A Toast
There were worse ways to spend the day in Cleveland.
Granted, being stranded at Cleveland Hopkins International wasn’t ideal, but Corbett never really cared for trying to fly in stormy weather anyway. His cross-continental flight to London would likely be postponed until the following day if Mother Nature had her way, so the Watcher decided to make the best of it.
Thankfully, there was no shortage of bars and tiny pubs in the airport, so Corbett settled in for a pint while watching the Wimbledon men’s final on the television.
Corbett only went to the All-England Club once in his life – in 1981, when John McEnroe finally beat Bjorn Borg. Tennis had never been a large fancy of Corbett’s – he’d always been more of a soccer fan – but he knew even then he was witnessing history.
Even if one of the bloody Americans won.
Alas, this final was nowhere near of that magnitude. Two men Corbett had never heard of running about on Centre Court in their hideous white shirts and shorts, playing haphazard and sloppy tennis.
“Might as well be watching NASCAR,” the Watcher muttered to himself, sipping from his ale.
Even with the tennis and alcohol to keep him company, Corbett felt the urge to get out of Cleveland as soon as possible. He knew why, what with the big Hellmouth in the city and all, and it seemed as if that energy was even more intense now that the world had changed. Human as he was, Corbett could sense the change in the air, and as the Watcher glanced about the bar and the airport behind him, he could tell everyone else sensed it too.
Leaving Searchlight hadn’t been as hard as Corbett thought it would be. He didn’t make that many connections in the desert town, which probably explained the lack of emotional struggle as he took off from Vegas, but Corbett was surprised he didn’t get emotional over leaving the place where he found peace and a new Slayer.
Then again, peace with regards to Teresa was what led Corbett to Searchlight in the first place. He went looking for answers, and as much as he didn’t like them at first, he got them. He also had two Slayers in the desert – Kris and Faith. And while Corbett wasn’t proud of the job he did with Kris, his relationship with Faith healed a lot of wounds and told the Watcher he wasn’t quite washed up yet.
Corbett sighed, raising his glass to no one in particular. He was toasting Faith in his own way, hoping that wherever she wound up, she’d be okay. She was spooked the last time they talked, when the government’s debacle began to unfold. Corbett hoped Uncle Sam didn’t get her, but if she was in the government’s hands, the Watcher was confident she’d be alright.
After all, his own Council tried to kill her and failed.
Corbett had yet to talk to anyone in the London office about a position upon his return, but if nothing else, the Watcher could return to his homeland to live out his remaining years. Corbett wasn’t about to retire – especially in light of recent events – but something told the Watcher being back in England was where he needed to be.
Finishing his ale, Corbett debated having another. But then he glanced at the tele again, seeing one of the tennis players bounce a serve off the chair umpire’s head and deciding he’d seen enough. The Watcher paid his tab before walking back into the terminal, watching the masses walk around him.
Were all of these people human? Or were there vampires and perhaps a species or two of demon among them? It was a question Corbett spent much of his life asking, but now that the rest of the world knew what he knew, it seemed that much more important. And as well-versed as Corbett was, he didn’t have the preternatural senses of a Slayer to “see” the otherworldly beings.
Which was just as well; what could a 59-year-old man do against a vampire on his own anyway?
“Attention all passengers,” the intercom sounded, interrupting Corbett’s thought process. “Delta flight 943 with non-stop service to London will be boarding in just under two hours. Please report to Gate D7 as soon as possible.”
Corbett glanced at his watch and then out the window. The weather was getting better, several hours earlier than expected. If this pattern held, perhaps Corbett would be back home within the next 12 to 16 hours after all. A small smile came across the Watcher’s aging face, and without a minute’s hesitation, he made his way to the gate.
Perhaps he should’ve contacted Faith one last time, found a way to tell her what she’d meant to him. Then again, that really wasn’t Faith’s thing; besides, based on their last encounter, something told the Watcher she already knew. The best Corbett could do now was go about the rest of his life and hope that wherever she was and whatever she was doing, she was okay.
Because he’d taught her well. She said so herself.