While You Were Sleeping

Chapter one.

The beeping of the machines had long since ceased in the dark and desolate room of the rogue and comatose slayer. The electricity had been cut off days ago. No one left to maintain a power supply, no one left who would care if she lived or if she died. No nurses remaining to monitor her condition, no doctors to sign off on charts which had always remained the same. No change. No difference. Four forgotten years of the same beeping monotony.

The shallow repetitiveness of barely their breaths was the only sound which broke the eerie emptiness of silence, the soft fluttering of eyelashes against a pale, sunken cheek the only other outward sign that she still existed. Until then. Until now. Until the monotony changed.

A broken body forced to feel again.

If the machine by her bedside was still able to chart her progress, it would have malfunctioned almost instantaneously. The sharp ragged lines of her heartbeat creating graphs more complex than any seismic activity, the surge of power infusing her system making her back arch high from the bed. Lank and dirty hair hanging limp around a face that was a contorted mask of hurt and pain.

It was fast and it was furious and it was real. Sensations slamming into her body as everything around her fought to find focus. Shards of sunlight forcing their way through the blinds to stab pain into her eyes, her ears tormented by a return to consciousness, by thoughts which had lain dormant all of the years that she hadn’t had to think them. Back now. Here now. A twisting in her gut, a thorn in her side.

Her hands moved almost unbidden to find the evidence of her memories. The cold feel of serrated steel forcing panic back into breaths, her skin becoming clammy as she fought to push back the blankets and the sheet which covered her body. They felt like they were holding her down, holding her prone. Her mind screaming at her feet that they knew how to work, how to fight, how to scramble until she was free. Unobstructed. Able to flex. Her eyes travelling slowly down across the gown which covered her modesty, her skin prickling as her hands connected with the naked flesh underneath. Looking for the gash, the rip, the tear. The confirmation of the violence which tripped quick through her mind.

It was raw and it was the truth. Almost slamming her back down into the bed, the sick sensation of falling, icy green eyes charting her progress as she fell. All of her final minutes forcing themselves into this minute. Too much to hear, too much to see. Unable to stem the torturous tide of the memories;

‘That’s mine.’

‘You’re about to get it back.’

Fear. Her feet feeling foreign as her body began to demand that she take flight from this place. A hospital. Knowing that much, yet not knowing where the nurses were, where the doctors were.

Her hands reached out to steady herself as she shakily put weight upon her legs, hissing as every muscle in her body coerced her into sitting back down. Deep breaths.

“Come on Faith.”

Shit. Her voice. Was that HER fucking voice..?

Barely a whisper cracking out from parched lips. Her tongue moving in a pointless gesture of trying to bring moisture. She desperately needed to hear the reassuring sound of a rasp she could remember, urging softer tones to scrape free from the back of her throat;

“Come on.”

Softer. Weaker. Was she weak now?

No. Never weak.

She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness made her instantly reconsider that statement; definitely weak. It felt more truthful when she regarded it that way. Maybe always weak.

Her fingers flitting again to pull at the gown, her eyes which had quickly accustomed to the gloom of the room taking in the scar which ridged uneven across her abdomen, a slash of pink against flesh which hovered near deathly white.

“Fuck.”

A rasp she remembered. A line she knew well. A smile which sought to twist her face into a snarl, lips licking not for moisture now, but to sweeten the taste of the revenge which sat bitter in her stomach. Deep down and festering beneath the disfigurement that *she* had put there.

‘You did it. You killed me’

Only she hadn’t, had she?

A chuckle wanted to accompany her meandering thoughts, but the steady flow of resentment was keeping her humour firmly in check. It was forcing her shaking limbs to try standing again, satisfied when she didn’t sink back down, when the pins and needles which buzzed along her limbs was the only pain that she could feel.

Her walk was even and steady as she made her way to the cupboard which ran along the back of the room. A simple sticker stating; Patient’s Belongings.

Belongings.

Somewhere she belonged..? Somewhere she should be..?

Her aching eyes wanting to fall downwards as her gaze rested upon the clothes that she had shed, just what..? Yesterday? Upon the blood that had spilled so easily over her clothes… only…

“What the fuck..?”

A voice more hers as she reached to touch clothes she had never seen. Never worn. No torn reminder of the gash that sat beneath the gown. No red stained patterns telling the tale of how her life had trickled away. To here. To this.

The Mayor..?

Her legs threatened to fail again as his face swam into the space behind her eyelids, as his smile reached out to urge her into being strong. More words. Sounds which scratched her inner ear as if they were being spoken aloud instead of in memory; no matter that they were soft words, caring words, her body still buckled slightly at the recollection of his image, at the reminder of the plan.

It made perfect sense to her that he would bring her fresh clothes, that he would provide for her. He had always wanted her to be her best, to look her best; and now, lifting the scratchy feel of fresh denim from the cupboard, she wasn’t disappointed. If this was what he wanted her to wear to face the fight, then she would be more than happy to oblige.

The fight. The plan.

Her hands slid across the jagged edge of her scar again as she lifted the gown from her body, her forehead furrowing in a deep frown as she felt the way her ribs protruded sharply from underneath her skin. It wasn’t right. Her brow managing to dip even further as she tried to trace curves which should have been second nature to her, fingers instead faltering on hip bones which screamed of malnourishment, the air rushing fast from between her lips as she looked down at her thighs which had always been so supple; so firm.

Weak now.

The words goaded her again from somewhere deep within her muddled subconscious, and they were words which sought to rekindle her hostility. A pin point of light within the confusion that forced her to seek clarity, her teeth gritting as she shook her head in a feeble attempt at clearing the fog.

“Think, damn it, think!”

Strength was still evident in the tone of her voice, and she used that strength to pull the new jeans over her feet, up over her legs. The muscles in her arms aching as she struggled to put on the t-shirt. A smirk settling at last on her lips as she saw something she recognised, something that felt right. Thankful that her jacket and her boots weren’t lost in the fight; at least she still had something left of her armour.

She urged herself into thinking more as she finished the slow painful act of dressing, her whole body screaming that it wasn’t yet ready to march into battle, but her feet already moving her in slow testing steps towards the door. There was a plan; she knew that much. And she also knew that she was to be at the mayor’s side when the plan was put into action. Her hand trembling just once in the moment before she turned the handle on the door, the final second when she knew that this was it; fight or flight.

But she wanted to fight. Right..? She had kept herself going these last few months, just knowing that she would eventually get to wipe those self righteous and pathetic smiles from the faces of the self righteous and pathetic. She wasn’t about to give that up now, just because *she* had tried to turn her into a shish-slayer-kebab for her undead boy-toy. Just because maybe, just maybe, if she saw her again, it would only end the same way.

Because she would let it end the same way? Because she *wanted* it to end the same way?

It was a fog that she didn’t want cleared. Questions that she didn’t want answers to. So instead she allowed the festering darkness to come back and claim her fully. Her hand steadying with new found strength as she pulled the door harshly towards her, her eyes not needing to dart around and check for people that weren’t there; she would remove anything or anyone that stood in her way.

She had places to go. She had people to kill.

Her very first graduation.

Beneath the newly primed floors of the brand spanking new high school, there was a battle already being fought. A fight not waiting for an errant and forgotten slayer to make an appearance, when already the spell had been done to awaken a whole army of light and bright slayers. Ready to fight. Ready to die. Each one of them spurned on by the fresh feeling of newly discovered power, fizzing fast through their veins, pumping destiny into their blood.

The spell that the witch had performed had bound the slayer line together like nothing before, shattering the rules of unnatural selection, to forever break the hold of long forgotten men over the world’s forgotten warriors. A moment of divinity reaching out to touch each of them, providing them with access to the power that had long since been denied.

Even the slayer who had held the front line felt the release of the energy as it had crackled in the air all around them; her body tensing, feeling a surge of pure slayer deep down inside, as what was hers, suddenly became theirs.

A renewed strength. A rebirth.

Her senses awakening in that moment as if they had never been awoken before; her arms flexing with renewed precision. The unrestrained force in her body just aching to be released upon the howling army of the undead. The soon to be army of newly re-deaded undead.

She wasn’t sure of the grammar; an ironic thought when she considered her current position in the high school, but she was more than sure of the finality of the thought. The scythe thrusting fast through the air to reach her grasp only confirming it for her. Dust spreading to coat the already oppressive air as more and more Turok-Han journeyed foolishly within her reach. She was unstoppable, she was invincible.

She was on her knees as the sword ripped ragged holes through her shirt to pierce at the skin of her back; still going. The pain made bearable, even as she had been run through, by the steady mantra which refused to be silenced.

‘No’

Just no. Over and over. A rejection of failure. A belief in the basics. Good over evil. More than that; a belief in herself. As her face had dropped close to the ground, as her own stolen voice had summoned her back from flirtations with death, she had absolutely embraced that belief in herself. She had earned that belief, and nothing or no one could ever seek to douse the flames of her spirit.

Nor the flames of a past lover, as his soul had burnt a victory laden path through the swathe of ever rising evil. His sacrifice bringing the turn in the tide; allowing his girl to retreat with the knowledge that they had won. That her belief in HIM had given him the strength he had needed to die the death of a champion.

Rocks falling. Time racing. A plea for her to leave. Her legs finally beginning to feel the burn of exhaustion as she had pulled herself up the steps that marked the entrance to the world above. Still running though, beating out a rhythm of survival as she had dodged the falling debris to reach the bright light of the sunshine outside.

And then she had frozen.

Not through the surrender to fatigue, but due to the sudden realisation of what was occurring; what was about to be lost. The rumbles underneath her were assuring her that the Hellmouth was still hungry in it’s failure, and she realised, beyond doubt, that Sunnydale was about to be swallowed.

A small price to pay..?

Her hand reaching to smother the wound on her abdomen, the same time that her mind was seeking to smother the memory of other gashes in other shirts. Of blades which sliced through skin as easy as a knife through melting butter. Of what was really about to be lost.

“BUFFY!”

Dawn’s cry sounded loudest from the bus, a sister demanding that her family stay in tact, that Buffy stop whatever was causing her to stand in the way of a super sized earthquake and get her ass on the bus. Now!

And so she had run again. Her heart pumping to dispel the tingles that previous thoughts had resurfaced. She had lost far too much to take the time to count individuals now. To even consider the possibility of trying to take detours past hospitals which had long since closed for business.

Just run. Just escape. Just get the hell out of dodge.

They had been her thoughts, her new fangled mantra to carry her legs the last distance to the bus.

She had known that something was wrong the whole time that she had been making her way to here. Sunnydale High. Except where were all the students..? Where the fuck was anybody?! Not one single person had passed her on her journey, not one police patrol car to slide away from, not one Scooby sized snack to maim a chunk from.

It had made her grow steadily more uneasy. Her shallow frame trying to regenerate strength all the while that her mind was trying to put into order anything that it was seeing. Certain landmarks that had changed within just a few hours, and even, maybe, the way that her hair was seeming to hang a few inches lower.

Which meant..?

She had not a fucking clue. It was making her antsy as hell though, creeping up on a spot to stake out the party. Bemused eyes fixing on the changed façade of the school, muddled brain adding it to the growing list of inconsistencies which had increasingly become her thoughts.

Where was everyone?

Praying for stealth, she had edged as close as her survival instincts would allow. Finally able to bear witness to humanity. A humanity which only offered more inconsistency.

Them. The gang. But not. But different.

Her head grabbing at dizzy as the world had spun around her. All of her re-awoken senses screaming that the sniff of a battle was hanging heavy in the air, that she pull back her arm and run screaming into the fight; Only now she didn’t know the fight.

She watched silent in her confusion as they had loaded themselves up onto the bus, the ones she remembered - albeit differently - waiting to make sure ones she didn’t recognise had managed to take seats. Their eyes always glancing back towards the school, whispered words unheard as their heads had leaned in to converse a course of action. Finally deciding. Their trudging feet lifting them wearily up and onto the bus as if they were leaving someone behind. As if they had lost.

She crept closer. She knew who was missing.

Not even feeling as the ground had started to shake beneath her feet, just waiting. Eyes fixed and unmoving as they had sought out the one who could placate her desire to exact revenge. Forgetting the mayor. Forgetting graduation. Just focusing upon the slice of a knife, the feel of warm blood, her own blood, moist and sticky as it had leaked her life steadily between her fingertips.

‘You did it. You killed me.’

Was it wonder or gratitude she heard in the memory of her voice speaking the words? Didn’t know. Didn’t care. Only knew that the twisting in her gut was getting more savage with every step she took towards the school, towards the bus. Faltering at the sight of her, but not stopping. Never stopping. Even as Buffy had frozen in her backwards glance towards the school, the forgotten one did not stop in her steady pursuit of her.

“BUFFY!”

The sudden scream brought a pause where Faith didn’t want one. A voice breaking from the bus to pull the golden haired, The Chosen ‘One’, from whatever thought had been holding her back. Legs starting to move again, moving away.

And so this was it. Her body feeling as if it had crumbled beneath her, her legs protesting that she still sought to stand, and this was the moment that she would force the fighting to commence. Maybe stupid. Probably. She didn’t care. She only cared to soothe the bitterness that ate at her soul, that sat ragged across the pallid skin of her abdomen in the shape of a Buffy sent caress.

“B.”

So hollow. So empty. So nowhere near loud enough.

The roaring of a falling building drowning out anything that she could of hoped to produce. Yet still; Buffy was stopping again. A sudden stoppage, feet planting firm as she had whirled to face the distant sound that had rung out a call of remembrance loud within her ears.

“Faith.”

Not spat from between lips as the girl in question had stepped closer to her frozen state, but whispered in disbelief as eyes had spread wide. As glances had been cast upwards, towards something of a higher power.

“B.” Spat with absolute venom. “I owe you something.”

Her rasping words faltering as she had glanced down at the stain which was still spreading out across the front of Buffy’s top. Warm blood. Her blood?

More confusion, more dizziness. The anger sliding from her tone as she spoke words which were shrouded in nonsense. In everything that occupied her broken mind. “I… I killed *you*?”

Her fingers shifting up from limp, to trace a pattern across cotton where she knew her own wound lie. Yet… “I killed you.”

Not a question now, but like an admittance. A belief. The fog coming back, reaching around her to drag whatever had been keeping her going, standing on her feet, slowly but surely out of her body. Disorientation messing images of the here and the now with the then and the when..?

Her fist curling against her abdomen, her breaths seeking to leave her body in an ever faster rush. So close to crashing. To falling.

“Faith..?”

An urgent plea?

Buffy’s eyes had been drawn from the shell of a girl in front of her, by more of the Dawn screaming behind her. Focusing the warrior, the survivor. Feeling the tense as Faith, maybe not so broken, had refocused in front of her. Balling fists again, shaky legs setting back into the posture of a fight.

“You ready for payback B?”

And what *was* this?!

Buffy had often nightmare sequenced the payback, when she had been foolish enough to believe that Faith would awake after three… no, four years in a coma; but now?

“Not now.”

She spoke the words cautiously as she edged her way back towards the bus. Her glance flying behind to witness the wide eyes peering from the revving vehicle as her friends finally caught up on the sitch unfolding before them. As they probably cursed the timing just as much as Buffy. But then, just a moment ago, Buffy herself had been cursing that this moment would be lost to her forever.

A cosmic joke? A final fling with fate to truly test her will of preservation?

The fist that flew without warning at Buffy carried nothing but bare naked rage. It carried no real power. The other’s limbs still weak, everything still weak. A mind dazed. Every thought fragmented by the confusion which was seeping itself further and further into her being.

And Buffy deflected it with barely an exhausted breath. Her mind fighting it’s own daze to gain back focus. “I said not now! Will you *ever* listen to me?!”

She expected she could answer that one without Faith’s input. Still; it had brought brown eyes back to hers, had brought with them a lost look, a scared look.

“B?”

No venom. No spitting of names now that everything was fading to black. And maybe she was wrong. Maybe Faith would listen.

“We have to…”

But no. Faith wouldn’t listen. She was too busy falling, her mind closing down at the same time her body gave up this torture that felt nothing but self enforced. Her body collapsing limp and light into Buffy’s waiting arms.

A slight smile daring to cross Buffy’s lips as she considered that she had caught her this time. No more falling on her watch. No way, mister. Only… wasn’t it too late for this? Hadn’t she already watched her fall way beyond anyone’s reach?

“Buffy… NOW!”

A united scream as the ground had shook with more fury than at any previous moment. The building finally succumbing to dust, the pavement around Buffy beginning to crumble as she clung unwaveringly to the form of the fallen slayer.

A last effort. Not just her own preservation, but the girl she was hoisting above the tired joints of her shoulders. A hiss escaping drying lips as the effort caused the gaping wound which marred her stomach, to grow ever bolder in it’s presence.

She spoke curse words, she spoke possibly some Latin curse words, and they all paved the way for her feet to walk ever further forward toward salvation. Gratitude obvious in her eyes as Xander had reached down from the bus to unburden her from her load. His gaze teetering somewhere closer to ‘what the hell?’, even though he knew that she wouldn’t have answers.

She had nothing. Her final task of leadership accomplished for the day, as she had sunk slowly and heavily down into the sticky leather seats of the bus. Exhausted. Wounded somewhere close to the realm of mortally. Absolutely spent.

She heard Giles’ voice ask a frantic ‘where to?’ as the bus started to motor with welcome speed, but it was all she could do to lift her finger in a vague direction of away from behind them. It would do. Accepting hugs from friends and sisters the further away that they got from the pit which was increasingly evolving in the background. Chasing them away. As if they needed urging.

Finally stopping. Coming to a halt. The bus caked firmly in a dust that carried all of the memories they would ever be able to salvage from the town named Sunnydale.

Buffy wouldn’t rise to take in the view; Buffy couldn’t rise, she didn’t think, if the lives of everyone here depended upon it. But then, hadn’t she already done that once today? Rising from the ashes, snatching victory from defeat?

No. She wouldn’t clamber down the stairs to gaze over everything she had just taken pleasure in destroying. It would hurt far too much to admit to herself all that she was leaving behind. Better instead that she lay here and focus on trying not to bleed to death, wishing beyond anything else that she could allow her eyes to drop and close on all that surrounded her. Not that she was inviting death; preservation was paramount, but rather sleep. It annoyed her that she wouldn’t allow herself to rest; her body demanded it, her slayer healing demanded it, yet she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

She had nothing left. Her eyes fighting the fuzzy blur of unfocused to ignore the inner rambling of her mind. She had nothing left..?

Then why would her eyes not close upon Faith?

Chapter two.

The bus rumbled on along the road without any thought of particular direction, it’s only purpose still remaining, to get everyone the hell away from the hell that had opened out in a ragged abyss behind them. Giles’ didn’t think it mattered too much beyond that right now. If he could just get them far away enough to call safe, if he could just remember which way was the best way to reach a nearest hospital, then maybe where they were would perhaps start to matter. All that truly mattered to him was the sight that made his eyes wince every time he cast them up to catch glances in the mirror above his head.

Buffy. Looking every bit as small as her frame insisted she surely was. No rod of steel holding her shoulders ever straight, no air of invincibility to stop the pain from lacing out across her lips. A firm line. A tight line.

Always the one holding the line.

Without a doubt, he was worried about her. Not having had the time to check her wound, he still knew the severity that caused the blood to stain such deep red across her top. Not a scratch, something to be sighed at and then tended. It was deeper than that, it was the reason he berated himself into trying to remember the geography of this god forsaken country; where they were, where they were going, and where the blasted hell he would find a bloody hospital!

The slam of his hands against the steering wheel caused more than a few curious gazes to be pointed his way. The new slayers that weren’t busy bleeding onto the leather of the chairs, the battle weary Scooby gang who would never get used to an outburst of emotion as un-British as hands slamming against anything; they all looked. Eyes finding the energy to seek him out, a faint murmur wondering what the drama was now. Yet she, his slayer, she still wouldn’t find the change in direction needed to soothe his worry, still wouldn‘t meet his eyes. They were stuck fast.

Not away from behind them, like she had insisted they drive, but stuck firmly behind them. Gaze drawn like the poised string of a waiting crossbow to the slayer, the other slayer, one of many slayers, unconsciously resting on the seat that sat at the back of the bus.

Giles couldn’t even begin to fathom what Faith’s sudden reappearance meant in the grand old scheme of things; whether it was a case of good, whether it was a case of bad. Maybe there were prophesies, a codex that spoke of comas and rebirth…

Being the man that he was, he knew full well that none of those things would have any baring on what would occur in the future. He understood more than most why Buffy’s eyes were so adamant in their perusal of the fallen one. His shoulders often the ones there to bear the weight of her guilt over everything that had ever happened in the history of The Chosen Two. Not that he would ever allow her to apportion blame. His glasses always rubbed with renewed efficiency when she had wanted to offer words to him about the loss of her humanity, the things that set her apart; four years a long time to wonder if you’ve killed someone, if you have snubbed out life. If you’re as dark, deep down, as the thing you had tried to eradicate. Gazing at her now with a pride that was so much more than the pride of a watcher, he could see only light. But then, his gaze wasn’t being met. He knew. Her gaze, and the things that she saw, they would be the only things that had any baring whatsoever on what would occur.

So lost was Giles in his thoughts, in the straight road which opened up before him, that he didn’t even notice the one which crept closer to wonder at his own state. Shocked by the crack of hands against steering wheel, concerned at the loss of control in one who always exerted control.

“Giles, you okay?”

Willow’s voice was hopeful, looking for that port in a storm that always made sense. Knowing that sense was definitely gonna be needed in the aftermath of all of the nonsense.

They had destroyed Sunnydale. Wiped it from the map. Gone. Just like that. A crater to scar the map like infected teenage acne that had been scratched one too many times. It certainly felt like nonsense when she thought about it that way.

“Willow? I’m fine… is everyone else…”

“Fine? As in feeling dandy and fine, or fine, as in, stiff upper lips, please ignore the way my hands are digging deep into the steering wheel, fine?”

She had to point that out. His knuckles *were* straining white from the effort of clutching.

“I’m fine Willow.”

And it was hard to argue with a tone that steady. But then, she hadn’t become a kick-ass uber witch by hanging onto meek, and mindful. “Okay, I see we’re gonna be going with the stiff upper lip version - which is great, I respect the Britishness - but truthfully Giles? I think you should let Kennedy drive for a while. Take some down time.”

Kennedy had already asked. Already offered. Kennedy had to do something or else she was going to explode from sitting doing nothing except listening to the sound of new power roaring fast through her body.

Willow sensed the feeling in her girlfriend, it was hard not to. The keening intensity in her eyes, the ragged breathing harsh from a fight; Kennedy was openly embracing everything that being a slayer meant. All of it.

“Kennedy wishes to drive?”

“Uh-huh. She’s got a whole tank full of energy, ready to roll…” Her back straightening as she felt again the force of that keening intensity slipping and sliding across the curves of her back. Making all those tingles from the earlier magic evaporate to be replaced by bigger tingles. Different tingles. The kind of tingles that needed to be kept firmly in check on the bus marked crowded. “…she *needs* something to do Giles. Let her drive?”

He had no reason to refuse. “Very well. Perhaps she’ll be able to make sense of where we are, where we’re going.”

His lips restrained from humming the opening bars to ’Road to Nowhere’, as he steered the bus over to the side and relieved himself from driving duty. He *was* British, that was true, but even his finely tuned sense of dry British humour couldn’t force the amusement out past dust coated lips.

At least he had direction now. His aged shoulders finding that steel rod to force straightness as he turned to face his slayer. To do as he always did. Tending her wounds, tending her spirit. Bringing her gently back to that place where he knew her humanity would always shine bright.

His slayer also wasn’t concerning herself with the direction that the bus was taking. What did it matter when all of her thoughts were sequestered so firmly behind her? Looking back. Her ears assaulted by the solemn tone of a storytelling Andrew, whispering tales all tall into the ears of the regrouping potentials.

She immediately scratched that thought. Not potentials - not anymore - these girls had realised their potential. Buffy herself had made sure of that. And now she wished she could make sure of the fact that none of them got to hear this drawn out tale of darkness and deceit. This one sided story that always ended in the worst possible way. A story she hated hearing, a story she hated anyone hearing.

“…Faith. Her name alone invokes awe… a set of principles or beliefs on which you are willing to devote your life…”

Andrew basked in the attention being given his way. A welcome distraction from the hell they were driving away from. His tone catching grave to mirror the sight of the fallen warrior laying inanimate, and barely breathing, on the seat behind them. Casting his arm out to bring grandeur to each of his statements; “…the dark slayer. A lethal combination of beauty, power and death.”

Could Buffy choke on words which weren’t hers? And while she was at it, could she please, maybe, just for one moment, manage to tear her eyes away from the one who it was that supposedly invoked such awe. Wicked awesome.

Five by five.

Sound bites ripping chunks from her ass whilst memories crept on up to take a taste too.

“But like so many tragic heroes, Faith was seduced by the lure of the dark side… she wrapped evil around her like a large, evil, Mexican serape.”

Was there truth in any of that..? As Buffy lost herself in the memory of pain tainted eyes, and words of betrayal, she found herself questioning again, like so many empty nights of unanswered questions; was it really the lure that seduced the tragic hero..?

Or had the seduction existed only in the touches they ripped from each other, in words always baiting to take a step further. Really, was a lure still considered a lure when it felt like a push?

“…she became a cold blooded killer…”

Didn’t we all?

The crack of hands meeting steering wheel broke her thoughts for just a second. The second when she would have sunk deeper to consider the parity of their actions. When the four year merry-go-round of thoughts would have gathered her up and settled her back in for the same familiar ride. There *was* a crack though, and again her eyes dumped the fuzzy, to focus on what lay broken before her.

Not so five by five anymore. Not so anything.

She let the silence of that thought soothe her aching head while Andrew regrouped his words after the welcome interruption. Maybe he would forget the story. Maybe he’d find something else to focus on other than the mysterious form of the mysterious rogue slayer, suddenly lain before them like a gift from the gods. Yeah. She had real high hopes of that happening. Even Dawn had crept closer to him to relive the days when their biggest foe had been one of her firmest friends.

It didn’t take him long to regain his stride. He was, after all, a storyteller. “Faith has a history not to be taken lightly. She’s a killer. Never forget that…”

Buffy’s chest tightened as the words sunk down low, as Andrew’s eyes drew grave again to the subject of his story time tale; “…you must stay on guard around Faith at all times. Your very lives may depend upon it.”

“Oh for goodness sake Andrew! Stop with the melodrama. Go and help Kennedy navigate, go on! Shoo!”

She couldn’t even raise a smile at the unexpected words of her watcher. Breaking the silence, not dampening the violence that was twisting tight through her soul. Just looking at her… just seeing her… just…

“Hey Buffster, you’re looking a little worse for wear there.”

Just letting the words of other friends, not just her watcher now, bring her slowly round to face the front of the bus. Not wanting to, but maybe *needing* to, something to break the cycle of feelings and thoughts which were dragging her down. Hadn’t she just been all superhero gal again? Shouldn’t she be able to find a smile?

“Sorry, Xander?” she asked. Cos hearing words was one thing, making sense of them was something else.

“You, looking worse for wear.”

Her eyes dropped to the shirt which was showing stains of heavy bleeding, could only imagine what the rest of her even began to look like. But then…

Her eyes twisted unwittingly back to their former resting place. Seeing the damage. “All the cool slayers are wearing it. It’s a look.”

Xander ignored her direction of glances - he wasn’t ready to revisit that place yet himself - and instead cast his eyes to Willow. A little concern showing, a little bewilderment obvious in his one good eye as he held onto his concern for Buffy. “Can you do anything to patch her up?”

“No can do buddy. I’m all out of magic. The mojo has left the building.”

“Giles..?”

“Xander, I’m sure that Buffy will be fine. As soon as we reach some sign of civilisation, we’ll check into a hospital…”

“Wait!” Buffy fought through the flecks of white lighting that flashed pain behind her eyes, to pull herself up further to sitting. “Who said anything about hospital? Maybe some of the girls need attention, but I’m definitely on the good side of okay.”

“Buff, if I had a flashlight I could shine it right through you. That’s a hard injury to dismiss.”

She knew that Xander meant well, but he wasn’t making her feel well. She knew that she wasn’t dying, at least not today, and all that his concern was doing, was distracting her mind from the places it wished to return to. Her body tensing of it’s own will as Giles had reached out a tender hand, had placed it upon her shoulder in a sign of caring affection.

“Buffy, I know that this is tough, but we really need to make a plan. Do you have any clue where you wish to head to?”

Could she point a vague finger again?

“Can’t you steer the ship?”

“Unfortunately I have no idea where we are. Though…” Giles allowed his own gaze to follow the track of Buffy’s. Seeing for himself the evidence of a girl, he had never really thought to see again. Buffy may have long wished for her return to consciousness, but it wasn’t a wish he was particularly fond of. “…maybe with our new set of circumstances, it would be prudent to seek Angel’s help?”

He noticed the way that her eyes widened to his words, slowly closing as she silently weighed up the forming thoughts of a plan.

“Angel..? Do you think… I don’t know?”

“He helped to deal with Faith before. I think it bears consideration.”

Deal with Faith? They didn’t even know what the deal *was* with Faith. Buffy had no rebuttal though. Could see in her friend’s eyes that they thought it was the right way to go. And so she nodded. Barely perceptible, her gaze already leaving them again to keep up her vigil, looking for answers to questions she hadn’t yet asked.

What was Faith’s deal? Why was she here? Why now?

All held prisoner by her tongue as she instead agreed to the course of direction. Not even bothering to call on the strength needed to argue against a hospital.

“That’s settled then. We shall drop the wounded off and then I will seek to make contact with Angel.”

Giles new plans giving him something to do. Urging Xander to help him relay the news to the others, discussing with Kennedy the fastest route into LA. The directions they would need to find the Hyperion. It was a relief. The time he had just spent in Buffy’s company had not offered the reassurance he had hoped he would find. Rather the opposite. He did not know the exact thoughts that she was torturing herself with, but he knew without doubt that the pain behind his slayers eyes was nothing to do with the wound that sat untended beneath her shirt. It was everything to do with what she was forcing her eyes to see.

Willow had done the rounds with Xander, checking on the girls again, letting them know that an end to the journey was nearly in sight. Hospital for those that needed it, a hotel and shower for those that could stand. It wasn’t the victory party that the saving of the world deserved, and she really *did* want to make a big deal for the newly created slayers, but it was for now, the best that they could do. Plus; with Faith. Willow was glad they were heading towards Angel.

A gladness she tried to subdue as she retook her place next to her battle weary best friend. Sighing at the tiredness that sat so plainly on her face, at the glassy faraway look that still focused on the occupied seat at the back of the bus.

“Hey.” She spoke softly, mindful not to make her jump, not to make her crash. “Just between us girls, how are you really holding up?”

“By a thread. You?”

“It’s strange… Sunnydale, just gone like that. Anya…”

“Spike.”

“Everyone Buffy. It’s just so surreal. Do you think we’re all trapped in some kind of dream state, we’ll wake up in the morning and this will just be the freaky side effect of another freaky spell?”

Did Buffy think that? “No. It’s real. It’s all gone.”

Making Willow fall silent, making her consider every memory left behind, every whisper of old caresses that still blew on the breeze, every landmark that reminded her of who she was. Who she had been.

“And here comes the homesick.”

Venturing words not making Buffy turn. But then Willow was getting used to that, still talking even though Buffy’s focus was so obviously elsewhere. It led to talk of Faith. It seemed the only relevant subject.

“I think maybe it was me that woke her up Buffy. Just so you know, in case this all goes bad. It was probably my fault.”

There. She admitted it.

“Huh?” And look. That turned them eyes for a moment, brought them back round to front. “Did I miss something?”

“No, no missing. Just, the spell. You know, releasing all that power, awakening slayers everywhere…”

“What does Giles say?”

“I haven’t, to Giles, yet. I thought, with the way… you seem mighty uh… interested in Faith.”

Oh Goddess. That *really* brought the eyes back around quick.

“It’s not interest Wills, it’s… concern. I wouldn’t be a good slayer if I saved the world, and then Faith woke up and massacred you all on this bus, would I?”

“No?”

“No. Not of the good. I’m just being concerned. I’m watching her.”

And if this was watching, Willow wanted a new definition for obsessive staring, cos that was what she had been seeing. “You want me to help *watch* for awhile?”

“So you don’t think it means anything?”

Willow caught the curveball, tossed it up in the air and threw it right back. “Do you want it to?”

“Maybe. I thought I had given up on it. Then, when I realised, when the town went tumbling down…” she looked at Faith again. Right before her. Not buried. Not lost. “…she was everything I was thinking about having to lose.”

“And then she was there. Wow. I guess, if I was you, maybe I’d be all looking for the meaning. I’m not you though Buffy, and I’m telling you, the spell; it’s all to blame.”

Or to thank? Buffy wasn’t quite sure on that one just yet. She thought she was sure, she thought she felt gratitude growing beneath the scars of the battle, but she was wholly too tired to tell. Faith’s hollow cheeks, the faint, but steady, rise and fall of her chest, just the fact that she was here. That was all Buffy was really sure of.

“I was wondering if it wasn’t a second chance. I lose everything, but I get back Faith. You sure it’s just a spell thing?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Willow watched as Buffy deflated a little more into her chair. Leaning her head back, rotating her shoulders. “But it could mean a second chance too! I mean, if she doesn’t wanna do the massacre thing.”

“That’s just it though Will. I *know* she’s gonna wanna do the massacre thing. She’s still Faith. And she’s still there.” Buffy’s hand raised now in nothing like vague, gesturing towards Faith, imploring Willow to see, to understand. “I did that to her. That’s all that she knows.”

And whoa, that was just a little bit scary for Willow’s liking. She had long, long ago forgotten the feel of cold steel against her neck, the feel of fear that Faith could generate with one penetrative glance, one growled out word of a threat. She had forgotten, she had forgiven. So easy to take the moral high ground and forgive the shell of a body that lie surrounded by machines. No growls and looks, just beeps and nothing.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here - a limb I would really like to keep attached to my body - and maybe suggest the introduction of restraints. Just… just in case?”

Faith didn’t look like she was waking anytime this century, but Willow was already realising that some of her memories would be following her from Sunnydale. And not just the happy ones.

“No Wills. No restraints.”

“But Buffy…”

“But no. She’s weak. And I don’t mean, me weak; lost a little blood and my outfits heading to Goodwill, weak. I mean properly weak.”

“And slayer healing, have you forgotten about that?”

“Not a chance.” Buffy’s fingers motioned to her wound again, her insides already straining to start the healing process, her body screaming out for rest so as it could start to do it’s job. “But we’re talking four years Will. Just… just look at her.”

Buffy implored again, and so Willow turned to see. Witnessing nothing but the faint outline of the girl they used to know. Used to fear. “I see Buffy, I do. But if she wakes up and tries to kill me, I am not playing nice.”

“I understand that. Funnily enough..? Don’t think killing *you* is gonna be top of her agenda.”

“That makes me feel better.”

“Yeah. Fuzzy feelings are the best.”

They shared a slight smile. The kind of smile that says, how the heck did we get to crisis time again already? But then, crisis did seem to have a nasty habit of following them around.

When Kennedy called out that they were about to hit the city, Willow pulled herself up and around, ready to go join her girlfriend, ready to put plans into action. She just hoped, really hoped, that crisis wouldn’t follow them into LA. Maybe Buffy was wrong, maybe Faith would wake up all full of repentance and good intentions. Something she would believe only when her memory faded, the one where she saw Faith, just a few hours ago, swinging a rage filled punch at her friend.

It made her sigh and turn again, made her offer some final words to Buffy’s unhearing ears.

“If she kills you, then I’m not playing nice either!”

Resolute popping up, only to be softened by a Willow smile. Surprised that Buffy had heard her words, surprised that she found a reply.

“She won’t kill me. She’ll try, but she won’t.”

“How do you know?”

But Buffy had no reply to that one. Just a shrug of shoulders that held no enlightenment. Her thoughts were becoming so confused, twisting up inside her head, mixing with hope, with fear, every memory laid out broken before her, and her unable to look away.

*She* did that. Had done that.

And, as always, the thought made her feel like the monster she had tried to slay. Was it the spell that awoke her? Was it really a second chance, an opportunity to redo the past?

Or was it simply evil’s way of issuing payback. Not a gift from above, but a gift from below.

She stared. She watched. She waited. Accepting that she wouldn’t know anything, she wouldn’t have the first damn clue, until Faith woke up. Again.

Chapter Three.

Checking into the hospital had been an easy exercise and passed without incident. None of the wounded particularly wanted to be there, so gloomy faces met Giles’ instructions, but not one of them could argue that they didn’t *need* to be there. They were all new to this, they didn’t realise the extent of the power they had so recently inherited, so they didn’t know that the wounds which for now looked deep and morbid, were really not much more than scratches when inflicted upon a slayer. Buffy knew, of course, but in her mind, if she had to be there, then they definitely had to be there; and Giles was more than insistent that she be there.

In the end it had been an argument he didn’t need to make. Buffy had not spent the last few hours guarding Faith with everything she had left, to then let her pass from her gaze without needing to follow. Not a chance. So she had offered the tightly clipped smile, allowed herself to be herded like cattle through the sliding doors of LA County Hospital, and then she had taken charge of making sure that her gaze remained unobstructed.

Quite a mean feat when faced with doctors wishing to know what the heck had happened; was there an accident, should the police be called, had they been attacked..? Her head nodding vague, shaking vaguer. It led to outlandish stories of camping trips, bear attacks, car accidents, anything and everything which could help to explain the strange array of wounds which sat upon each of the injured girls. Luckily, and also kinda crazily, the stories were readily accepted; this was LA, most stories were accepted here. What wasn’t expected was the commotion Buffy caused when she tried to explain Faith;

“She was in a coma, then she wasn’t… and now…”

“Excuse me, she was in a coma?”

“Right, four years worth of coma. She woke up this morning, and then she collapsed…”

“She collapsed? She was… walking? After a four year coma?”

Buffy had assumed that the truth was the best way to go with Faith. She didn’t have a clue, not even the start of clues, as to what kind of attention the girl needed, and she was not ready to take chances. Unfortunately, even in LA, this truth was being questioned.

“Uh… sure. She’s real strong, ya know, couldn’t wait to be up on her feet again.”

“And she was on this camping trip, with the rest of you?”

Okay. A little harder to explain. “Sure! You know what they say, gotta keep the sleeping mind stimulated! We thought it might help to wake her up, I guess we thought right.”

“Right.”

The doctor was beyond bemused. He often got to see the weird and wonderful while working at this hospital, but he couldn’t recall a day when he’d had so many strange cases to deal with all at once. This latest one; this really sealed the deal. A coma patient who got up and walked after four years of sleeping. No way. Didn’t happen.

It was those kind of thoughts which had him recommend a private room for the dark haired girl, somewhere that they could observe exactly what was going on with her, away from the general population of the rest of the hospital. Buffy would never allow that.

She *hadn’t* allowed that. The tone of her quiet, yet intensely hard voice, making the doctor absolutely sure that she would be sharing the same room. There was no telling what would happen if Faith awoke again to find herself alone. Lost. Buffy would stay with her, she would watch over her, and when the time came and Faith awoke, she would be waiting there to greet her.

Buffy understood what it was like to be shoved back into a world that you didn’t understand, all alone and afraid. And regardless of anything, of everything, she would do what she could to prevent Faith from experiencing that torment again.

Willow had watched the fraught exchange between doctor and patient, they all had, yet not one of them had found a place where they had felt comfortable to intervene. She had wanted to, just maybe, drag Buffy aside and explain to her that Faith was not her albatross, she didn’t have to hang her quite so heavily from around her neck. But there would have been no point; not only would an ancient mariner’s rime, be lost on Buffy, but also, Willow had seen the steel. Slayer steel. Slayer power. Slayer, slayer, slayer. Forgetting savage wounds that ripped through her body, just remembering the creep she could send down necks, as eyes that determined stared out her demands. Oh - Willow had felt sorry for the doctor then, had almost wanted to gently pat him on the arm afterwards and assure him that he hadn’t just been crushed by the will of a slight and wounded girl, he had, in fact, been crushed by a slayer.

Yeah. She figured out real quick that that little speech wouldn’t help any, so she had kept it to herself, offered different words to different others instead. Little pep talks for all of the patients, promises that they only had to stay one night, that tomorrow they would be right as rain, ready to rumble, ready to resume the rest of their lives.

And then she had reached the room where two slayers lie in private seclusion. Not sure if she had to knock, not sure what she thought she was invading. It *did* feel like invasion though, like she was interrupting something she didn’t understand. Something she had never wanted to understand.

A sigh chasing away them kind of memories, as her hand did indeed lift to ask entry, her little tap immediately answered by Buffy’s little voice. Tired again now that she had won another battle, that she had assured her eyes that they still had a job to do, they weren’t being rested yet.

“Nice digs Buffy, who did ya have to threaten to get this place?”

“Funny. I didn’t threaten him, I asked, real nice, I even smiled… did you see the smile?”

“Yeah, very… friendly.” Willow walked her way inside the room, taking in the simplicity, noting Faith over by the window, Buffy taking the spot nearest the door. “So, what did they say?”

Blank looks. Yet Willow was sure she had seen the doctors visit already, had waited and watched outside for the doctors to leave again. “The doctors Buff, what did they say?”

“Oh, of course. I got stitches, matching, back and front. You wanna see?”

Buffy lifted her top gingerly to show Willow a scar which would last maybe a few days. Her body was strong, her body was powerful, there would be no scars leaving staining marks across her abdomen. For now though, it was a scar that made Willow gasp a little, step forwards to admire the matching sides and matching stitches. “What about… inside, is it, did they..?”

“No. I already glued myself back together in there, I guess. Just these, some in my shoulder. No big.”

Right. No big. “And…” Her eyes taking in the other no big. “…what did they say about coma girl?”

“Faith.”

“Yeah. Faith.”

The wary inflection that wrapped itself around the girl’s name, did not go unmissed by Buffy. She expected it of course, half of her believed that she also should be feeling more fear at the reappearance of Faith, but she didn’t, and so it made it hard to assuage the fears of others. How could any of them fear Faith when she was just so obviously broken?

“They don’t know anything Wills, they don’t believe she was in a coma, they don’t believe she woke up from a coma… I think they want to treat her for dehydration, maybe malnourishment… ask Giles. He was in here.”

“So they think she’s gonna be better?”

“Like I said; ask Giles. I don’t think they know anything until she wakes up.”

Willow had figured as much, none of them really knowing anything until Faith woke up. She waited now, as Buffy offered that little shrug, as she pulled herself up on her bed and made to settle down with eyes still watching, and she thought again of the albatross. The signs of guilt, of penance, that were wrapping the weight of the world around her friend’s shoulders yet again. It hurt.

“Buffy?” she spoke as she approached the bed, smiling softly as room was made for her to sit. “You don’t have to do this to yourself, you don’t… it isn’t like you owe her anything.”

She kept her eyes on Buffy, not looking at Faith, easier to speak about her, when she didn’t remind herself that she was right there in the room. Not six feet away. Not six feet under. “You know if she’d had the chance, she would’ve done the same to you. Worse to you.”

“Would she?”

Okay. This was crazy. Willow could understand - she *knew* - Buffy felt bad about stabbing Faith. Yadda-yadda-yadda. But this, whatever it was, like some kind of crazy denial of what Faith was, who she had been; it wasn’t good. It was the opposite of good. It was bad.

“You *know* she would have! What about Xander, huh? What about me..?”

“You’re both still here though, Wills.”

“Yes! But no thanks to Faith. She was a killer Buffy, she was bad. You know that, I know you know that.”

The memories which frazzled across the tired mind of Buffy, were assuring her that she knew that Willow knew that she knew that… okay, so she wasn’t sure of what she was knowing, but the memories sure felt like pain. Faith’s desire to hurt her, only matched by one other desire, and that desire was nothing but fuel to the first. And all of it spelt pain.

A pain which reverberated and tore rips through her conscience, which forced her eyes to see the mess that she had made, all laid out in front of her. Willow chose not to look. Buffy had no choice. “Maybe it’s different now.”

“And maybe it’s not. You said yourself Buffy, she’s still there, she’s gonna still want her pound of flesh.”

Could she cut through the un-pleasantries and just offer up the appropriate pound, Buffy wondered. Would that appease Faith’s plaintive plea for payback? Would that level out the scales of justice to even?

If someone had offered her the tools, she maybe would have done it right then. Not eager to dice and slice, especially not her own flesh, but something so very far past eager to have answers. Something to stop her mind from whirling, from trying to figure out what the hell was happening, and more importantly, what the hell was going to happen.

“We just… look, can’t we at least wait till she wakes up, to get in line and condemn her? I know there’s gonna be issues, but let me at least fool myself for five minutes that this might possibly just work out.”

Buffy’s eyes didn’t flash steel at Willow, she didn’t try and strong arm her into accepting her will, she just showed her tiredness, her confusion, a sad smile which spoke of how much she wanted to believe that it could all work out okay.

“I’m just scared Buffy. You can’t blame me for being scared.”

“You’re a big bad Wicca, and you’re scared of that?” Her arm raised towards Faith, towards the machine monitoring her heart which beeped out that same monotonous tune of existence. “You faced The First evil, and now you’re scared of Faith?”

“No. Not quite. It’s more like, scared, for you. I know how she gets under your skin Buffy, I remember how she got under your skin, and I prefer you all, ya know, own skin under. And with you being all…”

“Being all what?”

Uh? Willow wanted to say, interested in Faith, again, but that didn’t cover it, didn’t say what she really wanted to say. Their former home may have thrived upon ignorance and denial, but deep down, Willow had read the signs. Not liked the directions, but she *had* read the signs.

“Affected..?” Did that sound right? “Yeah. Affected by Faith… I just worry you’re gonna get caught out. Your guard isn’t up.”

“Maybe I’m sick of guards right now. Can’t I just be guard free gal for a bit?” It sounded so much easier. Buffy didn’t think she had the strength for guards right now. The day had been like a never ending endurance test, and she was sure her endurance was soon to be found wanting. Also… “And I’m not affected by Faith, I’m affected by the things we did to each other, the things that she made me do…”

“And the difference is?”

“There’s a difference.”

A thin line. A fine line. Not letting herself read between the lines.

“Sure. A real big difference.”

Willow let it go. There wasn’t anything to gain from this conversation now, there was nothing that she could do to release Buffy from her burden. Maybe it would change when Faith woke up, when she showed her true colours, good or bad. Until then this was a pointless exercise, just seeking to exhaust her friend more, rather than making her see sense.

She decided to do the only thing that did make sense. Finally assuring her own exhausted mind that rest was soon to be forthcoming. She needed to rest. She needed to replenish her own waning power. Because as sure as she wasn’t about all that was yet to pass, she was more than sure that she would be needing her power.

“I’m gonna head on out with the others, go find Angel, give him the good news. Shower, change, rest. Will you be okay till I get back?”

“Huh?” Already gone. Already back inside the gaze that never wavered. “Yeah. Go. I’ll be fine.”

Barely looking up to find a wave as Willow had left the room. Every moment pausing, wondering, waiting… would this be the moment when she woke up?

Against the odds, she had fought the need for sleep for the longest time. Her eyes red and pained with the effort of staying wrenched open, her whole body cramping with the demand to seek rest. It was inevitable that she would fall. A blink, which turned into a moment of peace, which turned into the setting for a dreamscape. Asleep. At last.

Her breathing much deeper than the girl beside her, inherent steadiness, inherent strength. But the eyes which sought to rest behind her eyelids, they were becoming just as unsettled. Little flickers at first, the tell tale sign that dream sleep is approaching, that the real world is slowly fading.

For Buffy it faded first, her mind not swirling in the same abyss as Faith’s, able to pick a point, a place that offered her the peace she needed after enduring all that had been tormenting her. Not sure if she had summoned Faith there, knowing that she wouldn’t know how to, if she was asked to, yet also knowing her thoughts had been trapped only in Faith; the same thoughts which had led her to here.

The white light not harsh and harmful, not making her shield her eyes in pain, but soft light, warm light, infusing her soul, offering her refuge and sanctuary. Buffy knew where she had brought them to; this was heaven. Her heaven.

The bed which had held her rest all those months, still waiting, her place still assured, and she headed that way now, unable not to reach out and touch. Smiling at the fresh sheets her mind had produced, sat off to the side, waiting to be laid upon the bed.

“Damn. I know we’re in *your* head this time.”

The first words Buffy had heard, the first time those tones had tickled her senses in years. Sure, there had been the timid taunts outside of the crumbling school, but none of those words held Faith. They were too broken. No, this was Faith. Buffy’s eyes raising from the bed to take a look at the one who had been occupying her mind.

“You’re fixed.” The words streaming as if on playback. No thought to say them, just the compelling need to release the sound.

“Yeah. I’m a tough cookie.”

Buffy smiled at that. A look of pure pleasure. Her hands reaching out to pick up the sheets, beginning the task of making her bed. Paving the way towards rest. “Help me?”

“I never did know how.” Yet Faith was already moving. Her own head not finding the confusion of the dream, just accepting the space, the room, something comforting in her soul. Her hands moving as if making the bed with Buffy was the most natural thing in the world, timeless, smoothing over sheets, a careful placing of pillows. “Sure is a big bed for a solitary hero.”

“One girl in all the world. One girl all alone.”

“That’s what they say.”

Their eyes meeting then, across the bed. Not scared, not fearful, no harrowing look of yesteryears resentful envy, no boasting to the other of the pain they could inflict. They met in peace. The patience taken to truly understand. To see past the spills of old wrongdoings, to settle in a look of truth which eased out across the dreamscape.

Buffy felt it to her core. She felt the hope and the belief, and she felt a spirit able to endure anything. It compelled more of her words. More of the kind she didn’t think to say, that were just said.

“That’s only because they don’t know about the comics by the bedside.”

Faith’s smile raising as much as hers. “We done here?”

“Just pass my comforter?” The last thing to make it right. Her hand reaching out to take the offering from Faith, no idea how it got here or why, just waiting for delivery. Ignoring that feeling that was creeping slow up her spine… a crawling…

“You not grown out of this yet?”

Expecting to look down and see Mr Gordo. Not the thing that was sitting cold and vengeful in Faith’s hand. Shining in the light that was fading fast from comfort, that was chasing her already, even though she remained standing still.

“Faith..?”

Her voice breaking now, eyes drawn to the bed as it grew mind numbingly cold, as the sheets lay in tatters, as everything was broken again.

“It’s okay.” And Faith. Not knowing. Not knowing how this world was twisting already to bring all of her demons crashing back round to face her. Foolish of Buffy to think she could ensconce them safe in heaven when so much of Faith resided in hell.

Her eyes were still smiling as they looked toward Buffy, almost done now. Not knowing why the other’s green eyes seemed to be growing darker with each breath of time, still advancing towards her, determined to give her the comfort she requested. Finally, almost begrudgingly, looking down, looking to see exactly what it was that she was offering;

“Even I know that’s a fucked up metaphor for comfort, B.”

And with those words, the world came crashing down. Her distaste at seeing the knife, only matched by her fear at feeling it, her wound festering and reopening, blood spilling down upon the pureness of the white sheets to open up a pit to hell. Swallowing her instantly, slipping and sliding down the sides, her hands clawing to find purchase, to drag herself back up.

A hand. A grasp. Clutching, grabbing…

Words again.

“I won’t let you fall… I’m pulling you up…”

Buffy’s voice finding desperate, trapped, not understanding what went wrong, how they got here. Why they left there. She knew it had changed though, she knew that they were in Faith’s head now, she knew that this much pain could never be all hers. She pulled harder, could feel herself slipping, realising that Faith was struggling against her, not with her.

“Don’t sugar coat the truth B, you know I’m pulling you down.”

Faith didn’t know where the venom had come from, but now that it was back she held it close to her heart, feeding the memories, understanding the pain. Her hand a vice around Buffy’s as she invited her down to hell.

Her breaths fought to stay in her body the harder that she ran, legs pumping, heart racing. She could feel the hunter behind her, closing in on her. Payback. Revenge. Buffy. The mirrored reflection of every bad act, the total opposite of all she ever was. Chasing her down, murder in mind.

It made Faith push harder, ducking between gravestones which had always felt like home, trying to outrun the past, the truth which pursued her like ghosts in the night.

It was different here, it wasn’t about making peace; it was about the hurt and the pain. The other side to the coin. Nothing mattering except the life which had always been hers.

“You think you can escape what you’ve done?”

Fuck. Her voice. Echoing out all around her. Not Buffy soft, but slayer hard. Determined. Making Faith’s eyes dart in every direction, wanting to plead with anyone for an escape, a way out of this, this endless cycle of agony.

“The blood keeps on flowing Faith…”

Her hands covered, dripping crimson, her clothes covered, the gash across her top opening with every encumbered step.

“…The pain keeps on growing Faith.”

God. Singsonging it down into her soul. Her knees weak, breaking beneath her, delivering her body to the earth. Laying prone and unprotected as Buffy moved closer to her side, as she lifted up her hand in a final pause.

“What, ya don’t wanna play with the big pretty knife?”

“Please…”

Every bad feeling crawling over her, crawling inside of her. Itching. Making her skin burn with the need to rip it free, to uncover herself, to destroy herself… “Please?”

“I thought you liked playing with knives, F?”

Trying to inch back as the slayer leant over her, the tip of the knife dragging pretty patterns slow across her skin, making tingles of fear slide free with the blood. All of it caressing her, heaven sent, hell sent, Buffy sent. Remembered caresses, forgotten ones…

The final one.

“Welcome back Faith.”

Plunging deep. Killing her.

The machine by Faith’s bed was beeping in frantic urgency, hitting every high note, calling forth help. Designed for this purpose, to signal emergencies, to scream loud when a patients heart sailed off through the roof. Screaming now. No monotony. Until there was silence.

Flatline. Finished.

The wires ripped from Faith’s body as she had ripped herself from sleep. Her whole body was on fire with the memory of the dream, a shared dream? She remembered Buffy there, she remembered the look in her eyes… not the bed, god, the bed was so far from the fear which encased each of her limbs. Eyes darting, eyes fixing, eyes finding their pain.

“Buffy.”

Knowing if she could just, if that voice, if she could just end it now…

Her gaze flitting round not for hope of escape, but to find a weapon, anything, immediately drawn to the chair by Buffy’s bedside. Knowing how much damage she could inflict before the other girl awoke… if she could just…

Her legs flirting with falling, but holding her firm, not encased in a gown this time, but still wrapped in the denim. She felt stronger. She felt…

A sigh from the sleeping caused her to stop. A sound. She couldn’t stop. She had to stop *this*! The fear, all of it, the confusion, no fucking clue anymore as to which god damn way was up, what was down, who the fucking hell she even was anymore.

She lifted the chair high above her head, not thinking, not even trying to enact payback, or revenge. She couldn’t think of that now… she just had to stop the fear, the agony of this endless pursuit through hell…

A door crashing back, a witch with wide eyes.

“I knew it!”

The alarms that Faith’s heart machine had set off at the nurses station had alerted a newly returned Willow to the idea of danger; and she had known, just known that crisis had found them again. Running down the hall to Buffy’s room, the door sent crashing open, and Faith. Stood, same snarl, same twisted sneer residing on her face.

She didn’t even get the chance to say ‘Red’, to annoy Willow with an over friendly, sadistically sarcastic, greeting. Because Red had already taken her down. The mojo returned, the words whispered, and Faith, trapped yet again in a sleep that was neither natural, nor peaceful.

Chapter four.

The four Scoobies had stood in silence while contemplating the small screen which showed them Faith. A grainy picture, a TV show, nothing which felt quite real. No sound to be heard, because she was making no sound. No movement to be seen, because she remained completely still. How they had left her.

Xander had been the one to switch on the monitoring equipment. His curiosity leading him to press the button, breaking through the discussion of the hospital escape, through Giles’ quiet rebuke at Willow’s easy use of magic.

“It was just a little mind bending Giles! No worse than in Sunnydale, no different than pretending to be agents for Interpol!”

“That’s beside the point. You mustn’t get used to relying on magic again, you know how…”

“Buffy, tell him!”

Oh yes. Xander had removed his gaze from the unwelcome confrontation in front of him, to look for welcome distractions behind him. Drawn to the small TV, fingers moving idly to see what was on.

“Uh… guys?”

Not sure at first. His mind not quite believing that not only did Angel have a cage in his basement, he also had that cage wired up to CCTV. It fed him images disturbing… thoughts he wasn’t comfortable thinking. “Seriously, guys, what’s this?”

Invoking the silence as they had turned to see. As they had witnessed. Here she was. There she was. Welcome Faith.

“Oh. They still have the cameras!”

“You knew about the cameras! Why are there cameras?!”

Xander’s voice was unwittingly pleading. His new thoughts much less comfortable than even his previous thoughts. He didn’t want Willow playing Mistress of the Dungeon with Angel. He refused to believe it. “Will..?”

Imploring that she put him out of his misery.

“They had cameras to watch Angelus. From before. I forgot all about them, I guess they might come in handy now though.”

Willow *had* forgotten about them. Her recent visit to re-ensoul Angel had been so fleeting, due to commitments in Sunnydale, that paying great attention to the details surrounding her, hadn’t been paramount. She remembered now though. Looking at the fallen form of the fallen slayer on that same grainy screen. Maybe wishing that it would be as easy to tame all the darkness on show this time around.

“Any idea when she’ll be joining us Wills?” Xander leant closer to the screen, flicking at the image of Faith, absently wondering if it would wake her. “Did you set a specific time?”

“I’m not an alarm clock.”

“Even still, I’m assuming you set some kind of parameter on the spell that you used?”

The displeasure was evident in Giles’ tone, in the stern gaze that met Willow’s resolute one. He didn’t mean to seem so reproachful, he knew that she was doing what had to be done to ensure they had managed to leave the hospital unchallenged, but he couldn’t suffocate the worry that encased him whenever he thought of Willow with such power. He had worked so hard with her to learn the balance, he had great faith and trust in her, yet still he worried like an over protective father whenever she touched that source. He couldn’t help himself.

“What spell was it?” He could soften the tone though. He could swap reproachful for concern. Letting his eyes wrinkle with a smile so that she knew he was just being him.

She wouldn’t have it any other way. “An old Druid incantation, I found it in one of your books! I’ve been waiting forever to try that one out…”

Buffy stayed staring at the screen in front of them, the only member of the gang not to be caring about which spell it was that Willow had used. There was a sleep spell, she knew that much, she had even stood by Willow’s side as she had *explained* to the nurses that she was Faith’s doctor, that she had to move her to a more private facility. What did it matter the origin of the power..? Especially when Buffy was still caught up in the shock of coming round from *that* dream and learning what she had missed.

Faith woke up. And she hadn’t greeted her.

Just one more thing to add to the list of things that she had always meant to do in regards to Faith. One more thing to fall by the wayside. There were so many of these things that she couldn’t even think to name them all. She knew where to begin; she knew better about friendship now, she knew better about how to offer that friendship. She knew better about responsibility. Not just responsibility for actions, but responsibility for feelings. For forcing action.

“How long..?” Deciding she was better off not knowing too much more. Better off focusing on the now. How she felt now.

“It’s not specific, but it’s not very strong either.”

So how was she feeling now?

“Is she… can she dream?”

Willow rested her eyes on a friend that did not look rested. Her curiosity obvious in the tone of her voice, gently questioning. “Dreams? Why the interest?”

Silence. More staring.

“Buffy?”

But she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stop those dreams from invading her system. The first so peace packed with heaven sent perfection, the second so torturously terrifying as to assure her that hell truly existed, and with demons so much more fierce than even the First Evil could ever hope to produce.

Existing in that hell, existing in the body that had so joyously pursued Faith; it horrified her. Feeling the pain, all of that fear, remembering the way that she had played with that. And she knew. She realised. She was Faith’s demon.

She felt sick. She felt guilt.

The hand to the arm shocked her back to face front, refocusing a gaze onto Xander’s one good eye, finding her voice for all of them. “There was a dream… in the hospital. We shared a dream.”

“Hey, you never said!”

“Sorry Will, slipped my mind.” Yep. Slipped her mind to drip down into her soul. So much more damage it could do there.

“Was this a slayer dream Buffy, do you remember details?”

Details? Everyone of them.

“Vague. Hell’s fire. Eternal torment. Nothing specific.”

She hoped that had covered it, until Giles countered her vague. “Still, it throws up certain pertinent questions. This could be Faith’s way of trying to re-establish a connection…”

“And I thought the chair was her way of trying to re-establish a connection. My bad.”

“Will…”

“No Buffy. I told you, if she tries the funny, I don’t play nice.”

Giles wanted to reduce the slump that still sat so obvious in the un-straight shoulders of his slayer. Derailing the move to an argument over Faith. Bringing it back to the details, the safe bits. “Did it feel like you were summoned there, was it similar to before…”

“I… she…” Buffy not wanting to give details. Unwilling to share the start of the dreamscape, to talk about smoothing pillows and meeting gazes, about comics by the bedside. “…we were just there.”

“And it was… unpleasant in it’s nature?”

The feeling still ripping a void through her core, emptying out the good stuff to settle on the bad. Fists that clenched to hold tight to a knife, hands that thrust in unwelcome reminder of taking life. Human life. Faith’s life.

It was too much. “It was unpleasant. Can we move on now?”

Slayer steel. Slayer power. No one willing to disagree.

“When’s Angel gonna be here.” A pause. Buffy’s eyes relaxing to settle on Giles, to reach a safe subject. “Where *is* Angel.”

Not having a clue.

“Right.” Her watcher the man with the uneasy answers. “It seems there’s been a certain change in Angel’s circumstances since we spoke to him last.”

“I spoke to him in a time frame of hours ago, how much can have changed?”

For now she smiled a little.

“I… it seems that perhaps he didn’t offer you all of the information when he visited. I assume he didn’t give you the origin of the amulet?”

The smile dampening of it’s own will. A shake of the head.

“I’m not sure of the details completely, I assume that Angel will wish to fill you in on…”

“Giles, can we please cut the crap?”

Again Xander was wanting to pull his gaze away from the unwelcome confrontation. From the tension flowing so fast between slayer and watcher. There was no chance though. He had heard the tale from Angel’s mouth, had sat back stunned on his haunches as Giles had conversed in short depth about all that had occurred. He blurted it out without thought to soften the blow. “Angel’s gone all Senator Palpatine.”

“He’s having palpitations?”

Rendering Buffy too confused to wonder if that was even possible.

“More like, the bringer of order and justice, turned head of an evil empire. Star Wars 101... Tell me you understand?”

“Giles?” She watched him and waited. Not smiling through the glasses routine, nothing familiar easing the fear of the unfamiliar that arose with Xander’s words. “Translate?”

“It’s, well, it pains me to say it Buffy, but it’s remarkably like Xander just stated. For some reason, Angel Investigations is moving to Wolfram and Hart…”

“Is this a joke?”

“No, unfortunately there appears to be little reason for cheer. You really need to speak to Angel.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I do.” One more thing. Join the list. Take a number. Roll up. Show starts. And the ride just never stops. “I’ll be with Faith.”

She didn’t care for the looks, or the glances, or the Willow words which called her softly back. What was the point in making no sense upstairs, when she could make so much less sense down below?

Faith wouldn’t wake alone again. Faith wouldn’t attack her again.

Faith was behind bars.

It was cold down here in the basement, with nothing but the memories to keep her company. No other’s shoulders to lean her weight upon, because no one else could even begin to understand what it was that she was going through. Heck, Buffy herself barely had a clue what she was going through. Why she was feeling like this.

She could not deny to herself that she had often thought of Faith over the last four years; a different Faith, the kind of Faith that might have existed if things had been different. But even so, she still knew that this level of, what… interest? Concern? Affectedness..?

