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Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the setting of the story. All things I borrowed from the Buffyverse are a creation of and belong to Joss Whedon. I have also borrowed several ideas and concepts from to J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books, I used some in this chapter, some will be in the rest of the story. (the mirror of Erised, the Room of Requirement)

Timeline: two months after NFA ("Angel"), and before Faith runs into Spike (see "Needed").


Chapter 1


Faith was running after the demon. She had been running for hours and she couldn't seem to get tired. The demon sped up on the downward slope; Faith adjusted her pace with ease. Tracking and chasing was fun and well, but this guy was almost making it too easy for her. She cut through some bushes and reached the clearing in front of him.

"What's the rush, big guy? I thought you're all about killing girls."

The thing growled and attacked her. Faith ran punches and kicks on him until, with a final effort, the demon feigned to the right and ran past her by the left. Faith swore under her breath and followed him. She caught up with him just as he reached the entrance to a cave. Faith jumped on his back and twisted his neck in a swift movement until it snapped. Its body went limp and fell to the ground with a thud.

"Let's see where you were heading," she said.

She took a stake and a torchlight out of her backpack and entered the cave. She went through long, empty corridors, permanently wary of any sign of danger. There were no signs of habitation, or other exits. Faith couldn't help fearing she was missing something. If this wasn't its lair, or a way for it to escape pursuit, why had it run this way? She was approaching a state of panic so she hurried toward the exit. But she couldn't find it. The corridor began fading.

All of a sudden, Faith found herself trapped in the prison cell she had inhabited for two years. With the difference that where the bars and door had been, there was only another solid wall. Her pulse began to race and she felt her head spinning. She closed her eyes, trying to get a grip on herself. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that she was no longer alone.

She reacted instinctively. She put her knife through the man's shoulder and pinned him to a wall.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked the familiar figure.

"I think I'm Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, but I'm also fairly sure I'm dead."

"I'm in no mood for games, mister. Try again. And make it the truth this time," she said twisting the knife in his flesh.

The man groaned. Faith saw the pain on Wesley's face, and her stomach heaved. She was hurting him again. She was back at the same point she had been before prison. Before Angel. Angel... Gone. All gone. She pulled the blade out of the creature, no longer carrying what it was. Being killed by something wearing Wesley's guise seemed karmicly appropriate. She turned her back to him and walked slowly away.

"Faith, are you all right?"

She heard Wesley's voice. She heard the concern. It seemed so real…

"Wesley's dead. I saw his body myself. His was the only one we've actually found."

"I know. I don't understand. But I know I died two months ago. And yet the last thing I remember is you, walking out of the Hyperion a year ago."

"Shut up. Please, shut up," Faith whispered, unable to stand his soft tone. "You're not real."

"Could've fooled me," he murmured.

Faith turned to look at him. He was pressing his palm over the wound. He was bleeding.

"OK. I'll play," she said and walked back to him. "Let me take care of that."

She gently took his hand away from the wound. She unbuttoned his shirt, and pushed it off his shoulders to expose the injury. She gritted her teeth at the sight. It wasn't the blood in itself. The problem was that it was Wesley's blood, and it was spilled by her hand again.

"You avoided any major arteries. I should be fine."

Faith took a bandage and a flask of scotch out of the backpack, and poured a few drops over the wound. Wesley stiffened a little and let out the faintest hiss of pain. Her stomach churned again at this sound that echoed the muffled groans she had extracted from him four years earlier. She proceeded to dress the injury, almost numb under the flood of guilt. She pressed her fingers on the bandage making sure it stuck to the unbroken skin around the wound.

She began mapping his scars with trembling fingers. There they were. The long scar on the left side of his neck. The criss-cross of her own handiwork. And the new one.

Faith put her palm over the ugly scar in his lower abdomen. She had seen the fatal wound on Wesley's dead body less than two months earlier.

"This one killed you," she stated, unable and unwilling to remove her hand and in so doing, exposing it again.

"I know," he said.

"Why are you here? Did I drop in a Hellmouth or something?"

"Does it hurt that much?"

"What?" she asked looking up at him confused.

"Seeing me again."

"Yes. So much more than I would've thought possible."

"Long is the road and hard…" he began the quote pensively.

"That out of Hell leads Up to light," Faith finished.

"You read Milton," he said, appreciatively.

"Paradise Lost was on your... on his desk when we went to clear up his apartment."

He put his hand over hers.

"I'm starting to enjoy this," he said with a smile.

Faith startled out of her reverie. She noticed that her palm was still on his belly, close to the waistband of his jeans. She trailed her fingers over his torso before removing it. She smiled when she heard his soft intake of breath. Apparently he was really enjoying her touch.

Doing something that actually pleased Wesley. Well, wasn't that a novel concept? She was smiling at the thought, but soon the notion of causing him to make similar noises became appealing. She hadn't been able to let Robin touch her for the past couple of months. Since she had gone with Giles to collect Wesley's body and clean up his apartment. Now her body was reacting to this presence.

Faith took a long look at Wesley's half naked body. He was so thin… No longer whimpy-thin, but steely-thin. No bulging pecs on this man, no thick biceps, and just the sketch of six-pack abs. Then how did he emanate such strength?

"You're not real," she said again while she began caressing his uninjured shoulder. She slid her hand along his arm. When his bicep twitched beneath her palm, her stomach did a back flip, but this time with desire, not guilt.

"What are you doing?"

His voice had acquired an arousingly husky quality.

"C'mon, babe, I know you're brighter than that."

She intertwined her fingers with his. She looked in awe at their linked hands. Robin Wood had been the first man she had ever allowed to hold her by the hand, but it had never felt this right.

'Not real,' the little voice inside her tried to wake her up.


The soft whisper felt like silk on her skin. She leaned closer, brushed her lips against his neck. She felt his pulse quicken beneath her lips. He took in a deep breath and spoke in a barely controlled voice.

