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discessum.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2009-04-14 10:39 am
discessum.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2009-04-14 10:39 am
log; complete
When; April 13th [Morning].
Rating; PG-13 [Language].
Characters; Faith Lehane [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thesecondslayer] & Wesley Wyndham-Price [discessum].
Summary; The morning after this fiasco, Wesley tries to smooth things over with Faith in the kitchen. ...Instead it ends up as somewhat of a rinse and repeat, lecture included. Faith abuses a glass.
Log;
WESLEY; It felt like someone had crammed a container of cotton balls into his mouth, gripped his head in a vice, and then shaken him up like a cocktail strainer for about ten hours. As if the prior night hadn't been horrible enough, the following morning was a true case of Murphy's Law. He was out of aspirin, he was out of coffee, the sun was too bright, his mattress was uncomfortable, and anything that could trip him up on his trek to the washroom most definitely did.
The shower was no help, mostly because every little sound seemed to echo in the washroom, making the idea of 'slipping' and knocking himself out while in the shower highly tempting. The only thing that kept him from doing it was that little thing called dignity. If he could still claim he even had any left, at any rate. After the way he had acted last night, he was fairly sure there wasn't much left. And he had already been working with mere scraps, damnit.
Remembering that Dawn had mentioned coming over later to see Connor, and in the process bring him some company, he made his tentative way down to the expansive kitchen on the first floor. At least he hoped that was a real memory. He had been so very out of it at the time that it could have very well been a dream. ...No, wait, why would he have a dream with Dawn in it? It was definitely a memory.
So Wesley closed every blind he could locate in the kitchen, feeling much better once it was dimmer, and parked himself on one of the island's stools. There, he waited, leaning back and shutting his eyes. He had a glass of water, but it remained untouched. Dehydrated or not, he just didn't want to yet risk throwing it right back up again.
FAITH; Sylar had offered a room for the night, but a combination of pride and sheer bloody minded stubbornness had Faith sneaking in a window just around daybreak and sleeping-- all right, attempting to sleep-- in her room at Angel's. Literally running from Angel last night left a bad taste in her mouth, and staying away would be conceding this one to Wes, admitting he was right. Sure, most of Faith was convinced he is, but there’s a large freaking difference between believing she’s worthless and letting Wes be the one to say it. And all over the freaking Network, too. Faith cringed inside, knowing anyone who wanted to could hear Wes calling her dirt, and her threatening to torture him in return.
So after a shower and a change of clothes-- they’re not hers, large sweats pretty obviously made for a guy and the least offensively girly hoodie she could gank from B’s closet, remnants of her first stay in the City-- she heads downstairs, ready for some damn coffee and maybe cereal. Something even she can’t fuck up trying to make.
Of course, it’s not Angel she sees upon entering, not even Conner; it’s freaking Wes, and Faith considers just turning tail and running. Then a subtle shift in Wesley’s posture lets her know her presence hasn’t gone unnoticed, and just freaking perfect now she has to go in. Squaring her shoulders, she walks in, heading over to the cabinets. Maybe she wants to make something, after all. Bacon. Bacon sounds perfect.
After rattling around the cabinets for much longer than strictly necessary, Faith slams a coffee mug down on the counter, stopping just short of shattering the damn thing. Then she moves over to the fridge, looking through it for any bacon, making sure to rustle and crinkle any packages she can.
Petty? Yes. Immature? Oh hell yes. But every wince Faith catches out of the corner of her eye just makes her grin more savagely gleeful and her movements less careful. Welcome to the party, Wes. Sit down and stay a while.
WESLEY; He knew it was going to become uncomfortable as soon as Faith entered the kitchen, but had hoped that she would at least try handle the situation in a somewhat mature manner. ...Silly, silly man.
There was no way he was going to admit her petty attempts to annoy him were working, so he just grit his teeth and tried a meditation technique he'd read about. It wasn't like this was his first hangover. He experienced them on a regular basis. But this one was particularly nasty, and served with a side of embarrassment and guilt. He most definitely had some apologizing to do later.
Was he supposed to apologize to Faith? Good luck with that. Angel and he had a 'talk' when the vampire had returned, but the most they had agreed on was that Wesley had been a right ass to people who didn't deserve it. He doubted Faith was on that list, but he could still try to be the bigger man and have some sort of...talk with her. He had certainly said what he felt was true, but he could still regret saying it.