Was affectedness a word? Was it the right word? Affection..?

Affect. She *knew* that this affect was all wrong.

This absolute determined need to watch over the sleeping Faith, this unquenchable thirst to have all of her words flowing fast down a path that sounded like defence.

Buffy was not stupid. Even with one thousand, four hundred and fifty nine days to smother her righteousness with a deep sense of guilt, she still understood that not everything was defendable. Not everything that Faith had done could be boiled down and softened by cause and effect. Something’s just were.

And sometimes she still thought of the Faith that had become. Her memory twisting in the same way that Faith’s sneer had twisted so tight on her face, burning with contempt, every angle covered by the reminder of the pain. Oh yes. Because nothing had cut deeper than that first sight of betrayal, the first time Faith had spat in the face of every single one of the principles that Buffy held dear. Good over evil. Such a hard line to tow?

All of those days, all of those nights, and Buffy still couldn’t find a defence for that one. Couldn’t excuse the inexcusable. No matter the condemnation she had welcomed into her heart for the outcome, her spirit refused outright to accept that lures or pushes, any motivation, could deserve action as hurtful and soul destroying as betrayal.

They were the Chosen Two. And that was the kind of partnership that was made not to be broken.

That Faith *had* broken. Right..?

A wry smile settled on her lips as she pulled herself up from the stairs. She had argued this around in her head so many times, that she was sure the devil’s advocate had set up shop there. One minute she could put everything down to the lure, the next she could put everything down to the push… and right now she just wanted to put everything down.

For a moment then, as Faith’s hollow breath’s echoed all around her, she had convinced herself that the righteous side was winning the argument; it often did. Only then her eyes had settled again on a broken form and her own breathing had become hollow, the wry smile had settled. No side was winning the argument, except for the side which felt so god damn affected.

And was that every side?

And could she please stop thinking and concentrate! Not caring that concentrating often led to thinking, just caring that she wanted to have something to say when Faith awoke. Something non-threatening, yet something which said so much more than Hello. Welcome back. Oh, and by the way..? You were gone for four years.

It drove the smile down in favour of a frown, because she knew better that there was no easy way of phrasing that little piece of information. It sounded pretty whack to her own ears, and she had been here for the whole of the four years. Not counting when she wasn’t here. And that was even more whack. God. If her head span much quicker she could call herself a whack job. A whacko. Wanting not much more than to whack her head hard against the nearest surface of resistance.

She focused her eyes and realised that that would be the bars of the cage, the bars she had seemingly, without thought, wrapped her hands hard around. Testing the strength. Wondering if Willow’s extra bonds of magic would keep the might of a pissed slayer firmly locked inside. They felt strong enough to her hands, but then, she wasn’t pissed. She was just a whack job.

A thought which kept the circles mapped out as her feet paced the claustrophobic space of the basement. Gaze flicking furtively up to the camera, before falling once more upon the still form of Faith. Each step wondering if the bars were strong enough to keep out a slayer who was spiralling close to madness.

She hated patience. She hated this waiting. She wanted actions, reactions, cause and effect. She wanted answers.

She wanted Faith to defend the indefensible. To take the betrayal and make it hurt less, to assure that it was never her heart that had turned so traitorous, that it had never run that deep. A mistake. A hiccup. Something like regret.

It felt different this time. She wasn’t being pursued from sleep with rips to her skin and words coated in revenge, she was being lifted slowly… like floating. An effervescent feeling which bubbled along her limbs in a kind of psychedelic bout of pins and needles. If she knew her mind she’d consider it kinda trippy; even in her non knowing state of mind, she felt something like a smile lift the corners of her mouth. It felt good. It felt odd.

Her tongue tracing the lifting lips and thinking of strawberries. Wondering absently if the cat had got the cream.

“Faith..?”

A whisper settling in her ears to provide a soundtrack to an awakening. Her awakening. Letting the fizz tickle her arms and legs into stretching, letting her body succumb to the need to move. To exist.

“Faith..?” Lips lifting further, arms wanting to reach out and find the comfort in that voice. “Are you awake..?”

Maybe offer comfort to the hesitancy in the tone.

Comfort?

And her eyes slammed open on the memory.

‘Even I know that’s a fucked up metaphor for comfort, B.’

The same words sent to send the world crashing down.

She remembered the violence as her body twisted to find the right way up, not caring if muscles still screamed out resistance, just needing the protection of the right direction, needing to face her. To find her. Defend and attack.

“Faith, wait, it’s okay… I’m not gonna… it isn’t…”

Eyes finding sight through the obstruction of bars, little strips which tore at the image of Buffy, words which tore at something even more sacred, which ripped right through to her core. “…just relax. Just… deep breaths.”

Damn fucking right deep breaths! The deepest. Whole lungfuls which fed the hate she kept close, inflating her heart with all she remembered, all she’d forgot.

“You.”

Stated with venom. With lips that had settled into something so much scarier than a smile, a leering perversity which crawled across Buffy’s skin in ways which even the meanest of vamps could never hope to reproduce. It erased all thoughts, all un-stated arguments which cited defence. It left only feelings.

Buffy’s feet pinned now as she withered under the penetrating force of Faith’s wicked glare. So much hate. Leading her to wonder if a gaze that sharp could rip holes through her skin.

Andrew watched the screen with barely contained excitement, his mind already writing the script, creating a turn of phrase;

Two warriors, one arena. Iron bars the only thing separating the power wielded for both the dark and the light…

He leant closer to hear the words, his shoulders hunching, a frown appearing as he heard only silence. His fingers moving to find sound, to offer a voice to the fantasies which slid through his mind.

“Whatcha doing Andrew..?”

Willow’s lilting tones making him jump fast from his seat, making him look guiltily towards the door to the office which housed Mr Giles and the vampire. “I was just watching. Mr Giles told me to watch.”

He tried to return the easy smile that the witch was offering him, tried to act surprised as he noticed a frown creasing her features as she looked towards the screen. “Oh! Wow… looks like she woke up. Mr Giles..?!”

His whining voice letting Willow know that this wasn’t such a sudden event.

“How long?”

“She… uh…” Andrew looked pleadingly towards the office again. “Mr Giles..?!”

“Andrew, don’t make me threaten you with amphibian features. How long has she been awake?”

The face of the irritated watcher broke through any threat, the door opening to see what the distraction was. What was so pressing to break through his deep discussion with Angel; He wanted to speak to Buffy, Giles did not think that now was the right time. The discussion had been very deep.

“What is it Andrew?”

“Faith just woke up and Willow’s threatening to turn me into a toad again!”

He looked almost pityingly at the boy. Turning his eyes slowly to face the screen, easing back to Willow. “Perhaps you could put us all out of our misery and carry out the threat?”

Patting Andrew out of his way, settling closer to look at the show before him. “How long has she been awake?”

“She just woke up! This minute…”

“Right. What happened?”

The two slayers still stood trapped in a wordless exchange through the bars of a cage. Everything spoken, that needed to be said, in the looks which could never be held back by anything as meaningless as bars. Buffy wanted to speak, wanted to make something meaningful out of every thought which had plagued the minutes since Faith’s return, yet her thoughts had been replaced by feelings, and her feelings dictated that she stay still. That she make no move. Her mouth simply venturing on the same word again.

“Faith?”

The word that invoked awe. Trying to invoke some kind of response in the one that wore the word. Uttering silence again as she watched her make her move. So stilted; as if checking that her legs worked before she moved them, her face losing the snarl for just a second as she winced out something that looked like pain.

Fingers wrapping tight around the cage as Faith reached her target, as she got as close to her prey as this place would allow.

“Where the fuck am I?”

Knuckles straining as much as her voice. Bars which wouldn’t move for Buffy, having no chance of shifting under the force of the four year forgotten slayer.

“Fai…”

“I know my fucking name, now where the hell am I?!”

Nothing forgiving in her glance. Nothing welcoming. Nothing at all except for the same rage and the same hate. Four years forgotten, maybe, yet everything remembered now. Still so fresh, as fresh as if just yesterday she had faced Buffy on the roof, as fresh as if her hand was still pushing her own knife back through her skin. Gutting her. Killing her…

“Where am I!?” So much ferociousness ripping harsh from her throat.

She could feel the walls of the cell closing in on her, the bars hard in her hand letting her know she was imprisoned. Cornered. Captured. Knowing nothing else except Buffy. That she was the one responsible. For this. For the hole which still ripped raw through flesh and tendons, which still taunted her with the feeling of weak.

“We need to talk.”

The air around her body cooling as the clamminess of sweat tickled a path down her neck. So tense. So tight.

“Faith…”

Something stirring. Every single time those lips whispered her name. Lies, deceit, death. “…you need to listen to me.”

Not listening. Not moving. The tension in her body coiling tighter around each of her limbs, waste filled muscles screaming from the stabbing pain of being held so rigid. So hard.

Unbreakable. She wouldn’t break.

“I’m not going to hurt you…”

Gut churning.

“…this isn’t about hurting you.”

Buffy dared herself to take a step forward. Faith wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking. Her eyes lost to Buffy, a void which showed nothing except the reflection of her cage. All imprisoned. All held back.

Her feet moving in wary steps to bring herself closer, not thinking of what things to say, what words to make it better, just wanting to fill that void. To take some of the torment away, to destroy some of Faith’s demons. “Things have changed Faith, everything has changed.”

No response. “You…” God. She what? “…that night.”

*That* night.

“After you fell, there was… they… you were in the hospital Faith.”

Was that too matter of fact?

Not that it mattered, because still the view remained the same. Except closer. Buffy not realising that wary steps had become steps all bold. Never meaning to deliver herself into space this near, yet her body taking actions that her mind would never dare to think through. To give sane thought to. Wanting so badly to touch. Maybe a reaffirmation that the presence was real. That before her again stood Faith. Same girl. Same woman. Same air of tattered indifference lending a detachment to her pose. An emptiness in her eyes.

It made Buffy push on. “They didn’t know if you would wake up. They said that you never would… that it was fruitless to want it.” Yet she had wanted it so badly. So many different reasons to want so badly. “Four years Faith. It’s been four years…”

The damp walls of the basement would have coated her sobs if she could let them break free. If she could finally pour tears over all of the bloody wounds of the past. They were not her wounds to wear though, and she would never rub salt into the injuries that she had inflicted. Holding her breath instead.

No quirky smile to soften the moment, no perky words to reduce anything to mean something less. It had been four years. It was a touch she was aching for.

Her eyes frozen as Faith’s gaze slid across the bars of imprisonment to reach her face. Feeling a silent tear dare to break ranks when she realised that fingers were following eyes. That Faith’s hand was crossing the bridge between them to make contact, to reignite that feeling. A gasp.

Was that her gasp? Eyelids closing to push the silent tear free, to stand unmoving, yet not unmoved, as fingertips touched a cheek which had waited so many months to feel again. So many years.

“B?”

A whisper, an invitation. Feeling the shake in the hand as it caressed slowly across her skin, across her jaw line, mapping any change. Across a neck which bore the scar hidden beneath skin, to the clothes which sat battle weary, years of fighting kept encased beneath cotton.

The large side, the righteous side, the side which Willow had urged to take caution; that side was screaming at Buffy. Downright, red alert, sound the freaking beepers, screaming. Step back. Guard up. Retreat, retreat!!

The side which sat frozen though, the small side, that was the side dictating the pace to her. To stand and to feel. To offer up without resistance, to make no threat.

The side which felt the smash the hardest as Faith had slammed her forward into bars, against her prison, fingers wrapping tight in a fist around her clothes, breath snarling out words which made up for the strength that was missing from her grasp.

It still hurt.

The roughness of metal grazing across the smoothness of her cheek. Yet she didn’t step back. Didn’t pull away.

“You think you can fucking fool me again?! You think I *need* to listen to a fucking word you have to say?! You gutted me Blondie, you fucking gutted me…”

“Willow, no! I don’t think your intervention is the type needed here. I will…”

“No Giles.” Angel spoke up from his place watching the screen, his eyes and ears both perked to catch every word, every insinuation, every deep down cry from Faith’s broken soul. “You’re not strong enough to deal with this. With Faith. I’ll go.”

There was no argument as he left them, because too much focus was directed still at the show unfolding before their eyes. At Buffy held with ease against the cage, at Faith’s face contorting with such twisted anger as she screamed words into her ears.

“Why isn’t the Buffster moving?”

Xander wondered it aloud. Everybody heard. Nobody had an answer.

Faith’s throat was raw from the effort of so many words, so much volume, her hands tired from clenching, her legs aching from standing. It was just… again… so much of the same. So much confusion, so much not knowing, so much being a pawn in the fucked up game of life.

So tired of it all.

“Let me out of this fucking cage.”

Not much strength left to shout. Not much will left. Four years? Four fucking years? Was that…

No.

Bullshit. She tried to clench harder to squeeze the source, wishing her hands had a grip around that neck so fucking slender, around skin so fucking smooth.

The feeling that caressed her own skin at that moment was a different kind of awakening, a different memory of senses. Fizzing. Buzzing. Trickling through each of her limbs, calling forth a never forgotten power. Her power. Slayer power. Her head drawn away from Buffy, her eyes flying to catch sight of a vampire.

No.

“Faith, let go of her.”

His steady slow steps down the stairs making her spring back away from the bars. Away from Buffy. The walls not far enough away from the monster that strode into the room. Pushing back.

“Buffy, are you okay?”

Faith’s hands were sliding to her stomach as if she could claw away her wound, make herself strong again. Fear returning, panic insisting that her breaths catch tight in her throat, yet still fall fast from her lips.

“I’m… fine. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Buffy spoke with the choke that sat in her own throat. Her own confusion blanketing the situation in a surreal bubble that threatened to burst with her at the centre. She could see the fear in Faith, could see that desperate need which just a minute ago was vowing to reap revenge with death, now straining with futility to sink into the walls. And words.

“You are not feeding me to him.” Spoken like a plea.

Four years gone, but not understanding.

She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to do it. Buffy did know though, that this was not the way. She could feel the anger, the fear, the desperation which flowed so fast from the now cowering Faith. And god, could she blame her?

They had locked her in a cage, faced her with the person who did this to her, and now the vampire who was gonna drain her blood dry had just walked into the room.

Welcome back Faith.

Buffy stepped slowly away from the bars, slowly away from Faith. Her eyes switching to catch Angel, to motion with her head that they needed to back off. To retreat. Watching as he left, counting the steps until he had reached the top.

It was the hardest thing in the world to turn away. To show her back. But she knew that it was the only way. That what she was doing was nothing more than terrifying Faith. She had shared the dream, she had seen the scenes, had held the knife which done the damage.

Where the words came from she didn’t know. Why she said them she would always know. Maybe one day realise. They were the whispers of her heart.

“I’m sorry Faith.”

So sorry. For then? For now?

For everything.

hapter Five.

The taste of sorry still sat sluggish in Buffy’s mouth as she carried herself wearily up the steps from the basement. The words had crept out unknowingly. Whispers which had ached to have the space to be spoken so many times in the last four years. Not that she hadn’t ever given them voice before - there had been times. Private times. Times when she had sought solitude away from the world in the void that was always welcoming in Faith’s hospital room. But she had never thought that she would have opportunity to say them to an awake Faith. That she would want to say them to such a hateful Faith.

Such a hateful face.

She had felt paralysed when Faith had first taken her into her grasp, the shock of the slam making her eyes squint in pain, the metal bars caressing skin that had just moments before felt the gentleness of a different caress. It was the words that had frozen her though, not the action. Such bitterness, such anger, so many things that no other person had ever had the power to touch her with. Faith had always touched her. Always known where her secret buttons were located, always known how to push to provoke a reaction.

Sorry.

Buffy could bet that wasn’t the expected reaction. She was still clinging tight to the defence of whack-job, it could be used to explain so much. Perhaps the way she had let Faith’s ineffectual strength hold her such an inanimate prisoner… as if the weakness was begging Buffy to stay still. Maybe the way she had kept quiet instead of shouting Faith down with words of her own, so many accusations to be levelled, so much of her own pain that could be turned, sharpened and directed at Faith. Yet she had stayed still, barely daring to breathe in case she missed a moment of it, her ears open and hearing, giving path to each one of Faith’s hate filled words.

It made a change from her own words of condemnation. Almost refreshing to be hearing it from the source, instead of imagining the way that it would go. At least she knew now the way that it would be… no easy forgiveness to wipe away a situation that had, even at best, never been easy. Even when it *was* easy, it had never been easy.

Too many guards. Too many defences.

“Buffy, are you okay?”

Fresh guards in place as she looked up into the concerned eyes of her watcher. “Peachy. You?”

She tried to shrug him off as his hands reached her face, as they caressed along that cheek, the one that had bore the touch of Faith, of metal. “This doesn’t look too bad.”

“I said it’s fine.”

He sighed as she pushed him away, yet she didn’t even hear him, couldn’t be worried about soothing concerns which meant nothing to her. She had a whole big list full of more pressing concerns. “Angel?”

Passing her glance quickly across her friends, to settle on… well, wasn’t that another little mind boggler? The day before yesterday and she was planning a cookie baking session with this guy, and now her mind was already beginning to question his friendship?

Angel caught her glance. He knew her well enough to know that she was about to start asking for answers. Answers he couldn’t give in truth, that he would have to hope he could make believable enough to be good enough. His head motioning towards the office, waiting for her to walk before he followed close behind.

“So you wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”

Buffy barely waited for the door to close to launch an all out attack. No time to prepare a method, just knowing that everything about this felt wrong. She knew about Wolfram and Hart, had heard from Angel himself what they stood for, the kind of things that they represented. Evil. And she couldn’t believe it.

Couldn’t believe that he was staring at her without words, that he wasn’t already trying to defend what was going on. “Nothing?! You haven’t got anything to say?!”

She watched him cloak himself in that air of aloofness that had always managed to irritate her, the way he was able to pull back, to remain detached.

“Buffy, this has got nothing to do with anything that’s going on. I don’t have to explain…”

“Yes you do! You can’t… god, you can’t do this and expect me to just stand back and say nothing. Wolfram and Hart, Angel… what about the things you told me…”

“I know what I told you, I know what they are. All of us do, and all of us have made this decision. Together.” He took a step closer to her, making his way into space where he had always been welcomed, not able to hide the slighted look as she shoved him violently away. “Bu…”

“No! When were you gonna tell me Angel? Did it slip your mind before, didn’t it rate as important?”

“It isn’t your business. I only came to bring the amulet.”

Buffy wanted so much to accept the words which came in the voice that had always held reason, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t find reasoning for this. For any of it. “My business isn’t evil law firms, so I guess you have a point.”

She clipped her tones, offered him some ice to douse any of the fire that had remained constant over the years. Baking season was over. Cookies were not on the menu. “I can’t support you in this. As long as you know that you’re doing this without my support.”

And he stepped further back. Maybe accepting what she was saying, knowing that he couldn’t offer stories of forgotten sons to make it all make sense. “I don’t remember asking for your support.”

So off the cuff. So little weight attached to the final nail in the coffin.

“You bastard.”

Taking Buffy’s blow without a retort. He had nothing he could say.

It made the office tense with silence for what felt like an age, Buffy’s eyes refusing to meet his, to bring herself to even look at him. She knew so well that good and evil existed in a place that mixed intrinsically with grey, but to her there was no grey here, just huge flashing neon signs, illuminating red for danger. Evil all of the way.

Angel watched her, studied her for reaction as she dug her hands into the chair behind the desk. Watching the straining of knuckles, realising just how close she was to breaking. “Do you want to talk about Faith?”

Knuckles straining harder. His voice finding the weariness of two hundred plus years as he looked to find any words which could build something of a bridge. “You won’t ever understand what’s going on here Buffy, and I’ll never be able to give you the answers that you need; but don’t cut me out of this. You brought Faith here for a reason, let me help. You know that I’m qualified.”

Incredulous. Those were the eyes that finally rose to greet him. Incredulous with a side of heart breaking. “You’re qualified for what exactly?”

Still so far from understanding. “You’re head of an evil empire Angel, you think that Faith needs that, you really think that *that* is gonna be any good to her?”

“I wasn’t talking about that.”

“Well I was! I am!” She broke her spot by the chair to find footfalls on the floor. More spirals around the track, more pointless steps which didn’t take her any closer to anything. “I thought you were the beacon. You were the shining light, my goodness, god… how wrong did I turn out to be?”

“I’m still…”

“No. No you’re not. If you do this Angel, if you work with them, then that’s it for us. Forever. Do you understand that?”

Angel had known that this reaction was always going to be on the cards when Buffy heard about Wolfram and Hart. He had hoped that he would have time to do good, before she found out the bad. Now that she knew, all he could do was give her space, hope that down the line she would find the acceptance to bring him back into her heart. Until then, he still had to force the important issue. The issue that resided in his basement.

“And Faith?”

“That’s it?”

He shrugged. It was hard to keep aloof as you lost your girl. Hard to make words.

“This is all so screwed up. We shouldn’t have come here…”

“No. You did the right thing. We have the room here for the slayers, for everyone. We can take care of Faith here.”

He kept it measured, he kept business tones for a situation that teetered on a knife edge of tension. He could see the hardness enveloping her eyes, could smell the power as it tainted the air around her skin. He knew not to provoke that emotion.

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Do you have anywhere else to be?”

Buffy felt the tears so close again. Her mind not able to keep count anymore of what was lost, what was found. She felt like she was losing her sanity, she knew that if she couldn’t just close her eyes and crash sometime soon, somewhere peaceful, then her sanity would remain only a fond memory in the distance. She pulled it back. She fought for a rod of steel for her shoulders that Giles would be proud of. So used to laying her feelings aside, to take care of business. It was almost a comfort, the familiarity of the action.

“You’re right. We don’t have anywhere else to go. We’ll stay here, at least until we can sort something out.”

“And Faith?”

She wanted to scoff. It was supposed to be her that was locked in the obsessive throes of affected and interested concern. She swallowed the Valley-gal reply of Obsessive, much? And instead remembered the rod and the steel. “Faith isn’t your responsibility. You don’t need to worry about her.”

“I can help her.”

“You think I trust you?”

“This isn’t about you, Buffy. This is my city, and why you are in it we play by my rules. Faith is my guest now, and I’ll do all that I can to help her get past the darkness. I don’t need your permission, and you’ve already made it clear that I don’t have your support.”

He left it open. He baited her to deny it, to find a place where they could be a team again. She found only anger. Quiet seething anger.

How could two days have changed everything so much?

She remembered his last smile, the one before he had walked with a skip in his step from the cemeteries of Sunnydale. And now that, like everything else, was buried in rubble. Nothing but dust.

“Just stay out of my way.”

They were the only words that Buffy could seek to find. A warning. A threat. A barely concealed statement of detest. Her body tensing more with each step from the room, culminating in a slam that shook the door on its hinges. A warning to each of her friends to let her pass without comment.

Xander sat in idleness, his finger finding the flick again as he observed Faith on the grainy screen in front of him. He’d offered up his services as lookout, almost drawn to watch the slayer unravelling, as if it was some second rate, yet absolutely addictive, reality TV show. It just shocked him how different she looked now, made him sigh a sound of wonder as he considered how much fear she had provoked in them in the past.

He was a man now, and his man sized boots were not shaking in fear. His head was merely shaking in regret.

“Hey, any change?”

He smiled a look up as Willow and Kennedy came into view. Their hands wrapped in happy togetherness, their eyes finding smiles that reached out for everyone.

“No such luck Wills. She still seems intent to break through the bars. You think she would’ve figured it out by now.”

“Yeah. She never was that bright.”

“Sure, but compared to you, we’re all morons.”

Willow shrugged her shoulder as she let go of her girlfriend’s hand to take a step closer. Witnessing for herself the way that Faith was trying to tear ineffectual strips from the bars of her cage. “Is that all she’s been doing?”

“Oh no, she did this big session of kicks as well. She rested. For like five seconds.” It was his turn to shrug his shoulders now. “I guess she’s getting some stamina back.”

“She doesn’t look all that special. You guys sure she was a big bad?”

Kennedy had already taken the time to study the screen which showed them Faith. Trying to reconcile the image with the words that Andrew had spoken, with the tales that Willow had told her to bring her up to speed. “She looks kinda…” mimicking the Xander flicks to the screen, poking at the view. “…pathetic. Pretty weak.”

“Right. Don’t let her hear you saying that kinda thing. She doesn’t like insults, does she Will?”

“Nope. Though Kennedy is right. It is hard to remember what she was, when she’s looking like she is. I should do a glamour thing, return her to her snarly days.”

“Or we could just keep putting Buffy down there, and let her find her own way back.”

Xander’s easy words had returned the room to silence. The two old friends worrying silently about Buffy, about how this was going to affect Buffy, about how it was going to affect all of them. And Kennedy, silent only because she was still studying Faith, still watching that unabated anger slammed repeatedly against the bars of the cage.

“Have you thought that maybe letting her out, might calm her down a little?”

“Huh?”

“Well, from a slayer point of view, if anyone locked me in a cage, I’d be pissed as hell. From a person point of view, gotta think the reaction’s the same.”

“We can’t let her out.”

“Why not?”

Xander stepped up, patting Willow affectionately on the arm as he passed her by. “Okay, I can see that your sweetie pie here must have missed out some of the relevant details concerning our little psycho slayer. She’s dangerous. She kills people. She enjoys it. Therefore, cage.”

“How do you know she still kills people, I thought you said it had been four years?”

“Four nice, non-psycho years Ken. I’m not desperate to return to that, and I doubt that Willow is either.”

He looked for her nod of agreement, smiling when it came. “Anyway, you little newbies shouldn’t be worrying about this. This is an old problem, us Scoobs will take care of it, you don’t need to worry.”

Xander tried to offer the smile to Kennedy as well, trying to bring his best friend’s new girlfriend, into the fold. The smile wasn’t returned.

“But she’s a slayer. She’s one of us. Not a Scooby.”

“Kennedy, I told you before, you shouldn’t get involved.”

“Why? Because Buffy thinks so? Because you say so?” The slayer puffed out her chest, breathed in her power. “I think keeping slayers in cages is bullshit. There’s enough of us here to keep a firm grip on her…” Finger pointing steadily to the screen, to Faith. “…that’s just messed up. Sorry Willow, but that’s my take on it.”

She didn’t wait for her girlfriend’s reply, she didn’t need to. Kennedy had heard the tales, had seen the proof of a girl gone rogue, and she wasn’t so impressed, wasn’t so terrified by what she saw. Her back was turned then, her feet finding a path to the garden, going to train with Giles. With the other slayers. All slayers together.

Willow had stayed staring at the screen long after Kennedy had left, relieving Xander from his duty, forcing herself to bear witness to all of the rage and pain kept caged up beneath them. She couldn’t agree with the opinion of her girlfriend, there was no way that Faith could be set free in the state that she was in. No way. Even looking at her now, all hunched up in the corner, head depressed down between her legs, Willow could still sense the danger in her pose. Could still remember the destruction that had always paved the way for Faith.

“What are you thinking, huh?”

Words never meant to be heard, just voicing her wonder. Fingers not flicking the screen, but tracing those hunched up shoulders, jumping in her seat as Xander’s voice broke through her deep concentration.

“Caressing the prisoner, is that like a butch fantasy thing?”

Her fingers flying, as if scorched, from the screen. “Xander! I thought you were resting. What time is it?”

“Dinner time. The sun’s gone down, the slayers have flown the coop, and I’ve got a big ol’ hankering for pizza. Care to join me?”

“The slayers have gone?”

“Giles took them out to get their bearings. Didn’t Kennedy tell you?”

She didn’t need to answer, she just shook her head. No. Kennedy hadn’t told her anything, not since she had shared her opinion on how they were handling Faith.

“Oh. I guess they left pretty quick.”

“Don’t worry Xander, I know that she’s pissed at me.” Willow offered him a small smile, a tired smile, patted the space next to her on the desk. “She just doesn’t understand. She wasn’t there.”

“Right.”

Xander took the proffered seat, allowing his glance to slowly flick the way of Faith. A gentle sigh easing him to sitting as he realised she wasn’t fighting anymore, she wasn’t screaming, she wasn’t trying to rip herself free from the cage. “She been like that long?”

“A while. Probably storing up energy for the second round.”

“Yeah.” His words coming stilted from his lips. “Do you think that Kennedy had a point?”

The silence that grabbed hold of Willow’s throat spoke a world of no. Her head shaking, her eyes spread open in obvious disbelief.

“Just hear me out Wills, think about it for a minute…”

“No! No thinking. You’ve seen her Xander, you know what she tried at the hospital. If we don’t keep her locked up, then she’s gonna go rage crazy on Buffy. I won’t allow that.”

“I think the Buffster can handle her.”

Thoughts like these had been plaguing the soft hearted man all evening. Putting aside the fears of yesteryears, to try and view things from a different angle. From Faith’s angle. Letting each of her words echo in his ears, watching as every fist she smashed against the bars made her cry out in pain.

And he finally understood Buffy’s words about monsters.

He never had before, had always been the first to trumpet out nonsense when Buffy had questioned what had happened with Faith. It wasn’t the same. Faith was a killer. Buffy was just neutralising a threat. He had never had to drive a knife into Faith’s gut, had never had to have his palms coated in the reality of her blood.

This time though, this time he had helped to carry her lifeless form in from the car, had smiled a satisfied smile when the doors to the cage had clunked firmly closed. Yep. They had put the monster in her cage. So why did it all feel so wrong?

“I don’t believe this… you really think we should let her out? Give her free rein to act on all of her pretty little revenge fantasies?”

“I didn’t say that. I just think that this might not be the best way to bring her back to the fold.”

“She doesn’t want back to the fold! She was never *in* the fold!”

Willow had risen from her seat in defiance of Xander’s words. It wasn’t that she hadn’t taken her own view from Faith’s side of the fence, she just thought they were being far too quick to dismiss the things that Faith was capable of doing. “This is crazy… she’s dangerous Xander, dangerous.”

He backed down, stepped away from the confrontation. His hands offered up in gentle supplication. “Hey, ease off the gas there girly. I’m not making an argument, just stating a case. There must be better options, better ways of handling this.”

He appealed to soft Willow, kindergarten Willow, all the compassion that he could muster slipped inside his gentle gaze. He wasn’t saying that they should set her free to rape and pillage, he was just suggesting that there were maybe other ways to handle this, without acting like the monster that they all feared.

He didn’t even know if she was a monster anymore. He just knew that they had locked her in a cage.

“Okay.” Willow could never deny much of anything to Xander Harris when he beseeched her with that puppy dog look. All cute and kindness, the things she had always loved. “Tomorrow we’ll have a meeting and discuss the best thing to do. The best way to go. Maybe Angel has some ideas… maybe…”

“Maybe Buff won’t want Angel being a part of it.”

“Won’t want Angel being a part of what?”

Timing perfect. Buffy’s eyes narrowing on the guilty looks of her two flustered friends. “Guys?”

“We were just saying Buff, maybe the cage isn’t the best way to go… if we want Faith, if we want her to, I don’t know… get better?” Xander offered a nervous glance Willow’s way, carrying on when she gave him a slight nod of the head. “Maybe locking her down there is gonna make her more…”

“Pissed?”

The smile that lit Buffy’s face was unexpected, causing confusion in the small circle, a pause offered for her to continue. “Look, I’m not totally dumb, I thought you two had figured that out already?”

The pause extending as neither of them spoke an answer.

“I know that the cage isn’t gonna work out, I get that, I got that earlier today. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“So what do we do?”

“That’s where I dumb down again. I haven’t got a clue. I’ll try and talk to her again tomorrow, try and get her to listen… until then, I need to go slay.”

“You’re going slaying? Now?”

“Sure. I’ve slept, I’m rested, I’m raring to go.” She slipped the scythe out from behind her back, the glint in her eye only deepening, the smile on her lips lifting further. “I haven’t had nearly enough time to play with this yet. Maybe I’ll bump into Angel.”

Now she had gob smacked her friends. Their heads turning, questioning glances being thrown her way. “Joke?”

“Right. Are you sure you should be going out. You seem a little…”

“I’m fine. Good to go. Believe me Xander, I can’t stay here. If I stay here I’m gonna end up down there again, and I need to think first. I need to figure out a way to reach her.”

They could accept that. They knew Buffy well enough to know that this was sometimes the way she chose to deal. Rehearsing her lines in front of a vamp, working out her frustrations until nothing remained except dust.

“Will you guys keep an eye on her, make sure she gets food?”

“Sure. We’re getting pizza, I’ll slide it through the bars.”

“Play nice Wills. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that she tossed the scythe high in the air and caught it on the turn. Showing them her back, an easy tune whistled from her smiling lips as she quickly left the building.

“Okay. That was way too weird. Why with the happy?”

Willow didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. Knew all too well. Buffy was always affected one way or another by Faith, she always had been. Years ago, the years in between, and now again. “Her arch nemesis is back in the game, maybe she’s just excited.”

It sounded viable.

“Does she always whistle her way into battle, did I miss that?”

“Hi ho, hi ho. She’s a dedicated slayer.”

“I’m telling her you called her a dwarf.”

The silliness slipped easily over the lifelong friends. There wasn’t ever any situation that they couldn’t find a smile for. Even when Xander had talked Willow down from destroying the world, he had done it with a smile. She caught his eye now, flashed him something like devilment. “You do that Xander Harris, and I’ll tell her that you moan her name in your sleep!”

“I do not!”

“Uh-huh. Never?”

She laughed as he coloured, poking him in the ribs to deepen his agony. “Come on, let’s get this pizza ordered. I’ll go get Dawn, you slide the slices to Faith.”

“Me?! You said you were doing it.”

“I lied.”

Her chuckle reverberated through reception as she left to hunt out the younger Summers sister. Xander left shaking his head, his gaze unwittingly searching out the screen again.

She still looked like she was resting. Maybe he could slide the slices without even waking her. Cos no matter what his conscience said, no matter what his heart said, he had no idea what he would even begin to say to Faith.

Chapter Six.

As his feet crept their way down the stairs, Xander tried to remind himself that he was no longer afraid. That he had let his remaining eye bear witness to all that she was, and the vision had not induced fear. It had induced pity. The only real fear that existed, being the wonder of what would become of her, what would become of Faith.

When his gaze finally fell upon the reality of her broken body hunched up in the corner of the cage, he wondered it again. He had watched her pummelling the bars they had put there, had listened to the tortured rage that flew unfettered from between her lips, and he didn’t hold out too much of anything that felt like hope. In all honesty, he also wondered a little, that he had even found himself having hope for her. After everything, did she really deserve it?

A question that made his manly sized bulk move easier as he chuckled softly to himself. After everything, after the last four years, did it even matter anymore? Could he really tell himself that his neck still bore the bruises of injuries that she had inflicted upon him? That he was still wounded by the way that she had used him and discarded him?

After the four years that he had endured, all of it felt like nothing. Not so much. Not enough to damn her to eternal hell, that he was sure of.

“Faith, you awake?” His tone was even and measured. Sure and steady. He wasn’t afraid. “I’ve got food.”

Moving ever so slightly forward as he heard something, not sure what, uttered from the form in the corner. “Faith?”

“I said, not hungry.”

A rasp. A sigh. No raising of head, no eyes of defiance shooting up to wound him. It filled him with confidence, an invitation to keep going. To bring the offering of pizza a little closer to the bars. “I got cheese filled crusts, extra toppings. It’s good.” Opening up the lid, letting the aromas of fresh baked food infuse the otherwise stale stench of the basement.

He noted her still non response, the lack of lifting head, and he considered that maybe he should just place the box down by the bars and leave. Saunter back up the stairs to find his place in front of the screen, flick at her image idly whilst she just sat fading into the solid brick of the solid wall behind her.

He wanted to do more though. He wanted to help.

“Come on Faith, you need to eat. You need to get your strength back.”

The hollow laugh that echoed hard against the walls, made him unconsciously curl his toes inside the man sized boots that didn’t shake in fear. Made him cast a quick glance back towards the stairs, towards upstairs, towards the safety of the grainy screen. “Okay. I’m just gonna set this down over here…” his gaze never wavering, never leaving the sombre hunch of her shoulders, “…I’ll be…”

“What year is it?”

Standing in shock that Faith had spoken so clearly to him, not a rasp or a whisper, but definite, determined. Feeling the slight clench of fingers on the pizza box as her head began to raise.

Not scared. Not scared. All grown up. So not scared.

Eyes so dark. The shadows of the basement doing nothing to hide the emptiness, the desolation. The chill that he felt to the bone as he witnessed the barren wastelands that were the windows to her soul. He clenched a little tighter. He had never thought of her as soulless before. Never.

“I asked what year it is, don’t fuck with me Xander.”

He wouldn’t dream of it. “Two thousand and three. May, two thousand and three. It’s been four years.”

The laughter peeling out again. A sound which made him edge a step back, the pizza all but forgotten, even as he held it firm within his grasp.

“It’s true then?”

“Yeah. It’s the truth.”

“Four years?”

To Xander it seemed longer. It seemed like forever since he had last spoken to Faith, seemed like a different lifetime, a different person. He offered a nod to the empty eyes, tried to grab at valid comment, something that seemed worthy of saying. “It’s been a long time.”

And he came up empty. No longer moving backwards, but pinned into place by the intensity that was becoming her stare. His sight line raising, along with her body. Up to standing. Distance becoming less as she travelled the meagre distance across the cell to the bars, stopping, staring, her face impassive as she made her gaze wander down over four years of maturity, four years of growing up. Four years of change that she barely understood.

He didn’t move. Didn’t utter a sound. Hardly found the space to breathe as he felt her eyes all over him. As he saw emptiness replaced with confusion. “Did you become a pirate?”

No cussing, no poison. Just a simple question, a phrase which had Xander’s hand releasing the tension on the pizza box, to fuss self-consciously with the patch that covered his lost eye. Something still so new to him. “The patch. Right.”

“Long John Silver, without the Long Johnson?”

Was that a smirk he saw? Her head tilting to the side, her hands coming to rest loosely against the bars of the cage. He unpinned his feet, remembered that he had an easy smile that liked to sit upon his lips, and he gave her an answer. “I was thinking more like Danger Mouse. We wear the eye patch the same side…”

“The greatest secret agent in the world?”

Definitely a smirk.

“Okay, so I haven’t thought it through yet.” His hand went to the patch again, trying to remember the light tone of voice to help him forget the sorrow of the empty socket that sat useless beneath it. “It’s a new thing. I’m still getting used to it.”

“I like it.”

“You do?”

“Why not? It makes you look, I dunno… mysterious?”

Xander forgot. In that dank and dingy basement, with Faith shut firmly behind the bars of the cage, Xander forgot that she was supposed to be a monster. His shoulders relaxing, his face finding a smile without needing to be reminded.

“Thanks… I guess.”

Something like a return smile was tracing the parched lips of the imprisoned slayer, something which cracked at aching skin, but which felt so good to feel. Unfamiliar, yet so familiar. And she had to stave the madness off, just for a minute more, a moment more? Like her thoughts could concentrate on something other than her own confusion for just a second. “What happened?”

“I got poked in the eye.”

“No shit.”

“Maybe more of a gouge than a poke, I’m trying to stay hazy on the details.”

Hazy on the details.

Details which were hazy?

Faith didn’t have to find a moment to find a sigh, because a sigh found her of its own volition. Fingers ignoring her silent plea for inner peace, to clench tight around the bars, face seeking refuge from desperation, in the twisted mask of a snarl. “At least you’ve got the details… at least you haven’t been dead in a bed for the last four years.”

“Faith…”

“Save it. Just pass me the pizza and leave.” She held her hand out between the bars, waiting as Xander stood immobile before her, her eyes quickly emptying of anything that had made him feel relaxed. “What, you want me to beg for it? That how you get your kicks these days?”

So far from relaxed. His mind trying to stall, stumble and go back over everything that had just happened. Empty eyes, alight eyes, and now evil eyes. A flash of the devil inside, a taunting tone reminding him how quick she could skip from the good to the bad.

He didn’t answer her. He didn’t want to speak to this Faith. The one who made him reconsider his compassioned plea for un-imprisonment. He simply bent down and placed the box on the floor between them, edging it with his toe until it was close enough for her to retrieve. He didn’t even stay to watch her pick it up, he just turned his back and went to leave. Didn’t leave. Not straight away.

“Faith, you don’t have to be bad.” Not looking to see if empty voids or hate filled vengeance greeted his words. Just wanting to offer the chance, a rope of hope to the girl that had told him that she liked his patch, that had made him smile. “There’s plenty of people that are ready for you to be good.”

No words smashing him down. Not anything. Just his footsteps sounding heavy on the stairs, the door closing with a thump behind him. Nothing until he rested his gaze back on the screen, until he witnessed her reaching down and retrieving the pizza, finding a spot to sit and to eat. And then he smiled.

“You, Xander Harris, are so very easy.”

Keeping it in place as he glanced up to Willow, as he swept it round to the smirk of sweet and innocent Dawn Summers. “Hey, she was digging the eye patch!”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure I saw some swooning, did you see swooning, Dawn?”

“Definite swoonage. And primping.”

A smile which stayed in place as he got back to eating his own stuffed crust pizza. It hadn’t gone great, he couldn’t claim to have made any real breakthrough, he had even borne witness to the ferocity of her snarl… but still, there was something. That moment. Just a couple of minutes where it felt more right to wanna swap gator stories, than remember all of the badness that came so soon after.

He hadn’t lied to Faith. There were people that were ready for her to be good. He just had to hope that she was ready, that she could find her way out of the cage of rage that none of them held the keys to.

The air outside of The Hyperion was just as stale and tainted with things that Buffy didn’t want to taste, as the air inside of The Hyperion. She had dragged her shoulders up to perky, had let her fingers tickle with the excited buzz of holding the scythe, yet even a whistled throwback to her brief musical days couldn’t lift a frown that knew no way of turning. Her head was too busy being upside down to worry about her facial muscles.

Sure, she had managed to put on a hearty show for her friends, skip the steps of the hotel with a smile in place; but wasn’t that the point? Life was a show, and she was just playing her part. When Buffy had found the frown and read the sub-text though, then the air had started turning stale with the worry of her wonderings. The same worry of the same wonderings.

Faith. Definitely mostly Faith. And a great big dish of Angel.

Not a side dish, this situation was nothing as tempting as an appetiser, but another full on frontal dish. Two equally exasperating problems to smash and bash against her frazzled frontal lobes.

And could she please just slip back to that time a couple of nights ago, when she was ready to lay down forever and just let everything be. Be done. Be over. Be something other than hers to deal with?

Spike had talked her out of that one. Giles had misdirected the girls. And now here she was, back steering the ship through uncharted waters. Or following the ship through a graveyard, to make sure that no more misdirection was anywhere in sight.

She hadn’t consciously decided to follow the newly formed slayers, kept under the watchful command of Giles, it had just kind of happened. And now, witnessing them as they made easy dust out of anything that came their way, she toyed again with the idea of jumping ship. Altogether. New start. Fresh faces. Places which didn’t bear boulders which lay like stones across her heart. She knew, absolutely, that she could not stand by happy while Angel made his deal with the devil. It choked her somewhere close to her core when she tried to make anything which felt like sense out of it. There was no sense. Angel had told her that she wouldn’t understand, and in this one instance, she still felt able to trust his words a hundred percent.

Maybe the last of the trust. The final slice just waiting to be eaten by all of the unknown.

This afternoon, so soon after the piercing shots of Faith’s hateful words, Angel’s dismissal of her feelings had felt like hitting rock bottom. She had felt anger, total justified anger, but so much more, so much that felt like loss and losing.

Buffy had decided that this was the theme for the week.

She had lost her home. She had lost comrades. She had lost friends. She had lost a former lover who had been her only source of support over the last god knows how long. And now she had lost Angel.

Yep. She was definitely seeing a theme here.

But what about what she hadn‘t lost? What she had found?

The air was tainted with something which tasted so much different than stale, when she isolated her thoughts onto what she had found.

Easing herself up into the boughs of a mournful looking tree, she observed the slayers as they followed Giles away from the cemetery, allowing this moment for her thoughts to stay focused, to not wander off along the tangents of distraction. Giles was leading them home. They were safe. For now she was free. Great. So how about the plan for reaching Faith, breaking free in her mind sometime soon? Cos so far she had nothing. The buzz of the scythe not offering up wisdom of slayers past, just giving her the flowing feeling of slightly juiced.

It was just so…

She dragged a hand along her forehead, across her aching brain, as she tried to work out exactly what it was. In random moments of clarity, she understood precisely how things should go; She would explain to Faith what had happened, how much they had all changed, how much everything had changed. Faith would repent and smile at the beauty of second chances. And they would all live happily ever after in a candyfloss castle with a flowing chocolate moat. That was the random part. The other parts Buffy really wanted to hold truth. For it to be as easy as the way it played out in her head.

Not gonna happen. Never gonna happen.

Those minutes held in easy suspension against the cage, had assured her of that much. Had led her to be here and sat in a tree and trying to seek enlightenment.

If she could just get Faith to listen. To quiet the anger which burnt in her belly for just a moment… then… then what? They could make happy quips about the knife which had ripped harsh through her belly instead?

She stayed motionless in the tree for all of the hours which sped by fruitless in the moonlight. Not mapping circles with her feet, just tracing them out with the musings of her mind. How to reach Faith? She didn’t have a clue. She just knew that through the bars of a cage was never going to work.

Too many guards. Too many defences.

No one was left up, to count down the minutes until the morning, when Buffy had returned to the hotel. Everything was silent, peaceful, no one around to ask her what to do about the next new found problem. The only nod towards life being the lightly snoring Giles, with his head lying haphazardly in his arms, snoozing in front of the ever present picture of Faith. Not a moving image; a silent image. More peace.

In that moment, with her mind still swimming through the uncharted waters of the many trials and tribulations of life, Buffy just longed to rediscover the shelter she had often found in a room which held a sleeping Faith. A different room now, a less permanent sleep; but Buffy’s need was still the same. It still ached deeply enough to bring about the deliverance, her limbs moving with stealth as she had found a silent path down the stairs, her eyes moving unhindered to settle upon the non-defensive form of a sleeping Faith.

There were never any guarded walls or defences when Faith was asleep. It was what had drawn her back there time after time; that silent acceptance, that un-arguing understanding.

Faith may not have known it, may never know it, but hers had been the shoulders which had borne the weight of so many of Buffy’s worries over the last four years. Her lifeless hands had held Buffy’s through Angel leaving, through initial worries at Riley, through bigger worries at the Initiative. Her unhearing ears had been the only ears to ever hear the tortured cries that carried Buffy through the months of Dawn, Glory and her Mom. Terrified cries that never saw the light of day outside of a hospital room.

For awhile she had stopped. She hadn’t been there anymore, had been dead, but once she had returned, then she remembered the way to the hospital. Sharing with Faith, the deal with Spike, with someone who wouldn’t judge. The months that had passed with Willow gone from their lives, the loss of Tara, only accentuated and made harder, by the loss of Willow also.

In the last few months it had stopped for real. Too much then, too much to even dream of finding solitude in a room with the fallen slayer. Buffy had been lost under a houseful of potentials, lost amongst the fear of the worst apocalypse they had ever faced, ever. She had forgotten about Faith. All of that time, she had forgotten how to find her, how to seek out the sanctuary of the silent room. She had forgotten it all, until that final moment, the time when she’d considered outside of the school, everything that she was losing. And then she had found Faith again. And now she remembered how much she missed her. How much she missed being able to speak her thoughts unrestrained to the body before her. No defences. No walls.

So easy to take a seat, to slide the scythe into the space in front of her, and blow out a breath that was coated in weary. Sighing out of her costume, yawning away the camouflage that was so necessary to wear every single day of her outside life.

“Hey Faith.” Still feeling a little strange now that she knew she could wake, would wake, making her voice a bare whisper, a bareness of sound. “It’s been a long time. I’m sorry I stopped visiting.”

Her mind filled in the blanks of the reply. It always did. Flowing easy down those chocolate moats, a closeness that she felt should always have been there. “Things were just so crazy, you know? Sunnydale’s now a hole on the horizon, and we’re all stuck here, not knowing which way to go.”

Buffy eased the jacket from her shoulders, rotating her neck, settling in. “Then there’s you.” Maybe not so settled. “I can’t decide if it was good timing, or bad timing… you sure chose your moment to do the waking up thing.”

She felt the ease of animation as she found easy conversation with the still sleeping Faith. Tossing up the random thoughts of random actions, trying to cram the months that she had been absent, into the fleeting moments until people began waking. Skirting through the easy parts, stumbling across the harder parts, everything covered till she got to the now; the pain she was feeling from Angel, the pain that she was feeling from Faith.

So lost in words which captured her heart, which showed the honesty behind her intentions, that she didn’t even begin to notice that the one who had been sleeping on all of the worries of the world, was now waking. Awake. Waking to those same soft tones again, the sound of Buffy, tripping light across her ears;

“…and I don’t even know how he expects me to deal with it! Doesn’t he get that I need him, that I need to know he’s on my side?”

Faith held herself still. Trapped in her cage, calmed by her rage. Breathing deep to keep up the pretence of sleep, silence allowed to flow, just so that she could hear, so that she could make sense out of whispered confessions through the bars of the cage…

Buffy was here? Buffy was daring to open up her heart, when all Faith wanted, was to rip it bleeding, and still beating, from her chest? An eye for an eye. A heart for a heart. Wasn’t that the only truth? All she wanted spoken in this moment of forced closeness.

“I always thought he would be on my side… Buffy and Angel. Not Angel and Evil, me and no one.”

And what the fuck *was* she talking about? Was this meant to be important, was this supposed to mean anything to Faith? Had four years passed and yet the same shit was still spinning round and round in the dumb blonde’s head? Buffy and Angel? Eat shit and die. The same shit; just different century.

It was enough to have her giving up the pretence of a sleep, to twist round on an awakening. Her body feeling invigorated from the food, stronger, less confused. Her lips still dry and lacking the moisture of refreshment. Xander hadn’t brought the yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum - he definitely wasn’t a pirate - he had brought her the food though, and for that she was almost thankful. Almost ready to bump him from the top spots of her revenge list.

“Faith?”

Her name. Those tones. Again.

And again she felt a smile lift her lips. A different kind of smile, one which carried the hallmarks of all that she was, one which showed Buffy that strength was returning. This girl had had her first meal. “Buffy. This is a *nice* surprise.” Her limbs lifting her up to stand, to tower above the tired eyes of the girl below her. “Did four years make you forget that I don’t care a crap about your pining and whining?” Stalking closer to the bars, a nonchalant pose struck with remembered ease. “The Angel *thing* is so past its sell by date. Ever hear of getting over it?”

She knew that she was taunting Buffy, and she knew it all felt so fucking good, so fucking great. Those fleshy targets still struck with ease. Delighting as she saw the flash of pain, as she saw that nothing had really changed. Nothing that really mattered.

“Faith.”

Smirking at Buffy’s inability to find anything else to say. The flow of her chatter silenced by the reality of those same brown eyes penetrating deep inside of her. “It’s pathetic B. I’m the one whose been down for four years, and you’re the one still wallowing in the same old shit?” She witnessed the deflation, the way that Buffy sank further into the floor. “In a way, I guess it’s kinda comforting.”

“Comforting?”

“Sure thing girlfriend. Easy to pick up where I left off, back in the saddle…” Faith drew the power around her like a cloak of steel. Untouchable. Flexing her muscles out as she sought to bring yet more of the bad stuff. “…it’s good to be back B. Let me out of this cage and I’ll show you just how good it feels.”

Faith’s ears had never heard all of Buffy’s silent confessions, she had no idea of the things that Buffy had been through over the last four years, no idea the lengths she had gone to, the depths she had plundered. It made her underestimate someone who wasn’t such an easy target, someone who was flying close to the end of her own tether. To the edges of sanity. Faith’s eyes first wary, and then undeniably excited, as Buffy had found her feet before her. Had pulled herself up and faced her with a height more close to equal, with a face that bore her own remembrances of righteous anger. “I’d like to say, nice to have you back, but I’m not gonna lie to you Faith.” Yet the lie was so easy to speak. “This is the way you want it to be then? A return to arms?”

“Huh?”

“Fighting Faith. You don’t want to hear me out, maybe give peace a chance?”

The unconscious pleading behind the words was easy enough to hear, but Faith still had deaf ears, asleep or not, she refused to hear anything other than what the rage demanded she hear. “I owe you one B, you want me to forget about that?”

Because she would never forget about that. It was just last night, for fuck’s sake! Four years or not, it was just last night! That was what the rage said - screamed out - drowning out the one that hid behind the walls and defences. Drowning both of them in it.

“No, not forget Faith. Forgive.”

“Fuck you.”

Ignoring the curses was hard for Buffy, strengthening her shoulders to take the blows was easy. Ploughing onwards, her mind not deflected from the way that she thought it should be able to go. “So much has changed, so much is different now. You’ve missed so much…”

“Yeah? Whose fault is that?”

“…the things that we did are so long gone Faith. I think, I don’t know…” Buffy drew in a deep, drawn out breath, organising words behind the ever present feel of exhaustion. “…I think maybe I understand better now. I understand *you* better now.”

Those were the words. The ones she had meant to say. She understood her better now. She understood everything now.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” The understanding not seeping through the barrier of bars, only eliciting more rage. More contemptuous words of bitter amazement. “You *understand* me? You lock me in a fucking cage and you think you understand me!?”

Faith couldn’t remember if it was rage or disbelief that had her clinging to those bars oh so tight again, but clinging she was. Straining to break through, to make contact with the mouth that whispered lies into the darkness, which fed the darkness, that made her stomach churn with a bitterness that had only festered and grown with every night she was away. “You haven’t got the first damn clue about me, you never had the first damn fucking clue about anything B!”

Those prissy eyes, that prissy ass, always judging, always making comment on things she had *no* fucking clue about. Here Faith, let me help you, let me wrap you in my pastel coated bullshit and make the demons go away. It never worked. Had never worked. Would never work.

“Faith…”

“And stop with the name already. I know my god damned name!”

This time Buffy had forgotten about breathing in. About breathing full stop. Held rigid again, held in the same place again. No progress, no ability to break through the walls that had sprung up with the same urgency as soon as Faith had awoken. But Faith was wrong.

It was something that deserved more then a deep breath. Buffy *did* understand.

“I remember the dream.” Striking her own blow with measured precision, calling to the one that had happily shared her piece of heaven. Invoking memories of the dream that showed her everything, the dream she had shared with Faith. Watching her flinch, watching her waver.

“Yeah? I remember the nightmare B.” Witnessing the flash that sprang through Faith’s eyes, the moment that hung in silent suspension until she had spoken again. “*Just* the nightmare.”

Was that an easy lie too?

“Just the nightmare?”

Buffy’s words making her feet start a pace inside that cell, arms breaking from the seal of the bars, to stalk warily across her enclosure. “Leave me alone.”

“No Faith, you tell me I don’t understand, maybe I do. Maybe you’re too scared to take a look.” A hitch in step, more hate filled glances. “I remember the bed Faith, I remember the sheets, I remember all of it. I remember the peace…”

“Leave me alone!”

A hitch in voice. No more glances. “I remember the way that everything was okay again. I remember…”

It couldn’t carry on. Faith couldn’t listen, couldn’t see. Would not remember. Would not weaken herself with visions that offered more of the pastel coated bullshit. She thrust herself with all the strength gained from the stuffed crust pizza; straight at the bars… straight at Buffy, words spat out with too much force, too much feeling. “You remember?! Do you remember this B?!” Hands tearing at the top which covered her skin, which covered the scar that sat itching with vengeance beneath cotton. An ugly scar, a scar not eased by the strength of her body, by a healing power that had almost forgotten it existed. “Do you remember doing it B, killing me? Has four years robbed you of your moment of glory?”

“No…”

“Look at it Buffy! *You* did this! All of this, all of it’s because of you, and you want me to forget? To forgive?!”

She watched as Buffy backed away, as those eyes of green got dipped in water, as the colours ran with the redness of exhaustion, with the bloodshot river of tears. Her head shaking as if she could deny the only truth that Faith believed in, the only words that continued to make sense to her across any leap of time. “I owe you one Buffy, and I ain’t ever forgetting that.”

Drawled out. Harped out. The perversity of that special stare fixing tight to her body again, slipping down beneath her skin, caressing her in ways which made her want to run screaming from the room. She didn’t scream though. She wasn’t a screamer. Pulling her shoulders back yet again, grabbing at a reasoned sanity yet again. “That’s up to you Faith. Just know…” Straightening with the feel of power, with real strength. “…this cage is where you’re gonna stay, until you change your tune. I want to forget, I already forgave. Now it’s up to you…”

Waiting. Watching. Faith’s footsteps drawn to a halt, the remaining stale air being sucked from the room, layered instead with darkness. With payback. “Then I guess we’ll resume normal service and see who lands on top.”

Her shirt dragged back down. The scar on her skin re-covered, the scars in her eyes remaining. All sent to hell with the sneer and her smirk.

“If that’s what you want?”

“It’s exactly what I want.”

Chapter Seven.

The sleep that she had managed, after leaving the confines of the basement, did not leave Buffy feeling rested. If anything, she felt more exhausted; as if her mind had stayed focusing on every movement, replaying every phrase that had been thrust roughly between the two slayers. She had tried, no one could say to her that she hadn’t tried, but just as she feared it would be, it was going to take a whole lot more than trying, to get a grip on Faith.

On the problem with Faith.

Getting a grip on the problem. Wasn’t that what she was supposed to be doing now?

She knew that down below her in reception, the Scooby gang were gathering to offer up ideas on how to handle Faith. How to handle the problem. But she just couldn’t pull herself down the stairs yet, couldn’t face them with wisdom, when she was lost so much in confusion. Different sides of the same parts all arguing amongst themselves about which way to go. What the hell she was supposed to do?

The slayer residing inside had already fizzed a feeling of excitement through her veins when she thought about the possibility of a throw down. Resuming the old position and seeing who landed on top. Buffy *knew* who would land on top though. The slayer knew who would land on top. She had already beaten Faith, and the absolute truth, was that she never wanted to revisit that place again. Seeing the scar of the past had been enough to remind her how wrong it had felt to ever tarnish Faith’s flesh with caresses so brutal. She would happily go to hell herself before she ever indulged in that kind of brutality again. She wanted no part of it. She would not be taunted into it.

Which left, what..? The bars to a cage that provided a barrier as tense and taut as any of Faith’s self made defences? Just as hard to cross.

No. Keeping her in the cage was not the right way either. Maybe it was just as brutal as the first option, encasing her within the rage, trapping her beneath the stares of everyone she thought had hated her. Definitely not conducive to making a happy slayer. Not the way to construct a bridge over all of the water that flowed so troubled, definitely not the way to show her that everything had changed.

Somewhere inside, Buffy was longing for the steady guidance of Angel, for the solidarity of Giles, for anyone who could show her the way to steer the boat around all of the obstacles of destruction. Self-destruction. Faith’s destruction. No more destruction.

A long time ago, long after the first holding of hand, the first whispers of sorry, Buffy had vowed to herself, that given the chance she would do everything possible to make it different; she would not lose Faith again. And now, so much lost, so much already different, she reiterated the heartfelt vow to herself. Whether they took the easy route or the hard route, she would be there captaining the ship. Buffy would not lose Faith. Not again.

Easy comfort was found in the arms of the sofas in reception. The Scoobies lounging, indulging in the last remnants of breakfast, discussing the frivolous ideas for an easy Saturday afternoon. No apocalypse brewing, no homework to be turned in, no jobs to go to. Willow was voting for a shopping trip, noticing a definite need in everyone to gain fresh clothes - no amount of spin cycles ever enough to wash away the dust and blood of Sunnydale. She would take Dawn and Kennedy, any of the other slayers that dared to take their chances in the shopping malls of LA, and she would buy clothes for everyone. Enough clothes to function. Like, two outfits each?

She wasn’t sure of the exact logistics, she just smiled, happy in the knowledge that Giles was treating. That today offered the possibility of something so far away from all of the bad stuff. She was more than ready for the what comes next, already embracing plans of futures with the newness of her girlfriend. Places they could go to, places that she had always wanted to visit.

In her mind, she had already started preparing her conversation with Giles. Getting ready to explain the importance of tracking down all of the benefactors from her nifty little spell. Visions of crossing oceans, Kennedy by her side, uniting all of the girls that had crossed over from potential to slayer.

They were fun thoughts, good thoughts, all thoughts which drew her mind away from the messes of Sunnydale that still needed cleaning. Which drew her eyes away from staying enraptured by the screen, from the return to rage that was still screaming out its rank disdain in the cage down below them. And could she *please* just shut up already?!

Bagels did not blend well with bitterness, and bitterness was all that was being served up from below. Yesterday, watching the screen, watching Xander, Willow had felt that brief glow of hope, that brief fleeting with the feeling that Buffy was right. Things could be made different this time around. But now, hearing the barely veiled threats which echoed up the stairwell..? All that she wanted was the shopping, the new clothes, and the dreams of a future that contained none of the same old madness.

“Morning guys.”

She hid the brief flicker of guilt behind a breezy dose of perkiness, as Buffy had made her way into the space amongst them. Reaching down and snagging a pastry, flashing smiles at her sister, at Xander, finally coming to rest on Willow, prompting a reply.

“Morning Buffy.” Affixing her own brighter than sunshine smile. “How was the slaying last night?”

“Oh, ya know, dusty.” The red head making the space on the sofa for her best friend to sit, fixing her with rapt attention as she awaited more words. “So what’s up with Faith this morning?”

Okay. Not the words she wanted. “The obvious?” Eyebrows wiggling to assure of her humour filled intention.

“Has she had any breakfast?”

Was that the obvious? Did Buffy *really* think that Faith was going crazy again because they hadn’t brought her bagels?

“Uh… how about, no? She’s been acting like that all morning Buffy, even Xander isn’t brave enough to bring her food when she’s in that state.”

“*I* offered to take her food.” Dawn smiled across her words. She wasn’t scared of Faith, she had never been too terrified of Faith. “Willow said, no.”

“Willow was right. I don’t want you down there Dawn, okay?”

“Sure. Cos I can fight soldiers of The First, but I’m way too timid to deliver bagels through bars to Faith. That is so stupid, even for you.”

“Maybe, but it’s still a no.” And that was the end of that. “What about one of the slayers, are none of them up yet?”

“Giles is giving them a daylight tour of the cemeteries. They’ll be back soon.” Willow left it there. She didn’t add the words of her girlfriend, the ones that assured that Kennedy would never play the part of jailer to Faith. “Maybe she’s not even hungry, she looks too…” Casting her eyes around, catching those nimble limbs as they smashed more pointless blows against the cage. “…busy, to eat. I bet she calms down by lunchtime.”

Buffy could bet that she wouldn’t. But then Buffy already knew exactly what was up. The rage returning in absolute earnest when she had turned her back on her in the early hours of the morning. As Faith had thrown down the gauntlet, and Buffy had picked up the scythe. Walking away. Not rising to the challenge. She hadn’t realised though, that the anger would still be burning so bright in the daylight.

“She has to eat. I’ll take her something down.”

“You sure that’s a such good idea Buff? I don’t mind going, I’m a good aim, I could probably toss the bagels right through the bars.”

“No Xander, it’s okay. I should go.” Cos she really should. The captain at the helm. Picking up a couple of the pastries, retrieving another of the coffees as she made to go to the stairs. “Wish me luck?”

She had turned and said it with a smile, tried to keep the smile as she met the unsure glances of her sister and friends. God. It looked like everyone else had already lost the faith.

Neutral was tethered firmly to her face as she made her way down the stairs again. Not reacting to the rises that Faith was throwing at her feet, not even bothering to raise her eyes and meet the gaze. She knew what would be there, she knew how it went, what the hatred looked like.

“I’ve brought you some breakfast.”

Slid in softly between the cursing. Ignoring the ranted reply. Just slipping down to sitting again, making out that sharing breakfast with Faith was the most natural thing in the world. In truth it was the furthest thing from normalcy. Ever. Something that Buffy was relying upon.

Everything had changed. Everything was different.

“There’s bagels, or a donut. I was late getting up, so there’s no variety. No jelly ones left. Its the curse of sleeping in.”

Just a little flick of her eyes, a brief dance upwards, just to place a shape, to witness Faith stood there, barely touching distance away. Arms locked tight, fingers clenching around the bars.

“You do know that they’re magic?” Hoping that if Faith knew how futile it was, she would stop with the endless slamming, the endless screaming.

“The bagels or the donut?”

“The bars.”

“Figures.”

Letting her eyes rest longer this time, observing not hate, but an emptiness, a void that was just as uncomfortable to witness as the hatred had always been. A void that brought silence, no more screaming, no more slamming, no more of anything.

“I meant what I said Faith.” Trying to fill the void. “You won’t be coming out until you start calming down. I can’t risk you going all revenge girl on my friends. They’ve been through enough…”

“Save it for someone who cares, B.”

Only allowing a smile to pass her lips, no retaliating remark, no hurt to serve up with the offer of breakfast. “Sorry, I forgot, you don’t care. My bad. You want coffee?”

Watching as that void was chipped away to be replaced by confusion, an unsure step backwards, eyes which flicked to the cup, to her face, eventually down to the floor.

“It’s not Starbucks good, but it’s better than what they offer up at the hospital. That’s something I won’t miss; vending machine coffee. Do you think they have to try extra hard to make it that bad?”

Faith’s eyebrows knitting, her gaze firing up with little sparks of contempt. “I was in a coma, I wasn’t drinking the god damn coffee.”

“And is it wrong to say, lucky you? Seriously Faith, if there’s anything I’m glad to see the back of, then it’s that evil old vending machine.”

Buffy settled for straight out staring now. Fixing Faith with her eyes and vowing not to turn away. She didn’t have the first idea what she was doing, there was no one there to direct her across the choppy seas, across all of the oceans of hurt… it just, if she could just *act* normal. If she could just show Faith something, other than the thing that she was expecting. It might work? It felt worth the try. Pinning her against the bars now, with nothing but her eyes, it felt like maybe it was working. Like a connection was returning.

Not a void. Not hatred. Just confusion and…

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ah. Concern?

“Nothing’s wrong. I didn’t sleep too well, I haven’t had a shower yet. Other than that, I’m good. Great. You?”

She took a chance and raised the bagel, crossing the distance which was barely out of reach, to bring it to definitely within reach. Keeping her hand steady, her breathing steadier. The stare still fixed, tracking Faith’s eyes as they devoured the food in midair. “Take it.”

Willing her to accept.

“I know what you’re doing B, and it ain’t gonna work.”

“What am I doing Faith?”

But there was no quick reply, just something dark creeping in to cast shadows across the already dim room, a chill settling across Buffy’s smile as that mouth finally moved on a response. “You’re fucking with me. Same as you always fuck with me.”

“No, I…”

“Bullshit. You think you can bring me coffee and that’ll what, chill me out? Stop me wanting nothing more than to break down this cage and beat you to death?”

Faith wasn’t shouting or screaming. Her words were succinct and to the point. Crafted somewhere in amongst four years of twisted nightmares, four years of unheard screams.

And how could Buffy construct a smile for that one? How could she say anything other than the truth? “You really think you could beat me to anything? Look at yourself Faith, you haven’t got the strength to beat yourself to death, let alone anyone else.”

Her hands lifting up the bagel again, her taunting words trying to push Faith into accepting.

“Fuck you.”

That again. She considered for a moment, that getting Xander to toss the bagel through the bars, was not altogether a bad idea. Buffy was semi-toying with tossing it in herself. She’d even consider awarding herself three points if she could lodge it straight in Faith’s mouth and stop the flow of the cursing.

“Your choice.” Lodging it instead in her own mouth. Reminding herself that this was a relaxing breakfast with an old friend, stopping her teeth from grinding down on the pastry, keeping the smile in place as she chewed on something which felt like sandbags between her teeth. “It’s good.”

Not an easy lie.

Her fingers wrapping around the coffee cup, blowing away the steam so she could add a little moisture to the dry bagel. Wincing at the bitterness, wishing for sugar. “You sure you don’t want any?”

Letting her eyes take the time to reflect on Faith again. Not buckling under the hatred, just trying to dig down below, to see the things that she was sure resided there. Not seeing anything other than eyes which shone back at her with something so undeniably intense, something so undeniably hungry. For bagels? For destruction?

“Do you know how much I hate you?” Still not screaming, just more of that slow steady rage, a sneer which stole away all of her beauty to leave nothing but disgust. “I so fucking hate you.”

“No.” A sad shake of head. The greatest understanding of all. “You don’t.”

“Yeah. I do.”

It was the moment that ended the easy façade that Buffy had prayed would stay in place. The pretend game where everything was just as it should be, where they traded easy banter skilfully across a peace laden breakfast table. Sighing now instead, dropping the bagel back down to the ground, freeing her mouth to speak more words which she prayed would sound like sense. “I get why you think you hate me Faith, I hate myself too for the things that I did to you… I hate the things that you did to me…”

Pinning with the gaze of green again, Faith having nowhere near the strength to defend herself against Buffy’s greatest weapon of all. The truth. No matter that she would deny it, that she would happily die in this moment denying it, the truth was as known to her now as it has always been. The truth that she hid from inside of the darkness…

“…but I don’t hate you. You don’t hate me. Bad things happened, we handled everything wrong…”

“Shut the fuck up!”

A truth that she hid from behind a mouth that could rival even her mother’s love for coarseness. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“No again. You have to hear this, you have to start hearing this. I know it’s hard… believe me Faith, I can’t even begin to imagine how screwed up this all is for you…” Her eyes digging deeper, looking, searching, her mouth not sure of the words, not knowing what she should speak, just trusting in the truth. “…and I… I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for everything.”

And god, she *could* see it, she swore to herself that she could see it. There, beneath that contemptuous mask which twisted and turned the features of Faith’s face, she could see the vulnerability, the need to reach out, to find dry land. “I’m sorry Faith.”

Calming the waters. Trying to banish the demons.

The demons which refused to be banished.

They were the right words that Buffy had spoken, but so much at the wrong time. Faith too tormented by a present that was wrapped firmly in her past, by truth which felt too much like deception, to ever hold up her head and ask for help. To beg for help. No. The shutters slammed down hard on any fleeting hint of vulnerability, the demons in her soul delighting at the free space they had found behind her eyes, the space to snarl and growl at Buffy. “You think that’s what this is? You think that all this is just bad things happening?” She leered across a smile again, tainting the one in front of her with so much more than a truth that could be righted by sorry. A dark desire, something which crawled across her skin and begged to be released; to take, to have, to destroy. “I fucking hate you.”

Her sprit buoyed by seeing Buffy drop her eyes, releasing her from the hold which had held her rigid with an intensity that terrified her. Delighting in the damage she could do with just the simple vocalisation of her hatred. Had it always been this easy to hurt her?

“What, you don’t like that B? Am I not falling in line and playing the game your way?” She laughed at the pain which flared across the basement, at a hint of tears she couldn’t care a fuck for. “You’re still the same. You think you can paint everything in pastels and it’ll all work out okay. Well life’s not like that Buffy. Real life isn’t like that.”

“Don’t tell me about real life.”

“Oh shit yeah, cos you’ve lived it hard, right? You make me fucking die B, you think I don’t know what this is?” She paused to give the moment longer to do harm, preparing the way for more of the real truth. Her truth. “You wanna prove how much of a better slayer you are by reforming big bad Faith? Guess what? Not gonna happen.” Her smile growing cockier, her words cruising on a roll. “You can keep me in this cage forever and your sorry wouldn’t mean shit, *you* don’t mean shit. Do you get that? Do you think you can *understand* that one?”

Oh it felt so good to find the saddle. Back on top. Loving the high life. It all felt so fucking good, so damn fucking good, everything she wanted, everything she needed. Slamming at Buffy, attacking Buffy, consuming Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy.

Her demons howling with laughter as she pulled herself up before her, that perky slant of shoulder disappearing beneath a weight that Faith hoped would drive her down into the ground. No parting shots to hide from, nothing done to return the blows. And it made her say more, made that cockiness think it had won the battle, had belittled Buffy with all the dark and menacing. “Aw, you not gonna share your bagel now, B?”

Her dimples aching with the force of the smile, preparing to strike again as Buffy had turned. Such sad eyes again. Such a hollow voice. “Starve.”

And gone.

Buffy had returned to reception to find that all of the extended family was now back in attendance, and not only that, they were all huddled, as much as possible, around the grainy screen and all that it showed them. A nasty little shock, when she realised that she had had witnesses; that what to her seemed such a private struggle, was in fact on full view to the world. It made her fragile spirit grab quick to hostility, a need to vent an anger which she had kept such a firm grip on down below.

“Everyone enjoying the show?” Words which sounded just as bitter as Faith’s, turning the heads of her friends, of her watcher. All of the new formed slayers regarding her with something like guilt. “Are we passing round popcorn?”

“Buffy, we…”

“No Wills, I’m not in the mood.” She was so far from in the mood. “You all saw what happened, maybe it can prompt an idea or two?”

Silence greeting her. And there was a surprise! Eyes all dipping down to the floor, not wanting to watch anymore now that Buffy was stood before them, now that she could meet their gazes. “Come on guys, you all saw how bad that went, surely someone’s got something?” A rasp breaking the harshness of her words, her friends daring to look up again as they noticed the desperation wrapped around all of the pain.

“Buffy..?”

Pain, because no matter how much she told herself that she could keep doing this, the thought of going down into that basement again, and soaking up all of Faith’s rage, left her feeling somewhere so close to broken. She couldn’t keep doing it.

“It’s okay.” Dragging at the drapes to cover her own fragilities, worried that she had already shown too much. “So what do we think, from now on all food is of the tossed variety?” Searching hard for the smile, for a return to normalcy.

“I did offer.”

“Yeah, I know you did Xander. I’m sorry I passed it up.”

The crowding newbies edged away from the gathering as Buffy made her way to take a seat. Perhaps sensing that this wasn’t a place they were welcome, that none of them had gained entrance to the sacred circle of Scoobies. Of friends.

“I think it might make sense Buffy, if you kept the visitation to a minimum for now.” Making her smile a real smile for the moment. Had he read her mind?

“It doesn’t seem as though you’re making much headway, and I have to worry about the toll that all of this is taking on you…” He gestured towards her stomach, towards her in general. “…need I remind you that you were close to mortally wounded just two days ago. You barely slept last night…”

“I’m fine.” Slipping back down to the pretend smile. Not feeling mortally wounded, just mortally weary. Wondering if death from exhaustion was a genuine concern. “I’m gonna go up and take a shower.”

“Ooo, are you gonna come shopping with us?”

“Shopping?”

“You remember Buffy; stores, clothes, shoes…”

“No, I need to think this through Wills, I can’t just forget that she’s down there. I need to…” What? Smash her head continually against a brick wall? “…I need to find a solution. If I could just get her to understand that four years has gone, that none of that matters anymore.”

Making Willow sigh. Making her turn her head back towards that screen. Again. Those same hunched shoulders, that same pathetic pose that just made Willow want to shake some…

Except…

“What’s she doing?”

Honestly not understanding. Not having a clue that it was even possible, the farthest thing that she would’ve ever imagined when thinking of Faith. The wonderment of her tone having everyone turning to see. Forgetting about solutions.

“Is she…”

Not having the words to bring the picture to life.

Buffy not needing the words. Not needing to reach forwards and turn the volume higher to witness the sounds that would accompany the shakes. She had been so close to giving up, so close to accepting that casting Faith overboard and away was the only option open to her. That losing Faith was the only option that remained. That hard hollow shell, that ferocious snarl, that sneering leering look which crawled and slithered across her skin. And now this.

She didn’t say words, she didn’t complete the sentence. She leant across and offered Faith some dignity. Plunging the screen into darkness, offering her heart the hope of light. Of something bright.

Not trusting her voice to speak as she turned from her friends to find the stairs upwards. No. She didn’t need to iterate what is was that Faith was doing. Her own eyes were doing the same.

Xander felt the injury to his heart as if he wore the wounds himself. Yesterday he had truly believed that somewhere, in amongst all of this madness, they could offer salvation to Faith. But now… after seeing the way that she still held so much of the bad stuff for Buffy, he just didn’t know. He had no way of knowing. He didn’t even begin to understand.

He would have to be stupid though to not make the connection, and Xander wasn’t stupid. It was there for all to see. The pain that had flickered and died as the screen had been pitched into blackness, was the same pain that sat so naked and raw in Buffy’s eyes. Trying to shield it before she had walked away, trying to swallow the tears that Xander had already taken note of.

If there was one thing he wanted more than to offer his help to Faith, then it was to offer his help to Buffy. To take some of her pain away. His mind remembering her words, the things that she had said she wanted.

‘…If I could just get her to understand that four years has gone, that none of that matters anymore.’

And how the heck could he do that? How could he make Faith understand the passing of time, the loss of her days?

He hadn’t been sat in a tree seeking enlightenment, he hadn’t been mapping circles out with his feet whilst his mind span in spirals. He *had* been zapped by an idea though, an idea which made him latch on quick to the shopping trip to the mall. Which made him grab at Andrew and enlist him for what he had called their very secret mission.

Bringing excitement to Andrew’s eyes, bringing excitement to Xander’s step. He didn’t know if it would work, he didn’t know if it would prove completely pointless. He did know though, that he was sure as hell gonna have a whole lot of fun doing it.

Chapter Eight.

She didn’t know exactly where she went when the lights were turned out, but she knew that it wasn’t a happy place. Even when her sanity spared her enough not to make her relive every single sick sadistic minute of her life, she still woke up drenched in a sweat that could never wash away the pain. Could never have her waking up and feeling rebirthed. Reborn. Faith may have taunted Buffy with words of wallowing in the same old shit, but in truth, it was her who was stuck somewhere close to the bottom of the barrel. Desperate to climb out, desperate to give in, desperate to make the whole fucked up lot go away. Disappear. Forever.

It was the hands of darkness clawing at her skin, dragging her always down, that had her shoulders shaking in a basement. Not sorrow. Not guilt. Not some fucked up, misplaced gesture of repentance. Just agony and pain and a desire for an end.

She didn’t have the strength to beat herself to death. If she did, she may have used it.

Instead her rage coiled and spread in different directions, towards the pious voice that chased her through graveyards, towards a face that reflected enough of the good stuff to have her choking on the sickness that ached to break free. Shoot the messenger. Destroy the one that called her bad. That made her bad. Her whole fucking existence making her own existence more pointless. Who wanted Faith, when they could have Buffy?

No one. But then, who ever wanted Faith?

The Mayor.

The Mayor had wanted Faith. *His* pious voice tainted with more than enough sadism to attract the masochist in her. His heartwarming smiles just the right temperature of freezing to have her clinging tight for cold comfort. Easier to accept than the other kind. Than *her* kind. So much easier to delight and sneer through the giving of pain, than to sit back and accept her own.

She refused her own. It did not exist. She was not weak.

It was what her smirk said, it was what her snarl screamed. Leather coatings of second skins, offering protection for her own skin. A harlot painted twist that curled and curved upwards, shielding beyond doubt a mouth that cried to turn downwards.

No one ever got to see the truth behind every one of those lies. Even Faith herself refused belief in anything except the lie. She was the lie. It was all that she knew.

Air tainted like poison as it slipped fast through her lips. Promising her life, bringing only more anguish. Shoulders still shaking, everything breaking.

But she would not break.

She may be just as weak as Buffy assured her. She knew herself that she was probably weaker. But she would not break. Faith had inner strength. The strength of a thousand demons.

Tears, for Buffy, were nothing more than a wasted notion. She had no time for tears. A lifetime spent grafting the granite that her shoulders were crafted from; making herself hard, making herself strong. Tears didn’t ease the pain, they didn’t erase blame, and they sure as hell didn’t change the past. Yes. Tears were definitely a wasted notion. Yet Buffy had wasted a thousand tears beneath the steady stream of the shower.

The heat of the water breaking fast across her skin, the chill of her feelings breaking fast from her eyes. Tears. And every single one of them, a gift crafted for Faith.

Another wasted notion?

She didn’t think so. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe so. When Buffy had dictated to Faith that she starve, she had meant every word. That one word. All of her anger, all of her pain, directed and aimed with a single blow.

Faith wanted to hurt Buffy? Go right ahead. Faith expected Buffy to lay down and play dead? Not a chance in hell. Buffy didn’t play dead. Buffy had *been* dead. It wasn’t a game, it wasn’t about rolling in the dirt and seeing who landed on top; it was an end. A finality. Something that she wasn’t ready to accept with Faith. Something that the screen had begged her not to accept in the seconds before the darkness.

Tears were such a wasted notion, and yet her heart had broken in two when she had witnessed tears from Faith. All of that rage, all of that anger… and did people really cry tears of hate?

Buffy remembered crying tears of pain, tears of anguish, of loss and despair. She could not remember ever wasting a drop on hatred.

Another understanding? A Zen moment beneath the steady beating rhythm of the water that was only meant to cleanse her body? To hide her tears?

And which kind of tears were her own?

An answer she knew, an answer that could never be wasted; all of the above and so much more.

So very much more. Buffy couldn’t cry her tears in front of Faith anymore, that sanctuary had gone with the awakening she had wished for, but there was some source of comfort in knowing that she shared her tears with Faith still. That below her, somewhere deep down, Faith was crying the same tears. Not a chocolate flowing moat, no candyfloss in sight, but something more, something that she could build a bridge upon.

Hollow shells did not cry. Empty eyes did not shed tears. And no demon ever, had sat shaking in a basement, the product of pain, anguish, loss and despair.

The heat of the shop had been almost unbearable. Not located inside the fancy schmancy mall that the girls were checking out, but placed somewhere down a little side street. A venue out of sight. It wasn’t that the shop was peddling filth of the nasty kind, it wasn’t that only the bad elements of society liked to hang out there, it was simply the fact that geeks liked to be geeks away from the teasing taunts of the jock strapped mall rats.

It worked for Xander, after all, this was meant to be a very secret mission. Something he had regretted saying as soon as he had said it. The drool pooling on Andrew’s lips almost instantly, his gaze torn between naked excitement and outright hero worship.

“This is *so* cool, oh wow, have you seen this one?!”

Xander breaking his gaze from the shop owner to see what was so important now? And look, *another* rare and limited edition, another comic book held beneath plastic to protect the contents from pawing hands.

But Xander didn’t want rarities and things coated in plastic. He wanted something that Faith could hold onto, a truth presented to her in words and pictures that he knew she would understand. Four years gone? She had a whole lot of reading to catch up on. And he knew just where to start.

Watching as the cashier was ringing his purchase through the till, he hoped again that this would be worth it. That maybe an act this simple could start to cut a path through the burning rage of Faith. He believed that it could. He had seen her in those moments, the ones which seemed like clarity, and he had not seen a soulless monster. He had seen a girl. A girl that he remembered loved her comics, that could sit for what seemed like hours of a lunchtime library meet, completely engrossed in the actions and adventures of some mythical superhero.

And he had seen the girl whose shoulders shook. Maybe, for him, the real moment of clarity. The moment when foreman Xander took up his place. Not at the helm, not like Buffy; he would never want to be the one who stood in her shoes, no matter how fashionable or highly affordable those shoes may be. But the guy, who even with only one eye, saw things. Looked over things. Seeing, understanding. And wanting to help.

Buffy had eaten breakfast, had taken a shower, had wasted a thousand notions; and now she was left feeling refreshed. Rejuvenated. Ready again to face a problem that wasn’t going away. That she didn’t want to go away. She may have still felt the stiffness of shoulder that told tales of her deep down exhaustion, but her shoulders no longer felt as if they might be close to breaking. Buffy had found her strength in the tears that had washed away with the shower, and now she planned to utilise that strength. To think with a clear head, and to plan accordingly.

Obviously, Faith was weak.

Buffy knew this as much as she knew her own strength. Sure, she had gathered comfort in the knowledge of sharing her tears still, but the tears she had witnessed were not the same as the tears she had wept. The ones she had witnessed had not washed away any pain, had not given purpose to thoughts and feelings all confused; no. The ones she had witnessed had only further charted a demise that had begun four and a half years earlier. That downward spiral, that loss of Faith.

Buffy remembered so well Faith’s crazed look. The one which seemed to have been perfected over years of practice, not brought to the fore so effortlessly in a dingy and dank smelling motel room.

‘I don’t care.’

And Buffy had believed every word. Felt every word as it sank through the laden down layers of her own confused mind. So scared. So shocked at Faith. And welcome to the downward spiral. Every detachment seeming greater in the weeks that had followed. Every look screaming psychotic, every word backing up the sentiment.

It had made it so easy to dismiss the terrified. To ignore the silent screamings that tore from Faith’s gaze in moments of enforced exposure: Psych Faith! Did ya like that Faith?

Only Buffy had seen that she hadn’t. Beneath the hate, the absolute unabated revulsion, Buffy had recognised the slice of betrayal. The hurt and the pain. Heck, she had relished in it… delighted at it. She had celebrated it with a knife to the gut. And the first of her wasted notions. The changing of her emotions.

It was hard to hate someone who lay broken before you. It was even harder to hate the one that you broke.

Faith was weak. Buffy was sure of that.

It was the kind of thought that allowed her mind to reclaim and repackage the softly, softly approach. The one where she allowed her musings to trip light down the path to forgiveness. Recovery. A place which remembered every look which came before the crazed. Looks which were crazed in such a different way. Just as fear inducing, just as confusing. Way more intense. A look she would waste a thousand notions upon, if she ever got the chance to see it again.

So… softly, softly? How did you go softly with someone that hadn’t had four years to gain a greater insight, to gain maturity and learn the labels for feelings that had felt so volatile and destructive at the time?

Not a clue. Not a one. All that Buffy *was* sure of, was the strength she had found under a steady stream of hot water and in the shedding of clothes that bore two days of misery. The feeling of refreshed and rejuvenated that still encased her ever weary limbs.

And that was a clue, wasn’t it?

A clue she still pondered the sanity of, as she made her way back down the stairs. Still with the feeling of perky, of hope, but overloaded with a distant sense of trepidation. She was glad that the others were still all out on the shopping trip, because there was no way that they would okay this one without a stern session of therapy first. It was official. Buffy was mad.

But, and to her it was a big but, she felt mad with a sense of purpose. She had thought it through until it made sense. Until it made the only sense. Washing away the misery had done her a world of good; so how good would it feel to wash away four years of misery?

And it wasn’t like she was *completely* mad. She was armed. Her grip holding comfortable around the handle to the crossbow, her finger nowhere near the trigger, but her reflexes so much quicker than Faith‘s. Buffy felt secure in her trepidation. She hoped that it showed.

“Faith?”

That’s it. Tone steady. Non-committal. “Are you awake?”

“Did you bring back the bagel?”

And smiling in spite of herself. “No. I can get you something to eat though, if you’re hungry?”

She steadied the misgivings that the situation forced her to feel and instead crept closer to the cage. Arm slightly raised, not taking aim, just showing her strength.

“My last meal?”

“Nothing like that. This is just protection. A warning.” She shrugged her shoulders dismissively in Faith’s direction. “I’m hoping I don’t need it.”

“I’m locked in a cage. Unless you’re planning target practice, I don’t see you needing it.”

Buffy’s eyes stayed soft as Faith pulled herself up before her, nothing menacing, not yet, just walking closer to the bars. Maybe a sitting target.

“No to target practice, my aim doesn’t need improving…” Eyes dipping from soft, to unsure. “…I’m letting you out.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna let you out.”

“Have you totally lost it?”

Possibly. Probably. She tried to gather her tone back towards steady and sure. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to open up a cage on someone that had vocalised wanting to beat her to death. “No, this is a sane thought. I have the crossbow…”

“Why?”

“The crossbow?”

Because she thought she had made that quite clear. Raising it in Faith’s direction again, just to reiterate.

“No. Why are you letting me out?”

Not so easy to explain. Not so easy to talk about washing away misery, about Zen moments attained beneath the repetitive beating of the cleansing water. She went with less deep. Not so meaningful. “A shower.”

Met by silence.

“No change of clothes yet, Wills is out buying outfits, but you can shower…”

“Red’s buying outfits?”

It was a horror that had crossed Buffy’s mind too. “Yeah. I told her nothing too…”

And she was going to use humour. Buffy was good with humour. Faith not so much. She was much better with the bitter.

“Fuck it B, just get me a jumpsuit. If we’re gonna play prison, I may as well get in costume.”

Instead she had to fight to cling tight to the softness in her eyes. Just allowing the slightest glint to shine through her gaze, that small reminder that none of this was a game. “Don’t make me turn around and walk away again Faith. I know you’re angry, I know you’re hell-bent on revenge, but let’s make this easy, okay?”

She counted through a slow ten as her eyes locked tight to Faith. Not flinching from the intensity, not rolling over in the face of all of that contempt. Standing steady and sure. “I let you out, you stay calm. We go upstairs, you take a shower, you come back in here, and then I’ll fix you lunch. Do you think you can manage that?”

Double the ten count.

“Well?”

“Fine. Whatever. Just get me the fuck out of this cage.”

And that was progress; seeing the hate beat back by resignation. It was also comforting as she dipped her fingers into her pocket to produce the keys. She *really* didn’t wanna have to use the crossbow. That would not be progress. Resignation should be easier to control.

The steady stream of beating water was not so comforting for Buffy this time around. Now it was much more distracting, much more intense in its ability to provide Zen moments of enlightenment. Not quite as intense as the moment that Faith had shed her resignation though; that had been way more intense, had spawned way more of the understanding.

In her mind she had already told herself that caresses intent with brutality had no place touching Faith’s skin. As Faith had shed her dungeon rank clothes - stood before her with that same familiar edge of defiance, that same familiar smirk of something unnamed - Buffy had felt the urge to touch with the absolute brutality of desire. A sudden feeling, a remembered fear, a choke which had sprung from the back of her throat as Faith had posed naked before her.

A choke which had been the only word spoken, as she had turned and climbed into the shower. And now, just sitting, listening to the monotonous, trying to disembark from the new train of thought, the new rush to find a wreck. Because this could only ever end in a train wreck…

Affectedness. Affect. Affection.

None of her labels of maturity covered the one word that she herself had spent more than four years forgetting. Desire. Not for words of friendship, for hands held in understanding. But for the Want. The Take. And the Have. For skin that burned with heat, for hands that dipped her flesh in fire. For Faith.

And welcome to the start of the real spiral downwards.

She had choked on her feelings back then. Just like now. Had played the game without reading the rules. Hadn’t understood what she had been stoking with all of those coy smiles of flirtation, what she had been provoking with all those dances of intimacy at the Bronze. She had thought she could touch the fire and not get burnt. She had learnt the hard way.

“Can you pass me a towel?”

The voice that broke through the distraction of her thoughts, through the now silent shower, was enough to have Buffy raising the crossbow high again. An act of protection.

“What?”

“A towel. I asked for a towel.” A towel would definitely be good. “And stop pointing that damn thing at me! I get it, you’re armed and dangerous. I’m terrified. Now the towel?”

Buffy’s arm offered the towel without her eyes ever moving. Fixed so tight to Faith’s gaze, not daring to waver, not daring to wander. “Do you feel better?”

“Five by five, B.” Not sure who was the prisoner as she held the eyes that were glinting back at her. Eyes that seemed so much more assured without the protection of second skins. “Nothing like a quick shower to cure four years worth of deep sleep. I’m almost ready to roll.”

So very much more assured.

“Which is my cue to say, back to the cage!” Trying to sound just as assured, just as unshakeable. “Come on, you keep this easy and I’ll make you that something to eat.”

“I’m nothing but easy.” Faith’s gaze also not dropping as she returned her worn clothes to her body. Fixing on Buffy. Fixating on Buffy. So many different thoughts rewiring her thinking, her ideas on payback. On revenge.

And this could work.

“This doesn’t change anything Buffy, but I appreciate it all the same.”

Just a little offering. A little space to place a smile.

“Huh?”

“I appreciate the shower, letting me use the john. I thought I was gonna explode down there…” But not too much. Not blowing it. “…I promise I’ll go easy when it’s time to take payback.”

“Wow. You’re so thoughtful.”

She was now.

She *had* been resigned. Resigned to being Buffy’s bitch, to doing as the armed slayer dictated, to being as inconsequential as she had always found herself being. Then she remembered. She remembered the rules to the game that they were playing. Not the one on the roof, the one that had ended in the mother of all knock outs, but the one that had inspired the ferocity of all the later play. Green eyes which dipped soft beneath lashes, cheeks tainted by something much warmer than the California sunshine.

Faith had shed the safety of her costume and she had seen. And she had remembered. Before the time had come to taunt her demons with cries of unwanted affection, of wasted desires, she remembered that look. The sound of the chokes as Buffy had first realised the taste of the seduction that Faith was wrapping so tight around her. The blush that had provoked her to always push it further. To want more.

Want, take, have. Destroy.

“Yeah, I’m real thoughtful. This doesn’t change anything though. I’m still getting my payback.”

“Lunch first?”

“Whatever you say, girlfriend.”

Topped with a wink. A return to the huskiness she had memories of mustering just for Buffy. Lunch first. And then payback. Her demons were in agreement; it was a damn fine plan.

A plan that she nurtured as easily as she nurtured the silence. Let Buffy sit in front of her and wonder at what was going on. It levelled the playing field a little… made Faith’s ongoing confusion seem not such a problem. Faith wanted to do this right. Wanted to extract as much second hand pain as was humanly possible. Quite a big ask, but she more than felt up to the task. It’s what her smirk said. What her secret smile screamed.

It all came down to payback.

Buffy may have comatosed her own feelings of desire, but four years of actual coma had done nothing to dampen the memory for Faith. The time when want, take and have, had meant nothing like destruction, had just meant the simplicity of the action. Before Buffy had torn herself from Faith to throw herself at Angel, before she had ever stared her down with a look so high and mighty and proclaimed her as bad. Called her a killer.

She hated that pious voice with such passion.

‘You *killed* a man.’

No shit.

That had changed the name of the game for Faith; from desire to destruction. But if those green eyes still dipped beneath lashes for her, if those cheeks still blushed pink for her, then it was going to make the destruction so much more sweeter, so much more desirable. A part of her had felt like dying with every single step that Buffy had taken away from her. Now she felt alive again. Back in the saddle. Ready to play.

“So B..?” Taking notice of every look, every breath, every rise and fall of her chest. “You ever gonna tell me where we are?”

“A basement.”

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“Sorry Faith, I forgot about the lack of humour. I hoped the shower might have refreshed you.”

Definitely refreshed.

“I’m locked back in this cage - how refreshed did ya think I’d be feeling?” Keep the eyes tight. Do not drop the stare. “So where are we?”

“LA - Angel’s place if you want specifics. After Sunnydale went boom, we didn’t know where else…”

“Angel’s place?”

“Right… Angel left Sunnydale. I forgot you didn’t know.”

“He left?” For a moment Faith forgot everything. A moment when you have to step back and beg confirmation for something you never expected. No plan, nor appetite for destruction, just disbelief. “Angel *left* you?”

“Sure. Four years ago. Right after graduation.”

And this silence she didn’t offer as part of a plan. Just taking the time to fit new fragments into an ever expanding picture of the time she had missed. Memories mixing with new truth. Questions to be asked.

“How did he… with the poison…”

“I cured him.”

More questions. “You?” More disbelief. “But, how?”

Her eyebrows dipping as she forgot to take bites from her lunch, as her mouth hung open in obvious speechlessness. Words eventually coming with the hint of a sneer, with something she wasn’t trying to shape and mould to fit her growing disguise. “The dead fucker drank from you?!”

“It wasn’t…”

“You *let* him drink from you?!”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

And Faith had no answer. No anger at Buffy’s action as she fought to rein in the feeling. A deep breath. Composure. “You could have thought of that first, ya know, before you stabbed me and let me jump off the roof.”

“I’ve said sorry.”

“And I’ve told you it don’t mean shit. Means even less now I know this.” And it did. “I thought you gutted me for a reason - a fucked up reason, sure - but still a reason. What was I B, a going away gift?”

“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t know…”

“Save it.”

Because she wouldn’t get into this now. The time when she stood before Buffy and demanded answers, she wanted no barriers, no bars, nothing to stop Buffy from feeling the pain of her blows. Now she just wanted the time to slice through the fresh layer of confusion, more facts to be focused on, more nonsense to make sense from.

So, Buffy had stabbed her. Had wanted to feed her to Angel. Angel had left Buffy. Sunnydale had gone boom. And now they were in LA.

It wasn’t much for four years gone. She couldn’t even guess at how much more there was to add to the ever growing list of things she didn’t know she didn’t know. Or something.

It was so much easier to focus on the plan. On the first and most important of all the facts. The thing that she did know she knew for sure;

Buffy had stabbed her.

And it all came down to payback.

Chapter Nine.

Xander had hung back from all of the excited girlyness, when the happy shoppers had finally made their way back to the hotel. He wasn’t one for talk of high fashion, he didn’t care so much which pants Willow had bought him, whether his new shirts matched his new socks or not. What he did care about though, what he absolutely cared about, was the package he held now, safe and secure beneath his arm.

The ’very secret mission’ to the comic store had been a welcome success, everything that he had wanted they had in stock, and now he felt ready to face Faith with something meaningful. Something to distract the mind that he had witnessed as it had broken beneath them.

He didn’t have excuses for all of the things that Faith had done before, for any of the acts that they had all been so happy to label as psychotic, he didn’t know her reasons - he didn’t know much of anything when it came to her lures and her pushes - but he did know about second chances. About forgiveness. About remembering the person who had existed before the darkness had reached out to claim them.

With Willow he had connected through memories of breaking that pesky little yellow crayon back in kindergarten, with Faith he was hoping a connection resided somewhere in the pages of Contagion and Cataclysm. He hoped that he could rescue her spirit with the added enticement of No Man’s Land. Yeah. Xander Harris was putting all of his faith in the Caped Crusader.

A thought which made him shake his head still with a little breath of bemusement; he had always been a Marvel man, a firm subscriber to the philosophy that The Hulk could kick Superman’s skinny ass any day of the week. That the X-Men far outweighed any of the offerings from the DC side of the tracks… but then he remembered those meetings which were ignored in the library. How he had smoozied over to Faith one afternoon, all full of boyish charm, all full of glazed eyes and happiness hormones, asking what it was that she was reading;

‘Whatcha reading Faith?”

Putting himself into her space, encroaching his ass on the desk where she rested her boots. Upping the volume as her attention never waned from the comic she was engrossed in. ‘Anyone in there?’

Starting to tap the back of the magazine until she ceased her reading, those dark brown eyes flirting with dangerous as she had finally let her gaze come to rest on him. ‘Do you have a reason for bugging me? Shouldn’t you be off somewhere, learning something?’

Her hands flitting as if at a fly, trying to ease him away. But then, Xander was controlled by the hormones, he hadn’t heard a word. His hand reaching out again to touch the comic, turning it round to look, to see, to spark a debate that had raged right up until the time when she had defected and left them.

‘Batman!’His voice high pitched in its disbelief. ‘You’re tainting Giles’ library with the evil DC?! Do you know how wrong this is?’

‘Don’t diss the DC, dude, you gotta have respect for Batman, the guy’s a legend…’

‘The guy has a utility belt! What kind of superhero has nothing but a utility belt?’

‘Add in the bitchin’ hi-tech underground lair, top of the range surveillance equipment, crazy assed car… I dunno Xander, a damn good one?’

‘Madness!’He remembered covering his ears in mock shock, the way her eyes had lit up as she launched into the spiel on what was happening in the city named Gotham. All the bad crap, the background to Contagion, how it led into Cataclysm. Showing him the issue she was reading then, getting him hooked with the way she wrapped her lips so sensuously around the story. The dark bits seeming real, the bad bits coming to life. ‘Okay… so Batman has potential. I can admit that the story *might* sound exciting…’

‘No way man, it’s totally wicked. Kicks serious ass.”

‘Yeah, whatever. Everyone knows that X-men kicks ass, anything else is just trying for second rate…’

The light in her eyes growing, the smile on her face widening. ‘Ya know… for a nerd you don’t know shit. Next you’ll be going down The Hulk versus Superman route…’

‘Whoa! Okay, you can stop right there Faith. I can cope with the disturbing love for Batman, he’s all dark and broody, and I know how that *always* gets the girls. But no way, I’m not taking the Hulk slurs. He’d serve up Superman’s ass on a platter any day of the week, any comic fan with any sense knows that.’

‘Anyone with any sense would know that Hulk is nothing more than a moron with muscles. You’re deluded. It’s bad. I kind of liked you too… shame it had to end this way.’

And he had stayed, and they had bantered. He had flirted, she had gifted him with the odd flash of her eyes, the odd teeth gripping her lip, sending her gaze sliding slowly down over his form. Yeah. He definitely remembered those kind of days. He hoped for something similar now. Not the flirting - he was not looking to revisit that slice of past with Faith - but the easiness, the banter. Reminding her of the fun that could be had when she was good. Before she was bad.

The basement sat coated in the same gloom, the same dank and dirty aroma that had caked every single minute since Faith had been stuck down there. Imprisoned down there. It was a feeling that was eating away at her insides, giving that hatred some more points to add to her bulletin board, more fuel to the fire of payback, more and more retribution to be gainfully harvested.

At least knowing now that she was in LA, offered some level of comfort. It was a city, it was a great big fuck off city; the kind of place she could lose herself, the kind of place she could find escape. Yet the bars were made with magic, and the door wasn’t opened unless a crossbow was pointing up into her face. It was bullshit. And it more than fuelled the rage that set out the plan.  More than fuelled her hunger for the game.

She was going to play Buffy, and she was going to beat Buffy. It was the only thing that she demanded of herself now. The thing that held her tongue in place as she ached to scream out her imprisoned frustration, the thing that kept her arms by her sides all the time that she wanted to pound out a rhythm against the bars that would not break. Control. It was about control. Who had it. Who used it.

Buffy thought that she was in control, that a piece of wood pointing up in Faith’s face was enough to tame the hatred that ran in rivers through her veins. Not a chance. Faith was in control. Quiet, calm and measured control. She remembered the dipping green, she remembered the tinted pinks.

She refused to remember a time when those colours were her favourite colours though. When Sunnydale was a Sunny slice of heaven, instead of a shafted slice of hell. No. She focused only on the things that were important, the things that had become important with the passing of days, with the widening of the abyss that had ripped open so destructively between the two slayers. Buffy just so damn good, and Faith, just so damn bad. And she could do that, she could be bad. She *was* bad. She remembered.

Bad. Wicked. Evil. The smirk grabbing her lips as she thought through all of the bad, wicked and evil things she wanted to do to Buffy. Her eyes dipping dark as she contemplated Buffy wanting her to do those things. What the flush asked for, what the pinks hinted at.

She may be behind bars, they may have caged the beast; but none of them had come close to taming her demons. All they had done was to feed them. Offer them the sanctuary to recover, the room to grow. To multiply. To take back control.

He waited until after dinner to search out the steps to the basement again. Xander hadn’t discussed his idea with anyone except for Andrew, and he wanted it to stay that way. Knowing that once everyone was fed, they would be drifting off and out - seeking something energetic to do - made him feel secure in his planning of stealth. His only obstacle had been Buffy… sat in front of the screen again, staring at the screen again, yet the screen was still bathed in blackness.

“Hey Buff, you know it’s not switched on ,right?”

Wondering if one rolling eye was as good as two as she turned to face him, as he sought to tease her tentative smile higher. “It’s that button there; I think it’s called ‘on’, works for ‘off’ as well.”

“Do you have one?”

“You wanna turn me on?”

“Definitely no. I was thinking more the turning off… and that doesn’t work so well either, does it?”

And the smile was fixed in place. Her shoulders relaxing as she span in her chair to face him properly, her feet raising to prop up on the desk. “I can’t decide if we should turn it back on or not. I want to know what she’s doing… but then that seems all kinds of stalkery. What do you think?”

He think? He thought that she should take her mind away from the idea of Faith for more than five minutes, maybe take some interest in the world that she had saved yet again just the day before yesterday. “Why don’t you take a break? I know the girls are all getting set to go out somewhere, why don’t you go with them?”

“They’re going out?”

“Yep. Willow said something about expanding the fun, keeping the bonding going.” Her green eyes all aglow with the chatter of shopping, of the normal days fun that they had all managed to enjoy. “You could go bonding.”

“Yeah. I’m not really in the bonding mood.” Buffy’s green eyes nothing like aglow. Just kind of tired, her shoulders still sinking down; not in relaxation, but close to a slump. “If they’re all going out, I guess that leaves me to go slay.”

“More slaying?”

“Uh-huh. You wanna come?”

Xander weighed up the idea of slaying against the idea of comics and lengthy philosophical debates on all things green and hulk like. It was an easy answer. “I’d love to - but, with the patch, the lacking of night vision…” He shrugged, smiled. “…you mind if I sit this one out?”

“No, go for it. I’m probably not the best company anyway.”

And Xander would have to have no eyes to miss the sigh that slipped from her lips, the way her gaze cast back towards the screen. Again. “I bet Faith would come slaying.” The air of petulance that wrapped around her mouth in a pout. It passed quick, barely there, but he was watching.

“Sure she would Buff, but I doubt it’d be the demons she’d be looking to go four years of frenzy on.”

“Yeah. That’s a definite negative.”

Her lips curving back up into a smile. Her eyes just a little bit aglow. They were things which made him ponder, made him ask the question which came to him as obvious. “Would you though Buff? I mean, slay with Faith again. Would you want to?”

Her eyebrows dipping before him, her gaze seeming to deepen with an unknown edge of intensity. There was a curious quality to the tone of her voice when she spoke, as if she wondered at what it was that prompted the question, whether he had been privy to all of her secret and silent thoughts. “Why you asking?”

“Curiosity?”

Making her shoulders shrug a little, her gaze staying steady. “Obvious answer - no way. She’s dangerous, unpredictable, unrestrained. She has *no* attention span when it comes to what’s going on around her…” Slipping to monotonic as the list carried on. It dampened the glint in her eye, eased off on the intensity. Right up until she got to the truth. That point where Xander felt as if he had been measured up, and accepted. Like she trusted him enough to tell him. “…but the honest answer - the one that stays strictly between me and you?”

He nodded his offering of privacy.

“Yeah. I’d love to. It’d be a blast… all of that old fire, all of that excitement. I swear Xander, she makes me forget who I am when we’re slaying. When we were in the thick of it, I don’t know… it was like nothing else existed…”

“And that’s good?”

Eyes wide, pupils dilated. “It didn’t suck. It’s…”

Not knowing the names for every feeling that flitted across her face as she thought through her words, but he sure as heck knew some of them. He recognised the flush of exhilaration, the fidgeting fingers of anticipation.

“…it’s like freedom. Like flying.”

Treating him in that moment to a full on Buffy Summers special, the kind of smile that you carried in your memory forever, that you treasured. Something that was incredibly intense.

“Wow!” Filling him with a little of the buzz, his own blood racing. “*I* wanna be a slayer. You think, with the scythe… Wills could…”

“No.”

“I could be the one eyed slayer! I’d be a legend, I’d be…”

“No!”

He laughed. She laughed. She sighed. He stopped. No exhilaration, no anticipation; just yearning. He didn’t know whether for times gone by, for times wished for, but he did know that it was yearning. He remembered the Buffy and Faith show, of course he did, he’d get off on it for days afterwards, every single time that he’d gotten to see it. The way they trained together, the way they slayed together. He didn’t wanna go to that place where he thought about them dancing together. Nope. Four years hadn’t done anything to dull *that* slice of still ripe memory. He remembered the show though, and he could understand the yearning. All of the Scoobs were Buffy’s friends, all of them had been closer to her than Faith had ever managed… yet none of them ever came close to the bond that had existed between the slayers in those final weeks before madness.

Willow had been obsessed by it, giving him looks every time Faith had appeared to drag Buffy so easily away from them, every time that Buffy had knowingly blown them off to go do *slayer* stuff with Faith. He had just enjoyed the show. Complimenting them when he got the chance to wander in on an impromptu training session, standing back in open adoration when they went slay crazy on an unfortunate band of undead.

“You really miss her, don’t you?”

Another question asked as obvious.

“Hey, what’s with you and all the questions? You’re funny guy; not serious guy. You’re not allowed to change!”

“I’m still funny guy! It’s just these new pants - Willow bought them way too tight… they’re stifling me.” It was the truth. She *had* bought him a size lower than he had worn for the last year or two. Maybe three.

“I’m not helping to take them off.”

“You might have to. It’s gonna need slayer strength.”

“Then ask another slayer.”

He contemplated which one he might like to ask. Xander had envisioned a couple of those moments too. Pillow fights and girl on girl action. Girl on girl on him action. There was lots of action. “You think I should ask two? As back up.”

Making Buffy laugh again, making her eyes glow again. No chance of directing her back towards his question though. And it was a good thing that he already knew the answer. He didn’t need to press her, to pin her down and force admissions from her throat. He had looked, and he had seen the truth.

Yeah, Buffy missed Faith. And he realised then, he accepted then, that he kind of missed Faith too.

The only problem with sitting back, retreating, and letting your demons take back control, was that sometimes the cracks still shone through. In moments when you felt most guarded, when you were sure that nothing could ever happen to shake your steadying foundations, something like a Cataclysm came along and rocked the fuck out of your world. At least that’s how it seemed to Faith. She had been so set on her snarl, so lost in the delusions of fantasies she wanted to incorporate into her revenge, that her eyes had barely raised when Xander had first walked slowly down those stairs. She hadn’t been expecting Xander, was only prepared to take on Buffy, and it had allowed the light to switch back on. The growl silenced by surprise.

“Xander, what’s up?” Forgetting for that moment that a cage still surrounded her; just smiling again at the funny little patch, responding to the ease that shone through his gaze.

“Hey Faith, I come bearing treasure.”

“Treasure..? You’re taking the pirate thing serious now?”

“If the patch fits.” To the smile that lifted his lips as he stepped his way closer. It made Faith step closer too, edginess slipping away as she sank her arms to rest against the bars. To listen to his words. “You’re looking better today.”

And finding her own smile. “Yeah, amazing what a shower can do. I feel almost human again.”

“A shower? Did I miss something?”

“Hot running water. Lots of soapy suds. Crossbow pointed in my face.”

“Buffy let you out for a shower? She was… *with* you, while you took a shower?”

And damn! She would forget her demons forever if real life really was this funny. The bulk of manhood not hiding the boy as Xander flushed red with the imagery. Not even meaning to think it; but really? Buffy had taken Faith for a shower?

He wanted details. Not necessarily the horny kind. Just… Buffy had let Faith out for a shower?

“Sure thing Xander. I needed someone to wash my back…”

Oh god…

“Stop!” Making her rasp out a throaty laugh as his hand sprung up in front of her face. Imploring silence. “Why did Buff let you out for a shower?”

“Ask B.” The lack of answer simply fuelling his fantasies. Prompting Faith to ease up on him, to cast her eyes down and look for the treasure. To get back to the fun stuff that kept the screaming fury at bay. Everything opposite of Buffy. “Look, don’t sweat it man, she probably thought I was stinking up the place. She was armed, I was terrified the whole time.” Waiting till his gaze unglazed and slid back to soft. “So where’s the treasure then? Gotta give the girl her booty.”

And it had paved the way for the easiness to continue. Him teasing her for what seemed like an eternity with an unmarked carrier bag, a different kind of rage, the one which screamed impatience, finally having him offering up something which meant close to everything to her. The real her. Nothing able to hide the excitement that had exploded in her eyes as they fell on the book in his hands. A reflection of the comics she had once owned herself…

“Holy Fuck… is that, oh my god…”

Her words jumbled and lacking the hardness which often tainted even the softest of her sentences. “You got me Cataclysm!”

Wanting to break through the bars for a different reason, every ounce of her aching to grab Xander and wrap him in an embrace like salvation. To get to that book, to remember everything that wasn’t about being bad, that was all about being good.

“I thought you might remember it.”

“Remember it?! Dude, I read those comics a thousand times. This is so fucking awesome. Pass it here.”

Faith outstretched her hand, passing through the barrier of the bars, touching freedom. Almost touching. Xander whipping the book away at the last minute, something like his own evilness tinting the glint that shone through his eye. “Wait, you have to do something first.”

“You what?”

“Quid pro quo. You give, you get.”

“You want *my* booty first?” And where the hell did that come from? Was he an evil pirate, all about plundering and pillaging the goodies…

“No! I *so* didn’t mean that.”

“Then what do you want?”

Her confusion genuine, no clues gained as the smile stretched his face, as that glint continued to grow. So curious as his hand dipped inside of the bag again, pulling something else out, so sure of himself, so full of the glee.

“What I want Faith, is you to finally admit the truth.”

“The truth?”

“Yep.” His hands turning to show her the cover of the next book. The title which glared bright from the artwork on the front. The Incredible Hulk vs. Superman. He knew she hadn’t ever owned this graphic novel, he remembered it coming out after she was gone. He remembered that slight wish for her to be around at the time, to argue the points with. “Hulk could so beat Superman’s ass.”

He held it just at arms length, just out of reaching distance. His smirk growing as she eyed him with that same old disdain, her smile growing to encompass the whole of the basement. “Not ever gonna happen.”

“No give, no get.”

His grin staying resolute, his arm not giving an inch. Watching as her own resolve crumbled, as her eyes flicked faster and faster to the comic in his hands.

“Okay… sure, fine, whatever. The big bad Hulk could beat Superman’s ass…” Her grin triumphant as he gave the book over, her mouth knowing it was time to trumpet victory. “…on the day that hell freezes over. Green dude’s a chump, bet this book proves it.”

Laughing nothing but the sound of pleasure as he started arguing his four years worth of points that she had missed, as he tried to fill in every blank that had been lost to the girl in a hospital bed. Not coming close to winning, her stubbornness not at all affected by what he said happened in the book. It was something he had anticipated, something he had prepared for. The enticement of No Man’s Land.

This was his coup de grace. The thing that he was sure would have her like putty in his hands. Breaking through any hint of remaining snarl to return to the time before the badness. To hopefully stay there. His hand lifting out the first of the five novels in the series, ignoring all of her Hulk slurs to lose himself in the real treasure. The only booty that he knew she would desire.

“What’s that?”

Enjoying his ignorance, just flitting that eye occasionally up to study her face. Wanting to laugh as the expression only darkened, that familiar badass that was nothing about death and destruction, just part of the package of Faith.

“Don’t fucking ignore me Xander, what have you got?!”

“Say it and mean it, Faith.”

“Screw you.” Her fingers tightening on the bars, her eyes deepening as they fixed on nothing but him. “What is it?”

And he couldn’t keep in his own excitement. Forget who was better between Hulk and Superman, this was about making Faith feel better, about giving her back her own superhero. His voice full of importance as he finally gave into her demands.

“No Man’s Land.”

Not getting it. Her eyes looking unimpressed, her tone about to hit cursory again. It made him show his hand, slide out the ace in the pack; “Batman, Faith. I’ve brought you the all *new* tall, dark and broody. The stuff you missed. The rest of the story.”

There were no screams of girly excitement, nothing that he would have found upstairs with new clothes and matching pants; but there was something which went so very much deeper. Which touched his heart. The way that her shoulders slumped, the way that her eyes widened, the way that they shone.

“You brought me Batman?”

A plea for her hero?

Xander wished that he had the bright lights signal to really call him forth, to have him swoop in and save the damsel in distress, to wipe away all of the darkness that lingered in Faith’s eyes. He stepped the last distance forward and placed it gently in her grasp, his voice taking the monotone to slide her up to date;

“This is what came after Cataclysm. There’s five of them, I got them all. They’re really good, you’re gonna like them.”

“I already love them.” Her eyes drinking up the image on the front, her hero standing tall and proud. A light in the dark. Ready for action. “This is so fucking cool.”

And it was. Even better than the feeling she had found in the shower.

The world that existed between the pages of the book, was not about taking pain and making pain. Her pain didn’t exist there, none of this existed there. No coma, no four years of frustration that she had woken up to embrace so harshly. No death, no hate, no rage and despair. This was a world for superheroes. The kind of world she longed for. Yearned for. Faith may not have known it, would not have accepted it, but beneath those demons, beneath the shell that had been her own lifetime crafting of granite, there was still a superhero aching to break free.

Trapped in a prison stronger than any kryptonite, trapped in a city which offered more destruction than any mythical Gotham. But still there. Still inside. Still her. Fighting battles she didn’t even know existed, buried so deep in the trash and the filth, the death and the darkness that had always been her life. Muted by demon screams, by the unhinged howls which pled for revenge.

Faith forgot those thoughts when her mind found sanctuary in the make believe world of the superheroes. Moments of victory when real demons didn’t exist, where everything was quiet, except for the truth;

Good over evil. The superhero always won.

It didn’t matter how much trash and filth existed on the way, how much darkness reached out to touch even the most super of heroes in moments of weakness - they still always came out on top. Bad guys didn’t win.

There was always someone there to slay the demons.

Her shoulders found more of the weary as she finally dragged herself back through the doors to The Hyperion. Another duty performed, another night spent battling the forces of evil. And she had battled hard tonight. Slaying what had felt like a thousand demons, a whole gang banging group of something she couldn’t pronounce, stepping up to ease her tension. She would never remember their names even if she could get her mouth to pronounce. They didn’t need names. They were demons, she slayed them. It’s what she did.

Buffy’s moves were effortless as she vaulted herself across the counter to land in the chair in front of the screen. A decision made as she had made mince meat - or gloopey mess - out of the unpronounceable demons; to placate the need that her eyes had, to take a look at Faith. An unguarded look. A look which would contemplate everything that had fought to rush fast through her body upstairs in the bathroom.

Desire.

That was what she was calling it. Unwelcome desire? Definitely. Unexpected desire? Not entirely.

She remembered the feeling. She was feeling the feeling. And she knew full well that the feeling had no place being felt in the present situation. Faith had the mind of a seventeen year old psychotic. And that should have been enough to dampen everything that felt like desire.

Words she said to herself as her finger reached out to touch the button, to flick the switch. Bringing to life everything she had been thinking upon, every untarnished memory she had been focusing upon. Buffy wanted to isolate the feeling, to allow it, and then to get a grip on it. Place it back in a prison just as bound and unbreakable as the prison that housed Faith.

She hadn’t known about the coup de grace though, about Xander’s own acts of bonding brought about by untarnished memories. It meant the releasing of different feelings, something which still begged to remain unnamed, that she still didn’t feel mature enough to deal with. Her heart beating fast as her eyes had focused on what was on show;

Faith. Not hunched and sat bewildered in a corner. Not raging fists against the bars that kept her confined. No. Instead she was slouched comfortably on her side, head propped up on an elbow, her eyes intense as they flicked over what was in front of her.

A comic. One in front, and a pile by the bedside.

Buffy’s hand shook with the unknown as she traced out the image that shone before her, as her mind carried her thoughts to all those places called Heaven. Remembering only that feeling, only the peace and tranquillity, the sense of everything being okay. She wanted to rise and take the stairs, she wanted to see with her own eyes, to engage this Faith who looked like the one she often imagined.

She wouldn’t rise though. She couldn’t rise. She refused to. She had not even come close to getting a grip on that thing called desire, and now, unknowingly thanks to a man named Xander, she had so much else to get a grip upon.

Chapter Ten.

The hour had easily crept round to mid-morning again, by the time Buffy finally made her way down the stairs the next day. Another sleep in. Another sleep in that was nothing to do with actual sleeping, and everything to do with resolving long resided issues. The ceiling mapped and charted by her eyes all of the hours that she had lain lost in the thoughts which plagued her just as easily as any nightmare sent demon would have sought to plague her.

And her desire had felt quite demonic when she’d considered it in those terms. Practically a nightmare even with her eyes wide open. This concern, this word which began with the prefix of affect, wanted no part of the desire that had ridden up in Buffy when Faith had stood so naked before her. She didn’t want that memory of feeling, she didn’t want to go to the place that her memories had taken her to. It had just been so much easier when Faith was sleeping.

No fire. No spark. None of that thing that had raised her hackles in a thousand different ways. No barriers. No defences. No mixed signals.

Buffy had held Faith’s hand and called it friendship. She had spoken private truths to her and called it comfort. She had never once, not in all of those years, looked at Faith’s broken shell and called it desire. Something she could ignore when there was no-one left to call her on it, something she had been able to deny even as her maturity had taught her all of the words for all of her wants.

It was something that had her mind feeling edgy as she took the stairs down to the lobby. Determined not to even glance the way of the screen, determined to seclude herself in the easy emotions of genuine friendship. “Morning guys!”

Like fresh air itself as she skipped a little jaunt to join them at the sofas. Willow, Giles and Dawn. Just what the doctor ordered. If the doctor was all about ordering silence and awkward glances and sentiment that wasn‘t returned with the gusto of a great new day. Dawn was the only one to look up and meet her eyes with a welcome forthcoming, not seeming bothered by any of the tension that was seeping out around her.

“Okay Dawn, what’s up with those two? Did you poison the pastries?”

Buffy’s voice looking to spread the cheer, still seeking some of that medicine for her undercurrent of edginess. And she hoped that she had found it in the moment that Dawn had smiled, had rolled her eyes. Guessing that she hadn’t as they had dropped straight back down again.

“Nothing that easy. You‘re about to get interventioned.”

“I what?”

“Dawn! We never said that…”

Not even really paying attention to Willow. Fixing on her younger sister still; The way she had taken to biting her lip between her teeth, fussing at her fingernails. And Buffy could guess at how this one was gonna go. Giles would fuss and be overly protective, would argue she was not looking after herself properly. And Wills would back him up. Always the worrier… always concerned…

“Buffy?”

“I’m here.” Still smiling. A little confused - it wasn’t like she had been totally neglecting herself. Amused as well though. Willow’s resolve face causing her smile to rise ever higher.

“You have to understand, we’re just concerned about you…”

“Hey! I’m fine - look, all healed…” Turning on her spot, lifting her top to flash the slight scar that was fading with every hour, that was barely a reminder that another apocalypse had been thwarted quite so recently. “…with the new clothes as well, I’m feeling pretty much…”

“We’re concerned about Faith.”

Giles voice breaking through to resonate with the ominous, not allowing the illusion of everything being great to persevere. Breaking through the perky prose, bringing more of the confusion back to Buffy’s eyes.

“Faith?” Losing all of her longed for amusement. “What’s wrong with Faith?”

Because she hadn’t heard any more of the crazed rage filled screaming. Wasn’t aware that more problems had arisen since she had observed her so happy last night.

“No, not Faith. You.”

“I think I need coffee.”

She joined that thought with a need for possible illustrations. Diagrams which would divert her thought path to fly along the same lines as Willow.

“What Willow is trying to say, is that we’re concerned by the way you have chosen to focus all of your attention onto Faith. Now I understand Buffy, but…”

Buffy held up her hand. She doubted more than anything that he truly understood, but this to her was not even about that. Too soon since the last questioning of her focus, too soon since the last time she had stood solitary before them.

“Where’s Xander?” Her voice like ice as it froze the air around them. “Shouldn’t he be here for this? Interventions are never complete without everyone attacking at the same time…”

“We’re not attacking, this isn’t an attack.” Willow spread her hands expressively, compassionately. Beseeching Buffy to see the concern behind their statements. “Xander’s down below with Andrew, they wanted to take Faith’s breakfast…”

“Andrew? See, we are punishing her!”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s *wrong* with me?”

And there was no seeing concern behind statements, just reacting to the words which were chosen. All of this felt like an attack, and she didn’t even know why she was being attacked. Yes, she was focusing a lot of her time and thoughts into Faith - but what the hell else was she supposed to do? Leave her to rot? Turn her over to the appropriate authorities?

“Buffy, we’re just concerned that your view on dealing with Faith, may not be rooted very firmly in the facts. No matter what you want to believe…”

“I don’t *want* to believe anything…”

“Yes you do!” Buffy’s head snapped round as the volume raised from Willow. Surprise at the vitriolic voice shouting out so many old hurts before her. “It’s like you’ve forgotten everything that she did to us. Faith killed a man, killed *two* men. She shot an arrow full of poison through the chest of your boyfriend, she held a knife to *my* throat, wrapped her hands around Xander’s…”

All those memories brought to the fore. The edginess that was running rings around her false feel of perky, slowly lifting. Not turning as the door had opened in front, not caring that the happy band of sorority slayers were back from whatever morning jaunt Giles had sent them on. Just soaking up the attack. All of the wounds from the past.

“…she was with the Mayor, Buffy. She would’ve happily killed all of us.” Stood still and unflinching. Waiting for the rest that she knew was definitely coming. “And the best part, the part you seem to have tuned out on the most..? She *enjoyed* it. Faith’s crazy, and the sooner you get your head around that, the better for all of us.”

“What about better for Faith?”

“See!?”

They were stood squaring off. Never a thought of the physical, but so much wanting to unleash verbally. It flowed between them like waves of tension, reaching out, unfolding, tightening around everyone who bore witness, like a noose around their necks.

“What’s going on?”

“Kennedy, this doesn’t concern you or the girls. I suggest you go…”

“No. If Buffy is gonna be tearing strips off my girlfriend, I wanna know why.” Her shoulders firm. Her stance unwavering. “Not moving till I do.”

“Me? You think this is me tearing strips?”

“Willow?”

Kennedy watched and waited as her feistier than she had realised girlfriend, blew out the rage that had seemed to so easily reach out and encompass her. Sad sighing at Buffy, a shake of the head which only looked patronising. “Buffy - in her infinite compassion for psychopaths - decided to let Faith out of the cage yesterday. And not only out, hey Buff? More like a little buddy bonding upstairs in the shower..?”

Such sarcasm, such insinuation. So easy to remember past jealousies, times gone by when every minute that Buffy spent with Faith, was another minute not spent with her. Forget old faithful. Just focus on Faith.

“Huh? You let her out for a shower?”

Kennedy not privy to old jealousies, to dynamics which would have only confused if she had been there and seen it all. She had disbelief at the shower for different reasons.

“Yes Kennedy, and ya know what? You have a problem with that…”

“Yo, hold up, there’s no problem here. I’m just surprised - I had you pegged as unfeeling, this is refreshing.”

“Oh, right. Thanks?”

“Kennedy..?”

“Sorry Willow, but I’ve told you how I feel about this.”

Her tone wasn’t combative, it wasn’t looking to fuel the fight; Kennedy was simply stating the truth as she felt it. “You’re not going to solve anything by keeping her locked up. You’d be better off letting her out and dealing with the consequences. You know that we can take her, *we* know that we can take her…” Late night patrol littered with varying ideas on Faith. The slayer that had shared her power so unknowingly. “…if you give her a chance, I don’t know, maybe she’ll surprise you?”

“With a knife to the neck? A stab to the back? I’m not so keen on those surprises.”

“Willow…”

“No Giles! You agreed with me! Buffy shouldn’t have let Faith out without all of us knowing, being prepared.” Willow felt her shoulders slump as the fight went out of her. Realising that this battle was already feeling like lost. A last ditch effort. A last turn to her girlfriend to seek an ally. “Why are you being like this?”

“Like this? *You* made me like this, you made me like her. This is Faith’s power that you shared amongst us all… slayer power. I can’t just damn her Willow, I don’t even know her.”

“Yeah? Lucky you.”

