Title: Complicated

Author: Syn

E-Mail: veruca_werewolf@hotmail.com

Rating: R just cuz.

Content: Faith/Wesley

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: Faith and Wesley belong to Joss Whedon and his evil minions. Sadly, my application for minionhood was turned down and I have no claim on anything of his. Bastard. Uhh...I mean, Master.

Archive: Take it, spread the love.

Summary: Wesley finds Faith and they...have pie.

A/N: This is the much requested sequel to "By the Curve of Your Spine". It starts off a few months after Wesley finds out that Faith is stalking him. Umm...what else...oh yeah, think of By the Curve as a sort of letter Faith has written to Wesley in her mind than a true POV. This story goes from both Wes and Faith's POV. :)

Feedback: It's such a small thing, if you please.

Every man in the room is watching her, or at least they should be. She moves in a rhythm all her own, hips swaying, eyes screwed shut, hands clawing the air like she's beckoning spirits. And the spirits come in the form of men flocking to her side. They circle her and she opens her eyes, a smile curving her lips. She touches them all, inviting them to touch her back, to get as close as possible to her as she grinds.

Sleek muscular thighs graze hers and she spins, giving everyone a taste of her magic, fingernails scraping intimately across cheeks and brows, down to lips that wet in anticipation. Her smile is a siren song and the world revolves around her. She knows this too and she revels in it, throwing her head back and letting the beat take her and thrust her into worlds I cannot even begin to imagine.

But I want to. I want to go down there onto that dance floor and tangle my fingers into the wild mass of curls on her head. Tangle my fingers in it and pull her mouth to mine and taste the danger of those ruby red lips. I want something more than to just watch her. I want to dance, to feel the shift and pull of soft, deadly muscles beneath my hands, to have her fingertips sweep along the line of my jaw and back across my neck. I want her to claim me with fingernails and teeth and the smell of leather.

Yet, I still watch. I'm always watching her it seems. It's strange. I wonder when the tables got turned and when my obsession started. Probably from the moment I found out she'd been in my apartment and that she'd been there for a while. And that she'd made a rather large mistake and left a message on my answering machine.

I broke the tape, I played it so much.

It took me nearly three weeks to track her down. Still, I didn't, couldn't talk to her. No, I just watched and waded through her things when she wasn't home. And slowly, the obsession grew until I needed to be near her physically when it was possible. I needed to know she was safe when she went out and that's why I'm here.

Playing the Watcher.

A molten lump settles like a fist in my stomach and I grind my teeth, glancing at the watch on my wrist, rotating glints from the mirror ball reflecting off its surface. Time is running out and I know she knows it. But she's always been one for a dramatic ending and I know she's timing this just right.

My hot gaze rakes the crowd around her and I see her attention has fallen on a blonde-haired fellow with, as Cordelia would say, Frat Boy written all over him. His hands spread out along her spine and pull her gyrating frame impossibly close to his. His mouth moves and the words are lost in the techno beat throbbing through the nightclub.

I, however, get the message quite clearly.

Finishing my drink in one burning gulp, I turn away from the edge of the catwalk and push my way to the iron stairway. Descending into the stifling heat of the crowd, I see his head bobbing along in front of me, heading straight for the door. I wait a whole, agonizing minute before following them out into the cool night.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I catch a glimpse of them disappearing around the corner of the club. Darting between the milling crowds waiting to get in, I follow, fingers flexing as I feel the cold metal against my wrists. My shoulders roll a little and I ready myself as I duck into the inky blackness of the alley. It's long and strewn with boxes and Dumpsters. I can't see where they've gone and I curse colorfully under my breath.

My boots crunch on the wet asphalt as I make my way down the long, dangerous alley. I can't believe she'd be foolish enough to go into a blind alley in Los Angeles, no matter how strong she is. Anger, pride and fear engage in a battle of fist-i-cuffs in my chest and I bite down on my lower lip, wondering where the hell she could be.

Suddenly, I stop, body tense as the sounds of murmuring voices carries over to me. Then I see the shifting shadows on the walls and I know where they've gone. Twelve feet in front of me, she's backed against the wall, her face tilted to the little square of sky above her. Frat Boy is draped across her body, his fingers walking rough, hungry paths across her breasts and stomach.