"You know I can't resist you. If you don't stop, I'm not going to."

"Good. No stopping."

As soon as she said it, Wesley put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer. His right hand slid into her hair, and Faith relished the sensation of his long, elegant fingers tangled in her thick, unruly mane. When he pulled her head gently away, she followed his lead dutifully, allowing him to expose her face. The expectation of their first kiss was putting her on edge. He did not disappoint. He lowered his head slowly and pressed his lips against hers. Despite expecting the kiss, Faith gasped.

So gentle. She knew it. She had always known it. He had changed from his Sunnydale days, but even under all the roughness he had so amply demonstrated during their Angelus hunt, she thought she could see an underlying warmth.

For some reason, Faith couldn't bring herself to take control of the kiss. By this time her tongue should have been all the way in his mouth. She fought the urge to sink her teeth into his lips. She fought it because, for once in her life, she didn't want to be on the offensive. For once, she wanted to be wanted, and not the one wanting.

He was cupping her face now, thumbs brushing her jaw. He kept kissing her; delicate, feather-like kisses. He was kissing her like he cared about her. She squashed the knowledge that he never had. Except, maybe that short time when he was her Watcher, and she hadn't yet fallen into darkness.

If he kept this up, she might well do the unimaginable and no longer contain the tears she had held back since she had seen his dead body two months earlier. Fortunately, Wes spared her the embarrassment when he opened his mouth. He trailed her lip with his tongue, maddeningly slow, but even his patience seemed to shatter under the force of his desire. Faith felt her body catch fire when his tongue entered her mouth. She hung on to his shoulders, while her head was spinning. Wes moaned into her mouth when she unwittingly squeezed his fresh injury. Faith pulled violently out of the kiss when she heard it. She was already half way across the cell when Wesley grabbed her arm.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Wesley."

He took no notice of her apology.

"You said there would be no stopping," he reminded her.

"I don't want to hurt you... again."

She hadn't even finished speaking when he wrapped his arms around her. He swooped in for another searing kiss, and Faith was back in the whirlwind of desire. He was holding her so tight her breasts were crushed almost painfully against his chest. He led her back to the bunk bed without easing the embrace for a single moment.

Faith could hardly believe what was happening. She was flattered by the intensity of his desire, but was amazed by his tenderness and warmth.

Between kisses, Wesley managed to undress her almost without her noticing it. She was fully aware that she was naked when he abandoned her mouth in order to explore other arias of her body. When his tongue flicked over one of her nipples for the first time, she was shocked to hear herself yelp. She thought about flipping him over and impaling herself on him. Get some, and get gone. His approach to sex threatened to burn her alive. And yet, she didn't act on her impulse. Her curiosity proved to be more powerful than the wish to reach climax sooner. What would he do next? What else was there to sex other than fast, and hot, and hard? She knew it wasn't real, so if she was weak, and submissive, and girlish no one would ever know. So she closed her eyes and gripped the bed harder and let him take things as slow as he wanted.

She heard him undo his jeans, and opened her eyes. He was hard and ready, and she couldn't remember ever being so wet and eager. Faith was surprised that she enjoyed the feel of him on top of her.

"I want you inside me," she whispered.

He slid inside her without warning and without hesitation. She was already very slippery and welcoming. Faith knew good sex, and this had all the makings of great sex. If he would just pick up the pace.

"Harder. Faster," she whispered between moans.

Much to her despair, he slowed down the pace even more. She wasn't going to reach her orgasm any time soon, but she was beautifully aware of every inch of him. It suddenly became important to Faith to see him. She fought the haze of pleasure and looked at him. His beautiful blue eyes were studying her. She had seen steel and ice in those eyes a year ago, now she was seeing warmth and affection. For a second, the expression on his face seemed familiar. Another face, leaning toward her, another pair of eyes looking at her with the same... love. The remembrance was accompanied by a sharp pain. Riley. Riley making love to 'Buffy'.

"Oh, God," she whispered and close her eyes, overcome with shame.

"Faith! Faith, look at me!"

She obeyed with difficulty.

"You are here. With me. There's no past. No guilt."

"You bloody bastard, how did you get to know me so well?" she asked, fighting tears again.

"I was your Watcher. I've been watching you."

"Fucking the Slayer was in the handbook?" she panted.

"No. Just in every fantasy I've had since I first saw you."

"Liar," she accused him grinning.

He grinned back, and sped up. Not as rough as she used to like it, but it did the trick. She came noisily, only seconds before he did.

Wesley rolled off her on the narrow cot while she was still throbbing in aftershock. She heard his voice when she moved the first muscle to get out of bed.

"There's no way out, Faith. You can't run this time."

"Fuck you," she said without much anger, and dropped back into bed.

"I rather think you just did."

She made an effort to overcome the rising claustrophobia. She watched him relax, eyes closed, breathing returning to normal.

"There must be a way out. I didn't just teleport here."

His features morphed into an impressed smile.

"I didn't know you knew about teleportation."

"I watched a couple of Star Trek episodes like any red blooded American."

He laughed softly, his eyes still closed, his face still calm.

"I was thinking of magical teleportation."

"Can I do that?" she asked hopeful.

"Probably not. It's advanced magic. And even if you could manage to channel the necessary energy, we don't have anything we need. As you may have noticed, I don't have my books handy."

"Note to self: scan and archive books," she said to herself.

Wesley opened his eyes and looked at her with something bordering on admiration.

"You're turning into a real girl scout, aren't you?"

She smiled thoughtfully. She decided that talking to this Wesley-looking creature was better than talking to a headstone.

"I always intended to come see you in L.A.. Try to straighten things up between us. I just kept postponing. Couldn't really imagine what I could say to make it right. By the way, thanks for cleaning up the mess about my escape. It felt sort of icky to be rescued by the likes of Wolfram and Hart, but thanks. You gave me back my life, Wes."