“Right, well, I don’t see how any of this covers yesterday’s little excursion. I may not be as vehement in my approach Buffy, but you have to accept that letting Faith out, without any form of back up in case…”

“No Giles. I’m not doing this. You wanna relieve me of the leadership badge again..? Go right ahead. If you come up with a better idea on how to help her, I’ll be up in my room. If things blow up in your face again…”

“That’s hardly fair Buffy.”

“This is hardly fair! You all scurry off and leave me to deal, and then you don’t like the way I’m dealing?”

Breathe deep. Re-craft the granite.

“I’m doing my best Giles. If that’s not good enough - my bad. At least I’m trying. At least I’ve made the effort to visit, at least I’m giving her the chance.”

Project the compassion.

“I don’t really see that my visiting would make a difference.”

“So you don’t even try? You were her watcher! She was your slayer! Come on Giles, what would the council do? Where’s all that wealth of experience now that we need it? You said there were ways to rehabilitate…” Make him see how little he had done to help. Cooing about her injuries, offering soft eyes when everything she was going through was just so hard. “…help me Giles, tell me what I should do?”

Rendering him silent. Yes, there were ways, council ways. Ways which had blown up along with the rest of the legacy. He had offered little, because he was not sure what to offer. Had known how little good he had done before.

“I’m sorry Buffy, but I don’t know.”

Just as she had expected.

She cast her eyes across the group that were now gathered in varying degrees of shock around her. The new slayers with grudging respect; their stone cold leader now humanised before them, surviving a run through with a sword, but wavering in the face of human emotion. It comforted them. Relieved that they would not be turning to the stone they had thought she was cast from. Dawn; eyes downcast. Wishing she was well away from the epicentre of the mini Buffy earthquake. Giles; forlorn in his failure. And Willow;

Buffy could not see the answers expressed on her face, in the deep green of her eyes. She could see the taint of tears though, the sparkle that heightened the sadness at the turn of events. The beginning of a train wreck. The onset of tears.

Tears to Buffy were a wasted notion. A thought she sighed on as she turned to go up the stairs. Something she would not cry on as she returned her focus to Faith.

The almost silent tap that sounded against her door, allowed her to guess exactly who was standing there awaiting entry. Seven years of friendship good enough to give her sixth sensing abilities, knowing that Willow would come to seek safe ground. To direct them back to a place where brief blow ups would never really matter.

“Come in.”

Her voice already softening as she silently practiced her own sound of sorry.

“Hey Buffy. I bring ice cream.” A smile alighting as the tub was indeed produced before her eyes. “You wanna share?”

“Yeah.”

Finding firm footing already. Relaxing as space had been made on the bed, as Willow had gathered her skirt around her and found a place to sit. “I’m sorry about downstairs Buff, I never meant for it to go quite as…”

Holding up a hand, holding back apologies. “It’s forgotten already. We’re all a little battle weary still, minds are frayed, tempers are frayier.”

“Definite agreement. Especially the frayier bit.”

Just taking a spoon and delivering a spoonful. Gasping at the cold, delighting at the taste. Wishing it really was this easy to placate a battling of Wills. “Apart from the shouty bit, I meant what I said downstairs; I’m dealing with Faith my way, the only way I know how. She screws up and I’m gonna ride her ass, until then it’s all about second chances.”

And the ice cream wasn’t the only source of cold in the room. Willow’s hand freezing in mid air, not delivering anything, just sat silently awaiting more words she knew she would wish to refute.

“Don’t you ever wonder what might have happened if she had woken up sooner. If the coma hadn’t lasted so damn long..? Faith hasn’t had the time to grow up, to mature, to stand back and take stock… don’t we owe her a shot at that?”

“We don’t owe her anything. *You* don’t owe her anything.”

“Doesn’t she *deserve* the chance?”

“Why? Because she’s a slayer? Because you all share some mystical bond that none of us normal folk will ever get the flush of feeling?” Willow couldn’t stop the sarcastic slant again. Her ears bombarded by her girlfriend’s sharing of the bond, her tether close to snapping as she was edged outside the caring sharing circle once again. “That doesn’t cut it with me Buff, I’m not sharing the bonding. Faith is still Faith, and she’s still a cold blooded killer.”

“What type are you Wills?”

Everything freezing.

“No way… that’s nothing like this! Don’t even bring that into it.”

“Why not? You skipped sides just as quick as Faith did, had a bloodlust just as thirsty as hers was.”

Tears still wasted. A notion lost beneath words.

“We forgive you because you’re Willow, and we condemn her because she’s Faith. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No!” And Willow didn’t have a broomstick, or a pointy hat and cat, but she still held her own power. Something which brimmed and boiled in her veins when attacked, that pushed her mind to touch places she would never normally embrace. “*I* had reasons Buffy, do you remember them? Do you remember what he did to Tara?!”

The feeling thrusting at her senses; the sight, the sounds, the smell, the taste. The weight that had died in her arms. Tears never enough to capture the pain that wouldn’t fade away, would never disappear behind the illusion of days and months and just over a year.

“God Buffy, he ripped my heart from my body, he took away the love of my life… I know how wrong I was, I know I’ll never be free of that… but at least I had reasons.”

Lures and pushes.

Reasons.

Stories which started with hearts ripped from bodies, and the loss of love. Which ended with the loss of life.

The similarity hung before them without either finding a voice. Both holding such power, yet neither brave enough to take a step over that final barrier. Connecting the dots to see the full picture. Understanding all that needed to be understood. Speaking the reasons. Making it real.

They stood in silence.

“I’m not saying that Faith doesn’t deserve a second chance, I’m asking why you have to serve it up to her on a silver platter Buffy. Why you’re letting her play the helpless victim, while we all get to play the monsters. I never hurt Faith, I never held a knife to her neck. Why am I the bad one?”

And seven years of friendship had taught Buffy when tears were the kind not to be ignored. Laying down her own rhyme and reasoning, to hold tight to a woman she had witnessed losing everything. She wouldn’t hold that pain against her, she had never been able to.

“I’m sorry Wills, I shouldn’t have brought that up. You’re right, this is nothing like that…”

“I would never have done what I did if Tara… if he hadn’t…”

“Shhh. I know.” Her arms finding a hug, releasing a feeling. “I’m sorry.”

Shushing the words that had been ready to burst forth. Hard words. Unflinching words. Dismissing excuses, no matter how heartfelt, to focus on the facts. The slayer could still remember the dark eyes of Willow, the strength that had ridiculed her own in the magic shop; the threat to her family, the threat to her friends, the threat to the world.

The friend allowed the quiet to offer forgiveness.

But no similarities?

Even Buffy wasn’t that blonde.

It had shocked her when the next knock had come at her door. Not expecting Giles to have finished cleaning his glasses yet, not expecting that he would come to offer apology. But then Buffy did not know his own depth of feeling for her, how much he had been hurting over the downslide in their relationship. Questioning her authority, not once, but twice over the last couple of weeks. Sending her off to find comfort from a dead man, when he should have been the one holding her up and making her strong.

He still felt the urge to take her by the hand. To protect her from everything that he knew would hurt her. He had tried to harden himself, harden her in the face of a battle he was terrified they would lose. Terrified that he would lose her. Giles wanted to shake himself by his good old English britches when he counted all the different ways he had pushed her away.

“Buffy, may I come in?”

“Are you still intervening?”

“No,” His tone conciliatory as he entered her room. “I realise how that must have felt to you, but I assure you I have nothing but confidence in your ability to eventually reach Faith.”

“Eventually? It’s not much of a confidence vote is it?”

Buffy raised herself up from the bed to stand before him, ready for more battle, ready to stand down if it looked like she had pushed too far. She had already picked out stories of death to regale Giles’ ears with, tales of the Ripper, memories of Ben. She had already prepared herself to meet another brick wall. Another derailment.

More excuses for why murder wasn’t murder when it wasn’t Faith doing the murdering.

“On the contrary, it’s a rather large vote. I want to help you Buffy, I want to help Faith. If there’s a way that you think I might be of use…”

“You mean it?”

“Absolutely. As a watcher, I take it as my duty to offer what ever assistance you need.”

And he could hide behind his council walls, and officious tone, but there were another seven years that had been well spent by Buffy. Learning to love the man in front of her for the care and affection which often clouded his view. That caused his glasses to smear. She may not have still needed him to lead her, to teach her; but she still needed his love more than anything. His guidance readily accepted when it wasn’t meant as instruction.

“Thank you.”

Her hand reaching out to be dwarfed in his, so grateful inside that he had chosen to stand beside her. “I don’t know what good it’ll do, but maybe you can connect with the slayer side of things… get her mind back on the duty, on what our calling stands for…”

“Do you really think that it will make a difference?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then why?”

Not sure if she could explain it. The idea that grew and shaped with every minute spent thinking over the time lost, over the time she had had to mature and to grow. “I know she won’t listen now, I know what she wants now… but things change Giles. Maybe one day it *will* make a difference.”

“Then it’s certainly worth making the effort.”

Giles smiled and steadied his gaze, swallowed down any mention of approaching Faith himself. Alone. He had agreed with Willow earlier, he did believe that Buffy had been irresponsible in her releasing of Faith without back up; but he did not believe as much in a lack of second chances. He would much rather meet Faith without the igniting fuel of Buffy, but this was not the time to be making suggestions. This was the time to be standing at Buffy’s side.

Down below, in the depths of the building, the one who had caused all of the turmoil had no clue that turmoil even existed. In her world it didn’t. A world where two geeks had brought her breakfast and an endless supply of nerd filled topics to keep her mind amused. Not caring a fuck when she had alerted herself to Buffy’s steady approach, to the sound of her footsteps, the small tinkle of laughter that had breezed in right before the girl herself. She forgot about demons when she thought about superheroes.

As for the one who had rode the storm of the turmoil, she had also lost herself in the sudden thought of superheroes. Seeing again the comics strewn across the floor, the easy pose struck by Faith. The fun filled faces that glanced up to greet her.

“Ah, Buffster! Do I sense another member for LA’s newest and most exclusive comic club?”

And glancing right by them. She wanted this moment, had denied herself this moment. Engaging the Faith that she so often imagined.

“You’re in a comic club?”

Her eyebrows arching up high on her head, amusement coating the smile which trickled across her lips.

“You know what prison’s like B, ya think you’re safe as a kitten, then you fall in with a bad crowd. I tried to resist, really I did.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

Batman flying through the air to land in her grasp. Tossed through the bars. Caught with ease. “Xander tempted me with the hard stuff.”

It turned Buffy’s eyebrows the way of another long held friendship. Sliding into a flash of a frown, just for a second, just as she had placed the pieces together until they all fit. “You brought the comics?”

“Yep! Nothing like good old Marvel goodness to perk up the pri…” He went to say prisoner. Changed at the last. “…prisms… uh, prisms of power.”

Earning him looks. Four of them. Buffy’s voice the one to do the asking. “Prisms of power?”

“Right. That’s how I see you slayers; all tall and powerful and prismy, very much like prisms.”

“I think you mean prismatic, that would be the correct…”

“Actually Giles, I think he meant prisoner.” Faith let her smile curve round her lips, let the sanctuary of superheroes fly off into the night as she rose to greet the watcher. The one who had overlooked her downfall. Made it so much easier for her to flounder so pointlessly beneath Buffy. “Long time no see.”

Though it still felt like days.

She had caught up on more of the missing while hanging so innocently with her new best buddies. The geek brigade coming to her rescue, and providing her with answers. Andrew was especially good for running his mouth off, his tongue tripping across words that Xander had kept seeking to censor. She had caught the basics though. Learnt more than enough for one day. Was content to play the happy hostage and show the signs of steady reform.

No one had ever slain Faith’s demons. She didn’t believe in superheroes in this world.

A mantra that made her dimples etch out easiness as she stepped a pace closer to the bars. Show them what they need to see. Silently prepare the rest.

“Yes Faith. I’m sorry I haven’t been down to see you before now, things are still hectic…”

“Yeah, I caught that. Team Andrew filled me in on the spell to go slay crazy. Seems like I owe Red a thank you. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.”

And her silence had no understanding yet for the awkwardness that filled that moment in front of her. The quick glance between the watcher and his *real* slayer. That number one golden girl. Just itching to find a fall.

She still stored it away though. Built new memories to refer back to in the darkness of the night time. Something to chase away the blood, sweat and tears that she didn’t care to think about.

Just practising relaxed as Giles had suggested to the comedy duo that they go and fetch something to eat, that lunch had long passed and Faith was no doubt hungry. Practising the deep breaths as he had turned to face her again.

And all of those years had passed and he still hadn’t learnt to hide the look? The disappointment that sat obvious whenever both slayers were in the same room, and his gaze was forced to rest on the darker of the two. Thrift shop silver when compared to the pure carat gold of Buffy. Truly relaxing as she made herself recognise more of the same old shit.

The comics were left on the floor. Her demons were back in the drivers seat.

Chapter Eleven.

The basement collapsed into silence as Giles finally took the time to run his eyes fully over the girl that he had so long ago bidden a farewell to. Never expecting to have her standing in front of him again, never suspecting that she would wake from something that had seemed so solid in its finality. In the beginning he had been concerned, had kept almost as keen an eye as Buffy on the patient. Not a first hand eye though, he was not one for the personal visits; but he had kept himself well informed on the situation.

He knew what the doctors had said. He waited for the slayer healing to kick in and prove them wrong. And after over a year of waiting, he accepted that nothing was going to heal the coma that seemed never ending. At Buffy’s death he had wondered again…

Silent meanderings he would never share with the youth of the group, just private thoughts… would Faith awake? Could she be the slayer that they so desperately needed? But no. That was one time when he did stop by to see her in person, observing the monotone beeping of the machines, observing the pale listlessness he would never ever have associated with Faith. She would never wake up. He had been certain of that.

“So what’s the what, you just come to stare, or you got something to say?”

That same voice edged with roughness, reminding him that even certainties were never really certain. That sometimes events could never be determined before they came to pass. Sobering thoughts indeed for a man who resided his mind in prophesies and predictions.

“I was hoping Faith, that we might discuss how you’re feeling. How your healing is coming along. Buffy tells me that you‘re getting stronger…”

“Does she?”

And Faith couldn’t give a crap about anything he had to say, any way he had to look at her. Look down on her. All of Faith’s focus was routing around the Watcher to hone in on her prey. The day’s first *real* glance, the moment’s first look. Not dipping green, not tinting pinks; eyes wide open. Gaze straight ahead.

“Yes. I have to say you’re looking much better than when we first left Sunnydale.”

“I heard I caught the last bus outta town. Way Andrew tells it, I’d be at the bottom of a rubble pit if I hadn’t woken up then. Timing’s a bitch, huh?”

Words which made him stutter on a breath, toss a look Buffy’s way before he met her eyes again. “We didn’t know that events were going to become quite so destructive Faith, obviously had we been prepared, we would have…”

“Made sure you tied me to the bed before you flew the coop? Damn, bet my arrival’s messed up the old victory parade.”

She hardened her eyes as another of those disappointed looks made its way to Giles’ face. Letting the smile raise sarcastic across her lips as she offered sweet sentiments. “Least this way we all get to bury the hatchet and start fresh, right? Can’t wait to be buddies again G-man, it’ll be just like old times - gotta say the cage is a step down from my old apartment, probably got the nod over the motel though. ”

Remember the motel Giles? Shit no. Giles only went to Buffy’s house to wine and dine. The idea of eating crap out of a takeout carton while sitting on a flea infested bed, had never really appealed to him. Least that’s the way that Faith saw it. Never had any tales to tell it different.

“Faith, Giles is here to try and help. Maybe you could strap down the attitude and give him a chance?”

She let her eyes linger longer this time. Pretending at considering, pretending she gave a fuck whether Buffy was happy or not. There was in fact only one feeling that Faith wanted Buffy to feel, and it was nowhere close to happy. Nothing to do with smiling. “Sure, carry on Giles. You left me for dead, we’ll call it bygones. So how have you been?”

“Let’s focus on how you’ve been Faith. I can see your charm and wit are back in spades, what about physically? Buffy mentioned that you still bore the scar from…”

Say it Giles. Say it.

“…the *incident* before graduation.”

“The incident? What incident was that?”

“I trust you know full well what I am referring to. Have you noticed any fading yet, has your slayer healing hastened the progress since you woke up?”

She caught his eyes in a stare and waited for him to look away. Running the knife through her head again, running the knife through her side again. Only he didn’t look away, he pinned her with as much focus as she had hoped to discomfort him with. Feeling her own skin itching, her own defences being tested…

“Yeah.”

“Yes what?”

Speaking anything to have him stop staring. “The scar’s fading, slayer healing’s kicked in.”

“Right, jolly good. What about the other aspects of slaying, have you felt any particular urges which the coma may have repressed?”

And Faith knew what he was asking. Had she felt the fizz, the running of electric through her veins which signalled the start of a fight, the sensation that slid down her spine when a vamp was looking to be dusted. The feeling that her body craved every night when the sun went down, the feeling that her blood demanded as the moon came up. To slay.

“Urges?”

Never too frigid to talk about what the slaying did to her, how it had affected her. Never too fucking golden to admit that darkness mixed tight with desire. That every kill released a need to be alive, to free the energy, to release the tension. Eyes flicking, fingers tapping. Never scared to call it what it was, never scared to admit what it was she needed…

“Faith?”

Looking at her now. Being looked at. And Buffy knew, Faith was certain. She had always known. Eyebrows igniting that look called lust.

“Sure Giles. I got urges.” Blinking on the instant to crystallise it in her mind, letting the tiniest reminder of that feeling lace an __expression of want around her lips. “A body knows what it needs. What it craves. A little close contact, some hard hitting one on one…”

“Right. Yes… I imagine after four years, that element of slayer power is rather overdue a workout. Perhaps Buffy, we could set up a training regime down here, obviously nothing like sparring…”

“You want Buffy to give me a workout?”

Had he missed the meaning? Were his collars really that starched? And did it really matter when Buffy had caught her meaning with such sweet perfection? Her eyes locked again, but not pinning her down… oh no, pulling her closer. The bars in easy reaching distance, her hands finding a grip that would’ve crushed metal if it wasn’t tainted by magic.

“You might find it helps to release some of the tension which you seem so determined to hold onto. I can only imagine how difficult this present situation is for you Faith; waking up to find everything changed, trying to come to terms with everything that…”

“You think star jumps are gonna resolve that?”

Because really? He was Giles, all wise and watchful… and he was suggesting some kind of Jane Fonda workout session?

“What do you think Buffy; is it practical to have Faith begin some kind of training routine, something to focus on other than…”

Losing the words again. Faith not caring again. Still wanting to know every word that was gonna fall wasted from Buffy’s lips. What grand back up plan she had in store for when the star jumps didn’t release the tension.

“I think Faith needs another shower.”

“Sounds good to me. You gonna wash my back this time?”

“I meant of the cold variety.”

Not wasted words. Precious words. Words which let Faith know that her interpretation of urges had been fully understood by Buffy. That she had set the flame that would start the fire. Watching Buffy now, there was still nothing dipping about her gaze - it was the opposite of dipping. Meeting Faith’s cocksure, smart ass stare with every ounce of maturity she had gained over four years of downtime. Buffy may not have appreciated this thing called desire, but she sure as hell wasn’t gonna be embarrassed by it anymore. Wasn’t gonna let it dictate the pace of the train wreck.

Something that no amount of downtime could have prepared Faith for. She had been so sure that she could trip Buffy with the same moves, the same meanings as she had always used; wasn’t prepared for the look that knew no mercy as it rooted her to the spot, as it made her fists wrap even tighter around the bars for reasons which had her taut emotions instantly more unsettled.

Flashes of different feelings. When the want, the take and the have were nothing to do with destruction. Just the simplicity of the action.

“Faith, is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

Not hearing. Still held. A thousand thoughts pinning her down, mind shattering as it tried to comprehend how this fit into her plan, how this fit into anything.

“Dreams.”

“Pardon me?”

A fragment, a wisp passing by on the breeze. Somewhere that Faith knew the hurt still resided. Would always reside. “I’ve been having these dreams.”

No cocksurety to her words, no hint of harshness to her tone. No footing that felt like level. Winging it. Straightening as she felt the advantage swing back her way, as Buffy’s eyes did show something other than composure, something other than a willingness to meet her head on.

“What kind of dreams; do you mean slayer dreams?”

“Dunno Giles. What’s a slayer dream?”

“Buffy sometimes has them, they’re prophetic in nature, a forewarning of bad things.” She watched him hesitate, his eyes almost excited as they considered the thought of something prophetic. “Perhaps you could enlighten me to their content?”

“Huh?”

“What happens in the dreams, Faith?”

“Right.” Knowing that. Knowing what happens. Focusing for the first time on how it felt in the beginning. “It starts off someplace real nice; got me a sweet deal with a double bed, clean sheets and maid service. Serious Giles, I’m thinking I’ve landed my ass in heaven, the place is so bitching. I’m kicking back, everything’s going great…”

A stare being met. Buffy‘s gaze wrapping tight around her own. Remembering. Putting her in place, making her vulnerable. Faith would strike first.

“…right until the part where it turns out it’s all bullshit. Ain’t nothing like salvation there, G-man, nothing but the same old crap. Hunting me down, chasing me through a fucking graveyard. All fire and brimstone, big lust for my blood…”

“Did you… the thing chasing you, did you happen to see what kind of creature it was?”

“Wasn’t no creature. Can’t you guess what it was? Come on Giles, I always figured you were shit hot with the explanations.” Glasses off. Eyes down. “It was Buffy, you moron. Your precious fucking Buffy. She tell you about that - how she chases me down every night to collect her pound of flesh, how she smiles all fucking sweet as she slides the knife in again and again…”

“I don’t think…”

“Fuck you with your thinking. You think I care a crap about training regimes and slayer urges? You think I wanna work anything out with your piece of shit golden girl, other than how to make her suffer half as much as I have..?”

“Shut up Faith.”

Fire and brimstone.

Edged in ice, carved from granite. Buffy had stood and listened to every word which had fallen from Faith’s mouth, and she had watched every shade of darkness cross her eyes as they had blackened. Urges at first. She had fought that battle and won it. Had choked for the last time on that level of submission. Buffy would not be controlled by a desire that had always left her at a disadvantage, would not allow Faith to gain the upper hand by way of default. She was stronger than that. She was older than that.

And this. This twisting of a dream which had been Buffy’s basis for diagnosis; Faith had shared her space in heaven and that had seemed more important than sharing Faith’s place in hell. Not so sure now though, not so sure that this sequence of events didn’t determine things a little better… that she should be playing the game from Faith’s angle. Seeing who landed on top. Wearing Willow’s words with a face full of resolve and strength.

Smiling a return to the snarl, turning her smile Giles’ way.

“Looks like this was a wasted trip, huh? And there was me arguing the non-psychotic point of view.”

“Fuck you, B.”

“No Faith. Fuck you.” Finally letting the slayer take the fore, finally showing Faith that if a game was there to be played, then Buffy was going to win it. She would bend over backwards to accommodate the chance for Faith to have a shot at getting her life back - but she would not break herself to accommodate anyone. “I’m done playing nice to placate the many personalities of Faith. Yes F, I stabbed you. Let’s remind ourselves how you went psycho and were killing for fun, hey? Let’s remind ourselves what *you* pushed me into doing…”

“Let me the fuck out!”

Seeing that contempt rise, feeling the urge to strike.

“No. You’re better off staying in there until you have all of your strength back. Cos when I eventually kick your ass for all of this crap; it’s *really* gonna hurt. Big hurt. Way big…”

“You are so fucking dead.”

“Wrong again Faith. I’ve been dead. Twice in fact- another thing you missed out on. This is me, alive and well, channelling the happy thoughts. You’re the one playing at dead, hiding behind something that is so stuck in the past.”

Her footsteps had led her the same way as her bottled up rage. Inches from bars which she also wished were not there. Just one touch, something to smash one iota of sense into the rage machine in front of her. “It was four years ago Faith. Get over it.”

Breathing it into her space, feeling the return moisture of panted air falling across her lips. So much tension. So much which called for more than star jumps, which screamed for someone to remove the fucking barriers which kept them both caged.

“Buffy, perhaps we should leave this conversation for now…” The watcher not needing to see anymore, not needing further proof of Buffy’s igniting abilities. “…I’ll return to talk to Faith when the situation has calmed down.”

“Faith doesn’t do calm, that’s too easy.”

Eyeball to eyeball. Endless months of endless emotions venturing forward to replace the softly, softly approach that had generated only more harshness. Let Xander play nice. Buffy was through playing. Not wanting to move away, wanting to raise her fist and smash the space through the bars, wanting to wipe that look from the face that she wanted to see bathed in smiles.

She was so angry at Faith for refusing to be Faith. So angry with her for denying the existence of the person that Buffy so ached to see. The one she cared about. The one she had affection for. Just dark pits staring back at her. The psychotic look she had first seen in the dark and dingy motel room.

“Buffy?”

“I’m coming.”

Not turning her back and walking away, accepting the gauntlet. Eyes flashing with the thing that Faith wished for as she slowly put distance between them.

Holding hands and words of truth had done nothing to ease a path to recovery, and Buffy was becoming exhausted from the trying. Not only that;

Faith was *really* starting to piss her off.

The two heads that left the basement were both spiralling off in completely different directions. Giles hadn’t expected anything else from Faith, had known that the battle to bring her back towards sane, was going to be a long and hard fought one. He could take her anger and shouts of injustice, he could stand strong in the face of her pain. He had endless age and experience on his side. A lifetime of watching; his own forays into the darker side of good. Yes. Everything that Giles had seen, had assured him that Faith needed help, and that she needed help from someone other than Buffy.

Buffy herself was still feeling the electric flowing currents that ran through her veins, signalling the start of a fight. Expecting more from Faith. Tasting the disappointment. Fighting to shake off a vibe which would see many unfortunate demons perish in the dark streets of LA when the moon eventually rose.

It was the bastardisation of the dream that had Buffy relying on the physical to dictate the new pace of the impending disaster. A dream that Faith had denied when it suited her to, that she had then remembered and twisted to fit the situation when Buffy hadn’t fallen at the first hurdle.

Desire and lust. Something a slayer didn’t shy away from. Something a slayer thrived upon. Buffy had touched that truth, had tasted and revelled in it on those dark nights with Spike. And Faith would not trip her with that hurdle again.

There were no more hurdles. The spiral coming to a halt on the memory of Kennedy’s words. Letting her out.

Buffy had tried to offer forgiveness with friendship. The slayer didn’t know the meaning of such soft words. The slayer wanted to cut the deck and deal with the consequences. The slayer wanted action.

“Buffy..?”

Not hearing concern in words when her thoughts were still raging in the basement, still smashing a way through those bars to fulfil her desire for Faith.

“How do you think that went?”

“Huh?”

Pausing in the daylight of the lobby, catching eyes which tried to soften a feeling.

“With Faith.”

“Are you kidding me? It went the way it always goes. It’s kinda hopeless.”

“On the contrary Buffy, I’d say it was rather fruitful in its outcome. It’s about time you offered Faith some home truths…”

“Home truths? I was thinking more domestic violence; that could help, right?”

“I think it’s admirable that you’re still so concerned with helping her, after all she seems intent on putting you through; but the inability to call her on her past mistakes was becoming…”

“Boring.”

“No Buffy, more tiresome. Faith has to accept what she has done before you can ever hope to have her overcome that period from her past. Letting her forget the part she played was never going to have her looking to find forgiveness.”

“I just thought, I don’t know… I thought we could cut out some of the heartache.”

“And surely you appreciate that life is never that easy.”

Buffy appreciated everything about that. She had more than enough first hand knowledge to make endless complaints about the harshness of life. The harshness of living.

“So what do you suggest Giles, cos all I’m left with is a great big urge to go kill things. Big things. Possibly lots and lots of big things…”

Making him chuckle an amusement that she always looked to provoke in him. Making him glad that the solid stone eyes of a stone solid slayer, were being replaced by the soft eyes of Buffy. Pleased as she sighed the rage from her shoulders, pleased as her own mouth curved up into a smile.

“I suggest that slaying is a great idea. I also suggest that you heed my earlier suggestion about staying away from Faith. For a few days at least…” Ignoring the frown, using his wisdom. “…you provoke an anger in each other that isn’t going to help keep the situation calm. We’ve seen what Xander can do, we’ve seen that Faith *can* do calm and easy. Perhaps you should allow some space for Faith to digest these new…”

“What about the bathroom. What about making sure she’s fed…”

“You said yourself that everyone had ’scurried’ off and left you to deal. Now it’s our turn. I’m sure Kennedy and the girls will be on board, I’m sure that Willow will be eager to help now that the situation isn’t so dismissive of past events.”

“So this is it. You are taking my badge away again.” Her eyes weren’t incriminating him this time, still soft with feeling, turning towards acceptance, ready to receive the help that didn’t sound like instruction. “I’m sitting at the back of the bus.”

“No Buffy. You’re taking a few days break. You’re resting. You’re recuperating from another apocalypse. You’re accepting again that you have friends and we all work best when we work together.”

And where was this Giles last week, when she had been forced to leave her own home with her spirit torn and in tatters..? Buffy didn’t care. She cared only for the words which he had found now, filling the space that Spike had left to rebuild her armour. Offering a belief that they could work this out. That she was strong enough to deal.

“That was quite a rousing speech, Giles - have you been taking notes?”

“I thought you had been taking notes from me…”

Their words easy and light as they walked further away from the basement. As the last of their sounds dripped slowly down the stairs to fall into ears that were eager to hear.

The day had been a revelation for Faith.

She’d had fun times and smiles, she had bantered through breakfast. A glimpse of a past she didn’t like to examine, a glimpse of a future she couldn’t bring herself to imagine.

Easy. It had all felt too easy. And Faith had never had it easy.

The moments which had fired Faith’s soul, which had helped to reseal the fractures which ripped into her own flailing spirit; were the moments spent with Buffy. Close contact. Hard hitting one on one. Everything that she had felt the urges for. Everything that her body screamed it needed.

Howling screams. Painful screams. Close enough to breathe her breaths, close enough to feel the anger as it had pulsated harsh from her body. So tight. So close. Wrapping around every thought, blackening every need to find peace.

Faith had never been too frigid to put words to her feelings. Desire and lust, the thrill of the kill. She had always been too frigid, too rigid, to look for the softness behind the desire. To recognise the feeling behind the force.

A smile hardened her snarl as she heard them walk away with a lightness that her step had never been blessed with. Buffy could play soft, Buffy could hide behind the fucked up façade of good girls and niceness; but Faith had seen. And Faith knew.

Buffy was ready to give her everything she needed. Everything she wanted. All that she desired. Buffy was ready to get in the game.

Words which had filled Faith’s mind as the sun had set, that had placated her blood lust to hunt and to kill. To make a mockery of evil, to turn badness into dust.

Everything that Buffy was doing. Marching hell bent through the streets on a mission of destruction. Vampire? Dust. Demon? Dead. She wasn’t bantering out her frustrations, she was placating a blood lust of her own. Something that Faith had called out in her, something that Faith had always called out in her. The slayer.

Faster. Stronger. Bigger. Better. Loving the feel of the words as she sliced the scythe through badness after badness… as she showed Faith what was truly better about being them. About being chosen. No matter she couldn’t see, no matter she stayed caged beneath a building; this display was all for Faith.

Every monster slain a reminder to Buffy that *she* was not the monster. Willow’s words held sway. Faith had forced her hand. She hadn’t wanted to do it. Faith had made her do it.

More excuses for murder when it wasn’t Faith doing the murdering.

And Buffy couldn’t help the laugh that carried her aching arms through the doors to The Hyperion sometime close to the middle of the night. She really did want to get with the feel of superiority, really did want to step back and let Giles rein in the one that she had wanted to hold onto. She couldn’t dismiss the feelings though. Couldn’t stand scared behind words which had been earned through experience.

Desire and lust. A slayer thrived on them. She crafted them and made them tools in her artillery. Weapons to be wielded. A long hard slay inspired both, demanded both. A release of the feeling, an outlet for tension. Eyes which couldn’t help but fall onto the screen as it flickered light in the darkness. So tempted, so needing… go below, release the tension. Release Faith and ride the consequences.

Wanting to engage that fire again, wanting to stoke the still glowing embers.

As she approached the counter to retrieve the keys to the cage, her eyes caught the movement that the screen projected. The speakers projected the sound that the screen produced. Words.

And Buffy sat down. And Buffy watched and Buffy waited. Waiting to see who was with Faith, who had her speaking in calm tones against the backdrop of Buffy’s pent up feelings.

Nostrils flaring, pupils dilating. Urges rising.

Angel.

Chapter Twelve.

It took more than a moment for Buffy to comprehend what it was that she was seeing. Every other feeling that she had been seeking to repress, every other problem which had been ripping at the tattered frays of her unravelling mind; here. There. Before her on the screen. Doing nothing to relieve her tension, nothing to stop the electricity prickling at every inch of skin which covered every inch of straining muscle. Stretched taut and tight, tense with desire.

Angel.

And what the hell?

Had she not told him, had she not explicitly warned him about journeying back into her space? Had her eyes not shone dark enough, had he not felt the sharpness of her pointed words? Obviously not. Because if he had, then surely he wouldn’t be downstairs now.

That tone of placation echoing with the turning of the volume knob, the slow steadiness of his words which sought to soothe even the deepest of cuts. Which caused the deepest of cuts. Offering comfort to Faith, when all he had done for Buffy, was to take her comfort away.

The warrior within wanted to rise up and strike out her vengeance. Wanted to inflict the same level of hurting that she was right now experiencing, wanted to destroy the chance of ever again suffering any further hurt. The warrior was strong and single minded. The warrior was still feeling the call of the bloodlust. The scythe residing with ease in her grasp, the breaths that flowed with deep determination from her lips.

And if everything about Buffy had been exposed in the personification of the warrior, then the morning would have welcomed a basement decorated in blood, lust and dust. But Buffy Summers was so much more than the sum of her parts, she was so much more than what destiny had determined her to be. She had control of a different kind; discipline and restraint. Years spent learning her craft, years spent learning the ways to silence the urging. The mantra that had always held her in good stead.

No.

That one word denial of everything that screamed inside for release, every dark desire that would creep unbidden to throw her from her path. Buffy Summers was not a small insignificant slice of the slayer though, the slayer was that small slice of Buffy. Some would argue the most important part; the part which held and wielded the power, the part which had saved the world on umpteen occasions. Those that knew her though, those that had crept close enough to learn of the woman inside; they would argue that the most important part was the part that wasn’t hidden from the view of the outside world during the hours of daylight. The exact opposite.

None of her friends would have been surprised as she had sat down composed in front of the screen. None of them would have been taken aback by the ease with which she had pushed the scythe away from her body, across the desk, out of striking distance.

Buffy Summers was indeed one hell of a slayer. More importantly, in the words of a past observer; Buffy Summers was one hell of a woman.

As the time ticked by, it was hard for Buffy to steady her hands. At first counting off the minutes, and then - as the minutes had stretched into long past an hour- simply fussing at a hang nail which had been caused somewhere in amongst the slayage of the last two evenings. Just another war wound. Her ears not fussing on anything except the words that they had been hearing. So many words to hear.

The hurtful and hateful kind. The kind which could break a heart.

Buffy had believed that somewhere beneath all of the layers of Faith, existed the girl who had held her hands in freedom, who had met her smile with a smile as they danced carefree and unbound under the lights of the Bronze. The unrestrained force that had made her believe in so much more than just the solitude of duty.

Over the last three days her opinion had swung steadily back and forth - one minute believing that the girl still resided inside, and then in the next, wanting nothing more than to break down the barriers and destroy all that had sought to destroy the girl.

And now..?

Now she just wanted Angel to speed his long dead ass up the stairs and give her the answers that she demanded. Reaching forward to quiet the screen, ignoring the hangnail as something else had demanded the attention of the mind that wanted to fuss.

“Buffy.”

Oh yes. Turning to meet and to greet. “Angel.” Eyes emotionless. “What are you doing here?”

“Last I checked, this was still my building.”

“Last I checked, I told you to stay out of my way. Which part of that do you need me to clarify?”

She silently repeated the resounding no, as her fingers itched to reach out and regain the scythe. Perfect for dusting vamps, perfect for performing her duty. Trying to focus on the reality behind the present situation; that Angel had always meant much more to her than just fragments of dust.

“I only came to see Faith.”

“I got that. You’re quite the conversationalist, aren’t you?”

“You were listening?”

“Hard not to, I always was a sucker for the deep and meaningful. I think my favourite part was where you told her that her rage was justified… I mean, there was me trying to get her to quit the rage, then you come along and make it all A-OK to wanna carve me up into tiny little pieces. Kinda crazy, huh?”

“It wasn’t like that…”

“Or maybe my favourite part was where you told her that she really doesn’t belong in a cage - oh wait, no, that surely loses out to the soul soaring moment where you told her that you could help make her life better. Seriously Angel, were you always this full of crap?”

Buffy couldn’t help but feel justified in the vilification of her former love. She had sat and she had listened to every uttering that he had offered to Faith; had sunk down in the chair as she had witnessed Faith rising, and she had seethed inside as she witnessed their connection.

“You don’t understand what she’s going through.”

“Sure I do. Faith’s woken up and realised that every bad thing she has ever done is still waiting here to haunt her. Now she wants an easy way out, she wants her payback… how am I doing?”

Angel offering no answer as Buffy stalked her way closer to his position. Rounding the counter, minimising the distance.

“She wants to play the fantasy where it’s all my fault that her life is still severely of the lacking. What is it she said - she won’t be happy until she sees me ‘flayed, splayed and kissing her ass in hell.’ - Kinda touching, right?”

“She’s angry.”

“Join the club.”

Because Buffy had anger. Just looking for a target, somewhere to find some release.

“You locked her in a cage Buffy, did you really expect that you’d get different results - that she wouldn’t crave her revenge?”

“She was trying to smash my skull in! What did you want me to do; offer her cookies?”

It brought about a standoff, a moment when neither could find any other words to say - her eyes trying to understand why he hadn’t taken her side, his eyes only wondering how to make it better. How to regain what he had lost.

“You know that she wants to come with me?”

“Of course she does Angel - you’re head of Evil Incorporated - what wouldn’t appeal to her?”

“It’s not like that. She just wants a chance, the opportunity to start over…”

“She wants the easy option! She wants a room with a view and a Playstation 2! God, I can’t believe this. Please tell me you didn’t fall for her crap, that you didn’t buy into her whole, redemption will be my mission, nonsense.”

“She said that she wants to try - is that really so hard to believe?”

Yes. It really was. Because Buffy had seen. And Buffy knew. There was no way to dismiss the stares that had intruded upon her soul in those moments down below with Faith. No way for Buffy to believe that everything Faith desired was anything other than her own demise. The eyes that had always looked to seduce her with something that felt so dangerous and wrong. Every one of the words that she had just eavesdropped upon seeming dangerous and wrong.

“Faith doesn’t want to try. She wants revenge. You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

“Then I’m a fool, Buffy. I’ve been where Faith’s been, I’ve walked the same path…”

“And just look at you now! Hardly a glowing reference, is it?” She couldn’t care for the sadness that flashed through his eyes at her words. She meant every single one of them. “You may have chosen the path to all evil, Angel, but I’ll be damned if you think I’m letting Faith go with you.”

“It isn’t your choice.”

“And you think that it’s yours?”

“No. It’s Faith’s choice, her decision. Whatever you choose to believe Buffy; we are doing good here, we’re making a difference. We can help Faith, we can offer her what she needs.”

“Oh really?” Her skin instantly prickling, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Imagining the worst. Remembering the image. Him and her. Her and him. No matter that it had only been a ruse, a double crossing tactic - the unbearable ache had always remained the same. “And what exactly would that be?”

“Space. Distance. A chance to clear her head.”

Okay. Maybe not what she was expecting. Confusing the thought process, missing the obvious. “Distance from what?”

“From you.”

“From me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t know?”

Skin prickling in a different way. Thoughts confused in a different way. “Don’t mess with me Angel, I’m not in the mood to be messed with right now.”

Grabbing for anger instead. Not prepared to examine his words in the cold light of a dawning day, to state the obvious in the starkness of the hotel lobby.

And if only he would cooperate.

“You can’t pretend to me Buffy that you don’t know what this is all about? Surely you’ve realised…”

“I told you already what this is about! She wants revenge and she wants payback. She wants me dead, she wants me buried, and she wants to dance a jig on top of my grave! Don’t try twisting this, don’t pretend I didn’t hear all of her pretty little words…”

So close to the violence that her soul craved. Grabbing so tight to that anger. “…she’s the one that’s psycho! This has nothing to do with me!”

“It has everything to do with you.”

Release.

Her fist flying as if of its own volition. Connecting hard and true. Denying the sound of the truth.

And sometimes it was so damn hard - being the one hell of a woman. Perhaps it was the hardest fight of all. The absolute control needed as she breathed in a breath to urge the anger away. As she looked down on Angel with a need to destroy everything that she knew he could seek to say.

Another breath taken. Another battle won.

“Sorry.” Stepping down. Offering out a hand, pulling him back to his feet. “I forget my own strength sometimes.”

“I might take longer to forget.”

“Sorry.” Anger replaced with exhaustion. With a slump to the shoulders that was accompanied by a soulful sigh. Not caring in the moment if Angel had set up shop with the devil himself. “I didn’t mean to do that. I just… I…“

Just ready to break. Lost at sea and looking for a light; for her beacon in the dark. His arms offered easily, his shoulders still so perfect to rest her weight upon.

“Come on, it’s okay. It didn’t even hurt.”

An unexpected break from the turmoil.

“You’re just saying that.”

“Maybe. But then you are drooling on my shoulder - I’ll say anything to stem the flow.”

“You sure know how to perk up a girl.”

“You called me evil.”

“I didn’t call you evil, I called you head of Evil Incorporated - there is a difference, right?”

“I hope that you know that.”

Ending the respite she had found in his arms. Pulling her head back, pulling herself back. “I hope it’s the truth.”

“You used to trust me Buffy. You can’t trust me now?”

Recalling in a second every moment spent, every minute when she had felt assured that he was her champion. That he would always be at her side. “I want to Angel, I do - it’s just hard. Everything about this seems so wrong, it doesn’t make sense to me. They’re evil - why would you work with them?”

“We’re not working with them.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“We’re not.”

“You’re not? So what? It’s a double cross, a Trojan horse?”

“Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. What better way to bring down a beast, than from inside its own belly?”

And without anger tainting her view, it did make more sense than Angel turning evil and the whole of the LA crew selling out to the underworld. A lot more sense. And if only she had been prepared to listen sooner… to quiet her rage and give him the chance to explain.

If she had been asked in that moment, Buffy Summers would have probably ascertained that she could be one hell of an ass.

“Do you really think you can do it though? You don’t think that they’ll be expecting a betrayal? - that this is their way of keeping their own enemies closer?”

“Probably. But that’s the fun part; outsmarting them. Taking them down when they least expect it. We know it won’t be easy but we’re willing to give it a shot. We’re still the good guys Buffy, we’re still fighting on your side.”

She accepted the silence that he offered to digest the information; mapping out the floor with heavy pacing, re-finding that place where things were often painted in greys, where nothing was ever quite as easy as good versus evil. Maybe not believing that this was such a good plan, that they could make it work - but finding herself believing in his intentions. Finally producing a smile.

“Okay - I still think you’re all crazy for going through with this; but I’m much less with the wanting to stake you now.”

“There’s a relief.” She followed his direction as he pointed to the scythe laying easy on the counter. As he raised his eyebrow in memory of Caleb. “I remember what you can do with that thing when you’re feeling frisky.”

“Hey! I was never gonna use that on you!”

“Not even a little?”

And now the eyebrows raised to tease her into another smile.

“Maybe just a little. But I never would’ve, you know - between the legs.” A smile that she kept as they made their way to sit down, as they approached the subject that was Angel’s sole reason for being there. Faith. Gradually dampening down, gradually losing the sparkle. Knowing that he was waiting for her to speak the words - but still not knowing the words.

“What do you expect me to say, Angel?”

“I don’t expect anything from you. I want you to say that you’ll let her come with me - with us. She needs to get away from this Buffy - not just you - all of this. Everything that she remembers as bad.”

“And that’ll help? That’ll make a difference?”

“I can’t promise anything, but I believe so, yes. It’s too much for her here; locked up by you, kept prisoner by you. There’s going to be no chance for Faith to see past her anger when it’s staring her straight in the face every day.”

She wouldn’t have had the energy left to argue with him even if she hadn’t found renewed trust in what it was that he was saying. Only having the energy left to sigh out acceptance - to meet his eyes with a slight nod. To signal agreement.

“Where would you take her? When?”

“Tonight at sunset. We’ll take her to my place. It’s not perfect, but for now it will do. Wes can have the Shamen perform a binding spell, confine her to my quarters. We’ll assess her from there, decide what happens next…”

“And she’ll be safe?”

“Of course she’ll be safe Buffy.”

“Right. Of course she will.” Wishing she could think of an objection, still feeling the need to not let go. To not give in. “What about visits? Will I be able to see her?”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Well it’s not terrible. I can keep her up to date on what she’s missing, remind her of the fun we used to have before she went crazy…”

She caught his look. Wanted to ignore it. “What? There was fun! Maybe hidden beneath a constant need to kill each other, but there was still fun…”

Trailing off as his look never changed.

“I know you want to help her Buffy - I do understand - but this time you can’t help. These aren’t your demons to slay.”

“I can’t do anything?”

“You can stay away. If you really want to help, if you really want Faith to have a chance, then stay away.”

“But…”

But what?

Her throat aching with the need to give the truth a voice. To finally free the reasons that were never spoken out loud - to at last accept the one reality which kept her bound and tied to the bond of a chosen two. Only the words would not come. She was still not brave enough to lay herself bare in the starkness of a hotel lobby. The feelings were still enough to scare her.

“No buts Buffy, at least not for now.”

Another sigh. Another nod.

One hell of a slayer. One hell of a woman. One hell of an ass.

As Buffy bid farewell to Angel and made her way up the stairs to the safety of her bedroom, the only thing that she felt like was one hell of a coward. Agreeing to let go of Faith - just like that. No word of protest, no hint of a fight.

And she hated being a coward. She refused.

Below Buffy, in the bowels of the building, there was another refusal being made. Another slayer inert with exhaustion, another mind wrapped up and held prisoner by the words of the last few hours. So many words. All words that she absolutely refused to have any belief in.

Why would she believe?

Her inbuilt fears only confounded as Angel had made his silent walk down the stairs to her cage; reeling back in fear as she had realised how vulnerable she was - a sitting duck. An immobile target.

“It’s okay Faith, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

Forgetting the bars as he had stepped closer, hugging the walls with a desperate need to flee. To escape.

“I’m here to help.”

It had been priceless. The angles of her prison remaining the same yet the angle for her escape changing within that second. She had still hugged her body close to the walls, had still kept up a charade of panic; but inside she had stilled. Had begun a slow count to infinity as his voice had launched itself into one of his soothing monologues.

Darkness, darkness, evil, evil. Rage, pain, death and destruction.

Very soothing.

Her smirk only growing as he had filled her in on what it was that was happening with her. As he had shared his great understanding of what she was forced to go through, to live with. Imitating the call of the darkness, dulcet tones deepened as he had dropped his voice to talk about demons.

And Faith’s demons had howled. Had ridiculed heartily the half-breed stood before them. Taunting him with hated words about his precious Buffy - detailing with sick delight all the nasty little things that she wanted to do to his girl. So many nasty little things.

All met by silence.

The confidence slowly seeping away as he had forced her to fill all of the voids alone, as he had found an even better way to return her taunting. Just watching. Just waiting. Vampire eyes not needing to blink out an ofference of even a second where she wasn’t confined by his gaze.

No nasty things left. Every sadistic twist spoken, every dark desire painted with the colourful words of her venom soaked vocabulary. And then silence. No comebacks. No slurs. No pointed fingers and accusations of guilt.

It had left nothing for Faith to rile against. Had left her only confused by the lack of rage, by the lack of screaming that was filling her head. Leaving it empty.

“I understand Faith. Let me help you?”

And then that. His words. And how could she believe?

No matter in that moment that her spirit had calmed, that she was experiencing a moment of almost peace - how could she believe?

This was Angel. Not her saviour, not her hero. Buffy’s. And that was why she wouldn’t believe, and that was when the silence had ended. Remembering angles, remembering the changing shape of her prison.

Faith had done the only thing she knew how. She had gotten back in the game. Had sucked it up, breathed it out. Back in the saddle and ready to roll.

“Can you get me out of here?”

Spoken like a pro.

Freedom finally in sight as he had nodded an affirmative, as he had settled closer to the bars and offered the hand of friendship. Forcing herself to listen to his words, forcing her eyes to mimic regret as he had walked her through all of the things which she had to repent for, that she had to face up to.

“Anything Angel… I just need to get out of here. I can’t… fuck, you don’t know what it’s like having to see Buffy all the time. I try and get myself chilled out, get my fucking head straight - but all I see is her. All I fucking hear, is her.”

She had even mimicked tear drenched eyes as she had whispered to him the deceit of her dream. Twisting the sequence so she could tell a tale of how Buffy had dragged her down into hell - pleading with him to help her find a way out. Something different.

Redemption.

Even now as she sat reviewing the outcome of the evening therapy session, she couldn’t believe how soft a target he had been. How gullible he had seemed as she had spoken her need for salvation. It was adding more ticks to the unbelievable column. Those parts of her that wanted to believe in his words being forced down and conquered by the years of mistrust and enforced survival.

There was no fucking way he was on the level. No fucking way that this wasn’t some new ploy by Buffy to have her on her knees and begging to play second string again.

No. Fucking. Way.

She refused to believe it. Easier instead to settle her mind with thoughts of escape. Planning her tastes of freedom as methodically as she wished to plan her taste of Buffy. Those nasty little things again. The taste of her fear, the taste of her pain.

Faith wanted to drown in it.

A smirk settling as daylight had started to dawn. Eyes closing. Her breaths steadying and deepening as sleep had consumed her as easily as all of her thoughts of Buffy. Dreams intruding. Peace beckoning.

Drowning in it.

Chapter Thirteen

The morning came as the morning always did; with confusion, with hurt, with pain and with suffering. Nothing softly, softly enough to break through the reality which still ripped at her side, nothing ever close to strong enough to break through the fear induced fog that ate at her mind. Sweat pooling, eyes drooling. Tears beaten back by the bitterness that called for her eyes to open. To look and to see, to remember the situation she was being forced to feel… locked in a cage, still trapped in her rage.

“Morning Faith.”

Eyes closing again. Greeting the morning was always the least favourite part of any day. Not only since she had woken to find that her life had been held hostage by the pause button, but before that… since…

“I know you’re awake.”

And ignorance is bliss.

Only recognising the truth that to have *her* calling her forth to a brand new day, was the worst that it could be. Distorted dreams drawn out by the tone in her voice, dreams distorted as Faith tried to remember what was the truth and what was the lie. What was then and what was now. What was today.

She ignored the silence that made the basement uncomfortable and lay in a peace that allowed her to reconvene the madness. Remembering how to snarl, remembering how to scowl. Remembering that a smile could be so much more effective when it was Buffy she was trying to affect.

“What’s this B, you come to kiss me goodbye?”

Exhausted from the process. Her shoulders steeling as she lifted herself up, as she turned to face the one that made her feel less with a mask that made her feel more. Made her feel in control.

“I want to talk.”

“I want a pony… never did get it.”

“It’s time to cut through the crap, Faith. It’s crazy, I know, but I really thought I’d be able to help you… I really wanted to help you.” A sigh. Not sure who from. Eyes lifting, meeting green. Look away. Stay safe. “We need to talk.”

Need.

Something that grabbed her attention. Something that could always make her laugh when it fell from Buffy’s lips. Buffy didn’t know need. She didn’t know want. She knew nothing.

“Got nothing to say.”

“You had plenty to say last night.”

“Last night? Don’t have a clue what you’re talking ‘bout B.”

“Angel?”

“Oh - right. Soul dude. My saviour. He give you the low down on the sitch… tell you how he’s busting me out of the cage?”

“I didn’t need the low down.”

Faith disagreed. Buffy had always needed something low down. Something to knock the edge off the perfection. Not yet knowing why she hadn’t needed it last night though, if Buffy had gained the gift of telepathy in the four years that had shot past in a blur of nothing.

She offered an expression which showed she didn’t have a fucking clue what was being said, her eyes directed to take the route to the ceiling. To look up towards a heaven when she had only kept her gaze trapped in the direction which led to hell. The camera mounted high up on the wall. The red light blinking out its eagerness to share secrets.

“I was watching you. I heard everything.”

And that knocked her for a moment. Knocked her hard. A speeding rewind which tried to remember everything that had been said; which of her secrets may have been stolen.

“If I knew you were watching B, I would’ve put on a show. Never really took ya for the kinky type.” Leering out a way to cover her confusion. Her arms reaching up, her chest jutting out. “You always play the peeping Tom?”

“I’m not playing. I’m through with games… with all of this. I heard everything you said to Angel, I heard everything that he said to you… now I just want to know why?”

“Why what?”

“Why me, Faith?”

It made her eyes flit back down, made her shoulders ache with the effort of staying disinterested. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“That makes two of us.” Her feet creeping backwards as Buffy had sought to step forward. “I stayed up all night after Angel left - going over what you said, all the different ways that you want to see me hurting - and it got me thinking; what did I ever do to you that was so damn bad…”

“You gutted me.”

“No - that’s not it. The gutting - which I hasten to add was so not a gutting - came after the hate, Faith. I tried to pin it down… tried to remember exactly when it was that you decided to want me dead…”

“Moment I met you.”

“Liar.”

A killer and a liar?

“We were close. I remember that, so I know that you remember. And it keeps going back to that night in the alley…”

“Yeah? I spent lots of nights in alleys, ain’t nothing special there B. Now seriously; this shit is really starting to irritate… can’t you just fuck off or something? Find someone else to torture?”

Another step taken back. No way that eyes were gonna be meeting anything other than the comics on the floor. Bending down to retrieve the nearest… turning her back. Denying the sound that wouldn’t stop coming.

“You know exactly which night Faith. And I keep going over it - what I could have done differently, what part of it was my fault - and do you know what I’ve finally figured out?”

Just looking at the pretty pictures.

“It wasn’t my fault. I don’t know how you’ve got it spun in your head, I don’t know what it is that you think you remember… but I tried my best. All I wanted was to help you… all I wanted…”

“Bullshit.”

And Buffy also knew when to take the silent option. When to stop taking those steps which had brought her closer and closer to the cage. When to drop her own eyes to shield herself from the hatred that had spun suddenly round to attack.

“All you ever fucking wanted was to be the golden girl! To be the number one chosen, top of the heap slayer… I saw that look in your eyes… scared my shit was gonna stain you… scared you’d be dragged down…”

“No.”

“Fuck no! Fucking yes! I saw it B. You came to MY room, my fucking space, and you called me a killer. You don’t like the consequences, well ain’t that a pity?”

Space recovered. All of that old pain uncovered.

“All of this Faith, because I called you a name?”

Yet it felt like a lie. It tasted like a lie. Like a cover. Like more camouflage. No answer to a question which offered to reduce everything she was feeling to some pointless level of patheticness.

“You were like the tin man from Oz, refusing to feel. Not caring. Not even wanting to talk about it, to mention anything. All I wanted… I don’t know… I didn’t want any of this Faith. I never meant any of this.”

Nothing but silence and stares and bitterness.

“I was scared.”

She was scared?

“Faith?”

Scared. It was laughable. Buffy had been scared? She had been fucking terrified.

“Fine. Keep the silence. I can talk enough for both of us.” Hands lifting to settle on the bars. So close. “I’ve had years to think through all of this, and believe me Faith, I’ve thought about it more than you’ll ever know - possibly too much. But the thing that gets me, that single stick out moment that I just don’t understand - if you hated me so much, if all you wanted was me dead… then why did you save me?”

Save her?

It had the subterfuge of the comic forgotten for the moment, had her eyes lifting to meet Buffy’s whether she wanted them to or not. A confused look. A questioning look.

“At the docks Faith. Why not just leave me to die?”

Oh.

“Well?”

And did she know the answer to that?

“Because to me it doesn’t make sense, it makes less than sense. I could have been dead, you could have been gone…”

“I guess I fucked up. I won’t do it again.”

That buzzing starting in the back of her brain, the buzz that reminded her of all the things she would never have, would never be. Like a rattlesnake sliding tight around her mind, squeezing out everything that argued the way to make sense, silencing anything that didn’t ring out with words of familiarity. “Maybe I saved you, so I could kill you?”

“You really believe that?”

“It’s what I fucking said isn’t it? Jesus B, you think any of this shit even matters to me…? I made one stupid mistake and you treated me worse than a fucking leper… I knew how it was gonna go, I knew that first moment you came to my room how it was gonna go.”

“I tried…”

“No, you never tried. I’ll tell you what you did, what you do…” Her focus redirected as if the comics had never existed. Stalking back towards the bars, her eyes squinting shut to remember what it was she was seeing, who it was she was seeing. “…the only reason you were scared is cos you knew I was right. You were sailing close to that feeling B, I saw it in you… fuck, I felt it in you, and you couldn’t deal with that. You had to make me bad, just so you could get back to being Miss Goody Fucking Two Shoes. You were so fucking smug B, so fucking glad that it was my mistake…”

It was washing over her like every other time she had paused on the memory; the self righteous bullshit, the virtue that just couldn’t bear to be tainted. “…you caged it back then just like you’ve caged me now. It’s what you do B. All your tidy boxes for all of your untidy feelings…”

“That’s crap.”

Buffy’s voice coming to her hard and disaffected. Buffy’s hands clenching tighter round the bars. So affected

“No, you’re crap. At least I fucking know what I am, what the fuck it is that I want!”

Contact.

Her hands reaching out to wrap so damn tight around Buffy’s, grinding their palms against the bars, holding her hostage with the closest thing to the truth she had ever managed to say. Breathing ragged. Eyes electric.

“What do you want Faith..?”

Confusion. The allusion of skin beneath hers so close to all that she wanted. Holding tighter.

“What do you want?”

The illusion denied.

“I want you to fuck off. I want you to die.”

Her words making Buffy’s hands begin a struggle beneath her own. Urging on her madness, urging on the need to free the pain.

“Let go.”

No release.

“What? Think you can send your fucking boy toy down here and soften me up with salvation..? You think I give a shit about salvation?! The only thing I want B, is you gone. The only thing I ever wanted was you…”

“Gone?”

“Fuck off!”

Those eyes truly tormenting her now that she’d found the strength to hold them. The green not reeling back in fear, the hands no longer struggling. Something different. Something more. A softness… a moment… more bullshit…

Hands torn away. Fingers clawing through her hair as if she could rip apart all of the thoughts. All of the things which crashed down on her from every single angle. Every whisper which taunted, every touch that…

“I know the game you’re playing Faith. I know it’s all crap…”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know what I’ve seen. I know what I heard.” She watched as Buffy’s eyes again flitted up to the camera on the wall, understood the insinuation that none of her moments caged had been moments spent in privacy. “I saw you Faith. I saw you cry.”

And she heard the words. The greatest blow that Buffy would ever deal. Greater than any knife to the gut, harsher than any jagged cut, deeper than anything which could be produced by something sharp and ornamental. This was fundamental. This was attacking a reality that Faith could not bear to have attacked, this was calling her on something which she would never stand to admit.

She was not weak. She did not cry.

“No you didn’t.”

Her voice softer. Her eyes darker. Memories of every tear that had fallen all of those years ago, imaginings of every tear that would have fallen in the intermission. “I don’t do tears, B. I don’t fucking cry.”

Yet her voice sounded like all it wanted to do was cry. Like all it had ever wanted to do was cry.

“I saw you.”

“You saw shit.”

Stepping back. Further back. Shadows welcomed to hide the things that she feared she couldn’t hide; not daring to show the truth. Not daring to feel the truth. Her truth resided in that place where tears were all wasted, in a life that had never gotten anywhere by feeling sorry for herself. Another excuse to be beaten down, another excuse to be made less. She didn’t cry. She was not weak.

“Just fuck off B.”

“Is that what you really want?”

Because somehow Buffy understood that this was it. This was the final throw of the dice, the final chance to make anything about this different. The final chance for her to hang onto Faith. To not be a coward.

Daring to step forward again, daring to let her eyes unmask every ounce of torn emotion. The confusion, the disillusion, the thousand things that she didn’t understand. The things that had kept her returning to Faith when she wasn’t even there. When all she’d had was a shell to hold onto, a memory to cling to. Not caring if her own eyes shone with tears, not caring if she wasted the notion on Faith. It felt like a last chance.

The last chance.

“Is this what you want?”

A gentle nudging. A gentle voice.

“Yes.”

A gentle answer.

It was with trembling fingers that Willow reached out to turn off the small screen that had just sought to shatter the fragile peace of the early morning. The recognition harsh as she forced her brain to order the thoughts. The understanding harsher as she realised where it was that those thoughts were taking her.

Not frivolous thoughts - suspicions founded in an ever meandering mind - but solid thoughts. Rational thoughts. The kind of thoughts that appealed whole heartedly to the logical side of Willow.

The truth.

Played out before her in a black and white montage that could never mute the colourful array of emotions which filtered steadily through the speakers. First the violence. The thing that she had come to expect - the foul mouthed outbursts - the twisted face that seemed stuck in a scowl. But then…

Willow didn’t quite know how to describe the then. The captivation that she had been held with as everything had seemed to quiet, as her breath was held through the accusation of tears, as her sigh was released on the gentleness of Buffy’s words. The pleading in Buffy’s voice. She did know how it had made her feel though, she did remember the sounds of a heart breaking. She understood everything that it meant.

And she despised the understanding.

For years Willow had found her comfort zone in dismissing the random moments of clarity that had urged her to take a closer look at the dynamics between the warring slayers. Her first kiss with a girl pushing her to acknowledge her first attraction to a girl. To consider the real source of her hostile feelings towards Faith. To recognise what it was that she had truly been jealous of.

And all of it dismissed as the overworked imagination of Willow-brain.

Chastising herself heavily for such silly thoughts. Reassuring herself heartily that any fleeting attraction to Buffy was grounded in a deep admiration for the woman who was her best friend. Reminding herself that Faith was evil - that it was never anything to do with… what? Love?

Absolutely not! No freaking beeping way mister!

Except that she had seen it. Had felt it. And even the steepest of her denials was being overcome by the tremors which still shook her body. Assuring herself she had cracked the code - deciphered the text.

Yet she didn’t feel flush with the triumph; she felt decidedly sick.

Sliding herself into the shadows as Buffy had crossed the lobby before her, hiding the distaste which shone in her eyes as dark as any forbidden magic.

Willow simply could not bear the thought of Buffy and Faith.

It was something which hit far too close to home, uncovered way too many feelings that had been successfully smothered and doused by time. By a welcome coma.

So, so easy to feel seventeen again, to feel all of that same hurt and rejection again. It all clouded anything which urged Willow to hold back. Dismissing the intervening years of maturity and understanding. Darkening her eyes, darkening her intentions.

Finally directing her feet to take the stairs to the basement and welcome back Faith.

The desolate slayer was not expecting the sound of footsteps on the stairs again so soon after Buffy had left. She did not want to hear the sound of footsteps - of anything. The gentleness in Buffy’s voice disarming all of the defences she had spent years crafting as protection - the look in Buffy’s eyes doing everything to force forward questions that held more than enough power to topple the whole of her belief system.

“All I wanted was to help you…”

The softness of the skin beneath her hands as she had sought to hold Buffy a prisoner. The electricity that had sparked from the touch only enhancing the steady beat of Buffy, Buffy, Buffy which still infected her maddening mind. Only not so mad. Not in that moment.

And that was wrong. Faith was the affecter, not the affected. She was the player not the played. It was her turn to come out on top. It had to finally be her turn. So sick of being at the bottom. Belonging at the bottom.

