, but Wesley knows exactly what she's talking about.
To see someone day in and day out. At their best and their worst. Someone you used to despise and pity in equal measure, before you managed to find a grudging admiration for them. Then you liked them. And then one day, she came into the room with the sun in her hair and a smile as she caught sight of him and he was in love with --
" -- Faith and me, and it might be a bit weird, but I'm only here for a couple of weeks." He realises that Buffy is speaking, alternately turning to him, then Giles who's watching her with paternal pride. "Organising a wedding is actually a lot like getting ready for an apocalypse. There's so much to do!"
Buffy has the peachy look that she used to have when he first knew her. She's softer, rounder, and more carefree and those relentlessly frequent smiles reach her eyes now.
"Depending on the guest list, the actual wedding might feel like an apocalypse too," Giles comments and he's smiling too now.
"Congratulations again, Buffy. I'm very happy for you and Xander," he says softly, aware of Giles' approving nod. And he's even happier that she'll be back in the States in a fortnight, away from Faith who evidently is not sharing the glad tidings for the forthcoming nuptials.
"Thanks, Wes." Buffy squares her shoulders. "Sorry about what happened before I left."
Wesley waits for her to elaborate on the apology. Maybe promise that it will never happen again but she's steadfastly refusing to meet his eye and he realises that that's as good as he's going to get.
There's a small sound of protest from Giles, smothered when Buffy gives him a swift look, but enough to make Wesley feel glad that he's not the only one who finds Buffy's contrition a little thin.
"You're invited, of course," Buffy says and Wesley swallows. Faced with a choice, he'll take the apocalypse, thank you.
"Both of us?" he enquires and Buffy looks thoughtful, then grateful as Giles chimes in.
"Unfortunately, Buffy, someone has to be in charge of this menagerie and if Xander's really insistent that I give you away --"
"Totally," Buffy says with an eye roll and a smile. "You wouldn't believe how stubborn he can be. Men!"
Wesley and Giles choke in unison and recover quickly.
"So you see," Giles goes on smoothly, "Wesley will be needed here, isn't that correct?"
"It looks like it," Wesley says. He raises his eyebrows. "Do let me see your gift list though; I'm sure Faith and I will want to commemorate the occasion appropriately."
There's half a moment's pause, enough time for her to start to wrinkle her brow then think about it. Unusually for Buffy, she takes the path of least resistance.
"That's cool. You and Faith grooving in Watcher/Slayer harmony. Like me and Giles." And her eyes flash with triumph as Giles makes a pleased noise and Wesley makes a mental note to do everything in his power to ensure that Buffy never finds out what happened at the cottage because hell really would be unleashed on earth.
"Well, I'm sure you and Giles have a lot of catching up to do and I need to -- do -- stuff."
They're not even listening to him but regarding each other with a steady, warm gaze and Wesley knows then that Xander will never have all of her heart, and it makes him feel sad and sorry for a man he never met and the boy he can barely remember.
"You should probably find Faith," Giles all but chirps. "Could you give her a hand with her evaluation reports?"
As he retraces his steps along the corridor, Wesley contemplates ducking out for the rest of the day. Faith's already in a filthy mood thanks to the return of the prodigal Slayer, but having to write reports on top of that may just push her over the edge completely.
A sense of duty -- or morbid curiosity -- drives him onward though and he pushes open the door to her small office and stands in the doorway watching her stab viciously at a piece of paper, a pen clutched in her hand like a stake.
"Is that an attempt at Braille?" he asks mildly.
The pen whizzes past his head fast enough that he wouldn't have been surprised to find it embedded, quivering in the wall when he turns his head, but it's simply landed on top of a filing cabinet and disappeared behind it.
"Not in the mood, Wes," she hisses. "Unless you've come to tell me she's caught some disease that means she'll need surgery to get that fucking grin wiped off her smug little face."
"She's happy," he says, closing the door and walking over to her. "In love."
He's taunted demons twice his size, whilst armed with nothing but a dagger, and been in less danger, but Faith's not the sort of girl a coward would bother falling in love with and he's well able to keep a cool smile on his face as he sits on her desk and waits for the explosion.
There's nothing too incendiary at first. She just snatches another pen from her drawer and prods at the paper with it.
She's muttering an invective under her breath that features the phrase "fucking bitch" with alarming regularity and he watches in fascination as the prodding becomes more frenzied and her voice gets louder and angrier.
"Always smells of fucking roses -- pulls shit on people and it's poor Buffy, she's so fucking conflicted and, like, all I have to do is, like, miss the trash can and I'm never fucking allowed to forget it. Couldn't even say sorry to me!"
The pen can't take it anymore and splinters under the force of being smashed against wood several times. She looks up at him and it's like he's falling seven years back into the past because there's a malicious, bright smile that doesn't go with the shadowed, hurt look in her eyes.
"Let it go, Faith," he says softly. "Let her go. She's in -- "
"Love," she spits out the word like it tastes rotten in her mouth. "Yeah, you already said that, Wes. With Xander fucking Harris, who I had first by the way."
There are icy fingers clutching at his heart. He knows that she's had other men, that she's had Harris. It's not as if he ever expected or wanted her to come to him untouched. It's the way she screws up her face every time she says the word. And he can't help picking at it like it's an oozing scab.
"There's nothing wrong with being in love."
"Yes there fucking is!" She out of the chair now, one knee up on the desk so she can gather up his shirt front in her fists and yes, he's in danger now and yes, he's bloody terrified. Words always hurt the worst. "We're Slayers. We're not made for love; we're made to fuck and fight and that's it and if you can't deal with that, Wes, then get the fuck out of here."
It takes him long seconds to prise her hands off him and walk to the door. He closes it behind him with a gentle click.
The worst part about it all, as he walks, numb and distant, to his office, is that she's absolutely right. Buffy has no business falling in love. Any of the times. As ever, Faith's the one setting the example of what a Slayer should be.
A weapon. A power in an endless battle, poured into a shell that ultimately, always, breaks and shatters.
Only the lineage is eternal. The girls themselves -- and he should call them 'women' but they're so young, all of them, so heartbreakingly young -- are mortal. Hard to kill, yes, but given what they do, the odds they face, they should count themselves lucky at the end of every night.
She's right to keep him at a distance, to refuse to commit. She has to stay focused; everything that gives her the strength of a Slayer is telling her that. Fight. Slay. Die. Nothing more.
And if her body, keyed-up and wired seeks release in sex, as violent and swift as the death her hands deal, then who is he to deny it her?
He's not been seeing her as his Slayer for weeks now. Just Faith. He's been letting her down, juggling his duty and his desires and never managing to keep both in the air.
He's failing her. Selfish.
He's so very fucked-up and he still can't stop loving her.
Part Thirteen
Tags: