Late but not forgotten!

Title: "Cavalry"
Fandom: Angel/BtVS
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Setting: Post-NFA/Post-"Chosen"
Written for estepheia's friendship ficathon, which I am horribly dreadfully late for, and I can only plead real-life difficulties. Anyways, my request came from soundingsea. Her initial request was for Justine and Dawn, which I blanked on (I just couldn't wrap my head around it -- the redhead who helped Holtz take Connor, and Buffy's sister? I couldn't come up with a connection), but her alternate was for Gwen and Faith. Required elements were spicy food, lipstick, a cat (domestic or a big cat, writer's choice), and Vegas (mention or actual setting).

This might be the first in a series, possibly... the end is kind of left open. We'll see, based on reactions to this.

Hope you like it, soundingsea! (And I also hope that I came somewhere near the intended flavor of the ficathon... :) ) Without further ado...


May 20, 2004.

“While you’re in Las Vegas, Faith, if you wouldn’t mind taking care of a small errand on behalf of the Council…?”

Fuckin’ Rupert. He knows I’m here already, so I got no excuse other than “I’m still on vacation”, do I?

That was why Faith was sitting at a booth in a lounge near the Tropicana, on the last night of her three weeks’ vacation away from the Cleveland base of operations. Tomorrow she’d start driving back to Ohio, but tonight, a night she should’ve been spending enjoying herself, she was waiting to meet someone who had “acquired” some artifact for Giles. Whatever it was, it was something that Giles didn’t want to risk through the mail. Which was why she’d been sitting here for the better part of an hour – sipping at a beer that had rapidly lost its appeal, staring at the sports recap on the TV above the bar, and brushing off the attentions of drunks and gambling fuckwits who figured a hot chick had nothing better to do than suffer through the worst come-on lines and attempted pick-ups this side of the Rockies. Tempting though it had been, she hadn’t broken anyone’s fingers. Yet.

At least the spicy buffalo wings at this place ain’t half bad.

She checked her watch. About ten ‘til midnight – the 11-o’clock news had to be nearly over. The sports summary segued into a commercial for one of the magic shows the strip had, some guy named Jeff Hobson, and Faith briefly eyed the spiel before going back to scanning the lounge for her contact. The shows just didn’t seem to have the same élan since Roy Horn had been mauled by his white tiger last October, at least in Faith’s eyes. Sure, Vegas was still a showy and supernatural hotbed, from what she’d seen in the past few days – with so much money and influence changing hands both over and under the table, how could it be otherwise? But between what she’d seen on the first trip from what was left of Sunnydale out to Cleveland and what she saw now, it seemed like much of the color and liveliness had just… evaporated, somehow.

Across the room, by the entrance to the casino, a young-ish woman in a dark jacket and jeans paused momentarily, assessing the room, then cut through the tables towards Faith. The Slayer watched the other’s progress, semi-consciously shifting to a ready posture.

Twenty-something. Pretty. Light brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail – utilitarian. She wore straightforward, rubber-soled shoes and had a moderately-sized satchel slung over one shoulder. Strangely, she also wore what looked like thin dark gloves, even though the heat wave Vegas had been having the last few days made that seem damn stupid. Regardless, there was an awareness in the woman’s stride that made Faith think of the prison yard, a perpetual alertness to what was nearby. All of it suggested someone professional, without overtly drawing attention. Although...

That has got to be some of the brightest red lipstick I’ve ever seen. What the hell is that shade, Harlot?

All that went through Faith’s head in the relatively few seconds it took the other woman to cross the lounge’s floor and approach her table. The woman paused, measured Faith with a glance of her own, and said, “You’re Faith, right?”

Faith nodded. “Giles sent me.”

The other woman promptly sat down, placing the satchel next to her in the booth, away from the lounge’s foot traffic. She notably didn't offer a hand to shake. “I’m Gwen.”

“So how’re we going to do this? You just... hand it off, or what?”

“Pretty much. I stand up and leave, you take the bag and the book inside. I’ve got the payment account numbers from Giles already, so it isn’t my problem anymore. It’s yours.”

Faith grinned. “Didn’t look like you had all that much trouble getting it in here.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, one corner of her mouth pulling up in a half-smile. “You might be surprised.”

“All right, then –”

Without warning, Gwen went rigid on the booth’s bench and drew in a sharp breath. One hand spasmed open, splayed flat on the tabletop, while the other fisted around the satchel’s handle, and her eyes seemed to crackle blue in the dimness of the lounge. Her head spun sideways, and she stared fixedly at the television above the bar. “Oh, shit.”

Faith flashed a quick look around the lounge, immediately scanning for enemies. Same old tired bunch, so what the hell...? With a glance back at Gwen, she followed the other’s gaze up to the TV. The monotonous newscast seemed to have been interrupted by a breaking news report, where some helicopter footage through a filter of rain showed an alleyway teeming with figures. The caption below the picture read Riot in Los Angeles – Live.

Except... no way in hell were those your average gangbangers. And there wasn’t a fucking chance that was some everyday riot. Faith could clearly make out, even through the rain’s blur, the silhouettes of half a dozen different demon-types she recognized among the hundreds of figures, and they all seemed to be converging on... oh my God. Is that …

“Gunn?” The harsh whisper came from across the table.

Faith’s head whipped around towards Gwen, who was staring fixedly at the newscast. “You know Gunn? And Angel?”

The other didn’t even glance at her. “Yeah, we did some things together back when I was in Los Angeles, around the time the sun went out. Gunn helped me out of a bad situation.”

Faith nodded. “Yeah, me too… except for me it was Angel.” She turned to look back at the TV. There was the hint of motion at the edge of the camera’s field of view, a wash of what looked like flame, and the camera-feed went to static. Distantly, she heard the hiss of the cut-off signal and the newscaster saying something about trying to get the feed back, but she knew it wouldn’t be back any time soon – if at all. Without another thought, she found herself on her feet, and looked sideways to see that Gwen was also standing.

“I have to go.” Both of them said it simultaneously.

Faith looked at her squarely. “Los Angeles?”

The other nodded. “I owe Gunn a lot – more than I can say.”

“You think you’re actually going to be of much help against that?”

Gwen smiled bitterly, then held out a hand palm-up with thumb and forefinger held an inch apart. Between the digits was a glimmering, softly crackling thread of electricity. “I might be. After all, I’m a freak.”

Faith nodded. “Welcome to the club. You got a decent car?”

“Of course.” Gwen moved swiftly away from the table, heading for the lounge exit with alacrity, and Faith snatched up the satchel and paralleled her. “At the very least we can try to help them get out of that mess. Three hundred miles or so from Vegas to L.A. Three hours, tops, the way I drive. Think they can hold out that long against those odds?”

“Let’s hope so,” Faith replied tersely.