In search of answers...unsure of the questions

Tea and Crumpets

Corbett’s phone sat on the coffee table, flipped open. And all the Watcher could do was stare.

A text message from Rhiannon, something that made Corbett’s blood run cold and sent a horrible shiver down his spine.

Elfleda de-throned. New Bride in town. ATIA. Research. Don’t engage,

One Bride of Leviathan was bad enough; Corbett remembered that much from the one time Elfleda decided to pay him a visit. He’d thrown up and slashed his wrists so much in an effort to rid himself of her corrupting influence, Corbett would’ve undoubtedly died were it not for the incredibly well-timed intervening from his Slayer.

But now there was another? One who apparently took the crown from Elfleda? That worried the Watcher most; that a being existed so powerful as to take control and power from one such as the Corruptress.

To Corbett, Elfleda was the worst being he’d ever been in the presence of. Desdemona was bad, but ultimately, she was just a vampire; fangs, sunlight allergy, an aversion to all things wood and Christian. But Elfleda? He still knew of no way to ultimately deal with her aside from never incurring her wrath in the first place.

And someone overtook her?

Corbett thumbed idly through one of his massive tomes, unsure what he was looking for. He had a name – Atia – and the assumption that she too was a Bride of Leviathan, but aside from that, he was momentarily in the dark. And considering how little he found on Elfleda – before she destroyed his research – Corbett wasn’t sure he’d have much more success this time around.

And what if Atia came by too? Decided to finish the things Elfleda couldn’t? The Watcher imagined the whole deal with the Defiler probably pissed off this Leviathan or whoever was pulling the strings in the background, and it would stand to reason the Big Bad would want retribution.

Was Atia that retribution? Corbett wasn’t so sure he wanted to find out.

Picking the phone up, Corbett pushed the Reply button before sending back:

“Hitting the books. Certainly not having Atia over for tea and crumpets.”

Bein' Square

Progress was being made.

Between the combined efforts of Rhiannon, Connor and probably a few other outside parties Corbett wasn’t aware of, they had a time, place and possible method with eventually dealing with the Defiler. Not that disposing of Elfleda’s pet would be easy, but at least there were possibilities.

Metal armor had its drawbacks, or so the Watcher hoped – find a way to exploit weaknesses without actually coming into contact with the metal. Corbett remembered Connor’s warning and the fact that Whistler apparently almost died from touching the thing. As bad as what Elfleda did to him a few weeks before was, it apparently paled in comparison to what coming into contact with the Defiler could do.

So avoid the touching stuff.

Corbett couldn’t deny it; they needed as much supernatural fighting power as possible. And since Spike still hadn’t returned Corbett’s message, he assumed the vampire wouldn’t be part of the proceedings. Which meant he’d have to ask Faith. Not that he wouldn’t anyway, but the supposed Champion’s absence made her presence all the more necessary.

Speaking of … she should be getting back in soon. Sun would be in about a half-hour; time for what vampires she didn’t kill to go night-night.

Err … day-day. Or whatever those monsters did.

Corbett was right, with the sky turning from black to that pre-dawn gray, Searchlight's vampire population had all but disappeared into wherever it was they went when they weren't on the hunt for blood. Faith didn't often stay out this late slaying, but she'd been feeling all wound up again and a night of hunting was the best way to cure that. Now that she wasn't having sex constantly, fighting was the only way she could find release these days.

That is, unless she went to Vegas to find herself some hot studs. Searchlight really did lack in the nightlife scene. In this town, the only men she saw were either lacking pulses or old enough to be her father.

If she wasn't feeling so protective of Corbett, she probably would take a sidetrip to Vegas. But as it stood, she was afraid to leave him alone for more than a few hours after what she had come home to only a few weeks before. The vision of Corbett nearly dead on the bathroom floor had remained with her, haunting her every time she closed her eyes and even thought of leaving Searchlight for a day or two. If she lost one more Watcher, she wasn't sure what she would do. Everyone who had meant something to her had been either killed or sent to another dimension, so one really couldn't blame Faith for wanting to stay close to Corbett after the Elfleda incident.

Arriving at the apartment, tired and covered in dust from both the sand and a group of slayed vampires, Faith wearily opened up the door and was surprised to find the Watcher wide awake at his desk. It took her back some to see another human being actually awake at this hour, but her shock only lasted for a second before she grinned and shut the door behind her.

"Are you waiting up for me now, Cor?" she teased, one eyebrow rising up as she glanced over at the Watcher.

The Watcher looked up from his notes, giving a pleasant smile and removing his glasses. Placing them on the notepad he’d been studying, Corbett shook his head with a chuckle. “Don’t take this personally, but no,” he said tongue-in-cheek. “I’ve been … working.

“Researching, really.”

Corbett wasn’t sure how Faith would react to him researching Elfleda and the Defiler again. After what happened to him the first time around, he wouldn’t be surprised if his Slayer just wanted him to drop it, but he couldn’t. And not just because of his natural Watcher-like curiosity … he wanted to exact a sort of payback for what was done.

Not to him, but to Faith.

“We’re making progress on the Defiler.”

Stepping into the apartment, Faith shook her head and laughed at Corbett's response. "No offense taken, man," the Slayer replied. "I don't need you bitchin' at me about how I stay up too late on a school night. It's my sacred duty, you know?"

With a grin, she removed her jacket and threw it on top of the couch as she awaited Corbett's oh-so-interesting elaboration of just what he was researching. She was just about to sit down and remove her boots when the word Defiler caused her to perk up. Though she hadn't exactly been on the up-and-up about Elfleda and her little hell beast, she remembered that name.

Pausing, Faith turned her attention to Corbett and asked, "No kidding? So what's the sitch with Elfleda's little puppy?"

Corbett gave Faith a level gaze. “We attack,” he said, handing her the pad he’d made notes. “Friday, around 4 a.m. Mallory gave me a tip about an area under a Vegas bar called Fang Noir, said it might be where Elfleda was hiding this thing.

“That, combined with what Rhiannon and Connor have told me about the Defiler, gives us a location and possible methods of which to kill it.”

The Watcher pointed to the small paper bag sitting on the end table next to the couch, continuing. “That’s a piece of it,” he said. “Metal, infected with Elfleda’s … nature, I suppose. This Defiler, near as we can tell, is coated in an armor of that metal. We can’t touch it without getting infected, but I’ve been working on ways to get the armor off.”

Again, he pointed – this time to the notepad. “Freeze the armor off, melt it off, find some chemicals to eat away at it … or if we’re incredibly lucky, find an opening and jam an electric current through it.

“Those are pretty much our options.”

Taking the pad from him, Faith looked down at Corbett's neat script, eyes scanning down the list as Corbett read off each of the options. Her brow furrowed as she took in just how powerful this creature was. While Faith was excited about having something like this to attack, it wasn't quite as satisfying to discover that she wouldn't be able to actually physically fight this thing when punching and kicking was out of the picture.

"So no brute force," she commented with a sigh. "Bummer."

Frowning, she handed the pad back to Corbett and crossed her arms over her chest. The different modes of destruction were running through her mind and the Slayer smirked when she came up with a little idea of her own.

"Why don't we just bomb the place?" she asked. "We could load it up with dynamite and blow the bar to bits and pieces. Always worked for B back in Sunnyhell whenever she had something big and ugly to deal with. I'm not one to take tips from Blondie, but when something works, I say we go for it."

With a grin, she added, "And hey, if it still walks out of there alive, then we can try the other methods."

Corbett chuckled at Faith’s suggestion, thinking on some level it wasn’t too far off. But there was just one tiny problem with it.

“I’m certain the owner of the bar would be rather upset,” he said. “And I’m afraid the local authorities and media would have a field day over a Vegas night club exploding for seemingly no reason.

“The cover-up would be enormous. It’s an option … one I actually hadn’t thought of,” Corbett paused to jot it down, making a mental note to call Rhiannon later. It was a longshot, but best to cover all bases, no?

“But it doesn’t seem entirely feasible – nor does it guarantee there aren’t any innocent casualties. Explosions can be … unpredictable.”

The anger Corbett still felt over the way Elfleda had infected him and, to a much lesser extent Faith, made the thought of just blowing the fuck out of the whole place tempting, but the level-headed Watcher realized it probably wasn’t that realistic. Too bad, too; nothing would’ve given Corbett more satisfaction than seeing the Corruptress and her pet go up in flames like that gas station at the opening of Lethal Weapon 4.

The Watcher sighed. He was getting too old for this shit.

"Fuck the owner!" Faith exclaimed rather enthusiastically. The high of her recent slays was still with her and the thought of another fight was only causing her to feel even more adrenaline pump through her body. "With a name like Fang Noir, I can only guess what kind of person owns a place like that."

She always wouldn't be too surprised to discover that the clientele might be sporting a pair of shiny fangs as well. Still though, Corbett had a point. If there were any humans inside, whether they were vampire lovers or not, Faith wouldn't want to risk innocent lives. She'd been down the road, got the t-shirt, and was sure she didn't want to travel down it again.

Media, however, wasn't something Faith was too worried and she shrugged away those concerns. "A portal to a hell dimension opened up last Christmas and destroyed half of Vegas. If the authorities can turn the other cheek over that, I doubt one little explosion is gonna be on their radar."

With a chuckle, Faith added, "When all else fails, blame it on a terrorist."

It's what the owner of the hotel she'd been staying at had said. It only further proved to her that the authorities would say anything to avoid admitting that there might be supernatural causes for these kind of events. It was probably better that way anyway. If everyone knew about this stuff, all hell was sure to break lose.

"Maybe we could strike when they were closed," she suggested. "Scout it out, make sure nobody's around, and then blow it to bits."

Corbett nodded. “Well, that’s why we chose 4 a.m.,” he offered. “To minimize any collateral damage. But, this being Las Vegas, people will still be out an about, so I’m afraid we’re risking lives – other than our own, of course – no matter when we do this.”

The Watcher hadn’t even thought of the idea of blowing the place up until Faith had mentioned it, but he had to admit, it was somewhat appealing. Only his maturity – meaning he was old – and his experience as a Watcher kept him from immediately giving that plan the go-ahead, especially since it appeared Rhiannon was already on the ball getting things ready for the big night.

He gave Faith a level glance, taking the notepad back and setting it down beside him. There was one part of this plan Corbett didn’t like, but realized it was unavoidable; the Defiler had to be destroyed, and as great as accomplishing that would be, the stark reality of the beast’s master remained.

“Best case,” he began, “we kill the Defiler and that’s that. I don’t see this assault bringing down Elfleda. I’d imagine something known as The Corruptress would be a lot harder to corner and eliminate.

“And I’d imagine this exercise – if successful – would tremendously piss her off. Which means she’ll probably come after all of us.

“Again.”

"Alright," the Slayer agreed with a sigh. "So we don't go nuclear. I'll just ... throw snowballs at it or something."

Nevermind where she'd get the snow, she just wasn't going to argue with the plan ... even if she did think that her plan was better. Maybe she could compromise and somehow get her hands on a few grenades. Now that'd be something! If she couldn't do a big explosion, at least she could do a couple of little ones.

Faith would have to see what she could find within the next few days.

Turning her attention back to Corbett, she frowned in disgust as Corbett brought up Elfleda. If she came after them again, Faith would make sure that neither her nor Corbett were infected by her dark touch.

"Or maybe she'll run away to lick her wounds after her little pet is destroyed," Faith snickered, though she could only hope that was the case. "That's what these evil types usually do. You screw with their plans and they go cry about it."

“Indeed,” Corbett mused.

The Watcher sat in silent thought for a few moments, taking another look at the notes he had sprawled out in front of him. They weren’t all that helpful, but they were actually better than the ones Elfleda destroyed on her last visit. Rhiannon and Connor’s input had been extremely helpful; so much so, the Watcher wished he’d turned to them in the first place.

They might’ve discovered all of this before the Corruptress even had a chance to pay everyone a visit.

“I’m not sure who all’s involved or what the weapons are going to be,” he said. “Just that I’ll be there and so will Rhiannon and Connor.”

"Well, that's a good start," Faith admitted with a grin. "Superboy and his Slayer buddy should be just what we need to take this thing down."

Though she only met Rhiannon once before, Faith had a feeling that the other Slayer could do more than just hold her own. Connor had more than proven himself in a fight as well and Angel Junior had probably only become better with age. If anyone could handle this, Connor could.

"I bet they got friends," the Slayer added. "We're gonna need a lot of manpower if we're gonna go the manual route like this."

“Agreed.”

To his surprise, Corbett wasn’t all that nervous about this. Sure, he was old and not supernaturally inclined like Faith, Rhiannon and Connor were, but still … he was fulfilling his typical Watcher duty, and it was nice for him to actually he hepful for once. It was a shame it took a night of projectile vomiting and wrist-cutting to do it, but it was done nonetheless.

The Watcher glanced at his watch, his eyes widening. “Bloody hell,” he mused. “Have I been up all night?” Corbett chuckled, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, the scars on his wrists almost completely faded by now.

“Suppose it would behoove an old fart like myself to sleep, wouldn’t it?”

After all the battles she had been a part of, both as part of a group and in her solo missions, Faith very rarely felt nervous or scared before a battle. On the contrary, battles just pumped her up and excited her. Call her cocky, but Faith still went into a fight believing that she was gonna win and her opponent was gonna die.

So far, the odds had been on her side.

Laughing at Corbett's sudden realization of his exhaustion, Faith shook her head at the older Watcher. "Yeah, Wheel of Fortune's been over for hours now. It's almost time for old folks like you to be rising, what with it being the crack of dawn and all."

Corbett chuckled, closing his tomes and resting the notepad on the coffee table. With a yawn, he stood, scratching his still-healing wrist before glancing at his bedroom. He’d been sleeping on the couch since Elfleda’s attack on him, not keen on being reminded of her appearance in his bedroom, but with the attack on the Defiler looming, he figured now was as good a time as any to beat back that personal demon.

“Friday, 4 a.m.,” he repeated. “Until then, you and I both need rest.”

"I'll be there," Faith replied with a wink. "But you can stick to bein' square."

Suddenly noticing the fact that she could probably use a shower before bed, she announced, "I better wash the vamp dust off now. You know where to find me when it's time."

With that plan in mind, Faith tossed her jacket onto the couch and made her way down the hallway and into the bathroom. After she slept for the majority of the day, she'd look into getting herself some high-powered weaponry for this thing. If she couldn't fight it physically, she'd just have to bring out the fireworks.

Conductivity

One of the first things Corbett learned in the Watchers’ Academy was that when mystical solutions failed, it was never wise to ignore mundane ones.

And considering what little occult library the Watcher had left after Elfleda’s visit – and his visit to Unseen Insight had bore little, if any, fruit – it amazed Corbett how he didn’t immediately start looking into other avenues; specifically books normal, everyday people might use.

Hence the physics books Corbett had spent the past hour combing through, pencil clutched between his teeth as he read chapter after chapter on electricity and currents and the like.

He remembered what Rhiannon told him the day before about the Defiler’s metal being nothing more than a suit of armor, that there was probably something actually alive underneath it. Corbett hadn’t found any text to support that theory, but he didn’t see anything disproving it either, so for the time being, he was operating on that theory.

Which gave the Watcher an idea.

Getting the armor off would probably prove to be too difficult, what with the metal apparently making people sick and/or "defiling" them. Whistler had already been hospitalized because of it, and Hannah already died to "purify" him again. Corbett wanted to avoid anything like that, but taking the metal off didn't seem to be an option.

But ...

Metal was an excellent conductor of electricity, so shocking the armor itself was probably not the best idea. But if they could find a chink in the armor, or a part of the Defiler’s body not protected, things looked up. If there was some way to get a current running close by when the big battle went down, that’d be great.

And if the current was strong enough – or close to a pond of water or something like that – even better. Corbett knew it was a long shot, but what if the electric shock fried whatever thing Elfleda raised to do her bidding?

The bone altar thing worried the Watcher more, mostly because there were so many tellings of so many cultures setting up bone altars and doing bone rituals for any number of things – shamanic healing spells, scrying, prophecy, end-of-the-world schemes … there was no telling what that was about.

But that wasn’t as important as finding a way to kill the Defiler. And the more Corbett read the chapter about electric currents and the conductivity of metal, the more his smile grew and the more the Watcher thought that, for the first time in a long time, he was onto something.

The old man still had it after all.

Corbett neglected the physics book for a moment, again consulting one of his mystical tomes. This particular volume detailed the history of body armor, focusing mainly on medieval-style suits. Plate-armor suits were notorious for leaving area exposed, particularly in the armpits and the under the elbows, while breastplates only had a limited coverage area. For his own purposes, Corbett worked with the plate-armor template, jotting notes onto his pad before again referring to the physics book, glancing at a chart depicting electric currents.

“Bloody hell,” he said to himself with a half-grin. “Find a current, somehow feed it into an open area in the armor … the shock should be enough to incapacitate the creature long enough for armor to be removed some other way, or – if we’re really lucky – it can kill it outright.”

Setting down his pencil, Corbett’s smile grew as he rose from his desk and grabbed his cell phone. Dialing numbers frantically, Corbett put the phone to his ear, speaking when the voicemail picked up.

“Rhiannon, Corbett. I’ve done some research … thought about what you said, the Defiler wearing armor. Every piece of armor – breast plates, full-body, whatever – has a weak spot, an open, unprotected area that allows for more mobility. I figure the Defiler would be no different.

“Which means, if we can either find an electric current down under Fang Noir or drag the creature out to an area that does, we can use the current on the unprotected area. Even better if there’s water nearby, but I’m assuming for now that won’t be part of the equation. The current should be strong enough to either incapacitate or kill the creature … and my guess is, if we have to fight it the old-fashioned way, if we can find a way to get the armor off -- freeze it or melt it, I'm guessing -- the creature can be fought without the fear of any of us getting infected.

“I’ll keep looking, but I think we’re onto something here. Call me back when you have news.”

No shit, Sherlock

Mallory had to force herself to wait until it was something like a decent hour to call Corbett. If she dragged him out of bed he would be much less likely to help her. So she loitered around the rooms Victoria had rented for her and Sonya, watching television and ordering breakfast from room service. Thinking about Sonya and how long it might take her to recover. She had a feeling that the Russian would be more or less all right in a couple of days, but she wasn't going to leave her alone until she was certain of that.

At exactly noon, the redhead flipped the television off and picked up the phone. Dialing the Englishman's number, she worked on her story and then waited for him to pick up. This was not jumping the gun, this was just ... gathering information.

When she heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line, she said, "Good morning, Corbett. Well, afternoon at this point, I guess. Are you busy right now? I have a few questions, and I think you're the only one close enough at hand to answer them."

It’d been nearly a week since Corbett’s little episode with Elfleda, but it was still so vivid in his mind that he literally shuddered whenever he so much as thought of the Corruptress’ name. So against his nature and probably everyone else’s sense of what he should do, the Watcher abandoned the quest to find out about Elfleda and her pet, the Defiler.

He just didn’t feel like going through another episode of wrist-cutting, blood-drinking and black goo-vomiting. That wasn’t even considering the visions of murder and torture and pain he saw in random increments. Corbett preferred sitting through a two-day Tru Calling marathon.

He put out his cigarette when the phone rang, cringing at how loud it was in the silent apartment. Faith was still asleep after a rough night of slaying, and Corbett didn’t want some telemarketer waking her up. But he thought he recognized the number on the I.D. display, so he answered.

“’Ello?” he spoke into the receiver. “Oh, Mallory. Yes, of course. What do you need?”

"I'm in Las Vegas right now," Mallory said, glancing towards the room where Sonya slumbered. "Looking after some personal stuff." She had promised not to name names. "I've been hearing some funny stuff up here, I was wondering if you could either confirm or deny it." Okay, good start so far.

"Succubi." Even the word sounded nasty, vaguely pornographic. "I've been trying to find some resources up here, but the bookstores aren't as good as Unseen Insight. Like, a ... sex demon, I guess? If I asked you what you knew, what could you tell me?"

Corbett fought the urge to sigh. Again with the succubae? Mallory had mentioned them to him once before – in Unseen Insight, actually, and the Watcher found himself wondering just what the redhead got herself involved in.

“Succubi,” the Watcher repeated, pausing to grab the appropriate volume – one of the Elfleda didn’t burn to nothingness – and opening it to the needed page. “A demon who can take the form of a female in order to seduce men to have sexual intercourse. They draw energy from the men to sustain themselves, often at the expense of the victim. Succubi can simply leave their victims exhausted, or they can kill them.”

This wasn’t Corbett’s favorite topic, especially in light of Elfleda’s visit and the fact that memories of Desdemona had frequented his mind on occasion in the past week. Whatever the Corruptress infected Corbett with was largely gone, but every once in a while the Watcher still found himself staring at a bloodbath or thinking back to when he was the personal bitch for London’s most seductive vampire.

“Demons can’t breed the way we do,” he continued, “so various accounts tell of succubi collecting semen from their victims, which incubi would in turn use to impregnate women.”

"Seduce. You mean they'd be doing it against the subject's will?" On the arm of the chair, Mallory would feel her free hand turning into a fist, and she shook it out before it could fully get there. "Like mind control or some other kind of persuasion?" Sonya, poor Sonya, I am so sorry.

"Do they pick victims at random, or is it a survival of the fittest sort of thing? They choose whoever looks strongest and go for them for that reason?" The redhead wondered if she wouldn't have to suggest a 'hypothetical' situation to the Watcher. Because if what Vicky said was right, the whole thing of the Russian being a hybrid might bode ill.

"How reliable is whatever book you have?"

Corbett’s brow furrowed and he frowned. Something happened, and Mallory was trying to keep it on the down-low. Corbett wasn’t sure how helpful he’d be without knowing details, but he figured pressing for information wouldn’t bode well for the conversation. His eyes again skimmed the pages, looking for anything.

“Near as I can tell,” Corbett started, suddenly all too aware of how this sort of thing wasn’t his specialty, “the victim is almost always willing, unaware of the true nature of his seducer. Though most legends suggest succubi only seduce in a victim’s dream. There aren’t many accounts of succubi actually seducing and copulating with anyone.

“Then again, the world we live in, anything’s possible.”

No shit, Sherlock, Mallory thought, and she looked at the blank television screen while she mentally arranged what she needed to say next. "Hypothetically speaking," she began, determined to keep names out of it because she'd promised Victoria. "Let's say that that's what happened, that such a thing is voluntary and doesn't have anything to do with supernatural mojo. But what if ..."

She covered the mouthpiece with her hand, looked towards the door to make sure she couldn't hear Sonya making waking-up noises. The last thing she wanted her friend to think was that she really thought the hybrid was some kind of thing, something to be locked up in a cage somewhere. Corbett might, but that was really kind of irrelevant, because Corbett would be wrong.

"What if they got a whole stomach full of demonic energy? Something not entirely human?" Tainted, was what she meant to say, but she felt sure the Englishman could read between the lines. "Hypothetically, that would probably be not such a good thing, I'm thinking."

The Watcher frowned again, only this time it was because he couldn’t tell quite what Mallory was getting at. He knew she was trying to speak in vagaries and a hypotheticals to protect someone or something, and he respected that, but the fact was he had no idea what she just asked.

“Look,” Corbett began in a soft tone, “I don’t expect you to tell me what’s going on … but I’m at a loss as to what you’re asking me.

“The truth is, there aren’t that many accounts of succubi actually seducing anyone – male female, human, demon, whatever. What we do have is nothing but legend and hearsay. Legends tell of succubi seducing men in their dreams, taking their energy that way and using the semen along with the incubi to breed.

“I honestly don’t know what would happen if a succubus were to actually seduce someone.”

And then she was caught, caught and not able to say anything else because she'd promised. There wasn't even anything she could do at this point, because she didn't know where Leah would be. She had to wait until she heard from Victoria, if only because she'd said that she'd give the succubus the benefit of the doubt. If the thing with Sonya had truly been an accident, then she'd probably have to live with it.

But if it wasn't an accident ...

"How would you kill one?" Mallory asked, and she closed her eyes when she said it. The benefit of the doubt was one thing, but somebody had to say it. Somebody might even have to do it. "According to these legends of yours, if the attacks ever become widespread, what does it take to kill one? Silver bullets, wooden stakes, what?"

Corbett closed his book and gave an audible sigh. He felt for whatever Mallory was going through, he really did. Having just come out of a harrowing, no-end-in-sight situation himself, the Watcher sort of understood the desperation inherent in the redhead’s voice. Her secrecy was a bit of an annoyance, but Corbett understood the need for it.

“They … don’t say,” he finally replied. “In the countless volumes I’ve read in my lifetime, I’ve never known of anyone killing a succubus.

“It’s usually the other way around.”

She's half human, Mallory reminded herself, remembering what Vicky had said. That means she's not invincible. Somebody has to do the heavy work around here.

"Okay." Her voice was surprisingly matter-of-fact when she finally spoke, breaking the silence. "I understand. I guess books don't solve everything after all. But you've been as helpful as you can. I appreciate that, Corbett."

Mallory tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder, splayed her hands out and looked at them. Could she do it, kill someone who was at least partly human? She was no Slayer. And maybe Leah wasn't evil in the strictest sense, despite what might have happened. Did this warrant a death?

But Leah had picked on Sonya, attached herself to the Russian as securely as any leech, and that was ... it made her guts hurt for a reason she couldn't articulate. Or maybe even a reason she didn't want to articulate. So maybe “deserve” was a strong word. But could she do it? Could she do it because it had been Sonya?

Yeah. Yeah, she believed she could.

"I'm going to be headed back to Searchlight in a few days," she told the Watcher, breaking the silence again as if she'd never stopped speaking. "Probably do some reading of my own, see what I can find out. Thank you for what help you've been able to give, though. Sorry if I dragged you away from anything."

“It’s no problem,” Corbett answered. “I’m sorry there’s not more I can give you. Succubi aren’t exactly my expertise.”

Truth was, she hadn’t pulled him away from anything. If nothing else, the call distracted him from the realities of the past several days. He cared to forget he ever met Elfleda, convinced his encounter with her made running into Desdemona like a reunion of old lovers who never quite lost the flame.

If the Watcher never heard the Corruptress’ name again, it would be too soon.

“Feel free to call if you need anything else.”

"Oh, I'll be in touch." Mallory almost sounded amused now, as if the idea of her going anywhere was a little joke she and the Watcher were sharing. "Don't get beat up by anymore vampires while I'm gone, okay? I don't have much free time to dispense lectures right now."

The redhead paused, checking to see if there was anything else she needed to say, then decided that there wasn't. "I'll talk to you later, Corbett." She placed the receiver gently back into its cradle, then looked broodingly at the still-silent television.

Soap operas or Jerry Springer?

The question made the thought of dealing with a half-succubus almost appealing.

In the Nick of Time

There were times in life sometimes when a girl just had to go away for a while. It never seemed to matter where she was or who was in her life -- when the urge to run took over, there was really no resisting it. The truth of the matter was that when faced with a pack of bloodthirsty demons, Faith was fearless, but when it came to facing some of her demons, she went running scared in the opposite direction.

Things had just become too close.

It was nice enough to have friends, nice enough to have a Watcher and a fuckbuddy and a city full of evil creatures to slay. But there was a danger of getting too comfortable and letting her guard down. Over the course of the last year, she'd slept with Spike consistently enough that she may as well call him her boyfriend and Corbett had become a trusted enough companion that she hadcried in front of the old man. It wasn't like her to do either of those things, but she hadn't worried. She was growing up, and that's what happened when you grew up, right? You got soft and started letting undead vampires share your bed and Watchers hold you when you cried about your former Watcher who died over ten years ago.

And yet, there was a difference between letting someone in and being turned into your six-year-old self who didn't know enough not to babble incessantly about mothers who were alcoholic and abusive. Little Faith told everyone enough to know that her life hadn't been peachy, and it still made her skin crawl now to think about Corbett, Spike and everyone else she came in contact with knowing those things about herself. Maybe if she just stayed away long enough, everyone would forget and she could come back with a clean slate again.

So, after months of being away, she was back in the town that knew some of her deepest, darkest secrets.

Walking into the apartment she shared with Corbett, she had no idea what to expect. Would he be angry at her for leaving without a word? Or would he be so happy to have her back that he'd force her to engage in some embarrassing display of affection that consisted of hugs and fatherly concern about where she'd been and how she was? Maybe he wouldn't even be home, and she'd have time to unpack and surprise him when he walked through the door and she was planted on the couch with a beer and a slice of pizza.

What she was greeted with was an eerie silence and an awful smell.

Alarm bells went off as she breathed in and was met with the distinct smell of blood. A Slayer might not be able to smell blood as well as a vampire could, but her senses were sharp enough that she could detect it when there was plenty of it to be detected.

Instantly, she went on guard, her eyes darting around the apartment as she searched for signs of a struggle. There was nothing and she ventured in further, moving toward the stench, which appeared to be coming from the bathroom. Dread filled her as she crept toward the obviously open door, her stomach clenching up as she tried to tell herself that maybe Corbett was just wounded and he hadn't been attacked in her absence and killed while he was brushing his teeth because she hadn't been there to protect him.

What she ended up finding could have been a scene out of her worst nightmare -- Corbett, on the ground, lying there motionless on blood-stained tile, his skin deadly pale, and his open wounds still leaking blood. A blood-stained knife laid on the tiles and toilet paper littered the scene. It only took a matter of seconds for Faith to realize that this wasn't a matter of an attack -- this was self-inflicted.

Her heart sunk as she dropped down on the tile, a shaky hand reaching out to take his pulse. It was still there, but it was weak, and Faith felt the panic setting in. Had he tried to commit suicide because of her leaving? God, if it wasn't psychotic vampires killing her Watchers, it was her own selfish stupidity leading her watchers to suicide.

"Corbett!" she screeched out, her voice higher than she ever meant it to be. Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders as she tried to shake him awake. She was no doctor, but she thought that when things like this happened, you weren't supposed to let the person pass out. "Wake the fuck up, you stupid fucking Watcher! You are not gonna die on me, too!"