Especially when she was such a loose cannon, and he really didn't know what situation she had returned from.
Still, for some reason, he kept his mouth shut, trying to picture a happy place while tuning out all the noise she kept making. Still, every now and then, he would flinch as a particularly loud slam got his attention. It was a good ten minutes before he finally opened his eyes to blearily follow her form around the large room, his voice soft.
"You know, there are other people who live here who might still be trying to sleep. Angel, for instance. It might be a big house, but you know how enhanced his hearing is."
FAITH; Faith’s retort is immediate and incredibly succinct. Grabbing the bacon in one hand and slamming the fridge door hard enough the entire thing rattles with the other, she spits out viciously, “Fuck you, Wes.”
Maybe she’s a little more upset about this whole thing than she thought. Maybe part of her thought Wes might actually man the fuck up and apologize, or at least do the awkward British recognition of faults thing. No words, but acknowledgement he was a dick and he had no right to say that shit. There could be a group sing, maybe a hug. Faith’s always been good at self-delusion.
Crouching down, she rummages through the cabinet with pots and pans with renewed vigor, searching for that perfect skillet to cook her bacon in. So sue her for being dedicated to this bacon. Not like she’s being a petty little bitch on purpose, hoping Wesley’s head hurts just as bad as her… pride. Just pride, nothing else.
Perfect skillet found, Faith slams that down on the stove, then tears an opening in the bacon’s plastic wrapping with her teeth. Too bad Angel didn’t have any beer in the fridge; she could crack one open with her teeth. Wes seems the kind to be bugged by that, and maybe she could get a ‘alcohol at this hour, really Faith?’ out of him.
She bumps the heat on the stove up to high; her bacon's probably going to come out freaking cremated in the end, but it's worth it for that louder crackle of grease.
WESLEY; He shut his mouth at the retort, and closed his eyes with visible winces as she made as much noise as possible with the pan. Well at least he knew that pretending it never happened wasn't going to work this time. It was worth a shot.
Confronting her would probably end up worse. Especially when she had a scorching hot skillet on hand. Maybe it would just be best to retreat to his room and crawl under the covers, but he didn't know when Dawn was going to show, and he really didn't want to put Dawn through this temper tantrum. Buffy getting on Faith's case would be most disastrous.
So he just cradled his head while she went about clanging and slamming and ripping, trying to think of a viable solution. Here he was supposed to be the intelligent one, and he couldn't even think up a way to confront the woman without making it seem like an attack. But then, Faith always was difficult.
He was no culinary expert, but he knew well enough that cooking the meat on such a high temperature would make it shrink. ...Not to mention burn. But saying anything would probably result in him getting burned with boiling bacon fat, and that really was simply not a pleasant thought.
As the bacon crackled on the skillet, he lowered his hands to the edge of the counter and pushed his stool back so that he could stand, unable to take it any longer.
"Faith. I think it best if we talk."
FAITH; Cursing under her breath as another piece refuses to cooperate, Faith abandons her effort to flip the bacon with a fork and just uses her fingers, ignoring the sharp burn of grease splatters on her fingers and forearm. It actually gives her something to concentrate on, so that when Wesley stands and actually says something, she drops the piece she was turning, hissing through her teeth at the resulting splatter.
She refuses to turn around and face Wes-- not that he ever bothered to find this shit out about Faith, but growing up in rotating foster placements will make a person awesome at getting people pissed and paying attention at any cost-- instead just speaking to the wall behind the stove.
“No offense, but if you just wanna call me a worthless whore some more, think I’ll skip it. You understand, it’s a self-esteem thing. They told us in prison to self-actualize, or whatever the fuck.” She turns around now, smile wide and toothy and completely insincere. “You remember I was in prison, right Wes? I put me in, you broke me out. Weird how shit like that happens.”
The urge to just keep going, insult him a little more, is so strong Faith can almost taste the words on her lips. Instead she just turns back to the stove, shoulders tight, her entire body language screaming Wes is treading on dangerous ground here.
WESLEY; His eyes narrowed, but he didn't move any closer. There were a thousand ways he could reply. She was burning the bacon. She was scraping that pan up. She was acting like an infant. She was absolutely infuriating. But he just sucked in a breath of air and exhaled. Even when one didn't necessarily require oxygen any longer, it was still soothing.
