1.13.15

Hey, thanks for reading! This is my first time posting a fanfic, so please be gentle.

This story is rated M for sex, violence, sexy violence, and language.

Enjoy!

-Rex

1. Welcome (back) to Cleveland

It was late when she arrived, a dark, slouched figure climbing up off the frigid, windswept streets, nodding curtly to Dawn at the front door. The house was an old, remodeled Cleveland double, two and a half stories with a broad, shallow porch and low roof supported by stubby columns. A half-level stone facade wrapped around its base, and the plain wood siding was painted an ash grey color with white trim. Faith kicked the snow off her boots as she tromped over the threshold, closing the heavy, red door behind her. A wood fire flickered in the front room on the left, where her keen gaze immediately spied a small, familiar body, curled up asleep at the far end of an oversized sectional couch. Blonde hair spilled out beneath a purple quilt, strewn across the cushion in a tangle of gold. A pale hand clutched a ragged stuffed pig. Faith's breath caught in her throat. She attributed the sudden tightness in her chest to the dramatic change in temperature, but she still had to peel her eyes away when it became too painful to look. Across from the couch, a movie played quietly on the television. Light and color flashed from the screen, illuminating the furniture, the pictures on the walls, built-in bookshelves crammed with grotty, yellowing tomes, ceramic urns, and jars of dried herbs. Blinking wearily, Faith glanced down at her boots, noting the puddles forming around them. She stepped back onto the welcome mat. The floors were original hardwood, made of wide oak planks that creaked underfoot, and the rooms were lined, top and bottom, with elegant, white moulding. Even the square, paned windows along the front of the house held an antiquated appeal. It was a nice place.

Willow and Dawn materialized from a doorway on the right as Faith dropped her duffle bag in the entry, twin flashes of red and auburn hair a stark contrast against their porcelain skin, like berries in the snow. It was winter in the States and they had already lost their summer glow. Faith removed her gloves and stared at the tops of her suntanned fingers.

"You're here," Willow murmured.

Brown eyes flicked up cautiously. "Yeah. You rang."

"Yes, but you're actually here," Willow said again, with more emphasis.

The slayer turned away and began to pull off her boots. "Nice to see you again, Red."

"It's been a while," the witch remarked crisply.

"So, it has." Faith jerked her laces a little harder than necessary.

"Oh, Faith! That is you!" Giles said, a bit too brightly, emerging from the same doorway in a wooly grey bathrobe. "I'm glad you could make it on such short notice."

The dark slayer regarded them all with suspicion. "Why is everyone so surprised to see me?"

Willow rolled her eyes. "Well, you've been on a South Pacific tropical island vacation for how many years now? Cleveland isn't exactly exotic."

"We didn't think that you would come," Giles clarified, shifting uncomfortably.

Faith tugged off her beanie and brushed a lock of hair out of her sunburned face. "If you didn't think I would come, why bother asking?"

"They're desperate," Dawn said drily, examining her nails.

"We're not desperate," Willow flushed. She turned to Faith. "We're not desperate."

Dawn shrugged and wandered over to the living room, plopping down beside her slumbering sister on the couch. She was taller, and lankier than she had been in Sunnydale. Her face had lost most of its roundness and innocence, but her loyal, devotional nature had not changed a bit. Dawn pulled her legs up against her chest and and laid her hand on Buffy's calf. The elder Summers did not stir

"How is she?" Faith asked carefully, expression withdraw and unreadable.

Giles shook his head and beckoned them through the doorway on the right. Faith left her things at the door and followed them into a neat little dining room with a large window and a six-seater table. Willow pulled up a chair across from Faith, pulling her red cardigan tighter around her shoulders. In the warm light the circles beneath her eyes seemed heavy and dark. Her bright red hair seemed limp. Even the pallor of her skin seemed grey. Giles busied himself making tea in the adjacent kitchen, filling a kettle with water and setting it on the stove. Nobody spoke. Willow stared at the table top, and Faith squirmed in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. The watcher returned to the table several minutes later carrying three porcelain mugs and a plate of gingersnaps. Faith waited until everyone had fixed their drinks with the preferred amounts of milk and sugar before daring to speak again.

"How is she?"

"Not well," the watcher admitted, and Willow's focus on the table intensified. "She's sick and exhausted, and completely discouraged."

Faith chewed her lip. "Worse than the First?"