My eyes flash red as I see her smile, one leg lifting to rub against his, her arms around his neck as he lands kisses along her jaw. I wonder if she's enjoying it or if she can see me. No sooner does that thought flit across my mind than does her gaze land on me.

I'm not sure what I expected her to do, but the small flash of surprise quickly followed by the come-hither smile wasn't it. Her eyes transfix on mine and then her face tilts, capturing Frat Boy's questing lips with her own. The kiss is slow, hungry and maddeningly seductive. All the while, her eyes never leave mine. I see his face from the side and realize he's turned in the heat of the moment.

Game over.

I'm walking before I know it, my arm lashing out and a stake sliding out of it's sheath at my wrist. The pointed end goes smoothly into his back and I see his head jerk up in surprise. Then, things crumble away and the smell of dead leaves moldering and grave dirt fills my nostrils.

I am suddenly left staring into a pair of deep brown eyes, full of awed surprise and something else I can't quite pinpoint.

Silence lords the conversation and I try to find something to say to her. The speech I've been practicing for nearly a month seems to have trickled down my yellow spine. I open my mouth and all that comes out is an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak.

She bursts out laughing immediately as I flame a bright red. It takes her a few minutes to stop, and when she does, she looks up at me and smiles again, that same come-hither grin.

"We need to talk Wesley."

"Yes." I nod my head in agreement and glance around at the dark, dirty alley. "Somewhere else, perhaps?"

"Yeah." Faith glances around too and leans away from the wall behind her. I step the side to let her through and bite down on my lip once more.

As she steps close, her hand reaches out and touches my cheek, the faintest of caresses, so gentle I can barely feel it. Yet the touch is like fire on my skin I know she feels it too because she pulls her hand back like she's been shocked by static. My eyebrows draw down in a questioning glance and she looks away.

"Just checking." She mutters and steps ahead of me, leaving me staring after her.

Two slices of slightly burnt sugar crème pie and a cup of coffee later sees us sitting across from each at an all night diner. Unsure of what to say, I keep looking away from those beautiful blue eyes and taking in the decor. We seemed to have landed in a really cheesy version of the fifties, complete with checkerboard linoleum, an old jukebox and poodle-skirted waitresses taking orders. Our waitress, Kitten or something equally nauseating and kitsch, is staring at us from across the counter, her chin resting on her pudgy hand and her eyes glued to Wesley like she's got nothing better to do than stare.

I feel my lip curl up in disgust and stab the burned pie crust with my fork. Flakes scatter across the Formica table and Wesley jumps, looking from the pointy object to me and back again.

Hastily, I put it down.

"So..." I start, voice trailing off when he blinks at me nervously. "How have you been?"

Yeah, that's lame of me, but what am I supposed to say? Hi there! I stalked you for two months and ever since then I keep dreaming about you and oh by the way I still have a pair of your underwear! Oh yeah! I tortured you too, but that's water under the bridge, eh Watcher?

Not likely.

What I really want to know is why he's here. How the hell did he find me? What does he think of my little alley romp with that vamp? Fuck it, none of his business and I wasn't after a good time. That was strictly slayage.

"I've been well. Yourself?" He says, his eyebrow arching and his tongue darting out to lick coffee from his lips.

"Five by five, daddy-o." I smile and pick at the burned piecrust with my fingers, enjoying the crumbling feeling between my fingers. "How did you find me?"

"I followed you to the club." He says shortly, leaning back against the red vinyl seat, one arm slung over the back and the other slowly tearing his napkin to shreds. I nod my head, realizing he knows where I live, obviously. His eyes dart around and then settle on my fingers as I crumble the piecrust. "You were quite rude to my father, you know."

I look up sharply at his words. Shit.

"Well he was being rude to you." I say uncertainly. Yeah, he knows I was in his apartment. Shitpissfuckdamn. I hate answering machines.

"Yes he was." He nods his head and then leans forward. "Why didn't you call us?"

No need to ask what he means. I think a moment before answering, choosing to lie, which I suck at but it's all I got at this point. "I just wanted...something normal. Angel and you and your business aren't normal and I didn't want to get involved in that again."

