( Voicemail for Rhiannon )

( Voicemail for Avery )

Faith sighed, flipping her phone shut. She'd heard horror stories about O'Hare International, but as she stood at her gate, black backpack slung over her right shoulder, the Slayer realized they were true -- and then some. Not only was her non-stop flight to London delayed for the seven hours, there were rumblings of Delta adding an overnight stop in New York.

Why? Who knew, but it looked like Faith wouldn't be setting foot in jolly old London anytime soon.

With another sigh, the brunette plunked herself down in one of a series of black, barely-padded seats. Glancing to her left, Faith saw a little boy engrossed in his Nintendo DS, his body shifting every time he pushed a button, his mouth mimicking the digitized explosions. To her right, a middle-aged man was loosening his yellow tie and removing the wedding band from his finger.

Faith rolled her eyes. She had a sudden urge to kick that guy right where it hurt. Not only would it hurt like hell and be humiliating in a terminal full of passengers, it would also render his upcoming rendevous moot.

( Score )

The pizza slice in front of him was huge, so big it almost dwarfed the plate, and Connor picked it up with both hands to take a bite before washing the cheese and bread down with some soda. The establishment was crowded inside, so he'd opted to eat at one of the wrought-iron tables on the sidewalk. The evening was pleasantly warm, the sun just ducking past the horizon, and he was watching the sky turn dark purple as it continued to descend.

He'd seen the first of Rhiannon's drawings that afternoon, doing a rare websurf on his computer after checking his email. So weird to think that was him, and despite the Slayer's earlier jokes about capes and rhinestones he felt pleased and even a little honored by it. He wondered if Clemence had seen it yet.

There was a school catalog next to his plate, and the Destroyer was studying the list of electives. It was probably going to have to wait until fall, but he was going to give school another try. He didn't know what he wanted to take yet, but something. A glob of pizza sauce fell on one of the pages, and he wiped it up with a napkin. One thing about these gigantic slices, they were messy.

Unless one were to go to IHOP or Denny's, breakfast for dinner was incredibly hard to come by. Faith felt somewhat slighted by that fact, seeing as how she traditionally woke up in the evening hours by virtue of her "job." She supposed it didn't really matter what she ate -- being a Slayer virtually ensured a quick metabolism and stern workout regimen, even into her 30s -- but Faith just had the occasional hankering for scrambled eggs and pancakes. Problem was, she was sick of those two corporate chains, so she was pretty much out of luck in that regard.

( Don't )

Faith couldn't remember the last time she'd been to a baseball game.

Her seat on the third row of the second deck on the third-base side of U.S. Cellular Field -- which some of the locals still called Comiskey Park -- was easily the best seat the Slayer ever had, though at least she had a ticket this time. Thanks to Hayden, she was able to "legally" enjoy a White Sox game; part of the Christmas present he'd given her was a four-pack of White Sox tickets.

Halfway through her first hot dog and holding a cold beer in her left hand, Faith smiled. She had to bring a friend the next time she came. Maybe she'd ask Avery. Did he like baseball?

Even from her elevated perch, Faith could hear the slap of the leather when the ball flew into the catcher's mitt. The crack of the bat still echoed in the Slayer's ears, and she smiled every time the ball flew off the bat with the accompanying puff of resin dust.

( Adopting a new team )

Avery had a plan. He was focused on that plan, and with a look of grim determination on his face, he rapped on Faith's apartment door. The Slayer would be an integral part in his machinations. The vampire was certain he couldn't pull it off without her. He had even driven to her apartment instead of walking like he usually did; he didn't want to waste any precious time, as it was of the essence. The sun had barely dropped below the horizon before he had left his Rogers Park building and slid into the driver's seat of his beloved red Corvair. It had only taken him fifteen minutes or so to travel to Faith's place, rush hour having thinned out about an hour previously.

"Open up," he called through the door. "I know you're in there."

