Work Text:
Wesley pulled off the wool hat and ran a hand over his forehead, rubbing sweat back onto his tousled hair. Looking over to see Faith glare at him, he sighed and pulled the brim back down. "Remind me again," he said, "why I need to be wearing this silly hat?"
She tilted her head down so that the large red "B" on her own forehead stared him the face. "It's a baseball cap," she said. "And this is a baseball game." Sliding against him on the Fenway Park bleacher, Faith sloshed warm beer over her white tank top. Pumping a fist in the air, she hooted, "No-MARRRRR!"
"And if this were a hockey match," Wes grumbled, "I supposed we'd be wearing skates?" Lifting his own clear cup of mostly-suds, he looked over and watched the wet spot spread over her breast. She wasn't wearing a bra – he knew that, he'd watched her dress -- and he saw her nipple sharpen to a point under the tight fabric. Her lips curled into a smile as she watched him watching. He didn't move his eyes, but said, "What kind of name is Nomar?"
"You wouldn't go to a hockey match," Faith answered, overdoing the British "A" on the last word. "And it's his father's name spelled backwards."
Ball one sounded over the loudspeakers.
"I beg to differ. I quite enjoy hockey, and Angel took the whole staff to the Kings, all the – well, at least twice." He sounded out the name. "R-A-M-O -- Ramon? You must be joking."
"I bet the tickets were free," said Faith. "He won them off the radio or some shit. And I never joke about Nomar." Ball two. Faith jumped to her feet. "You gonna walk him? That's bullshit! Let the man take a swing!" Which Wesley might have thought was an extreme reaction, except that the surrounding crowd – swathed in Boston Red Sox caps and T-shirts of their own – joined in a chorus of boos.
"That's OK." A blonde girl leaned back from the row in front of them and rested a hand on Faith's knee. "They gotta deal with Manny next."
"Manny!" Faith whooped, and slapped the total stranger on the palm. No doubt, there was something about this capacity for sport to make friends out of strangers. Wesley had a moment of nostalgia for a long ago weekend when he had sneaked away from the Academy to see the local football club play. He tried to recall the handful of boys who had gone with him and wondered what they were doing now, until he remembered that the Council had gotten itself quite blown up recently, and then he looked down because Faith now lay in a giggling heap across his lap.
"No, he's really not," she was saying. Faith laughed again at his confusion, then nodded at the other girl. "Shannon said, 'Your boyfriend's not a big fan,' and I said, 'No he's not."
Wes shook his head at the girl called Shannon; Faith could make friends with people in crowds before Wesley had time to notice them. "Sorry, it's not the team." He pointed at his cap so she could see he was doing his part to show the colors. "It's the sport." Thinking, Boyfriend, did she call me her boyfriend? Which after sharing a car every day and a bed every night for going on two months now, wasn't such an extraordinary statement, except that she'd never made it, and neither had he, and he wondered if this might be some big relationship moment flying right past him or if it was just a joke, if she was playing along with the other woman's assumption.
Hearing his accent, Shannon nodded slowly, as though that explained everything. An Englishman wasn't supposed to get baseball, and so Wesley couldn't help adding, "The intentional walk seemed like a fair move. Nomar's on a hot streak, and first base was open." There was no need for people to think he didn't understand the game, just because he didn't care. But the remark earned him dirty looks from most of their neighbors. One of the things he should have remembered from those football weekends: vocal defense of the visiting team's strategy, however justified, was rarely a good idea.
Faith scooched further into his lap and raised a pacifying hand to the onlookers. "Never mind the limey," she announced. "I know how to shut this one up." She took off her cap, then reached up to lift his and turn it backwards, so that the brim rested just above his spine. Then she placed a hand on the back of his neck, and began to sit up at the same time as she pushed his head down to meet her mouth. A long shallow kiss, teasing him with promise, and just as he tightened his hands around her shoulders. . .Now batting for the Red Sox. . .Manny. . .Ramiiiiirez!!! Faith slipped out of his grip and sat straight to watch the next batter. For all her strength, she wasn't tall, and she had to strain forward to see above the shoulders in front of her. Without looking back at Wes, she said, "You really hate this game?"
