Disclaimers: If any of them belonged to me, I'd be very, very careful.

Fandom: XF/BtVS/Angel crossover.

Spoilers: For my purposes, XF canon screeches to a halt after Two
Fathers/One Son, and I take off from Buffy/Angel canon after
Sanctuary.

Summary: Alex Krycek has a plan.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for sex, violence, and possible disturbing imagery.

Author's Note: Livia's Pairings That Never Were page. She called my
*name*...

Acknowledgments: Pretty Pretty Dawn Pares for goading, Webrain for
loving, D'Sharon for greed. For Ari, who wanted a crossover. *g*

Feedback: *Needed* at leytelj@gmail.com

*

One of the rules is that Faith takes her up against the wall or bent over
the toilet or something. Never in the beds. Stupid whore move, but Faith
knows the girl is dangerous. Doesn't even want to give her a name. Skinny
little doll-toy of a girl, all scars and anime eyes and vampire need.

So it's like it is right now, a line crossed -- Faith's letting her grip the
edge of her mattress, is losing herself in the way the knuckles tighten,
release as Faith just makes the girl work on her fingers. Drug arrest.
Three strike rule. Faith doesn't think the girl will live long in here.

Faith desperately wants to get fucked, but she won't cross that line.
(not yet, oh please)

You don't let a druggie get you on your back, that's just the rule, right?
So the closest she gets to relief is pushing the girl on her knees and
forcing her to eat Faith out. Give that dry little tongue a workout,
wonder if the heroin the bitch is snorting can be secreted through
saliva.

If the sex need is really just some fucked up new addiction, vicarious
high shit. She's a Slayer, her senses could do something like that to her,
right?

But mostly they just make the clank of forks on trays *really fucking
loud* and the stench of rank womansweat drill into her brain like the long,
long nails of the little femmesluts wandering around. Weird to see the
stereotypes play out quite like that, and Faith supposes she'll have to
butch herself up a little more, just so she'll look right. Something.

The girl smells like spice, all the time.

Something vague and classy that Faith doesn't really know. Thinking it'll
probably turn out to be deodorant or something so she'll never say a word.
Just smell it. And opening herself up to it is the last really good moment
Faith has before the big, giant, invisible hand of God lifts her up and
slams her against the bars of her cell.

A moment to see the girl's head just a little too far away from her body,
the body, dead body, blood on her hands and Faith's out.

*

Alex checks over his team with something like rueful admiration. Every
last one of them had made it out alive, which is a shame. He'd really
hoped to lose one or two. Paying the fuckers got stressful now and again.
In any case, it's a sad indictment of the American penal system that
four guys, some guns, and a little old-fashioned C-4 is all it takes to
abduct a maximum security prisoner.

Just lax, especially for *this* prisoner.

Sure, she was only convicted for one murder, and there was the usual
extenuating circumstances excuse used, but Alex had been diligent in
collecting information. This girl, Faith Benton, was both exceedingly
violent and exceedingly unsubtle. Both of which were unfortunate, yet
ultimately useable.

Still, though, her prison record had only had one fight listed, which was
practically model behavior...

It's harder these days not to lose himself in trying to understand the
mistakes of others.

Up to a certain point it's merely the mechanics of survival, after... Alex
can too easily see himself dying while trying to figure out why an old
business associate had done the same. Perhaps that's how they'd all
go, eventually, obsessing on the mistakes of others and he bit the inside of
his own cheek viciously.

He needs sleep. He needs to fucking *cope*. With the Consortium dead and
crunchy there's no organization left but what the survivors -- the
abandoned lieutenants and underlings -- make. And Alex has discovered that
chaos is a lot less fun when it's constant.

He's getting older, but that's still one fuck of a lot better than getting
dead, and there's more than a little satisfaction in the gift of his brand
new weapon. Alex gives her the drugs himself, dismisses his underlings,
and settles in to wait for the Slayer to regain consciousness.

*

Faith comes up kicking, landing on the floor in a heap, shaking her own hair
out of the way and cursing herself for not just fucking *cutting* it and
looking for... looking for.

Druggie. No trace of her on the air. No urine, no sweat, just leather and
acrid metal. Male. Faith shifted her fighting crouch, looking for the
source and finding scuffed engineer boots to jeans to t-shirt and leather.
One fake hand, one real one and suddenly it's all just a little too James
Bond.

"What? No hook?"

