Fic: "Unexpected" AtS S3
Timeline: About a month or so after the events of "There's No Place Like Plrtz Glrb" (AtS 2.22) and "The Gift" (BtVS 5.22)
Part: 1/?
Story Index: here
--
Faith didn’t bother hiding the smile on her face. She had a visitor.
No one visited her except Angel and he hadn’t visited in months. At first, she was pissed at him for not visiting her regularly but eventually she accepted it. He was a Champion. He saved the world on an almost daily basis. So what if his weekly visits became monthly visits and then less frequent than that. She couldn’t expect him to keep a regular schedule, could she?
None of that mattered now. He was back. She would’ve skipped down the hallway if she knew that it wouldn’t piss off the guard. She was trying to be Model Prisoner Faith, now. She was so busy thinking of stories to tell Angel that she didn’t immediately notice that something was wrong.
“Hey, where are we going?” she said as she slowed down slightly.
“To the visitor’s lounge,” the guard said.
“But I usually go to the visitor’s area back that-a-way,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder to the hallway they just passed.
“Not today,” the guard said as she lightly shoved Faith onward.
When they reached the visitor’s lounge, Faith could tell something was different. The visitor area she usually went to had individual booths with protective glass separating visitor and inmate. This room simply had a long table in the center with chairs on either side, no glass at all.
“Sit. Your visitors will be here in a minute,” the guard said.
Visitors?
Moments later, two people entered the room. A man and a woman. The woman spoke to Faith.
“Hello, Faith. My name is Margaret Atwell and this,” she said, indicating the man, “is Oliver Meriweather. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Isn’t it, Oliver?”
“Yes. A pleasure,” he said, looking down at Faith.
British accents. They had British accents. That was never a good thing in Faith’s book.
Faith narrowed her eyes. “Who are you, and what do you want with me?”
Margaret sat down opposite Faith while Oliver plopped down in his chair and rested his feet on the table.
“We’re here to help you, Faith. These,” she said as she slid some papers over the table to Faith, “are your release papers. You will be a free woman by this time tomorrow.”
Faith flipped through the papers. She had done a lot of reading in prison. There wasn’t much else to do in prison except read and exercise. She had even managed to get her GED. Still, the papers looked like legal gibberish to her. She slid the papers back over to Margaret.
“I know what you people are. Why are you doing this?” Faith asked.
Margaret was silent for a moment. When she looked back up at Faith, she said, “You do know she’s dead, don’t you?”
Faith leaned back in her chair and sighed. The dream was true. Faith had lots of dreams where she was falling. They were mostly memories that replayed in her mind, night after night. The rooftop fight with Buffy. Falling out of the apartment window with Angel. Sometimes, her memories would get jumbled up. Instead of Buffy gutting her with the Mayor’s knife, it was Wes stabbing her with a kitchen knife. The dream she had a month ago was different. It wasn’t her falling. It was Buffy.
“That still doesn’t explain why you are doing this,” she said, pointing at the release papers. “B kicked the bucket. So? If you need a Slayer on the outside, why the change in M.O.? The Council’s usual way of ‘dealing’ with me is to try to kill me.”
“Don’t think it wasn’t brought up in the meetings, missy,” Oliver said.
Ignoring Oliver, Margaret looked at Faith. “Yes, Faith. Your . . . termination was discussed as a viable solution. However, your actions following the incident in L.A. impressed certain members of the Council. The fact that you willingly turned yourself over to the authorities changed some Council members’ opinions of you.”
“Uh huh,” Faith said.
“Faith, what do you know of the process that goes into calling another Slayer?” Margaret asked.
“Nothing.”
“Neither does the Council. It’s a complete mystery to everyone. The Council does employ a committee of Seers and shamans to help them narrow the possible candidates, but--”
“-But, even with all their mojo, they can’t be one hundred percent certain that the next Slayer won’t be somebody like me or B. Somebody not under the Council’s thumb. You guys figure that even though I’m damaged goods, I at least know the score. The devil you know and all.” Faith said.
“More or less,” Margaret replied.
“What’s stopping me from taking your deal and then running for it once I’m free?”
Oliver snorted. “Just try it, you little doxie. We’ll-”
Placing a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, Margaret turned to Faith, “Where would you go, Faith? Sunnydale? Miss Summers is dead and I don’t think her comrades would take too kindly to you coming back. L.A.? Our sources say that Angel is currently out of the country, mourning Miss Summers’ death and we don’t know when or if he’ll return. I doubt that Miss Chase or Mr. Pryce are eager to see you either.”
Faith sat there in silence.
“Faith, you view Angel as a sort of role model, don’t you?” Margaret asked.
“Maybe,” she said, narrowing her eyes again.
“Well, Angel had his soul for nearly a century before he became a Champion. Do you really think that you can atone for the wrongs you’ve done and find redemption sitting in a prison cell for the next couple of decades?” Margaret asked.
Faith looked at both of them. She didn’t have a choice, not really. She glanced over at the guard. All the talk of slayers, champions, and ‘terminating’ people, the guard hadn’t said a word. Which meant that she worked for the Council or had been paid off. Shit. Running from the Council Goon Squad on the outside was one thing, but in prison Faith was a sitting duck. They didn’t even have to go after her directly, they could just poison her food or something and roll the dice that the next Slayer was one of theirs’.
