Swings

by Princess Dushku

Chapter One: The Ice Cream Store

March, 1999.

You’re in an ice-cream parlour, a 24 hour one apparently as it’s already one in the morning. Faith is leaning against the plastic guard, looking like a hyperactive child faced with a difficult math question. She sniggered when you ordered vanilla straight away, nudging your shoulder affectionately when you pouted yet has now somehow managed to turn choosing a flavour into looking for the meaning of life; an overly complex and unnecessary problem.

The girl behind the counter shares a conspiratorial eye-roll with you. She greeted the dark-haired slayer by name when she entered and now indulges the younger girl, as she remains indecisive. You felt a stab of jealousy when Faith jumped up on the counter to give the girl a kiss on the cheek but then giggled as your sister slayer was reprimanded for making the girl wait. Your surprise at seeing Faith blush was only outweighed by your surprise when the girl explained Faith had asked her to keep the place open for you.

You’re still deliberating on whether this is a date or just an apology when Faith suddenly decides she’s found the perfect mixture. The girl piles the scoops into a cone and you both wrinkle your nose at Faith’s ‘perfect choice’. She laughs at your look and peels away one of your hands from the half-finished ice cream it was wrapped around. She palms your tiny cold hand, rubbing the back to keep it warm, pulling you out onto the deserted street. You walk side-by-side with her, swinging your joined arms like young children and licking your ice creams as if it is an entirely normal thing to be doing at one AM.

She’d climbed in through your bedroom window earlier and presented you with a shiny dagger with bleeding roses engraved on the handle. You were dumbstruck for a moment. Confused by some kind of symbolism you thought might be there. The younger girl’s flopping down on your bed and subsequent messy search for your diary reminded you that this was Faith; everything was simple. Her life may be spent playing games but she was never one to confuse something with veiled meaning.

The dagger had been reclaimed from the sporting goods store you’d broken into the night before and was an apology for getting you arrested. She’d seen the flowers and guessed it was just the sort of girly thing you’d like. You almost rolled your eyes and threw it in your weapons chest before you noticed the way she avoided your eyes. A simple ‘thank you’ was all it took for her to raise her big browns to you with a smile. She excitedly showed you the bow she’d had slung over her shoulder and you feigned interest while watching the way her lips moved and how she lit up when you commented.

You’d been pulled out of your daze by a lightning quick request. Faith had told you she had a surprise, that she wanted to take you somewhere. The second half of her apology. You’d agreed, unable to deny her anything. She captivated you as she sat sideways on your bed, staring into your eyes as if searching for that little fire she loved to stoke. You’d kissed her the week before; standing in an empty graveyard, surrounded by dust, she’d cheered and you’d kissed her. An incentive to stay as open as she was around you- to never again show you the outside of those walls.

Now, as you sit on swings, laughing about what kind of a stupid person would put a playground in a graveyard, you think you might kiss her again. Her eyes slide to the side for a second as if she knows what you are thinking. You reach over to press your lips against hers and decide in the split second after you part your lips to never again let Faith choose her own food-mixes before you kiss her. You pull away grimacing and tell her so, she merely laughs and promises tomorrow she’ll eat whatever you want.

You laugh at her and tell her from now on she’ll be doing everything you say. She pulls faces at you and doesn’t tell you she loves you so you don’t tell her back. After all, you’re slayers, you battle. This is no different. You know one of you will break eventually, doesn’t matter who, you’ll both enjoy the consequences.

As you watch her swinging ever higher, still managing to sneak in licks of her melting ice cream, you think it might be you. You’ll tell her if it keeps her smiling like that; like a little child, exuberant and carefree. She laughs at your serious frown and stops swinging for a moment so she can reach over and smooth it from your face.

“No more trouble.” She promises in all seriousness, thinking you’re still upset about last night. Your eyes flick to the large bow resting against the metal frame of the swings. She went back for it and you find it odd; that she could be so meticulous about causing disorder.

“Jus’ you, me an’ the rush.” You mimic her voice, slurring the words together the way she does. It works and in a second the grin snaps back onto her face. She throws herself backwards so she laughs into the sky, the tips of her silky long hair brushing the dirt under her feet. It’s an action so un-like you it almost makes you blush, what you’d give to not care.

Then suddenly she’s standing there in front of you- ice cream cast away- holding out her hand and a promise of freedom. Yesterday you danced until your lungs ached; today you’re running through a graveyard with that familiar burn nipping at the edges of your consciousness. The two of you swerve around headstones; hair flying out behind you and air pushing it’s way into you.

You leap over a fresh grave and into her side, knocking you both over. You were tired of running, wanted her back with you, paying you all the attention she was giving the wind. She turns to cradle you, chuckling as you nudge her arm around your shoulders.

“You’re a hoot-and-a-half, girlfriend.” She sighs out, testing the words on her air-starved breath. You lie on her for what seems like an age. Until your breathing has returned to normal and you melt into the body you are resting on. “Tomorrow we’ll have cake”, you giggle at how decisive she sounds- as if she’s been mentally debating, “I know a tiny little place, real melt-in-the-mouth an’ all that…” She drops her voice to make you blush and you comply though you’re not sure why.

“Tomorrow.” You agree. You can’t measure how good something is unless you try again- could just be a fluke. And anyway, what’s a first date without a second?

Chapter Two: Cake in the Hallway

May, 1999

Cake. Another one. Sitting in your locker staring at you from a little gummy face stuck on top.

You’re still feeling slightly indecisive as to whether the look it’s giving you is warm and friendly or smugly accusatory. This is the fourth one this week and the first for a while to come with a note. Normally you spend five fugitive minutes snapping your eyes from side to side while trying to appear inconspicuous and then as fast as lightning jam the cupcake into your mouth when you see Willow approaching and hope you’ve swallowed by the time she makes it over. It’s been a month now and you have it down to a fine art.

Today, however, your timing is out. ‘Out’ in that it’s unnecessary; you dashed out of the house this morning- much to your mother’s surprise- and made it in to school early.

You wanted to see her.

The last time had been 10 days ago with that stupid box thing. You’d ached to be as close to her as Willow was, knife be damned. So this morning you’d been early in the hopes of catching her in the act.

You almost had.

Her eyes take another leisurely sweep across your back. You’ve amp-ed up the Slayer hearing, you could literally hear a pin drop in the drama block from here. She knows what you’re doing and she’s keeping Slayer quiet to tease you.

You pause for a second. Then make the rudest hand gesture you can think of in the direction of the display cabinet down the hall, it chuckles quietly back at you and you grin, loving being right. That damn gummy face is still staring back at you but now it just looks happy.

“Buffy?” You spin round so fast you almost crack your head open against the locker door. As it is you’ve probably created a bump the size of Texas and lost a few hundred vital brain cells. You curse under your breath.

The voice you’d been listening for is smooth and husky at the same time and permanently amused. Instead you’d got Willow’s whisper to herself registering as a shout on the Slayer hearing scale.

“Oh My Goddess! Are you ok?” She’s flashing different numbers of fingers in front of your face and wiggling them around so your eyes will follow.

“I’m fine Will, who needs brain cells anyway?” You give her your best grin and let her help you up. Further down the hall, Faith is giving herself a coronary trying to keep from laughing; you shoot a glare her way and know she’ll somehow get it.

“What’s that?” Willow is standing, looking in to your locker and eyeing your cake.

“Nothing.” You almost yell, snatching away the note and grabbing the cake so hard you almost crush it. “Mom made it for me- want it?” She shakes her head like you knew she would so you stuff it in your mouth instead.

And then remember the cake holder.

Willow watches in near disgust as you pull the soggy paper out of your mouth. “Sorry.” You mumble, around the cake.

“That’s… ok.” She grimaces, “What are you doing in this early? More Faith nightmares?” You freeze. Of all the things she could have said…

“N-no.” You clear your throat “why would I, er, Faith? Dreams of Faith?”

“It’s just, you were telling me about how down you are about the whole ‘Evil Faith’ thing and I know when you have something big on your mind you normally can’t sleep.” She pats you on the shoulder and gives her best concerned look. “Buffy, you’ve gone all red- how hard did you hit your head?”

“Not hard enough…”

She pats your shoulder sympathetically, “I know it’s awful right now but it’ll all be better soon.”

“Will it?” A quiet voice is chanting ‘Will, will, will’ to the tune of the William Tell Overture… you’re not entirely sure if it’s just in your head or if the display cabinet’s hidden, evil – and incredibly hot- villain is trying to rile you by alerting Willow.

This may be the only time you’ve ever hoped you’re going mad.

Willow’s smile back at you is placating, “It will, it really will. You’ll beat that…. Bitch!” You both jump at her loud profanity, Willow looking slightly more shocked than you despite the fact it came from her mouth. You direct another hand-gesture at the display case as it starts turning the air blue and listing ways to skin a cat (you weren’t aware there was more than one).

She smiles guiltily at you and silently motions towards the library, you nod and she slinks off, itching the rash that always seems to appear on the side of her neck whenever Faith is mentioned.

“Oddly, I like her more now she openly hates me.”

“I wouldn’t use ‘hate’, per say”

“You wouldn’t?”

“More like despise.”

She chuckles throatily as you turn to her and then stops as she sees the shiver it sends down your spine. “Do you despise me, B?”

In the five long seconds it takes to attempt to process what it is exactly you feel about her and how to reply she slides up to you. Her few extra inches seem to stretch to miles as she towers above you, her dark pupils cupping yours. “I…” You start to reply but something foul seems to be coating your throat, thick and bitter it burns and stops all breath. There’s an angry thump in your chest, the golden light she was bathed in a few moments ago now seems cold and murky. She smirks, her teeth pointed ridges and all you can think is ‘how dare she?’. How dare she ask you such a thing? You have every right to hate her, to want to smash your fist into her perfect face, pull on her shiny hair and rip her god damn eyes out!

Faith lets her eyes wash over you. “Oh.” She yelps under her breath. Turning to walk away she gives you one last look and looks for a moment like the girl you fell for; the girl in the cemetery with the wild, messy hair and sarcastic grin who layered on too much make-up and found fun in everything. You blink and don’t have to try hard to recognise that the girl in front of you is the cold-blooded killer, not the child. Her hair weighed down by expensive styling products and face artfully painted. All paid for by him.

You can almost kid yourself that you can see the gleam of the knife in her eye. The knife you pulled out of the wall and a giant spider. The one under your pillow.

“Go away, Faith. You’ve ruined it.” She winces as if you’d stabbed her before molten iron floods into her vision and she fixes you with a sneer.

“Nothing to ruin, Princess.” You’d blocked her out of your mind but her words speak to your body, tightening the vice round your heart and burning the invisible mark under your left breast- the only place she ever touched under your clothes.

Her back is steely as she struts away from you; hands equally hard clutch a note and a mushy fairy-cake cup by your sides. Your game stopped today. The rigid edge you show to each other when in company has spread into your secret life.

Suddenly it all seems very real, the air rushes out of you in one short blast. Your weakened knees almost find the floor before you steady yourself on the edge of your open locker.

You give yourself a moment to grieve before you take a key and lock away whatever it was the two of you had.

It isn’t until English the next day that you remember her note. Searching for blank paper, you find it hastily shoved between the pages. You scan briefly over her scrawl-y handwriting and messy doodles. Your more self-destructive side pointing out how happy and carefree she seems, scribing smile-y faces at random. She asks you to meet her this Saturday and gives you only a street name and number to go on. You recognise it as somewhere just off the main street.

The janitor who picks it up after it rolls out of the bin smiles good-naturedly. Looking around the empty classroom he thinks back to when he was young and in love.

Chapter Three: Hospital JellO

July, 1999

“What kind of person leaves food in a coma patient’s room?” You manage to slur around a mouthful of green jell-o. Oddly, it had had a spoon sticking into the top of it when you first came in. Faith neglects to fill the pause you left for her to reply but maybe it’s better this way- god knows, she’d give you a heart attack if she actually did speak.

That and you don’t want her to. Can you call it being in love if you want her to stay asleep?

You can image her reply anyway; something sarcastic and teasing, probably a sex reference. Anything to make you blush.

Jell-o is your comfort food. You eat it compulsively whenever bad things happen. And hey- it’s good for you! Even if those bits of ‘fruit’ do occasionally turn out to be marshmallows… marshmallows are made with air, right? And air has good stuff in.

“Ok Buff, you’re not even kidding yourself with that one.” You sigh and put the pot down.

Three minutes of Faith-watching later you crack and pick it back up. It’s just too weird watching her without something in your hands. Almost as if the jell-o gives you a reason to be here… well, it makes you feel less pervy.

“I’m only here for the Jell-o. I don’t care about you.” Faith’s face remains static. “You’re right- I’m a lousy liar.”

It wasn’t that good a reason anyway. Stinking Jell-o.

Stinking hospital.

Stinking life!

“Crappy.” Your adjective of yesterday. Today’s should be something worse. Something Faith taught you. Something… naughty! You sigh, you might be near-technically alone in the room but that doesn’t mean you can actually say one of those words out-loud. Too many years of a good upbringing, swallowing down and suffocating it before you can shape your mouth to the first syllable.

Your stomach jumps as you watch her and then clenches to quash the feeling. Today you’re all about repression. Stupid butterflies. You want to kiss her and you know it. Doesn’t mean you have to like it.

You can’t kiss anywhere other than her forehead since she’s gotten ill. ‘Gotten ill’; makes it sound like she’ll get better. Like she’s just unfortunate. Picked up a bug, a cold, few days in bed and she’ll feel better. You’ll take her soup and pat her hair and say ‘there, there’ and… she’ll be up by the weekend, ready for your date and looking gorgeous. She’ll hold your hand across the table, flash her dimples at you above the menu and you’ll say how good it is to see her on her feet again. Her eyes will tear-up slightly as she thanks you for your caring act, tells you no-one has ever shown her love like this before and she’s devoted to you- besotted. You’ll kiss on the porch after an amazing meal where you laughed so hard your stomach ached and half the food went to waste. The apprehension in her eyes makes you feel bolder as you invite her upstairs to show her that she doesn’t have to be scared anymore; she doesn’t have to do stupid things. You love her. In the morning she brings you breakfast in bed and feeds you grapes to make you smile. She tells you to lie in bed all day and that she’ll take care of you like you did for her. Then you live happy ever after.

Except she’s not got a cold.

It’s a coma.

She fell off a building.

You think that if she ever wakes up she’ll probably say ‘pushed’- because she’s like that. In her mind things only ‘happen’ to her, she’s never the problem.

The ‘date night’ is only one of your many fantasies. In another one she wakes from her coma without a memory. She knows she loves you the first time you step into the room. You don’t tell her about her past but you still fall in love. Then either her memory comes back or someone tells her the truth- doesn’t matter either way. She’s angry and runs to the docks but by the time you find her (bathed in orange light from the sunset and with a gentle breeze ruffling her hair) she’s forgiven you. You kiss… and live happily ever after.

Or maybe She wakes-up repentant. Or pregnant with your mystical love child. Or it’s you in the coma and her watching over. Or-

“I think about you too much, you know. It’s weird. And wrong. But I can’t stop thinking about you. And they’re not good thoughts… or… they are but that’s where the whole ‘wrong’ thing comes in. I- I stabbed you. And you still won’t go away. I hate you… but you’re in my brain.” On a Sunday months ago you’d sat curled-up in your duvet and dreamed about why Faith had wanted to meet with you the day before. Another mystery date? You’d spent the time tracking hellhounds and then at the Prom. She must have known where you’d be; you’d felt her eyes metaphorically stabbing into Angel as he’d danced with you, seemingly unaware. You wonder now if your absence and the reason was what made her shoot a poison arrow through him. Perhaps she’d known you intended to go solo and she- well, she invited you to homecoming, didn’t she? Is it that strange to think she might have been planning… something?

You wait for her face to twitch, her hand to move, her voice to call you. She stays motionless and it brings up your irrational anger again. Like Pandora’s box; once opened, always there. Brewing under the surface. Desperate to reach out and clutch those wires or that neck and clench- tug- rip- destroy. Whatever it takes to get her out of your life. “Angel left me and I didn’t even do anything!” Yet you’ve tried so hard to rinse her out. The dirty little stain. “ I didn’t do anything except… age? Is that even a good reason to leave someone?” What about turning evil? Sleeping with your boyfriend? Lying bastard. She’d had the decency to write a note telling you the truth. “I mean; ‘you’re getting older’. Ok so, if I was, like, forty and he was, I dunno, twenty then yeah- leave me! But- hello!- HE’s older. I should be the one doing the dumping! He’s MY first love! I SHOULD BE THE DUMPER!” Two loud crackles later and you’re staring at a leaking pot of green jell-o infused with purple plastic. “Stupid spoon.”

Anger seeping away like blood congealing in reverse, you dump the sticky mess in the trash and suck your sickly-sweet and slimy fingers. Moving to check no-one’s running down the hallway inspect the cause of the yelling you stand in the doorway, studying the places Faith’s dimples would be if she was awake and could see the state you’ve got yourself in.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You mutter and wipe the last of the goo of on your top- fortunately an old one discarded into the ‘slaying’ pile. The jell-o oddly matches the crusty streaks left by the disembowelment of a slime-demon last year. It was easier to slide the knife into Faith. No resistance.

You sort of think she might have let you do it.

But only sort of.

“Do you want to stay asleep?” You talk to your shirt and she couldn’t have heard you even with her slayer hearing fully functioning.

You came here the first few times wearing a pretty dress, perfume and make-up; just in case she woke up. Now you’re dressed in a dirty, partly crispy hooded sweatshirt and tracksuit pants with the stretch long gone. Maybe it’s just realistic- the doctors don’t think she’ll ever wake-up anyway. Maybe you don’t want her to. You’d like to believe she’d think you were beautiful anyway.

You’d like to believe everything will be ok when she wakes up.

That all it takes for your problems to go away is for her to open her eyes.

And tell you that she loves you.

Because that is the only thing that will stop you from beating her back into unconsciousness.

And as much as you love her- you think that might be your first response.

Chapter Four: Alcoholic Chocolate

October 1999

You’re hyperventilating; stabbing in your chest and screaming in your head. The sirens are shrieking, the nurses are running and you think that you might just die right here if she doesn’t open her eyes.

Five minutes ago, you sat propped-up next to her on the bed, nursing the worst hangover of your young life. Which isn’t surprising really- considering you de-evolved last night. Your friends were still giving you strange looks so you’d come to see the one person who knew all your secrets- even if only in her subconscious.

She is the secret you love to keep. Not even Willow knows you come here. She hated Faith for how close she perceived the two of you to have become. You know that if she knew the truth- that it was even closer than she thought- you’d never win her friendship back.

The hospital visits are just the latest in a long line of Faith-related secrets, starting with the first night Faith had taken you out drinking. She’d claimed Slayers could drink twenty times more than the average human. She’d been wrong. Obviously.

Waking the next morning, semi-naked and grimy, you found your skin had turned a sickly yellow colour. Faith cheerfully explained to you, as you retched into the cracked and dirty toilet-bowl, that you had liver-failure. That had been the hardest of all slayer-related injuries (so called because this was definitely, 100 percent, Faith’s fault) to cover-up.

Although, on second thoughts, after the first impulse to wrap your hands round Faith’s neck and shake the life out of her for making you hurt so bad had receded, it had actually been a pretty good week. She’d sneak into your room every morning with tubs of foundation and you’d chat as the two of you attempted to make your skin resemble a normal colour again. Plus she’d looked awfully kissable that morning, perched on the edge of the tub with ice cream matting half her hair to the side of her face.

She’d taught you to suck chocolate just the right way to ease your hangover and you’d been so caught up in it a moment ago you hadn’t noticed the rapidly increasing beats of her heart monitor until her shoulder began to jump against yours.

Her spasms knocked you to the floor before you’d had time to move. Your knee smashed against the cracked linoleum, you scrabbled to push yourself back up. The room filling in seconds. Screeching alarms tearing through your frontal lobes and now you’re pleading, screaming, begging for them to stop her, to save her, to do anything. Something.

The nurses are attempting to pump drugs into her, flying everywhere as she shakes. Plump, comfortable arms wrap around you, endeavouring to coax you backwards but they hardly register. “We can’t get close to her!” yells one of the fallen nurses to the entering doctor. You manage to fumble your way off the floor and scuffle for a moment with her flailing body. The doctor raises an eyebrow at your seeming ease as you rest your weight against her, but says nothing.

“MAKE HER STOP!” you scream and they rush round, pumping her full of whatever’s in the syringes.

Suddenly she stiffens and you’re all held in suspense, breath choked down, until she relaxes back against the bed. “Is- is she ok?” The doctor pats your shoulder, his crinkled old eyes comforting in a patronisingly knowing way.

“She’s had a seizure. We need to run some tests. We’ll call you in the morning.” His British accent is clipped as he hustles you to the door, patting you condescendingly on the shoulder.

“No!” You’re made immediately suspicious by the doctor’s lack of surprise in finding he is powerless against you. He purses his lips as you glare up at him. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You cannot be with her while we run these tests.”

“Then I’ll go with you and wait outside the room.”

“Miss. Summers, it would be best-”

“I am not leaving until I know she’s ok.”

The two of you face off, you let your slayer senses tingle and flow; feel the rush to your fingertips, the narrowing of your eyes and the almost perceptible buzz that crackles in the air. As your vision blurs for a second before evening out into a golden sheen you catch the hint of fear in his eyes- his bubbling resentment reluctantly simmering into wariness. He knows who you are. And of what you are capable. Faith has shown enough for both of you. Slayers kill.

The squat, brunette nurse behind him rests her hand on his arm. The look you send her is appreciative but it’s met by one of revulsion. The type of woman to say ‘your kind’ stares back at you, lip curling; “You might want to say your goodbyes now, Summers, your friend might not be here in the morning.” The gasp from the other assembled hospital employees at least reassures you that even if the council has two emissaries here the additional practitioners are scrupulous.

“She will be here. As will I.” The lash of your angry impression into her plump surround sends her scurrying backwards without having to lay a finger on her.

The orderly’s hustle to the bed breaks the tension and suddenly everyone is rushing around; moving the bed, reading from charts and calling out things meaningless to anyone without a medical degree.

A younger, redheaded nurse eyes you with concern before slipping her hand into yours and patting it. “She’ll be alright” For a moment her dimples remind you of the girl on the bed who can’t flash hers and it almost has you sobbing right there.

“Thank you.” Your voice has a strength you don’t feel. You feel hollow. You feel sore and you feel itchy; like there are a thousand spiders dragging their jagged limbs painfully across your skin. It’s the sign of danger and it’s also echoed from Faith’s body. Since she’s been in a coma it’s as if her slayer senses have attached themselves to you, even a nurse’s injection in her skin gives a phantom prick into yours.

“I can take you upstairs to neurology if you like but he’s right, you’ll have to wait outside. If you’d prefer to wait here I can make sure… she’s alright.” Looking like the perfect combination of an adult Willow and a juvenile Faith she calms your nerves. The others wait for you to move from the doorframe, some patiently, some angrily.

“Will she be ok?” ‘Don’t let them hurt her’

“We won’t know for sure until we’ve run these tests” ‘I won’t’.

So you sit and you wait, on a floor strewn with bits of melted chocolate, and you try not to think of all the awful things that could be happening to her right now. But mostly you’re trying to quash your guilt. Because when she first shook you thought she might be waking up. And nothing scares you more than that.

Except for the fact you hate the love of your life.

Chapter Five: PopTart Smuggling

March 2000

“So in the end it was all just this big spell so we’d all think he was cool. After that he just got really embarrassed and left town. Weird though, huh? That I’d think I wasn’t strong.” You bite your tongue and eye her raised brows, “And ok, that sounded really big-headed? I’m not always strong. Sometimes I’m really… useless…?”

She doesn’t take the bait but slips back into eyeing you impassively. You’d felt closer to her when she was unconscious. Now, separated by a thick wall of glass, she is resentfully silent.

Two week ago you’d told her to shut up as she pleaded with you. Her voice jabbing you in the gut, a painful annoyance so different to the feeling you’d had upon learning she was awake. You’d been shocked, scared and exultant, a bubble forming in your heart with nervous devotion. You’d craved to be close to her. But she hit your mother, she slept with your boyfriend, she ran to your ex. Not you. She’d burst your bubble, sure, she’d stolen your body… but she didn’t want you. She didn’t need you. She didn’t…

“You have to speak some time.”

Arriving in LA you’d been confused, angry, willing to do anything to get her to look at you. And she had. But you didn’t want it any more. Those weren’t the right words or looks or actions. She was sorry because she’d hurt you. But sorry for the ‘hurt’ part. You could have been anybody on her list of past crimes. It was Angel who’s shoulder she cried on.

“I saw Angel’s name in the visitor logs. That’s good. Do you talk to him?”

You don’t need her to answer. You can imagine. They have their cosy little chats and they don’t even bother to laugh at you, to talk about how stupid you are. They probably don’t even think of you. She’d tried to apologise, you said no and she’d given up.

So damn simple.

It took your mother to remind you that ‘sorry’ was what you wanted to hear. Arriving home fuming you’d beaten the hell out of almost everything in the basement before your mother admitted that perhaps today wasn’t the best day for spring cleaning. She’d sat you down and you’d talked about everything that was bothering you; how you’d hoped she’d be different, how you’d been surprised that she was… then how you wanted the old Faith back. The one who tried to get you to eat disgusting food combinations and taught you to find the fun and… promised not to sleep with anyone else even though you weren’t even officially dating. That last bit you’d left out obviously.

Everything had been confusing. But you’d resolved to visit her. To win her back.

If you could only get her to speak to you.

“You almost flat-lined in the hospital, did they tell you that? I was there. It was so… I- I thought we’d almost lost you. And then there’d be some new girl. Giles would probably want me to teach her stuff, and, and they’d watch her all the time and… she wouldn’t really get to have fun like we do-id, did. Obviously. Um…”

You sigh as she shuffles round in her uncomfortable chair, not even the mention of her near-death getting through to her though you can see a spark of annoyance in her eyes.

“Look, I get that I hurt you but I’m here now, isn’t that what you wanted?”

She stares back at you with a bland ‘who, you?’ look. You would have expected your heart to ache but instead your insides curl and a layer of angry red covers your vision. That bitch… you’re trying!

“If you don’t want me to be here why did you even bother apologising?” You spit, a muscle twitches in her cheek, “Why are you sitting there if not for me? I told you ‘prison’ and you went. Seems a little like ‘how high?’ to me!”

“IT IS NOT!” Faith roars, shooting to her feet. The guards move in. “I didn’t do this for you! You don’t get to say you’re sorry! You don’t get a second chance!”

You’re almost physically thrown back in your seat as she snarls at you, repeating your words from a fortnight ago. The stabbing in your stomach returns with an ironically brutal force. Why does she always work you up like this?

“I gave you chances! You took everything I had to offer you and then you stole the rest!”

Shrugging off a guard she turns to glare at you, “You can’t rape the willing, B!”

“I’m not talking about that!” She’d barely even made it to second base with you- technically she hadn’t- but you know she thinks you regret it. “I- I-” You choke back the word ‘liked’, now is not the time to confess just how much you ‘liked’ her. “I wish you’d died!” It escapes from your lips ferociously before you can bite it back down.

“So do I!” She slaps a hand over her own mouth and growls at you through her fingers, “You little shit… Why are you even here? You want to gloat? Wave your fake forgiveness in my face just so you can snatch it back again?”

She’s no longer talking into the phone but your enhanced senses clutch her sneers through the reinforced glass.

“I don’t- I don’t even know why I’m here!” An itch spreads along under your skin, tearing at your nerves, “I don’t have to be here. You’re the one locked up! I can go anywhere I want.” Your taunts burn the back of your throat, she makes you so angry but you wish you could just swallow it all back down. “You’re a pathetic loser, you can’t even be bad right! You don’t want to talk to me? Fine! You- you can rot Faith!”

Your hands smack simultaneously into the glass so hard it surprises the both of you. Cracks radiate out and a thin trail of blood slides down the glass between your palms though you’re not sure which side of the glass it’s from. For a moment you both stare at your hands and then at each other. It doesn’t seem odd to you that at the exact same time you’d both hit the exact same area of glass.

“I…” Her eyes have a slightly unhinged quality behind the anger and pain yet when she speaks again it is with a dull and resigned voice, “Fucking hate you.”

She pulls her hand back first, fingertips leaving circles of condensation on top of yours. The glass balances for one precarious second before shattering down.

You tear out of the visiting room; swiping so hard at your non-tears you graze your fingernails across your face. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” As the guard buzzes you out you turn to see Faith angrily scrubbing her cheek against her shoulder while the guards cuff her arms.

“Miss?” floats through to you from a guard beside Faith and you think it strange that they call her that before being startled out of your reverie by his handing Faith a package with ‘Checked’ stamped on. The distance from here to Faith is measured rapidly before you dismiss the idea- even if at top speeds you could make it to the other side of the gate and the fallen glass in the blink of an eye… you’d still have to wrestle it from Faith.

She stares in confusion at the packet of Pop-Tarts, tugging her hand free to pull out the note you’d slipped inside. You turn and run, not leaving time to watch her expression as she reads the short and scrawled; ‘I’m sorry too.’

Chapter Six: Waiting Room Watermelon

April, 2000

You’re starting to think this might be a little childish. ‘No,’ your brain counters ‘this was childish five minutes ago.’

“B…? Come on B…? You know you wanna talk… talk to me… talk to me, B…” Faith draws out her words to make almost a tune and smiles her best impish grin. You’re ignoring her.

Because you’re mature like that.

And you’re proving a point. Though having come all the way here from Sunnydale and making sure the food was pre-checked so you could share it is probably working against you.

“Did I ever tell you ‘bout the time I screwed Xander? It was his first time so he was a little-”

“No! God no! Shut up!” You attempt to frown at her uproars laughter. It’s nice, the way she laughs, loud and like she doesn’t care who hears. A small part of you wants to bottle it to save, another bit is desperately thinking of whatever it can to keep her laughing. Mainly of course you’re just hideously embarrassed that every single person in the visitor’s room is staring at the two of you.

‘Stupid Faith and her stupid alluring visitors pass!’

She twists round to get comfortable in a move reminiscent of water settling. “Still haven’t worked on that curiosity thing, huh?”, the hairs on your neck prickle up at her wink. Would it be bad to confess it’s not exactly him you’re curious about?

“We’re friends, Faith. Friends don’t ‘screw’ each other.”

“Your friends… suck!” She grins at you from behind a giant slice of watermelon and stuffs it in her mouth, “‘is good ‘melon, B”. You really should be more repulsed by that.

“Thank you, I think they had to stick needles in it to check it though… And… hit it with a mallet” your eyes stray down to what looks like a fruity blood-bath underneath the few neat slices they’ve given her. On your side of the glass the pieces are set in clean rows… although the colour is starting to remind you of a demon you killed about a week ago. “Sorry.”

“Nah B, your heart’s in the right place. Kinda reminds me of old times.”

“The old times when you were trying to kill me or the old times when you were trying to kiss me?”

She flashes you another dimpled grin. “Either way involves semi-clothed you and eating… food.” The ever-so-thoughtful dramatic pause gives your heart enough time to miss several beats.

“Faith!” You glare across at her wiggling eyebrows, “you are so weird...” ‘And so cute’ “Have you ever considered you might have mental problems?”

“Like being stuck on you?”

“Your corny lines are not working on me young lady.”

Her grin widens “You’re blushing.”

“I’m embarrassed.”

“You want me.”

“I… wish you’d shut up and eat your melon.”

No amount of willpower is going to get rid of the blush you’re currently sporting. In fact, you could probably wash your face in bleach and she’d still be able to tell. But that’s Faith. Damn know-it-all.

“It’s ok, I think I’m hot too.”

You mean to tell her that you don’t think she’s hot, that she’s a pain in the ass but the hopeful spark behind her fake-happy eyes makes you tell the truth. “And lots of other things as well.”

“Aw stop! You’ll make me blush!” she drawls in her best Valley Girl voice.

You pause to time it just right, “Insane being one of them.” She cracks up and you giggle along, no longer caring about being watched. You’re not doing anything wrong after all. So what if you haven’t told anyone? So what if, yes, you are technically lying to your friends when you tell them you’re going to see Angel and wind up in a dirty visitors room at Stockton Women’s Jail. At least you’re not on the other side of the glass- then they could be mad.

“Do you think-?” She asks though a mouthful of melon, stopping to grin as your eyes trace the path of one red-tinted droplet down to her collar. Perhaps it’s a good thing she’s wearing a full jump suit and not a tank like last time- watching red liquid sliding away from someone’s mouth should really not be turning you on this much. “B? Buffy?”

Her seriousness knocks you for a moment- you’ve been away from her too long; you’d forgotten how quickly her moods could change.

“B… I want to… look, I know you said you’d beat me to death if I ever apologised but I figure that’s just for a general apology, right? If I take it bit by bit then that’s like… a lot of slaps on the wrist. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s a lot of girlie slaps or somethin’.” You take a few moments to attempt to batter down the little smile watching her try to look serious is giving you and nod as solemnly as you can. “Good. Uh… first I guess I should say that… um… I’m sorry for splitting up you and beef-uh-Riley.”

The laughter really does drain from you face as she speaks and not even her stumble over his name provokes a smile. At the back of your mind you wish she’d apologised for something simple- like the way she used to tease Willow by sliding her hands up and down your back as the red-head watched or sitting a little too close to you but looking the picture of innocence when Willow finally stumped up the courage to drag you away.

You like this double world. The one where you can hate Faith and love her at the same time; bitch about her then come here and feel like you’re free.

In the world of Faith there is no Riley. You have no boyfriend, no watcher, no friends, just a distant idea of a mother who once expressed how much she’d like the girl sitting across from you to come live in your home. There is no pressure and you want to keep it that way. No one here will judge you for the way your heart clenches as she smiles. It’s just the flat-out lying that’s hard.

You’d tell her things if she asked. You’d tell her about the huge demon/man/machine hybrid thing you fought 24 hours ago or about your dream with the stinky cheese guy. If she really wanted to know you’d even make her laugh with tales of complete academic boredom.

But no boyfriends.

“That’s… ok.” You squeeze the words out past gritted teeth and a fake smile but her obvious relief relaxes you.

“Man. That was harder than Fang said. And also- a lie. I didn’t like him. Never did.” A beat “Too good for you.” You expel the remaining tension in a shout of surprised laughter. Her eyes twinkle at you as you forcibly hold your mouth closed. How like Faith to say to opposite of what you were expecting. “You should come roll round in the dirt with me- much more fun.”

You spin your head round to look at the clock- and also to give Faith a good view of your super-blonde, bouncy curls as you know she loves your volumising shampoo and looks to be missing her own as proved by the tangle she accidentally caught her hand in earlier. “Well, I’m all yours for another twenty minutes.”

‘And all the other minutes after that,’ you think but don’t say. Partly because it’s disgustingly soppy but mainly because it’s more than a little creepy.

“Just twenty minutes? Huh, I guess that’s enough time to get you really dirty.” She smirks and proceeds to whisper down the phone line as many truly disturbing sexual references as she can while you hide your tomato-red face in your free hand.

Chapter Seven: Choking on Cookies

August, 2000

The chairs are hard and sticky against bare skin, just like in any other waiting room. The smell is disgustingly clean with just that faint hint of what it’s really covering up. The receptionist is polite but bored, she hands you the forms without looking up from her perfect nails.

You take a seat and try to think of other similarities between this and a ‘normal’ waiting room; sickly green walls make the list as does the water cooler but that’s pretty much where it ends. The doors have more metal than wood; it makes you queasy- slayers hate to be caged. You think you know how she feels now but then a woman shuffles past between two hospital orderlies, her feet bound, eyes fixed onto her metal wrist cuffs, and you realise this is just a fraction of what she must feel every day.

This is love.

Not syrupy valentines cards or mawkish poetry or candy or flowers or any thing that isn’t this. She has given her freedom for you.

And now she may have given her life.

You are still watching the retreating back of the bound woman as the nurse calls your name. She over-enunciates until you are out of earshot of the deceptively dim-looking receptionist.

“I’m sorry to have left it so late to call you, she wasn’t allowed visitors for a month while she was in solitary and then she was unconscious while in the hospital ward and… and- and you weren’t listed as her next of kin but I found your picture with her belongings and I remembered you from when she spoke of you last time she was here, while I sewed-up her arm, so I knew I had to find you and…” She eventually runs out of steam, taking a moment to gasp for breath. “I’m sorry.” She says it like she means it rather than as if she’s hoping you won’t sue.

Your first desire is to ask how Faith is but the nurse had already explained part of it and Cordelia the rest (though what she was doing near your Faith is a matter your fist is itching to find out).

This was supposed to be a visit to tell her all about fighting Dracula but instead you’d got the call from the hospital.

“You shouldn’t really even be in here now it’s just… well, she’s so sweet and I couldn’t- I think you should see her. A… a final goodbye.” She takes you into the room with the lumpy sheet then it obviously becomes too much for her, she sobs a few times, pats your shoulder and nearly runs from the room.

For a moment you doubt yourself. The arm sticking out from under the hospital regulation blanket is sickeningly thin- the result of a body that’s gone three weeks without food. A few more stray hairs than normal litter the pillow around a gaunt and yellowed face you almost have trouble recognising.

“Anything to get out of making number plates”

The thin lips stretch wide enough to re-tear the skin in the middle. “You have no idea how dull it is, B.” A scratchy, high voice you don’t recognise replies. “I swear, if I never see another number-letter set it’ll be too soon.”

You wait, fingers tearing into Tupperware held by your side, teeth nibbling your own bottom lip. When gummy eyelids finally pry themselves apart you’re relieved to see the same intense brown eyes you once let yourself get lost in for hours.

“The nurse thinks you’re dieing.”

“Am. But I’ll be okay in a few days.”

The room is static for a few moments.

You pray for a wind to come. To once again circulate the stale air. So you don’t have to smell her.

“Good.” You’re not sure what else to say from there so instead you study the dried blood on her sheets, try to make stupid cartoon animals out of stupid shapes on a stupid day in a stupid hot room. “Would you like me to open a window?”

“God yes! If you think the smell is sickening now try livin’ with it 24/7.” She tries to prop herself up but her skinny wrists shake and bow under her miniscule weight. You catch her as she falls. The bag of bones and failing organs she now calls a body flops down into your waiting arms rather than crashing into the metal bars at the side.

She stares resolutely at the still-spinning container on the floor as if imagining away your aid. You slip her into the crook of your left arm and flex uncomfortably to pull a pillow down and below her back.

Once she is again resting in the mass of starched and bloodied cotton you return to the window. Women in jumpsuits converge in the yard below playing a game of basketball. Their shouts float up through the gap you have opened between the glass. The way she sets her jaw makes you almost think of closing it again before she shifts in the bed and another nauseating wave of reeking odour reaches out to grab you.

Your face spins almost involuntarily away, gasping lungfuls of the fresh air as you try to rid your nose of the stench.

“Sorry.” Her whisper is so quiet and so full of fear it grates against the forced cheerfulness of only moments ago.

‘She’s not dieing, just ill.’ Plays like a mantra in your head. You make a gargled sound as you attempt to reply. Finally, after many forcefully smothered coughs and a non-too-gentle thump to the chest you manage to choke out a strangled “It’s ok”.

“No. It’s not. It’s gross.” Big brown eyes flick up to you from sunken eye-sockets. She is ugly. Almost so hideous you could mistake her for something that would normally be meeting the pointy end of your sword. The imagery makes you wince. ‘Rusty piping, at least three meters, all the way through.’ Cordelia’s sarky voice echoes, ‘Totally gross, and of course it’s completely infected. Idiot’

“It’s… Why didn’t you tell anybody?” You know Faith isn’t altogether sane one hundred percent of the time but you’d thought even she would be beyond the realms of sitting in a box with no windows for a month with a gaping hole in her stomach. You leave the window with an almost remorseful glance back.

The flush that seeps into her cheeks gives her the illusion of life for a few moments. You know she isn’t dead but you’ve seen better-looking corpses after hungry vamps have mauled them. “I knew they’d call Angel and he’d call you.”

“So?” Slapping her suddenly seems like a completely acceptable option. “We care about you, Faith. We want to know when you’re hurt.” Your smile waves for a few moments as the hand that had been reaching for her’s succeeds and a wave of revulsion passes over you. The cold and clammy flesh leaves a residue on yours and as her hand turns over in order to grasp back her rough and dry palm connects with your vainly smoothed one. A mental note to buy more hand cream pops up out of nowhere.

“I didn’ want you to be mad at me for starting a fight!” You rip your body away from her and towards the other side of the room.

“You started it?” She cringes at your shout.

“I was tryin’ to keep them away from-”

“Shut up!” Her mouth opens and closes for a few moments like a goldfish left gasping for air. You have the unpleasant thought that perhaps it is you playing the part of necessity. “You swore to me Faith! You said no more fighting! God! Why do you- why do you feel like you have to destroy yourself? You make it so easy for me to stop-” You stomp over to the Tupperware. “I made you these. We were going to have a nice time- talk about how you’re fooling all the nurses into giving you special treatment when we both know you’ll be fine in a week. But…” You let out a frustrated growl “Just eat them.”

As you watch her thin fingers fumble with opening the container you’ve thrust upon her a slight drop of cooling guilt drips into the pot of bubbling resentment you have inside of you. Why does she make you feel this way? How can you hate her so much and yet still feel… something? ‘Something for her’- you’ll allow yourself that at least.

This version of her scares you. Being the harsh one scares you. Her near-death scares you. Your hate scares you! You’re terrified! If it were Willow lying in this bed, looking like this, you’d put every bad thing that had ever come between you (mainly her dislike of Faith) to one side and shower her with affection. Maybe it’s because she’s a slayer and you know she’ll be all right but you can’t do that for Faith.

You want her to tell you naughty jokes with that twinkle in her eye and woo you relentlessly. This thing is too real. You can’t cope with her dieing.

You think you’ll die too.

“They’re nice.” She forces out, around a mouthful of dry cookies, in that odd voice that comes with lack-of-use and fever. Her smile lets enough guilt fall to coat the surface of your rage until you concede and move to fill a plastic glass at the tap.

“Dawn made them really. I’m not allowed in the kitchen. Mom said I can burn water.” ‘Which is true’

“Who’s Dawn?” Your mind flashes between all your memories of the two of them together to see if this is one of their games of whether it’s the fever talking.

You sit on the bed and hold her up with one arm while you help her to sip from the cup. “Dawn is your little shadow. She worships you. To her you are God.”

“Why?” She seems genuinely confused, enough to worry you slightly.

“Because you’re older than her and cooler than me. She probably wishes she could trade sisters and get you instead.”

Faith stares back at you for a long moment, “Dawn is your sister?”

“Yes, little sister. Five years. Mainly. Six after my birthday. Do you- Should I- Should I get a nurse?”

“Why didn’ I know ya have a sister?” You’re about to reply when she grunts in pain suddenly and pinches the bridge of her nose. Whatever it was is gone before you have a chance to question her. “Oh. Dawn. Yeah. Brat, Kid, Daybreak. Sorry… they must have me on some wicked strong meds, I… say ‘hi’ from me, won’t you? And tell her... I’m sorry.”

You chew your lip at her earnest expression until your eyes finally drift down to her own parched lips. Your teeth retreat back into your mouth as quickly as possible. “They don’t actually know I’m here.”

“What?”

“I tell them I’m coming to see Angel when I visit you.”

The two of you stay once again in uncomfortable silence. She seems to be considering for a long moment. Finally one emaciated hand raises and a skeletal finger beckons you over. You hover over the side of the bed, close enough to feel her sour breath on your face.

“I-” She fixes you with a stern look before it changes completely “I can see down your top!” She grins, train of thought completely forgotten. “And that is one sexy bra!” The look you are fixed with is one of mock-chastisement, “Did you think you were going to get lucky, B? Is that why you came all the way to the prison for little old me? You still not gettin’ any?”

Relief floods through you. If only you could solve every problem with a flash of boob. “Hey! Riley is highly ca… pa… ble… oh shit.” You cringe.

“You’re still with Riley?” A single nod is her only response “And you’re lying to the fam about being here?” You nod quickly a few times “Whoa… am I your dirty little secret? That is so cool!” Like a kid on Christmas day her eyes light up. “No one ever though I was special enough to keep a secret before.”

You chuckle as you lower yourself back onto the bed. Trust Faith to find the positive angle. She can be surprisingly optimistic when she’s not paying attention- you think it might be her natural state, the one she was born with before it was ruined.

“Maybe I just think you’re too gross to ever subject my family to?”

“What happened to ‘Dawn’s God’? I like that title better. Let’s bring that one back.”

“Ha! No.”

“You are so mean. I almost died! Come on, that deserves at least a… hmm… at least a good flash of boob. For a whole three minutes.” She wiggles her eyebrows in that way that makes you think they might just be very finely groomed (does she hide tweezers in the walls of her cell?) caterpillars trying to escape from her face.

It takes you about twenty seconds to decide on your answer.

Those twenty seconds are spent moving to stand at the foot of her bed and untucking your shirt. And unclasping your bra. Obviously.

Two and a half minutes later a nurse, two orderlies and a doctor almost suffer fatal heart attacks having walked into a patient’s room to find a blonde (who squealed and ran away) exposing her chest to the obvious enjoyment of the patient. “Alternative therapy” the blonde managed to mumble as she ducked around them in a bid for the exit.

Dr. Timothy Warren had never before believed in a more holistic approach to healing but having seen a patient considered medically to be on the verge of death make a full recovery with barely any scaring after having dead flesh cut away from her stomach… he was inclined to agree. If only he could get that blonde girl back for some of his other patients…

Chapter Eight: A Pizza Birthday

December, 2000

Today she has what looks like a small forest growing in her still-too-thin hair. “Don’t. Say. A word.” She grumbles and goes back to trying to pluck out the foliage.

“How did you manage to fall into a bush while locked in prison?”

You’ve been waiting for half an hour now for the guards to check the food- they’ve let you go in ahead and given you extra time with her because of it.

Time that looks like it might be spent watching her de-knot that bird’s nest you used to find attractive.

Ok, ok, so you still find it attractive. Which is weird.

“The Man In Charge said some-”

“God?” you ask, genuinely confused.

She stares at you, “The warden asked me to help put up Christmas decorations. Seein’ as I can hang off the pipes on the ceiling and don’t have to use a ladder or nothin’…” She edges away slightly, “do you really think God talks to me?”

Angel, Faith, God… maybe you should have been dating him? ‘Riley’ didn’t really fit the pattern. Not very religious. Or festive around the holiday season.

“Isn’t that what he’s meant to do to prisoners? Have you not found God yet? Does this count against you in a parole hearing?” She chuckles along with you.

“I think I’m safe for now, B. Got no hearing coming up for… nine years, four months and twenty-eight days- not that I’m counting or anything.” You make various noises of agreement, “He’s got time to waste.”

Nine years is a long time. In nine years time you’ll be… 28. Old. Really old. ‘Married with kids’ old. Speaking of which;

“I have something for you!”

She gives you a suspicious once-over “You do? If it’s not food or a CV I don’t want it. Remember that Christmas gift you got me? I still have the scars…”

“I thought we agreed to never mention that again?” Your eyes trace the thin white lines in between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand as it mists the glass.

“Scarred, B, scarred. I’m nev-” She cuts off as the door at the other end of Faith’s side of the room opens.

A matronly guard with her hair pulled back into a bun walks through carrying a battered pizza box. “Here you go girls. Sorry it took so long.” So long in fact all the other visitors have gone and you’d reluctantly eaten your own pizza.

“S’alright Margie.” Faith grins like a slightly manic hillbilly and just about snatches the pizza box away. “Skipped lunch.” She grunts at you, “Knew ya were coming.”

She flips the lid open and stares at the pizza oddly, tipping her head to one side and then the other. Margie winks at you through the glass, “Guess your girl knows you pretty well, huh Faithy?” Faith’s right eye twitches slightly.

You wait for her to finally look up from the ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ etched across the pizza in strips of bacon. (Never mind if her birthday was actually about a week and a half ago)

“Uh… B? What does HIDY IRIHDAY mea- oh wait, I get it.” She grins cheekily, “Still, bit of effort mighta been nice.”

A few of those vulgar hand gestures she taught you are retuned.

“Point taken. And… thanks for the pizza. Oh, and rememberin’ my birthday- actually, how did you remember my birthday? I’ve never told you when it is.” She picks the bacon off and sucks on it in a way that should be gross.

“Oh Faithy, Faithy, Faithy…” Her eye twitches again, “My best friend is a hacker.” You wink, “Plus Lena told me.”

She pauses with her mouth half open and a dripping pizza slice hovering in mid-air, “Lena the ice-cream girl?”

“The one and only. She’s sweet, gives Dawn money off and… asked me out.”

Faith gawps, pizza slice long forgotten. “She- Lena? But- but- Lena’s hot! And I’m hot! And you like her…?” You nod sympathetically, “Why didn’t she ever ask me out?!”

“Hey!” She chuckles at your affronted scowl, “What am I? Hideous?”

“Obviously, I wouldn’t have said yes- was too busy chasing after this cute blond chick. Still… woulda been nice to be asked.” Faith goes back to munching happily, “So what did Corn-fed think?”

“Actually… he doesn’t know. Riley and I broke up.”

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

And something that looks an awful lot like tumbleweed.

“Faith?”

Nothing.

This is oddly like the time Faith took you to a college party and you both somehow got dragged into a game of ‘I’ve Never’. Faith got drunk, you stayed mildly tipsy and she volunteered to help you try new things. Like skinny-dipping. That was a good night. The part that reminds you of now is the ‘watching Faith attempt to think of something to say’ bit. Her ‘I’ve Never’s had all been fake, she confessed to you later, as she couldn’t think of something that wouldn’t make you cry.

She sucks in a strip of bacon and then pulls it back out slowly, making sure the grease rubs off on her lips so she can lick them. It’s a good job she has such disgusting habits else you’d be tempted to break through the glass and… take her or… something… like… that… man, you suck! The flirty half-smile and flippy hair comprise pretty much your entire flirting arsenal.

Faith finally makes her mind up; “I’d say sorry but we both know I’m a terrible liar.”

“That’s ok.” To be honest, you’re not entirely sure why it hurts so much. Only that it does. You loved him and he left you, like practically every other man in you life. And Faith.

Bitch.

Oh God, you’re going to make a shrink a lot of money some day.

“You know, you are allowed to be upset in front of me B- I won’t think any different of you. Riley was your boy” She presses her marginally scarred hand up to the glass again and you cover it with your own. Her sleeve slips down to show her bony forearm and the tiny red dots circling it. “Had a fight with some holly.” She smirks, catching you looking “I won o’course.”

“Of course.” You smile at each other companionably… like an old couple, separated by bulletproof glass and a life sentence. At least you’re the pretty half- she still hasn’t put back on all the weight she lost four months ago but there’s a rosy tint to her cheeks and her eyes no longer look so sunken. She’s seventeen to your nineteen and has less than a year left in Stockton’s Youth Correctional Facility before being moved in with the adults.

You think that if this were a movie you would have had a beautiful teen romance first. You’d have met accidentally- bumped into each other in the street- maybe you were the new girl this time? She would have caught your eye but played it cool, shown you around but kept her secrets. The two of you would click; the Valley Girl out of her element and the party girl with the fragile heart. Then there’d be a sleepover; you’d confess feelings, kiss and… stuff (God, why can’t you even think it?). It would be a secret for some reason. Or maybe not, maybe it would just be something you wanted to keep to yourself, something just between you two. Your family, or hers, or maybe both would try to keep you apart but you’d fight to be together because it’s young love. It would end horribly of course, bleeding hearts and huge fights- maybe she’d start sleeping around?

Then, one day, you’re walking down the street- or you’re on patrol- and you see this girl. She’s older now, seventeen, and cynical, detached, but you know it’s her straight away. There might be a fight, there might be secrets, but in the end love will win out. You mother will love her, Dawn will love her, she’ll move in. The End. Happy families forever.

You look over and chuckle; she’s very, very slowly chewing the last slice, savouring the taste with an air of absolute concentration. It’s sweet and it’s beautiful.

She makes you feel like your old self again. Which is sad. When did ‘new Buffy’ take over and how can you kill her?

“B? You ok? Lookin’ kinda sad…”

“I…” She watches you drag your bottom lip between your teeth. “I want to know what you look like in the morning.”

Faith laughs quietly and blushes; she peeks up at you through her lashes “um… it’s not so pretty.”

“I don’t care.” You beam at her. What you’d give for some regularity in your damn life…

“You know, B? I think you miss the idea of normalcy rather than the Cardboard Cut-out himself.” For a brief minute you’re startled by her insight and wonder if she can actually read minds. You feel a little jealous before you remember how much it sucked to actually read minds.

“That was…” You pause, “clever. When did you become so insightful?”

She makes one of those grunting noises she’s so good at- this one meaning something along the lines of ‘I’ve always been a genius. Duh’.

“Well…?”

“Ok fine. Angel came over the other day- first time in ages. Brought me some books. Real deep books.”

You snigger at how embarrassed she looks, “And what? You ate them?”

Faith barely graces you with a glare. “First off, fuck you I can read. Secondly, he went on and on and on and on and on and… on… and… o-”

“I get the point.”

“-About how Riley just isn’t the one for you, too ‘normal’. Not a ‘Champion working for the good off the people’.” She makes her voice impossibly deeper and stretches her arm out as she intones, her face a prefect match of Angel’s ‘brooding’. “Here comes the really deep bit; ‘Buffy and I had a love that defies boundaries- a love that can never be escaped from, Faith, we are eternal. This- this boy will never truly know how dark her heart can be’.” She dissolves into giggles and you smile along with her but inside you feel more like smacking your head against the table.

Tortured love sucks.

Maybe you should change ‘The Faith and Buffy Movie’… how about you just meet in a coffee house one day and fall in love? No parents, no friends, no problems. Actually, Faith is still too much of a kid to drink coffee- she hates the taste. Lena’s ice cream parlour? You both know Lena but not each other so she sets you up but then there are all these comedy misundersta- Is it really that hard for you to think of something simple?

The table meets your head after all, “Why is my life so complicated?” You mumble into the phone. “I hate men. Men suck.”

“Babe, I swear to God if I never see another Butch Mama with prison tats again it’ll be too soon…” You laugh quietly to yourself at how often she says things like that, “You know… If you got y’self banged up we could help each other out.” She winks, “You could be my bitch.”

You choke on air. Once the coughing and unladylike spluttering have died down you glower through the glass. “Um, you’re kidding right? That doesn’t actually sound as fun as you think it does.”

“No, seriously. I’d… wash your hair and… stuff… or are you meant to wash my hair? I’ll ask Ramona in the next cell over, she’s got like five different bitches… maybe she can lend me one for the week. Y’know, for practise.”

“I d-” a loud noise cuts you off and you both wait, rolling your eyes, until it stops, “Saved by the bell. I’ll leave you to Ramona. After all, once you’re out, you’re mine, bitch!” She throws you a mock shocked expression before blowing you a kiss and standing up to be re-cuffed.

Chapter Nine: Sad Salad

February 2001

Faith sits poking moodily at the salad you’d had sent ahead. You hadn’t been able to stomach the sight of ‘real’ food, as Faith sulkily complained for once you’d put the phone to your ear, her eyes still fixed to the wilting green leaves.

“Hi.” The bile that’s been coating your throat for days has left it now red and raw, perfectly matching your blood-shot eyes.

“He-” Faith’s own voice catches in her throat as she gets her first look at you. You think if you could will the energy together you might curse her. The cheap lipstick you smeared across your pale and chapped lips in the flickering light of the visitors’ bathroom hadn’t fooled even you but you wish she didn’t let it show on her face. You look like crap.

And she knows it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, as if anything has ever been right. “Did- did something happen? Everyone’s ok, right? Dawnie? Is- is Dawn ok?”

A scoff that sounds suspiciously like a sob escapes. Is Dawn ok?

Are you ok? Is anything ever going to be damn ok? Fuck Faith and her stupid fucking-!

“It’s my mom.” You clear your dry throat loudly, making Faith jump, and repeat it again in the same dreary tone.

Her mouth forms a little ‘o’ and she says what might be some kind of vague platitude or may be some kind of insightful fantastic thing… but it’s lost over the dull roar of blood in your ears.

And you don’t much care. “Thanks.” She notices your lacklustre tone but does little more than raise an eyebrow.

“B…?” She asks, the rest getting lost somewhere in her throat.

Of course, you pretty much know that she was intending on asking if you’re alright- Faith is nothing if not selfish and you are, as always, factored in as part of that ‘self’.

You think you should be hurting more, crying every second of every day. That’s if there were any tears left in your scratchy, dry eyes. You want to scream and curse and cry and at the same time not.

Sitting here forever sounds like a good idea. The world can pass you by in this cold, bright room; chairs will scrape noisily over sticky lino floors and children will cry noisily, not noticing their snotty noses, to see their beloved mommies forcibly withheld from them by a glass jail- a temptation too far. So hard to at once see and yet not touch.

Forbidden.

Like the fruit.

She is your pinnacle of prohibition and you will sit here to watch her as the world revolves without you.

Only… Dawn. Exists.

You have Dawn to save and a world that refuses to watch itself. A fucking, fucking, useless-

She’s still staring, watching, waiting. “I’m ok, Faith.” There should be an explanation, you feel, to follow that but the two of you know each other well enough by now to not waste your time with idle talk about important things. “I have so much to do.”

For some reason that seems of great consequence.

Faith replies with a smile, something about how she wouldn’t know. It almost makes you groan out loud that she would bring her wretched mother into this but you just can’t seem to dredge up the effort or sense to care. In other plains, in other worlds- in other universes and realities- you would have minded so extremely much to see her frown. In this one you just want her to shut up.

The awfulness of not even Faith making you sit up and take notice seems muted somehow.

Not that you care much about that.

Or anything.

You think that if you might let just one- this one- a feeling slip through the tiny fracture that is ‘Faith’ the pressure of worry on the other side will slam through and you’ll be drowning again. Again.

You dreamt once that she held you under the water while you drowned.

Now you think it might be nice were she to be with you in the swirl, a body to cradle- yours of course- that she might keep you safe and be the protection you so desire, hold your head above the waves and-

God, you’re wretched!

And maudlin.

Faith is still talking, though of what you’re not sure. You nod sporadically and make the occasional ‘mm’ but it’s obvious she knows you’re not really paying any attention. You want to pay attention. Sort of. Or maybe not.

You’re getting bored of your mind’s stultifying Faith.

“B? You in there?”

“Did you cry when your mother died?”

It wasn’t intended to be so cutting or so blunt but the look she gives you makes something flutter deliciously in your chest. “Don’t do this, Buffy, you-”

“Did you cry when you woke up all alone in the hospital?”

“Stop it.” She clenches her jaw and growls.

“Did you cry when you killed those men?”

“Stop it!”

“Did you cry when he-?”

“SHUT UP!” A guttural roar erupts from her as she slams her hands up to smack against the glass. Before she makes it two guards latch on to her shoulders and drag her back down into the chair. The fight to resist or submit rages in her eyes until she shrugs them off and sinks back into the seat. They nod respectfully at her and move back to stand against the bars.

Margie, the guard who checks your food and calls your girl ‘Faithy’, steps forward to cuff her to the chair. You know they rarely restrain her- it’s that working denial thing that happens so much in Sunnydale- they’re perfectly aware thin metal can’t hold her but it gives them peace of mind.

And stops the other prisoners complaining.

She’s still glaring and you almost say you’re sorry but you think it might just make her snap again. “Faith, I… I just feel so…” ‘Useless’ and ‘ashamed’ and ‘angry’. “God, my mom died and I wanted you there but you… fucked everything up.”

“Excuse me?” She snorts and swings her legs round so they hang over the side of her chair and are crossed away from you, taking special care not to snap the new handcuffs. “I wasn’t the only one who fucked up.”

“I didn’t side with the mayor!” A valid point and the best you’re capable of making while ignoring hers altogether.

Faith rolls her eyes then gives one of the guards an ‘is she kidding me?’ look. He shrugs in reply. “I was jealous! You chose Angel over me.”

Though of course your eyes don’t light up every time you hear his name. And you don’t have him listed as ‘family’ on your medical records.

And you don’t tell him your deepest darkest secrets rather than telling you!... or something.

“Oh yeah?! Well you chose fucking Angel over me too!” You so didn’t mean that, “uh… ‘fucking Angel’ not ‘fucking’ Angel.” Though she did that too.

It’s obviously hard for her to not smile as struggles to keep the angry look on her face. “Yeah, well, at least I had the decency to tell you about it.” She mutters under her breath.

“You wrote me a note Faith, it’s hardly the same as ‘telling’ me.”

Another snort is the only reply.

It was an awfully written note too- her handwriting is truly appalling and the spelling makes even you cringe.

Once, back when you saw her every day and she pissed you off a whole lot more (and at the same time, ‘less’) than she does now, you volunteered her to help Giles catalogue the library with her copious free time. It backfired hideously as he nearly had a breakdown from having to recite the alphabet to her a thousand times and then was so angry he made you rewrite every piece of paper she’d scribbled on.

“But thank you for going a hundred percent further in telling me.”

“Why, how far did he go?” No one said slayers had to be bright.

She almost makes you laugh, “Not that far.”

But who are you to be laughing?

You were an awful daughter when your mother was alive and you’re a worse one now. This visit was just supposed to be about telling Faith- not flirting with her, not checking her out in that ‘for some reason much tighter than normal’ jumpsuit and definitely not being nice to the girl who tied up your mother and held her hostage.

It might almost be better just to yell at her or something… and if not then to hurt her just as much as you should be.

