Complement

XXV - Sympathy For The Devil
(Part A)

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He was sitting or rather slouching in the large, deep, plush, midnight black leather couch in his den. His head lay wearily back against it, his piercing eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling. Eyes that changed colors like the sea did with the tide and the weather. From the almost crystal clear blue of the Mediterranean Sea when his mood was light and cheerful, to the almost pitch-blue-black of the Atlantic Ocean as it tossed and howled with rage during a storm when he was angry. Now though they were the bluish-green of the Atlantic Ocean right before a coming storm, as the colors seemed to swirl and change with each motion of the sea. When his eyes were this color, it almost always signaled he was in deep thought. This time was no exception; he was contemplating the sorry state of the world and the human race.

Over the years, the hope he had held in his heart for the human race had slowly but surely faded. Where as once he had been innocent and optimistic, now he was jaded and cynical. It never seemed to amaze him the amount of harm, damage, humans could inflict on, do to each other. The amount of hate they could feel for each other, hate that they bred from genion ion to generation.

The more jaded and cynical he became the less and less he started to believe that humans could ever eradicate the hate. He had begun to believe of late that they would as a race, have to be on the verge of extinction before they learned how to live with tolerance and possibly love for each other. Live with all the erenerences between them from the color of their skin, to their sexual preferences, to different religions, to not believing in the same God or not believing in one at all, as well as all the other nonsense that they used to justify their hatred, their killing of each other.

He was tired of man blaming their evil on a Higher or Lower power as it were. It was time for them to take responsibility for their own actions. Their endless litany of doing it in the Name of God or The Devil made me do it was tiresome to him and just a copout, a way to justify actions that were not justifiable.

When would they learn to appreciate each other's individuality, differences, rather than hate each other for them? Would they ever? Was it even possible anymore? Or had the hate been perpetuated for so many years that they could never rise above and out from under it?

Persona he he was tired of being blamed for all of man's evil. Whether the human race realized it or not his job was to redeem the sinner, not create him.

With a heavy sihat hat came from the depths of his world-weary soul, and yes he did have one, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. A few minutes, or perhaps hours later he nearly fell off the couch when Atropos bellowing summoning of him to get to her domain startled him out of his deep, merciful dreamless sleep.
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He stared at her with curiosity, not fear, like every other Incarnate would have. But not him. Never him. She gave him the once over while he casually leaned against the loom that held the Tapestry of Life, arrogant as ever. Her eyes traveled over him, starting with the shock of thick blue-black hair, a piece of which lay gently against his forehead. Down to his thick eyebrows that accented his all-seeing eyes, she could tell by their color he had been once again fretting over the world. Down over the strong bridge of his nose, which was very roman like, to the full lips, the bottom, which always seemed to be in a perpetual pout. His chin was firm and square with a dimple dead center. He stood close to six-two, and was well muscled. His hands were almost delicate, the fingers, long, the nails always meticulously manicured. His chest was wide; his hips narrow, his legs long, the black leather pants he wore showed every muscle in his thighs. Right down to his lightly tapping, black motorcycle boot encased foot. Every time she saw him it always amazed her how wrong all the artists were when they depicted him over the centuries, nay, millenniums.

His eyes lazily inspected her while she inspected him. He saw the real her, not the mask that she put up for all the others, the mask that anyone, mortal or immortal could see through if they but looked. He saw and always had seen the eternal beauty that she was and always would be. His eyes caressed her long flowing black hair with the mahogany highlights. Over to her sculptured thin arched black eyebrows, to her long curly eyelashes that framed her crystal light jade green eyes. To her not quite narrow, not quite wide, aristocratic nose, to her wide, generous, full lips - that caused them to argue so often over who really had the perpetual pout. Up over her narrow high cheeks, down her jaw line, then over her thin, just the right length neck. She was just the right height for him at five-eight, with a lean long body of a twenty-two year old. High firm breasts, over a narrow waist, to her slightly flared hips, to her well toned long legs, right down to her perfect little feet. Like her, it amazed him that over the millenniums how wrong all the artist's depictions of not just her but of her sisters were.

Slowly he trailed his eyes back up to hers, his famous lopsided grin faded into a frown when he saw the pain and sorrow in them. Whatever anger she had been feeling when she had called him here was gone in the wake of whatever it was that weighed so heavily upon her heart. He waited for her to speak and saw a flash of anger again before she did.

"Do you know what you've done?"