It had made the soft skin burn. Had branded her in places that she did not ever wish to be branded. That one word mantra of destruction seeming so useless in comparison to the one word mantra of her…

“Is this what you want?”

God. So gentle.

Thump, thump, thump. Buffy, Buffy, Buffy.

Is that what she wanted?

Faith knew enough to know that every want of hers was drenched in the crimson stains of bloodshed. Knew enough to know that her soul was tainted in ways which could never stand up to gentleness. Could never bear to be encased in softness. Was it what she really wanted?

It was what she needed.

Anything to stop the thumping of her heart. Anything to stop the relentless chanting that had followed her footsteps so steadily down into hell.

No. The footsteps on the stairs had not been a welcome intrusion. The hollow words that had echoed against the dingy walls returning her thoughts quickly back to the present. The past. Another unwanted reunion.

“Hello Faith.”

As hard as nails. As welcoming as an acid bath. Inviting the smirk to find a place on her face, twisting her lips to mimic with gusto the red head’s obvious distaste.

“What do you want?”

“Aw - that’s not very nice. Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

Willow’s tone of voice did not induce pleasure. Faith could remember so well the Willow of yesteryear; the pathetic excuse of a creature that she had sought to torment at every turn. She did not recognise the confidence. The power that radiated so menacingly in the former eyes of uncertainty.

“Guessing you’re not here to play nice with the psycho Red, so how about we skip past the pleasantries and you tell me what the fuck you are doing here?”

“Oooh - someone’s all touchy. Anyone would think you were feeling a little threatened Faith. Does it feel good?”

And she was the crazy one?

“Look, I dunno what your deal is - don’t really care what your deal is - but I’m not in the mood for this shit. Either get to the point or…”

“Shut up.”

Huh?

“You’re right Faith, I’m not here for pleasantries; there’s nothing pleasant about sharing space with you again. This is more of a… hmmm, what shall we call it? A ‘friendly’ warning?”

The question didn’t ask for an answer. It only produced silence. No quick retort issuing itself from Faith’s lips, no scathing comeback to wipe the smile from Willow’s face.

“Everyone else may be rushing to find the friendship with you again - but I don’t know - I guess I just don’t trust you. You see Faith, Buffy’s not the only one that’s been keeping an eye on our new best friend. I’ve been observing the little lab rat too - and really? You’re just the same as you used to be. Skanky on the outside… skankier on the inside…”

“Fuck you.”

“No chance. I don’t do skanks.”

The seething hatred mirrored in both girls eyes. Willow peering with an intensity that left Faith feeling far too exposed. Naked. A rawness about her need to inflict violence, to control the situation with the only power she knew she possessed. Her hands again gripping tight to the bars, screaming inside with a need to break, to shatter…

“There’s really no point in trying to get out. You could never break through the magic, Faith. I’m way stronger than you are.”

Her hands burning with the effort.

“Just stay in the cage where you belong, and listen to what I have to say. Oh - you should probably try and pay attention to this part too, I’d hate to have to show you what I’m really capable of.”

God was there hate. A different hate. The strongest hate. When Faith had found herself facing off against Buffy it had all been edged with an intensity that fed something deep in her soul - this was something which strangled her soul.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“That’s pretty simple, even for you. I want you out of our lives, I want you gone. I don’t ever wanna hear from you, see you… actually, I’d like to pretend that you never existed…”

“You think I wanna see you?”

Watching that smile trace the strawberry lips. The air seeming heavier with the glint that shone in the evil eyes of a jealous green.

“I guess not Faith, but that’s the thing - I don’t mean me.”

“Huh?”

“Buffy.”

That word again. The shaker of her beliefs.

“I don’t want you near her. I want you out of this cage and gone from her life. And I mean for good this time. No death and destruction, no psychotic grabs at revenge - this is it. Game over…”

Words. Just words. A pointless stream of noise which prickled at her senses as it crept across the space to find her ears. Had she not already just covered this ground? Had she not just issued her own plea of ‘stay away’, to the woman herself?

It made her eyebrows lose the scowl and settle instead in confusion - taking her own time to peer just a little bit closer - letting her own eyes seek out the truth behind the empty flow of words.

“Back up there, Red.” Interrupting the endless stream to issue a few soundbites of her own. “For someone that thinks she knows what she’s talking about, you sure spout a lot of pointless bullshit.”

Finding a smile.

“You really think I wanna see Buffy? Are you completely fucking insane?”

Enjoying the silence that answered her question. “If you have been watching the show, then you know that ain’t the case. I mean, sure - not gonna be upset if she dies a horrible death anytime soon - but I want away from her. I’m done with this shit, with all of you. I’ll tell ya Red, my life’s never been nothing to sing about, but it was a whole lot fucking better before I came to Sunnydale. Before I met your precious Buffy.”

And damn, was there some truth to that statement. Even Faith could feel the honesty which had managed to sneak up on her words. Remembering a time when it had simply been about good over evil. About being right instead of wrong. And well, sure - there may have been a few shortcuts, ways to make the duty a whole lot more enjoyable, but the premise had always stayed the same; the good guys always won. She had been a superhero.

And then she had met Buffy. And then she had seen what a real superhero looked like. And she had known that could never be her. Could never be hers.

“I wish I’d never met her.”

“You’re lying.”

“You what?”

“You really think I’d fall for that Faith? You really think I don’t see what this is all about?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Hands again finding hair in an absolute honest need to claw away the madness. Not the psycho kind. Just the normal kind. The kind encountered when it felt like you were uselessly screaming into a never ending abyss. Like no one ever listened to a fucking word you had to say. “I hate her, okay? I fucking hate her! Do you hear that, do you get that!?”

“More lies Faith?”

An absolute endless abyss.

“I probably should have seen it sooner, I mean, with hindsight it’s glaringly obvious. You don’t hate Buffy… you never hated Buffy. I get it now - what drove your little crazy train down the tracks marked psycho. I get how hard it must have been - knowing you’d never have her, knowing you would never be worthy of her. Seeing her with Angel all of the time; all those little touches that you wanted to give, all those loving glances that were never for you. I bet it itched at your soul Faith - getting closer but never close enough. Never good enough to be the one that she chose to lo-”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Oh no. This needs to be said. You need to understand.”

It was too messed up. So fucking far beyond crazy. Willow was attacking her with a wisdom that scared the living crap out of her. Terrified her. The words which she had silenced inside of herself a billion times over. Words which when spoken, left her gaping like an open wound. Prone to attack. Ready to break.

“You need to realise Faith, that if you ever come near her again, I will end you. Buffy doesn’t want you - she will never want you. She hates you. We all hate you. Now do you get that?”

Did she get that? It was all she had ever got.

Her head dropping, her eyes closing. Ready to step back, to give in. Game over.

Never expecting the sound of the door swinging hard overhead. Enough interruption to silence her words before she’d had the chance to speak them. Forced to wonder instead if maybe she was wrong - maybe it wasn’t all she ever got anymore. Maybe sometimes - just onetime - someone was on her side?

“Get away from her, Will.”

His voice holding command in a way she had never heard before. No softness about a man face that still held the charm of a boy.

“Xander, I…”

“No…” His hand raising firm, his one good eye holding firmer. “…I mean it Will. Just get away from her. Leave her alone.”

A light in the dark. A hero.

Chapter Fourteen.

Xander Harris stood in silence as he surveyed the scene of the most recent destruction. He was used to destruction - had whittled away many hours piecing together the broken shards of his former happy home - but this he did not know. Did not understand. The weapons that Willow had used so effectively to batter and shatter Faith, seeming like words being spoken in a foreign language. So sharp, so twisted. So nothing that he had been expecting.

Xander had only flicked on the switch to the screen to check if his comic club cohort was still wrapped up in sleep. Not wanting to disturb her if she was still resting, yet as eager as anything to carry on the conversation of the night before. Friendly words. Something so much softer than what he had just witnessed from Willow:

“If you were in the X-men Faith, which X-man would you be?”

Remembering the snort of derision she had tossed his way, the smile which had become such an easy companion to all of her words. “I’d never be in the X-men - I’m way too badass. If I’m gonna be a superhero Xander, I wanna be someone cool…”

“Is this gonna be another ode to Batman?”

“What can I say? A girl’s gotta have standards.”

His smirk sneaking out. His posture bordering on comical. “I guess I’m the living proof of that.”

“Nah, you’re the exception. My moment of madness.”

Everything becoming so easy. Learning how to banter past the bad, focusing on the fun times instead of the fraught. Something which felt like friendship growing in a place where Xander had never expected to find it. And he liked it. He enjoyed it.

There was a rawness in his own past that was still clenching tight to his chest and making his heart beat harsher - time with Faith had softened that. Had given him a purpose when his mind might’ve otherwise sought to wallow in Anya. In what was lost in the destruction of Sunnydale.

So much destruction. So much lost. His voice stating his wish that Faith not join the list of the dearly departed. His feet stepping closer to the bars to offer her the sentiment.

“Are you okay Faith?”

Honest sentiment.

“Totally great. Five by fucking five.”

Only producing lies.

Only inducing a thousand question marks in his mind as he tried to think of words that might make anything better. That might douse the flames of hatred that had flared so fierce with Willow’s words.

“You know that wasn’t the truth. No one here hates you, no one…”

“Save it.”

“Faith…”

“What? You want me to care and share and play pretty for the camera, is that the deal?” Her eyes still shining bright. Her shoulders still held rigid. “Not gonna happen Xander. I’m done being played by you guys. If I’m gonna get fucked, I’ll get fucked on my own terms.”

He thought of offering an apology. He vaguely considered asking what her terms might be - and he did the only thing that seemed right. That seemed as though it would make any difference to the glare that was threatening to nail him hard to the floor. Silence his only company as he made deft work of stretching up and ripping out a wire from the back of the camera. As he closed forever the evil eye of the witch upstairs.

“You really think that makes a difference?”

“I was hoping for a yes vote.”

“Then you’re a chump. It doesn’t make a difference - nothing here makes the slightest fucking difference, does it?”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means? Just look at me Xander! Jesus - you keep telling me things have changed, so what’s changed? Why am I still the one getting fucked over? Why am I the one locked in a goddamned cage?!”

Because if she wasn’t he’d be cowering in the corner like an overgrown schoolgirl?

It was the truth, but not the truth. Not the truth that Faith needed to hear. Not the truth that he would offer.

“I said that things had changed Faith, I didn’t say that we were perfect now - that we don’t make mistakes anymore. The cage was an impulse decision. You can be pretty fearsome for someone fresh out of a coma.”

“What about the camera, was that an impulse decision too - did you all get your rocks off laughing at the dumb little prisoner?”

“I don’t think you’re dumb.”

“I was dumb enough to believe that you were on the level, that you were my…”

A pause.

“Your friend?” Not missing the injury that flashed so plain in her eyes. The pain of betrayal. Pain he had placed there. “I’m your friend if you want me Faith, if you’ll have me. Admittedly the eyesight’s starting to fade, the patch maybe lowers my resale value; but I’m still a mean hand at fetching donuts. I whittle a good stake - I could come in useful.”

Time stretching out as her gaze slid across him. Perhaps measuring, perhaps wondering. He wasn’t sure. Only sure that he would stand strong, would stand and allow her to take whatever time it took to be sure that he spoke the truth.

“Told you I liked the patch.”

Yes. She had. And it still made him smile. Maybe even more this time. Wishing that he could make her smile a return. Could wipe out the hours since she had laughed so easy last night.

“So that settles it then; we’re buddies for life?”

“Whatever. Way my life’s going, I wouldn’t get too attached.”

Not having a chance. Her monotone not inflected with anything that sounded like fun. Her eyes sticking to lifeless as she had approached the front of her prison - had confronted him without any of the energy left inside for anger.

“Why didn’t you just tell me Xander - let me know I was putting on a show for the whole damn world to see?”

“I’m sorry Faith. I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah. You really should’ve.”

A sigh took. A helpless look.

“So what did you see?”

“See?”

“What was the highlight, what had the viewers chomping hardest on their popcorn?”

“It wasn’t like that Faith. We were only making sure that you were alright…”

“Great. Ever heard of asking?”

“In the future, I’ll ask.”

“In the future, it won’t matter.” He offered her a dipping brow, an honest show of confusion. “I’m out of here. Angel’s bringing my release papers tonight - I’m blowing this joint.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Sure am.”

It was news to him. He didn’t even care that something approaching daylight had crept up on her face - he was still flashing confused. Not remembering that the minefield he was negotiating needed such a delicate step. “Does Buffy know?”

His foot inserted before his thoughts were formed.

“You wanna rephrase that?”

“Does anyone know?”

“Not that it matters, but yeah, people know. She knows. Probably getting the balloons and streamers ready right now - maybe even baking a cake…”

“Where are you gonna go?”

“Fuck knows. As far away from her as I fucking can.”

Her? Here. Edged with the fiery again. That one special word all it took to fan the flames. All of Faith’s hurts seeming to gather in the darkened depths of saturated eyes; old pain. New pain. Same pain. “I just need to get away from here. From all of this.”

And maybe he could ask to go with her? Tempted by the harsh beat in his heart, by the tightness creeping across his chest; by the knowledge that this newfound friendship which had softened the blows was also getting ready to be lost.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“You what?”

“Really Faith; I don’t want you to go. I get the bid for freedom, I understand needing an escape from all of the crazy stuff - but I like having you around.”

“Yeah, bet it’s a real laugh riot.”

“It has its moments. I’ll miss the moments.”

Unexpected words painting her cheeks a new colour; a hint of a flush that was fresh to her face. Brushstrokes of confusion. Cover.

“You sure that preacher dude didn’t pierce your brain when he went for the eye?”

Camouflage.

Xander saw it. Recognised it. And after what he had seen Willow inflict upon her just moments previous, he determined to allow her to keep it.

“Okay Faith - you got me. The sentiment is just a lame ass  cover for the devastating loss of the comic club - I never actually got anyone to join my secret society before.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“Oh no, I’m being completely serious - there was this one time back in Freshman year when I thought it might take off. There were gonna be these little flyers, group meets…”

“I didn’t mean the comic club, Einstein, I meant you - wanting to keep me here just so you can get me geeked up to your level. That’s a pretty harsh punishment. Kinda makes me wanna rethink the whole friends thing.”

Xander wasn’t. He was cherishing it.

“I think you can manage the geek thing all alone Faith. As for the friends thing, that’s a whole different ball game; you have to keep your end afloat or it all comes crashing down…”

“Told ya not to get too attached.”

“Too late - I’ve lost too many friends lately - too much of everything. It’d mean a lot to hang onto you.”

Her face flashing him a look draped in desperation and distress. So unsure of what was being said. His honest sentiment smashing through the camouflage to bring so many glimpses of the girl lost inside. “Hey, it won’t be so bad, it’s not like there’s any ritual torture involved. I’ll just drop by and see you now and then, maybe call once in a while…”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure I’d do that. I want to do that.” Answering the voice that sounded the same as her face had looked. Making him ache, making him want to offer more. “Listen Faith, I know you don’t like talking about this, and I know I swore on all things DC that I wouldn’t push it… but if you really are leaving then you have to let me say something.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Then I’m saying something.”

Breathing deep. Meeting the eyes. Stepping in closer - breathe deep again. “This whole psycho deal Faith, all of that going crazy stuff…”

“Wait Xander, don’t…”

“No. I need to say this.”

“No you don’t. You don’t need to say anything, right? Just keep it at the comics… we can shoot the shit on Slade Wilson some more. You know in this light, there’s wicked hot resemblance…”

“Deathstroke lost his right eye Faith.”

“I’m just saying.”

“So was I.” He wondered how many breaths he would have to take before she would seek to meet his gaze again. Counted thirteen. Was glad to stop. “I get that this is rough, but I’m not here to beat on you.”

“You’re not? You sure you don’t wanna pick up where Red left off?”

And he started counting again. So close to losing her. Sensing the rising tide of anger that still festered below the surface. Hoping he wasn’t pushing too far. Too soon. Almost as if he could see it as an entity creeping out across her skin; the way her body tensed, the way her hands reached up to claw endless through her hair. Fighting. Trying…

“It’s okay Faith.”

Wanting to break through the pointless bars himself and shake the sanity into her. Wanting so badly to understand what had taken the sanity out of her.

“Just go Xander…”

Watching her retreat. Not turning to leave.

He did have things to say. Things which had mulled in his mind the more time he had spent with her; the more time he tried to put reasoning to all of their actions. The good ones. The bad ones. Determined to speak the conclusions before he was forced to wish her goodbye.

“I can’t go. As much as this hurts you to listen, you need to hear what I have to say…”

“For fuck’s sake! Why can’t any of you just leave me alone - all I want, is to be left the fuck alone!”

“Then I’ll make you a deal Faith; you hear me out, and if you still want me gone - I’m gone.”

Keeping a sense of joviality to his tone to combat the harshness of hers. Stifling a chuckle as she grabbed at the comics on the floor, as she twisted her body away from his gaze and buried her eyes deep in distractions to counter his words.

“Okay. I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

A chuckle of something that would be joy. The way that she seemed to soften the world’s blows. Even in this moment; balancing precariously on the fraying thread of newfound friendship - she still softened the blows. A woman, a slayer; yet still such a girl. Believing that the world could be silenced by the superheroes in a comic.

He envied her optimism. Focused his.

“As I was saying before I lost you to the lure of Batman; all of that crazy stuff Faith - the stuff back in Sunnydale - I want you to know that we’re past that now. It’s gone. Done and dusted. I’m never gonna beat on you about anything that happened - sure, I’m here if you ever want to talk about it, but I’m still gonna be here even if you don’t. You’re not the only one of my friends that has taken the dive to the wrong side of the tracks - it’s a pretty crowded club, endless group meets… ”

He saw her gaze sneak a glance. Knew that she was listening.

“…and the thing is; I forgive my friends. I don’t torture them till they repent and get down on their knees to beg. It’s a given.”

Absolute attention.

“I’m a lucky enough guy to have seen the real Faith; here and four years ago. And I’m telling you now; that rage crazed guise you’ve got going just isn’t you. Not the real you. It’s not someone you have to be anymore…”

“You really think that?”

“I know that.”

“Yeah…” The comic was tossed. “…cos it’s all so fucking easy, right?” A sigh delivered. “You don’t know Xander - you have no fucking clue what it’s like in here… everything’s so messed up, nothing makes a damn bit of sense to me…”

“That’s life Faith. It’s messed up and senseless and some days it’d be easier to roll up and die than to make it worth living - we still try though. You can still try.”

He watched her flinch at each of his words as if they were weapons as harsh and as hateful as Willow’s. Starting a pace, stomping out a rhythm. Giving him a beat to carry on his sermon. “Everything still seems rough, I get that, but things have changed. There’s nothing left to hate Faith, no one left to fight against - just give it a chance. Give us a chance?”

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Over and over and over.

Her eyes different when she finally stopped. When Xander finally ceased counting his breaths at somewhere past hundreds and stilled himself to hear her verdict;

“Faith?”

An eternity of silence.

“Just go Xander, please… ”

A hung jury.

Upstairs in the sunshine, away from the doom and gloom of the basement, a different kind of doom and gloom was settling down across the shoulders of Buffy. The number one golden girl feeling bottom of the heap. She had sought out and spoken to Giles after her time below with Faith; had nodded along with the pretence of agreement to each of the words which were founded in wisdom and maturity. And she wished that she could reject them all.

“This is probably for the best Buffy. I doubt that any of us here could have provided the kind of help that Faith so obviously needs… I’d have to say that with all things considered, this provides a rather satisfactory conclusion.”

A satisfactory conclusion.

Nothing more than Giles’ British way of calling it what it was. The End. An end that she did not want. Could not contemplate coping with. There were still too many secrets left untold for Buffy, still too many messes that she didn’t want swept under the rug, too many words that were yet to be spoken out loud. In all of the time that Faith had been sleeping, Buffy had offered her a thousand different whispered words - millions and billions of jumbled up sentences that had never come close to touching the truth of the story.

Oh no. Buffy the Brave had never even spoken those words to herself. Four years she had sat poised with her mental eraser; ready to un-scribe in an instant any words which would pounce on her with the force of uninvited memories. Always so many of those. The wrong smell, the wrong sound, the wrong phrase; a million moments which could catch her unguarded.

The times when Buffy had held Faith’s hand in hospital had always been the hardest to run from. A deadness in a connection that had always ebbed with life. The emptiness in her heart that had never been explained. Never been questioned.

And who needed questions when the answers were so unbelievable? Unachievable.

Buffy had always thought not her. Had clung to the reality where Faith’s coma was an everlasting barrier to any kind of question that had sounded too tough. Too rough to deal with. Not banking on the sleeping, waking. Not banking on the insistent threat from her heart that it was ready to take up the beat again. Ready to name the tune.

Faith.

Such an easy little tune to remember. Buffy knew - it wasn’t like she had managed to forget. The intensity in glares and stares. The electricity etched in just one touch. In every touch.

Name that tune.

Taunting. The words still too daunting to allow a safe passage. Like a game. Like rings round roses. Spirals formed to outrun the rhythm. Distraction sought to prevent falling down. Buffy could do it.

Like slaying!

In sunlight?

Or not.

Not really a distraction anyway when she considered how every blow landed inevitably reminded her of who she was trying to forget. Or not forget. She couldn’t forget. Maybe not think about. And anyway, it wasn’t like Giles hadn’t given her plenty more things to think about. Asking her to lead again, asking her to give direction; to make decisions. A plan of action for the army of slayers that she had helped create. Because that was important. That was far more important than the dead beat that had taken up residence in her chest.

Than the deadbeat that was taking up residence in front of her eyes.

“Hey Buffy. Can I talk to you?”

The short answer or the long one?

“I’m kinda busy right now Kennedy, can’t you speak to Giles instead?”

“You don’t look busy.”

“Don’t be fooled by this total lack of action. I’m actually strategising - making plans - doing like all good leaders should…”

“Was it your plan to send Faith away?”

Kapow!!!!

Complete with comic book writing and exclamations aplenty. That’s how it felt to Buffy at least. No place for hiding. Smashing headfirst into the solid brick wall that she’d been hopelessly seeking to avoid.

“You know that Faith’s leaving?”

“Giles just told us - the girls aren’t happy.”

“I don’t really see how it has anything to do with the girls.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t, would you?”

The distinct aroma of a challenge wrapping itself around the words.

“Am I sensing a little hostility here Kennedy?”

The hint of distraction enticing Buffy to stand.

“Could be. Mostly though it’s just disappointment - we were almost starting to think that you were human - that you gave a crap. I hate being wrong; it leaves a bitter taste.”

“It does? I would’ve thought you’d get used to that after a while.”

And it was all there: the sarcastic slice of perky in her tone, the hardness of the slant that cocked her hips. Every wrong thing that she used in her own defence against the weight of the world. “You should go and ask Giles for a mint, I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige.”

“You really are something, you know that?”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” Because Buffy really didn’t. Or couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. “Now was there anything else, or can I get back to what I was doing?”

Almost turning to dismiss her. Ready to settle back down and remind her mind to think about something else.

So close.

“You didn’t answer me yet Buffy - was it your idea to send her away?”

Forgetting perky. Feeling pissed.

“I thought we just covered the ground where this isn’t your business - are you having trouble understanding - do you really need me to break it down for you?”

“You could try and break down the part where we’re all supposed to stand back and smile, while you go ahead and get rid of Faith…”

And could she just scream? Please?

“I’m not getting rid of Faith!”

Except that ‘letting go’ and ‘getting rid’ both sounded the same in the harsh light of heartbreak. Both hurt the same. No shout loud enough to cover the empty echo of such empty words. Nothing hard enough to protect against the desolation that wracked her body in the moment that denial was sounded.

No answering words to fill that ever growing void.

And the silence was the worst. A space created for every unspoken thought that wanted to batter her already fraught defences. Memories thrusting fast. The present and the past. Every minute. Every moment. Everything Faith.

“You just wouldn’t understand Kennedy.”

Stepping down. Running scared.

“I thought you were gonna break it down for me?”

“Wish I could. Really don’t think I can.” Searching hard for the bouncy step, for the sun sparkling eyes. “Look, it’s great that you’re worried about her, we’re all worried about her; but there’s really nothing to worry about. She’s just going to stay with Angel for a while. It’s all for the best - a satisfactory conclusion.”

“You sound like Giles.”

“That’s good… Giles is very wise.”

“Giles is a jerk who doesn’t have the first clue what it’s like to be a slayer. To be like us. I can’t believe you’re doing this - what chance have any of us got if we can’t even save one of our own?”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what we all think! So Faith’s past is a little shady - seems to me like all of you guys have got some shady in your past; it’s hardly a good reason to cast her aside. To give up on her. She’s still a slayer Buffy. She belongs here with us.”

And maybe Kennedy was the wise one. The one who could force the issue. That could drag the words of truth from the fear infested Buffy. So scared of the realisation. Of the consequence of all the inaction. Every single memory reduced to a sigh as she offered just the faintest glimpse of what twisted inside.

“You really think I don’t know that - you honestly believe that I don’t know where Faith belongs?”

“Then why let it happen? You’re supposed to be the big leader, right - so do some leading. Tell Giles to stick it.”

“As highly tempting as that thought is, this wasn’t Giles’ call. Faith made the decision all by herself; it’s her choice to go.”

“Yeah, well if it was me you were keeping in a cage, I’d be pretty keen to up sticks too. Maybe if you let her out… if you told her you wanted her to stay…”

Laughter.

Fraught and frantic painful laughter.

Provoked by the absurdity of the statement; by the idea of standing before Faith and declaring the wish that she wouldn’t leave. It was hysterical.

Hysterically sobering.

“Do you have any idea what would happen if I was ever crazy enough to ask Faith to stay - better yet, if I opened up the cage and then told her that I wanted her to stay?”

“Do you?”

“I can probably guess. There’d be beatings. Possible heinous acts with definite mortal consequences. There are certainly no happy scenarios. Believe me Kennedy, I’ve spent more than enough time thinking them through.”

“Sounds bleak.”

“It is bleak. That’s the life of a slayer; destined for bleakness. You still glad you signed up?”

“I signed up after the inspirational speech, if you’d given us this one, I guess your ass would be sitting home alone in that dust pit named Sunnydale.”

“I think I’m all out of inspiration.”

“Well there must be something we can do, someway we can make Faith see that we’re on her side. She hasn’t even met any of us yet - maybe knowing that she’s part of something bigger…”

If only. Not likely.

“Faith’s not one for group bonding. She never really grasped the whole concept of playing well with others. I doubt that rounding up the girls to offer solidarity would swing much in our favour - except maybe a crossbow. She has real flair when it comes to being pissed off.”

“So that’s it - we’re giving up, just like that?”

“No. We’re accepting that what Faith wants is far away from here. It’s not giving up, it’s being mature. It’s giving her what she needs.”

“Right. So what makes you the big expert on Faith - how do you know what she needs?”

Kapow again. Memories prickling again. Conversation threatening to cross over into realms where she wasn’t so happy straying. If Buffy took the time to listen, if she truly asked herself what it was that she believed Faith needed - where the heck would she start? Where the hell would she stop?

How would she ever keep her grip on the slipping defence of denial?

It was hard enough to deny the need that beat so strong in her own chest; she doubted that she was strong enough to ever deny what she had always seen in her reflection. What she had felt from Faith all of the times they had danced chest to chest beneath the strobing lights of The Bronze. When that taste of something so unrestrained had rocketed her heart full thrust towards disaster.

This wasn’t affect, affectedness or affection. It wasn’t desire and lust or the thrill from a kill.

Buffy knew exactly what Faith needed. Had always known. Beyond the cut and thrust, the hate and mistrust. The feminine wiles and deceptive smiles. Beyond blood stained alleyways and the hard ride to crazy. Buffy knew. It was in the eyes behind the door on Christmas Eve, in the fingers that brushed a photo in the empty office of a Deputy Mayor. It was in every single reason that Buffy had never been able to let go.

Name that tune.

So much being said without words.

Not turning from the intruding eyes of Kennedy - from the untainted mind that rushed fast to fill blanks. Flicking a switch - blipping a radar. “Oh my god.”

Not even allowing a sigh to escape as every single dam sounded out a warning of impending flood. Broken defences. Flinching at the touch from Kennedy - from the hand that tried to offer a small stroke of comfort.

“Have you ever told her?”

The silence still saying so much.

Chapter Fifteen.

Howling and growling said so much too. Screamed so much to one who wanted only silence. Little solder drops of sense burning through to confront the messengers of madness, little drips of destruction that wanted to signal an all-out war. Too much information.

And Faith wasn’t like that. Situations were only ever surmised by how best she could survive, what there was to be gained. Selfishly simple - Want. Take. Have. She didn’t ponder another’s feelings; she didn’t care if her benefits didn’t benefit them - life was what you made it, and she knew more than enough to know that in this life you looked out for number one. No other fucker was ever gonna do it.

So why the incessant screaming? Why the endless fucking choir that implored for her to shut the fuck up?!

The constant smashing and crashing of cymbals. The constant rise and fall of the words that did nothing to name her tune. She had never been religious. Never troubled by a greater meaning to a life that wasn’t exactly paradise; yet still her head was relentlessly pounding along to the heaven sent strains of Hark The Herald Angels… really so fucking ironic. The only thing she wanted to do to the heralding Angel was send a salvation sized splinter dead centre through his heart. Bust to dust the confusion that was doing a whole lot worse than any coma had ever done.

Four years of downtime sounded perfect right now. A forever of downtime sounded even better.

Nothing sounded worse than what was inside her head. Almost having her shaking, almost having her stopping the pacing to introduce cranium to brick. Sorely tempted. Sore all over.

Too much information.

“I’m here to help.”

“I was scared.”

“You can still try.”

Floating phrases which encircled her mind. Poking and prodding. Finding ways in.

“I understand Faith. Let me help you?”

“Is this what you want?”

“Give us a chance?”

So many fucking questions. Not a single answer.

No one had offered Faith peace as an option - no one had sidled up to her with a pointed weapon and induced her back to sleep. No one had followed the rules of engagement. The meaning of life.

This wasn’t how it worked. It wasn’t what she knew.

All except for Willow of course… now that had been a flavour that Faith was much more accustomed to tasting. The venom and the hate marching forth like sadistic little saviours of her soul. Something for the madness to hold onto. A dark comfort found in places that felt all too familiar.

“We all hate you.”

Never wanting it any other way.

Right?

Cue the chorus. Cue the itching beneath her skin as she fought her hardest to silence the encore, the crushing weight of a phrase that dripped with an antidote she did not desire.

“I never meant any of this.”

Not the script! Not the fucking way it was meant to play!

Unable to douse the burning behind her eyes as she saw again the gaze which had been wrapped in gentle. Wrapped in everything. Breaking everything. There was supposed to be pain and violence, hate induced agony - fights which swore that they would last to the death; not gentle. Not tinted pinks and dipping eyes and looks which only reminded her of lies.

Faith had seen looks like that before. Had learnt the hardest way what it was like to put her trust in them. To feel vulnerable. To need someone.

Holding so tight to the walls of resistance. Wanting to batten down every hatch in the hope of preserving what she knew. What was safe. Happy to stay forever in her tidy box if it meant that she would never have to face what lay outside. What lied inside.

Why she had been put inside that tidy little box in the first place.

Buffy had sought solace in the safety of her bedroom after the long hard talk outside with Kennedy. Slamming down the windows, turning the lock that sat on her door; trying so hard to hide from all of the things that she had just said. Not meant to say. Not then.

“Have you ever told her?”

Unable not to say them. Smashing through the silence to bring secrets to life. Harsh at first; a snort of disbelief, a sarcastic smile to wrap around words.

“Gee - during all of the mudslinging and duels to the death, I never quite found the time to let her know that she was important to me. My bad.”

Gradually losing the sarcastic as Kennedy had refused to let lying dogs sleep. Itching at the issue as rabidly as a mutt with fleas - “Maybe it is your bad. It’s hardly a big deal, is it; telling someone you care?”

“Oh look, proof positive you don’t have the slightest idea what you’re taking about. You may have all managed to cook up some fantasy in your heads about what Faith’s really like, but let me assure you: Faith doesn’t do caring. It’s this whole thing she has going for her - why care, when it’s so much easier not to.”

“Like you, you mean?”

And the smile had disappeared then too.

She would’ve liked to deny it. Would’ve liked to cling tight to her haughty airs and graces and assure Kennedy again that she didn’t have a damn clue what she was talking about. It was hard to be a bare faced liar though - hard to deny words that she herself had wrung from her own body just a few days previous in an offering to Spike.

She cut herself off. She spurned connection. A thing she had going for her.

Not because it was easier, but because that was how she’d had to survive. Get too close and you suffered loss. Care too much and chances were you’d be forced to send a sharpened sword straight through love’s unbeating heart. Or maybe slide a knife through its gut as easy as if it was butter. No. It was much better to survive than to face the consequences.

Only now, in the claustrophobic confines of her shut tight bedroom, Buffy did not feel as if she was surviving. The opposite. Each breath of air feeling rank and stale. Each tick of the clock seeming closer to sunset.

And she knew what she had to do.

Had reasoned with herself for hours. Back and forth over the unspoken words which had been spoken to Kennedy. Not exactly declarations; Buffy would never be one to trumpet out her feelings from rooftops on high - but words which had broken through the crap of her resistance. Speaking of forces, of power - of the way you could feel in an instant when everything around you sat exactly the way it should. In tune and synchronised. How just one look, one touch - god, one suggestive wink from one suggestive eye - was enough to spark currents strong enough to power the whole of the Western Seaboard. How one glimpse behind the mascara framed mask of seduction had been enough to melt away everything inside that had wished to stay hard.

And then - always then - how it had morphed into feelings which were tainted with hate.

“It must have been hard - in the end - to, you know… it must have been hard.”

“No Kennedy, it was surprisingly easy.”

…there were so many shouts of denial being sounded by then.

She had added the words silently until Kennedy had prodded even further for explanations. Her voice unable to cease the telling of the tale. How embittered they had all been. How sick with the betrayal. Even now Buffy could still remember fresh the rage that had flowed so thick through her veins - the absolute loathing for what Faith had become, the deepest desire to eradicate the feelings that she still harboured in her heart.

As easy as sliding through butter.

An unwanted memory that could creep up anytime. One absent mind. One quick hard smash back to reality.

“You did it… you killed me.”

It usually killed her perky spirit. Had killed it today. Not wanting to venture down again, not wanting to partake in the afternoon activities of forced joviality and nonsensical banter. Not wanting to make small talk about Faith and the impending nearness of her departure. No - the big talk with Kennedy had been enough to sustain her through the hours of solitude. Had led her to work out exactly what it was that she had to do.

And do pretty soon if the shadows across her bed were anything to go by.

The hour of sunset had always called to Buffy; since the moment she had been called as a slayer she had known inherently when the sun was bidding its nightly farewell. Not needing a clock. Not needing anything except the pumping of her pulse and the thumping in her heart. Barely perceptible. The slightest change. Tick, tick, tick. Pupils dilating just a fraction. A slight tightness of muscle. Ready for action.

Sliding back the lock on her door.

The lobby of the Hyperion sat deserted as the minute hand ticked its way towards sunset. Just dim light left to catch the dust dancing. Nobody about to witness the stealth of the slayer - sliding through shadows, creeping soft to the desk. Buffy had expected a crowd, had thought that she would have to use her greatest powers of persuasion to carry out the final act in the unsatisfactory conclusion. But no. The troops were disassembled and her pathway lay clear.

Great!

Or terrifying.

Her skin slightly clammy as she took the now familiar steps down into a now familiar basement. Holding just the tiniest bit tighter to the scythe in her grasp. Just an extra slice of courage, an affirmation of the feeling that she meant to set free.

“Faith?”

All commanding like. Not a trace of her uncertainty. Not a hint of an answer. Stepping forward. Her eyes sent skirting into the shadows of the prison in a bid to search out her quarry. Like hide and seek. Like more games. Except that games were supposed to be fun, and the figure that finally stepped away from the wall to meet Buffy’s stare was not bathed bright in the glows of fun and frolics. A stone set hardness in her eyes. A rasp of exhaustion from her mouth.

“Now what?”

“Technically? - now nothing. Angel will be here soon.”

Buffy could see the gaze flicking quick across the scythe, caught the momentary confusion as Faith’s eyebrows did the low down dip. The tiny twist of a snarl that curled up her lip.

“You finally found the balls to finish the job?”

“You could say that. In a way. Kind of.”

“About fucking time.” A snarl that dared to twist perversely into a smile - that dared to put some joy into her phrases. “Nice choice of weapon B - much bigger than last time. You gonna go for the guts again?”

“No Faith. I was thinking more the heart.”

Stunning the eyes. Confusing the eyebrows again. And Buffy knew why. She knew exactly what it was that her own eyes were showing - the things that Kennedy had called her on in seconds - the things that had always been kept guarded from Faith - “You do have a heart, right?”

Pouring out in seas of green. Not so scared anymore; not afraid of consequences when the situation already felt so much like death. Like loss. So sick to the pit of her stomach of loss. Staring out the sentiment across the secluded space which lay between them. And she wanted to venture forward - would have to venture forward at some point; but at this point her legs were not moving. Frozen by the face behind the mask. Aching from the need which sounded so desperate in Faith’s voice.

“Can’t you do this without the talking?”

And god.

Faith really believed that this could be an attempt at an execution? She wanted this to be an execution?

“Sorry Faith. I can’t do that. I’m never gonna finish that job…”

The crash of a fist against bars making her jump. One step back. Two steps back.

“Well fuck off then! Just FUCK OFF!!”

The crazed rage making her instantly reconsider her barely thought out plan. But where would that get her? Where would she ever get if she didn’t finally confront what had simmered inside for too many years?

Be brave. Be honest.

“I’m not going anywhere, Faith.”

Not even thinking about the risks of heinous acts and definite mortal consequences. Oh no. Buffy wouldn’t consider anything except her goal, would not focus upon anything except the task which lay at hand. The keys which lay in her hand…

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Selecting the right one to fit in the groove. Sliding it all the way in until it rested just right. Pausing.

“You said to me I keep all this locked up - that I’ve always kept it locked up - and you’re right Faith. God are you right…”

Twisting the key. The satisfactory clunk.

“…and now I’m setting it free. That’s what I’m supposed to do, right? Set it free?”

Buffy couldn’t prevent the second pause. Like dangling from the highest precipice and knowing that at any moment you were going to freefall into an eternal abyss. There had to be a pause. One final breath of sanity before she let it all out. Before she let Faith out. Not the only one trying to cling tight to denial…

“Don’t do that B… you don’t wanna be doing that…”

“Why not? You said that this is what I did wrong - I’m only undoing my wrongs. Setting things right. I’m sick of the tidy boxes, I’m sick of telling myself that you’re someone I’m supposed to hate. I don’t hate you.”

The words forcing Faith back, making her head shake and her fists clench. The air around Buffy coming alive with the sweet sensation of anticipation. Expectation. Feeling the electricity, tasting the danger.

The door flung wide. Stepping purposely inside.

“This is what you wanted Faith, so here I am. No more bars. Nothing left but me and you. So what do ya say? - are you still thirsting for revenge or are you ready to hear me out?”

So strange to be inside of the cage, to take a look at the room from Faith’s perspective. The dankness of the cell. The darkness in the shadows. The non surprise of the backhand that landed hard across her face. Just below her eye. Breaking skin. A scratch.

“Revenge it is then?”

“What the fuck are you doing B, what’s this supposed to prove?”

That snarl stalking her now in purposeful circles. Ignoring the openness of the door. Focused only in one place - “You think I won’t kill you?”

Focusing right back.

It was like Buffy had said; there was power in an instant where everything sat just as it should. In tune and synchronised. Her breaths finding Faith’s. Her stance settling down to match the challenge.

“I think you couldn’t if you tried.”

Smiling tight at the harsh laughter.

“Still so fucking superior. You know I can take you B… just been waiting on a chance.”

“Maybe you can. I’m not questioning the ability though Faith, I’m questioning the desire. You don’t want me dead. If you’d wanted me dead, we wouldn’t be here now. We both know that.”

A fist this time. Snapping her head back, twisting her neck.

“Stop kidding yourself. How much fucking clearer can it get…”

A foot nestled snug against her stomach. A rush of air from her lungs.

“…I hate you B.”

Her body backed slowly up against the wall. Letting the hand wrap slender around her neck. Words whispered up close, everything up close. “I could do it right now if I wanted… squeeze the life right out of you. Watch you die. Get you the fuck out of my head forever.” The ragged feel of bitten nails digging sharp against skin. “This is what I always wanted.”

Eyes digging sharper. Buffy could feel the cold wall making shivers against her back, could feel the breaths raking hot against her skin. Found the strength to speak.

“What about what I want Faith..?”

“Fuck what you want.”

Still so close. Her one word mantra.

“No.” Pushing back. Finding the fury for her own gaze. “Not fuck what I want - I’m sick of fucking what I want! You hurt me too Faith, I’ve got scars in places that still feel the pain - don’t I get to demand a little retribution? Surely I have to have a turn at smacking you around and pretending it’s all about revenge?”

She saw the light go out. Watched the arms drop and shoulders shrug. Witnessed again the eyes that begged for an execution.

“Yeah? You want it, go for it B. Take your best shot.”

The intensity from the touches gone in an instant. Just a sitting target. And Buffy looked. And she saw. And she knew. All of the reasons she could never let go. What Faith needed. Doing as she had promised. Aiming for the heart.

“My best shot? Okay. I don’t want you to leave.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Get away from me.”

Taking her turn to do some stalking of her own. Letting her feet dictate the pace, letting Faith dictate the direction of their descent into yet another corner. Back into the darkness.

“No. You wanted my best shot; this is it. As crazy as it sounds, I want you to stay… I want us to put all of the bad stuff behind us, work through it - do whatever it is that you’re supposed to do with the bad stuff…” not resisting another step. An infringement of space. Letting the unmistakable energy draw her in closer. “…I want us to be back on the same team, fighting the same fight. God Faith, do you know how many times I visited you in hospital? Holding your hand while I moaned about the hardness of every day I fought alone, while I told you about all of the things that I never meant for you to miss…”

“Get away…”

Barely a whisper. A plea.

“I never told you though Faith, how I felt. I never told you why I was sitting there night after night, I never had the courage to tell you what it was that I always wanted.”

“Please B…”

Breaths shaky. So shaky.

“You always knew though, didn’t you? Always waiting for me to admit it, to accept it. I think you knew in the end how hard it would’ve been… maybe that’s why you pushed so much for me to hate you - you were just as scared as I was. Well I’m done denying, Faith. I’m done denying you. I care about you, I always cared about you. The first moment I felt you… that last moment, the look in your eyes…”

Her own eyes stinging.

“…what do I want? What have I always wanted?”

“No.”

“Yes. I want you Faith. Here, with me. I want you.”

And had her heart ever broken in two so succinctly? Staring into eyes that met hers without cover. Open and honest and terrified. And backing away. Fists balled to push at Buffy’s shoulders, mouth twisting to slide that one word mantra right back her way.

“No.” Hoarse and heavy, gaining volume. “No, no, no!”

“Faith…”

“Just shut the fuck up! Stop screwing with my head, god… I can’t do this! I can’t fucking do this!!”

“It’s okay…”

“I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry for every fucked up thing I ever did; I wish it never happened, I wish none of it had ever happened! Just leave me alone… just leave me the fuck alone.”

She couldn’t - not if her life depended on it.

Buffy would back down though. She had never meant any of this. Every instinct urging that she to go to Faith, that she find a way to hold her close, to shoulder the sighs that kept rising from the open cage. Every warning begging for no. She had pushed to the breaking point. She had spoken out loud. There was nothing left to deny.

Settling back. The stairs offering no comfort. Cold against her bones as she watched the last of the day disappear. As her blood rushing fast let her know that Angel was here.

And she didn’t turn her head as he entered. Stayed stone still as he passed her by, as he violated the silent space of the basement.

“What happened?”

Surprise voiced at finding the door open and unlocked.

“Nothing happened. I was giving Faith an early taste of freedom. I guess she didn’t want it.”

“And this?”

He leant down and ran a cold finger across her cheek - making another shiver - showing her the blood that sat accusing on his hand. “What happened?”

“I walked into a door.”

“Buffy…”

“Just leave it Angel. Nothing happened. Everything’s fine.” Bending down. Retrieving the scythe. “I was just getting ready to go slay, thought I’d say goodbye first.”

Whatever. Smiling a greeting as Wesley made his own entrance into the basement, smirking at the way he seemed to creep his way down the stairs. Eyes darting. “Hello Buffy. Nice to see you looking so well.” Not noticing her split cheek, not noticing anything. “So where is she?”

“She, is here.”

And indeed she was.

No trace of a timid tone left in her voice. Nothing but the mask of indifference to greet her new found freedom. Her grand exit through the door to the cage.

“Wow Wes, someone sure decked you out with a big dose of the dark and rugged. Best looking watcher I ever saw.”

“I’m not a watcher anymore Faith, I work with Angel now.”

“You do?”

His nod. His vulnerability.

Buffy saw it in an instant. Watching Faith feed from it, watching her step closer with that leering smile of seduction fixed firmly back in place. “Guess we’ll be working pretty close together then. Maybe you can help me tackle those hard to reach places…”

“I think we can go now.”

Angel interrupting the moment.

And she wanted to laugh at the fire that flared so bright in Faith’s eyes. That instant where she could see so clearly the urge to strike. Understanding the feeling. This was it. She wanted to cry.

“Wait Angel… can I just get a minute…”

“I doubt that’s best Buffy. I’ll call you when we get her back to mine, she’ll be okay.”

No.

“I wasn’t asking. Give us a minute - we’ll both be fine.”

She watched him look at Wes. Watched him take even longer to look at Faith. Finally coming back to rest on her. “Two minutes. We’ll be waiting upstairs.”

Two minutes?

Two minutes of silence?

And what?

What was so mind-blowingly earth shattering that just by its bare whisper, Buffy could make everything okay between them?

She thought it through as she listened to Angel and Wesley take the stairs. The soft whoosh of air as the door closed behind them. The lacking of air as the basement closed in around her.

Not the one speaking out loud this time.

“I don’t wanna hear it. Whatever it is that you can possibly have left to say; I don’t want to hear it. I’m out of here… that’s it.”

Not moving though.

“Maybe you got some of that Sunnydale dust left in your eyes; I dunno. But this is all bullshit. Probably just a little of that guilt thing working against ya B - forget it - we’ll call it quits. You stay out of my way, I’ll stay the hell out of yours.”

“Did you not listen to a single thing I said?”

“Heard it all. Real nice it was too. The bit about hospital visits? Way touching. Kinda hard to confirm when the hospital’s buried in rubble though…”

“I brought you your clothes. Is that proof enough?”

“You did what?”

“Your clothes Faith. Your jacket, your boots. I had to buy new jeans, a top - the blood stains weren’t so easy to get out…”

“That was you?”

“Who’d you think it was?”

“I figured… I dunno… The Mayor, I guess. Wasn’t really thinking anything when I woke up. I just wanted to…”

Falling into silence. Tick. Tick. Tick.

And for a moment - just the briefest of seconds - Buffy thought that the breakthrough was coming. That the offering of clothes would be enough. That the proof that she had never left Faith would be enough to stop her leaving. Those brown eyes deeper than she had ever seen them… the air seeming to pause for the charge to gather…

And then not.

“I better get going. Angel’s waiting.”

“Right.”

Watching her back. A slow steady pace.

“Faith?”

A pause.

“I know you don’t wanna hear me, you don’t wanna listen to anything I have to say - but that doesn’t change things. I’m still gonna be here - I’m not going anywhere. I’m not giving up on you again.”

The shoulders lifting in a sigh, a hand lifting to run tight through the hair.

“Nothing but a waste of time, B.”

Walking away. Leaving.

A satisfactory conclusion.

Chapter Sixteen.

Angel let his eyes linger on the form of the sleeping slayer for one long peaceful moment before he turned to leave. Tucking her in with a contemplative gaze, wishing her sweet dreams with one of his drawn out brooding sighs. Every night since her arrival he had done this, and every night he had wondered the same; could he really save someone that didn’t seem to want saving?

He had worked with a refusal to believe it at first. For so many years he had observed the human spirit, had watched with awe and wonder the way that it always seemed to manage to triumph, no matter the depths to which it had plummeted - but not Faith. Sure - he saw glimpses, he caught moments where her eyes had softened and her mouth had smiled, but they were the exceptions. The milliseconds that were buried beneath the hours in a day. She refused a belief in humanity. She almost delighted in tearing it down.

“…yeah, well that’s where you’re wrong. There’s no nasty thing that I could do that hasn’t been done before. People are bad Angel, people are fucked up… that’s life. Sink or swim.”

The philosophy that he had drawn out of her through a constant barrage of conversation. “You think you’re swimming, Faith?”

“What’s it matter?”

Drowning.

And to her, he could see that it didn’t matter. Or it didn’t matter to her whether it mattered to him. He wasn’t sure which. Wasn’t sure if she really was past the needing to be saved, or if she was simply hiding her desire beneath layers more intricate than any that he had previously encountered. Protecting herself from the world which she claimed was only out to get her; had only ever been out to get her.

“…Different voice, same shit. You think I never heard this crap before - oh Faith, you’re so very special, you know you could really be someone? - exact same thing my mom used to say before she’d get tanked and smack the crap out of me. Then there was good ol’ Uncle Pete… he used to love to build me up before he sent me down…”

Eyebrows all a swagger, hips rotating a suggestiveness that he didn’t need to hear. Pretty sure of the down that she meant she’d been sent to.

Angel had learnt over the last few days how much Faith could delight in the depravity of her past - almost wielding it as a new defence - her words able to twist and curse, her face able to find pleasure in the perverse. Something that had begun the more he insisted that they talk about Sunnydale.

Something which she really didn’t want to talk about.

Those were the moments that made him think of the more - of the things that existed beneath the layers - of the things which she was trying so hard to protect herself from. The only word she hadn’t mentioned, made only more ominous by its glaring absence. They had danced around it, had fleeted their feet in steps round the issue - but whereas before Faith had seemed adamant in her need to voice the name of the one that had ruined her life, now she seemed as if that one did not exist. The time when he had tried to force it, being the time that Faith allowed him to see how much her strength had improved, how close she was to complete physical recuperation.

“Buffy’s been calling again. She wants to know if you’re ready to talk…”

“I told you already…”

“You have to face up to it sometime Faith; the hurt that you caused, the people that…”

And she had flown from the sofa. Attacking him with such fury, with such pain, that for a moment he had been unable to protect himself. Inert beneath her, taking the punches.

“Shut up!” Smashing down into his face. “You think I need to hear what she has to say… you think I care about what she wants…”

He suspected that she cared a lot.

It had been another of those moments where the layers were ripped away, where the pain that she had been trying to inflict was only a reflection of the pain that shone so bright in her own eyes. The way that she had gasped to a halt - had rolled herself off of him, away from him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Seeking refuge in the bed. Pretending at sleep that he knew she was feigning. Her face still twitching with the memories, his face still twitching with the truths that were revealed in her silences. In her punches.

And he knew that he hadn’t been wrong before. Angel had lived far too many lifetimes not to recognise the catalyst behind the slayers deadly connection - why they had grabbed so thirstily for hate - the emotion that existed just beyond the thin line. Always a suspicion, always something that had shone in the green eyes of his girl when Faith was around. Something that still shone in her green eyes now.

He tossed out another sigh as the elevator doors opened up on his empty moonlit office, as he remembered every recent pained and strained conversation that he’d been forced to have with Buffy.

“…She hasn’t mentioned me at all..? Eight days and not once? Not even a little - hey, tell Buffy I wish her dead. Or maybe a vague little list of all the really wicked cool places that she wants to hide my body parts…”

“She’s in denial Buffy, she doesn’t want to confront the thing that terrifies her. She won’t let herself confront it.”

“Great. So now I terrify her?”

“Not you, it’s not that simple. What terrifies her is the way you make her feel - maybe the way you’ve always made her feel. It would certainly explain a lot.”

She had pled ignorance for all of five seconds. Had stood before him and pulled her slayer face, had growled her slayer growl and gnashed her slayer teeth - and he had remained impassive before her. He had known that she would open up when asked; this was Buffy and he knew Buffy. He knew her heart.

When he had explained his theories, had explained a background story that she had always guessed at but never known; explained why it was that Faith needed to manifest her feelings as hatred in the extreme… then she had spoken the words that he asked for. Explained as best she could what she saw as the situation.

“You need to be straight with me Buffy, I need to know what it is that we’re dealing with. Was there ever anything between you and Faith - is there still something between you and Faith?”

“Define, ‘something’.”

“Buffy…”

“Okay - you asked. Yes. To both things. Don’t ask me the what, why or how, because honestly? I don’t have a clue. But something… maybe. Yes. Always.”

“Always?”

Unable to stop himself asking. He may have been the most mature of all men, may have had a double century of years to get a handle on an emotion as jaded as jealousy - but he still needed to ask. Silently grimacing as her eyes had dropped away from him, as she had confirmed his heart’s worst fears.

“There was always something. I didn’t mean it Angel, I sure as hell didn’t ask for it… but it was there. I could feel her. She could feel me.”

“A slayer thing, a supernatural connection?”

“No. That was different… less intense. It was like I…”

Eyes widening that time. Almost as if she had realised at the last what she was about to say - who she was going to say it to.

“What is it Buffy?”

Urging forth the words.

“It sounds weird, but I guess you could say that I… I don’t know. I craved her? It’s like she had a way to get under my skin, she made me feel different. Everything just always felt more with Faith. Do you understand?”

Of course he did.

He had smiled and nodded and swallowed down the last of his disappointment, and he had sat next to her as they spoke further of the ramifications of every denied feeling - how rejection had sought to get tied up with every other bad thing that Faith was already dealing with. How Buffy’s prominence had only ever made Faith feel less - feel worthless. How fate had twisted to make the bad stuff stain. Mistakes. Regret. Revenge. A wrestle for superiority.

“If she can beat you, then she’s no longer beneath you. She can tell herself she’s better than you, tell herself that she’s the one doing the rejecting. It makes sense for her.”

“What if I wasn’t rejecting?”

“You mean…”

“Why not? I can’t deny the way she makes me feel anymore - seems like I’m doing a pretty crappy job of hiding it from people - so why not? If that’s what it takes to make her better…”

“I never said that.”

“No, but it makes sense, right? It’s gotta make more sense than sliding a knife through her stomach.”

And maybe it made more sense to Buffy that way, but Angel still wasn’t sure that it made more sense to Faith. She seemed to want the violence, she seemed to wish that Buffy had finished the job properly the first time. She craved the comfort of the knife in her belly.

But she wouldn’t speak a word of it.

Even Angel, a vampire accustomed to more nights spent brooding than the average re-ensouled demon, was driving himself close to crazy trying to reason through everything that he knew. In one moment he could transcribe one emotion to explain one action, and in the next, totally explode his own theories with explanations for different acts. In truth he wouldn’t know anything until Faith chose to speak.

The last week and a half had seen him try everything. From the unending act of talking constantly at her, to the extreme decision to relax the binds of the Shamen, he had exhausted every possibility. He had watched from afar as she had bunkered down with Xander and a box full of comics - had tried the same technique;

“I had the original edition Batman, from when it first came out - I always liked the caped crusader - all those zany battles with evil…”

“Save your wet dreams for bedtime. I’m trying to read.”

Not given admission into the exclusive comic club. It grated a little. Especially when he had seen Andrew being accepted so graciously onto his bed to discuss whether or not some ultimate evil’s character could be redeemed by one act of complete and selfless bravery.

That was the discussion that Angel wanted to have. They were the foundations for the things that he wished to broach with Faith. Whether she was redeemable. If she was ready to step out of the darkness.

Kept at bay though. His ears only bashed by the subjects that she would let him broach. Pre-Sunnydale. Nothing that really meant anything. Everything that meant something. More and more of those layers to peel back. He had found out where the connection with the comics had first come from - had heard all about the reasons why she’d first put her faith in superheroes.

“…so I’m all wide eyed and innocent, looking through this guy’s collection, and next thing you know his dick’s in my face. Seriously - like this dude is supposed to be some Outreach for Care-kids leader, and he sticks his fucking dick down my throat. Said if I did it good I could keep the comics - figured I’d be doing it anyway, may as well get something out of it…”

Thrown out so nonchalantly. Her voice only offering the slightest betrayal at the last.

“…been hooked ever since. Guess it’s funny the things you can forget about, when you’ve got somewhere else to go.”

And she had smiled sadly, without masks. Had buried her eyes back in her latest edition. The gifts from Xander. Except that he had noticed how long it took for her to turn that first page - just staring blankly - her mind a million miles from anywhere that she had ever allowed him to follow. Finding her refuge in that somewhere else.

All of it had prompted him to seek help in the most unlikely of places. The first of the most unlikely of places. Xander Harris. Summoned into his office after one of his many visits and asked for help. Angel had wanted to choke on the words, didn’t really have any wish to be asking for help from Xander, but he’d swallowed the discomfort and made the sacrifice. He had become intrigued by Faith. Attached to her. He wanted to help her not for his own redemptive quest, but for hers. He wanted to save her soul.

“…So you see, nothing I say makes any difference. I’ve exhausted all of the angles I can think of - I don’t know what else to offer her.”

“And you want my help?”

“Yes.”

“I guess you could say that you need my help?”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Not at all - it is kinda enjoyable though. It’s like therapy for the high school years - I’m feeling all warm inside.”

“That’s nice. Do you want to talk about how Faith feels inside?”

And he knew Xander too. As much as the guy irritated him, and he irritated him a lot, he had utmost respect for the person that he knew him to be. For all the time that he had stayed at Buffy’s side, happy to play in the background as long as he was allowed to help.

“What do you need me to do?”

As easy as that.

Angel had explained the lay of the land to him, had disclosed just the smallest of secrets in an attempt to broaden his horizons, and he had sent him into battle. Seeing if he was the one who could persuade Faith to talk about the past that wasn’t so distant; the things that she cried out about when her eyes were closed and sleeping…

Almost causing a catastrophe of the most explosive proportions.

With the great gift of hindsight, Angel could see how wrong his judgement had been; he should never have asked Xander. He should never have taken away from Faith the one and only thing that had seemed to bring her any level of happiness. His mistake realised as he had listened silent behind the door, as he had heard the words that tripped so fast towards disaster.

“…I told you, no! We’re not doing this - we’re not going there. We don’t have to talk about this. Isn’t that what you said?”

“I know what I said Faith, I meant what I said… I don’t know though, maybe you need to talk about it? I spoke to Angel…”

“You fucking what?”

“He told me some stuff, he thinks that I could help.”

“Just couldn’t resist it, could ya?” Instantly recognising the sound of danger. The nastiness that was creeping up on her tone to wrap tight around the words - “Throwing out fakes of the straight guy, when it’s all about fucking me over again. Did she send you… are you still playing errand boy for Buffy?”

“Faith…”

“Don’t act scared Xander. You wanted to get in the game; I’m ready to play. Is this what you’ve been dying to talk about?”

The sounds of a struggle had urged him into throwing back the door. Finding a scene straight out of a memory: Faith’s hands squeezing the life from Xander’s throat, her face lost somewhere in the look of a killer. And she hadn’t turned on his entry, hadn’t even noticed his arrival. Everything focused on destruction - everything screaming out to him that he would have to conclude the scene in the same old sorry way. Prepared to strike her - determined to hold her back. His punch restrained by the words from Xander’s throat - the desperate plea for Faith, the strangled sounds of stop. Like a moment of clarity. Her eyes wild and panicked. Edging slowly back.

“Get away from me… stay the fuck away from me!”

Refocusing. Fleeing. Dragging her body away from Xander with savage shakes and the sweat of surrender.

It had only enforced all of Angel’s beliefs that Faith needed to face up to her past in Sunnydale and she needed to do it soon. He had seen behind the wild eyed look. Had understood exactly what she had been terrified of in that instant. And it wasn’t Buffy, it wasn’t the things that Buffy could make her feel - it was herself - the things that she was seeing herself do, the acts that she was capable of committing. And maybe even with hindsight, Angel would’ve still sought to use Xander in his quest to save a soul. For the realisation he had seen in Faith’s eyes that night was worth a thousand catastrophic explosions, a million misplaced friendships. He had seen regret and revulsion. He had witnessed the spirit still fighting inside.

And still she would not speak it.

Angel had done his best to pacify Xander, had allowed Faith the time to cool off after her outburst - and then he had approached her again. Had used his most soothing tones to draw her in and offered his most placating phrases to draw her out. All of it discarded in the same way that she had sought to discard the comics. Trashed by the bedside. Torn to pieces. Not even the twisted tales of a former youth offered up that night.

Two nights ago. The time when he had finally decided against all of his better judgement and started listening to the voices in his head. Though not really in his head; more like surrounding his head. Doing everything they could to make sure that they were heard. Constantly.

“…Stop being such a bloody poof - you know I’ve got a special touch with slayers. Let me at her.”

“Let you at her? Is that gonna be your whole approach?”

“I’m not talking approaches, I’m talking a little light entertainment. So how crazy is she?”

It had been a constant assault. At first Angel had fought back through ego - he did not want Spike, albeit a ghostly form of Spike, succeeding in a place that he had not succeeded. It was hard enough to listen to his constant tales of conquering Buffy - Angel doubted that he could deal if Spike became Faith’s champion too.

Then he had fought back with sense. William the Bloody was hardly anyone’s likely choice for role model of the year. Except here they were dealing with Faith, and nothing else seemed to be working.

He was only waiting now. Sat uncomfortable in the comfy chair in his office and awaiting Spike’s appearance. The moment when he would give a reason for saving Faith’s soul - something a whole lot more meaningful than light entertainment - another chance for Spike to be Buffy’s champion.

And Angel only hoped that it worked. That he could get the self-centred vampire to help him in his quest.

He really had nothing else left.

Far across town, in a basement that should have sat empty, there was still somebody stood there, solemnly on guard. Keeping a silent vigil. Thinking through in their own mind all of Faith’s latest and greatest exploits into yet more madness.

Xander couldn’t help being down there. In amongst everything that was happening, it seemed the only safe place to be. His throat still a little sore, his heart still a little bit broken. And he supposed he should have known, he supposed he shouldn’t have pushed… but…

But he had wanted to help.

The things that Angel had told him, the secrets that he had charged his ears to hear, were not the things of bedtime reading. Oh no. They were words that he had recoiled from hearing, situations that he had thanked god most heartily that he hadn’t had to survive. He had realised in an instant why Faith couldn’t trust - and in the instant after, he had proven it to Faith yet again. So stupid. So thoughtless.

He had been lost in a need to go to her though, wrapped up in some dumb fantasy where his friendship would’ve been enough to have her stripping down her walls and letting him in. Not holding him up against those walls with a fist wrapped firmly around his throat. She had stopped though. She had heard his plea.

It was offering comfort.

“Xander? What are you doing down here?”

His head turning now, as Buffy’s voice broke through his lengthy self recriminations. Surprising him a little, making him jump.

“Oh, Hey. Why with the sneaky slayer?”

“Who’s sneaking? I didn’t think anyone was down here. Why are you down here?”

“I’m hiding out from the joy fest upstairs. There’s way too much joy involved.”

“There’s a joy fest? We’re festing?”

“Something like that. Will has all the girls whipped up into a frenzy about leaving - she even played the duty card. Apparently we’re putting lives at risk by taking time off. Now everyone’s running around screaming about where they want to go, when they want to go……”

“Willow’s such a spoilsport. I like time off, time off is of the good. You know I actually read a book last week. A whole one, with big words. I haven’t read a book in years.”

