Work Text:
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Other Notes: This story, written for Riley's Girl and RaisinGirl99, is set while Faith is still incarcerated. Thanks go to Jainie G. for the quick read-through; all mistakes are mine. I love feedback.
In Memoriam
"Faith," the letter says. "I have to make this brief, but I thought you'd want to know. Joyce Summers passed away a few days ago. I'll visit again when I can. -Angel."
She smoothes the creased page but crumples up the jagged envelope, torn open by the guards -- as if Angel would stick anything in a letter if he were going to break her out. She pulls the wad of chewing gum out of her mouth and uses it to stick the letter to her wall, next to all the others. She flops back onto the bed to stare at that page.
It's been a long time since she's seen Joyce, and Buffy's mom was probably glad to keep it that way. Big surprise, they didn't exactly part on good terms. Faith wouldn't have known how to apologize, isn't even sure she could have if she'd had the chance. But she's on much more familiar terms with regret now than she ever let herself be before.
She regrets that the Mayor is gone and she wasn't there when it happened. She regrets that Joyce is gone. She regrets that her concept of family is so screwed up as to revolve around an almost immortal, murderous politician -- like father, like daughter, much? -- and a kind woman who happens -- happened -- to be her rival's mom.
The buzzer sounds for lunch, and her cell door slides open. She pushes past the bars and heads to the mess hall, picks up her tray when she gets there and goes through the line. The cafeteria is large and dark and cold, and everything looks gray in the pale light, including the food. Faith pokes at a glob of something that should have been meat but wasn't, not during any of its last ten lives. She rolls her eyes and grabs a handful of lukewarm French fries, shoving them into her mouth. She's not really hungry, but the faster they go in, the faster she'll be done.
After a few more bites, she stops suddenly with one fry halfway into her mouth. It's the last one, and it's the same as the others -- just as ancient and limp and tasteless -- but she sets it down and watches as if it'll jump around or start shouting prophecies. The fry doesn't do anything, obviously. Nothing other than remind her of the first night she met Joyce, anyway. Joyce treated her like a friend, maybe even like somebody who could be a daughter because she had something major in common with the real daughter. And Joyce fed her with soda and fries and smiles and a welcoming table. Comfort food for a hungry stranger.
She leaves the fry on the tray, and when everyone gets up to go out to the yard for their afternoon break, she tucks it and a spoon into her jumpsuit before pitching the rest of her leftovers and stowing the tray.
It's only a little less gray outside than in, especially since the yard is full of hard and beaten prisoners wearing charcoal jumpsuits like sackcloth. People usually leave Faith alone by now, and today is no different. She wanders over to a corner by the outer fence where the world is just a few jumps and a crapload of barbed wire away. Kneeling, she pulls the fry out of her pocket almost gingerly, cradling it like the knife she got from the Mayor. Like something precious. Faith rolls her eyes at herself but stays down.
She uses the spoon to dig a little hole in the dry ground. She glances around before placing the French fry in the center of the hole, then wrenching the spoon into a rough circle that she tucks around the fry. She scoops the dirt back in and sends a quick look skyward.
"This isn't an apology, and it's nothing special, but it's all I've got for you, Joyce. Just . . . think of it as my attempt at comfort food or something, okay?"
The sky seems a little bluer, and maybe there's a stray drop of sunshine on that hole Faith just filled. She doesn't regret letting herself smile a little.
- end -