"I just don't understand all the fuss." Wesley brushed his lips against her cheek. "Everybody knows. . ." He kissed her temple. ". . .it's just the bastard child of cricket and rounders."
"Yeah, Wes." Putting her hand to his chin, she moved him gently but firmly away, so as not to lose her view. "Everybody who knows what those things are? They probably know that. Some of them might even care. But we're in America, man. It's a big damn country, and it's the national pastime."
"Yes," he answered. "And of course, you know the second most populous country in the world, and what the most popular sport is there?"
"Wes –" She turned and gave him her full attention. "In what possible universe am I going to say 'yes' to either of those questions? Anyway, China has the most people, and they all play baseball there."
"India," he answered. "Cricket." Then, gently, "And I believe you're thinking of Japan."
"China," she said, "Is way bigger than Japan."
"Yes," he said. "But Japan is where they play baseball."
"Nope." She shook her head firmly. "I'm thinking of China."
Well, you're thinking WRONG, he was starting to say. But then wood cracked against the ball, and Faith leaped to her feet. "Man-ny!!!" she screamed and then she was jumping up and down, hugging her new friend Shannon. Not a bad picture at all – he wondered if Shannon was wearing a bra, and if she was with anyone, because it wouldn't have been the first time that one of Faith's insta-friends had ended up in their bed, only this time he looked at her and thought again – Boyfriend?
*
He really didn't mind being at the baseball game with Faith. In the past two months, he hadn't found much of any place he minded being with Faith. In that time they had managed to cut a pretty convincing swathe across the continent. Much, he reflected, as Giles had once described Angel's rampages with Darla. Although, of course, rather than human corpses? Their swathe largely consisted of vampire dust, empty bottles, and the occasional skipped check or shoplifted leather item. Really, when he thought about it that way, it seemed just the slightest little bit lame. Except for the vampires of course, but honestly that was mostly Faith's doing. Well, I'm the wheel man, he thought. Except that half the time he wasn't and –
And he had the here and now to think about, when it came to Faith. As in here she was, now, during the seventh inning stretch, belting out "God Bless America" the same way she had just sung "Take me out to the Ballgame," with no particular regard for either tune or irony. He didn't sing along, and when the last notes died, she turned to see him staring and said, "You got a problem with God?"
He shrugged and lied: "Not especially."
"Got a problem with America, then? There's cattle boats to the old country every damn day, you know."
"America is absolutely wonderful," he answered, in a calming voice. Because he didn't feel like arguing about foreign policy with Faith at the moment – or ever; because he had already learned not to speak up against the home team in this crowd; and because, after eight weeks with Faith in Angel's old Plymouth, criss-crossing the continent's highways, bringing him to this point, sitting in the outfield bleachers at Fenway Park on a warm summer's night, he discovered that he actually believed it.
*
Warm night had fallen over Boston by the time the crowd streamed out of the park. After Manny's three-run shot opened the floodgates, the Sox went on to win in a rout. Walking out into the parking lot, Faith punched the air and starting high-fiving random strangers. "Believe, man!" Grabbing Wes by the shoulders, she pulled his ear down to her lips and whispered, "I want to kill something."
Wes felt his body tense, and he quietly suggested, "Slay."
"Same diff." She pulled away enough to look him in the eye. "You're still a little bit afraid of me, man." A toss of her head sent the cap askew. "Of what I'm gonna do."
This hit uncomfortably close to the mark, and Wes thanked whatever gods might care that he had learned to deadpan with the best. "You know me," he said in a steady voice. "Most of my relationships are built on a foundation of fear and trembling."
Faith froze, cap lifted in one hand, hair gathered in a thick ponytail with the other. He wondered if he'd gone too far, remembering arguments with Lilah about the R-word, when they'd been together, if that's what you could call it, longer than he and Faith. He steeled himself for whatever she might say.
Suddenly, a wide smile burst over Faith's mouth and eyes. Wes started to move toward her, but she pushed right past and called to someone just behind his shoulder. "Stephen Cuddy! You -- fucking -- asshole!" Only the way she said the words, you would think 'asshole' was the sweetest name a girl could call a man. That men would line up around the block to be assholes, just so she would just say their names like that.