"Yes. Weird. And for the record, I never called you a 'worthless whore'. I mentioned that you were promiscuous, which is true, isn't it? You always seemed so proud of it before. Not sure why you're taking offense now." His words were firm, but he was remaining on the other side of the island. One never could be too careful in a room full of sharp utensils.
"Still, I said some other things that really...could have gone without being said. I acknowledge that well enough. The liquor made my tongue a little too loose. I said a lot of things I shouldn't have to quite a few people. You're hardly the sole victim in last night's fiasco." He doubted that would make her feel any better, but he still wanted it known. "You were also rather forthcoming with the barbs, if I recall. And let's not forget the minor detail of strangulation."
FAITH; “Yeah, well. Considering your choice in insults was fucking false, so sorry for jumping to conclusions. Not that it matters to you, but I’ve fucked two people in the City. Since I first showed up. But don’t let that stop you from believing whatever the fuck you want.” She scowls down at her bacon, and adds quietly, “Always did, anyway. Why the hell should that have changed?”
Faith turns around once she can keep her face under control; detached and a little mocking. Wesley’s confirmation he believes she’s dirt, he’s just sorry he said it, makes things in her chest tighten, her eyes sting. But giving him the satisfaction knowing how deep his words dig in is giving up too much. So hopping up on the counter, she just shrugs and licks her fingers. “Not to get all kindergarten on you, but you started it. I told you to get away from me, and you kept fucking pushing. Maybe that’s what you’re looking for, but I ain’t exactly in the running for the next… what’s his face. St. Sebastian.” Off Wesley’s surprised look, Faith shakes her head and laughs bitterly. “I’m a dropout, Wes. But I grew up in freaking Southie. I know that saint shit cold.”
“Oh, whatever.” Her uncaring smirk turns to genuine anger, now. “You went off on me, trying to rattle my cage, and I barely touched you. Didn’t even throw a goddamn punch. You wanna go all judge and jury on me, do it, but don’t act like you don’t know I held back.” Rolling her shoulders, Faith summons back the smartass expression. “And it ain’t strangling if you can still breathe, jackass. So say what you want, but don’t act l didn't go easy on your drunk ass.”
WESLEY; He merely rolled his eyes. "That's hardly the point. Am I supposed to commend you now, Faith? Reward you for nearly breaking my neck instead of punching me in the face?" Just because he didn't need to breathe didn't mean it hadn't hurt. But saying that out loud would sound a little too pathetic.
"Yes. Good show, for letting a drunkard push you so far. But not far enough to kill! No, it's quite all right so long as you don't actually kill someone. Bra-vo." All right, this wasn't going the way he had planned, but damn it all he had a migraine and she was reacting in all the very wrong ways. And perhaps that's what pissed him off so much. Enough that he was willing to walk around the counter, hand trailing along the edge, as the sarcastic edge in his tone faded, and all that was left was a somber note.
"I was attempting to apologize, at least as much of an apology as I think you deserve. I was going to say that you've proven yourself a strong ally in the past, and that I wish to have no quarrel with you. I would never have behaved that way while sober. Goodness, I even went so far as to insult Willow, who was only trying to be kind to me. But since you are so very dead set on the assumption that I am out to get you and that you are the misunderstood victim here, I think I'll say something else."
Stopping in front of her, Wesley pinned her with a look that could only be summed up as utter disappointment.
"I really don't care. I don't care what was going on when you returned here. I don't care why you were splashing about in the fountain, and why you were so easily aggravated. I don't care if it was traumatic, or upsetting, or what have you. I don't care how proud you are of yourself for 'holding back' as you put it, because if you call that holding back, then you are sorely mistaken.
You spent three years in prison. When I broke you out, you kept claiming you were reformed. I was forced to push you to the edge of your new comfort zone, and I'd do it again if I had to. But that hardly gives you the excuse, the audacity to look me in the eye and claim that I'm being unfair when I say you haven't changed. All you do is complain that everyone attacks you. That you're the only one being punished for your sins. You're so busy focusing on yourself and your hardships that you're blind to the rest of the world and it's pain.
Get over yourself, Faith. Because I honestly no longer give a damn."
FAITH; “I barely even touched you!” The protest is an automatic one, and Faith knows she’s lying, to a certain degree. Sure, she didn’t go all out, but it’s not like she was gentle with him, either. The part of her thinking logically can even admit Wes was drunk and she should have just let it go. She’s better than that, isn’t that the mantra? But since Sunnydale went down and she was shoved off to the side, Faith’s hit a wall in a lot of ways and Wesley’s words just serve build it higher. And with Sylar’s words ringing in her head-- ‘Wes doesn’t understand, he doesn’t care, he’ll never see how it is’-- it’s easier, more comforting, to just… ignore her role in this, cling to blamelessness and how dammit, Wes should have known better.
