Fic: Destiny, Meet Reality (Faith/Giles)
Title: Destiny, Meet Reality
Pairing: Faith/Giles
Words: 2400
Rating: PG13
A/N: part of the Rules’verse. (Hee! I made a ‘verse!). Follows on from Theory and Practice, at least a year after Faith goes back to Slayer work. quinara is almost wholly responsible for allusions to Buffy’s plotline. Note the use of both “plot” and “bloodshed” as promised. Take that, fluff!
This time, when Giles hung up the phone on Faith, he didn’t just sigh slightly and return to his work, as had been his recent daily pattern.
No, he grinned the fiendish grin of the husband-with-a-plan. Reached out his finger, and pressed the bell marked ‘Lehane’.
“Who’s’ere?” fuzzed the intercom at him, grumpily. Much in the manner of a woman missing her family, in fact.
“I’m here to see Faith Lehane. I have an important message.”
“Yeah?” asked the intercom, sounding suspicious. “Hands where I can see’em, and come right up. I’ll be timing you.”
Giles in fact took quite a while manoeuvring to the third floor, as the lift was out of order. Faith was waiting when he opened the stairwell door, with, just for a second, her old ready-to-kill look.
Which vanished in a flash as she took in the sight of Giles. She did in fact nearly flatten him, but only with enthusiasm.
“What the hell are you doing here? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming! What have you done with- You brought Mike!” And Giles found himself abandoned, as she took in the sight of her indignant pushchair-bound son.
“God, I missed you,” she cooed, un-Faithlike and unself-conscious for the moment. “You horrible stinky boy, I missed you so much.” The pushchair was abandoned, as was Giles, as she swished her son into the apartment.
It was minutes till Faith came to focus on Giles again. He spent the time looking round, acquainting himself with Faith’s private domain. She’d been here six months, on and off, and he’d seen no more of it than he could squint via the webcam. Like her place in Ulan Bator, and the Colombia apartment before it, he was off his own territory and very definitely on Faith’s. It was nice, in a clean, personality-free Scandinavian designer way. But Faith was never going to be an enthusiastic home-maker, so he wasn’t surprised there was little to show for her occupancy. iPod speakers and a vast biker poster, apart, it was any rental apartment, anywhere in Sweden.
And now she’d noticed him noticing.
Faith was standing, slightly awkward, beside the comfy chair Giles had alighted in. “So, not that I’m not glad to see you, but what’s with this visit out of the blue?”
“I wanted to talk to you. And since you’re on solo duty for a quiet time - it is quiet, still, isn’t it? - I thought you might like some company.” As though this were perfectly normal and part of their lifestyle. Perhaps it should be. He waited to see how Faith would take it.
Mainly well. “Not wrong about the company. It’s pretty lonely without the squad around, but it’s only fair they get some time off. They cover for me often enough. Few demon gangs trying to make their mark, nothing I can’t handle alone But you didn’t come here to talk fieldwork. Don’t think I didn’t notice that ‘talk’ line. Bad stuff?”
Giles shook his head. “Not really. Just news. It can certainly wait till Michael has a chance to meet Stockholm. I hoped you might show us some of the lakes, since you talk about them so much.”
Faith looked slightly but definitely relieved once out of the flat - the city, evidently, wasn’t her own space in the way the flat was. A happy afternoon ensued, in which Mike confirmed he liked ferries very much, and Giles discovered with regret that liquorice-covered ice cream did not suit his palate. But eventually and inevitably, toddler thrill turned to tired toddler tears, and they headed home, to food for adults and infants, baby bedtime rituals, and eventually to privacy for Giles and Faith.
She shook her hair back, and squared her shoulders, just fractionally, as she faced up to him. “So, what’s the talk, G?”
“As I said, nothing bad, just something to think about. Buffy’s decided to retire. Not from slaying-” (in response to Faith’s loud incredulous disbelief), she merely feels it might be time to give up the senior Slayer position. It’s been ten years, after all, and she’d like some time with Spike - not to mention with the girls before they, and I quote, ‘become all teenage and avoidant’. So we’re starting to think about how to replace her.”
Faith was shaking her head long before he raised a questioning brow. “No way. No way G, I’m not that girl, we established that, like, five separate times. Which was plenty for me.”
