Title: Rebel, Rebel
Author: Misty Flores
Email: [email protected]
Rating: Hard R for violence, some sexual situations.
Teaser: When the Watcher's Council comes after Faith, Angel Investigations must pull from the chaos they've become embroiled in to save the renegade Slayer, and Wesley must face a past that has become more haunting than ever.
Archive: http://www.stoic-simplicity.net/imperfect
Spoilers: Sleep Tight
Genre: Action/Drama – General ensemble
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Notes – Now, I can finally read Syn's Running For Our Lives. I couldn't before, because, of well, obvious reasons. I swear, Syn: I started this before I knew of your story! :-D *runs off to read Syn's story*

Additional Notes: Done – but posting only a few chapters a day, again, so as not to overwhelm. No, it's not torture. I swear.

Special Thanks To – the readers of 'How to Date'. I doubt I've ever gotten such a great response out of anything I've written. It was gratifying and … heartwarming. Thank you.

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Prologue
Through this world I've stumbled, so many times betrayed, trying to find an honest word to find the truth enslaved – Sarah McLachlan

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Her eyes stung to the point of being painful with salty droplets. The room was entirely too quiet, dark. It reminded her of her cave in Pylea, but this was neither comforting, nor anything she really had any patience to dwell upon.

In Wesley's empty office, she stared at the telephone, wondering how on earth she could gather the strength to do this. In her heart, she knew it was foolish to hope that the other girl could even begin to repair what had been thrown into chaos. Yet, here she was, her palm resting on the cool plastic of the telephone, lower lip bitten, eyes focused, heart beating.

Fred had never truly appreciated Cordelia's position until the Seer disappeared. The vacation she had taken had seemed almost silly at first, until the world unraveled, and Fred was left with attempting to fill the role of the heart. She couldn't do it. Not now.

With a hasty inhalation of air, Fred grabbed the phone from the cradle, placing it against her ear and hurriedly dialing, while she was alone, before someone else could tell her not to call. The phone rang, once, twice.

When the familiar voice picked up, tinny with noise, Fred gave an audible sigh of relief, never realizing her body was trembling until her voice picked up the shake.

"Cordelia…" The conversation passed in a blur, and Fred's mind reeled as she haltingly gave a summary of what had transpired. When she finished with, "Connor is gone," she waited, hoping to hear anything that could give her an idea as to what to do.

There was only silence, almost as if the woman on the other end of the line did not hear her, and Fred waited, anxiously.

"Cordelia?"

Then she heard it, small, soft. "God…" and the line disconnected.

Fred placed the phone back in its cradle, and stared at it, the relief she expected never appearing. Instead, the enduring sorrow continued, and the physicist from Pylea buried her head in her arms, and began to sob.

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The strangled scream caught in the back of her throat.

Faith's hands lashed out, catching a hold of the cheap cotton sheets, head banging against the top bunk as she sat up. The flash of pain made her eyes shoot open, darkness permeating them as she gasped, rubbing at her forehead, swallowing hard. Confusion wracked her sweat soaked body, and Faith needed a minute to orientate herself.

Her eyes, adjusting to the dark, roved over the room, and she found her cell, much to her relief, around her, like it had always been. The toilet in the corner, the sink, with its 'drip, drip', providing a pattern that she must have lulled herself to sleep with.

Pulling her knees to her chest, the Slayer trembled, sucking in her breath.

"Dreams are getting worse," she whispered, running sticky hands through dark hair, eyes closing. Her heart was beating way too fast. Her roommate, above her, never stirred. Faith swallowed, eyes drifting to the open bars of her cell, leading to the hallway.

Her block was way too quiet. She was trapped. Trapped – from what? It was a fucking cell, yeah, she was trapped. That was kinda the point. It was JAIL.

Faith blinked, shaking her head slightly, attempting once again to get a hold of herself. She eyed the sink, but somehow, couldn't quite get her feet to touch the cold cement floor, and swallowing in an attempt to moisten her parched throat, she lay back, staring up at the box springs of the mattress above her.

Her eyes closed, but still the sense of danger filled her, and she allowed one tiny acknowledgement: the dreams were getting worse. Faith was no psychic, and maybe that was what had her so freaked. These nightmares were different, scarier… worse than the normal oh-so-fun memories of home, knives and mayors.

She didn't want to go back to sleep. Even now, as she breathed in one more time, she had to admit, that for the first time in a while – she was scared.

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