Faith forced a smile on her face. “You’ve got a deal.”
TBC . . .
Part: 1/?
Story Index: here
--
Faith didn’t bother hiding the smile on her face. She had a visitor.
No one visited her except Angel and he hadn’t visited in months. At first, she was pissed at him for not visiting her regularly but eventually she accepted it. He was a Champion. He saved the world on an almost daily basis. So what if his weekly visits became monthly visits and then less frequent than that. She couldn’t expect him to keep a regular schedule, could she?
None of that mattered now. He was back. She would’ve skipped down the hallway if she knew that it wouldn’t piss off the guard. She was trying to be Model Prisoner Faith, now. She was so busy thinking of stories to tell Angel that she didn’t immediately notice that something was wrong.
“Hey, where are we going?” she said as she slowed down slightly.
“To the visitor’s lounge,” the guard said.
“But I usually go to the visitor’s area back that-a-way,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder to the hallway they just passed.
“Not today,” the guard said as she lightly shoved Faith onward.
When they reached the visitor’s lounge, Faith could tell something was different. The visitor area she usually went to had individual booths with protective glass separating visitor and inmate. This room simply had a long table in the center with chairs on either side, no glass at all.
“Sit. Your visitors will be here in a minute,” the guard said.
Visitors?
Moments later, two people entered the room. A man and a woman. The woman spoke to Faith.
“Hello, Faith. My name is Margaret Atwell and this,” she said, indicating the man, “is Oliver Meriweather. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Isn’t it, Oliver?”
“Yes. A pleasure,” he said, looking down at Faith.
British accents. They had British accents. That was never a good thing in Faith’s book.
Faith narrowed her eyes. “Who are you, and what do you want with me?”
Margaret sat down opposite Faith while Oliver plopped down in his chair and rested his feet on the table.
“We’re here to help you, Faith. These,” she said as she slid some papers over the table to Faith, “are your release papers. You will be a free woman by this time tomorrow.”
Faith flipped through the papers. She had done a lot of reading in prison. There wasn’t much else to do in prison except read and exercise. She had even managed to get her GED. Still, the papers looked like legal gibberish to her. She slid the papers back over to Margaret.
“I know what you people are. Why are you doing this?” Faith asked.
Margaret was silent for a moment. When she looked back up at Faith, she said, “You do know she’s dead, don’t you?”
Faith leaned back in her chair and sighed. The dream was true. Faith had lots of dreams where she was falling. They were mostly memories that replayed in her mind, night after night. The rooftop fight with Buffy. Falling out of the apartment window with Angel. Sometimes, her memories would get jumbled up. Instead of Buffy gutting her with the Mayor’s knife, it was Wes stabbing her with a kitchen knife. The dream she had a month ago was different. It wasn’t her falling. It was Buffy.
“That still doesn’t explain why you are doing this,” she said, pointing at the release papers. “B kicked the bucket. So? If you need a Slayer on the outside, why the change in M.O.? The Council’s usual way of ‘dealing’ with me is to try to kill me.”
“Don’t think it wasn’t brought up in the meetings, missy,” Oliver said.
Ignoring Oliver, Margaret looked at Faith. “Yes, Faith. Your . . . termination was discussed as a viable solution. However, your actions following the incident in L.A. impressed certain members of the Council. The fact that you willingly turned yourself over to the authorities changed some Council members’ opinions of you.”
“Uh huh,” Faith said.
“Faith, what do you know of the process that goes into calling another Slayer?” Margaret asked.
“Nothing.”
“Neither does the Council. It’s a complete mystery to everyone. The Council does employ a committee of Seers and shamans to help them narrow the possible candidates, but--”
“-But, even with all their mojo, they can’t be one hundred percent certain that the next Slayer won’t be somebody like me or B. Somebody not under the Council’s thumb. You guys figure that even though I’m damaged goods, I at least know the score. The devil you know and all.” Faith said.
“More or less,” Margaret replied.
“What’s stopping me from taking your deal and then running for it once I’m free?”
Oliver snorted. “Just try it, you little doxie. We’ll-”
Placing a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, Margaret turned to Faith, “Where would you go, Faith? Sunnydale? Miss Summers is dead and I don’t think her comrades would take too kindly to you coming back. L.A.? Our sources say that Angel is currently out of the country, mourning Miss Summers’ death and we don’t know when or if he’ll return. I doubt that Miss Chase or Mr. Pryce are eager to see you either.”
Faith sat there in silence.
“Faith, you view Angel as a sort of role model, don’t you?” Margaret asked.
“Maybe,” she said, narrowing her eyes again.
“Well, Angel had his soul for nearly a century before he became a Champion. Do you really think that you can atone for the wrongs you’ve done and find redemption sitting in a prison cell for the next couple of decades?” Margaret asked.
Faith looked at both of them. She didn’t have a choice, not really. She glanced over at the guard. All the talk of slayers, champions, and ‘terminating’ people, the guard hadn’t said a word. Which meant that she worked for the Council or had been paid off. Shit. Running from the Council Goon Squad on the outside was one thing, but in prison Faith was a sitting duck. They didn’t even have to go after her directly, they could just poison her food or something and roll the dice that the next Slayer was one of theirs’.
Faith forced a smile on her face. “You’ve got a deal.”
TBC . . .