"And no cat, either." Lazy purr that has nothing to do with the look in
the guy's poison-green eyes. Cute in a half-desperate sort of way. More
the cornered rat in his eyes than the runner.

Faith shrugs. "Thanks for busting me out of jail, I appreciate the thought
and all, but I've kinda got a thing going there."

"You don't think they're really going to let you redeem yourself?"

"I think people who talk about 'they' all the time are really fucking
paranoid."

And something about that makes the guy laugh much harder than the joke
deserves, and the lines suddenly carved around his eyes makes Faith
adjust her age estimate a bit higher. Clean-shaven, even white teeth.

Faith realizes she hasn't remotely relaxed and is glad. There are no
windows in this room, and the air is close and stale. Only one door,
reasonably good insulation... "What the fuck do you want from me?"

"Well, you can consider me part of the They, Faith. Can I call you
Faith? You can call me Alex, and I'll be the one telling you what to
do."

Well, she *had* been planning to be nice. Rushing across the room and
grabbing him by the collar and... nothing. Mostly nothing, but this... this
is exactly how strong she was before gaining her Slayer abilities and
maybe, maybe she'd be able to kick this guy's ass anyway but more likely
he was just gonna keep fucking *chuckling* in her face as she tried to get
a better grip on his collar.

"You used the drugs."

Because, yeah, Buffy had told her all about that one. Cried on her shoulder
and there'd been hugs and stuff and that had been strike one. Or what
she'd decided had to be strike one, because Giles couldn't be trusted. It
wasn't just *her* Watchers and Faith backs off and catches herself looking
for a weapon that she knows won't be there.

"Nobody pays enough."

Apparently, the purr is constant. "What?"

"Their employees. Nobody pays enough. No wonder the Watcher hit squads
are such a mess."

"So who the hell are you, anyway?"

"I'm Alex, your new employer, and I'm going to pay you very well."

*

And he doesn't know what he expected, but it certainly wasn't this...
crumpling. Solely within her eyes, as her body remains in fight or flight
stance... but flight suddenly seems a lot more likely than it had before.
The reports suggested her brief tenure with Wolfram and Hart had come
when she was already more than a little crazy, but there was nothing in
her records to suggest she would respond to trauma with anything less
than violence.

Still, there'd been nothing in the reports to suggest she would ever
actually do anything but go down fighting, either.

His own fault for watching it all go down in L.A. from a distance. He'd
wanted Faith softened a bit, and then rescue her from the police or some
such. Everyone would expect her to simply disappear anyway. Stupid of
him, but the mistake is rectified. People know she's strong, and had
traveled with... a rough crowd. Someone would make up a story to justify
Faith's escape.

The people who knew the truth would know he had something faster,
stronger, and meaner than the shapeshifters.

At least until they looked at her.

Fuck.

"You really thought you'd given up on killing, didn't you?"

"I *have*." Shaky voice. Breaking too fast either meant she was truly
broken on the inside or just wanted to be convinced.

"Are you hungry?"

Several rapid blinks. "What've you got?"

Alex decided her bravado would be what would keep her in the game. He
just had to shore it up. Yes, it'd been done before. "A bunch of bored
hitmen who get really pissed off when I send them to get takeout."

Ghost of a smile flitting across her eyes. Perfect.

*

He's playing her, plain and simple. The food, the kindness, the fucking
*jailbreak*... all working its way around the whole new boss thing. New
boss. As fucking if. The Mayor would've... The Mayor probably would've
liked him. Because maximum security is no place for a young woman of
character or. Or something.

But the Mayor's wrong because he was evil, and he's also dead, so jail
really is the place for her, and so is the leather and the boots and this.
This is a fucking part of it, too. She *knows* it. Leave her alone with
her cashew chicken and orange soda and let her stew on it. Think on it.
Dig right the fuck on it until she thinks of this as a Chance. Or
something.

Alex and subtle weren't neighbors.

And maybe that's part of it, too and her head hurts and her ears are
still ringing and she eats.

Wonders if he spiked the food with anything. Headache interfering with
her sense of taste so she's really not sure. Maybe more of the
anti-Slayer drug. Suddenly picturing vampires wearing the stuff as
cologne, spritzing it around the crypts. Could it work that way?

Could she be gassed with it, too? She's not even bruised around where
the needle went in, she'd had to look for the mark. Alex is good at what
he does. One-armed orderly guy. Something. And Faith sees herself: rabbit
burning up the tracks of her own mind and what was it with her and
people wanting to pay her to kill other people?