Giles reached out, laying a hand on hers, hoping that he could break through her fixed inferiority complex. “I think you might be that woman now. But the question probably doesn’t arise. We’ve been discussing sharing the burdens a bit. A trio of chief Slayers - leads for training (that’ll be Kennedy unless anyone dares challenge her), someone a little more, ahem, ‘blue sky’, I’m told, to look to the future and development. (We think Vi might take that, though I shudder to think what she’ll come up with if she really does get free rein.)
“And then a lead Slayer for fieldwork.” Giles looked over the top of his glasses at Faith, who, praise be, looked a little more relaxed. “Strategic overview, squad assignments, emergency planning and contingency support. She’ll be based at headquarters. Lots of action, but in short bursts as needed. A bit of paperwork, but...” She was nodding already.
“I got it. Might be right for me. And I’d be with you again. And Mike... That’s a big deal, G. I’m so happy you came today, but it’s still weird having you here. Like you’re in my space. Shouldn’t be like that.” It had been, though, throughout the majority of their relationship, apart from her too-short maternity months. It was sweet relief to hear Faith’s discontent with the situation. Not just me.
“So you’ll consider it?”
“Yeah...” Old doubts were already re-gathering though, quite visibly. “If you think I’d do it right. I don’t wanna fuck up, G. This would be big time.”
“You can do it.” And that wasn’t a hopeful romantic or scheming husband speaking: Giles knew she was capable, if she’d let herself be. “You’ve pulled off some of the greatest fieldwork events we’ve had since Sunnydale. There’s a lot of respect for you. Even Buffy might take orders from you now. Occasionally.”
Happy gurgle from Faith. “The boss of B. Now that’s a happy thought. Anyone else in the frame?”
“I’m confident you’d have first refusal,” said Giles, trying not to sound corruptly like the man able to fix the selection process. Besides, it was the truth.
Faith leant back against the couch, withdrawing her hand from his, but with a promising smile. “So, was that the big talk? And can we go to bed now?”
They could, and did. Giles had to be reminded of the way to the bedroom and the bath. But once in their own space again, he was glad to find he didn’t need an aide memoire to his Faith.
Two hours later, they even admitted they needed to get some sleep, given that Mike would be up at around 05.45 local time.
“Missed you.” Giles tried not to sound pathetic, and grateful, entwined with Faith and not letting go. She shifted slightly, not retreating, but settling closer.
“Yeah. Really long gap, this time. Eight weeks is way too long. Mike’s gonna forget who I am.”
“Not likely. It seems like you’re never off that bloody web camera.” Giles hated the vile contraption, which seemed to make him look like a misshapen potato however he tried to pose. Michael and Faith looked perfectly normal on it, for some reason.
“Not the same,” said Faith, quietly.
“No. No, it’s not.” Giles ran a hand up her non-virtual spine, pulled her in close for a last kiss, and then rolled over to sleep. Dreams of Faith coming home were a step closer to reality.
So it was a happy Watcher who slipped downstairs next morning to face the complex’s ferocious and daunting array of Swedish-labelled recycling containers. He had, of course, forgotten Faith’s instructions about which one would accept the baby wipes, but he was fairly sure he got the glass bottle in the correct place.
And it was at that precise and domestic moment that the demons jumped him. He was, inevitably, knocked cold.
*
Time passed. Presumably.
Giles came to, and drifted off again. There didn’t seem any immediate call to action, and his head hurt. Bloody destiny. Giles’s appeared to include some kind of world record attempt for head trauma.
More time passed, mainly without any input from Giles.
Eventually, though, he surfaced enough to start taking in details. Your average demon-lair bedroom, essentially. Poor hygiene, extremely untidy - mainly with clothes and pizza, but the occasional rat tail and half-squirrel were reminders that this wasn’t merely teenage detritus.
There had been words, just before he lost consciousness. Luckily in one of the easier demon tongues, so there was no room for misunderstanding. They confirmed that this wasn’t simply bad luck. “Slayer-fucking scum. We have you now. She’ll be sorry.”
Since he wasn’t dead, he was presumably bait rather than a simple sacrifice. That was bad. Sorry? Faith would be bloody angry if she had to save him just because he had turned up on her turf. Not a stellar demonstration of how one-location family life could work, in fact.
