Chapter Text
| Current mood: | stoked |
| Entry tags: | fanfic, ftvs, teaser |
Faith the Vampire Slayer: 1x02 (teaser)
Happy Double Soup Tuesday!
Previously, on Faith the Vampire Slayer:
We got computers
We're tappin' phone lines
You know that that ain't allowed.
- Talking Heads
Faith knows all the arguments against her driving, on an intellectual level. Needless to say, it doesn't stop her from chafing at the bit, having to play the passive passenger. She holds her tongue on the interstate, bites down during Willow's interminable parallel parking sessions that rival glacial drift; taking comfort in the knowledge that should they ever be limited to manual transmission, her mad skills will become essential. Since Dana's departure they've been sticking to smaller rentals with next to no leg room, even leaning all the way back, boots on the dashboard. Willow doesn't actively discourage this -- at least not out loud -- but Faith's actually trying not to cross that fine line between informal and tacky.
Also, as Willow predicted, their musical tastes clash to no small degree. Not much a dropout can teach an honor student about anything, besides herself, and Faith's not into reminiscing what she spent most of her pre-prison life trying to forget. She often wonders how much of her is still inside Willow, left over from the witch's desperation brain-dive. Especially during those offhand moments when something floats up from beneath: Fear of frogs; the resentful, half-conscious lust ever since the redhead first laid eyes on her, that bravery hasn't overcome guilt enough for Faith to bring up. No idea how far the other way it goes, what the redhead remembers of her secrets, dark or otherwise. Dana's not around any more to blab, and Willow is too discreet to mention, Faith too
(afraid)
to ask.
The upshot is that she spends most of their time on the road just watching the scenery go by. Willow alternates between semi-nervous babbling and a respectful, awkward silence. Which is a shame, as Faith's own outlook swings just as often from liking of the quiet to actually missing the chatter when it stops. Unfortunately, their periods are more in sync than their moods.
Doesn't help she's been fighting the funk for a while, ever since they sent Dana back to England with Xander. Like the driving thing, her brain is perfectly aware that obsessing only makes matters worse -- for her, and the fucked-up kid they've basically abandoned -- but all the rationalizing in the world can't make Faith feel like any less of a shitheel. Willow's first response if she brings it up will no doubt be something like So, you think we made a mistake? And maybe it was a hard call, but it was the right one. For now.
Just sucks she had to make it right when she'd been getting used to the three of them. Relaxing enough to feel like a family, dysfunction and all.
Knowledge is power, says the schoolhouse rock.
They never tell you about the pain.
For Willow's tenth birthday, her mother took the weekend off for their family's first and only impromptu road trip. Unfortunately the Rosenbergs didn't make it halfway to Hollywood when her father's colitis flared up, badly enough to keep him bedridden at the motel, not enough to warrant going to the emergency room. Sheila, ever practical, decided it wasn't worth returning home so soon, and drove the two of them into town for ice cream and a trip to the park. There was even a tiny museum, with exhibits of fossils people had found among the local cliffs, and maybe it was dumb to get so excited about a pen filled with water and colored rocks but it looked so nifty Willow couldn't help it.
She's been meaning to start a new journal. A real one, with actual paper. Except typing is so much faster, and writing longhand makes her think of all the journals she kept when she was with Tara. Lost forever.
Just like her pen.
She'd hoped for a more enthusiastic traveling companion once they were clear of California, but her girlfriend still has a limited number of ways to relax, none of which include discussion of tourist hotspots. Faith is unflappably cool, assisted by new sunglasses; wears her hair back more often, probably to avoid being recognized from her mugshots. Plus the Slayer has been acting antsier since before they crossed the border into Maryland, moving closer to D.C., as though the demon in her is responding to the proximity of power.
True, that public displays of affection had never been a thing with Faith -- well, affection, anyway. And maybe they hadn't wanted to throw their relationship in anyone's face, back when they were surrounded by so many familiar ones. It wasn't like there had ever been a lack of snuggling, behind closed doors. But ever since Dana left, Willow knows all too well that she's been trying not to feel like a failure, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist -- or the western hemisphere's most powerful Wicca -- to figure Faith has to be fighting more or less the same battle.
To say Willow herself is torn would merely be a good start. No amount of tea and sympathy can make up for her being selfishly glad to have Faith all to herself again. And it's not that she didn't love having Dana around, but given some aspects of this particular problem set, it's just easier to approach it from a slight remove. They've already charted out some promising herbal therapy, based on existing drug regimens to dampen or nullify psychic ability...
"What exit was that?"
"Huh?" Faith doesn't move, leaning back in her seat, both arms crossed. The sunglasses make it impossible to tell if her eyes are open.
"The big green sign with the numbers?" Willow hopes that didn't come out too snarky.
"Wasn't lookin'."
Guess that answers that. "Well, keep an eye out for thirty-six. I want to gas up and check in with Giles. And since we're practically kayaking down the Potomac --"
"We just 'checked in' yesterday." Faith seems to shrug without moving. "If she ain't tried pullin' another Houdini -- you really think she's gonna get better with us breathin' down her neck?"