It's not like she was actually fucking good at it. Enough prison psych to
know that leaving her prints around was called a Cry For Help.

Or maybe just Stupidity.

Not like there was gonna be anyone to catch her if the Mayor, the
Boss had succeeded. And why be a giant snake demon if all it means is
that you can die, anyway?

Leave.

She misses him. He'd hugged, never groped. Never yelled or slapped or any
of that other dysfunctional bullshit. Just the whole evil-eat-the-town
thing, really, and maybe the human skull he kept where a liquor cabinet
would be. Drinking never solves anything, Faith. Killing, however...

But the Mayor would've killed people who were also not gropers, yellers,
or slappers. Like Buffy's mom, and Xander. Little twinge, there.
Xandertwinge. Because, OK, killing is one thing, but the Boston
Strangler routine is bad.

Knowing she's doing it again. Teasing out the killing from every fucking
other thing, like it was separate, can't judge separate. But she *can*, she
can judge, and it isn't right, and it isn't her fucking *birthright*, and
she's gonna kick Alex's ass, and all of his goons, and not kill any of them,
and march herself back to Angel.

Jail.

Maybe one visit to Angel. Let him look at her with all that forgiveness.
Because he'd believe her, because *he'd* know there wasn't any fucking
body she knew that would bust into a prison to let her *out*. She wants
another chance to cry on him. Another chance to hear all about change,
and how it's possible.

Maybe commiserate with him about all those pesky people always trying
to make them evil again. The thought makes her laugh a little, which is
probably another Danger Sign. Don't be happy in the bad guys' lair.
Something.

Faith shakes off as much of it as possible and sleeps.

*

He's been watching her, of course.

The food settled her nicely, and she's making no petty rebellious moves.
No sleeping on the floor, no broken dishes. Alex watches her curl up on
the brand new bed he'd purchased for just this reason.

She falls asleep instantly.

Food, sleep, and sex tends to keep teenagers in line. He would have to
find her someone to play with, sooner or later. There was little sign of
attraction in the girl's eyes for *him*. Which is something to regret, a
little. No longer a young man, or even reasonably close to one.

Limits the range of chores he can do for himself, which is stressful, but
it also increases his authority. The more underlings, the more security...
unless, of course, the underlings were anything like himself.... It's
cheering to know the odds against any of them surviving as long as he has
are very, very high.

Flips to monitoring the rest of the warehouse, zooms in on the card
game being played by most of his immediate staff. Two excessively Aryan
looking blonds who Faith would probably rather beat up than fuck. One
with dark curly hair and green eyes who's just as gay as gay can be.
Still, sooner or later they all learn to get it up on command. One large
and black and tattooed... very promising. The others just weren't
remotely attractive, though he'd parade them past the girl anyway, just
in case.

Alex smiles. And to plant doubt in the girl's mind as to whether or not
he's trying to get her to pick her own whore.

He'd have to find a few women, too, which might entail a bit of pirating
from his local competitors. The Consortium had been extremely
short-sighted in the whole equal opportunity game, leaving Alex to do his
own recruiting much sooner than he'd hoped he'd have to... with all the
power split into dozens of little strongholds, Alex's pool of possibles
is small and most probably corrupted beyond repair.

It doesn't matter. Alex will work what he has until he kills them, one
way or another, and so will his competitors. Whole huge, stupid world
worrying about Russian nukes spread in a score of unstable states... they
really have no idea.

The thought used to be a cheering one, a moment to put himself superior.
These days it just makes something he suspects could be defined as
loneliness twitch a little, on the inside.

And, of course, the fear.

The aliens had rejected everything, for reasons he was still trying to
understand. A hunch had kept him away from the burn site. An errand he,
technically, hadn't been supposed to run had left him with the only
bargaining chip that counted. They would want the hybrid fetus, and
that would maybe buy him just enough time to... regroup?

Something. The truth is, he just isn't sure about much of anything
anymore, and Mulder, *fucking* Mulder is in the same fucking boat.

Maybe he should've kept Marita around, even if only for long enough
that Mulder would get his fucking wake-up call. It pisses him off that
the Consortium could never settle on *one* How To Deal With Mulder
plan. Once upon a time he could've been a good tool. At this point, at
*best*, Alex can make a symbol out of him.