Truth be told, Corbett wouldn’t be in the state were it not for Elfleda. He impromptu visit was what led the Watcher to spend the better part of two hours hallucinating, vomiting and cutting his wrists in vain attempts to drown out the evil, to get rid of the darkness and the urges the Corruptress put in his head.

None of it worked, and now he was teetering on the brink in his own bathroom, the faintest of sounds trying to bring him back to consciousness. But between the repeated emptying of his stomach and the loss of blood, Corbett found it hard – if not impossible – to come to.

And part of him didn’t want to. It was just his mind, playing tricks on him again. That wasn’t Faith cradled beside him, trying to wake him up. She was gone, still running from what she feared he would see in her now that he knew of her childhood.

Faith was gone. As was all the research Corbett has done on Elfleda, nothing but burn marks on the carpet in his room.

Eventually, the Watcher’s eyes fluttered open. Everything was a blur, his body cold and shaking. His arms were aching, but not nearly as bad as his sides. Repeated barfing would lead to sore muscles and the clearer Corbett’s vision got, and the more he saw surrounding him – the toilet paper, the blood – the more intense the pain in his gut became until …

The Watcher threw up again, though this time not of his own accord. He convulsed and shook with each hack, coughing the last bit out before looking over his shoulder, offering a weak smile.

Maybe Faith really was back after all.

Swallowing with some difficulty, Corbett slumped back to the floor, deciding not to move. He felt dizzy, as if he’d pass out again at any moment. “Elfleda,” he whispered, coughing again with the strain of trying to talk.

Apparently, tough love worked.

Faith had continued to shake Corbett, too in shock herself to feel much emotion after the initial burst of guilt to think of anything other than getting him to open his eyes again and look at her. If he had lost his will to live because of her, maybe the sight of her would help the old man regain his drive to survive.

So happy to see his eyes finally open, she barely even noticed it when Corbett vomited on both himself and her. Even the convulsing of his body was a welcome relief to the deadly still one she had first walked in on. He was alive, she wasn't too late, and he was saying something to her. It took her a moment to realize what he said and then her blood ran cold.

The witch was back and this time, she had targeted her Watcher.

"She did this to you?" Faith asked, a familiar sense of rage beginning to trickle through the momentary numbness that had settled over her like a blanket only a minute before.

The guilt was still there, but maybe this wasn't her fault after all. She'd been a plaything for Elfleda once herself and was lucky that all the Corruptress had done was turn Faith back onto her old stealing habit. Elfleda could have turned her into a cold-blooded killer again, but she'd let Faith off easy. She had to wonder why. Only she didn't have time to wonder much, she had to stop the bleeding and get Corbett cleaned up.

Standing up, the Slayer grabbed a clean towel from the rack and ran it under the sink, soaking it with warm water and then moving back down to Corbett. She brought the towel up to his face first, wiping the vomit from his cold, pale flesh and then brought the clean end down to his wrists, using it to clean off both the dried blood and the wounds still oozing a bit of the red liquid.

Corbett closed his eyes when the warm cloth touched his face, his shaking subsiding a little as he felt the sensation spread over him. He opened his eyes shortly after, though, afraid of what he might see if he kept his eyes closed for too much longer. He didn’t want anymore of those visions or urges sneaking in, not with Faith here.

She didn’t need to see anymore than she already had. She didn’t need to know the things filling the Watcher’s head since the Corruptress’ visit.

“She,” he began in a rough whisper, pausing to catch his breath frequently. “She told me to … to stop … digging around … then she … she touched me, and … and … the darkness … the pure … evil … I’ve tried to get it … get it out … nothing worked … it was all … all still there …”

The Watcher’s head suddenly whipped around to the bathtub, his eyes wide as sweat poured down his forehead.

“Desdemona,” he whispered with as much of a growl as he could muster in his weakened state. “The …. Corruptress … brought her back … and she’s here …”

Faith listened carefully to Corbett's almost incoherent whisper, the pauses making it difficult, but the message wasn't all that difficult to understand. Corbett had apparently been doing his job, researching the demon, and probably coming a little too close for Elfleda's liking and so she had hurt the Watcher as a means of destroying his knowledge. It hadn't been suicide that he was attempting; it had been a means of cutting out the evil that was inside of him.

While Faith still felt guilty for not being there, she knew that there was probably nothing she could have done. Elfleda would have just touched her too and then she'd be in just as bad, if not worse, shape as Corbett was now.

What was important was that she was here now. She could help him now and they could get through this together. As Watcher and Slayer. Faith wouldn't run away this time.

As Corbett's head turned, Faith followed his gaze, almost afraid that Elfleda had come back for a moment, but when she saw nothing there and heard Corbett's warning, she realized that the Watcher must be hallucinating.

"She's not here," Faith tried to reassure the Watcher. "I killed her, remember? She's nothing but dust now. Even the Wicked Witch can't bring her back now. You just think you see her."

It was weird to be in this position, to be the one cleaning the wounds and whispering those reassuring words to someone as they bled on the floor beneath her. It wasn't her forte to play nursemaid, yet she'd been bandaged up enough to know how to clean a wound and fix it up. She stood up again, this time to get the First Aid kit that she knew resided in the medicine cabinet and then brought it back down to him.

"Man, you really are a mess," she muttered as she picked up one still bleeding wrist and then warned, "This is gonna sting."

With a cringe of her own, she poured the disinfectant onto his open wounds, hoping that it doesn't cause him too much extra pain.

Corbett hissed at the sudden burn on his wrist, but the truth was he felt relief at the seering pain. Anything to distract him from Elfleda’s infection at this point was welcome, and Faith patching him up did just that.

“So,” he whispered, clearing his throat and cringing, “she’s … not here?”

For the most part, that relieved the Watcher, but some small part of him – the part Elfleda managed to infultrate – was disappointed, saddened by what felt like a painful loss.

“She made me drink,” he continued, not even realizing at this point what he was saying, he was still so delirious. “Made me … drink my … my own blood.”

Corbett’s hands were still shaking, his forehead still sweaty and his skin still pale. But the nausea had finally faded – though that was probably because the Watcher had thrown up everything there was to throw up.

It hadn’t worked in getting the Corruptress’ infection out of him, so Corbett figured he just had to wait it out – and hope it didn’t kill him.

“I’m sorry …”

The Slayer winced in sympathy as Corbett hissed in pain, that burning sensation one she was all too familiar with. Slayers might have super strength and super healing, but it didn't make them immune to the sting of disinfectant.

"No, she's not," Faith replied with a shake of her head. "Trust me, if the bitch was in the bathtub, you wouldn't need to fill it with strawberry Jell-o for me to be wrestling with her right now."

As she spoke, she turned her attention to the other wrist, repeating the process as a means of getting the worst pain over with as quickly as possible. It was hard to hear the sound of his physical pain, but it was even worse to hear about what Elfleda's evil had done to his mind. It was even worse to think that she was helpless against Elfleda. While she wanted to rip the bitch's heart out for doing this to Corbett, she knew that going after her would only end up getting her killed or corrupted.

It was a lose-lose situation when Elfleda was involved.

Ignoring what he said about the blood, she could only look upon him with sympathy as he apologized to her, as if he were the one at fault here. "No, I'm sorry," she apologized, her voice cracking slightly. "I should've been here ... I could've called ... and ..."

Her voice trailed off as she shook her head, the frustration beginning to overwhelming her. What she really wanted to do right now was go out and find some vampire to pound, but she couldn't exactly leave Corbett here to bleed to death on the bathroom floor. No, she had to concentrate on the task at hand, which was to bandage his newly-cleaned wounds.

The pain in Corbett’s arms was going away. For a brief moment, that brought a sense of relief to the Watcher, but that feeling was short-lived, as his whole body went rigid and he found himself unable to move. Visions flashed again before his eyes, more bloodshed and terror, screams filling his ears.

If it were possible, Corbett tensed even more, so much so he started to shake. If he’d found voice at this point, he likely would’ve screamed loud enough to match those being slaughtered before his eyes. But as it was, all the Watcher could do was … well … watch.

A nameless, faceless figure – roaming aimlessly, hacking off limbs and drinking the blood of those it had slain. In many ways, it was the realization of nightmares – not Corbett’s, but the nightmares he figured many young girls had in the days prior to and just after their Calling. Corbett always knew finding out you were the … err, a … Slayer was hard, but he never figured it to be like this.

Without warning, the visions stopped, as did the shaking. But at that very moment, cold black filled the Watcher’s eyes and began to seep from his nose and ears. The shaking began anew, but was much stronger this time, almost like seizures. He flopped around on the floor and out of Faith’s grasp, the oily black running down his clammy skin.

The convulsions forced Corbett face-down on the cold bathroom floor before his body again forced him to vomit. Only this time, it wasn’t food or water or anything the Watcher would’ve ingested … no, what came out of his mouth in sloppy clumps was the same oily black that seeped from his eyes and nose and ears.

The same black that hours before had given shape to Elfleda.

As Faith bandaged up the Watcher's wrists, she could easily see that Corbett's mind was elsewhere. Where it had gone? She wasn't sure, but the expression on his face and the shaking of his body told her that it wasn't a good place full of fluffy puppies and happy rainbows. No, he looked like he was watching a horror movie, and she couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of images Elfleda left in Corbett's mind. If he was seeing his dead vampire lover, who knew what else he was seeing.

All Faith could do was bandage his wounds and hope the hold Elfleda has on him would let go sooner rather than later. It hurt too much to see Corbett like this.

Just as she finished mending his wounds, Corbett's body began to convulse. The shaking had barely registered as she worked, but the convulsing she couldn't ignore. He was far too weak and old to be experiencing such a violent episode and Faith found herself once again panicking. All she knew about seizure was that you were supposed to stick a popsicle stick in the seizing person's mouth so they wouldn't swallow their own tongue.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed as Corbett's body continued to shake. She was so not the right person to be taking care of him right now.

When black liquid began to ooze from his nose and ears, Faith could do nothing but stare, her brown eyes wide as she stared in horror at what was happening to her Watcher. She had seen a lot of crazy stuff in her time, but nothing like this. What the hell could she do? Even if she brought him to a hospital, she doubted a team of doctor's would know what to do with what was happening. Whatever was escaping from his body wasn't human or natural. This had demonic written all over it.