“Yeah, but how do you really feel? Don‘t hold back, Wesley. Really, I’m dying to know the bad shit.” The automatic sarcasm is easy, and hopefully hides how much she’d rather he just take one of those butcher knives and give her a matching set of scars in the gut. “That how it’s gonna be, then?”
WESLEY; He just shook his head and turned, heading back to where he set his glass of water, picking it up to move over to the sink. Wesley paused, though, staring at her reflection in one of the cabinet windows.
"Do you know why I broke you out of prison? It wasn't because you're a Slayer, and it certainly wasn't because you were a killer. I broke you out because Angel needed his soul saved, and I knew you were the one for the job. You kept yourself in there, Faith, and you only left when Angel needed help. When it comes to Angel, I trust you."
He glanced over his shoulder. "But you've never given me any reason to trust you with anything else. No matter what you did for Angel, or how you helped Buffy, you still only focus on that little world of yours and who once mattered to you in it. I don't think you actually care about the real world at large, and until you do, you will never get over your hang-ups."
Deciding he could wait for Dawn in the library, Wesley set the glass in the sink and turned, walking out of the kitchen. "Surprise me. Prove me wrong. Then we'll see what's what."
FAITH; Faith stays silent through Wesley’s exit, staring intensely at the bacon. Slowly, she turns off the stove, walks to the sink, and picks up Wesley’s glass. She stares at it for a moment, then with a quick, violent turn throws it against the far wall.
Sagging against the sink, she breathes heavily, palms presses to her eyes to keep from crying. It’s stupid, it’s weak, and what’s worse, Wesley might hear her. Sylar mentioned that room, last night; she can go Underground, kick some ass, and have a place to sleep where no one think she’s worthless.
She straightens, breath shuddery for a second before smoothing out. Not even like she has much crap to pack; just toss a couple things in a bag and she’s good to go. Maybe tomorrow she can come by and apologize to Angel for the broken glass. It's a good plan. Better for everyone, right? If she repeats it enough, it'll be true.
Rating; PG-13 [Language].
Characters; Faith Lehane [
thesecondslayer] & Wesley Wyndham-Price [discessum].Summary; The morning after this fiasco, Wesley tries to smooth things over with Faith in the kitchen. ...Instead it ends up as somewhat of a rinse and repeat, lecture included. Faith abuses a glass.
Log;
WESLEY; It felt like someone had crammed a container of cotton balls into his mouth, gripped his head in a vice, and then shaken him up like a cocktail strainer for about ten hours. As if the prior night hadn't been horrible enough, the following morning was a true case of Murphy's Law. He was out of aspirin, he was out of coffee, the sun was too bright, his mattress was uncomfortable, and anything that could trip him up on his trek to the washroom most definitely did.
The shower was no help, mostly because every little sound seemed to echo in the washroom, making the idea of 'slipping' and knocking himself out while in the shower highly tempting. The only thing that kept him from doing it was that little thing called dignity. If he could still claim he even had any left, at any rate. After the way he had acted last night, he was fairly sure there wasn't much left. And he had already been working with mere scraps, damnit.
Remembering that Dawn had mentioned coming over later to see Connor, and in the process bring him some company, he made his tentative way down to the expansive kitchen on the first floor. At least he hoped that was a real memory. He had been so very out of it at the time that it could have very well been a dream. ...No, wait, why would he have a dream with Dawn in it? It was definitely a memory.
So Wesley closed every blind he could locate in the kitchen, feeling much better once it was dimmer, and parked himself on one of the island's stools. There, he waited, leaning back and shutting his eyes. He had a glass of water, but it remained untouched. Dehydrated or not, he just didn't want to yet risk throwing it right back up again.
FAITH; Sylar had offered a room for the night, but a combination of pride and sheer bloody minded stubbornness had Faith sneaking in a window just around daybreak and sleeping-- all right, attempting to sleep-- in her room at Angel's. Literally running from Angel last night left a bad taste in her mouth, and staying away would be conceding this one to Wes, admitting he was right. Sure, most of Faith was convinced he is, but there’s a large freaking difference between believing she’s worthless and letting Wes be the one to say it. And all over the freaking Network, too. Faith cringed inside, knowing anyone who wanted to could hear Wes calling her dirt, and her threatening to torture him in return.