When Wes turned to follow her gaze, he saw a square-headed blonde boy, with a studied slouch that did nothing to disguise his height and broad shoulders. "Lexie Lehane," said the presumptive Stephen. And then with one of those stupid American white-toothed smiles that didn't match his words at all: "Alexandria, you goddamn bitch! Where you been hiding?"
Before Wesley had time to process any of this, Faith – or Lexie, or Alexandria, or however the hell he was supposed to think of her – lunged at the boy. He ducked out of the way and laughed, grabbing Faith by the arm, and used her own strength to spin her around until her back was against him. Stephen rubbed a hand up her neck. "Still leading with your shoulder. You give every move away."
Faith smiled, only her smile was half a simper. A bell went of in Wesley's head because it wasn't her and he was pretty damn sure she was playing some kind of game, but he didn't know what it was, or even which of them she was playing it with. She looked up at the boy, licked her lips, then turned to Wes. "This is Steve," she said. "Steve taught me to fight."
And Wes decided to pretend he was in on the game, even though he had no idea what it was. Far better to be her playmate than her plaything. "Alexandria," he said, in a low relaxed voice. "You fight? I had no idea."
"It's all right, sweetie." Keeping her eyes on Wes, she untangled from Steve. "I never let them hit me in this pretty pretty face." She reached for Wesley's hand, laced her fingers through his, and leaned back against his chest. "Steve, this is my friend Wesley. I'm sure you two will get along great. We should find a place for the night and hang."
For a fleeting second, Wes thought that none of Faith's male friends had ended up in bed with them, and he tried to figure out how he felt about that. Then he saw Steve give him a cool, appraising look, and realized it didn't matter because this was a hard city boy, who would gladly kick Wesley's ass if he knew he had inspired such thoughts, even fleeting ones. The boy's dark eyes flitted over Wes, who suddenly remembered that he still had his cap on backwards, the way Faith had set it when they kissed. He knew he wasn't very convincing as either a gangster or a frat boy, and he could only imagine how hard Gunn would have laughed.
Once Steve had time to memorize Wesley, he finally spoke. "I dunno, Lex. Looks like you've moved up in the world. Judging from this guy, I doubt I could afford your new rates."
Two months of fighting beside Faith had done something for Wesley's reflexes. He was able to snake out an arm and grab her across the chest before he could launch herself at the other man. A stream of profanity poured out of her mouth, dead serious this time: "You fucking asshole, you don't want to mess with me. You cocklicking cuntsucker! You. . ."
"Faith!" Wes squeezed his hand tightly around her upper arm.
"Faith?" Steve repeated. "That's a new one."
He cast an amused look from Wes to Faith, and back to Wes, but his body tensed just enough to show that he felt some danger.
Wes expected Faith to rip away from him – she certainly had the strength – but instead, she relaxed against him and looked up into his eyes. "OK, Wes, you tell him then."
"She's right." Wes released her, feeling satisfied that he had managed to defuse the situation. Looking at Steve, he said gravely, "You definitely don't want to mess with her."
This time, when Faith exploded, she did it in Wesley's direction. "Jesus Christ!" She slapped him across the chest. "You are such a woman!" Whirling on the heel of her motorcycle boot, she called over her shoulder, "I'm done with this!"
With Faith storming off, Wesley actually found himself appealing to Steve. "What did I do?"
"Hey, man," said Steve. "Crazy bitch is your business now. Luck with that."
"Oh," Wesley glared at the boy before going after Faith. "Why don't you fuck off?"
*
A couple hours later, Wes and Faith sat on the hood of the Plymouth in a grassed-over lot by the Tobin Bridge over the Mystic. Twirling a new-carved stake in her hand, she reassured him. "We'll see some action soon."
"I'm sure," he said, "Although I still think a cemetery is a more intuitive location."
"Uh-uh," she said firmly. "Last time I was at Forest Hills, all I met was a bunch of snooty Harvard kind of undead, and they can't fight for shit. 'Sides, when you're supposed to be backing me up? I don't want you stopping to look down and see if this is where Eugene McNeil is buried." She was never going to forgive him for one little miscue at a Civil War burial ground in Richmond.
"Eugene O'Neill," he said, "Not to mention e. e. cummings. And what makes you think any vampire is going to look for us here?"