If he would just stop fucking *sleepwalking* through his life. Too many
befucked variables and all Alex had, really, when you got right down to
where the shit met the *fucking* shinola, was will.

Good, old-fashioned will. Made this country, some goddamn country great.
Yeah. He punches the intercom a little harder than necessary, forces
himself to take a long, slow breath before actually speaking. There's a
lot more chatter from the table than Alex would like. They'd been
together too fucking long, and probably had more loyalty to themselves
than to the man who handed out the cash.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Will.

"Mark." Aryan number one shoots to attention. Always, always use their
first names. Hit where they live. Always.

"Yes, sir?"

"Wake the girl up. Tell her..." Alex grins. "Tell her I need her."

*

Three seconds after her head hits the pillow and the world's scariest
Ken doll is shaking her awake. She punches out by reflex, catches a
glancing blow off Ken's chin that makes her knuckles scream.

The Ken doll just stands there and waits for her to stop struggling.
They'd probably shot her up again while she was sleeping. How long? No
clock, no natural light. Man, it was like a whole education in
programming.

The thought that she could've done this to, for Buffy is too fleeting to
catch and kill, but lingers. Which sets her to struggling again.

And she's just so fucking *tired* -- She stops and glares. Ken is
smirking.

"I bet you don't even have the lump."

The smirk turns into quizzical look that's a little easier to take, until
he shakes it off to the mask again.

"C'mon, the boss needs you."

And then she's being dragged outside of the room and she gets a hint of
*big* before the sunlight hits her from all sides. Faith can't quite hold
back a flinch, but it gets lost in how the Ken doll is jerking her along.

Maybe if she fakes weakness for long enough they'll skip a dose along
the way and she'll... she'll give everyone a solid smack to the head and
maybe Ken gets lumpified a little and she'll get out into wherever the
hell this is and. And too many fucking ands.

One thing at a time, whatever it is. Days, chores, whatever. Just one.
And that one is getting a little more information out of Leatherboss.

Alex.

Thinking, she won't call him anything at all until she comes up with
a decent nickname. She can sense people, other people out there
somewhere. She's not sure how many. Find that out, too and she's
there.

And he's sitting in one of those hideous green roll-y chairs from the
70s, tilted back, watching her. Tapping the fingers of his hand on a
stack of photographs.

"Let her go."

Faith catches herself on the edge of the table before she can fall,
walks over and snags another one of the flashback chairs. It sets her
teeth on edge to sit with her back to Mark-the-Ken-doll, but it's all
about image, right?

Alex is dressed exactly as he was before, only his t-shirt seems
different. Or maybe it's the same. No way to tell unless she gives him
a good sniff-over. Heh. Where's Oz when you need him?

And, "so what do you need, leatherboy?" OK, so she hadn't been able to
resist that.

"Do you miss your own leathers?"

"Nothing like some dead cow skin against your own."

"What I don't understand, Faith -- and I've got all this information
here -- is how the fuck do you *fight* in leather pants?"

She spins her chair a little. "You know you're not going to get me to
trust you just by making me talk. I can talk all fucking day."

"Don't worry, Faith, I don't really give a fuck whether you trust me or
not, save as a way to measure your intelligence for myself. Sometimes I
just like chatting."

"You can get a prettier whore for that *without* busting into a maximum
security prison."

"True, but I have to admit I enjoy releasing feral women into the wild.
Makes the world more interesting."

"This isn't the wild."

"You aren't feral."

"Take me off the drugs."

"Someday."

Faith starts tapping her foot and quashes the motion viciously. Settles
back in her chair and kicks it off rolling. Spins it a few times, then
kicks it back over to Alex and pats him down for cigarettes. Unopened
pack in his left inner pocket, which makes sense because it isn't like
he's reaching toward his right much and she takes a deep breath and...
inconclusive.

He smells like leather, and a hint of sweat, and that acrid man scent.
Too much fucking testosterone in the room by half.

"You're *sniffing* me? All right, I take it back, you're feral." And Alex
is chuckling when he pushes her back, Reds in hand.

Faith lets herself roll until she hits the back wall of the little office
gently. Opens the pack. "Got a light?" Catches the tossed matches and
lights up and inhales and fuck, yeah.

Sweet, sweet nicotine. You didn't stay a social smoker for long in the
fucking pen.

"So why do you have cigarettes if you don't smoke?" And yeah, she can
smell *that* much, at least.