So after a shower and a change of clothes-- they’re not hers, large sweats pretty obviously made for a guy and the least offensively girly hoodie she could gank from B’s closet, remnants of her first stay in the City-- she heads downstairs, ready for some damn coffee and maybe cereal. Something even she can’t fuck up trying to make.
Of course, it’s not Angel she sees upon entering, not even Conner; it’s freaking Wes, and Faith considers just turning tail and running. Then a subtle shift in Wesley’s posture lets her know her presence hasn’t gone unnoticed, and just freaking perfect now she has to go in. Squaring her shoulders, she walks in, heading over to the cabinets. Maybe she wants to make something, after all. Bacon. Bacon sounds perfect.
After rattling around the cabinets for much longer than strictly necessary, Faith slams a coffee mug down on the counter, stopping just short of shattering the damn thing. Then she moves over to the fridge, looking through it for any bacon, making sure to rustle and crinkle any packages she can.
Petty? Yes. Immature? Oh hell yes. But every wince Faith catches out of the corner of her eye just makes her grin more savagely gleeful and her movements less careful. Welcome to the party, Wes. Sit down and stay a while.
WESLEY; He knew it was going to become uncomfortable as soon as Faith entered the kitchen, but had hoped that she would at least try handle the situation in a somewhat mature manner. ...Silly, silly man.
There was no way he was going to admit her petty attempts to annoy him were working, so he just grit his teeth and tried a meditation technique he'd read about. It wasn't like this was his first hangover. He experienced them on a regular basis. But this one was particularly nasty, and served with a side of embarrassment and guilt. He most definitely had some apologizing to do later.
Was he supposed to apologize to Faith? Good luck with that. Angel and he had a 'talk' when the vampire had returned, but the most they had agreed on was that Wesley had been a right ass to people who didn't deserve it. He doubted Faith was on that list, but he could still try to be the bigger man and have some sort of...talk with her. He had certainly said what he felt was true, but he could still regret saying it.
Especially when she was such a loose cannon, and he really didn't know what situation she had returned from.
Still, for some reason, he kept his mouth shut, trying to picture a happy place while tuning out all the noise she kept making. Still, every now and then, he would flinch as a particularly loud slam got his attention. It was a good ten minutes before he finally opened his eyes to blearily follow her form around the large room, his voice soft.
"You know, there are other people who live here who might still be trying to sleep. Angel, for instance. It might be a big house, but you know how enhanced his hearing is."
FAITH; Faith’s retort is immediate and incredibly succinct. Grabbing the bacon in one hand and slamming the fridge door hard enough the entire thing rattles with the other, she spits out viciously, “Fuck you, Wes.”
Maybe she’s a little more upset about this whole thing than she thought. Maybe part of her thought Wes might actually man the fuck up and apologize, or at least do the awkward British recognition of faults thing. No words, but acknowledgement he was a dick and he had no right to say that shit. There could be a group sing, maybe a hug. Faith’s always been good at self-delusion.
Crouching down, she rummages through the cabinet with pots and pans with renewed vigor, searching for that perfect skillet to cook her bacon in. So sue her for being dedicated to this bacon. Not like she’s being a petty little bitch on purpose, hoping Wesley’s head hurts just as bad as her… pride. Just pride, nothing else.
Perfect skillet found, Faith slams that down on the stove, then tears an opening in the bacon’s plastic wrapping with her teeth. Too bad Angel didn’t have any beer in the fridge; she could crack one open with her teeth. Wes seems the kind to be bugged by that, and maybe she could get a ‘alcohol at this hour, really Faith?’ out of him.
She bumps the heat on the stove up to high; her bacon's probably going to come out freaking cremated in the end, but it's worth it for that louder crackle of grease.
WESLEY; He shut his mouth at the retort, and closed his eyes with visible winces as she made as much noise as possible with the pan. Well at least he knew that pretending it never happened wasn't going to work this time. It was worth a shot.
Confronting her would probably end up worse. Especially when she had a scorching hot skillet on hand. Maybe it would just be best to retreat to his room and crawl under the covers, but he didn't know when Dawn was going to show, and he really didn't want to put Dawn through this temper tantrum. Buffy getting on Faith's case would be most disastrous.