A few well-placed insults and a scathing character assassination has her on her feet and shouting again in less than five minutes; “You don’t fucking define me Buffy Summers! I have my own life; it doesn’t stop as soon as you walk out that door. Not every thought I have is of you. Not everything I feel is because of you! I ain’t one of your little pals who stops breathing the second you walk out the room!

She holds a hand up to cut you off and continues as if you’d enver tried to speak, “There was a ‘me’ before you and there will be one after! If you died tomorrow I would be upset- probably even cry- but then I would get up and get on with it. Not for you, for me.

“You’re fucking selfish, you know that? When my mom died I cried tears of joy because it was the best damn day of my life and now you’re moping because you don’t get to spend yet another twenty years with your Perfect Mom? Grow up and… and…” She struggles to find a suitable insult but ironically ends up with the only thing she can think of being supremely immature, “Just die!”

So of course you start getting angry too, which makes her get even angrier and the guards back off.

It isn’t until the bell rings that you both finally stop bawling.

She gets pulled off looking pissed- but mainly at herself, you know she tried hard to stay calm.

As she leaves you almost want to apologise. Again. But again you don’t. And then you remember how your mother had loved Faith and went on loving her- even after finding out everything she’d done. Yet she had thrown you out of the house for trying to save the world. So you don’t feel bad. You feel right.

Chapter Ten: The Green Apple Room

Ribs

February, 2001.

So this is weird.

‘Weird’ in a not-entirely good way, too. The kind of feeling you get when your friend’s dad stares at you for a little too long. Except this is nothing like that; you’re floating… in nothing, and have apparently left your body somewhere as it’s impossible to look down and check whether or not you’re wearing the said low-cut top that would make the aforementioned father look at your…

Ok, over-thinking.

Definitely over-thinking.

And not creeped out at all. Really.

Though, as slayer dreams go this is high on the scale of weird. It felt nice at first; to float weightless in the fog of nonentity- no colour, no feel, no light, no sound. Know how many different sensory impulses a brain computes every second? Well, no, neither do you but they covered it once in biology class and it was definitely a lot. And it creeps people out to be sensory deprived. What you do know is that it’s most definitely a torture in some parts of the world.

Actually… isn’t that what prison is all about?

Five bucks says this turns out to be a stupid dream-metaphor thing from the Powers to remind you to have more patience with Faith… or Dawn… or your friends… or, thinking about it, maybe just in general.

Ok, so you might just happen to have some issues when it comes to relating to people and your ‘caring’ level isn’t exceptionally high. You’d rather pretend than face questions about what’s wrong with you. Actually, you’d prefer to feel the emotion that you’re faking.

You’re not a hollow shell though; it’s not all a lie. Sometimes you catch yourself laughing at one of Xander’s jokes (or Spike’s pitiful existence)- really laughing, not just the phoney ‘because everyone else is’ laugh but the kind that bursts up from your very core until your muscles are aching and you can’t stop.

You’d like to spend all day like that; laughing. Or, at least, you’d settle for an ‘only semi-boring’ lecture from Giles if it gets you out of this stupid cloud!

Oh.

‘Cloud’.

It’s white and fluffy and you can see!

Finally this damn dream is getting somewhere.

You imagine stretching out your hand and though you can’t see it in front of you the condensation dances across your skin. The mist swirls around as if someone had blown on it.

It smells like apples- the sweet kind rather than the rotting kind; not over-powering, just gentle. Oddly it reminds you of your mother and Faith- not that you can ever remember the former doing anything as old fashioned as baking a pie or the later touching anything with even a hint of green. You are firmly of the belief that were Faith not a slayer she would be either malnourished or obese. Still, it’s a nice smell.

Your mind wanders off to visions of sitting in an apple tree with Faith; munching fruit, giggling and making flirty eyes at each other.

If you had a therapist he’d probably tell you to stop dreaming of what might have been and concentrate instead on the here and now. He’d also most definitely try to lock you up again even if you didn’t mention things that go bump in the night. Scarily that sounds almost nice. You’d like to get away from it all… be somewhere by yourself.

The mist under your hands feels softer, smoother, laced together almost like material. Still, all you can see are the gentle whites and mellow greys that float around you. The cotton feeling spreads down your calves and you realise you’re sitting on them, sitting on a bed.

Blonde hair falls slowly into place around your face; you’re looking down. There’s something twinkling in front of you… a belt buckle. And above that a belly button.

So you’re sitting on someone.

You don’t have to look to guess whom.

She sits up as you’re straddling her, which, even though you’re higher up, makes you the same height. Damn her and her extra inches!

“Faith.”

“Buffy?” Her eyes scan you and then the entire lack of surroundings. It’s not that nothing’s there but as soon as you try to follow the floor boards to their natural end your mind fogs and you find yourself looking at something else, wondering what you were doing. “I was having a great dream, y’know.”

You mouth ‘sorry’ in a snarky way and go back to trying to clear your mind.

“Are you naked? I keep tryin’ ta look but every time I get below your shoulders my eyes go funny.” Indeed they do go slightly cross-eyed, when she tries again, then flit up to the ceiling.

Highly amusing but still not letting her off the hook for checking for nudity before hello. “We’re arguing Faith, arguing. Remember that mean letter you sent me?”

She pouts, “Only cos you sent one first! And gave me…” She trails off, thinking you’re hurting too badly right now to hear about salad.

“I was going to write something horrible back but now I think I might just ignore you.” You fold your arms, hiding the little grinning fruit on your ‘suddenly there’ t-shirt. Why does dream you dress like Dawn? If this is some kind of releasing inner childhood psyche moment you’re letting someone get bitten tomorrow.

Faith shrugs. Now you’re officially covered-up (and by a hideous top no less) she’s making herself cross-eyed trying to check if her own breasts are still there. “It’s your time, waste it how you want.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Yes.”

“Muh…”

An eyebrow tweaks up at your impressively glib response. “On the ball today, huh B?”

“Shut up Faith.”

“Make me.”

“I will!”

You search around the room for something to hit her with and even consider punching her in the chest just to see what happens. Except that area of her is still a little fuzzy (your eyes bounce, of their own accord, around the room every time you try to look) and there is of course the ever-present fear that you might just go straight through her. You nudge her shoulder and she smiles. “Can’t do it?”

“Nah. I spend so much time hitting you when we’re awake it seems a little dumb to waste our time now.” Her skin feels warm and smooth under your palm. She smiles when you rub your thumb over it.

Just for a second it’s another of those perfect moments.

You slide your hand across her back until you’re gripping her other shoulder and pressed deliciously against her. “This is weird. Nice. But weird.”

A chuckle rumbles from her newly-formed (bra wearing) chest into yours, “Weird to actually be touching you mean?”

“Mm…” You wonder if your hands will still tingle like this when you’re awake. It feels so real; your touch, your kiss, her taste. She smells fresh and clean like powder and… apples. “Can we stay here forever?”

“Don’t you have a life to get back to?” Her sarky tone grates against you.

She likes to think you rule her life; that you’re the reason her it’s messed up and that she’s only in prison because you told her to go. Part of you wants to smack her for being such a whiney child but mainly all you can do is be sad that she still undervalues herself like that. No slayer could ever be caged without incredible willpower. You think you might die if you tried.

Yet… in a way you envy her complete lack of responsibility. She doesn’t even have to choose what to cook.

Squashing down the aforementioned desire to slap her silly you soften your eyes, “You do too. I promised you a proper Christmas, remember?” Her eyes light up.

“Really, really?” Faith bounces the bed underneath the both of you. “And this time you won’t run away to see a boy?”

“I…” Won’t you? Can you honestly put your hand on your heart and say you won’t be with someone when she comes out in twenty years time (less with good behaviour)? “I can’t promise that.” The truth is you don’t want to. “Faith, I-”

She squirms uncomfortably, “You want a husband and kids? I get it, I do.” The bed rattles as she flops back onto it, staring blindly at the non-existent ceiling. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She pouts prettily. “I’ll still love you more than him anyway.”

There’s a college assignment sat on your desk at home- from back when you made more than just a pretence of going- and probably past the point where it’s so over-due there’s no point bothering- it’s about love; the grandest gesture of love you’ve ever received. ‘Other than being born’ it says in brackets. It made you think about Faith when you first saw it, not just because she’d laugh at the post-script but because you think stealing someone’s body is the pinnacle of possessive love.

“I love you.” She repeats- just in case you didn’t get the message.

You run the backs of your fingers up her arms and into her hair. “I know, I heard.”

The awkward pause you’re expecting doesn’t come. Her childish nature means she skips completely over her your lack of reciprocation and onto more important things; “Can we have dream-sex? I mean, is it possible? And if so- can we?”

You roll your eyes. “If I can talk to the First Slayer in a dream I’m pretty sure I can do you.”

Faith’s mouth drops open as if you’ve just told her you met her favourite rock star. “Whoa! What did she say?” All thoughts of sex having left her mind.

There’s a pregnant pause. You debate lying to her but it seems a little pointless.

Here you sit in this funny little green room with a girl you haven’t touched in years in what can only be described as the most normal dream you’ve had in months. You wonder if perhaps it might be simpler to not dream at all… to float away on a sea of careless whispers.

You are most definitely a dreamer.

And never one to sugar-coat the truth.

“My gift is death. That’s why I’m here. To die.”

You jump back as her eyes flare suddenly. “Don’t you dare die on me, Buffy Summers! I swear I’ll chase you into the afterlife and- and-” She pauses, to think of what might be worse than death- like being caught laughing with a drink in your mouth and stuck between choking or just spraying it all out. A frown mars her forehead before she makes a split second decision, throws you onto the bed next to her and crushes her soft lips to yours so hard they’re numb in seconds. Then she moves slowly; takes your lip between hers and coaxes the blood back into it, sucking lightly and gently until you’re almost dying for her to go faster and tear your clothes from you to- “Don’t die or I’ll never kiss you again as long as I live.”

She caresses her mouth against you, the silky smoothness of your mouths causing delicious friction. You smile as she pulls back, “I won’t.”

No really, for kisses that good you’ll win- Hell God be damned!

Sitting, as she is, above you, there’s a fantastic view of Faith’s top half. The bra the Powers provided for this odd dream world is at least a cup-size too small for her and her entire chest heaves as she breathes. You’re so caught up in the movement you barely notice her stomach until you run your fingers over it (on the way to better things!)

Your finger hits a small ridge and you flinch so suddenly she’s almost bucked to the floor. Once you’ve scrambled up to the headboard you’re able to get a better look. The thought of touching her scar creeps you out (it had been noticeably absent earlier) but it’s not just the one huge jagged streak you’d feared.

“What’s that?” You reach out to trace the delicate lines on her stomach, light cream and thin, looking like folded wings either side of her belly button. The lines are slightly raised and she shivers as you run your fingers over the ridges. Looking part-tattoo and part-brand you think it’s completely beautiful (even if you secretly hate both concepts)

She blushes, “You’ll think it’s corny.” You give her a look to go on anyway, “ok… but- don’t laugh. It’s to cover up something that reminds me of bad stuff- my scar- with the thing that saved me from it- an Angel…” Ok, ok, so you’re not the centre of her world.

You smile back as Faith blushes. “He’s a pretty special guy, huh?”

“You think it’s corny.”

“Little bit. But sweet too. I…” Something tickles the back of your throat, “Ahem. Uh… it- it always surprises me you like him so much.”

She shrugs, “He’s always been there for me.”

“He knocked you out with a bat. Plus there was that whole ‘you trying to stake him’ thing.” It’s true you’re sulking but… you are meant to be her link to the outside world. Besides, how is it fair that she can hold a grudge against you for every little thing that goes wrong ever but worship the ground Angel walks on?

“He saved my life.” She smiles, oblivious.

An icy glare shoots from your eyes, “I saved your life. Hundreds of times! And I sat with you every day you were in that fucking coma-!”

“Bet you lied about it though! Told everyone it was just an extra-long patrol or a late study session! He loves m-”

You lunge, smacking into her body in a jumble of limbs. The two of you waver for a second before gravity pulls you off the bed. She twists in the air so it’s you who hits the floor with a smack “OW! Bitch!” You grab a handful of her hair and tug, use it to turn her over and hold her down so you’re straddling her again. “Not telling people doesn’t mean I don’t love you!”

“Yes it does! You’re ashamed of me!” Faith struggles again, her whole body writhing under you. “Happily fucking vampires but not gir-!” Her head whips to the side as you slap her.

“Shut up! Don’t talk about things you don’t know about!” You’re whirling in confusion- who are you arguing for? “He’s the one who wanted me to stay away from you! He made me swear-” Fortunately your conscience blocks your throat before you let out yet another of your secrets.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late. “What?” Her voice is so quiet it’s almost a whisper, “What- what did he say?”

You deflate into a sigh, “Baby. Baby you…” Sinking your hands into her hair in a gentle way this time you try to calm her with just a look, “You don’t want to-”

“Tell me! …Please.”

“He smelt you on me- the day after we got so drunk at that college party and… went skinny-dipping. He told me that if I ever wanted to… If I ever wanted the two of us to have a future, I had to keep things professional with you.”

She looks shocked, then confused and finally disbelieving, “But that whole week we-” Fooled around?

“Well, I wasn’t going to listen to him! Other than to his face obviously. I thought that we trained enough in the presence of other people to excuse the whole smelling thing. But- I guess not.” You move to lie next to her and she shifts onto her side to face you. Hands clasped together you breathe the same breath. “He told me the- the day you took me for ice-cream that I had to choose else he’d- well, doesn’t matter what but believe me, it wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

Faith untwines her fingers from yours and moves to cup your cheek, “And? Who did you pick?”

“Neither. Both. I never got a chance to choose.”

Your mother once let you and Faith borrow the car so you could sneak out together- but only on the condition you weren’t the one driving. The two of you hadn’t felt the need to mention that as she was only sixteen and had no licence Faith had actually garnered all her car skills from stealing them. The two of you rode round all night, not doing anything, just being together. It made you feel hopeful- that there could be quiet moments too.

Perhaps it was just a hope for the future, a hope that there could be something there in years to come once the passions of youth had worn off. At the time it had felt like peace. And love. And all the other good things.

“Who would you have? If you’d had the chance?”

When he smiled it made you feel powerful- that a man with that much knowledge and experience could look at you and see something worth smiling for. He, who once was the Scourge of Europe, saw you as a beacon off goodness. You were his angel. His-

Oh fuck it, lie to the damn girl.

“You. Not like I can grow old with a vampire.”

She chuckles, “And I’m wicked hot.”

“There is that, yes.” A bunch of her hair is caught on one of your rings and you pull it off to hand it back… not that there’s much she can do with it. “Sorry about the hair pulling. I’m normally a pincher but I just had my nails filed.”

“That’s ok.” The smile she sends back is totally unconcerned. She’s so not bothered her eyes have wandered off into a far corner “I can be a pain sometimes…”

It’s hard not to nod. “You know what I realised the other day? It’s a hell of a lot easier to talk to you when you’re in a coma. You should go back to that.”

“B, we’re… technically asleep.” Her eyes stay fixed on anywhere but you and you try to follow her gaze out into the nothingness of dreamland.

“Looking for something?”

She glances around oddly, as if she’s trying to work out what it is she’s looking for. “Dunno. Maybe.” Suddenly she’s glaring into your eyes again, “Have you always been this much of a bitch?”

Your pinching fingers start to spasm. “Have you always been this much of a pain?”

“Have you always had a stick up your ass?”

“Have you always been an idiot?”

“Have you always had narcolepsy?”

You sigh. Sometimes she just makes it too easy for you. “That’s the thing where you fall asleep all the time, genius. You mean ‘necrophilia’.”

“Oh. Have you always been this much of a know-it-all?” Oddly, for someone with such high SATs scores, you know surprisingly little.

And you’re a little confused as to why there’s suddenly name calling. “This is stupid. Admittedly… not as stupid as making a sex robot of me, but-”

Faith gasps, jerking straight up to sitting “A sex robot!? A sex robot!?” She turns to face you with a half-crazed look that makes you want to sink through the bed and into the floor, “Please tell me that was just a really odd figure of speech! ‘Cos if not I am going to kill-!”

“Stake!” You butt in.

“Say what?”

“You’ll have to stake him. He’s… a vampire…”

“Oh that’s it! As soon as I wake up I’m breaking out!”

Chapter Eleven: Burgers in the Car

Burgers

July 2002

17 ½ months.

70 weeks.

490 days.

11,760 hours.

705,600 minutes.

42,336,000 seconds.

In other words; an awfully long time.

Then again, three hours is also a long time when one is stuck in a traffic jam with nothing but the calculator in one’s crappy, game-free phone! Though in the grand scheme of things having avoided ‘the only person you’ve ever truly connected to’ for 343 days (that’s excluding the 147 days you were dead) is probably a little more important than how long it takes to drive to her once you manage to work up the courage.

She never did break out.

There’s a paper bag on the seat next to you containing two burgers that, with hindsight, you realise you should have bought closer to the prison. Still, you’ve got leftover blackmail sway with the Doublemeat Palace manager you’re not really using now you have the new job.

Oh God, Faith is going to laugh in your face when she finds out.

She’s going to do that full-on, huge, loud chortling thing she does that oddly goes up at the end in an almost girlie ‘hu-huh!’ giggle. Then there’ll be some kind of joke about you guiding teenagers when all you’ve got is blank paper for a map… or maybe that’s a little too specific.

Maybe she’ll just cry when she sees you.

Or beat her way through the glass and strangle you with the phone cord. And then go on a murderous rampage brought about by pent up grief during which she’ll inadvertently kill Dawn thus making two of your three deaths completely pointless.

Not to be mistaken; you like her. You do. OK, so occasionally you may flirt with the idea that Faith is seriously insane and were she not already in an institution you’d probably have to drag her to one… but you like her.

Bit more than ‘like’ actually.

Maybe ‘liked’, maybe ‘loved’. It’s a little unclear as to whether it should be in the past or present tense. Do you feel anything at all?

Other than guilt.

It’s been a whole year since they dragged you out of heaven and this is the first time you’ve taken this drive since.

Maybe that’s not so true. You drove here to see Angel. You drove here to go shopping with that old friend of yours. You drove here to… give that box of things to… Tara’s…

You were here. You’ve been here.

But not on past LA and out to the prison. Not that far in this whole year.

The traffic inches forward as you drum your fingers against the steering wheel, trying to think of all the reasons you haven’t been to see her. It’s a new thing of yours; lists. Apparently gone are the long dreamy hours of staring out the window imagining a thousand different scenarios involving you and Faith. It got to the point where you started imagining her in every moment of your past and visualising the ways in which her presence could have changed (and bettered things). Since you ‘reawakened’, the imagination that once distracted you from schoolwork seems to have stayed buried.

Now there are only lists. Lists of things you should be doing. Lists of things you need to do. List of things you shouldn’t be doing… ‘Caring for Dawn’ being in the first two, ‘Spike’ being in the second two and ‘Talking to Faith’ being in all three.

Life seems different without her. This past year it almost seemed like there was something inside of you, dragging you down- as if your limbs were made of lead and your bones might buckle under the strain.

If before it had seemed as if you were cold and emotionless this year- … this year taught you a new meaning of the word ‘alone’.

Yet you never are, are you? There is someone else in the world like you. Perhaps that is why you’ve shunned her so long… to know that the connection is there is one thing, to feel its absence for definite is another. Angel told you when you saw him that she’d taken your absence particularly hard.

Then again, she sent you a letter while you were dead. Which sort of gives the impression that she knew it wouldn’t be a very permanent thing. She even wrote ‘write back’ at the end- an odd thing to say to someone who’d been dead for two months. It wasn’t a letter of much substance. You’d sat on your bed for hours, after you’d found it shoved in the back of Willow’s sock draw, building yourself up for a huge weep-fest. The letter was light and conversational despite her mention of your death.

So no, it’s not the ‘death’ that draws you apart but what happened after. Or rather… didn’t. Almost as soon as you came back you rushed off to see Angel. She did of course cross your mind once or twice but you relied on the bond between you to comfort her until you could find the time.

Perhaps that’s just a feeble excuse. Angel was your buffer, your test pad your... practice trial? Way to talk up your first real love. The point is that when you went to see him it wasn’t just to… see him. You wanted to know how she’d react to you.

Of course an eternally stoic Vampire and a more-than-marginally insane Vampire Slayer really don’t have that much in common when it comes to expressing their emotions…

The phone vibrates in your hands; Dawn. Again.

Is there some special button to block annoying people from your phone? “Hi, Dawnie! You want something… else?”

“If you frown like that you’ll get more wrinkles.”

You take the phone away from your ear to glare at it. “Thank you Dr. Dawn but I don’t have wrinkles.”

“Still checking in your fold-down mirror though aren’t you?” The phone answers smugly.

“No. Shut up.” You pop the mirror back up. “And the reason for this call?”

“Just wondering if you’ve got to the prison yet.”

The sweat on your back goes cold. “P-prison?” A meter’s gap opens up in front of you, the car behind beeps when you don’t immediately move. “I’m going t- to see Angel. Angel. Not the prison. Angel.”

She chuckles, “aw, you thought you had secrets? Not with a little sister you didn’t! I’ve got letters…” Paper rustling comes over the phone- you just know she’s holding Faith’s letters up and crinkling them.

“You put those down! I swear if you-!”

“Hurt them?” Her sarcasm almost bites you through the phone, “Buffy, I’ve been reading them for years now and you haven’t noticed, I think they’re ok.” The steering wheel creaks as it bends under your hand. “Though… I checked, there isn’t one for this month.”

You wince. “She… she doesn’t know I’m coming.” How are you explaining this to your little sister? Isn’t privacy some kind of basic human right?

“Because you’re going so you can tell her it’s over, right? Your- your friendship or- whatever…” A snotty sniffle comes down the phone from the germ bag that is your little sister. “Now you’re alive again you’re not going to be messing around with… anyone, right? Just a nice new boyfriend… possibly one who can affect my grades?”

Dawn is your world, your life, and the only reason you didn’t try harder to get back to heaven. A pain in your ass she might be but a good life is what she deserves. The tall walls of the prison come up on your left and you sigh to see them. “There’s nothing going on between us, nothing like that.” You’re lying through your teeth but then the word ‘serious’ has only ever applied in the bad way when it comes to the two of you.

“It just sounds… from the letters… like you like her too. You don’t do you? I mean, everyone knew she kind of… but you don’t like her, right?”

The various gods must not be very interesting if monks have the time to create such elaborate fake memories for a fourteen year old based on friendship, betrayal and how an immensely cool person can suddenly seem not so cool when they’re in love with your sister. And then hold you hostage.

“Not that it’s not cool you’re totally gay-”

You break hard. “I’m not gay!” The irate fat man in the car behind smacks his horn.

“Whatever, I just wish you’d fall for someone nice like… uh… a nice lesbian who hasn’t tried to kill you.”

Unfortunately that’s a very small group of women… who you’ve never met. There’s probably a level of hell reserved specifically for your exes… Does Spike count as an ex? Because he should have a level all to himself, new soul be damned. But back to the lesbians, “Because those are so easy to meet? Exactly how many non-homicidal lesbians do you know?”

“Tara.”

There really isn’t an answer to that.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have-” Dawn cuts herself off. “Just, go see Faith and come home quickly, ok?”

She hangs up before you can reply. Switching the indicator to signal left, now you’re finally at the turn off, you inch the car forward. Xander made you swear not to hurt his precious baby and you’re only marginally more scared of seeing Faith than you are hurting the stupid car.

Stupid car.

He almost made you write a contract to swear not to hurt it. No matter what he asked it had seemed somehow easier than the few short steps to the car that still smelt of honeysuckle and powder and ‘mother’. It’s a preserved bubble of normality that you just can’t bear to destroy.

Though ‘normal’ is a strange term.

Normal is killing the un-dead. Normal is… your mother yelling at you for getting annoyed with your fake little sister. Normal is knowing that no matter how crap your love life might be there’s a girl in LA who thinks you’re the bomb baby!

So you’re not exactly up on the lingo… You were dead! And, intend to use that excuse for at least the next decade and a bit… or your next death, which ever comes first.

Still, there is a slight bit of normality; the steep drive up to the prison, finding a space in the oddly crowded car-park, checks to get in, checks against the register, checks for the food, checks to get into the waiting room, random checks for no apparent reason, sitting in that room, picking up that phone and staring that girl in the face.

This is your normal. The thing that never changes.

But maybe that means you have to let go of this too. Your whole life revolves around everything breaking down and yet you’ve never gotten used to it… so perhaps to move on you have to do it completely.

You have to say Goodbye.

Or not. There’s always a not.

She’s too thin again and her wrists are wrapped in medical gauze. Her face when she sees you lights up the entire room and turns the ember in your heart to a tiny flame.

‘Better’, your mind tells you, ‘We’re getting better.’

But is she the one to help you get there?

It seems like all your past is tied up in this one girl. You can’t remember your life before her properly, without the spectre of her missing presence. Every battle is measured against the times you fought her. Each enemy found lacking, each friend marginally less. You can’t even think of being dead without seeing big brown eyes. She was your guide, or- at least, she was the face your guide wore or… maybe it was that she… uh… ok, so you don’t remember much about heaven but you do know Faith was there. It was perfect.

Yet seeing her here, in the harsh strip lighting, in this room full of grating sounds, with split ends and bitten nails makes real life look so… shitty.

“Hey B.” She smiles at you, simple and easy.

For a moment you’re stumped, “Um… hi.” You smile softly back. And it isn’t even forced.

“Guess what… this morning I got a new room mate and she taught me this cool card trick…” So she shows you a playing card, rips it up, puts the pieces in her mouth and then pulls a folded (but whole) card back out. She tells you it’s the same one but the truth of the matter is you were too busy staring at her lips to notice. “Cool, huh?”

“Very cool.” You answer in a slight wave of disbelief.

“Oh, and thanks for the burger.” She takes a huge bite, starts to talk and then remembers that you have a ‘thing’ for manners so chews and swallows. “I swear the food in here is getting worse. Might have to go into another coma soon just so I can get some proper sustenance.” It almost makes you giggle when she winks, “Looked that one up in a book- becoming a proper prison cliché and all, getting my GED.”

You tell her you’re proud and that you now work in a school. She makes a joke about you guiding kids with a map that’s out of date. It’s calm and fun and you even laugh once or twice. When the hour’s up you promise to come back next month. No one mentions dead girls or the fact you both look like crap or even that you’ll never touch skin-to-skin for the next twenty-five to life. Those things just don’t seem important anymore.

Screw the ‘if’s and ‘but’s; if you’re going to be coping with real life in all it’s shittyness you need a break sometimes. And if that means sitting on a hard plastic chair watching a skinny psycho stuff her face with greasy food then so be it.

It might not be many people’s idea of heaven but it’s a slice of yours.

Chapter Twelve: Graveyard Lollypops

April 2003

Oh. Dear. God.

How is it even possible for someone to be that attractive?!

There should be a law against other people being able to see this. She should only be legal in your own special land, population; 2.

And yes, you should probably be saving Spike’s face right now but her jacket is riding up and… the world isn’t going to judge you for staring at her ass just a little bit longer. After all, you’ve beaten him up enough times as it is. You’ve even smacked him around a few times since he… got a… soul… ok, guilty now.

There you were, happily chasing down a vamp on yet another patrol with the guy who makes your insides go kind of gooey in both a bad way and a good and then bam! Spike’s in a tombstone and Faith’s shouting in his face. You’re still a little too far away to know what they’re saying but she’s getting in his space and showing off while punching him.

He’s talking back which is never smart. Then suddenly it’s his fist in her face and your muscles tighten ready to attack. “We’re on the same side!”

“Please.” She snorts, “You think I’m stupid?”

No comment.

“Well, yeah.” Bad move on his part, her fingers are itching for a stake. You move forward to stop them- after all, you have a war on your hands and he’s still a better fighter than a slayer who’s been letting her muscles waste away.

“You were attacking that girl!”

As he grins she punches him again and in some way your conscience. Your fist streaks out slamming into her face, she goes down hard. It’s such an automatic response it makes you smirk- still in ‘that place’ are we?

You arch an eyebrow at her fallen form, “Oops. Sorry, Faith. I didn’t realise that was you.”

Faith pops back up, holding in what looks to be a smile at your innocent tone. “It’s alright, B.” she rubs her jaw, “Luckily you still punch like you used to.”

Cheek! You’ve given her bruises darker than- bigger than- you’ve… there’ve been bruises! And now here she is bruising your guy! Even when he wasn’t in love with you he still respected your general awesomeness. He’s nursing his now freshly bruised ego off to the side. “You ok?”

His eyes flit between the two of you. There’s an uncertain look in them… half turned on by just the idea of you together and half jealous that she’s back. You really need a better person to confide secrets in than Spike.

“Yeah.” He grunts, “Terrific.”

It suddenly dawns on Faith that you’re not just hitting her for no reason. “Are you protecting vampires? Are you the bad slayer now?” You try not to grin at the childish glee in her eyes, “Am I the good slayer now?”

‘Good Slayer’ is most definitely pushing it- ‘marginally reformed when she chooses to be’ more like. For someone who had such trouble leaving the comfort of prison she sure broke out quickly when Angel needed her. Speaking of which…

“He’s with me. He has a soul.”

“Oh, he’s like Angel?”

Spike gasps, “No!”

You shrug, “Sort of.”

She sneers. “Ha…”

There has to be some kind of a complicated back-story concerning Spike, Angel and a… actually, there doesn’t even have to be a woman… maybe just… vampires… sexy… naked… huh.

“I am nothing like Angel!”

It might sound awful but you probably wouldn’t like him if he was any less like Angel; both vampires, both good fighters, both handsome, both souled, both…

Well, he’s blonde. You’ve never slept with a blonde before. So he can at least hang on that and feel special.

… Though, the sun did sometimes give Riley- ok, not important.

“He fights on my side. Which is more than I can say for some of us.” You l…ike her but my god she’s a fruitcake.

“Yeah, well if he’s so good, what’s he doing chasing down defenceless- umpf!” The forgotten vampire knocks her back down to the ground.

Fortunately your very unladylike snort is covered by the sound of fighting. You point to Faith’s rather blatant mistake, “That’s one of the bad guys.” Are you so in her brain now that she’ll fiercely fight for any young blonde girl? Because that’s- that’s kind of sweet.

She scowls as the vamp grabs her hair, “You should make ‘em wear a sign!” Oh sure because you have so much power over the entire Sunnydale area and all the vampires in it that you can control their every move!

That is so Faith! Her belief that you control absolutely everything in life is so damn ingrained in her that she probably curses in your name when she stubs her toe! She probably even-

“May I? Thanks.” Oh! Ok. There’s thigh touching. Nice. Granted, it’s just to steal a stake but it’s been a while so you’ll take what you can get.

Spike is still sulking as he watches Faith stake the vampire. “Angel’s dull as a table lamp.” You roll you eyes, “And we have very different colouring.”

Your girl tips her head to the side staring oddly at him, “Ok, catching up. Anything else I gotta know?” She quirks an eyebrow at you; ‘gay?’

You almost shake your head then check back to Spike, ‘ok, maybe mildly fruity’. “Nice to have you back.”

She offers her hand and you uncross your arms to take it. A quick tug and you’re wrapped up in her for the first time since… since a really long time ago. You wanted so badly to hold her when she came out of that coma, so bad it hurt. All you could think about was her touch, of skin vibrant with life rather than deep asleep. And here you are, face deep in chocolaty curls.

“Nice to be back.” She chuckles and the deep thrum of vibration sinks so deep into you it almost makes you moan.

Her blunt teeth nip the top of your ear. You giggle and the man-vampire behind you growls slightly.

“Buffy? We said we’d be back half an hour ago.” His grumble has a dangerous edge to it; something that you know Faith will take as a challenge.

The skin of her neck goosebumps against your lips as her body automatically readies itself for battle. Your eyes search hers as you pull away, forcing her to drag her own from Spike’s figure. “Let’s go home then.”

She takes your words as you meant them, a radiant smile washing across her face. Sadly she then looses points by smirking at Spike like a child who got the last cookie. “Oh, Willow said I have to tell you there’s an STI in the hospital.”

Spike snorts in laughter; the cigarette he was trying to light goes flying. “STI? Daft bint.”

“I don’t know what that means but it sounds offensive, watch as I kick your ass!”

You grab her arm. “You mean, ‘SIT’; Slayer-In-Training. Or… potentials. It’s what we’re calling all the girls next in line.”

“Next in line to me, you mean. Bet they’re all just waiting for me to get iced…” She glares at Spike, “Why’s he laughing?”

“STI.” Spike repeats, dangerously near to slapping his thigh. “STI!”

“Wha-?”

“SITs are what we train, STIs are what you have.” He laughs harder.

“Oh.” She runs it through in her head. Faith is just as dyslexic as Xander in that if you want to exclude them from a conversation all you have to do is spell stuff out- acronyms aren’t her strong point. “Hey… hey! I just got that you little-!”

You glower at the two of them “Shut up! Both of you.”

They fight the whole way back to the house- silently of course. Spike’s hand on your back, Faith’s shoulder on yours sending tingles down your spine, Spike taking your arm, Faith sneaking her finger into your belt loops, Spike slinging his arm around your shoulder… It takes a full half hour just to get to the street leading to your road. By that time you’re about ready to burst from the hostile fallout of passive aggression. You drop back, glaring as they don’t even notice. Their matching sinister gazes creep you out- not exactly the type of people you want to meet in a dark alley.

Though to you Faith always seemed so young, the little sister you- the little… it’s odd, the way your memories seem to have this underlying film of a half-remembered dream. Sometimes when you remember the night of your first kiss you come home to see Dawn waiting on the stairs, like a ghost, in a long white nightdress, sometimes the stairs are empty and you don’t even pause to look at them.

You remember Faith sitting on your bed flicking through your diary and laughing over your angry rants about your ‘newest little sister’ and wasn’t it a good thing you’re an only child but then she turns the page and she’s laughing about one of Dawn’s escapades.

It’s the kind of thing you never notice unless you’re looking for it- a gap in your memory.

Although, some memories it would probably be nice to forget… You’ll never quite get over Faith holding your mother (the one woman who kept believing in her even when you’d given up) hostage or the sight of a man dying before you, not by supernatural or human hands but by slayer… and about ninety-five percent of your memories involving Spike could quite happily be dropped off the edge of the world.

Faith falls back, noticing the dark shadow across your face. “You ok?” Her fingers glide across the back of your hand and then across your palm until your fingers are laced together and there’s a warm bubble of heat connecting you. She leans across to whisper in your ear, her hot breath spreading and tickling your skin deliciously. “I have something for you.”

A lollypop is suddenly in front of you, Faith’s fingers delicately holding the stem. Streetlights catch on the yellow twisted plastic, like a disco ball it disperses the light, little patches of gold coasting across her face- already alight with a mischievous sparkle. “Lemon. You remembered.”

“Of course!” She grins as you take it from her, “Lemon for you, Orange for me… because you’re bitter.” You smack your shoulder into her and she giggles even as she slips off the sidewalk and into the road. “Ow!”

“Aw, poor baby.” You make cooing noises around your lollypop, “Thanks for the candy.”

Faith unwraps hers and gives it a cursory searching look before popping it into her mouth. “Orange Good.”

“Fire Bad.”

“Huh?”

You blush, “Oh right, you weren’t here for… never mind. There was beer, bad beer and… Cave Buffy.” Too many one-sided conversations to remember which of them she was actually conscious for.

“You never were good with alcohol.” Which of course you only know thanks to Faith. Damn her. Damn her lots. Damn her with possible cherries on top.

Still… kind of fun to be drunk with Faith.

Plus yummy drunken Faith kisses!

“No, actual Cave Buffy. The literal regressed, grunting, smacking stuff with big logs kind of cave girl.”

“Fair enough.”

See now, why can’t all your friends be like that? Everyone should be that accepting. Spike turns round to glare forlornly at the two of you, and your joined hands specifically. His confused frown tells you that he doesn’t quite understand what’s going on between the two of you but then you know from experience that the physical stuff can get a little… murky…

Huh, Faith and Angel hugging on a bed being a good case in point. God, you’d been so angry, so bloodboilingly furious to see them… touching… each other. Your Angel and your Faith!

Not that you’re a crazy possessive loon or anything.

Much.

Faith’s breath becomes short and jittery as you approach the house. “Uh… B? I…”

You squeeze her hand comfortingly flicking your lollystick into the bushes and then taking hers and doing the same. “It’s ok, I’m right here with you.” Like a firefly with it’s light just blown out your mere breath seems to stoke her flame back up. A soft glow settles over her face and she takes a deep breath, drawing in her courage.

Spike rolls his eyes and grabs the door handle, still moping like a puppy left out in the rain. It’s so wrong when everyone says you have a thing for the bad guys- they’re all big softies at heart! In fact, you might try going up to the First and offering open arms for ‘a bit of a chat’. Who knows, it might work. Or you’ll die. Which is pretty much going to happen anyway.

“Whoa.” Faith spins like a small child in a candy shop, looking round the house. “Memory Lane. Same old house.”

If only. “Yeah, well, every piece of furniture been destroyed and replaced since you left, so, actually, new house.”

She makes and an impressed little ‘oh’ with her mouth. You smile indulgently to see her look with such reverence at that which to you is just commonplace.

“Buffy?” Dawn snipes from where she stands in the dinning room, her arms tightly crossed like a barrier. She’s angry, furious in that simmering way she has, never quite rude or shouting but always just on the edge. As a child Faith was both something you stole away and a nightmarish figure that she never wanted returned. Now she’s older and though her fear has cooled the resentment still remains.

You give her a placating look, “We have a new house guest.”

“Hey, got a spare bed for a wanted fugitive?” Faith undoes your good work and you glare at her next to you.

To the side of Dawn, Giles eyes your other half coolly, nodding in that judgemental way of his. “Hello, Faith.”

“Well, I guess ‘wanted’ wasn’t really accurate.” Though her smile never falters you see the light behind Faith’s smile dim once more.

Damn them both!

“Does she have to stay here?” Dawn bites once again. Spike sends Faith a sympathetic look from the stairs, warming to her as he finds an ally. “Because there’s some nice motels that welcome tried-to-kill-your-sister types.”

You want to smack Dawn but Faith is a big girl and she really doesn’t need you to fight her battles. You know she won’t take kindly to your defence of her either- she likes the world to think she’s hard and cruel and a street-wise bitch. Not that she isn’t! There’s just a lot more in her as well.

It’s odd how of the things you and Angel have in common around fifty percent are made up by Faith. You’ve both seen her cry for one thing.

God, after all these years it still rips at your heart that she froze the first time you hugged her (saved you a seat), held her hand (crowded room) or kissed her cheek (stole an entire tray of tiny pots of Jell-O from the cafeteria for you), her only excuse being ‘it’s been a while’. It even got to the stage where you were almost frightened to do anything affectionate towards her lest you waste these apparent ‘firsts’ on something menial.

Those memories hold a special place in your heart that not even the grave could rip from you but more precious still are the times when you did nothing and it was all her; the time she impulsively hugged you for renting her favourite movie and then looked about as shocked as you or when Xander accidentally let off a firework in the library (thus volunteering himself for many evenings of card cataloguing) and she grabbed your hand to make sure you were ok… best of all you love the first time she kissed you. It was just a little peck on the cheek, barely a second long, and weeks before you progressed to the full on make out sessions.

You’d given her a necklace for Christmas, grabbed it from the back of your jewellery box and decided it would have to do- the chain was only silver plated and had little glass beads in every so often so you’d figured it was sparkly enough for her.

As soon as you opened the door to her pretty blush and meticulously wrapped newspaper parcels you’d regretted it. You’d even rushed upstairs with the intention of hunting for something else to find, something nicer. But then there’d been Angel and the First (bastard) and you’d been too busy to think about it until you got back later that night. Faith and your mother were cuddled up on the sofa watching a soppy Christmas movie, looking at baby pictures of you and getting drunk on eggnog simultaneously. Well, your mother was, Faith was probably just humouring her. The presents were handed round before you had time to make a grab and switch.

It turned out to be just right though because nestled in between two glittery beads was a tiny silver ‘B’.

The perfect gift.

She kissed you before you even had time to think about how hideously soppy that gesture would have been had you intended it. The place her lips touched turned a bright red and not from her lipstick. Your mother smiled knowingly and Faith’s eyes welled up slightly before she brushed it off and told your mother the rudest Christmas story you’ve ever heard involving… well, Santa, elves and things that really shouldn’t happen to a Christmas tree, even if it is ludicrously funny.

So yes, you have a lot of things to be mad at Dawn for, even though none of that had anything to do with her- ‘spending the holidays with the father’ according to the monks, who apparently had the good sense to leave some of your more important memories intact. You can, however, be mad at her for making it harder to get back to that happy place.

Faith smiles with a slight punishing leer “Check it out. Brat’s all woman-sized.”

Who that’s meant to be punishing you’re not entirely sure but Dawn shifts uneasily so that’s perhaps the point.

You try to clear your throat but seeing as there’s nothing in it aside from the intangible awkwardness thickening the air it doesn’t really work. “Look, I need to get to the hospital. Some girl was attacked on her way into town. We think she might be a-”

“We know.” Dawn cuts you off, “Willow’s been calling.”

“She’s still there. She’s going to call if the girl wakes up.” You glare at Giles and he stares blandly back at you until you have to blink and loose the staring competition.

“Fine.”

You storm out; leaving Faith to Spike and Dawn to Giles- he obviously likes her better anyway.

Stupid unfair life! The three of you should be living in an island paradise in… uh… somewhere…

Hey, was that almost a fantasy? Cool! The healing powers of Faith’s touch.

Wonder what’ll happen if you make out with her?

Chapter Thirteen: Cheese-Puffs

April 2003

The wind blows a chill right through your skin to the bones of your shivering fingers. Leaves on the trees rustle portentously all the way along the empty street. Every house but the one you’re currently sitting on is deserted, their owners having packed everything important into their cars and fled the town.

Xander and Giles are now the only two regular humans left in Sunnydale.

Stomach-churningly the fresh and clean sent of the air is offset by a musk that is decidedly her… and ‘him’- whoever he should turn out to be. And, of course, the smell of artificial cheese from the Cheetos she has her head buried in.

Although there’s a heavy blanket wrapped around your shoulders the parts of you open to the elements are beginning to turn a light blue. You had of course suggested a much cosier spot for this little rendezvous but your ever-comfortable companion had refused.

“You’re going to have to go inside eventually, Faith.”

She shakes her head slowly, watching the roof-tiles peel away under her fingertips. The poor guy who deserted this house obviously couldn’t be bothered to fix the roof first, which… makes sense. Obviously.

You’re breathing through your mouth and trying not to look at her.

“Nah, B. Too many days locked up to choose goin’ back inside. Feels like home.”

Could she not have taken a shower before she came to tap on your window?

A few hours ago you were shoved near literally out of your own house and given your marching orders from the job you’ve slaved away at for over seven years. Because of her.

“Home?”

Odd that the girl who lights up your heart when she walks in the room has now found other people she does that for. Other than Him anyway.

Those little girls love her because she’s… well, mainly because she’s not you.

“Yeah, reminds me ‘bout when I was a kid. My ma weren’t… too keen on havin’ a kid in the house. Used to run round the streets with the other kids, breaking into cars and sleepin’ in the streets.”

The little ball of twined guilt somewhere deep inside you clenches a little harder.

You put her down in front of everyone, called her a killer when she’s worked for years to turn her life around and Willow’s sins are all but forgiven. A crime of passion either way. There’s a weight in her heart that she carries around, one life’s been adding to since she was born and doubled by her own guilt.

If there was only some way to make the two of you happy, a quick fix- you’d like to believe not being called could have saved you, both literally and emotionally.

But not Faith, her calling saved her, saved her life.

And now she comes to you smelling of sex and with hair messed by the pairing of pillows and vigorous exercise.

“The Boss came to see me tonight.”

“We don’t have to-”

“Told me all I wanted in life was for you to love me.”

There’s an awkward silence that stretches on a little too long. She smirks cynically, grabbing the forgotten bag of cheese puffs from beside her and tearing into them. You try not to look at her, or at anything really.

“We’re going after the bringer’s weapons tomorrow. Got one in the basement, made him talk. I guess you and The Tooth Whitener can hang or something. Sneak back into the house if you want. Maybe grab some stuff.” She itches the bruise on her cheek as she mentions Spike though you’re surprised she can tell which is which; the Police, you, him. Everyone seems to be punching her today.

God you hope it wasn’t Xander! If he slept with your girl then the ‘Save Xander and Dawn’ plan is being changed to the ‘Chain Dawn to the Back of a Train’ plan.

“The girls all seem pretty stoked about having something to do. Should probably have more of a plan but its just a couple a bringers an’ some rusty swords. Nothing to worry about.”

Sure. Never is. Right up until that moment you’re surrounded, weaponless and bleeding profusely from a mortal wound.

“That Kennedy sure has a lip on her, the kinda girl you wanna put in her place ‘cept her place is so damn high anyway it’d just be pointless. I think Dawn’s taken a liking to her though… else she’s tryin’ ta burn Ken’s skin off with her eyes.”

Maybe she’ll end up surprising you; perhaps she’s just hiding her ideas so she can... ok, so there’s probably… something… in her mind.

“And Dude, you should try listening to Andrew for just a few hours… man that kid can talk! I’m amazed you kept him around this long. You know Vi said-”

“Faith!”

Besides, who are you to question her lack of plan when you can’t even visualise a future fight? Since the literal death of your imagination you’ve somewhat lost that skill… not that Faith needs to know, she can just go on believing you’re better for… uh, ever.

You roll your eyes at her and snatch the bag of cheese puffs away, “Jesus, did you eat Willow or something? I never knew you could… ramble… Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that!” Her eyes bug slightly as she tries not to choke on her laughter. And cheese puffs.

She has a very annoying way of pointing at the thing she finds funny when she laughs. Sort of makes you want to hit her. “Sure B, that’s exactly what happened. I ate Willow!”

A tap sounds on the window frame below you. Spike sticks his upper body out, twisting so he can see the two of you on the ledge. “Are you finished yet? You’re letting all the cold air in.”

“So sorry Mr. Summers, I’ll try and have her back in by midnight.” Faith snarks, letting her feet off the roof and to rest on Spike’s chest. He growls slightly at her and she snarls back mockingly. You grab the back of her top before she gets too into it and falls off the roof.

“We’ll be done soon.” You smile placatingly down at him (currently the sweetest and only man not on the list of possible Faith-lovers). Nodding his head he ducks back inside.

To be honest you’re not entirely sure when you’ll be done because you have no idea why you’re here. You were… marginally happy, but at peace, wrapped in Spike’s arms until a knock at the window broke your little bubble and a sweaty, ragged and grinning Faith was suddenly leaning through a window what you’re pretty darn sure you’d locked earlier. Though you’re sure no lock has ever thwarted Faith- she was, most unfortunately, still a minor when she confessed and her juvie record didn’t exactly help her case. Still, her ‘life skills’ are far more useful in the calling you share than your French will ever be. Unless you’re facing a French demon of course, then you can have the pleasure of ignoring the threats on your life because you’re confident you’ll win rather than just confused and wondering if ‘Gruthbuf’ is really that much of a threat.

Your head had spun between the two of them; him on the bed, crisp white sheets framing that ever-styled hair and chiselled face, her at the window, wind-torn leaves both behind her and sticking randomly up from parts of her hair. She’d been out of breath and slightly muddy for some unknown reason but still it was her bitten-nailed hand that you’d grabbed and his comforting one you’d let slip off you hip.

There’s no way to lie and say you’re up here because you want the excitement and adventure she offers. You want the simplicity of her happiness. When Faith smiles there is nothing else on her mind but whatever it is that’s making her happy. It makes you jealous and nervous at the same time.

She almost slips off the edge again as she puts a little too much emphasis into a stabbing enactment. This time you don’t take your hand off her back but leave it there- just in case. “…unfair, right? So I stole her lunch.”

You give her a slight sardonic smile that goes way above her head. “That when you started getting fat?” It’s so hard to resist sometimes… besides, you used to be a bitchy cheerleader to rival Cordelia at her worst. People should applaud your restraint more often.

“Plump!” As if to prove… someone’s point… she snatches the oddly industrial size packet of cheese-puffs back before you’ve had the chance to eat more than a couple. “And did you know; muscle takes six weeks to waste away and six months to gain back?” She smugly taps your nose.

You were dead for 21 weeks.

How much of her wasted away?

Ever oblivious to your thoughts she’s prattling on about STIs (again) and- Scott Hope?!

“What?! So you and Scott…?”

Faith screws up her nose, “Oh god no! I didn’t mean it like that! Besides… that kid set off my gay-dar…”

Relief spreads through you. “Good. Ok. Great.” She laughs at your still shocked expression and for a second looks like such a mature and controlled woman you can see what the little girls love about her- that she is one of them.

You are not.

You lost her, which- which is a stupid thing to say because you don’t loose people; you put them down and they walk away. But they’re still out there, still people, still whole just… not with you. Though, you didn’t put her down, you just shared. You let other people see your special toy and then they wanted to play too so they stole it. Or- or maybe she’s more like water. And they polluted her.

Perhaps when this is all over she’ll go back to being your girl.

Are you always this possessive and creepy?

“How do you put up with me?” You don’t realise you’ve spoken until she looks up from her snack with a bemused expression on her face.

She shrugs, “I love you. Not for any specific reason, I just do.” Her eyes roll as if to say ‘duh’.

“I know you love me… but is it enough?”

“Does it have to be enough?” A frown mars her pretty face, “I’m not here to fill a hole inside you, I love you but a person will never be enough.”

“So what’s the point?”

As if anyone knows the point of love.

When you look at her again it’s as if your roles have changed and she’s the one in control. The know-it-all.

“We help each other.” She smiles, “You make me feel… better. Like I’m a better person and ‘better’ in a… I don’t feel so alone when you’re here, I don’t just think about myself and what I need. I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

“That’s beautiful.” You breathe out.

The moment is perfect; moonlight shining above you, wind calmed down, every unspoken word between you suddenly tangible enough to taste on the air. You lip-read her quiet ‘thank you’ because by that time it’s too hard to take your eyes off of her mouth. The gap between you gets ever smaller.

Her lips taste of artificial cheese but then yours do too so it’s all right. When her mouth opens it floods warm air back into your cold body and you feel it rush all the way down to your curling toes.

Surprisingly her flesh is chilled- you hadn’t noticed it under your hands as they were so cold themselves but as the flesh of your inner-arm brushes against her skin you shiver. And not just from the butterflies. Unlike a corpse she’s under room temperature and you almost find yourself looking forward to Spike’s warm embrace.

She can’t be comfortable at this temperature but when you pull away from the kiss to ask about it she just looks confused.

“I’m fine,” she rolls her eyes, “I wanted to see you. Didn’t bother stopping to get a jacket.”

“Obviously.”

You wouldn’t be too amazed if she suddenly started breathing icicles at this point but maybe she’s right and she’s fine. She obviously knows her own body better than you do. Come to think of it… there are a lot of things about her you don’t know.

“Do you have a surname, Faith?”

She smirks at you, “No. I’m like Jesus.” The bag is passed back to you with a single, solitary Cheese-Puff in the bottom. “What? I didn’t finish it!”

You roll your eyes, how can one person eat so much? “Sure. Anyway, Jesus does have a surname.” Though what that is you’re not so sure…

“Did you go to Catholic school?” She challenges.

“No.”

“Did you have to listen to nuns going on every day?”

“Well… no.”

“Then who here knows more about Jesus?”

You’re tempted to add ‘well who here died?’ but that seems unnecessarily harsh so you let her have this one and eat the last cheese-puff instead.

Chapter Fourteen: Spaghetti

May 2003

In your more philosophical moments you like to believe in the fabric of existence; that your life is a thin membrane woven of different thoughts and memories, people and places. The only problem with this is that metaphorically you’re not entirely sure what Faith should be- one central thread running straight through or something entirely different. Perhaps she is the rod upon which your cloth rests. Different, alien and yet so completely important that without her there would be nothing to keep you from gently floating down into the mud.

The two of you are forever entwined and yet you dislike the word- ‘entwined’- that it may seem to suggest she is but another thread, as you are. To you there is no such thing as ‘same’ where Faith is concerned; you are nothing if not different. You have a life so entirely devoid of her presence and yet it feels as though she runs through you like a current- the swell of your breast, the tingle of your fingertips, the gasp of your lips. It seems as if you have known her forever, not just four short yet important years. Or perhaps it’s five?

Five years since your eyes met those of a recklessly grinning, cocky fifteen-year-old. She thinks you don’t know her age- how dumb when you so obviously know her birthday. You try to ignore the oddly ‘creepy old man’ feelings you get knowing Faith is closer in age to your sister than she is to you.

Dawn and Kennedy are on the edges of their seats watching her with enraptured awe as she tells them the story of the vamps, the priest and the police. You pick at the limp strands of spaghetti on your plate. The sauce is so diluted the water has separated from the tomato and meat to make it look even more disgusting.

You wouldn’t really be expecting more except Faith’s spaghetti looks like it’s just been whipped up by the secret Italian chef they keep in the back for the girls the waiter fancies. Spotty little twerp.

Faith half-cuddles, half-wrestles you affectionately across the table, “So he’s huggin’ me like there’s no tomorrow-”

“And the cops pull up and arrest you both?”

She glares at you playfully, “Way to ruin a story B. Hey,” She turns back to the girls, “Did I ever tell you two about the time I got Buffy drunk?”

“Oh God!” You bury your head in your arms to avoid her mischievous smirk.

How can this little girl sway your life to such an extent that you can sit and smile when it feels like your insides are crumbling?

If your life is a tapestry then Spike is the sliver of silver thread, winding randomly through nearly unnoticed until you turn around one day to see that he binds together the rips and tears, pulls your past together into some semblance of a future. Only… you’re pretty sure it was him you were supposed to be sharing that prospect with and not the pile of dust that is left of his body.

“You ok there, B?” You lift your head to see Faith smiling from across the table.

Or her. Spike probably wouldn’t want you sharing this new lease on life with her either.

“Fine, Faith, but… I think Vi might have stolen your waffles.”

The Hellmouth is closed, Sunnydale is caput and roadside diners have crappy food.

God it’s good to be alive.

Faith is muttering curses under her breath, spinning round in an attempt to both count the empty plates of food around her and search for Vi in the crowd. It’s amazing just how much of said crappy food you can buy for the cash found in a busload of people’s back pockets. The chef had to send one of the waitresses out for supplies at one point. Your dark-haired counterpart has eaten about a fifth of the overall food, which, considering she’s competing against a lot of ravenous and newly called slayers, is pretty fantastical.

You laugh as she climbs up onto a chair to get a better look at all the girls. She resists your hand tugging her back down until you make mention of the rest of the food she’s leaving unguarded. Neglected children, you mother once lectured you with a stern look in her eye, will take greatly of anything that is offered.

She fluffs her hair back to get some cooling air on her neck. You wince at what the motion uncovers.

There is a scar on her neck to mirror yours, made by Angel’s fangs. Three long lines on her back made by a demon. The ‘wing tattoo’ on her stomach. The lighting scar on her left shin from where a broken leg tore her skin. An ugly circle just below her rib cage where that girl ran her through a pipe- of equal diameter on both sides. And burns around her wrists from when the guards realised that steel rope could hold her much better than handcuffs. Yet not one single childhood abuser cared enough to leave a scar on the outside. Hate is not the opposite of love- it’s indifference.

It turns your insides to see the difference between blemished and clean skin. Yet you love her birthmark. It’s barely visible unless she’s ill or unhappy which probably makes liking it quite odd but it sits between her eyebrows and you once read that a mark there was called an Angel’s Kiss. How could she be anything but protected to have come through so much and still be standing?

“But don’t you think,” Dawn is saying, rather earnestly, “that breasts are actually kind of ugly?”

“No…” Kennedy speaks slowly as if to a very small child, “I think they’re hot.”

“I didn’t mean in a lacy bra or a cute top- I meant naked.” Your sister rolls her eyes.

“So did I.”

You laugh as Dawn flounders for a few moments “But- but- they’re so weird-looking! White. And… like really ugly eyes…”

Faith and Kennedy, sitting across the table from the two of you stare patiently, “Maybe you’re talkin’ to the wrong girls, Kid.” Faith chuckles, reaching over to ruffle the younger girl’s hair before thumping Ken’s shoulder and thumbing towards the door of the diner, “Smoke?”

“Can’t.” Kennedy hangs her head “Whipped.”

Dawn laughs, slapping her hand over her mouth to hold in a snort. She’s forgiven Faith to a point. Unfortunately it’s the annoying-ganging-up-against-Buffy point. They’re back to sharing those little secret smiles that make your heart at once jingle with nerves and swell with happiness. Nothing good ever comes of their plans for you but just the idea that a tiny piece of you lives on within your sister… well, you like to think it’s part of the old you; the pretty-in-pastels sunny smiling one.

She has your feistiness too. A few days ago she stormed up to you as you were supervising training (i.e. Turning your eyes green watching Faith and Spike make friends), a little patented Summers’ frown on her face. It was early morning and you can remember thinking right before she started the yelling that she was turning into a beautiful young woman.

“You know,” She’d growled, “At this point I’m almost considering getting a loan from Anya to pay you to go have sex with Spike and/or Faith just to stop you making stupid googly eyes at the two of them!”

Fortunately her teasing hadn’t attracted the attention of either of your main desires. Or perhaps that should have been ‘unfortunately’… the two of they shouldn’t have been so… pally! God, he’s dead and still your flesh crawls to think of him touching your girl. And yet-

And yet you can’t deny that when you looked into his eyes and told him you loved him… it was nothing but the truth. In that moment at least. Possibly longer. When- when you knew your mother was ill, when she died, when you were ripped out of heaven and all you wanted was for someone to be there, to have a connection with another person. Angel was too busy saving the souls of people who’d caused their own trouble and Faith was too busy… counting ants, or whatever seemingly inconsequential thing was of dire importance that day.

You’d needed someone and he’d been there; funny, kind, sensitive… creepy old Spike. He had his bad points- a desire to wreak true evil mainly, though that seems to be a running theme with the lovers in your life. But underneath everything he was still a sweet man who loved you. In his own… twisted way.

And it hurts, to loose yet another person, almost as if the Good Feelings Towards Buffy decrease year on year.

“You ok, Buff? You’ve been spacing.” Xander’s voice brings you back to the here and now. To the sweat sliding down the side of your face and the hair stuck slick to the back of your neck. It’s stiflingly hot in this tiny half-glass box full of hyper girls and an A/C so old you think it’s probably cooler outside with Faith.

You intend to claim that as the reason for being by her side if anyone asks- ‘cool’ in all ways of course.

But instead Xander slides into Faith’s empty seat, blocking you with words into the small booth. Willow clambers as daintily as possible over him and onto Kennedy’s lap. Next to you and engrossed in her meal now Faith is gone, Dawn barely glances up.

“I’m fine.” You repeat.

Your friends share a knowing look. “I- We” Willow corrects when nudged, “Want to talk to you. About Faith.”

“About… about prison and Faith?” You edge out hopefully.

Xander pats your hand, “No, more about you and Faith.”

“We’ve just been noticing-”

“You and Faith are screwing.” Kennedy cuts in over her girlfriend, shrugging unrepentantly when glared at. “What? Everyone knows.”

Ha! What sex? Even tomatoes would be jealous of your current bout of redness. “No! Guys! It’s not like that… Faith and I have a Slayer bond, it’s very-”

“Uh, Buff?” Dawn snorts as Xander pats your hand in just the right condescending manner to have his cut off, “I think that bond’s called attraction.”

The four of them stare at you with a mixture of compassion, humour and the very adult sense that lets you know you’ve been caught out. “Ok, ok… busted, right?” Willow and Xander laugh, Kennedy makes lewd jokes about slayer stamina and Dawn… makes puke noises.

So it’s odd and weird but at least they’re not yelling or chasing you with conveniently available pitchforks. After all, it would have to be a parallel universe for something to actually go the way you were expecting.

“You’re… you’re ok with this? With me… and Faith? Faith? Really?”

“Sure!” Willow shrills a little too unconvincingly. She clears her throat, glancing round to check if Faith is poised to pounce (she isn’t, still outside filling her lungs with tar). “Well… you do this… thing, with… people, who aren’t the… best, when you feel unsure. You’ll get up on your feet again soon. It’s not like you’re getting married or anything!” They share a partly nervous laugh as you cringe.

There are dozens of school books buried under the rubble of what was formerly Sunnydale with Angel’s name scribbled on the front covers and somewhere inside the back cover (generally along the fold so it was hardest to spot) is Faith’s. Both of them have hearts round and gooey, sappy, grossly-teenage love scribbles- the kind of thing that makes you blush in shame just thinking about it. You were the type of girl to secretly call yourself Mrs Whomever in your head… the problem being neither Angel nor Faith are all that open when it comes to surnames and ‘Mrs Summers’ just sounds wrong. Still, ‘Mrs Faith’ isn’t that far off.

“It’s not as if you actually love Faith!”

“It’s not as if you want to have her babies!”

“It’s not as if it’s more than sex!” Again, what sex?!

They laugh and joke but it sounds so far away, so one removed as if the sound is coming from an old gramophone. It even feels for a moment as if there’s a sheen over your eyes, your vision blurs like you’re in water, it’s so slow and all you can hear are deep breaths, like sighs in your ear. The skin along your neck goose bumps as the warm air flows across it.

It seems so safe, this little happy bubble, that smells of leather, smoke and... Tomato sauce, that sounds like the beats of two hearts.