With the onset of vomiting, Faith found her own stomach begin to turn at the foul liquid pouring out of his mouth. Turning her face away, she felt like a serious wuss, but she couldn't take the sight of it any longer. The sounds of his hacking coughs and the stench of the vomit was enough to make her feel like she might be joining him at any moment.

Get a grip, Faith. You're a fuckin' Slayer! You can handle a little puke.

Forcing herself to turn her head back to the scene, she kept her focus on Corbett rather than the puddle of ... whatever it was on the ground. Corbett had been trying to purge the darkness from him and if this was the darkness, she guessed it was a success.

"Come on, Watcher," Faith said weakly as she reached under Corbett's armpits and began to pull him up from the bathroom floor. "We gotta get you out of here."

For a moment, the Watcher thought he might drift out of consciousness again, but the sensation of Faith grabbing him and dragging him out of the bathroom forced him to wake up. He felt weak, so terribly weak, but he was actually able to keep his eyes open, and his vision – though still blurred – was clear enough for him to register fully that she was, truly, back.

“You came back,” he whispered in a hoarse tongue, chuckling to himself before coughing roughly.

“Don’t suppose a thank you’s in order …”

Corbett couldn’t tell yet if he was out of the woods. True, the nausea and the disturbing urge to slice his skin open were gone, but the Watcher knew he was far too old to be enduring episodes like that. Not only that, but he was no Slayer; they were strong enough to endure the tortures of demonic entities; Corbett often had trouble shaking a bad cold.

He actually entertained the idea that he was going to die on this night. But, if that were the case, at least he got to see his Slayer – nay, his friend – one last time.

“I know,” he began, pausing to cough again, “I know you’re not particularly … fond of … sentimentality … but I’m thankful you decided to come back. Your … your timing … was … fortuitous.

“If not a tad late …”

Catching that whisper as she pulled him out of the bathroom and into the hallway, Faith nodded her head and replied quietly, "Yeah, I'm back. Back for good."

Though she didn't say it to him, she made a mental promise to herself to not be such a selfish coward next time something happened to rattle her. It was stupid of her to run. Even stupider to think that Corbett would force her to talk about the things her younger self had said. It occurred to her then that if she had simply told him she didn't want to talk about it, he probably would have dropped the subject.

But then, she still couldn't stand that he was probably thinking of it, and selfish as the thought was, she was almost glad to have some kind of distraction from the subject of why she had run away.

"I got a knack for coming around right in the nick of time," the Slayer joked, her mind wandering back to another moment in time when she'd arrived just in time to save the day. "You know, you could kind of say it's becoming a habit of mine to bust through the door right when you need me the most."

There were no evil vampires to kill this time, only a broken man in need of some bandages, a change of clothes, rest, and his Slayer to take care of him as Elfleda's black magic pulsed through his system.

Kicking open the door to his bedroom, Faith helped Corbett to his bed where she sat him down and stood before him, her eyes moving to his stained shirt. He looked so weak sitting there, covered in blood, vomit, and whatever it was that Elfleda had infected him with. The Watcher had never looked more frail to her than he did right now, and it broke her heart to see someone who usually looked so strong look so weak and helpless now.

"Can you ... I mean, are you strong enough to change your clothes or do you need ... help?"

Corbett tried to hold his head up to meet Faith’s gaze, wanting so badly to look at her for the first time in … how long had she been gone? But he couldn’t, too tired and weak, so he figured if he couldn’t even do something so simple as lift his head and look up at her, he couldn’t bloody well change his clothes.

“Help,” he said weakly. “If you don’t mind.”

The Watcher’s gaze did, however, meet the burn marks on the carpet, all that was left of his research on Elfleda and the Defiler. All that hard work, though it hardly led him anywhere, was gone.

“She … she destroyed my work,” he grumbled. “I had little before … even less now.

“I’m sorry.”

"It's no big," Faith chirped out nonchalantly, her hands already moving down to his shirt.

Since it was basically destroyed anyway, she figured he wouldn't mind it when she basically ripped it open, not wanting to bother with individual buttons or touching anything that was covered in that black goo. It made it easier to pull the sleeves down from his arm and once it was off, she tossed it into the small trashcan he kept in his room.

Following his gaze, she looked down at the burn marks and then back at Corbett. "Man, she must've really got pissed that you were onto her ..."

As her voice trailed off, she had a thought. If Elfleda bothered appearing before Corbett to burn his research and infect him with her touch, he must've been getting close to something important. She was no Watcher, but she had enough experience with evil to know that they did everything in their power to destroy anything that would give away their secrets.

"I don't give a fuck about your research, Corbett," Faith replied as she glanced back at the Watcher. "The research is ashes and dust, but you're not and that's what matters here. I don't care about dusty old books, I care about you."

Slightly embarrassed by her small outburst, she quickly turned her back to Corbett and walked over to his dresser, distracting herself from her emotion by opening up drawers in search of his pajamas.

“Bottom drawer,” Corbett wheezed with a slight wince.

Normally, the Watcher would’ve been embarrassed to be sitting in his boxers with Faith in the room. If he were 30 years younger, then sure, no big … but he was nearly 60, and that just wouldn’t fly. Yeah, Corbett liked to keep himself in shape – he was at one time a very fit man – but late 50s were late 50s and even the best-looking man was subject to the rigors of gravity at that age.

Even so, that was the last thing on Corbett’s mind. He’d most assuredly be dead had Faith not come back at just the right time, so there was that more than anything. He hoped to all the gods and goddesses he’d ever read up on that whatever Elfleda hopped him up on was all gone, because the last couple hours were something he never wanted to live through again.

He’d rather have a stake shoved into his chest.

Well, Spike would be glad to know whenever he got back from – wherever the hell he ran off to. Corbett found it odd to be thinking of Spike at a time like this, but it sure as shit beat thinking about the Corruptress. What she did, how she looked, the creepy sound of her voice … if Corbett could permanently purge all that from his memory, he would.

Not even Desdemona scared him this much.

Relieved that Corbett had all but ignored her momentary burst of emotion, Faith obediently bent over to open up the bottom drawer and found a few pairs of pajamas folded up inside of it. Taking out the first pair she saw, she shut the drawer and then walked back over to the bed, setting aside the pajamas for the moment.

It was weird to have the task of undressing and dressing her Watcher ahead of her and she couldn't really deny that. With the large age gap between them and the way he treated her sometimes, he had almost become like a father figure to her, much like Giles had become a father figure to Buffy. He was her friend, yes, and also a peer, but she also got that vibe from him. It didn't matter if she was almost thirty years old, she still had a few daddy issues and Corbett filled that role perfectly.

And hey, it was a major plus that this time her father figure wasn't evil. It just made undressing him weird when she thought about him like that.

"You know, you really must've been onto something if she took the time out of her busy schedule of calling beasts from the underworld to make a house call," Faith said absently as she picked his pajama top up and slid it over both of his arms.

It helped to make a little bit of small talk while she buttoned up his top.

“Could’ve fooled me,” the Watcher said with a light chuckle before cringing. Laughing still hurt, probably because his muscles were still sore from the repeated vomitings he’d endured. “I thought I was getting nowhere.”

Still weak, and partly wanting nothing more than to just pass out and sleep for the next three weeks, Corbett instead decided to indulge in the small talk Faith was providing. He cleared his throat, flinching when a muscle twinged the wrong way.

“Spike,” he began, talking slowly so as not to push himself, “he … asked me to tell you something. That he’d … be gone a while. He didn’t say where he was going, just … he had some things to take care of and that he’d be back soon.

“That was … about a week after you left.”

"You still got the information in your head, right?" the Slayer asked, pausing in her buttoning to glance up at Corbett. "She didn't, like, perform a mindwipe or something on you, did she?"

With her own limited knowledge, she really had no idea what the Corruptress was capable of. If she could turn people evil, why couldn't she warp brains? Corbett's hallucinations were proof that she could plant some pretty nasty stuff in a person's head.

Returning to the task, she frowned slightly at the mention of Spike. If she was worried about facing Corbett, she was absolutely terrified of coming face-to-face with Spike again. He'd babysat her. Babysat her! He told her bedtime stories and tucked her into bed at night. And he knew as much as Corbett did, only Spike wasn't all that known for dropping topics like that.

Plus, it really killed the mood to know that the guy she was fucking was probably thinking about her broken past when he was looking at her instead of how nice her rack looked in a tank top.

"Yeah, well, that's no skin off my back. Spike can do whatever he wants."

Finishing up the buttons, she picked up the pajama pants and knelt down at Corbett's feet. She slid them over his feet and ankles and pulled them up to his knees. Unable to stop herself from making a joke about her own over-active sex drive, she couldn't help but comment, "You know, usually I'm taking the pants off."

Corbett, in spite of his weak physical state, chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “And if I were 30 years younger, you might be now,” he offered, momentarily avoiding the question about whether or not all his Elfleda intel – such that it was – was still in his head.

Given what had been in his head the past few hours, Corbett really didn’t feel like digging deep in search for anything. If some of Elfleda’s little gifts were still there, he was bound to find them in his search for anything Corruptress-related, and he really didn’t feel like barfing up black oil again.

Not to mention …

“I don’t know,” he finally said, gravely. “She messed with my head a great deal, who knows what’s in here … and what’s real and what’s not.”

The Watcher’s voice shook just then, and his eyes filled with something he was sure Faith had never seen in them before: fear. Pure, unadulterated fear. Corbett, for the first time since breaking his ties with Desdemona three decades earlier, was afraid. Afraid for his life, afraid the Corruptress would come back for him.

She’d found him once, why not again?

Grinning, the Slayer laughed softly as she pulled his pajama pants up the rest of the way. At least he was a boxers and not a briefs man. That could have ended up being slightly more than just a little uncomfortable ...

"I bet you got your pants taken off plenty back in the day," she added, hoping that a few compliments might help him to feel better about this. "Kathryn sure thought you were a stud."