“Yeah? How are Dick and Jane?”

“It’s Jill and Jane nowadays, the world has gone progressive.”

“What happened to Dick?”

“I think he’s renting a condo down in the Keys. It’s all a bit vague.”

He laughed at her humour as they lapsed into silence. Both of them staring emptily at the cage. Both of them wishing that they didn’t feel quite so empty. Xander could sense it encompassing Buffy as easily as he felt it consuming himself. She was hurting, he was hurting.

“Where do you think you’ll end up, Buff?”

“Probably not the Keys. I don’t know. Dawn wants to stay with Giles - I guess I’d like to stay with him too. At least for now - till I find my feet again.”

“England then?”

“Mother country beware! It seems as good a place as any, and Willow liked it there. What about you - where in the world’s getting the pleasure of Xander?”

A hard question. Xander had started to think it through as soon as Willow had started the suggestion. So funny how keen she was to leave - how soon after her little one on one with Faith she had looked to raise the idea. He had confronted her about that - had looked to find the explanations behind her words. But he hadn’t. She had swished him aside with talk about danger, about protecting Buffy from a revenge fuelled Faith. When he had asked her more specifically about her exact choice of words, she had done the wide eyed look of innocence and told him that he should talk to Buffy if he wanted to know the truth.

But he hadn’t. Not yet.

It was easier to hide in a basement and mourn the loss of a friendship. Mourn the space that he had placed between himself and his comic book buddy. Thinking out loud now… close to the truth.

“Where will I go? What does it matter? - you don’t need me anymore, you’ve got more than enough cover for your back with all of the slayerette newbies. Maybe I won’t go anywhere.”

“This from the man that saved my life. Twice! You really think I don’t still need you - are you crazy Xander? I’ll always need you.”

“Maybe I’m needed more here.”

“Here? Is this because of Faith?”

The answer was all in his gaze. Lifting up from the floor of the cage to settle into green.

“Aren’t you going to England because of Faith?”

“Where did that come from? Has she said something?”

A smile tugging soft at the corner of his mouth. “Are you kidding me? The one and only time that Faith has mentioned your name was in the second before she went all throttle crazy again. I’m just guessing… trying to make sense of the insanity.”

“Well, no. I’m not going to England because of Faith. I’m going because of Dawn and Giles. And me. And when the heck did Faith go throttle crazy - is that a motorbike thing?”

“No. More a hands around the neck thing. Day before yesterday.”

“Oh. Wait - what?! Are you okay?”

“Great. She stopped before she crushed my windpipe and I like the taste of the lozenges. So if Faith wanted you to stay, you’d still just go off globetrotting?”

Xander knew that he was pushing again, but in the mood that he was in, he didn’t much care. Just sick of seeming to be the only one not clued into the loop. Not getting to hear from the horse’s mouth what everyone else was whispering about.

“If Faith wanted me to stay, I’d probably die from the shock. What’s this all about Xander - what’s going on?”

Her eyes penetrating deep.

And Xander got to see for himself in the dingy light of the basement why everyone else was whispering. A certain softness that wasn’t there before. A certain acceptance. Giving him the confidence to speak out loud without feeling quite so crazy.

“You and Faith, what you said to me before… about the way she makes you feel, what it’s like when you’re together. You meant all of that, didn’t you? You were telling me something, but I didn’t listen.”

“And now you’re listening?”

“Now I’m listening. I think I’ve got it, I just don’t understand it. You and Faith - I mean, did you ever…”

“Xander! No!”

He hadn’t been able to say those words out loud; had used his hands to mime the action, or what he thought the action might be. Had caused shock just the same.

“I never… we never… god, you think I… wow…”

“Sorry.”

“No, just - wow. I’m not even going there. I care about her Xander, I want to make things right between us, and maybe, if we don’t kill each other in the process; I’d like to get to know her better. But that - I can’t… I don’t think my brain can handle the images right now.”

“They are kinda steamy.”

“And that’s the PG rated version.”

And he laughed again. He laughed properly. Accepting that maybe Buffy did still need him in her own special way. Delighting in igniting her eyes, bringing the smile back to her face. Finding banter to soften the blow of her latest romantic adventure.

Buffy and Faith.

It had merit when compared to Buffy and anyone dead. Or enlisted. The aesthetical advantages of Faith far outweighing anyone in a uniform. But… wow. Holy cow. So the slayers were secret members of Willow’s secret society..? With the group meets… and the group… stuff. And the…

Willow.

It hit him hard and sudden and it all made perfect sense. So much sense that he almost forgot himself and launched himself into Buffy’s arms. Almost. He truly had been the one that saw. All of the dynamics. All of the back biting. All of the out of proportion jealousy that fuelled the still burning animosity. Xander realised in that moment that he had not been the only Scoob who had harboured secret fantasies of Buffy dressed in little more than a rain mac. Who had harboured secret fantasies about breaking into her heart.

And it made the basement pointless. He had found his answers. He knew all of the secrets. Now it was time to prove that he was still useful for a whole lot more than just fetching donuts and whittling stakes.

Xander had asked for Faith’s friendship. Now he was going to find a way to earn it.

Chapter Seventeen.

Buffy took one look at the chaos going on below her, and immediately wished that she could turn and head away from the stairs. Maybe slide back beneath the covers of her bed, maybe slide her eyes over another of the books that she had been taking such joy in reading. Downtime. Absolute, unhindered, downtime. No immediate crisis looking to pull her back towards another apocalypse, no girl in the basement sending her mind towards all sorts of crazy.

It was a freedom that she was enjoying.

The first couple of days after Faith’s departure, Buffy had not coped well at all. Constantly tense. Waiting for the call that would signal the start of yet more hardship…

It hadn’t come though. No matter how many nightmare scenarios she had told herself to expect, none of them had come to pass. Faith hadn’t tried to kill Angel. She hadn’t hunted Buffy down in the middle of the night and finally forced her issues of revenge. As far as Buffy could tell, Faith hadn’t done much of anything. The days passing slow and the nights passing longer, until finally she had begun to relax. Her sights refocused on the world that she had saved, her thoughts refocused on what happens next…

Hence the standing high on the stairs and looking out at the chaos which reigned down below. Not even able to call it a Scooby Meet anymore, when the whole affair was being overrun by slayers. Loud and proud slayers. Each one wanting to voice their choice for the future, none of them afraid to stand before Giles and demand that they had some say now on what was occurring. Maybe the biggest say.

Buffy admired their determination. Recognised their steel; strange to once again be getting used to sharing her power.

With Faith she had resisted from the outset, had muddied the waters with the misuse of feelings - a mistake she would not be making with this new opportunity. Not a chance. The girls would not allow her to make the same mistakes.

Buffy had been certain that Kennedy was the ringleader in amongst her newest bunch of friends, and certain proof had been offered the night that she had come just a little too close to losing it. Four nights after the loss of Faith. When she had still been caught in the desolate feel of failure; when every call put through to Angel was being answered exactly the same - “No Buffy, she’s not ready to talk.”

And she had wanted to scream. She had screamed. The scythe her only companion as she had fought to find clarity in the sacrificial slaying of demons - searching out the biggest and the baddest - seeking wisdom somewhere in the seductive sounds of death. At what point tears had started to cloud her vision, she could not remember; had just known that the howling was not all from the demons anymore. The feel as more blows had landed harsh against her body. Exhausting her defences. Everything exhausted in that moment. The moment where her mouth was forced to find agape as the girls had materialised in front of her - around her - surrounding her with an unbreakable ring of protection.

“Kennedy? What are you…”

“We’ve got your back.”

As simple as that. Fighting for her. Laying to dust all of the loneliness that she had been forcing herself to feel.

It turned out that she had been oh so very wrong when she had taken the ride on the rescue bus out of Sunnydale; she didn’t have nothing left, not at all. Buffy had a legacy to build, a connection to be nurtured. A whole group of girls that needed her guidance and her leadership…

Fastening her feet forward as she smothered the small smile provoked by Giles’ loss of cool. By the indignation that sat so fierce below her, on the face of a fired up Kennedy.

“So you say England, and we all jump?! I’ve got a newsflash for ya Giles: we don’t take orders from you, we don’t want orders from you…”

“I am not ordering, Kennedy, I’m simply stating the fact that to try and establish some level of order, we need to first establish a central command centre, somewhere that-”

“You can direct and dictate and tell us all what to do?”

“No! For god’s sake woman - Willow, could you please explain to Kennedy the virtue of working together on this?”

“Come on Sweetie, listen to Giles. You know that we can go wherever we want after we’ve set up a home base. And England is nice… it’ll be fun.”

Buffy caught the younger slayer’s eyes then; marched with purpose into the centre of the confusion, the epicentre of the madness. “What’s going on?”

Twenty voices all raised at once. Each of the slayers looking to stand behind Kennedy - and poor Giles - fluttering and spluttering all alone at the side.

“Put quite simply Buffy, it’s anarchy. None of the girls will appreciate that the re-establishment of a council is vital to both their training and continued…”

“And HE won’t appreciate that none of us gives a crap! We have each other - we don’t need hangers on… people that think they can tell us what to do, and where to do it.”

And she was expected to placate this mess?

It brought about another of the small smiles. A look of amusement exchanged with Dawn, a clearing of the throat and a drawing back of shoulders.

“Giles has a point, Kennedy - we need people to do the bookwork, to sort through the prophesies… there’s the cleaning of weapons, the dressing of wounds…”

“Don’t forget the fetching of the donuts.”

“Exactly Xander, you can never underestimate the healing qualities of a well delivered pastry. Look, I know that you’re all eager to go get your slayer groove on, but the best way to do that is to be prepared - to minimise risk. To make the best use of all of your resources. Without my ‘hangers on’, I wouldn’t still be here - you should think about that Kennedy. I know it seems a strange concept that people as strong and as powerful as us should need guidance, but that’s precisely why we do need it; brawn is useless without the brains - Giles is our brain, I encourage you to use it.”

At first silence greeted her little speech giving, then Andrew stifled a sob, and Giles duly cleared his throat.

“Very good Buffy, I believe that settles the question of the travel arrangements - we will all be going to England. I’ll see to it that the reservations are made immediately.”

And that was the cue for more of the furore. Her own voice raised as heartily as the others, when a timeframe was to be decided for the mass exodus out of LA. Already accepting that she would be leaving, but still not able to take that first step, to really let go. Because letting go was a doable option when the distance was confined to the same city - but an ocean apart?

Time zones apart. A language apart.

England truly did seem like an alien nation when measured up against the things that she would be leaving behind. Buffy’s heart was in America. Could she really bear to abandon it?

That was scary in the same way that every feeling she was having towards Faith was scary. Like fate had yanked on her timeline and now everything was confused. Five years ago she had first met Faith. Four years ago she had accepted that she would never meet her again. And now..?

Now was the scary part. Not sure if a depth of feeling was quite so deep because of the confusion… like if Faith had never woken up - would she still be feeling so empty now? Or would she have offered a silent farewell and then carried on with life without thought for the past? Maybe it simply was that the loss of her home had magnified a need to find refuge in something that felt all too familiar.

“What do you say, Buff?”

Having to shake her head to re-find the focus for her eyes. Settling on Xander; not able to pretend at hearing words she hadn’t listened to.

“Say about what?”

Searching fleeting gazes to gain clues. Resting curious on Willow - wary of the caustic glare.

“Xander seems to think that we all need to stay here until Slutty Spice is feeling better again. I don’t see why we need to waste the time.”

“Slutty Spice? Did I miss the nineties girl-group revival?”

“She means Faith. And yes Will, I do think we need to stay here a little bit longer. Where would you have been if we weren’t there for you when it went all bad? Oh, wait! We’d all be dead!”

“Funny.”

“Not joking.”

And what the hell was happening now?

No curious gaze was giving her an answer. No prolonged look in anyone’s direction offering enlightenment. Just the pointed stand off between her two best friends. “Guys - you wanna explain?”

“Yeah Will. Wanna explain?”

Bringing forth more of the caustic.

“I’m not doing this! I’m sick of you trying to compare the things that I did, with what Faith did. I made a mistake Xander, something I regret - Faith is the mistake…”

“Why can’t you stop acting like such a bitch?”

“I’m a bitch? Guess I’m lucky that you have such a soft spot for bitches these days…”

And it seemed that everyone had lost their minds. Her two oldest friends - the very cornerstones of her life - were currently butting heads with the forcefulness of thunder. Because of Faith. It offered sobriety for all of her little smiles, made her face reflect the turmoil that hadn’t been dampened by distance. Still sat within the city limits.

“Can we stop this? Can we please just put a lid on it for the next five minutes? God, have you even listened to yourselves?”

Bringing sobriety to the masses.

“I think Xander makes a valid point. Like I said already; we don’t mind hanging out in LA a little longer. We want to meet Faith.”

Bringing words from Kennedy that did nothing to soften the acid tones of Willow. The disgust for her girlfriend’s statement burning brightly in her eyes.

“This is so ridiculous. I’m not gonna be a part of this - I refuse to be a part of this - I’ll be up in my room if anyone decides to maybe see sense.”

And gone.

Giles’ travel plans decimated for the day - no point in trying to talk sense with anyone, when it seemed that everybody was still losing their focus in Faith. Buffy had seen the thousand headshakes that the chaos had caused. Had waited until the others had left the lobby, and then she had looked to find her watcher. To soothe his worries. Pausing at the open door of the office to observe his sighs.

“Hey Mr Frowny Face - penny for them?”

“Ah Buffy, I’m just reminiscing on those good old days where the end of the world was all we had to worry about. I rather long for the simplicity.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely. At least against The First I felt that I had a chance of succeeding. It’s doubtful that I will ever possess the strength of will to succeed against Kennedy.”

She made her way forward as he removed his glasses; his forefingers used to rub the bridge of his nose. To grab at his tension. The edge of his desk used as a seat for her ass.

“She’s not that bad. Admittedly she has an extremely loud mouth; but her heart’s in the right place. I get where she’s coming from with Faith - they all feel the connection Giles, they’re all curious about her.”

“Be that as it may, it really isn’t a problem that we need to be focusing on right now. Angel has given us his word that he will take care of her, and I really don’t see that our continued presence here is going to do anything to influence the outcome. We have to move forward Buffy - we need to take a clear look at our situation and make plans for the future. I thought we’d agreed on this?”

And they had. She remembered nodding along to his wisdom. Wishing that she could refuse it. Yet even now, it still made sense - no matter that it meant the enactment of the whole oceans apart scenario, that her heart really would be abandoned in America - she knew most definitely that waiting around for the time that Faith was ready to talk, was not conducive to protecting the world.

“We did agree. I even agreed to the sightseeing bus tour with Dawn; but I can’t force the others to agree. Maybe you need to talk to Willow - she might be able to bring Kennedy onside.”

“Yes, because that relationship is just a blooming bed of roses right now. You’ve said yourself that you’re managing to forge a closer bond with the slayers; perhaps now is the right time to utilise that - to be their leader?”

“As long as I lead them where you want them to go?”

She vacated her seat to stride out her words. Turning to face Giles with her eyebrows raised, a little tone of authority slipping back into her voice:

“They’ve told me they don’t want to leave Faith behind, what am I supposed to do - what words do I use to tell them that abandoning her is the right way to go?”

“For starters, I’d leave out ‘abandoning’.”

“I’m not kidding Giles, they’re serious about this. Maybe I’m serious about this. How can you be so sure that she doesn’t need us?”

It certainly felt like a valid question. In amongst all of her acceptances of the last few days, Buffy had also accepted that she didn’t have all of the answers. There were still things that made her feel unsure.

“If Faith should need us, then I’m sure she’ll be able to find us; we’re going to England, Buffy, I’m not suggesting that we vacate the planet and colonise Mars. You’ll probably be shocked to learn that England has that strange invention you Americans refer to as ‘the telephone’. If Faith does need something, then she will only have to call.”

More sense?

Nonsense.

“You know full well that Faith would never call - she wouldn’t say anything, even if she did need us.”

“And that provides us with our current conundrum. We can’t wait around indefinitely for Faith to not ask for a help, that we see she needs - it’s a completely unreasonable situation. I hate to sound boring, but the world does still depend upon your services… you do still have a calling.”

As if she could ever forget.

“And how do you manage to make boring, sound like the only option available? You know you’re as bad as Willow - I was enjoying my downtime.”

She wasn’t allowed to though. The pout that she offered not changing her destiny; no amount of pining for something different doing anything to change her circumstances. She was still fate’s bitch. Misery’s mistress. Her smile of self pity already in place to welcome Giles’ words of condolences.

“I’m sorry Buffy. You deserve downtime and you will have downtime; but first we need to get back on track - we need to salvage whatever we can from the council and start afresh. We have to find the new slayers, train the new slayers…”

“Yeah, yeah - I told you I got the boring; I just don’t get the need for the urgency. Angel would surely know if there was something apocalyptic brewing - I would know if there was something crazy going down. Where’s the harm in waiting a few more weeks?”

“How many more weeks are you suggesting?”

And was there a ballpark figure for all of eternity?

“I don’t know…” Looking for something just a little more concrete, something to illustrate the overwhelming importance of her need to stay where they were. “…do you remember Giles, when Faith first went all unstable girl? She’d killed the deputy mayor, had done the near-death thing with Xander…”

“Of course I remember.”

“I told you then that I wasn’t gonna give up on her. Do you remember what you said to me?”

His blank look affirmed the no. Led her to repeat his words.

“‘Then I think she stands a chance.’ Well I think so too, Giles. I want her to have the chance.”

Buffy had treasured those words at the time, had held them close to her heart and believed in them with everything that she was. Now she had found herself believing in them again.

“Do you also remember that Faith was already looking to play the double cross by then? It rather renders my words useless.”

“Don’t say that. I don’t believe that.”

Offering him a hardened sigh as he rubbed again at the bridge of his nose. Settling back on the desk to hear his closing arguments.

“I don’t know what you do want me to say, Buffy. I have no idea if Faith will be able to redeem herself; Angel himself has no idea if she even wants the chance to be saved. Do I think that you make a difference to her condition? I’d be a damned fool to try and deny it; but that doesn’t mean it’s a good difference. You may well find that Faith does much better without your interference… isn’t that what she herself has asked for?”

It was exactly what Faith had asked for.

“Yes.” More of that acceptance sighed out. “Fine, okay - I’ll speak again to Kennedy, I’ll speak to the girls…”

She rolled her eyes heavenward as she lifted herself up, sought the strength in her shoulders that Giles expected to see. Smiling tight - a perky little wiggle of the fingers. Pausing on closing the door as he spoke to her once more.

“Two weeks Buffy - I really don’t see what good it will do, but we’ll postpone all of our plans to leave for another two weeks. I hope that it helps.”

And it did. A little bit.

“Thank you.”

A genuine smile offered then. Changing the direction of her thoughts from Kennedy to Willow, from leaving soon, to staying just a little bit longer. She instinctively knew that Will wouldn’t like it. Was maybe a little bit timid as she took the stairs up to her room.

There was tension there. It had been brewing since they had last left the boundaries of Sunnydale - since Buffy had first struggled in her efforts to carry Faith onto the bus. A little sneer that had looked to sit so permanent on Willow’s lips whenever the reawakened slayer was mentioned. And Buffy had tried - with all of the new feelings of old that she was remembering how to feel - she wanted nothing more than to go to her best friend for advice. For comfort. For some kind of understanding about all of her confusion.

Not a chance.

The sneer had sat there. Mocking in the eyes as Buffy had dared to bring voice to the things that she had shared with Kennedy. Not an ounce of sympathy.

“God Buffy. I thought you’d hit the bottom of the barrel with Spike; but Faith, for real - is this a joke?”

Rendering her speechless. Dictating that she should change the subject. Not liking the side of Willow that was exposed when her thoughts would lead her words to stray to Faith. Safer to stay away - to keep talk all light and pointless.

“…So did you visit London when you were in England? Does it really rain as much as they say it does?”

But not now. Not anymore. Buffy had only two weeks left to make anything about everything different - and she wanted all of her friends on side. She didn’t want Xander and Willow crossing swords over Faith, she didn’t want Kennedy and Willow falling apart over Faith. And she really didn’t want to fall out herself with Willow over Faith…

And what the hell was the deal with Willow and Faith?

Angel was sat pensive in his office across town, finding himself more bemused about what the deal was with Spike and Faith…

A connection seeming to instantly form the first minute that Spike had made his grand entrance through the walls to the room - shocking her into silence - having her eyes looking all confused.

“What the fuck?”

“This is who I was telling you about, Faith - I’d like you to meet Spike.”

“You’re fucking kidding me? You can’t be serious - you never said nothing about it being a ghost!”

“Boo.”

The way that Spike had stood there so uninterested, as if his whole universe hadn’t been altered by the sight of her. “So this is the bint then - I thought she’d be beefier.”

“Screw you, I just spent four years in a coma.”

“Boo-hoo?”

Rolling his eyes at her tale of woe. Looking away as she had sought to stand in his space.

“Bet I could still bust your ass, pretty boy.”

“Yeah - if I wasn’t a ghost, you moron.” Turning away, fetching his step closer to Angel. “I guess Buffy got all of the brains. So where’s the redeeming features you were blabbing on about?”

The start of a beautiful friendship.

Angel had wanted to denounce it; was still unsure that exposing Faith to Spike was really the right way to go if he wanted her to get some sanity back. A sense of goodness. But he couldn’t denounce it. Spike it seemed could mention the B word at will, and not once had Faith looked at all affected by it. He thought that it was progress, he didn’t, in any actuality, have the first clue what it was.

He had asked Spike of course. Had tried to insist that he share the words that were spoken - argued that he needed to know what was said, so that he could have a better chance of helping Faith:

“If she wanted you to know, she’d tell you herself. You can sod off if you think I’m sharing secrets with you. That wasn’t part of the deal. I help the slayer - you make me whole again. My end is going well…”

And that had been that.

And then there had been this morning. Just another normal session with Faith, trawling back through memories far, far away. Until she had looked at him a little different. Biting at her lip for an age, finally finding the words to speak:

“So what’s the deal with Spike - did he really get his soul back, just to impress Buffy?”

And that’s when he had been shocked himself. He hated to admit it; but maybe Spike really did have a touch with slayers? Something he contemplated now - something he hadn’t wasted time on this morning. Following Faith’s direction so carefully, guarding each of his words.

“Is that what he told you?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Said he tried to hurt her real nasty, and then he went and got his soul back. Is he shitting me?”

“That’s the basic story. He thought that doing the demon trials would win Buffy’s heart - that if he had his human soul…”

“Did it work?”

“In a way, yes. She told me that he was in her heart - I don’t believe that she was ever in love with him though. I hope not anyway.”

“Because you still have the tragic hang-ups for her?”

“No, because Spike is an idiot. Buffy deserves better.”

He had let her fall silent. Hadn’t exclaimed any of his joy at what he saw as progression, hadn’t browbeaten her into progressing any further. She had done that again on her own. Maybe with Spike’s help - he was still contemplating.

“Angel, wait?”

Calling him back as he had sought to give her some peace.

“What is it?”

“Maybe you could - I dunno. Can you give the X-man a call? Ask him if he’d come by and see me, tell him to bring some new comics.”

Not able to hide the silent pride in his eyes.

“Of course I will.”

“It’s probably a fucked up idea - doubt he’ll wanna see me anyway, I wouldn’t wanna see me…”

Leaving her to babble on at the walls as he had almost victory danced his way into the elevator. Mindful not to crow too early - not to tempt fate in the worst ways. It was a breakthrough that he had not expected; not at all sure what had provoked the easiness in her words, whether she would progress to allow him to talk about the bad times.

Whether she had already spoken to Spike about the bad times.

Just sat pensively. Waiting for the moment that she would come out of her shell and stay there. Hoping against hope that today had been the first day on her path towards redemption. He had pushed too fast too soon before, and this time he was determined to travel at Faith’s pace. Not pushing the Sunnydale issue if she was happy to tread there herself - not doing anything other than devising ways for her to start feeling useful again. Like she was living again.

Like she was a slayer again.

Chapter Eighteen.

Willow knew only how to seethe as she made the relentless pace back and forth across the boxed room of her bedroom. Everything had changed - everything was going wrong - and all of it; every single damned and cursed minute of it, was down to Faith. Willow had been learning to feel happiness again; her stomach fluttering at every glance from Kennedy, her heart learning how to heal as she had remembered how to love.

Not now though. Not when every other word exchanged with her new slayer sized girlfriend revolved around Faith. Always Faith. Every fucking thing, Faith:

“What was she like before the bad? Buffy said she was always getting you guys worked up, encouraging you to be naughty…”

“Can you please just shut up?”

“What? Did you just say what I think you said?”

“Yes Kennedy - shut up! Do you know how sick I am of hearing about the glorious enigma that’s Faith? Well guess what? She’s not glorious. She’s a bitch. A grade A, dirty skank bitch. She was a bitch before the bad, and she’s still a bitch now…”

And she had wanted to jump up and down in glee, proclaiming the bitchiness that was. Not able to do anything though, other than watch the retreating shape of her girlfriend’s back. Not the first time, not the last time. So many arguments formed in amongst the lingering turmoil that had followed them from Sunnydale. Willow’s least favourite so far, would have to be the night that Kennedy had dared to ask her to bare all of the hidden truths:

“You know I spoke to Buffy?”

“That’s nice sweetie - I want you two to be friends.”

“Uh-huh. She said some pretty far out stuff, made me realise a few things about… well, about Faith… and her. The stuff that happened back then.”

“Do we have to do this again? I thought we agreed…”

“No, you agreed. I want to talk about this - I want to know what all of this, is about.”

Being stalked then, edged back to the bed. The deep brown eyes looking down on her, flashing a heat she didn’t recognise, a gaze she hadn’t seen before. Following her up onto to the bed until there was nowhere left for her to hide.

“Was it because of Buffy, baby…? Did my little green eyed Willow have some jealousy flowing through her veins…”

“Get off of me…”

Seductive tones doing nothing; not looking to whisper secrets into a pillow whilst her mind was distracted elsewhere.

“Have I hit a nerve?”

And she had thrown her from her body. From the bed. A moment where the magics had flowed so unrestrained through her body - hearing the call of her anger, looking to be the bearer of her hate. A strength called forth that wasn’t really hers. It had shattered something in her new formed relationship. Trust. Honesty. Maybe a rib or two.

And all because of Faith.

They hadn’t spoken about her again, they hadn’t spoken much of anything since then. No snuggles at bedtime, no loving glances exchanged across the dining table at breakfast. Just a coldness. A disappointment. A reason that she wanted to get out of this god forsaken city! Once everyone was away from Faith - once they had new issues to deal with, a Council to set up, baddies to hunt - then everyone would forget about Faith. The same as when she was in a coma.

A small slice of Willow… just, well… just the tiniest slice really, had already thought about using means not quite human to end the troubles with the unwanted slayer.

A small spell. A simple spell. And no one would ever know to tell…

Except that she would know - and Willow really did believe that she was so much more good than bad. She really was so much better than Faith.

She stilled the thoughts and stopped the pacing, as a small yet firm knock sounded light against her bedroom door - knowing exactly who it would be - feeling her favourite source of power waiting expectant for an answer. Trying and failing to plaster something like a smile to her lips, as she rose to offer entry.

“Hey Will.”

“Buffy.”

The acid brewing in her tummy as she tried to hide distaste.

“Can I come in? I think we need to talk.”

“If this is gonna be another of your Faith recitals, I’d really rather not. I have packing to do - socks to fold…”

“You fold your socks?”

“Well, no. I put them into those little tucked up ball shapes… but it’s like folding… there is some folding involved in the process. Anyway, aside from my packing habits - I really don’t wanna talk anymore about Faith. That is who you came to talk about, right?”

“Always so perceptive.”

“Always so predictable. Are you not sick to death of tragic love stories, Buffy? Just once wouldn’t you like to fall for someone a little more stable… maybe, you know, less psychotic?”

Willow saw the pain that she had inflicted in Buffy’s eyes, but she could not find the room to care so much. She could not help herself. Willow had her own pain - had her own reasons for wanting to keep lids on old feelings that had no right to be felt. Stepping back now - turning away and knowing that Buffy would follow her in… that she would seek to keep on pushing.

Something those slay girls all had in common.

“Was that good for you, Will? Did you score extra points for hurting me?”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to help you! You all have these blinkers on, and it’s like you can’t see what Faith really is. You know her - you can’t deny what she is Buffy…”

“Can you please stop? Seriously now; the kid gloves are coming off. Just sit the hell down and shut the hell up.”

And she did. Her mouth dropping open without words, as she dropped her ass back down to the bed. Dumbfounded. Confounded. Witnessing again the agony behind the eyes of her best friend - the lifting of Buffy’s hand as she wiped away at the things she couldn’t hide.

“Buffy…”

“Stay there. I don’t want comfort from you; I did want that - it was all that I wanted. You to hold me close while I told you what was hurting, maybe a little bit of understanding…”

“Understanding?! We’re talking about Faith!”

“No, we’re talking about me. Me, Will. You remember? Best friend, housemate. You chucked me out of my home, and now you’ve chucked me out of your heart?”

There weren’t any words quick enough to leap to Willow’s defence this time. She couldn’t think sense - just recovery. Trying to stand again, softening her gaze to offer Buffy her arms…

“No! I told you, no. I don’t want hugs, I want answers. I want to know why you’ve got such a mountain-sized problem with Faith - I mean, what is it? Is there something happening here that I don’t know about?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you, I know how caring you are, how soft your heart is - I can’t, I just don’t understand how you can hate her so much… what she did that made you so…”

“She hurt you!”

Buffy’s look was still exhausted as her head shook along to Willow’s words. Closing her eyes. Her hands raised to encompass her face, to slide all the way back and run frustrated through her hair.

“Exactly. She hurt me. And admittedly, someone hurts you and I’m gonna be all big with the wanting to protect - but I don’t want this. I don’t need you to protect me from Faith…”

“Well, what do you want Buffy? You want me to hang the banners and proclaim my joy at the thought of you and her? Is that what best friends do? Should I toast your taste in psycho killers?”

And Willow really couldn’t help it. She wanted to pull back, she wanted to take heed of her friend’s pain and stop the vitriol from pouring forth… but it was Faith…

The Faith who had always found a way to come between them. Who had always been worthy of those special smiles from Buffy, those special dances, when she’d had to make do only with rescheduled revision nights and totally chaste hugs on totally chaste doorsteps.

Letting the memory encompass her, letting that hurt explode hard and fast in her heart. “I think it’s sick. I think the whole thing is sick.”

“Really? Is that how you really feel?”

“Absolutely.”

“In that case Will, you need to keep the hell away from me.”

“Wait - you what?”

“You heard me. I really hoped that you wouldn’t do this, that I’d come up here and you’d offer me a good explanation, maybe apologise for the crazy insults you’ve been tossing around…”

Feeling her own eyes dampening at Buffy’s words.

“…but no. You’re too damn stubborn to see that this could be good for me. That this could make me happy. Why is that? Don’t you think I deserve the happies?”

Did she?

Absolutely. She wanted nothing more than for Buffy to know eternal happiness, a whole lifetime of happiness. But she couldn’t find a place in herself that wasn’t outright screaming at the burning fury invoked by thoughts of Faith.

“Willow?”

“You mean, with Faith?”

“No… yes, not - do we have to do this again?”

“I thought you wanted to do this? I can’t not do this. I can’t stand around while my best friend makes the biggest mistake of her life, and pretend that I don’t see it coming… Faith is evil. Give her half a chance, and she’ll kill you Buffy. Offer her your heart and she’ll only break it.”

Spoken with such authority and intelligence, perhaps as if she thought that she was cleverer than Buffy, as if her burgeoning IQ meant that she should be able to stand around and dictate all of the smaller issues in life. Allowing herself a little smile as Buffy flinched at her words… looking to raise her hands again… stroking smooth across her arms…

“Come on, you’ve gotta admit that it’s a pretty far out notion. Not just cos it’s a girl - and hello - when did you get so down with the girly loving? But it’s Faith, Buffy. Not some nice girl that’s going to treat you right and love you; not someone that’s going to care when you’ve had a bad day and you need a little snuggle time…”

“Stop.”

Trying to bend the unbendable to fit in her grasp. Her arms sliding up to shoulders. Trying to pull Buffy close again.

“No Will, I said stop!”

And finding herself pushed back. Thrown back. Buffy’s eyes holding proper tears, Buffy’s voice holding unbearable pain.

“I can’t believe this… I can’t…”

“Wait…”

“God Will, who are you?”

And forever freezing on that moment.

“Buffy…”

“No - I don’t even know who you are anymore. I thought… I don’t know, I guess I believed that you’d want to wish me well. That when you knew how much this meant to me - when you knew how much she meant to me - you’d be able to let it go. I don’t understand you…”

The slayer shoulders that she had always admired, straining tight because of her. The steel slipping into eyes - the look of absolute determination etching tight across Buffy’s face.

“…I can’t deal with this. I won’t deal with this. I asked you to be there for me, and you said no - now I’m telling you again Will; stay the hell away from me.”

“But…”

“But nothing. I’m done with this.”

The door rattling so hard on its hinges as Buffy turned and walked away. Leaving the room silent. Leaving Willow heaving sobs into the uselessness of a duvet - grabbing for comfort in the starchy harsh pillows of the hotel bed.

Everything was just going so wrong…

And nobody could see. Or maybe she couldn’t see?

She didn’t know - could not fool herself that she was anywhere near sure - she just knew her feelings. Felt the inconsolable anguish ripping at her heart whenever she let her mind wander to the places that Buffy had taken it. That time last week when she had first brought voice to the nightmare that lived inside…

“So that’s it Will, I’ve been harbouring the secret deep down feelings for Faith - kinda crazy, huh?”

Knowing that Buffy had been so nervous, knowing that what she needed was a hold that offered acceptance, words that would soothe her pain - but no. Willow had twisted her face and let her own pain shine through. Dismissing Buffy’s feelings, ridiculing her feelings. Yet again insisting that Faith was never anything to be loved.

And Xander was right. What a bitch she had become.

Maybe they were all right and she was the wrong one? She couldn’t help but find consideration for that thought now. Sat so alone. Feeling so alone. But how could she hold in a feeing? How could she stop her blood boiling and her anger itching, every single time that anyone mentioned the name of Faith?

It felt impossible.

How could so much have changed in so little time, when yesterday still felt like four years ago, and tomorrow still felt like something she would never see? Faith didn’t know, didn’t understand the changes that she was going through; but she could not deny that changes were occurring. Catch her in a good moment, and she would even admit that she liked the change.

Everything was just so different here.

For a start; no bars. No cage. No prison. No made to remember every single damn moment that she held her eyes open, that she was bad. There was no one here telling her that. No one here who reflected on her like that.

She hadn’t thought in the beginning that it was going to be like this. No - she had believed most sincerely that Angel would serve only as the first of her stakes back into the game. That he would be the fodder to bring the tears to Buffy’s eyes……

She was going to take them all out, one by one… start with Angel, hit the friends - maybe the sister. Show Buffy what alone really felt like; see how well she survived when she had nothing. When she had no one. When they were equal.

But everything was different here.

People that didn’t look at her as if they knew everything about her, people who smiled at her as if she really was someone worth smiling at.

“…Angel asked me to pick you up some things, and really, Cordy was so much better at all of this - but I tried to keep in mind the things he said, and… oh, wait, I haven’t even introduced myself yet! Hi. I’m Fred.”

“Right… uh, I’m Faith?”

“I know that, silly. Angel said you were coming to stay. Look, here’s the clothes and if you need anything else, just give me a holler.”

Smiles and clothes. And really, the clothes hadn’t been half as bad as she had expected from the introduction. Some new jeans. A couple of vests, a few faded T shirts. And the genuine smile had been worth so much more. Had meant so much more. Faith had allowed herself to believe the bad press, she had nurtured the bad press until it spoke mostly the truth - but here she was seeing the good press. She was learning a different side to life, the side where sometimes you didn’t have to take because someone just gave.

She was listening to the voices that she had learnt to keep silent.

It was no easy answer. For hours she could find herself slipping back into a silent reverie that reeked of rage and revenge and all things nasty - remembering with bitter distaste how she felt deep inside, the aching hole that she had tried to fill with all of the darkness. Feeling that flow in the veins as she relived all of the death - her own destruction.

Something that always sent the brainwaves soaring. That had caused more damage to Angel’s ancient treasures and periodic paintings than he could ever care to mention. Just so much anger. Such coiling, boiling anger when she remembered the feelings that still felt like yesterday.

“You did it… you killed me.”

Her eulogy. The minute when moments had stopped.

Ready to really let that be the last minute - to plan every move for the future based upon that one instant - that one twisted and fucked up second that she still couldn’t bring herself to understand. Buffy wasn’t ever meant to have killed her. It was wrong. Jesus - it was so fucking wrong…

“…Don’t be so bloody daft - you think if the slayer wanted you dead, you’d still be left standing? Not a chance.”

New voices taking hold. Voices that made her laugh - that tickled her in places she had forgotten how to feel. Deep belly chuckles and things that sounded like fun. But so much more than fun. Faith couldn’t explain it to Angel, didn’t really want to explain it to Angel - but there was something about Spike that was breathing the air back into her lungs. Honesty for a start. He didn’t fuck around with her - he had something to say? He darn well said it. Didn’t care if something was gonna set her off, didn’t care to use words that would calm her down. You got what you saw.

And then there was the second benefit. Maybe the most beneficial - the thing that Angel would love to know, the thing that Faith could never explain.

She felt safe with Spike.

One hundred percent, absolutely and unequivocally safe with him. He was a ghost. No matter what, he couldn’t touch her. And no matter what, she couldn’t touch him. Safety. When nothing mattered because no one was going to get hurt.

And there was freedom in that.

Freedom for the voices that had been strangled beneath the violence, a time when they could plan sneak attacks and filter through any of the residues left over from the madness. A voice that she barely recognised. Offering placation where she had only pled for death, the promise of salvation when she had honestly believed that there was really nothing left.

Not sharing the words she heard, just gathering information. Letting Spike fill her ears with talk of the glory days - every little happening that had happened back in Sunnydale. And it was funny the way that he chose to tell it; every situation casting dodgy light on the Scoobies and a decidedly heroic light on himself. It had made her laugh more. Everything funny until he had told her the truth. A moment that had hurt so bad, yet meant so much, and at the same time sought only to confuse her more.

He had tried to hurt Buffy. Fuck that. He had gone into her home and he had tried to rape Buffy.

“…Nothing there I’m proud of luv; just telling it so you’ll see.”

“See? See what? Dude, that’s fucked up right? That is so far past fucked up.”

“Exactly. There’s not much worse I could’ve done.”

“What? You want a high five for that? Shit - you think I’m gonna be impressed by that?”

“You really are an imbecile. No, you idiot, I’m not looking for garlands - I’m getting you to see that you’re not the only one that’s done some things they’re not so proud of. It’s not the end of the world.”

But it had blown hers apart.

So many entwined emotions bursting to break her mind. Anger of course - so much fucking anger. And he was lucky he was a ghost, because in that moment, if she had been armed, if he had been solid - he would have been dust. And that raised the case of another emotion. Not able to name it. The one that had her confused.

She had been ready to kill for Buffy. Not kill Buffy. But for her. The first and most primal instinct, to protect her. To curse and kill anyone that would dare seek to harm her.

Define confused?

It had broadened something else that she was learning to call trust. Listening to the full tale - not just from then, but from the now - how he wouldn’t allow Buffy to know that he was back, how he felt like he had defiled his death as her champion by returning as he had.

“…Man, that’s a rough sitch. You know she’d be cool though, right? It’s Buffy - you know what she’s like.”

Offering comfort to a ghost. Not for self gain, not to reap a reward; just because it was a rough sitch. She felt that and she had shared the feeling. Not listening to her own words, almost choking hard on his:

“You know something, Faith? I’m beginning to think you’ve got a soft spot for our little blonde slayer…”

Classic.

Making her laugh again. Making her think again. Making her want to form more friendships. Re-find old ones. Imploring herself to finally face up to the shit things that she was capable of doing, and seek forgiveness from Xander. Faith had never gone there with him… had spent so much time trying to avoid remembering back then…

Just comics. Nothing close. Nothing real. Barely a friendship.

Pulling her hair back slowly into a ponytail as she glanced across at the arriving elevator. Back in the moment. One of the sink or swim variety that she’d had so much fun explaining to Angel.

“You think that you’re swimming?”

She was damn well going to try.

Not quite sure what she was meant to do though as she found herself staring into Xander’s one good eye. As her gaze travelled down and met his easy smile.

“Xander… hey.”

“Hey? I’m gone for two days, and I only get, hey? Where’s the love?”

“You want love? You don’t wanna kick my ass?”

And she found herself encompassed in something she hadn’t expected. Arms that felt supportive instead of suffocating, words which let her know that things were still okay - his end was still afloat.

“No Faith. This lean, mean fighting machine is all unready for action. Just go easy on me okay? I’m not one of the bad guys, you don’t have to beat me up.”

And her end had nearly sunk.

“I’m sorry. Serious Xander - not used to saying it, but I damn well mean it. It was messed up, I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, quiet. I get it, okay? You’ve still got stuff you’re dealing with; I should’ve respected that. Not saying I’m thrilled about the violence, but I get where it came from. We’ll forget it.”

“No.”

“No? You don’t wanna forget it?”

“I can’t afford to forget it. I’m on the edge here, Xander - maybe it’s time I figured out which way I’m gonna go.”

And where was the strength that she was always telling herself she had? Buckling now. Not so easy to find the words that she had rehearsed so frantic with Spike. Moving away from support, steeling her breath to form words.

“Faith…?”

“No, I’m cool. This is just… different.”

Everything here was different.

“Do you wanna look at the comics?”

And didn’t he get that? Couldn’t he open that eye and look at her, and see that she was trying?

“No - I don’t want to look at comics. Just can it for a minute, yeah? I’ve got shit to say, and it’s never getting said if you keep on distracting me.”

And there. He saw.

“Sorry, what did you want to say?”

“Where was I up to?”

“Uh… you mentioned the edge…”

“Right, the edge. I’m at it Xander. It’s like I’m so fucking close to this howling abyss and all I’ve been able to hear, is all of the shit inside. Bad shit, you know?”

“Bad shit?”

“Real bad shit. And the thing is; I don’t want the shit anymore. I can’t take the shit anymore… I want what you said. Back in the basement - after Red’s welcome home…”

She stepped back as he sought to bring her close again, not accepting support. “You said, give us a chance, right?”

“Yes Faith, that’s what I said.”

“Well, I want to. Shit, I want you to give me a chance. I don’t even know if I can do this, haven’t got a fucking clue how I’m meant to do it, but I’m ready to learn.”

The silence that greeted her words did not have Faith bathing in comfort. As if everything she had just exposed was echoing back from the panelling on the walls. Filling her ears - taunting her senses. Nervous words springing forth.

“Fuck, that was stupid, right? I try and strangle you, and then tell you I’m changing…? Maybe I’m still crazy; it feels like I might still be crazy…”

“No, stop Faith… I’m just… wow. What’s Angel been feeding you?”

“Meatloaf. Pizza. Canteen food…”

“And a whole lot of sense. Wait - is this a joke? Are you gonna eviscerate me as soon as my head’s turned?”

“Didn’t plan on it.”

“Then wow, again. I don’t actually have anything past the wow.”

“Wow is good. I like wow.”

And she did. Something soft in his smile as he looked at her now; patting the bed space beside him and waving the bag with the comics. Looking to tempt her in that same teasing way as the first time.

“Ready to get the goodies, Faith?”

“Don’t tempt me lover boy. You know it’s been four years, could be all sorts of painful.”

Teasing him back with the arch in her eyebrow and the curve of her lips. Rolling her hips as she stalked him, laughing out loud as she collapsed into the space beside him.

And it was different. She felt different.

Like she was taking her first step towards living.

Chapter Nineteen.

Yet again the basement had become the place for Buffy to seek seclusion, a place where it felt okay to speak out loud, a place where it felt like maybe, just a little bit, a connection with Faith still existed. She didn’t have much else to go on. Not a member of the Terrific Two, who it seemed could visit at will as long as they carried some comic-y goodness for her eyes to feast upon. Buffy didn’t have comic-y goodness; she had only the shared past - the one which included acts of betrayal and knives through the gut.

Their relationship needed a lot of work.

But a lot of work couldn’t be done while Faith was still insisting on an absolute communication blackout. Nothing. Not the tiniest morsel of a crumb to encourage Buffy that there was anything left anymore, other than Faith’s predicted waste of time. And it felt like wasted time.

Giles had offered her two weeks to find some sort of reprieve; to at least find a foothold that could one day turn into a bridge, that could one day cross over all of the troubled waters of the past. So far Buffy had zilch. Four days down and all she had managed to do was to lose the application form for her replacement passport. Not genius - she knew that - but as a back up plan it held some merit.

“You’ve lost the application form? Again? You do realise Buffy, that you won’t actually be able to board the plane without your passport?”

You don’t say, Giles?

And she hadn’t said. She had simply shaken her head at her amazing show of ditziness and agreed to go with Giles tomorrow, when he would personally escort her and her rather stubborn ass as she filled out every single one of the necessary forms.

“You’re taking the watcher duties just a little too watchfully, don’t ya think?”

But he hadn’t laughed. He had shaken his head oh SO wearily, made a whole big puffing show of reiterating responsibility and setting good examples for all of the young ones……

It was another reason that Buffy kept hiding out in the basement. There was way too much responsibility upstairs. Sure, parenting was a possibility about a thousand years in the future, but now? And so many children?

“…Buffy, tell Rona that the Cocoa Puffs are mine! She knows they’re my favourites, but she-”

“Well tell Kennedy to keep her witch loving lips away from my Gatorade!”

“Guys - a little perspective?” Trying to calm them, trying to act all responsible. “We save the world nightly, and you’re arguing about soda?”

Cringing as the scream had come from somewhere upstairs, proclaiming that ‘someone’ had used Dawn’s towel, and she was going to kick ass if Buffy didn’t sort it out. Now.

Yes. The basement was a quiet little piece of tranquillity.

The only person that ever sought to disturb her down here was Xander. Knowing since the first time where she would be if she wasn’t in the middle of the domestics - seeking her out to banish whatever doom and gloom mood was looking to overtake her. Her only other connection to Faith.

He was keeping her informed on all of the progress; his joy the day that Angel had called to invite him back into the fold, his absolute astonishment when he had returned that night to tell Buffy everything that had happened - “She’s changed Buffy. I don’t know what it is - maybe Angel really is all sage with the wisdom - but it’s like she’s being Faith again.”

“For real?”

“Completely for real.” His conviction convincing her. “She even called me Lover Boy.”

His peacock posing, having her laughing out loud. And for a second it had given her hope. Brave enough to put another call through to Angel - asking if maybe, possibly, Faith was ready to talk. To her.

“Give her time, Buffy.”

And that was a fantastic answer if she had all of the time in the world. She didn’t though; she had days. And the hope had started to fade again. It was just so unfair. She was sure that if she was given the chance - if someone would just let her stand again in front of Faith - that she could make it make a difference. She would find the right words. She would offer the right gestures. She would find a space to place that first foothold.

Finding only a turn of her head as the door opened up above her. Smiling already at who she knew it would be. “Xander?”

“Hey Buff - you decided on a colour scheme yet?”

“Huh?”

“Well you must be doing something while your staring at the walls. I think sky blue; it’s bright and airy.”

“I like it how it is. It’s…”

“Dank and depressive?”

“Exactly. It seems fitting.”

She managed to keep the smile in place as he took the stairs to join her; flopping himself to the floor, slinging an arm across her shoulders.

“I thought Giles taught you about keeping a positive mental attitude: a girl’s gotta smile while she slays!”

And Giles had never taught her that one.

“I missed that lesson, and anyway, I’m not slaying. I’m phily… philosopho… I’m thinking.”

“Deep thought? Nobody’s friend. So what’s taking the sunshine out of the Summers - are you and Will still fighting?”

“She told you about that?”

His hand squeezed her shoulder with the offer of support, as she listened to him let out one of those long exhausted exhales.

“Yeah. I got the condensed ‘why does the whole world hate me?’ version. It sounds like you went a little rough on her.”

“I didn’t mean to be rough, I was going to be gentle. I just don’t understand it Xander…” She pulled herself out of his arms to offer free reign to her hands. Able to gesticulate the roughness that Willow herself had been seeking to dish out. “…She keeps on attacking me, as if the things that I’m feeling for Faith are some kind of personal insult against her. She’s my best friend - nothing that I feel for Faith could ever replace that.”

“Did you explain that to her?”

“What? After she told me that I needed to improve my taste in murdering psychos? No. I told her to stay the hell away from me. I meant it too - I can’t deal with her issues right now. I’ve spent half of the morning talking to myself in the basement. I think I have enough issues of my own.”

“Amen to that.”

“Hey!”

His infectious smile had her breaking into one of her own though; sticking out her tongue and not caring that it was childish. “Seriously though Xander, what’s Will’s problem - why can’t she let it go like the rest of us?”

“You want to know what I think?”

“Well I’m not getting anywhere with what I think. I was even starting to wonder if she’s got a secret crush on Faith… she’s always wanted her, and that’s why she hates her. Bonkers, right?”

“Right theory, wrong girl. It’s like being trapped in the middle of a huge lesbian dra…… ow! What was that for?”

“This is so not a lesbian drama; I’ve never even kissed a girl!”

She didn’t make the connection at first - so surprised to be labelled as a lesbian, that she didn’t hear the rest of his words. Running through the quick recall as he rubbed at his arm. As he mumbled something about being a punch bag for slayers…

“What did you mean - right theory, wrong girl? What’s the right theory?”

Stopping his mumbling. Pinning him down with a glare when he looked like he wanted to wriggle free. “Come on Xander, spill. What’s the what?”

“Right - the what. Well, think about it, Buff… who could Willow have a crush on that could make her hate Faith like she does? Who is it that’s got feelings for Faith?”

“No.”

Her head shaking away that first glimmer of enlightenment. Trying to stop the thought from lodging. “No way. Not a chance. God Xander, it’s Willow, as in best friend forever Willow. She would never think of me like that.”

“Sure, cos I’ve never had the naughty thoughts about you.”

“But… but you’re a guy!”

“And Willow is a lady loving lady. Not a completely zany notion that she might’ve once or twice wanted to-”

“Stop!”

Her hand raising high to prevent the finishing of the sentence. It was bad enough that the thought had most definitely lodged; there was no way that she was following the thought through to the kinda places that Xander was looking to go…

“Please, okay? Can we not go there?”

“Sure. But you have to admit it makes sense?”

“No, it really doesn’t. It makes less sense than one of Giles’ ancient prophesies. Those Babylonian ones that…”

And she babbled her way through it. Exhausting her mouth with a tumble of words that looked to silence the puzzle being pieced together inside. Not a pretty picture, but a picture all the same. All of the edges linking together. Every single one of them making sense.

“You can ignore it all you want Buffy, but it’s the only reason that I can come up with. It explains all that old jealousy, it explains the new rage fuelled persona of our resident uber-bitch… makes sense of the things she said to Faith.”

“Said to Faith? Did I miss something?”

“You don’t know? I thought she would’ve been gloating about it.”

“What things, Xander?”

And when? And how?

A little whisper of agitation having her folding her arms tight across her chest. Wanting to tap her foot. Waiting on Xander’s words.

“It was all of the basics: everybody hates you, you’re a skanky ho, keep the hell away from us. But she said some other stuff too, stuff about you and Faith. That you would never want her.”

He shrugged his shoulders as Buffy’s eyes opened up on the biggest ‘what the fuck?’ moment of her whole entire life. Because really, what the fuck?

“She said what?”

“She said that. I didn’t get it then, but when things started to make sense… then everything made sense. It’s like I said, huge lesbian drama.”

And she couldn’t chastise him that time, when what he was saying only lightened the load of what she was starting to feel. A mess of confusion that even she had not been pessimistic enough to guess at. A nightmare scenario.

So - she liked Faith, and Willow liked her… and Willow was warning Faith away from her, because…

“Where does Faith fit in?”

Wanting the one who it seemed had all the answers, to answer her this one. To reignite the hope that she was nine days away from surrendering.

“In what?”

“The big picture, the drama. You said that Willow likes me, and we know that I like Faith; but why was Will warning Faith away? Who does Faith like?”

“Batman.”

“Batman? She’s crushing on a guy in tights?”

“It’s more like rubber, and no; she just has a thing for superheroes.”

“Right. Thanks, that’s real helpful, Xander. You know? I just wish I knew if she felt anything for me anymore, aside from the crazy vengeful rage. It’s hard to keep that positive mental attitude going, when nothing seems very positive.”

She ushered out a sigh as he looked to stand from his seat. Walking his way to nudge her on the shoulder, to offer another of his infectious grins to lift the bad.

“Hey, there are positives. Faith is getting better everyday. Give it time, Buff. I’m sure she’s gonna get to a place where she needs to see you too.”

“And if I’m gone by then?”

“Then I’ll call and tell you to get your ass back here. You need to stop thinking about it - Angel’s working with her, she’s doing really good - just relax for a while. Xander Harris orders it!”

And she wanted to salute. Smiling instead, catching his hand and thinking about the future. “You wanna come grab pizza with me and Dawn? I promised a lunchtime excursion.”

“No can do. I told Faith I’d-”

“Right. No problem.”

Dropping his hand with a little bitter sting of disappointment. Not only because she wanted to hang out with Xander, but also because he got to go and hang out with Faith. And it wasn’t fair. And she wanted to scream; and it seemed that she was telegraphing every single emotion with each look that leapt across her face.

“Cheer up Buffster, we can hang out later - there’s enough Xander love to go round.”

“No, it’s okay. I have to patrol later, set a good example…”

“I can patrol. I can set good examples too.”

“You want to?”

“Of course I want to. Go take Dawn for pizza, I’ll go see Faith. And then tonight, we slay!”

And as she watched him walk the stairs with that little bounce in his step, she felt nothing but the deepest admiration for him; maybe tainted with the slightest hints of resignation. Buffy had not lied when she said that she would always need Xander in her life: he was her heart. He made her happy. And the thought that not only was she leaving Faith, but that she was also leaving him…

She wanted to lose the passport form again.

Try as she might, Faith could not manage to keep any level of concentration on the conversation that was carrying on around her. Pushing cold fries round the plate, rather than tuning in on some oh so boring details about Giles setting up a new council. Because really - who gave a fuck? She was almost ready to start talking about all of the nasty things that went bump when the lights went out, if only it would add some sort of excitement to the mix.

Angel and Xander. And blah, blah, blah…

“…does Giles propose to allocate a Watcher for every slayer? Does he even know how many Watchers survived?”

“We don’t even know how many slayers there are now. Willow is guesstimating at somewhere in the upper hundreds…”

And please, could someone slice her ears off?

When Angel had first suggested that they get together for a few intense three-way conversations - his moniker for therapy sessions - she had thought, why not?

Three different perspectives for the time when she went bad. Angel’s always peppered with his really old guy wisdom; her own kinda sketchy, depending how much she felt like talking. And then Xander’s. His had been the most revealing - not just describing the Scooby anger as she had slipped away from them, but also the sadness. His own. Daring to mention Buffy…

“…She always felt like you were her responsibility. She never gave up on you.”

“Right. Say it with stab wounds.”

“That’s not fair. If you think that Buffy wanted to do that, if you think she would’ve done it if there was any other way, then you’ve still got a lot of learning to do. I saw her that night Faith, and she wasn’t a bundle of joy-”

“Alright. I get it.”

Always silencing the words before they touched on the things that still raged confused. Always more information to gather - trying to form pictures, to make everything fit. Hearing in real time about the things that she had missed… the glorious rundown of every single apocalypse.

And Buffy had been busy. And dead. Also resurrected:

“Serious? She really was in heaven?”

“Apparently so. I still never know if I’m supposed to feel bad for taking her out of there…”

Listening to the way that Xander had to tell it. Sliding it together with the things that she knew from Spike. From Angel. The things that she had seen in a dream. Just working it through - moment by moment…

Not letting herself feel a thing. Freezing whilst they spoke her name, tuning out on anything except the bare facts. A passive face turned their way - nothing happening. Everything is fine.

Except until the moments when it all became too much and she was forced to feel with so much urgency, that Angel had learnt to always keep the gym free after any type of conversation. Pounding out the same beat that her fists had always flurried too. Driving home the pain - trying to beat away the feelings that still held her in a vice. Still had her feeling as if this wasn’t her life.

Define confusion?

Letting her ears open up again now, rather than confronting the things that she still felt might lead her into madness. Smiling at Xander as if she wasn’t wrestling with that someplace dark inside. Just wriggling in her chair, restlessly tapping her fingers.

“It’s nothing to smile about, Faith. You try and supervise fourteen girls all trying to use the bathroom at the same time. It makes me wish that the nine days would fly by.”

“Nine days?”

“Till England. Till hot showers.”

Her fingers stilling in an instant. Information she had missed.

“You’re leaving in nine days?”

“No, they’re leaving in nine days. I’ve decided to stick around - I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Like I could ever bear to surrender my presidency of the comic club. Not a chance.”

She shot a look across at Angel, caught his barely there nod that confirmed Xander’s words. Had to remember how to breathe as she pushed down the urge to strike out. The heat that was building in her veins threatening to combust into rage…

This was so fucking stupid. So fucked up. Xander could hide behind the comic club bullshit all he wanted, but Faith knew what this was. Felt the sincerity of feeling that sat in his gaze.

He was staying for her. And that was messed up.

She didn’t even know if she’d wake up tomorrow and still feel sane; didn’t know if this time next week she’d be creeping her way up the list of America’s most wanted. She didn’t want Xander to throw away his life in some kind of sacrifice for hers…

She couldn’t carry the weight of what felt like expectation.

“You shouldn’t bother. I’m getting bored with the comic club anyway, it’s nothing but some fucked up geek thing.”

Still capable of causing shock. Of hurting feelings. Not understanding why he didn’t look aggrieved, why his mouth was softening even further into a smile.

“Yeah. Like we didn’t already decide that you’re a geek.” Settling himself further back into the deep comfort of his chair. “You’re not getting rid of me, Faith; it’s pretty much a waste of time trying.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Just start thinking of all the fun things we can do, when Angel finally lets you out of the tower of doom. You know there’s an all-you-can-eat ribs place just around the corner?”

And settling for smiling herself. Keeping a lid. The face still passive. Words which could flow and not make her sound like she still felt just a little bit too close to crazy.

“Cool, we’ll definitely check it out. Bet I can eat more than their all.”

Steadying her breaths as they wound down the fun times. Knowing that the gym was going to be the only therapist that made any sense as soon as all of the goodbyes were said. Not knowing where else to focus her feelings, not remembering what it was that fed the blood in her veins. Why the urges raced so strong.

Not long now.

Standing as the others stood. Tuning in to hear the last of the words.

“Yeah, well it’s getting pretty late and I told Buffy I’d patrol with her. How long have I got till sunset?”

Looking at Angel. Angel looking to her.

“What? I’ve never had a watch.”

Just knowing that she needed something to punch. And she needed it now.

Angel watched in silence from the doorway to the gym; knowing that on some level Faith no doubt sensed him anyway, but not wanting to interfere in the therapy that she dished out to herself as she beat defenceless punching bags into a decimated pulp. No longer any doubt for him about her physical recuperation - she was fighting fit. She was fighting ferocious.

Which only left her mental recuperation. The thing that he couldn’t be so certain about. He saw that she was trying; he was well aware of the hoops that she had been making herself jump through as she came to terms with the things that she had done. But he wasn’t so sure that she was succeeding. There was an instability there, something which she hadn’t yet found the strength to focus on. And he knew what it was. He knew the issue that made her look to always change direction.

Buffy.

And every single act that came of Buffy.

He had watched her as she emptied her eyes to hear the tales from the past; the light always dimming when the stories were of slaying, or of demons, or the council… when they might come anywhere close to touching her inside. To reminding her of who she was inside. Only close to admitting it when he watched her in her silent battles with inanimate objects - her grunts resurfacing, the cocky roll of her hips as she sliced her way through routines which had returned to her almost as soon as she had stood on the mats in the centre of his gym.

So slow that first time. As if she didn’t trust to lift her hands - as if she didn’t trust what she would find there. Listless thumps making dull thuds against leather. Her face not coming alive for what had seemed like an age…

Until the sun had set.

That had been when it first made sense to him - the first time he realised that it wasn’t only Buffy that Faith was forcing down, but also the urges that came with her. The need to slay. To be the chosen one. To fight and protect and to destroy all things evil.

And he imagined just how terrifying it must feel to confront the calling that she had betrayed. Perhaps as hard as confronting the one that she had betrayed. Never mentioning it. Just opening up the gym to her as the moon began to rise and letting nature work it out. Every night seeing that one more improvement, every minute hoping that this would be the one: the moment when she opened her eyes and saw who she was.

Wishing for it now.

Angel had noticed Faith’s instant discomfort at the words from Xander, how her ears had pricked - how her face had frozen:

“…I told Buffy I’d patrol with her - how long have I got till sunset?”

Not being able to think of a way that he could have scripted it better. Knowing that her mind wouldn’t have been able to do anything but soak the words up. Sensing her agitation, her grab at words about watches. And then following her down as she headed straight for the gym… not bothering to change, just wanting to pound. Her screams still reverberating against the high walls now. The punching bag still suffering as she went at it with all that she had. The most that he had seen.

Crying out as her leg span graceful through a final spinning kick, the moonlight filtering across the room as her arm arched back - a pause, a second - and slamming it home. The phantom stake that he had been waiting to see, busting to dust every single demon that dared to cross her mind.

And he clapped. Not even knowing why, just wanting to offer some kind of appreciation for the moment that he had been allowed to witness. Her eyes meeting him confused - raging - the power that he saw in her gaze, seeming to buckle each of her words with a deep down pain.

“Angel?”

Barely a hoarse grab at making sense. Like everything might break as she began to speak the truth.

“I… I need to slay.”

And she did. Not in this moment, not to let off steam. It was deeper than that - it was the place that produced the steam. The very thing at her core.

Faith was the slayer. And now she needed to slay.

He offered something that he hoped looked reassuring; stepping down into the room, crossing the distance to arrive in the centre. Lifting off his sweatshirt and stretching out his shoulders.

It was time.

“Come on, Faith. We’ll spar.”

Giving her a place to release the feeling.

Chapter Twenty.

Buffy let her feet trudge wearily to the office; not quite dragging, but as close to dragging that she could get whilst still showing some level of enthusiasm for the task. Giles was just being so darn… enthusiastic! It was exhausting. Trying to keep her head nodding along as he imparted so many facts which to him seemed important, but which to Buffy, seemed only trivial.

Really. Who cared if the famous coven in Cornwall had invited them to stay in some outdated monastery for Halloween? Or if that old friend Roger Boswell… or Bosworth… whoever, had relayed the truly exciting news that three more surviving watchers had been found hiding out in deepest darkest Africa?

Buffy was all on board with the bringing order back into the mix and providing support for the slayers; but at what cost? Giles had even made her take notes yesterday. Notes! She was the clerical slayer, the secretarial slayer - she could staple a vampire from a hundred yards…

She peeked her head around the door to the office, and found that Giles was indeed on the telephone to one of his many important contacts on the other side of the pond. His officious tone making her stifle a giggle as she looked to park her ass on one of the chairs. Slipping her feet up onto the desk just to gain a cursory look - a sort of payback for the making of note taking.

“Yes, Angus, I very much look forward to Saturday too. Yes… really. That’s rather fascinating… yes…”

And there was no payback bad enough to compensate for the loss of brain cells she was having to cope with in the quest to re-establish what was lost. Heaving out a sigh of relief as Giles finally cut the call with the man named Angus.