"You've always lived in the moment, Faith. You should've known better than putting things off. Did you really think that working at Wolfram and Hart was going to end well for us?"

She shrugged.

"Never could picture myself saying 'Jee, Wes, sorry I tortured you'. Doesn't sound right, you know."

"Maybe you could've left out the 'Jee'," he said, finally looking at her, the warmth in his gaze melting away some of her guilt. "I knew you were sorry, Faith. The path you have chosen made the point more clearly than anything you could've said."


"Yes. You needed to say the words."

"Guess so..."

He propped himself on an elbow and gazed at her. He caressed her idly as he began to speak.

"You would have been a perfect Slayer. If Buffy had died fighting the Master, Kendra would've still died young, you would've been the Slayer, and not a Slayer. And none of this would've happened. Not the killing. Not the Mayor. Not the coma. Not the body switch. Not prison."

"Not Angel. Not you."

"No. Neither of us."

"We would have never met."



Her voice trailed off. She let the image of that alternate universe wash over her. No guilt. No being second best. No need to live up to a living icon.

"It is only an exercise of imagination. No one can change the past," he said in the same calm voice.

"I don't know if I wish it was possible."

"Faith," he called her name softly, and although she was listening for it, she could hear no recrimination.

"I'm a horrible person."

"Not from where I'm looking," he said and leaned in to kiss her.

He was kissing her like she was worth it. There was desire in his kisses, but it was more than the animalistic lust she usually inspired. She looked up at him through her lashes.

"Are you up for another round?"

He bit her bottom lip playfully.

"I was up for it since I started touching you again," he said, and sneaked his hand between her thighs.

He made love to her passionately, time after time, and with each orgasm, the guilt inside her receded.




Faith saw the exit reappearing in one of the walls. She pulled Wesley on top of her again, and for the first time in her life, she begged:

"Slower. I want this to last forever."

He slowed down the pace, but the pleasure kept building up inside her, and the orgasm came heartbreakingly soon. Faith held him tight, long after he had emptied himself inside her, long after she had stopped throbbing. She hung on to him, willing not to spill the tears that were filling her eyes.

"You're leaving," he said, nuzzling her neck.

"I don't want to," she confessed.

"You're alive, Faith. Live! And just a little, live for me, too."

She looked at him trying to imprint this image permanently in her memory. The image of a man who loved her.

When she blinked, everything was gone. The cell. The bed. Wesley. She was near the exit of the cave. She got dressed, and bent down to pick up her knife. The dried blood on its silver blade was the only physical proof of his existence.




To be continued...

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the setting of the story. All things I borrowed from the Buffyverse are a creation of and belong to Joss Whedon. I have also borrowed several ideas and concepts from to J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books, I used some in this chapter, some will be in the rest of the story. (the mirror of Erised, the Room of Requirement)

Also, Demonologie Malyfycorum of Henchanse thee Unsatisfactory – is a made up book from Terry Pratchett's Discworld series.

"Brilliantine stick insect" is one of my favorite phrases from the classic sitcom British "Fawlty Towers".


Timeline: two months after NFA ("Angel"), and before Faith runs into Spike.


Summary: Hearing about the last battle (NFA), the survivors of "Chosen" go to Los Angeles to find out what has happened. Buffy, Dawn, Xander and Andrew look for Angel and Spike. Giles, Willow, Faith and Robin go looking for Wesley and Fred. The only body they find is Wesley's, everyone else seems to have disappeared. Willow and Robin go to Buffy's group and set up several magical spells to track down all possible survivors. Giles and Faith go to Wesley's apartment.


After Angel's disappearance, and finding Wesley's body, Faith starts to have a kind of existential crisis. She begins to sabotage her relationship with Robin Wood.


Beta:Rachel, aka kiwilass - thank you so much for taking the time to do this.


Chapter 2 "“ part 1


The memory of her encounter with "˜Wesley' had tormented Faith for the past two years. She had expected the memories to fade as time passed. They did not. They kept haunting her dreams. When she tried to suppress them with medication, they started to bleed through into her waken hours. She tried to drown them in denial, and it almost drove her insane.


She decided to face her fear. She became an avid researcher, much to Spike's dismay. She hid from him the real nature of her research, but the changes in her were visible.


During their visit to Cleveland, Faith snuck into the New Watchers' Council offices and photocopied every piece of paper written by or about Wesley that they had. She had passed right through curiosity and reached the level of obsession in a matter of months. She had even accepted a relic hunter job in England to have the chance to look deeper into Wesley's background. His family, his upbringing, the tweed-wearing Watchers factory they called the Academy.


Instead of satiating her interest, the more she found out about him, the more intense the dreams became, the stronger became the urge to see him again.


Two years after the conception of her son, Faith went back to the cave. As much as she had come to trust Spike, it was still difficult for her to leave her child with him. But the compulsion to go back had grown beyond her ability to resist it.




Faith had been walking around that mountain for hours. She found the entrance of the cave when the sun was beginning to set. She took in a deep breath and stepped in, steeling herself for another encounter with Wesley and another stay in her cell. She was therefore deeply shocked when the cave did not morph into her narrow cell, but it became the spacious old Sunnydale High library. She expected Giles and the old Scooby gang to appear. She turned around and tried to open the doors that lead into the hallway of the long flatten high school. They didn't budge.


"Good morning, Faith. Are you ready for training?"


She turned around at the sound of Wesley's voice. Her jaw dropped slightly at the sight of him coming down the stairs with an armful of books. She gawked at him, unable to believe her eyes. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce in all his pompous innocence. The realization hit her - this was the way Wesley was around the time he had written the official Watcher Diaries she had just read.


The Sunnydale Wesley. Still Watcher Wesley.


She studied him attentively, trying to see him without prejudice. But this Wesley was only a creation of her distorted memory of him and her lecture of the Diaries.
"Is there something the matter, Faith?"