With the task of slipping him into something a little more comfortable done, Faith stood back up and casually looped her fingers around the belt loops of her usual skin tight black jeans. She wasn't sure what to say to Corbett's confession, this Elffleda stuff only seeming to get worse by the second.

"Don't wor--" she began, but was cut off when she noticed the look of fear in Corbett's eyes. It was enough to cause her own head to turn and check behind her to make sure they didn't have any guests, but to her relief, there was nothing there but the dresser.

Eager to move on and ease Corbett's fear, she repeated her previous statement. "Don't worry about it, we'll figure it out later. You should probably hit the sack now."

Her words were simple, but her mind had already begun to wander to complicated places. Elfleda needed to be stopped once and for all. Faith couldn't risk her Watcher being torn apart by her again. This town had how many Slayers now and they still let this bitch roam around free? There were four that she knew of, probably more hanging around, plus Spike and Connor and possibly more superbeings who tread on the good side of the fence. If they all pooled their strength together, maybe they could stand a chance against her.

After all, they had stopped a Hell dimension from opening up and destroying earth. This should be a piece of cake in comparison to that.

Corbett nodded quietly, agreeing he probably needed sleep. He gingerly pushed himself onto his mattress, reluctantly lying on it, staring at the ceiling. The sickness was gone, but his strength – and his regular frame of mind – had yet to return, the Watcher shaking on the bed.

Not tremors, just … fear.

“Faith,” he said with a crack in his voice. “Could you … stay in here tonight? I’m afraid if I close my eyes I’ll see things again and get … you know … bad.”

There were a lot of things Corbett wanted to ask Faith now that she was back. Where did she go? What did she do? Did she want to go with him to London when this was all over with and visit Kathryn’s memorial? Did she find what she needed? But those were all questions for another time, a time when the Watcher wasn’t being tormented by the Corruptress.

“It,” he added, smiling weakly, “it’s good to have you back. I missed you.”

The fear in his eyes combined with the shaking of his body and the weakness in his voice made the decision easy for Faith.

"Sure," she answered quickly, and with a grin, she asked, "where do you want me? Right here?" she motioned at the spot beside him on the bed, "or should I just camp out on the floor?"

As far as sleeping arrangements went, Faith had worse. A sleeping bag on the floor of Corbett's bedroom was probably a lot more comfortable than some of her old prison bunks.

At Corbett's own display of sentimentality, Faith could only chuckle and roll her eyes a little, appreciative of his statement, but she hadn't been tamed yet. She was okay with a few hugs and a pat on the back once in a while, but no one could accuse her of going soft.

"It's good to be back," Faith admitted. "Somebody needs to be here every time you get yourself in a jam."

Corbett smiled a little at that, able to see behind the façade to what Faith really meant. Even in his state, he remembered how Faith was, and understood why she had to bolt. He wasn’t mad at her for it, especially since she came back when she did and managed to help Corbett before he took the whole purging of Elfleda’s influence thing too far.

“Not to mention the PS3,” he added softly as he rolled onto his side. His eyes still open, but at least he was on the way back to comfort.

Thanks to Faith.

"Now that my fingers are rusty, you might just get your chance at beating me, old man," the Slayer teased. "Relish it while you can, 'cause once I get my game back, it'll be on."

Truth be told, it was nice to have this teasing banter back with someone she knew and could trust. It was almost as if they'd never been apart, and Faith was grateful for that. He had been on death's door that night, but the Slayer was sure that he'd be making a full recovery as long as he had her by his side.

In a way, it was kind of ironic that last time she saw him, she was six years old and he was the one helping her into her clothes and comforting her at night when she had a bad dream. Now the roles were reversed and she was the one who was taking care of him. Life sure was funny that way, wasn't it?

Torn to Shreds

***Begin Adult Content: Self-Inflicted Violence and Brief Sexuality***

Corbett’s bathroom reeked of dried blood and vomit.

Mostly because in the 24 hours since his face-to-face with Elfleda, Corbett had done nothing but throw up, cut open his wrists and pass out. The vomiting and wrist-cutting were a desperate attempt to force the darkness the Corruptress infused in him out – as if it were some poison he’d lost the antidote for.

The more he purged, the more he bled, the Watcher thought, the sooner he’d be rid of the damn visions and urges. But the truth was, Corbett was growing weaker by the moment, and the only thing keeping him conscious now was the glass of water he drank moments before.

A stunning moment of clarity in the midst of mental chaos.

Corbett sat on the bathroom floor, his shirt torn to shreds in the bedroom. A cold sweat stuck to his forehead, eyes darting around each time his psyche was bombarded with thoughts of deeds the Watcher would normally never speak of. Acts so vile even the darkest of demons would cower in fear.

And the worst part? Corbett couldn’t deny he liked it … longed for it, even. Elfleda really was the Corruptress after all.

Toilet paper soaked in blood littered the floor beside the Watcher. A shaky hand lifted slowly, eventually grabbing the handle and flushing the results of his last purge down the toilet. For a moment, Corbett thought this must’ve been what it was like to be a drug addict, so desperate for a chemical compound the very lack of it made you sick.

Not even the withdrawal symptoms after he broke his bond with Desdemona were this painful. But Corbett needed to suffer through it – the illness, the searing pain along his flesh – if for no other reason than to get Elfleda out of his system and to get back to normal.

Faith would be back soon, and she was, she was going to have a normal Watcher. Not a hopeless old man too busy crouching in front of a toilet and holding a razor blade to be of any good to her.

Death … death to them all …

Corbett flinched and gave a startled yelp, curling back into himself as his body began to shake once more. The images of children running from a mass slaughter filled his head, grainy and yet so detailed. He saw every speck of dust, every drop of blood. Every scream rattled through his ear drums, so much so he covered his ears with his arms and whimpered in a vain attempt to make the pain – or the part of him that enjoyed it – go away.

A black figure stood over a pile of dead bodies. Children he’s killed, butchered in so many horrific ways. Ways Corbett couldn’t even conceptualize, not even in this altered state. The figure stayed in the shadows, staring ahead with blood-soaked blades in its grasp. For what seemed like minutes the figure stood still, saying nothing.

Then suddenly …

”Memento Mori!!”

And with a sudden burst of white in his eyes, the figure was gone. Corbett was alone again, on the bathroom floor, breathing heavy and sweating. The sickness in his stomach slowly returned, but the Watcher swallowed it back, choosing instead to grab the razor blade off the counter. He stared at the blade for several moments, noting the blood not quite dry.

Tentatively, Corbett brought the blade to his mouth, running his tongue along the side of the blade. His blood pooled on his tongue and, much to Corbett’s inner chagrin, he closed his lips and swallowed. The blood was so warm and soothing going down his throat, and once it hit his stomach, Corbett felt the nausea fade.

The Watcher had found his Pepto.

Gritting his teeth, Corbett again took the blade to his left wrist, grunting as he sliced open skin once more, watching as the blood rose and spilled to the floor. The Watcher began to feel light-headed, realizing – yet again – that drawing blood like this wasn’t having the desired effect.

No, all it was doing was making him hungry.

Another vision gripped the Watcher’s psyche suddenly, this one more of a flashback. There was Desdemona, wearing nothing and sitting in Corbett’s lap. Her hips swayed slightly to and fro, the seductive grin on her demonic face at once sensual and predatory. She licked her lips, letting a fang puncture her tongue before shoving it down Corbett’s throat, sharing her vitae with him.

He kissed with equal passion, grabbing the vampiress’ hips and letting himself lose complete control. His eyes closed, the horrors of a moment before all but forgotten as he began to lose himself in Desdemona’s embrace … only to have her vanish into thin air, leaving him with nothing more than a whisper.

“Memento Mori … “

“Memento Mori,” he whispered in a husky, exhausted tone, licking his wrist and swallowing whatever his tongue collected. It’d been decades since he last tasted blood – back when he was still in Desdemona’s thrall – but in many ways, this was a feeling he’d never forgotten.

And in many more ways, a feeling he didn’t want to lose … even as he passed out again on the bathroom floor.

Door wide open for anyone who might happen to walk in to see.

***End Adult Content: Self-Inflicted Violence and Brief Sexuality***

The Proverbial Feline

The candle burnt out hours ago.

Even the smoky remnants had dissipated, leaving nothing but dried-up wax in the holder. The physical embodiment of Corbett’s remembrance of someone he barely knew was gone; all that left was the intent and the feeling behind the gesture. And as much as it sucked to know someone so young was gone, the Watcher actually appreciated the diversion, taking a much-needed break from his fruitless research.

Never before had a case vexed Corbett so. None of his volumes had anything of use on the Defiler, and if his collection were anything to go by, no being named Elfleda existed. But the Watcher knew the Corruptress was real; he’d heard accounts of people having run-ins with her, and Faith told him about how Elfleda kept her on-edge.

So if a Slayer was skittish about the Corruptress, it definitely existed. Just don’t ask Corbett’s books.

So the old man sat by his window, lit cigarette hanging idly from his mouth. Corbett wasn’t actively smoking, but having the smoke there was a calming influence on him. Between the research and Faith’s need for space, the Watcher felt near his wit’s end. Not even the moonlight could calm Corbett … mostly because in the Nevada desert, moonlight meant the bad things could come out.

Smooth or rough, wax could be a most intriguing substance. It seemed to possess the very spirit of creativity within it, yielding so easily to the process of artistic interpretation. Even when solid it could seem infinitely pliable.

But it should only start to melt under heat.

It might not have been immediately noticeable, but the stuff was beginning to drip and coalesce, even swirling against itself, once sufficient time had passed. Slowly, softly, but it was doing so.

That was when the outline of a young woman's face took shape in mid-air; the smoke from cigarette gathering together to reveal a playful, if mocking smile upon features both pristine and regal.

"Boo ... !"

With that startling appearance, the smoke was quite obviously blown straight into the Watcher's face, with no apparent cause behind it.

But with a sudden and frightening SLAM of door, there could be little doubt an alien presence had entered that room. Something mischievous.

Perhaps even malevolent.

With a startled yelp of sorts, Corbett dropped his cigarette and fell to his ass. Fortunately, the remaining cigarette fell out the window and onto the ground below outside and not in the middle of the room where it might’ve ignited and caught the room on fire. But still … the Watcher didn’t remember cigarette smoke ever attacking him before.