Giles started to look round for possible ways to make the situation less embarrassing. A couple of semi-weapons were grabbed and concealed, but the demons (Gh’ark, he thought, though he hadn’t had a good look) had been strong if not subtle. Going after them with an ashtray and something vaguely heavy and electronic (probably a battery of some sort) was likely to lead to pain, and little progress.
Besides, they weren’t actually here to be bashed.
So Giles tried to rest a little more. And wait.
He woke from a painful doze, head splitting, to hear familiar sounds of thudding, swearing and crashing. That was what rescue usually sounded like.
Faith hurtled into the filthy room, wild-eyed and brandishing a... scimitar, was the best word Giles could find in a hurry. It was covered in something oozily green, which was promising.
She grabbed him, shoving him into the main lair with only a barked order. “Out front. Into the car!”
“I can fight,” said Giles, brandishing his ashtray futilely. He was not too out of condition for fieldwork, whatever the newest lot of Slayers might graffiti in the loos. And a man had his pride.
Faith said three words which stopped all that rubbish. “Car. Now! MIKE!”
Giles ran.
Their son was lying in the back of Faith’s small car, jammed uncomfortably (and unsafely) behind the front seat in his pushchair-body. The car was skewed across the pavement in an un-Scandinavian parking violation. They were lucky no one had noticed it yet - of all the things Giles had hoped of this holiday, a child-endangerment charge was not high on the list.
Michael was looking more startled than cross, toying idly with his string of witches’ brooms. Probably as a prelude to a really major screaming fit, but Giles’s appearance was distraction enough to head that off.
Giles hunched uncomfortably onto the back seat, still clutching the hopeless ashtray; wishing Faith had handed him some weapon to use in defence of their son. Trying to keep an eye on the potentially-fractious toddler, to keep him quiet enough that any demons escaping Faith wouldn’t make the connection and come after them, and to keep his other eye out for said demon escapes.
But it was only Faith that emerged from the lair. She got into the driver’s seat, slung her blade into the passenger space, and drove them silently back to her flat. Definitely on her own territory now.
*
They spent some quiet, mutually-reassuring, time with Michael, who seemed not to have noticed much of the day’s terror. He settled for his afternoon nap reasonably happily, at least. Which left his parents time to talk. They sat down on the couch, moving quietly as the sounds of Michael drowsing towards sleep continued on the baby monitor.
There was a very long pause before they spoke. And it was Faith that broke it.
“This was dangerous.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Giles couldn’t offer much in defence.
“Coming here without notice - it’s difficult. I’m not a mom here. I don’t have a babysitter I can trust. I don’t even have a damn child restraint in the car.”
Undeniable. It was bad luck to have been attacked on his first day, but these were the risks that followed Faith routinely. He hadn’t given them a thought; as though they were an ordinary family. Giles kept his eyes down, waiting for the rest of the justified accusations.
Faith shifted a little in her seat. She said, “What if I hadn’t been there?”
Giles didn’t manage to change mental gears in time to respond.
“I never thought about it before. You and Mike are all alone in England, every time I’m away. It’s not a secret, right? Everyone knows you’re my family, you’re always a target - and I just leave you there unprotected. I never thought about it.”
Giles wasn’t happy to be the helpless one in this scenario. “We have protection. I’m not entirely past it. And there are always other Slayers; it’s their destiny, after all.”
“Not like it’s mine. You need me G. For protection.” Faith’s voice was low, almost guilty.
This was an exploitable situation. Giles, with regret, did not exploit. “For a damned sight more than that. We miss you. We’re as safe at headquarters as anywhere in the world. Don’t come home just for that.”
Faith raised her head, met his eyes. “I was fucking terrified before. You were in danger and I knew the likely places to look, but I couldn’t come right away and in the end I took risks I’d never... It felt like I had to choose between you and Mike and... no. I don’t do that. I need to come home, be with you both. With backup. And, like, a kickass ninja nanny, for the next time I have to run off and save your life again.”
Her half smile broke the frozen spell over Giles. He grabbed her, more desperate than romantic. They clung, briefly. Then Faith’s stroking fingers brushed Giles’s head wound, and the afternoon became practical and medical. Real life, or the Lehane-Giles routine-bodily-harm variety, rushed in to fill the gap where angst and crisis had been.
Giles, lightly concussed and under-slept, nonetheless woke the next morning with a warm feeling in his gut.