Wiping the last of the sleep from her eyes, Faith didn't realize someone was at the door at first. She pulled open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water before downing half of it. She was always thirsty after a hard sleep. Wiping her mouth with her forearm, Faith finally heard the muffled voice on the other side of her door. Her brow scrunched in confusion, the Slayer glad she'd put on a black tank top and sweatpants as she walked to the door.

Pulling it open, her expression brightened a little once she saw Avery standing at the threshold. She hadn't seen him since her release from county.

( Shot all to hell )

Construction had already started on the outskirts of Lincoln Park, machinery sitting silent in the gloom of night, and Connor sat down on a stack of drywall and looked at his watch. The paper said it was expected to rain tonight, and he was already measuring up how that would affect his hearing and sight if it did. He could smell sawdust, the detritus of a building project just begun. He couldn't believe they were opening up this place to the general public. Was that what they meant by progress?

Still, he supposed that if the Collector would show anywhere, it would be here. He'd been understandably reluctant to give Faith a call, but she was the only one able to provide the backup he needed. With Kris in the clutches of somebody like Katherine and Rhiannon sidelined by her own run-in with this creep, the brunette Slayer was his last resort, almost literally. At least this wouldn't involve a lot of talking.

The Destroyer looked up at the overcast sky, saw a single star trying to poke through the cloud cover before disappearing again. He'd told Faith to come lightly armed, since they had to take this guy down uninjured to find out what he'd done with his stolen treasures. He felt proud of himself for having thought of this, even if it didn't work. He'd never been much of a planner, but he wanted to help. Maybe he could be more than a foot soldier at some point.

Honestly surprised by Connor's request, Faith found herself nonethless compelled to agree. Not just because she appreciated that he trusted her at least enough to ask for her help, but because she wanted whoever was stealing powers dealt with. She hated knowing that Rhiannon was part of this, and the Slayer wanted to do what little she could. Faith realized she traditionally hadn't played well with others, but the last few times had actually gone rather well.

( Amateur Hour )

Connor ended up going back to Rhiannon's in the taxi he called for her, then slept on her couch that night. In the morning, he lingered long enough to make sure the Slayer was okay by herself, then went to reclaim his bike from Jackson Park. The day was overcast, like his mood, and he decided to walk so he could do some thinking. Lots of things were going on for him right now, and he was trying to keep a handle on all of it. For the most part he felt like he was doing an okay job, although he supposed it was all relative. He was going to have to help Rhiannon with this mysterious guy, though. Getting her powers back seemed like cake compared to his issues.

He got back to the apartment and found it empty, so he showered and changed clothes, then ate the rest of the pizza that was in the fridge while reading. He should probably give Clemence a call, see when she was available for dinner. This was how he maintained his equilibrium when he wasn't hitting things, by keeping himself occupied. No matter what form that occupation took.

The bruise on her lower lip wasn't gone yet, but it was pretty close. This was the first time in five days Faith walked without a noticeable limp. She'd considered looking up Alec, since she remembered him saying something about being a doctor, but the truth was Faith wasn't as bad off following her encounter with Grace as she had been when the vampire stabbed her in the stomach. A couple nights of laying low, letting the body mend itself, seemed to do the trick.

Besides, Faith had more important things to worry about.

( Think what you want )

Drip, drip, drip ...

Three twenty-two in the morning, and the bar on the corner of Division and Clark was silent except for the pattering of liquid as it ran down the side of the dark wood of the counter to form a puddle on the floor. Grace padded through a spray of broken glass, listening to it crunch under her shoes, climbed up on the counter. She began to walk the length of it, kicking ashtrays and beer mugs out of her way indifferently, letting them spill their contents onto the hardwood floor. It had been closing time when she arrived, and she surveyed the fruits of her labor from her vantage point as she continued her trek along the narrow surface. There was blood in her hair. It wasn't hers.

Drip, splash, drip ...

She hadn't done this in a while, committed mass homicide, but it had been the only way to take the pressure off. When she was uncomfortable inside her skin, someone else usually ended up paying for it. The only people present had been the bartender, the guy mopping the floors, and two overly made-up barflies, one of whom had tried to run from her. The vampire watched blood trickle down the slick surface of the mirror, the bottles splattered with the stuff. The carotid artery made such a wonderful spray.

( That Would Be a Lie (Adult Content Warning: Violence) )

The Chicago night was surprisingly mild. She didn’t need it, but Faith wore her denim jacket anyway. It was a matter of comfort for the Slayer; not necessarily the comfort of the fabric resting on her shoulders, but because the jacket afforded her another place to hide her weaponry.

Cutting through one of the parks on her first patrol since being released from county, Faith’s eyes were more attuned to her surroundings, not just because of the potential serial killer still on the loose, but because there was a level of paranoia now present in the Slayer’s psyche.

She heard a car creep along the road behind her. Faith turned her shoulders to look, freezing when her eyes spotted the blue lights sitting atop the Impala. The Slayer never tore her eyes from the cruiser as it rode on past, turning off into one of the nearby side streets and out of sight.

Faith released a sigh. Get it together, girl. You’re good now.

( No snappy one-liner )

Following her conversation with William, Faith felt as if this whole thing would work itself out sooner than she expected. She'd actually begun considering the possibility of trying to prove her innocence in a courtroom -- sans lawyer, more than likely -- and though she hadn't relished the thought, the Slayer wondered if maybe it hadn't been such a bad thing.

But the former Watcher's offer of assistance, coupled with the CCTV feed idea, had Faith in a slightly more optimistic frame of mind. It made the taunting from some of the other prisoners a little easier to bear, made it easier to ignore the cautious stares from the guards who weren't the one she helped that day in the cafeteria. The justice system hadn't always worked throughout Faith's lifetime -- especially for the less fortunate -- but because of who she was and the people she knew, the Slayer thought maybe just this once, she'd finally get what she deserved ... in a good way.

She hoped so. Faith was too old to be rotting away in a jail cell again.

( Pain in My Ass )



[NPC Meg was written by Dew.]

The room usually reserved for attorney–client meetings was quiet while she waited at the gray table for the Slayer to be brought in. All the doctor brought into the room with her was a thin electronic reader which was about the size of a small clipboard and a small medical kit bag.

Kathleen had convinced the jail warden she had come to do a quick follow-up on the prisoner, and to consult with her about a health issue. Those were good enough excuses to get her a private meeting with the Slayer. They did not need to know that she was here on an entirely unofficial visit.

Faith hated how the guards would never tell her who came to visit her, but not as much as she didn't like being led to one of the interrogation rooms. Seeing the soft gray door told the Slayer she was either about to see another investigator with another round of questions she'd already answered, or Wolfram & Hart was gonna try barking up this tree again. Faith rolled her eyes at the thought of either, realizing she couldn't exactly refuse, either.

Telling guards one didn't want to see anyone apparently fell on deaf ears ... at least, when the interrogation room was involved.

( Other Slayers )

Though Faith hadn’t been anywhere near depressed since being locked up in county, Avery’s visit had considerably lifted her spirits. Not just because it proved someone cared and that not everyone automatically thought she was guilty, but also because it gave the Slayer some hope she’d be out before too much longer.

With any true luck, Faith would never even see the inside of a court room.

Waiting her turn in the cafeteria, Faith glanced at the offerings of the lunch hour – oblivious to the snarling fat man on the other end of the room glaring at her. Extra-thick spaghetti with sauce that had a green tint to it, complete with milk that was likely about three days past the expiration date. Her Slayer constitution kept her from suffering the worst effects of such slop, as did the fact that she spent three years on such a diet a decade or so earlier.

Faith liked to joke it was just like school lunch, but the fact was … it was worse. School lunch never made the Slayer’s stomach do backflips.