Suddenly it shatters as one of the girls drops a plate, fries flying everywhere. The others clap and laugh, some call things out and it seems so loud, so oppressively horrible that your chest hurts. They move so quickly, speak so piercing and fill the room so that it feels you can taste them in the air.

Your hands shake and your stomach lurches. It feels like that stupid fast-forward thing again where everything moves too fast and you just want to crawl under the table. Andrew looks no different though so perhaps it’s just that you’ve slowed down? Willow doesn’t pay any attention and you know all curses would catch her senses so it’s just in your mind- you’re loosing it.

You want to go back in time to the peace you found in Spike’s arms and on Faith’s lips, except… the night after that the kiss on the roof, Faith and the potentials were blown up by the bringers and everything became a crazed mess. You were so angry with her when she was huddled in your sheets, sooty and aching. Part of you wanted to smack her silly for getting the other girls hurt and putting herself in danger yet again. Another part wanted to just climb in there with her and hold her close.

It had torn at your heart to see her injured but there just wasn’t time to care, time to stop and love.

Once Giles had her settled on the bed he’d ordered… well, ‘instructed in an off handed way that had you gulping’… you to “make her comfortable”.

Your hands had trembled as they hovered over Faith’s belt buckle. Did it mean something? Did it count? Was it just helping her the way you had sometimes with the nurses at the hospital?

And, of course, Little Miss Coma hadn’t stirred. Hadn’t helped.

Dawn rolled her eyes, pushing you aside as soon as the others left the room and pulling off Faith’s pants like it was nothing. Which it was… for Dawn. You’d turned away until she’d put Faith under the covers, giving her privacy. It had never really crossed your mind before that loving a girl means you treat her differently to other girls, to your friends.

You shake away the memory of your fierce blush and make hurried excuses to escape to the only place that feels… right. A push through the surprisingly heavy doors out into the fresher, but no less sweltering air. It feels better though, less stifling, less like you’re drowning and without the forced smile of denying something that means more than they’ll ever know.

You want her to take you away again. And she does. She smiles.

“Hey, B.” She flicks her cigarette away and eyes you up, half leer, sprinkling of concern. “Likin’ the wet T contest but you do know ya s’ppose to use water right?”

“What?” Your white top is slowly turning red. Blood spreading out from your stomach. Odd that no one else mentioned it. “Oh.”

She bends her head to catch your eye, stepping closer to rest a comforting hand on your hip. “Are… are you ok? Do you need to sit down?”

The two of you attempt to peek down your top, knocking heads as you do.

“Sorry!”

“Sorry!”

You frown when you realise you just apologised for looking at your own boobs. Faith chuckles, “Uh… I was actually tryin’ ta look at ya, uh… wound. Not the- the- admittedly amazing rack you’re workin’ with there.”

“Ah. Sure. Wound. Right…” Damn it.

“If you want you can look at mine though. To be fair.”

She barely makes it through ‘fair’ before you’re yelling your assent, “YES! U… uh… ah… I mean…” The New Slayers seem to be ignoring you from the other side of the glass but it’s only a matter of time before one of Faith’s ‘fans’ wonders where she’s run off to. “When we get on the bus we can chase the girls away from the back and you can check out my wound… and I can… you know.”

Her lips inch ever closer, closer to yours then up as her hand curls into your long hair, bringing your head down to kiss your forehead. “Mm, maybe we can save that ‘til we have a bed and A/C, k?” You scoff lightly as she grins against your skin. Since when does Faith turn down the chance to get her boobs oogled?

“Huh?"

She slides back smoothly making you feel like a klutz as you follow her lips far enough to stumble.

“What? Wa-”

“B, the entire membership of the ‘We Hate Faith’ club is behind that window- one of who just happens to be a really powerful witch.”

You think for a moment of telling her that it was actually ‘We Hate Cordelia Chase’ but knowing Faith by now she’s probably mentally debating whether or not whales can fall in love. “So. You gonna go home now?”

“Home?” Pulling out a cigarette as an excuse to avoid your eyes, she sniggers. “I ain’t got no home. Longest I eva lived in one place in my life was three years it Stockton- ain’t exactly rushin’ to get back there.”

“Oh. Right.”

The two of you lapse into an uncomfortable silence… or perhaps it’s just uncomfortable for you, she does seem genuinely fascinated by her boot. “Hey, I… ‘m sorry, ‘bout your house.”

“Eh.” You shrug. “Mom made sure we were insured it’s not really a problem.”

“Good. Good.” Nodding blindly she flicks ash and blows away from you, making you smile at her thoughtfulness.

“So.” You start again a few minutes later, “You and Robin…?”

She almost spits her smoke out in surprise, “Oh please, not you too!”

“What?” You gasp as she swings round to glare at you pleadingly.

“We- we had sex.” She shrugs, “Kind of… uneventful sex.”

Uneventful? ‘Boy’s got stamina’ doesn’t sound too dull!

Then again… she can’t keep secrets, can never lie, you just have to ask the right questions.

“Thought he had stamina?”

“What’s your point?” She shrugs, “It was fun.”

“Ugh!” You groan, “Do you ever just… not talk in circles?”

Which, if you think about it, is a bit of an odd question. Surely a person who talks in circles would also be the type of person who has the mental acuity to remember such things as being able to count to three before dashing into a fight with no plan… or maybe they would just be able to create a plan.

Working with that person would be nice. Hey, there are lots of Slayers in the world now, maybe you can swap yours.

“You’re so anal.”

“Yeah, well, you’re…” You search around for something- anything to compare her to, “Uncomfortable bra-straps!”

Faith scrunches up her nose “What?!”

“Uncomfortable bra-straps. You think they’re so pretty and great but then they dig in and scratch and maybe they’re not worth it.”

Silence.

Moments stretch between you until she smiles

“Do you ever just… not over think?” She rolls her eyes, “And really, if we’re going to keep the dumb…”

“Metaphor.”

“Right. Well you can wear bras in, can’t you?”

Her arms slip back around and this time her lips find yours, kissing you hard enough to believe that adventure might just be a good place to start. Because, dear God she’s worth it!

A grin stretches across her face, pulling your still-joined lips taut with hers. “Tell me what’s stopping you.”

“I… I…” The breath gliding across your face feels soothing and cool rather than hot. “What happened to not kissing me? Not that I’m complaining!” You add hurriedly.

Her fingers glide through your hair like silk instead of the ratty, sweaty corn you know it is. “Couldn’t hold back, I guess… too much time apart. Now tell me.”

You chuckle and feel it vibrate through her body and back into your hands. “Do I really have to do this?”

“Yes.” She slides her cheek against yours, whispered words drifting into your ear, “It’ll make you feel better.”

“Doubtful.” You groan. “Okay… I… I so don’t do girls!”

“Not yet anyway.”

Some answers are so predictable you just shouldn’t bother. Faith and sex go together like… like ‘Buffy and Faith’. Heh. Busted.

You so love her!

“You’re all I see!”

“What?”

Skipping over the more pertinent ‘my friends hate you’, ‘you’re a psychopath’ and ‘we’d probably kill each other’ onto what irks you the most- the complete and utter lack of control you have around her. “When- sometimes when I look at the world… the only thing I see is you.” Blushing you bury your face in the crook of her neck. “Just, you.”

In the heat of battle the moment you felt that pain of the slicing knife through your gut it was her eyes you searched for, her healing touch you craved. And not just because the wound eerily echoed that which you’d left on her.

“And…” You take a deep breath, “I don’t want that to stop. You’re so… so beautiful and everything else is ugly. But I need to be apart from you else I can’t do my job; I can’t save a world I can’t see.”

She draws back to look at you properly, “Don’t have to save it B. Got a million little rugrats running around now.” Shivers run up and down your spine as her hands caress your arms, even through you jacket.

You snort and then cringe, “Yeah, they’re just going to love that I’m hooking up with their golden girl.”

Taking a step away from you she frowns, “Like the SuperFriends aren’t gonna be thinkin’ the same thing? Besides… I think you love who you love and sometimes people ain’t gonna understand why, maybe you even don’t understand but… it doesn’t really matter does it? Is your world going to stop turning?”

She clutches her wrists, her thumbs stroking almost absentmindedly over the bumpy twisting scars. It hurts to think of her bound like that, so that she’d bleed. But more so, it scares you to think that she wouldn’t stop once the ropes cut down into her tendons. You press a finger down onto the inside of her wrist, where her pulse beats beneath the thick skin. “It might.”

“Doubtful.”

Her hand wraps around yours, pressing the soft flesh of your palm into the coarse raggedness of her arm. “Does it still hurt?”

“Only when I bend my hand a certain way.”

In the many months since you first returned to the prison after coming back to life you’ve discussed many things but somehow shied away from this. All you know- and this from Angel- is that when you died something inside of her died too. She went wild. Feral. They pumped her full of drugs that never worked and tied her down with metal chains that snapped like cotton thread. It had taken him, her saviour, to find the answer to her cage.

He gave them the ropes to hold her down.

Magically reinforced steel ropes. The kind that hold up hundreds of tones of bridge.

She had no chance to escape them but still never calmed, thrashing and screaming, not even caring as her flesh was torn from her body.

You wish you could lie to yourself- lie and pretend you don’t know it was anything to do with you. It would all be so simple except… she stopped. She returned. She’s normal.

He said she just lay back. Calmed down. Went to sleep. Safe in the knowledge that you were in the world again.

Heaven was… well, Heaven, but sometimes you could kiss Willow for having brought you back- ‘you’ as in ‘us’ as in ‘we’. She brought you back from Heaven and Faith back from Hell.

But if Faith had never loved you… you could have stayed. Granted, Willow didn’t know about Faith’s feeling when she brought you back but it’s the only way you could ever be thankful to be on Earth. Sometimes you think they might have all had better lives without you. Even Dawn. Who cried every night you were dead would have eventually gotten over it, gone on to live a normal life. It was just Faith’s love that tore her life apart.

“Do you… do you ever wish you didn’t love me?”

She laughs and pulls you closer again by your belt loops. “With disturbing frequency. But that doesn’t mean I want it to come true.”

“Really?” Your chest swells slightly.

“We just work out the way we work out, as people. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Faith lifts her hands to cup your face, thumbs scooping up your tears. “Doesn’t that ever scare you? That- that we have no control? None?” ‘That you have no control?’

“Do we need it?” She shrugs, “Is it… like, necessary? I think it’s nice to not know, to have no idea what’s happening next.”

Do you like the unknown? You love Faith so you must do. Or maybe you just love the parts of her that are predictable, the parts you understand. But how many of those parts are there?

How long would you last?

“I hate it. I like spoilers. I want to know the ending before I start.” You smile, eyes searching hers for a sign of madness that… just doesn’t seem to be there. She’s whole. She’s here. Because you are.

With a smile she wraps you up in her arms, pulling you into the air and spinning like you’re a treasured child. Once she drops you down she presses another kiss to your lips, soft, gentle and full of promise. “As long as we stick together, B, that’s all it takes for a happy ending- Chosen Two, right?”

“Right. Right. Um…” You scratch your almost-healed (but still bleeding!) stomach, count the trash on the ground and clouds in the clear blue sky. “You know, I… uh… I…”

She laughs, “I drawn-out pause you too.”

“Good. Uh…” Oh what the hell- with a cinematic flourish you kiss her for all she’s worth, until she sees stars and comes up gasping for air!

“You-” She coughs, “You should definitely do that more often.”

It’s nice to see her blush. The little girlish smile that always makes you squirm happily.

Faith stares oddly over your shoulder, her head on one side, “Um… B? Is- is your sister making out with a window?”

Sometimes you just shouldn’t turn round.

“Yep. Dawn and… is that Kennedy? She looks different with her mouth open.”

Your companion snorts, “Dude, that’s cos you never let her speak!”

She chuckles while you shrug, “Girl talks crap… yo.” That deep, rumbling and completely free laugh that you love so much shoots through her.

“Word.”

Ok, so the two of them- and probably everyone else in the diner- just saw you being all lovey dovey with Faith. Faith. It’s pretty obvious to them now that whatever it is between you two… it’s not just some passing fling.

You laugh as Faith near quivers in her boots.

“Should I be running? ‘Cos- ‘cos Willow just turned a lotta little girls into her own personal army and I may be tough but… I kinda have limits!”

“No really?” You deadpan, “You’ll be fine. They love you. Besides, I don’t care what you say, you’re going in there.”

“Why so they can pounce on me like Cordy on a Prada bag? No thanks.”

Willow and Xander stare from the other side of the glass. Slightly accusing, slightly surprised, mainly annoyed.

You push them so far, act so cold and so mean, do things that no one else understands and yet they still love you. For now. There will be something one day that tears you apart, the straw to break their backs.

You don’t want that to be Faith. Not now. Not when there’s actual potential for this to work.

A bus pulls in to the side of the diner; the sign on the front says LA. LA to Anywhere. Make Anywhere home. Just a month, maybe two, three- no one but you and her. A chance to make this work.

“Oh screw it!” You grab her hand and pull her off to the bus, “You got any cash?”

“Uh… about thirty dollars… and a credit card in my sock.”

“Wa-” you choke, “Credit card? I don’t get credit!”

She pulls you up the stairs and hands the diver the notes, “It’s Angel’s, in case of… uh… I feel like a snack.”

“Angel?” Angel? You know she helped save him again but even after everything that he’s done she still…? You’re pushed into a seat before you have time to question further.

Your friends begin spilling out of the diner, Dawn and Kennedy at the front, grinning and waving like loons. Giles frowns up at you as the bus pulls away. You can’t do much more than shrug.

Who cares if Angel’s a bastard and you have responsibilities? There’s a whole world to see! And someone else’s credit card to do it on!

So the two of you run off into the sunset. You don’t call, you don’t write, you run through the streets of Miami, Paris, Barcelona, Rome, high on life. Nothing matters except that you’re together.

Welcome to your Happily Ever After.

Well, that’s sort of a lie… but there’s happiness and Faith so that’s pretty much the most important thing.

Besides, neither of you want to go play mommy to bratty new slayers with attitude problems that are just a little too familiar.

Chapter Fifteen: Italian Almonds

July 2003

The call to return to normality comes on a Tuesday- which strikes you with the irony of being the most boring day of the week now. ‘Now’ meaning it used to be called ‘Dawn’s-in-trouble-day’.

You’re nursing matching hangovers on the wide balcony of the Immortal’s Grand Palace. He’s become disturbingly enamoured with Faith despite the fact you’re the one he tried to pick up in a club. Not that you’re jealous exactly… it’s just that Faith doesn’t even wear expensive jewellery!

She’s happily placated, munching on those weird sugared, roasted, honeyed almonds that seem to give Faith 0 calories and you 15,969 every time you try them. The Immortal has his chefs make them by the bucket load for her and even includes them in the banquets he throws. Just for her.

No really. They have a little sign on that says they’re only for her.

But, aside from the fact she’s turning a little spoilt and apparently can quite literally eat her own weight, you’re blissfully happy. She’s caring, kind, funny, loving, exciting, impulsive, devoted, sweet… everything you’ve ever prized in your past lovers all rolled into one.

Plus… well, six weeks of the kind of sex you’d want to write home about if the idea of your friends and family reading it wasn’t so gross.

Not that there aren’t problems but as long as you get drunk with her and always keep your word it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. Besides, if she ever steps out of line you just have to withhold sugared almonds.

Immortal people are so smart!

Her mobile rings and she stretches back on the sun lounger to snatch it from the drinks table. One quick check of the caller id and it’s flying in your direction. “For you.” She grunts, going back to attempting to drown her headache in margaritas.

‘The Place Fun Goes To Die’ flashes up on the screen.

You roll you eyes and hit the green button. “Hello Giles.”

“Buffy.” He replies, not in the least bit surprised that it’s you. “We have a bit of a situation.”

It takes a strong force of will and leftover guilt to stop you throwing the phone into the pool below. Besides, Faith’s been after a new one and her boy-toy will probably buy her some kind of cross-dimensional mini portal so she can call Alternate Universe Buffys and ask embarrassing questions.

“What’s wrong now?”

If this is some kind of ploy to make you come back and work at his shiny new Slayer School you can’t be held responsible for your actions. Whatever Giles says is lost into the ether as you shoot forward to grab Faith back from attacking a butler.

“Faith! It’s not his fault you spilt it!” You’ve learnt through unfortunate experience that a hungover slayer is not a happy slayer- even if she can drink an entire fleet of sailors under the table. She finally relents when The Immortal offers to bring her out an ice pop. “Sorry Giles, What was that?” Faith pops in her headphones and turns them up to full, trying to ignore the voice of responsibility.

“Angel and Spike are about to open the gates of hell.”

You frown, sitting down slowly. Is this some type of code? “But Spike’s dead.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may-”

“Does that mean Angel’s dead?”

“No. Now would you please listen to-”

“Are they trying to open it from the other side?”

“You don’t understand, we-”

“So are they trying to-?”

“Buffy! If you could please rein in your stupidity for just a second!”

Stupidity? Harsh. At least you’re pretty. And strong. Really, really strong. Giles should be nicer to you.

“I need your help with this. The girls we have, even the ones from Sunnydale, it’s just too soon for them to be dealing with something like this.”

Slightly cooled by the admittance of need you signal to Faith for a pen and paper and get a napkin and eyeliner instead. “Ok then, when, where, how?”

You stifle a giggle as Faith mouths along with what she imagines to be Giles explaining (she can tell even over the blaring of her music as you only get that glazed look for one reason), raising her sunglasses in order to frown dramatically. It might be her humour that you love the most. Last on that list would be the look on her face when you have to tell her that you need to go back to LA for a week. A week and only a week. Giles be damned you worked hard for this little slice of paradise!

And it is paradise.

Wisteria curls around the wrought iron railings at the edge of the balcony. They’re painted green, that perfect shade they always seem to be in movies. You don’t really know why that damn plant keeps catching your eye except there’s the hazy memory, just at the edge of your consciousness, of that smell and being held in your mother’s arms. You were wearing a blue dress with shiny black shoes and frills around your socks.

Or maybe it’s not you.

Maybe it’s just some funny half-remembered daydream. It seems all too easy to imagine your own little girl in front of those bushes while the two of you laze in the sun. Oh God, you really are getting old. In that case maybe you should stay out of the sun, nasty wrinkles and all that.

You laugh quietly as Faith’s iPod decides it’s had enough of the sun too and fizzles on the inside. The fourth to die this way.

Giles explains that he wants to send some of the girls with you, which makes no sense- if they’re too young to fight on their own then they’re still too young to do it with you there. You are so not going to play nanny to his latest projects. “Who are you thinking of?”

“Well, Kennedy obviously.”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, temporarily unable to remember whether Kennedy has any other skills than just running her mouth. Probably not. That girl is like all the annoying bits of Faith with added Andrew.

“Rona and Vi will be flying in from our African location t-”

“’Location’? Giles it’s been six weeks and you have ‘locations’?” British people are weird. And freakishly organised.

‘Organization’ for you the past few weeks has meant deciding whether to go to the beach now or later and which club has the prettiest sign and therefore the nicest inside.

The French patio doors open behind you, “Famore?” trills from inside.

Faith spins- in a slow, marginally drunken way- at her pet name. “Mimtal!”

To be honest, you’re not entirely sure if either of those are actual Italian words or just the two of them speaking in the bizarre code they’ve created for… no apparent reason. Well, other than to piss you off. Obviously.

“My apologies for having missed eating with you last night ladies, I was… otherwise engaged.” The Immortal bows like a gentleman as he greets you both.

“Was she hot?” You giggle as he flushes slightly. When you first met he irked you for being arrogant and too smooth but he’s really rather sweet. It’s one of those odd things about powerful men- they all have a weakness.

His is family. Except, rather obviously, being immortal means all his family are dead. But it’s the ones he picks up along the way that count apparently.

He ruffles Faith’s hair and it reminds you painfully of Angel.

You still believe that somewhere inside he’s a good man but you just can’t understand what his game plan is. Angel joined forces with evil supposedly to take them down from the inside but now he’s trying to open the doors to hell? It makes no sense!

Plus on a personal level you just can’t let go off what he did… how he tried to tear you away from Faith and then acted like her saviour, how he caused those hideous scars around her wrists but claimed it was for her own good.

She was heart broken, upset, angry. She needed a Goddamn hug! Not chains to hold her down.

“Buffy? Are you there?” Giles’ voice floats out of the phone. You look down to see it sitting on your lap and have no memory of putting it down.

“Yeah Giles, I’m here. What were you saying?”

Whatever it was is lost again as you focus instead on Faith’s happy grin. Mimtal tells her she has a phone call from ‘the President’, not-so-subtle code for ‘Kennedy’. She bounds inside, excited to hear from her bestest bud.

“Uh, huh.” You say when Giles leaves a pause for you to respond. “Sure.”

The Immortal passes you another fancy drink with a little umbrella. You smile at him and slide over slightly so he can sit next to you on the sun lounger.

“So you’ll fly over tomorrow? I’ve already booked you a flight for-”

You gulp audibly, “Fly!” Next to you Mimtal chuckles, knowing full well your hatred of unnecessary deadly situations.

If you’re prophesised to die each and every year why tempt fate? ‘Engine Trouble’ doesn’t sound particularly heroic, especially when engraved on a tombstone. “Yes, I’m sorry but Willow isn’t available to magic you across the Atlantic again, you’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way.” Giles found sarcasm? When did that happen?

“Hmm…”

“Buffy, I hope you won’t mind me saying but Spike-”

“DON’T!” You frown even knowing he can’t see you. “I don’t want to hear about it. I’ll go in, kill things and then come back home to my woman, ok?”

“Actually,” He coughs, “We need you both.”

An almost audible flinch comes down the phone as you growl. “Giles, we’ve talked about this, remember? I’m not doing that to her. She’s out of the game. For good.”

“Does she know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“It appears as if you are making a lot of decisions for the poor girl and not even giving her a say!”

The idea of giving her a ‘say’ seems strange for moment, as if she’s not really another person- just an offshoot of you. Like Dawn, but slightly more immature. It’s not that you don’t value her opinion or think that hers would even be the same. You’ve just gotten so into the habit of answering for her and controlling everything it’s a little hard to let go. “She has a say. She says no.” You lie.

“Fine.” He sighs. “I’ll email you the travel details. I assume you’ve been checking your account?” Oh sure, you’ve checked it, 64 emails from Willow still unread.

“Sure. Great.”

Both of you dither for a moment, unspoken conversations stretched along a phone line. You push the disconnect button and then curse. You could have sworn he drew a breath to speak as you took the phone away from your ear. Damnit!

Mimtal pats your shoulder and heads inside. “That sounds as if you could use a cocktail, I will make you that OliveRock you love so much.” In truth you only love it because it’s green and the ice cube always stays half-way down, even though it’s fizzy- the taste isn’t really that great!

Despite the promise of cocktail you sigh deeply and press yourself to the railings; feel them digging into your stomach slightly, hope it’ll bring you back to reality. Or, at least, one other than this. Hopefully a reality without planes. One with… super-fast trains. Oh! They have those in Japan! You should be Japanese.

Faith would look cool if she was Japanese. Or… like that girl in the ring.

But that’s still kinda cool. In a creepy way.

Except her face when she comes back outside is white as a sheet and a little green around the edges and it’s not cool, more worrying. You stretch your arms out to take her in them and she accepts, barely noticing when her phone slips out of your hand and down to the pool below. The small splash makes you smirk even though you’re concerned about what’s upset her.

“Baby?”

She shivers in your arms and doesn’t reply.

“What is it? Are you ok?”

“K-” A cough and she straightens up, her forehead resting just on the top of your head thanks to her three extra inches. “Ken called.”

She doesn’t continue. “Yeah… I… I gathered. What did she say?”

Faith pulls far enough away that you can see her chewing on her lips, eyes searching the balcony like she’ll find the best way to phrase whatever’s wrong written on the wall somewhere. “That we’re goners.”

“WHAT?!”

You check the sky, the ground below and inside the house before realising Faith is entirely too calm for the world to quite literally be ending right this second.

“Okay… so there’s an apocalypse? I know that, Giles told me. Kinda miffed that Ken knows before I do but technically we’re retired so that’s not so odd I guess… I’m gonna have to fly over- in an actual aeroplane- and help them out. I’ll miss you. I hate aeroplanes. I’ll miss you. I already said that… If you want I can get your buddy to buy you a puppy while I’m gone, keep you occupied. Don’t let it go in the pool though ok?”

She stares at you oddly, as if she knows you’re withholding. “Yeah, think I got that part covered.” Her eyes narrow slightly at what is quite probably your least convincing smile. It is, unfortunately, also the best you can muster in this situation. Dear lord, you’d crack quickly under torture. “I didn’t mean the world’s ending, though… that’s… nice to know. It’s just a little, well, not a little; it’s a big, big thing. Big. B- but, what else did Giles say?”

Huh? “Nothing, not important, what’s the matter?”

Faith shivers and itches her left arm uncomfortably. Breath rattles through her as she sighs. You twirl the ribbon ties of her bikini bottoms between your fingers; it’s light blue and matches the paint on your fingernails. It makes you smile to see you fit, though part of it, in a way, is nerves. Faith’s idea of ‘big’ and the world’s idea of ‘big’ aren’t exactly always the same thing… actually, her idea of ‘big’ isn’t the same thing from one day to the next. She’ll go quite literally almost to hell for a friend and not expect anything in return but keep a few secrets from her and she tries to murder your friends.

Well, ‘tries’ isn’t perhaps true- they are, after all, still alive, so she obviously didn’t try too hard.

But what if this is worse? Dawn’s dead? Or- or there’s something Giles isn’t telling you about the apocalypse? Something terrible, some prophesy that says you’re going to die again. Or worse, Faith is going to- no, you dieing would still be worse. Dear God, the girl killed people because you wouldn’t make out with her anymore! What would she do if you died? Again. So really, you already know. She’d end up dead anyway. It’s just a case of how many other people she takes with her…

This is so unfair!

Dawn’s supposed to be flying out next week so she can sunbathe with you and cheerfully bemoan the lack of a non-blown-up high school. You wanted to take her around all the tourist spots and let Faith get her drunk for the first time so she could get lulled into a false sense of freedom just in time for you to point out that enrolment at the local girl’s school starts now. You can’t die!

“It’s… about… Spike.”

“Oh.” You sigh in relief. “Is that all?”

“WHAT?!” The noise of her yell almost takes your breath away. Her shove does. “WHAT?!” She’s angry- and not just in that ‘pissed off’ kind of way but in the ‘furious-two-steps-away-from-tearing-your-chest-open-and-wrenching-out-your-still-beating-heart’ sense. “You knew about this?!”

“Well… Giles told me on the phone-”

“And you wanted to keep it all to yourself? Go home and see Lover Boy?”

Her eyes bore into yours with such ferocious rage it takes a split second too long to find your voice, “No!”

You want to grab her and shake as hard as you can! Doesn’t she know that home is here- this country, this city, this building, this balcony, and this girl?

“I just wanted some time to-” You try to explain.

She growls, “Make up a lie?!”

Yes. “No! Faith! Could you just shut up for a minute!?”

“Why? Why should I? What could you possibly say that would make this any better?”

You almost want to laugh at how totally out of proportion she’s taking this except it’s completely unfunny. “Make what better?! I knew about this for, what, twenty minutes longer than you? It’s not like it’s some kind of conspiracy!”

“You lied to me!”

“What?! What the hell are you- Just, just stop it!” You escape to the safety of inside, hope that it’ll cool her down, save the situation.

It doesn’t. She follows you in, gets extra angry when she sees you packing a bag. “Oh no, no way in Hell am I letting you go alone!”

The leather weekend bag makes a crash as you throw it to the floorboards “Nothing’s going to happen! You’re taking this the wrong way!”

“Oh, like there’s a right way?” She sneers, watching you snatch more than a week’s worth of underwear from the draw.

“You need to calm down.” There’s a hint of warning in your voice but she misses it, skirting over in her anger.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

You heave a sigh and try to take deep, cleansing breaths before you all start yelling ‘WHAT?!’ again. “I’m not telling you what to do. Look, Giles needs me and I have to go!”

The pretty mint green walls with the elegant wood panelling swim before your eyes. It’s too hot in here, too damn hot. Unfortunately the windows are on the other side of the huge bed and closer to Faith. She stands as if trying to fill the room with her presence, squash you down into a corner and hold you there.

You’ve never been good with people trying to control you. “How come I can’t tell you what to but you can tell me, anyway?”

“Because if I don’t you’ll be spreading your legs for the undead!”

“Better than spreading them for cash!”

She slaps you.

You jump, startled.

The last time she laid a hand on you was… years ago, when she woke up from her coma. And that had technically been your hands hitting her face thanks to the body swap.

It wasn’t right to say that, too mean to bring up secrets whispered in the dark of night when the harsh light of anger is upon them. But she shouldn’t have hit you. It’s a thing you’re both working on.

You wait for her to say sorry but instead she just slinks down to the floor. “I wish it would go away.”

“Huh?” Though your hands aren’t quite ready to leave your cheek you follow her to the floor. A safe distance apart.

“This” She waves to the air between you. “I wish it would go away and I wish it would stop and I wish- I wish I could just be me again and not some odd half-person that won’t ever be whole or happy or good ever again! Because I’m the bad one! I can’t ever measure up to you! I can’t even be myself any more and I’m never truly happy unless…” You hold your breath and will yourself not to cry. “Unless I’m with you”

“Huh?”

She chuckles at your lack of understanding, or maybe just sobs through her tears. “I’ve never been so happy. And now it’s all going to go away.”

“No, Faith, I-”

But she’s out the door before you have time to speak.

“It’s just a week”, you repeat to yourself and the empty room, “Just a week.”

A week of scratchy jeans instead of bikinis and ball gowns. A week of fake smiles and an army-attitude. A week of… oh God, that’s depressing.

“She’ll come around.” You spin to find Mimtal by the door. “Sorry, it was open, and your fight was… rather loud…”

You blush and squirm, settling down only when he takes your face in his hands to study the handprint on your cheek.

“She loves you, she’ll come around.”

“You said.” Pulling away from him you grab the bag from the floor and start piling more clothes in. Too many clothes, you note subconsciously.

“Do you love her?”

“Does it matter?” You chuckle cynically at how often you seem to have this argument. “Love isn’t… It isn’t enough, despite what Faith thinks.”

The look he gives you is almost a glare but covered by that Italian charm you almost feel bad for thinking it. Still, the hairs on your arms rise as they do when a vampire is about. “Do you love her?” He repeats.

“Yes.” An instinctive answer but so easy to doubt. Or perhaps not, perhaps the love is the constant and everything else the variable. Maybe it’s Italy? Who knows, you’ve never been happier.

“Then,” He prompts, “no matter if it’s enough or not…?”

She should go with you?

You both need to go back? To be sure that this is really home? Forever?

“I still have to try?” You sigh and pull Faith’s clothes out of the dresser too. He arches a brow when all that’s left hanging are the clothes he’s bought you; beachwear, smart designer outfits, huge, extravagant dresses that make you feel like Princesses. Huh. Rhyme.

So not the time for humour.

“We’re coming back.” You reassure, “We’ll be here in time for lunch with the Countess. It’s just that… LA… it has some memories- for both of us- that we need to work through and… and there’s this guy. He’s- well, he’s kind of like you actually, but he’s… dubious.”

“You are not sure if he is good or bad?”

“Exactly. We need to be sure that this is where we belong.”

Like a true gentleman he picks up the bag although you’re the one who could bench-press him. “My home is your home.”

“Mi casa es su casa.” You chuckle, running your fingers over the frames of the portraits in the hall as you walk past. It’s an incredibly wide walkway but you always like to stick to the sides, always have your right hand pressed to the wall like you’re in a maze.

“Buffy,” He sighs, “I am Italian.”

“Oh. Uh… I’ve never been good with foreign languages… or… English, d’you know they don’t give you extra points just for speaking it?”

“I was aware.” He trills in that fluid and permanently amused voice.

“Mimtal, I-” You stop in front of the suddenly huge and ornate door, “Never realised how huge my front door is.”

He laughs and passes back your bag, “It is your door until you no longer want it.”

“Thank you.” Despite his charming flush you still stand on your tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek. “Now, don’t suppose you could drag Faith out here? There’s not much point in me taking a whole load of clothes that sag in the boob area.” Hers have got to be at least three times the size of yours.

Rather than looking down to check he nods sagely and goes off bribe her onto the plane.

You hate flying.

With a passion.

Not even the comfy fold-down seats and cute little packets of nuts in a First Class private jet can make you feel any better.

And your champagne definitely went down the wrong way.

Why is there even champagne anyway? ‘Gee, so sorry we’re flying you to your death- here, have some complimentary champagne and a tiny bag of peanuts.’

You have a packet of almonds in your bag in case Faith gets antsy on the flight (plus the ones no-so-subtly slipped into your pocket by Mimtal as you hugged goodbye) but she hasn’t moved since she slumped into her seat just before take-off.

Not even an opened packet, lovingly roasted by Julio the chef of questionable ethnicity and waved under her nose provokes more than a grunt of disinterest.

You’re going to die in a tin can, your body unrecognisably smushed together with a girl who hates you.

Ok, not ‘hate’ more… distrusts? Dislikes? Dis…obliges? Pretty much any word beginning with ‘dis’- including ‘dismal’ somewhere in there.

Oh God, she’s going to be there in Heaven being all frowny and avoidy!

“We’re going to die…!”

“Shut up.” She groans, “Just shut up.”

Faith doesn’t speak again until you’re almost over Los Angeles.

“I’m sorry I hit you.” The itch on her left arm flares up as it does whenever she’s stressed. You’d almost forgotten about it but watching her scratch now makes you want to cry.

Why does it feel like every mile is a step away from happiness?

Why do you have to save the world, why not just each other?

“It’s ok.” You clear your throat and repeat again, desperate for her to understand, to not pull away. “It’s ok.”

She smiles at you over her shoulder, that little secret smile she has that you’re pretty sure she doesn’t even know about.

Faith has layers, lots of layers, so many layers she’s like… stairs. Granted most of those layers are really peculiar and a few are ‘hide under the bed’ scary but you love them all because they’re just a part of her. Even her seemingly limitless knowledge of all things religious… okay, that one is more annoying than anything else but at least now you know both meanings of ‘pontificate’! Or… you can pretend you knew the first one all along.

You’d been walking round the city in the sweltering heat and had just stepped inside one of the old churches to cool down.

It was deceptively large and dark, the sun pouring in the glass windows to pool on only select touches of stone. The quiet weaved through the air so that your panting echoed loudly, making you both want to giggle like schoolgirls. Not a single soul sat in the beautifully carved pews so you tiptoed up to the altar, something like nervous awe tickling your chest. You turned to find Faith hadn’t made it the long distance, too caught up in one of the patches of coloured light, her eyes stayed closed even as you went back to slip your arms around her.

Her front was warm to the touch and yet goosebumps littered her back. You had pressed your chest flush to her coolness and blown breath along her neck to feel her shiver. She’d chuckled from down low in her stomach but not opened her eyes. “Ya know what it’s called when a bishop takes mass?”

“No…”

She’d told you it was ‘pontificate’, had gone into great depth about why that was so funny and all you’d been able to do was nod in some-what-amazed amusement. This was the same girl who had trouble remembering a plan with more than two steps! But that seemed to somehow sum Faith up, that she could sit on the extremes; at once be so terrible and so brilliant.

There’s no way Faith could ever be seen as weak but still there’s something so… fragile, about her that you can’t help but fiercely wish to protect. There’s almost more innocence in her than should be possible. The things she’s done, the things that have been done to her… and yet she can still light up with glee or become confused by what it is people really want from her. And, she has all the talents you lack, namely, practical ones; like driving, cooking and finding her way across Europe without a map or speaking anything other than English and made-up Italian.

How can someone so young be so cynical? How can someone so old be so naive?

But she is. And she’s yours.

So you swore to protect her, save the day. But you forgot about the nights. About the terrors that rip her from the confines of sweaty sheets to throw open a window and gasp for lungfuls of air.

She’s not wearing any make up and it makes her look too young, curled up tightly in the padded seat next to you. The sea and sun have turned her glossy dark waves back into the golden brown curls of her youth. If it weren’t for the protective armour of leather she’s swathed herself in you’d doubt the others would recognise her.

The clothes irk you. Remind you of why you left. In just six weeks she’s unfurled into a beautiful woman. You’ve both smoothed away the knots of your past until suddenly Faith began to live up to her name. It’s been idyllic; waking every morning to her smiling face.

But the face that stares at you from the other side of the plane doesn’t smile. She scowls, looking from you to the pilot further up the aircraft.

“So the undead came back from the dead? Again.”

You jump, not expecting her to speak, eyes darting back and forth between her and your chipped nail varnish. “Uh…” It seems like nothing is a safe answer, “Pretty much.”

“Huh.” She picks imaginary dirt from under her too-short-to-really-do-that nails, “So… you bonein’ him?”

Does she want a smack? “Oh I so did not just hear you right.”

“You. Him. Boneing.” She smirks, looking a little too happy with the idea.

“Faith!” You gasp outraged, “I haven’t even seen him yet!”

“Yet.”

“Stop wiggling your damn eyebrows.”

You growl at her but she just sniggers, barely able to hold in full on giggles.

“And don’t look so pleased- you’re giving me a complex!”

“Uh-huh…?”

Though you pretend to frown just the sound of her joking pulls a heavy sigh of relief from you. “You make it sound like you want me to sleep with him!”

“No.” She pauses and you wait, knowing she’s going to shock you, “Just touch you inappropriately!”

“WHAT?!” You almost choke on that stupid champagne that really should have gone down by now, damn bubbles. “Why?!”

“’Cos then I can set him on fire without you getting’ all mad at me.” It warms your heart to hear her laugh again, seems hard to believe that it was only just this morning you were both running round the apartment giggling like fools… of course, you then went to sleep and woke up at midday with hideous hangovers but that’s neither here nor there.

“You are so weird.”

She sticks her tongue out, “You love me for it.”

“Do I? Do I really?”

“Oh you are so sleeping on the couch when we get home.”

It takes a monumental effort to speak past the huge bellyaching laughs, “You’re the light of my life! I love you more than- than- Vanilla ice cream!”

“Aw, still in love with bland?” She reaches across the isle to slug your shoulder and then relaxes back into the chair, taking off her seat belt to turn round, kick off her boots and rest her feet on your lap.

“Yep.” You give her foot an affectionate squeeze, “Kinda reminds me of our first date.”

“I love it when you get mushy.”

You run a finger up the base of her foot and smile predatorily when she shivers, eyes turning dark and deep.

“Uh…” She breathes out, lost for words, “We don’t… you know… have to… the… uh…” Something gets caught in her throat, “Ah! Uh… there’s- there’s no need to sleep on the…”

“Couch?” A giggle rolls through you, “Like you could hold out anyway.”

Her smile stretches, “Oh I wouldn’t. You see, I’ve always had this fascination with undead stick and I hear there’s some going free so…”

“I am so going to kill you-!” The chance to tickle her to death is unfortunately cut sort by the pilot’s hesitant request to put your belts on as the plane is coming in to land.

She slips her hand into yours and leaves them hanging across the isle. Checking that you’re suitably held down she resumes the teasing. “Tried that before, remember? Failed! I’m better at it than you!”

“Reformed murderers do not crow about how easy it was to kill people.” You glare playfully.

“Maybe I’m not reformed then!” The twinkle in her eye means it’s a test. To see just how far you really do trust her. If you’ll continue the joke.

“Hmm…” You pretend to think about it long enough to have her questioning, “It’s true… you did steal all that candy yesterday…”

“Hey!” She gasps, “I was hungry! And anyway… I’ve given up murdering people, not having fun.”

“Remind me to be the one to teach our children ethics…” It slips out before you’ve had time to think about it and then you’re biting the side of your mouth, trying desperately to hope there’s some kind of wish demon around who can take that back.

Her mouth almost drops open in shock but she manages to catch it just in time- still, nothing can help her huge eyes.

Turbulence or whatever bumps the aeroplane and you almost scream. She grips your hand tightly but still doesn’t blink. “Uh… I probably shouldn’t have said that… I-”

“Are they blonde or brunette or one of each?” She interrupts.

Blonde, Brunette, Blonde. Girl, Girl, Boy. Rose, Joy, Jack. Three-year gap then two-year gap.

Not that you’ve thought this through or anything…

“I thought you were freaking?”

“Nah.” She shrugs, “Just picturing my sublime hotness with your weird nose. I’m kidding, please don’t kill me!” You roll your eyes and take a few moments to think about her pros and cons, namely ‘having never brought the nose thing up before’ and ‘having brought the nose thing up now.’

“Hmm.”

Faith grins cheesily and sticks a thumb up next to her face like a bad campaign poster for a local election.

The plane touches down and the bump is enough to remind you just why you hate these things so much- there was chance of actual death there people! Her thumb rubs thoughtfully across the back of your hand and she bends with a frown to check no part of you was in any way damaged without her noticing during the flight.

Damned considerate girlfriend!

“Stay of execution.” You almost rip off the seatbelt when the door is opened, so thankful to still be alive.

“Good call.” She swings her bag up onto her shoulder with a wink and saunters out the aeroplane, making sure both you and the pilot are watching. You laugh as she flips him the bird even though it wasn’t really his fault. It’s one of those big laughs Faith does, fully amused and carefree.

Giles and Xander stare at you. You shut up.

The two men stand on the tarmac; a dozen girls surround them in a protective half-circle. Their eyes tell you they’re not sure whom the girls are supposed to be protecting them from.

“Buffster!” Xander throws off his awkwardness first and wraps you in a bear hug.

Giles is less demonstrative but smiles all the same.

They talk a mile a minute- this plan, that weapon, which girl, what time. All while guiding you towards the car.

You look back at Faith, locked in silent stand off with the girls, as if to say ‘I’m still here, please don’t slip away’ but her back is turned so you think she might have missed it.

Chapter Sixteen: English Twix

July 2004

They don’t ask about what happened and you don’t tell. It’s not like it’s any of their business. This is a private matter between you, Faith and… the various people you found her in bed with. Ok, so you desperately want to tell them. You want to cry on Willow’s shoulder and have Xander get all flustered while he promises to protect you (even though you’re the one he calls when there’s a spider in his room).

But, telling them means they know what Faith did, means they’ll think badly of her and it took you so damn long to get them to give her a chance you’re not going to ruin all that hard work.

So you play mad yet come at the drop of a hat when Giles calls. ‘We have a problem- it’s Faith.’ He’d said as soon as you picked up the phone. Obviously it had crossed your mind to reply with a snarky ‘well she’s your problem now’ but something about his voice had stopped you.

This phone call was his last resort.

You’d taken the first train down to Bath- a hideously long journey, even in the supposed comforts of First Class, though faster than the next flight from Edinburgh to Bristol, the car journeys either end and the waiting times at the airports.

The last time you saw her, a month ago, magic zipped you through the air in a matter of milliseconds.

You feel no less sick this time.

When Giles meets you at the door, cash in hand to pay for the taxi, your eyes search his visible flesh for scratches and bite-marks. If he managed to keep her in the house once she’d lost it he must have used considerable force. You know what it’s like when she looks at you and all she sees is the enemy. It’s terrifying.

So you’re here to help strap her down until her rabid madness passes. When the unscathed form of your ex-watcher finally leads you up the stairs, after many minutes of awkward small talk, the sight that meets your eyes makes you nothing but confused.

Huddled under a duvet like a small child Faith stares out the window of the cosy, cottage bedroom, her eyes unblinking. Or if they do blink then it must be so fast you can’t tell. Or so far apart that your own eyes water and you have to turn away before it happens.

She doesn’t look up when you enter nor when Giles explains that she’s been like this for days- here in this bed, completely unresponsive.

He pre-empts your question about catatonia. This isn’t like that apparently; she sleeps so she’s still here. You want to ask about food and… other bodily things but you don’t really want the answer.

She’s as beautiful as always but now more like a porcelain doll; paler and still. If the bed cover didn’t move up and down with her near-silent breath you’d almost believe she wasn’t real. Her brow is sweaty, her hair plastered to it, you’re not surprised- the room is boiling. With almost a mind of it’s own your body is drawn to her, hands smoothing back the rats-tails of hair.

You pull back the covers and a flustered Giles wanders off. Her clothes, a t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms, smell awful- that sort of smell you get from fear or a difficult exam. They’re too hot in this summer weather- isn’t England meant to be cold?

A search of the dresser, the only other object in the room, reveals a pair of silk boxers with Santas on, still in their torn wrapping paper, and about a thousand wool jumpers. You swap her dirty clothes for the boxers and the strap top you were wearing under your thin shirt. It leaves you a little exposed but as long as no direct light shines on you it’ll be fine.

There’s no bathroom upstairs that you can find so you settle for using the make up wipes in your bag to cool her neck and clean her armpits.

As soon as you roll her back over your head starts to swim as you realise what you just did. You striped and cleaned her but barely noticed. Almost like it was natural.

It hurts to look at her again so you wedge yourself in between the bed and the wall, stare at the limp curtains instead. They hang lifeless in the window, not even a wisp of breeze to move them. It would have been your one-year anniversary last week… if you’d stayed together.

It’s so weird to think of it like that… not even half a year.

Those four months had been Faith’s longest ever relationship and your… well, not ‘longest’- that was Angel, and not weirdest, or most confusing, or heart breaking or air-ripped-from-your-lungs-fantastic (although it was all of those things). ‘Best’ certainly, regardless of the bone-crushing, organ-stabbing pain you’d felt at the end.

She instinctively knew you better than it’s possible for a person to be aware of himself or herself. Though the hurt you felt when someone mentioned their father made you believe you wanted to be alone, an island, her hand slipping into yours made it better, made the bad go away. She gave you thoughtful little gifts; ‘just because’ presents. Her smile lit up the room on the dark days when a girl didn’t make it home from patrol- never disrespectful, just remembering the Slayer, as she’d have wanted to be.

But then… that was when she was herself.

Those few weeks together and alone in Italy were never going to be enough to prepare you for the ‘new’ Faith you suddenly found yourself living with. Her moods swung rapidly and without reason, she put the other girls in danger time and time again, recklessly going off on a limb. They loved her for it, loved how she broke the rules… but then they would, they never saw the other side. They never saw how violent and dark and withdrawn she could become because she’d taken it too far on patrol or your friends were cruel to her or the television broke or any other kind of menial little thing. Sometimes she’d laugh, shrug it off, and sometimes she’d curl up into a ball, loose herself mentally in the feeling that’s worse than suicidal because she just doesn’t care enough to kill herself.

She just doesn’t care.

And that’s the worst part- loving someone so completely and so desperately that you’d give up everything, die for her, kill an army if she’d only ask… loving her like that and not being able to save her.

Your face doesn’t calm her down, your voice won’t bring her out of a stupor and your love will never be able to keep her safe because it just doesn’t matter.

So yes, you’ve seen her like this before, and yes, it breaks your heart but when you walked in on her with some loutish blockhead doing it on the couch your tears were half for joy. You finally had ‘the excuse’. She wasn’t your problem anymore.

Maybe that makes you a bad person but it doesn’t matter. That wasn’t what you’d signed up for.

She might still love you when she’s run off into the freezing night with no money, no coat and a delirious look in her eye but screwing an Orpheus dealer in a back alley and coming home three days later with cracked ribs and a black eye just to fall into yet another depression, well, that’s really no way of showing it. You couldn’t blame her mental state for you leaving but it was oh so easy to point the finger at the sex. Impugn her to your friends, tell them she’s ‘not on our side’ again. She was even nice enough to provide a paradigm- trying to drown you in some posh-yet-evil slayer’s pool.

According to Giles they ‘dealt with the threat’- you were almost expecting him to say ‘terminated’ but that was the general gist anyway.

Faith killed again.

It’s eating her up from the inside so bad that it’s almost left her a corpse, this breathing, living thing that doesn’t move or even stir as you stroke her hair or touch her cheek. Her eyes are blank, spark firmly extinguished.

The room is hot, insufferably so, especially for England. But stuffy too… which probably isn’t so different… You really need to slay-solo more, your ‘quips when scared’ are really going downhill!

There’s only one sash window in the little room and even though it’s as open as it can be not enough of the minimal breeze outside is getting in.

She doesn’t rouse as you kiss her forehead and then her lips. The thought crosses your mind that she might be doing this on purpose but Faith kisses back even in her sleep. You wonder if she dreams, what she thinks of, so alone in her head.

In Italy it took four weeks for her nightmares to calm down… and only a day for them to return in LA. It had appeared unfair, heart-wrenchingly so, that there was nothing you could do, seemingly no reason for it. You’d lain, that first night back, with your arms wrapped around her, blinking back tears and wondering what the hell you were supposed to do now.

“Don’t dream.” You tell her, “Just rest.”

There’s no reply but you don’t mind.

Sometimes, when you had a lot on your mind, you used to lie awake until you were sure she was asleep and then talk to her unresponsive form. She wasn’t exactly the best of listeners when awake and it had been so nice to have someone to talk to when she was in the coma…

On bad days now, you still do it. Except it’s to an empty room.

“I dreamt about you last night.”

And the night before. And the one before that. And the one… ok, there’ve been a lot of dreams. Only a few of them good.

Mostly you hurt her, over and over again. It’s worse than anything she could do to you… because it’s happening, right now. She said she didn’t want you to leave because without you she’s only half a person- unfortunately it’s the sane half.

In last night’s dream you battled above the First’s seal in the school basement, no weapons, just fists smacking against flesh. And then suddenly your hand didn’t hit flesh but went straight though! And then the seal was open and she was falling through into the open arms of the waiting Ubervamps. As they tore into her flesh she’d looked into your eyes, so hurt, blood still pouring out of her front. “Make it stop?”

The dream had ended before you could reply and you were left, sweaty and yet cold, gripping a torn sheet in a freezing castle. They haunted you; every night… she haunted you, her image seared into your eyelids so that you couldn’t even blink without thinking of her.

But you didn’t want to. You really, really didn’t want to.

So the next night you made sure you didn’t sleep alone.

They have nothing in common, nothing at all. Satsu’s Japanese for Christ sakes and Faith is… well, no one’s entirely sure what Faith is. Not that it’s about race, it isn’t. It’s just… it’s so easy to compare and contrast their outsides when you know so little of what’s within them. Either of them. Oh sure, you’ve known Faith for years and you can pretty much guess whatever Satsu is feeling- you’re perceptive like that- but when it comes to actually knowing them? … Then the girl you took into your bed for the first time last week is just the same as the one you met when you were a teenager.

But there are still differences.

You try to ignore how it feels that every kiss not with Faith is cheating, that every date is some kind of illicit affair. The first time you went out with a guy after Faith you almost squealed that you were a lesbian when he tried to touch you. You’re not- hello, Angel/Spike/Cute barista guy! - you’re just very used to saying that in Italian clubs. As evidenced by the fact you wanted to squeal ‘lesbica!’

That little anecdote doesn’t raise a smile. Or even an eyebrow. Or even any clue that she’s listening at all!

You tell her about Dawn being a giant and about Kennedy dieing… it even crosses you mind to talk about the new big bad. But you don’t want to pressure her, make her think she has to help you.

That’s a complete lie- you do want to… but she’s pretty useless right now.

God, there’s a lot of ‘but’s today.

“I slept with her. Satsu. You- you probably have no idea who she is… uh… she’s the Japanese girl with the amazing hair. I think you puked on her shoes once. She’s nice. Not you, but nice. And… and she smells good!”

Satsu is the first person since her you’ve slept with. The first person since it all went wrong and you started pretending you’d never even kissed a girl before.

You’d like to believe it was all Faith’s fault, though of course it wasn’t. It was yours. Or… or maybe just the circumstance. The impossibility of being both her lover and General Buffy; so in love yet so alone.

Depressing much?!

“I’m sorry I lied to you, I said nothing would change- but it did.” Her eyes slip closed but it feels more like relief than despair. “Why did you pull away? If you were so unhappy in LA, why didn’t you tell me?”

You want to add an ‘I would have dropped everything if you had’ but it seems unnecessary. Partly because it’s not true- you were angry with her for the way she acted. Here were your friends, you hadn’t seen them in a month and a half, and you wanted to spend time with them. In fact, in those first two weeks after you’d shut down the gateway, all you did was spend time with them. By the time you noticed you’d slipped back into the behaviours that had so excluded Faith the first time, it was already too late.

It was a Sunday morning. The two of you were pressed close together in the small hotel bathroom (huge suite, tiny bathroom, go figure). You’d just stepped out of the shower and even though you thought it strange she hadn’t joined you it wasn’t vocalised. Faith stood by the sink, brushing her teeth.

Even now it’s hard to say what it was that caught your attention- hindsight doesn’t make it any clearer, it just fills in the blanks as to what it was you were actually looking at.

The scars on her wrists are always whiter than her naturally tanned skin and they go even more so as her hands move. But that morning they were red. She was wearing a long sleeved top, tucked into her pants- not even a hint of cleavage or midriff, so very unlike her. And also unseasonably warm.

A bruise peaked out from the cuff of her other arm, the one resting against the sink. You remember thinking it was strange how it hadn’t faded yet- that slayer healing should have taken care of it. She spat in the sink and itched her right arm. You realised for the first time you had absolutely no idea what she’d been doing for the past week.

Through out the next few days your suspicions grew and grew; bruises from ‘slaying’ that just didn’t make sense, the new ‘friends’ you never got to meet, her dwindling hunger and your missing cash…

She tried to tell you, though you didn’t understand, how she felt she was slipping under, being dragged back down and that without you to hold on to she had no chance. But you were too busy with your friends and setting up the new school, you’d assumed she’d be ok, had almost forgotten you were actually two people and she couldn’t read your mind. She needed the reassurance of your presence whereas you’d foolishly thought everything would be fine. Even though you’d left Italy you still felt the same adoration and devotion to her you had there- you’d thought she’d know. In the end Faith hadn’t known, couldn’t have know, had no possible way to see past your actions to the emotions.

A flash of lightning from the window makes you jump, the thunder that follows makes you sigh in relief. Perhaps now the heat wave will break. Sure enough a few minutes later rain begins to pelt down making the tiles on the cottage’s roof dance.

Water. Always water.

She tried to drown you, in that posh psycho’s pool. Every mouthful of water brought rushing back yet another nightmare that had burnt itself into your mind… Allan Finch gripping your foot and dragging you down with him, Faith holding your head under the water…

But you did it. You were there the first time and you judged the second.

“I’m sorry, for everything I did… and said… and felt. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. Again. I should have listened to you. I should have asked why you were there rather than assuming that… that you were protecting her. Or- actually, that’s not what I assumed. I thought you were probably sleeping with her. It hurt.”

You wonder if her lips miss yours too or if it’s just your skin that aches to be touching hers. A few months back you kissed Robin Wood- ‘kissed’ in the sense of ‘accidentally on the lips in jubilation’ but it still made you feel awful. If she’d been there she would have laughed, made a few jokes about how he’d better not try anything with her girl or she’d kick his ass, and then taken the helpful information he’d been offering. Without her it was suddenly awkward as you both remembered the only thing other than slaying you have in common.

He hadn’t seen her taking up with you as a betrayal- claimed to have known there was something there all along.

“Any change?” Giles shifts rather awkwardly around the door, a small tray balanced on his hip.

“No.” You shuffle over on your knees to the bed. Her eyes are closed now but she’s not asleep, breath still too uneven.

He rests the tray on the bed next to where you’re kneeling, stroking her hair. There’s a glass of milk and a Twix bar on it… which makes you feel both too old and too young at the same time. Your Daddy’s bringing you milk and cookies.

“Milk, huh?”

“Well, there’s nothing really in the fridge.” He pauses for you to take a sip, “And I saw a cow in the next field, so…”

You spit your mouthful back out and gag slightly. “Giles! You can’t just-” A chuckle escapes him and you glare playfully back. “You big meanie.”

And Giles just reclaimed his place as Best Father Figure Ever… though considering he’s only up against your actual dad; it’s probably not the best accolade.

The change in mood is nice, better to be happy than slip into a little spiral of depression. After all, that bed doesn’t look big enough for two people.

“I thought- if anyone could talk her out of it…”

You snort, “It would be the girl who stabbed her?”

“It would be the girl she’s in love with.” He settles on the opposite side of the bed to you, smirking chastisingly as you gape like a goldfish. “Oh now, you really thought I didn’t know?”

Yes! “We- well, I know that Xander and… and Willow… uh… I thought you weren’t paying attention! That time with the… shoes…”

He frowns, “As I have no idea what you’re talking about I obviously wasn’t. But, I know you’ve liked her since she first came to Sunnydale- do the others know that?”

So he’s freakishly observant too?

But- but if he’s known all along then those times you lied to his face- told him you were going to see Angel, said your mother wanted a family dinner, claimed you were blushing because it was hot and it had nothing whatsoever to do with Faith sitting so damned close- he must have known! Crap!

“You never said anything.” Your voice comes out tiny and little girlish. “If you knew so long, why didn’t you say?’

“Well, at first I didn’t think you’d act on it… she’s not exactly your type.” He stops to stare at her. “Actually, she’s exactly your type but female.” Your eyes follow where he’s looking to see your hand has migrated back into Faith’s hair without you noticing. “And then once it was obvious you were acting on it but not telling anyone I didn’t want to cause an unnecessary scene.”

“Aw!” You grin, “I love how British you are.”

“Of course, I was hoping it would go away once she’d switched sides. Which it did- for you.”

Did it? Maybe. Not right away though. There was still a heavy level of denial it had to get through first.

Even when you were fake-chained to the wall of the mansion, watching her wave sharp instruments around with a crazy look in her eye that said she might actually use them… there was still a part of you thinking ‘how does she make her layers bounce like that?’ and making a mental note to ask her later. It seemed that the lighter, jokier element of your relationship that should have died… didn’t. Until you put a stop to it anyway.

You crushed her heart and a cupcake in the school hall.

But it all came back so easily; her innuendoes and your giggles. So easily that you think it was never gone, never truly died- just buried, lying dormant, just under the surface. Is that what love is? A cord that stretches between two people, binds them together, no matter what. Something you can hide but never quite cut. Not even when you want to?

“It didn’t. I wanted it to, but it never really went away.”

He takes his glasses off to clean and it reminds you that even though you love him, your rope is hidden, or cut, or gone. He’s sent two people you love to their deaths. He sent them and claimed that wasn’t the intention with her, but now… he knew you love her, he knew she loves you, that she’d do anything to save you from Lady Psycho and you’d immediately jump to the wrong conclusions.

It’s a thing you do. The jumping to conclusions. Also you’re stubborn. And don’t really change your first lasting opinion of someone. Lucky Faith left a good one… after the first bad one that is. Ok, so that doesn’t work, but she’s really hot!

You should get an award for holding out so long.

“Actually, Giles? If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone with…” This empty room, “Her.”

“Oh!” He looks flustered, as if he has no idea why you wouldn’t want to be near him. “Ok then, I’ll… I’ll just be going.” Thankfully he leaves the chocolate.

Even after he’s gone the frosty atmosphere remains. Unfortunately it’s not a literal thing- that would probably be quite pleasant at this point. “Hey, do you remember that weekend in Italy it was so hot we went round completely naked?”

Faith blindfolded the Immortal’s ever-present servants and the big man himself was polite enough to vacate the place for the week. You remind her that you played games with the poor waiting staff, going so far as standing at opposite ends of the palatial complex, calling them to you and giggling as they stumbled over tables and rugs.

“And you! Dancing in front of the poor guys humming stripper songs!” You can’t help but laugh. The poor men had been only too aware of what was going on.

Her eye twitches slightly and you jump. For a second you could have sworn there was eye contact.

“Faith?” But no, nothing. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light? You have been staring at her for an awfully long time. Or maybe it wasn’t, maybe it was Italy that caught her attention?

It had torn you apart to leave, to have to let go of the few weeks of blissful heaven that you’d shared.

“Italy? You want me to talk about Italy?”

You pretend she replies. Not like you haven’t done that before.

“Okay… Uh… Do you remember the painted ceiling in the hall? ‘Fresco’. Did I say that right? All those little naked cherubs using the chandelier as a maypole. Kinda weird if you ask me but then that’s art… Do… Do you remember how the mint wallpaper actually smelt like mint? Or the beautiful wisteria out on the terrace?”

The bed flirts enticingly with your weary bones. You peel your sweaty back off the wall and climb over her to snuggle in, resting your face in the crook of her neck.

“Come on, get up.” You mumble, “Can’t go home if you don’t come with me… Mimtal would probably jump to the right conclusions and kill me anyway…” The sleep you fall into is dreamless but warm, comfortable, safe.

An hour later you wake up to find her still on the bed and still looking blindly out the window. But half a Twix stick is gone and you’d like to call that progress.

Chapter Seventeen: Breakfast in Bed

January 2005

The world is ending.

In a big fiery ball of never-ending evil!

You have a cold and you’re not taking it lightly.

“Slayers shouldn’t get sick!”

“But they do.” Faith leans over to grab the tissues from the other side of the bed, ruffling your hair along the way, “The pout’s cute though!”

You pout more when she wipes your face for you. “I can do it myself you know!”

“B,” She chuckles, “You can barely lift your head without passing out.”

While it’s totally sweet that Faith is playing nurse it’s also incredibly frustrating… because even though you’re sort of living in each other’s pockets (even when she’s travelling round the world) and talk for hours every day and occasionally even share showers when big evil demons decide to spill their blood on you… you’re not actually a couple.

You haven’t even kissed once in the six months since you stole her from Giles! A whole six months! And neither of you have kissed anyone else because it feels like cheating and makes your stomachs flip! Stupid flippy stomach…

So not helping.