There wasn't even a trace of concern in his words. He was still perfect-Watcher Wes, who only saw the Slayer as a tool of the Council. He didn't even think of her as "his" Slayer.


"You're so young."


She couldn't stop the comment. He couldn't be more than four or five years older than her, and he looked incredibly young and innocent.


Wesley bristled at this apparent attack against his authority.


"I'll have you know that..."


He stopped. He looked Faith up and down and did a double take.


"You seem quite... different," he eventually settled on an epithet.


Faith smiled looking down at her outfit. She had to admit she was not dressed for slaying. She wasn't wearing a pink skirt like the Buffy bot (the story of the sex bot had been the most entertaining confession of a thoroughly drunk Spike). She was, however, dressed for a date. Granted, she had envisioned a date with Marlboro Man-Wesley, not whimpy-Wes. Wussly would probably have a heart attack at the mere idea of dating his Slayer.


"How are you feeling, Wes? Anything out of the ordinary?" she asked gently.


His first reaction should be in part a classic English stiff-upper-lippedness, and a classic Wesley tirade of polysyllabic fancy words, Faith ventured a guess. But he appeared to have sensed the strangeness of the situation and swallowed the words.


"What's wrong, Faith? Did something happen?"




She stopped. How could she explain him?


"If you're not going to tell me, maybe you care to sit down and read. If at all possible, try to get past the first page of the "˜Demonologie Malyfycorum' without falling asleep on it."


Faith smiled. She remembered this conversation. It was strange to remember how much she resented him when he was talking down at her like that. How much she hated him and everything he represented, and how clearly she was seeing him now. A very young, very inexperienced man who was trying to perform a job he knew to be of the utmost importance in the battle between good and evil. She snapped out of her musings when she heard Wesley's shocked exclamation.


"What the hell is going on here?!"


He wasn't talking to her, she noticed. He was staring at the book in front of him, turning pages impatiently.


"Wes? What is it?"


He looked up at her as if he was just noticing that she was there.


"This cannot be," he said and climbed the few stairs of the library in one leap.


She heard him pull books off the shelves, rifle through the pages and let them fall to the floor. She ran to him to see what was happening.


"These books... they're all empty. The "˜Demonologie' had the first page written the rest were blank. Most of these don't have anything in them. Look, even some of the titles are wrong," he said, pointing at the spines of several books.


"Umm... Wes, there's something I have to tell you," she said hesitantly.


"Not now, Faith. Do you not grasp how serious this is?"


"Yes, about what's going on... I think I know why the books are empty," she said.


"What? You know?" he asked incredulous. "Well, go on then. Tell me!" he demanded.


"You'd better sit down," she said, trying to play for time, but at the sight of his exasperated look she went on reluctantly. "They're not real. Nothing here is real. It's all created out of my memories. It's how I remember the library."


"Poppycock!" he exclaimed. "This may be fun to you, but to me this is very serious. Just let me try to work out what's going on."


He resumed his frantic examination of the books. Faith put her hand gently on his arm, trying to calm him down. He shrugged it off and went on.


"The library isn't real," she told him. "The doors don't open. I'm betting that the windows won't open either. Come on, see for yourself!" she urged him, pulling him toward the doors.


"If this is your idea of a joke..."


He shut up when the doors did not move no matter how much he pushed and pulled. He ran to the windows, and tried all of them, with the same result.


"This is impossible. Something's terribly wrong," he kept muttering as he ran around the room, trying to find an exit.


Faith sat down at the table and opened a book at random. Blank pages. She wondered how the library would look if it had been created from Wesley's memories.


"All right. Tell me what you know. We'll have to find a way out, if the others don't come looking for us."


"No one's going to be looking for us," she said. "This is not happening when you think it's happening. It's 2006, and this is not Sunnydale."


"Don't be ridiculous!" he chided in that insufferable tone that had always driven her bonkers. "Of course it's Sunnydale. It's just a trick of the Hellmouth."


She was getting fed up with his weakness. This was not the Wesley she wanted. She got even more annoyed at her mental slip up. She did not want Wesley. She wanted answers. She had come back for answers.


"The real Wesley could always tell when something wasn't real," she told him abruptly.


She regretted it instantly. He froze, and all of a sudden looked even younger. She had read about his time in the Watchers' Academy, and she guessed he must have looked very similar to the defenseless boy she had in front of her now.


"I'm real," he said.


His voice was low and diffident. She walked to him, burdened with guilt. Somehow, she always ended up hurting him.


"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Wes."


"NO!" he shouted at her. "NO! I'm not letting you do this to me anymore. You trying to make a fool of me, and I shall not have it. I am sick and tired of your constant insubordination. Your bad manners. Your impertinent attitude. You are a Slayer and you act like a common tart! This is not 2006 and you are going to keep your mouth shut and let me try to find out what is happening!"


"Really, Wes? Not 2006? Then how do you think I know that you just called Quentin Travers and told on Giles yesterday? How do I know that your favorite sandwich is roast beef and chutney? How do I know that you hated the way your parents' cook prepared the oatmeal or porridge as you call it, but loved it at the Academy? How do I know that you slept with Rollo's mom during the Christmas holiday and when he found out and punched you when you went back to the Academy you told on him and got him expelled?"


Wesley's complexion went through a wide range of nuances, going from white to ashen grey and at the last rash words he turned bright scarlet. He took a step backwards, distancing himself from her. Ripples of guilt went through her when she saw the fear in his eyes.


"Wes," she whispered.


"Stay away from me. How do you know all this? What are you?"


"It's me. Just me."


"I'm real," he said softly.


She watched him try to take a step back from the situation, and analyze it coolly. He must have found enough inconsistencies in his memories because his face grew less frightened. He gradually began to acquire that flinty quality he had had in LA.


"Tell me everything," he said.


"I don't know everything," Faith said.


