see Chapter 1 for disclaimer
Sources: The Catholic Living Bible, Leo A. Pursely, Imprimatur, 1976
The train roared to a stop in the freightyards of Sunnydale Station, and a lithe figure in denim crawled out. She dusted off her hands on her jeans, kicked the heels of her boots on one another, and took a deep breath in.
“Ahhh....” she smiled. “Smell that evil!”
It was a good thing to be free, Faith decided as she wandered slowly out of the cargo area. The sun was coming up, and she reflected that it was the first time she’d seen a sunrise without bars in front of it for five years. That didn’t explain why she was here. After so long, she thought, why would she feel so compelled to return here, the place of her downfall?
She sighed. The pull of the Hellmouth was unmistakable. Something big was coming, and she knew she was to be part of it.
Her years in prison had taught her to face things head-on. She put foot in front of foot, and headed for the old high school.
Caradoc had adapted to the modern world of aeroplanes, telephones, business suits and tube socks with quite a bit more ease than even he had imagined. Certainly, his companions over the centuries had brought him all sorts of literature -- he’d devoured the works of DaVinci, Tennyson, Newton, Wells, and Freud, read the new disposable books called “magazines” and even used an object called a blender.
What an interesting and conflicted time, he thought. He had never imagined that people would eventually actually build the flying machine based on Newton’s principles and DaVinci’s drawings, but he had actually been inside one, and lifted off the ground until the Earth itself seemed to shrink.
Caradoc looked down at himself, in the serviceable, yet rugged clothing provided to him by his progeny. These “blue jeans” -- horribly named but so comfortable and durable. His long white hair was braided, and the sleeves of the blue shirt were buttoned down and cuffed, covering the ancient woad tattoos spiraling up his arms. His face was slightly creased with age, and his deep blue eyes twinkled as he contemplated the modern world over the fire he’d built in the middle of the room.
All of the modern inventions ever made would never have prepared him for the sight he was about to behold. A Slayer... a kind of blessed being he had not encountered in fifteen hundred years.
She was magnificent, a brown-haired, slightly muscled young woman wandering into the burned-out remains of the school, picking through rubbish piles, pulling out burned book and sniffing. She pulled the cage on his left -- which had melted shut in whatever disaster had befallen this place -- pulled the door of the cage right off its hinges. He stood up and came out of the corner. “Miss Summers?”
Faith bristled. “Now I remember why I hated it here. Always Buffy.”
They appraised each other for a minute.
He said, “You are a Vampire Slayer, yes?”
“Yeah. But I’m not Buffy.” She said disdainfully, “I’m Faith. I’m the other Slayer.”
“Other? As in more than one?” Caradoc was scandalized. “In my day we only needed one.”
“Your day must have been a long time ago. There’s been two Slayers for years now.” She took off her jacket, and set it down on the floor. “Who are you?”
“I am no one of consequence.”
“You’re looking for Buffy?” Faith smiled. “Isn’t everyone. I’m here to see her myself.”
“You are a violent young woman, aren’t you?” Caradoc studied her conflicted aura, amazed that she was still alive.
“You looking for a fight?”
“Do you wish to fight me?” Caradoc smiled. “We shall see, then, how good your training has been.”
They rushed toward each other. Faith got in the first shot, catching him in the ribs with a jab. He blocked her next five rapid punches, then grabbed her right wrist and twisted. Faith went down to one knee, then put her left arm on the ground to support her body as she kicked up with both legs, sending him crashing down onto the fire pit.
Caradoc yelped and rolled away, but the weight of his body had already smothered the flames. Getting up off the ground, he wiped a trickle of blood off his cheek and smiled.
Faith shook out her wrist, cracked her neck, and adopted another fighting stance. This time, it was a style he had not yet seen -- she bounced on the balls of her feet, and held her hands up in front of her, in loose fists but with her small fingers out. Her feet shuffled back and forth, and she half-jogged, half-hopped in place as she waited for him to get up.
He stood, and held up a hand. Faith gave a gesture of assent, and he stripped off his blue shirt.
The Slayer’s eyes widened when she saw his solidly muscled chest. It was covered in a blue tattoo that started around one wrist, coiled around his arm, went across his shoulders, and down the other arm. The fire had raised welts on his skin, red in contrast to the woad, and giving him a creepy, otherworldly appearance. He smiled, and dropped his weight so it was balanced more evenly on his legs. His right hand raised, and he ran towards her.
Faith ducked out of the way of his first attack, bouncing clear on the balls of her feet. She threw a fast right-left, hitting him in the nose and jaw, and swung her fist for an uppercut. He caught her hand and pulled her towards him to elbow her in the throat.
She coughed blood, but he wasn’t finished. He kept hold of her hand, dragging her up to catch her by the throat and then slam her into the ground. He expected her not to get up, but she struggled to balance, crouching on the balls of her feet, smiling.
“Nice work, old man.” She wheezed. Suddenly, she dove forward and barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. She straddled him, punched him in the face twice, and then in the stomach before his legs came up and hooked under her shoulders. He heaved as hard as he could, and threw her off of him.
Neither had been in a decent fight in ages. They reached their feet at the same time, and went after each other again, this time with more fervor.
*****
Rupert Giles pulled his car up into the parking lot of the campus of the old high school. This had been his usual spot when it was still open. He smiled. That was years ago, and right now, across town, they were in the midst of building a new Sunnydale High School. They’d offered him the librarian’s job there, but he’d declined. Too many bad memories.
He strode up to the doors and pushed open the one that looked least likely to fall in on top of him. The sky shone through the holes in the ceiling and he paused a moment as he passed the old computer lab, as he had each time since Jenny’s death, and offered up a short prayer to her gods.
The moment ended quickly when he heard a crash come from the library. He ran there and threw open the doors, just in time to catch a very surprised Faith in his arms.
She was covered in sweat, and there were matching bruises ringing her left bicep and her throat. A gash had opened over her left eye, and blood flowed freely. She smiled up at him. “Giles. You’ve gotta meet my new friend.”
He looked over at her opponent as she passed out.
There stood Caradoc, in blue jeans, shirtless, barefoot. Blood spilling from his cheek had turned his white braid red, raised red welts all over his chest, and there were four even scratchmarks running across it and around his ribcage, which appeared to have a black-and-blue footprint on the side. His left eye was starting to swell, and he was shaking out his left wrist as he strode forward.
“She is quite the charming maid.” Caradoc said, smiling and extending his arms to Giles. “I am quite charmed.”
Giles didn’t know what to say, so he handed Faith’s limp body to his mentor. “Hello. Nice to see you again.”
“The apocalypse?” Faith said incredulously. She, Giles, and Caradoc were sitting around the round table in the rear of the Magic Box, and she was holding a plastic bag of ice to her shoulder. Caradoc was smiling at her admiringly, and it was beginning to make her a bit nervous. What was this guy’s deal? “You mean, the lion lies down with the lamb, seven seals, seven plagues, the whole nine yards?”
Giles looked at her strangely. “You’ve been reading.”
“Not much else to do lately.” She said dryly. “Let me make sure I’ve got this. Your buddy here, Caradoon--”
“Caradoc.” the monk said.
“Caradoc,” she continued, “Is actually a really old Watcher who was imprisoned in the compound for centuries, and only to be freed when the time of reckoning is at hand?”
Giles nodded. “Exactly.”
“But what about the seven plagues? Don’t we have to have them first, before the apocalypse can begin?”
Caradoc shook his head. “No. The plagues will come once the gates of Hell are opened.”
“So if the Hellmouth opens, the world ends. I get that. But why now?” Faith shook her head. “Maybe we should wait until Buffy gets here.”
The front door of the shop opened that very second. Buffy strode in, followed by Xander and Anya. Faith stood up, still holding the ice to her throat.
Buffy stopped dead in her tracks. “Faith.”
“Buffy.”