"No. But I suppose you're going to tell me." He drawled, pretending that he didn't care, but he knew that she knew he did. It must be a male thing, he silently mused to himself, that or all these years of hearing rumors of who or what he was, was finally rubbing off on him.

"You've let one that belongs here in our dimension, within our sphere of control go."

"So. I've done this before, there was never a problem. Who is it? I'll just get them back." He was confused, it was within his scope of power to give away one in his care. So why were they, she, getting involved? He honestly didn't know who she was talking about.

"He is the one you gave to that god Glory," she sneered when she said the Demon Goddess's name. She couldn't though bring herself to utter the other scum of the earth's name.

"Him? He's just scum, there was no redeeming him." The man was a sadist, a pedophile, without remorse, without pity. He hadn't believe he had done anything wrong and after all the years of reading men's heart, Luc knew that the man never would. There was no redemption for him. "What's the problem? He went to another hell-world in a different dimension. A world that is filled with nothing but pain and torture. Too good for him if you ask me but... There are no children there, Glory wanted him as a new Pet. When she tires of him, she will kill him and send him to her hell, in her dimension. The hell there is infinitely worse then the one here. So... I don't understand, what in the world could you possibly want him back for?"

"She changed him when she brought him home."

He gave her a puzzled look. Glory was outside of the sight of the Tapestry of Life now. She had only been a part of it during her time here because she had shared the body of a human male and affected the course of other Life Threads within the Tapestry. Once she went back to her own dimension, she should have dropped from the Tapestry. Johnny should not be in it any longer since he was dead, or at least not in the present time line. So he was puzzled by how Atropos could know about Glory and Johnny... the only way...

'Oh Fuck...!'

Atropos saw the look of understanding come over his face. The only way that she and her sisters could know about this was if Glory and Johnny were somehow entwined or touching Life Threads that existed within the Tapestry of Life. Life Threads that were still alive and belonged within this dimension. "Glory dragged the Slayers back to her world. The only reason she took them was because you gave her that... that... lower than a chaos demon man!"

The full force of Atropos angry words hit him with the impact of a nuclear blast. It crashed through his brain exactly who Johnny was, or rather who he was to one of the Chosen Two. "But...... How? Fuck!"

She held out her hand to him, he needed to understand it all, because it was going to be up to him to set things to right, "Come I will show you."

Atropos led him over to the Tapestry of Life and he stared down, watching as the life of the Chosen Two unfolded, starting with their births.
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He stretched; it felt like he had been standing staring at the Tapestry for eons. In their reality it had been a little over four weeks, as well as Glory's, but only two weeks in mortal time. The eyes that he raised up to Atropos were filled with sadness, pain, and remorse. He had royally fucked up. His loathing of the kind of man that Johnny was had led him to make a hasty decision. He would have never released a human so quickly to someone outside the sphere of his power if it had been any other type of human. He should have known better. Especially since it was Glory, he had been dealing with.

"Tell me what you want me to do." He doubted now that Glory would give Johnny back to him, not after what he had seen. His stomach was churning, what he had seen sickened him, and he had seen a lot in his long life.

"You know I cannot tell you that."

He looked at Atropos incredulously; for once, he wished she would break the fucking rules! He knew she had done it once before and it had almost brought about the annihilation of all of the dimensions they held power over and dwelled in. She swore that she never would again, and she had not broken that vow. He was like all of the other Life Threads within the Tapestry, the choice whether to do something or not was solely within his hands. There was something though he knew that she could do however. "Let me look upon my own Life Thread."

Atropos smiled at him, and he returned her smile. They both knew when he looked upon it that he would see like Faith had, all the possibilities that could happen once he left this place. All of the choices would lie within the Tapestry, and in a sense, the consequences from each choice would too.

Once again, she led him over to the Tapestry of Life. Once again, it began to move to form pictures for him. He stood unblinking, unmoving for two full weeks as his choices and their consequences played out for him. He blinked coming out of his trance-like state, he had seen a path the road however, would not be easy. He wondered how he was going to get them to listen to him, get them to believe that he was there to help, without coming right out and saying it. He was bound just like the Fates were not to directly change anything. He could however unlike them, give a gentle push, drop a few hints, help steer someone around the curves so to speak. He could in essence influence them, but he could not come out and directly tell them the what, where, how and why of it.

She stood waiting patiently for him, she also had not moved in that time. She knew now, the reason none of them had foreseen this was because Glory had been hidden from them within the Portal. The portal was outside of time and space, outside of the sight of all dimensions. So her taking of Johnny back home with her had not been there. The only reason that the Fates knew what was happening to the Slayers now, was because unlike Glory, they belonged within the sphere of this dimension, so their Life Threads would continued to unfold within the Tapestry until Atropos was called to cut them.