Wesley grabbed her left wrist painfully hard and drew her closer. The innocent sparkle that had been in his eyes only minutes earlier was replaced by that brutal determination she had seen when he was trying to extract information from that junkie. She reached out with her free hand to touch his face, wanting to wipe away that hard expression with a caress. He caught her right hand as if she had tried to slap him.


"Then tell me what you do know," he said looking into her eyes.


Faith was caught in his gaze for a while, but she snapped out of it. Who was he to talk to her like that? This was not even useless Watcher Wesley. He was only a figment of her imagination. She owed him no respect. No obedience. She pulled out of his grasp with ease.


"This is a magic cave. I stepped in it by mistake. It turned into this. That's it."


"That's hardly it," he said derisively. "Why did it turn into Sunnydale High library of... seven years ago of all times and places?"


"No idea," she replied. "Magic."


"And of all the people you knew at that time... you're seeing me. Come on. Tell me what is this all about?"


"You know what? I don't have to tell you shit. You're part of the cave, part of the magic. So why don't you tell me?"


"Because I don't know! I don't know anything!" he shouted at her.


He went to look out the window. Faith watched his boyish figure outlined against the bright, if fake, California sky. How did she think of him as an adult, she wondered. He looked like a little boy dressed in a suit. Well, maybe not exactly like that, but he was certainly not the obnoxious grown up she remembered.


She went to stay by his side. She could see the school yard. That was good illusion.


"You're awfully calm for someone who is stuck in a place with no apparent exits," he remarked without taking his eyes from the false view.


Faith shrugged. From her previous experience, there was one way to make the exit reappear. If she had to have sex with a Brilliantine stick insect like Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, it was a small price to pay for freedom. When she was seventeen, she had cast Wesley on the extreme bottom part of the list of men she would sleep with. She hadn't placed him on the list of the men she would never sleep with though. Maybe it was the accent. She thought at the recordings of Wesley's interrogation of Angelus. How had the old vampire phrase it? He's all proper and English. And that accent... oh, chicks just love a good accent. Makes 'em all buttery in their nether regions.


"Nothing to do, but wait. Something's gonna come up."


"What happens to me, Faith? In the future."


"You mean after you leave Sunnyhell?"


"I leave? Soon?"


"Yeah. You mess things up so badly that they kick you out of the Council."


She felt him shiver. She had guessed that Wesley's worst fear was failing. Publicly. She wondered why she was torturing him. It was her time to feel a shiver down her spine. Torturing him. That was still to come. Sort of. She thought about Alex, and the dread that one day her son will find out about her dark days and he would hate her came back full force. This fear and her obsession Wesley obsession had consumed her for the past year.


"Are you all right, Faith? You're shivering," Wesley said, and extended his arm tentatively toward her.


Faith sneaked under his arm, and put her head on his chest. She felt Wesley's arm close around her shoulders instinctively. He was awkward and stiff, and his heart was beginning to beat faster. She could hear it hammering under her cheek. She put her arms around his waist and closed her eyes.


"I missed you," she confessed.


"That's... nice," he said in a strangled voice. "Faith, this is not appropriate."


"Shut up."


When he tried to disentangle himself from her embrace, she felt it. She looked at him turning red as she pasted herself even more insistently against him. Cold bastard as he had always been, he was a man, and he was interested in her. He put his hands on her shoulders to push her away, but he didn't once she rubbed herself against that part of him that refused to submit to reason or propriety. He closed his eyes. His fingers dug deep into her flesh. He held his breath. Faith could see his education oppose his natural urges. She watched his reason lose the battle. Against his will, he leaned his head to kiss her. Faith pulled away with a wicked smile.


"A common tart, Wes? I guess slumming it once in a while is ok even for you."


Faith shook her head. Why was she doing this? Why couldn't she just take what he was offering? He was just another man.


She looked back at him. She understood.


Because he was not like other men. Not to her. He had been there when she had begun her slide into darkness. He had been the victim of her darkest hour. He had been there when she began the rocky road to redemption. He had been stronger than anyone else she had ever met during those sunless days in Los Angeles. He had fathered her child...


She was reeling from this realization of the depth of her feelings, when he pushed her against the window and kissed her. Not quite as bad as his description of that awkward kiss with Cordelia, but a far cry from the refined attention he had bestowed on her during her first visit to the cave. If he had tried it when she was seventeen, she would've been merciless. Now she was aware of his potential. She was going to have so much fun training him.




To be continued...

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the setting of the story. All things I borrowed from the Buffyverse are a creation of and belong to Joss Whedon. I have also borrowed several ideas and concepts from to J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books, I used some in this chapter, some will be in the rest of the story. (the mirror of Erised, the Room of Requirement)


Timeline: two years after NFA ("Angel").


Beta: Rachael


Feedback Please review




"I missed you," she confessed.


"That's... nice," he said in a strangled voice. "Faith, this is not appropriate."


"Shut up."


When he tried to disentangle himself from her embrace, she felt it. She looked at him turning red as she pasted herself even more insistently against him. Cold bastard as he had always been, he was a man, and he was interested in her. He put his hands on her shoulders to push her away, but he didn't once she rubbed herself against that part of him that refused to submit to reason or propriety. He closed his eyes. His fingers dug deep into her flesh. He held his breath. Faith could see his education oppose his natural urges. She watched his reason lose the battle. Against his will, he leaned his head to kiss her. Faith pulled away with a wicked smile.


"A common tart, Wes? I guess slumming it once in a while is ok even for you."


Faith shook her head. Why was she doing this? Why couldn't she just take what he was offering? He was just another man.


She looked back at him. She understood.


Because he was not like other men. Not to her. He had been there when she had begun her slide into darkness. He had been the victim of her darkest hour. He had been there when she began the rocky road to redemption. He had been stronger than anyone else she had ever met during those sunless days in Los Angeles. He had fathered her child...


