Living on a Prayer, BtVS/SPN, part 9/?
Living on a Prayer
nwhepcat
Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel, Faith Lehane
Follow up to
Like the White-Winged Dove and Waiting for the end of the World.
Faith has a slayer dream which sends her on a reluctant journey to her old territory, on a quest to save a new ally.
Previous parts are here.
When she turns back to the office, Steve is setting the emptied carafe back into place and the machine starts its gurgling. He settles in behind his desk, and she takes the chair he'd offered her. "How long have you been back?"
Faith checks her watch. "Couple of hours. More, if you count the time I was driving around trying to find any kind of damn landmark."
Steve laughs again. "All of Boston was pretty disoriented when the Central Artery came down. We still are, when we're outside our own neighborhoods. That must have been a shock, if it was your first time back."
"Yeah."
"What brings you back? As far as I remember, you don't have any family here anymore."
"I'm not even sure. I heard about the tornado, and ..." She shrugs.
"That visceral need to head home when there's some kind of trouble there?"
"I guess that's it." She wonders what he'd think if she told him the truth. "What's been going on in the old nabe lately? Here at church?"
"The usual. Christenings, funerals, weddings, bake sales." He grins. "It's a far cry from what passed for excitement when we were kids."
"How'd you end up here, anyway?"
He makes a rueful face. She saw that a lot, back when they were a couple. "I got caught stealing some sacramental items from the church."
"Classy."
"I picked up a habit. I think it was after you left town."
"I thought it was the nuns had the habits." She winces. "That was bad. I've fallen in with bad company." She can just hear that same dumbass remark coming from Dean's pretty mouth.
"Have you?" he says quietly. "I've wondered about you these past few years. There were rumors you died instead of leaving town. They said you ran into trouble with a drug lord, and he's the one who killed your friend, the British girl. Some said he killed you too, and dumped your body in the harbor."
It's as neat an explanation as she's likely to be handed. "Yeah, well. All the rest of it's true. I took off and ended up in California for a few years."
Steve rises. "You take anything in your coffee?"
"Black's fine."
He pours them each a mug and delivers hers, then takes his seat again. "I had a bad feeling about that girl -- Paula, was it?"
"Pauline."
"The kind of trouble you got into after you met her -- I don't think your life would have gone that way if not for her."
Completely true, yet utterly wrong. Faith can't let this one lie. "No. Pauline was a good person. I don't want to hear one word against her."
"What about these new people, the bad company you fell in with? Are you on the run again?"
"Jesus Christ, the bad company thing was a joke! Sorry, Fa-- Steve. I just meant -- I have a friend who woulda made that nun joke. You have no idea where I've been and what I've done the past few years. Maybe I didn't put on a radical new set of clothes, and I probably curse even worse than I used to, but I'm not the crazy, stupid girl you knew, either."
"I happened to like that girl a lot," Steve says.
"Yeah, well, you were young and dumb too."
"Not for that. Well, I'm glad you're not in trouble. What made you come to the church?"
"Wait, you didn't tell me how you got from stealing chalices to being a priest."
He sips his coffee. "Monsignor Strynkowski put in a word for me. If I went into rehab and did some community service at the church, he wouldn't press charges."
"And you went the extra mile."
"Something like that."
"How is the Monsignor, anyhow? Is he still making the lovingly detailed word-pictures of hellfire and dalmations?"
Steve's smile fades. "He's in a nursing home. Alzheimer's."
"Sorry to hear that." She can't think of a pleasant lie about her great memories of him, so she leaves it at that. She is sorry.
"He's lucky, in a way. He's happy and cheerful and the staff at the home adore him.
A crack of thunder booms so loud that the both of them jump in the stark white light that accompanies it. Rain gusts into the windows so hard it almost clicks on the glass.
"That was close," Steve says. "Really strange weather we're having this winter."
"Has anything else weird been happening at the church? Anything at all that ... I dunno, creeps you out without you knowing why?"
His brow furrows at the question. "Sometimes. Sometimes it feels ... cold. That sounds silly, but there's something unsettling about it. And there are parishoners who seem different somehow. People I've known for years. Something about them seems off."
"Give me names."
"Why?"
"It's important."
"It's not always the same people. One Sunday it's elderly Mrs. Riordan, the next week she seems completely normal and it's Mr. Alessio."
"That's wicked creepy." Emphasis on wicked.
"I'm sure it's nothing more than my imagination working overtime."
There's a tremendous crash from the front of the church, and they both jump again.
Steve gets to his feet. "I was sure I bolted the door. Must've been a gust."
Faith rises too, grabbing for her bag. "Let me check things out."
"Faith, don't be ridiculous."