She wished that they could have done this faster, but the Tapestry of Life showed the events in its own time. She knew that Faith had forgotten, or chosen to forget her time here, and them. Chosen to forget, because she had been upset, though upset was rather mild, Faith had been beyond angry at what the Tapestry had shown her were her choices. They needed her to remember them, remember here and he was the key to that. He had a freedom that the Fates did not.

Atropos shuddered to think what had happened to the Slayers over the last six weeks; she prayed that it wasn't too late. Her prayers were answered when he turned to her and gave her that cocky lopsided grin, that reminded her so much of Faith.

He smiled at her, wrapping himself back into the façade that those who did not know him well expected. The smile did not reach his eyes; they glittered with sadness, remorse, and anger for another 'god' who had used him knowingly to break the rules that eed bed between the different dimensions for ages.

He straightened out his black leather trench coat, smoothed down the equally black silk shirt, hitched up his pants, and pushed back the stray lock of hair that lay across his forehead. He nodded his head to her, signaling his departure, his understanding and his assurance that he would try his best to set things to right.

"Be careful Luc..." She warned him, knowing that he would be putting himself, the Slayers, the Scoobs and the L.A. crew in mortal and immortal danger alike. He would be going up against, though indirectly, a Demon-Goddess in her own dimension, where his powers were her equal, or maybe even surpassed his. If Glory even suspected his motives, he might never return here to his own dimension. A dimension where his job despite what the human race thought was about redemption, not about creating, tempting those that eventually needed it. Man whether he wanted to admit it or own up to it, created his own evil, had created the First Evil, not the other way around.

"I will." He flashed her a smile one more time, it was time for him to put his game face on.

Then Luc, as he was known as to his friends, was gone.
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They were huddled in the corner of the locked cage, getting whatever warmth they could in the cold room from each other. Faith was gently stroking Buffy's hair, who rested against her trembling and crying softly. Her tears mixed with Faith's and the blood that was both of theirs. They were covered in it, as if they had been bathing in it. It was still flowing freely from the reopened gash under Faith's bottom lip, where she had put her teeth through her flesh repeatedly over the last weeks in an effort to keep from screaming, pleading, begging. Buffy had almost the exact same gash under her bottom lip. They both knew even with their Slayer healing that it would scar. Another scar that forever marked her as his that Faith would carry with her for the rest of her life. Like the scars on her shoulders, arms, thighs, back, buttocks, calves. But none marked her and her soul the way the first one did, the bite marks on the inside of her right thigh.

He had just left after first beating Faith for hours and then Buffy, careful as always not to break any bones. Their day was far from over. Neither one of them knew how long they had been here; they had stopped measuring time in any real way. It was measured now in pain and by the nightmare routine that had become their life. They just knew that their days, their pain, started with him pulling one or the other, sometimes both of them out of the bath or off the couch. He called it his morning warm-up routine. There were times when they were already awake waiting for him. Waiting for the chance to catch him by surprise, bring him down, or get past him out of the front door.

Every morning that he came for them, they fought him tooth and nail. Fought until they could no longer rise or were knocked unconscious, refusing simply to give in. They would beg and plead for him to stop hurting the other but almost never for themselves. They took the pain until it overwhelmed them, and inevitably it did, and then sometimes, though not always, they would beg for it to stop. Every time though, he left to the sound of a Fuck you... falling from one or both of their lips, even if they had begged.

Each sought to protect the other, each sought to draw his attention to themselves and away from the other. Though, it was Faith who was more proficient at it. She had nine years of experience at diverting Johnny's wrath away from her mother and onto herself, no matter what the cost.

Buffy cursed that woman every day, the one that had the balls to call herself a mother, even worse, to call herself Faith's mother. Cursed her for what she had allowed to be done to her own daughter. Cursed her because she had allowed her daughter to protect her from his fists by using her own daughter's frail body. Cursed her because she had allowed him to abuse her daughter in every way possible so that he would continue to feed her the drugs; drugs that eventually killed her. Cursed her because she had given her daughter to strangers to get drugs when he kept them from her as a form of punishment. Cursed Faith's mother because she had done all this and more, using the knowledge that all her daughter wanted from her was for her to love her, used it to trick her, used it to leave her with the kind of scars the eyes can't see. Cursed her because she should have loved her daughter unconditionally, freely, simply because she was her daughter. Cursed her because she should have been protecting her daughter, not the other way around. In some ways, she blamed and hated the woman more than Johnny. Buffy prayed, hoped with all her heart that Faith's mother was rotting in hell, that there was a special place for that kind of mother in hell and that she would rot there for all eternity.