( Bon Apetit )

When Faith was told she had another visitor, she silently hoped the guards weren't leading her back into the interrogation room -- because the last thing the Slayer needed was to stare down another lawyer or answer questions from some detective who likely didn't believe a word she said, anyway.

Come to think of it, Faith didn't think she was allowed visitors at this point. Sure, Angel came to see her when she was in prison before, but that was after trial and sentencing; the Slayer never really remembered anyone coming to see her when she was locked up without bail awaiting hearings and trials.

Then again, everyone was still kinda mad at her at that point. Maybe this was different.

Sliding through a faded blue door into the visitors' area, Faith saw five rows of glass partitions. The glass was smudged and in desperate need of some Windex, the middle booth the only one not already occupied by an inmate. Faith's eyes hovered on the small blue chair, the one similar to what she used to sit on the rare occasion she actually stayed for lunch when she was still in school.

( This Time )

Closing her phone after leaving a series of voicemails, Faith noticed the smell of death wasn't near as strong as it had been moments before. She knew it wasn't a case of the smell going away; no, she was just growing accustomed to the putrid odor the more time she spent in such close proximity to the body. Glancing to either side of her, the Slayer wondered where the police were. It was her experience they were pretty quick about this sort of thing.

But when she glanced at the time display on her cell phone, Faith realized only four minutes had passed since she first dialed 9-1-1. She could hear sirens in the distance, and if she didn't know any better, the Slayer could've sworn they were getting louder.

Faith took in a deep breath. Calm down, girl ... you're good. The police had always been a thorny issue for Faith -- she guessed that was the case with anyone who'd done time -- even to the point where she practically ordered Hayden not to call them when he took her to the hospital.

( Arresting Officer )


[NPC Officer Meghann McCauley was written by Dew.]

Faith couldn’t wait until spring.

Patrolling in the winter was proving to be a fruitless endeavor more often than not; since a lot of people were staying in out of the cold, the Slayer noticed there hadn’t been as many nasties roaming the streets and back alleys. Not only that, but on the rare occasion she did find something to slay, Faith had a hard time moving because of all the layers she had to wear to keep from literally freezing her ass off.

All in all, it was not the ideal situation. The sooner the Windy City started thawing out, the better off everyone would be, it seemed.

This night was much like the others of late when it came there being no vampires or demons to beat up on. Deciding she’d check out two more back alleys to the southeast of the Lincoln Park barricade, Faith turned to her right to enter the first one, her hands, buried in black gloves, stuffed in the insulated pockets of her coat. A scarf nestled just below her chin, and the Slayer wore a toboggan to keep her hair and ears from freezing. This being one of the “balmier” nights in Chicago winter, the result wasn’t a complete failure.

( Possible Homicide )

The West Loop gym was the closest thing Bastian had to a workout space other than the street outside of his house. He came out to the establishment a few times a month, used the equipment just to keep in shape, and as April loomed a little closer every day he'd started his training regimen in earnest. This year would probably be one of his last chances to win the Golden Gloves tournament before he got too old to compete anymore, and he was devoting a lot of time and energy to it. If nothing else, he'd have at least one trophy to put on his mantel when it was over.

The Cajun was working the heavy bag, concentrating on using his left because that was his off hand. He'd done a long series of stretches before getting started, planned to do some running afterward to build up his endurance. He knew he needed to drop some pounds, that the weighing-in could be an issue, but he felt generally okay about his condition. He hadn't run to pot quite yet.

Unlike the other people attending to their own workouts, Bastian was wearing an old pair of sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that said Marine Corps on the front and Semper Fi on the back. He could afford better duds, but it always felt like pride to him, and why buy something expensive just to sweat in it? His old togs would do fine, thanks.

There was a light lunch waiting for him in a paper bag next to the duffel he'd brought in from the truck. He needed to finish up with the bag first, then eat and do some reps. If he won this year, he could hang it up with dignity. And his left was improving. He just might end up pulling it off.

