Full Circle

by Persephone

Chapter One

Ah, Paris. The City of Light. Home of the Louvre, Notre Dame, and some of the greatest clothes in the world.

'Did I just think that?' Faith asked herself wryly, 'Oh my God, it's finally happened. Cordelia Chase has finally gotten to me.'

Remarkably enough, that thought carried less horror to her than it should have. But then the horror was over--it had been for some months. All that remained now was the sadness. And a million unanswered questions. 'How about, why am I still kicking for two hundred, Alex?' she jammed her hands into her jean pockets, shivering under her coat from a chill that had nothing to do with being cold.

By all rights, she should be dead. Finito. Moldering in Sunnydale's already overbooked cemetery, not loose on the streets of old 'Paree. Exit Slayer, stage right. Yet here she was. Not even Giles was sure why, although he attributed it to her being a Slayer. Not *the* Slayer--that was Buffy. She had been relegated to the reserves unit of being 'a' Slayer. Because her perfect little plan had almost backfired, paving the way for the Mayor's ascension into godhead and Sunnydale's descent into Hell. Because she hadn't played by the rules the Watchers wanted her to play by. And because... because...

Because she killed a man.

It took nothing to conjure his face. She didn't even have to close her eyes. She could still see so clearly the shock and pain etched on his face as she blindly stuck out, thinking him a vampire. Only he didn't turn to dust when a stake rammed through his chest. Nor did the problem disappear so neatly as a dusted vampire. It would never disappear. She would be dealing with the consequences for the rest of her life--however long that was.

She was beginning to understand Angel and his whole regret problem. Funny, she never dreamed she could have so much in common with a vampire.

Nor had she ever dreamed that she would be one of the bad guys.

Well, maybe not one of the bad guys but she was definitely not on top of the Slayerettes' list of people to trust at the moment. Her act had worked a little too well. She had convinced both them and the Mayor she was switching sides. It had worked out wonderfully because that had been her intent all along, her way of trying to atone for her mistake. And to do that, she'd had to seemingly betray all the people she had come to regard as friends and if she wanted to be perfectly honest, family. The trust she had destroyed in those quarters might never be restored, even though her intentions had been honorable. In spite of the way she had gone about achieving them. 'And what was it they said about good intentions?' she asked herself. 'Something about a road and hell.'

Which hopefully was where the Mayor was right now. Probably giving tips to the Devil on the importance of being neat or the joys of playing putt-putt. She shuddered. In his own way, he had been more frightening than facing the open Hellmouth. At least, the Hellmouth had been visibly evil; the Mayor had been so--so nice that it was creepy. He was like some sixties' happy-clappy, 'Leave It To Beaver' reject. He had even apologized when he tried to kill her--

She frowned, pausing to lean against the iron rail fence beside her. He *had* killed her. She remembered being dead. Well, sort of. She remembered blinding pain and the air being sucked out of her lungs, heart refusing to pump anymore and... And then she had suddenly been back, heart beating wildly, with a mother of a headache, but nonetheless, alive. It didn't make sense. Then again, so much about being the Slayer--er, a Slayer didn't.

Especially in her case. Buffy at least had friends and family behind her, always ready to pitch in and forgive her of anything. With Faith...well, the only person she could really rely on was herself. She wasn't Buffy, she wasn't cute or endearing. And she had never been totally acceptable to anyone--not even the Slayerettes. Maybe that was the most disappointing aspect of all-- the people who should have understood her, who should have been able to accept her, could no more do it than anyone else had been able to.

But that was okay. She was tough; she hadn't needed anyone since she was seven. About the time she'd discovered her old man hadn't died, he run off with his secretary leaving her lush of a mother to drown her trouble in alcohol, then later harder drugs. She was twelve when her mother finally succeeded in ODing and had spent most of her time prior to becoming the Slayer, in and out of foster homes. They'd nicknamed her 'Door' back at the welfare house. As in revolving door. A comment on just how many places she'd been in and out of, as well as on the amount of time spent in each. She had never been what those potential parents looked for in a kid and try as hard as she might, something always happened and she always ended up back at the center with the other "trouble-makers.".

Life was supposed to be different once she'd become the Slayer. She had a purpose in life, for the first time ever. And she'd had a family. Faith shut her eyes. Mina. Even now, the thought of her first Watcher was painful enough to cause tears to prickle. Mina had seen past her tough as nails facade and pitied the frightened girl underneath. In her own way, she had been like a mother to Faith, the mother she'd never really had. Mina had been much like Giles in that respect--both Watchers had bent the rules to the point of breaking because they cared about their charges. No, it was more than that. To Mina, she wasn't a charge. She was Faith; the Slayer, yes, but more than that. Mina had believed in her as no one ever had before and oh, God, it had felt so good. So good not to be alone. So good to have some one believe she was a worthwhile person, not gutter trash. For the first time in her young life, she had felt loved and secure.

