FIC: Everyone Deserves the Chance to Fly (2/?)
Name: Everyone Deserves the Chance to Fly
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Spike/Buffy, Willow/Tosh, Xander/Anya, Martha, Owen, Faith, Angel, The Doctor, Mickey, PC Andy, Libby(OC) and other OCs who I can’t name without spoilers for the fic! And one other pairing that will probably make you lot want to lynch me.
Summary: Latest story in the Magic and Mayhem series. Two months after the mysterious disappearances of Willow, Xander and Martha and the death of a member of the team, the gang are still reeling when someone unexpected appears from the TARDIS and darkness descends on the team when they find out about their friend...
Spoilers: Oh, everything from Torchwood and Doctor Who and the first six seasons of Buffy. Just ... everything, alright?
Chapter: Two: Dreams
Master List Can be Found Here.
Beta/Punching Bag/Ass-Kicker: skullgirl013
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, Doctor Who or Buffy or Angel or anything like that. So, yeah, just ... not mine. But I do own Libby! And I kinda own this completely cracked storyline that’s developing a life of its own and I’m becoming way too attached to.
Author’s Note: I apologise if this starts off a bit Buffy-centric. It’s necessary, I think. It’ll become more Janto-y in later chapters. Tosh (and Willow by association) also have a big part in this fic. But bear with me because this is the darkest most angsty thing I’ve ever written. And if you like certain pairings (Xander/Anya, Spike/Buffy, Willow/Tosh) you’ll be yelling “FIX IT!” within a few chapters. Forgive me, it won’t be fixed that soon. And some won’t be fixed at all... [Jen - She’s not kidding ya know!]
Another one. Yay. And before you ask I'm not posting daily. Just not. I can't atm. We'll see as we get through more chapters and stuff.
x
Chapters: Ch.1
Chapter 2
Dreams
Friday December 12th
04:12
“I could stay like this forever,” Tosh said, carding her fingers through Willow’s hair.
Willow snuggled further into her lover’s lap and smiled. “Me too,” she said, sleepily.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Tosh continued, casting her eyes around her room into which morning light was flooding. “No aliens or demons or Daleks.”
Willow nodded. “There is hunger though. Hunger is a bad thing.”
“Breakfast?” Tosh suggested.
Willow sighed and rolled out of Tosh’s lap. “Yes,” she said, resignedly. “In bed.”
Tosh smiled. “Okay.” She bent down and kissed Willow, gently, before climbing out of bed and heading to the bedroom doorway, where she paused to look back.
The bed was empty; Willow was gone. “Willow?” she gasped out, running back into the room and looking around, frantically. “Willow!” she screamed, desperately. “Will! Willow!” She spun around and ran out of the bedroom into the living room. “Willow?” she breathed.
Willow was stood in the middle of the living room, her hair lank and dull, eyes black. “Tosh,” she cried, reaching out towards her. “Help me.”
Tosh’s keen eyes scanned Willow’s body; she was pale and thin, almost gaunt, and there were tubes going into her arms connected to ... Tosh didn’t know what they were connected to, she couldn’t tell, she was more intent on reaching out and taking Willow’s hand.
As soon as their fingers connected, Willow fell forwards into her arms and both women crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs until Tosh could sit up and pull Willow into her lap, the position a stark contrast to the comfort of before. “Willow? Honey?” She brushed the hair from her face and clasped Willow’s hand in hers, holding it over the redhead’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”
Willow coughed and choked out, “Help me.”
“How?” Tosh asked, desperately. “Tell me how I can help.”
“Help me ...” Willow let out a moan of pure agony and convulsed in Tosh’s arms. Tosh screamed her name as she went limp and extended her fingers, testing for the pulse in her wrist.
There was none.
04:17
Tosh’s eyes flew open and she released her grip on the sheets beneath her as she lay, drenched in her own sweat and sobbing. She kept having these dreams of Willow in pain and dying. Not every night, but every night she slept.
She couldn’t believe she was actually in that much pain, she didn’t want to believe it. It was easier to push it from her mind and continue searching for Willow and hoping ... hoping to find her. One day.
06:09
She was in work early, her disgusting pink leather coat flowing out behind her as she ran through the tourist office. It hurt to walk through there, now, even though it was Ianto’s domain long before it was Anya’s.