( Stir crazy )

As she pushed the man off of her and felt him sink into the mattress, beside her, Faith realized she couldn’t remember his name. Even as she struggled to catch her breath and wiped sweat off her brow, the Slayer realized she had no idea.

Then again, she really didn’t care.

“Wow,” the man wheezed, running fingers through his shoulder-length blond hair and grinning like a schoolboy. “That was … wow.”

“Yeah,” Faith agreed, reaching for the bra hanging off her bed’s headboard, putting it back on. “Now get out. We’re done.”

Sitting up, the man frowned a little. “What?” she asked, climbing out of bed and finding his boxer shorts, sliding them on before doing the same with his shirt and jeans. “I thought … I thought we had fun.”

( Fucking bitch )

Faith couldn't remember the last time she saw Connor. She didn't even remember seeing him on New Year's Eve, which was odd, because the Slayer thought he was always right in the middle of those mass chaos scenarios. Maybe he had been, and things just got so hectic, she didn't notice.

Either way, between Lorne's appearance and her visit with Dinah Stover, Faith thought catching up with the Destroyer was in order. Not to mention, the Slayer was a little worried about him; usually, even if Connor didn't show up for weeks at a time, he kept in touch with text messages or the like. He hadn't even communicated with Faith via any of those means, which made the Slayer wonder if something was wrong. Caring about such things was still a bit new to Faith, but it mattered to her -- especially with Connor, after they vowed to help each other through their respective battles -- no matter how small.

Faith rapped her knuckles on the door to Connor's apartment, thinking it odd this was her first time visiting. Connor always visited her, or they'd meet up on the street somewhere, but the Slayer had never actually seen where the Destroyer lived. It wasn't the Hyperion, that was for sure, but that had a nice quality to it.

Then again, the apartment didn't concern Faith. She just wanted to see Connor.

( Stop looking at me like that )

A Safe Haven was a lot like drug rehabilitation clinics Faith had seen in movies and on television over the years. Top-rate facilities that almost looked like they were dropped from the sets of 90210, a picturesque setting for addicts to recover from their poison of choice, be it cocaine, heroin or alcohol. Faith wandered the halls after speaking with the receptionist, wondering if such a place could deal with mystical opiates. Orpheus was serious shit, and the Slayer doubted a 12-step program would be enough to get someone off the stuff and living a healthy life again.

She hoped A Safe Haven could manage that; that William was able to bring Dinah Stover back from her mystical drug-induced coma was a bit of a miracle, and the Slayer wanted to make sure it held. She found it a bit odd that she wanted to visit a recovering Orpheus user she never met, but Faith felt it was the right thing for her to do. It wasn't even just the fact that Faith knew what Orpheus was like; fighting the good fight wasn't always about violence and beating back the demons. As much as Faith enjoyed dusting the vampires and slaying the demons, sometimes fighting the good fight meant not giving up on a lost soul.

Angel would've been proud.

Even as she entered one of the public areas, told by the receptionist visitors were only allowed in the lobbies because the recovering addicts were sometimes unpredictable, Faith scanned the room. She probably should've gotten a physical description from William, but considering Faith had to check in at the front desk, and there was only one female in the lobby aside from her, chances were good that was Dinah. Faith sat in one of the blue chairs beside her, taking a moment to glance at the big-screen TV. The movie Girl, Interrupted was showing on mute.

Oddly appropriate.

"Dinah?" she asked quietly. "Dinah Stover?"

( No one's hopeless )

"Sweet," Faith said, standing and grabbing a post-it from the end table to her left. A pen was also nearby, and the Slayer used it to jot down her cell phone number. Handing it to Dinah, Faith's smile felt oddly genuine. "If you need anything, just call."

Slipping the denim coat over her shoulders, Faith hesitated for a moment. She really didn't feel like going back out into the winter cold. But it was the only way to get back home -- mostly because the Slayer refused to take the sewers. Every time Faith went below the surface like that, she emerged with a stench that wouldn't go away for at least a week. So single-digit temperatures were, in a way, were more appealing.