Faith was coming home.
***
Pairing: Faith/Giles
Words: 2400
Rating: PG13
A/N: part of the Rules’verse. (Hee! I made a ‘verse!). Follows on from Theory and Practice, at least a year after Faith goes back to Slayer work. quinara is almost wholly responsible for allusions to Buffy’s plotline. Note the use of both “plot” and “bloodshed” as promised. Take that, fluff!
This time, when Giles hung up the phone on Faith, he didn’t just sigh slightly and return to his work, as had been his recent daily pattern.
No, he grinned the fiendish grin of the husband-with-a-plan. Reached out his finger, and pressed the bell marked ‘Lehane’.
“Who’s’ere?” fuzzed the intercom at him, grumpily. Much in the manner of a woman missing her family, in fact.
“I’m here to see Faith Lehane. I have an important message.”
“Yeah?” asked the intercom, sounding suspicious. “Hands where I can see’em, and come right up. I’ll be timing you.”
Giles in fact took quite a while manoeuvring to the third floor, as the lift was out of order. Faith was waiting when he opened the stairwell door, with, just for a second, her old ready-to-kill look.
Which vanished in a flash as she took in the sight of Giles. She did in fact nearly flatten him, but only with enthusiasm.
“What the hell are you doing here? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming! What have you done with- You brought Mike!” And Giles found himself abandoned, as she took in the sight of her indignant pushchair-bound son.
“God, I missed you,” she cooed, un-Faithlike and unself-conscious for the moment. “You horrible stinky boy, I missed you so much.” The pushchair was abandoned, as was Giles, as she swished her son into the apartment.
It was minutes till Faith came to focus on Giles again. He spent the time looking round, acquainting himself with Faith’s private domain. She’d been here six months, on and off, and he’d seen no more of it than he could squint via the webcam. Like her place in Ulan Bator, and the Colombia apartment before it, he was off his own territory and very definitely on Faith’s. It was nice, in a clean, personality-free Scandinavian designer way. But Faith was never going to be an enthusiastic home-maker, so he wasn’t surprised there was little to show for her occupancy. iPod speakers and a vast biker poster, apart, it was any rental apartment, anywhere in Sweden.
And now she’d noticed him noticing.
Faith was standing, slightly awkward, beside the comfy chair Giles had alighted in. “So, not that I’m not glad to see you, but what’s with this visit out of the blue?”
“I wanted to talk to you. And since you’re on solo duty for a quiet time - it is quiet, still, isn’t it? - I thought you might like some company.” As though this were perfectly normal and part of their lifestyle. Perhaps it should be. He waited to see how Faith would take it.
Mainly well. “Not wrong about the company. It’s pretty lonely without the squad around, but it’s only fair they get some time off. They cover for me often enough. Few demon gangs trying to make their mark, nothing I can’t handle alone But you didn’t come here to talk fieldwork. Don’t think I didn’t notice that ‘talk’ line. Bad stuff?”
Giles shook his head. “Not really. Just news. It can certainly wait till Michael has a chance to meet Stockholm. I hoped you might show us some of the lakes, since you talk about them so much.”
Faith looked slightly but definitely relieved once out of the flat - the city, evidently, wasn’t her own space in the way the flat was. A happy afternoon ensued, in which Mike confirmed he liked ferries very much, and Giles discovered with regret that liquorice-covered ice cream did not suit his palate. But eventually and inevitably, toddler thrill turned to tired toddler tears, and they headed home, to food for adults and infants, baby bedtime rituals, and eventually to privacy for Giles and Faith.
She shook her hair back, and squared her shoulders, just fractionally, as she faced up to him. “So, what’s the talk, G?”
“As I said, nothing bad, just something to think about. Buffy’s decided to retire. Not from slaying-” (in response to Faith’s loud incredulous disbelief), she merely feels it might be time to give up the senior Slayer position. It’s been ten years, after all, and she’d like some time with Spike - not to mention with the girls before they, and I quote, ‘become all teenage and avoidant’. So we’re starting to think about how to replace her.”
Faith was shaking her head long before he raised a questioning brow. “No way. No way G, I’m not that girl, we established that, like, five separate times. Which was plenty for me.”
