Milliways!Faith Lehane // BtVS by way of Roswell // 30-odd years in the future // That Bar Place
Thirty years on, and she's still a Slayer.
Thirty years on, and she's still a Queen.
She's a mother, an aunt, a grandmother, a sister, a wife, and of all the things she's gotten used to being over the years, the one thing she thought she would never be again is a patron of Milliways.
But here she is, and despite the icon she's much as she was ( Read more... )
Thirty years on, and she's still a Queen.
She's a mother, an aunt, a grandmother, a sister, a wife, and of all the things she's gotten used to being over the years, the one thing she thought she would never be again is a patron of Milliways.
But here she is, and despite the icon she's much as she was ( Read more... )
The man sitting on one of the couches by the fireplace is in his mid-to-late-thirties. His too-long hair is held out of his face with a battered cap; he's studying something on the screen of a laptop, referring at the same time to something on the screen of his hand-held.
(This is what a Watcher looks like in this century.)
He hasn't seen her yet.
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Well - compared to her, in a way he was always young, but...really.
Faith swallows and walks up to him slowly, unable to fight back a wide, beaming smile at the sight of him, just like she remembers, like the first day she came here, found him here, this 'guestage' who became so much more than just a friend to her, in the end...
She walks up to him and leans against the edge of the couch, and she has to clear her throat slightly before she can speak, her voice trembling and raw with emotion.
"Hey there, Raggedy Andy. How's it hanging?"
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His eyes go round, and his mouth drops open, and about ten years fall off his face.
"...Faith?"
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Faith smiles, and look at that, the years are melting off of her face too.
"Look at us. Didn't think this reunion was coming anytime soon....damn, you look good, kid."
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He pushes the laptop aside, pockets the handheld with absent care while getting to his feet in the same motion, and reaches out to touch her shoulder.
"It's really you."
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Faith folds him into a hug, holding onto him as she's done so many times, as she hasn't done in years, and she'd forgotten what it felt like, but when she rests her chin on his shoulder she suddenly remembers it was always like this.
"It's me, Andy. I'm really here."
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But the utter wholeheartedness of the hug hasn't changed at all.
"Oh my god." His voice is thinned down to a bare squeak, half-laughter, half-sob.
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Faith squeezes him gently, giving him a glimpse at her strength.
"Little over sixty, Andy, and I've still got the Slayer package."
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"You look great." (It's only partly how happy he is to see her.)
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"I'm one damn fine grandmother, aren't I?"
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His eyes are shining.
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Faith has become one of Those People.
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Andrew is not actually making grabbyhands, but he might as well be.
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Darn tootin'.
She fishes out a picture of herself, Max, and their son, along with a young Antarian woman holding a small child of indeterminate gender and extreme cuteness.
"Grandson," Faith says, beaming ridiculously. "Isn't he adorable?"
She's ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.
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After a moment, he adds in a slightly husky voice: "Max looks really great."
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