Today is a Monday but fortunately not a school day. The slayers with families haven’t come back from their holidays yet and the ‘lone girls’ are gathered in a turret somewhere with their teachers, getting drunk on old mulled wine and listening to music so loud it’s making the stone foundations vibrate (which isn’t really helping your headache).

You and Faith are the only ones left in the east wing.

She fusses with your covers, making sure you’re tucked in and that the electric blanket you’re lying on is turned up enough. Despite her scruffy appearance you think she might look the most beautiful she ever has… though that could be the slight delirium talking.

“I don’t like the look of that cloud. And there’s no more pots left to go in your room…” More of her hair escapes from her messy bun as she shakes her head, frowning at the weather.

This is Faith’s sometimes room and Faith’s sometimes bed… though not exactly the circumstances you’ve been fantasising about for the past few months. The roof over your old room- hastily repaired after Willow fell through it- gave way again last night and drenched you and most of your worldly possessions in ice water. Hence the cold.

Your startled screams had woken the entire castle and bought both them and Faith’s huge hunting knife into your room. She’d blushed and looked a little bashful upon realising it was utterly unnecessary. Her electric blanket however was most useful.

This morning you’d woken curled around her; legs and arms cuddling her close. It made you smile despite the pounding in your head. To be cuddled in soft cotton sheets, a pocket of apple-scented warmth between a thick duvet and toasty mattress, with welcoming soft skin and silk pyjamas… Not exactly like anyone would kick her out either!

There was silence as you both came to consciousness, neither wanting to break the moment. Eventually she’d leaned down to kiss your forehead and pull you closer, “How are you feeling? Aside from cold and clammy.”

“Comfy.”

You’d been tempted to question why Faith has silk pyjamas when she sleeps in the nude… and also why a pair in your size… but that seemed a little too much like looking a gift horse in the mouth!

Before you’d even had time to snuggle closer a sneeze had burnt it’s way along your nose until you were convulsing and shooting spit everywhere in a completely unattractive and totally disgusting way. “Sorry.”

Like a true friend she’d just wiped her arms and shrugged. “S’ok. Y’know, you’re not looking too great…” She’d pressed a hand to your forehead, biting her lip in concern and giving you bad thoughts in the process. “Do you need me to look after you today?”

Confession time. The first thought that had run through your head when she’d asked that hadn’t actually been ‘yes please, hook me up to the morphine’ but started more along the lines of a nurse’s outfit, scantily clad you, a warm bed and… well, it’s pretty obvious where it ended up.

“I have some pills in the bathroom.”

You’d sobered up immediately, gulping audibly. “Pills?”

The frown she gave you was both affronted and guilty, neither settling but instead flashing across her face. “For the headache, duh.” She lifted herself up on an elbow so she might fully look you in the face, “I don’t do that stuff anymore. You know that.”

And you did- do. In the six months since you swallowed your pride, called Angel and performed an insane kidnapping plot in the middle of the night- the last part merely circumstantial, it’s not like Giles could have stopped you anyway- she’s sworn off all narcotics. Including cigarettes… for a short period before she realised going cold turkey was actually a lot easier when you were only quitting one thing at a time.

“Besides, if I was stocking up on the good stuff why would I offer you any?”

You’d scoffed in pretend offence and rolled her over to squish her with your ‘not huge but steadily increasing weight’. “Well if I had cookies I wouldn’t share them with you either!”

“Uh… if you made them then please don’t.” She chuckled even as you bounced the air out of her.

“Cheek! That was one time! Well… one, specific time.”

Ok, so you totally burnt the kitchen down and the lumps of flour that were saved happened to be totally inedible even under all the layers of charcoal… In your defence the cookies had been baked in an attempt to rouse a reaction from a still unresponsive Faith (now sitting up and occasionally eating) last August and the chaos of a hundred teenage girls squealing had definitely achieved that.

She’d laughed.

The whole room had frozen, turned as one to stare. And she’d just sat there, chuckling into her cereal, shaking her head in amusement. That was ‘Step One’ on the road to recovery; reaction to surroundings.

‘Step Two; Speech’ took longer. A week. A week of talking to yourself while she occasionally grunted (you’d been pleased for even those at first) until eventually she’d answer your questions, turn her head towards you when you spoke and sometimes even disagree.

But still no eye contact and she’d never make the effort to speak herself, just respond.

It was Angel who cracked the next step. You’d like to believe it’s because he was so incredibly annoying that she just had to shut him up but the idea itself was pretty smart; ‘Step Three; Opinion’ (and yes, Andrew was ticking these off on the board) consisted of Angel and others arguing in her presence. ‘Others’ because you couldn’t promise not to crack his jaw at the slightest opportunity.

They started small; comic books, candy, sports- one person taking Faith’s known favoured opinion and the other opposing. When that didn’t work they moved onto world politics… Which was a stupid idea- she’s been busy being crazy, it’s not like she took the time out of her hectic schedule of flirting with death and killing things to read a newspaper!

Some people deserve a smack.

Fortunately, those same people (person) got that smack when you blurted out in front of her that you’d kissed Angel right before you killed Caleb during the war with the First.

The next few steps went smoothly, other that Angel moping around and holding his jaw like a little girl. Faith re-learnt to take care of herself, she remembered her cooking is fifty times better than everybody else’s and that she’s a strong, fiery person with way too many opinions and a natural optimism. And sure, she broke a couple of bones along the way… none of which were her own… but it’s not like she can be blamed and the girls only hold very mild grudges!

Mild-yet-huge grudges.

It was only after the second month that the… feelings started distracting you. And these are big ‘oh-my-god-I-just-walked-into-a-wall-because-Faith-smiled’ feelings- way huger and more gigantic than any little crush. Or bad feeling or- Oh screw it, Faith’s hot! You think Faith’s hot and you want to get in her pants… and get married and have babies… but currently it’s mainly just the pants thing…

Only one problem; how the hell do you seduce someone?!

Faith’s so dense she apparently hasn’t noticed any of your ‘signals’, even though you’re acting more like an old married couple than ever. You tried slinky lingerie but even though the cold was actually acting in your favour that time Faith wasn’t and merely complemented the colour before walking right on by… without even a glance at your boobs!

You’ve eaten ice pops in front of her, got drunk with her, even tried the old favourite of holding eye contact for a really long time… which pretty much just freaked her out. Until you bluffed your way into a staring contest and came away with really itchy eyes.

Four and a half months of flirting, dancing seductively and making a general fool of yourself (including getting knocked out by an SIT while trying to look cool during training) eventually took their toll. Christmas Eve, after slaving all day to look completely sexy in a tiny red dress and really cute new heels you then fell down the stairs, broke off one of the heels, accidentally threw your drink in Xander’s eye in the process and got made to shovel snow as punishment.

Apparently sexy doesn’t work for you unless it’s unintentional… which doesn’t really help when you’re actively trying to seduce someone!

Still… gave Dawn a good laugh.

By the time you all sat at the dinner table your torn dress was covered by one of Xander’s oversized fleeces and your feet swam in Giles’s Wellington Boots. The elegant up do you’d spent hours teasing into a beautiful shape with curled tendrils… pretty much all fell out into a rumpled, kinky mess.

So you gave in.

You stopped trying to make her look at you, talk to you, flirt with you. Instead you laughed as she teased Angel and chatted with your surprised friends (so you’ve been ignoring them a little recently…)

Which leaves you here; being tucked into bed by a girl who can’t stop picturing naked but who seems to have settled quite comfortably into the ‘friend zone’ with you.

Is it sad you’re actually pleased this is the biggest problem in your life currently?

Hey, it’s the holidays and nothing has tried to kill you over the entire Christmas period! That should be some kind of a record!

“It’s ok B, your cooking’s not that bad. Well,” She paused, “It is. But you tried and that’s what counts.” Faith didn’t bother hiding her smirk.

You had tried hard to keep your eyes away from those tempting lips but it turned out to be too hard. Instead you’d turned in her arms to press your back to her and search the room. “How come your room is so much nicer than mine when you only stay here a couple of weekends a month?”

It is a beautiful room; Faith has painted the stonewalls about twenty different shades of mint green- mainly because the paint keeps peeling from the damp. Anyone who doesn’t know her probably thinks it’s a very un-Faithlike room; creamy cotton bed sheets and curtains, a velvety chaise long opposite the foot of the bed and the walls covered in those funny old adverts she loves so much.

“Warmer too.”

Faith chuckled, crossing her wrists over your stomach, “Got a roof so that might have something to do with it. ‘Sides, I like ya room, it’s… Spartan. And… refreshing.”

“You mean cold?”

“That too.” You had settled back down in comfortable silence, content not to move while Faith went off to hoard boxes of tissues.

She pulls another out of the cardboard to add to the pile already accumulating on the floor. Yeah, it’s a pretty room but Faith’s still Faith and that means gross.

“You ever think about the other Buffys?”

What? She standing above you, leaning over slightly and it’s hard to keep your eyes firmly on her and not down her top. “Well…” You snuffle as she wipes your nose again, “The dead one sometimes.”

But what about the other girl? The one you sent back to Italy in your place- the one who now shares The Immortal’s bed rather than just his house…

You think of her often. You wonder what she’s doing, which parties she’s been to, if she knows the significance of that mint green room… if it’s even still there. You’d like to believe she does- that, even though she’s just a girl from Connecticut with hair dyed to match yours and a trust fund she’ll never need to use, she can look at Faith and just… know.

Is that stupidly sentimental? You’re not sure whether or not you believe in fate or soul mates or… but that’s stupid, isn’t it? You believe in magic, you know it exists. You know heaven exists; you’ve been there. You believe in destiny to some extent, Faith’s still here. But when it comes to the abstract concepts… Is that girl still you? She’s just pretending but… but Dawn’s a part of you and sometimes, the way she looks, the way she laughs before you’re even halfway through the joke, the things she says that you’re sure you’ve never told her- details even you missed.

“Not the other one.”

Faith frowns “Never? I think about Italy a lot.”

You blink rapidly- she actually thinks about this stuff? To be honest you were starting to think she’d completely forgotten you ever were together. “Sure, Italy. Not her.”

“Jealous?” She laughs.

“No! God no! Well… I miss the sun. I’m jealous of her sun- not the… the… sex… with…”

“The… Immortal…!” She booms like a sports announcer.

You shoot up to slap a hand over her mouth, “Shush! Are you crazy?! Don’t let them know we’re-” ‘awake’. The room suddenly spins, the bed slipping to the side. “Oh… My head…”

“Hey, hey.” Faith lowers you back down slowly, “Ya not gonna puke or nothin’ are ya?”

You check, “I don’t think so.” Your stomach disagrees. “Maybe if I just… lie down…” The room starts to look hazy so you close your eyes and nestle into her fluffy pillows. “Ugh…”, all your limbs feel like lead.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok.” She leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Just lie there quietly, ok?”

So you do. You lie and watch her wander round the room, collecting up the tissues, straightening your wet pyjamas on the radiator and staring out the window again.

She likes the rain, likes the way it pounds against the castle walls, how the sound echoes through the building. When you ask she says it’s because the sound reminds her where she is, here, in Scotland, with you. It must help because she hardly ever freaks out nowadays; no violent rages, no deep depressions, no manic urges to jump off the castle walls and see if slayers really can fly (they can’t. Thank you Glory for that tip…)- oh sure, she’s still a little up and down, reassuringly unpredictable and kind of childish… but that’s sort of what you love about her.

It’s hard to pin point the difference to last time, whether it was being in LA that freaked her out or your friend’s general evilness. They are, of course, on strict orders not to upset Faith. No one has dared defy you yet so you haven’t really thought up a punishment.

But it would be a bad one. With pain. And possible eternal torment.

“I like your hair like that.”

“What?” She spins round, brushing yet more falling hair out of her eyes.

“I like your hair.”

“Really?” Faith chuckles, checking herself in the mirror. “Looks like a rats nest!”

“No! It’s pretty… having your hair up really shows your face.”

She winces. Whispering so low you almost miss it; “Heard that before.” As if she hasn’t said anything she turns with a smile. “That delirium really settin’ in, huh?”

Maybe. Slightly. Feels nice. “At least it looks better than mine did on Christmas Eve.”

Her eyes slide left slowly, the way they do when she’s thinking really hard. “Oh. Was it not meant to look like that?”

She’s kidding, right? Right? Because you’ve had cute hair and that was definitely not in any way cute. She gets that, doesn’t she? She- she liked your other hair? The hair when you-

Oh. No. She’s laughing. Bitch.

“You big meany! Don’t freak me out like that!”

Instead of being scared by your totally steely glare she just keeps giggling like an evil little girl. “Your face! Your face!”

And she keeps right on laughing… “I hate you.”

Finally she sobers up, thumping her chest to try and get over the hiccups. “Seriously though, you don’t have to dress up for me- I like you all natural and messy.”

Is that even a compliment? Does she not know how much time you spent in front of a mirror wondering if she’d like the way you look? “So much time wasted.”

“So much of Giles’ money wasted.”

Hold on, backtrack- “You knew I was dressing up for you?”

She shrugs, “Well I knew it wasn’t gonna be for Xander. Did notice you checkin’ out Ken’s ass at Christmas though… Still, figured it was for me as ya been doin’ it a while.” Before you have time to respond or even process what the hell is going on she grins and flops down onto the bed next to you, “So did Sushi like you ‘all dolled up’ or ‘au naturel’?”

“Oh you did not just go there…”

“What?” Faith shrugs though she blatantly knows what, “I’m not allowed to ask about her?”

“Well you’re not allowed to pretend to be all cool but really be jealous- you’re the one who started a little club with your creepy British girlfriend!”

The bed shakes as she rolls over making your head hurt, “You’re the one who actually went and got a girlfriend!” It sounds like she’s just joking but you know her well enough to hear the slight hesitancy, the question behind it.

“She’s not really my girlfriend.”

“Well duh.” She scoffs, “You’re here and she’s in China.”

“Japan.”

“Point being? ‘She’s in a country that is not here’, ok?”

It’s hard to tell what she expects you to say- whether you’re meant to deny both Satsu and your feelings for her or prove your consistency in love and defend her. The confusion proves too much for your fuzzy brain and so you just shrug it off, smiling across at her instead. “What happened to breakfast?”

“Uh… I didn’t want you to puke all over my bed?”

“Well I’m feeling better.” You’re not. “I want a Prima Colazione Famosa Di Fede.”

She snickers, remembering her brilliance and the dish named after her. “Y’know, if slaying ever gets dull I could totally be a chef.”

“Because cooking is so fun?” Her eyes do the odd left thing again. “Please stop thinking about food and go get me some.”

Perhaps you shouldn’t have been quite so demanding- the breakfast she comes back with is probably enough for three slayers; sausages, bacon, mushrooms, scrambled egg, fried egg, waffles, pancakes, potato wedges, smoked salmon, bagels, cereal, yogurt, juice, milk, fruit…

“Is there any foot left in the kitchen?”

She blushes slightly and grabs the scrambled eggs (mixed with chanterelles) from the tray. “It’s cool, Red can always magic some, right?”

“Right.”

A little glowy bubble forms in your chest as she cuddles up next to you, kissing your forehead again and putting down her plate to help you struggle upright. You rest your aching head against her shoulder and pick at the food in front of you.

“So?” She pulls the fork from your limp wrist and feeds you a little pancake.

Mm… yummy. “A solid five.”

“Five?” You giggle as she jostles you, “Just five? Baby I’m five by five.”

You mull that over around another mouthful of, admittedly delicious, pancake. “Twenty-five? I don’t think you can get twenty-five on a scale that goes up to ten.”

“You do when they’re made from scratch and flipped expertly by my own talented hands.” Ok, impressed.

“Those are some gifted hands you’ve got there.”

It takes a few moments for the penny to drop.

“Oh God! I didn’t mean like that! Though- though, obviously they are talented in that sense! I should know. Not that I remember that! Uh… well, I do remember I just- just-! I don’t think about it! Ever. At all. Not even a little- oh snap, I freaked you out didn’t I? You’re freaking! You probably think I’m stupid! I am stupid! This is… this is… kind of rambly, isn’t it?”

She gapes at you, looking straight into your eyes as you fumble on, trying to make it better and desperately yet impossibly locked in a staring contest.

“Y- you… I’ll just be quiet now.” She nods, as if agreeing.

“Okay…”

Hello again uncomfortable silence, so not your friend.

“Ya want some coffee?” The way she says it makes you giggle (though it’s half in relief that the subject has changed); ‘caw-fee’. God, her accent is so sexy! And oddly fits in with the British. She even says ‘Leicester’ like they do; ‘LEH-stuh’ so it sounds like Lester. “What you laughin’ at?”

“You! Say ‘guard’.”

She wrinkles her nose, totally lost in where this is going. “Guard?”

“He he, ‘gaaad’! Funny.” You snuggle further into the duvet, peeking at her over the top.

“Hey! Don’t wipe ya nose on my blanket and don’t make fun of my accent!” The bed bounces as she twists towards you, poking your sides to make you squirm and laugh. “You big meany!”

You hoot and guffaw under her tickling hands, crappy cold momentarily forgotten, “Ha! Say ‘paaak’!”

“No…!” She growls playfully, directly into your ear, fingers still mercilessly tickling even through the duvet.

“Say ‘draaama’!”

“No!”

“Sa-” You can barely speak she’s stealing your breath, making you writhe and pressing noisy kisses to your neck.

“Hush!” She rumbles. The wide grin on her face freezing upon the realisation that you’re sharing breath you’re so close.

Her lips hover above yours for a moment, close enough it almost feels like sparks shoot between them. “Oh God…” The ‘o’ brings your lips up to not-so-accidentally brush against hers. Was that a kiss? Does it count? Could you possibly just have ruined six months of hard earned friendship? Is your head going to spin off your body and explode into a thousand-billion pieces?!

The spring of tension toughens in your chest. Please, please God, don’t let this be it, don’t let this- “I’d better get you that…” Faith leaps up from the bed and points vaguely in the direction of the door she rapidly disappears behind.

“GAH!” You scream in frustration and flop down onto the bed- about to curse her name before you suddenly realise she probably didn’t want to kiss you right now as you’re somewhat resembling a snot fountain.

Faith pops her head back in the room, a wary yet teasing smile on her face, “Hey, you want that ‘CAW-fee’ or not?”

“Wow, awkward.” Willow sympathises later when you tell her. She’s snuggled up, sitting Indian style in the nest of covers that is Faith’s bed, tucking into the remains of your breakfast.

“It’s not awkward!” You rebuff, scoffing half-heartedly.

“It’s kind of awkward!” Glides through the bathroom door.

You roll your eyes, “FAITH! Shut up!” What happened to the days of a good old-fashioned private best friend chat? “You’re not supposed to be listening to this!”

The water in the bath sloshes, probably at an affronted gesticulation “But it’s about me!”

“That’s why you’re not supposed to be listening!”

Willow stares at you strangely for some reason you can’t possibly fathom. “It’s nice that you’re so close.” Was that sarcasm? “Anyway, how’s she taking care of you?” Willow offers you a sausage and you wrinkle your nose as your stomach turns.

“I think my tummy might be about to burst open.”

Your friend scrunches her nose up in revulsion, “Well that’s good- feed a cold, starve a fever, right?”

“Something like that. Course I’m also working on the ‘stay in bed forever and feel better’ principle.”

Willow laughs and moves to huddle under the covers with you. “Great plan. Except this is Faith’s bed.”

Well duh, it’s not like you don’t know it’s Faith’s bed. What does it matter if it anyway? Its not like Faith’s going to chuck you out… oh God, Faith’s going to chuck you out!

She can’t do that though, right? You’re ill! No one should foist an ill girl out of their warm bed! Especially when said girl’s bed is all mushy and by now probably covered in snow! You’re going to have to lie in snow and then you’ll get sicker!

“But if I get pneumonia I’ll go blue!”

“Or die.” Willow answers automatically, her eyes widening comically when she realises what she’s said, “Uh… Not that you’re going to die! Or… get pneumonia! I- I- uh… how’s Faith?”

“Warm!” The girl in question yells back from her bubble bath (stolen from you- expensive and therefore distinctive smelling)

You sigh dramatically and lower your voice to whisper to Willow, “She’s having a huge bubble bath and didn’t even ask me to join her! She’s having a bath with my designer smelly stuff and she didn’t even make one comment- not a single innuendo. And the other day I said ‘innuendo’ and she just let it go! Didn’t even make a tiny joke, not a one…”

She pats your shoulder comfortingly. Recently the two of you have been bonding over your seemingly unrequited lesbian love (though you haven’t mentioned your other crush because it’s just too weird- and what right does Kennedy have to suddenly get that hot anyway?!). It’s nice having your best friend back, especially after all the… unpleasantness of the last year with the time-travelling and bank robbing and… Faith.

How is it fair that so much happens in your life and yet the only thing you can concentrate on is Faith? There was an evil band of slayers running round for Christ sake and the only one you wanted back was Faith.

“Progress report?” Willow whispers, her hand covering part of her mouth in what she hopes is a ‘covert’ manner.

“Nothing.” You sigh, “Nada. Zero. Zilch. Zip.”

The cogs in your friend’s brain start to turn almost audibly. “You could always buy her a puppy.”

That’s the best she can come up with? “I’m not going to buy her a puppy!” You say a little too loudly.

“I like puppies!” The excited, disembodied voice chirps in from the bathroom along with yet more splashing water… if that goes through to the ceiling below you are so not going to be the one to explain it to Giles.

“Stop listening!” You yell back and then go back to whispering, “I swear, she’s just being difficult, or she’s got an odd incredibly selective memory problem. We actually had a talk about it earlier- about how I’ve been trying to seduce her and she’s been…”

“Rejecting you?”

“No! Yes.” Exactly. “Don’t put it like that!”

Willow blushes, “Sorry, ‘rebuffing’?

“Ok. Good. We talked about it and then five seconds later it was almost like we hadn’t. Just like she’d completely forgotten!”

Actually, she’s been doing that a lot recently- normally when Giles starts talking. Though you’re not exactly innocent of the old ‘ignoring Giles’ trick… many a Faith Fantasy born from his boring lectures- the odd thing is when the stuff he’s talking about sort of forces it’s way into your daydreams.

The other day you were having a particularly nice one featuring a Jacuzzi and lack of swimsuits when Faith suddenly morphed into a Krakilof demon… which was sort of problematic as they’re allergic to water and your imagination is apparently incredibly realistic now you’re older.

“Uh… Buffy,” Willow’s eyes slide over to the heavy wooden door (not quite thick enough to block the sounds of various Clash songs being sung at top volume however) “Maybe she’s just ignoring it because she doesn’t want to talk about it?”

You frown, “Why would she not want to talk about it?

“B- because she’s quite happy being your friend and now knows you wouldn’t work as a couple…?”

That is so not true!

Granted, you weren’t the best couple when around your friends but alone… well, it just clicked. Of course you’re meant to be a couple! What does Willow know anyway? She hates Faith!

“Who’s projecting now?”

“Guilty as charged.” She concedes, “But maybe she really just doesn’t want anything to happen?”

“She doesn’t get to decide that!” You’re a ‘couple’- ie, two. There are two of you. She can’t just make you fall in love with her for years and years and then suddenly change her mind!

“Pretty sure she does.”

“No!” You growl. It’s been too long now; you’re too hooked to just give up! Plan Seduce Faith isn’t going to just become a lot of scribbled tactics on the backs of envelopes and a pile of ruined clothes! The damn thing is going to work!

Sure, if you had a choice to start over and choose your ‘one and only’ it wouldn’t actually be any of your past lovers (except possibly Satsu) and Faith would pretty low on the scale because… let’s be honest, she’s not exactly the type you saw yourself with. She’s not the ‘take home to mother’ type and she’s sort of gross and teenage… which isn’t really that surprising as she only became legal to drink three weeks ago… and she’s nutty and weird and has absolutely no future prospects and nor does she care and… and you love her.

Completely. “I… I changed my life for her, I changed who I am just so I wouldn’t be repulsed by her-!”

“Thanks B!” Faith yells before you can add ‘actions’.

“You’re welcome!” You call back unconsciously before realising she was being sarcastic and shouldn’t be listening anyway, “Faith! Either listen to the whole conversation or shut the hell up!”

“Yes Ma’am!” She goes back to singing, ostensibly not in the least bit bothered by your insult, while you turn back to see Willow gaping at you.

“Will, I can see your tonsils.”

She shuts her mouth with a snap and instead widens her eyes just a little more. “You- you’re repulsed by her too?”

Ignoring the ‘too’ for the moment, you search for a way to explain. “I’m not blind Willow, I know what she did was wrong, I know that she’s going to keep on doing bad things that-”

“That’s ok! That’s kind of sweet in a way. You’re- you’re trying to redeem her! Like Spike.”

Spike? Spike who you helped find his heart just so he could try to rape you? “It’s not like that!”

She jumps as you shout, “Right, so it’s more like you love her in spite of everything she did?”

“No! You don’t understand!” And she doesn’t, she really just doesn’t get it!

“Sorry! Buffy, why are you getting so angry?” She cowers slightly, even though you both know that in a fight she’d best you.

“Because it’s worse than that!” And it is. “I… I told the truth, it was just a crush- while we were friends. I fell for her when she went bad ok? Is that what you wanted to hear? You want to know just how wrong and twisted I am that the sight of someone holding a knife to my best friend’s throat actually makes me jealous?!”

Willow gulps but doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not just repulsed by her I’m disgusted by myself.”

There’s silence and you just know Faith is listening; the pipes gurgle as she pulls out the plug from the bath.

“Maybe…” Willow starts awkwardly, “Maybe you deserve each other?”

Anyone else and you would have taken that at face value and punched them. The way she said it though… it wasn’t a curse, it wasn’t meant with malice… she actually thinks you’re well matched now. “Are you… Are you approving?”

“Of you and Faith? I’m coming around. Might even help you with the seducing plan if you like.”

“What?” She wants to seduce Faith?

“Oh! No- I meant, I’d… you know, set things up. Tell her to walk into a room where you happen to be changing or something.”

Nice idea but for that to work you probably have to not discuss it while she’s listening! “You do know she can hear you, right?”

“Uh… I don’t think she can hear anything over the sound of her own singing. Or-“ She puts her head on the side, listening hard “Is that just shouting?”

“That’s what I say about most of her music.” You laugh and then listen politely as she tells you about Kennedy taking her to a rock concert for the first time. It’s a pretty tame girlfriend story so you tell her about Faith begging you to have sex with her in a fountain in Italy because… actually, you never really found out why- it was cold and public and not really as fun as it had sounded.

Willow gasps in all the right places and soon you’re swapping anecdotes back and forth. It’s nice. Friendly.

“Swear to God Will, if you give me the ‘protecting my sisters’ speech again I will scream. It’s Faith! F-a-ith! You hate her!”

“Word!” Floats through the bathroom door- along with a thin trail of smoke.

“Faith! You’d better not be smoking in that bathroom!”

You don’t really mind but it’s nice to have pretence at control you don’t really want. Besides, you used to boss her around about the big stuff, now it’s just the little things.

“No Ma’am!” She’s taken to calling you that lately when you’re being too pushy. Is it odd that you kind of like it?

“Well, we’re sisters now.” Willow defends, “Besides, she’s a step up from Eleanor Roosevelt. Barring Satsu, your taste in women isn’t that great.”

“That is so not-” Faith steps out of the bathroom and all speech literally dies.

She’s wrapped in a fluffy white towel with her wet hair trailing down her back. It’s grown long and she hasn’t bothered to cut it recently so it’s reaching her lower back, in little ringlets at the ends. You want her so bad right now you sort of don’t care Willow’s here, you’d take her right now, against the mint walls, if you could just be sure she wouldn’t push you away.

Well actually… it’s sex so she wouldn’t push anyone away… but that’s not the point. It’s all about love. Whether she loves you. Which she obviously kind of does… but is it the right kind of love? Is it proper ‘I want to be with you forever’ love?

Why can’t you just make her love you? Well- not ‘love you’, she’s your sister slayer and you have a lot of good history so there’s love already but you don’t want her to love you like Dawn! You don’t want kisses on the forehead and chats about boyfriends, you want- you want-

Oh screw it- you’re buying the girl a damn puppy!

Chapter Eighteen: The French Sandwich

October 2005

“You’re not gay.”

“Not so you’d notice.”

Except now they’re pretty much all going to notice. And notice what an idiot you are. You think you’re so smart, that you can hide from them all, that wherever you hide they’ll never find you…

Welcome to Paris.

“Plum?” Satsu glances down at the bowl and then at your stomach, “Can you balance stuff on there?”

“Dunno.” Which isn’t really true- you’ve been practicing balancing stuff on there for weeks now. “Wanna try?”

She leans over the picnic basket that’s set between you and slowly lowers the bowl onto the shelf that’s rapidly developing under your breasts. “Huh, look at that. It does.” You smile at how genuinely intellectually interested Satsu is in her little experiment.

Life would be a lot easier if you were in love with Satsu- plus she could give you hair care tips because damn that’s good hair!

But no; you’re the dumbass who went and fell for the first attractive slayer she saw. And then messed around with magic so she could have the other girl’s baby without even telling her.

It’s generally the second part that makes you seem so stupid.

Your friends think you and Satsu have run off together for a romantic life of small-time demons and really good food. Great food actually- once you got over the morning sickness part. All they know is that the two of you are somewhere in Europe which, contrary to whatever the map says, is actually a really big place.

Ok, so Paris isn’t the most original destination but you’re betting they’ll think it’s too obvious and won’t look. Willow could find you in a heartbeat but you know her, she probably thinks you’re just taking a break (that and it’s ultra-romantic).

Satsu immediately agreed to help you once you told her the situation- even if she did call you an idiot about a thousand times first. She’s sweet, beautiful, carries your bags and even smells great! You think that if you ever get your hands on that book again you’re going to make the next one Satsu’s baby.

Oh god, you’ve got baby fever… The other day you walked down a street and considered having babies with every other person you saw! You love the one that’s already in you but you’re just a little scared; is Baby Slayer going to be like you? Or Faith?

Please God, not like Faith.

The week before you left she hit you. Well, not ‘you’, she had no idea who you really were- just some stranger in her room. You’d brushed it off because she’d been startled awake when you knocked the vase off the wardrobe. She apologised as soon as she realised what she’d done. But it’s the half-hour in between that scares you.

You can’t raise a child with her… can you?

Just thinking about it makes you a little scared and hopeful at the same time. You imagine Faith with the baby in her arms and it makes your chest constrict to see her look all the more beautiful for the care she takes with the tiny life. Faith isn’t the type to wear a dress and apron but you can just see her rolling around in the leaves with a toddler and a puppy, and teaching Toddler Slayer to ride a bike (that bit is really just your imagination- Faith has never been on a bike… well, one you peddle anyway).

If this were a ‘normal’ relationship (you and some guy) then the fact you slept with Satsu again (in this fantasy, a male Satsu) a week before you impregnated yourself would be of huge consequence. You could claim that the baby was actually hers and never have to speak to Faith again.

Damn you and your lesbian tendencies!

Of course, the baby wouldn’t look in any way Asian- which might be a problem.

That, and you feel like any minute your heart is going to stick out a sign saying ‘Fuck off, I beat for Faith, not you’.

“Did Akira call you back?”

“Akira.”

“That’s what I said.”

She visibly resists the temptation to roll her eyes. “No, you said ‘uh-KEER-uh’, like ‘sha-KEER-uh’.”

Why do people keep getting at you about pronunciation? It was ok when it was just Giles because you were in America and he was the odd one out but all those stupid Scottish people need to get a life and stop laughing at you! You’re speaking English, they’re speaking English (at least, you think they are…), and can’t they just give you bonus points for trying?

At least now you’re in France no one expects you to be able to pronounce things. Plus Satsu is doing way worse than you! It’s brilliant.

“Ok, how am I supposed to say it?”

“AH-kee-DA”

What the hell? There’s a ‘d’ in there now? “Uh-ke-duh.”

“Never mind.”

“Oh God,” You sigh, “I would so not have hired him if I knew his stupid name was gonna be this hard!”

“Did you hire him? I thought Watchers were… chosen.”

“Do I need to give you the ‘one girl in all the world except now there aren’t’ speech again?”

“No, I get it.” She smiles, “Besides, Akira is still sending me Watcher-y texts every day.”

Confusing name or not you have to give him points for dedication. “Because he hasn’t clued in yet?”

“Oh no, he knows I’m not really chasing those demons- mainly because you made them up- but he’s being a good pseudo-parent and living in denial.”

“How nice of him.”

Satsu nods absentmindedly as she pulls out a few Tupperware containers from the stuffed hamper and starts piling things on plates. “He hasn’t called yet though.” She pauses, probably deciding on whether or not to ask about Faith. “Have you…?”

Does she have to ask every day? “No! No, I haven’t called her!”

She pulls back, surprised by your angry tone. “Sorry! I… know you’re trying not to think about her.”

“Well I’m currently thinking about not thinking about Faith.”

Faith doesn’t have to know though, right?

Because you haven’t even spoken to her since… April. The morning after she hit you she watched from her bed as you struggled into your jeans. ‘Too many pies’ apparently. ‘Baby shaped pies’, you’d wanted to retort, except you didn’t actually want her know after the punching thing. There’s a whole lots of truth fudging going on. Number of people currently aware of Baby Slayer’s existence; two.

That’s fine though, right? She doesn’t exactly need any more people… she could live in a big pink room all by herself and only see the two of you… unless she’s a tomboy! Satsu might be a lesbian but she’s girlier than Andrew and you’re… ok, you’re worse. You don’t know anything about sports! Or dungarees! Or… what else do tomboys like? Oh! You can French braid! Tomboys wear French braids, right?

“You’d so better be girlie.”

“What?” Satsu looks up, assuming you’re talking to her.

“Nothing, nothing, just… you know, talking to the baby.”

“Ah, that’s supposed to be very good for her.”

She studies your stomach critically. Satsu probably wanted to be a doctor before she was called- she’s the only one who actually pays attention to your obstetrician. “Go ahead, you can talk too.”

The plates and bowls pushed to one side, Satsu lies down on her front, perched mere centimetres from your belly button. You’re not entirely sure what you expect her to say… something along the lines of cooing baby talk or an intelligent nugget of information (She reads the baby books- you looked at a diagram once and freaked!) but what eventually comes out of her mouth is actually in Japanese so you have no way of knowing.

“I don’t think she understands anything but English.”

Plucking a strawberry from the tub she grins up at you, “I don’t think she understands any language!”

You watch, rapt, as she slides the fruit between her lips, sucking the sugar off. A tiny trail of juice slips down her chin as she bites in, then giggles and wipes it with the back of her hand.

Suddenly it’s hard to look away.

“Oh hell…”

“Hmm?” She licks her fingers and your stomach churns.

“Nothing!”

This is so not good. Ok so she’s got amazing hair and smells like… heaven or… some kind of fresh-baked-doughy-goodness but jumping her in the middle of this field with all the pretty scenery and the… children… probably isn’t the best way to do it.

There have been many people in your life that you’ve wished you were in love with but Satsu tops the pile. When she gazes at you supposedly-surreptitiously your heart aches… but only because it doesn’t.

Yet you’re genuinely sure that, aside from the whole ‘in love’ part, the two of you actually have the makings of a pretty good relationship; you love her as a person, you think she’d made a better mother than you, you can imagine a future with her and… and by God that girl is far hotter than she has rights to be!

Recently it seems like the tiniest things about her are turning you on!

Maybe it’s just because she was the last person you slept with…? It’s been an awfully long time. Besides, you can’t be blamed- you’re pregnant! In France it’s legal to kill someone if you’re with child. At least, you think it is… that might be one of those urban myths. You’re not exactly going to try it out but it’s still good to know, a safety net of sorts!

“Are you regretting your choice of co-parent now?”

“Now?” You snort.

Satsu flushes, “That was rude, wasn’t it? Sorry. I just meant… not many people actually get the choice of ‘anyone in the world’ to have a child with. Why not pick someone very attractive like Brad Pitt or intelligent such as… Einstein.”

“Pretty sure you can’t have a kid with a dead person.”

“Pretty sure you can’t have a kid with another woman!” Satsu passes across a plate of tuna and cucumber sandwiches to soften her tone.

“Touché.”

“I just think… if you’re not even going to tell Faith… you shouldn’t have gone on a whim, there are so many options!”

That’s not entirely true- Baby Slayer wasn’t a ‘whim’ or some kind of odd flight of fancy, there was thought… a whole week of thought! Ok, five days. That’s a working week though, right?

You were stood on a balcony in a Miami club, watching nervously as Faith faught in the alley below to reason with a disillusioned slayer, and at the same time ignoring Angel, pacing behind you and looking annoyingly hot.

“I know her Buffy, I know her pain.”

Or maybe just annoying. “Are you not dead yet?”

He sighed, weighing your shoulder down with a paw-like hand, “You’re not right for her, she-”

“Oh right, right!” You snarked sarcastically, pushing him back from where he’d been leaning over to watch her, “This is all about how I’m not right for her, nothing to do with you thinking she’s not right for me!”

It would be a lie to say you weren’t hoping he was just a little bit jealous. He’s still the first guy you ever fell in love with, and it boosts a girl’s ego! But there’s flattering and then there’s just plain stalking.

“You need to get a life.”

“And you need to get out of hers. She’s been worse since you got here.”

“I didn’t even know she was going to be here!”

You’d flown in the day before, following a tip off from Xander’s ‘non-girlfriend’ (a huge Amazon of a woman with bright blue skin) about an abnormally strong young girl mugging people on the streets of downtown Miami.

In truth you could have sent on of your subordinates but you really, really needed the holiday.

“You could have left once you knew.”

And what the hell kind of an argument was that? “We’re friends. Occasionally friends are actually nice and want to spend time with each other.”

He sighed unnecessary breath, pressing his hands down to the front of his shirt. His voice was calm and collected, meant to highlight just how ‘irrational’ you were being. “You’re making her worse by being here.”

“What?!” You snorted. “Oh please, when I arrived she had something suspiciously unlike baby powder up her nose and I’m pretty sure it was you she was spending all the time with then.”

You had punctuated your last word with a jab to his chest. His skin had been so infuriatingly cool while you were soaked in sweat (not particularly attractive) it just made you angrier. The desire to rest your heated brow against his soothing skin was only slightly less than your complete and utter yearning to rip his head off.

“You know, you all do this; You, Giles, Xander, Kennedy- you all act like it’s my fault when she goes south. Well you guys are the biggest fucking bunch of enablers ever!” He jumped as you swore and looked to check if the girls in the alley below had noticed your row, luckily the pumping music was too loud, even for slayer hearing, to pick anything out. “If it’s not Kennedy getting her drunk on shots then it’s you lecturing her about how she has to try harder, how it’s all on her to atone, how she’ll never be clean- she’s only human! Stop putting all this goddamn pressure on her!” Angel sighed again, taking a breath to speak, “And stop blaming me!”

“I’m not blaming you, I’m just-”

“Blaming me?”

And maybe it was the talk of baby powder or maybe it was just that when she finally called you down to the street you could smell Angel on her and the desire to crush yourself to her, force harsh breath across her skin as if to sear off the smell of him was so strong… you just wanted a piece of her, a little something that no one else had.

You wanted to tear off her clothes, scrub at her with rough salt and a harsh brush, scour off all the other people and the crazy until it was just her. Until it was just your girl again; your girl who could so easily pass for Italian, loved the language and the customs, threw her arms about when she spoke and lovingly smothered everyone in kisses. They adored her as you did and she felt that love to her very core.

A core now covered in the dirt of America, the grime of poverty and perversion, where she doesn’t have to try hard to understand what people ask because it’s always sex. Always. And she won’t ever say no.

“Buffy?”

“What?” You shake yourself back to the here and now, the warm sun and the bright flowers in the green grass. “Sorry, spazzing.”

“Thinking about her again?”

Nodding guiltily you pick up a pastry from the pile. “You’re too good to me, you know that right?”

Satsu smiles radiantly and says she doesn’t mind. God, how you wish she minded. Maybe if she was fiery and unreasonable about it- left you in the dirt until you renounced Faith, punched someone, refused to hold back your hair when you puked due to morning sickness from someone else’s kid- you could start to love her.

Dear God, you’re twisted! Forget about Faith, you’re the one in this relationship with real issues! Poor Baby Slayer, there’s no way she’s coming out normal.

“Could you pass the newspaper please? It’s on the other side of that mountain you’ve attached yourself to.” Satsu makes an ‘over’ motion and tries to peek around your stomach. You roll your eyes and throw the damn thing at her. Neither of you can actually read French but it’s free and she likes to use it as a conversation piece- meaning when she wants to talk to you about something important (Faith) she’ll only do it from behind newsprint. Apparently it’s a habit she picked up from the father she never talks about.

Why do slayers never have proper father figures?

“The Euro’s gone up again… or maybe the Dollar’s gone down, it’s a little hard to tell without the text.”

You shrug and reach for another tuna sandwich, “Hey, I’m just impressed you know what the numbers mean!”

“Buffy,” She chuckles, “The numbers are the same as English.”

“Oh. Bollocks.”

The two of you have been attempting to learn different languages to broaden Baby S’s horizons. So far you have progressed into English swear words. “Nice. That’s really coming along…”

You wait as she pauses, obviously about to get to what it is that’s really concerning her.

“You know, I’d make a pretty bad mother anyway, I’m only just twenty.”

“What have I told you about mentioning how close in age you are to my sister?”

“Uh…” She searches for the answer, “Don’t?”

“Exactly.”

Yes, it’s a little irrational, and it’s not like Dawn is your child or anything- that would be a weird age gap. It’s just that Satsu and Dawn could be in the same school year and that is just… actually, come to think of it, how do twins ever date? You’d have the same birthday so obviously they’d be close in age to your sibling… or does that not apply? Or does it mean you just have to be involved in relationships with really big age gaps? Or short ones? And does it not count if you were born one either side of midnight?

And when did you become so weird and illogical? Is this normal? “When do the pregnancy thingies kick in?”

Satsu glances at you oddly over the top of the paper, “Buffy, two days ago you stabbed my hand with a fork because I can’t make the eggs like Faith does.” She holds said hand up for inspection, “I think it’s safe to say you have raging hormones.”

“Damn you.”

She makes one of those little agreeing noises parents do when they’re not really listening and you’re slightly creeped out by how very brilliant she is quickly becoming at being an adult.

“I think you’ll be a great mother.”

“Uh, ‘would’, Buff. The word is ‘would’ or ‘you’d’.” Satsu itches her neck uncomfortably, staring hard enough at the paper to burn a hole through it. “I am not actually your child’s parent.”

You try to ignore how cute her accent is when she’s flustered, “You could be.”

“No, I do… not believe that’s possible. We don’t have a time machine.”

“I meant-” You pause to think about what it is you actually meant. Are you really asking this? It’s… a pretty big step. “I meant-”

“I am aware of what you meant, I am just being obtuse.” She puts down the paper, her hand slow yet deliberate. When she turns to look at you her eyes are chastising and… disappointed. “What about Faith? Faith is your baby’s parent too.”

The hair on the back of your neck begins to rise and goose pimples spread over your arms. She’s angry. “Faith- Faith is probably the first person to admit she’s not exactly ‘mother’ material. You’re… you’re such a lovely girl and- and you have a good family! I know I only spoke to your mother over the phone and your father… just kind of yelled in Japanese… but- but I really think this could work!”

“No,” She shakes her head, “It couldn’t. You’re just acting this way because… well actually, I don’t really know why just that- Faith loves you. And yes, I love you too, but I swear I didn’t even properly know what it was until I saw her looking at you. You’re everything to her and if you’d just give her the chance she’d be the perfect mother for your child. She worships you.”

Again with the worshiping. Why is it that every guy-slash-girl-slash-undead-being who shares a heat and a passion with you eventually just falls in love? Maybe sometimes you don’t want to be revered- being put on a pedestal just means further to fall.

“I’ve seen the way you are around her Buffy. You love her too. Completely. And even though I wish it were me you felt that for… it isn’t- and it won’t ever be. Because you will never love anyone as- Oh crap.”

“Huh?”

Satsu laughs sadly and shakes her head. “I was hoping I would get to finish my ‘movie speech’ but I suppose the universe has other plans.”

“Huh?”

Her eyes are unfocused, looking far off into the distance and you spin round to see what it is that has so caught her attention. Your mouth drops open.

On the crest of the hill behind you stands a tall, slim figure in dark jeans and a bikini top. As she turns towards you the sunlight catches the faint outline of wings on her stomach and for a second they almost look real.

“So, Andrew was right about the Slayer Bond.”

You want to twist back, tell Satsu it’s not true, that you can’t really feel when the other is hurt or find each other half way across the world. But that might just be wrong.

“Hey B. Long time no see”

All the moisture leaves your mouth until it’s sticky and dry and you can barely croak out, “H- how did you find me?”

“Pined a map of the world to the wall and threw a stake at it.” You smile at the twinkle in her eye.

“And that often works for you?”

“This would be the first time.” Faith chuckles self-deprecatingly, fiddling with the ends of her long plaits. “Russia’s a big place, you know that? A real big place. A place you are not in. Obviously”

Your throat catches, caught between giggling and sighing in relief.

“I missed you.”

Satsu shuffles uncomfortably as she watches the two of you caught in a staring contest, a slight grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Faith? I think I’m… kind of… You know what? I’m going to get some more baguettes, you two stay here and try not to get arrested for public indecency.”

You smile graciously at Satsu and try to resist the urge to apologise. In contrast, Faith barely seems to notice, her eyes are so fixed on you. Yet she moves, plops down onto the rug next to you and… sticks a straw in her mouth.

She chuckles as you stare at her oddly as she takes a pretend puff and blows imaginary smoke out the side of her mouth. “What?” She shrugs, “Even I’m not evil enough to smoke in front of a pregnant woman.”

It almost crosses your mind to ask her how she knows before realising that was a conversation for five months ago and by now astronauts probably even know you’re pregnant.

“So, at least now I know why you ran away.”

“I didn’t…” You flush, realising that was exactly what you did. “I just thought you’d…”

Leave? Hate you? Go crazy and beat up every single person in her path?

Getting yourself pregnant was a stupid, stupid thing to have done but now there’s a tiny person inside you and you don’t want to risk ever letting her go. Not that you think Faith is going to take her or anything but what if she doesn’t want her at all? What if Faith rejects her daughter just the way your father rejected his? And, oh God, crying is so not what you wanted to be doing right now! Stupid hormones!

“Aw, you big dork!” Faith turns over onto her knees and then stretches across the food to pull you into a hug… or what would be a nice hug if not for your stomach. Still, it’s kind of cool for your skin to have a bigger surface area, more Faith touching for your money!

And, oh wow, that bikini really doesn’t cover anything!

“I’m not gonna stop bein’ ya friend just ‘cos you got knocked up!” She blows imaginary smoke away from you to make you laugh, “Just as long as you don’t expect me t’ start bein’ interested in baby booties or some shit, k?”

“That’s… comforting…” Where the hell did Satsu go? She can ask for baby clothes in five different, surprisingly useless in France, languages.

“Besides,” She kisses your temple and sits back, “It’s been two years, B. I’ve got no right to get mad at you for moving on.”

You could just leave it there, you could just thank her and go home with her and then spend the rest of your life hiding your daughter’s ‘non-Summers’ traits. But no, instead you find yourself yelling, “I haven’t!” before you even have time to think what might just be a very viable option through.

“What?”

“I haven’t moved on. I- I still love you.”

Like Satsu a few moments ago she slows right down, ignoring you for the moment as she calmly pulls out her hair ties and uses her fingers to comb out her plaits. “You know, you’ve never said that before.”

“Sure I have.” Of course you have!

“No, you really haven’t.”

“Oh.”

Really?

Damn.

“Buff, you…” She sighs, still fiddling with her hair but in an annoyed way rather than a shy one. It’s so long it almost covers her entire front… and that amazingly small bikini. “You can’t just reject me for months and then suddenly decide you love me because you’ve… I dunno, finally found someone to make you settle down.”

Settle down? You’ve spent the last however many months travelling from country to country half-hoping she’ll find you and scared she will. There’s never been anyone else and there never- hold on! “Reject you? When did I ever reject you? I’ve been dropping hints- anvil-sized hints for months! I threw myself at you! Occasionally literally! You’re the one who was all ‘lets be friends’!”

“As if!” She scoffs, “I’d never just… you- you’re the one who messed it up! You finished it.”

“Because you were screwing other people!” And weren’t you both supposed to be talking about what’s happened since then?

Faith gapes like a fish for a few moments before getting that scary shark look in her eye, the one that means she’s going to shove you in a corner and do something really, really bad… or good, depending on your penchant. “Well I wouldn’t have had to if you just put out once in a while.” She smirks, “Prude.” So it’s down to name-calling?

“I don’t think you should be passing judgement here Little Miss Unstable- I’m not the one riding the white pony.”

Faith grins around a cherry, “Dude, you’re the one with the commitment issues.”

“Wha-! I don’t have-! You-! You’re the one who beat up Xander.”

“He grabbed your ass!”

“He was drunk! At least I tried to make compromises, you didn’t change a thing.”

“You didn’t try! I’m the one who grew my hair so stupidly long just because you once said you liked Lara Croft!”

“Aw, really?” You reach over to twirl a curl around your finger. It’s long enough for her to sit on and half of it in pre-Raphaelite curls. “That’s so sweet… hey! Hold on here! I dressed up all sexy for you! I’m having y-uh… uh… Never mind, you win.” Way to act totally unsuspicious! You never give up on arguments. Ever.

“Uh-huh.”

Baby Slayer takes note of the sudden quiet and your decreasing blood pressure to turn over. “Uh!” You grab your stomach and try to twist into a more comfortable position.

“Oh my God!” Faith jumps, eyes darting up and down your body then around, “Are you ok? Do you need something? Should I go find Shitsu?”

“What happened to ‘Sushi’?”

“Huh?”

“I thought you were calling her ‘Sushi’?”

She tips her head on the side, wondering whether or not she has the time to talk about this, “Oh. I was. Now, do I need to take you to the hospital? Or- or, get fresh towels or warm water or- trust you to go into labour in the middle of a field!” Breathe Faith, breathe.

It’s so funny you almost get hiccups laughing, “I’m not going into labour! It’s fine, she just turned over, and she does that a lot. Besides, I’ve got another three weeks to go.”

Faith curses loudly, a long string of expletives until she’s totally calm. “That’s a relief. I didn’t know what I was gonna do, you know? I’ve never actually been this close to a pregnant woman. Pregnant man, sure, but not a woman.” You laugh and she winks, “Besides, I wouldn’ta known who to call at the hospital- unless you have his name under ‘baby daddy’ in ya phone. Obviously.” Oh God, Baby Slayer is so going to have her dimples; you can just see it coming. Unless… you could always claim that there was a guy who looked exactly like Faith and that was why you wanted him?

“Yeah…” You chuckle without mirth, “About that… She doesn’t exactly have a daddy. Just mommies, uh ‘mamas’. Plural.”

Her eyes shoot up, “Wow, never would have guessed the kid had it in her. So, is it like some kind of magic thing…?”

“Pretty much.” The thought crosses your mind to just leave it there- it’s not like she flat out asked if Satsu is your child’s other parent, she just assumed. ‘Ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies’ and all that. Or is it ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’? Isn’t that the thing from the military? “Actually… Satsu isn’t… involved.” You take a deep breath, “It’s you. You’re the… other… mommy. Mama. Mother. Parent.” You cringe as her brain almost visibly implodes, “You know what, I’ll let you choose your own name.”

“Oh believe me,” She chokes out, “It’s not the name thing I’m having problems with.”

Perhaps telling her wasn’t the best option? Perhaps you should have just left it? Now everything’s going to be all messed up and she’ll think you’re an idiot for making this so damn complicated!

You like to simplify everything in your private life (or at least, you would like to simplify everything- it never seems to turn out that way) after all ‘work’ seems to take up ninety percent of your time and it’s so… who thought that giving little girls power was a good idea? You’ve been playing God since you were fifteen; deciding what was wrong and who deserved to die as if you actually had the right.

“You know what would be nice? If we were still normal teenage girls and our biggest problem was that we’d kissed once in a hot tub and you made me have all these funny feelings so I was actually really pleased when you got sent away to boarding school except it wasn’t really boarding school it was more like a-”

“What in sweet hell are you talking about?”

“Sorry. I bought the whole set of Gossip Girl books at the airport.”

“You can read?”

“I know, that was Satsu’s first thought too. Our kid doesn’t have a very strong gene pool.”

She nods, staring off into the distance, trying to figure something out. “How did this even happen?”

Oh God.

That talk.

“You know those books Giles always said we weren’t to look at? Turns out there’s a reason.”

Faith snorts in amusement, “So what, you were thinking about me and touched one of ‘em?” You know, oddly, that makes a hell of a lot more sense than what actually happened.

“No, they’re just full of very effective spells I might want to use.”

When Giles finds out and eventually asks what happened- which is going to happen now Faith knows, the girl can’t keep little secrets never mind big ones- you’re working on the lie that your curiosity got the better of you, you read a book and accidentally mumbled some words and ‘poof’; baby! Because that is a whole lot less weird.

“Faith?” She pulls her head up from where it was buried in the picnic hamper and gives you a little half-hearted smile. “I know that it wasn’t exactly the right time for this to happen but I wanted… I wanted it to be you. I wanted to have your baby- meaning, of course, that I want to have your baby. That’s… helpful when you’re pregnant.”

You pluck the grape from her shaking fingers, hovering just next to her lips.

“It might not be the ortha… orth… ortho… orthopaedic? All I’m getting here is ‘orthopaedic’.”

“Orthodox?” She chuckles, “Certainly not orthodox…”

“Right, not the orthodox way- but it feels like the right way.”

“Really? You and me? In an always way?” She laughs, little chuckles at first, building up to big guffaws. Even a pointed glare doesn’t shut her up, despite her valiant effort to hush the chortling with handfuls of grapes. “I’m sorry,” You wince as she talks around her mouthful, not even the two tiny scraps of fabric on her front can make that attractive, “It’s just, you’re like… the anti-me.”

Rude much?! “I just said I love you!”

“No, it- it means ‘different’ or… ‘Opposite’. We’re opposites.”

Oh. “Like yin/yang?” You ask hopefully.

Faith laughs, obviously not having thought of it that way. “I guess so.”

“Lets just hope two halves make a whole and she gets your heart and my…” The words stumble. It’s so hard to think of something. Or, at least, something not insulting. How do you speak of something you have and she doesn’t? What is that anyway?

Sanity? “Head?” She suggests.

You chuckle silently, amused at the thoughts you share.

“Me too. Oh! Maybe our stubbornness will cancel each other out and she’ll be all calm and sweet?” Ha! As if!

“‘Sweet’?”

She shrugs, “A girl can dream.” The bowls already pushed to the side she slides closer, her hand unconsciously grips your knee as she grins excitedly, “What else do you think she’ll get?”

“I like this game! Ok, uh…”

You search her eyes and then her body, surprised by just how many things you can think of. And then surprised that you’re surprised- you’ve got taste! It’s not like you’d fall for her if she had lots of… ok, scrap that, she does have lots of drawbacks but an equal-if-not-greater number in the plus column. Sometimes it’s just a little hard to remember that.

Disregarding her energy, her courage or her clemency you instead plump for the first thing you noticed about her; “I hope she has your hair, those little curls at the bottom. I always wanted curly hair.” Your hand finds it’s way back to them, sinking deep.

Faith blushes like a preteen under the attention, “It’s my mother’s. It was my mother’s.” She corrects, “It is- which tense do you use when it’s something in the now that comes from the past?”

“How should I know?” English perhaps is not going to be your daughter’s strongest asset.

“Point taken.” She chuckles. You smile as she traces tentative fingers across your huge stomach.

“What was your mother like?” The breeze holds still for a moment and even the children in the distance seem to quieten as Faith breaks eye contact and pulls away her hand. “Sorry, it’s just, you haven’t really ever talked about her before.”

It takes a long time for her to answer and when she eventually does you’ve so given up on the idea you’re tucking into your fifth sandwich.

Her voice is hesitant but clear- not unsure of her words just of whether she should share them.

“She was… difficult.” Faith coughs uncomfortably and stares at the blue sky, her eyes moving as she follows the paths of the only two clouds visible. “One day she’d be this fun loving, amazing mom who’d take me places and the next she’d…” She sighs, itching at her left arm again. It’s a craving, you now know, for Orpheus. “She’d lock me in the bathroom. For days. Always the bathroom. Didn’t matter where we were, which fleabag motel. Always the bathroom.”

You’re tempted to say ‘I’m sorry’, just because it’s the automatic reply for a thing like that. Instead you take her hand and hold it to your stomach. It helps you call down so it might just do the same for her. “What happened?”

“Suicide.” She spreads her palm flat, sharing body heat and making your skin burn, “Thing is, I know that if she would have held out for just one more day she would have felt differently.”

Despite the hand on your stomach Faith twists to what has to be a pretty awkward position but at least lets you look at each other properly.

She catches your eyes and examines them. “I don’t ever want to live my life missing something.”

“Yeah.”

“What I mean by that is… I don’t- I don’t wanna look back at this moment in twenty years time and kick myself, y’know? If some guy got you pregnant and then didn’t step up I’d… probably kill him.”

Huh? ‘Step-up’? She’s going to give you money?

Oh no, wait… she doesn’t have any money! And you’re not that kind of girl… but it’s mainly the lack of money. It would be nice if she was, of course- the cash you stole from the Slayer Fund is running out to the degree that Satsu has repeatedly- and rather sweetly- offered to stop eating just so you can.

“You’re going to…?”

“Y’know, come to all the appointments with you and get mushy over scans and hearing her heartbeat.”

You laugh slightly, “Uh… it’s a bit late for those things, I’m… well I’m about to pop.” Like a big mushy tomato.

Oh God that was a disgusting image! Is it really too late to go back in time? If magic can change one of the fundamental rules of reproduction maybe it can take you back in time too? Because this is all one very scary mistake.

“Shit, shit shit! I’m going to pop! And then there’ll be goo and pips!”

Faith, grips your wrists, holding them by your side and trying to sooth you. “Relax, it’s ok. Breathe.” The two of you do the deep breathing, anti-hyperventilation thing they show on TV so much. “You’re going to be great. Besides, I really doubt there’d be pips.”

She doesn’t know that! This is a baby created from magic! It might not even be a baby! Oh my God, it might not even be a baby! It might not even be human! It might burst from your stomach in a shower of-!

“B! You’re not breathing!”

You take in big gasping breaths and try to calm down “Right, yes, ok… gah…”

“You’re thinking about our baby being a twisted demon from outer space aren’t you?”

Yes. “No.”

She chuckles and runs her hands up your arms, linking them behind your neck. “Can’t lie to me B, I know you too well.”

And she does. If there’s one person in the world who knows you it’s Faith.

In another life you could have been best friends. Though having a child together probably isn’t bad. With her arms wrapped around you and hair pushed back there’s a perfect cleavage view.

“Faith,” You unclasp her hands and bring them down in front of you, or… as ‘in front of you’ you can get when there’s a beach ball on your front. “If- if this is going to work, if we’re going to have a chance… You have to get off the drugs.”

“I am!” She tosses your hands away to point to her bare inner elbows. “I’m clean!”

Right, because you’ve never heard that before. Besides, she never injected into her lower arms! “I saw you in Miami! In February. I… I don’t exactly know what I was thinking, but when I got home and… knocked myself up I was hoping that you’d find a way to change, to be sober. And then two months later you were back in Scotland and… of course, you probably don’t remember that… because you were high, but I was there and… maybe you should try avoiding places with a big… ‘Scene’. Y’know?”

“Yeah. I know.” She pouts like a child and crosses her arms, which threatens to make her tiny bikini top over-spill in a not very childish way.

“What happened? I thought… I thought you were over all that. When you stayed for Christmas you were fine but then by February it was like everything had changed. You were off in this other place.” A Buffy-free place, “I thought- I hoped something could have happened between us when-”

It’s ok, she wants to step up- that’s almost a hundred percent admission of ever lasting love. Does pregnancy sap confidence as well as making you horny? Is that not some kind of weird cosmic oxymoron?

“When I found out you were coming back to Scotland and I was pregnant I… I had all these plans going round in my head but you… were so different. You hit me.”

She opens and closes her mouth a bunch of times then sighs in frustration, casting her yes to heaven as if in a desperate plea for the right words. The ones that will make having punched your pregnant stomach ok. Even if she hadn’t known she should have done. She would have done if she had been herself.

You’re fine, she’s fine, Baby S is fine. You just need to relax, right?

“I…I’m sorry. I said I was sorry. I didn’t… sometimes… it’s like I…” Faith sighs and rubs her face, “I’m not me. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you. Uh…” She blushes, “Now. I’d never hurt you now. I’ve moved on from the ‘hurt B enough and she’ll love you’ phase.”

Thankfully.

“Christmas was amazing, but then… you changed.”

Sorry, what now?! “I did not!”

“You did too!” She protests, stealing a cucumber sandwich from your plate. “You got funny on me.”

“That’s so not going to be ‘funny ha-ha’ is it?”

“You were either avoiding me or… being insanely friendly.” ‘Throwing yourself at her’. “I got scared. And then… then I just lost it. To be honest, I don’t even remember most-” She stops suddenly, and smiles facedly, pretending something in the distance has caught her attention. Though her attention span truly isn’t the best she’s a pretty rubbish actress too and besides, no one’s that distractible! “You want some ice cream?”

Her eyes shine with just the right amount of repentance for you to give in to her begging tone. “Maybe later.” In the mean time, you change the subject to keep her happy, “So, now you know, what do you want me to do?”