Nor did he remember doors randomly blowing shut. Especially on nights where there was no wind.

Peering over the edge of the bed, the Watcher’s gaze narrowed, his eyes squinting as if to focus on whatever the hell it was that burst into his room. At first, he could only see swirling smoke – he thought the smoke took the form of a woman’s face before shoving into his face moments before, but he wasn’t sure if he really had seen it, or if he’d been imagining the whole thing.

Neither scenario was out of the question.

"If you really must prostrate yourself before me, you could at least do me the service of doing so on your knees ... "

The voice was spoken in a beautifully clear English accent. In fact, it seemed to be communicating as directly to the mind of its intended audience, as into physical ears.

The melted wax seemed to reach out of its holder, suspended by some unseen force and spreading thinly out before an impression of that those same feminine features of before was made within the liquid surface. He could not have known it, but it was the same face as Faith had once spoken to.

And that animated death mask of wax seemed to look straight at him.

"Such a good boy ... staying at home, doing all the work for others to take the glory ... "

Corbett couldn’t believe what he was seeing … the candle wax literally bubbling with life before giving way to some … shape. This … thing materialized before him, a feminine figure with the most striking and haunting voice he’d ever heard. On the one hand, it was an undeniably pleasant sound, but mostly it freaked the fuck out of the Watcher.

Rising to one knee and then onto his feet, Corbett adjusted his glasses to get a better look at the figure, not knowing for sure who or what this was in front of him, but his scholarly intuition led him to think he had a pretty good idea.

“Hate to disappoint, love,” he said with hardly any feeling, his face covered in week-old stubble. “But I don’t worship without knowing to whom I’m bowing.”

The disembodied face suddenly vanished, as the super-heated wax splashed violently to the floor, hissing with volatile instability. It would cool into a hardened puddle later, but this was now and inky black shadows began to draw together across the floor, pooling themselves as one. A thing of total blackness was gradually solidifying, as if composed out of liquid tar and now he could see an entire body, not just a face.

Soon enough, skin began to reveal, so pale it could have been mistaken for porcelain. Then the process was complete and Elfleda, Corruptress and Leviathan's Bride, stood before the man in all her regal glory.

"So many questions, Mister Renfroe," the entity said, both congratulatory and malicious, all at once. She was not bothering to reign in her aura here. Indeed, the spiritual filth hanging in the air was tangible and a very real pressure could be felt all around.

A pressure somehow enticing, though. Her very nature was to lure and convert, not terrorize and destroy, although in that she could almost certainly succeed, too.

"Would you care to have me enlighten you ... ?"

“Not really,” the Watcher said with a cringe, starting to feel a pressure build about the room. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. “You know what curiosity did to the proverbial feline.”

The pressure was slowly building, coming down on Corbett’s shoulders like a footstep growing deeper in the sand. It took some effort to remain upright under the sudden grip the room seemed to have on him – he tried to walk, but couldn’t … tried to move his head to look out the window, but he couldn’t even do that.

His brain was sending the signals, but the limbs and nerves weren’t responding. It was almost as if … they didn’t want to.

“Though a name would be nice,” he added, a strain creeping into his voice.

"Why don't you ask Miss Keddle about me, hmm?" Elfleda suggested, for it was in her nature to nudge others into taking certain path. Emmeline's experiences would certainly put the wind up even the most unemotional of investigators. "I'm sure she's practically dying for a chance to talk about our history together ... such fun memories we have ... "

Seemingly gliding forth, the Corruptress smiled, black eyes fixed upon him in an unblinking doll's stare, all the way.

"I'd rather not have to take matters into my own hands, after all ... "

As if in reflection of that comment, Elfleda caressed palm gently to this cheek - but at even the merest contact, countless images, sounds and, worst of all, emotions assaulted his mind. Every single one of them nastier and more horrific than even the most graphic snuff film.

No, these were things impossible to describe. The guilty enjoyment of a child rapist claiming his or her first infant's virginity. A seriel killer's twisted pleasure at masturbating over roadkill. A psychopathic daughter's secret incestual lust for her own father. A genocidal dictator's sense of relief at ordering faceless millions put to death, just for the sake of appeasing paranoia.

They were but a fraction of the hideous and grotesque psychological impulses he witnessed, as if being those very individuals.

Perhaps the worst of it was that they were not to teach aversion, but to demonstrate that freedom, liberation, could truly be found in through such inhumane acts.

To feel actual happiness and supremely dark release at being in some way responsible for them.

What worse gift could there be than to understand the addictions of that we are taught to hate? To perhaps even find a spark of those same hungers within ourselves, just waiting for the right time and opportunity to blossom?

No matter how tiny or hidden and reserved, the Corruptress could find such a spark and transform it to a raging inferno.

It lasted for no longer than seconds, yet must have felt like a century. His mind had been assaulted by the twin sins of perversion and perceived gratification. Perhaps it even woke up a few of his own darker fantasies.

"I suggest you take a break from your studies, Mister Renfroe. It just wouldn't do if I took a dislike to your investigations."

Corbett wanted nothing more than to back away from the figure as she approached, all but certain this was the Corruptress, made flesh – or some reasonable facsimile. But his feet couldn’t – nay, wouldn’t – move, and he was left to her devices as she stood before him, seeming to float in the air.

Her touch was freezing, sending violent chills through the Watcher’s aging body. He gave a massive shudder, so much so his glasses fell to the floor. A moment passed with nothing, then another … then another.

Corbett blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he met with the most horrifying a graphic images he’d ever seen. Nothing so simple as murder or bloodshed or rape – these were acts so despicable, so vile, that no being outside of humanity could possibly commit them. Even monsters weren’t capable of this.

The first bloodied corpse in his mind’s eye, sent Corbett reeling, the second dropping him to his knees. He heard the screams of a six-year-old girl begging her father to stop, saw the leering grin on his face as he tore her dress off. He clutched the sheets on his mattress, feeling his insides churn and rumble with each passing image.

When he caught a glimpse of a shotgun shoved down an elderly man’s throat, the trigger finally pulled, the Watcher’s eyes widened at the spray of blood and brain matter. Still shaking, his entire body went into overdrive, and the next thing Corbett knew, he buried his face in a trashcan, his retching echoing off the walls of his own bedroom.

Even as the old man vomited, the visions didn’t leave. Children starved so bad their skeletons were practically flesh. Random senseless beatings that went on for hours, parents screaming obscenities no child should ever hear. Corbett shook, the contents of his stomach long gone, though his intestinal spasms continued.

He coughed and sputtered, somehow managing to wipe his mouth as the images finally passed, the screams of the tortured and dying staying in his brain. He gradually stood, pale-faced and sweaty, staring down the Corruptress. His breathing was heavy, labored … the front of his shirt damp with both sweat and vomit.

And, much to Corbett’s dismay, he couldn’t deny … a part of him liked what he saw.

“You’re,” he spoke slowly, pausing to swallow back bile, “you’re Elfleda.”

"If that's how you prefer to address me, then so be it," the Corruptress spoke, her very words simultaneously a writhing, sensual viper and the sensation of itching powder in hair and against genitals. The very epitome of frustration and shadowy relief.

Temptation, desire and rigid control.

"I know you ... "

That time, the words seemed to convey far greater weight than before. Elfleda seemed to stare into his very soul as she spoke them, her etheric self appearing to lean just slightly in as she did so.

No doubt they were true. The man's dangeorus flirtations with a vampiric mistress had brought him to the brink several times. In whose domain had he sought to tread, back then, if not that of the Corruptress'?

With that, the woman seemed to fade from view, as easily as losing reception on a television signal. Her presence lingered and would continue to do so for some weeks, even with cleansing rituals in evidence. But even as her visual self phased away, several of the researcher's written notes on the table spontaneously caught alight, starting to burn.

Elfleda might be gone, but her message was clear.

Corbett hadn’t even noticed Elfleda’s disappearance, too lost in his own warped vision of reality to notice anything aside from the vague urges housed in his brain. Nor did he notice the fire consuming his notes – useless as they were – or the sprinklers overhead coming on to quell the flames and keep the apartment from burning down. And he certainly didn’t notice the damp, charred remains of his notes and books and several areas of the apartment.

Still sweating and trembling, the Watcher made am ad dash for the dresser by his bed, pulling open the drawer and grabbing his ceremonial dagger. He usually kept it at his altar, but put it away when Faith and Spike were children.

The blade shown in the dim light of the room, Corbett’s disheveled face staring back at him through the steel. He stared at the stubbled, sweaty face for what seemed like an eternity, his anger growing with each passing second. Corbett hated what he saw before him, letting out a bellowing scream before slamming his fist into the wall, causing the dry wall to crack and his skin to break open.

Corbett stared at the blood on his wrist … his blood. Tentatively, Corbett leaned toward his wrist, his tongue gathering up some of the vitae. He swallowed it, surprised to feel his churning stomach calm. His eyes darted from the blood to the blade, his grip on the handle tightening.

Then, without another thought, Corbett brought blade to flesh.

Burn On

The newspaper was a sanctuary for Corbett.

Which was sad on a level, but he was learning more from the daily collection of shootings, muggings, murders, drug deals and political scandals than he was combing over his tomes in search of something on the Defiler and Elfleda. A part of him almost hoped the Clark County Beacon would have an article detailing everything he wanted to know about the creeptastic duo, but that was so unrealistic – mostly because that would require the general populous to acknowledge that things beyond their scope of comprehension and idea of normal existed.

And they weren’t about to do that.

But as the Watcher’s eyes combed through the Obituary section – a habit he picked up from his profession, always glancing at the names to see if any of them looked familiar – he did catch a name that rang a bell in his mind.

Hannah Flynn.

Corbett’s brow furrowed and his lip puckered in thought. For a moment, he couldn’t recall why that name seemed so familiar to him. The Watcher didn’t have a large social circle in Searchlight, and at first he thought it was just a name he’d seen in print before.

But then he remembered … he’d met her once before, a little over a year ago. Kris was still his Slayer, and he recalled his bum shoulder from a crossbow training session gone horribly wrong. She’d suggested Aspercreme for his shoulder … and then mentioned something about meat loaf.