So he just cradled his head while she went about clanging and slamming and ripping, trying to think of a viable solution. Here he was supposed to be the intelligent one, and he couldn't even think up a way to confront the woman without making it seem like an attack. But then, Faith always was difficult.
He was no culinary expert, but he knew well enough that cooking the meat on such a high temperature would make it shrink. ...Not to mention burn. But saying anything would probably result in him getting burned with boiling bacon fat, and that really was simply not a pleasant thought.
As the bacon crackled on the skillet, he lowered his hands to the edge of the counter and pushed his stool back so that he could stand, unable to take it any longer.
"Faith. I think it best if we talk."
FAITH; Cursing under her breath as another piece refuses to cooperate, Faith abandons her effort to flip the bacon with a fork and just uses her fingers, ignoring the sharp burn of grease splatters on her fingers and forearm. It actually gives her something to concentrate on, so that when Wesley stands and actually says something, she drops the piece she was turning, hissing through her teeth at the resulting splatter.
She refuses to turn around and face Wes-- not that he ever bothered to find this shit out about Faith, but growing up in rotating foster placements will make a person awesome at getting people pissed and paying attention at any cost-- instead just speaking to the wall behind the stove.
“No offense, but if you just wanna call me a worthless whore some more, think I’ll skip it. You understand, it’s a self-esteem thing. They told us in prison to self-actualize, or whatever the fuck.” She turns around now, smile wide and toothy and completely insincere. “You remember I was in prison, right Wes? I put me in, you broke me out. Weird how shit like that happens.”
The urge to just keep going, insult him a little more, is so strong Faith can almost taste the words on her lips. Instead she just turns back to the stove, shoulders tight, her entire body language screaming Wes is treading on dangerous ground here.
WESLEY; His eyes narrowed, but he didn't move any closer. There were a thousand ways he could reply. She was burning the bacon. She was scraping that pan up. She was acting like an infant. She was absolutely infuriating. But he just sucked in a breath of air and exhaled. Even when one didn't necessarily require oxygen any longer, it was still soothing.
"Yes. Weird. And for the record, I never called you a 'worthless whore'. I mentioned that you were promiscuous, which is true, isn't it? You always seemed so proud of it before. Not sure why you're taking offense now." His words were firm, but he was remaining on the other side of the island. One never could be too careful in a room full of sharp utensils.
"Still, I said some other things that really...could have gone without being said. I acknowledge that well enough. The liquor made my tongue a little too loose. I said a lot of things I shouldn't have to quite a few people. You're hardly the sole victim in last night's fiasco." He doubted that would make her feel any better, but he still wanted it known. "You were also rather forthcoming with the barbs, if I recall. And let's not forget the minor detail of strangulation."
FAITH; “Yeah, well. Considering your choice in insults was fucking false, so sorry for jumping to conclusions. Not that it matters to you, but I’ve fucked two people in the City. Since I first showed up. But don’t let that stop you from believing whatever the fuck you want.” She scowls down at her bacon, and adds quietly, “Always did, anyway. Why the hell should that have changed?”
Faith turns around once she can keep her face under control; detached and a little mocking. Wesley’s confirmation he believes she’s dirt, he’s just sorry he said it, makes things in her chest tighten, her eyes sting. But giving him the satisfaction knowing how deep his words dig in is giving up too much. So hopping up on the counter, she just shrugs and licks her fingers. “Not to get all kindergarten on you, but you started it. I told you to get away from me, and you kept fucking pushing. Maybe that’s what you’re looking for, but I ain’t exactly in the running for the next… what’s his face. St. Sebastian.” Off Wesley’s surprised look, Faith shakes her head and laughs bitterly. “I’m a dropout, Wes. But I grew up in freaking Southie. I know that saint shit cold.”
“Oh, whatever.” Her uncaring smirk turns to genuine anger, now. “You went off on me, trying to rattle my cage, and I barely touched you. Didn’t even throw a goddamn punch. You wanna go all judge and jury on me, do it, but don’t act like you don’t know I held back.” Rolling her shoulders, Faith summons back the smartass expression. “And it ain’t strangling if you can still breathe, jackass. So say what you want, but don’t act l didn't go easy on your drunk ass.”
WESLEY; He merely rolled his eyes. "That's hardly the point. Am I supposed to commend you now, Faith? Reward you for nearly breaking my neck instead of punching me in the face?" Just because he didn't need to breathe didn't mean it hadn't hurt. But saying that out loud would sound a little too pathetic.