“Uh… be careful with yourself? Have a baby?”

You actually sort of love how dumb-yet-smart she is. It’s hot. That thing, when guys say that Paris Hilton is hot because she’s stupid? You totally get that!

Besides, slayers get twenty extra IQ points just for being alive. So there.

“No, I meant ‘what do you want me to do’ with the baby and… me. I live in…” Hotels. “And you live in…” Motels. “Ok, so neither of us are actually living in one particular-”

“B,” She cuts you off, “I don’t want to step on no toes but…” You bite your lip and try to refrain from begging her to come close enough to step on you. “Maybe we could just set up shop together. House, mortgage, matching rings and all that,”

Rings? Rings? “Uh-guh.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

You watch her mouth make sounds for a few minutes before realising that you can’t actually understand a word she’s saying, your mind too stuck on ‘rings’. The look on your face must say everything as, once she cottons on, Faith instead starts pointing in the direction or Satsu and then gets the Japanese girl to replace her.

“What happened?” Satsu asks once she’s managed to catch your attention, “Did she threaten you?”

“Faith doesn’t make threats, she makes promises.” You answer, still a little out of it, “But no, she didn’t, I’m fine… better than fine. I think I might be engaged. Or not.” She chokes on her own tongue in utter shock, “You know, someone really should talk to Faith about clarity because, to be honest, she doesn’t seem to have much of it.”

Chapter Nineteen: Baby's Buttered Crackers

November 2005

You have a new Bible, two weeks old, and you intend to love, honour and obey it.

For without faith there is fear.

“What do you think?” Your pseudo-wife asks, as if she actually expects an answer.

She’s working on the idea that you can speed up a baby’s development by talking to them as if they’re fully aware. “They’re both blue Faith, I don’t think she much cares.”

But no, Faith spins with a look of utter shock on her face, “Don’t say that! One has a gross kitten on the front!” The two tiny outfits she’s holding on those miniature hangers dance as she talks.

“So put her in the other one and hide that for the next time Andrew visits.” You consider, “Actually, who cares about Andrew’s feelings- throw it out, it’s puke-worthy.”

“Thank you.” She smiles conspiratorially at your daughter, as if they were working together for that result all along. “See pumpkin, we’re gonna teach you some taste!”

“She’s a month old Faith, do you not think this is starting a little soon?”

For one very scary second you have the feeling she’s about to pull out her new bible; Everything A Daddy Needs To Know (the ‘daddy’ version because apparently Baby needs both sides), instead she just sighs with exaggerated patience and shakes her head, “Buffy, Buffy, Buffy… it’s never too soon. Besides, it’s not like you were playin’ her Bach while she was in ya womb or nothin’.”

Ha! As if she could ever even recognise Bach if she heard it! “Should you really be judging here? You can’t even say the letter ‘R’.”

“Dude, that’s like… cultural differences.” She snorts in amusement and ruffles your hair, plopping the ugly baby-grow down on top of your head. “Besides, I don’t want her to be like me- I want her to be better. She can’t get worse than us, right? With your nose and stubbornness and my…”

You try not to laugh as she looks comically from side to side, a grand pretence of grasping for straws.

“Oh. No. Wait. I’m perfect!”

“Except for your mind. And occasionally your body. Oh- and your soul!”

The two of you hold a glaring stand off before crumbling into fits of giggles.

Pretty much everything is funny right now. You’ve been stuck in that funny half-life new parents live- where there’s no such thing as night and day, just living in the moment and trying to work out exactly what it is you’re supposed to be doing (because, to be honest, you don’t really know). Sleep is this odd thing that you kind of remember but aren’t really sure actually exists…

There’s this uneasy feeling somewhere deep down in your chest that two weeks is really not long enough to judge whether or not you’ll be a good parent. It’s all so fresh and new, no one expects you to be good at these things yet because you’ve never done it before. But what about in four months time when you’re still putting nappies on the wrong way round and mixing up all the creams and shampoos and… and what about that day you forgot to change her- for a full five hours?! That’s a really long time in the life of a person who’s only lived for six days!

Yet there’s something so beautiful about it, so magical; she fits in your arms so exactly and you can’t stop this fascination you’ve developed with ‘firsts’- her first Monday, her first smell of muffins, her first listen to MTV (ok, that one was a little accidental), her first everything. You hold her life in your hands and not just literally but figuratively too. She is introduced to things through the two of you, you mould and shape who she is going to become.

You thought she’d be angry and cry stubbornly until she gets her own way but instead she’s quiet- so quiet that in the hospital nurses used to give you special attention just as an excuse to take a break in your peaceful room. She’s beautiful… in that tiny, red, old man sort of way. But with two such attractive parents how could she not grow up beautiful?

She’s like a tiny package- the type you have in pass the parcel- so many layers of things to discover until you get down to the real person inside. Will she be sporty? Artistic? Kind? … Challenging?

It seems so hard to wait, so easy to wish for the days to speed up, until you can meet her properly, until you know her so well you don’t have to check the list Faith has pinned to the wall; “Baby crying; is she hungry, tired or in need of a change?” with a list of options underneath and instructions on where things are kept. At the bottom, in big, scrawled, green letters is ‘Give Her A Hug!’ with two ‘g’s on the end of ‘hug’ and then the second hastily scribbled out.

You like that your room is so messy- predominantly on Faith’s side- while Baby’s room and every other place she might touch is tidied to within an inch of its life. Faith’s odd selective-OCD strikes again. “Kidding! Kidding!” You squeal, trying to squirm away from her tickling fingers.

She ignores you and reaches to pin your arms behind your back, holding you flush against her. For a moment you part your lips as if she might make to kiss you but instead her head dips and… blows a raspberry against your neck!

“Stop it!” You shriek between chortles, thrusting your shoulders forwards in an effort to avoid falling over, “I’m really trying to be an adult here!” Still safely on her changing mat Baby slips back into slumber, uninterested in your flirting.

“You are an adult B!” Faith lets go of your hands to grip your hips tightly, her little fingers slipping down inside the waistline of your trousers.

“Faith…” Her hips press into yours and she leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

You’re so tiny in comparison to her, her little doll. “B,” She murmurs against your skin, “You know I’m proud of you right?”

Your heart swells with pride. This… thing is amazing. She is amazing- so adult and in control.

It’s tentative, and new. You’re not thinking about the future, or the past or saving the world. For now your life is in this tiny bubble.

“I know, I’m proud of you too.” For being yours, for being such a good mother, for being everything you ever thought she couldn’t be.

“So proud you’re vibrating?”

“Well, a little, but isn’t that a conversation not to have in front of our suddenly smart daught- oh, you mean my phone!” Wedged down in your back pocket and… and ok, so there’s a certain extra layer of something sort of resembling fat that’s keeping it from you and these jeans are a little (a lot) bigger than the size you usually wear but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel the stupid vibrations of your stupid-

“B? Phone?” Faith chuckles then sucks on your neck for a moment before bouncing off to finish dressing Baby.

You smile to see her so happy.

“Phone!”

“Oh!” You scrabble to grab it before it stops ringing and try to cast aside possible weight issues (you just gave birth! And they make really nice crackers in England!) “Right! Uh… Hello?”

It’s a police station somewhere on the other side of the city; Kennedy is currently sulking in one of their cells and asked that they call you.

“I’m not actually related to her or… in any way responsible for her.”

The gruff, London voice says he knows and doesn’t care- apparently she’s already fought her way through three cells and broken his partner’s nose. You consider making a joke about ‘life partners’ but this perhaps isn’t the time for humour… plus isn’t there a law against being ‘cheeky’ to policemen here? England is weird.

“I get what you’re saying, and I’m sorry but I have a baby- a tiny one, a little, little baby and I can’t exactly just drop her and- not that I would! I wouldn’t-! I-! Dropping! That was a joke! You can’t arrest me for making a-!”

“B!” Faith snatches the phone from you and shoves you towards Baby with her hip. “Hello officer? … Uh-huh, mm…” She makes those weird little agreeing-grunts that people make when they’re on the phone and tries to sign what he’s saying to you before remembering you’re not the one who inexplicably knows both British and American Sign Language. You sometimes wonder why she can’t have a useful talent like being able to put up shelves, but then Xander wouldn’t really have a reason to pop over every day ‘just to check’.

Baby coos when you pick her up and makes funny pop-pop noises that according to Faith means she wants to be fed. “Hello lovely, you hungry? You want milk?”

“Some milk.”

“What?”

You give Faith a funny look, she’s still on the phone but gestures towards the two of you with an impatient look, “Ask if she would like ‘some milk’- you have to use full sentences with her else-” Luckily the police officer comes back to the phone before you can club her over the head. “Yes, hello, I’m still here.”

“Stupid Fay-Fay and her silly psychobabble!” You whisper to Baby who just wants to be fed.

“Right, well I’m not sure if I can come officer- I’ve got a very small baby.”

You roll your eyes at Baby, happily sucking away at your chest, “We can do without you for two hours Faith, she’s probably just going to eat, sleep and poop. Like normal.” Jesus, that hurts! “Ow, chew less!”

“Really? Just a moment.” Faith covers the receiver with her hand and gives you a doubtful look, chewed lip and all. “I don’t know, two hours is a long time…”

“It’s a long time in her life, not yours- and you’ve got the rest of it to make up those two hours to her, ok?” It’s not that you want her to go so much as Kennedy is probably causing property damage as you speak and Giles has already had to hire lawyers for forty different slayer-cases this month.

“Are you sure?”

“Go! We’ll be fine.”

You’re almost affronted when she asks ‘really?’ in a completely doubting tone.

Maybe you’re not the world’s best ‘straight-off-the-bat-haven’t-had-time-to-read-all-the-stupid-parenting-magazines’ parent but people can be surprising.

Sometimes they can prove themselves in ways you wouldn’t have imagined.

Faith falters a moment to adjust her coat. It’s actually pretty weird to see her without a baby strapped to her chest. She’s working on the idea that as she didn’t actually carry Baby the two of them need to form a strong physical bond that can only be achieved by near constant skin-to-skin contact.

“Really.” You sigh, “And when you come back we’re totally having sex because I haven’t seen your breasts once in the last two weeks.”

Her eyes flick down to your own exposed breasts and the child currently eating there. “Wow, that is such a turn off…”

“Out!”

She darts away before you can smack her ass and it’s only once she’s gone that you realise you’ve never yet actually been left on your own with any baby.

“Oh crap.”

Baby gives you the kind of look that lets you know she’s going to grow up to be the type of kid who makes you put money in a ‘swear jar’. She may also actually be named ‘Baby’ if you don’t put in some quality baby-name-book time. Faith has expressed no interest what so ever in the subject though you know she cares.

It’s this odd block she has where Baby’s concerned… the way she stares at her sometimes, the look she used to give you, a sort of worshiping gaze as if she can barely believe you’re real. Though it’s nice, in a way, to be treasured, you wish she’d see you as a person more. If you leave the milk out and it spoils Faith gets mad at herself for not putting it away sooner. If she makes dinner reservations and you take so long to get ready that you miss them she blames herself for not factoring in that time.

If Rosy cries when someone picks her up, it’s always Faith’s fault.

Your friends find it so easy to blame her that she thinks it herself now. It’s always Faith’s fault.

Her cocky attitude is still there and she smiles practically all the time when you’re together but as soon as you’re around Willow or Xander or even Giles she shrinks into the background, even going so far as to ask you if it’s ok for her to pick up her own daughter.

Only Kennedy (and Angel that one time you let him visit) seem to have noticed it, the others act as if that’s her rightful place.

But she means more to you than anything-bar your daughter.

God, that sounds weird; ‘daughter’, ‘child’, ‘baby’. As if you’re some kind of adult with this big, sorted life and a regular job that’s not going to kill you.

‘Daughter’ comes with ‘mother’ and you don’t think you’re quite there yet. You’ve had ten months to get used to the idea- getting pregnant was solely your idea- and Faith’s had six weeks, yet she’s the capable one and you’re just a willing student. ‘Mother’ makes you think of your own, not yourself.

Faith fits comfortably into the role. You’re actually a little lost as to whether she hates change or loves it… either way she seems to mould to it pretty well! Like… like some kind of weird play-dough… flesh coloured and kind of… ok, there’s no way a child’s gooey toy could ever be sexy. But if there was, Faith could do it!

She’s a good mother- a great mother and a good ‘wife’, as Satsu calls her. In just six weeks she’s proven how dedicated, devoted and just generally wonderful she can be to the two of you.

Having a baby does weird things to your head. Mainly it makes you think about your own parents- how your father could ever bare to leave you, how your mother ever had the patience to put up with you.

You think about Faith’s parents too because you know that just like when you hold Baby in your arms and hear your mother’s reassuring voice saying you’ll do fine… Faith hears one that tells her she can’t do this, that she’ll ruin everything. So she works extra hard to be the best goddamn parent the world has ever seen.

Everyone else is amazed. You’re just proud.

And you don’t even know her surname.

“What’s your surname Baby? Summers or…” You pause to think of a fitting surname for someone like Faith- something dark and mystical or… horribly normal. ‘Raven’ perhaps or- “Blah?” You’re really not as imaginative as you think you are. “Ok, so ‘blah’ for now. Which makes you ‘Baby Summers-Blah’? Or ‘Baby Blah-Summers’? Actually, ‘Blah-Summers’ sounds pretty good- we should call you Blair!”

Baby doesn’t respond either way so you lay her back down in her crib- it’s an amazingly beautiful wicker thing with lots of creamy cotton lining that you found in an antique shop- and go off to hunt for more crackers and the baby name book.

You were so scared to name her when she was born, this tiny, tiny yellow thing. The doctor frowned when she was born and you almost had a heart attack before they placed her on your chest. She was too small for a full-term baby but aside from a little jaundice there was nothing wrong with her and they decided she was just petite, like her mother.

It didn’t help your panic; you’re a mother- you know when there’s something wrong with your child! But there’s no way to tell until she’s a little older.

So for now you’re just concentrating on the important things. Like a name.

And not searching through ads for property on the Internet.

This house is Watcher’s Council-owned and it irks you to no end. When Giles had offered you the house you’d smiled and been nice about it but really you’d only taken the house to make Faith happy.

That and the two of you have absolutely no money to speak of (hence your prior bank robbing experience).

It’s a sweet little house, two bedrooms, on a nice street and, for some unknown reason, coloured entirely in whites and creams. You like it, it’s become home in just a few weeks- Giles made sure you were smuggled back to England in time for the birth- but you still wish you were the one taking care of your family. Or at least Faith!

“Not Faith… Felicity? Fiona? Flick? Flo? Flora? Oh! Butter! Flora butter on crackers… mm…”

The house phone rings, flashing Faith’s number so you flick it to speakerphone and go back to trying to work out the difference between Louise and Louisa and why you have an odd mental block that makes you dislike both versions.

“Hey Baby, how are you doing?”

“You’re talking to the actual baby and not me aren’t you?”

Faith coughs in embarrassment at being caught out “No, I… love you too.”

“Sure you do.” You chuckle, buttering another cracker, “How’s Ken?”

“No idea- I’m still stuck in traffic. You know, ya really shoulda have mentioned that London is just one big pile of congestion before you convinced me to move here.”

“I seem to remember you being desperate to live with me ‘wherever that may be’.”

“See now, ya tryin’a quote me but I’d never use ‘may’.” You concede with a shrug and she knows you well enough to change the subject, “I was thinking, once I’m back, that Baby and I could run out to the shops for a bit, she needs to be around crowds to increase her confidence as a toddler so she’ll make friends easier at playschool.”

“She’s two weeks old.” You chortle, “That’s fourteen days. That leaves like…” 365 days in a year… minus fourteen… 351 days… plus a year and a half… that’s 365 plus half a year which is 150 plus 30 plus 2 plus 351 equals… four hundred… seven hundred… and ten- no, eight hundred and- “A lot of days, there are a lot of days left until playschool.” Math sucks, your head hurts.

“Oh.”

“Besides, shouldn’t her name be more important? She’ll probably be more affected by not having a real name at school. The other kids will laugh at registration.” You should know.

“Nah, nobody puts Baby in a corner.” She giggles and even over the phone line you’re oddly aware of her sticking her tongue out.

“You think you’re so funny! I’m serious, do you…?” You hesitate, chewing on your lip, “Are there any… Have you thought of a name?”

There’s a bump as she jumps in surprise, “Oh. I thought that you… I didn’t think I… You mean I get a say?”

Why does she still think that’s so weird? The tiny baby in the crib is only half you but why does that seem to be the important half?

And yes, you’ve been thinking of a name for the past ten months- the joy of a child with only female parents is that it cuts the number of possible names in half- but that doesn’t mean you have to use it! She might have something better, more personal, more fitting.

“Of course. Just give me some suggestions, we can… work on them together.”

“Right.” She chuckles, “How about… Frank?”

“Could I pay you to be serious? How about ‘Ianthe’?” You ask through a cracker.

She groans, “You reading through the English Guide to Posh Names?”

“It’s Greek!” Baby doesn’t make any kind of movement when you call her Ianthe so you let it drop- for now. “Ok, how about another flower name?”

“Ianthe’s posh for ‘flower’?”

“Let it go Faith.”

“Ok, sorry, sorry… Rose.”

It takes you a second to stop yourself from replying ‘Buffy’. “Rose? You want to call her Rose? You hate roses.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do- should I use a direct quote because I’m pretty sure it goes something like ‘I hate roses’.”

“What’s with you and the misquoting? That’s just red roses, I like the ones that change colour.”

You laugh, “Magic roses? You like magic roses?”

“No, the ones that are sort of orange at the base and then turn into purple at the tips… or white… Oh! I saw ones once that were sort of blue and ice-white. But it’s mainly the orange and purple ones.” Orange and Purple?

“Gay flowers? You like gay flowers?”

“I like roses- as long as they’re interesting.”

“Is this the part where you say ‘I love our daughter- as long as she’s interesting’.”

“Dude,” Faith snorts, “She’s our kid. Like she’ll ever be dull!”

Actually, ‘dull’ isn’t really that bad. ‘Healthy’ would be great. So would ‘happy’.

People can be happy and dull, right? Just because you have certain issues with normality and can’t really be satisfied unless something’s going wrong and you’re in control, that doesn’t mean that those people don’t exist right? Even tiny bald people who currently look like a creepy and non-cute lizard (not that lizards are generally cute).

She’ll be beautiful. Beautiful and happy and… hopefully dull.

She’ll be a B-grade student, not so high she’ll feel isolated, nor low enough to feel bad, just enough to be proud. She’ll have a nice boyfriend, he won’t dote to inflate her ego, nor be reluctant to call, just enough to make her friends jealous. She’ll be popular, not so the regular kids hate her, nor so low she’s a nobody, just enough to not worry.

Then she’ll go to a good University, get her dream job and meet a great boy. They’ll have two or three children, who you’ll dote on and spoil the way you never should with her. You already love her more than anything in your life so far and you know that no matter what she does, how she lives her life, who she chooses to be… you’re going to keep on being soppy and talking in clichés because she’s perfect.

And you can’t wait to tie ribbons in her pretty hair and put her in colourful dresses…

Oh! Is she going to be blonde or brunette? Or have a random black-haired or red-haired gene because that really makes her colour schemes interesting. Pastels suit pretty much everyone but with redheads there’s a whole range of greens and blues that will look just-

The doorbell rings, breaking you out of what was starting to be a very sweet little fantasy. It’s probably the baby-loving granny from next-door and knowing you’ll have to hang up to talk Faith whistles to catch your attention, “So, Rose?”

“Rose.”

You say your goodbyes, declare your undying love and hang up.

Weirdly, when you open the door it’s not to Mrs. Grey but one of the people you were least expecting to see.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” She near-bellows.

“Oh… my god… Willow! What are you doing here?” You’re pretty sure that wasn’t meant to sound so apprehensive.

“We came to see our favourite niece.” She grabs you, pulling you in tight to her breast, conveying her glee with a bone-crushing hug.

“We?”

“Xander’s parking the car.”

You try not to smile too fakely and instead let her pull you into the house.

It’s not that you don’t like Willow any more- you love her! She just has a habit of alienating brunette woman… like that unfortunate incident with Cordelia’s ghost and the ectoplasm-, which is much harder to clean up than previously imagined.

“I’m glad you’re here.” And hopeful that the London traffic really is that bad.

“I’m glad I’m here too.”

She coos over your baby, admires your house and lends a sympathetic ear until you’re gossiping like teenagers. Then Xander bumbles into the room and swoops Baby- Rose! Swoops Rose into his arms, joining you on the couch. “Hello Gorgeous.”

He looks so happy, the proud uncle. You haven’t seen him much since Renee’s death and the apocalypse after. It’s your own fault of course, he means so well and puts up with Faith better than Willow and Dawn. There’s no real reason. In some weird way he’s your safety, the big, warm teddy bear with a gentle heart.

Then there’s Willow; who, if Faith didn’t exist, would be the closest woman to you. Actually, despite Faith existing, she’s probably the one who knows you best. Sure, Faith has that creepy way of knowing what you’re feeling and exactly how to piss you off when she wants to but it’s not as if you tell her your hopes and fears or your dreams. You didn’t see her every day for seven years.

And ok, so you’ve made it pretty obvious whom you’d choose if you had to but friendships mean a lot. Maybe even as much as screwy meant-to-be relationships.

You love them all. And that’s the problem.

“Actually, it’s not ‘Gorgeous’ anymore- we’ve decided on a name.”

Xander gasps, “What did you choose?” And you get the feeling that’s a singular ‘you’.

“Rose.”

“No!” Willow gasps, “Rose? The baby name you wanted in high school?!”

“Not that I wanted to have a baby in high school but yes.”

She looks proud for remembering and motions to Xander to pass Rose over.

Your little baby squirms and makes mewling noises. It’s still so unreal, a tiny little person made of you. And Faith, obviously. Actually she doesn’t look like either of you right now. You’d seen her lying in Faith’s arms this morning and suddenly realised whom it is she looks like; “Sweetheart, you know I love our daughter but… the poor thing looks a hell of a lot like my dad.”

Xander chuckles suddenly and you jump, wondering in your sleep-deprived state if he can read your mind, “You know, it’s a good thing you didn’t have a kid with Satsu else it’d have a name you couldn’t pronounce.”

“Hey! You don’t know that!” You pout, “I’ve gotten… ok, yeah, language isn’t really my thing.”

“You know what else is funny?” Will giggles extra-quietly, cradling Rose carefully.

“This is going to be Sassy-related, isn’t it?” Despite her being even younger than Faith and far too sweet to be drawn into your messy love life Willow hasn’t given up hope that you’ll end up with Satsu.

“If Rose was a normal baby you’d need a paternity test.”

Because you slept with Satsu before you went out to Miami? It creeps you out that she knows that. “How do you…?”

“Angel told me- you’d be amazed what he can smell.”

Of course. Angel.

Xander notices your brisling and changes the subject to some small, trivial baby thing and you let yourself get sucked back into the conversation for another half hour, until you turn Faith’s key turning in the lock and excuse yourself to make tea and butter crumpets- you’re so getting the hang of being English!

You pass Faith in the hallway, holding a frazzled and sulking Kennedy by the hand. “Willow and Xander are here.”

She cuts her eyes to her oblivious best friend and pouts petulantly. “Do they have to be?”

“Sorry darling, I think they’ve attached themselves to your daughter. But please, do go in there and prize her away before Willow tries to make off with her.” Faith glares angrily so you rest a hand on her arm and remind her you’re just joking.

Sliding slowly down the wall, Kennedy groans, “I think I’m gonna be sick!”

You share a look with Faith and shrug, “Hey, you know where the bathroom is.”

She runs off and Faith shakes her head like a disapproving parent, making you chuckle. God she’s going to be an amazing parent!

“I have to go… make biscuits…” Her eyebrow raises, “I have to go take biscuits out of their packets, put them on baking trays and heat them up to pretend I made them.”

So you do. Because you’re weird like that.

But then the biscuits are warm and they’re still sitting in silence in the living room and there are crumbs everywhere so really you should be cleaning. And scrubbing. And hey, there are dishes to be done!

“Buffy?”

“GAH!” Biscuits fly everywhere.

Kennedy smirks at the big bad slayer, squealing like a little girl. “Hi.”

“Uh…” You try to calm your racing heartbeat, “Hi?”

“You mind if I come hide in here with you?”

“I’m not hiding!” She rolls her eyes at how completely unconvincing you sound.

“Sure.”

So not hiding! There are things in the kitchen to tidy and clean and… huh, when did your house get so clean? “I’m sorry, I should have warned you they were here before you came home- they just turned up!”

Kennedy has been living in your house (or, more accurately, your fridge) for the past few weeks since the messiest break up of the century. “It’s… well, it’s not ok. It still feels like a hole in my heart every time I see her.”

“Again, Sorry. I’m pretty mad at her myself. Though to be honest, if someone was going to cheat in your relationship I would have thought it’d be…”

“Me? Same here. Really should have taken the chance when Faith offered.”

You guffaw at Faith’s idea of a good deed. “Yeah, she’s sweet like that.”

“She is. And hot.” Kennedy sighs then jumps to correct herself when you glare, “Whoa, not like that! Hot in a friend way!”

“Sure, whatever you say…” You chuckle as she gets more flustered then visibly tries to calm down.

“Seriously though, what you guys have, it’s amazing. She’s so happy and… stable.”

“That’s what being clean does to you.” You fake-laugh, a little too breezily.

Kennedy scowls. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb and don’t make a symptom a cause. You know damn well the drugs are just to-”

“Kennedy!” You hold a hand out to stop her, wishing she’d just shut up, “Please, can we not talk about this? It isn’t playing up currently so lets not jinx things, ok?”

She frowns, “It wouldn’t have to keep ‘playing up’ if you’d just make her go to a doctor.”

“She doesn’t need-”

“Oh come on, the guilt, the depressions, the-”

You growl, half angry that’s bringing this up and half that she dared to cut you off, “What part of ‘not now’ don’t you understand? I love you Kennedy but I’m not above smacking you. Hard.”

What makes her think she has the right to bring this up? Isn’t she supposed to be on Faith’s side? God, you spend enough time trying to convince your friends to be nice to Faith!

And yes, sometimes she’s a little… off, but really, does anyone know what ‘normal Faith’ is like?

Kennedy fiddles with the top of the counter, still swaying with the effects of the alcohol, “Ok, ok, sorry. I’ll stop trying to spread my misery.”

You study her for a second; wonder if she’s really sorry, if she really understands just how hard it is for you to keep your fears buried, how much you want to confess.

For a second the words burn in your mouth, like bile threatening to overspill.

“We thought of a name.” You blurt instead. Kennedy isn’t the person to have this conversation with

“Yay! A speck of light in my miserable world. I might not kill myself now.”

“There’s no need to be so sarcastic.”

She looks around at the spilt biscuits and frowns, “Bleeding wound. Redhead in the other room.”

“Still.”

“Ok, fine, I’m sorry. Go on then, tell me.”

“Rose.”

“Aw, it’s so classy!” You grin and reward her with a packet of crackers, “I’m surprised you didn’t go for something trashy like Candy or Britniii with three ‘I’s.”

“Excuse me?”

Kennedy rolls her eyed and stuffs two crackers in her mouth at once, “Oh come on, ‘Buffy’ and ‘Faith’- what else should I be expecting?”

You flinch away from the spray of crumbs, “Says the girl who has a last name as a first name.”

“How do you know it’s not my last name?”

“I’ve seen your monogrammed towels.”

“Damn my mother’s maid! There is nothing that woman doesn’t think of!” Still creepy no matter how many times you hear it.

“Right…”

Faith is still standing in the corner of the living room, looking decidedly uncomfortable. It’s so strange to see her, since Christmas you’ve gotten so used to not seeing her she’s gone back in your mind to that little girl she used to be. The one who wasn’t really real, wasn’t really here. ‘Grounded’ seems like the right word. That’s what she is now. Grounded, happy and yours.

There’s a giggle from behind you and you straighten up from the odd ‘totally not spying- honest!’ position you were in. “What?”

Kennedy’s sitting on the counter cramming more crackers in her mouth and your tummy rumbles jealously. “You love her don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, probably not having expected you to reply.

“I love her, I love… little her, I love them both. I’m sickeningly in love.”

“I’m aware.” She snorts, sliding down to the floor and throwing her arms around you. “I’m the one being sickened.”

You lean past her to check on the other room again. Rosy has started crying in Xander’s arms and Faith is so obviously itching to take her back it makes you laugh. She’s such a protective first time parent and you thought you’d be the one!

“Ok Little One, you want your mommy, I know.” He coos too her. Faith steps forward to take the baby back, relief written across her face. “Buff! Baby wants you!”

Wrapped around you Kennedy freezes, her eyes dart backwards and forwards.

You choke, trying not to believe what you just saw.

When Faith opened her arms and reached he turned his back, pulling Rosy away from her and towards you.

Faith blinks rapidly, her body locked so as not to tremble, not to show weakness to these predators.

He waits expectantly, completely oblivious to the tension in the room. Kennedy glares at you, willing you to do something, when you don’t she strides forward purposefully and plucks Rosy out of Xander’s arms. “So give her to her mother.”

As soon she’s settled in Faith’s arms Rose calms, making gurgly baby noises. It takes a second for Faith to shake herself back to conscious but when she does she holds her daughter tighter, smiling hesitantly at first Kennedy and then you. “I think she might…” She stops, realising how her voice sounds and continues in a more authoritive manner, “She needs to sleep, I’m gonna go put her down.”

As she walks out you grab her free arm and mould yourself to her side, biting down on that delicious bottom lip and drawing her into a sizzling kiss. You can feel from her juddering chest that she’s forgotten to breath, too busy feeling your lips on hers, your breath, your tongue, you.

She gapes once you pull away then smirks as you wink and flounces off with her baby, confidence fully restored.

Because it’s going to fucking work and you don’t care if you have to murder people in the process.

Chapter Twenty: Scottish Sushi Goodbyes

April 2006

You’re tired. Partly from being put in charge of a major organization and partly from having to follow Dawn’s every move so you can restrain her from jumping on anyone who answers in the negative to ‘have you ever met my sister?’ Surely shrinking her back down should have shrunk her sex drive?

“God, That class was so dull I had to fake a slayer dream just to get out of it!”

Sprawled out on the floor of your office, carpeted by end-of-term reports, Dawn frowns, “I thought you taught it?”

“Yeah, so?”

You throw yourself down into the big, plush leather chair all section heads are provided. This might have started as a temporary position but you’ll be damned if you fly all the way to Scotland and not have perks.

“No one’s doing any work- it’s the last day of term! We should be watching movies and playing Hangman.” You always suck at that game though, too worried about keeping the little man alive to think clearly.

She rolls her eyes, “That’s regular school. You’re teaching the art of stabbing, not Maths!”

Why is she so English suddenly? You have a sneaking suspicion there’s a secret boyfriend involved as all her new English words are either school or sex related- except for ‘chav’ but you really have no idea what that one’s about.

“You know, you could help me with these rather than just counting down the seconds until Faith arrives.”

So not counting the seconds!

The clock ticks and you jump.

One second closer.

“Oh shut up, you’re still grounded for letting your love life spill over onto company time so don’t start lecturing me about mine.”

Occasionally you wonder if making Dawn your little sister was the Monk’s idea of a big cosmic joke- not only does her new love of heels mean she towers over you even more than she naturally does, but she’s perfected the art of the ‘Mom-Glare’. “Buffy, there are many lectures I could give you about your love life- being in a hurry to end it is not one of them.” She licks her lips and gags, “I am however running out of spit. So please, do me a favour and lick a few envelopes.”

“I have a baby who dribbles everywhere, can’t you just use that?”

The look you receive is withering, “Why does pushing something out of your vagina make women so open to discussing disgusting things?”

“That’s not disgusting! Try cleaning poop off the walls!” Incidentally, are British people just really lazy? They shorten poop to ‘poo’- like one letter is going to make a difference.

“You scare me. And you’re still looking at that damn clock!”

It ticks. Again. “She said she’d be here at five. That’s very, very soon.”

Dawn groans, “She might have said five but we both know that means quarter past. If you want to spend the extra fifteen minutes worrying about it then be my guest, but please, lick some bloody envelopes while you’re at it!”

“She said five, Dawn, and she’ll be here- I told her it was important.”

“Did you bring food to entice her, ‘cause you know that otherwise she’s not going to-?” You point to the stash in front of you on the desk. “Sushi?” Dawn snorts, “Dramatic irony much?”

As a nickname it’s actually quite insulting. You should probably get Faith to stop using it. But you sort of love her clever quirks. “I’m not leaving her for Satsu, I’m leaving her for… living with Satsu. Who is my friend. And an entirely different thing.”

“Watch me not believe you.” Dawn spits again, dry and onto your beautiful carpet.

“Can you please stop doing that?!”

“Does Faith even eat sushi?” She continues, totally disregarding you.

You squish down the brown paper bag to show the bucket of fried chicken behind it. “I know how to take care of my woman.”

Uncomfortable Pause.

“Ignore that.”

She’s not your woman. Not anymore. Not in this mood.

Faith does not sulk, you sulk. Faith falls into a deep pit of depression- which wouldn’t be so goddamn awful if she wasn’t quite so pro-active about it. Faith tends to drag herself out of the pit by lashing out at the thing she thinks made her depressed in the first place.

Which is why you want her out of the house.

Not that you’re even going to question how she’s the one with Post Natal Depression when she didn’t even do the hard bit.

Oh God, if only it were PND. How simple that would make everything…

It took a month after the birth for her to fall into this depression and now four months later she’s barely managing to keep a lid on it, only by completely separating herself into ‘Slayer’ and ‘Faith’ has she managed to hold off others knowing. In the school she’s the big bad slayer, the teacher all the girls fear yet… are in awe of. As soon as she’s home, as soon as that door closes, she’s violent and miserable and so… so different you can’t tell if this is an up or a down or just an ‘other’- something new you’ve never dealt with before.

You freaked out- properly freaked- when Rose missed her ‘eye contact’ milestone. You were sure she was irreparably damaged from the time Faith had punched your stomach. You can forgive her anything but that, anything. Even if she wasn’t in the best state of mind.

Rose caught up pretty quickly to the other children but that fear is still there- the part of you that screams every time Faith reaches for your child.

“She’s here.”

“What?”

Dawn is crouched against the door, strangely staring through the keyhole out of the room rather than into it. “Faith. She’s out there, talking to Leah, who… looks either like she’s flirting or very, very nervous.”

“Nervous. Faith scares her.” Your own palms prickle, even when you rub them against your jeans.

It’s 5.10 and she’s late.

One look at her face makes you giggle, “What happened to you?”

“There are a lot of tiny, pissed off, powerful girls stuck in detention and this is really not my day!” Faith snaps, holding her rapidly blackening eye.

Dawn chuckles and skirts round her to run off and drink a lot of water. Possibly with boys. Many, many boys.

“She’ll be ok, B. Brat knows what she’s doing.”

There’s something so perverse about the way their relationship goes up when yours’ goes down. “That’s what I’m worried about- she’s got a bloodhound’s nose for men!” There really aren’t that many males in the castle so Dawn has progressed to the townspeople. Not that she understands a word they say, but apparently that’s not really important. “I’m sorry about your eye.”

She shrugs, deflating once the door fully closes. “S’ok.”

“I got you some food, I know you skipped lunch for that meeting-”

“It’s fine. I don’t want anything.” Her eyes avoid yours, staring instead at the sea of paper separating you.

A weight pushes on your chest, forcing you back into the chair, fidgeting with the desire to just go to her. “You have to eat some time Faith.”

You don’t expect her to agree and she doesn’t. Instead she fixes her back to the door and studiously ignores everything.

“Do you know why I wanted to talk to you?” Not even that attempt to grab her attention works. You cough uncomfortably. “I need to talk to you about… things at home.”

She doesn’t look at you or even make any sign that she’s heard you. This is ‘normal’; her lack of attention- she doesn’t care to eat, wash or pay attention to her daughter. What hurts most is when you see her in the corridors, laughing with the younger slayers; paying them the attention she denies the two of you. Though even then, you can see in her eyes, how she’s not really there, not really enjoying it.

God, you can’t remember the last time you saw her enjoy herself. You remember her smiles that first month, how Rose was her world. It’s hard to believe but sometimes, it feels like she knows, as if she’s aware, somewhere buried deep down in there… and it breaks your heart.

She’s fighting to come back to you.

But neither of you can beat down that wall. You have a life, a daughter, and a job that you have to get back to. She can’t be the centre of your world, not anymore. You can’t dedicate the time to pull her back from this one.

She was once the secret you loved to keep, but now everyone knows and it’s so much harder.

“We both know that it’s not- you’re not…” The urge to make this easy, to say you don’t think she’s a good mother, is almost too hard to crush down. But you don’t want to lie to her. She deserves better than that.

You like to pretend that everything is black and white when really inside you’re a sludge of colours and textures, some vibrant and some dull grey. Faith likes to pretend she sees in colour, gives everyone a chance, and treats them all equally, when really she’s split down the middle.

Faith is either exceptionally good at something or truly awful, there’s never any middle ground with her- not even when it comes to her feelings. The problem is that she assumes everyone feels this way so merely brushing her off because you’re busy is a sign of aggression. She’ll love you forever if you show her the smallest bit of affection.

“B…?” It’s so hard for her to even force out one letter that you want to cry even more. Yet you don’t. You stay stuck to the chair and try to hold perfectly still, hoping in some kind of vague wish that she’ll see your calm and draw from it.

“You helped me so much at the start Fay, when I had no clue what to do. I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

She smirks bitterly and slides down to the floor, “But?”

For weeks she’d been near-scarily effective, fleeing in terror from becoming her own mother. “But it’s not like that anymore.”

A lump in your throat stops you from going further. Suddenly this just doesn’t seem like the right thing to do any more. She is the better parent and even if she was crap, even if she worked all day and preferred to spend holidays with her secretary than her family you shouldn’t take her away! You know how much that hurts! How being abandoned feels. He didn’t even come to your fucking funeral! “Buffy?”

Of all the moments to be emotionally damaged… “Faith…?”

But the worst your father could have been charged with had he stayed would be emotional neglect. Faith is violent. She punched your unborn child! And yes, ok, she didn’t know there was a child in there but she didn’t know who you were either! It’s so hard, so goddamned hard, to not bring that up every time you visit the Baby Doctor- every time he does that awful little ‘hmm’ noise that means something is not quite right.

“I have to say some things and I need you to listen, ok? I need you to not talk or get angry, just until I’m finished. Please?”

She nods.

“I love you.” Finally her eyes meet yours and you can see the surprise in them. “I’m never happier than when I’m with you. Every time we’re apart I get the feeling there’s a black hole in my chest, this huge, overwhelming loneliness. And then you come back and I’m whole. But… it’s not working any more- you’re here and I’m still empty. You can’t give me what I need right now and I have to learn to be complete by myself, because… because it’s unhealthy to need you this much.”

Faith frowns, “I need you too.”

Exactly. “And I can’t be what you need. I have Rose- she has to come first.”

“You don’t want me anymore?” She sees what Spike never did- that look you’d saved for him, the one that said ‘I love you and I need you but I’ll never be yours’. Except she should be seeing the one that says ‘I wish I didn’t love you and I wish I didn’t need you but I will always be yours’.

“I love you but I can’t look after you.”

The unthinkable happens. A tear runs down her face. She hates to cry- says it makes her feel weak. You’ve felt her tears in the night, under cover of darkness but to see them in the warm orange glow of the office lights… It hurts, almost as bad seeing your baby hooked up to machines, on Christmas day. The two of you had watched through the thick plastic of the incubator and you’d sobbed, crying harder than you’d ever cried in your life before. She held you steady, your rock.

It stays there, the tear, clinging to her cheek. “I’m sorry, F.”

“I ruined another family, haven’t it?”

You don’t know much about Faith’s family, not really. She must have, of course, at some point, had living biological relatives. There’s been the vaguest of mentions of siblings- young or old you don’t know but at least one was a boy. She has a battered Red Sox cap with an illegible name scrawled across the label and a string of cheap plastic beads in a box under her bed.

Her mother killed herself when Faith was a young teenager- Willow found that one out through a full night of research- but there’s only a mention of an abandoned baby in the same building a few nights later to go along with your theories.

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“I told her to give up! I… I told her that she should just stop fighting if it was that hard- she listened. Only time. Ever.”

“You were a kid!” Unpleasant tingles run along your spine. It’s obvious Faith doesn’t want anyone near her- she’s crunched into a little ball, her arms wrapped around her knees. “She abused you horribly- I think it’s ok to feel a little angry!”

Faith fidgets unbearably slowly. “Why? She just told the truth.”

“You’re not worthless.”

“You obviously think so.”

There’s really nothing that can be said to that. Too many nights of dark secrets whispered in dark places to let you believe there’s anything you can say to change her mind.

“I’ll try harder, I promise.”

Only then does it hit you that she still thinks you’re just telling her off.

She doesn’t know this is goodbye.

“Faith…” you sigh, “Please… I’ve had to let go of so much for you, and I wish you’d understand. I wish I knew the way it would all turn out and if it will all be worth it.”

“That an actual dilemma or jus’ a really fucked up way of saying ‘get out’?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m not saying ‘get out of my life’. I’m not saying I want to get rid of you forever- you’re a part of my life. Our lives. I’m sure Willow would be lost without that unattractive rash she gets on the side of her neck when you’re mentioned. Without it she’d just have the acid tummy.”

Faith rolls her eyes at your joke of an attempt at humour. “Whatever, B.”

The way she sneers your nickname makes you stomach curdle. It’s been so often used in anger, more times used in love, that you’re not sure what it’s supposed to be any more. It used to be just her thing but now everyone does it- subconsciously when they’re calling for you or Faith’s just been in the room or sniggered by deviant young slayers.

The worst are the new girls, the ones Faith saves. They stare at you with their big, trusting eyes and breath it out with awe.

You hate it.

Because it hurts you, to hear them call you ‘B’ with such reverence. It hurts that she instils in them her love. And yet when you look at them all you see are soldiers and their stupid team spirit that you just don’t feel.

You hate them a little bit for that too.

Just like you hate her.

God… it’s true. You do hate her. But not for the obvious reasons; not because she’s scatterbrained or loud or reckless or even because she won’t give up those stupid cigarettes. You hate her because of what she has done to your future.

The two of you are tied, forever, irreparably because there is a tiny life made of you. Rosy will always be your first child and she will always be part Faith. You gave up the perfect husband and the genius children for her and… and it hurts your soul to think it but… for Rosy too.

Rosy doesn’t have ‘good genes’. She’s never going to be suddenly brilliant at music or top of the class or even blonde. She’ll be petulant and stubborn and occasionally cruel. Or else stupid and useless and so incredibly dense you’ll want to smack her.

Oh sure, maybe she’ll get the good bits of both of you but this is your life and the universe hates you.

Above all, you hate her for making you love her, for being your one true love, your ‘soul mate’- if you believed in such a thing anymore. If the world was kind she would be a top business man in something like the media industry, who didn’t need to work that hard to make tonnes of money and instead could just spend his days doting on you and his daughter. He wouldn’t mind that you were a slayer, he’d be happy to have found a powerful woman, believe in equality above all else and… and he’d still let Faith stay. He’d let her have a room. He wouldn’t feel jealous watching the two of you together.

You’re so broken you can’t even imagine a parallel universe without her in.

She pervades your every waking thought, permeates every pore in your body.

“You can’t-” She takes a breath and tries again but stops and starts, repeating ‘you cant, you can’t, you can’t’ over and over again until she runs out of air. “You can’t do this.”

“I hate-” You frown. You’d been meaning to say ‘have’ but instead it came out ‘hate’. How Freudian. “I have to do this.”

“Why?” She stands up and comes ever closer, growling with a frown.

“What?”

“If it ain’t my fault then why are ya doin’ this to me? What did I ever do to deserve this?!”

Your mind stops short, so incredibly caught up in the complete stupidity of that statement, “You violated me! In- in every stinking way possible! And I put up with it because… because… because I love you.”

You’re so used to not mentioning ‘it’, this thing; the third member of your non-marriage. Even in your head you only refer to it as ‘her ups and downs’. The truth is so hard to speak, even just to yourself.

It’s a disease.

And right now it holds her tighter than you do.

“I’m used to your general insanity, your ups and downs and that crazy thing you…” Air catches in your throat, “Look, I just- I want Rose to have a normal life. Her mothers are slayers, she’s probably going to grow up with weird powers and be a freak-”

“She’s not a freak! She’s our daughter!”

“-To the other kids. What happened to letting me talk?”

Faith storms closer, trampling across the slayer-reports on the floor, not even noticing Dawn’s good work being ruined. “TALK?! YOU WANT TO TALK?!”

You hear the squeals of fright from the other side of the door as her voice booms.

Through her eyes you can see the thing stoking the fire. IT. And you’re scared, fucking, Goddamn, unashamedly scared because it hates you and she does too. When it wraps her hands around your neck and slams you to the wall it doesn’t look out of her eyes to see the woman she loves, the mother of her child. It sees the enemy.

You’ve been here enough times before to know that nothing you say will stop it. The only thing keeping your windpipe from being crushed at this exact moment is Faith’s tenuous grip on reality.

And a baby’s bones are so much more breakable than yours.

“Fay?” You wheeze, “Please. Don’t.”

She doesn’t reply. It doesn’t let her.

“Buffy? Faith!” Leah and Dawn stand at the door, staring in abject terror at your darkening face and feeble gasps.

“Hit her!” Dawn pleads, turning to the frozen slayer next to her.

“I can’t! They’re stronger than we are!” Leah replies, then noticing the stapler she grabbed in her well trained haste, makes forward to beat the danger back.

“Faith…” You plead weakly, “She’s going to hit you.”

It takes all your energy to speak but it doesn’t register in her eyes, just as your fingernails biting into her flesh makes to difference.

“Please, move…”

She doesn’t. When the blow comes your vision has slowed down enough that you can watch in slow motion as the skin on her temple tears and her head instantly spins.

Dawn is there to catch you as you fall but you fight against her, desperate to get back to Faith. “Leah! Stop!”

She doesn’t. Instead she just kicks harder at Faith’s crouched form. A hand shoots out to snag the redhead’s leg and pulls her down hard enough for the smack of head against desk to resound around the room.

You pretend that was what you were warning her against.

“Leah!” Dawn hesitates, desperate to go to her friend but not stupid enough to continue forward if Faith still wants to fight.

“Take her to the nurse.” Faith half-growls, half-groans.

Guilt tastes like bitter shards when you swallow it down.

All that’s left is silence and lost blood.

The fried chicken has gone cold by the time you finally get around to eating, spread out on the floor with paper as your picnic rug. You remember the last picnic, in Paris, and your heart aches. Faith shares your sushi and pronounces all the names on the label right the first time.

“This one’s nice.” She makes small talk and tries to ignore the angry witch, listening in through the door to ‘facilitate’ this meeting.

“It’s tuna.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Me neither.”

“Ok.”

Faith sighs and shuffles slightly, wincing as her sore head moves on the pillow of your lap. “It hurts.”

“I’ll get you some painkiller later.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, Fay… Sometimes you’ve just got to hold you hands up and say ‘I’m sorry, I admit it, I tried but I just couldn’t do it’.”

“But I can. I can do it.” She protests quietly, her voice still low in the hope of evading being overheard.

You sigh, and frown and try to think of another way to put this but in the end you’re just left with ‘no’. “No, you can’t- Faith can. Faith; my sort-of-wife Faith can and you’re not her anymore. You punched a fucking hole in the wall because Rose wouldn’t stop crying!”

The cut on her head reopens as she spins around to sit up. “She was doing it on purpose!” The utter ridiculousness of that statement throws you for a moment. But then her eyes say that she really does mean it. She really does blame Rosy.

“She’s a baby!” Your hand throbs with the desire to defend your daughter, “I don’t care if you hate me, at this point I really, really don’t but you will not take your aggression out on her and you will not blame her for your sickness, because it’s yours! It’s your fault!”

‘Fault’.

Again.

That wasn’t meant to come out.

There isn’t really such a thing as ‘fault’- you try to tell yourself that it’s not her fault- that she doesn’t want to be like this, she just is. Yet it can’t be her honour you’re so desperate to protect, it has to be Rose and- and it’s silly and nonsensical really because how well exactly did you defend Faith’s honour to start with? It’s still so easy to play the blame game, to jump to the wrong conclusions. You try so hard to not do it but you’re just as bad as your friends- it’s all Faith’s fault. All the time.

“I can’t help it,” She whispers, “Some times it feels like there’s this dark cloud that-”

“Stop making excuses!” Though she isn’t, “I’m not saying you can’t see her, I’m not saying that you don’t love her, I… I want you to go back, to London. Sassy said we could come live with her, in the castle, while we’re-”

She snorts, “Satsu. Should have known.”

“Faith…” You growl in warning, “Don’t go there. She’s a friend. A better one than you.”

And such a sweet girl… You pulled her away from Japan (where she practically begged to be stationed), ran around Europe with her then gave up on the idea of being with her and decided instead to send her back to Scotland while you played house in London. Now, five months later, she runs the place and calls at least twice a week to check you’re ok, make sure you don’t need a place to stay.

“She’s great with kids and it’s just until we get back on our feet, I just need to sort out my head and then we’ll move back to London and see you but- we just both need to be ok for that to happen.”

‘Just’ is a ridiculous word. Trying so hard to make it seem like the huge, important, scary thing you’re talking about isn’t actually huge, important and scary.

“Besides, while we’re gone, I have a couple of missions I need you to go on. Now the pay isn’t great but I’m hoping the travelling will make up for-”

Her face lights up the way it used to. “Ya givin’ me money? Actual money and… stuff?”

“Yes Faith, it’s called a job.” And an excuse to get her away from Rose for a while.

“I never had a job that paid actual money before…” She steals the sushi off your plate and hums happily.

“What did they pay you in?”

“I don’t really think you want the answer to that question B”

Mini-golf and white powder. “Mm. Look, I… I want you to take this break but you have to… you have to take care of yourself, because I’m not going to be there to do it for you.” She flushes as you run your hands over her face, pulling her to you until she has no choice but to look. “I need you to take care of my Faith. As corny as that sounds.”

“M’tired.”

“I know baby, I know.” You smooth back her hair, mindful of the blood, and try not to cry as she slips away again. Her skin is against yours but her mind nowhere near. “And when you’re tired you don’t have the energy to fight it.”

She’s so visibly desperate to be away from this room you almost start to feel sorry for her. “I’m gonna ruin this, aren’t I?”

“No! You’ll be brilliant!” The girls already love her, “It’ll be like old times! Only… with less of the stabbing. On both our parts.” When that doesn’t even so much as raise a smirk you know she’s gone too far back behind that glass wall. And this time there’s not even a crackly phone-line to help you pull her out.

Willow knocks after a moment of silence. “Faith? We need to take you to have that head wound looked at.”

She blinks in surprise, as if noticing it for the first time.

“Faith?”

“Comin’.” You help Willow pull her to her feet.

Nothing can stop your heart scrunching into a messy ball as she bats away your attention. But you made this choice, you decided on awkward nods, ‘goodbye’s that say ‘goodbye’ rather than ‘I’ll see you at home’. This is the way it has to be. For everyone’s sake.

Yet there’s still something, something that makes her turn at the door, other people’s hands wrapped around her arms, and look back into your office. Disregarding the expensive wood panelling, the old desk and the crack in the wall shaped like you. She smiles, ever so faintly, at the messy papers and half-eaten sushi (the ones you tried and didn’t like), seeing something so ‘you’ in the room.

Something worth fighting for.

“Lehane.”

“What?” You frown at her from across the room, sheltered once more by your desk.

“My surname. Thought it might be important now ya my boss.” You give an audible gulp. “I wanna help the girls. And then get mine back.”

Chapter Twenty-One: Strawberries & Cream

August 2006

She looks fine.

In that totally manic, fake way that apparently only you can see through.

But that’s still ‘fine’, right?

Right?

“She seems ok. Doesn’t she? She’s alright? Ok? Fine?”

On the bed behind you Leah snorts in both amusement and real pain. “This means nowt to you, does it?” Andrew sighs impatiently as she holds up the hand he’s been trying to bandage, “Ouch!”

“It wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d just stop moving it!” He whines, pulling her wrist back.

You skirt a little closer to the edge of the balcony, from here you can see Faith’s back only just down to her waist- where Rosy is perched. Hopefully no one will look up and you’ll have enough time to move out of sight if she turns round. “God, that’s an awful haircut.” It barely brushes her shoulders- that awkward length where it’s growing out- and choppy like she’s cut it herself. Which she probably has.

“Buffy, y’ girlfriend just crushed m’hand wit a handshake- and din’t notice- I think she got more on her mind than her hair.”

What happened to ‘Ma’am’? Ok, so it made you sound old, but they gave you a lot less sass while they were calling you by it. “She’s not my girlfriend.” You reply absently around a strawberry.

The two of them scoff.

“So… why are y’ hidin’ up here?” She drawls out in that weird Scottish accent that means you only understand every other word.

“I’m not hiding!” The room needs cleaning! It’s pretty and all but half of it’s coated in miscellaneous baby stuff. Oddly the only part clear of clutter is the cot. Which is fine- just because Rose is nine months old now doesn’t mean she can’t sleep in your huge, empty bed!

“Y’ spent six weeks non-stop organising t’ party then Kennedy tells y’ she’s bringin’ Faith and suddenly it’s y’ room that needs the sortin’. That’s called ‘avoidance’.”

Andrew nods, “It’s true.”

You watch Kennedy, and her stupid, straightened hair, step out from behind a stall and wrap a long arm around Faith.

You’d always thought of her as extraordinarily short, for no reason other than you dislike her. Now though, she seems to stretch on for centuries with… really attractive legs.

If they were a little less skinny.

Stupid enabler!

She can’t be all ‘drugs are bad; don’t let Faith near them!’ and then run off with her to Columbia… or wherever it is they make cocaine. Now they’ve come back with matching hair and enlarged pupils. At least Willow isn’t here, she wouldn’t just glare at Faith she’d do all the things you’re wishing would happen to Kennedy to her.

“Kennedy is so watered down… She’s like a less exciting Faith. Or a brattier me. God I hope Rose doesn’t grow up into her.”

“If you hate her so much, why’d you give her a job?”

You look Andrew up and down like he’s an idiot- which he is. Obviously he’s never been in hate with someone before. “Just keeping my enemies closer than my friends.”

It had actually ached your gut to not laugh watching her get excited about her promotion. Not quite as excited about the job as Xander and Faith had been, but as they were both spawn of abusive alcoholics suffering from chronic underemployment (unless you counted prostitution- which you don’t) their enthusiasm was to be expected. And as an employee she received an invitation to the school’s summer fair. Which is either good or very, very bad.

Leah frowns, both at you and the strawberries she’s trying to skewer with one hand, “Y’ no’ going t’ walk her into an accident, are ya?”

“I can’t promise that.”

“There’s really no reason to hate her- I’m pretty sure they haven’t progressed to a relationship yet, just sex.”

“Andrew, do you think if I sew your lips shut you’ll be quiet or should I just go ahead and rip out your throat?”

The two of them skirt back further onto the bed, “Just saying!”

“Well don’t!”

In the garden below, Faith lifts Rosy over her head and does that cute jiggle-the-baby-until-it-giggles thing. Her shoulder blades jut out unattractively.

“She looks… she’s…”

“Pretty sure ‘f someone sneezes near her she’ll snap in half.”

Faith doesn’t worry about ‘girlie’ things like her appearance particularly- which leaves you to do it for her. She’s never had the best relationship with her weight; she ignores it and it… runs off for a holiday.

Or some other equally disgusting imagery.

The point being, she gets a cold and drops ten pounds.

She’s wearing a tea-dress, which, despite the fact it’s unusually appropriate, looks pretty grotesque on her. Through the bright colour and pattern you can almost see her ribs- and that’s from this distance! Her arms look like thin twigs attached to the muscles Slayer Healing diverts all her food to.

“I know, right? I mean, when was the last time she ate.” Andrew bitches in his best Valley Girl accent and a scarily good impression of you when you were fifteen.

“Are you done using my bandages yet?” As if there was only the one set in the castle! “Thank you for the strawberries though.”

“Oh they were Sats…u… uh, you’re welcome?”

Great, just great- she sent them up here as her little spies! You are so going to kick her ass when you see-! Oh crap. Leaning over the balcony to try and find her so you could summon her up here and out spill your angry raging was… almost definitely not your brightest idea.

Kennedy glares at you harder. “Oh bollocks. Kennedy saw me.”

Andrew replies with a Japanese swearword and then shrugs when Leah snorts, “I thought it was more situation-appropriate.”

“She’s not shaggin’ Sassy y’numpty! I’d know- we share a room.”

“Doesn’t matter if she is or not- just what Kennedy’s telling Faith.”

They pull stupid faces at each other like little kids trying to gross each other out. A quick smack with a pillow shuts them both up pretty quickly. Leah clutches her sore hand, “There’s a reason y’ name rhymes w’ ‘stuffy’!”

“My mom wanted a puppy?”

“If I had a puppy I’d call it Fifi.” Andrew, the boy gay-jokes were possibly invented from, muses.

“Faith wants a puppy.” Well, Faith wants a lot of things, a puppy is just one of them…

Stupid guilt train.

“I just want a happy ending.”

They make puking noises, “You’re so corny.”

Unlike Leah, Andrew is refreshingly uncynical. If there were such a word. “It’s going to be ok. Faith goes down but she always comes back up.”

“What if this time she doesn’t?”

Leah sighs, reluctant to be drawn into this conversation “She’s ‘your girl’, Buff. She always comes back. Y’ put her in coma, sent her t’ prison and dumped her jus’ because y’ friends wanted y’ to. But she still came back.”

“I’ve really got to stop letting Dawn tell you things...” They have become the epitome of ‘creepy best friends’; finishing each other’s sentences, joined at the hip, near-actually able to read each other’s minds... attracted to the same boys but not minding. It’s not that you think Leah isn’t a sweet girl but she wouldn’t have been the type you’d expect your baby sister to be friends with- too cocky and mature.

But she’s not such a ‘baby’ sister anymore- now she’s self assured and achingly clever. Dawn starts at Oxford University this fall; you already think she’ll fit right in. You couldn’t be prouder if it was in any way your doing.

Xander’s asking Faith a question, something about which drink she wants, as if she can actually make a decision right now. “Just give her the damn orange juice!”

“What?” Leah asks, making the word sound so much like ‘och’ you have to batter down a smile.

“Nothing, just… stupid Xander, trying to make Faith choose between drinks.” As if she can concentrate right now.

Kennedy has sloped off somewhere, but even without seeing her you can still feel her eyes burning holes in your soul. Or that might not be Kennedy.

“Any idea why Rowena is giving me the Glare From The Back Of Beyond?”

“She lost a lot of money on you?”

“Andrew!” Leah growls, her accent getting thicker as she yells, “Wha’ part o’ ‘secret’ do y’ not understand?”

You shrug for him, “The part that says ‘secret bet to see how long it is before Buffy dumps Faith’? Though that’s kind of sweet- that she thought we’d last. I was beginning to think she didn’t like me.”

The two of them share a disappointed look, “She doesn’t. It was a bet to see which one o’ y’ would give up on parenting first.” Leah shakes her head, “She lost.”

“Oh. Ok. Kind of dislike her too now.”

A throat clears from behind you, “With you it’s generally mutual.”

“Kennedy…”

It’s not, actually, mutual- no matter how jealous you are or how much you might claim to hate her. She’s still an unpleasant monster of course but she’s Faith’s best friend and… sometime bedfellow. Point being, she’s there for her and you respect that.

“You crawled out of your hole because…?” She sneers at your tone.

“You sent me an invite.” Oh. Yeah.

“I wasn’t thinking straight!”

Leah snorts, “We know.” Then shrinks back as you glare. “Sorry. Satsu said it was ok.”

“Don’t listen to her!”

So you’ve got your own ‘creepily close’ best friend –that doesn’t mean it’s ok for her to go around telling people everything! And by ‘people’ you do of course mean ‘her other best friend’… does that mean that because Satsu is your best friend and Leah is her best friend and Dawn is hers that there’s some kind of weird, incestuous friendship square going on here? Or would you need to be best friends with Dawn too? Can the word ‘incestuous’ be used about something other than sex?

Do you really, really need to calm down?

And is it weird that you’d invite Faith with the intention of never actually seeing her- just checking that she’s ok?

For nine months her blood ran through your veins- you’re her only family over the age of one.

“Buffy,” The hair rises on your arms as Kennedy clutches them. “At least go and see her. Without you all she does is vacillate from-”

“I don’t want to hear about your weird sex parties, ok?!”

“-One extreme to the… other… what? ‘Vacillate’ doesn’t… how did you ever graduate high school?” She glowers at you like a stern teacher to a very stupid child. “And also- sex? Parties? Ha! All she does is sleep! I had to pump her full of caffeine just to get her out of bed this morning!”

Something about her just makes you want to smack her. “Well you shouldn’t have bothered- I don’t want to see her!”

“I didn’t bring her for you!” She spits, “I did it for Rose- that little kid who deserves to see her mother.”

Kennedy is still holding onto your arms, her grip only just the pleasant side of bruising. You scowl defiantly back at her, knowing your face looks nothing more than petulant and not entirely caring.

“It’s been three months, you’ve made your point.”

“I’m not ‘making a point’- I’m taking control of my life back!” Not that you really want it at this point.

“If a life without Faith means having control then you’ve been playing with your hands tied behind your back since you were fifteen!”