It looked completely different now it had been rebuilt. The desk was in a different place all together and the bead curtain leading to the back rooms was no longer there; replaced with an oak door. Ianto sat behind the desk, looking miffed.
“What’s up?” Buffy asked, putting on an air of cheerfulness even though she didn’t feel it.
Ianto sighed. “Jack still won’t let me assign Libby to desk duty instead of sending her out in the field.”
“She’s a good field agent and works well under pressure,” Buffy reminded him. “She’s better off out there.”
Ianto glowered at her and she backed away. “Then again, what do I know?”
She turned to the doorway into the hub and Ianto hit the button for her, letting her through. She wandered the corridors without even thinking about it, knowing exactly where to go having made the same journey every day for ten months. That’s how long she’d been in Cardiff. And for two of them her two best friends had been missing, something that, in Buffy’s eyes, wasn’t on.
She walked through the cog door into the hub and saw Tosh sat at her desk. She looked more tired than the night before. “Tosh?” she said, gently, as she approached.
Tosh jumped, obviously coming out of a doze or trance. Buffy laid a hand on her shoulder. “Buffy, hey,” Tosh said, rubbing her eyes. “I was just getting you that information you requested about that demon sighting.” She clicked a few buttons, the screen in front of her changing image.
“Are you okay?” she asked, gently.
“I’m fine,” Tosh insisted. “Just getting you that information. Oh, and tell Ianto Libby’s using his coffee machine again. I think she does it just to annoy him.”
“Probably,” Buffy replied. She touched the intercom. “Hey, Ianto, Libby’s using your coffee machine again.”
There was a string of swearwords in Welsh and the line went dead. A couple of moments later the cog door opened and Ianto came charging through, heading straight up the stairs to the kitchen looking livid. Buffy and Tosh giggled for a moment before Tosh pulled some papers off her printer and passed them to Buffy, all laughter gone. “The information,” she said.
“Thanks Tosh, you’re the best,” Buffy said, taking the papers and walking across to her desk.
She spread the papers across the wood and sighed deeply. She was getting fast fed up of being sent out to just hunt demons when her friends were in danger, alone, maybe dying. She wanted to do something, anything, to get them back and all Jack was doing was sending her out with Owen and Faith to kick demon and alien asses.
It didn’t help. Not just getting her friends back didn’t it help, but it didn’t help the demon and alien population of Cardiff shrink either. No, the population just kept getting larger. She clicked a button on her computer and loaded up the tracking system. She’d put a tracer on the demon she’d been hunting two days before right before she’d lost it. It was now a blinking fuchsia dot on the map.
She glanced at the Torchwood hub on the map. There were a small mass of olive green dots there. She glanced at her wrist. It wasn’t visible, but she could swear she could feel the tracker beneath her skin. She’d agreed with Owen when he’d suggested it. Putting a tracker on the team members who hadn’t gone missing yet was definitely a good idea.
She moved her sleeve up and scratched her wrist irritably, not hearing approaching footsteps. “Are you trying to scratch your skin off?” Owen enquired.
Buffy jumped and turned to look at Owen, standing over her with a smirk on his face. “What? No.” She looked at her wrist and pulled her sleeve down again, turning to the papers. Owen pulled up a chair next to her and sat down, looking over her shoulder. “I’ve been looking at these demons,” she said. “These seem rife in this part of Cardiff” - she pointed at a point on the map on the screen - “because it has more sewage.”
“Ew,” Owen complained, wrinkling his nose. “Demons are so disgusting.”
She nodded. “Yep. I was thinking if we could tone down the population of these demons it would clear up half of this area” - she circled an area with her finger - “and then we could ...” She broke off and looked at the papers. “Oh, who am I kidding?”
“What?”
“We’re never going to beat them,” she said. “They’ll just keep coming through the rift from different times and places and there’s nothing we can do about it.” She scrunched the papers up into a little ball and threw them towards the autopsy bay angrily. “Same as the aliens. They’ll just keep falling from the sky and killing and taking the people we love.” She gripped her pencil and it broke in two, splintering into her hand. She barely even noticed the blood trickling from her palm and dripping onto the desk.