She was reeling from this realization of the depth of her feelings, when he pushed her against the window and kissed her. Not quite as bad as his description of that awkward kiss with Cordelia, but a far cry from the refined attention he had bestowed on her during her first visit to the cave. If he had tried it when she was seventeen, she would've been merciless. Now she was aware of his potential. She was going to have so much fun training him.



Chapter 2, part 2



Too bad she hadn't had sex since the last time she had been with him. That had been two years earlier. She was liable to be even more eager than him.



Two years! That was like a lifetime for Faith. She had gone out on a few dates, but there had been never was any sparkage. If she didn't count the odd moments of awkward sexual tension between her and Spike.



She felt clumsy, and insecure. Wesley's own fumbling was not helping. She wanted to play Mrs. Robinson versus the inexperienced version of her Watcher, but it wasn't working.



It was that whole 'you're not real thing', she decided. Next time she won't tell him... Next time? How the hell had that happen? There was NOT going to be a next time. The cave was keeping its secrets and no amount of sex with Wesley's ghost or whatever was going to change this.



She knew, deep down, that there was a next time. And maybe more than one.



He was reaching around to unhook her bra. Faith closed her eyes and enjoyed the way his usually nimble fingers were struggling with the clasp. She was in his arms. She wanted him, but somehow the intimacy of their adolescent-like awkwardness was an unexpectedly enjoyable foreplay.



She would never admit, sometimes not even to herself, but she wished that her life had been different. Simpler, happier, normal. She had had the luxury of being innocent for too short a time. She understood herself a little better by reading about Wesley's own yearning for a return to innocence. His love for Fred had been just that. Maybe her attraction to Wesley was the same. In this cave, away from prying eyes, Faith wanted to please him, to make him proud, to be the girl he had expected her to be when they had first met.



She had come to the cave looking for that Wesley who was her equal in darkness. She had entered the game without knowing the rules. She had come looking for answers, and solace, and satisfaction. She felt Wesley's breath on her shoulder and on neck, and she couldn't bring herself to regret meeting the younger version of her lover.



'C'mon, Faith, let go!' she told herself.



What the hell had happened to her? Why was she still holding back? No consequences. This was her kind of encounter. And this time, she had made sure there weren't going to be any consequences. She had been on the pill for months, despite her arid sex life. She loved her son more than life itself, but she died every day, worrying about him, not knowing what he was, not knowing what he'd grow up to be. No one had been able to find out anything out of the ordinary with Alex, but Faith hardly dared to believe that he was a normal little boy. She had never been that lucky.



She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't even noticed that Wesley had undone her bra. She smiled realizing that had this happened when they had first met in Sunnydale, there would have been no bra for him to undo.



Wesley had lowered his mouth diffidently to her breast. He didn't have the proficiency of his older self, but his tongue was already proving skilful. Must have been all those Latin declensions, she thought. Considering that the only Latin words she knew were sexual terms, Faith had the utmost respect for the old language.



It felt good, but he was still too gentle.



"Harder," she whispered in his ear.



He stopped and looked up at her surprised. Faith almost blushed at the mixture of innocence and lust in his gaze.



"Harder," she repeated, pulling his head back to her breast.



She arched into him when he obeyed her command. The moan that escaped her lips almost embarrassed her. He had obviously got the message, because the pressure exerted by his mouth was damn near the pain threshold. Still, the boy had good instincts because he never went too far.



She helped him push her shirt and bra off her shoulders, his mouth never leaving her. When he added soft, shallow bites to the sucking and licking, Faith threw her head back hard and hit the window. Wesley raised his head instantly.



"Are you hurt?" he asked.



Faith took advantage of the respite to kiss him. She parted his lips and began exploring his mouth, while walking him backwards toward the nearest table. He was catching on fast, she couldn't help but notice. When he had felt the edge of the table behind him, he lifted her in his arms, and sat her on the table. He sucked on her tongue while he pushed her back onto the table, and swept the books to the floor.



How the hell did he get to be on top, Faith wondered, feeling his weight pressing her into the hard, wooden surface. She reached down between them and began to massage his erection through the fabric of his pants. He thrust his hips instinctively against her palm, forgetting to contribute to the kiss anymore. Faith bit his lower lip playfully just to get his attention back. When his tongue started to swirl around hers once again, she raked her nails over the tweed covered hardened flesh. Wesley growled, and, for the first time, she believed that his lust was just as intense as hers.



She couldn't wait anymore. She unfastened his belt, unzipped his trousers and took him out. He felt so smooth and hot in her hand. She watched him blush at the sight of his dick in her fist, being stroked into full hardness in a few expert movements.



"Fuck me!" Faith demanded in a throaty whisper.



Wesley hesitated only a second before flipping her skirt up, shoving her panties aside and pushing his cock inside her. Faith moaned loudly, feeling herself stretched by his bold intrusion. She hadn't had anyone else inside her since the last time he fucked her. She locked her ankles behind his waist and pulled him closer, deeper. They were both watching his cock entering, retreating and re-entering her body.



God damn it, she was a Slayer, why was she so close to coming already? What had happened to her famed Slayer stamina? In another few thrusts, she was going to come. She was incredibly close when she had the strange satisfaction of feeling him shuddering in the throes of an early orgasm. She clamped down her inner muscles deliberately, milking him to the last drop.



"S-sorry," he said without looking at her.



"Don't be sorry. Make it up to me," she replied.



He looked at her despite his embarrassment.



"What do you want me to do?" he asked.



Oh, God, no wonder he had been a model student, Faith thought. He was willing to let himself be taught. She put his hands under her skirt, on the elastic band of her panties.



"Take them off," she said, lifting herself a little off the table.



His nails scratched her ass and her thighs a little as he pulled down her underwear. Faith hissed, enjoying the sensation. He had got down on his knees to slide her panties along her legs. He let them around her ankles for a few seconds, and Faith couldn't help remembering what she had read about Wesley's taste for light bondage. He took them out, one ankle at a time. The feel of his fingers brushing back of her calves made her tremble again.