"Yes," he sighed. "About that bad."

Willow nodded morosely. "Probably worse."

"Yes, yes. You may be right."

"Guys," Faith glanced sharply between them, "what the fuck is going on?"

With a heavy sigh, Giles removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Kennedy found the entrance to a tunnel on patrol one night about three weeks ago. It was located under a dumpster behind a bar that is rather notorious for attracting demonic customers. None of us had any idea where it led or who had built it, so Buffy took a team with her to gather intelligence." He paused.

"What did they find?"

"The tunnels led to a super portal."

"Where?"

"In a cavern under Monroe Cemetery."

"And?"

Willow glanced furtively at Giles, who seemed either unwilling or unable to speak, before venturing a quiet response. "Buffy turned up three days later in the hospital with severe dehydration and some cuts and bruises. The others never made it home."

Faith was accustomed to casualties and death, but the grief-stricken expression on the witch's face unnerved her. She twisted a plain silver ring around her index finger and sat in silence with the others for a moment.

"All we know is what Buffy could tell us," Willow continued at length, "And she was completely unwilling talk about it at first. I had to use some spells…" she drifted off, eyes glazing over for a moment. 'The slayers were taken and used for rituals to open the portal."

"By who?"

"We don't know. Buffy called him 'the Dreamcatcher', but she doesn't remember very much."

"Is he a vampire…?" Faith asked, glancing between them for some kind of clarification. "Or something else…?"

The watcher cleared his throat. "I found some records at headquarters in London of a man who was called the Dreamcatcher, but for all of our sakes I hope that Buffy found something else."

The slayer pursed her lips. "Ominous, G."

Giles gripped his mug. "He was a convicted murdered incarcerated in London during the mid 18th century. A cult of warlocks kidnapped him on his scheduled execution date and performed a spell nearly identical to the one used to create the first slayer. They were trying to imbue him with the spirit of a hell god, to fashion him into a creature they called the 'anti-slayer'. Naturally, of course, the ritual didn't work quite the way they had planned it. The man's soul was a poor match for the hell god's essence, and they were left with an immensely powerful, psychologically fractured abomination that answered to no one and killed indiscriminately." The watcher sighed. "They imprisoned him in a hell dimension, and, well, if Buffy's memory is to be trusted, it seems that the vampires who captured them used Anna and Hilla's blood to summon him through the portal."

"The other slayers."

"Yes, sorry."

Faith considered this. "How did Buffy escape?"

"Sheer luck, really." He glanced over at Willow, who nodded in agreement. "The cultists had saved her as a meal for their new master, anticipating that he would be hungry when he emerged from the portal. Evidently, this Dreamcatcher fellow can feed on human flesh. Fortunately for Buffy, however, when he exited the portal he flew into a rage and began attacking the vampire cultists. It is common for demons trapped in hell dimensions to develop feral, animalistic qualities."

Faith shrugged in agreement. They all remembered Angelus.

Giles straightened his spectacles. "In the midst of all the chaos, the cavern wall, to which Buffy was shackled, cracked. She was able to rip the chains free and escape through the tunnels unnoticed, but she was delirious when she reached the surface, and wandered into the middle of a busy street, where she was nearly struck by a passing car."

"And that's how she ended up in the hospital," Willow finished, gesturing heavily toward the sitting room behind her.

Faith chewed on her lip for a moment. "Did this...Dreamcatcher guy, have a name? You know, before he was a demon freak?"

"Christopher Price. Although, after centuries of torture in a hell dimension, I'm not sure that he would answer to it anymore."

"Price?" The slayer frowned, and glanced at the window. "I was expecting something that sounded a little more evil."

"The name 'Faith' doesn't exactly register on the chart of evilness, either," Willow said snidely from across the table.

Faith curled her lip. "You know, Red, I've always wondered, on a scale of one to ten, how satisfying is it to skin people alive?"

Willow glowered and looked away.

"Moving on," Faith tapped her fingers on the tabletop restlessly, "do we know what kinds of plans these assholes have for the thriving metropolis of Cleveland?"

Giles offered her a wan smile. "To put these people out of their misery, perhaps."

"It can't be that bad."

"I advise you not to stop in east Cleveland for any reason."

"That includes traffic signs," Willow supplied quietly.