“How’s Angus?”

“He’s actually rather tedious Buffy, but we have to make best use of all of the resources that are left to us.”

“And Angus doesn’t mind you ‘using’ him?”

“Oh do grow up. Not everybody here is looking to embrace their inner rainbows. Angus has simply volunteered to provide a pick up at the airport on Saturday, that is the only capacity in which I’ll be using him.”

Buffy felt her face colour appropriately at the rainbow comment. Having a sexuality on display that she hadn’t actually even considered completely herself, definitely fell into the realms of mortal embarrassment. Grabbing instead at the other emotion. The one where she remembered that Saturday was only five days away and she still hadn’t found the first foothold. Or footstep. Or anything else other than standing still. Immediately losing the colour from her face.  Immediately back to business.

“So what’s up, Giles? Did ya want me to do some more filing? Maybe reorganise your paperclip collection?”

“Very funny. No, I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Ooh discussions. My favourite. So…?”

“You really are quite irritating at times. If you’d rather not know what Angel called me about this morning, then fine; go on - run along…”

“You what?” The mind spinning instantly. The possibilities all jostling to find first place. “Angel called? Is Faith - is she okay?”

“So now you’re interested?”

Now she was hanging onto the edges of the chair. Not interested; absolutely obsessed with the next words that would fall from his mouth. “Giles…”

A warning: A little lacy taste of undertone just to let him know that this was not something they were allowed to joke about. “…is she okay?”

“Yes, she appears to be fine. According to Angel, she’s exceeding every hope they had for her. Hence the phone call.”

“Hence the phone call? You mean… does she, is she ready to see me?”

And god. That more like made the room spin. Made every one of the possibilities re-jostle for more of the first places as she considered all of what that could mean.

“No.”

No?

“She doesn’t?”

“I don’t know, Buffy. Angel didn’t call to discuss Faith’s social arrangements, it seems that he is of the opinion that she is ready to slay again.”

Take the room spin - turn it upside down - shake vigorously - and then slam it to the ground. Hard.

That was the reaction that the real reason behind the phone call was looking to produce. Her eyes set on bulging, her hands already busy throwing shapes through the air.

“Is he crazy?!”

“Buffy…”

“No! What if something happens to her? What if she’s not ready? God - she was in a coma for four years, Giles! Is he trying to kill her?”

“Will you please calm down?”

Not likely. Buffy could feel the anger pulsating somewhere deep within, could feel the fury as it looked to make prickles across every inch of skin. “It’s too much of a risk. He’s got no right-”

“I voiced these very concerns, Buffy. In fact, I voiced a lot more concerns than I expect even you could come up with. Angel is adamant though, that he knows what he is talking about - he offered a rather colourful argument about the path to redemption. I don’t know, perhaps with the results he’s been having with Faith, we ought to trust more in his judgement?”

Yes. Even though Faith could be vampire fodder sometime soon, she should trust that Angel knew what he was talking about. Not that it wouldn’t matter at all about redemption if Faith ended up dead. She should smile. She should nod…

“There should be a slayer there. Angel can’t handle Faith if things go wrong… I want to be there.”

Not able to do either. Her face tight - her stomach tight.

“That’s a bad idea. Putting Faith into a slaying situation, and then facing her with the one thing that seems to spark her rage, isn’t quite what I think Angel has in mind.”

“So why are you telling me? If I’m still not allowed to be included, why are you telling me?”

She didn’t mean to be losing it - didn’t mean to be shrieking her words at Giles in the manner of a newborn hell-spawn - but she really couldn’t help it. Wanting to rip the glasses from his hand and smash them down upon the desk. Wanting answers.

“Did you just want to torment me some more? Is that it? You think I’m not hurting enough right now, I need a little extra agony just to finish me off? I’m sick of this, Giles. I want to see Faith. I need to see her.”

Finding imploring to cover the rage - uncovering her pain to smother the anger. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he see what this was doing to her?

“I’m sorry, Buffy.”

And maybe he did.

Leaving his glasses resting on top of the desk as he lifted himself up to find her. Kneeling at the side of the chair - her hand suddenly engulfed by his. “I hate to see you hurting, I’m sorry that this situation is so painful for you. I only wanted to speak of it, so that you would know, so you didn’t have to hear about it second hand.”

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it Giles? All I get is second hand, all I’m allowed is hearsay and health reports: yes Buffy, Faith looks great! Sure Buffy, she’s eating real well… we’re leaving here in five more days; what the hell am I supposed to do?”

She knew that he had no answer. Accepting the comfort of his sigh - the same old message in his words:

“Just give her time. I know that it’s hard Buffy, but there really is no other way. Just give her time.”

“Right.”

Shrugging away his hand. Settling the shoulders again, acting responsibly again. “So when is she slaying?”

“Buffy…”

“What? I just want to know where and when so that I don’t accidentally run into her. That’d sure mess up everyone’s plans, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s highly unlikely to happen. You know I can’t tell you. It really is for the best.”

Right again.

Wrong again.

“Is that everything?”

“That’s everything. Are you going to be okay?”

“Peachy, Giles. I’m gonna be just peachy.”

As soon as she had found Xander.

The same question about Faith’s ability to slay, was currently being argued in a different office, somewhere in the same town. The current CEO of Wolfram and Hart having a hard time convincing a former watcher from the Watcher’s Council that releasing a vaguely unstable slayer back into the general population was anything like a sane thing to do.

“Did you say, vaguely unstable? I’d suggest that’s a rather flattering assessment, wouldn’t you?”

“No Wes, but then I’ve actually been putting in the hours working with Faith. What’s your area of expertise again? Translating manuscripts - not very helpful here.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me. I was Faith’s watcher; I’m extremely qualified to offer judgement on all areas of her slaying-”

“Would you two pansies stop with the handbags already? She did alright in the test didn’t she? Way I heard it, she barely broke a sweat.”

It was one of the only times that Angel would be thankful of a Spike interruption. Closing his own mouth before he really let rip, before he took the time to re-examine exactly how well Wesley had done as Faith’s watcher…

And Spike made a very valid point. Two nights after he had first sparred with Faith, Angel had allowed her to slay within a controlled environment. The gym closed off to everyone else, two vampires brought into the room. And Faith; finally armed and dangerous. It had been risky, he knew that, but it had also been necessary. Once that spark had come alight again, there was no way that he could look to douse it - every fibre of Faith’s being screaming that she slay - that she reconnect with what she had lost. What she had given up.

And she had barely broken a sweat. Her eyes surprised at first, not sure why he had armed her, not sure why there were two guys staring at her from the centre of the room…

“What’s this, Angel? You planning on me working off a little steam - can I do the one on the right first?”

Her words stunning him silent. The cocksure bravado she let enter her step. “You gonna watch?”

Fluttering the eyelashes.

And then the guys had gone to game face. Tempted by the sweet seduction that was everything Faith; wanting so bad to get themselves a taste. Their growls echoing loud, their steps advancing solid.

“Oh.”

Her realisation.

Angel had watched her understand, waited with a wasted breath to see what she would do. Pinning her eyes on the stake - looking up to catch sight of the vampires. Not even breaking a sweat. As if every move was so familiar, so easy, that to do it took no thought. Dust covering the ground before he’d had time to tell her to be careful… her sly smile turning before he’d found applause.

“Now I’ve really got some steam to work off.”

The stake tossed back. The punching bag attacked.

She had done well in the test.

“At the end of the day Wes, we won’t know what slaying is going to do to Faith, until we let her slay. She’s not gonna earn redemption by telling us she’s better - by saying that she’s sorry. Faith needs to get out there, she needs to start walking the path.”

“Utter codswallop! Releasing an unstable slayer back into the general population is tantamount to condoning the possibility of a massacre. It’s reckless Angel. You don’t even know for sure that Faith wants redemption!”

He caught the movement, the shadow that hovered by the door; the ears that caught the words. The girl that emerged to stride with confidence into the room.

“She does.”

And she couldn’t fool him. Maybe Wesley - but not him. He knew the nervousness that existed inside when she thought about going out again. Slaying for real. Taking that first big step up to the plate, learning how to hit again when the last time she’d only struck out. Faith could stand there now and look as though she owned the room; but Angel knew. He heard the pleading behind the words. He understood everything that it meant to her.

“Look Wes, I know that you’re worried, I’ve given you every reason to think I’m gonna screw this up - but I’m not, okay? I’m gonna get it right this time. I want to get it right.”

The nervous way that she bit into her bottom lip as she waited on a response; for Wesley to look at her in some way other than with the same distrustful glare. Nothing coming.

Angel beginning to think that he would have to break the silence himself, that no one else had anything to say…

“Bloody hell!”

He should have known.

“Why don’t we just let the slayer do her job? If it looks like she’s gonna flip her lid, you can have Angel tie her to a tree and give the geriatric vamps a feast. Can we talk about something else now - like when you buggering idiots are gonna work out how to make me whole?”

Another timely intervention. Spike commanding Wesley’s attention with all of his deep down despair at remaining incorporeal. Apparently it was hard being a ghost. Or not.

Angel just kept his eyes on Faith. Watching every reaction - every muscle move across her face, every nervous twitch that looked to go unnoticed. He watched it all. Keeping her calm. Holding onto her cover. Her final words:

“I’m going up for a shower… don’t talk about me too much while I’m gone.”

Spike’s laughter. Wesley’s stern tut.

And no matter what, Angel did believe that letting her slay again was the only thing to do. The first step - the next step. He would take her out late; a weekday so that it wasn’t so busy. A barely functional cemetery out by a barely functioning old folk’s home. An almost safe environment.

He believed that it was right. He still knew that it was a risk.

Buffy’s legs swung steadily back and forth against the counter in the lobby. Making an ever annoying thump. Encouraging her sister to finally lose patience with her.

“Buffy! We’re trying to play here! Can’t you go be annoying somewhere else?”

Nope. Thumping just a tiny bit louder, edging out just a little more of her irritation. All day long she had been waiting on Xander - and all day he hadn’t shown up. Probably off with Faith, probably holding her hand and talking about all the really groovy patrols that they were gonna go on…

“Buffy! Willow, can’t you get her to stop? Like, magic her legs off or something?”

“It’s okay, Dawn.”

“No it’s not! How am I supposed to concentrate, when she won’t stop with the banging? I’ve lost every game because of her!”

“It’s only Snap, Sweetie. I’ll let you win the next one, okay?”

And wow. Good to see that everyone else had worries too.

She did stop the banging though. Buffy didn’t want Willow defending her, not under any circumstances. It was all still a little bit completely unfriendly… not feeling able to accept any of the apologetic looks from Willow, when she was still struggling to comprehend the feelings that Xander said she had for her…

More hearsay and second hand.

Not like she could just confront her either though…

‘Hey Will, just wondered if you’ve ever wanted to do the low down bump and grind with me’ - or there was always - ‘I heard you might have a crush on me Will… wanna discuss?’

It was all just a nightmare scenario. Telling herself that she could only possibly be expected to concentrate on one nightmare at a time; and at this precise moment, that nightmare was Faith. Or Xander. And where the hell was Xander?!

Ready to actually out-loud scream that question to the heavens, by the time he finally walked through the doors. So unconcerned with anything that looked like worries, his step bouncing him down the stairs with his ever present smile in place.

“Hey, my three favourite ladies! How’s things? Not slaying tonight, Buff?”

“No, Kennedy’s got it. Where have you been?”

Her eyes actually narrowing on him as if she could peer at the answers. Hopping down off the counter, moving to invade his space.

“Out and about. I stopped by and saw you know who.” His gaze routing round her. “What ya playing there, Dawn? Looks pretty intense.”

“It’s Snap, and it is intense. I’m four to nothing down. I think Willow might be cheating though… I haven’t ruled out the unfair use of magic…”

“Hey! I am not cheating! I don’t need to cheat against you - you have about as much hand-eye co-ordination as a visually impaired slug…”

“Slugs don’t have hands.”

“Exactly!”

“Do they have eyes…?”

Buffy could see herself losing him; the way that his feet looked to walk around her to find them… wanting to know about slugs, wanting to find something that sounded like fun…

And she couldn’t allow that. She needed him.

“Xander, can we talk?”

“Sure Buff, what’s up?”

Seeing the way that they all turned to look at her; forgetting about the card game. Waiting to see why her voice had suddenly dropped to ominous.

“In private?”

And it wasn’t for them to know.

As they walked up the stairs to her room, Buffy tried to dispel that distinctly foreboding tone from her voice. She didn’t mean to sound quite so end of the worldy - but it did seem like the end of the world. Everything was changing and she had no control anymore over anything that happened. Not that she’d ever had control - but it had seemed like it at the time. Back home when she always known what was around each corner. When she always knew exactly where Faith would be.

Buffy certainly didn’t miss the beep, beep, beep of the machine that had sat at Faith’s bedside for the entire four years in the hospital; but so much so she missed the reassuring sound of her heartbeat. She missed her own heartbeat.

And it was hard to keep her tone bright and airy.

Shuffling Xander through the door, offering him a seat on the bed.

“Did you know that Angel’s taking Faith out slaying?”

No time for small talk.

“Slow down there, Buff - where’s the crisis?”

“Did you know?”

“Are you gonna beat it out of me if I say no?”

She saw that he was trying to smile, trying to lift the scowl that was currently crossing her face. And it wasn’t that easy. Settling for sighing, for rolling her shoulders and praying that someone, please, had a cure for her tension.

“No, I’m not gonna beat it out of you. I’m guessing you know though, right?”

“Yeah. I’m a little surprised that you know; I didn’t think that Angel wanted-”

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why am I not supposed to know? God Xander, what does everyone think I’m gonna do to her?”

He tried to offer her comfort, and she threw his arm from her shoulders. Standing to give herself distance, to be able to iterate her point in ways that showed how it was breaking her heart. “I only want to help her.”

The point that no one seemed to be getting.

“You are helping her - no Buffy, you are.”

His frame also looking to stand. Crossing the room and taking his place at her side. “I know it seems like you’re not being included, like everyone’s trying to keep you away, but it’s not like that. Well, it is - but not for the reasons you think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that no one’s worried about what you’d do to Faith, we’re a little more worried about what Faith does when she sees you.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can, you’re my number one slay gal. What if Faith can’t handle herself though? She’s still hanging onto the edge Buffy… what if seeing you pushes her over that edge? Do you really want to take that risk?”

Did she?

Absolutely.

“And what if it does the opposite? You don’t know what seeing me will do to Faith, none of you do. You keep telling me she’s getting better, she’s doing really great - you even said ‘terrific’ the other day. So what’s the what - how does everyone else know what would happen, when I haven’t got the first clue myself?”

“Do I need to state the risk part again?”

“No, you need to give me the details. When’s the scheduled slay-fest set to occur?”

Seeing that his gaze wasn’t weakening. Trying to soften the order. “Should I wear black tie?”

“Don’t make me do this Buffy.”

His words making her want to soften everything. Buffy could see in an instant that he didn’t want to tell her, she knew how loyal his heart was, she knew that he wouldn’t want to betray anyone. And that made her feel bad because she knew that she would make him commit the betrayal. She knew that she would look to rely on every year that had passed between them, every memory of friendship; whatever it took to have her getting what she needed.

Anything to at least gain back some sort of control.

“I’m sorry Xander. I wouldn’t ask you though, if it wasn’t important to me. You know how much Faith means to me. You know what I feel for her…”

“No I don’t.”

Shocked into standing still. Struck by dumbness.

“I know you care about her, but so what? I think it’s safe to say that I care about her too. I love you Buffy - you know that, and you know I’d do anything you asked of me; but I can’t do this. If it all goes wrong, if something happens to Faith because of-”

“I love her.”

“You what?”

She what?

“You heard me…” Having to find the bed again because she knew only how to collapse under the shock of everything that her words had just revealed. To herself. To Xander. The weight unbearable. “…don’t make me say it again.”

“I didn’t… are you sure? Maybe you’re just feeling down, everything is getting on top of you…”

“No. I mean yes, I’m sure. I can’t breathe for thinking about her… I can’t eat for worrying about her. All I want is to make her better, Xander - to see her smiling again. Whether I like it or not, I can’t keep telling myself that this is just some crazy kind of crush.”

And she really couldn’t.

Buffy had pondered obsession, would have gladly taken obsession over what she was sure she was feeling now. But it wasn’t that. It was this. The reason that her chest only held a dead beat. The reason that she had never been able to let Faith go…

“Wow.”

Bringing her eyes back to Xander. Stunned himself into sitting back down; peering at her now as if maybe he would see the truth. And she tried to show him. Felt the tears gathering and swallowed them down - just held herself steady as she thought of all that Faith meant to her. As she offered it all to Xander.

“You really…? The big L, with Faith?”

Just the strength to nod.

“Wow.” Relieved as she saw him smile. “And this isn’t just some ploy to get me to tell you the secret slay location?”

“No Xander, it’s the reason. What else am I supposed to do - bury the feelings again? Pretend that I’m somehow living, when all I can think about is Faith? I need to see her.”

“Buffy…”

“And you don’t know - you don’t know what she feels for me. You told me she won’t talk about it to anyone, so maybe she’s burying them too, right? And with Will warning her off like she did, it’s no wonder that she doesn’t want to see-”

“Shhh.”

She leant her head against his shoulder as he pulled her in close. Stopping her frantic babble, allowing real words to break free. To vocalise the pain…

“I won’t hurt her Xander, I promise. This is my last chance… this is all that I have left.”

His sigh breaking her flow.

“Please?”

His words seeking to mend her heart.

“Okay. But if something happens…”

“Nothing will happen. Please, Xander…”

“Right. Thursday night. After midnight. There’s some old folk’s place up on Ocean Drive… that’s all I know.”

His monotone making her feel like shit. The way that his shoulders had slumped as he had told her, the way that he was looking at her now.

“Thank you.”

Offering the only thing that she could.

Buffy knew that this a gigantic risk, but what was the risk compared to the loss? How could she possibly get on a plane in five days time without taking one last chance to reach Faith? To find that space to place a foothold. To begin to set things right?

It was no risk compared to love.

Chapter Twenty-one.

Faith tried to take a deep, steadying breath for what felt like the thousandth time that night. Everything within her keened to hear the alluring call of sunset. Each of her senses individually heightened, the electricity already offering her the comfort of the buzz that was creeping enticingly along each of her limbs. Awakening the slayer.

And then there was the flip side. The place that wasn’t finding comfort in anything which offered a reminder of the past. The place that had dictated she spend all of the evening pounding furious punches into a lifeless dummy just to keep some sort of focus. Some sense of control.

Really so easy to remember how it used to be. How it still was if she closed her eyes long enough.

Not what she wanted. Trying to smash through the darkness with a look towards light:

Everything was different here. Life was different here.

For so many nights now, Faith had found herself re-examining her stagnant view of existence through a new kind of microscope. A soul filled vampire always ready to counter-argue anything which stank too much like bullshit - always ready to put her back on the path when she felt like she wanted to stray…

“So what’s the point? I can’t change what I did - you said yourself that it never stops hurting - so what’s the fucking point?! It’d be easier for everyone if I just gave up.”

“You take it one day at a time, Faith. It isn’t ever easy, it’s not supposed to be easy, you can never take back the things that you’ve done. But you keep trying; every single minute you try to be a better person. You work hard, you take the pain - then one day, without even realising it, you find yourself living again. You can look in the mirror and face who you are.”

“And that’s redemption?”

“That’s redemption.”

“Shit dude. Guess you’re totally screwed then.”

And she had ridden him hard for his lack of living, for his total inability to ever study his own reflection; but deeper than that, she had listened to his words. She hadn’t meant to, it was one of those nights when her fury had raged until sunrise, where all that she truly wanted to do, was to stop his endless assault of truth seeking missiles with a sharp slice of wood to the heart.

“Everyone else is ready to forgive you, Faith, why aren’t you ready to face up to what you’ve done?”

“Screw you, deadhead. I am facing up. I’ve fucking relived Sunnydale so many times, I might as well still be there.”

“And Buffy?”

Fuck off.

It had been a rage filled night. Not knowing why he was digging so intently - what the fucking obsession was with wanting to talk about Buffy. And then she had understood. Faith had been telling Angel with an ever increasing steadiness that she wanted to change, that the darkness had had its pound of flesh and she was ready for the good times again. To be good again. A bit. As much as she could be. But still she couldn’t face the confusion of talking about Buffy. She could talk around Buffy with the expertise of a well versed Traffic Cop - short blonde ahead? Just follow the diversions. But to touch the feeling? To even consider the feeling in daylight?

She wasn’t ready to face the pain. She wasn’t ready for redemption. She wouldn’t be ready to live again until she had faced up to everything. To everyone. Maybe. Still not sure how that one would work. Whether bagels would be enough to stop her wanting to rip Buffy’s head from her shoulders. To rip the clothes from her body.

The thoughts still so fucking confusing.

At least Angel hadn’t dressed it up though. That had been what had forced her to listen. Forced her to feel the words. There wasn’t any bullshit there; no pretending that she could skip her way gaily back from insanity with barely a backwards glance. Without witnessing the carnage that she herself had caused. No. He had told her that she would have to live with the pain. But then - at least he had told her that she could live.

It was a new view. Accepting that she would always feel those same feelings inside, but fighting at last to silence them. To quiet the demon voices that called out to her with the taunting tones of endless torment, that followed her through every single day to remind her of who she was. What she was.

She was bad. She was evil. She was a killer.

All that Faith really wanted now, was to be different. To do like Angel had said and maybe one day look into a mirror and not be disgusted by the person that she saw looking back. By the things that she had done. Had enjoyed doing.

Making her sick with the nervousness now; silently studying the clock and waiting for Angel to come get her. Not sure exactly what the plan was, where exactly she was going; just knowing that tonight was the night. Tonight she would slay again. For real. No boundaries of Angel’s gym to keep the insanity at bay, nothing but her and the power she remembered so well. Everything about being a slayer remembered so well. Never able to hide how it had made her feel; the fighting. The hormones that could never be harnessed after she had driven a stake through the centre of all evil, how her limbs would sing with such sweet anticipation until she gave them the release that they desired. Such deep down fucking lust. Riding it from her body hard. Everything ridden hard. But deeper than that. Harder than that. A whole lot fucking darker than that:

Touching death. That was where the real power lay. Holding the very threads of existence in the palm of her hand, being the one with the ultimate control, the final say so over living and dying. Provoking the worst kind of feeling - awakening all of those nasty desires; making her believe that she really was all sorts of invincible.

No one could touch her.

And Faith still didn’t know if she was strong enough to fight the feeling. If she could be good enough to stop being bad. Sure - she had the words of the other souled vampire to keep her head pointed in the right direction, but even then, his words had only added to the other confusion:

“I touched more evil than your pretty mind could ever dream up - I was the Big Bad that all other bads were scared of.”

Almost wanting to smile past the severity of his words when she had witnessed the way that he postured. Striking a pose. Eventually making her chuckle.

“You didn’t have a soul then Spike - it doesn’t count.”

“You think it’s different now, slayer? You think I don’t still crave a little of that feeling? Truth is, once you’ve touched it, you never wanna let go. You never stop wanting it.”

“So what happened? Why don’t you go grab the darkness?”

“Fell in love with a girl.”

And that was that. Knowing that he thought he was telling a tale for both of them, showing her how it was. And her, Faith, still so unsure of anything. She had been doing well with the Buffy stuff, doing everything to distance herself from the feeling; to focus only on the other things that she had to think about if she was to take a different path. But now - with slaying - how the hell was she meant to forget?

Something so fucking sublime in the way that her skin had glistened with the flush of exhilaration whenever they had fought side by side - heart thumping, blood racing - every single bit as intense as when they had fought face to face. Always so much to feel. Too much to feel.

It had brought out her bad side. Needing to defile the feeling before it could take a deeper hold. Needing to fight off anything that had felt like vulnerability.

It was tempting her bad side now. She felt vulnerable now.

Scared of who she was. Who she might be. Still wishing that she could turn back the clock to that time before she had ever met Buffy; when it was simply about good over evil. When she didn’t know enough to know that she had only ever been destined to be second best.

The slow sliding sound of the elevator arriving, stunned Faith’s thoughts back into the present. Her eyes focusing again on the face of the clock, her feet looking to stand with an urgency that she was sure she wasn’t feeling.

This was it. A meeting with destiny.

Holding out her hand as Angel armed her again with a stake, remembering how to breathe as his words broke through the silence:

“It’s time, Faith.”

Time to meet her maker.

The plans that had been made on the strength of Xander’s information had not been made alone; Buffy had relied upon the bond that had grown between herself and the girls to unite each of them in the quest to regain Faith. Telling Kennedy first because she needed to talk it through, and then Kennedy insisting that the girls were in. That there was no freaking way that Buffy was going out to face god knows what, all on her own. And Buffy had remembered imploring them not to be alone; now she was reaping the full flush of benefits. Leading an educational fieldtrip into why slayers should never date in the workplace.

Giles would be proud. If he knew. Which he didn’t.

He would have approved of her stealth though, that she was sure of. The way that they had run an extensive sweep of the area the night before, the way that she had personally checked every damn vantage point until she had been sure that she could see every single inch of the cemetery. And tonight; the way that they had arrived so early, had crept so expertly into place, everyone working on the agreement that this was Buffy’s show. No one was to do anything unless it came from her. Even Kennedy accepting the rules. Understanding what kind of a quest they were on. Settling herself just one branch away, up overhead, surrounded by foliage.

It was something that had made Buffy smile - that this brash, loudmouthed, annoying wiseass could be sat up in a tree in the middle of the night, just to offer help. To cover her back. It was a friendship that was developing beneath the slayer bond - someone she could talk to about the way that she felt. Someone who understood when she hoped that Willow would have been the one to understand.

And Kennedy had never blushed when they talked about sex stuff:

“I bet you’re just dying to do the low down slip and slide with her…”

“Hold up Kennedy; for one that’s naughty talk, and we never do naughty talk straight after slaying. And two; I wouldn’t know how to slip and slide even if I wanted to - I mean honestly, what the hell do you do?”

“No way! You never grilled Willow on this? You’ve never even watched the adult channel?”

“No. And absolutely no. I wouldn’t have the first clue which bits were for slipping and which bits were for sliding…”

“As long as it’s wet, you can’t go wrong.”

So very informative.

It had urged her into thinking about possibilities. It had heightened her senses in all of the wrong places when she should have been focusing only on the air that shifted around her. Almost missing Faith’s arrival. The moment when the rasping tones that only spoke to her now in the softness of dreams, had finally split the silence of her vigil. Sensing the sudden steadiness of the girls all around her - knowing that everyone was focused on what would happen next.

And Buffy had re-found her focus too. Fixing her eyes, maybe losing the focus further. Really so hard to think about trivialities such as air, when Faith was only the shortest distance away.

Buffy had certainly lost her breath.

Like a sucker punch to the solar plexus the moment when she had first caught sight. That same old cocky strut, the same look of deep-down empowered indifference; like she didn’t need to take any notice because she already knew everything that there was to know. Buffy recognised that cover, remembered enough to look beneath it, to search out the nervous laughter that ended every sentence; to feel her heart ache as she realised inherently that Faith was scared. She had seen Faith scared before. The very first time that she’d met her, Faith had been scared.

Buffy wanted to go to her then. Wanted to shirk all of the words about patience and time and drop right down at her feet - maybe remind her again that they were a team; that regardless of anything, she still had her back covered. Faith didn’t need to be scared. Not of anything anymore.

Not allowed to do that though. Buffy had instead been forced to feel a pang of a different kind as Angel had appeared at Faith’s side; talking his steady words, reaching out to place a calming hand upon her shoulder. And he was good with her. Even through the hazy green of sudden jealousy, Buffy could see and accept that he was good with her. Letting go of her breath as Faith had sucked in a lungful:

“So what time do the old folks like to party?”

“This isn’t a party, Faith.”

“Only if you’re doing it wrong.”

All hell breaking loose as if that had been the cue that evil was waiting on. Or at least someone’s dearly departed grandparents, who right then looked like they should most definitely be residing somewhere close to hell. A him and a her. Matching waxy complexions. Matching looks of hunger. Their mouths growling loud as they advanced purposefully upon the power poised Faith - her fight stance affected - her mouth drawn back in a smile that offered a lifetime of delight.

And far up in the branches, somewhere much closer to heaven, Buffy had also found her smile again as she witnessed Faith’s return. Lost in the moment, lost in the memory. The feeling that was so much more intrinsic than anything that could ever be called a slayer bond; the very thing that she had insisted to Xander was love. That she knew was love. Holding her back now from racing forward and joining in the fight. Just sitting expertly up on her branch. High enough not to bring gazes; to watch without being watched. To recognise all that she was being shown:

Because something here was different… this was all different. A different girl to the one that they had kept locked in a cage. A different person to the one who had raged so furious and futile against the bars of her imprisonment. Hearing instead her howls of success. Studying the face of her laughter as she reduced to dust the final vampire from the very morbid couple. The turn. The high five. The happiness.

And it was enough.

Buffy’s heart would still break on the silent goodbye; but for now she knew - she felt - that this was good enough. To see Faith smiling was everything. It was what she had said to Xander - that had been her definition of love.

A tear threatening to form in her eye even as Kennedy whispered down to draw her sight to the straggling vampire that was encroaching on the space right below them; passing directly underneath, looking to stalk his way slowly towards Angel and Faith. Their backs turned. Focus distracted by the still strong Boston drawl that was cheering on their victory. And Buffy could feel what was happening before she saw it. Her eyes darting upwards… the movement above her. The crossbow pointing through leaves…

…the movement in front of her. Instinctively knowing that Faith was drawing her stake. Ready. Waiting. Playing the vampire. Whispered words not quick enough…

“Kennedy, wait!”

The soft thwack of the arrow beginning its flight. Faith’s sudden turn. The instant of impact. Confusion so obvious through the cloud of settling dust.

“What the fuck?!”

Brown eyes beginning the quickest scan ever of the area all around. And Buffy held tight - tensing - knowing that the pounding in her chest was likely to give them all away at any moment. The moment. Faith’s gaze following the moonlight to peer into all of the secretive spaces - her mouth forming the silent question of ‘B?’, as Buffy threw off her cover to drop down from the branches.

“Faith.”

Not sure if she was expecting a greeting in return, just sure that she wasn’t expecting the same sudden sneer; the way the air instantly cooled as Faith tore her gaze back towards Angel.

“You set me up? This is all a fucking set-up!?”

“No Faith - I had no idea that she would be here.”

“Right, that’s why you’ve been banging on the Buffy box so hard all fucking week. I should’ve known - every fucking time and I still fucking fall for it…”

Buffy caught Angel’s accusing glare, watched the way that Faith stepped up to face off against him - and she could almost live with that. That little unfriendly place called jealousy, insisting that watching a division form between the pair in front of her, was not all bad. There were positives…

But no. She had remembered love when she’d seen Faith’s smile, and she refused to lose that feeling so quickly. Not prepared to settle for just a fleeting glance. Stepping forward - clearing her voice to make sound. To maybe break the tension.

“Wait Faith, it wasn’t Angel, he didn’t know anything about this.”

“You expect me to believe that? You think I don’t see what this is? Fuck, you just always gotta keep the control.”

“No. I wanted to see you before I left. You do know that I‘m leaving, right?”

Just two sentences allowed before Angel found his way to block the space right in front of her. Blocking her light. Blocking her sight.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Buffy? Do you realise how reckless you’re being? Did you even stop to think for a moment about anyone other than yourself?”

His tone forcing her back. The absolute aggression that had sprung into his words as a defensive wall for Faith, making her wonder if there would be punches; if he was willing to push that far to prevent her from having the moment that she had come there needing. And she hoped not; had been prepared to walk away just a moment ago - but not now - not now that she had met the gaze again. Had seen the snarl. Finding an aggressive stance to match Angel’s harsh tone… ready to fight if that’s what it took.

Forgetting that her back was covered.

The soft sudden whoosh surprising Buffy, as the remaining slayers on the fieldtrip dropped down from their covers. The instant hum surrounding her as they sought to even up numbers, as they looked to protect one of their own.

“Yo, you wanna back off, vamp?”

Kennedy the one who of course found confrontation the fastest; maybe still juiced from the sharp slay of her crossbow; glad to still be closing in on the sniff of more prey. Her arm still itching to get in a fight. Buffy sensed it as easy as she sensed the prickle that was urging her own arm into working - instincts still confused by nature.

Angel - vampire. It was always there somewhere.

Stepping up now to prevent catastrophe. Trying to remember that all of this had been about seeing Faith. About getting her to listen for maybe half a second to any of the number of things that she wanted to say. To at least, possibly, if Buffy held onto her greatest hope, have Faith saying that one day, no matter if it was still real far away, she would be ready to talk. To listen. To build the bridges.

“Kennedy, back down. Angel’s just a little bit excitable, I think it’s a territorial-”

“Damn…” The heavy tones reaching up to silence her instantly. “…guess these are your new bitches, B. You sure got‘em trained good.”

Not able to find words that could answer Faith’s sarcastic taunting. Not needing to. The reassuring hum from Kennedy, threatening to turn into something a lot more dangerous as she rounded to offer a look. A tightly whispered -“Are you frickin’ kidding me?”

Letting all of her well rehearsed attitude spin her back Faith’s way. Getting up in her face. “You’d better start watching your mouth, unless you wanted me to make you my bitch?”

The glare settling tight. Nothing making Buffy think that anything positive was coming from the night. Angel’s slow step forward only confirming the fact. And even now, barely an inch away from touching Faith, and still there were more barriers. Just one more thing to keep her away. His hand soft on her shoulder again, her breathing instantly looking to calm.

“Come on Faith, we’re leaving.”

And no! No, no, no, no, NO!!

Buffy’s heart constricting. Her throat constricting. Yet again everything turning into the same old fucked up disaster; not even just this once allowed for something to be anything different, to make a choice and have fate close its eyes and bless her. Grabbing so hard for her mantra and remembering again how many times she had risen from the ashes, how many times she had made that crawl from the grave,  how many times she had managed to reverse the odds.

“Wait, Faith - please, can we just talk?”

Sounding so pathetic, so everything that she had promised herself she wouldn’t be. She would be strong. She would be brave. She would find a sneer herself as Angel looked to answer her words.

“Now’s not the time, Buffy.”

His arm sliding tighter around Faith. Not letting Buffy see the look in her eyes, not letting her listen to anything that Faith may have been thinking to say. Just walking away. Again. Just faced by her back. Again. And she may have found a silent sob; may have finally broken down once and for all in front of the army that destiny had decided to charge her with leading - but she didn’t. Kennedy sidling up to her to ward off thoughts of tears, words whispered again under a cloaked offer of hope…

“You’re so gonna owe me for this if it hurts.”

A wink. A look of such complete mischievousness that Buffy was sure she should be feeling the first flow of worry.

“Kennedy?”

“Just listen…” Her voice rising to encompass all of her audience; all of the early leavers…

“…Yeah, you never said that she was a coward though, Buffy. Guess she likes being the vampire’s bitch.”

Oh yes.

And maybe the night wasn’t going to be over quite so early.

Faith’s footsteps instantly halting. Her harsh words spoken on the turn.

“You wanna throw down, little girl?” All of it a warning. All of it looking to remember the dark and nasty. “Any special places that you want me to touch?”

The maliciousness winding tight around the deep seductive tone. An offer to get physical. And again, for Buffy, it was enough.

“I think that’s all the help I need Kennedy. I want to talk to Faith alone. Can you make sure that Angel gets home okay?”

“Wait, you can stop right there. This has already gone on too long. There’s no way that I’m leaving you alone with Faith, you have no idea what-”

“I wasn’t asking you to leave. Girls - make sure he gets home okay.”

Her commanding tone choosing that time to re-find everything inside that sounded like strength, everything that made destiny sleep well at night knowing that the world had been placed in good hands. The slayers stepping up to surround Angel; to cut him off from something that to them had nothing more to do with him. Rona taking her turn to find front and centre.

“This is slayer business now; you can either leave the easy way or the hard way. Makes no real difference to us.”

Vi releasing her quirky smile to try and soften all of the hostility that sat heavy in the air. “Yeah, you may be letting us stay rent free in your hotel, but we’ve got wood mister…, uh… Mister Angel, and we’re not afraid to use it.”

His eyes never softening as he had weighed up the odds. His tone brutal as he finally turned to address Buffy again.

“You’re acting like nothing but a stupid, selfish schoolgirl - you’d better hope that nothing happens to her…”

Too intent on watching Faith, to even think about offering Angel an answer. Faith’s gaze also fixing. Like maybe she was accepting that now was the time. That facing up, had to start somewhere. Like maybe with facing off.

Hearing Angel’s final words as he was being led away.

“Just stay calm, Faith.”

“It’s okay, Angel. I got this.”

And silence. And now. And how?

Knowing inside that she had to wait for Faith to make the first move; that yes, she herself may have instigated the show - but from here on in it was Faith’s show to run. The only one that could set the pace. Who could smash the opening volley.

“Still can’t get the message, B - you want me to be bad again?”

Everything offered inside those so few words. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Buffy caught and carried every emotion, tried her best to return them with something that meant anything. A soft lob that would maybe land without obstruction.

“I never wanted you to be bad.”

Not a chance.

“Jesus! Wasn’t it enough to lock me in a cage, wasn’t it enough to stick a god damned knife in my gut? When have I been punished enough by you? When the fuck will you leave me alone?!”

“I’m not punishing you…”

The fist telegraphed a mile away. Still able to land though, still able to cut a swathe through Buffy’s words and throw her from her path. Stopping the flow. Her mouth closed on impact to hear the venomous outpouring of Faith’s accusations.

“You hound me in my sleep! You fucking hound me when I’m awake - what do I have to do, B?” A kick sailing viciously close to places that she wanted to protect. “Who do I have to kill to make you hate me again?”

As if Faith instinctively knew how to inflict the most damage. As if she thought that the words which carried the same twisted message as the past would be enough to get things moving. Not expecting the lessons that had been gained from four years not sleeping. Buffy smiling to cover the wince, finding soft words to counteract the pain…

“I can’t hate you anymore. I told you already…”

Not allowing the cry to break free as Faith struck out again. Not stopping the plea for sanity as she looked to raise her hands in protection. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Just shut the fuck up! Fight me!”

Blows gaining speed. Everything shutting off except for the steady rhythm of attack; a kick, a punch. Faith’s scream of frustration as Buffy held herself back from anything that felt like retaliation. Just holding her ground. Deflecting the words.

“I said fucking fight me!”

“I’m not doing this Faith.”

“No? Thought I heard you liked it rough.” A snarl smashing her smile. Another kick landed. “Heard you liked it real fucking nasty.”

Thrown onto her back and hitting a gravestone; not able to not cry out. To not feel dazed. One second where the warrior within, refused absolutely to take a one sided beating. Her own leg kicking out; smashing hard into soft flesh. Bringing a surprised shout of pain. A drawn out look of absolute satisfaction.

“Now that’s more like it B. That’s what I’ve been missing.”

Shaking off the hit to stand ready for more. Faith’s taunting words searching to find targets that would provoke more of the fisted responses - and Buffy kept on swallowing. Kept on defending. Her parries becoming more and more useless as Faith took her anger to an uncontrollable level. Such bare naked rage in everything that was being said…

“You fucking want this, you always wanted this! You need me to be bad, you fucking need me to be bad!”

…the force of the words pushing her back. Finding shelter under the tree that had been her earlier sanctuary; not finding comfort in the way that the bark scratched rough through her top. By the way the low branches stopped her hands from protecting her head from the hits to soft places. Feeling the one that broke her lip, that put blood across her mouth.

And the hand. So slender around her neck again. Nothing coming close to feeling this forceful in the basement. Those brown eyes penetrating her now with such intensity, such heat from the battle, that Buffy believed she would burn up in an instant. Holding her breath as the tones hit nasty again, as the face edged slowly in. Just a hairs breadth from her lips. An inch from losing her life.

“Is this what I have to do, B? Is this what it takes to make you hate me?”

So hate filled. So hurt filled. The gaze wide-eyed and panicked. The grip tightening hard around her throat…

“Faith?”

And connection.

Smashing apart anything and everything that stood in its way. The savagery of Faith’s lips crashing through the surprise that would have brokered resistance; just yielding. A kiss filled with fury. Not knowing where it had come from - if this was the act that was to make her hate Faith - not caring. Swept up by the rawness of teeth bruising hard where punches had landed. The hands leaving her throat to find arms. Pinning her up, pinning her back.

And she gave up control.

Buffy had decided long before she had arrived this evening, that this would go the way that Faith wanted - postcards, a letter at Christmas; whatever or whenever… however Faith wanted. Letting her invade her mouth with the tongue that had hurled abuse so degrading… really not caring. Arching her neck as the touch was dragged to spark passion across her pulse point. Needing to breathe. To find footing.

“Faith?”

Hard breaths. Harsh breaths.

Eyes meeting again. And in the moment that her hands were released, she let them find Faith. Let them cling to Faith. Dragging them through hair to bring lips back to hers; not surrendering this time. Insisting with the softness she was offering that this didn’t have to be so hard. It didn’t have to be about hating. Her body relaxing into the kiss as she felt Faith responding… exploring now. A whimper now. The slightest of struggles as her arms were pulled away again… as a thigh slipped so deft between legs…

…a nervous rhythm. Not able not to speak. Not able not to break the moment…

“God yes…”

Her prayer of thanks, like a last minute call to all of Faith’s demons. The pull back so sudden. The look so lost, so confused, so what the hell was happening now?

And no again.

No!

Already seeing the yes. The panic provoking attack. The warm feel of lips replaced by the cold feel of hate. The final punch. Another end.

Barely moving before Faith was gone. Her shadow already sucked into darkness. Her presence just left in the memory of the kiss.

And what the fuck?! Beating any other what the fuck moment that may have involved best friends and naughty thoughts  and all of the shared beds at sleepovers - and really, again, what the fuck?!

Buffy could feel the pain of every blow she had failed to deflect; could taste the small stain of blood that was already looking to cake her bottom lip. But kisses? Where the heck did kisses come into the plan? When had that been decided? Who had decided it?

And how did they make the pain feel better already?

As Buffy took a final look around the unimpressive graveyard that had been the backdrop to a battle that had ended in confusion, the only thing that she knew for sure, was that she was going to be facing all sorts of hell. That this outcome was going to be viewed as the worst thing that could have happened; Faith made mad and then made free. And she knew that she would be collecting all of the blame. All of the consequences.

Still able to smile though as she readied herself to pass through hell on the pathway to heaven. Because Faith had kissed her; Buffy had decided. Not the other way around. Not her begging for scraps from the table that had been closed off to visitors. It had been all about Faith. And Buffy would find her now - damn it - she would find her, tie her up and wash out her ears if she had to. But regardless of who stood in her way, of what level of hell she would have to endure to get to where she was going; Faith was going to listen to what she had to say. She was going to have to hear why it wasn’t about hate. Why it could never be about hate, no matter how confusing. And she would absolutely hear why Buffy had pulled her back in for that second kiss, when the first had only been given to stoke something like disgust.

A cover.

A place for Faith to hide.

With the passion that had relaxed and reciprocated when the world had finally sat softer, Buffy believed that she now knew what it was that Faith was afraid of. What it was that she was hiding from.

Vowing to not let her hide anymore.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

The ache of anticipation sat heavy in the air when Buffy finally heaved open the doors to The Hyperion. For more than an hour she had stood motionless beneath the swaying branches of the tree that had offered enlightenment, and for more than an hour she had dared herself to start taking the baby steps back towards the hell of her own making. Now, with the forthright glares that were looking to welcome her home and maybe roast her on the spot, she silently wished that foliage was still an option. The watchful eyes feeling far too intrusive… looking a little too closely at the limp in her step, at the graze across her lips.

And she tried to ignore them. Found her own eyes darting out to look for the support of the slayers; her feet already leading her towards taking direction, her mouth trying desperately to find a smile that wouldn’t bring further strain to the stinging of her lips.

“Guys, everything go okay with Angel?”

All about the perky. Catching Kennedy’s return look and knowing, just knowing, that everything was not okay. That she had expected the hell and she was going to catch it.

“Buffy, perhaps you could try explaining to me exactly what’s gone on this evening?”

“Oh, Giles, didn’t see you there. You’re up late…”

“Because so far, the way that I have been told, it seems as though you went against everything that was said to you. Not only did you blatantly discard all of the reasoning, you also sought to include the other slayers in your deceptive little soiree.”

“My little what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you know full well what I’m alluding to; judging by the look of you, I take it that it’s safe to assume things went precisely the way we expected?”

Uh - no. Or yes. For the most part maybe. Buffy knew that her bruises advertised the fact that there was confrontation involved in her soiree of deceptiveness, but she also knew that there was no way for Giles to guess at the conclusion to the confrontation. He couldn’t feel the way that her lips still felt, he had no chance of understanding how fast her heart still beat.

And could she tell him? Would she tell him?

Saved from the moment by the interruption of her new best friend, by the person who seemed to have taken watching her back to a whole new level.

“Hold off on the attack, Giles. It wasn’t just Buffy’s call, all of us agreed with her.”

“That may be so Kennedy, but it’s Buffy that I expect to know better. The deception in itself is bad enough, but the way that she sought to dismiss Angel? It’s outright bloody ridiculous.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t both so eager to ignore me, I wouldn’t have had to deceive you. You know how much I needed to see Faith.”

“And what about what Faith needs? It seems to me that in amongst all of your own desires, you’ve readily lost sight of hers. Angel made it quite clear that she isn’t ready to face you yet. I imagined you would’ve at least been able to show some respect for his opinion.”

“And if his opinion is wrong?”

Because Buffy believed inherently that it was. That Angel had no idea of how badly things still burnt between her and Faith - how deeply the rivers still ran. “This is my life Giles, and I’ll be damned before I sit back and let everyone else direct it. You were wrong the last time you chose to ignore me, and you’re wrong this time.”

“Sure Buffy, that’s why you’re wearing all those psycho-sized bruises, right?”

Willow.

Buffy had wondered how long it would take before the single pronged attack grew another prong. The arms folded tight across her chest, the face resolving to show nothing but distaste. And that mouth, that sweet and pretty little mouth doing nothing except adding more of the acid to all of the things that had already been said.

“I guess you’ll just never learn, huh? Faith’s evil Buffy, she does evil things - and that’s not just some wacky opinion, it’s a statement of fact. Look at what she’s done to you…  she’s hurt you again. Are we just supposed to ignore this too?”

And how did she counter that? What damning words could Buffy choose to use that would deflect and deflate everything that Willow was seeking to say?

She didn’t know. There was no defence that could prove Faith wasn’t evil; she had done evil things… lots of evil things; but those were the ways of the past. Even tonight, with Buffy prone beneath her and absolutely willing to accept her direction… what had Faith done?

“She kissed me.”

Confirmed. Made fact. Something that couldn’t be ignored.

Something that now dropped everyone’s jaw. Not just Willow’s, not just Giles’… everybody’s. Kennedy’s eyes as wide as her girlfriend’s; all of the slayers caught seemingly in headlights.

“You what?”

Yet Willow the one who still wanted the stage.

“She kissed me. I kissed her. Not a hint of evil involved.”

“You better tell me you’re kidding… you didn’t kiss her. You would never kiss Faith.”

“Would, could and did. Enjoyed every second of it.”

And somehow the room had found a way to shrink. The stage spinning to include only the two. Everyone else reduced only to audience.

“Could you get more twisted? What did you do Buffy - get her to beat you first, just to get the juices flowing?”

“You really wanna do this?”

“Do what - dissect your need to sleep with the dregs? I guess there are some core issues that need addressing, but with the way that you’ve been acting lately-”

“Me! The way that I’ve been acting? Give me a break Will, you’re the one that’s gone all green-eyed monster, you’re the one who needs to get a grip on the core issue.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

The question dangling in the air and amplified by the silence. Buffy’s eyes grandstanding intense as she dared Willow to lay it all out on the line. As she dared her to take the twisted words of accusation and turn them back on herself. “Got nothing to say, Will?”

Letting her know. Showing her that she knew how deep the core issue really went - that sure, it may have taken her a whole lotta years to get a handle on all of the dynamics; but she was there now. She understood now.

No reply forthcoming.

Just eyes that seemed to doubt and then to wither. A mouth that went to speak and then stayed silent.

And Buffy turned away. Left Kennedy to be the one who shot a glare across to Willow. Instead focusing her attention back on Giles; waiting for the torrent of dismay that she was sure she’d now be facing.

“What about you, Giles? You wanna wade in with a few watcherly words on how messed up I am?”

“I… quite frankly Buffy, I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

“What do I expect…? Well, support would be nice, maybe a little understanding. Heck, it’s not like the whole world’s gonna end just because I kissed Faith.”

“No, I rather suspect that it isn’t. Though I do have to say that a situation where you and Faith were… kissing, well, you must realise that it’s a bolt out of the blue? You don’t look as though…”

His hands waved in the vague direction of all over her. Pointing out the obvious beating that it looked like she had taken, his eyes offering not only confusion but also concern.

“It’s nothing, Giles. We’re talking about me and Faith here, and that was never gonna be all sunshine and flowers. We had words - there were punches - and then… well, then there weren’t. Or there were, but just the one, and that was totally different.”

“Excellent. Glad you managed to clear that up for me. So where is Faith now?”

Oh.

Of course.

Buffy had done well to forget that she still had to divulge how the kissing had led to fleeing and a whole lot of worry about how Faith was reacting. Or coping. Or not coping. Back on the spot now. Able to admit quite easily how lips had travelled to places unexpected, but squirming under the spotlight when she had to find the words to tell the rest of the tale…

“Did I mention that we kissed twice?”

“Buffy, her location please?”

“Right, her location… that’s a little on the hazy side at the moment…”

“The hazy side?”

“…I mean, it wasn’t like we really talked that much. You know how Faith can be when it comes to talking - all short, sharp and straight to the point. I did want to ask where she was running off to in such a hurry…”

The eyes narrowing on her. And she could see him getting it. Could hear the almost silent sigh that slipped out not unnoticed. Could see the way that he was looking to weigh up the stupidity of her actions.

“Please tell me that you haven’t made matters worse? That Faith isn’t out there now; god knows where, in god knows what frame of mind, all because you were determined to go gung-ho with your hormones and force forward the issue.”

“Hey, she kissed me first! The only issue I was looking to force forward was that I needed to see her.”

“That’s hardly the point here…”

And she wondered what the point was as he removed the glasses from his head and ran a tired hand through his hair. “…Bloody hell, Buffy. I can only hope that there are going to be no dire consequences to your actions; not only for you, but also for Faith. I suggest you call Angel, he needs to know that she’s out there alone, and then we need to be thinking about ways of finding her.”

Buffy was completely certain that she didn’t need to be regurgitating this conversation to Angel. She was more than sure that it would only lead the way to more of the hell scenario. He was going to be pissed at her - it was one of life’s givens.

“How about you call Angel, and me and the girls get going on the finding part?”

“Sounds good to me Buffy, I’m more than ready to get out of here.”

Seeing the slayers protecting her periphery; already stepping up again, already willing to take her lead as opposed to anyone else. And she found a smile for them.

“Thanks Ken, guys… I guess we need to saddle up, split into groups… take a walk downtown…”

“That’s quite enough. I really don’t think that we should proceed with anything until I’ve managed to speak to Angel. I understand that my opinion isn’t worth much around here anymore, but I would urge complete caution when attempting to deal with Faith. You can’t dismiss what she’s capable of Buffy… you certainly shouldn’t be looking to involve the new slayers in such a volatile situation.”

“We’re involving ourselves. We don’t need Buffy telling us what to do, or you; this is our call. Faith is a slayer… we’re already involved.”

“You have no idea Kennedy, what you’re dealing with here…”

“All the more reason to go and find out. She’s just one slayer, we’re practically a dozen - what do you think she could do to us?”

“I’d rather not find out.”

Like a stalemate. The stares flitting between many, until finally, whether they meant to or not, they turned and rested again on Buffy. Whether she wanted them to or not. All that Buffy wanted was to find Faith and settle some of the confusion… maybe find a bed and rest her head in the memories of the evening. She did not want to be pushed to the fore again, didn’t want to be in control when all of her latest decisions had been so readily attacked.

“I don’t know, okay? Giles, I guess you should go ahead and call Angel, we should probably find out if she’s already headed back there. Girls, maybe Giles has a point… if we find Faith, I can pretty much guarantee that she won’t be looking to play nice; I don’t want anyone getting hurt because I-”

“Whoa, slow down great leader. We already told Giles we don’t need orders. You know we’ve got your back, got Faith’s too if she needs it - just tell us where to look.”

The words enough to get everyone moving. Buffy had watched Willow roll her eyes and turn to leave the lobby. Not trying to protest against anyone, maybe knowing that her protests held no weight anymore… just skulking away, sadness in mind. And Giles, his almost eager grab for the telephone, his even more eager words to Angel.

Wanting to laugh at the way he managed to talk around everything that had really happened, as if even he knew how much Angel would have to say on the issue. She hadn’t laughed though. Beneath the forced joviality, it was all still much too serious for smiling. Faith hadn’t run home, she was still out there all alone. Not knowing where. Not knowing what mindset. Just arranging to meet the girls again in twenty. Long enough to get changed… to pull back her hair in a way that meant all business.

Nothing close to long enough to work out what the hell she thought she was going to do when they finally found Faith.

The bathroom mirror was the only place that Buffy allowed to see the things that she hadn’t been able to put into words in the lobby. Her fingertips trembling as she lifted them to trace the outline of her lips; her breath catching as she remembered everything that they had felt. Were still feeling. The brutality in an instant that had been cushioned by the softness that followed. The urgency that Faith had used to pound her mouth with the tantalising taste of her tongue.

God. A kiss that she had neither dreamt of nor expected. A kiss that was still rocking everything that Buffy liked to refer to as her world.

She had slowly been coming to terms with the way that she felt for Faith; she had spoken of love to Xander, had explained the feeling to herself, but she hadn’t been prepared to deal with a situation where Faith had smacked her so hard with her lips. The fists were expected. The kicks were an obvious follow up…

But a kiss?

And not just a kiss, not the kind of kiss that could be put down to something like the heat of a moment - it was more like the heat of every moment. Every war torn glare that they had exchanged over time, every hurt intoned word that had marked out all of their boundaries. To Buffy it seemed like natural progression. She hadn’t expected that Faith would share the same conclusion.

Yet it had been Faith who had sparked the conclusion. Had been the one who had insisted that this was the path that they would follow.

The bathroom mirror didn’t hold the answers for Buffy. It held her beat-up reflection and slightly bemused expression, but it didn’t answer back when she asked the question why? Didn’t offer words of comfort and guidance when her eyes took on the look of lost. A certainty that only made her sigh.

And now what?

The soft tap against her door making her wonder if her twenty was up already, if the slayers were chomping at the bit in an effort to get the show on the road. Taking a final breath, splashing her face one last time with the cooling stream of water and turning to take control. Remembering strength, remembering leadership, and drawing back the door with all of that on view…

“Xander?”

“Hey, can I come in?”

More of the completely unexpected.

“What are you… why aren’t you sleeping?”

“And pass up on all of the crazy excitement? Not a chance. Anyway, I’ve got some inside info that I think you might be interested in.”

“Yeah? Well unless you know where Faith’s hightailed it to, I’m seriously lacking the time.”

“What - Faith’s missing? Darn it Buffy… I told ya not to go looking for an ambush. You should probably think about listening to me more often, I really am a whole heap smarter than I look.”

“Well there’s a relief.”

She found one of those smiles that looked to tinkle a laugh as she pulled back the door to offer him entry. Stretching out her neck and dropping soft to the bed. So sorely tempted to just lay back and close her eyes. “So what’s the info? You have an idea on where Faith might have gone?”

“My guess? I reckon she’d be looking to kick the ass of whoever set her up.”

And it took a moment. Buffy’s thoughts fleeing in every direction as she wondered where exactly that would be. His smirk trying to prompt her along… her eyes flying wide as it began to make sense.

“Wait, you mean - you know where she is, don’t you?”

“See, you’re a lot smarter than you look, too.”

“Xander…”

Not playing. Not wanting to play.

“Lighten up Buff. I nearly took one hell of an ass whupping tonight because of you; at least allow me a little fun in return.”

Except that nothing in Buffy was about finding the fun. Not right then, not when her mind was close to breaking from all of the strain of too much to comprehend. Not even really understanding what Xander was trying to tell her - no clue as to why he was there, what he was offering…

“Where is she, Xander?”

The only thing that really mattered. “How is she?”

The only other thing.

“She’s okay. She’s not killing anyone. Came a little too close for a minute; thought maybe she was gonna teach me how to fly without the wings. She’s pissed, a whole lot of confused. She wants to see you.”

“What?”

“She wants to see you.”

“I heard the words… but, what?”

There was no way that she could continue to remain sitting down. That her thoughts could even dream about sleeping anymore with that little nugget of information screaming loud in her ears. Buffy had been waiting for this moment for what seemed like a lifetime. Since the night that she had driven in the knife right up to its hilt, she had been waiting on the time when Faith would allow her to take it back out. To undo every act that had only been about hurting. Relentlessly pacing out all of the emotions that were slamming fast through her tired and tiny frame.

“Slow down, Buffster… she’s not looking for a party. She’s a whole long way away from wanting to find the fun.”

“What does she want?”

“Not my place to say. I don’t know everything that went on out there with you, but I do know that she’s pretty shook up by it all - she said some things. From the bruising I’m guessing that she hit some things too. Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing.” Buffy’s hand made the same vague gesture that Giles had made earlier - encompassing her injuries in one swift sweep. Brushing them aside. “Where is she, Xander?”

“You’re gonna go easy on her, right? You know how hard she’s been trying with all this… it wouldn’t be fair to mess it up for her.”

“You think I’d do that?”

“No, not on purpose. Just… go easy. You’re like her blind-spot or something, she has trouble dealing…”

And she didn’t have time for this. The excitement about a possibility of a conclusion was being tempered by the terrifying thought of everything that could happen. Good or bad. Or both. All fizzing through her with the speed of a runaway express train… trying to put the brakes on, trying to gather something like sense.

“I’ll go easy. I’ll go the easiest. I don’t want to hurt her anymore, you know you don’t need to worry about that. Now where is she Xander?”

“Up on the roof.”

“Huh?”

“I know, totally too much like a James Taylor recital, but it is where she is.”

James who?

Buffy was stuck in a different place in a different time, when up on the roof only preceded the fall to the ground. The blood pouring. Her hands showing everything that she had done. The life that she had taken. Up on the roof.

“What’s she doing up there?”

“Waiting for you. Other than that, it was a safe place to go, no one else goes up there. I’m not even sure if people know you can go up there. Just take the stairs to the top - oh, and knock three times on the door when ya get there. She doesn’t want unexpected guests.”

Okay…

“I have to let the girls know, let Giles know…”

“I’ll take care of the Buffy brigade, you take care of Faith. And tell her I said not to hit you anymore - might also be good to mention that you don’t like to fly.”

“Why does this suddenly feel like I’m walking towards an execution?”

“Because you love the melodramatic? It’ll be fine. Just keep it easy, let her say what she wants to say, and don’t push it. Let her have her peace, Buffy. She needs it.”

“Right. Peace, no pushing, no flying - are you sure about this?”

The terrifying taking hold a whole lot more than the excitement. Still reeling from the kiss, still aching from the kicks… apprehension doing its best to reach out and strangle her.

“Just go, Buff. She’s waiting, she’ll be getting antsy.”

“Antsy. Okay. I’m going……”

“You need to actually move.”

“Thinking about it.”

“Buffy…”

And maybe this was it. A foothold. A chokehold. Destiny or damnation. Buffy had no idea what would be waiting to meet her on the roof - whether it would be a run through of all of the things that she longed to forget - whether it would be the final conclusion to something that she prayed would never have a conclusion. Like walking towards an execution.

And Faith the one who was guarding the gallows.

There were no gallows on the roof though. Just stars that were muted by the blinding lights of downtown LA, and a slayer that was muted by all of the things that had happened that night.

Faith had slayed again. She had felt that same flaming fire erupt in her soul to burn in the face of all things evil. She had felt liberated by the dust that signalled her return. And she had found a belief in the feeling that she could do this. She could be okay again… she could follow Angel’s direction and maybe one day return to her life. A new life. Something that wasn’t all about nothing.

And then…

She blew out a sigh that rose up to the moon, as she tried to put any kind of words to what had happened after. Almost still a blur - like a blip - someone that shouldn’t have been there… that shouldn’t have stuck their two fucking cents in. Again. Always riding her ass, always being the better. Making Faith put paid to that with punches that demanded a hearing, with hits that reduced everything down to the hate that she had always been destined to feel.

Not always.

The tinted pinks and dipping green. The confusion of what all of that meant to her.

Faith wasn’t even sure why she was up there now, what the fuck she thought she could achieve by casting her eyes over Buffy… how looking into the green would do anything other than have her falling again.

Pain from the last fall still close enough to touch. Still recent enough to have her flirting with the edge of the roof in a twisted temptation to end it all again. To recover the easiness of unconsciousness. A large part of her wanting it. A larger part begging for it. But Faith was trying. Trying so fucking hard to silence those voices; to make a decision that wasn’t based entirely upon being the fuck up.

She could do this. She would do this.

Absently running her fingers across her lips. Holding her breath on the memory that she didn’t want to think about. Would take the plunge before she did think about.

Just lips…

…just…

No.

Fists clenching. Mind crunching. Because it wasn’t about that and would never be about that. Faith had defiled that feeling a thousand times over, and no moment of madness, no minute of absolute fucked up wonder, was going to drag her back towards something that she knew she would never be able to deal with.

Faith was here to say goodbye. She was here for her swansong. She was here for the final death before life could begin.

Three taps against the door making the reality seem harsher. Not making sounds to grant an entrance, just keeping her place that guarded the edge… so close to one way, trying so hard to seek out another.

“Faith?”

Hearing the voice that had shadowed her dreams in all of the time that she could remember. Now time. Down time. Every time.

“Xander said you wanted to see me… you do want to see me, right?”

Not turning. Not letting her eyes leave the stars.

“You want me to start?”

Not letting the pain in her chest move her anymore than the pain that had seemed determined to dog her the whole of her life. Ominous tones finally breaking free to ask a question - the question - something that she had always longed to know the answer to. Toes creeping forward. Her mind screaming backwards. Her voice scratching the air as she breathed out the words.

“How far do I have to fall B, until I hit the bottom?”

Leaving the stars. Looking into the green.

And falling again.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

The desperate question that fell from Faith’s lips, didn’t only scratch the air as it voiced the pain of her every predicament; it also scratched and scraped at a place deep inside of Buffy - as if in that moment she could feel exactly how Faith felt. Prickling her skin. Raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Grabbing onto the anguish and letting it guide her slowly forward… just one step, two steps… trying to return the query with the same frank honesty that Faith had offered. Hoping to utilise the four years of wasted wishing that had somehow always kept her believing that one day she would be here. Both of them. Facing off on the issue that was nothing to do with the demons in the real world, but everything to do with the demons that they had crafted for themselves.

The inner demons. The inner fears. The things that eyes of broken brown were telegraphing to her now. Like a plea. Like a silent shout that begged for Buffy to do that one special thing that she’d been born to do.

Strengthening her resolve. Remembering her vow. Shrugging off her own fears to take another step. Settling her shoulders to show that she was in complete control - she had this.

“You’re not falling anymore Faith; you’re done with the falling.”

“Not what I asked.”

“What - you think that there’s some kind of benchmark? That I can tell you how crappy it all has to get, before you can make it better?”

“The heads up would be nice.”

“Not that easy. You’re the only one that knows how you feel, you’re the one that has to make the decision. I can tell you a thousand times that things have changed, that everything’s different - hell, I could promise you that I’d never let you fall again, that I’d swear to be there to catch you if you did - but I’m not the one you need to listen to Faith. I’m not the one that’s got the answer.”

