WHO: Faith Lehane and Peter Petrelli WHAT: If she's not a Slayer then what is she? WHEN: the day after her rescue [slightly backdated] WHERE: Faith's room at the Hyperion. RATING: PG13 for mentions of past torture STATUS: COMPLETE
Faith's gaze locked on her target on the wall a few feet away. This used to come so easily to her. It should still come easily to her, like instinct or second nature. She'd been good at this, born for it. She took a deep breath as her eyes narrowed and she threw the knife at the target board. And broke the lamp about a foot to the right of the target.
Faith groaned and lay back on the bed, ignoring the other knives either on the floor or in the wall where she'd kept repeatedly missing the target. She couldn't fight, she couldn't punch and it seemed she couldn't even aim properly any more. She covered her face with her hands as she tried to not think about life without her strength.
The injuries themselves were gone. Claire's blood had worked wonders again and the only physical discomfort Faith felt were the phantom twinges of the cuts and the burns when she let her mind wander back there. After arriving back at the hotel, and after convincing the others she was ok, she had all but bolted to her room, locking it and turning off her phone and computer.
She wasn't a Slayer. Not any more. So now the question became, just what the hell was she any more?
Peter heard the crash and decided it was time to go see Faith. She's clearly wanted her privacy, but if things were at the breaking-stuff stage, it was time to interfere. He was at the door in an instant, already knowing it would be locked, but he rapped his knuckles against it twice. "Faith? It's me. I'm coming in."
The words were warning, not question. He counted to three, then slid through the door, emerging in her room and looking down at the collection of knives before his eyes moved to her, quietly assessing, checking for injury as he continued towards her. This time, he ignored the seat by the bed and sat down on the bed itself, right beside her.
For a moment, he seemed ready to speak. Then, his lips closed, shoulders drooped, and he just held out his hand to her.
Faith knew there was no point actually responding to the knock. Given the myriad of powers at Peter's disposal, trying to keep him out would be a bit pointless. So she stayed where she was on the bed, quiet for a long moment as he sat down before finally taking his hand and sitting up.
"The lamp needed slaying," she muttered, toying with a broken shard of ceramic on the floor with her shoe. She shifted slightly, resting her head on his shoulder as she glared at the offending target that remained stubbornly knife free.
"Thanks," she said quietly, not really wanting to into detail about what for but needing to make sure it was said out loud anyway. She let out a long breath before kicking the lamp piece away slightly.
"Kennedy should be the Offensive Teams chick," she stated, her tone as firm as she could make it. "I know you don't really know her all that well yet, but she'd damn good at what she does and she'll make you proud. You can rely on her, I promise."
"She's very good," Peter agreed with a light nod. "But why do I need new upper staff? You're still my girl, Faith. I told you before. It's what's in here that I want." One hand lifted, poking her gently in the forehead. "And what's in here." Another touch, just as light, over her heart, before his hand settled around her waist to hold her against him.
That said, he shifted his chin to give her a chaste kiss on the forehead. "You don't have to thank me. I'll always come for you. You know that. Like I know I'm stuck with you."
Faith frowned, just slightly. "How can I send people out on fights that I can't even help with? Did you not see the lamp?" She waved her hand in a vaguely wall-like direction. "And Simon or Monty could probably beat me in an arm wrestle these days. Fighting is what I'm good at..." she paused before making herself correct herself. "What I used to be good at."
She chewed on her lip as she leaned against him, once again feeling comforted by his presence. Didn't seem to matter if he was in her head or right next to her, Peter was good at making her feel safe again.
"Damn right you're stuck with me," she muttered with a weak laugh. "I kinda adore you so there's no getting rid of me now."
She sighed before deciding that maybe she did want to know what had happened back at the warehouse. "So, Toru and the fire bitch. Causing trouble or sorted?"
"By knowing what you're sending them to and their capabilities. I don't go on every fight, every patrol that I send the rest of you on, Faith. Because I know the people I send can handle things. Another part of being a leader is delegation." He gestured slightly at the lamp. "That? It's a skill. A muscle. You learn how to work it and weild it like any other. Maybe you won't be as strong or as fast or as deadly as you once were. But you're far from useless."
