skip the light fandango

Title: Gods and Monsters (Part 4-5: Complete)
Author: Maren
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Faith/Cordelia
Summary: Post-NFA. Faith's getting careless and going crazy.
Author's Notes: Written for booster17 in the Buffyverse Femslash Ficathon run by cadence_k. My apologies to both of them for this being months late. Thanks to southernbangel and cornerofmadness for their help with hashing out story ideas and beta-duty.

Parts 1-3: Mexico City, Oaxaca, Cartagena



Belize

Dimensional instability seems to bring every god, wannabe god, and the minions of both right out of the woodwork. Except it’s usually more like they come out of mud, craters, volcanoes, and crumbling ruins and if Faith gave half a shit about her clothes, the Council would have one hell of a cleaning bill. ‘Course, they probably do with B on the job.

Faith can deal with the gods and the demons and the minions and the vampires. What she can’t deal with is ghosts, or hallucinations, or anything that looks or moves or smells like Cordelia Chase. It’s been two months since the Vibora fever, two months where Faith prays to whatever Powers who normally screw with her life that she won’t see any more ghosts—at least not any ghosts who wear the faces of people she knew alive. So far, so good, at least during her waking hours.

Now it’s the dreams that haunt her, night and day, with flashes of soft bronzed skin pressing against hers, glimpses of deep brown eyes staring, perfect white teeth biting down on her flesh, and that laugh that sparkles and echoes and mocks her with promises of peace and happiness. She tries not to close her eyes, more afraid of what she’ll see in those few minutes of sleep that she manages to catch than any of the things she goes up against night after night.

Tired doesn’t even begin to cover what Faith feels and it’s about a hell of a lot more than missed zzz’s. Most of the time she feels sluggish, like the very air around her is sticky and thick enough to impede her movement. Everything feels a little unreal, a little soft around the edges. It’s the way they all felt before going against The First, except it’s worse somehow because there’s no endgame, no magical day when they either win or lose and everything is over.

It’s been a year since Angel died in that alley, a year that Faith has spent moving through Central America doing her part in trying to keep a lid on chaos. She doesn’t keep count of her kills, but if she did she knows they would number well over 1000. She fights everyday, kills everyday, and there’s no end in sight. The bad guys just keep coming and the only thing they can do about it is keep fighting, keep killing.

This time the killing fields are in the Mountain Pine Ridge region of Belize, and the god in question is Kisin, Mayan god of earthquakes The dude has a pretty big group of followers, or a small group of true believers and a big mess of tourists they’ve brainwashed into their little earthquake cult. It’s a delicate, dangerous job and the big bosses sent her a backup slayer for this one. Faith and Elena have to take down the demonic cult leaders before they manage to free Kisin from his underworld prison. Catch is, they have to do it without murdering the poor schlubs who got pulled into this without their consent—even if those same schlubs are the ones holding really big guns as they stand guard over the caves that hold the real targets.

Faith’s a little pissed that Xander and Co. called in backup, even though the help is more than welcome. It’s the niggling suspicion that they still don’t trust that she won’t go berserk and take out innocent humans that’s not so cool. She’s tired of this too—the knowledge that she will never be good enough for them, that she’ll never be redeemed in their eyes, that if she died today after all that she’s done over the last year plus to keep this damn world safe, she’d die without any true allies.

That died with Angel, too.

“How much longer?”

Elena’s thickly accented voice breaks into Faith’s thoughts and she slants her eyes over to where the other slayer is lying face down in the lush vegetation that surrounds the river. They’ve been here for over an hour, waiting for some sign that their true prey is holed up in the caves. No need to tip their hand if the gun-toting humans are the only ones at home.

Faith grunts and shrugs. “How the hell am I supposed to know?” There’s no need to whisper—the huge waterfall that tumbles down the cavern wall just to the left of the mouth of the caves easily drowns out their voices.

The girl’s lip curls in distaste and she shakes her head as she turns back to face the caves. “I thought you were supposed to be a leader,” Elena mumbles under her breath, but just loud enough for Faith to make out the words, “but I am laying here with jungle vermin crawling all over me and…”

Her words trail off as the earth beneath them begins to rumble, sending bone deep vibrations through Faith’s entire body.

“Do you feel that?” Elena’s voice is low and edged with fear.

Faith shoots her a look of disbelief and rolls her eyes. “I’d say that’s our cue to move.” Faith rises to her hands and knees and crawls quickly over the trembling earth, moving straight toward the guards who are bracing themselves against the rock wall that rises over them. She doesn’t look behind her to see if the baby slayer is following, just glides as stealthily as she can over the grumbling earth, keeping an eye out for falling rocks and debris.

The guards outside are no problem, even with the guns. They’re distracted by the quaking earth and it’s easy work for Faith and Elena to knock them out and throw away the weapons. Then the slayers are carefully skirting the forceful rush of the waterfall and inching into the dark mouth of the cave. There is a torch set into the stone on one side of the cavern and the light it emits is just enough to illuminate the wet glow of the stalagmites with their imbedded crystals that make the interior of the cave a slippery maze. It would be beautiful if it weren’t for the bones, animal and human, that lay scattered over the wet stone. There’s a smell pouring out from somewhere deeper in the cave, putrid and overwhelming like they’re sneaking up on the biggest demon shithouse in this dimension. Faith wrinkles her nose and tries to hiss a breath through her mouth instead. Shooting a glance at Elena, Faith bites back a sudden urge to laugh at the disgusted look on the other girl’s face.

The roar of the waterfall outside drowns out all other sounds in the confined space and the light isn’t much help either. Faith’s feeling more than a little claustrophobic as she moves further into the interior, toward the source of the smell and the rolling earth that trembles harder with every passing moment. Kisin must be close to breaking free and they need to get in there and stop the ritual. Faith might be pretty confident about her battle skills but no way does she want to get stuck taking on the “Stinking One” with a single baby slayer for backup.

A baby slayer with kick ass magical skills, but still.

The pair moves carefully along the interior, sticking to the slimy walls as closely as possible. As they move further into the cave, the sound of falling water fades. There’s more light ahead, accompanied by the sound of a droning murmur. Faith slows down a little, caution warring with her need to get on with the action. She peeks around a large stalagmite that hides her position from the cave’s inhabitants to see a wide open space in front of her, filled with a long winding line of humans dressed in black robes like extras in a bad satanic cult movie. Faith counts four demons scattered around the room, all about her height but thick as tree trunks with hides to match. There is a bubbling pit of thick yellow muck in the middle of the cavern, and Faith would bet her non-existent paycheck that it’s the source of the smell. As she watches, the guy at the front of the line jumps into the pit, his face contorted into a soundless scream as the viscous liquid bubbles and slowly swallows him whole.

Shit.

Faith signals Elena to begin the spell that will temporarily immobilize all of the non-supernatural types in the immediate area. She needs to hurry before the next entrée in the human buffet line decides to take a leap. Faith is itching to pull her blade and jump into the fray but she knows they have to take care of the brainwashed tourists first—things will be tough enough with 40-odd people-statues standing in the midst of the fight without having to worry about fighting them, too.

Elena finishes the spell just as the next sacrifice steps toward the pit. He stands still, one leg hanging stiffly over the hole and Faith takes that as her cue to go. Drawing the short sword that’s strapped to her thigh, she rushes into the opening just as one of Kisin’s minions lets out a roar and backhands the immobile man who is balanced over the pit. He tips into the bubbling mess and Faith watches in horror as the demon picks up the next frozen figure and tosses her into the muck as well.

The ground beneath them begins to roll in waves so intense that it knocks Faith off balance and it takes all her coordination to keep from falling on her sword. She sees Elena move past her and into the midst of the demons, trying to get close to the pit and the demon who keeps trying to chuck people into the mouth of Kisin. The younger slayer is cut off by the other demons and Faith jumps up and tries to let the pitch of the earth work in her favor, leaping toward the stinking hole with a loud yell. She lands on her feet just in front of the squat monster with its tree trunk neck and grips her sword in both hands, pulling it back over her shoulder and preparing to hack at with all of her might.

What happens next is straight out of Faith’s nightmares. She’s letting loose with a full arcing swing, forearms straight and taut with the strain of her muscles, when the demon pulls the next human in line in front of it as a shield. Faith sees it happening, knows deep inside on an instinctual level that it’s probably too late but she tries anyway—a click in her brain, a fire of nerve, a chemical in the synapse, a chain reaction that moves like lightening down to the flexed muscles in her arm and hand, telling them to change course cause it’s too late to stop.

Maybe, if her reflexes weren’t dulled from lack of sleep or if she’d stopped herself from thinking about Cordelia or even if she’d relied on the power in her fists rather than the tempered steel in her hands, she could have stopped this. But the maybes aren’t what Faith is thinking about as she changes the angle of her swing, pulling her arm down so that she is no longer aiming where the demon’s neck is currently guarded by the man’s. What flashes through her mind instead are images of human blood on her hands and the memories of guilt and rage that twisted her into something she’s spent years trying to forget. And for a moment, she thinks maybe she moved in time, that maybe she’ll miss the man’s frozen, defenseless form. When the blade sinks into his gut, ripping him open right along with the demon behind him, it’s almost a surprise. Almost.

Faith doesn’t collapse, not yet. Elena’s screams for help cut through the fog of shock that surrounds her and Faith moves on autopilot, running to help the other woman slay the two remaining demons who have her cornered. She doesn’t notice the increasing shake of the ground or the sound of cracking rock walls. She doesn’t feel the reverberation of her blade as it hits the thick neck of the demon she targets, or the tearing sensation as it rips through muscle and tissue until its head is no longer attached to its body. This is primal, fundamental to her very being, and even as her mind shuts down, Faith’s body continues to move.

She’s still hacking at the third demon when Elena begins the spell to release the humans. Faith drops the sword and falls to her knees, fist cocking back over and over as she beats at her prey’s face. She’s only vaguely aware of the terrified screams of the people awakening around her and even less aware of the pebbles and rocks that are raining down on their heads. Faith keeps beating the demon, the sound of her own harsh breath echoing in her ears. Suddenly, her fist is caught in mid-motion and Faith looks up to see Elena yelling at her to get out. Slowly, she realizes that the humans are all gone and the cave is collapsing around them. Elena pulls her to her feet and Faith stumbles, trying to keep her footing on the slippery ground that’s made more treacherous by the building earthquake. She follows Elena toward the entrance, running as quickly as she can and trying to avoid the pitching angle of the stalagmites around them. Faith is almost to the entrance when the ground beneath her cracks open and rises, a jagged maw of rock opening right behind her and pitching her violently forward.

The waterfall is right there, waiting to catch her. Faith sees it coming, but it’s too late. It’s always too late for her.

Down, down, with the weight of the water rushing and pounding at her body. Faith knows she should be fighting against it, legs pumping and arms churning to pull free of the force of the falling water, but she’s done fighting. It isn’t a conscious thought or a deliberated decision. It’s surrender by default, an absence of struggle that will end an endless struggle. Her back hits the river bottom with a jolt and the current sweeps her past the fingers of the waterfall and down the river, rocks scraping and tearing at her until they catch her and hold her with a cold firm grip.

Faith keeps her eyes open, watching the swirl of her hair whipping around her and obscuring almost everything else. She feels the pressure building in her chest, her body screaming at her to fight and breathe, but the pull of darkness that’s clouding her vision around the edges is strong. That darkness promises peace and quiet and the kind of sleep that’s deep and dreamless and never ending. She gives into it, lets it seduce her until she’s barely aware of anything but the soft darkness and consuming silence that surrounds her.

She isn’t prepared for the hands that grab her and pull against the grip of the rocks, the long dark hair that dances with hers in the current, or the grim face that appears in front of her narrowed vision. She’s being tugged free, pulled up and toward the surface where she will be able to breathe. The very idea is suffocating. Faith doesn’t want to breathe because if she can breathe then the darkness will fade and if the darkness fades then she will see the blood of an innocent on her hands, hands that no amount of running water will ever wash clean.

Faith opens her mouth, water flooding her lungs as she silently screams.

***



Havana

Faith’s in Havana for information, and to say she’s not happy about it would be a massive understatement.

This mission is the kind custom-made for a newbie Slayer—just a visit to a Santería babaloa for information regarding some goddess. No big demons to kill, no important artifacts to protect, and no damn reason for the second-oldest living slayer to be on the job when there are dozens of more dangerous places to be. Faith is more than aware that this trip to Cuba is a thinly disguised forced vacation after what happened in Belize and for the first time in over a year, she doesn’t want a break. The last thing Faith needs is more time to think about the new blood on her hands.

The only reason she didn’t tell Xander to fuck off when he called her with the assignment was because for the first time in a year, the G-Man called to tell her where she was headed next. Faith wanted to say no, wanted to scream it actually, but she couldn’t work the refusal past her lips when it was Giles on the other end of the line, his voice warm but firm, inviting no arguments.

It’s like he knows exactly what she’s doing, even though he’s an ocean away. Faith wishes he’d let her in on the secret, because even she doesn’t know what she’s doing, not really.

‘Course she knows she’s being reckless. It’d be hard to miss that, what with the bruises that are so deep they’re taking days to heal now. Then there was the Fyarl demon that she ran into in Panama just two days ago, the one Faith picked a fight with even though it was mostly just minding its own business. She nearly got her back broken for her trouble and it’s still killing her.

Not that she’d mind—the killing that is, which she guesses is what’s behind the recklessness. Ever since she woke up on that river bank in Belize with Elena’s worried face staring into hers, Faith can’t seem to care much about living. It doesn’t matter that no one outwardly blames her for what happened, or that they still trust her enough to send her out on the big jobs—least ‘til now, anyhow. What matters is that Faith doesn’t trust herself and no amount of prison time in Central America is gonna change that this time around. Faith’s a danger to society, straight-up, and the downside to letting some monster beat her once and for all doesn’t seem near as big as it used to.

Shifting her duffel bag to her left shoulder and wincing at the corresponding pain in her back, Faith knocks on the door of the run-down building where she’s rented a room for the night. It’s in a wasted part of the city, the section that tourists avoid like the plague and Faith wonders just how bad the Council’s funds are getting if this is the best they can afford.

A short, rotund woman cracks open the door and gestures her inside, silently showing her to her rented room. Faith’s a little surprised to see that the room is clean and bright, with a double-bed and a private bathroom. There’s a door that leads directly into a side street. The woman hands her a key with a red ribbon tied through the holes and leaves her alone.

Faith stares longingly at the bed, daydreaming about what it would feel like to stretch out on the pale blue sheets and take a nap before heading out for her meeting. With a sigh, she throws her bag on the bed and moves into the bathroom to take a cold shower instead.

She’s already hot enough without dreaming about Cordelia’s smooth skin under her lips and hands.

***
The air is thick and oppressive as she walks along the road, hoping to hitch a ride in one of the old ‘50s cars that motor past. The address of her contact is stuffed in the front pocket of her jeans. They’re sticking to her legs, and Faith wishes she’d went with shorts. Almost did, but the thought of Giles’ disapproving look if he saw her dressed like that to see an important informant made her shuck the cut-offs and trade them out for her least-dirty pair of pants. She kept the red tank, though. Only so many concessions she’s willing to make and the Giles of her imagination can purse his lips all he wants, she isn’t wearing sleeves in the pounding heat of Cuba in July.

A car already half-full of leering men pulls over and Faith hops in, careful to make sure she keeps the spot by the open window. The cracking, fading colors of Old Havana pass by as the car takes her closer to the ferry that will carry her to Regla and the priest. Faith leans her head against the door and watches the people on the streets, the combination of the motion and the heat pounding up off the pavement in visible waves blurring the sights until they’re a mix of muted colors and shapes.

Faith’s so close to drifting off when she sees her that at first she’s sure she’s just dreaming again. The car is slowing down as it approaches a busy corner, a row of small shops and outdoor carts making up an open air market. There’s a group of men sitting at a small table just outside a building painted a once-vivid green, smoking cigars as they carefully lay out the black and white dominoes. Faith’s eyes are drawn to a woman standing just behind them quietly watching the game, and as her gaze travels up to her face, the woman turns her head to stare right back at Faith. It’s Cordelia.

She’s dressed in tailored white pants and a tight white t-shirt that stands out in pristine contrast to the faded backdrop of the building. Her hair is falling in a tumble around her shoulders and in spite of the waves of sun reflecting off the sidewalk, she looks completely dry and cool. Cordelia turns to follow the movement of the car and Faith’s head turns as well, tracking her until they’ve turned the corner and she’s blocked from sight.

Shaking her head, Faith swivels back to face front. It’s her first live Cordelia sighting since Belize… Cartagena really, because she didn’t actually see her lifeguard in Belize and Elena looked at her like she was fucking nuts when Faith asked her if she saw the woman who pulled her out of the river. She thinks maybe she should be more surprised or freaked but she can’t seem to work up the energy. What does seeing a ghost matter in the scheme of things after what Faith’s done? Frankly, the only thing that surprises her is that it’s taken this long for her to completely crack and she thinks maybe she should count her ever-fucking-lucky stars that she’s not being haunted by the people she’s killed instead.

Forty minutes later and Faith is standing on the streets of Regla, waving away the dirty children offering her beads and trying to find the address written on the crinkled, sweat-dampened piece of paper in her hand. She finds what she thinks is the right alley and curses at the continued lack of shade. One thing being a slayer makes her an expert on, it’s alleys, and no self-respecting alley has this much direct sun.

Faith raises a hand and covers her eyes against the glare, searching the narrow street for the entrance to the babaloa’s house. After two sweeping glances she spies the faded, chipped sign that she was told to look for and she walks toward it slowly.

This is a simple, straight-up recon assignment in broad, blazing daylight. No demons. No vamps. So Faith has no idea why there is a knot of dread forming in her stomach or why she really doesn’t want to walk through that doorway. She pauses in the open threshold, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the shade of the interior. As the dark shapes come into focus, Faith quickly scans the room, looking for danger and alternative escape routes by habit and more than half expecting Cordelia to be spooking around inside but there’s no one here. The air inside feels a little cooler and Faith hesitates, caught between her urge to get the hell out of here and the temptation of the shade. A gust of hot, heavy air across her back makes the decision for her.

Screw this. Get in, get gone.

She steps inside and reaches up to wipe the sweat from her forehead. There’s a slow-moving ceiling fan stirring up the marginally-less hot air in the room and Faith watches the blades whir around, picking out a single blade and following it with her gaze for several seconds. The sound of a chair scraping across the wooden floorboards grabs her attention and her head whips toward the sound. Six months ago and no one would have been able to sneak up on her. Now it’s a pretty regular occurrence—part of the reason she has so many bruises.

There’s a man sitting down at a small table that sits before an altar of colorful statues, bowls and herbs. He’s wearing a long necklace made up of different beads and his white pants and guayabera stand out in the mid-afternoon gloom of the dim room, emphasizing the dark hue of his skin. Equally dark eyes are fixed on her and Faith bristles a little at the intensity, trying to keep her thoughts focused on him and not the woman of whom his bright white garments remind her.

She raises an eyebrow and stares back for a moment before plunging in. “Giles sent me. You the guy I’m ‘sposed to talk to?” Her voice sounds loud in her own ears and she shifts her weight and tries to hide her growing discomfort.

“I am Baba Abelando. You are Faith, yes?” He doesn’t wait for her to answer and Faith guesses it was pretty much a rhetorical question. “Sit,” he continues, gesturing toward the empty wooden chair across the table from where he is seated, “and I will see you with Ifá.”

Faith doesn’t have a damn clue what he’s talking about but she figures it must be what she was sent here for and at the moment, the only thing she’s interested in is getting the info and getting out. She doesn’t care how hot it is out there or how many times she’s going to hallucinate Cordelia on the way back to her rented room—this place creeps her out. Not like “monster in the basement” creep but more like “weekly visit to the confessional” creep. There’s something a little too solemn about this whole set-up and Faith can feel a prickle of magic in the air. She’s felt it enough over the last year, usually right after a sacrifice and right before she kicks something’s ass. Narrowing her eyes, she glares at the priest and jerks her head toward the curtained doorway to his right.

“What’s behind the curtain?”

A deep laugh greets her question and Faith frowns. “A sacrifice to bless our reading,” he begins, choking back the laugh and raising a hand to halt Faith’s sudden movement toward the inner doorway. “A chicken. Please. Sit.”

Faith stops and turns back, eyeing the priest as she approaches the table, pulls back the wooden chair and drops into it. She winces at the pain that radiates from the muscles of her lower back and eyes the surface of the table. It’s covered by a woven grass mat and a carved wooden tray sits in its center. Faith watches as the babaloa says a series of prayers and then carefully pours some powder into the tray before drawing a series of lines into it. His face is somber and his eyes look a little glazed over as he silently studies the patterns for several long moments.

This is gonna take all freakin’ day. Faith sighs and looks around the room again, one leg bouncing up and down as she fights the urge to close her eyes, the heat and sound of the fan trying wicked hard to lull her to sleep. Two passes around the room later, Faith’s eyes flick back to the man.

The priest is staring at her, black eyes boring into her as though he can see things about her that no one has the right to see. It should piss her off, at least make her a little jumpy, but Faith can’t seem to drum up any outrage. She stares back with indifference and resists the urge to wipe away a trickle of sweat that is tickling the back of her neck. Their gazes remain locked, unwavering, until a seed of panic begins to grow in Faith. She almost feels like she could fall in those eyes and never come out. It’d be tempting, if she thought for a second that what he was seeing was a place worth being. She knows better. Any place where she’s the focus is a place Faith doesn’t want to be—not anymore.

He doesn’t give her a choice. Breaking his gaze from hers, he looks down at the surface of the small Ifá table between them and smiles. When he glances back up, the smile is only a ghost on his lips. “I can see what She sees in you.”

Faith frowns and slumps down further in the straight-backed chair. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waits for the babaloa to continue. She has no fucking idea what he’s talking about and she wants this to be over so she can get the hell outta here.

He looks back down and studies the pattern in the powder again. “You are Chosen, two times. Once by the aspect of the shadow men. Once by Her.”

What the hell? Two mentions of a woman and given Faith’s mostly solitary existence these days, there’s little doubt of who “her” is. Still, she’s almost accepted that she left sanityville months ago and moved right into crazytown. It’s a little strange that she’d rather be nuts than get any actual confirmation that Cordelia isn’t just a very hot figment of her imagination. “Her who?”

“The Orisha,” the priest answers, his voice soft and reverent, patient and calm in direct contrast to Faith’s rising discomfort. “She watches over you and would keep you from harm if you would but let Her.”

Faith doesn’t want to hear it, tries to reject it even as the memories of Cordy saving her ass flash through her mind. They’re quickly followed by images from her dreams and a flush spreads up her chest and over her face, blood rushing through her with a heat that leaves her feeling a little dizzy. Faith hopes the priest can’t see everything laid out in front of him on the Ifá table.

She tries for denial one more time, the strength of her voice in direct contrast to the sudden weakness she feels in her body. “I think you’ve got the wrong girl. I don’t know anyone named Orisha.”

The babaloa laughs and shakes his head, then makes a quiet tsking sound with his tongue before speaking again. “You are very stubborn, Chosen One. Orisha are guardian spirits, manifestations of Olodumare, the One God. You have caught the eye of the Orisha you call Cordelia. She wishes to aid you as you go on your journey to balance Ashé in this world. She will guide you and heal you if you let Her.”

Faith closes her eyes for a second, defeat written across her features as she gives up trying to pretend. When she opens her eyes, she glares at the man. “If I let her? You keep saying that, like I have a choice. Far as I can tell, Cordy shows up when she wants to whether I give a damn or not.” Faith’s voice rises as she pushes back her chair with a kick of her legs and surges up to her feet. There’s so much damn tension in her body and she feels like she needs to move or she just might explode from it.

The outburst is met with silence, the priest’s face a calm mask as he watches Faith pace in front of him. She waits for him to tell her she’s wrong, but the argument doesn’t come. In any other case she might feel smug but even she knows she’s wrong. Ever since she turned herself in, denial has been a big no-no on Faith’s redemption checklist and no matter what happened in Belize, she just can’t seem to fool herself now. Fact is, Faith did pray to the Powers that Cordy would leave her alone and she can’t deny she got exactly that. How was she supposed to know that Cordy’s Higher Being shtick was back in effect?

The very thought freaks her out. “I’m so outta here,” Faith mumbles as she heads for the door, needing to get away from all of this talk of gods and spirits. It was bad enough when she thought she was being haunted or The First was back. She’s got one foot out when she remembers why she came here in the first place.

Crap.

With a sigh, Faith spins back around and glares at the babaloa. “As much fun as this is, Giles sent me here for info, so do you think you could put a lid on my horoscope and just give me the information I was sent here for?”

The grin that spreads across the priest’s face is big and sparkling white in the midst of his dark skin.

“But I have given you what you were sent here to find, Chosen One. You must look to your Orisha if you wish to know more.”

Faith resists the urge to wipe the grin off the holy man’s face with her fist and turns stiffly around, fleeing into the pounding hot sun of the Havana streets. She ignores the soft laughter that follows her flight and concentrates instead on getting to the ferry so she can get back to her rented room. Bad neighborhoods come in handy sometimes, and Faith knows that tonight she’ll be itching for a fight.

***

The dust of two vamps clings to Faith’s skin as she punches and parries in the alley right outside her door. Didn’t have to go far to find action tonight, and she’s glad. She needs this distraction from the pounding thoughts that have bothered her all afternoon and evening, thoughts of blood and death, an Angel and a goddess.

There are two vamps left, pretty new ones too as far as Faith can tell and the only reason they’re still alive is pure math: 4 vamps against 1 slayer with a nagging back injury and a death wish equals a mostly fair fight. Still, Faith isn’t quite ready to lie down and give up without a struggle. She’s just glad there aren’t any witnesses to notice she’s not exactly going balls out, either.