"There's nothing like a pat-down from a pretty girl to start my day right."

"Pervert."

"So I've been told. Faith, aliens are real."

"Big eyed things that look like albino slug creatures?"

"Among other things, yes."

"Am I supposed to be surprised?"

Alex took the pictures and rolled over to Faith, handed them off.
"Considering your background? No."

Faith seats her cigarette comfortably and starts flipping through the
photos. Burnt bodies. Ew. Stitched up face guy a la Alice in Chains video.
Also ew. A couple of alien ships, one smeared with black oil. More stitched
up face guys. Tubes of green alien goo. Something that might be an albino
slug creature. Tosses them to the floor. "Any special effects crew could
fake these up. Hell, anyone with a decent computer."

Alex shrugs, stands, and offers his hand. "Let's go see an alien."

"Do I have a choice?"

"You could go back into the dark room for a while."

Faith can't stop her eyes from narrowing. "I could use some more
sleep."

"The boys won't let you sleep."

"Is that a threat?"

"Would you expect any less?" Alex grabbed Faith's hand. "C'mon, I bet
you've never palpated an extraterrestrial before."

"Funny how it was just never an ambition of mine."

"Ambition gets people dead. Focus on surviving, Faith."

And the mockery just sort of disappears from that last sentence, enough
at least to shock her into responding to the tug on her hand by standing.
"Life lesson?"

"Consider it a gift, my friend."

"Or, you know, mortal enemy."

"So soon? I haven't even started killing off your friends and family
members yet."

"Could you start with my Mom?"

"If you're a good girl and eat all your vegetables."

"And kill all your enemies."

Alex grinned at her over your shoulder. "Please don't. I happen to care
deeply about quite a few of my enemies."

"That's sick."

"Yes, it is."

The sun is less brutal this time around, and she gets a good look at the
flunkies playing poker. Lots of dumb-sounding laughter, but they all
move like predators. Shadows moving along the catwalk have to be
sentries or lookouts or whatever the fuck Alex calls them. They'd be
armed.

Faith files that away for later, just in case she has to make them kill
her... swallowing back the fear at that thought, another fucking gift
from her attempts at redemption.

Living with a death wish had been a lot fucking easier.

*

She holds his hand, swinging their arms together a little, the entire walk
into the storage area. Carefully careless body language, probably figuring
there could be something she could use where they were going. Alex takes
a moment to study the contact anyway -- her hand is a series of contrasts.
Small but strong, soft there, callused there.

Bitten nails and a sure grip.

Maybe she just wants to see him work with only the plastic hand. It makes
him smile again. There were benefits to feeding the rebel aliens. Or at
least, there *had* been. Far fewer technological goodies now that the
creatures the rebels were rebelling against had given humanity a very
public rude gesture.

The rebels know they're needed, now.

Artificial impulses to the nerves still functional in his stump -- they'd
had to cut away more of the arm, of course, but it was still worth it. He
can rotate his wrist, grip things fairly well, even fire a second gun... if he
has the time to pull it. There are limits. But pressing his thumb just under
his middle finger occasionally does wonderfully useful things.

Like decode locking mechanisms on all sorts of electronic watchguard
devices. He's the only one capable of getting in or out of this room without
help, and that's how it will be kept.

Inside, the chill hits immediately.

"Suit up, Faith."

She finally releases his hand, looks him over. "Aren't you joining me in
there?"

"Not unless you do something stupid and I have to save your life."

"It's alive?"

"And reasonably dangerous. It's bound, but if it gets cut it releases a
particularly deadly neurotoxin. Kills normal humans, might just paralyze
you for life."

"Oh, fucking *joy*."

But she suits up anyway, less bravado present than simple curiosity. She's
going to look for the fake-job, and is maybe also young enough to hope
there isn't one.

Naive enough to want to believe.

He brushes the small touch-pad again, this time with a slightly different
pressure, and the inner chamber opens up just long enough for Faith to
slip inside. Once there, he locks her in. Used a third pressure to call the
observation screen down. And there Faith is, his own little awkward alien
in the special L-6 containment suit that his predecessors had ordered
built after the first disaster with the black oil.

The first *public* disaster.

She has a limited amount of air, but they aren't designed for lengthy
operations. Rotating the ring finger moves the camera as Faith moves,
as she pulls back the sheet and immediately starts prodding. Moving
the camera again is mostly useless. The glare from the plastic face-plate
restricts what Alex can see of her expression.