‘Disarming’. How very ‘Faith’. You remember those few weeks, way back when you’d just started to warm to the interloper and before your own nightmares of stakes and humans made you push her away… She’d smile at you with those twinkling eyes and press careless kisses to your cheeks and lips, forgetting all her premature sexual prowess in the crush she was lost in.

You’d been just as bad; stealing her favourite pullover because you knew that it was actually her only one and she’d have to ask for one of yours (because you wanted her to be reminded of you constantly… and hers fit so snugly under your pillow). Despite being on academic probation she’d stolen you from classes, first with a paper trail of notes around the school and the promise of crazy stories and then with a hastily drawn heart on a windowpane.

“I met Faith when I was seventeen.”

“Oh, who cares?!” Kennedy grouses, mistaking your sorrow for rejection, “It’s been… uh…”

You roll your eyes, “Seven years. Your math is as bad as mine.” To be honest, you could probably tell her to the day but that seems a little excessive when you’re pretending not to care.

“Whatever. Point is, it’s been a long time! Buffy, please, you’ve got to take her back.”

You sigh and finally pull yourself away from Kennedy’s grip. Why is she always asking you things you can’t answer? “I can’t.”

“You have to! You know that without you it gets worse.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I can’t have her affecting Rosy like that.”

“It’s hard for her-”

“Yeah, well it’s hard for me too!”

Why does nobody get that? It’s all ‘help Faith’, ‘save Faith’- what about ‘help Rosy’? ‘Save Rosy’? They’re all so frightened to mention it and you’re terrified that as soon as they do, it’ll be real. She’s sick, ill, whatever. ‘Failure to thrive’, the doctor said, shaking his head, ‘but we can’t find any medical reason.’

Of course they couldn’t. Your life just isn’t that simple.

But it’s not all about Rose- you’re a person too! You deserve some down time, those few blissful hours when Satsu is taking care of Rose or she’s finally asleep and you can just curl up in the big armchair by the TV and watch hours of mindless dross. Because you can.

“I can’t love her and love myself. She’s…” What? Everything. Too much.

It starts to rain. The little girls outside in their pretty dresses squeal and run for cover. Their parents look around in concern, still too unsure about this world to know for sure whether or not the downpour is demonic. Andrew jumps into action, jamming the French doors closed like a fussy housewife, upset about the rugs. He doesn’t even live here anymore!

Kennedy pulls at her form-fitting tweed dress, the only person warm enough to not have a coat wrapped around her. You hope Satsu can wrestle Rosy away from Faith long enough to put yet another layer of baby-clothes on her.

“You’re good for her.”

“And she’s bad for me. It’s pointless to keep doing this, it’s stupid and pointless and… I mentioned pointless right? I love her and I wish that it made a difference, that it mattered… but it doesn’t!” Leah and Andrew, reaching the pinnacle of ‘uncomfortable bystanders’ check the exit routes and jump when you circle around Kennedy, accidentally into their escape path. “Love doesn’t make the world go round, it doesn’t care for a baby or bring in a wage or… or support me when I need it because I’m drowning here Ken, ok? I’m drowning. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I just… I just wish my mom was here because suddenly I’m meant to be this- this adult with a baby and a job and a house and I need help! I need to look after Rosy and I need to look after myself. I can’t do that with her around.”

“So take her to the fucking doctor! Don’t go playing like some shitty little martyr, like this is all her fault and you’ve tried so damn hard with her! You give up! This is what you do! Every time she gets into one of her… her- every time she gets like this you run away! You leave her in a mess for other people to fix up and you run away.”

“Don’t you dare!” You snarl, “Don’t you dare talk to me like that! I’m the one who has to live with it! I keep coming back because I love her!”

You’re the one who got her off the drugs- both times! You’re the one who saved her from starving herself to death after killing Lady Guinevere! You’re the one who picked her over the closest thing you’ve ever had to family! You’re the one who’s life brought her back from the near death! You’re the one who visited her in prison even when Angel stopped going! You’re the one who sat by her hospital bed nearly every shitty day she was in that coma! You’re the one who wouldn’t give up when everyone else said she was evil! You’re the one who kissed her!

And you’re the one who fell in love with a beautiful fifteen year old, so full of energy she bounced; all grins and swishing hair, clever little innuendoes and tempting naughtiness.

You’re the one who has to watch that be destroyed by something you can’t even name.

Something you don’t want to. “Why don’t you take her?”

“What?”

“Why don’t you take her, Kennedy, if you want to know so fucking badly… why don’t you take her?”

The cold steel behind your voice scares her, it’s obvious, she looks so unsure suddenly, so afraid.

“Why don’t you take her to the doctors? Why don’t you see what drugs they’ll pump her full of? Why don’t you watch as they turn her into some lifeless drone and take away every good thing about her, every spark of life? Why don’t you?”

The three of them shift uneasily, unwilling to meet your eyes. You unexpectedly get the feeling that it’s not guilt they’re trying to hide from you but pity. Instead of anger you just feel drained.

Faith stands under the canopy, Rosy still wrapped in her arms, talking intently to her about something probably deep and profound, desperate for her daughter to have the start that she never did, to have the chances. The green dress sticks to her, soaked by the rain. You can see her hipbones and then, when she turns, her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.

She catches your gaze and holds it, still speaking to Rose. When she moves to press a kiss to the child’s forehead your own aches in longing.

“Because I don’t want to know.”

Chapter Twenty-Two: Hospital Gum

March 2008

It’s become a mantra, like the beat of a drum; can’t ever give up, must never give up. The drum beats harder, tighter, faster. So taught it even repels the air. Can’t ever give up, must never give up. It beats inside your heart until you begin to think; maybe it is your heart. Can’t ever give up, must never give up. Maybe you’re the drum-skin. Day after day- can’t ever give up, must never give up- they beat against you, you throw them back- can’t ever give up, must never give up- but they keep coming. You love her. Can’t ever give up, must never give up. For your child, you’d kill them all. Cant’ ever give up, must never give up. You’d fight to the death. Can’t ever give up, must never give up. Up until that day- can’t ever give up, must never give up. That awful day. Can’t ever give up, must never give up. That time it- can’t ever give up, must never give up!- time it-

Stops.

You dread the day it stops.

They day you’re finally alone.

No doctors rushing round, no nurses making checks. No more cards or visits or flowers.

When it’s just you.

And no more her.

She’s ill, but they don’t know why. She’s infected, but they don’t know with what.

Xander stands above her cot. It’s almost comical to see her tiny, plump toddler hand in his.

“Buffy?”

You make no move to raise your head from the back of the armchair or even look away from her face, “Mm?”

“Have you slept yet?”

“On and off.” A blatant lie but he doesn’t call you on it.

It’s been twenty days. Twenty days of staring at your baby in a white hospital cot. They’d first put her in a tiny bed- she’s almost two and a half- but Rose is so small for her age it had looked wrong, like she was about to be lost in swathes of starched fabric.

She wears baby grows meant for a one year old!

They claim it’s something to do with her stomach- that she’s not digesting the food properly- but last week it was her kidneys and you’ve learnt not to listen. Tomorrow it’ll be something different.

Only Willow knows. And she’s not telling.

You’d thought she was just mad at you, angry with herself too for not acting on… on her ‘duty’ to protect you (as she so kindly put it). But then things had started to add up; the way she’d looked at Rose the first time she’d met her- weirdly… like she was scared, not of Rose but… of what she stood for- never coming around anymore and then, when she needed a slayer, risking the fiery arguments with Kennedy and Faith rather than see you- her supposed ‘best friend’.

Willow gave you the look that day that the doctors give you now. They have bad news and are too scared to tell you; the tiny little blonde single mother, frail enough to snap.

Then again, it’s been twenty days and you’re still here. You wish Rosy was back at the castle, running (slowly) up and down the stairs and driving you crazy, but she’s not.

What is it with Lehanes and hospitals?

To start with, it had just been a fever with occasional vomiting- you’d been worried but not enough to take her to the hospital! It was Saturday night and you figured the place would most likely be full of drunks and… alcohol related injuries. Besides, she’s always getting sick with different colds- the doctors had warned you of that when she was born. But by the next night she was ice cold and her wailing sobs had turned into only the occasional mewl, like a little lost kitten too confused to find it’s way home. There was no way you’d wait for an ambulance so Xander drove at near break-neck speeds to the hospital with Satsu in the passenger seat, trying to read directions and chastise him at the same time.

You’d scrunched into the backseat, not caring that it was technically a two-person car, and held Rose’s sweaty little body against yours, pressing hurried kisses to her damp forehead and begging forgiveness for waiting.

There aren’t many times you feel like the ‘bad parent’ now- sure, at the start, when you were crap and Faith had suddenly turned into Super Mom- but watching the medical staff running down the stark, white corridor with your little girl on a stretcher… you thought that, maybe, just maybe, Faith wouldn’t have let this happen.

Faith still stumbles into your life from time to time, with unkempt hair and an untidier mind. But she’s all you want right now, when nobody else understands and an embrace doesn’t bring comfort but confusion.

The nurse sticks the fresh IV into Rose’s arm but she barely moves and doesn’t complain. Xander hovers by the door, ready to jump in and wrestle her away from his niece at any moment.

“Any luck?” Your voice is thin and weary; you don’t expect him to say ‘yes’.

He shrugs, shaking his head, “I spoke to Angel but he said he hadn’t heard from her.”

You roll your eyes as he avoids looking at you, “You’re a bad liar.”

“It’s not a lie, he really doesn’t know where she is… right now. He’s been watching over her… in a creepy, vampire, stalkery way.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

Everyone seems to have been compartmentalised but you’re not sure by whom or if they did it to themselves. Xander has taken it upon himself to find Faith and you think he might just have picked it because it’s the hardest job. No one wants to sit still anymore.

The last time you saw Faith was October; an early birthday party for Rosy. She came, of course, with Kennedy- the only person who has any idea where she is nowadays. Giles no longer receives reports from her and Willow… well you’re just not going there.

You’d woken up that morning to find the apartment in disarray and Satsu frantically going over a Spanish to Japanese dictionary. “That bitch! She’s left a message in Spanish with Japanese characters! I don’t speak Spanish! I don’t even know if I’m translating this right! I don’t know if it even is Spanish! That fucking, fucking bitch!”

“Ah.” You hadn’t had to ask which ‘bitch’ she was talking about- there is, of course, only one woman you know who can slip seamlessly between languages. “Faith. Where’s Rose?”

“That’s the fucking point! I went to get her up this morning and there was nothing in the crib but this fucking note!”

“WHAT?!”

Faith and Kennedy had taken Rosy for a day out, completely disregarding your party plans, but it had taken two hours for Satsu and the only Spanish slayer in the castle to decode the message. During which time you’d managed to work yourself into a major freak-out. You’d found her in town at the arcade (exactly where she’d promised to be at that time) and started one of your biggest blowouts since you put her in a coma- and in front of your daughter!

There’d been punching and screaming and Giles had eventually had to pay off not only the owner of the arcade but the local police as well. From opposite cells (and separated by thick walls and metal) you’d finally got to the point- she agreed with everyone else, it was your fault. That hadn’t stood of course; “You’re the one who gave up on me! You let yourself be swept away!”

“You stopped loving me!” She yelled from the other side of the gaol corridor.

“I never stopped loving you and you will always mean more to me than… most things but- but I’m sick of coming third! I don’t expect to beat Rose but I do want to be higher than whatever odd scheme you’ve got going this week!”

But you’re not, and you’re not going to be.

Ever.

Two more days tick by until it’s a full two weeks past the admittance tag on Rosy’s arm; Mon 10th March. So it’s technically your third Monday here. Everything is so different to home, so white and starched.

Giles has given you your own tower, like the little princesses you are. It’s three rooms; one on top of the other and then a bathroom built into the round attic. You suspect magic plumbing. Rose picked the colour scheme (you held and she pointed) so it’s all in shades of purple with cream accents. On Mondays you light candles and share a bath, she giggles and bats at the bubbles, you smile and press them to her dimples. Afterwards the two of you snuggle up in your big purple bed (so big you have to climb onto it) with three duvets and two quilts, watching the cold sleet out the window and old repeats of Friends on the tiny broken TV. She chuckles along with the laughter track and nuzzles into you.

When Faith stays, oh so rarely, she joins you and it’s her Rose attaches to. But you don’t mind because Faith cuddles you too and her arms are always big enough for both. Or maybe you’re just small.

The hospital air conditioning gets through all your jumpers, even the thick wool ones. It feels like it’s seeping into your bones. Xander sends you to the cafeteria, to get yet more coffee, in the hope a walk will warm you up. You take the lift to be faster.

When the doors ping open Leah’s inside, with hair big enough to be a separate person and a comically small, in comparison, bunch of flowers. “Fluffy?” She blushes, “Uh- Buffy!”

“It’s ok, Leah, I’m not deaf.” The younger slayers call you that now, because you’re a mom and therefore no longer strict, “It’s better than ‘General Buffy’ anyway.”

She nods, “Och-ay…” Which was probably just meant to be ‘ok’. Why are you surrounded by people with accents anyway? “I brought flowers.”

“Thank you.”

“All the girls chipped in.”

The mean thought crosses your mind that they probably didn’t chip in very much. But then she passes them over to you and suddenly they’re the largest, heaviest bunch you’ve ever felt. Your arms feel like lead and the laminate walls begin to spin.

“Whoa! Hold on there!” She grabs your waist and eases you down to the floor slowly. It’s cold and clinical. “The lift hasn’t even started moving yet!”

“Sorry. Just a little… light headed.”

Leah moves the flowers out the way and feels your forehead. “That’s ok.”

What’s she doing here? “Huh? What did you say?”

“Never mind.” She reaches up to press the button to go back down. “Sassy’s in the cafeteria, she was going to bring up some coffee but you could probably use the break.”

You try to push your way to standing. “If she’s doing it then I don’t have to- I need to go back, I need to check on Rosy-”

“Buffy, no! You need a few minutes, ok? When was the last time you slept? Or took a shower?”

In the Children’s Ward they provide camp beds for parents, yours has stayed folded-up in the corner of the room. And the showering…? “It’s not really a priority right now, Leah.”

“Sor-”

“Mrs Summers?” You look around, dazed, for your mother.

Leah coughs politely and nods towards the baby-faced doctor holding the elevator door open. “Miss.”

“Miss Summers, m’afraid I’ve got some bad news-”

“No!” You both gasp and scream at once. Leah sprawls out on her backside as you push her over in order to stand up.

The doctor looks confused “What?”

“No, please, not my baby!” Goddamn Xander! Goddamn fucking Xander!

“No, sorry, sorry, no!” He babbles, “I di’n’t mean- Rose is foine, well, not- not foine- Rose isn’t dead, I- I meant that her test results arenei good! I’m so sorry.”

You visibly deflate. Leah glares at him for you, “Ya foockin’ erse! Shite! Ya ooty mind!? Numpty!”

“A dinnie think, sorry!” He holds his hands up and tries to placate the fire haired girl swearing at him in rapid Scottish slang.

“Leah! Shut up! Just… Doctor, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“We, uh, we… dinnieken- I mean, don’t know.” He corrects, remembering you’re American, “Her kidneys aren’t filtering her blood as well as they should, there’s a chemical build-up. We still can’t find why.”

“Oh.”

Another day, another thing going wrong. You watch from the sidelines as the doctors huddle around the bed, talking in hushed tones. The worst part is not being able to hold her.

You want to reach into that stupid crib and wrap your arms around her and tear her away from this hospital as if it’s the thing making her worse rather than better because you deal in the unnatural and what could be more perverted than a child and a hospital crib? Giles is there for a reason; he tells you what to fight, you go get it and the problem is solved! You can’t fight what you don’t know! You can’t kill something without a diagnosis! You cant-! You can’t-… you just can’t… can’t keep this up.

“Buffy?”

You blink slowly. Leah’s voice breaks the stillness and you realise it’s been many moments that they’ve been staring at you. “Yeah?”

“We should get you back to Rose’s room.”

“Ok.”

When you get further along the corridor you hear Rose’s plaintive, “Bee-Bee! Bee-Bee!” She cries out even when you enter the room and doesn’t stop until the side of the crib has been put down and you’re holding her as tight as you can.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here, Rosy. It’s alright.”

“Alright.” She sobs back to you.

Goddamn Xander making you goddamn leave your baby! “Mama promises she’s going to stay right here, she’s not going anywhere.”

“No go an’where, no an’where. Bee-Bee stay.”

You stroke her tangled brown curls away from her face and stare into those sad brown eyes, “Bee-Bee stay, Bee-Bee stay.” Her hair is soft and doesn’t grow, just like the rest of her. Xander lingers near the door, apologetic and gaping like a fish. He stares back at you, eyes running over your face. You lay your cheek atop of hers. “It’s ok, you didn’t know she was going to wake up.” Xander sinks into the big armchair and tries not to look too sorry.

Two doctors strut into the room and give you that ‘poor thing’ look again. They see a lot of sad things, day-to-day on the Children’s Ward, but for some reason you pull harder on their heartstrings. That’s the thing about Slayers; you look so delicate when really you’re so tough- it’s the opposite for your heart, the hard shell that survived so long through the Faith Years is now cracked and bleeding.

They threaten dialysis but instead give her a medication that sounds something like ‘darling-protein’ but isn’t (and it doesn’t matter that you don’t know because it’s written down, along with possible side-affects and medications it cannot ever possibly be used with in the little red book Satsu transcribes everything into).

She throws up everywhere and then flops back down, groaning. Rose doesn’t even grumble when the nurses come to clean up, instead she falls asleep in the arms of a hospital orderly, her cold, smelly body wrapping in on itself as he holds her outstretched, watching that he doesn’t tangle the wires connecting her to the machines.

You help two nurses wash the puke off Rosy’s body and change her ‘nappy’.

“Diaper.” one nurse corrects the other, winking at you.

Normally Rose only wears diapers at night but the hospital have her in them all day long. You know she’d hate it if she were entirely herself right now. Seeing her still is so strange, so wrong. Rose talks near-constantly, a stream of curious babble as if she’s trying to work out the intricacies of everything and then congratulating herself for doing so.

“No,” She sighed the other day to her doll, “I don’t think it’s entirely possible.”

You chuckled, sharing a look with Xander, “What’s not possible, Rosy?”

“Well…” Belle-Belle- her favourite doll, and mini version of Leah- came in for a belittling glare, “I think vanilla is best because that’s yellow and I like yellow and when Xan-Xan makes it he puts the yummy crackles in but… then Belly-Belle said that choc’late is best and brown is tasty but… then I said we couldn’t tell until Bee-Bee gave us both choc’late and vanilla. In the same bowl!” Rose gave her best cheeky grin with ‘believe me’ eyes and you’d laughed. Hard. But not hard enough to give in to ice cream demands in the middle of the day.

Your beautiful little girl, smart enough to be potty trained already. And she hates anyone even attempting to feed her- which you’re quite proud of. She loves building with bricks and making Xander fetch her ball. Her favourite colour is purple and she sticks her tongue out if you even mention bananas.

“Buffy?” Giles’ voice breaks the semi-quiet and the nurses nod at him awkwardly as they leave. The nurses have all, according to Satsu, been gossiping over who, exactly, he is. They’re currently working under the idea that as Giles is Rose’s ‘grandparent’ but not your parent (the atmosphere between you is still a little too frosty for that) and Rose’s father isn’t around he’s probably dead. Which makes them extra sorry for Giles; loosing a child and then possibly a grandchild.

“Huh?”

“How’s Rose?”

You can’t loose her, not after all this work, not after you’ve had all this time to fall in love. She’s no longer ‘the baby’- not even the doctors call her ‘your daughter’ any more… it’s ‘Rose’; her own little person.

She’s beautiful and funny and yours.

“I… They’ve put her on meds for-”

“No,” He corrects kindly, “I know that, I’ve already spoken to her doctor. I meant, how is she doing?”

“I…” You shrug, not wanting to put it into words.

He’s been here for days, called in by Satsu and Dawn. Along with Xander the three of them seem to have taken up permanent residence here with you- except you barely see Dawn, she’s finding it too hard to watch yet another family member lie in a hospital bed. Instead she spends all her time in the Family Room, working furiously to make up for all the University lectures she’s missing. Every five hours or so she’ll appear with something made of carbohydrate and try to coax you into eating (nothing takes your fancy except gum). Satsu keeps on top of every single medical decision, Googling each new term and treatment on her phone, asking all the right questions and watching the professionals like a hawk.

Giles doesn’t do much to help though and Xander’s attempts to cheer you along are sweet but… you want one of them to wrap you in their arms, call you Bumble Bee and promise everything will be ok. Instead they just gaze at you with those forlorn eyes; awkward and uncomfortable and with no idea what to do.

Faith may not have been entirely rational in her manner but at least she was optimistic!

It’s not that you’re stupidly positive- there’s too much realism in your life for that but… but so what if sometimes you don’t want to think about the bad things. What’s so wrong with trying to make yourself happy? Do they have to look at you with that stupid ‘Every Summers Woman Dies Too Soon’ look? Maybe you don’t want to consider just how much sitting in that damn hospital room reminds you of watching your mother die?!

And this time you don’t even have stupid Riley or… or the possibility of driving away to see Faith. You’d rather be like the deer and run into the wind, knowing what’s ahead of you, than turn to see what’s pursuing.

“She’s going to be Ok. I know she will. She’s a fighter.”

Seven hours later, when Rose still hasn’t woken up, Xander asks you how it’s possible to stay so positive. You tell him that your baby is just sleeping right now, that she’s just healing, but she’ll wake up soon. He gives you that look the nurses do; the one that says ‘you poor, poor thing,’

You miss Faith. She never looked at you like that. When she sat the other side of the bed all you’d talk about was nonsense and the world. The parts you want your baby to see when she grows up.

He thinks that should be ‘if’.

He doesn’t say it, but you know.

The next day no one comes up to the room and you hit a sugar-gum-slump. Sniffling and wiping at your grainy eyes you slouch off to find sustenance. Apparently gum really is the only thing available on this floor.

Are there drawbacks to eating too much gum? Aside, from your mouth ostensibly being now unable to make saliva.

You’d honestly believed you were all cried out… right up until you come back from the vending machine to see the last thing you expected; Faith, sitting in the over-stuffed armchair with Rosy’s tiny body cradled in her arms like a baby and a huge backpack by her feet.

“Fay… oh my God…!”

What the hell?! She thinks she can-! She wants to just-! It’s not-! There isn’t any way you-! She’s not…

Your hand itches, begging to slap her. Where the hell has she been?! You should just smack her, right here, right now!

She places Rose back into the crib as tenderly as possible and then throws her arms around your thrashing body in a bear hug. “Shh, baby, I’m here, I’m here.”

But then, you don’t care that you’re supposed to be mad, you don’t care that everything that was and might have been between you is thoroughly screwed up because she’s here.

And if your mom can’t be then, by God, Faith is the next best thing!

“I called and I called but you didn’t-!”

You struggle and struggle against her but she just pulls you closer. “It’s ok, it’s ok.”

Except it isn’t. It’s not ‘ok’, it’s not ‘alright’, it’s not ‘fine’- it’s never, ever going to be anything but awful ever again! Your sobs into her shoulder are noisy and messy and loud but you don’t care. You don’t give a flying fuck! It sucks, it all sucks and it’s not right! Bad things happen to you and Faith not your baby girl! She hasn’t done anything wrong, she’s never been so pigheaded a group of girls died or been to prison or taken drugs or… or anything because she’s just a kid- not even a kid, a baby. Your baby.

Once you dissolve into just hiccups Faith pulls you onto her lap and smoothes your hair with kisses. “Do they know anything?”

“She’s… sick. That’s- all.”

“Shit.” She breathes out, “There’s… there’s nothing… we didn’t…”

“It’s- not because- she’s got two mommies.”

“Oh.” Faith smiles and pushes the greasy dreads out of your face, “I was actually going to go with ‘slayers’ rather than ‘lesbians’.”

“Oh.”

She rests her forehead against yours and chuckles, “You awful, awful fool.” Her eyes scan the room. “Is there something to eat around here?”

You run your fingers through Faith’s bouncy, apple scented hair and smile back. “You still eat when you’re nervous?”

“I’m always nervous around you. Makes my tummy ache. Stupid butterflies.” She’s so normal it takes you a few moments to adjust- like the shock of a gold necklace flush against your skin and not yet warmed by body heat.

It’s embarrassing too.

This is a girl you’ve had to bathe because she couldn’t do it herself. Whenever she comes out of a bad patch and gets back to herself your cheeks flush and your heart clenches- what if she remembers? How much does she know? All the things that you whisper to her, things you could never tell anyone else… the oddities of life.

“Gum?”

“Gum?”

“Gum.”

“Gum.” She sighs. The two of you chew in companionable silence. “No real food then, huh?”

“Uh… well, I’ll ask one of the others when they come back up. Though I haven’t seen anyone else today… normally Sassy or Dawn comes up in the mornings, then Xander bundles in and out all day- that’s an odd expression, isn’t it; ‘bundles’? It’s kind of… weird not… not having Willow around but then I guess it isn’t. Since the whole ‘back to the future’ thing and Rose being born I haven’t seen her… I guess she was nice enough to pass along the message to you though.”

Faith frowns, “I didn’t get any message from Willow.”

“What? Why are you here then?” She raises an eyebrow, semi-amused. “Not that I don’t want you to be!”

“I brought your Christmas present to the castle, Zoo sent me here.”

You roll your eyes, “The Christmas present you promised to bring at Christmas?”

“Yeah.” ‘Duh’

“It’s March, Faith.”

There’s silence for a moment before she holds up the suspicious-looking rucksack.

“It’s not a bomb is it?”

“Wow, terrorist humour, I wasn’t aware you did that.”

“Only when nervous.”

“Well it’s not a bomb.” She places the bag down with dubious care and pulls from it a ball of apricot wool.

“Did you bring knitting needles too because I- oh my god!” The wool uncurls itself and stares up at you with the cutest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “A puppy?! You brought-!?”

“Shh!” Faith motions to the door and the hospital staff probably right outside.

You lean across the bed to squeal, very quietly, in her ear with excitement. “This is the best present ever!”

There’s a flash of back teeth as she beams with pride.

“Though you totally bought it for yourself, didn’t you?” She frowns as she tries to work out if you’re angry or teasing. A flash of light catches the tag around the little furry Disney-cute creature. Bruiser? Really? “Don’t answer that. I can already tell.”

“You don’t mind do you? I just didn’t want you giving him some kinda gay name like ‘buttons’.”

Ok, firstly, that’s a boy? And secondly- why is she judging gay people-slash-animals? Oh! And thirdly, ‘buttons’ is so not a gay name! It’s cute! Bruiser rolls onto his back as she tickles his tummy. You roll your eyes. “That’s a girl dog, Faith.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“It’s not got a penis. You never had pet…s? Ok, don’t answer that. Again.”

Dawn laughs at that part especially when you repeat the story, “A penis, huh?”

It’s Monday again, Faith’s been here just over a day. Now it’s the late afternoon and Rose has been taken off for yet more tests. The room seemed too empty without the bed so Dawn brought you downstairs to have Coffee in the canteen. Faith, taking one look at the dark dregs in the cups left in the room, offered to stay and wait for news.

“So Faith finally caught her plane?”

“How do you know she came by plane?”

“Uh…” She searches for the answer in the cold coffee, “England is an island? People don’t often travel by boat anymore?”

No. Way. “You’ve been seeing Faith!? Are… are you two friends now?”

“Uh…” Dawn smiles, “Think of it this way- it’s a much smaller betrayal than when I told Mom I caught you with your hand up Faith’s top.”

Being called into your mom’s room to have ‘that talk’ was probably the worst moment of your young life. Being called in there for the ‘Faith talk’ was not. Of course, you hadn’t known that all you’d get would be a knowing look and advice on locks so you’d sweated for hours and have held it over Dawn’s head for years… “Rose is so going to be an only child- little siblings suck.”

“I think if you force Faith to have another child with you she’s legally entitled to scream ‘rape’.”

Regardless of whatever Dawn says you know Faith is happy to have Rose. She begged to be let back into her life (after she’d spent the first Post-Break-Up year getting high with Kennedy and breaking nearly every bone in her body. Twice) and you’d given in.

“Please.” She had begged, “Rose is all I’ve got left.”

Something about her cracking, earnest voice and messy hair had reminded you of the seventeen-year-old who stood on Angel’s roof and pleaded for a second chance. You weren’t making the same decision the second time and so you resolved not to make the same mistake. It wasn’t about her trying to make it up to you anymore it was about her loving Rose and you couldn’t get in the way of that.

So began the random visits.

You’re not stupid, you don’t dream of… inconsequential things; walks in the moonlight and a rose on your pillow. You, who were once her whole world, will never be enough. It never occurs to you to think any other way. There is a seat at your dinner table that you leave empty. Always. Faith once said to you that she dreamed of a ‘sure place at your table’. But now that seat is apparently in some bar somewhere; dark and smoky, with men she can hustle at pool and flirt with ‘til they buy her drinks. Your table is not good enough.

Dawn makes the mistake of actually looking at her coffee and then has to push it to the side. “Is she staying back at the castle?”

“No, she made me sleep on the camp bed last night while she kept watch. Besides, she’s too attached to the puppy to leave it now.” A bobbing dark head across the room catches your attention and you roll your eyes. “Sassy! Where exactly have you been for the last twenty-four hours?”

She blushes like a child caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. “Not trying to make your daughter happy?”

You kick her under the table as soon as she sits down and forgive her instantly. “Thank you.”

“Oh, that’s ok, we worked out a deal; I keep the puppy secret, Faith stops calling me ‘Zoo’.” There’s a pause. Satsu sighs at your look, “She’s still calling me Zoo, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Yes, she is. Religiously.”

But really, has she not been listening to your many, many stories of attempted ‘beat the nickname out of Faith’?

Rose’s first word was ‘‘m‘pire’, which, given who her mothers are, is oddly perfect. Her second was ‘zoo’, which makes you just plain guilty. Regardless of… arguments and anger and anything else your daughter’s first words should be ‘mommy’ or ‘mama’ or… anything but Satsu’s name.

The ‘vampire’ thing is pretty cool though. And her ability to lift a five year old over her head makes a great party trick.

She’s not too great at names- Satsu is still ‘zoo’, Dawn was, for a short while, ‘porn’, and you are, rather embarrassingly, ‘blubby’. Faith heard that for the first time and, after laughing so hard she may have cracked a few ribs, suggested ‘Fay-Fay’ for herself. It had been met the same way as all of Faith’s suggestions to Rose- with awed glee. “Lub, lub, lub!” And the customary clapping of hands.

You’d been envious (and five seconds away from pinching the life out of Faith’s arm) until Rose’s happy little eyes had turned on you and christened you, for the second time; ‘Bee-Bee’.

When you get back to her room Rose is semi-conscious and drowsily prattling about the ‘woof-woof’. Faith pulls you close and tucks you into her arms, placing the puppy-brush in your hand. She guides you as you run it down Bruiser’s back, making sure not to pull on her delicate puppy skin.

Once she’s deemed you finished the two of you sit a while longer, perched on the edge of the crib.

“She’s beautiful, Faith, thank you.” You smile suddenly; remembering. “I have something for you too!”

“Oh?” ‘A knife in the gut?’ her eyes ask.

“Yes.”

The photo is from Christmas and slightly crumpled from living in your back pocket.

“Here.”

She smiles and the faces in the picture smile back. Red sweaters with Rudolf faces had been the gift of choice for young slayers last year- everyone had received one from their Watcher, courtesy of the Council. Giles had sent yours along with a tiny one for Rose and brown parcel with ‘From Wesley’ stamped across the top. That was back when you were still mad with Faith for not showing (before you became resigned to the idea) so it had gone to Willow to send to Kennedy in the hopes one of them would bin it to spite the other.

“I was going to send it to you but…”

“No forwarding address.”

“Yeah, and Willow hasn’t been so keen on seeing me lately so I couldn’t ask her to magic you one.”

“I under.” Huh? “Understand.” She clarifies, smirking at your confusion. “There’s this kid I’m looking after- Tasha. She has this thing of shortening long words… kinda like I do… and I guess we just make each other worse.” You try not to scowl. You’re happy Faith helps out with the younger slayers, really. It’s just that… you’re jealous by proxy! She’s supposed to be Dawn’s ‘other’ big sister and Rose’s ‘other’ (but actual) mother! Faith pulls some blu-tac from the blodge on the windowsill. “Here, where Rose can see it.” She sticks the picture to the foot of the crib, facing Rose.

Dawn smiles when she comes in later and notices. As a prize she ‘let’s’ Faith win at Rummy.

“Hey, I won fair and square- don’t cheapen it.”

Your baby sister snorts, “‘Don’t cheapen it’? Faith, you redefine cheap.”

Rose giggles quietly when Faith’s gentle nudge with the tip of her finger has Dawn almost flying out of her chair. “Silly Daw-Daw!”

“Yes, Rosy, very silly.” You agree, tucking her in even tighter, just to be extra-specially sure.

“Fay-Fay tell story? The story with Kebuddy and the horsy!”

You haven’t heard that one before and, from the looks of Faith’s frown, you weren’t intended to. She tells you very few things of where she goes and what she does when not with you. It scares you that one day she might have a turn and be alone- that she might think she’s faster or smaller or… fly…able… weightless! That she might think she’s weightless and swan dive off a huge old bridge with tragically beautiful engravings and no water below. It’s all too clear in your mind.

So you like to believe that Kennedy takes care of her, that she makes good on that promise, that she really does get Faith some help- just because you don’t want to be the one doesn’t mean you’re unaware it’s necessary.

You try to believe every sight reminds her of home, that it’s just a long, winding path back to you. Every time you see her, every time she drops in with a smile and a story, you watch and chart her progress. She needs to get better on her own before your paths can rejoin, so you’ll believe anything that gets her safely home.

“No…!” Rosy chuckles, for the first time since she got here, “That’s not the proper story! Tell Daw-Daw the proper story!”

Faith pantomime-gasps, “Oh… so you don’t want to hear the one where the horsy ate all Kebuddy’s hair off?”

“That didn’t happen!” She pauses, checks your face, then her other mother’s, then her aunt’s, “Did it?”

You force a laugh and try to explain that ‘Fay-Fay’ is only joking- hopefully before she scares your daughter off horses for life! But Rose is an easy child and happily accepts all points of view. Her soft smiles remind you of Faith, which isn’t so strange considering she is a part of her- the uncomplicated part, the part that doesn’t scream when you touch her in the dark.

That night all four Summers girls stay in the same room. Dawn crashes out on the camp bed but Faith doesn’t sleep. Instead she sits in the armchair, one hand resting over Rose’s heart and her gaze on the photograph. You watch her through semi-lidded eyes. All night long.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Chinese Takeout on the Green Floor

April 2008

April Fools Day jokes litter the newspaper in Giles’ hands.

Dr Mellor smiles wryly when he sees you looking. “You’re no’ the firs’ parent to give me that look today- I keep thinking I should be makin’ something oop justa make people stop doonit.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s natural.” He holds up the vial of blood the nurse has just drawn and frowns. You’re not entirely sure what it is he can see- you’ve seen far too much blood and it all just seems the same. Though there was green blood once… and Rosy’s certainly isn’t green. “I’ll have a fresh round o’ blood cultures done but I’m not loikin’ the readings from the pulse oximeter.”

“So you now have to diagnose why?” Many diagnoses but nothing total and nothing absolute.

Another day and another round of tests. They hook her up to higher oxygen supply and those flat heart monitor pads that make the machine beep even louder.

You sit with Faith and Satsu in the family room while The Room gets cleaned. Satsu smirks at you over the top of the only magazine in the place. The walls are a dull orange and you run out of ‘safe’ small talk pretty soon. “How’s Kennedy?”

Faith snorts, “I… wouldn’t know. Haven’t spoken in a while.”

“Why?” You blurt out. Across from you (and acting as your foot rest) Satsu shakes her head, smirking away.

“She said some pretty bad stuff about you. We kinda had a huge…” Faith motions vaguely upwards, “I broke her nose.”

“Ah.”

It’s well known that the only person who can hurt Faith (other than you) is Kennedy. But then that’s the way it goes right? The only ones who can hurt you are those who you let see the real you- your truest part. Because they’re meant to keep it safe, hold that little flame and nurture it. And the first time someone doesn’t, the first time it’s stamped out under careless feet, makes it that much harder to ever open up again.

Parents have a lot to answer for.

“It’s ok, I said some stuff about Red and she… snapped a couple of my fingers so it’s really kinda fair.”

“Ah.”

Faith chuckles, she’s sitting in the chair beside you and when she slides down her head accidentally rests on your shoulder. She doesn’t move it so you don’t.

Satsu waits and watches, holding her tongue until Faith is fully asleep.

“Huh… do you think Angelina is really pregnant or it’s just another rumour? I hope she is, wouldn’t it be nice if everyone in the world looked like her? Except then I guess it wouldn’t really be so special- we’d be a ridiculously good-looking race and have absolutely no idea. We’d just go about our attractive daily lives not notice- Oh wait.” She frowns, rechecking the front cover. “This is from two years ago. Obviously then she was pregnant. Fortunately for the world.”

“Fortunately for us.” You wait for her to continue but instead she just stares vaguely at the door of the tiny room. “Sassy? Is there something you’re trying to tell me? Perhaps a weird, unrequited crush on Angelina Jolie’s womb?”

The look she gives you is more ‘how did you get there?’ than guilty blush. “No. I just think she has a very pretty daughter.”

You snort, “So the crush is on Shiloh? Because, I hate to tell you, but that’s even weirder. And probably illegal in every country and every universe, unless it’s a universe where bad things are good and good things are bad.”

“It’s not Shiloh.”

“Zahara? No, wait, are you re-coming out to me? Is it Maddox? Pax? Brad?”

She smiles, for the first time in a while. It makes her look cute, sweet, pretty and somehow, at the same time, beautiful. “You’re an idiot.”

“I try.”

Satsu sighs again, she’s avoiding your eyes and you don’t quite understand why. Normally she’s horribly blunt with you- one of those best friends who will quite happy tell you which clothes make you look fat. “I just…” Maybe it’s Faith? It’s not as if she’s easy to be around for people who don’t know her too well; all that energy and confidence can be a little off-putting. “It’s… I just don’t want you… Faith is going to leave again, you know that right? I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

You scoff (but quietly so as not to wake Faith), “I’m sorry but are you not the one who found Faith and sent her here?”

She shakes her head, “Yes. For Rose.”

“Fuck off, Satsu.” You hiss. You don’t want Faith to be here so the two of you can get back together! Rose needs her family. “I don’t need your stupid jealousy right now, ok? What I need is for someone to be here with me. No one knows what I’m going through except Faith.”

It’s weird but you’ve never actually seen Satsu angry before. “Right, of course, because the time she’s spent with Rose since you two split up- equalling, oh I don’t know, two whole minutes- is completely on a par with the months I spent with you while you were pregnant, the way I took you in when you decided to leave her and the parenting I’ve been doing ever since!”

Faith stirs slightly, shifting so her face is snuggled right into your shoulder. You panic that she might wake up, “Keep your voice down.”

She hisses under her breath angrily. “I’ve done all of that and… I’m not asking you for some kind of reward, or even real recognition I just want you to listen to yourself once in a while. Every time Faith is here it’s… it’s like you have tunnel vision, you can’t see anything but her. And maybe this is just my jealousy speaking but when my best doesn’t even come close to Faith’s worst…?” It looks for a second as if Satsu might yell and cry but instead she just gets quieter, “What am I supposed to feel?”

“I didn’t ask you for any of that. I didn’t ask you to do those things and I don’t think you’re any less than Faith. Faith drives me crazy! She’s always spinning from one thing to the other and I can never-”

“See!? Exactly. This is exactly what I’m talking about. I ask how I’m supposed to feel and you start talking about Faith!”

You stare coldly, your voice hard and low as warning, “Faith is a big part of my life, Sass, and she’s a big part of Rose’s.”

“Then why do this to me? Why did you bring me into this when you knew how I felt about you?” She whispers, “Why let me fall in love with your daughter?”

“I…”

Except you have nothing else to add to that. Truly, nothing.

Eventually she shoots up from her chair across the room, ‘calmly walking away’ at record-breaking pace.

Damn.

You’re pretty sure Faith is awake and has been for some time. Oddly she’s being polite and continuing the sleeping ruse- she even makes those little ‘sleepy noises’ and stretches when you nudge her awake.

“W’as goin’ on?”

“I think they’re probably done now. We should go back and see Rose.”

The nurses are just wheeling the cot back into the room when you get there. Rose is sleeping off the sedation so you take the chance to look around. You hadn’t realised quite how dirty the room had become. It’s probably best not to think about the dirty cups and used tissues that had littered the floor. Because, ew! Big EW!

Faith shifts uncomfortably, her back seized up after sleeping in the chair. Bruiser pops her head out of the front of Faith’s jacket and then, seeing it’s just you, burrows back inside.

“You ok?”

“Y-” It comes out choked and she coughs, frowning in disgust, “Yeah. Man, my breath stinks.”

“Want a mint?” You pass over one of the many, many sticks of gum on the bedside table.

Faith chews quietly for a while, sinking into the armchair by the bed. She studies Rose’s face and then yours- looking at the similarities. “She looks like you.” ‘more than me’.

“Weird, isn’t it?” There’s some deep breathing and calming of your pounding heart before you’re able to continue. “I sometimes wish she looked more like you- when you’re gone. I… I had her because I wanted something to fill that Faith shaped-hole but then when she was born… it’s like my heart built an annexe all for her and there was still that space.”

You expect her to get angry- point out that you’re the one who sent her away- but instead she just shrugs. “I didn’t think I could ever love anyone as much as I love you. But now I’d trade you for just another year of her life.” She kisses the tiny hand in hers and holds it in the path of her tears.

“I’d trade you for a month.”

The two of you chuckle, slipping back into comfortable silence. You move around the bed to wrap your arms around her from behind the chair and rest your aching head against her strong shoulder. She takes one of your hands in her free one and kisses it too. “Epic love in perspective, huh?”

“Your rational side scares me.” You raise your head so she can twist to see you’re joking.

“Dude, me too! The other day I spent grocery money on actual food! Not a single jar of marshmallow whip!”

“You do have an unnatural love for the stuff. Oh! So does Rose! And she loves Chris Rock and… she has dimples. See? Totally your daughter.”

She sniggers, “You let her watch Chris Rock shows?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘let’ so much as; she saw an episode of ‘Everybody Hates Chris’ once and then bugged me for ‘Kissock’ every time I turned on the TV. So yeah, I caved, and bought her Chris Rock DVDs.”

“There is not even a hope of our daughter being normal is there? Aside from the gay mommies, possible slayer powers and your mini-genes.”

You shake your head sadly, “I’m more worried about her inheriting your smart ass.”

It’s not until the twenty-fourth day, having stared at Faith across the hospital bed for three days, you realise her wrists are about as thin as your daughter’s. You’ve yet to see her eat.

“When- when was the last time you had a meal?”

She jumps, not expecting the croaky sound from your disused throat. “I don’t know. You?”

“Dunno… think they deliver pizza to a hospital?”

“Can’t use our phones.”

Satsu hasn’t come back since your ‘argument’. Not that you blame her. She’s still wafting around the cafeteria and family room but hasn’t come close. Normally she’d be the one to fetch the food. There’s always Xander but he’s… either ‘helping Leah’s team find a stump’ or ‘buying full-fat ice cream at the dump’. Scottish accents are confusing. And Dawn… ok, you have no idea what Dawn is doing.

Faith’s stomach rumbles. “I’m not that hungry anyway.”

A plan forms out of the murky, sleep-deprived haze that is your mind. “Lend me your phone- if I hang out the window I’m not technically ‘in’ the hospital, right?”

“Right.”

You make an order and wait. She finger-combs through Bruiser’s hair as you do. Time stretches on and you think too much.

Five years ago you sat on a roof with her, looking over the dying days of Sunnydale, utterly unable to contemplate a future with her. She smelt that night of sex- Robin Wood’s- and disappointment- yours. You couldn’t imagine any kind of a future back then, certainly not one that involved the two of you, a daughter and a dog.

Only, that’s not entirely how it is now, is it?

It’s not the happy little family scene that you wish it to be, that you once (briefly) hoped it might turn into. Faith isn’t who you want her to be, she’s not the illusion you fell in love with, or- or maybe it wasn’t so much an ‘illusion’ as a young, young girl and now you are changed and she… is not. Her mind moves backwards and forwards, one day the perfect mother, lover, slayer and friend- yet never all at once, never more than two. God, you want her so bad, you want to break free of this spell, this lethargy that makes you leave her cause- to tear through the veil and scream of your love to her just as you wish to scream for your baby.

Your heart breaks to look at your two broken, perfect girls.

And there’s not a thing you can do to fix them.

“Faith?”

“Yeah?” She smiles, open and lovely.

“Do you ever think about when we were kids?”

You watch her fingers trace the grain of the chair’s wooden arms and then up to her lips. “I think about the first time you kissed me, a lot. I think about the first time I wanted you to- kinda the first time I met ya too so that one’s taken care of.”

“Did you ever imagine things about your future? Our future?”

“Honestly? Until I met you I thought I’d be dead by eighteen. And I really didn’t mind.” She leans over to kiss Rose. “You made my life worth living, B. You gave me Rose.”

The air doesn’t move, the electric beeps don’t stop and you’re not magically transported somewhere else. It’s stale, noisy and still unmistakably a hospital room in which your baby is slowly… dying. But with Faith here it feels manageable, it feels like something you can cope with, something you can fight.

“Buffy?”

Wha-? Henry stands in the doorway, a plastic bag full of containers in one hand and the most hideous stuffed-animal you’ve ever seen in the other.

“Sorry it took so long, I’m pretty sure there’s only one Chinese takeaway in the whole of Scotland- no one seemed to understand what I was saying.” The smell of takeaway fills the room, making Faith salivate. You take the food from him before Faith can snatch it away.

“You didn’t have to go far, did you?”

He shakes his pretty brown head, “I was staying in Edinburgh anyway, and it was really only the drive up here.”

“Thank you so much!” Faith grunts her own thanks around a mouthful of noodles.

Henry stares oddly at her, obviously wondering how it’s possible for a human to put away food at such a pace. “That’s… alright- you’d be surprised how many places are open at three in the morning. Apparently Edinburgh is the City That Merely Dozes.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Faith!” She rolls her eyes, “I’m sorry about her. She’s rarely around people who can’t bench-press three times their own weight.”

You slap a hand over her mouth before she can show off about just how much she can do… and before you’ve properly thought through the consequences.

“Ew! Faith that’s disgusting!”

Poor Henry watches on as you wipe off the goo. On your top. Wow, having a baby really does make you gross.

“I’m…” Henry coughs, “I’d better get back to my Aunt. I’m glad you’re…” ok? Because you’re really, really not. “I- I’ll… Goodbye.” He places the ugly toy on the end of the bed.

“Bye!” You wave. With the slimy hand. He practically runs away. “You’ve got a skill for alienating people, you know that?”

She doesn’t care so you steal her favourite egg rolls just to piss her off. “Who’s the toff?”

You’re momentarily stunned by her grasp of British slang. “Hmm? Oh. His name’s Henry- his aunt donates to the school. I was having a meeting with them when the hospital phoned. I think he lives in London normally.”

“So not a boyfriend?”

“Not a boyfriend.” You reply, before realising that watching a brawl might be the most fun you’ve had in a while. “You can still hit him though.”

It’s been a long time since you’ve punched something. Not so long since you’ve wanted to. Every time someone touches your baby you want to tear your hair out, kill them, destroy their whole world. You know that this is a hospital, that they’re trained professionals and not really trying to hurt her but the urge to punch them is overwhelming!

God damn those beautiful, beautiful, life-saving people!

“Nah, I’m souped-up enough as it is.” Faith chuckles self-deprecatingly and runs a hand across her scraped-back hair. “God this food is good, I forgot food could be good.”

You roll your eyes and raise an eyebrow to her bony form. “Well why don’t you try eating some sometime then?”

“Excuse me?!” She mock-gasps, “What about you? You lost all that Yummy Mummy lovely rounded…ness.”

“You mean ‘fat’?”

“’Plump’,” She corrects, “And I liked you that way.”

There’s a reply tripping off the tip of your tongue, almost out there but the machines get there first; blaring out and screaming! A light is blinking somewhere. Faith shoots up from her chair, food from her lap spilling all over the green lino. Green. The floor is green! Why didn’t you notice this before?! WHY?!

“She’s crashing! Get the crash cart!”

The floor is fucking green!

You sat on a green lino floor and you saw spilt chocolate and you WATCHED as your baby almost died! You can’t do this again! YOU CAN’T WATCH HER DIE! You can’t let it happen to this baby too! You CAN’T! YOU CAN’T!

NOT NOW NOT EVER NOT- Not… no. Just no.

Because last time only one and a half people might have died; Faith and the part of her inside you. But now it’s three. If Rosy dies then all three of you do. And it’s all of you, not just the little bit inside you that loves her because… because you love her with all you are, every molecule of your being. There isn’t a part of you that wouldn’t shrivel up and die if she didn’t make it.

And you know it’s the same for Faith.

You’re not eighteen, you’re not watching the doctors crowd your girlfriend, using machines to make her breathe. You’re twenty-seven and that’s your daughter they’re using the baby defibrillator on!

You can’t save her! You can’t help her! You can’t fight this!

“Clear!”

All you can do is clutch helplessly to Faith, scream into her shoulder as they shout, shout awful, awful things! They stick a metal thing down her throat and use the balloon thing and the thing-thing and the- where THE FUCK is Satsu?! She knows this stuff! She should be writing it down!

Where’s Xander?! Where’s Dawn?! Where’s Giles?! WHERE’S YOUR MOMMY?!

Faith body-slams you into the wall to keep grasping hands away from the people who are just trying to do their damn jobs!

“Baby, baby, stop! Stop it!” You fight harder, your fingernails leaving paths all the way down her neck. “Bumble Bee!” She catches both of your hands in one of hers and holds them to the wall. With the other she wrenches up your chin so you’re looking her straight in the eyes, with nowhere else to go. “Look at me, Bumble Bee, just look at me. Don’t think of anything else, just look at me. Keep looking. Good girl, keep looking.”

The beeping starts again steadily, everyone else breaths a sigh of relief.

You stare at Faith.

Who’s to say if you look back over it’ll really be ok?

“Thank you.”

It takes a moment for you to realise what it is she’s thanking you for. She wanted to concentrate on you. She wanted to stare into your eyes. She wanted to be the strong one. “You’re welcome.”

Rose is still out of it but you both rush over anyway and bathe her in kisses.

The medical staff work around you, taking out the breathing tube and replacing it with an oxygen mask. She throws up without waking up. Her skin has turned a sickly yellow and her nails a cold blue. They swab her side and use big needles, pushing tubes into her tiny body and hooking them up to yet more machines.

“B? What’s…?”

You shake your head, you don’t know. There’s a shake and then a spluttering from behind the mask. Rose tries to roll toward Faith, fighting against all her mechanical appendages. You try to coax her back. “Baby, don’t pull, stay still.”

She doesn’t listen to you, instead her chubby little hand grasps at the air just past your shoulder.

“Fay-Fay… want Fay-Fay…”

“I’m here sweetheart, I’m here.” Faith’s two hands wrap around Rose’s tiny one. “Ssh, baby, just rest.”

Again, and of course, Rose refuses to go along with what she’s told. She never pays heed to anything you say. If you tell her not to touch the hot pipes she will anyway- just in case you’re wrong. Her mind works twice as yours, she’s desperate to learn everything, soaks up the world around her- sometimes when you’re talking she gets this look in her eyes as if she’s taking every word from your mouth and analysing it. She’s difficult but rewarding. Just like her mother.

Rosy again slips back into unconsciousness and you help an orderly clean up the mess of Chinese food. It looks like blood on the green floor. Faith mistakes your shudder as being cold and wraps a blanket around you.

It’s only once the room has emptied to just you three that it finally hits… your baby almost died.

Faith shakes her head, “She can’t die, B, I can’t loose the one person who loves me no matter what.”

“I love you no matter what.”

“Uh…” She scoffs, “I think we’ve proved you don’t. After all, you’re the one who kicked me out.”

Kuh! With good reason! “Because you were turning into a psychopath! You broke every mirror in the house!”

Instead of arguing she only shrugs, “You’re just proving my point.”

You growl and sigh at the same time. “What if it’s genetic?!”

“Huh?”

You stare back, just as confused. It hadn’t even occurred to you before. Of course, of course that’s the answer! It’s her! “What if what she’s got runs in your family, Faith? How would I know? You never tell me anything!”

“You’ve never asked!” Her fingernails dig in to your upper arm.

“Bullshit!” You smack her hand away, “I ask about your family all the time! I might not come out and just say it but that’s because I know you won’t answer!”

Faith grips both your arms, once, hard, then turns away and punches her own palm. Your jaw aches in relief. “I don’t know, ok? I don’t know anything about my family! Just because I met them doesn’t mean I knew them!”

Stupid! Goddamn stupid! You can see symptoms without knowing what they are fucking symptomatic of!

When your mother had those headaches you… you didn’t… you waited, just like you did with Rose. You waited until Monday. Twenty-Four days ago. Faith wouldn’t have waited, Faith should have known!

“Yes it does!”

“Fine! Fine!” She takes you by the shoulders and squashes you down into the armchair, thrusting her face close to yours. “I know my mom preferred blunt to sharp and hated Christmas- oddly, I don’t think that’s very helpful right now! Neither is her love of Jack or ability to sit back and watch as her boyfriends-” Young Faith stops her. “Why am I telling you things you already know?” She tears herself away, snatching at her hair. “So you can just fuck right off, ok?”

Rose whines in distress, a pitiful whimper. “Fay-Fay… Bee-Bee…!”

You both jump.

“Don’t yell in front of the baby!”

Faith gapes, “You’re yelling!”

“I’m not-! Oh…” The room lurches. The lights blink out. Was the floor always that close?

You wake up in a hospital bed eighteen hours later, feeling anything but rested. There’s a drip in your arm and you almost do the movie-cliché thing of pulling it out and wandering off before you remember you’ve done that before and the damn thing hurts! You’re clean, even your matted hair has been washed.

Your teeth, however, haven’t. They taste of sick and old Chinese food.

A nurse passes just as the clock ticks to eight pm and comes into the room when you call (the supposedly handy call-button having gone mysteriously missing). “Miss Summers, you’re awake.”

“I know.”

She stares at you strangely.

“Can you please take this thing out of my arm and give me back my clothes? I have to get back to my daughter.”

A guilty look crosses her face and the metal rail twists under your grip. If they’ve left you sleeping while something happened you’ll-! “I’m afraid your clothes had to be burnt. We ran them through the hospital wash twice but nothing helped. Your… uh…” She fiddles uncomfortably and makes funny motions on her shoulders. “Brunette.”

“Dawn? My sister?”

“No, she’s more of a…” Her hands move to make the same motions just below her breasts.

“Faith? With the dark brown hair- Faith?”

“Yes!” She smiles in relief, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t remember her name and we had a workshop the other week about the correct way to address same-sex parents- normally we just say ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’- but the two of you are broken up so I couldn’t say ‘wife’ and… goodness, that doesn’t matter now.” She pulls out the IV needle while you’re busy trying to work out what she’s talking about. “Well, Faith left you a set of clothes. She said that they’re hers so they might not fit.”

“That’s ok.” You take the proffered pile with a smile, “Thank you. How’s Rose?”

The nurse helps you dress, making you sit down for as long as possible in case you get dizzy again. “No change I’m afraid, though she hasn’t got worse either which is a good sign. Now she’s stabilised there’s more that can be done for her.” She tugs the jeans up over your hips and then crouches to roll up the bottoms. “The doctors were considering putting her on a ventilator rather than just the oxygen but that’s been held off now unless she gets worse over night.”

There’s a college sweater on the pile- Yale- and you laugh, knowing Faith added it for that reason. “I’m not laughing about the ventilator!” You quickly add, “I’m just…”

“Sometimes when we’ve had bad news for a while it looses it’s impact?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

The lights are dimmed in the corridor. Those rooms with open doors show dark rooms and sleeping forms. Rose’s room is no different; the glow from a single light on the side table cloaks your girls. Faith’s propped up against the open side of the cot. Her dark hair is spread out against the fluffy purple quilt. She’s completely out of it- doesn’t even stir when you lay a blanket over her. Underneath her open hand Rosy tosses and groans.

You soften down your little girl’s fluffy curls and whisper in her ear, “You’re brave and brilliant and I love you.” A tingle rises in your chest when you turn to Faith’s slumbering form. “I love you too.”

Your lips itch to kiss her as well.

“I love you and I can say it over and over again but at some point… it’s not going to make a difference- and we’ve reached that… or- or, at least, I think we have. And I’m not saying that’s not true, I do love you, but- but… it scares me. I don’t know if what I love is the core or the shell. I…” For a second it looks like she’s rousing but instead she just nuzzles her face into the bed. “I love that you count down the days to Christmas starting at a hundred. I love that you don’t even notice how beautiful you are.” Just ‘hot’- never anything as pure as ‘beautiful’. “I want that to be you- not just a symptom. So, it is?”

She doesn’t reply (but then, you don’t expect or want her to) so you go back to staring at her and resisting that kiss.

“Just because we’re right for each other doesn’t mean we’re right right now...” Too many ‘rights’ when it’s just so wrong. “I can’t stand to watch you destroy yourself.” You run your hand through her silky hair, “I love you too much for that.”

“Love you too…” She mumbles sleepily, turning away from the light.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and then another, and another, until you’re silently sobbing into your hand, crouched in the corner. Like a pyramid of melting ice your emotions spill over. Faith, Rosy and the general uselessness of life.

Either you’re not as quiet as you thought or being hunched over like that finally does get too painful- Faith rouses and stares around in confusion.

The tears don’t stop.

“B?”

It hurts, God it hurts! The whole damn thing feels like a ginormous weight on your heart, dragging you down from the inside. You want to scream and cuss and beat your fists against the ground until it cracks! But you can’t, because you shouldn’t disturb Rosy and no matter how strong you are she needs to not be disturbed. It’s the same, the same damn thing, you’re strong, a superhero, yet you can’t save the people you love- you couldn’t save your mother or Faith or Angel or your family and now… now your little girl is going to pay the price too!

It’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair! She’s a baby, just a tiny, tiny baby.

If the world wants to punish you so badly then why doesn’t it just do it, just hurt you- tear your heart straight out instead of doing it piece by piece?

“Buffy?”

When you don’t move she moves for you, coming forward to pick you up off the floor. Then wordlessly, without more than a quick look, she wraps the spare quilt (the one from home) around you and begins to clear the room. First the day’s rubbish is cleared then the camp bed unfolded and dressed. Finally she plugs in a wall-mounted nightlight that Giles sent over and turns off the one beside Rose.

In the dim half-light she comes to you and slowly, delicately, like you’ll break further with a heavier touch, peels off your clothes.

The too-big jeans make a noise when they hit they ground. As does the hoodie, gently dragged away until it uncovers a chest damp with tears. They pour and pool in the dents behind your collarbones.

She mops them away and guides you towards the low bed, crouching to turn back the covers and ease you in between. Your hand grips hers and refuses to let go. In just a tank and panties you tug until she relents and settles her chest on you, her lower half still on the floor. The secure crush is reassuring, calming even, and you clutch her tightly to you, feeling her heart beat.

“Please,” You whisper, “Please don’t go.”

“I’ll just be on the chair.”

“No.”

There’s a question in her eyes but you don’t care. Instead you reach one-handed and tug off her clothes the best you can- not gently and with reverence the way she did for you but by yanking and tearing. She moves back a fraction, to try and help, but you don’t let her. “B, stop, let me.”

You watch with sore and streaming eyes as in the gloom she lifts her arms over her head and pulls off what’s left of her torn sweater and top. Her tracksuit bottoms fall once she releases the string and you’re again reminded of how little she’s been eating. And that she doesn’t wear underwear (except for a long vest, this is Scotland after all). You’ve seen it all before though, right?

She slides in next to you, her legs tangling with yours in the small bed and warming you slightly. “You’re cold as ice.”

“I know.”

There’s a moment of awkward ‘what to do with the arm underneath you’ before she sits you up slightly and slides beneath, settling you back on top. Your forehead rests upon the pillow next to her, your breath fluttering past her ear as hers sends shivers down your spine. Her top has ridden up until you feel the slight scratch of her pubic hair against your leg. You’re very glad that it’s dark enough for her to only see your features and not your blush.

She only tells you secrets in the dark, but sex is always with the light on- just in case she forgets who you are. The faint orange glow from the tiny nightlight and Slayer vision means you can see the shape of her fine. But the rest of the room is pitch black. So you’re not really sure what this counts as.

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

“You have just as much right as I do.”

Her hands run up and down your spine, making you shiver- she knows that’s sensitive for you.

You turn your face and she does the same until you’re breathing the same air and sinking into her eyes. “I missed you.” Your lips brush hers as you speak. When she mumbles her reply her lips hold yours and talk around.

“We don’t have to do this.”

But by now you’re far too gone, too intoxicated in her scent and her feel and her. Again.

You don’t reply and she doesn’t speak- not with words anyway, just with hands and mouths, touches and strokes, kisses and nips. Until you cry out, silently, your throat clutching at the noise and dampening it down. Not to be shared.

When she comes back down she kisses away your tears and clutches you close, cooing away your fears. The dreams roll that night, like soft velvet across your subconscious. You wake in her arms, sticky and sore and too hot. But for one little moment, before Dawn’s face comes into view, those actually seem like good things.

“I don’t know if I should be disgusted or pleased.”