He was quiet for a moment after her question. He didn't want to offer her false hope, with the things Azula had said. But he still wanted her to have hope.
"Sorted. He'll never hurt anyone again. Her... I think it will be a long time before she tries to stand up to me again."
Delegation was never a skill Faith had really learned. It just sat so strangely with her, the idea of sending other people out there to fight the good fight while she sat at home and waited. Even if she knew what each of them could do, knew which ones worked well together and which were best kept apart, knew who was best against which types of demons... Sending them to fight, but not being part of it. That was an idea she truly loathed.
"I feel useless," she muttered, still getting used to the way her body moved now. So slow compared to how she was before. "They took my power and I wasn't able to do a damn thing to stop them."
She glanced at him, wondering just what had happened. "Mr Unkillable's dead?"" Now that was a pleasant thought. "So where's Azula now?"
He was quiet again, holding her tightly for a moment. "I know I told you that I'd be normal again if I could," he said. "But that wasn't completely true." Peter let his breath out in a sigh. "This is my life. It's who I am, what I do. It's a responsibility just as much, and it chose me. But at the same time, I choose it. I had to accept that. And then it wasn't about power, about strength. It was about helping people. And that's not something anyone can take away from me.
"But at the same time, I know what it's like without my powers. I'm lucky - really lucky - that they don't have the resources here that they had in my world. Wolfram & Hart has started to figure it out, with the sedatives and crap they give me to suppress them. But back there..." It was a world he refused to call 'home' any longer. This was his home. He migt not have been a native, might not have been born to this universe, but it was his now, just the same. "Some injections. Some people. One was a man... I never knew his name. I don't know if anyone did. We always called him the Haitian. Just being nearby, he could stop our powers. Just being there."
He stopped again. Words were trying to stick in his throat. These were difficult things to talk about, things he didn't talk about. Details, fact that only Hiro would know from having been there. Memories he hadn't spoken to Nathan or Sarah.
"I'm not exactly invincible. There less than here. They specialized in us. They were afraid of us. It was a few weeks before they had the inhibitor pills and injections. Another few months before the bag-and-tag training was standardized for all law enforcement. Two years before they had the bracelets, and those were some major pieces of work. But the Haitian... they always had the Haitian. Every time they caught me, it was because of him. And there was nothing I could do."
The change in topic made him look up, and he seized the opportunity to change the subject. "Mr. Unkillable is very dead. His name was put to the test and failed. As for the fire-bitch, she folded like a wet noodle. Gave up some information about the others and the Scythe so we would let her go."
Faith listened quietly, staying where she was comfortably leaning against him. It always made her flinch slightly when he talked of his world, the idea of being treated like some freaking science experiment because they were afraid of you.
"People are dumb," was the first thing that came to her mind, and never one to exactly filter what came out of her mouth, she said it out loud.
"It's not the torture," she said it pretty casually, even if she was straining a bit to feign the emotions. "Cuts, burns, whatever. Scar tissue, it fades." Physically it already had thanks to Claire's blood. Mentally it would soon as well. "It's the control. The way they took my control away."
Not many would really understand what that was like, but Faith trusted that Peter did. Because of his world, because of Wolfram and Hart.
"If this Haitian dude ever turns up here can I kick his ass?" Her lips quirked up in a half smile. "Verbally at least?"
Toru was dead. That thought made her smile a lot more. It didn't matter how it was done, right now she didn't even care. All that matter was the twisted fuck who said she tasted like barbecue was dead. As for Azula, she looked at Peter with a small frown. "She had information about the Scythe?"
Peter grinned, and hugged her tightly to him again. "Sure," he said. "He does't talk much. If ever. But if he ever shows up here?" Peter nodded. "You kick his ass and keep him away from me." He knew she would. There was no doubt in his mind that if the Haitian ever arrived in this world, if any of those impliments ever turned up that could render him incapable, that this young woman would be there, standing in front of him, to keep the danger away.
