Title: No Angel, 0-2/?
Author: Kendra A. (kendraangelusslayer@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG-13 so far
Type: W/F friendship, soon-to-be more, and hopefully (if it all works out) W/F/S
Summary: Willow hooks up with the wrong guy. A year later, Faith finds her, in need of help...
Author's Notes: I had to change some stuff on the timeline, obviously, but not much. Spoilers are pretty much anything, 'cuz I might use it later. It'll probably be Willow/Faith/Spike. Sometime.
Disclaimer: Willow, Faith and all of the Scooby Gang &c. all belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox and (I think) the WB. Don't sue. 'No Angel' and 'Hunter' belong to the highly talented singer, Dido &c. Again I say, don't sue. Sadly enough, Mark is my creation.
Feedback: Feedback for me is like
chocolate for Buffy. I love it, but I sure as hell don't deserve it. Please
give me chocolate. I mean, feedback. Or both! Yes, both is good. Now, go read
my fic.
Prologue
In the middle of her first college year, Willow Rosenberg met Martin Blau. Martin was a handsome employee of the Initiative, a close friend of Riley’s. Riley had brought Martin with him to the Bronze one evening, and he and Willow had immediately hit it off.
Buffy wasn’t at all bothered when Martin began to consume all of Willow’s free time, as Riley did the same for her. When they had time in the dorms together, Buffy and Willow had bonding time not over some of the things they used to—mean teachers, heinous fashions, the newest hellmouthy demons, Willow’s spells—but over their boyfriends.
It was amazing, to the rest of the Scooby Gang, how nice Martin was. He swept Willow off of her feet, ridding her mind of all sorrowful thoughts of Oz. He was tall, although not quite as tall as Xander (who was six foot one); he was muscular, but not stocky, as Oz had been; he was gentle, never lost his temper, and began to teach Willow basic fighting techniques.
He remained a firm comfort when Faith awoke and switched bodies with Buffy. He helped Willow to find the spell to switch them back and then assisted her in gluing Buffy’s relationship with Riley back together. He understood Willow’s inner turmoil when Oz returned and was friendly to his rival. He was altogether perfect, so nobody was surprised when Willow and Martin ran off together towards the end of the year, promising to write.
Nobody, that is, except for Spike.
Chapter 1
If you were a King up there
on your throne
Would you be wise enough to
let me go
For this Queen you think you
own
Wants to be a Hunter again
Wants to see the world alone
again
To take a chance on life again
So let me go
-from Hunter,
by Dido
November 2000
The vase crashed into the mantelpiece above Willow’s head. She cringed as the sharp pieces of china narrowly missed her head, shoulders and neck, and inched further back into the ashes of the fireplace.
"Fuck, Willow!" Martin screamed, throwing a candlestick at her. It clanged against the marble molding of the fireplace and fell to the floor. Willow gingerly picked it up and clenched it tightly in her fist, although she didn’t really intend to use it.
Martin marched over to the fireplace and pulled her out of it by her neck, causing her to gag and drop the candlestick. Her hands went up to cover his, trying to pry them from her throat. "Martin, please," she rasped.
He dropped his hands and glared at her. "I told you I didn’t want you talking to them anymore!"
Willow started to cry. "You told me I couldn’t talk to Xander anymore! I called at Giles’ early because I thought he wouldn’t be there…"
Martin began to pace. "Dammit, Willow, I though we understood each other, but I guess I was wrong." He looked at her to gauge her reaction, but her face was emotionless except for the tearstreaks down her cheeks. "You’re too attached to them. We left them, and you shouldn’t be calling them all the time like this! Aren’t I enough for you?"
Willow shakily got to her feet and wrapped tentative arms around his broad shoulders. "Of course you are," she whispered.
* * *
"What the fuck is this?" Martin yelled as he entered the house. Willow looked up from the dining room table and blanched as she saw the envelope he was waving over his head. It was addressed to ‘the Scooby Gang’, and the return address was to her own private P.O. box. "I told you not to talk to them anymore, Willow! Are you stupid? D’you want me to spell it out for you?"
Willow had gotten up from her chair by now and was slowly backing away. "Martin, you’re scaring me."
"’Martin, you’re scaring me’," he mocked in a high-pitched voice. "Oh, I’m sorry, Willow. Maybe if you’d do what you were told, you wouldn’t get yourself into so much trouble!"
He began to walk towards her. The violence in his eyes terrified her, and she turned and ran. The only doorway available was the one into the basement, so she dashed down the stairs and hid behind a pile of junk. She immediately began to dig through the boxes, praying she’d find something heavy enough to defend herself with.
She could hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs, and she began to search more frantically.