Owen reached out and placed his hands over hers, pulling them apart. He took the fragmented pencil and placed the bits on the desk before unfolding her hands and looking at her palms. “Let me clean those up,” he said.
Buffy pulled her hands away. “It’s fine,” she said, scrambling to stand up. Owen stood too.
“No, it’s not,” he insisted. “You’re bleeding. Spike’s not going to be happy with me if he smells blood on you and I haven’t helped.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Buffy retorted, holding her hands gingerly. “It’s fine.”
“Would you stop being so bloody tough for a change?” Owen snapped. “We’re all hurting, Buffy, and it’s not going to kill you to show it.”
“I have to stay strong,” Buffy said. “Because if I don't, who will?” She threw up her hands. “Jack fell to pieces and left me to deal with the team. I sent them out there to die. I weakened Willow, I killed Anya and I killed Xander inside. And as for Martha ...!” She let out a laugh that made Owen flinch. “I sent her away and she went off and tried to blow up the Earth.” She glared at him. “I can’t ... I won’t ... I ...” She blinked hard and stepped back as Owen stepped towards her. “Just ... Just leave me alone!” she shouted at him, before turning and running away across the hub.
06:17
The knife glinted in her hands; silver perfection set in a dark mahogany handle. She turned and twisted it in her grip, admiring how it caught the artificial light and cast tiny pricks of light all around the target range.
The new, improved target range.
Faith had felt deprived when she returned to the hub to find the target range had collapsed, but had quickly taken it upon herself to build it back with new, improved moving targets and smaller targets to aim at. They tested her reaction times and her accuracy well.
She’d tried to get Buffy to ‘play’ with her, but Buffy wasn’t having a bar of it. Which was fine. It wasn’t like she needed another slayer to practice with. She could always ask Owen. He’d be up for it.
He was up for anything. Quite literally. She smirked at the memory of the couple of shags they’d had since the Dalek invasion, when they just wanted to feel alive. It wasn’t an arrangement or a relationship, it was a mutual understanding.
They hadn’t actually had sex for a month. They didn’t need it anymore. Plus, they were both finding their partners elsewhere. It had been getting a tad too comfortable for either of their peace of mind.
Faith pulled her arm back and snapped it forward, sending the knife sailing forward to impact the moving target ahead with precision.
She smiled, proudly, at the silver and brown protruding from the tiny spot in the middle of the target.
“Nice shot,” Buffy’s voice said from nearby.
She spun around, eying Buffy up, cautiously. The other Slayer had been unpredictable recently, flying off the handle for no apparent reason. “’sup, B?” Faith said.
“Can I join you?” Buffy asked.
Faith raised an eyebrow. “Never thought I’d see the day, B, but sure.” She tossed one of the knives she was holding at Buffy, who caught it easily, despite her sloppily bandaged hand.
Buffy walked towards Faith and stood by her side, facing the targets. “How accurate are you?” she asked.
Faith tilted her head, turned away and threw the knife behind her. It hit the moving bulls-eye. “Does that answer your question?”
Buffy nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “If I stood by that target and you put a blindfold on and threw the knife at me, think you’d miss me?”
“Yes, I do, because I wouldn't throw it. Not looking to be killed by Harkness, Owen and Spike any time soon,” she said, huffily, throwing three knives together and hitting the same target, a bulls-eye each time.
Buffy sighed. “Pity,” she said.
“What’s with the suicidal attitude, B? Been talking to the emo tea-boy too much?” Faith walked to the targets and picked up her knives, tossing a few in Buffy’s direction. Buffy caught them and tossed them at the high targets, missing miserably.
“I had a chat with Owen.”
“And?”
“I think I hurt him. And he said that I ...” She broke off and looked at Faith as though seeing her for the first time. She threw the remaining knives down hard. “Why am I talking to you of all people?” she demanded.
“’cause I won’t judge?”
“No, because you’re here. And you listen and don't repeat.” Buffy sighed. “But I can’t talk to you. Because we hate each other.”
“Do we? Still?” Faith asked, surprisingly gently.
Buffy groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “Everything’s so fucked up,” she muttered. “I don't know who I feel what for anymore.” She picked the knives up and handed them to Faith. “Thanks, Faith,” she said as she left the target range.
Faith blinked. “What for?” she asked the empty space Buffy had left behind.
