This thing's a lot longer than I thought, so it'll be chapters after all.
Enjoy!
Alternatives
Chapter 22
Rating:NC17 to be safe
Spoilers: All of it. Even the crappy bits.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but that which I create. All else belongs to people who can sue/excommunicate/execute me if I don’t write this.
Disclaimer #2: I am going to mess about with the ideas of religion in this fic, this is not intended to offend anyone, or contradict anyone’s beliefs, but it’s necessary for the story. I apologise in advance for any offence taken.
Feedback: Send all constructive comments to
rmmik@hotmail.com (please put something like “Re: your fic” in the subject, otherwise I’ll bin it). Send all abuse to someone else.
Author’s note: There are scenes of a sexual, violent and extremely distressing nature in this post. Be warned.The brunette Slayer flinched. Her hands stopped attacking the shirt she wore, despite the fact that it was unbuttoned to the navel and only barely covered her dignity. Her eyes rose slowly to meet Buffy’s. A moment passed between them, but it was all too fleeting. Buffy opened her mouth to speak again, and Faith bolted. She turned and ran at the window behind her, crashing through and tumbling into the darkness beyond.
Kel regarded the stunned Slayer sardonically.
“You know,” she drawled, eerily like her brother, “you’re supposed to wait to be
invited in.”
An hour had passed. All the Scoobies had been woken and brought downstairs. They eyed one another uneasily as Kel and Luc looked on. Finally Luc sighed.
“You people make things so difficult. How many of these charming get-togethers are you going to need?”
“Shut up, Luc,” Giles growled, and turned to Kel.
“Why didn’t you tell us she was here? How did she get out of prison?”
“Firstly, Giles, I didn’t tell you because it was irrelevant. You weren’t supposed to find out. And secondly, I brought her here. She’s no good to us in prison.”
“This is what you were hiding?” Willow asked, glancing guiltily at Tara.
“Yep,” Luc said cheerfully, “And you were all ready to dunk Tara in a pond and see if she floats!”
“What?” Tara exclaimed.
“We thought,” Willow began, her face flushing, “I mean, you’ve been so different, since?”
“Since Hell?” Tara asked, coldly. “I can’t imagine why!”
“But you weren’t affected! You weren’t…you don’t even have nightmares!”
Tara sighed. “Willow, why didn’t you just ask?”
Willow’s voice was very faint. “We weren’t sure you were really Tara.”
The expression of shock and hurt that appeared on Tara’s face convinced everybody otherwise, despite her obvious effort to hide it.
“Oh,” she said. Quietly she got up and left the room. Willow watched her go miserably.
“Ye Gods!” Luc exclaimed. “How dumb are you people? Go after her!”
“She needs time-“ Willow argued.
“She needs
you, you stupid mortal. You people just fumble around when it comes to communication, don’t you? I mean, Dad, you leave at the exact moment your Slayer needs you most, Monkey-boy here,” he nudged Xander, “wouldn’t talk about his pre-wedding jitters, and as for Dawn… saints preserve me!”
A stunned silence settled over the room. Finally, Willow shook her head as if to clear it and left in search of Tara.
“Finally!” Luc said and flopped down into a chair.
“So Faith was what you were hiding?” Buffy asked after finding her voice.
Willow caught up with Tara in their room, watching the twins and crying quietly. Willow’s heart twisted painfully.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
Tara didn’t turn, but she did speak. “Hey.”
Thoughts raced through Willow’s mind, apologies, explanations, excuses, but finally she bit her tongue, cleared her throat and simply asked, “Why don’t you have nightmares?”
Tara let out a strangled laugh and turned. Her eyes were bright with tears, but her smile was genuine.
“Kel. She performed a kind of mystical transfusion. Every time I remember Kashmir or dream about it, anything, the pain of the memories is drained from me and goes to her. I can remember everything, more or less, but none of hurts. It’s like remembering a film you saw when you were young. It’s the only way I could ever handle it. Otherwise I’d be a vegetable. Again.” She laughed again, taking the bite out of her words.
“I’m sorry,” Willow said, contrite. “I should have talked to you.”
“Yeah, you should,” Tara said, a little more harshly than she intended.