"Yes. Good show, for letting a drunkard push you so far. But not far enough to kill! No, it's quite all right so long as you don't actually kill someone. Bra-vo." All right, this wasn't going the way he had planned, but damn it all he had a migraine and she was reacting in all the very wrong ways. And perhaps that's what pissed him off so much. Enough that he was willing to walk around the counter, hand trailing along the edge, as the sarcastic edge in his tone faded, and all that was left was a somber note.
"I was attempting to apologize, at least as much of an apology as I think you deserve. I was going to say that you've proven yourself a strong ally in the past, and that I wish to have no quarrel with you. I would never have behaved that way while sober. Goodness, I even went so far as to insult Willow, who was only trying to be kind to me. But since you are so very dead set on the assumption that I am out to get you and that you are the misunderstood victim here, I think I'll say something else."
Stopping in front of her, Wesley pinned her with a look that could only be summed up as utter disappointment.
"I really don't care. I don't care what was going on when you returned here. I don't care why you were splashing about in the fountain, and why you were so easily aggravated. I don't care if it was traumatic, or upsetting, or what have you. I don't care how proud you are of yourself for 'holding back' as you put it, because if you call that holding back, then you are sorely mistaken.
You spent three years in prison. When I broke you out, you kept claiming you were reformed. I was forced to push you to the edge of your new comfort zone, and I'd do it again if I had to. But that hardly gives you the excuse, the audacity to look me in the eye and claim that I'm being unfair when I say you haven't changed. All you do is complain that everyone attacks you. That you're the only one being punished for your sins. You're so busy focusing on yourself and your hardships that you're blind to the rest of the world and it's pain.
Get over yourself, Faith. Because I honestly no longer give a damn."
FAITH; “I barely even touched you!” The protest is an automatic one, and Faith knows she’s lying, to a certain degree. Sure, she didn’t go all out, but it’s not like she was gentle with him, either. The part of her thinking logically can even admit Wes was drunk and she should have just let it go. She’s better than that, isn’t that the mantra? But since Sunnydale went down and she was shoved off to the side, Faith’s hit a wall in a lot of ways and Wesley’s words just serve build it higher. And with Sylar’s words ringing in her head-- ‘Wes doesn’t understand, he doesn’t care, he’ll never see how it is’-- it’s easier, more comforting, to just… ignore her role in this, cling to blamelessness and how dammit, Wes should have known better.
“Yeah, but how do you really feel? Don‘t hold back, Wesley. Really, I’m dying to know the bad shit.” The automatic sarcasm is easy, and hopefully hides how much she’d rather he just take one of those butcher knives and give her a matching set of scars in the gut. “That how it’s gonna be, then?”
WESLEY; He just shook his head and turned, heading back to where he set his glass of water, picking it up to move over to the sink. Wesley paused, though, staring at her reflection in one of the cabinet windows.
"Do you know why I broke you out of prison? It wasn't because you're a Slayer, and it certainly wasn't because you were a killer. I broke you out because Angel needed his soul saved, and I knew you were the one for the job. You kept yourself in there, Faith, and you only left when Angel needed help. When it comes to Angel, I trust you."
He glanced over his shoulder. "But you've never given me any reason to trust you with anything else. No matter what you did for Angel, or how you helped Buffy, you still only focus on that little world of yours and who once mattered to you in it. I don't think you actually care about the real world at large, and until you do, you will never get over your hang-ups."
Deciding he could wait for Dawn in the library, Wesley set the glass in the sink and turned, walking out of the kitchen. "Surprise me. Prove me wrong. Then we'll see what's what."
FAITH; Faith stays silent through Wesley’s exit, staring intensely at the bacon. Slowly, she turns off the stove, walks to the sink, and picks up Wesley’s glass. She stares at it for a moment, then with a quick, violent turn throws it against the far wall.
Sagging against the sink, she breathes heavily, palms presses to her eyes to keep from crying. It’s stupid, it’s weak, and what’s worse, Wesley might hear her. Sylar mentioned that room, last night; she can go Underground, kick some ass, and have a place to sleep where no one think she’s worthless.
She straightens, breath shuddery for a second before smoothing out. Not even like she has much crap to pack; just toss a couple things in a bag and she’s good to go. Maybe tomorrow she can come by and apologize to Angel for the broken glass. It's a good plan. Better for everyone, right? If she repeats it enough, it'll be true.