Next: Chapter 3
Rating: R
Pairings/Characters: Jack/Ianto, Spike/Buffy, Willow/Tosh, Xander/Anya, Martha, Owen, Faith, Angel, The Doctor, Mickey, PC Andy, Libby(OC) and other OCs who I can’t name without spoilers for the fic! And one other pairing that will probably make you lot want to lynch me.
Summary: Latest story in the Magic and Mayhem series. Two months after the mysterious disappearances of Willow, Xander and Martha and the death of a member of the team, the gang are still reeling when someone unexpected appears from the TARDIS and darkness descends on the team when they find out about their friend...
Spoilers: Oh, everything from Torchwood and Doctor Who and the first six seasons of Buffy. Just ... everything, alright?
Chapter: Two: Dreams
Master List Can be Found Here.
Beta/Punching Bag/Ass-Kicker: skullgirl013
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, Doctor Who or Buffy or Angel or anything like that. So, yeah, just ... not mine. But I do own Libby! And I kinda own this completely cracked storyline that’s developing a life of its own and I’m becoming way too attached to.
Author’s Note: I apologise if this starts off a bit Buffy-centric. It’s necessary, I think. It’ll become more Janto-y in later chapters. Tosh (and Willow by association) also have a big part in this fic. But bear with me because this is the darkest most angsty thing I’ve ever written. And if you like certain pairings (Xander/Anya, Spike/Buffy, Willow/Tosh) you’ll be yelling “FIX IT!” within a few chapters. Forgive me, it won’t be fixed that soon. And some won’t be fixed at all... [Jen - She’s not kidding ya know!]
Another one. Yay. And before you ask I'm not posting daily. Just not. I can't atm. We'll see as we get through more chapters and stuff.
x
Chapters: Ch.1
Chapter 2
Dreams
Friday December 12th
04:12
“I could stay like this forever,” Tosh said, carding her fingers through Willow’s hair.
Willow snuggled further into her lover’s lap and smiled. “Me too,” she said, sleepily.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Tosh continued, casting her eyes around her room into which morning light was flooding. “No aliens or demons or Daleks.”
Willow nodded. “There is hunger though. Hunger is a bad thing.”
“Breakfast?” Tosh suggested.
Willow sighed and rolled out of Tosh’s lap. “Yes,” she said, resignedly. “In bed.”
Tosh smiled. “Okay.” She bent down and kissed Willow, gently, before climbing out of bed and heading to the bedroom doorway, where she paused to look back.
The bed was empty; Willow was gone. “Willow?” she gasped out, running back into the room and looking around, frantically. “Willow!” she screamed, desperately. “Will! Willow!” She spun around and ran out of the bedroom into the living room. “Willow?” she breathed.
Willow was stood in the middle of the living room, her hair lank and dull, eyes black. “Tosh,” she cried, reaching out towards her. “Help me.”
Tosh’s keen eyes scanned Willow’s body; she was pale and thin, almost gaunt, and there were tubes going into her arms connected to ... Tosh didn’t know what they were connected to, she couldn’t tell, she was more intent on reaching out and taking Willow’s hand.
As soon as their fingers connected, Willow fell forwards into her arms and both women crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs until Tosh could sit up and pull Willow into her lap, the position a stark contrast to the comfort of before. “Willow? Honey?” She brushed the hair from her face and clasped Willow’s hand in hers, holding it over the redhead’s stomach. “What’s wrong?”
Willow coughed and choked out, “Help me.”
“How?” Tosh asked, desperately. “Tell me how I can help.”
“Help me ...” Willow let out a moan of pure agony and convulsed in Tosh’s arms. Tosh screamed her name as she went limp and extended her fingers, testing for the pulse in her wrist.
There was none.
04:17
Tosh’s eyes flew open and she released her grip on the sheets beneath her as she lay, drenched in her own sweat and sobbing. She kept having these dreams of Willow in pain and dying. Not every night, but every night she slept.
She couldn’t believe she was actually in that much pain, she didn’t want to believe it. It was easier to push it from her mind and continue searching for Willow and hoping ... hoping to find her. One day.
06:09
She was in work early, her disgusting pink leather coat flowing out behind her as she ran through the tourist office. It hurt to walk through there, now, even though it was Ianto’s domain long before it was Anya’s.
It looked completely different now it had been rebuilt. The desk was in a different place all together and the bead curtain leading to the back rooms was no longer there; replaced with an oak door. Ianto sat behind the desk, looking miffed.
“What’s up?” Buffy asked, putting on an air of cheerfulness even though she didn’t feel it.
Ianto sighed. “Jack still won’t let me assign Libby to desk duty instead of sending her out in the field.”
“She’s a good field agent and works well under pressure,” Buffy reminded him. “She’s better off out there.”
Ianto glowered at her and she backed away. “Then again, what do I know?”
She turned to the doorway into the hub and Ianto hit the button for her, letting her through. She wandered the corridors without even thinking about it, knowing exactly where to go having made the same journey every day for ten months. That’s how long she’d been in Cardiff. And for two of them her two best friends had been missing, something that, in Buffy’s eyes, wasn’t on.
She walked through the cog door into the hub and saw Tosh sat at her desk. She looked more tired than the night before. “Tosh?” she said, gently, as she approached.
Tosh jumped, obviously coming out of a doze or trance. Buffy laid a hand on her shoulder. “Buffy, hey,” Tosh said, rubbing her eyes. “I was just getting you that information you requested about that demon sighting.” She clicked a few buttons, the screen in front of her changing image.
“Are you okay?” she asked, gently.
“I’m fine,” Tosh insisted. “Just getting you that information. Oh, and tell Ianto Libby’s using his coffee machine again. I think she does it just to annoy him.”
“Probably,” Buffy replied. She touched the intercom. “Hey, Ianto, Libby’s using your coffee machine again.”
There was a string of swearwords in Welsh and the line went dead. A couple of moments later the cog door opened and Ianto came charging through, heading straight up the stairs to the kitchen looking livid. Buffy and Tosh giggled for a moment before Tosh pulled some papers off her printer and passed them to Buffy, all laughter gone. “The information,” she said.
“Thanks Tosh, you’re the best,” Buffy said, taking the papers and walking across to her desk.
She spread the papers across the wood and sighed deeply. She was getting fast fed up of being sent out to just hunt demons when her friends were in danger, alone, maybe dying. She wanted to do something, anything, to get them back and all Jack was doing was sending her out with Owen and Faith to kick demon and alien asses.
It didn’t help. Not just getting her friends back didn’t it help, but it didn’t help the demon and alien population of Cardiff shrink either. No, the population just kept getting larger. She clicked a button on her computer and loaded up the tracking system. She’d put a tracer on the demon she’d been hunting two days before right before she’d lost it. It was now a blinking fuchsia dot on the map.
She glanced at the Torchwood hub on the map. There were a small mass of olive green dots there. She glanced at her wrist. It wasn’t visible, but she could swear she could feel the tracker beneath her skin. She’d agreed with Owen when he’d suggested it. Putting a tracker on the team members who hadn’t gone missing yet was definitely a good idea.
She moved her sleeve up and scratched her wrist irritably, not hearing approaching footsteps. “Are you trying to scratch your skin off?” Owen enquired.
Buffy jumped and turned to look at Owen, standing over her with a smirk on his face. “What? No.” She looked at her wrist and pulled her sleeve down again, turning to the papers. Owen pulled up a chair next to her and sat down, looking over her shoulder. “I’ve been looking at these demons,” she said. “These seem rife in this part of Cardiff” - she pointed at a point on the map on the screen - “because it has more sewage.”
“Ew,” Owen complained, wrinkling his nose. “Demons are so disgusting.”
She nodded. “Yep. I was thinking if we could tone down the population of these demons it would clear up half of this area” - she circled an area with her finger - “and then we could ...” She broke off and looked at the papers. “Oh, who am I kidding?”
“What?”
“We’re never going to beat them,” she said. “They’ll just keep coming through the rift from different times and places and there’s nothing we can do about it.” She scrunched the papers up into a little ball and threw them towards the autopsy bay angrily. “Same as the aliens. They’ll just keep falling from the sky and killing and taking the people we love.” She gripped her pencil and it broke in two, splintering into her hand. She barely even noticed the blood trickling from her palm and dripping onto the desk.