“But you’re here now,” she offered, holding out her arms.
Willow beamed and fell into Tara’s embrace.
“Yes Buffy, Faith is what I was hiding.” Kel voice was even.
“Why is she here?” Buffy tried to sound angry, but couldn’t find the energy. The past few days had drained her already meagre resources.
“She’s broken, Buffy. She needs help.”
Suddenly, Buffy found herself recalling something Faith had said to her, screamed at her, really.
“You're all about control. You have no idea what it's like on the other side! Where nothing's in control, nothing makes sense! There is just pain and hate and nothing you do means anything. You can't even…"“How?” Buffy asked. “How can we help her?”
Kel tilted her head and looked at Buffy appraisingly.
“Follow me.”
The room was huge. Huger than huge. It couldn’t possibly fit into the building, and judging by the weird tingle she experienced at the threshold, Buffy surmised it didn’t. They were somewhere else. The room was empty apart from a sleek-looking computer and a chair. One wall of the room was an enormous screen. Kel strode briskly over to the computer and sat down. She didn’t touch the keyboard, but it came to life anyway. On the enormous wall-screen images began to flick past staying only long enough to glance at before being replaced.
“Stop!” Xander yelled, “That was me!”
The images stopped flickering. A young Xander, maybe ten or twelve, was on the screen, his face shadowed with fear.
“You don’t want them to see this, boy,” Luc murmured, but Xander ignored him and told Kel to play the image.
He came alive on the screen, cringing slightly as he looked up at his drunk and very irate father. The memory slid into place in Xander’s mind and he gasped. He was about to tell Kel to stop it when he saw something he didn’t recall. Behind his ten-year old form stood Lucifer, noticeably younger and glaring at his father. Behind Harris Senior was Kel, leaning over and talking in his ear.
“He’s your son, you don’t want to hurt him, he didn’t do anything, leave him alone,” she whispered, over and over without pausing for breath. Luc didn’t say anything, but rested a hand on young Xander’s shoulder. Xander saw himself straighten a little, as through reassured. His father’s eyes widened, and he stepped forward, hand raised. Luc stepped
through the young boy and planted himself in the older man’s path.
“Touch him and I will tear you apart,” he hissed.
Harris Senior stopped short, glared at his cowering son and marching away. Young Xander collapsed onto his bed and began to cry. The images froze. Xander stared at the screen, agape.
“Two weeks after that was the first time your Dad ever hit you. We could only stop him for so long,” Luc said, not bothering to lower his voice.
“You…you were there?” Xander asked, his voice trembling. He’d never told the Scoobs about his Dad, although he suspected Willow knew. The sad look on her face confirmed this, while the other Scoobs registered shock, which quickly gave way to rage. Tara caught Xander’s eye and smiled. A flash of recognition passed between them.
“We were there, Xander,” Kel said gently, “Every time. We stayed with you till you fell asleep. Every day right up till the day you punched back.”
Xander felt himself being caught up in the memories.
Willow was in hospital, comatose. Cordy was god-knows-where and Buffy was wanted for murder. Things were not going to plan. He jogged home to pick up a change of clothes. As soon as he got through the door, he knew it was a mistake. Tired and aching from the fight, he hadn’t remembered his dad would be home. Harris Senior stood at the foot of the stairs, swaying slightly. Xander murmured something and stepped toward the stairs, praying his father would move. No such luck. Before he registered that his father was moving, a fist landed squarely in his gut, dropping him to his knees. A kick to the head sent him to the floor. At least the guys won’t question the black eye, he thought with grim humour. He was amazed at how fast his dad could move, even while drunk. The last remnants of the great athlete he had been, Xander supposed. He lay unmoving, trying not to give his dad more reasons to hurt him, by now more than used to the pain. Hell, he’d had worse earlier tonight.
Wait, he thought, I have had worse. From vampires. Vampires!
Evil demonic creatures of the night with the strength of ten men. I fight them! Why aren’t I fighting this guy?