"Don't stand up," Faith said when he was about to do so.



She slid all the way to the edge of the table, her bare pussy inches from his lips. She wasn't going to pull his face into it, no matter how much the suspense was killing her. It took him an eternity to touch her there. At first, he caressed her inner thighs with his hands, pushing them farther apart, and kissing them gently, almost reverently. The closer he was getting to her core, the more intense became his kisses. The first time his tongue touched the sensitized skin of her thigh, she actually flinched. He gradually added nipping, grazing, and sucking. He hadn't even reached her pussy yet, and Faith was about to start begging. She caught herself in time. No. That wouldn't do.



By the time he got around to paying attention to her clit, Faith was well on her way to a wild orgasm. She clutched at his hair and hauled him impossibly close to her. He kept sucking and lapping at her clit until she was hoarse from crying out his name.



Faith was still shaking when she let herself slide to her knees, next to him. His face was shiny with sweat and her juices. She cupped his face, and kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth.



"Was it okay?" Wesley asked softly.



"Oh, baby, do you even have to ask? You rocked my world. And I did not mean that in an ironic way," she added hurriedly when she felt him drawing back.



She kissed him again. He began to respond to her kiss with renewed enthusiasm. He put an arm around her, and lowered her to the floor, covering her with his body. He was completely dressed, while she had nothing on, except the skirt that was bunched up around her waist. It felt strange and wonderful at the same time. He stopped kissing her and propped himself on one elbow, looking at her.



"What is it?" she asked.



"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I can't believe I get to do this with you. I can't believe you want me," he said.



"But I do. I want you," she said.



And just like that, Faith understood why she had returned to the cave. Because she felt wanted.







To be continued...

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the setting of the story. All things I borrowed from the Buffyverse are a creation of and belong to Joss Whedon. I have also borrowed several ideas and concepts from to J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books, I used some in this chapter, some will be in the rest of the story. (the mirror of Erised, the Room of Requirement)

Timeline: a few years after NFA ("Angel").

Summary: Prequel to "Needed". Another visit to the Rubicon cave.


The cave is trying to extract the largest amount of emotion from her. That's why Faith's visits are different from one another, but always intense.

Warning: violence

Beta: Rachael

Chapter 3



She shouldn’t be going.

The thought kept floating up into Faith’s consciousness. She wandered around through the woods, losing her path more than once.

She should not be going to see him now.

The slayage gig was not particularly demanding at the moment. Spike was becoming unbearably annoying in his dealings with the former Initiative boys that had settled in town, and Faith knew that she'd better give him space to work out his issues. Xander and Buffy had requested the pleasure of Alex's company for a couple weeks. She had never had such a clear schedule to visit the cave.

So why the foreboding? Because she could guess which Wesley she was going to meet in the cave. She had finally located the Wolfram and Hart files regarding Wesley. She had just finished reading them. The pain that man had gone through when he had lost the love of his life had almost driven him insane. Some discreet prodding had resulted in Spike's account of Wesley's last days. And then, as if those stories hadn't given her enough nightmares, she had found in Wesley's private diary the memories of the "Billy" case.

From all these, Faith could be certain that this season's Wesley was going to be insane, drunk and homicidal or suicidal or both.




Faith stepped through the entrance and she soon found herself in Wesley's apartment. She had seen it twice before. The first time, she had left a trail of blood all the way to the bathroom – the bathroom that she had half demolished in rage and frustration. The second time she had been there, she was with Giles and they were collecting the remnants of Wes's life. She remembered stacking the journals and handing them to Giles. The same journals she had snuck in the New Watchers' Council offices to photocopy a few years afterwards, after Dawn's wedding. After Dawn's first wedding, she corrected.

Faith saw Wesley sunken into the depths of an armchair. She might have thought he was asleep if it hadn't been for the repetitive movement of his hand, bringing the glass of scotch to his lips. Her eyes were getting used to the obscurity. She could see several empty bottles left carelessly around the room.

"Hello, Wes," she greeted him in a cautious, neutral tone.

She did not allow her revulsion to show. She could ignore anything except drunken stupor. Especially when it was someone important to her.

"Faith," he acknowledged her presence.

He raised the bottle slightly, both as greeting and as offer. Faith's stomach lurched in disgust.

"How are you, Wes?" she asked, hating this feeling if uncertainty.

"Spiffing! And how are you doing, Faith? Have you gone back to the dark side yet?"

"Jesus, you're a jerk!" she exclaimed.

"I'd tell you that I'm drunk, but I'm sure you've already spotted this, considering that you're used to this kind of reception from your white trash, alcoholic mother."

She had expected him to say something hurtful, but he was going straight for the jugular. She reeled from the accuracy of his aim. White trash Faith had raised herself in the slums of Boston, overcoming the baggage of an alcoholic mother with a string of boyfriends whose hands often wandered from mother to daughter.

"What's the matter, Faithie? You buried those times under the memories of the scores of bikers you've been riding since you were sixteen?"

This one didn't hurt quite as much. Old Wes had always considered her a slut. She hadn't been with as many men as it was widely believed, but she had done all the guys she had ever liked. All except Angel.

She thought about Angel as much as she thought about Wesley. Her MIA savior. It was not a topic she had ever been able to discuss with Spike. Her vampire friend was not prone to dwell on his survival from the final battle. Faith knew that he had tried to find out how to locate the others, how to open portals, but he had been unsuccessful. Just like her.

Wesley stood up from the armchair and walked toward her a little unsteadily.

"Why are you alive, Faith? When so many good people have died."

Screw that! She didn't have to put up with this shit.

"What good people are those, Wes? Your beloved Fred?"

"Don't you dare say her name," he said, putting as much menace in his tone as his slurriness allowed.