"Then why did you sta--come to my apartment?" He bites down on his lip and shreds his napkin some more, as if he's completely frightened and killing the napkin is the only that's keeping him sitting here with me.

Ignoring his movements, I sit back and regard him with narrowed eyes. Does he know I was there that long? Shit, this is so not how I envisioned our first meeting. I kept daydreaming about fireworks and fighting and big truthful kisses and all that romantic mushy stuff that makes my teeth ache. Not to mention engage my gag reflex. I definitely wasn't expecting pie and a cross examination, although I should have, obviously. Why is it that these things are never as fairy tale as we imagine them?

"Why do you care?" I ask, shaking my thoughts off.

"Because."

"Because why?"

"I asked you first. And I can tell when you lie."

"Fine, I wanted...I kept..." I stammer, sighing heavily and centering myself. Why had I stayed there all that time? "I wanted to understand you." I say finally, biting down on my lip.

"Understand me? What do you mean?"

"I wanted to know why you were such an asshole. And what made a you a good guy, ya know? I wanted to get it. I wanted to get you." I say, my gaze trailing away from his and lighting on Kitten, who is pretending she isn't listening to our conversation. I fight the urge to throw my fork at her.

"Why me?" He says but I know he means why not Angel? I just shrug because I honestly don't know. And to tell you the truth, I don't want to know. The only answer I got is a big fat obsession that's been slowly driving me insane since that night I fucking lost it. And I am NOT telling him about that.

"You aren't pissed that I did some breaking and entering are you?"

"Not really, as long as you aren't. I must say, I didn't know you liked the Three Musketeers." His gaze is impassive, but his words sink in slowly. There is only one way he could know that I've been reading that book.

"You've been in my apartment." Not a question because I don't even need to ask. His head moves in a stunted version of a nod. "Well then..."

"Yes, quite."

"We even?"

"Not at all." He clips, pursing his lips and letting the asshole side show again. I decide to let my bitch out to play.

"So where does this leave us? Are you going to go all Night Stalker on me or something equally skeazy?" My eyes flash as my voice rumbles to a growl.

Wesley merely stares at me and lets a smile slide onto his features, his fingers leaving the shredded paper napkin and lifting to touch my hand. I fight the urge to move away from his touch, remembering that electric jolt that slid through my body last time. Instead I just follow his fingers as they hover over my fist.

My fingers unfold of their own accord and he brushes his long digits against mine, dragging his nails down to my knuckles. That same electric spark spirals through me with a techno thrum. His hand reaches my wrist and he pulls away. My gaze lifts to meet his and I see unease in his blue orbs.

"Just checking." He says and lifts his hand to his mouth. For a second I think he's going to suck a finger into his mouth but he just rubs absently at his chin and looks away. I follow his gaze, wondering what the hell is so fascinating about Kitten or whoever the fuck she is.

"Wesley?"

"Yes Faith?"

"I wasn't going to hurt you."

"No, you did something far worse to me." He says quietly, almost a whisper. My eyes narrow and I see his fingers go back to the napkin. The poor thing is almost dead. My piecrust doesn't look any better.

"What...what did I do?"

"You complicated things." Wesley says after ripping a square of the napkin away. I watch him twist it like a snake and then set the paper down onto the ugly tabletop. He looks up again and I'm suddenly startled by the raw, hungry look there. I have a feeling my eyes hold the same light. He is quiet for a moment more, searching my eyes and finding whatever the hell it is he's desperately hoping for.

God, is this real?

"Wes...?" I ask in a breathless voice, not sure what the hell this is going on or what the hell we're doing or about to do. His eyes burn with intensity and when he speaks, there's a certain note of thanks in his voice.

"You complicated my life all to hell, Faith."

I just stare at him and then pick at my pie crust some more. A smile stretches across my lips and I reach for the menu. "Want some tea?"

He looks bewildered, but he nods, motioning to Kitten to waddle over to our table and take our orders. As she comes over, I catch his eye again and he smiles. I can't help but smile back because I know.

I know you, Wesley. And now, you know me.