Faith cocks back with her left fist and punches one of the remaining vamps hard in the chin, knocking his body back up against the side of the building before following through with the stake in her right hand. Her attention returns to the one that’s left, a big guy when he was alive and being dead hasn’t seemed to do much in the loss of muscle mass department if the brick wall of his chest is any indication. He catches her in the kidney with a punch and Faith fights her need to throw up from the dual pain from kidney and back. Instead she spins into a roundhouse kick that hits the demon dead center in his muscular chest. He stumbles back, but Faith’s the one who goes down, the pain from the impact radiating through her injured body. She has a single second to think that the vamp’s chest must be made of concrete before he’s on her, straddling her hips and holding her wrists in his big meaty paws as he flashes his fangs and leans in for the kill.

Later, she wonders if her survival instincts would have kicked in at the last moment; if the pain of his fangs ripping into her throat or the first rush of dizziness from the blood loss would have overridden every urge and whisper inside her head to give up. In that moment, though, Faith doesn’t feel anything but relief. No panic, no instinct to fight back. There’s nothing but a dull emptiness as she stares into his yellow eyes and smells the fetid scent of old blood and stale cigarette smoke wafting from his descending mouth. Faith willingly closes her eyes for the first time in days and waits for the end that was promised to her the night she was Called.

It doesn’t come. The vamp’s there one second and gone the next, the thick dust raining down on her the only evidence that he was ever there at all. Faith rolls to her side and coughs, flinging up one hand to rub over her closed eyes. She doesn’t want to open them—it’s not like she doesn’t know who her rescuer is and it’s frankly a little fucking much to keep owing a life she doesn’t want to a woman Faith didn’t even like when she was alive. She lays there for a minute, praying Saint Cordelia will just go the fuck away if she ignores her long enough, but an increasingly impatient foot tapping on the pavement next to her is evidence enough that this particular goddess doesn’t give a damn about what Faith wants. With a heavy sigh, Faith opens her eyes and gingerly rolls back over until she’s staring up a very long leg that’s attached to a very pissed Cordy.

Cordelia reaches down a hand to help her up but Faith ignores it, hoisting herself to her feet and hissing at the pain. When she’s standing again she looks at Cordelia, her eyes raking over the high heels, stockinged legs, and short red halter dress that makes it look like Cordy came here to dance in one of Cuba’s famous clubs instead of play guardian angel to Faith. Her gaze finally sweeps up to Cordy’s face and she’s a little surprised at the depth of the anger she can read in the other woman’s eyes. There’s something else too, something softer that Faith can’t quite place.

“Nice, Faith. You have a thing for suicide attempts in dirty alleys, don’t you? At any point when you were going to let that goon make you his pre-workout carb load did you stop to consider for one moment that maybe you’re not the one who gets to decide when it’s time to die?” Cordelia’s voice lashes at her and it’s all Faith can do not to flinch. Instead she squares her shoulders and shrugs, flashing Cordy a quick smile that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes.

“Actually, Cordy, it seems like I make a lot of decisions about who gets to die these days. I thought with your new 9-to-5 you’d know that already but I guess you’re just not high enough on the totem pole yet. Kinda explains why you got stuck playing clean-up after me.”

Faith turns around and heads out to the street, needing to put some distance between herself and what she almost let happen with that vamp. She needs to get away from Cordy even more. Even in the midst of all of this she can’t stop the flutter of desire in her stomach at the sight of her in that red dress with its plunging neckline. Much as she’d like to deny it, there’s a part of Faith that’s feeling a little Mary Magdalene about lusting over someone she’s just found out is some kind of Higher Being.

Cordelia follows her out into the street, heels clicking as she half-runs to keep up with Faith’s booted strides. “Faith, wait.”

When she feels the hand on her upper arm, Faith briefly considers pulling away and making a run for it. Then she remembers who she’s dealing with. Faith shrugs off Cordy’s hand but slows her steps until she stops in front of an old car parked on the curb. Turning around, she leans back against the hood, crosses her arms over her chest, and looks up to find Cordy directly in front of her.

Cordelia’s dark eyes are soft and probing as they stare into hers and Faith glances away, wishing the anger was still front and center. Faith can deal with anger; she can’t deal with compassion or pity or whatever this is.

“Look, I don’t know why you decided to sponsor me but I’m not interested.” Cordy raises an eyebrow and Faith feels her face begin to flush at the knowing look in her eye. Ignoring the heat, she frowns and continues. “There are dozens of girls out there who deserve to be looked out for a hella lot more than I do. Find one.”

Cordy snorts and mimics Faith’s stance, arms lightly crossed over her chest. The manicured fingernail of her index finger taps lightly on her bare upper arm and that single repetitive movement does more to convey Cordy’s impatient annoyance than anything that might come out of her caustic mouth. Still, Faith’s not surprised that Cordelia opens said mouth to bite out a reply anyway. “You need to get over the failed redemption martyr crap, Faith. It’s much more Buffy’s style and I’m not buying it.”

Anger rushes through Faith, and she’s not sure if it has more to do with Cordelia’s insensitivity, unsurprising though it is, or the backhanded comparison to Buffy. Not that it matters. It’s the first strong emotion other than self-loathing she’s felt in days and she welcomes it. There’s no way this woman/ghost/saint/whatever can understand what it feels like to be a murderer, or to know that out of all of the slayers out there she’s the only one who can’t seem to miss the humans when she’s got something sharp in her hands.