Their days ended or rather each play session ended with him leaving the room after he unlocked the cage, leaving the one in there who was usually the most recovered free to take care of the other. They would be left alone for a time then, like they had been the first day. They would take care of each other, help each other to clean up, then scrounge whatever food he had left for them. They would crawl onto the couch sometimes, but more often then not, they would take a bath. Sleeping in the water that they had begun to think was magical since it never grew cold. Letting the warmth of it seep into their battered bodies, cleansing them, soothing them in a way that was similar to the feelings that they found now only in each others arms. They sought shelter, comfort, reassurance, and love in each other's arms. Where Faith had once thought that the only place that had ever felt like home had been within the circle of Buffy's arms, now in the truest sense this had become a reality. For both Slayers, home literally for them was within the arms of the other.

Glory would show up for one of her friendly little girl-talk chats after every few play sessions, though her visits had become more and more frequent of late. She would tell them all about her days, while she got high off the fear and pain that now radiated almost nonstop from both of the Slayers, sometimes grabbing up one or the other to lick the fear and pain-tainted sweat from their faces or neck. It was the times that she showed up and didn't say a word that were the worst, the sole purpose of those visits had nothing to do with talking and everything to do with causing more pain and feeding her addiction to their terror and pain.

Glory terrified them more than Johnny. They had figured out quickly that Johnny wouldn't kill them, just make them wish they were dead. Glory though was a wild card, and like Johnny, she seemed to be fixated on Faith. Faith was petrified of the crazy god, every time Glory touched her she could feel the vileness of her get under her skin making her feel unclean in a way that even with everything that Johnny had done, was doing to her, couldn't. Glory was addicted to Faith's terror, but what neither Slayer knew was that Glory was even more addicted to the feelings of guilt, helplessness, and terror that radiated from Buffy when it was Faith that Glory would hold within her ironclad embrace. Faith waited in agony of the day that Glory took this game of hers with them past the point of just physical and mental abuse. She knew it was coming and she knew that it would be she that it was inflicted upon. The thought of it alone made her insides, every cell in her body clench, shudder and tremble with dread, with revulsion in a way that nothing, and no one ever had. Every time Glory touched her, it took all her will power to keep the contents of her stomach down until she left.

They had tried once and only once, to try to take Glory down. It had been more than enough to stop them from ever trying again. Johnny's evil mind and strength compared to Glory's was like the difference between the amount of light a lamp gave off and the light of the sun. What she had done to them had made Johnny's games seem like child's play. She had left them broken and bloody on the floor of the main room unconscious; it was two days before one of them woke. Another two days before one of them could rise from the ground to help the other. Even now, weeks later neither of them could bear even to think about it. Afraid if they did Glory would feel the fear coming from them again and would remember how drunk she had gotten from feeding off their anguish, their screams and would want to repeat it. Both knew though, it was just a matter of time before the sadistic bitch did it again anyway, just because she could.

When they were alone they never strayed from the other's side, some part of them was always touching. Touching to be sure the other was still with them; touching, to be sure they were still alive. Touching, to feel a hand, a caress, that was not there to cause more pain. They spoke of getting away from here, from him, from her. Spoke of their dreams, for themselves, for each other, of things they would do when they were free of here. They told each other things that they had never told anyone else before. All of their secret wishes, desires, fears, dreams, hopes, wants.

They became intimate with each other in a way that would normally take years of loving and being loved by someone. Not intiman a n a sexual sense, but in the way of knowing who the person inside really was, who the soul was that resided inside the shell of the body. They connected with each other on an even deeper level than either had thought possible. Their love, admiration, and devotion to the other grew ever stronger in this fucked up nightmare they lived in. The bond between them grew surer; more unbreakable if that was even possible. What was happening to them every day in this place might have torn other soul-mate's apart, instead it only served to bring them closer. They told each other everything they had never gotten the chance to say to the other before, hoping against the odds that there would come a day that they could say them again away from this place. But they said them now, here, not willing to risk that if they did die they would forever remain unspoken. They each had found in themselves, and in each other a strength, a will to survive, for themselves, for each other, that they had never known existed.