Then Mina had been taken from her, too. And with her left that sense of security and love. She had been tossed back onto the proverbial streets. Only this time, the streets were filled with things more terrifying than your run of the mill muggers or pimps. She knew that not everything that went bump in the night was harmless. Alone and terrified, she had done the only thing she could think of doing, the only thing she knew.

She ran. Ran and ran until she reached Sunnydale. Only to find that things were no easier in Sunnydale than they were in Boston. Sometimes, she felt like she had been running from things for so long that she no longer had any idea where she was headed or why she was even running. Maybe that was the problem. She'd tried so hard to distance herself from who she really was for so long that she no longer knew herself.

'Great,' Faith groaned, 'if I get any more pathetic and whiny, I'll be giving Angel an run for his money.'

Then she sagged forward, clutching the high iron fence desperately as a feeling of incredible pressure began building at the base of her skull, slithering through her head with a tingling pain that made her want to vomit. It grew and grew until rational thought became near impossible. She pressed her head against the cool iron, wondering if that acid she'd tried back when she was thirteen was finally coming back to haunt her like Miss Pruitt had virtually predicted it would. Her heart was racing and it took her a moment, but she realized her body was actually trembling. Not shivering, like from the cold but trembling. And through the dizzying malaise clouding her mind came one word shrieked over and over: Run. Run. Run. Run. Run.

She stumbled forward blindly, hands pressing into her temples as though she could massage relief there. But there was no relief. Her stomach churned and she could practically taste the fear growing in the back of her throat. Had this been night, she'd be a sitting duck, an easy meal for some passing vamp. 'What's happening to me?' she wondered.

She was so freaked that she didn't register the presence at her back. Not until a gentle hand touched her shoulder. That did it. She didn't think--she reacted. Reaching up, she caught the hand and heard a yelp as she flipped the person over her shoulder onto the concrete. She kept hold of the hand and moved into a defensive position, fist raised and poised to strike.

"Whoa, whoa. I surrender."

Faith studied the speaker without reply. Her panicky mind took him as a series of snapshots, still ready at any time to resume her attack. The first thing she noticed were his eyes. Bright, slanting cerulean blue eyes. Dreamboat eyes, she would have called them had the situation been less tense. Longish blond hair, the locks of which threatened to fall in his face. And what a face it was. Even now, she couldn't help but appreciate that gorgeous face whose expression seemed to be a mixture of apprehension and good humor. Straight nose, and great lips--she'd give them a ten. Providing she didn't kill him. And that would be a pity, she decided.

Aside from being gorgeous, he was also the source of her--her reaction. Her heart was racing faster than ever and she could barely resist the urge to run screaming as far down the street from him as possible.

"Okay," she said through clenched teeth, "You've got ten seconds to tell me why I'm getting this seriously bad mojo from you or I'm going make your spinal cord my new coat rack."

Those blue eyes darkened, though with understanding and --was she reading him right? wariness. He glanced around, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"And why is that?"

"Because we're gathering a crowd," he replied bluntly.

Faith started. She hadn't realized just how much attention they were garnering until his words made her take notice. A sea of gaping, uneasy faces stared back at her. Not good, she released his hand and took a step back. 'Too public, too public, girl. You do stuff like this too often and to the wrong person and you're going to wind up finding out what France's prison system is like.'

The man got to his feet, dusting his coat off. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but glanced at the crowd again and continued his dusting.

Faith cleared her throat. Everyone swiveled their heads towards her including Gorgeous Boy. However, it was to the crowd of people she directed her words, "Show's over, everyone."

They stared blankly. She waved her hands at them with a roll of her eyes, "Shoo. Go home. Watch this movie later--when it comes to cable."

It took a few minutes, especially since her French was about as good as a plug nickel. In other words, not worth much at all. Still, she got results when she finally crossed her arms and gave them the old, patented Slayer stare, guaranteed to wow your friends and cause your enemies to wet themselves. They couldn't have left faster after that. 'Probably afraid I'm going to flip out and go all kung fu on them, too. And probably half hoping I will,' she rolled her eyes as the last of the disappointed onlookers wandered off.

"Well, that was interesting," commented Gorgeous. She glanced over to find him openly studying her.

She turned that stare on him, voice light with a steely undertone as she said, "I meant what I said before. Start talking. Who the hell are you? And why did you cause me to feel like I was going to toss my cookies in panic before?"

"You don't know?" he looked at her closely, as if he didn't quite believe her.

She made a rude noise. "Look, sweet cheeks, if I knew, why the hell would I be standing around here asking you? I can think of a better ways to spend my time. Some of them you might actually enjoy."

He ignored the innuendo, "Jack."