“What would you know about what it’s like to kill another human being?” Pushing away from the car, she closes the distance between them until they’re separated by a few inches of the heavy summer air. This close up, she can smell Cordelia’s perfume and her anger falters as the urge to lean forward and press her nose into the throbbing pulse point at the base of Cordy’s throat hits her hard. She sucks in a quick breath and takes a step back, trying to hold on to the anger that threatens to turn into something else that’s equally explosive. “Do you realize how hard I’ve worked to put everything that happened in Sunnydale behind me? I can’t ever take back what I did but I thought at least I could make sure it never happened again. Turns out, I can’t even manage that. I’m as bad as the monsters and I need to be put down, before I hurt someone else.”

“So you just throw in the towel? Yeah, give up Faith, because that’s the answer,” Cordelia says, sarcasm dripping from her red lips. “People die in this fight—good people, bad people, and everybody in between. That doesn’t mean we stop fighting. And for the record, I know more about how it feels to cut into somebody than you think.” Faith watches as Cordelia’s eyes cloud. She’s close enough to see the sudden eruption of goosebumps on flawless tan skin and the shudder that serves as evidence that Cordelia’s remembering something that Faith can’t begin to imagine. Cordelia rubs her hands over her upper arms and suddenly Faith wants to reach out smooth away the raised flesh with gentle strokes of her own hands, kiss away the tension in Cordelia’s scrunched forehead and then move her way down to that pouty mouth…

Two lucid minutes with the chick and Faith’s already fantasizing about supplicating herself at the altar of Saint Cordelia. She’s dealt with enough evil religious fanatics lately that the thought jolts her out of the daydream and back into reality. Cordelia may be some higher power now but Faith will be damned if she bows down to her anytime soon, no matter how much she itches to make her forget whatever it is that’s bothering her. Shoving her hands in her pockets to prevent herself from doing something she’s sure to regret for more reasons than one, Faith tries to shift her focus back to the anger that animated her just moments before but it’s already gone, lost somewhere between the lust and compassion she feels for the person in front of her.

With a shake of her head, Cordelia focuses on Faith again, her face relaxing into a softer expression “I know what happened in Belize and it was an awful accident, but you can’t just quit when things get a little rough. Redemption is about fighting even when it’s hard. You’re stronger than this Faith. You have a destiny to fulfill but you have to be alive to do that. That means no giving up, no matter how tired and lonely you feel. It means forgiving yourself for mistakes and taking care of yourself.” Cordy steps forward and reaches out to touch Faith’s shoulder, lightly, as though she’s afraid anything more firm will make Faith bolt. “I’m willing to help you. I know where you came from and I know where you’re headed if you can just stick it out, and let me tell you, it’s pretty damned amazing.” The soft smile that spreads across her mouth is beautiful and Faith feels the last shred of anger inside her sputter out.

She’s been waiting for some sign that there’s a point to all of this endless fighting, the months of constant motion and strife that have defined every minute of her life since Angel died. Now it’s right here in front of her, blinking neon in the shape of Cordelia, but Faith is still afraid to believe that the struggles and loneliness and heartache have some greater meaning. She tips back her head, searching the vast night sky for something…anything that will make this entire situation make sense. Faith wants to laugh at the absurdity of this fight in the middle of a Havana street with a dead woman who is decked out in clothes that were made to draw interested eyes to the body beneath when the only eyes around are Faith’s. She wants to laugh at the claim that she has some greater destiny, that there’s something in her future that will wipe her slate clean and buy her cosmic forgiveness for all of her many mistakes. Most of all, she wants to laugh at the idea that out of all the things Cordelia Chase could be doing with her afterlife, she seems to want to spend it helping Faith.

So even she’s a little surprised that when she looks back down, she’s crying instead of laughing.

She feels a dam inside her break, all of the pain, fatigue, and aching loneliness of the last year crashing through her last defenses until the tears are streaming down her face in thick tracks that run down her neck and pool in the dips of her clavicle. Faith can count on one hand the number of times she’s cried since she hit puberty and not once has it been this quiet and contained. Her style of grief tends to run toward the explosive, messy kind with gulping sobs and crashing fists. There’s some vague recognition in the back of her mind that she should be pissed at herself for crying in front of Cordelia, but somehow, she’s not.

When Cordy closes the remaining distance between them and pulls her into her arms, Faith’s body stiffens at the unfamiliar contact. She can’t remember the last time anyone touched her with anything resembling tenderness or warmth and it’s completely foreign. The walls that she’s carefully built and reinforced over the last few years crumble just a little bit more and Faith relaxes into the embrace, burrowing into the soft smoothness and breathing in the scent of Cordy as she lets out all the emotion she hasn’t been allowing herself to feel.

The outpour lasts for about 2 minutes before Faith’s mind clears enough for her to realize she’s standing in a street in the dirtiest part of Havana, crying like some freaking baby in Cordy’s arms.

What the fuck am I doing?

Faith tells herself she should pull away and get the hell out of here. Thing is, Cordelia’s hands are stroking her hair and back and it feels pretty damn good. Not as good as the breasts that are pressed against her own chest, but good enough that Faith has to fight the urge to squirm in tighter and tilt her head just a little to the side so she can taste the skin of Cordy’s neck.