It’s raining, which, to be honest, is kind of what it does in Scotland, but hard enough to batter against the window and wake Faith up. “Wha…? Dawn?”

“You need to get dressed. Both of you. Willow is coming up.”

She turns around but doesn’t leave.

Faith smiles at you secretly and little bubbles pop in your stomach.

Your mind bitch-slaps you. This is Faith. Faith! Faith; the girl who can’t make a decision or keep a promise to save her life!

“Don’t even go there.” Dawn growls, once Faith has slinked out to use the bathroom. “You’re lucky Willow has the look of something important to say else I’d sit you down and have a long, long talk with you young lady.”

“Do we have to do this?” You cringe.

“Dissect exactly what happened to your brain to make you fumble with Faith? Yes.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Buffy, you… smell like something I’m embarrassed to say I recognise.”

You flush. “I thought you liked Faith?”

“I do,” She sighs, shaking her head with your mother’s look, “I just don’t like ‘Buffy and Faith’- you’re worse when you’re together.”

Hideous child! “We’re better when we’re together!” She turns away again as you slide out of the bed and pull on your clothes- though more from annoyance than modesty.

“Oh please, don’t listen to Kennedy.”

You gape, “I thought you liked Kennedy?”

“I did, until she made a pass at Leah.” The Yale sweatshirt hangs off her finger for a full minute before you realise and give up searching for it.

“Well, unless there’s something I really don’t know about, you’re just her best friend, other people are allowed to ask her out.”

Dawn glares lightning bolts at you, “I’m not jealous, I’m affronted!”

“Again; just the best friend.” You pull the hair tie out of your sister’s hair while she’s too busy being affronted.

“I’m insulted she didn’t ask me.”

“Right, because that makes more sense.” There are fifty thousand tangles in your hair. The band almost gets stuck. “And- is there something you’re not telling me?”

Her shiny hair swishes as she spins around to glower, “I’m not gay!”

“Whatever you want to believe.”

She pretends to pour and whine, “I’m just lonely.” Unfortunately the whining is real and hurts your ears.

“Shut up, I have go see Willow.”

Baby Slayer wiggles when you stroke her face but doesn’t wake. Dawn shifts awkwardly, “She hasn’t… she’s been asleep or- unconscious since… you argued. I’ll wait with her, you go talk to Willow.”

You join Faith down the hall, staring in utter confusion at the coloured lines on the floor.

“These… lead to something, right?”

“Yeah… Hopefully Willow” You consider the red, then the teal, then the blue then the… “What kind of a colour is taupe? I’ve always felt too stupid to ask.”

Faith contemplates as if it’s a complex mathematical equation, “Uh, either a grey or a brown. I think the one in the middle is sandy taupe.”

“No, that’s yellow.”

When hope comes it’s so totally unexpected it takes a full ten minutes before the two of you are mobilised.

You’re still bickering over what level of warm undertone stops a taupe being a yellow when suddenly Willow is in front of you, the first time you’d seen her in a month, with a look of hope that you definitely hadn’t seen in that long. “I know what it is! She’s going to be ok!” As quickly as she came she’s gone, racing off past you and down to Rose.

“B?” Faith murmurs, stirring from her stupor. “Did she just…?”

Your eyes follow hers along the corridor. Five minutes. “I think so.”

Six minutes. “Does that mean…?”

“I don’t know.”

The two of you walk slowly, so slowly back to your daughter. Seven minutes. You stare at Rose, her tiny white face and the early bags under her eyes.

“Buffy? Faith? Did Willow not…?”

“Xander.” Faith tries out his name as if to check he’s real. He came from behind and you begin to doubt. She stares at Rose again, hard enough that you almost think she’s trying to see through her.

“Faith,” Eight minutes. “You’re not hallucinating.”

A slow smile spreads over her face. “Wow.” Then she frowns and turns back to Rose. “Shit.”

“It’s going to be ok now though.”

Nine minutes. “Right. Really?”

Willow giggles devilishly and almost jumps up and down happily, “Really really- I can totally fix this!”

Faith sticks out a finger. You mini-high-five it. Ten minutes.

“Xander, I want everyone gathered in here for quarter past. Willow, run me through what you’ve got.”

She sits you both down and describes, in great detail, how, ever since Rose was born she’d felt something was ‘off’ with her aura (but couldn’t see because ‘hello, not Tara!’). Since the rush into hospital twenty five days ago she’d put her best five researchers on the case and they’d worked day and night trying to crack through the encrypted layers of whatever it is surrounding your daughter. Willow had been scared to tell you before, not wanting to be wrong.

But then they’d caught a thread of the magical cage that had sunk it’s claws into Rose and metaphorically tugged, or- or not so metaphorically, more; magically.

Which is how, five days later, you come to be standing in a dark, dank cave somewhere in Peru facing off against the demon leader who tried to kill your baby. ‘Tried’ because that’s exactly what he did- he poisoned ‘The Original Two’ from afar while you were pregnant but you body fought him off without you noticing more than an increase in morning sickness. Bodies don’t have the mercy of souls however and yours pushed every strand of toxin away from you and into her tiny body. Only having twice the slayer genes had saved her.

The bastard hadn’t even known you were pregnant, had just assumed that when you didn’t die it was because the poison wasn’t strong enough. So he’d sent more towards you- what he thought was you. In actuality, what he had done was send more along the same line- but the link, the poison, the person, was no longer inside you.

He has spent two and a half years killing your child. Yet, when his evil, hunking, red body turns and you finally see his face, you’re not angry. You’re happy.

You can kill this, you can fight this, you can even beat him into a pulp and have said glutinous liquid express-delivered to another dimension should you so choose. There has never been a fight before that you’ve been so sure of winning. You are a mama bear and someone hurt your cub. That someone is going to die. Preferably painfully.

“Slayer!”

“That’s my… job description, don’t wear it out- I’m not very good at searching through the wanted ads.”

The demon stares at you blankly.

“Wow, they really didn’t check your CV closely enough when they promoted you to chief, did they?”

Faith laughs at your attempted banter. “I fucking love you, B.” Her hair is caked in demon blood and stuck to her grin. It’s odd that you find her attractive right now.

“While it’s good to know I’ve got a fan- less loving, more chopping!”

She swings her axe around and decapitates two demons in one go. You wish for a second that you were blind so it wouldn’t be quite as obvious… Faith laughs a little too loudly and her eyes look at everything and nothing at once. She fights too rabidly and without watching her own back.

“Tell me, what do I have to do? Do I need you to do some kind of a chant or will killing you stop it?”

“You will never kill me slayer!” He boasts, beating on his chest.

“Death it is then!” One of his minions tackles you from the side and then his master is upon you, punches hitting your back and head. You spin with a kick to shoot him back against the wall. He bounces then comes towards you, his oversized, rock-like head smashing into yours. Your use your sword like a fist, thrusting over and over again.

The blood flies and still he laughs. You beat him back with feet and blades and aggression until you’re still standing and he isn’t. He kicks and writhes, putting you down twice before you finally sink your blade into his heart.

It’s quiet except for two streams of heavy breathing. You drag the sword from the corpse and spin to check on Faith.

She’s doubled over, breathing hard and clutching her bleeding shoulder.

“Faith?” For a split-second, when she looks up at you, a hope blossoms in your heart. Maybe you’ve killed more than just the demon, maybe you’ve saved your daughter and your wife.

Not that she’s still, technically, your wife- or ever was.

“Are you ok?”

Her smile tells you she knows- she gets that hope too. But life isn’t that kind. Or easy. “I’m still me, B. No sword in the gut’s gonna cure me- ‘less it’s my gut.”

You pull her to her feet, mainly to glare at her. “Don’t joke about that.”

“Sorry.” Blood pools on the ground beneath her but not enough to be worrisome. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“So, still you?”

She sighs and pulls you close, “Nothin’s gonna change me Babe, ‘cept you.” Mushy smiles all round. “I’m working on it, ‘k?”

“Come back soon.”

The last threads holding your top up finally snap under Faith’s wandering fingers. “I will if you strip more often.”

“We have a sick child to get back to so I’m gonna have to give you a rain check on that.”

The smiles die when you get back to the hospital. Willow assures you that the curse has been lifted yet there’s no change in her vitals.

Faith sinks down onto the camp bed, refusing the nurses’ requests to fix her cut cheek. “It’s just a bump.” You tell them and drop to lie along side her.

She holds your hand tight and paints a picture with words. Faith tells you all her plans for Rose, how she’s going to be a famous doctor and find the cures for at least ten diseases. She’ll stand in front of huge seminars, filled with fabulously brainy people and they’ll all marvel at her confidence and brilliance. Her husband will be something fabulous too but he’ll adore her, be absolutely doting and they’ll fill their house with healthy, happy children.

You lie and talk. For hours.

“B,” she sighs, the next day, when you almost-maybe-try-to-accidentally-kiss-her, “We both know things are gonna change but this is the way it has to be. For now.”

Rose wakes the next day, delirious with a fever. Faith had been sat across from you, attempting to teach you “Mama’s gonna buy you a mocking bird” in sign language- which you apparently ‘suck’ at. Both Willow and the doctors look for the cause but nothing seems to have happened. The fire rages for three days, during which time her other symptoms dissolve away. Her skin is flushed but not yellow, her heart starts to pump fiercely and the oxygen mask is no longer necessary.

On the thirty-fourth day the fever breaks, you mop her brow and cry silent tears into her hair. Faith chews the candy Xander brought and tries to hide her goofy grin. The happy tears give her away.

Children are born every day and yet you can’t replace them- you shouldn’t have to.

“Ro-Ro better? Go home?”

You nod like a silly idiot, grinning ear to ear, “Rose and Buffy, go home, promise.”

The drum skin loosens.

Chapter Twenty-Four: London's Angel Delight

October 2010

In retrospect, the best thing to have done was probably to have warned her ahead of time. Possibly by letter so she could take her anger out on that instead.

Though, she hasn’t killed you yet so ‘in front of Rosy’ apparently also works.

There are about twenty hyperactive preschoolers in the living room and what smells like all the cupcakes burning in the oven yet you’re firmly rooted to the spot- hovering just inside the door and letting the cold air in. Oh, and receiving what looks to be the mother of all glares.

Just because Rose greeted Faith at the door with a cheerful, “Aunty Faith, Aunty Faith, Mummy and Daddy are getting married!”

To be fair, it’s not an official demotion in moniker- Rose has never called either of you ‘mama’ before, just Bee-Bee and Fay-Fay. Faith’s relationship with your daughter wasn’t exactly defined to her… until last week when you sat her down and explained that ‘Aunty Faith’ and ‘Aunty Dawn’ were your sisters.

Which makes the whole thing kind of gross. And not just because you out-and-out lied to your daughter.

“Daddy?” Faith chokes, swaying as if she’s about to topple down the stairs.

The bright purple present clutched in her left hand crumples as she accidentally crushes it.

“Yep,” Rosy grins, completely oblivious to the meaning of the word, “And I’m going to be a bridesmaid! You can be one too if you want! We can wear pretty dresses!”

When neither of you reply- still too caught up in either other’s shocked and angry gazes- she takes Faith’s empty hand and pulls her inside, turning back momentarily to shoot you a surprisingly adult scowl.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to wear a dress, my friend Cassie was the bridesmaid for her Uncle and she had to wear a scratchy pink one that totally clashed with her hair.”

The pink dress actually looked quite pretty on her, but Rose isn’t fully aware of colours quite yet- as proven by her ‘the sky is green if I say it is’ painting on the fridge. It sounds funny to hear Rose’s English accent say ‘totally’- yet another reminder of things you don’t have in common with your daughter.

Rose’s hair is long and brown and has little curls at the ends.

“I don’t know Rosy… I don’t think I’d fit into one of your dresses.”

“No silly!” She laughs like Faith too, those big, noisy chuckles that say she doesn’t care who’s listening, she’s enjoying herself. “You’d have a big person’s dress, it would just look like my dress!”

“Ooh!” Faith smacks her head in pretend realisation and Rose laughs harder. “I get it!” She swoops your little girl up into her arms and nuzzles her neck, blowing air so it tickles, “Silly Fay-Fay, thinking she’d have to wear Rosy’s dress!”

You want to leave them to this moment, it’s so rare the two of them get time alone and you have to crush down your tears at knowing they’re just going to get scarcer. But the corridor in the new house is too narrow for you to edge past them and the door to the street opens inwards.

Even though it’s ludicrously expensive the house still feels too small. You’ve never lived in a townhouse before and according to the guidebook this is one of the oldest areas of London so perhaps this is just how it’s supposed to be?

Either way, you’d hated it on sight eight months ago and you still despise it now. It might not be the house’s fault- you love the old-world-charm of the other shining white houses in this street. Maybe it was just the way Henry had looked at those two extra bedrooms, hope shining in his eyes as the realtor- no, ‘estate agent’ had prattled on. It was enough to make your womb ache in a way you’d tried to ignore. Stupid body, rebelling against your mind.

The other day, you slapped him when he wrapped his arms around you from behind.

He’d put it down to Slayer reflexes and apologised profusely for startling you. Satsu had looked at you knowingly. You’d done an almost identical thing to her. And your heart still carries that same sign; ‘I beat for Faith’.

It’s not like you want that to be the case; you want to settle down with Henry, have two more kids (a girl and a boy, Joy and Jack) and lie to Rosy forever. Maybe sometimes Faith can visit from… wherever it is she’s currently gallivanting off to with Kennedy, her yet-again-best-friend… but that’s it! No more Buffy and Faith. No more Faith and Buffy. No more accidental-yet-best-night-of-your-life sex. You’re engaged now and things are going to be different around here, very different.

Besides, that last time was totally not your fault; it’s a proven rule of dating, if your girlfriend is a slayer with occasional Sapphic desires, don’t go on a business trip and leave her in your big, empty, half-unpacked house with her ex- they might go slaying and find that there’s no food in said house and decide to test out just how soundproof the walls are.

Very.

Is the answer to that question. It’s oddly impressive just how well the British build houses.

And God, Faith looks good today… you didn’t even have to stop her at the door, send her upstairs and make her change into the pre-approved outfit!

No cleavage? Check- covered by the cute blue cashmere sweater Dawn gave her last Christmas. No short skirts? Check- leather pants but at least they’re not tight enough to make it look like she’s smuggling two bowling balls back there. No greasy Goth-hair? Check- in a classic French twist. No heavy make up? Well… half ‘check’… there’s still a lot of eyeliner but at least you can see the colour of her natural skin. No Creepy Junkie Look? Check- glowing with health, shiny hair and a nice fullness in the cheeks.

“B? You coming?” Faith motions toward the living room and you nod reluctantly, not looking forward to diving back into the throng of little horrors. It’s not that you hate children so much as you’re entirely disinclined to those you’re not immediately related to. Or ones you are related to, case in point; Dawn.

She’s standing by the fireplace, clothed entirely inappropriately for a children’s party in a cream Chanel dress and towering heels. One of her posh and interchangeable friends is leaning on the mantel next to her. They’re taking tiny sips from champagne glasses- about the only thing they consume.

The multi-coloured ‘HAPPY 5th BIRTHDAY!’ banner hanging over them looks gaudy and out of place in a room fit for a high-class magazine. It’s duck-egg blue with white edging, you’d tried to sway Henry more towards mint but apparently the colour reminded him of ‘the nursery’ at his parent’s house.

You think the banner would have fitted in the living room of the old London house- the one you lived in just after Rose was born- where things didn’t have to fit to a scheme of only three colours. Stupid house. Stupid rules. Stupid previously-unmarked-antique-coffee-table.

Thank God you have a small child to blame things on.

“I think I’m going to die.” Satsu deadpans from behind you.

You snigger and try not to snort. “Please don’t, my sanity needs you.”

“Your stomach needs me, your sanity needs professional help.”

So true. “It does not! It just needs… my sister to stop being a snotty bitch, my wedding to be planned for me, and…” You smile winningly, “for you to find an alternative to cake. There may have been a slight incident with the one we bought… and the cupcakey substitutes I tried to make.”

“If you’re referring to the tiny rocks in your oven- already on it. Bruiser is busy sharpening her teeth on them.”

“Her name’s Elsa now. El-sa.”

Just one more change in your life. And such a stupid one too.

Henry had said he felt silly calling out ‘Bruiser’ and you’d agreed. It was such a ‘Faith’ thing to name a female dog anyway. Plus she’s a freaking Labradoodle!

“Whatever, she only responds to Bruiser.” Satsu frowns disapprovingly. You’re not entirely sure whether she hates Henry more for being a man or for not being Faith. If she is nothing else she’s a romantic. Having first-hand knowledge of ‘true love’s kiss’ helps. “I’ll check the cupboards but I’m pretty sure all we have left is Angel Delight from when Xander stayed. I’ll see what fabulous thing I can create… maybe a pink castle pudding?”

“You’re a life saver, I love you.”

She grins and gives your shoulder a quick squeeze on her way out the door, “Don’t let your husband hear you say that!”

Truly you’re not sure you could actually manage to live your life if not for Satsu. She has got to be the best Nanny slash Housekeeper slash Personal Assistant in the history of the world. If you could paint you’d make a portrait of Satsu, hang it over the fireplace and worship it every day.

But then Henry might get the wrong idea. Or the right one. How is it that he’s never met a single man you’ve slept with but he’s met both women? And he has no idea.

There’s always the possibility he just assumes Faith is some kind of relation? Rose obviously looks like her and in the right light so does Dawn (but that’s a little too disturbing to think about).

Faith hates him of course, but there’s nothing you can really do about it. You’d been ready to start a life with her- you were in that place. Now you just want to throttle her. Again.

This is stupid, so incredibly stupid.

Things are supposed to get worse before they get better, but there’s a difference between ‘waiting’ and ‘being shat on’.

You waited for Faith, really, you did. Once you’d killed the demon that hurt Rosy and finally taken her home from the hospital there was an… attempt at family life. (An ‘attempt’ because you tried and Faith didn’t- which levels out at somewhere in the middle.)

Henry was never part of the plan- you were going to work hard, with Faith, to build something for your daughter to thrive upon. But Faith refused to face facts; she couldn’t believe that the two of you would need help to live your lives. First she became obsessed with your friends being out to get her; pointing out every little thing she did wrong and undermining her with Rosy. It’s not as if they’ve never done that before so you agreed to speak with them. Only, they argued that nothing of the sort had been taking place and, once you monitored the situation for a while, you were inclined to agree. So then you tried to get Faith help for the paranoia, which really wasn’t appreciated.

It wasn’t your fault this time, there isn’t a single person who can look back at the moment she punched you (and trashed your purple bedroom, scaring Rosy half to death) and think there was something you could have done to make it better. Because there wasn’t.

Her illness doesn’t discriminate; it didn’t have the grace to notice that you were finally in a place where the two of you could actually have come together and made something of yourselves. It pushed it’s way into your life like an alarm, set to remind you not to get too comfortable. Your pulse thumps in your left wrist painfully. Satsu sees you rubbing it on her way back in and offers a painkiller from her deceptively large back pocket. You’re still lingering in the hall, watching the mini-party from the outside. Rosy is introducing Faith to her friends, you laugh along with her every time Faith puts out her hand to shake and then catch Satsu watching you. “She seems ok.”

“Is it sad that I don’t have to do the ‘who?’ thing?”

“No.” She smiles sweetly, “I’m just saying- she seems better than when we spoke on the phone. I expected her to be more…”

“Crazy.” One of the many reasons you love Rose (aside from everything about her) is that she gives you a legitimate excuse to check up on Faith. You can call with the pretext of Rose wanting to speak to her when really it’s just to diagnose her through the different inflections in her voice. She watches her back now- or at least she tries to- because she knows how much it’ll hurt Rosy if her mother dies. You cringe. “Aunt. Remember to say ‘aunt’.”

Sassy shakes her head sadly, ‘so you’ve finally lost it then?’

“Oh shut up and get back to the kitchen.” You snipe, slightly hurt that Faith is taking this all so well- as if her being ok without you is actually some sort of betrayal. Why can’t she save up all the good days to use with you?

“I was just going to the toilet.” She huffs, like a petulant teen, sticking out her tongue.

You’ve learnt many things in England and in the ‘proper society’ that Henry is a part of. One of those is that there is a difference between ‘bathroom’, ‘toilet’ and ‘lavatory’. You’ve also learnt that it doesn’t really matter if you forget which of the second two is the posh one because nobody expects social graces from an American.

You don’t like England, the people seem so cold (thought maybe they were the same way in Scotland and you just couldn’t tell through the accent); it’s not that they’re rude or dismissive or even unkind. It’s just that you miss the fake smiles of American shop girls and not having to watch your tongue. They don’t forgive easily here.

The neighbours are nice, kind, polite, and a million other adjectives… it’s just this odd feeling… as if you could live here for twenty years and not even know their proper names; ‘The Cadburys at Twenty-Four’, ‘The Sweet Old Man with the Green Door’, ‘Mrs DuClef Across The Road’, ‘StJohn’.

Ok, so the last one is a real name- and confusingly pronounced ‘Sin-jin’- but he’s only about ten and you have no idea which house he actually lives in or his surname, just that he likes to talk to little girls in pink dresses and knows The Sound Of Music word for word… and is, quite probably, gay.

Rose spins daintily in the middle of the room for Faith, showing off her green, silk party dress with occasional, dotted sequins. “Isn’t it pretty? Mummy bought it for me last week- I was looking forward to the shopping trip but I suppose this was the… tactful… way to do it.” She winks at you with both eyes (because she has some weird inability to do it with just one). “I can be a little ill-humoured when I don’t get my own way.”

Everyone in the room immediately makes noises of disagreement- just the way they’re supposed to. Rose isn’t a difficult child; she doesn’t have tantrums or get angry any more than a normal child… and you can forgive her anything she does do wrong on account of having so much to contend with. You bought the dress without her because that way you could cut out the sizing tag before she saw. She gets frustrated when she can’t have the same sort of clothes as her friends because they don’t come in toddler sizes. It’s not GapKids she shops in, it’s BabyGap. And that’s hard for a five year old who’s just started school. Her uniform is tailor made to fit a two year old and it’s still just a little large.

When she was a baby you were ever so slightly afraid Rose could read your mind. Now she’s older you’ve resigned yourself to being easy to interpret and having a smart child. “Rosy.” You give her the chance to work it out with just a look and she bobs her head slightly, apologising to Faith for having other guests to see.

“That’s alright baby, I’ll go talk to your… other aunty.” Faith moves to talk to Dawn and you smile in relief as your sister doesn’t brush her off. Even the snooty friend looks surprised.

You wish there was a way to mend your little family and you wish that bringing someone else in to it was the answer, but you just can’t fully believe that marrying Henry will make it all better. You’re going to break what’s left of Faith’s heart and confuse Rose even more but at the same time… there’s this odd, selfless part of you who’d do anything to see Dawn and Faith friends again.

Though maybe it is selfish- Dawn is still a part of you and, although you’ve gone too far with Faith to ever come back around and be friends again, you’d like to believe there will be a Summers-Lehane ending.

Not in a gay, sexy way!

God no!

But at least a friend one.

The soon to be ‘Rose Alice Summers Fortescue-Darling’ grins up at you from her place on the rug, as close to Faith’s feet as she can be.

If you don’t marry him then maybe-

No. Not important. You should and you will.

He doesn’t look like her. Brunette, but he doesn’t look like her.

Henry is ambitious and smart, he has a nice job in the city doing something complicated you can never seem to name. His family are rich and classy and tolerate you because they’ve already got grandchildren. Funnily enough you don’t care that you’re only good enough to be the wife of a second son.

You’re well off but not incredibly so- you don’t have a maid or… well, there’s Satsu but she really only lives with you out of the goodness of her heart and because she knows you’re completely rubbish at anything even slightly domestic. Plus you pay her a lot. That helps.

“Mummy, can I please open my presents now?” Rose smiles as charmingly as possible, her little fingers obviously itching to start tearing into the boxes stacked next to the table of party food.

“Of course sweetheart, you’ve waited long enough.”

You congratulate yourself silently on how well the room has been laid out- the food table is a pretty little French thing you found at an antique shop, sanded down and painted white. It’s piled with healthy finger food and has a space in the middle for the cake or… whatever genius thing Sassy is somehow going to create from nothing. In front of the huge bay window is spread a quilt for the girls to sit on and then play games on later. A few of the parents and Rosy’s ‘older friends’ (i.e., yours) stand in groups around the room, watching the little girls and chatting about nothing in particular. You’re proud, this is Rose’s first functioning birthday- so far they’ve all gone wrong; your huge fight with her mother, a stay in hospital, day-walking vampires and last year’s rather unfortunate flood… caused by your tripping on nothing and grabbing onto exposed piping to keep yourself vertical. So really, it’s The Slayer’s fault.

Rose plucks the largest present from the pile with a strength that makes the mothers in the room raise their perfectly plucked eyebrows. Her dimples grow larger when she sees it’s the one courier-delivered from her ‘Italian Uncle’.

It’s weird, how babies’ faces can sometimes change. She used to look so much like you and now she’s just a tiny, tiny Faith. Rose is about a foot shorter than the other children- the size of a toddler but without the protruding stomach and chubby legs. You hear what the other mothers whisper (dwarf, midget, little person) and don’t correct them.

There’s pretty much nothing of you in her now; she’s all dark hair and dimples and big brown eyes. They have matching hairlines and eyebrows and you’re fairly sure that’s going to be another dimple on her chin. But… she smiles with only one side of her mouth and… and… ok, there’s nothing else. She likes to copy your every move and only makes friends with the kids you say are good (‘friends are for life’ apparently so she needs a second opinion) but aside from her mannerisms there’s not much of her that’s like you.

She’s a lot more self-contained than you ever were, no need for constant attention, to always be the one at the centre of the room. But she’s not how you imagine Faith was either- no ‘need for continual stimulation else she’ll go and find her own trouble’. Rose can happily play for hours by herself but is equally comfortable with friends (whom she picks carefully).

Giles calls her an ‘old soul’ and she calls him ‘Papa’.

“A doll! It’s a doll! And she looks just like me!” The other children gasp in awe and wonder as first a beautiful china doll is pulled from the box and then mini suitcases full of doll clothes; dresses, coats, shoes, accessories and even a necklace made of real pearls. A matching one for Rose sits in a purple box at the bottom of the cavernous parcel.

“Wow, that’s… wow…” You bend to examine the large doll with her.

It truly is gorgeous, ivory skin and dark brown ringlets. It must have been made to specification and from the last photo you sent him- it’s a perfect almost-Rose. The dress is made of burgundy slub silk and longer than the doll itself. Faith raises her eyebrows at you over Rosy’s head- that entire parcel must have cost at least a couple of thousand pounds.

Mimtal has only met Rose once- she was two months old and you’d dragged Faith to Italy in the hope it could break her out of her unfeeling slump. She’d seemed almost inhuman at that time- she just didn’t care. He’d been… not your last hope- that sounds too final, but- but certainly you’d expected that as soon as they saw each other she’d light up, become herself again, feel… feel anything. Just feel. The day before you begged Giles for three tickets to Rome she’d broken two fingers in an argument with a door and hadn’t noticed.

You’d planned for a week but only stayed three days. Faith refused to go outside so you played with Rosy in the pool and let him work his magic. Only he hadn’t. Instead he had dedicated his fervour to your daughter and talked in riddles with you over a candlelight dinner. Fucking useless waste of space.

“Rosy-baby, don’t tear the presents too, ok?” She ignores you and rips through her present-pile like a demon or… small child.

“Mummy, when are we having cake?”

“Touché.” You mumble and make it halfway down the stairs to the kitchen before your wrist twinges in warning. Faith grabs your shoulder and spins you back around.

“B-!”

You hold up a hand to quiet her before Rose realises she’s missing too and comes looking. “We can talk in the kitchen.”

It’s serene downstairs and goose bumps rise on your flesh. Satsu smiles sweetly when she sees you but looses it when Faith follows. “I’ll just… go check on the food. In the living room. It might need to be restocked.”

Ignoring your desperate and silent plea for help she hightails it up the stairs and you’re left, awkward and alone, in the middle of the kitchen. Elsa’s wines to be let in filter through from the garden as soon as she catches wind of Faith. “Faith, I… you’re angry, I know. I’m sorry about the ‘aunt’ thing but I just don’t want her to be confused by-”

“Excuse me?” The look she gives you makes you feel like you’re shrivelling up inside your cute navy dress. “You- you actually think it’s the ‘aunt’ bit that I’m angry about?! You think I’m angry that I was actually given some kind of a- a name for once?” Her shouts are loud enough to be heard upstairs, you’re sure, and you only hope Sassy shut the living room door. “It doesn’t even cross your mind that maybe I’m so angry because the name I should have been given has been gone to him?!”

“You want to be called ‘Daddy’?” You squeak. The only thing you can think suddenly is that the one time you argued with Henry he used his ‘indoor voice’- even though you were outside- and being yelled at is somehow sickly exciting.

“No! I want to be Mommy too! And- and since when were you ‘Mummy’? We never called each other… We…” She pauses and begins again with a new fever, a new anger. This fight is not about you or anything you once had. “I am her mother Buffy, her mother. Now I may not have carried her for nine months but she is the only family I have left and you’re a fool if you think I’m giving her up without a fight.”

“I’m not asking you to give her up! You barely even visit! She sees you, what, once a month? Henry is there for her. Every. Day.” The slap is just as surprising as being knocked back into the table. It splinters under the force of her throw and you shudder in shock.

She hovers above you as you cower beneath her, the snapped off table leg close enough for the imprinted memory of thousands of repetitions to rise through your hand. Your automatic response is to stake her. Because she’s a threat. “You want me to get a paternity test, is that it?!” Elsa barks crazily at the raised voices, “You want me to state my legal claim over her and sue for joint custody?! Half a week at my house half a week at yours? You want-!”

“Firstly; that’s a stupid idea!” You pull yourself up from the floor and into her face. She is not going to know just how much your back hurts. “Secondly; no one would believe the results anyway, thirdly; No kind of custody is going to be granted to an escaped convict and fourth…ly; you don’t even have a house!” Again she lashes out, this time with a fist to the gut. You punch her temple so hard her hair falls out of its pretty up-do. She hit you! Twice! While being totally aware, totally sane, totally… herself.

She sneers at you, “I thought you were a bigger person B, I guess I was wrong.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare give me righteous indignation! I was willing to wait for you as long as you were actually working towards whatever the hell it was I was waiting for!”

“You know you’re my wife really.” She spits out.

You’d been so hopeful. You’d seen her at the door, so nice, so normal. And you’d hoped. Perhaps irrationally. That she was going to be ok. She seemed ok. A tear runs its track down your cheek and to the hollow of your throat. You brush it away and try to stay calm. “No Faith, I know that I’m your punching bag.”

She slides cool fingers over your pulsing wrist. “I’m sorry, really, I am. That was only one time though…”

The table isn’t broken. She didn’t just punch you. Your back is not possibly bleeding. And that is not a rapidly healing mess of bone. “It wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last but I’m never, ever giving you the chance to start that with Rosy.”

Faith’s look is one of the deepest betrayal, “I wouldn’t touch her!”

“You can’t know that! Get help. Then we’ll talk.”

She’s gone before you can look up again and Sassy’s arms wrap around you in her place. “Shh, shh, it’s ok. Don’t cry- you’ll have to do your make up again. Besides, Dawn’s coming, if she sees you crying she’ll probably start a big speech, with lots of long and complex Latin words, about the juxtaposition between the evils of declining and falling in love.”

You chuckle and let her wipe away the few tears that got loose.

“Now, I have to find a magnifying glass so I can work out if Angel Delight needs milk or water to make it… do… whatever it is it does. What is Angel Delight anyway?”

“I have no idea. But it’s bright pink.”

Dawn clomps down the stairs behind you and makes a startled little noise like a mouse when she sees the back of your dress. You spin, in an attempt to see what feels like a bleeding back. Surprisingly, it’s just a lot of torn navy knit and a few white scrapes. The table looks much worse in comparison. “What happened to your dress?! And the table…?”

“I… I caught it on something. On the table- I caught my dress on the table and then turned too quickly and, you know, slayer powered, so I ruined the table which… which is actually kind of awful because this might have been Henry’s Grandmother’s table or- or it could have been the one upstairs. Still killed a table though, right? Ha! ‘Killed a table’. Table. Wood. Dead. You don’t care, do you?”

Your sister smirks, “It’s fine, I like how garrulous you are.”

“What?”

“Chatty. Weird. American.”

‘You love her’, your brain reminds you, and ‘She’s your own flesh and blood’. In fact, she’s more your flesh and blood than Rose is. Dawn is just a little… off right now, she’s just going through another crazy teen thing. In her early twenties. “I knew sending you to Oxford was a bad idea.”

“Buffy, I dropped out of Oxford.”

“See, bad idea.”

She made it through her first two years at University and then decided to recklessly squander her brain- becoming a PA-slash-model (and, you’re a little afraid to think it, but possibly a kept woman). Cute little Dawnie with the too-short jeans and nose in a book is a thing of the past. Now her manicure is more expensive than your shoes and she’s more interested in where ‘everyone’s doing cocktails’ than having a Physics principle named after her.

“Sorry, but… why are you here?”

You roll your eyes when she stops fiddling with the grapes long enough to give an insolent scoff. “Rose is my niece. Which is the answer to both ‘why are you at her birthday party, filling in as the only cool person she has?’ and ‘why are you in the kitchen telling me off for disappearing with my ex?’”

“Oh great, the ‘get away from Faith’ speech again.”

Dawn frowns, “I love her, B. And I love Henry. Might… possibly like him a little better. But that’s just me. When he looks at you it’s the sweetest thing and when you kiss- well, it’s the first time I’ve seen you kiss someone and not immediately wanted to retch. And anyway, Faith feels like you betrayed her- again- she doesn’t look at you the way she used to.”

“Shut up. Please.”

“No! Look, Faith goes up and down and you go backwards and forwards. Last week, before she phoned, I couldn’t get you to shut up about how brilliant your fiancé is and now she’s here and oh! So stupid, your mind is all twisted and you’re conflicted and…”

You glare, “Do you not understand the meaning of the words ‘shut’ and ‘up’?”

“Buffy, you can’t just shut me down every time I try and talk to you!”

“Well even if I can’t shut you down, I can always hope to shut you up.”

“You’re not funny and you’re not smart. Rosy loves him, you love him, this is… temporary insanity.” Like a disappointed parent she leaves in silence when you don’t immediately agree. Everything, with her, is taken personally.

You glance awkwardly around the kitchen, a little lost for what to do- you can’t exactly go back upstairs with a gaping hole showing off your bra clasp. There’s an attempt at getting Elsa to calm down but she’s happy barking her head off so you restlessly pace and touch things that suddenly seem so alien in your own kitchen! Your own goddamn, shitting kit-! “Oh. Oh great. Just fucking perfect!” There’s pink Angel Delight powder down your front and- and- “GRAH!”

“Everything ok?”

“‘Ok’? of course it’s ok! Why wouldn’t everything be perfectly fucking spiffing!” Satsu blinks, hurt. “Sorry. That anger isn’t really meant for you.”

She passes another painkiller over along with one of your jackets- the red one, “I get it. So, back to avoiding Faith?”

You wave away the jacket, “the cut doesn’t suit this dress.” Which is a stupid, trivial, idiotic thing to think about when you have to wear something in order to go upstairs to the woman who’ll kill you. “I figure as soon as we’re alone again she’s going to beat me into a bloody and unrecognisable pulp- I’m enjoying my last few moments of being attractive.” Sassy stares, silent and reproving, until you shrug on the jacket anyway. “By the way, you’ve got my dental records on file, right?”

“You hate the dentist.” She smiles kindly and doesn’t reprimand you for tugging impatiently as she fusses to cover the tear. “I’m pretty sure the last records they have are from back when you had milk teeth.”

“Right. I knew that.” The jacket looks perfect. Of course. But you’re still unfortunately covered in pink powder. “I hate my life. I hate Faith. I bet she’s having happy mind-blowing sex with somebody else. That’s my hot sex. Mine! I might not want to use it right now but… still…”

Sassy shakes her head as if you aren’t looking, “Well, as long as she’s happy with Kennedy, it doesn’t matter.”

“What?” You choke on strawberry-scented air, Elsa barks harder, “She’s… they’re… they’re actually together now?”

“Well why not?” She shrugs, “If you can settle for second best, she can too.”

“Can you please make Bru-Elsa shut up?!”

You don’t say anything about the noises from downstairs when you re-enter the living room, just like you don’t say anything when later on in the party, after eating too much Angel Delight and getting too tired, Rosy gets over-emotional and runs to not you but her other mother, crushing her wet cheek to Faith’s chest. It’s something she’s always done, always sought comfort in her mother’s skin; the touch of a hand, their cheeks pressed together, any kind of touch.

But for how long?

How long will it take, how much time apart, until Rosy forgets her?

Is this guilty feeling going to last? Because, to be honest, you’re sort of hoping she does forget. Regardless of how many mothers she quite literally has you’re the one who carried her! She’s supposed to be clingy with you! Not psycho-Faith.

You rush around to hide your feelings and keep away from Faith. She almost catches you in the hallway but your hands are full of Sassy’s Pink Marvel so she has to dodge or be covered in Angel Delight. The other mothers laugh kindly at your tales of Pudding Misfortune and sympathise with having food down your front. They congratulate you on such a good party and marvel over the moulded pink castle mousse. Sassy winks over the top of the departing children and lets you take the credit.

“Thank you.” You whisper and squeeze her hand as you reach for the same party bag.

“Dawn was telling funny tales of the ‘sibling rivalry’ between the three of you.” She whispers back, motioning to what feels to be a vibrant handprint on your cheek.

“Do I have to thank her too?” On the way out Dawn mentioned something to Faith about missing her like she misses carbs and you got the funny feeling she’ll be ok.

She smiles and helps one of the Huntington twins (you can’t for the life of you tell which one) with her coat. “She also tripped over the rug and said the-” Her eyes dart down to the little blonde head, “C word. And then insulted me when I told her off.”

“I’m sorry about her. Sometimes I think the monks took all the worst parts of…” You trail off at her chastising glare, “Why don’t you use all that parenting on Dawn instead? I’m the grown up one!”

“My mummy is a grown up!” Huntington Twin A pipes up, looking proud of her mere ability to talk. It’s really not surprising Rose is top of her class if they’re all this stupid.

“I know dear.”

“My mummy has sex!”

Further down the hallway, and attempting to help Huntington Twin B put on her mittens, Lexie Huntington flushes bright red. Tavi Benn (the ‘ex-wild-child’ who, sometimes, you think Faith might have turned into if she’d been born with money) laughs and slings an arm around her best friend’s shoulders, “Had that talk, huh?”

“Possibly a little too soon.” Lexie chuckles back.

Is it weird that every time you see blonde and brunette women being close to each other you immediately think they’re doing it?

“Do you have sex?” Twin A asks, motioning to either you or Satsu or- more disturbingly- both.

Sassy gulps like a goldfish, “Uh…”

Allegra, the redhead who picks her nose, turns her little innocent face towards the room in general, “What’s sex?”

You’re five seconds from dissolving into hysterical giggles when Bliss Benn sighs and pats her friend’s arm, “It’s what Rosy said makes babies. From vaginas.”

Occasionally, or perhaps disturbingly often, Rose loves to use her height to her advantage. Hiding in a crowd of other children is one of those moments. You scan the hallway full of bobbing heads at waist height (your waist anyway) for the telltale gap and spot it near the door. “I see you Rose Alice Summers Le…” Tavi raises an eyebrow, “-ve that… place… and come hand out party bags.”

“Fine.” The crowd of children parts to let her through but you can’t see her properly until she’s standing on your feet and grinning up. “Hi Mummy.”

“Hi baby.”

“You know, I only used the word ‘vagina’ in the proper context so really I was just educating them.” This is Faith’s fault. That you can be sure of. She was the one convinced that speaking to your child as if they’re an adult and enlarging their repertoire was a good idea. You’re so never letting Rose near a newspaper or cultural programme again. Stupid liberal upbringing…

Fortunately, the other mothers laugh and don’t seem to mind that you’ve inadvertently ruined their children’s innocence. Rose is going to believe in Father Christmas until every single other child in her year has lost their virginity- even the geeks and purity ring wearers.

“Thanks again.” Tavi plucks the ‘Going Home Bag’ out of Rosy’s hand when her daughter seems content to just stand and smirk with a wicked glare. “And- it was lovely to speak with you, Faith. I’ll definitely try and find that record.”

“Do.” Faith folds her arms and amusedly doesn’t help with the children (who seem suddenly to number more in the hallway than they did in the living room). “Keith Moon’s solo is like… whoa.” They share that creepy ‘The Who Are God’ look. “But it’s pretty rare so you might not find it.”

Tavi shrugs, “My ex-husband has a music dealer. Literally, a guy who finds him music.”

“Weird.”

“Believe me, it was the most legal service he spent his money on.” Everyone else turns to stare at her. Lexie smirks behind her hand. You’ve picked up on the hints, of course, everyone has- they’re just too English to mention it. “Oh don’t look at me like that- you all know!”

Bliss frowns, “Know what Mummy?”

Lexie rolls her eyes at you and you get a little giddy- Alexis Huntington and Octavia Benn are, by far, the cool parents at the school and the little girl inside you desperately wants to be their friend. “Nothing Blissy, your mother is just being facetious.”

“Oh, Mummy.” Bliss shakes her head in a very ‘Rose’ way and gives her mother the same condescending look you received upon asking exactly how ‘Bliss’ could be a nick-name for ‘Felicity’ (though, really, you walked into that one with the whole ‘Buffy’ and ‘Elizabeth’ thing).

“I know, B, I know.” Tavi grabs her girl and heads towards the open door, skirting around hyperactive-yet-oddly-well-behaved children. “Say goodbye to Rose.”

“No.”

“Then say goodbye to Buffy.”

“No.”

“Do you ever intend to eat ice-cream again?”

“N-Yes!”

“Then say goodbye to Rose.”

“I hate you.”

Tavi, stops, turns and waits.

“Goodbye, Rose.”

“Goodbye, Felicity.” Rosy smarms, knowing she hates the name. “That child is so badly behaved.” She mumbles out the side of her mouth once they’ve left. Twin A giggles like the airhead she’s going to grow up to be.

Tamara Rhodes, her three ugly boys, Ophelia Van Der Burke, Thora Saxe-Barnes, StJohn and their parents all leave along with a few families you don’t really know all that well but invited either because Rosy mentioned their children or Lexie and Tavi know the parents. Because you now apparently respond to peer-pressure. Even the kind the other person isn’t aware of.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, is about ten alright?” Lexie shuffles towards the door with twice the baggage of the other parents (even Tamara with her three children). Faith moves to grab a bag and Lexie jumps, not used to people entering her personal space without asking- or, occasionally, bowing. “Oh. Thank you. We might also have Bliss with us- Edmund is supposed to have her but, well…” She growls slightly, making you smirk. You’ve heard many, many stories of Edmund The Awful.

“That’s fine. The more the merrier.” You almost check Faith to see if she’s sticking around but she can’t and her back is turned anyway.

Instead of kissing your cheek or giving you a hug, like your other (American) friends, Lexie trills something out in French and gives you the pleasantest smile you’ve ever seen.

“I’m starting to love English people.”

“Don’t let Giles hear that.” Sassy clomps down the stairs behind you. Sometimes it feels as if this whole place is full of stairs. Two large and one small room on every floor over five floors, meaning you spend most of your life going up and down. There are also two ground floors- the one on the same level as the street and then a floor beneath it (which is really just a huge kitchen) that leads out to the garden. And yes, in the short time you’ve lived here there have been many ‘Oh my God, I left the… in the kitchen/garden’ moments just as you’re getting into bed on the top floor. Stupid House. Stupid weird, alien place, where even the pavement makes a different noise as you walk along it, all those slates, stone slabs, clicking under the clack of your heals.

“Giles doesn’t count. I don’t like Giles.”

“Still? Over something that happened…” She ticks the years out in the air, “Seven years ago? You do realise you’ve known me for less time than this stupid feud has been going on?”

“He tried to have my lover killed! Twice! With two different lovers!”

Rose frowns, confused, “Why do you have two different lovers? Are they different to Daddy or are they both Daddy?”

What?

“What?” Sassy unknowingly echoes.

“You know- one is Daddy before you marry him and one is Daddy after you marry him. Why would someone want to kill Daddy? That’s silly. Daddy is a nice man.”

“Yes,” You agree, smiling at her clipped vowels, “He is. Your Daddy is a lovely person.”

The evening sunshine drifts across her face, making her eyes glitter and the tiny sequins on her dress catch the light. “Do you think when I grow up I’ll have a lovely lover?”

Satsu smiles and you smile and try hard not to think about how the first person to even attempt to touch your daughter is going to have both their hands cleaved off. By all three parents. “I think that won’t be for a very… long time, young lady.”

“Eh,” She shrugs, “I can wait.”

Yeah, wait forever. Wait until she has to join a nunnery just because it’s the only option open to her… which in this day and age probably isn’t true. She’d be some kind of crazy cat lady now- the modern equivalent. Though… did they not have cats in the past? Why didn’t they have crazy cat ladies back then? Or maybe they did and no one really cared enough to make a note of them. Huh.

“Okay, then.” Sassy chuckles, “Come on, Kid, let’s get you into your pyjamas before Daddy gets home. Buff, there’s a bowl of left-over Angel Delight hidden behind the vegetable sticks- just for you.” Rose skips up the stairs after her, humming ‘Happy Birthday’ to herself.

“Oh. I don’t-” She raises an eyebrow; ‘oh really?’ “Ok, ok, I’m an Angel Delight Whore, don’t judge me!”

The cogs visibly turn in Rosy’s head, “What’s a ‘whore’?”

“Well…”

Sassy shakes her head before you can give some kind of stupid answer- possibly involving rope and alliteration. “It’s a Japanese word that’s not used very often. Anyone who says ‘whore’ is really just calling themselves stupid- you can’t use it to insult other people, just yourself.”

“I’m not stupid.” Rose considers and climbs up a few more steps (she’s still a little too small to walk up by herself), “Mummy is a little bit though.”

Her eyes crinkle the way they do when she’s genuinely amused and that pretty, tinkling laugh that’s pure ‘Satsu’ floats down the stairs just before they round the corner and disappear from view. “Yes, I think sometimes she is.”

“I love you!”

Yay, pudding!

“Yum, yum!”

“Good job avoiding me today.”

“Bleh!” You jump in surprise and almost inhale the damn mousse. God, so good…

Stupid Faith leans lightly against the doorframe and watches you try not to die.

Your hand skims your slapped cheek, “Obviously not that good. Did Alexis and the girls get away ok?”

“Yeah. Yeah, they… they’re ok. Cute kids.” She sighs and runs her fingers against the painted wood. It’s pretty and white. “So… You’re really gettin’ married?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long silence. “Congrats.”

You want to say something soppy, to tell her she was right earlier, that she’ll always be your wife really, about how she owns your heart and that you’re family now. Forever. Instead you nod awkwardly and mumble a thank you.

“So… turned into Bridezilla yet or are you pretending to be a normal person who doesn’t need to control every single detail of everyone’s lives?”

What the hell? She’s making jokes now? “Are you… are you no longer mad at me?”

“I’m just…” You jump a little as she pushes off the wall, even though it’s soft and slow. The mouse sticks to your palate. “I was just upset.” There are barely a few inches between you and your heart tries to beat back towards hers. She caresses the handprint on your face and it’s so easy to slip back into forgiving her that it shocks you into not. “I know that you’re with him now and whatever we had is pretty much over except for Rosy but… I’m the dumpee and- and that means I don’t have a cut off point, I didn’t know to wind down my emotions to the point where I could. I…”

Oh shit. Please Faith, please don’t.

“I… I just… I’m still in love with you. And that feels like such a ‘duh’ thing to say because of course I love you- you’re Buffy. You’re the one for me.”

She smiles self-deprecatingly and swipes at her teary eyes.

“Sorry, you don’t have to say anything back. I’m just… explaining why occasionally I want to throttle you or… point out to your stupid fiancé that we’ve had sex five times since the two of you got together, one of which he was in the room for! And while I appreciate our new and oddly teenage ‘doing it in front of sleeping people’ kink it doesn’t quite make up for what I lost!”

You bristle because this so isn’t what you want to be talking about, it so isn’t fair. You’re trying to build a life. One that’s all your own. And yes, Faith is like… your crack, and every time she’s around your heart thumps harder and it feels like you can barely breathe but… but this isn’t right. You have to give up bad habits, you have to move on and you have to dedicate yourself to a man that loves you and cares for you and wants to give you the world. Because he’s better for you than the girl who punches your lights out when she’s upset or denied.

“I’m the other woman, Buffy! The Other Woman! You’re supposed to love me and only me and we’ll move back to Italy and have those three kids you’ve always dreamt of!”

“You know about that?”

She smiles in a way she knows is charming. “Rose, Joy, Jack. I do actually pay attention when you talk.”

More babies? When she can’t even take care of the first one? “Rose wrote you a letter. It’s pinned to the fridge.”

“She can…? Oh. Guess I missed that milestone.” Faith shrugs and you try your hardest to read in her eyes whether she’s actually that nonchalant or is just covering it up.

“She spoke, I wrote. She did do her own name though.”

“I’m sorry. God, seems like just yesterday she was this tiny little thing I could hold in just one hand.”

“Yeah.”

You remember that too, the first time you woke after giving birth (so you may have passed out- even a slayer can only take so much pain!) to find Faith perched on the edge of the hospital bed, her long hair tied just above waist-length with a pink ribbon and a tiny pile of blanket in her hand. She was staring so intently at that little bundle she didn’t notice you’d woken. The look in her eyes made your insides roll and dance- she was in love, and so were you, with a tiny little thing that barely opened her eyes. Rose was so small even then that the blanket probably took up more room in Faith’s hand than she did but at the time you’d all just put it down to Summers’ women (with the exception of Dawn The Occasionally Literal Giant) being short.

There are so many things stuffed in your memory when it comes to Faith that it’s hard to remember to occasionally take them out and sort them- weigh one side against the other and realise that… perhaps, there really are more good ones than bad.

You remember a party, senior year (that was really at a frat house) filled with boys who looked longingly but knew who you were really going home with. The dark-haired girl, who everyone seemed to know and love, had threaded a strong arm around you at the start of the night and claimed you as her own. You’d played Spin The Bottle and she’d made the others laugh by sprawling on top of them when it was your turn to spin- thus ensuring maximum chance of being chosen- and squeezing herself into a tight ball the rest of the time because she’d made a promise to not kiss anyone else.

That night you’d ruined your liver and the surface of your lips from kissing her too harshly. She was so like a flame, beautiful and captivating, that you’d felt as if you’d never get enough. Faith had laughed when you told her that and held you back, kissing you only sparingly, like you were something precious and the number of times she could touch you was limited. She’d seemed like a dream, something you could never really grasp, no matter how hard you tried she’d slip through your fingers like silk or the trails of water left by a fast-swimming fish.

And still she has that effect on you. Still when you’re in the same room a hazy fuzz descends upon your vision, still she seems to waver like a mirage until you think you can forget to be angry, forget to expect… forgive everything.

“Occasionally I forget how old she is and cut up her food. And then she gives me that ‘Ultimate Look Of Distain’ she’s so good at.”

Faith nods in sympathy, “Sucks to be you.”

“Hey! You’re the one who drank from the green cup!”

“You still have that?!” The old, gross, slightly mouldy, plastic cup Rose insists on drinking milk from? The one no dishwasher can fully clean? The one she’s had since she was six months old and guards like a hawk since the fateful day Faith accidentally took a sip from it two years ago?

“Do you want to try wrestling it from her tiny-yet-powerful grip? Because, let me warn you, the girl has fingers of steel and a glare that could make a vampire cry.”

She sighs like you’re a lost cause and scoops out a handful of Angel Delight. It sticks to her fingers as she attempts to suck it off and you try desperately to think of Giles in Speedos and not how soundproof the walls are. “Dude, you’re a slayer; suck it up.”

“Don’t call me ‘dude’- there’s no such thing as Bostonian Surfers.”

“There so are!”

“Are not!”

“How would you know?”

“Because I-” Your witty (and well considered) response is cut off by a glob of Angel Delight hitting the exact centre of your face. You toy with congratulating her on a good shot but instead scoop up your own handful and rut it into her nice blue top. “Ha!”

“O-M-G! This is my favourite top!” You hold a laugh in so hard there’s the possibility of organ rupture. “Don’t give me that- I broke my leg and your sister made me watch episodes of Gossip Girl and The OC back to back. I’m considering trading you in for a leggier, dumber model. And then turning evil and ruling the world with my sarcastic jibes.”

“Blair isn’t actually evil.” You reply before you can stop yourself.

“Ha!”

“Oh shut up,” You finger off some of the pudding on her top and refuse to let it go to waste, “We both know my taste in television never evolved beyond fourteen but at least I don’t watch Saturday morning cartoons.”

She scoffs and punches your arm. You hold in a wince. “I have a five year old daughter! I need to keep up with the trends!”

“Tell the truth.”

“I like the funny voices.”

You ‘ha’ your victory and do a very small happy-dance. She rolls her eyes but flashes her dimples and makes your heart blossom.

It’s like calling someone after ten years apart and only having to say ‘it’s me’ for them to get it. The smile is simple and easy and yours.

You grin back, still a little lost in the moment, so mainly just because it’s Faith and a smile that belongs to you. “You look nice.” She does.

“Thanks. You…” She trails off, noticing how roughly half of you is covered in Angel Delight mix. “You look like you need to sit down. Or possibly see a nurse.”

You try not to imagine what sort of an affliction would involve being covered in pink powder. The mousse itself doesn’t seem to want to come off your face. Even when you use your sleeve. “Please tell me this doesn’t really look as puss-like as I think it does?”

Faith frowns, “I think you just ruined pudding for me.”

“Not possible. I’ve seen you have ten puddings in a row- after a full meal.”

“Yo, that was like a… big… demon.” Pause. “Ok, so I don’t actually remember which time you were there for but I’m guessing there’d been something… athletic… happening.” She leers.

“A-ha-ha-no.” You shove her back but she just giggles and leans closer. “Faith.”

The warning tone does nothing. “Shh, B…” Watching her edge ever closer you shudder- in the wrong way.

“Faith…” The table rattles as you step back into it then screeches against the grain of the wood floor. “Stop.”

“You mean ‘go’.”

You smack away her hand. “I mean ‘stop’.”

The front door rattles just as the seed of doubt swells in Faith’s eye.

“Bethy!” She winces at the sound of Henry’s voice, at the name he insists on calling you- because ‘Buffy’ is just too American. “Sweetheart, I’m home.” He chuckles, rounding the door into the living room.

You sigh in relief. It’s not wrong to only want her touches when you want them. There’s been too much of the bad kind of touching today.

“Faith, nice to see you.” Henry nods amicably, shaking her hand (and ignoring the pudding covering you both) as she nods back in a generally bemused manner, “How are you?”

“Good… working… hard.” She lies, barely interested.

He chuckles, thinking she’s making a joke and being friendly, and pulls you towards him, wrapping one of his big arms around your tiny shoulders. You smile thinly as she visually scoffs with an ‘are you kidding me?!’ look. Henry laughs again even when she comments on your mushiness making her sick. He thinks he loves you, he thinks you’re his. And why shouldn’t he? You haven’t told him any different and you know that love is not love if not returned… at least, that’s what you think.

Though… it might be nice to be his- to love him.

He doesn’t even know you love her.

Faith is merely counted among your friends in his eyes, an odd friend though; one you barely see but care about enough to promote to ‘aunt’.

Is that weird? That he’s never asked about Rosy’s father? He’s marrying you- taking her on as his stepdaughter and yet he hasn’t questioned her paternity. You know he cares, that he honestly does want to be a part of her life but why not ask? If it’s to spare you heartache then that’s understandable but how does he know there isn’t some raving, psychotic loon father locked up in a high security prison with a stripy shirt and a huge scar on his forehead?!

Way to freak yourself out

“So you’re having fun with the…” He leans forward and lowers his voice, “slaying?”

Faith takes a moment to decide whether or not this discussion is worth it, chewing imaginary gum. “Ye…ah.” She shrugs, rolls her eyes and walks off upstairs.

“Well, she’s getting sweeter.” They’ve only met a handful of times in the last two years but this is probably the deepest and nicest conversation they’ve had so far.

“Define ‘sweet’!”

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean I have to love your friends.” He brushes pink pudding off the top of your nose and then licks his finger, “Mm, please tell me there’s more of this in an actual bowl and not just down your front? I can only envisage the court cases from having invited small children to lick you.”

“Henry!”

His eyes twinkle at you from beneath his regal brow and your breath catches slightly- he is the type of handsome rarely seen out of black and white movies. In the flashbulbs of disposable cameras he is ugly and in the grey day he is plain but caught like this, with the low, orange glow of autumn sunset, you think you might just fall in love.

It’s unfair to compare him to Faith and you shouldn’t do it. They are that thing children can never begin to understand; both ‘good’ but ‘different’. They are beyond comparison because they are two such separate things.

He likes to talk and you love that about him. When you are finally both in bed at night the two of you sit for at least an hour and discuss anything that might be on your mind. It’s strange that he knows so much about you and yet so little. You disclose the minutiae of your day and then digress to heavy topics, how you feel about world events, your own values and dreams. He might not know your history but he knows you as a person; he can predict how you will react to any situation, knows which pages of the newspaper to leave open for you and memorises anecdotes that he thinks you will enjoy. Yours is a meeting of minds.

With him you feel as if you are a better person, or- or maybe he just uncovers the one you’ve been all along. When Rose aced the entrance exam to her posh pre-school (because where you start in life is of ‘the utmost importance’) and you refused to take any credit, he sat you down and corrected you. He reminded you of your ‘human intelligence’, your ability to read people and empathise. Sitting together, watching the news one night, you’d elucidated why certain figures were acting the way they were- not from any knowledge of the situation, merely from empathy, the ability to put yourself in other people’s shoes.

You’d thought of Faith and been ashamed. It was hard to empathise with her sometimes, hard when someone so close to you acted badly to see anything past your own hurt feelings. An old argument with Kennedy came back to you- she’d asked (screamed) why you couldn’t relate your own depression to Faith’s. You shut down the argument before she could continue because, in all honesty, you’d never seen it that way before, the self-loathing and misery you’d felt after being ripped out of heaven was buried so far down in your subconscious you’d never desired to evaluate it. Like the partially healed flesh under a torn-off scab it hurt to even consider it. But you should have done. That didn’t make you feel every smart.

“Are you alright, darling?”

“I- oh.” You realise suddenly that there’s a tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s nothing. Just a silly little…”

He takes you in fully; the messy clothes, watering eyes and red handprint. “Faith?”

“We had a fight. About cake. Or- the lack of cake. So then I suggested Angel Delight. And she hates Angel Delight. So we fought. And I covered her in pink mousse. And she covered me in pink mousse.” Five gallons of it. “Apparently she won.”

Henry takes a deep breath and ‘hmm’s that way you’ve come to realise most English men do.

“You think that’s stupid don’t you?”

“No, it’s just… silly.” He says, in a way that makes you think things won’t ever be silly again. But then cracks a grin. “I like it!”

You grin back in relief. There seems to be a lot of that around him.

“How’s my favourite girl?”

“If I didn’t know you were talking about my daughter I’d be upset! Still, am I at least second?” You kiss him and smile coquettishly.

“Second?!” He gasps, “No, of course not, you, my love, are my favourite woman.”

The Angel Delight spreads across his chest as he pulls you close to kiss until your toes curl. “Yummy.”

“I know.”

There’s a pitter-patter of little feet running down the stairs so you sit Henry down in his favourite chair to save him from being knocked over by a freakishly strong, miniature child. “Daddy! You’re home!” Rose sluggishly runs to him and throws herself across his lap- taking a messy leap to get there.

He lifts her up with her favourite new toy so they can be face to face. “Hello Sweet Pea. Did you have a good party? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here.”

“That-” She pauses for a ginormous yawn. “Tha’s… o… kay…”

You share a chuckle with Henry as Rosy tries to literally shake off her tiredness. She seems smaller when she’s sleepy, for no reason other than her body relaxes. Like a floppy little doll. Rose first fell in love with Henry when he picked her up and swung her around in the air. She’s so used to everyone treating her as if she might break at any moment it excites her when people are willing to rough and tumble. When he’s sitting down and she stands on his lap they see exactly eye-to-eye. “Tired?”

“Just a little. I have a new friend though.”

“You made up with Felicity Benn? I thought we hated her?”

She gives him her best conspiratorial evil glare. “Oh we do. Bliss is still on probation, she wouldn’t even have been invited but someone wants to be friends with her mummy.”

Faith, who must have followed Rose down silently, snorts, “Mummy’s just hoping she’ll get some.”

“Faith!” It’s half a gasp of surprise and half a gasp of ‘how dare you’, with an underscore of ‘thank you for saying that low enough for only my slayer hearing to pick up on’.

“What’s wrong?” Henry asks in concern.

“Nothing, nothing, Faith just… startled me. Go on, Rosy, tell Daddy about your new friend.”

A mean little voice behind you grumbles, “Bitch.” But you pretend not to have heard.

“This” Rose pauses for dramatic effect, and then pulls the china doll from behind her back with a flourish, “Is Mimi.”

“Mimi?” He gasps as if he hasn’t even noticed the toy before now. “Well, my goodness Pea, she’s your prettiest friend yet!”

“You’re only saying that because she looks just like me!” Rosy snuggles further into his lap and sits Mimi down on his other leg. “We’re twins.” She shows him their matching necklaces and he makes the mandatory impressed noises while raising his eyebrows at you- who would send a five year old a necklace of pearls?