With every word that Buffy spoke, she tried to gain more ground. Fully aware of the abyss that opened up into nothingness right behind Faith; not willing to gamble on whether or not she would take the jump. Whether she would be seeking to repeat their history as her final act of defiance.

“That the best you’ve got to offer, B? No pep talk from The Slayer to put me back on track? - hold it there… that’s close enough…”

Her feet halted too far away to ever make a difference.

“…Thought you’d be bursting with the answers. Dying to serve up that special brand of Buffy bullshit to pull me back in line.”

“Is that why you wanted to see me?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here? Fuck - you think I don’t know why you followed me tonight? Just itching for me to screw it all up again; ready to ride in and save the day when it all went tits up.”

“You’re wrong.”

“The hell I am.”

Not moving and not needing to. Only having to hold her ground and allow Faith to be the one that travelled the distance. Like baby steps. Tiny treads around the issue, tiny breaths that punctuated her speech with accusatory silences. Like now. Another moment of soaking it up… another inch closer to the ghosts of the past.

“I know your game B, I know what the fuck this is.”

“Really? You care to share?”

“Screw you. Nothing I say means shit to you; never has. All you do is see things the way you want - make your own truth and call the rest of us liars.”

“And what do you do, Faith? Sell out the first time that things don’t go your way - shift sides rather than face the consequences?”

If she hadn’t been expecting it, Buffy may have learnt how to fly there and then. She had always known what flipped and flicked Faith’s switches though, had always known which things were likely to trigger a reaction that called for violence. Pushing now, taunting now , calling out the demons to a place where she could see them. Dodging the fist that was aimed with fury, sidestepping a kick that begged her to find silence.

“What’s up Faith, the truth still hurt?”

Swatting aside every attempt that would add to her bruises until the flurry became futile. Until Faith’s anger realised that actions could achieve so much less than words. Pushed back but not held back - every syllable succinct to the point of hating, each word rushing to trip into the next:

“You know fuck all about me! You think I wanted that? You think I had any option other than what I did?”

“You didn’t even try.”

“I more than tried!! Every single fucked up day, I tried to live like you wanted; be a good girl, be a good slayer. Where the hell did it get me, B? First fucking time I made a mistake, you sold me out. How’s that for a truth that hurts?”

It was the perfect example of a truth that hurt. The memory further away for Buffy, but aching all the same. Not allowing it to touch the sides as she sought to bring everything out to the fore. Hunting down demons. Eyes on her prize.

“So you go to the mayor? That’s your way of dealing?”

“Why not? May have been an evil fucker, but at least he sold it straight. Had pride in his eyes when he called me a killer.”

“That’s something to be proud of?”

Just easing her along. Step by step.

“Beats the alternative. Bet you slapped some high fives when you stuck it in me - same sitch B, just different sides of the line.”

“I never slapped any high fives. I never meant to-”

“Save it. Got the memo from Xander already - poor Buffy. Buffy never meant to hurt you, Buffy was so worried about you… guess what? Don’t mean shit to me. I was there, I was the fuck up, I felt just how much I never meant to you………”

“Go on.”

Silence.

Like maybe the words had tripped too fast. Like maybe they were approaching the things that Buffy had been waiting on and that she knew Faith would want to avoid. Like the plague. “What - no more to say Faith?”

“I didn’t… don’t wanna do this.”

And she could see the boundaries daring to show face again. Brown eyes that had poured with vehemence trying to claim back lost ground… a hand reaching up to swipe through her hair, feet stepping back towards the downside of the roof.

“You should go now, this was a bad idea.”

“You think you’re getting off that easy?”

“Just leave it. You’re twisting shit again… you’re…”

“No, the shit’s twisting you. Say it Faith, you want me to call you a ‘fuck up’ because it’s the safest place you know… what’s the plan? Go at it hard so you have an excuse to jump again?”

“Fuck you. I don’t need no excuse. Was never afraid of dying.”

“Yeah, cos you’re just such a badass. I may have been the one that stuck in the knife, but it wasn’t me that killed you, Faith. You did that yourself, it was always your jump to take.”

Calling out the monsters again. Howling out obscenities over the blackening skyline of LA. As if night time wasn’t darkness enough to sate their desire, as if they needed thundering clouds to make the pain resonate deeper. And they brought about Buffy’s smile - an inappropriate gesture, something that only poured water on all of the oil - but the smile didn’t really care. It was the smile of The Slayer, and The Slayer had glimpsed her prey. Had fixed her sights solidly on the demons that dared face her.

“You fucking gutted me! Wanted to feed me to your god damned boy toy like I was a worthless piece of meat! Blood’s all on your hands B, ain’t no way you’re shifting that stain.”

“That’s crap. You poisoned Angel - you knew what you were doing, what I would have to do.”

“And you loved it, right? Dressed up pretty for a special occasion… bet you and Red spent weeks picking that party outfit. What was it B - decked out in leather with a license to kill?”

“You were looking to do the same. If I remember rightly Faith, you were smiling the whole time…”

Like a memory that smashed fast and hit harder. All about the cutting loose, all about the choices that had been made. Their eyes locking with an intensity even deeper than the one that had held the knife. Not blinking. Not breaking. Nowhere left to run.

“You wanted to kill me.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Thunder allowed to rumble in a distance that crept ever closer. No sudden step behind a wall, no deafening shout to keep the forces of nature at bay. Just silence. No way for Buffy to know what went on behind the eyes that were shadowed by the onset of rain. More clouds gathering. The storm creeping nearer.

“You’re angry Faith, I get that; but you need to figure out what you’re angry about. It isn’t this… this is all just stuff we hid behind, because we were scared of facing the truth.”

“Fuck your truth.”

“Is that what you wanted to fuck in the cemetery?”

The fist deflected under the illuminated sky that flashed bright with lightning; the follow up able to land on the blindside. Catching Buffy unaware - stopping the flow of the words almost before she’d had a chance to register what she’d said.

The smile curving higher as she did.

“Hit a nerve, Faith? Said something I shouldn’t?”

Ready for the full blown attack that she had hoped she would prompt. In all of the weeks since Faith’s return, the only time when Buffy had made contact that felt like it meant anything, was when they were fighting. When Faith’s energy was directed in a place other than the one that kept hold of her defences. When Buffy had her only opportunity to throw hits that had any chance of landing.

Landing now.

A backhand that twisted Faith’s head with the speed. That forced her body around, away from the edge. Pushing her into space, pushing her to let it out:

“Thought you wanted to fight, F - I’m giving you something to fight against. Call me a liar, tell me that you didn’t want me up against that tree, that you haven’t always wanted me…”

“Fuck you!”

“Another come on?”

Her own hands bewitching her eyes as she pushed aside every feeble punch that Faith could still think to throw. Almost effortless. “Try telling me that’s not the reason you flipped and went crazy - all pissed inside cos I couldn’t see the real you - isn’t that the truth, Faith? Isn’t that why we’re still doing this?”

The rain beginning to fall in earnest.

“You don’t know anything! I hate you, I always fucking hated you!”

Seeking shelter. Faith’s vitriol fading as fast as her pain soaked punches. Barely a struggle for Buffy to hold on, to push her back. Further back… not stopping until she met resistance. The wall greeting them hard, the rush of air from Faith’s lungs barely breaking the storm. And it wasn’t over. It was still just beginning.

The hard all about finding a way to meet the soft. The slayer able to quiet the demons, but Buffy the one who would have to make the words that spoke the difference. Her heart sounding in her chest as loud as she had ever heard it - walking the tightrope - blind leading blind. Her hands holding Faith’s wrists high above her head in an attempt to have the brown eyes looking into hers, to make her finally listen to the words that she had matured enough to know.

“Stop fighting me Faith. This won’t stop, until you quit fighting me.”

“Get off me…”

“Just listen, I can help you.”

Returning the struggle to more of the fight. Having to use real force, having to slam Faith hard again, to gain back control.

“Get the fuck off of me!”

“Listen to me! Will you please just fucking listen to me!”

Pushing against her with a roughness that demanded compliance, cursing just to get the attention of the one who she wanted to speak to:

“I get it Faith, I know how much you want to hate me, I know how much easier it would be if you could just keep on calling this hate. This isn’t that though, really it isn’t. You can’t keep kidding yourself, you can’t keep denying why this keeps on happening.”

“Buffy…”

“No. I know what I did now to make you so angry, what made all of this go so far towards crazy; and you’re not going anywhere Faith - not until you hear what I’m saying…”

Holding tight.

“You sold me out.”

“I did. And I stabbed you in the stomach on top of that roof. I let you push me away - I let you make the jump. I tricked you when you tried to take Angel’s soul, and I laughed in your face when I saw what that did to you. I never hated you though. That isn’t what any of this was ever about.”

“No? Called me a killer. Sounded like hate to me.”

“I was stupid. I was scared. I was feeling things that didn’t make sense about someone who could barely be in the same room with me without causing me to lose my mind. My control…”

“And you can’t take losing control, can ya B?”

Letting go. Easing off to hear the words that ranted in return. Not with anger… no more hits being thrown… but real questions. Honest questions. Questions just as valid as the ones that Buffy wanted to ask. And she could quiet for that. She’d been waiting for that.

“You were the one who was pushing. Fuck - had me all sewn up and ready to roll the good way, till your boy got back in town. What was I, B - just someone to keep your dreams wet? A warm body to rub against in sparring, cos Angel couldn’t seal the deal?”

“Honestly? Maybe. I wasn’t the only one there though Faith - you never said anything, you never-”

“What?! Told Buffy Fucking Summers that my intentions weren’t all holy? I could sleep a thousand fucking years and know how that one goes down.”

“So you don’t even try? You don’t think that maybe I was the dense one? That I needed a good whack upside the head with a five by five?”

“Two by four.”

“Not what I meant.”

Finally fighting through the fog to make words in a way that Faith might understand. Stepping out into the rain again and not caring if Faith followed, just needing to tip her head back and feel the forceful flow. Letting it pound against her skin, running fresh through her hair. Soaking her face faster than any of the tears that were threatening to fall.

“I know what I did now Faith… I rejected you. Maybe I didn’t get it all at the time, but I knew enough to know that you felt something for me. That I was turning my back on you. I used the accident in the alleyway to protect myself from what I was feeling… if you were bad, then maybe it would stop, maybe the feeling would go away. You wanna know the truth though?”

And Faith had followed.

Out into the rain herself; exposed to the forces of nature with eyes that shone bright from the storm.

“It never stopped. I moved on, sure - did college, did funerals… my own included - but this feeling, Faith, this feeling has never stopped being there. Even when I denied it, when I denied you, it never went away. You saw my dream, you shared it with me,  you know I was waiting for you. Even in heaven, I was still waiting for you.”

Lights flashing. More crashing. Still no words from Faith.

“Do you hear me, do you understand what I’m trying to say to you? This isn’t hate - you can stop beating on me now, stop trying to throw yourself off of roofs that don’t exist anymore. It’s done Faith. It’s over.”

“You finished?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Loud and fucking clear. Don’t know what you want from me though… what the fuck you think that’s gonna do for me. Tell it how ya want B, but it won’t change the facts.”

“What facts are they?”

“That being near you makes me crazy.”

“You don’t think you make me a little crazy too?”

The sky lightening again as if just to prove it. Standing on a roof, in the rain, proclaiming feeling to someone who had tried beating her more times in one night than anyone else previous. Buffy felt crazy. The good side of crazy. Daring to smile again now - not a slayer smile, not about demons - a Buffy smile.

“You always made me crazy, Faith.”

“When you go crazy, no one dies.”

“You did.”

All of the truth. Backwards and forwards.

“Different sitch, B. Said it yourself: I pushed ya to make the cut, I knew what I was doing.”

“So did I. I still do. And I’m tired of all this Faith. Can’t we just stop now? Can we please stop pretending that we don’t know what this is really about?”

Measuring her breaths against the storm that was still growling hungry in the distance. Holding her mouth shut to give Faith the room to find something to say:

“I gotta go.”

Not what she wanted.

“Faith, please…”

“No, you please. Shit, it’s too much, alright? Can’t decide if I should kill ya or-”

“Kiss me?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean that. Any of this. I’m doing good, B. Finally settling the stuff that never looked to settle. Gonna take a whole lot of time to make that straight. Can’t just call it over and make it all okay.”

Stepping aside to let Faith pass. Not even sure if any of this would make any kind of difference, if it was the peace that Xander had implored, or if it was just the things that had weighed down heavy upon her own mind. No way of knowing. Faith still the elusive book that she didn’t know how to read. Still speaking a language that she struggled to understand.

Standing still. Soaked through in more ways than the rain could ever look to achieve; saturated in sadness - wet through with tears. And all of them falling. Not a wasted notion - nothing wasted if Faith would only look, and see, and know - and finally believe that all of the hate had left the building. Their hate. Self hate.

“Faith, wait?”

“No more B… I can’t… not anymore. Not now.”

“Just one thing, answer me one thing?”

And what one thing?

Faith poised with hand on door to hear the final flourish. The words that would have to last the distance of an ocean. That would have to make the journey across the four years that had been lost to them forever.

Scared again. Terrified. Too much to ask for love. Still too much of the hurting to get in the way of the happy. Only one thing that Buffy could appeal for, one thing that she felt she could ask:

“Did you hear anything I said, Faith? Did any of it make a difference to you?”

Exhaustion the only thing left holding her up, as Faith stole away the peace that Buffy herself had unknowingly been searching for. Turning to leave without making a sound. Without offering anything. The last hope gone.

The slayer had fought her hardest. Buffy had fought even harder. And the hate may have finally left the building by way of the truth, but in its place stood only emptiness. A desolation as primal as the rain that cried a river of tears in a sorrowful symphony with Buffy.

Hope gone. Faith gone. The pain still burning bright.

The pain lifting the further and further that Faith got away from the feelings that had soaked her up on the roof. Wet through. Clothes sticking to her now as she made her way back down the stairs… not hiding. Not feeling anymore like she needed to hide. A curiosity. Barely able to process the words that Buffy had given to her, yet knowing already, deep down inside, that something sat different.

That she stood different.

Not stiffening her shoulders to beat back the world, just pulling herself up to maybe meet it head on. The voices quiet now. No more speaking now. The silence bringing forth a new voice - a different sound - a tone that confirmed that she had fallen far enough. That she had faced down her demons… she wasn’t so weak anymore.

Hands still wringing the water from her hair as she took the stairs down to the lobby; seeing the roadblock and finding a smile. More curiosity.

“Xander?”

Like a barrier. Stood above the steps and guarding the passage. Surrounded by a solid group of girls that Faith had been told were all slayers.

“Faith, hey. Everything go okay?”

His gaze running over her. Glancing up. Looking around.

“It’s fine. She’s fine. What’s the deal with the girly-fest? Lining up my replacement in case I took the fall?”

“No. More like giving you the time to get past the fall. Angel’s here… he’s been waiting.”

And he was there. His unimpressed form sliding out from the shadows to greet her with eyes that betrayed his impatience; that shone bright with the fury of being set aside so easily.

“Are you okay, Faith?”

All stiff. All pissed. And she wasn’t feeling that.

“Flying high. Ready to roll.” Bypassing all of the gazes that studied her enquiringly - no part of her wanting to meet and to greet and make a bunch of new buddies. “Hope you brought the car, it’s wet as hell out there.”

“I have the car.”

“Then you’re my hero. Been thinking ‘bout stopping by that rib place on the way home and scoring some food… this redemption deal is hungry work.”

Raising his eyebrows with words that she knew would hit home. And she wanted them to. She had told him that she had this, that she could do this, and even if she hadn’t believed it at the time, she was believing it now. Less buzzing in the back of her brain. No snake coiling tight to hiss and dismiss her.

“Should I call ahead to Wes, make sure the gym is empty?”

“Nah, don’t need any more pounding tonight. My plans include eating and sleeping… don’t see how Wes figures in any of that.”

The stairs passed and her step found. In beside Angel, turning just once before she escaped through the doors.

“Xander, you’ll call me tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, Slay Gal.”

His smile enough to say goodbye. His hand raising as if to drive home the point. But…

…just something.

As if her feet hadn’t clarified the situation quite as easily as her brain liked to think. Not moving so freely. Seeing Xander’s gaze switch to questioning as she stood there unmoved. And what? A deep breath… a licking of lips… her teeth holding tight to the spot that had kissed. Tasting the memory. The first acceptance of a feeling that she had been forced to remember:

“You should go check on B… she’s… just… Go check on her, okay?”

Eyes parading the things that words couldn’t form.

And she didn’t need the words when she had something like peace. Not defined yet. Not worked at and wondered at, or set out in stone. But there.

Beneath the rain soaked clothes that clung tight to her body and prompted a shiver, Faith could feel the calm. Not before the storm, but after. The things that could settle when the clouds went away.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

The scene sat silent as Xander slowly pushed open the door that led out onto the roof. No sound except for the pounding force of the rain; no animation in the girl that he had come looking to find. On her knees. Head bowed. And he wondered what it was that she was praying for. Why Faith had looked as if the rain had cleansed her soul, yet Buffy only looked as though her soul was being washed away in the downpour.

And he hated it. Absolutely despised the idea that all of this mess was looking to bring such profound heartache to a woman who he loved. And respected. And admired. Because when Buffy’s heart broke, his broke a little too. Clearing the sadness which wanted to etch on his face as he took the first step towards holding her upright. His feet finding spaces between the puddles, his hand reaching out to lay soft on her shoulder:

“Hey Buffster, you gonna come inside? You stay out here in this and there’s danger of shrinkage.”

No reply. No retort to defend her size.

His gaze forced to scan the scenery to look for answers. To switch upwards toward heaven and search for a break in the clouds.

Already here once before. Except that when he had faced Faith on the roof, it had been anger and rage that he had looked hard to placate - nothing in Buffy spoke of anger and rage. That would be easier; with Faith it was easier. Almost as if the fact that they hadn’t shared so much history made it a simpler task to pass by the bad. With Buffy he shared a whole lifetime of history. He had seen her aching before, he had seen her breaking before, and every foot he placed felt like it had to be placed with meticulous care. Not able to offer simple platitudes about everything’s changed, because he knew himself that, for Buffy, nothing had changed.

She saved the world. A lot. She got hurt in the process. A whole lot more. Like a formula that always followed the rules. A formula that he wished he could find the solution to now. Easing his thoughts as she broke the monotonic rhythm of the rain to offer the monotonic rhythm of her words:

“Has she gone?”

“She’s gone.”

“Right. I guess that’s that then.”

Feeling her shift beneath his hand. Shrugging him off. Using the strength that always remained to bring herself up to standing. And he offered her the space, kept his gaze steady as she allowed him to see the depth of pain that ran steady from her eyes.

Tears.

Something he would never get used to seeing in Buffy.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m going with no. Definitely no.”

“Can I do anything?”

A useless question.

Already knowing before Buffy could answer, that there really wasn’t anything that he could do to make this better. He understood the dynamics, had been regaled with tales downstairs that told how the slayers had kissed. He knew what she needed, and he knew what he couldn’t give to her. It made his arms feel empty even as he offered the hug. It forced him to feel the slightness in her body and remember that beneath all of the strength, there was still so much that could be hurt. That could ache the same, regardless of super powers.

“Come on, let’s get you inside. I know you can’t catch your death from a cold, but even slayers can catch the sniffles.”

“I don’t care. I like it up here.”

“You do know that it’s raining?”

“Call it acclimatising - it rains a lot in England.”

“Buffy……”

And what?

Xander didn’t have the magic wand or the magic words that could change the situation, and in his mind he knew that the situation deserved the rain. Already feeling as it slicked his hair to his forehead, as it trickled in that space between collar and neck. Letting it fall. Letting his feet remain in place as he braved the storm to stand at her side.

“…They have a lot of umbrellas in England too.”

Just being there. All that he could do.

Beneath the roof where the rain fell steady, there were other storms that howled and raged and looked to place pain deep in hearts. Too many words that had flashed fast like lightning. Too many provocations that had only returned the words to make more tears.

Willow tears.

Every twisted taste of hate replaced by the battered feel of misery. A misery that Willow could no longer deny that she felt she deserved.

So much had seemed wrong since the return of Faith. Not only forced to feel the distant tingling of a feeling that she had long ago laid to rest, but also forced to remember the deeds that she had done when it was Tara that they were burying. No rest there. No matter that she had undignified her responses with a solution that begged for sense, Willow knew that evil was as evil did, and she had done a whole lot of evil.

She had flayed a man alive. She had wanted to flay the world. She had seen the hope and love in Buffy’s eyes and she had told her that it made her twisted and wrong.

So who was the wrong one now?

Willow didn’t need to look far to find the answer to her burning question; she only had to look inside of herself and feel the discomfort from all of her recent actions. Nearly all. No discomfort from hating Faith - that was something that had always come easy - but for the way that she had turned her back on Buffy. Had spat on her feelings as if they were there to be ridiculed. Even tonight, when all she had wanted to do was to tend to Buffy’s wounds, she had only managed to make the wounds cut deeper. Slicing through friendship. Inviting the misery. No tub of ice cream big enough to soothe the issues that had risen to the top when the past had gate-crashed the present. To the soothe the sighs that kept falling on rapid repeat to drop solid to the floor.

Someone else left feeling like everything had been lost.

Kennedy had switched rooms to bunk in with Rona; looking for space, for sanity away from the uber-bitch. Xander was staying behind when they all left for England. Dawn was more interested in talking about what came next, as opposed to what came then. And Buffy…

…Buffy couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore.

It made the lips wobble. It almost made Willow wish that she lived in that time where everything could be solved by the wave of a wand and a few magic words. But more than that, it reached down deep - the core characteristics - gracing her face with a look that was everything Willow.

Because things could be solved when she found her resolve.

Shoving aside thoughts of sleep that would never come, to stand instead and take stock of what lay broken before her. The things that she could salvage, the things that she could fix. The jealousy of a memory nothing in comparison to the bond of friendship that existed between herself and Buffy.

And she could work with that. She would work with that.

No time for hindsight; to take back all of the things that had been said beneath clouds of rejection. Just time to say sorry. To finally shift aside the selfish and look for the sunshine.

Because Buffy Summers needed a friend. Willow had first filled out the application form years ago, and all that was left to do now was to reapply and hope, that Buffy still needed and wanted her friendship.

No matter how soft the tap at the door, it still sounded nothing but intrusive to Xander. He had tempted Buffy away from the rain, had stood soldier-like outside of the bathroom as she had taken a shower, and now, like before, he was offering all that he had in a safe pair of arms.

Tears stopped. No more room for crying. Yet still allowing him to hold on tight. To hold her close. At least until the tapping came. Until she shifted.

“Will you see who it is?”

No sound of strength left.

“We could just ignore it. I’m enjoying the snuggly time with my most favourite slayer.”

“What if it’s……”

And she didn’t need to finish. His thoughts already travelling the same path - already wondering if fate hadn’t caught a bad case of the hiccups and they were the ones left paying the price. Untangling his limbs as he crossed his fingers and hoped for a better alternative: Faith had not lost it somewhere on the way home. She hadn’t dusted Angel in a fit of mindless madness. She hadn’t wiped out half of LA in an attack on all of the same old crap. He really, really hoped.

Wanting to close that one remaining eye as he drew back the door to await the news. Left spreading the eye as he saw just who the messenger would be.

“Willow. Uh… hey.”

“Hey. Is Buffy in there?”

And should he lie?

Not sure of how to proceed. Xander was well aware of all of the shit that had hit the fan as fallout from Willow’s spell, and he knew absolutely that Buffy did not need anymore of the fallout tonight. This morning. Whatever hour it was. She had been through enough - again - and he would stand as her soldier for as long as she needed him…

“I take it by the long and increasingly uncomfortable silence, that she is?”

“Look Will, she’s really not up for more of this tonight.”

“Hey, not here for fighting.”

And he felt Buffy behind him even before she’d pulled hard on the door - whipping it from his grasp - slayer strength rendering the soldier in him useless.

“What exactly are you here for?”

The ice in her tone rendering everything useless.

“Buffy, I…”

“What? Heard I was down and wanted to come kick me?”

“No! This isn’t that, I’m not here for kicking - wait, unless you wanted to kick me? Which with the way I’ve been acting lately, not gonna be a great big shocker.”

“Will?”

And Xander wanted to second that motion. Because who exactly had removed the bitch and put Willow back in her place? All of the sharp edges smoothing again. That unsure smile that had stayed the same since kindergarten, tugging softly at her lips. And…

“Will?”

Motion seconded.

“You’re both wondering why I’m not acting all mean with the bitchy, right?”

“Actually, I’m still kinda wondering what you’re doing here. I thought I warned you to stay away from me, do you really need me to prove the point.”

Just watching as Buffy folded her arms tight across her chest. Not in the same way she’d been doing for the last hour; trying to bring comfort, more the: you’ve pissed me off and now you’re going to get hurt, classic kind of style. Making him want to be everyone’s protector. The builder in him wanting to steady the foundations.

“Hey Buff, ease off a little on the aggression, okay. Maybe we can invite Willow in, see what she wants to say?”

“You think I haven’t heard enough of what she wants to say? How’s it go Will - I’m sick and I’m twisted and I’m completely in love with a murdering psycho bitch?”

Oh.

It oh’d Xander and he had heard the confession before. Looking directly at Willow, he could see that she was in a whole big world of OH, of her own now. Eyes stunned. Mouth hanging. Words caught somewhere inside of a stutter.

“Y-you… what?”

“You heard what I said. Why the sudden silence - isn’t this the part where you threaten to fry my insides? Maybe rip out my still beating heart and toss it to the wolves. Hey, maybe you could get really creative…”

Still room for crying.

“…maybe you could figure out a way to make me hurt more than I’m hurting right now. Is that what you want, Will? Is that why you’re here?”

“Oh Goddess…”

Xander had already steadied his arms to take the fall, but he was beaten in the moment by Willow. Stepping forward across the threshold to offer Buffy the comfort that she had been longing for since Faith’s return to consciousness. Soothing all of the cries with words of sorry, with promises to ensure that everything would be okay. No more accusations, and no more recriminations - just there. For now. Back where she should be. The best friend at Buffy’s side.

By the time that Faith had returned home and eaten enough to satisfy the hunger that raged from all that had happened, it was almost the hour for the sun to start splitting the sky. Angel twisting the cord to dim the blinds - not needing to shade himself - just offering her a light less bright to sleep to. Asking if maybe, she wanted to talk?

And did she?

It was a question that had bugged Faith the whole time that they had been returning from Buffy’s. Keeping her eyes on the road that stretched out before them, not able to keep her mind from the places she had just left behind:

Had Xander done as she’d asked?

Was Bu… was everything okay?

All of it fizzing along under the passing glow of the dimly lit streetlamps. Illuminating all of the dark places, making Faith wonder at all of the things that she didn’t want to be anymore. The person that she didn’t want to be. Not sure if she could lay it all down in words though - if she could look at Angel now and explain all of the things that had affected her that night. The only thing that affected her.

Really and truly, the same old shit.

“What do ya wanna talk about, Big Guy - how those slayers served up your ass on a plate tonight?”

Avoidance in place to buy some time for thinking. An idea that almost had her avoiding with laughter. She knew herself that she had changed when she started thinking about - well, thinking.

“They didn’t serve up anything.”

“No? Sure I heard B dishing out the marching orders. That’s gotta sting a little: being kept in line by a bunch of girls… Can admire their balls though. Sure is nice to see the chicks carrying the power for a change.”

“You’d admire anything to change the point of focus, Faith. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, I can wait. But I’m not staying here to give you a target to ease the tension. I can call Spike if you wanna trade insults.”

“Ooh, is someone feeling a little bit tetchy? Should I perhaps call The Englishman to open up the gym?”

The accent that she couldn’t help but slaughter as she sought to mimic something like Wes, was enough to have even the broodiest of vampires reaching for a smile. Just a small one. Just a vague curve of that somewhere soft around the edges.

“Do you realise how bad that sounds?”

“No way, man! Spike’s been giving me lessons - taught me a wicked version of God Save The Queen. Kept going on about his Sex Pistol too though, which is just kinda gross when you get right down to it…”

Her non-stop sudden love for babbling having Angel’s lips lifting even higher. His body leaning back against the side to settle in for the show - her mouth not able to stop. As if all of the words that wanted to come out, were pushing aside all of the crap that sat in the way.

“…but then the dude’s still stuck as a ghost, so it’s not like I’m gonna go all sexual harassment on his ass. That idiot in accounting though - what’s his name? Kevin? - that’s someone that needs to watch where his hands wanna go. Nearly had to tear him a new hole last week…”

“Faith?”

“…course it would’ve matched the one I tore him the week before; but then I did warn him. Like, twice. You can’t go round expecting people to put up with that shit…”

“Faith! Please. If you’ve got a complaint about a member of staff, then do as you always do. I’m sure Wesley’s having the finest time dismissing every demon that looks at you funny.”

“Number Guy’s a demon? You sure? I never got that kinda vibe from him.”

“You don’t think the new assholes might have hurt more, if you were tearing them in something human?”

“Huh? Yeah, well that figures. And there was me thinking I was still being bad. Oh well - gotta remember to look in that mirror tomorrow, see who I see.”

Faith even went so far as to lay back and close her eyes. Knowing herself how close she was coming to running out of useless shit to talk about. A new skill. Or lack thereof. Able to let fly in the old days for hours about alligators, Boston Baptists, tall tales and drummers. Not so easy to avoid the issues now though… not when they were screaming out from the deep down depths to finally be released.

Like indigestion. A twisting in the gut.

Something that cut much deeper.

“I get it, Faith. This is hard stuff to talk about.”

“No, it’s cool. I look in the mirror a lot.”

“Are you going to keep avoiding? There’s nothing here to hurt you, no one here that’s gonna judge you. Why don’t we talk about what happened tonight?”

Still wanting to run.

“The Slayers served your ass. I served Buffy hers. End of. Sweet dreams. You done now?”

“You hit Buffy?”

Stopping on point as she saw the look on Angel’s face. Maybe shocked. Maybe not. Maybe angry? Faith didn’t know. She only knew what it felt like.

“That get ya pissed, Angel? You wanna throw down and protect the little lady?”

Forgetting all about feigning sleep, to throw off the covers and stand tall in her sleep wear. The roughness enough to jog the place at her side where Buffy had landed her one good hit that night. The instinctual shot that had made Faith’s blood run faster; made her lick her lips before it had led to kisses. Jogging something else. All of her momentum lost in the moment.

“Shit. Sorry, alright? I’m acting like an ass; just forget it on account of me being an ass.”

Shrugging back down again. The silk of the sheets instantly soothing where her skin had just prickled. Everything that she had felt in the kiss. Everything that she had seen in the kiss. Too much to think about. Not what she wanted to think about.

“Faith, it is okay. I told you I understood. Giles explained some of what happened tonight, he said something about-”

“What? I know I hit her bad - it’s surface shit though, she’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“You hit her with kisses?”

Oh.

As if everyone was destined to have their own OH moments before the day could end satisfied. Faith’s coming from not knowing that anyone else knew about what had happened in the cemetery. If no one else knew, then she could deny it. To herself. To everyone.

“You heard about that?”

“Giles made vague mention of Buffy kissing you.”

“I kissed her first. For the record.”

“I’ll make a note.”

Avoiding his eyes. Avoiding his understanding.

“So how do you feel?”

Not able to avoid the million dollar question. Maybe the kajillion dollar question. Faith hadn’t allowed herself to think about it long enough to form anything that felt like a feeling. She had meant what she’d said on the roof: being near Buffy made her go crazy, and she didn’t want to be crazy anymore. That she was sure of.

“I dunno. It happened. I don’t wanna talk about it - it’s not important. Me and B, that’s finished now. I’ve got nothing left to say to her, and I hope to hell that she’s run out of things to say to me.”

“You know, you might deal better if you try facing up. There are deeper issues involved here Faith, and that’s never going to be finished if you don’t-”

“I am dealing! Fuck me, how much facing up do I gotta do? Anytime I don’t wanna talk about something, you tell me I’m not facing up. That’s crap Angel, you know that’s crap! I can’t talk about this shit! Okay - is that better?! I don’t know how to talk about this stuff!”

Finally. The top blowing off. The bottom falling out. The world turned one way and then quickly the next. Admitting it. To Angel - to herself. There was a weakness. And she could at last speak words of what the weakness was. Where the issues had lied.

Bringing her knees up to rest against her chest. To smother the unfamiliar sound that was making her nervous, that was threatening to make her remember.

“It was fucked up. She was fucked up. I never meant to do it… the kiss… I thought - I wanted to kill her. Had myself freaking all over the place… seeing it like it was before. Feeling like I’d landed back in Sunnydale…”

Even now the memory was close enough to make her cling tighter to her knees. Her voice going somewhere far away… her eyes quickly following. Offering Angel the closest look he’d ever had at the girl who lived inside.

“…She even smelled the same. And how fucked up is that? Why do I even remember that stuff? She killed me Angel, she fucking killed me.”

“You’re not dead, Faith. Buffy didn’t kill you.”

“That’s just technicalities. She did it in spirit… you weren’t there, she loved it. Never saw her look as free as she did that night… coming to kill me, no hint of regrets.”

So many regrets.

“She can’t just kiss me after that. She wants to stick a knife in my gut, then fine; she has to play the game. Always woulda played it different if she’d been looking for the down and dirty. Fuck - the cage coulda been a lot more fun if she was looking for down and dirty…”

“Stop Faith.”

Not knowing if she could. Her mouth running away again - new things to talk about, old things to talk about - nothing that she wanted to say and everything that she needed to say. Like an avalanche of emotion, an invitation to bear witness to her annihilation of the past.

“Why? Thought this shit was good to get out. Isn’t that what you keep saying - isn’t this facing up?”

“No. This is about making yourself hurt more. Destroying a feeling that you don’t know how to deal with…”

Wondering if the gym was still empty as Angel looked to find a place beside her. Not touching - he knew how she felt about touching for comfort - but just enough to whisper. To add resonance to the words by dropping his voice.

“…What Buffy feels for you now, is something that’s always been there. Maybe for the both of you. Just because it’s mixed in with all of the bad times, that doesn’t make it a bad thing to feel… It’s never a bad thing to feel, Faith. That’s what reminds us of who we are, what we live for. You have enough things to pay for, enough crimes to make right - don’t add extra to the minus column. Don’t punish yourself for falling in love.”

Resonating deeply.

Aching deeper.

Words that she never wanted to hear.

Not now. Not then. Not here. Not ever.

“No such disease, Angel. Can we change the subject now - like how I wanna sleep for a week and wake up next century, forget that any of this stuff ever happened.”

“You know you can’t forget. You can’t outrun how you feel.”

“Gotta feel it first, and all I’m feeling is tired. Little rough around the ribs - girl’s still got a mean ass kick…”

And she was tired. Exhausted. All of the rocks of redemption digging into her feet as she tried so hard to change her path. To walk the way that led to the good times.

“…Can we just be done now? No shit Angel, I’m ready to drop.”

Everything about her saying the same.

Smiling just once as he bade her good night. Good morning. Whatever the fuck time of day it was. It really didn’t mean anything to Faith - she was ready to drop.

Still not ready to deal with the falling.

Back across town where the storm clouds had gathered, Xander Harris was also bidding his own soft good night, good morning, or whatever the heck time of day it was. Not so loud though. Not so anything that featured words. Just bending slightly to pull up the cover; a kiss to his finger deposited gently on two separate heads.

Not so separate entities anymore though.

Not enemies anymore.

Too many tears for Xander to keep count of, had fallen across Buffy’s bed tonight. Mostly the girls; once or twice himself. Sorrow, pain; all of the mistakes that the years could bring. Yet somewhere above the river of tears, they had managed to re-find the place that they liked to call home. That bridge that sometimes buckled, but never truly broke. None of the issues laid to rest, but all of them pushed aside to remember the strength they all gained from the unbreakable bonds of their friendship. From arms that held a familiar feel and from lips that had at last remembered how to find the right smiles. How to make the right words.

It made Xander feel a sadness that couldn’t be shifted as he took one last look before closing the door - the two women that meant the most to him in all of the world - the two women that would be leaving him in just about over a day. A sorrow that threatened to buckle him where he stood.

For Xander may have found Faith for himself, may have found distractions that were teaching him all of the memories of finding the fun; but nothing would be able to take away the loss he would suffer when his two favourite birds finally flew from the nest.

Only able to find a final smile, because at least he knew now, that they would be spreading their wings together…

…and also…

…when they woke up later, all full of the Scooby snuggles?

He wondered who would colour most red.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Faith may have finally dropped, may have closed her eyes on all of the torment and closed her ears to all of the words; but even in sleep she hadn’t managed to find rest. There was still too much to remember - too much to feel - too many images that had scratched and scraped at her insides like broken splinters of an endless dream. So many fragments of so many lives that when welded together, spoke only of her life.

Mostly of her life.

Hard to ignore the essence of the dream - where it was that her mind seemed to want to meander to at the end of every shattered sequence. No matter the bloodshed or shouts of anguish, the depravity that existed in the darkened depths of a damaged subconscious - the destination was always the same. The feeling was always the same:

Someone had saved her a seat in heaven. There were comics by the bedside.

Her eyes flicking up to see a different bedside now. Not encased in sheets of white or secluded in the silence of peace; just the same old bed. Angel’s bed. Currently home to one very pissed off Xander.

And she could see the way that he kept his gaze trained down to the comic in his hand; noting with sadness the way that his jaw worked hard to restrain his words. And she hadn’t meant to cause him the discomfort, hadn’t meant to make him seek friendship in fiction instead of with her. It was just… the things that he’d said. The things that she had said. Not meaning to ask… just slipping out. A question that had betrayed all of her thoughts in the very instant that she’d managed to speak it:

“Is B okay?”

Stopping the easy flow of banter. Erasing his smile.

“Didn’t think you cared.”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Something sounding hostile in the room before Faith had been able to make a grab at it. The sneer that crossed her lips in her only worn out defence against the many other things that her mouth might’ve said - that single gaze of Xander’s that had told her he wasn’t prepared to back down either.

“Yeah Faith, you did. Can you deal with the honest answer though?”

A shrug. A whatever. Deeper than that.

“She’s not so good. She’s not - look, I don’t understand everything that’s going on with you and Buffy, but if this is all just some kind of revenge thing… if all you’re trying to do is to hurt her, then well done. Great job Faith. She’s hurting. You win.”

The honest answer not being softened with a return to his easy smile and the fun filled banter. Nothing soft for Faith.

“She hurt me first.”

The thing that had torn his gaze away. That had forced her to sit through fifteen minutes where silence and memories were her only companion.

And she was still trying. Every single fucked up minute, just trying to rip away the truth from the lies, trying to see through the four years of coma filled sedation and understand what the fuck anything meant. Because Faith didn’t know. She didn’t understand. Never raised with arms that had held her close and shown her the security that could exist in the feeling; just grabbed and groped by arms that had only ever shown her how to run. How to flee. How to block out any emotion that spoke anything other than hate.

Truly, honestly, so broken beneath the hate.

Swallowing the fear to keep facing the demons. Turning now to step timid to the bed - to keep her end afloat. To put trust in the friendship that had grown between herself and Xander.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”

His gaze leaving fiction to listen to her facts.

“This… everything… you don’t know how fucked up it is. I’m not - I don’t mean the stuff from before, Xander. Sunnydale stuff. I mean now stuff… since I woke up. It’s all fucked up.”

“It’s messed up for Buffy too.”

“Then she messed it up - I didn’t ask for this. Coulda left me at the bottom of the dust pit and I wouldn’t have given a shit. Why didn’t she just follow the rules? Why the fuck has she always gotta be pushing?”

“I think you probably know why.”

“Yeah, cos of some dumb superhero complex. Doesn’t want poor old me reminding her that she’s not always perfect, that she can’t always win.”

Faith could see his jaw working again. The grinding of teeth that was holding his face tight, the single staring eye that was offering no respite from a conversation that was weeks in the making. And she got that. Had been surprised at how long he’d been able to hold off from taking the other side.

“What? You telling me I’m wrong?”

“I’d tell you you’re an idiot if I thought it’d make a difference.”

“An idiot?”

“You have your moments.”

“She has her moments too.”

Something stubborn forcing her up from the bed with her own need to not back down. To confront the side that Xander was taking: “All this was her, ain’t no way the blame’s biting my ass this time. I was happy to stay away, I didn’t wanna deal with her shit anymore.”

“I thought you were meant to be dealing.”

“What? You’re stealing lines from Angel now - can’t come up with your own shit to say?”

And even though her words were coated in acid, Faith could still sense that this was somehow new. She could feel the itching of the issues that were always there to haunt her, but she wasn’t feeling the same biting rage that went along with them. Not needing to pound Xander, not needing to rip the tongue from his throat to have him shutting up. Maybe wishing for it, but knowing that she wouldn’t be doing it. Just breathing. Just taking a second to make it sit calm - to silence insanity.

The drawn out sigh signalling her return. Finding that his gaze was still intent on pinning her down. Waiting for his words. Already knowing what they would be:

“You kissed her, Faith…”

Because there was nothing in that about staying away. Maybe the first time - so sure that the act would have Buffy screaming with revulsion - but the second time…

“…and that’s not how us regular folk like to say ‘stay away’.”

“Well she wouldn’t quit with the yapping. Tried smacking her mouth shut, but she wouldn’t stop whining. That’s all the kiss was.”

“Really?”

The second time was something else.

The thing that had ripped away the boundaries to remind Faith of what every single tinted pink and dipping green had ever meant. Provoking the dream. The taste that had driven her so far past crazy… so far past anywhere. Nothing about shutting up.

“Really. Don’t know what the fuck B was up for, but I was just trying to keep the sitch simple. It was ‘sposed to end the bullshit, not…”

“What?”

“I dunno. Told ya Xander, it’s all fucked up.”

And she shrugged again. Maybe softened the gesture with something like a smile; her teeth breaking through the moment to nibble nervously along her lip. “You should go ask B - she’s the one that took it someplace else.”

Someplace shrouded in the feeling that made Faith want to run. Remembering the tingle down her spine that the hands in her hair had provoked; the way that lips had touched hers so softly… so heart-achingly gentle. Making her wonder. Leaving her scared.

“I never asked for that. I don’t want that.”

“You’re sure about that?”

And Xander had left the bed too - left the comics behind. Intensifying Faith’s need to flee. Strengthening her desire to be different. To stay still and face up. Not moving away as he found the space that felt like close… not being a wiseass just to make him shut up.

“I’m pretty sure it’s fucked up. You know the deal, you know it can’t ever be anything different. B’s just dreaming if she thinks this has a happy ending.”

“Don’t you want the happy ending, Faith?”

“Ain’t mine to have. Stunts I’ve pulled, I’ll be touching a thousand ‘fore I ever get the chance to square things away.”

And that was how it felt. That was why there was anguish in her dreams instead of just the peace and tranquillity that the shared vision had dared her to remember. No easy words of forgiveness having her sleeping better at night - not stopping the same old shakes that had woken afresh at the end of the coma. No. Putting it all on show for Xander. Wondering what words he would find to make that scenario sound better.

“I’ve pulled some stunts too.”

Nothing that she was expecting.

“Yeah, you’re a regular Evel Knievel. Musta missed all the action while I was catching my Z’s.”

“Okay, so I didn’t go all big with insanity and try to end the world; but I did some things I’m not so proud of. I hurt someone that I love, too.”

And Faith had already heard this one.

“Demon chick?”

“Ex-demon chick. And yes - Anya. I told you how that one went down, and I don’t see how it’s any less bad than anything you did. Less bloody maybe, but no less bad.”

“Think it’s the bloody that makes the difference.”

“No, it’s the outcome that makes the difference. At the end of the day Faith, none of the bad stuff even mattered. It never stopped me loving Anya, and it never stopped her loving me. That was all that really mattered.”

“Right. Cos you get left with the heartbreak, and she’s not here to pick up the pieces. Sounds dreamy.”

Harshness re-entering her tone. Her fingers tapping out a rhythm of dissatisfaction along her arms as she folded them tight across her chest. Still scared of what beat inside. Still safer to deny and defy, than it was to accept the feeling.

“Is that what this is?”

And now what?

“Huh?”

“You’re pissed at Buffy cos she’s leaving? You want her to stay?”

“Like fuck I do.”

“That’s how it sounds to my untrained ear; like this goes just as deep for you as it does for her. Makes my point about Anya a whole lot more pointy.”

And Faith wanted to rebuke, wanted to shout down words of nonsense with words of sense, but she had no words left. Not harsh ones or soft ones. Had only eyes that opened further, that took their turn to pin down Xander and silently demand the more:

“I’m not gonna deny Faith, that I’m left with a lot of the heartbreak - I loved her. I still do love her. I’m willing to bet that I’ll always have a place in my heart that’s only there for Anya; but I can promise you now, scout’s honour, that I’d be a whole lot more heartbroken if we hadn’t made our peace. If she’d gone without me telling her how I still felt - how I’ll always feel.”

Still no words.

“It’s not too late, Faith. You’ve still got a chance to make things right before Buffy goes.”

“No chance.”

Spoken on autopilot.

“Then you really are an idiot. I said I didn’t understand, and I don’t - wouldn’t have called it, not in a million years - but I know that what Buffy feels for you is real. I’ve seen her Faith, I’ve heard her speak the words, and if you’re prepared to just throw that away, to act like it’s something that doesn’t even matter to you, then you’re less than an idiot.”

“Guess that’s the way it is then.”

Back in control. Holding the line of defence. Not wanting to hear more words, not needing to hear more sense. Already knowing without the vocalisation that this was something that twisted deep inside. Always had been. Always would be.

“Figure an idiot’s better than a fuck up. Gotta call it an improvement…”

Not stopping as Xander pushed himself away from her side to gather up his comics. Clearing the bed of the easy distraction; not meeting her eyes anymore as he shrugged himself into his jacket.

“…and ya know, with B - I really hope she gets her shit together, I do; just don’t wanna be anywhere close to the shit myself. I’m done with the crazies.”

“I’m outta here.”

“You’re going?”

Stating the obvious.

“Yes, I am. Because Buffy does matter to me; she matters a whole lot to me. Tomorrow she’s leaving and I don’t have a clue when I’m gonna get the chance to see her again. Heck, I don’t even know what I’m doing here anyway - what I thought I’d be able to achieve.”

Stating the disappointment.

“Xander…”

“No. We’re buds Faith, we’re tight - but you are an idiot, and you’re also full of crap. Buffy’s getting on a plane in less than a day, she’s going to England - doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Means she won’t be getting in my face anymore.”

“That’s right Faith. She won’t.”

Her eyes following his back as he walked stiff to the elevator. Her teeth the ones grinding now to keep it all in.

“You’ll call me tomorrow?”

Forced to keep it all in as he left without smiling.

And Faith got that also. She got all of it. But it didn’t change a thing. It couldn’t change a thing. Buffy gone was all that she wanted - a chance at freedom was all that she wanted. And if her dreams spoke different? If they spoke of peace and patience, trust and understanding?

Then she would sink silently down to the bed that now sat empty. She would gather up her knees, she would hold herself close; and she would release tears on a feeling that had only ever made her want to turn tail and run.

The next morning brought a franticness that wouldn’t have surprised anyone who had watched the way that Buffy had been dragging her feet over all of the plans for leaving LA. The very last one to pack her bag. The very last one left standing in her room and casting eyes over the meagreness that summed up the whole of her life. Less than a bagful really. Nothing to take away except for the memories of the past and a few of her new bought clothing essentials.

Denting her already severe lack of happy. Barely keeping her ears open to the steady babble of Willow who was sat watching from the bed. Not really remembering that a conversation took two to make it an actual conversation.

“…And I’ve said sorry again, but I don’t know, Buffy. I acted like such an ass. Worse than an - hey, are you listening to me?”

Just glad to have some sound in the background. A voice that had done its best to project contrite, a voice that had wrapped its words around sorry so many times, that Buffy hadn’t been able to do anything other than accept. Glad to accept. To push aside all of the nightmare scenarios and at least pretend that the world still sat steady.

“Buffy?”

Because if the world sat steady, then maybe she could stand steady. Maybe she would be able to straighten her shoulders again and march forward into the world without sinking down into the depression that thinking about-

“Sorry Will, what was you saying?”

Grabbing at steadiness.

“Kennedy. I really think I might have blown it for us. I just can’t believe that I was acting so-”

“It’ll be fine, you know she loves you. And sure, you haven’t been the kind, caring, and considerate Willow that we all know and love… but everyone has their off-weeks. She’ll be ready to slip and slide again before you even know it.”

“Slip and slide? I was hoping more for the snugglies.”

“Well snugglies then. She’ll be ready for snuggly time before you know it.”

The impish smile back on Willow’s face. Buffy’s face staying plain to chase away the anguish that wanted to sit there. The regret about the snuggles that she would never know. And of course, the whole slipping and sliding thing. When Kennedy had first mentioned it, it had tantalised her senses. Now it just hurt.

“You do know how sorry I am, don’t you Buffy?”

A lot. Pushing it aside to be strong. To be Buffy.

“You mean from the six thousand times that you’ve already said it? I think I got the gist Will, and you know I’m not holding a grudge. Everything’s been crazy - you were just joining in.”

“That’s the nice way of putting it.”

“It’s my way of putting it, and you have to agree or I’m likely to go postal. I’m pretty good at doing crazy too.”

But no matter how hard she tried, Buffy still couldn’t help but show the signs of all of the hurt. Her eyes starting to mist as they flitted again over all of the nothing that she had thrown into her bag; her sigh filling the room with the sound of her sorrow. And she could do this. Had so much experience at pushing aside the things that hurt, in favour of things that meant something, that it was just practiced routine that had her turning and bending to pick up the scythe; looking to Willow with the small plea for fun.

“You think I’ll be allowed to bring this as carry-on?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Not entirely. I know you’re not allowed nail clippers, or scissors…”

“…or hairspray Buffy; not even the environmentally safe kind.”

“Exactly. But this isn’t any of that. It seems way too risky to pack it in my case.”

“Oh Goddess! Imagine Giles if they lost it? With the noises, and the glasses… I don’t think he’d be able to make it through the turmoil.”

“So it’s carry-on?”

“I say take the risk. If anyone argues, I’ll bend their perception: What to us is a weapon of world saveage, will to them be nothing but a harmless old… something. Hmmm, I should probably work on that. Any ideas on what the glamour could be?”

“Glamorous?”

“Helpful. I guess I could go with umbrella; what with the dimensions and our destination, it seems totally possible that you’d be carrying-”

The fun knocked sideways by the knock on the door. A firm tap. No pause for an answer. Xander the one who was there to bring interruption and instruction, carrying his words into the room with subdued in his smile.

“It’s getting time to roll. Giles wants me to bring down your bag Buffy, it’s the last one to go on the bus.”

“Right.”

Back to business. Back to feeling the emptiness as she lifted up her bag and handed it to Xander. Not so much left inside. Nothing for Buffy to focus upon, except the steady rhythm of placing one foot in front of the other. Trailing behind, still dragging her feet. Still wondering what had happened to the missing beat in her chest.

No more Xander to guard her heart. No more…

…no more Faith to remind her of what it was her heart was there for.

Not much of anything really.

Something that Buffy had cried on and accepted. She had done her best - there was nothing else that she felt she could have done to have the situation resolving any differently. She had put it all in Faith’s hands, and Faith had pushed her away. That was all. That was the end. And those were the melancholic thoughts that Buffy was so lost in thinking, that she had switched off from taking any notice of direction. Letting her feet follow blindly behind Xander and Willow; just turning corners and taking steps. Her yelp of pain quite audible as she slammed into the backs that had stopped fast in front of her:

“Ow! Guys! Is there any special reason that you’re trying to break my nose?”

The shock less audible, but no less jarring, as the backs turned to face her and the space was made for her gaze to see. What had stopped them. Why there needed to be a commotion.

“Figure that’s on account of me. Guess this is a surprise, right?”

Faith.

As in…

“Faith?”

“Heard you guys were checking out today. Angel wanted me to settle the bill, collect the cash - make sure you haven’t trashed the place.”

And if this was to be the final ‘what the fuck’ moment that would occur in LA, then it would hold the honour of being the biggest shock of ‘what the fuck’ in Buffy’s entire life. Her thoughts so sure that this was something that would so never happen, that the possibility hadn’t even blipped a signal on her radar. Hope had left her building.

So what the hell was Faith doing in it?

Pushing past her friends to complete her journey down the stairs. Slowly but surely. Remembering the straight shoulders, remembering how to hold herself steady.

“What are you doing here?”

“Told ya. Angel wanted me to-”

“Cut the crap, Faith. What do you want?”

No time left to play at placation, to make the soft roads for Faith to travel. Buffy had given her all and she had not much else to give. A scythe, a plane ticket…

Just trying to breathe as her friends found her side again; Willow bristling with a face most displeased, Xander letting out words that made no kind of sense:

“You gave up on being an idiot then?”

“Wouldn’t say that. Some things are too hard to give up.”

“You look like you’re doing okay. We’ll take it slow, I can be your sponsor…”

No time left to wonder what the heck was happening. Breaking through any covers of brainless banter to have Faith’s eyes finding hers again. Direct. To the point. Making Buffy want answers. Holding onto defences to keep the hurt from haunting her words.

“I asked what you’re doing here?”

“Got stuff to say.”

“You want to talk? Is this some kind of joke? You do know that I’m leaving in…”

Looking to Xander.

“You’ve got about fifteen minutes tops ‘til Giles goes ballistic. I’ll take your stuff out, offer a distraction.”

Handing over the scythe in a daze. Because it was okay to tell herself that she could be steady, that she could face Faith with nothing in mind but short and sharp sentences; but the truth was that she was already struggling. Already biting her tongue to stop from taking that one last shot at the something different. Letting Xander walk away with her bag and the scythe and a goofy kind of smile. Offering a lesser smile in return as Willow had dragged herself away with the last of her own words still tainted with warning:

“Lay one more finger on her Faith, and I promise you won’t have fingers left to play with.”

Like a layer of something distasteful settling over the lobby. Signalling the witch’s departure. Signalling another moment where it would be just the two of them. Kind of. No protection from the eyes of the gathering slayers; from the eyes of a younger sister who was wondering at what the last minute excitement might be.

“You think that was Red’s idea of a heartfelt goodbye?”

And Faith. Not a shred of protection from the eyes of Faith.

“Is that why you’re here? For heartfelt goodbyes?”

“Never said that. Got stuff that needs saying, figure it’s now or never.”

“Now’s good.”

Buffy’s arms crossing her chest without direction from her mind. Her fingers starting to tap with what felt like impatience.

“Now… right. Can we do this in private?”

“You want privacy?”

“Unless you wanna lay it all out in front of an audience? Not my style, but if that’s what you want.”

Feeling all of the eyes. All of the stares.

“Is your version of privacy likely to cause bruising?”

“Valid question, answer’s no. I’m not here to rough you up B, I meant what I said: got stuff to say. Should probably get moving if I’m gonna say it ‘fore you go.”

And it was enough to move Buffy. Taking the lead again. Letting Faith fall into step behind her as she showed the way to the rooms. To her own room. Empty now. Pausing as she pushed open the door, breathing deep as she waited for Faith to follow her in. Almost like she was still living in that same ‘what the fuck’ moment… no clue. No shoe dropping to fill her in on what exactly was happening. Like she was only ever destined to be waiting for Faith.

“I’ve probably got about five minutes left… what’s the stuff that needs to be said?”

A slight hint of curious raising her tone at the last. Softening it a little. Inviting an answer. Not getting the answer as Faith instead looked to map out the dimensions of the room with her fast falling footsteps. Moving around Buffy. Bypassing obstacles. Almost as if she could walk her way around the things that she had come there to say.

And Buffy had made a vow about no more hiding.

“Four minutes.”

Her fingers now tapping the same beat as the clock, her mouth not being able to resist making the smallest of smiles in response to Faith’s sudden stop and turn. The pained look that had appeared upon her face.

“I’m not good at this.”

“I think I’m getting that. Just spit it out; pretend I’m not here and get right to the point.”

“You being here kinda was the point. Or it was Xander’s point. I’m starting to see now that the guy makes sense - well, most times; still not sold on the whole Hulk deal. Green chump’s never coming close to beating Superman’s ass…”

“Faith… the point, please?”

“The point. Shit. Look B, you get that I hate you, right?”

And she had held her breath and walked the steps for this? For the same level of crap that would cause the same level of hurt, sent from the exact same mouth? It was a lot for anyone to take. Even Buffy.

“I think I’m getting a mutual feeling. You came to tell me you hate me? Again? I’m leaving Faith… I’m going. I’m out of here, across the pond… five thousand miles of staying away…”

Fighting to keep her voice even.

“…what more do you want? God, I’m done with this. Finished. You hate me - that’s great. I doubt you’ll ever have to see me again, so it’s all worked out well. I’m really happy for you - if hating me makes you feel good, then really, I’m happy for you.”

“Damn, B. You work long on that?”

“I’m not joking Faith, I’m officially sick of whatever game you think you’re here to play. I’ve got it. You hate me. Can I go now?”

Silence greeting her request.

And Buffy wouldn’t care anymore. Not about clocks and two minutes, or anything other than the fact that it felt like she had taken back some of the control. And it felt kind of good. A lot good. Already moving her feet to move around Faith. The smile starting to drop as she felt fingers grip hard on her arm to hold her in place.

“Said I had stuff to say.”

“And I said I was done with listening. Let go of me.”

Wanting to run from the touch that was burning bare skin. Shaking her arm loose and finding eyes for Faith that weren’t anything friendly. Just needing to go now. Right now. The shout from Xander only calling the now into focus; giving her an escape route that wasn’t simply about running away. Running scared. Not looking back. Not thinking back. Concentrating only on the direction of her feet. On the sad faced man that held his arms open in a hold that was everything gentle. Maybe the gentlest of tight holds that Buffy had ever felt.

Not crying.

“This really sucks, Buff. I don’t want you to leave.”

“It sucks a lot. If it’s any consolation, I don’t want you to stay. You know it’s not too late… Giles could-”

“Or you could. Stay that is. We can get an apartment, be roomies. Be the wacky kind of neighbours that keep strange hours and bring home the dead.”

“You put it like that Xander, and I’m almost convinced.”

Even attempting a smile. Something soft as Xander’s hand reached out to tuck away a stray hair that had escaped from her ponytail. Pulling her in close again. Holding even tighter than he had held her before. So much sadness in view on the sidewalk.

“I’m gonna miss you Buffy.”

“You really think you’ll get the chance? Giles said they have telephones in England, I think they might even have computers; I’ll be in touch. I’ll be in touch so much you’ll need an overseas restraining order.”

Wanting to hold even tighter herself as Giles honked the horn on the waiting bus. The same transport out that had transported them in.

“I think that’s your cue, Slayer. Go save the world some.”

Pulling back. Pulling forward. Another honk. Another hug.

Another ‘what the fuck’.

Fingers on bare skin again. Buffy’s arm recognising the prickle before she had been spun round to see. Still Faith. All Faith. Wanting to vocalise her anger, but not having the chance. Words already rushing forth to split the silence of surprise:

“Just what the fuck is it, you want from me B?!”

And who what?

“Jesus! I came to tell you it makes a difference, alright? Think you could climb down off your high horse long enough to hear me?”

And it looked like privacy would be the only thing that didn’t bare witness to the moment when a thousand walls were finally forced to come crashing down. Time demanding it. Now or never.

“You didn’t say that Faith. You said…”

“I know what I said, I’m not stupid, B. Still doesn’t mean I’m good at this shit. I was trying to make a point.”

“And the point is?”

Another honk. A whole row of eyes staring out at them from the windows of the bus. Narrowed eyes. Protective eyes. Willow’s eyes having Buffy lifting her hand to say it was okay. Pushing Xander to tell Giles just one more minute. One final moment. The time when maybe she would start to see the point.

“I hate you…”

“Faith-”

“Holy fuck. Can’t you just shut up?”

Buttoning her lips. Biting her lip.

“That’s not it B. The point. The hate thing. That’s what I’m trying to say. Was pretty sure that was it… woke up thinking it was all I had left - cage sure didn’t help much.”

“I’m sorry about the cage, Faith. The cage was wrong.”

“Cage was fucked up. Still not the point.”

The engine revving out its impatience behind her. And it didn’t bother Buffy. Just a few weeks ago she had been confronting Faith with an earthquake raging behind them; this seemed somewhat tame in comparison. Easy to ignore.

“So the point is?”

Concentrating every thought into making Faith speak. Making her open the mouth that had seemed to suddenly stick to being closed. Not catching her eyes anymore. Not catching anything except the same old defences and the same obsessive beating of the horn blaring out behind her.

Giving up. Knowing she had to go.

Turning without any more false chipper tones that would wish a quick goodbye. That would wish for anything.

“Buffy…”

Except for that.

The final hope. The soft sound that had spoken her name, reaching out to trace places other than just her ears. Making her feel the beat in her chest. Making nervousness rise as she waited on words that didn’t look to be coming. Still barriers. Still walls that could slam down in front of eyes.

Seeing the nothing. Knowing the nothing.

Turning away for the last time before Faith would get to say it. Taking her control and heading for the bus. Taking her nothing and walking away.

And she was so wrong…

“Don’t know what it is you want me to say. Betting I wouldn’t know how to, even if ya told me… but shit, B. It made a difference.”

The words that she would’ve sworn were never going to come, making their own final grab at holding control. Halting the air that flowed in Buffy’s lungs. Stopping her steps from walking away. Making her eyes find Faith again.

“Dunno if that means anything to you. Fuck; it’s not like I ever know what anything means. But it did.”

“It did?”

“Yeah. Made everything different.”

And Buffy wanted to ask. Wanted to stop the world from turning if it meant that she could ask. But was she daring enough? Was she brave enough?

Absolutely.

The burning need to know, crushing everything inside that would seek to shatter her confidence. Maybe already knowing. Lips settling on soft as she asked the only question left:

“It made everything different? How different?”

“Well… it’s not all about the hate anymore.”

Gifted a smile. A smirk. A look that she had longed to remember. And it was enough. Smiling back. Stepping back. A smile for Xander, a smile for everyone. Getting onto the bus and even finding a smile for Giles. Pushing past his annoyance and impatience until he offered a soft face in return. Because it wasn’t all about the hate.

Not anymore.

Faith watching from the sidewalk with her own private case of ‘what the fuck’ reaching down to tickle her into lifting her lips higher. Because she had more than faced her demons this time. She had shouted them down and she had spoken out loud. She had finally said something that was starting to make sense.

Not weak anymore.

Feeling the weight start to lift as the bus faded off into the distance. Just turning and taking the arm that Xander threw so easy across her shoulders.

“What do ya say to getting some breakfast, Slay Gal?”

“You eat out with idiots?”

“No, I don’t. And you’re so not an idiot. You had me fooled for a minute. You did a damn fine impression; but I’m onto you now. I know what you are.”

“You do?”

“Sure I do. You’re a superhero Faith, a bona-fide, cape wearing-”

“A superhero? You totally lost the plot?”

“Well you’re my hero right now. We can get you some spandex; you’ll need a cool weapon…”

“And a lair. Can’t be a superhero without a cool lair.”

“We’ll get a cool lair…”

Their voices fading into the same distance as the bus.

A distance where the world had chosen to give a touch of peace to both of the slayers. The original slayers. A moment’s peace. A minute’s respite. Just a few short months to stop and draw breath. For the world may have made the offer of peace, yet it was already turning towards its next disaster. The next apocalypse. Towards the time when the slayers would be placed face to face. Sharing space. Together again.

And fighting side by side.

The End