Willow ignores the mild irritation in the other woman's voice.
"I just want to actually see the nation's capital. When I was a kid, I always voted for our school trips to go to Washington. But we never did." Willow's smile fades. "Probably because Sunnydale's bond money kept getting diverted for all those police funerals."
Faith remains silent. Willow wonders, briefly, how much her apartment might have cost the town's taxpayers. Maybe nothing; in hindsight, Wilkins' cronyism made the Mafia look like a kindergarten candy ring.
"Come on." She tries not to sound overly wheedly. "Granted, not quite as much fun as a nightclub --"
"Try nowhere near."
"-- but who can resist an adorable little animated parchment? I'm just a Bill, yes I'm only a Bill --" She trails off as Faith pinches the bridge of her nose, as if to stave off a headache.
What the hell did she do now?
"Is it just the whole fugitive thing?" she ventures. "I didn't think about it, but -- this whole town is like the ultimate cop shop."
Faith snorts, lips twitching in what might be a smile. "You really just said cop shop."
Willow can feel her cheeks warming, as they tend to do during these conversations. "I mean -- when you think of government. What's the first thing you think of?"
"Biggest gang on the block." Faith still hasn't moved, other than the involuntary shakes as they pass over the occasional pothole. Willow tries to ignore the accompanying jiggle.
"So I take it you've never done your civic duty?" Eyes! Eyes on road! "Exercised the franchise?"
"Duty, schmooty." The Slayer turns her head, eyebrows crinkling. "French fries?"
"You mean freedom fries." Now that was snarky. "I meant, have you ever voted?"
"They stay outta my way, I do the same." Faith returns her gaze or closed eyes to the underside of the car roof. "Guess I'm, whaddyacall -- neutral."
Willow ponders this. "Like Switzerland?"
"Like I don't give a rat's ass." Wry humor turns to flat dismissal. "Besides -- convicted and escaped felon. Not really worryin' about it any time soon, y'know?"
Willow concentrates on letting the obnoxious RV hurry up and pass. Finally Faith lets out a sigh, the kind that usually portends at least partial victory.
"It's no big. I mean --" The Slayer clears her throat. "It's no big thrill for me, but --"
"We don't have to," Willow quickly assures her. "Seriously. I don't want to be all, you would if you loved me gal --"
"You want me to wave the flag for one day?" Faith's lips twitch again, in an almost-smile. "Shut up and drive."
Willow feels a little better. But Faith still looks vaguely itchy, despite her lack of movement.
"You think there's a Hellmouth?" She tries for at least semi-joking, for all that it's a serious question.
"Yeah. 'Cause this place definitely needs onea those."
"You just looked kind of...edgy." Willow shrugs, ignoring the sarcasm. "Or maybe it's PMS."
"Bitch." But the word is without rancor. Willow hides a grin.
"Grab that map out of the glove box?" Faith complies without hesitation, and Willow sighs inside. If only it were always this easy. "There should be a landmark guide. And we can look for brochures at the gas station."
"Okay, White House -- I can see that." Faith sounds honestly perplexed. "But what the hell else is there?"
"What isn't there?" Willow tries not to overexpound. "The Washington Monument --"
"Oooh. Great big phallic symbol."
"The Smithsonian, the Library of Congress --"
"Not talkin' to Giles." Faith smirks. "Course, he's almost as hot."
Willow blushes. Of all possible memories, it figures that's the one Faith might never let her live down.
"The Smithsonian isn't just a museum, you know. It's the museum. We could probably find a weapons exhibit --"
Faith rolls her eyes again, exuding I can read, you know.
"Supreme Court?" Faith doesn't even blink. Willow thinks she deserved worse. "Right...the Vietnam Veterans Memorial?"
"Too much fuckin' perspective."
"It is a bit monolithy...oh!" Willow snaps her fingers. "The NSA headquarters at Fort Meade! I know, it's just a big building -- and you're not a math nerd, or a computer nerd, or really much of a nerd in any possible --"
"NSA?" For the first time Faith sounds curious, not like she's trying to cut short the babble. "You mean that secret agency that spies on everyone?"
Willow takes a dry tone. "Obviously, it's not all that secret."
"You know what I mean."
"Maybe." Willow mulls this over. "They're not supposed to monitor domestically -- they've got the FBI for that. But it's not a real big stretch to assume they've broken the law at least once. If not more." She frowns. "If someone felt like they had no other choice."
"Oh, sure." Faith nods. "I'll bet they felt just terrible about it."
"Well, modern life does have less privacy -- not much getting around that. But for most of us, the benefits outweigh the cost." Willow feels compelled to try to lighten the mood. "Besides. The odds of any one person being under surveillance at any given time are..."
"...astronomically low."
The blue Ford Taurus whisks past the unmarked car, heading for the offramp.
Terry turns to his new partner, grinning from ear to ear.
"I like those odds!"
**