He rolled out of the way of his father’s flailing limbs and got up. For a moment his father was stunned, them he attacked again. Xander ducked the punches and landed one of his own. A punch that could stop a vampire, even for a second, dropped his father cold. Xander looked down at the wheezing lump of flesh on the ground and realised it would never hurt him again. He was a Scooby! He’d helped saved the world! No human could ever beat Xander like that again. He’d go down fighting something far worse than some drunken moron who happened to be his father. Xander grinned and stepped over the man to get the clothes he needed. Unseen, Kel and Luc watched him go. As he disappeared into his room, they crouched next to Harris Senior.
“He won’t let you touch him again. There are scarier things than you to save his energy for.” Luc said, his voice hypnotic.
“Touch him again, and he’ll find himself telling his friends. The freakish ones who’re always around trouble. The one who’s wanted for murder,” Kel added.Xander shook his head to clear it and turned to the others.
“Sorry guys, zoned out for a minute. What were we doing?” The message was clear: I don’t want to talk about it.
“I was about to show you why Faith needs our help,” Kel replied. “She doesn’t know you’re going to see this, and she can’t know, not yet. Understood?”
The Scoobs nodded. Images began to flicker on the wall again, faster and faster, until suddenly they stopped.
It was her fifteenth birthday. Or at least it would be for another twenty minutes. Twenty more minutes and she’d have gone an entire day without her dad. Silently she urged the clock forward. Just one day,
she thought, one day I can remember. One day for myself.
At the foot of her bed stood Kel, watching over her sadly. From downstairs came the sound of a door opening and slamming. Faith flinched. Eighteen minutes. Stay downstairs
. Kel heard these thoughts as clear as though Faith were screaming.
Raised voices came from downstairs, her parents’. She huddled down under the blanket and tried to disappear. Fourteen minutes. Please.
The voices got even louder. Her mother was screaming. Her words were clearly audible. Mom finally figured it out, I guess.
Her father’s voice was slurred; she couldn’t make out the words. Twelve minutes
. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, followed by silence. Her mother’s voice again, quieter but still audible.
“You dare?”
More arguing. Faith heard the word police. Nine minutes. Keep him talking, Mom.
More yelling. Mom sounded scared. A scream, then silence.
Six minutes.
Kel raised her head as her brother came into the room, furious.
“I couldn't stop him.”
“I know,” Kel soothed. “Come here. We have to let things play out now.”
Faith heard her father’s footsteps on the stairs. Five minutes.
The floorboards creaked as he went to the bathroom. Four minutes.
He flushed, grunted, and then came down the hall. Three minutes.
Her bedroom door creaked open. He came in and sat on the bed. Two minutes.
“Hey Faithy. Have you been a good girl?”
“Yes Daddy.” Her voice was dead, empty.
“You’re gonna be a good girl for Daddy now, right?” He fumbled with his belt.
One minute.
Faith turned her face away.
Luc faced his sister. “Why are we letting this happen?” He demanded.
“Things have to run their course. We can only do so much.” Kel’s eyes were sad.
Luc shook with anger. Kel pulled him into a hug and watched Faith over his shoulder. Tears slid down Faith’s face, silently.
One minute. One more minute. He couldn’t have waited one more minute?
Faith’s father eventually left, stumbling down the hall to collapse on his bed. Faith trembled slightly and tried to keep still. Eventually loud snores issued from her father’s room and she relaxed marginally. Silently she slipped from her bed and crept into the bathroom. The angels followed. She took a flannel from the cupboard and turned on the tap. She began to scrub, desperate to have his stench off her body. Eventually she crept back to her room, avoiding the places where the boards creaked, and slid under the bed to where clean sheets were spread on the floor. She wrapped herself in them, inhaling the scent of detergent, and dropped into a fitful sleep.
Through the door came a woman who had to be Faith’s mother. The resemblance was astonishing. The only exception was the eyes. Faith had her father’s eyes; her mother’s were dark green. The woman looked at the bed and the little girl sleeping under it, and then turned to the angels.
“She thinks I didn’t care. She thinks I didn’t try to stop him,” she said, her voice weak.
“She’ll find out that isn’t true.” Kel replied. She gestured, and the mattress rose up and placed itself in a corner.
“Say your goodbyes. We have to leave soon.”
Luc stared at his sister.
“We’ll be here tomorrow, though, right?” His voice was harsh.
“No Luc,” Kel said softly. “We won’t. She has to do this alone.”
“Oh baby girl,” Faith’s mother said, “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this. Please, please, go out the back in the morning. Don’t go through the kitchen. Please.” Her voice cracked, and she stepped away. Kel took her hand and smiled.
“Let’s go.”
They faded from view.
The rising sun hit Faith’s eyes and she woke instantly. Crawling out from under the bed frame, she looked at the mattress against the wall and shrugged. Carefully, aware of her father’s snores, she grabbed some clothes and crept into the bathroom to wash and relieve herself. With the door locked, she dressed quickly. Still carefully, she eased the door open and walked down the stairs, keeping to the sides where the wood didn’t creak. She heard the school bus turn onto her street and jumped the last four steps, landing cat-like on all fours. Her gym kit hung over the railing and she stuffed it into her schoolbag.
No lunch.
She considered going without, but she’d skipped dinner last night in favour of staying out as long as possible. She headed for the kitchen, walked through the door, and froze.
Her Mom was dead. Her body was slumped against the counter. There was a bloody trail across the floor, as though she had dragged herself across the room. The cordless phone sat just outside a bloody handprint on the worktop. She’d tried to call for help.
Some small part of her mind was busy processing these details. It noted that the school bus was honking its horn at the top of her street. It noted the half made lunch on the counter. It noted the faint bruise around her mother’s mouth. It noted the stench of death that emanated from the corpse. The majority of her consciousness, however, was focused on the kitchen knife protruding from just below her mother’s navel.
For a moment she didn’t move. She took in everything; let the details wash over her.
Her Mom was dead.
Finally, she let out a sigh, and nodded. A wall came down behind her eyes. She straightened her shoulders and marched out of the room. She walked up the stairs, not bothering to keep quiet, and into her room. She emptied her schoolbag and began stuffing clothes into it. She uncovered her lockbox and opened it to reveal two years worth of allowance. Stuffing the bills into her pocket, she shouldered the backpack and walked downstairs again. Entering the kitchen, she stepped over the bloody drag-marks and opened the fridge. Tossing a couple more sandwiches, her father’s lunch, into her lunchbox, she snapped the lid shut and put it in her bag. Turning to look at her mother’s body once more, she briefly allowed some emotion to show.
“Sorry, Mom, but I’m not gonna be a good girl any more.”
The school bus honked its horn again. Screw them.
She left through the back door and ran downhill, into the city.The screen went dark. A dreadful, heavy silence filled the room.
Kel broke it. “That’s why she was in my room. She has nightmares. She can’t sleep alone, and I’m the only one she can tolerate near her.”
The silence closed in again.
Faith ran. As hard and as fast as she could, deep into the woods surrounding the valley. Eventually she stumbled to a halt and slid down a tree-trunk to sit on the floor.
Buffy is here.She’d been dreaming again. She’d seen her mother die, turned to run, and there had been Buffy, holding that damn knife. She’d felt it slide in and stumbled backwards. She tripped and fell, landing next to her mother. Their wounds were the same. Their wounds were the same…
She’d woken sharply and crawled into Kel’s arms. The fallen angel had held her and soothed her until she was calmer. Faith had lain and listened to Kel’s heartbeat. She couldn’t bear to wear clothes in bed; she felt suffocated. Kel presence helped with the terror, but the one time the other woman had worn pyjamas, she had woken to the sensation of being smothered. After that both had slept in the nude.
And Buffy had stormed in and seen them. Buffy had seen her. She had been vulnerable, her guard had been down. Buffy was here. Buffy had seen her.
She began to shiver. The morning frost was still present, and she was wearing nothing but a shirt. She finished buttoning it and wrapped her arms around her legs. Minutes passed in silence. Finally, she threw back her head and
screamed.
Ruth
"And beyond the Wild Wood?" asked the Mole.
"The Wide World," said the Rat. "And that doesn't matter."
by NewRuthRising » Sun May 08, 2005 11:09 am 
(and i know for a fact that you've got more written somewhere..)
Ruth..
(And yes I did read Sn0wflak3's message).