"Okay," Faith drawled, "so, in other words, we have a group of cultist vampire on the loose, and no idea why they're here or what they're up to, except that they are capable of taking out several slayers at a time. And all of this without the help of a psychotic hell god trapped in the body of an 18th century murderer who may or may not actually answer to them, and who might be out there causing chaotic evil as we speak. Did I miss anything?"

"Well, the homicide rate has risen significantly these past couple weeks." Giles rubbed his temples wearily, looking for all the world like he need a long vacation. "That and arson."

"Super," Faith grumbled. She leaned back in the creaky wooden chair and crossed her arms. "Where's Kennedy?"

"Out on patrol," Willow replied nervously, checking her watch. "She'll be back in an hour."

"Who else is stationed here besides Ken and Buffy?"

"Just the two of them," Giles replied. "We haven't sent for reinforcements."

"Aside from me?"

"Aside from you."

"There's another witch staying with us," Willow interjected. "She's helping me out with the magic stuff, but it's too risky to keep young, inexperienced slayers around. These cultists like to play with their food."

"We're afraid they'll try to open the portal again" the watcher added, stroking the short, silver beard growing in around his chin. "Maybe bring something else through, something worse. As it is, we're having enough trouble containing the current outbreak. The Cleveland PD are trying to keep it under wraps, but a team of FBI agents arrived in town yesterday. The commissioner isn't taking any chances."

Fantastic." Faith grimaced. "Everyone from here to Cincinnati will be a blind panic by next week."

"Who says they aren't already?"

"Gas prices are going up," Willow said, surreptitiously checking the front window again. "Whenever there's a magical disturbance of this magnitude people can feel it, and they get nervous."

"I don't blame them," Faith muttered, leaning back in her chair. "So… what am I doing here?"

The watcher adjusted his glasses. "Beg your pardon?"

"I know I'm a veteran, G, but why not call Vi or Rhona? They're both in New York. I had to catch a 16 hour flight from Singapore just to get here."

"Ah, well, you see," he busied himself adjusting his robe and kept his eyes down, "none of the other cells can spare a veteran at the moment, and you had just finished up another assignment, so you seemed like the most obvious choice."

"If you say so…"

Faith drummed her fingers on the table and glanced around the room, wrestling with a distinct, unsettling feeling that they were keeping something from her, something important. She wasn't sure how to broach the subject tactfully. They both seemed so brittle, like they were made of glass, like the First was back in town again, and she was back in Joyce's old home on Revello Drive, trying not to step on Buffy's toes while she did whatever she could to hold them all together.

Light flickering from the television in the front room caught her eye, reminding her of something the watcher had mentioned on the phone. "What exactly is wrong with Buffy?"

Giles and Willow exchanged nervous glances. Bingo.

"We don't know," the watcher said at last, fidgeting with his glasses again, seeming suddenly very thin and worn beyond his years. "Slayers aren't technically supposed to get sick."

"Which is to say, we've never heard of one getting sick," Willow added quietly, "but that doesn't mean they can't. Our experience with slayer physiology is kind of limited."

"We've just never seen a case like this before."

"And my spells aren't helping." The witch withdrew into her head for a moment, eyes flicking rapidly back and forth. "Yes, I've tried everything I can think of… It's just a virus, but…"

"Nothing is working," the watcher echoed.

Faith held up a hand, and they both stopped to look at her. "Guys, what's wrong with her?"

They both stared at her, blinking.

"Guys?"

"She um… She has pneumonia." Willow's said, voice dwindling to a grudging murmur.

"Pneumonia?" the dark slayer was truly baffled. "That's it? Shouldn't the slayer healing kick in?"

"Obviously, it hasn't," the witch scoffed, "or you wouldn't be here."

"So happy to help," Faith retorted drily. "It is mystical or something?"

"We ruled that out right away," Giles massaged his shoulder. "The doctors diagnosed her with pneumonia, and I think she actually has pneumonia."

The slayer shrugged. "Okay, well, shit. I guess stranger things have happened."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Nothing phases you, does it?"

Her eyes flicked back to the exasperated witch, narrowing imperceptibly. "If you don't want me here, just say so. You can find somebody else."

"I just need to know," Willow pressed, displaying the same vein of bright, volatile aggression that Faith had first seen in her years ago, after she returned to Sunnydale from prison, "I need to know if you care. Do you actually give a shit about this?"

"I give a shit," the brunette growled. "Would I be here if I didn't?"

