That House Over ThereAuthor:
Faith goes home. Crossover with Touching Evil.Disclaimer:
The BtVS people belong to Joss Whedon. The Touching Evil people are the property of USA Network. Any questions?Spoilers:
Slight ones for Touching Evil through Boston.Started:
She’d come here every day for a week, lurking in the shadows and watching the old man putter around the house. The old lady down the street had almost called the cops on her. Dorchester was jumpy, plagued by a serial killer who was striking too close to home.
She didn’t worry about the killer, though. He’d get what was coming to him. All killers did, she should know. That’s perhaps why she never went up to the neatly painted door. He had repainted it on Monday. What was she supposed to say? “Hi, Pops, I’m home.” Probably give the old bastard a heart attack.
He was a good father, all in all. Her mom’s death had forced him to raise a daughter on his own. It wasn’t his fault she was rebellious, it was the slayer genes.
She saw David one day, as she lurked. He was doing the same thing she was, watching Frank Creegan scrape pealing paint from a window pane. He would apply a new coat of white the next day. That was his schedule. Scrape, paint, dry. Scrape, paint, dry.
She didn’t know why David didn’t go up to him. It’s not like he was an escaped convict. No, she’d had Willow check him out after the collapse. David was a big shot detective, working for something called the OSC. He took care of the bad guys.
In a way, she followed in his footsteps, she guessed. The taking down the bad guys part. Which was ironic, if you thought about it. She only knew him from old photos. He’d moved out the minute he turned eighteen. She was five at the time. He never came back to visit.
Man, to hear Frank talk about him, though. His boy David was the apple of his eye, could do no wrong. He followed David’s FBI career, had clippings of any time he was mentioned stored away in scrap books. They were thin books at first, but they multiplied as she grew.
She had worshiped him as a kid. The almost mythical figure of her big brother. She had imagined that he would swoop in, driving what was surely a fly car, protecting her from the bitches at school who taunted her for being motherless. Yeah, her big brother would take care of them.
He never did, of course. He never came to Boston at all, much less to visit her. He sent cards, things to make a little girl laugh even after she wasn’t a little girl any more.
He’d gotten married, she had found out, courtesy of Willow. Created his own little family and forgot about the one he used to have. Two girls and a blonde wife. He’d probably even lost the Boston accent that was predominant in her own speech. But that was good. People had to move on.
She took one last drag off her cigarette and stamped it beneath her heel. It sat with the others that had accumulated over the week, as she watched the old man, screwing up her courage to take those last few steps. She could face hundreds of turok-han, and hell, she partied with vamps, but crossing that distance was something she just couldn’t do.
Yeah, people had to move on. Faith Creegan, AKA Faith Wilkins, silently turned from the suburbian scene before her and walked away. Maybe next year she’d get the balls to send the old man a card for his birthday.Ended: