PART EIGHT
Tuesday
Two more painkillers were popped dry. Readjusting the ice bag on her head, Adele watched the television with disinterest. Baseball Tonight was on, and she did want to know how the Cubbies did, but the pain was making it hard to focus. Fucking vision hangovers. They were far worse than the ones she got from off-brand wine.
“I’m worried,” Cordelia stated. She had been wearing a path in Adele’s carpet for the past hour. Add that to the hour of pacing she did while still at the Bronze, and Cordelia had probably walked a marathon.
“Are ya? I’d have never guessed.”
Cordelia was not amused. “He should have been back by now.”
“He should have,” Adele agreed.
They had waited at the Bronze for over an hour after he left to deal with the situation. It could have been worse. Buffy was mysteriously absent so they didn’t need to deal with her. But frankly, Cordelia’s nervousness was making Adele anxious.
“Will you sit down?”
“How can you tell me to sit down? For all we know, Angel could be all poofed in some dank alley somewhere.”
“He isn’t,” Adele assured. At least, he wasn’t poof in the alley behind Harper’s. The girls drove by and checked out the scene before heading home. They found an ambulance being loaded with a full stretcher. Last check, ambulances didn’t cart away poofed vampires.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he’s Angel.” Cordelia shook her head. She still wasn’t convinced. “Oh, come on, Cor. Do you really think Angel could be taken down by anything less than a Slayer or the Apocalypse? I doubt some random goon can take down a Champion for the Powers That Be.”
Cordelia was nervously chewing on her fingernails. Maybe Adele was right, but should they chance it? This was their boss that was missing. “Maybe we should…”
“Maybe we should go to bed,” Adele finished. “Angel is a big boy. And no matter what some people think, he doesn’t need a Slayer or anyone else to protect him. There are still four hours of dark left. How about we get some rest? It’s been a long day and I’ve got a migraine that hurts like a motherfucker. If he isn’t back by morning, we can hit some of the tunnels and see if he’s hiding out. For all we know, Angel could be macking on a new hottie somewhere.”
Cordelia frowned. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Adele attempted to shoot an annoyed look at her. It only made her head hurt more. “You can have the bed. I don’t think I can move without breaking something. And don’t worry. Angel’s the man. Like I said, he’s probably chilling with some fine foxy ho. I feel envious.”
At least, that’s what Adele hoped was going on. She hadn’t told Cordelia her fears regarding this past vision. The young girl looked to be worrying enough about “Vampirella”. Adele knew she should put on a confident and cool air to help ease Cordy’s worries.
She hoped that Angel came back in one piece, because she wanted to slap the shit out of him for making her and Cordy worry.
***
The second time Angel awoke it was more naturally than a slap to the face. He had hoped it was all a bad dream. He had hoped to wake up on Adele’s couch, the television flickering as some infomercial played. When Angel spotted Faith sitting in a plush leather recliner peeling an apple, he knew it was not to be.
Faith turned and smiled when she heard Angel rouse from unconsciousness. “Hey! There’s my boy! How you feeling?”
“Like some homicidal bitch tortured me.” Angel shook the cobwebs from his brain. That action only served to increase his migraine tenfold. But even through the searing pain, Angel could detect it was sunrise.
“Glorious morning, eh?”
“It’d be better if I weren’t strapped to a chair after being tortured.”
“Yeah, well, life isn’t perfect. You gotta roll with the changes and take the good with the bad and all that other philosophical bullshit.”
“Are any of these changes you’re going through having anything to do with murdering the deputy mayor and turning your back on the Council?”
“To name a few. Let’s just say I’ve found better opportunity. I’ve got steady work with the mayor and now I’m freelancing for Wolfram and Hart. I’m a businesswoman. Trying to secure my future and shit.”
“Ah. Wolfram and Hart. I’ve been meaning to ask about that, but unconsciousness has gotten in the way. How much am I worth to them?”
“Half a million.”
Angel cringed as much in disappointment as in pain. “That’s it? Did you not even attempt to haggle? I’m sure you might have gone up to two million.”
“I’m sure I could have.” Angel groaned as Faith once again straddled him. No pleasure this time, only lots of pain. Faith had made a point to take a straight razor to his thighs earlier. “But a wise man once told me not to get too greedy on a first assignment.”
“Sound advice. Who said that?”
Faith frowned. “Second thought, I may have heard it on TV. Some mob show or some shit. But then again, much of my reward is torturing you. In fact, they were quite adamant about the fact they wanted you to suffer for a while.” She rubbed her inner thighs against him, seemingly becoming aroused by his moans of pain.
“So you’re killing for money now? That’s interesting.”
A fire shot through Faith’s eyes as she buried her nails again in his bare shoulders. The fact he didn’t scream this time infuriated her. “Number one, don’t take that psychiatrist tone with me. My mother tried taking me to a shrink once. He was never able to use his left hand again. Number two, don’t play high and mighty with me. Like in your long life you’ve never killed for profit.”
“Never said I didn’t. But I was a soulless demon. What’s your excuse?”
“Greed and sociopathy.”
“Greed, maybe. Sociopathy? I don’t think so.”
In a flash, Faith produced the jackknife she had been using to slice her apple. She flipped it open and held it right above his carotid artery. “Are you mocking me? Do you have any doubt that I could slice your throat and watch as you bleed until you finally go up in a cloud of dust?”
“Doubt? No. I know you won’t.”
The glare Faith sent him would shrivel the balls of a lesser man. But Angel gazed back at her calmly. “I’ve killed hundreds of demons before,” Faith informed him.
“But you’ve never looked into their eyes before.” Angel leaned his head up until the blade was pressing into his skin. “Come on, Faith. One quick slice will do it. Earn your half million dollars. Secure your future.”
For a fleeting moment, Angel wondered if he miscalculated. Would Faith slit his throat? Would he bleed to death without ever seeing his friends again? If Faith could sense his internal fears then she didn’t call him on it. Instead she shot off his lap and gunned the knife at the wall. It stuck next to a bad oil painting of a vase of sunflowers.
Faith began to pull at her hair as she paced the living room floor in a panic. She looked ready to scream. Or cry. Angel wasn’t sure. Maybe both. But all he knew was that Faith was a timebomb that was running a gamut of different emotions. Pushing her too far would get him, and possibly many others, very dead.
“I can fucking kill you if I want!” she insisted. “I have killed a man, don’t forget that!”
“So have I. Hundreds in fact.”
Faith was about to smash a mirror with a copy of Pride and Prejudice. But she stopped in mid throw and began to laugh derisively in Angel’s direction. “You’re good, but you’re not that good. I know what you’re trying to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Connect with me. Empathize with me. Pretend like you know me and pretend we’re buddies so you can save your ass. Well I got news for you, Fang, there is no way in hell I’m losing out on 500k so you can forget about it.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“That’s what I know you’re doing! Before long you’ll be trying to say you know how I feel or how Buffy would never do something like this! You know what? I’m not fucking Buffy!”
“No, you’re not. You’re Faith.”
“You’re fucking right! I’m Faith! And I’m sick and tired of hearing about Buffy!”
“Ok,” Angel said softly. “So why don’t you tell me about Faith?”
Faith, mascara running and haired mussed wildly, tried to snap at him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to save his hide. He was trying to convince her she was a good person. It wouldn’t work. Faith knew that.
But it wouldn’t hurt to talk about who she was.
After all, he’d never be able to repeat it.