"Stupid Willow," he was musing aloud. "Running right into a dead end… How silly…"
She jumped up from behind the boxed and threw an old, heavy black teapot at his head. He was knocked over, more from shock than anything else, but she jumped over his legs and ran back up the stairs. Now she could run through the dining room and reach the front door. She paused only to grab her purse, and then she was gone.
Martin staggered to the door on unsteady legs, but was able to yell after her, "I’ll find you, you stupid bitch!"
About a week later, in a motel in Michigan
Willow sat huddled on the queen-sized bed in the small motel, knees pulled up against her chest and her chin resting on her knees.
She wasn’t worried about money; she’d removed all of her savings from the bank account Martin had known about, and now had them in cash, hidden in various places: a tiny pocket in her purse that could only be opened with a spell and a keyword, a pocket on the inside of her jeans, shrunken and rolled up in the hollow band of a necklace that she wore. Besides that money, she had another bank account under the name Salix Rosa with savings from several programs she’d written for Microsoft and Apple computers.
It wasn’t money she was worried about. It wasn’t clothing or living space. She was terrified that Martin would find her. She was terrified that he could somehow turn her own friends in Sunnydale against her. She was terrified that, even if he didn’t find her, that she would always be alone.
But the Powers that Be have interesting ways of working sometimes, and They caused her to cast the spell she’d been loathe to try out in her sleep. This spell called for the one that could care for her the most to come immediately to her aid.
That was why, through loopholes in several little-known laws and careful maneuvering by an expert lawyer (employed, of course, by Angel Investigations and there fore the PtB), Faith was allowed to leave prison.
It was a vision grudgingly delivered
by Cordelia, plus an impulse that she didn’t quite understand, that made Faith
leave her job at Angel Investigations, and spend a great deal of her carefully
hoarded savings (plus a little help from Angel) on a plane ticket to Ann Arbor,
Michigan.
Chapter 2
... I’m no angel
But please don’t think that
I won’t try and try
I’m no angel
But does that mean that I can’t
live my life
I’m no angel
But please don’t think that
I can’t cry
I’m no angel
But does that mean that I won’t
fly
-from No
Angel, by Dido
Willow carried what she had finally decided was her last tray of the evening to the counter of the small diner and handed it to Donny, the cook. He smiled at her and took it gracefully. "Gonna turn in for the night, Sally?"
She returned the smile tiredly and nodded. "Yeah… been working for two straight shifts now, so I’m figuring I’d better go before I drop something and get in trouble."
Annabella passed them by on her way to another table. "You’re the only one with a clean record among the lot of us," she said kindly. "But you’d better get some sleep tonight… tomorrow is the big cleaning day ‘cause the Mayor’s coming to *inspect*."
"I’m gone," Willow said as she pulled her thin jacket off of the coat rack. "I’ll see y’all tomorrow."
The walk home was short but cold, and Willow hugged the windbreaker to her thin frame as the wind tore down the small streets. There was a full moon that night, and she would have been worried had she not hacked into all of the town’s records to find hints of anything supernatural.
The town she had rented a house in was about a half-hours’ drive from Ann Arbor, right next to the highway. It was relatively quiet and extremely small, and she’d lived quite peacefully for a month, working as a waitress in Benjamin’s Diner.
The other waitresses were friendly, and so were the cooks; and Willow had a sneaking suspicion that Benjamin, the manager, had a small crush on her. However, Willow lacked the constant, close friendship of that she’d had in Sunnydale, and constantly felt guilty at not even telling these people her real name for fear that Mark would find her.
She turned a corner and was surprised to see the new car on her street. She’d quickly memorized the normal cars and bicycles she’d see, in case Mark showed up in an unfamiliar vehicle, and this car was definitely unfamiliar. It was a dark blue, shiny VWB. It was small and very cute, and it was parked in front of her house. There was a shadow of someone sitting at the wheel, and for a long while Willow stood at the end of her block, staring at the VWB and wondering whether it was safe to go home.
It could be one of Frances’ friends, Willow reflected. There was a woman next door to her who had no driveway next to her house and so her friends’ cars were always blocking the street. However, Willow doubted that Frances, whose friends always had old, cream-colored, comfy-looking cars (as they tended to be 60-and-up women around Frances’ own age) would have a friend who would drive—or whom she would permit to drive anywhere near her house—a Volkswagen Beetle.
Willow finally began to shiver and decided that she was being ridiculous. Mark wouldn’t drive a Beetle, anyway.
So, with a sigh and a heavy feeling of dread, Willow began to tiptoe to her house.
Naturally, whoever was in the car decided to open the door the moment she walked by.
It wasn’t Mark—it was Faith.