"Do what I say!" she snaps. "Stay here." Sword in one hand, squeeze bottle of holy water in the other, she strides out to the sanctuary.
nwhepcat
Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel, Faith Lehane
Follow up to
Like the White-Winged Dove and Waiting for the end of the World.
Faith has a slayer dream which sends her on a reluctant journey to her old territory, on a quest to save a new ally.
Previous parts are here.
When she turns back to the office, Steve is setting the emptied carafe back into place and the machine starts its gurgling. He settles in behind his desk, and she takes the chair he'd offered her. "How long have you been back?"
Faith checks her watch. "Couple of hours. More, if you count the time I was driving around trying to find any kind of damn landmark."
Steve laughs again. "All of Boston was pretty disoriented when the Central Artery came down. We still are, when we're outside our own neighborhoods. That must have been a shock, if it was your first time back."
"Yeah."
"What brings you back? As far as I remember, you don't have any family here anymore."
"I'm not even sure. I heard about the tornado, and ..." She shrugs.
"That visceral need to head home when there's some kind of trouble there?"
"I guess that's it." She wonders what he'd think if she told him the truth. "What's been going on in the old nabe lately? Here at church?"
"The usual. Christenings, funerals, weddings, bake sales." He grins. "It's a far cry from what passed for excitement when we were kids."
"How'd you end up here, anyway?"
He makes a rueful face. She saw that a lot, back when they were a couple. "I got caught stealing some sacramental items from the church."
"Classy."
"I picked up a habit. I think it was after you left town."
"I thought it was the nuns had the habits." She winces. "That was bad. I've fallen in with bad company." She can just hear that same dumbass remark coming from Dean's pretty mouth.
"Have you?" he says quietly. "I've wondered about you these past few years. There were rumors you died instead of leaving town. They said you ran into trouble with a drug lord, and he's the one who killed your friend, the British girl. Some said he killed you too, and dumped your body in the harbor."
It's as neat an explanation as she's likely to be handed. "Yeah, well. All the rest of it's true. I took off and ended up in California for a few years."
Steve rises. "You take anything in your coffee?"
"Black's fine."
He pours them each a mug and delivers hers, then takes his seat again. "I had a bad feeling about that girl -- Paula, was it?"
"Pauline."
"The kind of trouble you got into after you met her -- I don't think your life would have gone that way if not for her."
Completely true, yet utterly wrong. Faith can't let this one lie. "No. Pauline was a good person. I don't want to hear one word against her."
"What about these new people, the bad company you fell in with? Are you on the run again?"
"Jesus Christ, the bad company thing was a joke! Sorry, Fa-- Steve. I just meant -- I have a friend who woulda made that nun joke. You have no idea where I've been and what I've done the past few years. Maybe I didn't put on a radical new set of clothes, and I probably curse even worse than I used to, but I'm not the crazy, stupid girl you knew, either."
"I happened to like that girl a lot," Steve says.
"Yeah, well, you were young and dumb too."
"Not for that. Well, I'm glad you're not in trouble. What made you come to the church?"
"Wait, you didn't tell me how you got from stealing chalices to being a priest."
He sips his coffee. "Monsignor Strynkowski put in a word for me. If I went into rehab and did some community service at the church, he wouldn't press charges."
"And you went the extra mile."
"Something like that."
"How is the Monsignor, anyhow? Is he still making the lovingly detailed word-pictures of hellfire and dalmations?"
Steve's smile fades. "He's in a nursing home. Alzheimer's."
"Sorry to hear that." She can't think of a pleasant lie about her great memories of him, so she leaves it at that. She is sorry.
"He's lucky, in a way. He's happy and cheerful and the staff at the home adore him.
A crack of thunder booms so loud that the both of them jump in the stark white light that accompanies it. Rain gusts into the windows so hard it almost clicks on the glass.
"That was close," Steve says. "Really strange weather we're having this winter."
"Has anything else weird been happening at the church? Anything at all that ... I dunno, creeps you out without you knowing why?"
His brow furrows at the question. "Sometimes. Sometimes it feels ... cold. That sounds silly, but there's something unsettling about it. And there are parishoners who seem different somehow. People I've known for years. Something about them seems off."
"Give me names."
"Why?"
"It's important."
"It's not always the same people. One Sunday it's elderly Mrs. Riordan, the next week she seems completely normal and it's Mr. Alessio."
"That's wicked creepy." Emphasis on wicked.
"I'm sure it's nothing more than my imagination working overtime."
There's a tremendous crash from the front of the church, and they both jump again.
Steve gets to his feet. "I was sure I bolted the door. Must've been a gust."
Faith rises too, grabbing for her bag. "Let me check things out."
"Faith, don't be ridiculous."
"Do what I say!" she snaps. "Stay here." Sword in one hand, squeeze bottle of holy water in the other, she strides out to the sanctuary.