Minuscule jump -- she's seen its one unstitched eye and knowing exactly
*what* she's seeing is enough to make Alex slightly nauseous, even after
all this time. It had been hard not to torch this one on sight, but in the
end it's better being able to make one tiny part of the hive-like oil mind
suffer.

They hate cold. They hate captivity. They hate separation from the
whole or their ships. All of which Alex relishes in providing. It's a risk,
allowing the thing to see his new weapon -- there's no way to know if it
can get messages back to the whole -- but one he has to take.

Alex might be able to get Faith on board without her belief, but if she
got surprised out there, she'd die.

Faith's hesitation ended with what looked like a most ungentle prod to
the offending eye. Shifted camera angle and she's... rolling it back and
forth within the socket.

"Try not to break it, Faith."

She jumps again, slightly, looking for the speaker. Skittish. Good, a sign
of belief.

Pulls back the tarp further still, revealing more of its body. Splotched
with cold -- he'd like to know how they'd managed to get the lizard
hybrids free of that particular weakness -- nude, and... subtly wrong. No
nipples, no navel. Too many ribs, easily counted.

"I want to see inside."

"I'm not going to risk you, Faith." Yet. "Keep looking."

Holding the hands to the light, no lines on the palms. No
fingerprints.

Best of all, it mewled when Faith bent three of the fingers back. Alex
hasn't been able to get it to make a sound in months.

"What the fuck *is* this, Alex?" She sounded shaken.

"He's one of the Twos, named because he's part of the second race we
discovered. Host body to a One." He took a breath. "The Black Oil."

"That shit in his eye?"

"Yes. Think of it as possession."

"Right, OK. Shit."

"Agreed."

"How many species are there?"

"Three that we know of, including the Greys -- your slug creatures. And
then there are the hybrids."

"Lemme guess, you have a hybrid for me to see."

"Not a particularly interesting one, I fear. The reptilian ones are... hard
to come by, and harder to keep. The humanoid ones are fragile. I have an
infant humanoid, kept in suspended animation."

"An infant."

It's a risk, telling her about the thing. Women and babies were
strange, but after seeing the adult...

"What does it grow into?"

"A perfectly human-seeming creature. Very resilient, smart, and
trainable. Human labradors."

"But fragile."

"Genetic breakdown over time in 93% of the subjects. The process has
not been perfected." And Alex intends to keep it that way. The longer
the Ones have to live without their slave race, the longer humanity got
to live. Hopefully.

She hefts the trunk-like penis of the Two, gives it a weirdly thoughtful
squeeze. "Is there a bone in here?"

"Cartilage."

"That's pretty fucking ew."

Faith throws the tarp back over the creature and stands in front of
the door, waiting for Alex to let her back out, and out again into the
warehouse itself.

Walks in silence back to Alex's rudimentary office, which is fine with
Alex... time to wonder how much of what Mulder had become could be
traced to some questionable bloodwork... it could be time to see if
he'd finally started to degrade.

The process had been slow enough with his sister.

"If the infant won't grow into anything bad, why not let it, well,
grow?" Mildly subdued.

"Because they're easily used." By people who know how to be fucking
*consistent*.

"By the Ones."

"And the Twos, and the Greys and probably by whatever's out there
that I don't know about."

"Aren't you creepy shadow government types supposed to be better
informed?"

"No, that's what keeps us shadowy."

Alex let himself smile when Faith snorted.

"So what keeps you creepy?"

"Probing naked aliens."

"Ewwww. Fuck. Remind me to never let you touch me again."

Alex chances a look. She's grinning, half-skipping. Energy levels spiking
as the dose of the poison wears off. "No."

Earns him an appraising look. "So what else can you do with that arm,
big boy?"

"Keep you locked up tight no matter what we decide to do with our
free time."

Slightly soured smile, tilted head. The girl has lovely hair. "We got
free time?"

Remembering not to shrug, it looks wrong and "no, not really, but I've set
aside some time for convincing you why you need to work for me. We're
well within schedule."

"What, 'the flirting will start at precisely 3:17?'"

"I just said 'between 3 and 4.' I'm a flexible guy."

"Ew. Lame come on."

Alex smirked. "About all I can manage these days."

Faith let out a sound somewhere between snort and cackle. "That's
fucking *terrible*. So what happened to your arm anyway?"