"You're just itching to try out that weapon." She grinned, looking down at the converted dart gun that was resting against his thigh. Fetching this had been their pretext for coming up here. Faith knew a man named Bubba, who she claimed was an arms dealer who could get anything they wanted. So they had ordered this gun specially to fit a small wooden projectile. A vampire killer with the precision of a target pistol. In theory, anyway. He hadn't had a chance to try it out yet, and he had a couple stakes in his belt as backup.
Raising the muzzle on the dart gun, he said, "Can you blame me? This is twice the size of the weapon I've been using."
"Well," Faith pressed her lips together and looked at the way he was holding the gun against his leg. "I wouldn't say twice as big."
"Funny," he said, and reached over to place a hand on the back of her neck. She shook her head and pushed it away.
"Gotta stay alert. Vamps'll be here any minute. This was one of my favorite spots, back in the day, and now that they know I'm in town. . ."
"How would they know that? We just got here this afternoon."
"And then we went to the ballgame, and they showed us making out on the JumboTron."
"They WHAT??? You never said. . ."
"No point in ruining the moment. But somebody had to recognize me."
"Somebody .. . .are you suggesting that the vampires of Boston watch the Red Sox on television?"
"Wake up, man, there's a pennant race. You don't understand this town. I've heard of guys asking to be vamped so they could live to see the Sox win the series."
Wes shook his head. "And you wonder why the team is cursed."
Faith raised her stake and pointed it at him. "Watch what you say about my team. I've known them a helluva lot longer than I've known you. Plus," she went on, shaking the stake at him, "I'm still pissed at you."
"Because I didn't start a fist fight with the Aryan Nation back there?" She snorted, and he said, "What then? Challenge him to a duel? Pistols at twenty paces?"
"If you want to play the game, Wes," said Faith, "You need to know the rules."
"I thought the Rules were like, don't put out on the first date."
"South Boston rules. A guy says shit to your girl, you don't let him walk away." With a glance at his arms, she said, "All right, he woulda kicked your ass one on one. I'd have stepped in eventually. It's the thought that counts."
He looked hard at her. "You're my girl?"
"Are you asking me?"
Rather than pursuing that line of questioning, he said, "Most of the time, you'd be insulted if I acted like I could protect you. Besides, I didn't want to get in the middle. It seemed like you two had a history."
"Sure thing. We have a history where he beats me up, steals from me, and calls me a whore."
"He beat you up?" Wes demanded. At this distance from Steve's massive shoulders and jaw, it was easy enough to fantasize about landing a few good punches and, for a moment, Wesley indulged.
"Don't go all white knight on me now," she said. "He's a karate teacher. I paid him for the fighting. Which, come to think of it, makes the stealing that much more annoying." She shook her head. "I didn't have a watcher until way late, and the local vamps knew about me before the Council did. It's probably thanks to Steve I survived until the watchers found me."
"And that's all?" Wesley asked.
She exhaled loudly. "No, Wes, we also fucked, all right? A lot. Anything else you're dying to ask?"
He thought of Steve's words. . .You've moved up. . .I can't afford your rates. Implying she had been a hooker when he knew her. It just seemed a throwaway insult at the time, but now Wes saw the barely contained fury in her eyes and thought of how little he really knew about her past. He wondered whether she was angry because the boy had lied, or because he had told the truth. But there was only one question he really wanted to ask. Are you my girl? he thought. "No," he said. "No question. I'll just accept that I win the bad boyfriend award for the evening."
"I'm not giving out any kind of boyfriend awards at the mo. So don't flatter yourself. But next time. . ."
"Next time a man insults you," said Wes, "I'll be sure to shoot him."
"Golly gee, Wes," hissed a voice from the shadows, "Is that a promise?"
*
Wesley's first thought was that a potentially intimate moment with his possible girlfriend was being interrupted by someone doing a bad Jack Nicholson impression. And in fact, when the vampire stepped out of the shadows, the bottom part of his nose seemed to be missing. A fitting tribute to Jack in Chinatown maybe, or. . .
Faith pointed and laughed. "Scooter, man, you're uglier than ever." Raising the stake in one hand, she pointed at his face with the other. "I remember when I did that to you, too. If you hadn't run off screaming like a little girl. . ."