I wasn't there to keep them away from her.
Peter pushed the thought away bitterly. Faith had been doing her job. Doing what she was meant to do, doing what she loved. She wouldn't stand for him to be beating himself up for it, just as he wouldn't stand for it if their situations were reversed. So he kept the thought to himself and contented himself with having her safe, here, in his arms. There was a definate bond between them, trials thick and thin that had driven them together, and by this point, she was family. A younger sister, maybe. She certainly possessed that self-possesssed Petrelli air.
Who knew how much family he would discover in this world, so different from his own?
Back to the firebender. "Where they were. How they used it. Fred's doing the research. We'll find a way to reverse this, Faith. But even if we never do, you'll never be worthless to me."
Faith offered a small smile and a playful salute. "Yes sir. And you know, I've been told I've got a very cutting tongue when I want to." And if she had to she would use every weapon at her disposal, even throwing her now weaker punches if she had to, if this Haitian guy or someone else from Peter's world, or anything ever threatened Peter or his family. Because they were her family now and it was as simple as that. She'd never been one to believe that genetics were the definition of what a family, family were the people you could trust and rely on, the people you'd do anything for. So that was most definitely Peter, and his family.
Strangely, it was the words of Quentin Travers, former head of the Watchers Council, that echoed through her head. She'd met the man only once, when she was first Chosen and he'd come to Boston to see her and her Watcher. 'We are fighting a war. The Slayer is the weapon with which we fight'. Girls would come and go, it was the mission that mattered. He'd also never referred to her by name, only ever calling her 'Slayer'. The idea of being worth anything just as Faith Lehane had gone out of the window.
Yeah, well, one of us has a home and a family, the other got himself all blown up in London. So maybe that shows how not right you were then Travers.
She looked up at Peter with a slightly bigger smile. "Well Fred's like a certified genius. If it can be done she'll figure it out."
It was still a big if. A giant and humungous one. But Faith was clinging onto the idea that maybe she could get her powers back. And then kick Azula's ass. That would be fun.
He nodded. "If it can be done, it'll be done. In the meantime..." With a flicker of his hand, Peter tugged one of the knives Faith had been throwing towards them. He caught it in the air, and held it out to her. "You, missy, get to practice. If Hiro put me through the ringer and made me learn how to do this without any powers, I know you can. So don't rush it."
His hands guided hers, gently settling along the blade, feeling the weight of it in her hand, pressing her fingers to the point of balance. "Don't just throw. See it first. See the target in your mind. With your eye. Your arm remembers how to throw. It's your mind that needs to remember you can do it, even with limits."
Faith took hold of the knife, letting Peter guide her hand into a grip that once had been second nature to her but now felt strange and faintly awkward. She couldn't quite shake the slight giggle and she eyed him with a sideways glance, pretending to be wary. "If you tell me to wax on/wax off I will get Kennedy to punch you."
She took a moment to feel exactly how her grip was, noting the weight of the weapon and the way her hand curled around it. She'd never needed to pay attention to it before, her body instinctively knowing how to grip and balance. Now it felt like weirdly having to teach her mind how to do it.
She looked up at the target. Didn't seem so far away. There were dents and holes in the center where she'd been able to hit bullseyes in the past with ease. Now she had to squint her eyes, trying to judge the distance and angle before she took a deep breath and threw the knife.
It embedded itself in the wooden frame of the target, making her purse her lips and eye it critically. Eventually all she said was "I didn't break anything this time."
Peter nodded. "Good. Very good. Nice follow-through." And he gave her a wicked grin. "You ever want to see some interesting and new shades of red, go call Hiro Mr. Myagi. You'll be amazed how many shades can exist on one face."
Another knife sailed to his hand, and again, Peter guided her hand, giving her time to feel the weight and balance, the position of her fingers to grip.
"This time, take it on a side-arm throw." His arm wrapped around her, holding her wrist to guide the movement as he demonstrated. "Pull your arm back to the shoulder, like you're going to throw a frisbee. Then when you release, you want to end the throw..." He straightened his arm, taking hers along. "...pointing at your target."