Owen reached out and placed his hands over hers, pulling them apart. He took the fragmented pencil and placed the bits on the desk before unfolding her hands and looking at her palms. “Let me clean those up,” he said.
Buffy pulled her hands away. “It’s fine,” she said, scrambling to stand up. Owen stood too.
“No, it’s not,” he insisted. “You’re bleeding. Spike’s not going to be happy with me if he smells blood on you and I haven’t helped.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Buffy retorted, holding her hands gingerly. “It’s fine.”
“Would you stop being so bloody tough for a change?” Owen snapped. “We’re all hurting, Buffy, and it’s not going to kill you to show it.”
“I have to stay strong,” Buffy said. “Because if I don't, who will?” She threw up her hands. “Jack fell to pieces and left me to deal with the team. I sent them out there to die. I weakened Willow, I killed Anya and I killed Xander inside. And as for Martha ...!” She let out a laugh that made Owen flinch. “I sent her away and she went off and tried to blow up the Earth.” She glared at him. “I can’t ... I won’t ... I ...” She blinked hard and stepped back as Owen stepped towards her. “Just ... Just leave me alone!” she shouted at him, before turning and running away across the hub.
06:17
The knife glinted in her hands; silver perfection set in a dark mahogany handle. She turned and twisted it in her grip, admiring how it caught the artificial light and cast tiny pricks of light all around the target range.
The new, improved target range.
Faith had felt deprived when she returned to the hub to find the target range had collapsed, but had quickly taken it upon herself to build it back with new, improved moving targets and smaller targets to aim at. They tested her reaction times and her accuracy well.
She’d tried to get Buffy to ‘play’ with her, but Buffy wasn’t having a bar of it. Which was fine. It wasn’t like she needed another slayer to practice with. She could always ask Owen. He’d be up for it.
He was up for anything. Quite literally. She smirked at the memory of the couple of shags they’d had since the Dalek invasion, when they just wanted to feel alive. It wasn’t an arrangement or a relationship, it was a mutual understanding.
They hadn’t actually had sex for a month. They didn’t need it anymore. Plus, they were both finding their partners elsewhere. It had been getting a tad too comfortable for either of their peace of mind.
Faith pulled her arm back and snapped it forward, sending the knife sailing forward to impact the moving target ahead with precision.
She smiled, proudly, at the silver and brown protruding from the tiny spot in the middle of the target.
“Nice shot,” Buffy’s voice said from nearby.
She spun around, eying Buffy up, cautiously. The other Slayer had been unpredictable recently, flying off the handle for no apparent reason. “’sup, B?” Faith said.
“Can I join you?” Buffy asked.
Faith raised an eyebrow. “Never thought I’d see the day, B, but sure.” She tossed one of the knives she was holding at Buffy, who caught it easily, despite her sloppily bandaged hand.
Buffy walked towards Faith and stood by her side, facing the targets. “How accurate are you?” she asked.
Faith tilted her head, turned away and threw the knife behind her. It hit the moving bulls-eye. “Does that answer your question?”
Buffy nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “If I stood by that target and you put a blindfold on and threw the knife at me, think you’d miss me?”
“Yes, I do, because I wouldn't throw it. Not looking to be killed by Harkness, Owen and Spike any time soon,” she said, huffily, throwing three knives together and hitting the same target, a bulls-eye each time.
Buffy sighed. “Pity,” she said.
“What’s with the suicidal attitude, B? Been talking to the emo tea-boy too much?” Faith walked to the targets and picked up her knives, tossing a few in Buffy’s direction. Buffy caught them and tossed them at the high targets, missing miserably.
“I had a chat with Owen.”
“And?”
“I think I hurt him. And he said that I ...” She broke off and looked at Faith as though seeing her for the first time. She threw the remaining knives down hard. “Why am I talking to you of all people?” she demanded.
“’cause I won’t judge?”
“No, because you’re here. And you listen and don't repeat.” Buffy sighed. “But I can’t talk to you. Because we hate each other.”
“Do we? Still?” Faith asked, surprisingly gently.
Buffy groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “Everything’s so fucked up,” she muttered. “I don't know who I feel what for anymore.” She picked the knives up and handed them to Faith. “Thanks, Faith,” she said as she left the target range.
Faith blinked. “What for?” she asked the empty space Buffy had left behind.
Next: Chapter 3