"You shouldn't ever have come back here," sneered the vamp. Wesley wondered how it was possible for a creature that didn't need to breathe to sound that nasal. His face morphed and he said, "My name's not Scooter, you stupid bitch."
"Sorry, Azathoth. You're the same damn moron who drooled all over himself in homeroom."
"Oh, you're one to talk, Harriet!"
Faith/Alexandria/Harriet leaped forward, brandishing a stake, but Wes put a hand on her arm and pointed the dart gun. "Please," he said, "Allow me."
Before he could pull the trigger, a voice sounded behind them, "Not so fast!"
Then another, pleading, broken up by sobs, "Lexie, I am so sorry." Wes and Faith backed against the car, flanking each other. Two vampires stepped out of the shadows, holding a muscular blonde boy between them. "They saw me with you," he choked out, "They asked me questions, they made me. . ."
"Oh, Jesus, Steve!" Faith cried. "Can't you take care of yourself for a fucking afternoon? Don't answer that." She nodded at Wes. "We'll save you. But when we're done? I'm gonna watch while you let Wes here kick your ass."
"Let?" Wes griped.
Faith stepped forward wielding the stake. "Whoever wants to prove your so-called manhood on me?" She pointed both hands at her chest. "Bring it on! Just remember I have backup." Wes nodded, showing the gun. She pointed at the vamp holding Steve. "Put him over with Wes or I don't do this." The vamp pushed Steve toward in Wesley's direction, and he staggered over to land on the other man's feet.
"I hope you're happy," Wes grunted. As one of the two sidekick vamps moved toward Faith, Wes kept his gun trained on Azathoth/Scooter. The slayer wanted a fight, and Wes didn't mind letting her have it. But he was going to make sure the vamps fought fair – in which case, there wasn't a chance on earth of her losing.
"You bet I'm happy." Steve, who had an eye on the fight himself, started to pull himself upright. "An old flame comes back into my life. Girl who walked out on me, with a crazy story how she was gonna go live with some old lady who was gonna teach her to fight vampires?"
"Yes. Clearly crazy," Wes said drily, just as Faith plunged her stake into the first minion's heart. "That's my girl!" he called to her. The second minion moved toward her, playing some kind of silly overblown martial arts move. "Somebody thinks he's in The Matrix," said Wes. "Do you suppose we should tell him that they do those movies with CGI and camera tricks?"
"I don't know. You're the smart one." Steve's voice sounded just behind his ear, and Wes felt a moment of surprise that the boy had gotten to his feet so fast. A second later, he felt pain, as Steve's meathook of a hand closed around his neck. "Besides, I always wondered what a Watcher tasted like."
*
Wes wasn't going to cry out. That was just what they wanted. For him to make some noise and distract Faith from the fight. He just cursed himself for not seeing through Steve's ruse. At that moment, Faith dusted the second vampire, leaving her to face off against Scooter – if Wes was going to die tonight, he at least reserved the right not to think of a vampire by some name he had ripped off of H.P. Lovecraft – by herself. Then she'd be left to fight Steve, the obvious ringleader of the gang, who would have Wesley for leverage. It amazed him how much rational thought he was capable of at a time like this. As a secondary advantage, thought provided a distraction from trying to breathe.
Steve's massive hand tightened around Wesley's throat, and he used the other to knock down the dart gun. "So. Wesley," the boy sneered in his ear. "Do all Watchers fuck their slayers?"
"Not. . ." Wes gasped out. "Not her Watcher. Now."
"'Cause you got canned. Probably because you fucked her. So do you think she did it with that old lady they had her with here? Far as I can tell, your girlfriend Faith would fuck anything with a pulse. She was like that when I knew her. Tried to play it like she wasn't. Like she really cared or some shit. Does she do that with you?" Putting on a falsetto voice that sounded nothing like Faith's, he trilled, "I never trusted anybody before, Steve. I never felt safe with anyone like I feel safe with you. Does she give you that line?" Again, loosening his grip so that Wesley could talk.
"No," Wes answered, very honestly. "Your Lexie doesn't sound like my Faith. I don't really think you know her at all." Thinking, Of course not, you bastard, because you're one of the assholes she actually trusted when she was too young to know better. You're one of the people who broke her, making it so fucking hard to hold her together anymore. But of course, that Steve hadn't really been the same creature he was grappling with now. For the first time, Wes was reflecting that it wouldn't be fair to hold a vampire to account for his sins as a human.