Willow frowned and waved her arm. "Maybe. I don't know. It's impossible to tell with you. You always seem like you could honestly care less whether you're working for a snake demon or helping us out, so long as you 'get some and get gone', or whatever the hell you say."

Faith leaned forward over the table. "None of the others wanted to come, did they? No one else wants to deal with stressed out, stick-up-her-ass Buffy and a hell god that eats slayers, but you knew I would get on a plane, no questions asked. That's why I'm here, right?"

The irked glare on Willow's face as good as answered the question.

Giles stood suddenly and began collecting their mugs. "You must be exhausted, Faith."

She glanced at him sharply, and reined herself in. Her shoulders dropped and she sat back in her chair, turning away from the irritated little witch.

"Would you like to get some sleep and discuss the rest of this tomorrow?"

"God, yes." Faith cracked her neck.

"We've set up a cot for you in the study," he said briskly. "I'll give you the tour."

Faith helped him gather up the rest of the dishes and returned to the dining room to find that Willow had disappeared. She heard the creak of light feet on the stairs, and the click of a bedroom door. The fiery witch was gone to wait for Kennedy to return from patrol. As Faith retrieved her bag from the entryway she cast a long, appraising look at Buffy, curled up on the couch next to her sister. She had shifted in her sleep, pressing closer to the wiry teenager for warmth. The ghost of a smile pass across the slayer's lips before she turned to follow the watcher down the hall.

They passed the staircase and a powder room on the left before he turned and pushed through a set double French doors. Inside there was a small study with a simple wooden desk, rolling chair, and desktop computer. More built-in shelves lined the walls, crammed, once again, with books and artifacts. A spiraling ram's horn occupied a sizeable portion of the top shelf behind the desk. Giles switched on the old green banker's lamp, illuminating the room with soft, light.

"You'll be in here," he said.

Faith dropped her bag next to the door and shoved her hands in her pockets. "Sweet."

"They put guests in here all the time, so they finally installed some curtains." He shuffled around to the window and pulled them closed. "You'll be able to sleep during the day."

She nodded and leaned up against the desk. "Nice."

Out of things to busy himself with, the watcher turned to look at her fully. His eyes swept across her frame with parental concerned, taking stock. She resisted the urge to squirm like a child. He had grown much older, she realized. The hair on his head was streaked with grey, his beard now almost silver. The years of stress and worry had taken their toll. He seemed tired now, but tough, grizzled, hardened by the near constant war, by his acrimonious takeover of the Watcher's Council and leadership of the slayer organization.

"You look well," he said, nodding to himself.

"Uh, thanks." Faith gestured loosely at his hair. "You look, um, old."

He smirked, showing for just a second, a side of himself that they hadn't often seen as teenagers, the wry, clever Englishman. It was easy to forget that he was brilliant when he was the acting parental figure for a household of stressed out young girls.

"I think I'm allowed to be old, at this point." He breathed deeply. "I feel it."

Faith sighed. "It's good to see you again."

He gave her a gentle smile. "It's good to see you, too."

"Is this gonna be a shit show?" she asked honestly.

He cocked his head to the side. "Hm, I don't think so."

"They don't like it when I'm here."

"They aren't used to having you around."

"Why did you really ask me to come here, G?" She ran her fingers through her hair, eyes darting to her feet. "There's a ton of other girls nearby."

"That's true," he nodded absently, eyes narrowed in thought, "but, they aren't you."

"What's that mean?"

He snorted, amused, as always, by her directness. "It means, as Dawn would say, that you are a 'special snowflake'."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Don't fuck with me right now, G. I'm really tired."

He smiled cryptically. "It means that I've been asking you to return from Southeast Asia for years with no luck, and finally realized that if you wouldn't do it for me, you might do it for Buffy." He paused, eyes sparkling mischievously. "It appears I was right."

Faith flushed so violently that the tips of her ears turned red. "I have debts to repay," she explained softly.

"Those debts have long since been repaid." Giles nodded once to himself and moved for the door, touching her arm as he passed. "Live your life, Faith." His eyes found hers. "You've redeemed yourself enough. I trust you implicitly."

Faith gaped at him. "I...okay."

He reached for the doorknob and glanced back. "Sleep well. We'll see you in the morning."

"Okay, um… goodnight."

"Goodnight."

A/N: Thanks again! More soon...