But look at Faith, helping out a complete stranger. Without violence, even.



[NPC Dinah Stover was written by Matthew.]

Faith never liked history class.

Not that she enjoyed any of the classes she had to attend on a daily basis before ultimately dropping out, but history had always been the Slayer’s least favorite. Why spend so much time looking into what used to be when life was pretty hard and sucktastic in the here and now? Not to mention the gut-wrenching boredom of reading about wars and eras gone by, with nothing more than artists’ renditions to visually depict what were supposed to be the planet’s great happenings.

Boring with a capital B and capital ORING.

But this? Wandering through the various exhibits on display at the Field Museum, Faith couldn’t wipe the wide-eyed expression off her face. She never went to museums as a child, deciding to ditch school whenever a field trip was on the horizon. Other students saw field trips as a fun diversion from the classroom; Faith saw nothing more than boredom even more pointless than being trapped in a tiny room for six hours a day with 17 or so other kids she didn’t like.

The main attraction at the museum was a collection of medieval artifacts, ranging from actual knight’s armor to art and accounts of the architecture of the period. As impressive as that was, the Slayer was even more impressed with everything else the museum had in store; right now, the object of Faith’s amazement was what the museum called the world’s largest, most complete and best preserved Tyrannosaurus Rex fossil ever discovered.

They called it Sue.

( The Aztec World )

Faith checked the address she'd scribbled on an index card, making sure one last time she had the right place.

It felt odd, on some level, for the Slayer to be visiting a man she'd never met before -- well, visiting him while not under the influence of something and without the ultimate intention of winding up in bed with the guy. But the man named William Carruthers seemed to be on the White Hat side of things; Rhiannon and Connor each had vouched for him, which was all Faith needed to know. The fact that the former Watcher was dealing with a situation involving Orpheus was what spurred the Slayer to standing in front of his door, rapping her knuckles against the surface and glancing over her shoulder.

Why was she nervous? Was it the fact of visiting a man she'd never met before, or because she had intimate knowledge of the drug which he was researching. Faith didn't really like the idea of reliving that episode of her life in Los Angeles, though there had been times where she wished she'd stayed with Angel and his allies instead of returning to Sunnydale with Willow. But that was neither here nor there, so Faith shook that from her mind.

Thinking she might not have knocked loud enough, the Slayer took a deep breath, banging her knuckles against the door again.

William carefully measured out the correct amount of the two chemicals, and watched the reaction. He was in his sub-basement lab, preparing something he had read about in a book, a sort of litmus test for mystical drugs. With the description he had gotten from the dealers of the mysterious way they had received the drug, not to mention the name and the babbling of the user, he was mostly sure this was a mystical drug, but this would be the final test. With the solution complete, he sat back and watched.

The Second Sight mixed with the clear potion, and it immediately turned bright red. Will was a chemist of sorts, but not a magic user, and so he had been concerned the mystical potion he had made wouldn’t work. But it did. And the Second Sight was mystical.

Fortunately, this experiment had only required a small amount of the drug. He still had more than two and a half vials to test with. He had begun setting about the work of analyzing the mundane ingredients when he heard the buzz of the alarm. Someone had stepped on the doormat outside. He spent so much time down here, he had set up a sensor under the mat since he could hear neither knocking or a doorbell. He was measuring as he called out, “Would one of you get the door?”

Susannah, who had been lying on her bed, heard Will call out and got up. Sooraya was sitting with the fangbanger (she would never think of the girl by the pet name Will and Sooraya had for her) and so she figured she’d get the door. When the person knocked a second time, harder, she called out, “I’m coming!”

Opening the door, Susannah was surprised to see a gorgeous brunette standing there, someone who seemed to radiate strength. She smiled flirtatiously and said, “I don’t know what you’re selling, but I’ll take two.”

( Shop Talk )

( Other stuff )