"Will you help me against the aliens?"

"God, fucking sci-fi movie life."

"Tends to be fewer bodies than in a horror movie life."

*

Faith ran a hand through her hair. A hand. One of two. Unlike Mr. Robot
Arm. And OK, so they're standing on the catwalk and suddenly the gun
flunkies are nowhere in sight. No reason to *thrust* them on her, right
Boss? A smart girl only needs to see the stick once, and deserves plenty
of carrots. Root beer floats, something. Just the two of them, and it
takes fucking brass for Them -- look, doing it, too, now! -- to use a crip
to seduce her.

Alex has that fallen angel prettiness that isn't at all like Angel, or
Buffy. Maybe Xander. Though Xander's more of a *pushed* angel, all
shocky and bruised.

Like... like no one.

Completely up front about wanting to use her. Offering her money and
power and a righteous fucking quest and wasn't that familiar. A whole
big jumble of her life, refitted, retrofitted for her. Packaged like new,
but you know, when it comes down to it, she wants her fucking father
figure back.

Alex wants a killer who follows orders, not an obedient daughter.

There's a great chance she'll be fucking Alex soon, because. Because she
wants him. Wants to see the stump and see what he can do with what he
has left. Fucking *show* him. Only she feels really goddamn young, and
stupid because what is she forgetting?

There's gotta be something. Nothing's this easy. Not like this, side by
side and he matches his stride to hers. Easy, moving. Predator walk don't
FUCK with me walk and it wasn't getting her shit. Nothing but the
mockery at her side and an offer.

"So what is this? Shadow redemption?"

"Redemption is bullshit, Faith. Stop thinking about it. We all do what we
have to do."

"So why are you on this save-the-world kick?"

"Because I have to live here. Unless you want to call up your sorcerer
friends and find us all a nice, alien-free dimension?"

"I don't have any sorcerer friends."

"Want one?"

"Why, you holding one in suspended animation?"

"I have an associate who really, really wants to meet you... but that can
wait."

"Witch-tease."

Another step, two and fuck it. Just... fuck it. Grabs Alex and yanks him
close and licks his mouth for permission and then just dives in. Hops up
and wraps her legs around him where it counts and fucks his mouth with
her tongue and holds on.

Guns cock behind her. Won't mean shit if she just flips them both off
the catwalk... but then there's a fake hand on her ass and a real one
buried in her hair and that's fucking bass-ackwards but whatever. Hard,
hard plastic, tickle brush and sudden too-hard grip and Alex kissing her
back.

Sucking her tongue and turning them and slamming her against a wall
and biting her lip and thrusting against her.

Right in front of God and gunmen and fuck, yeah, she can play this way.
Seal-dark hair and too slick to grab, little pelt, fucking little boy animal
and stubble on his cheeks and clawing at his leather and humping back,
off-rhythm, fuck rhythm, all this, all good and she's gonna come in her
fucking pants.

Laughing now, gasping out of the kiss and Alex growls and Faith wraps
one arm around his neck, tugs him closer noses bumping clash of teeth,
makes her fucking *skull* vibrate and he gets his tongue in first and oh.
Oh.

Thick and solid and wet and hot and fucking her and something changes with
the fake hand, some kind of rotation something between her legs and Faith
yells into his mouth and humps faster and that hand is fucking *chilled*
between her legs. Weird and hard and wrong and he's yanking her hair,
tangled in it and she shakes him out and he shoves his thumb in her mouth
and salt.

Salt and callus and fucking gun oil, somewhere, in her own fucking head.
Biting him makes him rub harder with the fake hand and she bites and
sucks and licks and spits him out and licks his nose and laughs harder.

And when he laughs back it's like a fucking *wave* and she has to throw
her head back because that *ache*. Genuine laugh, it's genuine, can't
fucking *tell* her and she pushes him off and jumps down and they both
know the drugs have worn off.

She can't help but watch as Alex adjusts himself in his jeans, can't help
but reach out and help out a bit and he's holding eye contact and fucking
her palm at the same time. Nothing moving but his hips.

"Where's your bed, sugar?"

Swollen mouth smile and he grabs her hand and it's funny all of a sudden.
Hand in hand we go to fuck like animals and thank god it's not far because
her prison issues are fucking *damp* and there's no light in here either
except for what comes through the ill-fitting door and the bed is hard
as a rock. Lumbar health always a fucking concern when she's doing
somebody and they strip silently. Alex's t-shirt snaps down the side and
he just rips it off and mmm. Just. Mmm.