Corbett allowed himself a short chuckle before continuing to read the obit piece. She was just 23 … for that, the Watcher actually felt a twinge of regret and mourning. He’d only met Hannah the once – and mistook her for a Slayer when he did. It was an unfortunate side effect of his job; meet a young woman and automatically think or wonder if she was one of the Chosen Ones.

Hannah wasn’t. She was just some girl who rambled on about a big rock and was so glad to know Corbett was a Watcher … he couldn’t recall if he ever actually found anything out about said rock, but he at least remembered he telling him about it.

The he walked her home. That whole male chivalry thing … not to mention the fact that Searchlight was a little light on the normal and heavy on the monsters that thrived on the darkness to snap people like twigs and digest their entrails.

Details of her death were sketchy, which told Corbett it was out of the ordinary. The Watcher wondered who she was close to, who in this tiny desert town connected to her. In a way, that was what Corbett felt the worst about. He felt bad Hannah died so young, and he didn’t like the scarcity of information regarding her passing, but more than anything he wondered who was suffering because of her loss.

He thought back to Kathryn for a moment, thinking of how he felt when he found out she was killed. He then thought of his Slayer and that bond they had. A bond he was glad for, but never wished upon anyone else.

Faith still hadn’t called or came by. She was fine – Corbett was sure of that – but it seemed there was a wedge between them since she returned to normal.

The Watcher frowned, folding up the newspaper and placing it on the coffee table. With a sigh, he rose and walked to his bedroom. On his dresser sat a makeshift altar, with a gold-encrusted pentagram situated in the center. On top of it was a candle holder, in which Corbett placed a black candle.

Igniting his Zippo, the Watcher lit the candle, staring intently at the flame. Taking his glasses off, Corbett spread his hand open, holding it palm-down inches above the flame. Feeling the warmth against his skin, Corbett’s eyes closed and he muttered quietly to himself:

“Peace be with you, Hannah Flynn. May your future journeys be fruitful and vibrant.”

Opening his eyes, Corbett put his glasses back on. He then returned to the living room to go about his research again, letting the candle burn on in rememberance.

Not So Good With the Books

The living room was littered with books, volumes of open text strewn about the floor and the coffee table.

Corbett, for his part, looked a bit the worse for wear. Sitting in the couch staring intently at the copious tomes surrounding him. His glasses were off, half-smoked cigarette sitting ignored between his fingers. The man looked as if he hadn’t shaven in a few weeks … because in all reality, he hadn’t.

While he was relieved that Faith finally grew back up, he was concerned over her apparent need for space. She hadn’t been to the apartment often, if at all, since returning to her adult form, and Corbett got the hint the second time she failed to answer her cell phone that she didn’t want to be around.

He figured she didn’t want to see Corbett after the childish episode, wondering if perhaps he’d see her differently after what he learned from her six-year-old self.

Which would’ve been fine, if Spike hadn’t been persona-non-there for virtually the same amount of time. That unsettled the Watcher the most.

Regardless, he still had to read up on the Defiler and Elfleda. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off anything about demons with the ability to enact metaphysical change in a person. Though Faith and Spike were adult again, Corbett’s natural curiosity made him wonder just what made them children in the first place.

Demon, spell? Demon spell?

Connor had taken the bit of metal he'd gotten from Rhiannon and stuck it into a paper grocery bag, adding that to the rag it had already been wrapped in. He didn't want to risk even the slightest possibility of making contact with it. His cross-trainers thumped heavily on the steps leading up to Corbett's house, and he knocked loudly on the doorframe. This thing gave him the creeps just from having it around, the sooner it was out of his hands the better.

Maybe if Faith was around he could ask her if she wanted in on this. He'd been meaning to get in touch with her anyway. He'd see if the Slayer was around when he dropped this off, but if not he could always leave a message with the Englishman. Then he had to check out bus schedules. He really couldn't wait until he had his own way to get around.

The knock at the door startled Corbett, so much so he nearly fell out of his seat. Clamoring to place his notepad and pen aside, the Watcher hastily rose from the couch, only to almost trip over a stack of books once he took his first step toward the door. Cursing to himself, Corbett eventually made it to the door, turning the knob in the hopes of it being Faith or someone with news of her.

Despite the disappointment once he saw Connor at his step, Corbett managed a tired smile, stepping aside. “’Ello,” he said. “Don’t suppose you have news for me … ?”

"Not news so much, but I do have this." Paper crinkled as the young man held up the bag. "Rhiannon gave it to me, said I was supposed to give it to you. It fell off of that ... thing.”

He looked around at the mess of books and papers that had been strewn about, gave Corbett a curious look. "Doing your homework?" he deadpanned, picking his way past the stack of tomes that had just been knocked over. "Or are you making a really involved grocery list?"

He chose one of the few uncluttered spots to sit down, setting the bag on the floor near his foot. "Is Faith around? I was hoping to catch up with her."

“Research,” Corbett said with an exhaustive sigh, reaching his hand into the paper bag. “Lots and … lots of research.”

Research that needed to be done, granted, but also research that kept Corbett from going completely insane with not hearing from his Slayer or any of the other myriad of dramas surrounding Watcher and Slayer at the time. He examined the piece of metal closely, squinting as he held it up to his eye.

To the Watcher, it looked like nothing more than a metal fragment, possibly from a weapon. Did Rhiannon think there was something important about this thing?

“Faith,” he said with another sigh. “She’s … not here. Hasn’t been for some time. My guess – she’s freaked since she grew back up.”

"You...might not want to touch that too much," Connor cautioned. "Rhiannon got it from her friend Whistler. While he was in the intensive care unit from picking it up. It's got some kind of mojo on it that makes you sick. For a while she thought he wasn't gonna make it."

The Destroyer was mildly disappointed to hear that Faith was not, in fact, in the house, but he supposed it made sense. She was probably pretty uncomfortable right now, especially if her childhood had been anything like he imagined. If she had had any upbringing at all, the language her younger self used indicated that it had been less than storybook material.

"So you haven't even heard from her?" he asked, making a sympathetic face. "She might just need some time to cool off, so to speak. I know I would. But I was hoping to bring her in on this. We're probably going to need fighters when it comes time to put this thing down for good."

Corbett nodded to himself, placing the metal shard back in the bag as quickly as he possibly could. There was no probably about it – from what little he knew about the Defiler, and even Elfleda, he knew they would need those of the supernatural persuasion to handle the job. And while Corbett knew he was pretty spry with a broadsword and he could read Sumerian with the best of them, somehow he didn’t think that would be enough.

Placing the bag on the coffee table, the Watcher plopped into the couch with an exhausted sigh, running a hand through his ruffled hair. “So what is it?”

Connor shook his head, not particularly interested in the finer points of monster hunting. "All I know is, it's a big walking tin can that makes things rot when it has too much contact with them. And it nearly killed Whistler. I'm not sure what he thought he was doing when he went out there alone, but he almost didn't come back."

He looked around for a newspaper, didn't see one. "There was an article in the Beacon not too long ago, something about a bunch of destruction up in Vegas. My name, mine and Rhiannon's, were found branded into a wall after it was all over. When I saw her at the hospital, I asked her if Elf ... if she was calling us out. She didn't say yes, but she didn't say no, either."

He rubbed the side of his neck. "Sorry if I'm not more help," he offered. "I'm not so good with the books. I don't read about these things, I just fight them."

Corbett blinked. “The Defiler’s made of metal?” he offered in muted shock, suddenly aware of why he hadn’t found anything in his books. “The bloody Tin Man come from the Yellow Brick Road and gone all mad?”

The Watcher stared at the open volume on the coffee table, shaking his head at its mention of Gilgamesh and his supposed connection to a vampire cult from Mesopotamia. Not only did Corbett already know about that, he knew for a fact now that it had nothing to do with Elfleda and her excuse for a pet.

Corbett stared at the bag, remembering what Connor said about it making people sick. “Fight it,” he mumbled before adding, “How do we fight something if getting too close to it puts us in the hospital?”

"Rhiannon and I managed it once," Connor replied. "But we also ended up bringing the ceiling down on the thing, burying it under a bunch of rocks. I'm not sure if it dug its way out by itself, or if she did it. I didn't think to ask Whistler when I saw him the other night if she was around when he got attacked, but I figured he might not have wanted to talk about it."

He paused, wondering what else there might be to say, then offered, "I need to go to Vegas for a few days. If it would help, there's probably a couple of vampires up there who've heard things. I could poke around, see what the demon rumor mill says. Vamps? Not exactly known for being close-mouthed. I could smack a few around, see what I can learn."

And who knew, maybe one of those vampires would even be Tristan. It would be nice if he could make himself useful before he ended up as a pile of ash. He'd definitely at least ask.

Corbett nodded, closing the book on Gilgamesh and making a few notes to himself. “Might want to see about talking to Lorne,” he suggested. “Never know what he might’ve heard, with that admittedly creepy power of his.”

The Destroyer's expression closed up a little, but he made himself nod. It wasn't a terrible idea, after all. Not that beating the snot out of vampires wasn't fun, but if Lorne could be useful then he shouldn't be averse to trying that route. Not like the wounds of the past hadn't been recently salted, after all.

"I've heard he's got a new place up there," he said, lifting his weight up off of the couch. "I could check it out, see if there's anything to be learned. I'll let you know if I hear anything."

He gestured towards the bag in a parting form of caution. "Don't unwrap it unless you've got, like, asbestos gloves around or something. I had been keeping it outside out of paranoia that I might not want to sleep in the same room with it. When Faith comes back, tell her. And tell her that I'll call once she's calmed down. We're going to need her.”

“I’m calling her again tonight,” Corbett said with an exhausted sigh, scratching his scruffy beard. “And every night until she comes back.”

Connor's shoulders went up and down, and it occurred to him that he felt much like Angel as he said, "Faith isn't an easy person to deal with sometimes. She's probably embarrassed. But she'll come back. The tough ones always do."

He glanced at his watch, realized that he had just enough time for a shower before his next shift at the Lighthouse. "I'll be in touch, Corbett. Hope you find something in all those books of yours."