Buffy tightened her arms around Faith, careful not to hurt her. They were never really given enough time to heal completely, and Faith had what looked like permanent finger marks on her throat from him. From him playing his favorite fucked up game of cutting off her air 'til she passed out, a game he played many times a day, always with Faith, but only occasionally with her. His favorite game to play with her was to drown her, over and over again. She felt Faith tighten her arms in response they were both silent now, grateful for even these few minutes alone with each other. Buffy now understood why such simple things had always brought joy joy to Faith.

They stayed holding each other speaking to each other through the echoes they shared. They had built for themselves a dream world of images, of a home, of a future. Now while they sat shivering in the cold room in their minds they were together, sitting on a blanket on the beach, luxuriating in the warmth of the afternoon sun upon their skin. They could share the echoes sending and receiving them with little or no effort now. It had become a part of them like their own beating hearts. Trying at times to take the other there, take them away from what was happening to them in the here and now, by his hand, by Glory's. Often though it did not work, the pain overrode, forced everything else to flee their minds.

The connection between them had expanded even further since they had been here. They both physically felt the ghost on their own skin of what was being done to the other. It was like a muffled sensation upon their skin as if they were being touched through twenty layers of clothing, this more than anything else they tried to block from the other when he or Glory had them within their grasp. Even as strong willed as they were they could only keep the block up for so long, until it crumbled under the onslaught of everything else that he or Glory was doing to them.

For now, they kept holding each other, living within their dream world, both quietly alert in the back of their minds knowing it wouldn't be long until he came back. Whatever he did to Buffy, he always finished the day doing something five times worse to Faith. He used his fists, his feet, his belt and other things that Faith didn't want to even think about to beat and torture them. His sexual abuse however, was solely inflicted, forced upon Faith. And fhat,hat, as fucked up as it was, Faith was grateful. She never wanted Buffy to know what that particular torture felt like. So Faith refused to even think about how it made her feel, she pushed it deep, deep down inside herself for now. Years of remembered practice helped her to disassociate what it made her feel like inside. She shoved all of it behind the re-erected solid steel wall that she had carried around with her for years. She knew that if, WHEN, they got out of here she would have to deal with it, with how it made her feel on the inside. She was afraid though that it would send her hurtling once again down that self-destructive path. For now all her energy, her strength, went to staying strong, surviving, them both surviving, in the face of and in spite o all all.

In her mind, Faith heard Buffy calling her back to her gently; she could feel how tired Buffy was. Her body, mind, exhausted from being beaten for hours. They drifted in their dream world together, wrapped around each other in the cage the Chosen Two slipped into sleep, dreaming of the ocean, and the sun's warmth caressing them.
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Their Slayer senses started to tingle the second he entered the cabin. They waited patiently for him to come into the Play Room, hoping against hope that he would step into the enclosed, small space of the cage. They stayed as they were, keeping their breathing steady and even feigning sleep. Their bodies coiled, tensed, waiting for the right moment to spring, they ignored the pain it was secondary to the need to escape.

His eyes drank them in as he made his way over to the cage. He thought they looked exquisite huddled together, clinging to each other in their sleep covered in blood and tears. He felt his excitement grow, but he pushed it down, he would have time for that later. He unlocked the cage door and quietly opened it. Carelessly he left the keys in lock as he tiptoed in wanting to surprise them. Slowly, carefully, he made his way over towards them, maybe he would play with them for few minutes anyway, he knew how much she loved their fear, their pain. He stood towering over them, feeling superior to them, overconfident. Whispering he leaned down toward them, reaching out, "Wakey, wakey, compa........."

They moved together as one, rising from the floor in a blur, defying their battered bodies, their pain. Growling, moving at him with all the rage, fear, hate that he had made them feel. Again, both felt an ancient answering response from somewhere deep inside themselves calling to the other. They lifted him off the ground together, needing no words between them, the echoes between them doing all the speaking. They threw him across the cage, purring in satisfaction when they heard his head crack hard against the bars, and his accompanying groan of pain. Fluidly they turned as one and ran out of the cage. One slayer slammed the door, while the other locked it, taking the keys. "Fuck you........." floated softly from their lips in sync, as he snarled his rage at them, at his getting caught off guard, before he blacked out.

They ran hand in hand out into the main room towards the front door almost giddy with the knowledge that freedom was right at their fingertips. They stopped in front of the door, a trembling hand reached for the lock with the keys. A sigh of relief came from both of them at the thought that this was finally going to be over.
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Continued in Chapter XXV – Sympathy For The Devil (Part B)