"I don't know her?" Steve sneered. "I'm the only one who ever knew her. I met her, she was dancing at this place down in the zone. Showing her tits to anybody could pay the cover. Blowing any guy gave her change for a pack of cigarettes. You think you got something special? Your Faith may be all right as a slayer, but the human part of her is trash." Brushing his lips to Wesley's ear, he says, "I want you to get that straight before she watches me kill you. Got that straight?"
He let up a moment on Wesley's throat, waiting for an answer, and that was the thing about talkers. They always took it a little too far. With the breath the boy gave him, Wesley said, "She's coming right for you, you idiot." Steve loosened his hand more, and turned his head just enough for Wesley to get an angle and smash his skull into the heavy square chin. He shook free, dived to the ground for the dart gun and, when Steve came down after him, flipped the boy over his shoulder. Giving up on the gun, he pulled a stake from his belt loop and raised his hand over the prostrate Steve. "This one's for Faith!" But when he started to thrust down, something stopped the motion.
Faith had her hand on his wrist. "Don't."
"What?" He tried to shake free. "You're not suddenly getting sentimental about this moron?"
Steve started to rise. Faith smashed her fist into his face, and he crashed unconscious to the ground. "Yeah. Real sentimental." She brushed her hands together, and as dust came off of them, she nodded. "Scooter's gone. Real cinch. But as for that?" She eased the stake from Wesley's hand. "You don't want to do that. On a human? It makes a mess. Believe me, I been there."
"On a. . ." He turned to stare at the boy. "You're sure he's human?" Wesley knelt and pressed a hand to the neck. Clammy and unconscious, to be sure, but there was a definite pulse.
"Yep," said Faith. "I was close enough to feel his body heat at the game. And they haven't had timet o turn him since then. A grade-A toxic asshole, yeah. But human."
"So. . .what do we do with him?"
Faith looked toward the river. "We could always throw him in the Mystic. Sorta traditional around here. Rockin' gypsy souls, not so much, but bodies tend to wash up after a long Saturday night. Day after a Sox win like that, nobody might even notice." She shrugged. "On the other hand, I know his ma's place in Dorchester. We can leave him with her, let him sleep it off."
"Sleep off. . ." Wes repeated, disbelieving, "His homicidal mania? He wanted to kill us. You. He probably teamed up with those vampires to spy on us, then led them here. You just want to let someone like that go?"
"Well what would you suggest?" Faith spoke so sharply that Wes had no immediate answer. Then she turned her back and started kicking the tires of the Plymouth. With each kick, she spit out a word. "I – hate – this – fucking – town – I hate – this –fucking – car – I – hate – men – I hate – vampires – I –"
"Faith." Coming up behind her, he placed a hand on each of her shoulders. Her body shook underneath his grasp, and then she worked herself free and twisted around to look at him. "I hate you!"
"Of course." He nodded his head calmly. "Any particular reason?"
Instead of answering, she just shook her head vigorously, her lips set in an angry pout. Then, without warning, she fell against his shoulders and grabbed hold of him, hard. "I want to get out of here. Take me out of here. Help me dump this moron in his mother's front yard, and take me far far away from this stupid fucking city where people think they know me."
"Of course," Wes soothed again. He pulled her close to him and placed a hand on her long hair. "Where would you like to go?"
"Home," she answered. "Dump this moron in his mother's yard, and take me home."
"Of course." She buried her face against his chest until Wesley, with a mouth half full of her hair, managed to say, "Where would that be?"
Now she raised her eyes to meet his. "I don't know," she said. And then, with half a laugh, "Do I have to think of everything?"
And because he didn't have an answer, Wesley started to kiss her, but she turned her head aside. "Just so you know? You're not the world's worst boyfriend."
"Thank you." They fell silent again, and again he thought they would kiss. But instead she turned her head and lay an ear against his shoulder. They rocked back and forth there, for a moment. Not the world's worst boyfriend, then. And looking out over that warm Boston night, watching the moon rise over the Mystic River, he thought, It's a start.