"What's that? She was too much of a saint for me to even mention her? She was a cheap, manipulative cunt who fucked her way 'round the office, and you were last on her list."

He slapped her hard with the back of his hand. But Faith could take pain. She didn't even have to become a Slayer to get used to being hit. Still, she was more affected than she wished. Every time she met Wesley in here, he made her feel wanted, maybe even loved.

"Feelin' better?" she asked, angry with herself for the tears that stung her eyes, and determined not to let him see them.

She had always known that it was dangerous to let herself develop feelings for Wesley 2.0.

"You know something? You are the only woman I have ever hit," he said.

"Should I be flattered or something?"

"You're the only woman who has ever tortured me, too."

"Cancel each other up, do they?"

"No. Want a drink?"

He offered her the scotch again.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked.

"Because I can. Because you let me. Because you're weak."

"I'm not weak," she said.

"Yes, you are. When it came down to it, Buffy was able to send Angel into hell. You? You couldn't even dispose of a monster like Angelus."

"I didn't want to kill Angel. You said it yourself, the champion was needed."

Wesley snorted.

"You were the Slayer. He was just another vampire. You should have seen yourself as champion."

"I'll never feel weak because I wouldn't kill Angel," she said.

"And are you sure that's the reason you did not stake Angelus? Are you sure that's why you came up with that plan? Dig a little deeper, Faithie! You wanted Angelus to drink from you. You wanted him to turn you. To extinguish that bothersome little spark inside. That annoying little soul that makes you feel pain and remorse."

Faith shook her head. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She looked around the room, trying to find a crack in the illusion. She felt like clawing her way out of that cave with her fingernails.

"What's the matter, Faithie? You're getting that caged animal feeling?"

"Don't call me that," she demanded.

"It reminds you of him, doesn't it? The one guy who could've been a match for you. Except he didn't want you."

It did remind her of Angelus. It reminded her of the truly evil creature that he was. It reminded her of how weak and ineffectual he had made her feel. It reminded her that she had been able to see Angel in that monster.

Wesley poured himself another drink. Faith grabbed his wrist when he raised the glass to his mouth.

"Don't," she said.

Faith took the glass from his hand and the bottle from the table. She let them fall in the waste paper basket.

Wesley shrugged and went to a cupboard. When he opened it, Faith saw the rows of scotch bottles.

"Stop drinking, please," she said, and pushed the doors closed.

"Take my mind off it then," he said, and put an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

The stench of alcohol on his breath made Faith want to throw up. She couldn't. She couldn't let him touch her when he was in this state. She pulled out of his embrace. She had to find another way to get out, or wait for him to sober up.

Faith thought back at her wild youth. It seemed like ages ago. Had it been only four years? Even then, she had had sex with guys who were drunk when she had been drinking herself. She didn't drink anymore. Except on rare occasions, in company of friends - a circle of people that pretty much resumed to Spike. She was a mom now. She didn't drink alone. She didn't drink to get in the mood.

She shuddered. What kind of irresponsible mother was she? To walk into this trap once every few months, without as much as knowing its origin, or what made it work, or why it allowed her in and out. Why didn't she have the strength to stay away?

Wesley reached around her, opened the cupboard again and took out a bottle.

"No!" she shouted at him, snatching the bottle. "Fuck no!" she said and threw the bottle to the floor.

Faith took them out and threw them one by one into the wall. They smashed with a satisfactory sound of breaking glass and sloshing liquid. Wesley tried to stop her, tried to save at least one. She pushed him away forcefully. He fell backwards on the coffee table, which splintered on impact.

"You'd better finish me off this time," he said from the floor.

"Shut up," she said without looking at him.

He lay there while she finished destroying the rest of his stash. When there were no bottles left, Faith turned around. He seemed broken beyond repair. He was also uncannily handsome in his fallen angel incarnation. She knew he wasn't the real Wes, but she still wished she could carry part of his pain.

"Bitch," he said, looking at the shards of glass that floated in scotch.

She had never before hated him so much. She had despised him back in Sunnydale, she had admired him when they hunted together in L.A., she had loved him when he seemed to adore her in this very cave. Now he was just another slave of alcohol. How dared he let her down!

She felt that need to hurt him again. Tie him to a chair, and mess him up for real. She'd been strung too tight to resist. She grabbed his jacket and pulled him off the floor effortlessly. He was at eye level for a moment, but his blue gaze was blurred by alcohol, which only served to escalate her hatred. She pushed him hard against the wall. He was beginning to slump to the floor when the first punch landed.

Faith kept hitting him until his face was so swollen that she could no longer distinguish his features. She remembered one of Spike's stories about his relationship with B. Buffy usually took out on him her anger and confusion. One night, she had beaten him to a pulp. Faith remembered wondering how anyone could hit the person they loved.

Wesley took it all passively. He was probably numbed by alcohol anyway. Faith's hits were getting weaker. She could hardly see from the welling tears. Instead of delivering another punch, her right hand cupped his face. Her left was fisted in his shirt, pressing him into the wall. She was the only thing that kept him standing. She propped his body with hers. Against all reason, lust was inundating her system.

Faith's right hand sneaked between their pressed bodies. She began massaging the front of his trousers, feeling him get harder under her touch. He hadn't screamed while she was hitting him, but he was moaning now.

She maneuvered them both to the floor, half sliding, half falling. She undid his trousers hurriedly. His cock sprang up as soon as it was freed. He was a lot harder than he should've been after a couple of touches through the fabric. It looked like the line between pleasure and pain was kind of blurred for good old Wesley. Worked for her.

Faith impaled herself on him without any warning. It shocked and mortified her how wet she was. She put out of her mind the guilt and shame. She rode the fallen Wesley without pause and without mercy. His fingers were digging painfully into her hips as he came, grunting and bucking under her. She clenched her inner muscles, willing herself to come at the same time as him.

Why was she always coming back?



To be continued...