Except that she doesn’t fight it. Maybe it’s because she feels like a jerk for literally crying on Cordelia’s shoulder and Faith wants to remind both of them she isn’t some weak little cry-baby. Maybe it’s the culmination of too much emotion on too little sleep that makes her even more impulsive than usual. Probably it’s the months of dreaming of this skin and the memory of Cordelia’s lips and tongue on her breasts. Whatever the reason, Faith finds herself brushing her lips against the juncture of Cordy’s neck and shoulder before moving slowly up the column until her nose is buried in Cordy’s hair and her tongue is playing over the sensitive skin just behind Cordy’s ear.

Faith pauses, waiting for Cordelia freak and run, but it doesn’t happen. The hands in her hair and on her back still for a second, and then they’re tightening, pulling Faith even closer as Cordy turns her head and brushes a featherlight kiss over Faith’s lips that shoots a wave of lust straight down low.

It’s permission enough for Faith, and suddenly she’s impatient. She grabs Cordy’s hips and pushes her back against the car behind them, feeling the cool metal brush against her knuckles as she presses Cordy further back with the pressure of her own hips. Cordelia moans into her mouth at the contact and Faith takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, moving one hand up to wrap in Cordy’s silky hair.

The feeling of the other woman’s breasts pressing against her own sends a rush of heat through Faith’s body and months of dreaming of this lend an urgency to her movements. She lets go of Cordelia’s hip, holding her in place with her own lower body as her hand slides down the thin fabric of her skirt and then up the silk-stocking covering her thigh. Faith hand skims up until her hand meets bare skin mid-thigh. Now it’s her turn to groan.

“You would wear garters,” Faith pants against Cordy’s wet mouth, tracing the lace that tops the stockings with the tip of her finger. When she hits the garter in the back, her fingers ladder up the strap until they graze the smooth bottom curve of Cordelia’s bare ass.

Yep, definitely the stuff of dreams.

The touch makes Cordy arch into her and Faith sucks on her full bottom lip as she teases the skin under her fingers with light strokes, hips rotating as she rubs slowly against the thigh that Cordelia has wiggled between her legs. She’s a little surprised when Cordy rakes a hand down her chest, pausing at a breast to rub her thumb against the puckered nipple before plunging lower and unbuttoning her jeans with a quick motion of her fingers. Then Cordy’s hand is shimmying down the front of Faith’s jeans and sliding into her heat in one smooth movement.

Faith’s hand convulses in Cordelia’s hair and she breaks away from their kiss. “Jesus fuck!” The moan tears through the empty street, a sudden burst of noise that sets off a round of barking from the mangy strays that didn’t make a noise when Faith was fighting the vamps. Cordy’s lips and tongue dance a trail to her ear, her whisper blowing hot air across the sensitive shell.

“You would go commando. And I don’t know what that priest told you, but the name’s still Cordelia Chase.”

***
She’s gone when Faith wakes up late the next afternoon, feeling rested and clear-headed for the first time in months. Her head turns to look at the empty space beside her and Faith moves up one hand, heavy with the weight of true relaxation, to rest it in the indentation left in the pillow. The only other tangible sign that Cordelia has been here is the faint scent of her perfume in the sheets, but Faith knows in every inch of her satiated body that something real happened last night.

Of course, in Faith’s fucked up world, real is relative. But as far as crazy shit goes, this is definitely of a better variety than she’s used to and damned if she’s going to complain.

Rolling over onto her back, Faith stretches out, pointing her toes and raising her arms languidly over her head so that she is one long line of copper skin stretched over lean muscle. She glances over at her travel alarm clock as she relaxes into the mattress again and lets out a soft curse. Her flight to Buenos Aires leaves in three hours and it might take her a while to hitch a ride to the airport this time of day. It takes Faith a second to realize she’s not dreading the trip anymore. It’s just another stop in the fight and maybe she’s not ready to give it up after all. The guilt is still there, but it’s less now, muted with the knowledge that there’s a purpose to all of this and she’s not alone.

She jumps up out of the bed and the first thing she notices is that the pain in her back is gone, not even a nagging twinge left as proof that the Fyarl had nearly broken her in half just three days ago. Faith shrugs and moves toward the bathroom, a smirk on her lips as she wonders if miracle healing is one of the side effects of having sex with a goddess.

As if the sex wasn’t miracle enough. One of these days she might get around to asking Cordy when she developed a thing for girls. But last night was raw and frantic and it just hadn’t ever come up.

She’s got just enough time to take a quick shower in lukewarm water and throw on her clothes before she has to leave. Faith grabs clean underwear, a pair of jeans, and a tank from her duffle and pushes open the door of the tiny bathroom next to her room.

There’s an old cracked mirror with a faded gilt frame hanging on the wall directly in front of the door with a note taped to the glass. Faith closes the door behind her and approaches the mirror, leaning in a little to read the black ink that graces the heavy ivory paper. ‘I’ll catch up with you later’, it reads, the script precise and feminine, delicate in all but one place where too much ink flowed from the pen into a thicker line.

Faith’s lips quirk into a lazy smile that slowly spreads into a wide grin. She can see the sparkle in her eyes reflected in the mirror and it occurs to her that she looks like the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary.

For the first time in her life, Faith can’t wait to be caught up with.

--End