"Faith!" Willow gasped. She began to back up towards the steps of her house, fumbling in the pockets of her uniform for her keys.
Faith closed the car door and didn’t make a move towards her, holding up her hands instead. "Hey, it’s okay, Red," she said calmly, eyeing Willow’s hair. "Okay, not-so-Red." (Willow had dyed her hair brown.) "I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m a white hat now." She gave a small laugh, and Willow relaxed a fraction of an inch, although she continued to back up until she felt the heel of her shoe hit the bottom step.
"Um, okay," Willow said, inwardly triumphant because she had located her key. "Wanna tell me why you’re here? At my house?"
"You need help," Faith said simply. "And so I’m here."
Willow was shakily climbing the steps backward. "Um, help," she said, stalling. "Why do I need help?"
Faith wrinkled her brow. "Why should I know? Cordy had a vision, the vision said, ‘Willow, trouble,’ and here I am."
"Cordelia? You’ve seen Cordelia?" Willow paused at the top of the stairs.
"Of course." Faith leaned against the door of the car, cocked her head at Willow. "Buffy didn’t tell you?"
"Uh—" Willow tried to think up a suitable answer. "She’s been kinda busy, what with Riley and all—"
"I thought she might at least call you and tell you," Faith said. "Because she and Xander and G-Ma—I mean, Giles, and all their honeys were at my appeal…"
"A-a-appeal?"
"She didn’t tell you any of this?"
"I kinda haven’t talked to her for a while."
"Ah." Faith’s forefinger of her right hand nervously worried the cuticle of her thumb. "Uh, Not-so-Red, d’you think I could come in?"
She looked hurt at Willow’s dubious expression. "I won’t hurt you, I promise. And I’m not a vampire, and you can call Angel and ask him if you want—"
"It’s okay, Faith," Willow said. "Um, I can make us some tea, if you want—"
"That’d be nice," Faith said, her full lips curving into a smile, and she followed Willow up the steps to her home.
* * *
Faith stayed with Willow for a month. During that time, she insisted Willow dye her dull brownish hair what she called a ‘kick-ass’ raven’s-wing black, got her own job with the same hours Willow kept at the gas station store, and assembled a wardrobe—completely new and uncharacteristic—for both of them.
Willow had never exactly considered what Faith would look like in khaki flares and a dark red sweater set, but she thought it looked pretty nice.
Faith was highly skeptical and always questioning about Willow’s refusal to call her friends, and finally, one evening. Willow broke down and told her why.
"Martin got mean, Faith. This isn’t a me-thing. It’s not a selfish, self-indulgent ‘I-need-a-few-years-to-find-the-inner-me’ Willow-impulse. He scared me. He threw things at me and had access to my P.O. Box and my cell-phone messages, and he found a message from Buffy that I hadn’t even heard yet, and he got so mad that he turned the oven up to 375 and threw it in.
"I tried to send a letter to ‘The Scooby Gang’, because I hadn’t done that before. I’d tried calling, but he had tabs on the phone lines and came rushing in before they’d pick up, and I’d tried emailing but he’d go and press cancel send, and it would delete the messages from Giles’ inbox because I’d set it up that way to avoid tracing. So I tried to send a hand-written letter—I thought it was fool-proof, dropped it casually into the mailbox while I was out grocery shopping—but he had a friend who worked at the Post Office who told him about it, and gave him back the letter, and then he really lost it and I got scared and ran…
"He threatened to come and get me, and make me pay, and I’m really, really scared that he might. And I’m even more scared that he’s told Riley and Riley’s told Buffy, and now she hates me…" Willow’s voice had been steadily thickening up to this point, and finally she began to cry.
Faith worriedly gathered her friend into her arms and hugged her to her chest. "Buffy doesn’t hate you," Faith whispered into Willow’s hair, which smelt like raspberries. "Buffy could never, ever hate you. And Xander? Get real." She pressed a gentle kiss onto the top of Willow’s head, and they rocked back and forth together for a long while as Willow wept.
Finally Willow looked up from a now-wet patch on Faith’s shirt, her face red and streaked with tears. "There’s more, though," she whispered.
Faith was silent.
"He—he forced me one night," Willow said, her voice getting more and more inaudible. Faith stiffened, and Willow thought it was from revulsion, but something deep inside of her made her continue. "I tried—to not let him, but he did it anyway, and then he was so sorry the next day that I let it go, but it hadn’t been safe, and now I’m—" Willow took a deep breath. "I’m pregnant, like three months or something pregnant with that son-of-a-bitch’s baby…"
"Oh, Willow," Faith whispered, shocked. Willow laid her head in Faith’s lap, and they both cried silently together until the violet sunrise streaked the western wall of the living room.