He slowly moved her arm through the motion again, and then released her wrist, nudging her shoulder. "Hit the inside of the target, and you get a prize."
From her last success, he knew she could make the goal this time. And if this was how she could throw laying back in bed, it wouldn't be long before she was making bullseyes down in the training rooms.
As frustrating as it was, Faith was starting to feel that maybe with some practise she wouldn't be a complete liability to the team. She gave Peter a wicked sideways smirk. "You realize I will have to call him that now. And tell him you told me to."
She took a breath and focused, again noting how the blade felt in her hand and narrowing her eyes at the target. "A prize huh?"
She bit her lip in concentration as she threw the knife, noting how her arm moved the whole time. It hit the target, by a matter of milimeters, but even so. It was a distinct improvement on earlier.
"Ok, so not aiming for anything specific like hearts yet, but maybe I wouldn't miss an entire torso or something like that."
"He'll know it was me the moment you say it." Peter was grinning, but grew serious as it was her turn to throw. When the knife hit the target, he hugged her tightly. "Excellent. You'll be fine."
He reached into his pocket, and withdrew her prize. One of the fangs he had taken from Toru's mouth before the vampire had fully reverted back to human. "Here is your prize, milady."
A vampire's fang. Faith could tell whose the moment she held it. She smiled, a faint hint of triumph in her eyes. In her mind she could see the fang as it had been, that infuriating smirk on Toru's face as he cut into her. And now he'd been reduced to this. Now it was her turn to smirk as she held up the fang. "Loser."
She looked at Peter with a smile. "Thanks." For the lessons, for the fang. For killing him, for getting her out. Her gaze flicked back to the fang and she looked thoughtful. "I might put this on a pendant."
He smiled. The fang had been cleaned, Peter wanting no traces of blood on it. "I wouldn't blame you," he said. Then he put both arms around her and tugged her back down against the pillows. "You should rest, you know."
Had it been almost anyone else, Faith would have protested. Possibly even jumped up to prove a point. But this was Peter and he was one of the very very few she didn't feel the need to keep up the bravado act around. And the truth was she was more tired these days, lacking the Slayer stamina. So she lay back down, with a faint smile. "Ok, ok, resting now." She tugged the pillow into a more comfortable position before offering a small smirk. "See? I'll even sleep and everything." Even if part of her didn't want to sleep. She'd tried it earlier, during the night and woken in a panic, convinced for a moment that getting out had been the dream and she was still there, with Toru amd Azula. In the past she could have kept going until she fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion, but given that she wasn't exactly kicking much ass again yet, now she just had to hope her dreams would be nicely vamp free. Maybe. Hopefully. She tried to push the thought to the back of her mind as she made herself keep smiling.
Peter could see it. The strained smile, the fear behind her eyes. The weariness, mindling with the fresh scars on her soul. Torture was different as a human - they could never cut so deep or so hard as they could for himself and for Claire, but the soul-wounds were still there. They never went away. Only eased with the passing of time.
Peter shifted so she would be more comfortable. An aural shield settled over the room. He didn't need anyone else to hear this. This was private.
A moment to call up that power. Not buried in his mind, but in his heart. A breath, and then Peter began to sing. There were no words to the song, tones and melodies that were all music, all hauntingly beautiful in how they touched the mind and soul. Touched, like the gentlest fingers, to push away the dark thoughts and the lingering worries. Push them back and whispering without words to hold them at bay until she was rested. The melodies cupped her bruised heart, strength and comfort flowing in with the ease of breathing, drawing away her fears. The tension was sung from her muscles, leaving only the heavy weariness and the promise of revitalizing rest.
His hands, just as light, just as gentle, brushed the hair from her face, settled her arms comfortably, and tucked the covers around her. The song faded in rhythm to Faith's deepening, slowing breaths. After the final, trailing note, Peter leaned in, and kissed her forehead. Sleep well, little sister, he thought, brushing so gently against her mind as not to wake her. He was silent, dispelling the shield and then phasing out the door.