"Confused," she returned.

"My name," he clarified, "I'm Jack Dawson."

"How wonderful for you," Faith stared at the hand he offered and after a moment, he removed it, raking it nervously through his blond hair. "So, level with me here, Jacky boy. What are you-- some kind of creature of the night making my Slayer sense go awry?"

That actually earned a laugh. A long laugh. Anything demonic wouldn't have laughed, it would have possibly eviscerated her on the spot. So much for that theory. "In case, you hadn't noticed, it's day--"

"I did noticed that," she muttered. It was a generalization. Did people have to be so literal these days?

"--and what's a Slayer sense?"

So he wasn't some psychotic creature out for her blood. His confusion seemed too genuine to be faked. 'Seemed,' she told herself, still suspicious. 'Remember how Angel seemed for real, too, when he pretended to have lost his soul again a few months back? Tread carefully, girl,' she warned herself. "It's nothing," she said aloud, "Okay, so you're not a demonic messenger of darkness?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. He looked uneasy again--but this time it was the kind of uneasy that 'normal' people usually got around her. Like they were questioning her sanity or something. "No."

She thought about that for a moment, then nodded, "Cool. Still doesn't answer my earlier questions, but okay."

"You really don't know, do you?"

"You know, you keep asking me that. Know what? What am I supposed to know?" she demanded.

He went to checking out the area around them again. "Not here," he replied, voice low, "We need to talk--preferably in private."

"Okay, hold up, hot stuff. This is where I get off this trolley. Not that this hasn't been fun, but what makes you think that I'm going to go anywhere with you?"

Faith turned to leave, but he caught her arm, pulling her back. She stared at his hand then up at him, "Take your hands off of me. Now."

No threats were spoken but they were implied in the quiet menace of her voice. He let go, but he didn't take a step back or anything. Just stood there with pleading blue eyes and said, "Look--what's your name?"

She debated. Then, "Faith."

"All right. Look, Faith, there are some things you need to know. About who you are, about *what* you are."

"Oh and what am I?" she crossed her arms.

Jack appeared uncomfortable ...and completely serious. "Immortal," he replied, voice so low she almost didn't hear him.

She stared at him in disbelief, "Immortal? Forgotten our medication today have we, JD?"

"You felt ill before," he continued patiently, "Your head was spinning and you wanted to be ill. You wanted to run--"

"How the hell did you know that?" she interrupted.

Jack continued as if he hadn't heard her, "You died recently, didn't you? Some time in the last six months?"

A shiver went down her spine at his words. How had he known? What was going on here? "Okay, I'll bite. How did you know?"

"Because it's happened before. To others. To me," he replied earnestly. He reached a hand out again, hesitated then let it rest on her arm. "I'm not crazy, Faith. Nor am I lying. There are things you have to *know* if you want to survive. Please, can we go somewhere and talk?"

Faith found herself torn. Common sense told her that she should get as far away from him as possible. But the sincerity in his blue eyes stayed her, made her want to trust him. And she didn't trust anyone. Not since Sunnydale. Not ever again. Trusting meant you had to let people in and that was always trouble because people would always let you down.

Jack must have read the indecision in her face, "Faith, please?"

What would it hurt to at least hear him out? If worse came to worse and he did turn out to be some psycho or worse a demon, she would deal. Just as she had in the past. And if he was being truthful, then she might get some answers as to why she was still walking around when, by all rights, she should have been dead all those months ago.

She clenched her free hand around the iron fence in thought. Something made her glance up. Behind the fence lay a small stone chapel, a small garden just off to the right of the building. Unlike most of the churches in Paris, this one was very simple, almost Spartan, but there was an aura of peace pervading the place that was comforting. Her eyes narrowed in thought. Coming to a decision, she raised her chin and met Jack's gaze, "Okay, sweets, I'll play along with you for awhile. You want to talk? How about in there?"

He followed the incline of her head, brief surprise flitting across his face. "Are you sure you don't know what you are?"

"Huh?" 'What did that mean?' she wondered.

"Never mind," he shook his head. "You'll find out soon enough."

"I can hardly wait, Jacky boy," she pulled the gate open and held it, "After you."

He stepped forward, then paused, turning his head towards her, "Faith?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Jack or Dawson, okay?" he actually sounded a little aggrieved, "Not sweetie, or hot stuff and certainly not Jacky boy. Got it?"

The words were mild, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath. This one might look helpless, she instinctively knew, but he wasn't. And if she wasn't careful, she was going to cross the line and find out just how un-helpless he was. "Whatever you say, Jacky--er, JD," she replied submissively.

Let him think he's won. It would give her time to figure just what was going on and what her game plan was going to be. Oh, she'd play along like she'd said she would--but it would be by her rules.

Even if she had to make them up as she went along.

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