Giles reached out, laying a hand on hers, hoping that he could break through her fixed inferiority complex. “I think you might be that woman now. But the question probably doesn’t arise. We’ve been discussing sharing the burdens a bit. A trio of chief Slayers - leads for training (that’ll be Kennedy unless anyone dares challenge her), someone a little more, ahem, ‘blue sky’, I’m told, to look to the future and development. (We think Vi might take that, though I shudder to think what she’ll come up with if she really does get free rein.)
“And then a lead Slayer for fieldwork.” Giles looked over the top of his glasses at Faith, who, praise be, looked a little more relaxed. “Strategic overview, squad assignments, emergency planning and contingency support. She’ll be based at headquarters. Lots of action, but in short bursts as needed. A bit of paperwork, but...” She was nodding already.
“I got it. Might be right for me. And I’d be with you again. And Mike... That’s a big deal, G. I’m so happy you came today, but it’s still weird having you here. Like you’re in my space. Shouldn’t be like that.” It had been, though, throughout the majority of their relationship, apart from her too-short maternity months. It was sweet relief to hear Faith’s discontent with the situation. Not just me.
“So you’ll consider it?”
“Yeah...” Old doubts were already re-gathering though, quite visibly. “If you think I’d do it right. I don’t wanna fuck up, G. This would be big time.”
“You can do it.” And that wasn’t a hopeful romantic or scheming husband speaking: Giles knew she was capable, if she’d let herself be. “You’ve pulled off some of the greatest fieldwork events we’ve had since Sunnydale. There’s a lot of respect for you. Even Buffy might take orders from you now. Occasionally.”
Happy gurgle from Faith. “The boss of B. Now that’s a happy thought. Anyone else in the frame?”
“I’m confident you’d have first refusal,” said Giles, trying not to sound corruptly like the man able to fix the selection process. Besides, it was the truth.
Faith leant back against the couch, withdrawing her hand from his, but with a promising smile. “So, was that the big talk? And can we go to bed now?”
They could, and did. Giles had to be reminded of the way to the bedroom and the bath. But once in their own space again, he was glad to find he didn’t need an aide memoire to his Faith.
Two hours later, they even admitted they needed to get some sleep, given that Mike would be up at around 05.45 local time.
“Missed you.” Giles tried not to sound pathetic, and grateful, entwined with Faith and not letting go. She shifted slightly, not retreating, but settling closer.
“Yeah. Really long gap, this time. Eight weeks is way too long. Mike’s gonna forget who I am.”
“Not likely. It seems like you’re never off that bloody web camera.” Giles hated the vile contraption, which seemed to make him look like a misshapen potato however he tried to pose. Michael and Faith looked perfectly normal on it, for some reason.
“Not the same,” said Faith, quietly.
“No. No, it’s not.” Giles ran a hand up her non-virtual spine, pulled her in close for a last kiss, and then rolled over to sleep. Dreams of Faith coming home were a step closer to reality.
So it was a happy Watcher who slipped downstairs next morning to face the complex’s ferocious and daunting array of Swedish-labelled recycling containers. He had, of course, forgotten Faith’s instructions about which one would accept the baby wipes, but he was fairly sure he got the glass bottle in the correct place.
And it was at that precise and domestic moment that the demons jumped him. He was, inevitably, knocked cold.
*
Time passed. Presumably.
Giles came to, and drifted off again. There didn’t seem any immediate call to action, and his head hurt. Bloody destiny. Giles’s appeared to include some kind of world record attempt for head trauma.
More time passed, mainly without any input from Giles.
Eventually, though, he surfaced enough to start taking in details. Your average demon-lair bedroom, essentially. Poor hygiene, extremely untidy - mainly with clothes and pizza, but the occasional rat tail and half-squirrel were reminders that this wasn’t merely teenage detritus.
There had been words, just before he lost consciousness. Luckily in one of the easier demon tongues, so there was no room for misunderstanding. They confirmed that this wasn’t simply bad luck. “Slayer-fucking scum. We have you now. She’ll be sorry.”
Since he wasn’t dead, he was presumably bait rather than a simple sacrifice. That was bad. Sorry? Faith would be bloody angry if she had to save him just because he had turned up on her turf. Not a stellar demonstration of how one-location family life could work, in fact.