Pale and muscled but not too cut. Soft skin and scars and copper coin
nipples that she scrapes immediately with her nails, before he can get out
of the jeans, before she remembers her own shirt's in the way and
slamming back together again, sudden electric brush of nipple to nipple,
skin to skin to skin and she's up on him again, damn forgot to check out
his cock but it feels just fucking *right*.

Sliding up wet where it counts and he gasps into her mouth and she bucks
hard, bad angle just sweet enough to make him do it again and now she's
just teasing herself. Working his shaft against her clit again and again
and wanting to come *now* but that's the game, too.

Can he do it with just the way he moves?

He doesn't even try to wrestle her off, just lets them fall to the bed
and yeah, yeah, even better and he's got one of her nipples between his
lips, licking fast tease and then fast little bites that arch her off the
bed in jerky moaning need and he's fucking against her clit, thrusting
harsh and steady and his cock's drooling and he's reaching for a condom.
Good yes, get it on jerk it hard, quick look at long and thick and drooling
for her and she wants bareback but she'll fucking cope and *in*.

Sliding in, thick like cream, open wide so good and she can feel herself
pumping out her own pre-come, fucking geyser and she counterthrusts and
moves and rolls them over but he feels so good fucking up into her that
she flips them again and fuck *fuck* --

Tight little circles get her hands on that ass, round bubble of an ass
and Faith wants to fuck him right back but for now... oh now is good and
he's bracing himself and it's slightly off but good enough and she can
see the scars, every last one of them. Arches up to lick where flesh
meets plastic --

Laughing: "Sick bitch."

And falls back to the pillow and shifts and suddenly it's *just* right.
Hitting all the right spots and moving too fast for her to cry out on
time and slamming *that* spot. Rings her like a fucking bell and she can
feel it and she knows she's making a lot of noise and yells even louder
when he starts working in tight impossible circles that just drive her
wild and harsh grunts under his breath and a slightly broken sound and
he just keeps driving and Faith lets herself go.

Screw him, just riding it now, letting it take her where she needed to go,
solid waves of it, over and over and over until her own cries sound foreign
and she has to bite them back to keep from losing it too fast.

And then just giving up and yelling her orgasm and Alex fucks her right
through it, shifting angle and it makes her tremble and it doesn't stop and
she's squeezing him now, working him hard and fast and the noises keep
coming and she can *see* him fighting it and works him harder. Alex
comes with a groan and collapses for about four seconds before shoving
Faith higher up on the bed and diving in.

Fingers and tongue and her second orgasm comes and goes before she can
do more than squeak and the third leaves her drowsy and limp and then
he's fucking her again. Slow this time, maddening.

Breaking out in a fresh sheen of sweat and just writhing, side by side,
Faith's leg thrown over high and flexing and closing her eyes means
surrender but not closing them just buries her deep into Alex's own.
Deeper green, deceptively open and she knows he's loving this as much
as she is but she doesn't know any more than that but she wants to
think she does and the scent of herself and sex is louder than the
noises she makes and in the end she faces it with her eyes open.

Comes shuddering, and calling his name.

*

In a lot of ways, he hates it when the sex comes too easy. Better to be
the seducer than the seduced, even if the seduction is necessary.
Especially so. Actually enjoying assignments like this wasn't the perq it
used to be. Now, it was just one more thing to think about, and then
carefully erase from thought.

Faith -- the girl -- is intensely likeable. Intelligent enough, capable
enough. A sense of humor and a great fuck. Much too young. And that
thought should be a laugh, considering his own history, but somehow it
isn't.

It all boils down to mortality, and his own increasingly fierce awareness
of it. We care for our elderly because we want to be cared for when
we're helpless. We care for everyone else... just in case. It's pathetic
that it pleases him that he'll probably never send Faith to kill someone
who doesn't need killing for one reason or another. Even worse that he
can't really work up a decent amount of self-disgust.

Of course, if he does his job correctly she'll never be able to go back
to her life anyway, but still.

It's the thought that counts.

Alex rolls out of bed, dresses leisurely, and steps out to send the guard
at the door for lunch. Breakfast. Something.

Steps back out of sight to rub his eyes. He would let her sleep for
several hours, and rest himself. Not in the same bed.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to start setting things in motion.

*
End.
*