Giles started to look round for possible ways to make the situation less embarrassing. A couple of semi-weapons were grabbed and concealed, but the demons (Gh’ark, he thought, though he hadn’t had a good look) had been strong if not subtle. Going after them with an ashtray and something vaguely heavy and electronic (probably a battery of some sort) was likely to lead to pain, and little progress.
Besides, they weren’t actually here to be bashed.
So Giles tried to rest a little more. And wait.
He woke from a painful doze, head splitting, to hear familiar sounds of thudding, swearing and crashing. That was what rescue usually sounded like.
Faith hurtled into the filthy room, wild-eyed and brandishing a... scimitar, was the best word Giles could find in a hurry. It was covered in something oozily green, which was promising.
She grabbed him, shoving him into the main lair with only a barked order. “Out front. Into the car!”
“I can fight,” said Giles, brandishing his ashtray futilely. He was not too out of condition for fieldwork, whatever the newest lot of Slayers might graffiti in the loos. And a man had his pride.
Faith said three words which stopped all that rubbish. “Car. Now! MIKE!”
Giles ran.
Their son was lying in the back of Faith’s small car, jammed uncomfortably (and unsafely) behind the front seat in his pushchair-body. The car was skewed across the pavement in an un-Scandinavian parking violation. They were lucky no one had noticed it yet - of all the things Giles had hoped of this holiday, a child-endangerment charge was not high on the list.
Michael was looking more startled than cross, toying idly with his string of witches’ brooms. Probably as a prelude to a really major screaming fit, but Giles’s appearance was distraction enough to head that off.
Giles hunched uncomfortably onto the back seat, still clutching the hopeless ashtray; wishing Faith had handed him some weapon to use in defence of their son. Trying to keep an eye on the potentially-fractious toddler, to keep him quiet enough that any demons escaping Faith wouldn’t make the connection and come after them, and to keep his other eye out for said demon escapes.
But it was only Faith that emerged from the lair. She got into the driver’s seat, slung her blade into the passenger space, and drove them silently back to her flat. Definitely on her own territory now.
*
They spent some quiet, mutually-reassuring, time with Michael, who seemed not to have noticed much of the day’s terror. He settled for his afternoon nap reasonably happily, at least. Which left his parents time to talk. They sat down on the couch, moving quietly as the sounds of Michael drowsing towards sleep continued on the baby monitor.
There was a very long pause before they spoke. And it was Faith that broke it.
“This was dangerous.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Giles couldn’t offer much in defence.
“Coming here without notice - it’s difficult. I’m not a mom here. I don’t have a babysitter I can trust. I don’t even have a damn child restraint in the car.”
Undeniable. It was bad luck to have been attacked on his first day, but these were the risks that followed Faith routinely. He hadn’t given them a thought; as though they were an ordinary family. Giles kept his eyes down, waiting for the rest of the justified accusations.
Faith shifted a little in her seat. She said, “What if I hadn’t been there?”
Giles didn’t manage to change mental gears in time to respond.
“I never thought about it before. You and Mike are all alone in England, every time I’m away. It’s not a secret, right? Everyone knows you’re my family, you’re always a target - and I just leave you there unprotected. I never thought about it.”
Giles wasn’t happy to be the helpless one in this scenario. “We have protection. I’m not entirely past it. And there are always other Slayers; it’s their destiny, after all.”
“Not like it’s mine. You need me G. For protection.” Faith’s voice was low, almost guilty.
This was an exploitable situation. Giles, with regret, did not exploit. “For a damned sight more than that. We miss you. We’re as safe at headquarters as anywhere in the world. Don’t come home just for that.”
Faith raised her head, met his eyes. “I was fucking terrified before. You were in danger and I knew the likely places to look, but I couldn’t come right away and in the end I took risks I’d never... It felt like I had to choose between you and Mike and... no. I don’t do that. I need to come home, be with you both. With backup. And, like, a kickass ninja nanny, for the next time I have to run off and save your life again.”
Her half smile broke the frozen spell over Giles. He grabbed her, more desperate than romantic. They clung, briefly. Then Faith’s stroking fingers brushed Giles’s head wound, and the afternoon became practical and medical. Real life, or the Lehane-Giles routine-bodily-harm variety, rushed in to fill the gap where angst and crisis had been.
Giles, lightly concussed and under-slept, nonetheless woke the next morning with a warm feeling in his gut.
Faith was coming home.
***