“Great-uncle Mimtal sent her.” You answer, with classic ‘crazy old relatives’ voice.

He smirks, “Ah. Well, she’s lovely Rose.”

“We’re going to be best friends. Forever.”

“So no more Bliss-and-Rose?”

She shrugs and rolls her eyes, “Only if she grovels.”

“Well, she did say you are ‘half her height’ so I guess it’s only fair.”

“Exactly! I’m at least armpit height.” Rosy yawns again- one so huge she has to lean backwards to get it out.

Henry kisses the top of her head lightly and hugs her tightly. “You should be getting to bed, Sweet Pea. You can tell me all about your party in the morning, and I’ll make you French toast and smoked salmon… maybe even give you a present?”

She snuggles deeper into his side. “Mm, presents…”

“Oh no, don’t go falling asleep on me or we’ll never get you up to bed.” Henry sets her back on her feet with a little pat on the back.

He stands up, intending to take her, but she toddles over to you. “Mummy?” Rose stretches up her arms, too tired to walk up the stairs- her new doll permanently clasped in her left fist. You pick her up awkwardly with your right hand- the left still isn’t strong enough and in heels she’s even further down. It’s actually sweet when, noticing your wince, Faith steps in to lift her away.

“Come on, baby- let’s go get snuggled up.”

“M’kay Mama.”

Faith freezes. You gulp. Henry doesn’t even look up.

“Sleepytime…”

You follow Faith and Rose upstairs, watch as they go through the nightly ritual your little happy family of three normally performs; tucking Rose in with a story, a kiss, her teddy and, the latest addition to the family, Mimi. “Nighty nighty, Ro-Ro.”

“Pyjama pyjama, Fay-Fay.” Rosy mumbles sleepily, turning towards Faith’s caressing hand. “Do you love me?”

“We did this one earlier!” Faith flushes and looks guiltily at you- the two of them have a thousand different code words and sayings. You used to feel left out but not so much anymore.

“But it’s my favourite…!”

“Ok…” Faith moves the neck of Rose’s pyjama top so she can lay her hand on the skin above Rosy’s heart. “I love you from my toes to my nose, because you’re always my little Rose, from the first start we’re never apart, grown not of my heart but in my heart.” Hugely corny, hugely cute, utterly unFaith

They Eskimo kiss and Rose opens her arms out to you. “Bee-Bee, cuddle?”

She’s going to kill you. Swear to God, she’s actually going to be the death of you. You’re going to look at her cute little Faith-face next to the original, being so sweet and adorable and your heart is going to combust into a ball of… flame. Or… or…

Life sucks. “Sure, Baby, always cuddles for Ro-Ro.”

Chapter 25: The Grandparent's Scones

April 2011, Scones

"Sweet Pea, please be nice to your grandmama."

You nod frantically, "And remember to pronounce it right; 'grand-mu-mah'- emphasis on the 'ah'." They gawk at you. "You know, just, sound English."

"Darling, do you have to do this every time we go to tea with my mother?"

Until the day she stops wincing every time she hears an American twang? "Yes."

Rosy eyes the door of the taxi and you place a protective hand over her exit strategy. "Mummy, my underwear might be itchy but that doesn't mean I'm going to throw it out the window."

"Rose! Don't talk about your panties in public! Your grandmother glares at me too much as it is!"

Henry chuckles, "Well, maybe she'd be a little more refined if you'd stop letting her watch Chris Rock do stand up?"

Your daughter shakes her head, "Basic human right. It should probably be put in the Geneva Convention." She's a weird kid, a tiny, tiny creepily intelligent- "Though, of course, that would probably only work for as long as he's alive… But comedy is art and art is immortal, right?" weirdo, who is now talking about time. Literally, the concept of time; "Eternity is a really long time, isn't it? Do you think you can set something up for eternity even if it's impossible? Is eternity possible?"

The taxi driver raises his eyebrows at you in the mirror and you try to look innocent- it's not weird that a girl who looks like a toddler knows about human rights and time and… can bend cutlery like play-dough. Right?

Sure there isn't. It's absolutely fine that your five-year-old is more articulate than you. You don't feel like your authority is undermined, you don't feel horribly insecure, you're an adult!

The problem is that no one has ever spoken to Rose as a child. Ever. Faith started it with banning baby talk, Henry continued it with reading to her from the newspaper and the posh prep school cemented the damn problem by rewarding her eloquence. So now her head is too big for her (admittedly under-sized) body and she's bored to tears by other children. Not even inflicting the Huntington Bimbos on her has affected the matter- other than she now has a taste for bossing around 'silly people'.

Rosy engages the taxi driver in a conversation about which country produces the best comedians and whether societal pressures can ever truly be overcome.

"Being intelligent isn't always a terrible thing." Henry leans over towards you, speaking softly over her back.

"I know. And I love our daughter, even if she…" You check she's not listening, still engrossed in a 'grown-up conversation', "occasionally… slips into the annoying side of precocious. It's just… I'm supposed to teach her things." You pout and he takes your hand, laughing quietly.

"You've got oodles to teach her, Darling, don't worry."

You snort, "So do you, Darling Fortescue-Darling."

"Why thank you Darling Summers-Fortescue-Darling." He shares your frown, "We really do need to have that discussion."

"Why don't we just make a new surname up? You know, like…"

"Flowerbum!" Rosy giggles with her cheekiest grin. For a second you're a little taken aback with the reminder that your child is actually a child. "Flowerbum-Vaginaface!"

Seriously? This is the day she picks to be inappropriate?

"My knickers match my dress." She cheerfully informs the taxi driver, "Would you like to see?"

You both grab a shoulder and haul her back to sitting. "You win." Disturbingly adult beats child exhibitionist.

"They have bows on- see?"

"ROSY!"

Thirty-five minutes, one attempted change of underwear and three 'I wish the ground would chew me up' moments later, you're sat trying to avoid the gut reaction to stick your little finger out as you drink from a tiny teacup.

She says 'welcome' like it's a curse, as if it is the last thing she might ever want to say.

You say 'scones' and Rosy giggles, slapping your knee as if it was your intention to be funny. "Stop it Mummy, you'll make me choke!"

Charlotte Fortescue-Darling, your future mother-in-law and the scariest creature you have ever come across, frowns. "Still calling you 'Mummy'?" The voice is pleasant but the question is rhetorical and you get the feeling it's more of an insult.

She took you aside at the Fortescue Family Gathering last week and 'suggested' that Rose might instead call you 'Ma-ma'- supposedly it's just more polite.

You're sitting on a 'sofa'- never say 'settee' or 'couch'- in the 'drawing room'. Henry is wearing a 'dinner jacket' even though it's warm. Later the maid, Mary, will give Rose 'ice' (the 'cream' is apparently superfluous) with her 'scone'. Get any of these words wrong and the 'staff' glare at you- The Family themselves don't seem to expect anything better.

"The Spencer-Bluethals have a boy in the same year as Rose, do they not?"

"Uh…" You scan the list of stupid surnames in your head, putting your teacup down, "Maybe…?"

Rose giggles, shaking her head so her curls bounce, "Heck is in the year above me. He has such lovely hair, its like spun gold, Grandmama."

Charlotte smiles indulgently. "He's inherited that from his Grandfather, the first Hector, such a lovely man…" Henry raises his eyes at his mother's wistful sigh but Edward, her husband, barely notices.

"I think Heck is very handsome."

Henry bristles slightly- no boy will ever kiss his 'Little Pea' if he has his say. He pats her knees as if his weak, human hands can keep her here.

She wants to be a grown-up, desperately. She wants to control who she sees and when.

Rose, working on her Perfect Little China Doll image, looks gorgeous in a red velvet dress with creamy lace collar and waistband. You hadn't noticed earlier but she snuck her pearl necklace on and hid it beneath her clothes until she got here. It's very weird to see something circling your child's neck that could have solved all your money worries years ago.

Mimtal threatened a mini diamond ring for 'her day' as a bridesmaid and you threatened physical pain back.

"Rosy, sweetie, your grandmama doesn't want to hear about… boys."

Edward, head buried in the newspaper because the 'guests' are family and therefore don't count, changes the subject before Charlotte can chastise you for the 'sweetie'. "I say, Charlotte, it is getting particularly late- the poor child is probably famished."

"We're waiting." She reprimands, "For Beth's family." Damn the double name thing. Damn 'Beth' as a name actually- and damn them for pretending you were christened 'Elizabeth' and not named after your mother's dog.

You swear, can almost envisage the moment, that some kind of demon possessed you when you picked up the phone and stupidly, very stupidly, called Kennedy.

When Charlotte had graciously requested the presence of 'The Summers Family' for this month's afternoon tea it hadn't crossed you mind that Faith wasn't included. Though now you wish it had because, come on, she's Faith! If she does turn up (and that's definitely an 'if') it'll probably be on the back of a motorbike with leather pants and a bottle of Jack and… you have really got to stop stereotyping her. There's just as much chance of her being in nothing more than a long scarf and harem pants (which you really didn't think anyone could look good in until you were invited to Xander's barbeque last summer. And also; wow).

So yes, you're prepared. You have fully imagined every possible scenario. In fact, you're so damn convinced she's not going to turn up you haven't even told Rose there's the slightest possibility.

Kennedy didn't sound too optimistic and Angel couldn't be reached thanks to a slight case of disappearing off the face of the planet! Bastard. Not even a simple 'oh, by the way, Buffy, if you're thinking of locating Faith any time in the next month I won't be able to help you' note. Melodramatic bastard.

Not even Mimtal knows where either of them has gone and he can usually be relied on to find the cute, strappy sandal you accidentally left in an alternate dimension.

"I'm sure they'll be here soon." Battering down a blush is impossible- especially when faced with a woman whose eyes could probably cut through stone. You'll never be good enough.

Charlotte is beautiful in that refined-yet-sturdy way. The kind of woman who, in a war-type situation, would probably band the women together and beat off the enemy with wooden spoons, all the while chastising the others for having a hair out of place. Rose adores her for being unwavering in everything and makes sure to sit extra still next to you every time Charlotte looks her way.

It's just the two of you on the hard sofa, sitting on the edge because she's too small to bend her knees otherwise and you're so tense a small tap would probably knock you over.

Rosy smiles prettily and asks for the monogrammed 'table-napkins' to be placed a little closer. Charlotte nods in approval but then… her eyes dart beyond you and… and there's this look. A look of genuine happiness. A look of welcome. A look you've sure as hell never seen before.

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry, has Mary mixed up the days again?"

There is nothing in your life that could have ever prepared you for what you see when you turn round. Hours of training with Giles; wasted. You are the slayer least equipped for surprises.

But then this one is rather big.

"Actually," Faith smiles happily, accepting a hug from the woman least likely to smile at her own children, "I'm here as Buffy's guest." Her shiny, dark hair swings from its posh ponytail as she turns her head to grin at you.

"You know Beth- Buffy?" Charlotte studies you with a modicum more respect.

You're still a little shell-shocked. She looks like an Old Hollywood actress crossed with a Ralph Lauren advert. Getting close, there's probably a smell of money about her. Rose bounces beside you, silently begging to be allowed to leave the sofa. "Go on."

"Aunty Fay-Fay!" She's lifted, swung round and placed lovingly back on her dainty little feet. They put their hands on each other's necks and Eskimo kiss.

Charlotte lifts an eyebrow. "You're the 'Aunt Faith' we've been hearing so much about?"

"It's…" Faith waves dismissively, "A nickname. Like 'Gigi'."

They share a respectful silence while you roll your eyes.

Dawn, standing slightly behind Faith in the doorway, looks more than a little dazed too. She distracts herself with silently complimenting your hair. You push the dark strands off your face and mouth back a 'thanks'. The blow dry was expensive but paled in comparison to the cost of having your hair dyed back to its natural dark brown then both highlights and lowlights being put in.

It makes you look just slightly more like Rosy with her glossy curls and warm skin tone.

Now you're a cute little brunette family and your 'sisters' actually look like they could be related to you. Which, again, is a bit weird. Only slightly less weird in that you're supposed to look like one of them.

Charlotte waves Henry up from his place on the sofa so that Faith may sit closer to her. "Have you heard from Chess since Florence?"

"No, nothing- aside from those beautiful anniversary cards she sent out."

There's another respectful silence during which Dawn looks progressively more confused. She slinks around the grieve-fest to stand next to you on the side of the sofa furthest away from Charlotte and Faith. "Who are we talking about?"

"'Whom'." Rosy corrects, whispering back over you. "The proper pronoun is 'whom'."

"Bite me."

"Girls!" You push them both back slightly. Their sibling rivalry can be incredibly trying at times- despite them not actually being sisters… and also seventeen years apart in age. "Can we please concentrate more on the fact Faith is speaking in a freaking British accent?!"

Charlotte turns her beady eyes towards you, "What are you three whispering about over there?"

"My knickers," Rose smiles, the perfect picture of innocence, "They itch."

The three real British people freeze. The fake one winks at you despite having heard everything thanks to her damn Slayer ears.

Dawn nods in respect, "Well played."

"Well…" Charlotte coughs, visibly shaking it off and back to stone, "Have we all met before then?" Ostensibly, having slept with her doesn't mean you've actually met British Faith. "Oh." Seeming to notice Dawn for the first time, Charlotte pats her husband's shoulder and glares until he folds his paper up. "Darling, this is Dawn Summers; Bethy's younger sister."

You snort again at the 'Darling Darling' thing but cover it with a cough.

"That's what my friends call me." Dawn quips, moving to shake Edward's outstretched hand.

He smiles, the way he does with all American women before he actually gets to know them and how rubbish they are at formal conversation. "How d'you do." Which isn't a question, so don't answer it. "And are you the youngest sister or is Hope?"

Faith looks nonplussed at being referred to as such. Dawn takes her hand back sharply, a little pissed at being told 'Hope' could look younger than her. "Me. And F- 'Hope' is only our… half sister. We didn't even meet her until she was in her teens." She gives Faith the nastiest smirk she can muster and doesn't notice Charlotte's relieved look.

"Ah, of course, I didn't think you were that well connected, Beth."

"Uh…" Really? Do you actually have to muster the energy to buy into whatever the hell game Faith is playing now? Though you may have to smack Dawn later for making it more complicated; as if your Father/Mother/Previously Unmentioned Parental With Vague Relation to You actually flew to England, had a British daughter with 'connections' and then flew back to have another American daughter without anyone noticing…!

Huh.

Weirdly, that does sound like something your father would do. Jackass.

"Sure. Hope grew up…" You try to read from her expression what exactly she wants you to say but she's busy attempting to burn a hole through Henry with the Slayer Laser Gaze she thankfully doesn't possess. "Somewhere… else."

'Hope' gives up on the laser gaze and moves to murdering him with a killer watt smile. "Mummy adopted me when I was younger than Rosy." She reassures, seemingly reminding your in-laws.

Edward nods with a look that seems unsettlingly like pride. "Always a good woman, Pêche, she had such a big heart."

"Such big other things too." Charlotte grouses under her breath. You share a shocked look with Faith- is her creepy made up world actually real?! Her shock seems to be more in that someone would be rude about her mother in her presence. No, wait, 'made up mother'. And it doesn't really matter because you weren't meant to hear it, you only did because you both have slayer hearing, and-

"What big things does she have?" -so does Rose!

You gulp, "Nothing, nothing she just-"

"Heart." Edward emphasises, thinking she's misheard.

There's a moment of uncomfortable silence.

Your shoes hurt.

"Speaking of bleeding hearts…" Hope launches into an anecdote about people you've never heard of but her presence seems to draw everyone in as if she's a magnet and no one much cares that they're absolutely stuck to her.

Rosy cuddles Mimi, her mouth falling open in absolute awe as she watches the most mesmeric adult she's ever known pull the threads of her audience's attention and weave them into a story of love and humour and gentle jibes.

Even Dawn slows to stillness, smiling unconsciously, her eyes lighting up every time Hope glances her way.

She is catty but friendly with it. She doesn't say anything she couldn't in front of the actual person. When she cuts a glance to Henry with a sarcastic taunt about heirs to hotels the others laugh as if it's the first breath they've taken for hours. You smile and she waves a hand coquettishly to demonstrate someone else's love for useless ornamentation, watching you watching her.

Rose giggles at things she doesn't understand. Dawn laughs over a parent she knows doesn't exist. Henry chuckles in self-deprecation as she describes his antics at a party she must have been in prison for. Charlotte corrects a date but laughs anyway. Edward congratulates her on a reported comeback to a man that's probably never met her.

You let her continue until finally, with one concluding laugh, she snips the bindings and they fall back, laughing then sighing. The delicious tension is cut off and they float, tether less. Breathy sighs sail around the room.

Charlotte remerges as if from a dream, smiling serenely at your family.

The Honourable Hope Lyonne, daughter of the Viscount of Avalon, smiles back.

Brought up in the 'Home Counties' but going through a rough patch in her teens- running off to America- meant she never had a proper 'coming out' party. Something Charlotte is eager to fix, despite Hope being 26 now.

Did she say all that just so you'd know? Is she letting you in on her joke- on her game? Or did you just pick those things up because that's who she is right now, incredibly unguarded?

The front parts of her hair are curled to perfection, her make up is flawless, and there isn't a scrap of black material on her. And yet she doesn't seem uncomfortable, doesn't seem to have noticed that this isn't really her.

"And how is darling Florrie?" You look perplexedly at Faith and Charlotte happily fills in the blanks, sounding slightly smug that she knows something about Faith you don't. "Hope has just taken in a young girl- she was a reckless teenager but we've managed to turn her around, haven't we?" She winks and you choke on your tea.

No way in hell did she just wink!

Dear God, the world is truly screwed up!

"Oh snap…" You mumble quietly and uselessly, hoping Dawn hears and saves you. Faith has practically stolen Tavi's personality!

Is it weird that the new university-level course in psychology you've been doing online actually makes you more fascinated than creeped out? Or are you just used to this now? Do you no longer expect her to be rational?

When you were younger that look in Faith's eyes used to make your heart bubble with happiness. Now it's known as 'IT' and isn't quite so fun.

For you anyway.

"Mama, wi-! Uh… Ho-…" Rose frowns, "Aunty Fay-Fa-… uh…"

Go ahead, Faith, confuse your daughter just that little bit more. "You can call her whatever you want, Rosy."

"'Fay-Fay' is fine, Rosebud." Hope's pearly white teeth sparkle in the daylight.

The room is decorated to make the most of the light from the French doors leading out to the expansive garden (despite being still technically in London) but there's a softness from perhaps the furnishings or the thin linen curtains, hung behind the gathered, heavier ones, that makes the scar on Faith's neck seem almost a trick of the light.

You wear your hair down to cover yours and try to remember not to pour the milk in first. Damn complicated tea service!

Rose beams at the attention being on her again. "Might we go somewhere on the weekend? Just us? Somewhere amazing like- like when you took me to the place with the friendly monsters and all the kitties?"

If that is some kind of reference to kitten poker you're going to… well, probably yell a lot and in a really high, annoying voice with spitting! Except you've never quite worked out how old guys and gym teachers do that- it's really hard to talk and spit at the same time…

Hope suggests the Aquarium and Rose squeals, clapping her hands together, "Love, love, love! Oh please Mummy?"

"Yes, please, Buffy, let me take my favourite niece out?"

You shrug, watching the girl you've always loved but never really known. "Sure… Fine. Ok."

"But not too many sweets this time, Sweet Pea." Henry raises an eyebrow. "Just because you can talk your Aunty Faith into buying you naughty presents doesn't mean you should. You know better than that."

Rose shrugs, "No I don't. I'm five."

There's a ripple of laughter. Hope pours everyone more tea, putting the milk in second and shunning the sugar bowl. She makes a show of offering Rose a cup then remembering she's only five.

Rose thinks it's hilarious, she loves the new accent, the matching pearls, the faked etiquette. To her it's all a game.

You smile and pretend to think the same. But you have no idea if Faith thinks it too.

Your elegant slip dress suddenly seems too loose and you worry if you stand it'll slip right off.

A warm, strong hand slips into yours. Henry's smooth palm caresses your coarse one as he sits beside you. "It's alright." He lets you hide your face towards him while you wipe away a tear of frustration. Without even knowing what the matter is he always seems to calm you.

"You don't even… I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I'm here." His strong shoulder props you up for a second and despite knowing you could snap that arm with your little finger it still makes you feel a little better. If you asked he would fight all your battles. Probably wouldn't win… but he'd still try.

You met in February, three years ago, in Scotland, when it was so cold your breath almost froze to tinkle down upon the floor as a thousand tiny droplets of ice. The condensation inside the windows turned to splintered ice and the world outside seemed somehow even more beautiful for being viewed through a broken mirror.

Irrationally- but understandably- you were deathly afraid of Rose's plump-yet-tiny hands becoming stuck to the ice and then having to pour boiling water over her to free them. Every new parent has their thing and you'd never really been over the top on sanitizing her 'personal bubble' (a la Faith) so it all evened out.

She'd been reaching out for one particularly long, and enticing, icicle- growing from where the orange squash bottle had sprung a leak on the top shelf and then frozen before even a drop of it could touch the marble floor. You'd grabbed her and yelled; more from fear than anger of course but enough to make her bawl. A new slayer was being shown around that day and her family- almost ten of them- was with her. They'd heard the commotion and sent Henry, second cousin once removed, to investigate.

For a brief second you'd almost apologised to the 'potential customer'- for both the screaming and the bright green snot- before realising you didn't actually much care what he thought. You're a mother first and a slayer second. Sometimes you just forget that.

He'd been very sweet about the whole thing, raising his voice over the wailings of a poorly child in shock to offer you a monogrammed hanky. Rose even calmed down when he engaged her in a 'who can pull the funniest faces' competition while you snapped off every icicle in sight.

Rose had been two then and a sickly child who'd spent her second birthday in hospital and went on, a month later, to almost die while you shared takeaway food with Faith and let yourself get sucked into pretending things could be normal.

It took just under two months, after flying to Peru to kill the thing that hurt your daughter, for Faith to again walk out of your lives. The whole time you kept in contact with Henry, who visited often to see his cousin and sent word through his aunt, who donated to the school. In no way was it the type of conversation during which you would spill you soul about your difficult 'sort-of-ex' but he always asked about Rose and you were happy to tell him. You even told him, because he just happened to call whilst you were crying your eyes out, about Leah having found your little girl bashing her own head against the door in distress.

You left out that she was calling for her 'Fay-Fay' and that her super-powered skull broke clean through the wood.

His soothing tones counselled you that such a thing was normal for a child who'd been though so much- being so ill can be a very damaging thing for someone so young.

Everyone else blamed Faith. Of course.

They blamed her without you even having to say… without having to tell them that when Faith had trashed your room, when she'd beat you until you just had to fight back or risk loosing you life… she'd done it all in front of her screaming child. Rose had folded herself up into the small space underneath the bedside cabinet but cried loud enough to be heard through the castle.

Once Faith had been thrown from the room (and over a banister to the floor below) you'd locked the door, barricaded it though you knew a slayer could still break through, and hid with your daughter under the bed. For a week. You fed her on the stash of biscuits next to the TV and tried to pretend it was all a game, while you healed broken bones and wished your black eyes away.

That was May but it took until September for you to actually listen to yourself and leave Scotland.

"Do you need to have a word with her? I have to break the news that Ardy's walked away from his second engagement this year, anyway… you two can slip out in the passive aggressive blame laying." He smiles gently and slides his hand across your back. "You look gorgeous in peach."

You hum a 'thank you' and don't believe him.

"It's true." Your hair slips forward slightly, despite the expensive hairspray that you really can't feel. "The new hair… the dress… you look like a woman I can't afford." Say what now?

He smiles, reaching to push your hair back. You bat his hand away, "Did you just call me a prostitute, Mr Darling Darling?"

"No, of course not." His mouth drops open, scandalised. "Unless you're up for a little 'Pretty Woman' role-play?"

Your eyes flick between his cheeky grin and his, still oblivious, parents. "I cannot believe we're discussing this here…! But yes."

"Boots and everything?"

"Boots and-" The smile on your own face suddenly registers. Your heart warms. "Cute. I see what you did there." Hope stares at you, hearing everything but caught in a trance- not sure whether she actually is your sister or not. And if so, exactly how wrong do the wrong feelings feel? "I'll talk to her."

She squeals slightly as you grip her arm and try to 'elegantly' drag her from the room. "Is that a 'no' to the boots?" Henry calls out after you.

"We'll see!" The confused faces of the others are left in the drawing- breakfast- day- … that big white room facing the garden. You pull Faith into the hallway and force her to look at you. "What the hell are you doing here?

"Saving your bony white ass." She pouts, rubbing the bruises-to-be.

"Your ass is white too!"

"Yeah," Hope shrugs, "but it's not bony."

"Oh fuck off, you could bounce a quarter off my-!" A pause, "So not the point."

Her eyes wander off down the corridor and you snap your fingers in front of her face.

"Faith, why are you here?"

"Hope."

"Fine, 'Hope', why are you here? Why are you…? Faith, are you really- Faith? And please, drop the accent." She blinks four times then cocks her head to the side and blinks twice. "I don't speak Morse Code."

"Telegraph. I'm hungry." She replies, still with a perfect Oxford English pronunciation.

Hope plays with her necklace, as if to remind you of just how wrong this situation really is. "And… Pearls? You're wearing pearls?"

She shrugs like it's no big deal and leans back against the wood panelling, dangerously close to knocking down a priceless painting, "They were a present from Lottie."

"Lottie? You call… her Lottie?" You point back the way you came as if there is another sixty-year-old, uptight daughter of a Duke floating around the halls and acting positively perfectly at all times. Actually, there probably is. A nicer one. Come to think of it… you should probably have Willow check her out.

There's an unkind twinkle playing in Hope's eye as she smirks, "Well yeah, what do you call her?"

"I can barely squeak out a 'Mrs Fortescue' and you call her Lottie?" You move to stand opposite her- not daring to touch either the fabricked walls or the antique wood that Hope seems to be so comfortably rubbing up against.

"Well that's probably why she hates you- she's the Darling, it's Edward who's the Fortescue."

Both names are better than yours. All three trump 'Lehane'. "No it's not! We were just at the Fortescue Glorified Picnic and I met her sister.

"Who's married to Edward's second cousin." She snorts, as if it's obvious, as if she's known these people her whole lives, "Her other sister…" She pauses and swallows hard, "Her other sister is married to… to Gwen's uncle but that doesn't make Charlotte a Savidge."

You pause to work that out.

It's a long pause.

"My future mother-in-law is the sister of the aunt-in-law of the posh slayer you ki... uh, 'stopped from killing me'?"

Faith shrugs, "Believe me, I felt that same horribly uncomfortable feeling you have right now when I found out my Dear Aunt Charlotte's son- who, by the way, is not my Dear Cousin Henry- is banging…" She waves up and down your pretty coral dress, "You."

"Right…"

Breaking this down is giving you a headache. Are you talking to Faith or Hope or…?

Your own words echo in your mind; 'get help, then we'll talk'

Does overhauling your personality count?

"I'm just having a little trouble here, coming to terms with you being so damn pally with the family I'm marrying into- generally the super wealthy aren't that lax about handing around the friendship bracelets!"

"Rich." She grins, "Not 'wealthy'."

"Don't make me hit you."

Though it might be a good way to get some sense back into her. Maybe you should just take her home? Put her to bed and hope she sleeps it off? Sometimes being around Rosy helps calm her down but you're not too sure how long you can keep pretending this is just a game. There is, of course, the possibility that she's only slightly off her head and is just exaggerating the problem in some kind of misguided attempt to be 'useful'. "I'm hungry."

"I know, sweetie." You pat her cheek distractedly, considering the pros and cons of just leaving with her- Henry can take care of Rose and Dawn can handle excusing the two of you. She is the one who started this whole 'sister' thing after all (and you, a little bit, when you told Rose to call Faith 'Aunty'). "I'm just working something out and then I'll get you something to eat. Maybe we can have some of those scones." 'Before we go'.

She shakes her head, "Scones." She repeats, with a short 'o' that almost sounds like an 'a'. And a hint of Bostonian.

You search her eyes to see if it's just the accent that's changed. "I'm pretty sure it's 'sco…nes.', at least… I think it is… I've kinda been avoiding saying it. I'm waiting for Charlotte to offer them to us so I'll know what to say. Rosy's getting sorta antsy though…"

Faith frowns, "I've missed her."

So that's the way this is going? Annoy her out of it? "You're going to the aquarium this weekend aren't you? That's a day out with just the two of you. Of course, if you're going through a… phase… I can't leave you alone with her so I'll have to come too. And Henry. Henry." You emphasise like a crazy person.

"This weekend?"

"Yep."

"But I haven't seen her in months, B."

Screw her and her indignation, "And she hasn't seen you, F. Where the hell have you been?"

"I-…" She stops to consider, attempt to remember. "Everywhere I guess."

"Everywhere and anywhere, right? The whole world over as long as its not here. Not with us."

Her eyes taunt you- whether cruel or kind you can't tell. "You have Henry."

"Because you're not here- don't pretend he foisted you out."

"No, you…" She blinks. Fifteen times in a row. Each time as if she's counting.

You wait for her to get angry. To hit you. You wait for her to be vicious. To hurt you.

The master bedroom of the New House (how can it still be called that after all this time? Fourteen months and it still isn't 'home') had to be completely re-carpeted in a pattern you forced Dawn to spend five days searching for. It had to be replaced perfectly. You stood in the doorway and watched Xander pull up the one stained with your blood. Henry didn't even question why he had to fly one of your friends in to do it and couldn't use his own workforce. Faith helped to lay the new layer and the corners on her side of the room are still a little off, her cutting wasn't exactly straight and you have to remember not to pass a certain point in your stockinged feet. But you don't mind.

She lost her mind and spilt your blood then tried her hardest to make it better.

But she's not Faith right now. She's Hope. And Hope is apparently an idiot. With a very British accent; "Gosh, in this light you look just like… oh, you know, that, ah, American news presenter… oh, Katie Couric!"

"And we're done. Get out of here."

"But I'm still hungry! I am ever so looking forward to those scones."

You sigh deeply at her not joking. "I just meant the corridor; 'get out of the corridor'. Go."

"Oh good- I still need to have a lovely chat with Rosy, we have so much to catch up on!"

"Right."

Rose was not, by any means, one of those children who fell into floods of tears on her first day at 'Big School'- but then she never really cries in front of other people, not now she's older. In the past year she's cried twice in the presence of others and four separate times you've paused on the stairs, hearing tiny sobs float up from the cupboard underneath.

If she falls and hurts herself she internalises the pain until she's alone.

It's odd. And scary.

The last time you saw her tears Faith should have wiped them away. Her 'favourite aunt' had stayed for a week after her fifth birthday and the Angel Delight debacle- they'd been inseparable the entire time and it had been a struggle to push her through the school gates every morning. You made sure Faith was there, every afternoon, to pick Rose up again and the gasps from the other parents (nannies) at the speeds such a tiny child could achieve, while running across a playground into open arms, made it all worthwhile.

For the first four days Faith stayed with you while Rose was in school, seemingly enraptured with your 'normal life'; happy to run errands and help Sassy load the dishwasher. The two of you loved the sudden addition to the family and even Henry began to come around to her. He called her 'charming' and 'droll', laughed at every sarcastic comeback and her impersonations of your painfully British neighbours.

On the Friday you sent her out for milk.

This is the first time you've seen her since.

Rosy's face that last day broke your heart. She was the first one out of the classroom, running full tilt towards the gate then slowing and finally stopping, in the middle of the playground. Your look must have filled in the gaps of the empty space beside you. Seeing her face near crumble- that wobbling bottom lip and those rapidly blinking eyelids… you'd hated Faith right then.

The tears had come first, then loud, angry sobs.

She'd been inconsolable. Not even Bliss, putting their temporary spat on hold to give her a bear hug, had cheered her up.

You bought her an ice-cream, even though it was November, then a cake, then a toy then… but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because it was you giving her those things, not Faith. She'll happily take a twig from faith.

The tears had dried up by supper, she'd schooled her features into the Perfect Little Girl again and didn't even wince at Henry's casual, "Won't Faith be joining us?"

Sassy's look said it all; 'I told you so' and you'd wanted to hit her, for always being right.

"So…?"

"So go talk to Rose. Go tell her… more exciting stories of 'society life'."

She turns to go back then turns at the last minute. "B?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

You wish you could have her again, have her clean and fresh, stripped down of the layers of experience.

And you wish there was some kind of assurance that doing that would make a difference.

"I love you too."

Faith smiles. Your Faith. The real girl. "Don't let your husband-to-be hear you say that, I wouldn't want him to break his hand on my face."

It seems that you know each other so well, are so very intertwined as souls, that even when you break her heart she'll still smile at you, still joke. To her you will be together one day- everything else is immaterial.

A little voice rings out from the drawing room; "But Mama Zoo says it's ok!"

Henry coughs uncomfortably and loudly. Faith clutches her stomach, unable to stop laughing at the horrified look on your face. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" You hiss, "This is so not the way I wanted today to go!"

"Oh relax." Faith swans back to the others, slipping seamlessly into 'Hope', "My, what an… ethnic name your nanny has, Rosy."

"She's Japanese." Your daughter nods, missing completely the difference between 'Mama Zoo' and 'Marmazu'… which probably isn't a real name.

Then again, neither is 'Hope Lyonne'.

Hopefully.

You retreat to the bathroom to wash your face and practice the calming breathing exercises you didn't give a shit about when actually giving birth.

Rose is snuggled on Faith's lap by the time you make it back and everyone seems just that little bit more relaxed to have her around. Henry is speaking quietly to his mother, explaining the situation with his 'reckless' (i.e., not a university graduate) brother, Arthur, but looks more amused than worried. Even Charlotte, keeping one eye on the happy little twosome on the sofa, seems more resigned than angry. "At least that means only one 'Wedding of the Year' to plan. Unless, of course…?"

It takes you embarrassingly long to realise she's teasing. "Oh! Yes, no, we're still on for October. Promise."

"Very well, I have a phone call to make. Please do excuse me if I raise my voice." She smiles in near-exclusively Hope's direction. "Beth dear, would you please fetch your sister from the terrace- she's taking in the air."

You stare blankly.

"Smoking." Hope fills in, smiling sympathetically.

"She's a little way past the rhododendron."

You smile, nod and try to work out what the rhododendron looks like. And whether you can think of another word with more 'D's in.

"I really wish she'd stop doing that…"

Dawn snickers, blowing smoke in your face, "Maybe if you weren't such a gaymo your daughter wouldn't be so bloody confused about who her mother is!"

"I'm not gay! I have a fiancé! He's male! We have sex!" Her shoulders tremble with humour and the chill of a not-very-warm day.

She shrugs off the pashmina you wrap around her shoulders. "And Faith has sex with anything that walks. Doesn't mean she's actually attracted to…" A flush spreads across her cheeks, "Never mind."

What?! "Oh holy… please tell me you haven't-!"

Dawn snorts in surprise, "No! God no!" She waves away the smoke, shaking her head in disgust, "I'd never… Faith's like a sister to me! I've just… seen her with…" She shudders, "So not important, you don't need to know this stuff."

Weirdly, the first thought is not hurt over her sleeping with someone else or even curiosity as to whom that might be but… concern that she's using protection. Slayer Healing might be pretty amazing but it can't fight off all gross viruses at once.

"She's ok, B." Her eyes are oddly sympathetic but her face stays cool. Still so pretty, so youthful- with that sweet moon face and the big blue eyes you've always adored. When you were little, in that fake-past the monks created, the two of you looked so very different people were always surprised when you said you were sisters.

"So… how just stupid do I look here?"

"More than a little." She giggles and it's delightful- the most endearing thing you've seen her do in years. The cigarette is stubbed out and she nabs the pashmina back. "What? Don't look at me like that, I'm cold- have you seen what I'm wearing?!" You scrutinise her thin navy-blue, linen dress. "Yah, yah, point taken." She grumbles, in a near-perfect British accent.

"You've been here too long- you're getting overly optimistic about the weather."

The clouds crack slightly and a few rays of light break through, illuminating the pretty, manicured lawn and structured flowerbeds of the formal garden.

"Or maybe no-"

Raindrops hit your nose and your little sister smirks. "I bet you miss California now."

"Well…" Your eyes slip past her and through the doors to Henry; who's sitting back, on the sofa, watching his little girl gush to her grandfather about, most probably, her doll-slash-clone. Apparently Mimi now also refuses to eat eggs- because chicks are cute. Chicken is fine- they're ugly anyway. "There are some things I like more about England."

She chuckles once she's turned to look. "The two of you are fast approaching disgustingly cute, I hope you know that."

"I think I can live with it. You're just jealous because you're single."

"No, I'm just jealous because I value my stomach contents."

You bash your shoulder against her and don't say you've missed her. There are probably only a handful of times, since she moved to London to be near you, that she's actually been herself- your sweet little Dawnie.

She dropped out of University in October '08 (only after you'd paid for the new year) and swore it was just a 'year out' to help you with Rose. You'd left Scotland a month earlier- Rose had refused to go back into the Purple Room after Faith trashed it- and Henry was sweet enough to offer a suite in his father's London hotel at a cut-price…

Which is how you came to be living in a beautiful, ancient square in the centre of London, with a toddler, a teenager and being taken out to dinner every day by a dashing man with a wide smile.

It was never in the plan to start dating him- it was never even your intention to look at any person in a romantic light ever again.

Maybe it had just been too long since someone had treated you as a person- not as a mother or a slayer or… an obstacle standing in the way of… whatever it was Faith wanted to do that day. Yes, you're still a little bitter. The point is that it was different; being taken to fancy places for delicious ice cream and trying foods you'd never even heard of before and then having someone listen to you (about something other than tactical battles)- truly listen, in the attentive way of someone who really did care.

And when he spoke you were enraptured; his voice, his life, his knowledge… Henry is fiercely intelligent but so subtle with it that although there's a gravitas about his presence it's buoyed by humour and light-heartedness. He takes more pleasure in bringing out a thirst for knowledge in other people than in showing off his own. Around him you feel in control. And not because you have to be.

"Thank you, by the way- for talking me into saying yes to that first date. You were right, he is amazing."

"Well duh." Dawn smirks while she shivers. "I do have great taste."

"Which would explain why you're currently single…?" For the last three years. Except for that older guy who… hangs around her sometimes… the rich one who… pays her rent and… ew, forcible mental block!

"I have high standards. It's hard to find a guy my age who meets them."

Please dear God, don't let that be her way of confessing!

"There is someone I've-"

"Hey!" You point insistently over her shoulder, "Look, they're all standing up! Let's go inside and find out what's going on!"

She blinks. "You're so transparent."

"Shut up and get inside."

"Close the door!" Rose orders from the other side, finger pointing and tiny scowl solidifying.

Dawn yelps, "Sorry!" and does so.

Rosy walks closer, now with her patented 'you're an idiot' face on. "I didn't mean you have to stay outside, I just meant 'close the door'."

"Oh." Dawnie blushes, "Right." She opens the door and lets you go first so she can whisper insults back and forth with Rose- only once she's made sure Faith and Charlotte are nowhere to be seen. "Cow."

"Retard."

"Midget."

"Dawn!" She flushes again under your glare. "Don't call her that. And Rosy, it isn't nice to use the word 'retard'."

"Not even to people who are actually, medically retarded?"

"No! And Dawn doesn't have… those kind of… problems."

Your daughter rolls her eyes in the perfect imitation of you. It might almost be funny that at one time you were scared she'd be behind the other children, that she wouldn't learn things quickly.

She doesn't look like there's anything wrong with her, not really. In fact, Rose looks more like someone has taken her picture on a computer and reduced it using the corner tab. Oddly, being properly proportioned seems worse for her than her body actually being that of a toddler's. Without the baby-chub and extended stomach no baby clothes fit properly and she seems more like a 'tiny slip of a thing' (Edward's favourite saying) than she might otherwise.

"Well she is at least an idiot. It's raining and she was holding the door open."

"Bit of rain never hurt anyone." Edward mumbles from, again, behind his newspaper. Henry folds his section up with a smile.

"Grandmama said I had to give… her a tour of the house."

"Rose, please refer to your aunt with a name- and one that isn't either offensive or disturbingly truthful." Henry chides. "And Dawn- well… you're actually not that much younger than me so please just act your own age."

"Fine." They answer in unison, taking each other's hands and stomping off.

He sends a bemused look after them, "Why…?"

"Don't ask, I don't know."

"Are you alright?"

You accept the steadying hand on your shoulder. "Probably not. I'll tell you about it later. Now I have to go on a tour of a house I've previously been lost in for over an hour."

"Two hours."

"Quiet or I'll make you wear the boots. For the wedding."

"Mm… Not entirely sure you can find any 'cute' ones in my size…" You laugh at his imitation of your voice. "That was awful, wasn't it? Please still marry me."

As if you'd choose your husband based on his ability to mimic different languages… your wife maybe.

But not your lovely husband. Not the man who you feel, perhaps a little idealistically, can make everything better. In your mind Henry can make all the grey clouds go away. Because with him it's simple; you stand at that altar, promise him your love and slide comfortably into a life of baking cupcakes to fundraise for the school and having a job you actually love and have chosen.

Henry gives you the option to choose.

Faith takes away your choices.

It's not as easy as just saying 'I do' to her. She knows you love her, or- or the sane part of her does… she knows you'll always help her; that she can run to you when it all gets too much or she's done something wrong or when she just wants a hug and some companionship. And you hope she knows that if it was different; if you weren't both slayers, if Rosy wasn't ill, if you didn't have to put the fate of the world before her (because God knows, when you're around her you can't think rationally), then you might not mind the lack of options.

If you were just two normal women- girls- girls because that's what you were when you fell in love, as worldly as you both pretended to be. If you were just two normal girls then you could have coped. You could have lived with this… thing, you could have lived with 'it' and not minded but- no, of course you would have minded! But you would have managed.

If you were just some California Teen with a sunny smile and divorced parents who spoilt you horribly then you could have held her light, protected it. But instead you're… you're two lights- two brightly shining, ass-kicking lights. Which means that you need someone to come home to as well, you need stability, you need a rock.

Henry holds down the fort while you jet around the world, saving the day.

You turn thirty next year but it feels more like sixty. You've done so much and there's always more, always more to do, always more pressure.

Sometimes you think your brain might explode; you'll be sitting in a meeting with all these fancy Latin verses flying around the air and Giles explaining the Fifty Thousand Things You Have To Do or why A Hundred And One Things Have Gone Wrong Today and; 'POP!'

You'll be dead.

Which weirdly sounds relaxing.

Except then there's Rose to think of and all the things you need to do for her… and…

If you can't love Faith properly because of the job then you can't love Rose properly either!

Which is why, tomorrow, you have a meeting planned with Giles. Eleven o'clock. You're going to retire. For real this time. You're going to run away and be done with all of it.

You're going to be a mother. And bake cakes. Lots of cakes.

"Bethy?"

"Yeah… yah, sorry, I'm- I just keep drifting off today." He nods, checking your body over. "It's ok, we didn't fight." Meaning Faith is too out of her mind to form a fist. And you're too tired to fight back. "I… I actually feel… kinda… faint."

Which is odd because you once ran along crumbling rooftops with a through-and-through stab wound. The scar on your front is much uglier than the one on your back.

"Probably just need to eat something."

"I'll go ask Mary to hurry it along."

Mary is the housekeeper and Cornish, which, for some reason, everyone says with an extra inflection in their voice- as if they're some race of amazing, magical people. "Have you ever seen Mary do magic?"

"Once, we were snowed in at the Country House for Christmas and she kept twenty people fed for two weeks on fresh food." It clicks in his brain, "Oh! Oh. Oh?"

"Sounds pretty likely to me."

"How amusing. Might be why Magda's finally pregnant after trying for so long- she did keep complaining about it in Mary's presence. Which, as a big brother, I find quite disgusting… mucus and all that."

He shudders and you laugh, "There's a little more to it than mucus. And you'd better be there for the delivery when we have children." A blush spreads up his neck. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing, it's just… did you say you're feeling faint?"

"Y-" Faint? As in, 'Magda fainting at the picnic'? As in, 'Oh dear, I've fainted in front of Giles, I must now run around the world with Satsu in an attempt to hide my magical pregnancy'? "Oh crap. Please tell me you didn't say… anything to Mary?"

"I might have mentioned how nice it would be to have more children" He winces.

"You are so never seeing me in Pretty Woman boots again."

"I think you over-emphasise my kinkiness." You shake your head and back away, pretending not to listen to him.

A thump echoes down from upstairs- which is surprising in a house of this size.

"Darling, as much as I love that pout, would you please put it back in and go check Rose hasn't thrown Dawn through a wall." Which is actually completely possible for a super-powered child!

"I'm still not talking to you." You trudge out of the room but lighten your steps once he can no longer see you. A baby wouldn't really be the worst thing in the world. You'd like a little blonde girl called Joy… or maybe a boy? After all, Henry's a man and it's not like you can have a son with Faith- not implying that you intend to ever again have a child with Faith or be in a situation with her from which a child would result. Ever. Ever. Ever. Again. Honest.

No, really, honest.

Truly never.

Might be in that kind of a situation with Brad Pitt if he ever… or Daniel Craig… though he seems to have got a little weird looking recently… oh! Or Bat For Lashes (who's real name you can never remember but who is completely amazing live) or Anne Hathaway… or, of course, Angelina Jolie, with the dark hair and the dangerous eyes and… you're sort of predictable.

And over-thinking having babies with other people… oh God, there's a list in your head, rapidly forming; 'the best person to have your next baby with'! You're so pregnant.

Shit. But maybe you should be concentrating more on checking the child you've already got?

It seems you spend most of your time here just wandering around- attempting to find people.

There are five floors and six staircases. The stairs at the back of the house lead from the kitchen up to three bedrooms and a bathroom that are totally cut off from the rest of the house except for one small 'secret' doorway at the back of a wardrobe. At family parties the children can normally be found running in a huge circle up the kitchen stairs, through the wardrobe, along the corridor, down the grand staircase, through the reception rooms and back to the kitchen- where they begin the whole thing over again.

There is a section of attic that, in the same way, can only be reached by one, hidden staircase. Unfortunately, it looks exactly like the other staircase to that floor and you've, more than once, walked into someone else's bedroom (Charlotte insists the whole family stays at the house for important events, no matter how close you may live).

You find yourself on the second floor, going by just 'feeling' alone, knowing it'll pull you towards Rose if you just let it. Handy for those moments you loose your child in the park; all you have to do is close your eyes and walk.

Little wisps of conversation drift down the corridor to you, Rose and her mother. You creep closer to the library.

"One more time." Faith murmurs.

"My mummy is called Bethy, my daddy is called Henry, my aunty is called Dawn, my other aunty is called Faith, my nanny is called-" Rose stops and there's an impish giggle, "Zoo!"

You round the corner to see her on her back, squirming away as Faith tickles her. "Say it right, you naughty, naughty little girl!" She's still using her 'British' voice but Rosy seems neither to mind nor notice.

"No, no, Fay-Fay, no! You'll wrinkle up my dress!"

"I'll stop when you stop laughing!"

Rose laughs harder. She notices you in the doorway and looks, for a split second, as if she wishes you weren't. For her the time spent with Faith is precious, a gift. She'd jump off a bridge if Faith told her it was the right thing to do.

You try not to think about it. Just like you try to ignore that every time Faith doesn't show up when promised there's a new cut or a new bruise or a new burn.

Nothing should hurt your daughter that badly.

"Still laughing, Ro-Ro!"

Faith turns and smiles at you. It is 'Faith' now. The voice is just pretend.

"I'm going to wee! I'm going to wee!" Rosy giggles, still wriggling away.

You wait for her to stop, to let Rose get up. Her fingers keep moving, keep tickling but on a body rapidly starting to shudder under laboured breaths. Dawn stands from the window seat, noticing the catch in air, the purpling face, dropping her book. You charge in like a mother bear. "Faith! Stop!"

It's just a gentle tug, just a gentle pull of her arm, but she still lands hard. "Ow! B!"

Rosy chokes, catching her breath, still grinning. "Ha, I win!"

For a long moment Faith just stares at you, open mouthed in betrayal. "I woulda stopped."

There's no trace of any accent but her own and you nod as if you believe her.

Faith has two voices; her conscious voice, which is full of Boston Bad Girl Bravado and her unconscious voice- the one she uses with Rosy. It's hushed but deep, seeming to echo round her mouth and rumble into your chest. At times she might even be called 'soft spoken' though it's a voice that demands respect. She is her most prolific, her most intelligent, when talking to Rose.

Though she isn't exceptionally smart, or even stupidly well educated like your daughter, Faith has a presence about her of knowing exactly what she's talking about.

That's why it's so hard to know when she lies.

"I know, but she's had some trouble recently- with her lungs."

Rose glares at you, as if sharing that is akin to crowing about the time before potty training when she peed on Giles' floor (which was actually rather funny). She doesn't want Faith to know because that's real life and being here isn't. Visits to the doctor and a permanent note to get out of PE aren't fun.

Dawn steps in to save you; "Rosy? Your tour is crap."

"Swearing is the only way the under classes can express themselves." Your daughter announces to the room in general.

You raise an eyebrow as Dawn swears behind Rose's back but she doesn't put the finger down.

Your daughter has spent enough time here to be able to show you all around the house- correctly labelling every room. She knows she belongs here, doesn't really remember a time when Henry wasn't her 'Daddy' but doesn't question her attachment to Faith either. Every time Rose sees her older carbon copy she rushes up and puts her hands on Faith's neck, making her do the same. It's most likely just a throwback to spending her first five months near-permanently strapped to Faith's chest but it still hurts that your daughter's favourite parent is a woman she barely knows.

'Hope' corrects Rosy on her pronunciation of the family motto and the girl who hates amelioration merely repeats it properly. You think it's a lie- all of it; the healthy glow, the smiles, the ease with which Hope struts around the house.

"This is the nursery." Rose spins in the centre of the large, light blue room. Three tiny, child beds line either side of the grand window. "Grandmama says at Christmas Persephone, Charlie and I can have our own room rather than being in here with the babies!"

"Boy Charlie or Girl Charlie?"

"Charlotte silly- she is the cousin closest in age to me."

Little Charlotte is nothing like the grandmother she's named after- despite being over a year older than Rosy, and almost twice as tall, she's happy to be second in all games. She makes you think of Tara; always trying to keep the peace, genuinely not minding having to settle. Her mother, Magda, has inherited the true spirit of the Darling women in that you're never quite sure if you've offended her. Perhaps you always have. Charlie's smiles break up the harshness of her face- those high cheekbones and the family nose.

"Besides, I like her much better than stinky Marceline." Dawn giggles as her niece practically spits out the name of her least favourite second cousin once removed… or something. "She's bilingual for goodness sake- why do we have to always speak French to her? And must she wear her hair in those stupid plaits?"

"You really dislike her, huh?" Hope chuckles, pausing from pulling random toys out of the chest.

"Yes! Her maman cut my hair ribbon in half just because Marceline 'simply has to wear matching ribbons either side!"

You lift her up and spin her around until she laughs again. "Only because you and Charlie hid all her own ribbons."

"That, Mother," She grins, planting her tiny hands on either side of your face. "Is neither here nor there!" You're surprised by her kiss and then by the second. Rose is not known for her displays of affection.

"I'm hungry." Faith frowns in a worryingly carnivorous way at the teddy bear.

Dawn catches your eye and nods, again coming to your rescue; "So… who do you think can run faster along the corridor?"

"What?!" Rose blinks in outrage and squirms until you let her down. "Me of course you pleb!"

They dash out of the room at exactly the same time thanks to long legs and slayer blood.

"Let's hunt a bear!"

You pull the stuffed toy out of Faith's hand and sit her down on the bed beside you. She giggles when it's lower than expected and you both bounce. "Not sure there are bears in England, Fay." She frowns, "Sorry, 'Hope'." The frown doesn't dissolve. "Never mind then."

"Pear. Do you have a crossbow?"

"Not one that I'll let you hold right now. When did you last sleep? Or eat for that matter?" She merely smiles, rubbing her hand up and down your thigh. "No…?" Not even a hint. "Ok, you really can't hear me, can you?"

"I think it tastes better than chicken."

Her hair brushes across your arm as she kisses your neck, you push her back with a sigh and hold her there. "You've eaten a bear before?"

"More blood." Which sounds hideously wrong when said with a sexy British voice and bedroom eyes.

"I feel like I'm in a Bond film." You search around for something to give her to eat- a stupid idea as of course there isn't anything in a nursery that hasn't been used since Christmas… and it also unfortunately leaves your back to her.

With her front pressed suddenly flush to your back and her hands rubbing circles around your hips it becomes so much harder to breathe…

"F-Faith…"

She laughs sweetly, sounding more like Rosy than the girl you once spent eight days in a row in bed with and it's enough to shake you out of yourself. The room is pretty and bright and she honestly has no idea why you're pulling away from her. You draw symbols on her palm to make her smile. So like Rose it hurts.

You're so afraid, so very afraid, that your little girl is going to be just as… different when she's older. So she needs a stable life now. She needs a father who comes home from work every day and pays her his undivided attention. Faith loves her daughter but she's not exactly any good at helping with homework and you can't do it all by yourself.

You need help.

Her fingers trip across your skin and you brush them off with the most patient smile you can muster. "No more, F, no more fooling around. I have to make this work."

"'Fooling around'?" She glides her eyes up your arms, level with her hands. Sometimes, when she's like this, tactile sensations become incredibly heightened. You take her hands off your shoulders and rub your fingers across them in the hope she'll concentrate.

It's a coward's escape. Telling her things when she can't answer back… it's gutless and wrong but so much easier. "I have to grow up now. I… I might- I'm probably pregnant." You try to hold her eyes, "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, frowning, trying to get through to you. "No, no, no! B, I-"

"No. Faith, I'm done with you breaking Rosy's heart."

A sigh, slightly impetuous, largely disconnected, rolls from her and you get the distinct impression a part of her has no idea you're even speaking. "You're done with me?"

"I don't mean it like… you're family, Faith. Always. You can be the best aunt there has ever been in the… entire history of aunts, but I can't let you fail at being a mother."

She takes her hands back and pops a section of the pearls in her mouth. "I o'h uh garther!"

"Take those out your damn mouth."

"I'm not your father."

You grin, wryly, "Wow, off your head and still creepily intuitive."

"Wa-gh?"

"Pearls. Faith. Take the pearls…"

The door to the hallway swishes open again. Henry smiles at you, "Mother says the scones are ready. Finally."

"Ha! 'Scones'!" Faith stares blankly back. "No? Nothing?" You wave a hand in front of her face, she follows it and giggles.

"You have big hands."

"No, I have really, really tiny hands."

She snatches your hand and holds it closer for inspection. "You do not!" Henry moves closer, almost like he's drawn in- by this thing he's never seen before.

"I do so. Here-" You hold her hand against yours, "Yours is bigger than mine."

"Dude…"

"Is she…?" His eyebrows climbing ever higher, Henry watches her fawn over your hands and the discrepancies between. "Is she stoned?"

Faith shakes her head, "I'm a human being. And I'm hungry."

Hunger always seems to make it worse somehow. "Well then, lets get you a scone."

She drops your hand and snorts. "Pretty sure it's 'scone' there Buff."

Henry's mouth drops open as she casually saunters off. Yeah, this is pretty much what life is like with Faith. You chuckle unsympathetically. "And she's back."

"Is she… ok?"

"Don't mind Faith, she's just a little highly strung."

"Oh no, I get that Faith is slightly… off, it's just that I've never seen Hope being so-"

You choke, "You've… met 'Hope' before?"

"Darling," He smiles, "My mother very rarely even deigns to speak politely to new people- Faith makes her smile, and I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth." 'Politely'? Really? That's what he calls the speech she gave you when you first met? Granted, you still don't really understand the whole thing… it was mainly about Americans and your… lack of intelligence… but it was insulting!

"And the name thing?"

"My family called me 'Squeaky' for the first twenty years of my life; I'm not in a position to judge." You nod vaguely, the tiredness dripping from your shoulders and out to the tips of your fingers as he lays his hands upon you. "It will be alright."

"I know, I know… God, it's just…"

"Hey, we all have crazy relations hidden somewhere, that you still look after her is a testament to your kind heart."

His kisses are soft and devoted. He thinks you're a much better person than you are. Henry doesn't know you make her worse, he doesn't know you threw her out, he doesn't know you forced her to have a child you then don't let her see.

Only… that last bit isn't really true. It's easier to believe it's your fault than to think she doesn't care. When Rosy is older you'll hint that it's you if she ever asks- you'll say you kept Faith away.

"Mm…" You mumble, in that way that says 'you don't really know'.

"It's true. Don't discount yourself, Bethy."

"I'm not, I'm just… I guess I spent too long with other people saying I was this one, great, amazing slayer that it made me see… it made me see all the ways I wasn't perfect. The ways I'm not good enough."

"You don't have to be perfect all the time. You can let me help you. Just ask."

Being in love with her is tiring. Being in love with him is easy.

"Come. Eat."

The seven of you sit around the table, passing jam and clotted cream. Charlotte catches Dawn in her web, spinning enchanting tales of debutant balls and chaperoned dates with exotic Princes. 'Hope' butts in occasionally, gently teasing and making Henry blush. Rose giggles, jumping in with the adults, and for the moment her arrogance seems sweetly amusing. Edward slips an extra scone onto his plate and winks at you conspiratorially.

It works. Oddly it works.

You might have actually done the right thing for once.

But then Rose accidentally calls Mary 'Mummy' and Charlotte leans over towards Faith, lowering her voice meaningfully, "An awful lot of mothers for a child without a father."

Henry coughs uncomfortably. Again. Then shares a small, embarrassed smile with you. You really need to work on that with her- he thinks she's just confused because calling him 'Daddy' is so new. Which wouldn't really explain why her problem is with mothers but you're willing to lie by omission.

Rose chews on her lip, considering across the table, "Aunty Fay-Fay?"

"Yes, Rosebud?"

"Do you think knickers with bows on are prettier than ones with flower pictures on?" You bat her hand away from showing hers off again.

"No idea. I don't wear any."

Henry, unbelievably, reaches faster than you do, "No, no, Rose- you leave those where they are."

"But they itch!"

Edward sighs and looks over the top of the newspaper that has, once again, become attached to his face. "If they itch, buy her silk ones." In England there is a 50 percent tax on those earning over £150,000 a year. No one seems to have noticed. "To go with that remarkably pretty dress."

Rosy practically glows under the compliment, "It has a very big skirt, doesn't it? I think it makes me look like I'm in Little Women." She slips down from the table to turn quickly and show how it flies out.

"Oh, you like that film?" Charlotte warms marginally.

"No," You chuckle along with Henry as Rose swells with pride, "I like the book. I've already read it."

Edward nods his head in a very measured way that somehow reminds you of Satsu. "And you're only five?"

"Five and four months." She smirks, "I'm just short for my age."

"Of course, of course." He nods, taking her in all seriousness.

Rose spins again for her grandfather, showing off the huge bow at her back.

Faith nods appreciatively, simply acting as 'Hope' now that she has food in her stomach- nearly thirteen scones to be exact, with cream and 'jam'. "That's a cute dress."

"It's…" You lean slightly closer and lower your voice for slayer hearing only, "one of Mimi's."

"The doll?" She whispers harshly instead, barely moving her lips and smiling all the while, "My daughter is wearing a toy's clothing?"

You turn your head away to watch Rosy, knowing no one else can hear your near-silent conversation but not wanting to just sit there staring at her like an idiot. "Hey, this morning we didn't have an argument about her having to wear a pink dress with a duck on." Because toddler clothes really are that bad. "I'm charting this one up as a win."

Faith glances at the pearls around your left wrist and you glance at hers.

She's covered her scars with designer jewellery. Just like you.

"Those bracelets are absolutely stunning, Halo, I must say, I've never seen you without a gorgeous set."

Seriously? Faith's fake personality has her own silly nickname? Really?! "Oh, thank you, Lottie- Shrewy bought it for me."

Who the hell is-?! Oh fuck it, let Faith have her fun. You're an American Alien. "Rose, cutie, you wanna bit more jelly?"

Henry chuckles, knowing exactly what you're doing.

"The word is 'jam'. Mother."

'The phrase is 'bite me'. Child' "Of course it is, silly me."

"Silly you."

Faith frowns, not used to Rose being rude. "Rosy, don't be like that. Your mother needs someone to be nice to her when Dawnie and I aren't around."

"But you're seeing her this weekend, when you take me out to the aquarium, you can be nice to her then."

"Uh… actually," Faith freezes for just a second, "I'm not going to be… I don't think I can make it." She implores you silently but for what you're not sure.

Rose disciplines her expression into one of interest, "Oh really? Are you going somewhere special?"

You wish she'd run around and scream. Pull down the curtains and be naughty.

At your weekly coffee meetings, Tavi fills your mind with funny stories about The Daughter Who 'Won't'- Bliss' new favourite word. She's a rollercoaster of five-year-old emotions; she loves, she hates, she kisses, she kicks.

Your little girl it seems has memorised etiquette books. You're her mother and you have no idea what she's thinking.

About the only thing she has in common with Bliss is being brunette… and the occasional potty-mouthed outburst. They met on their first day of pre-school/nursery/reception/kindergarten/whatever that thing kids in England go to before school at the age of three. As the only two children not crying- Rosy because she was desperate to learn and Bliss because her parents were in their third messy year of divorce by then and her pre-teen heartlessness had already set in- the two girls had bonded over a joint love of purple marker-pens and disgust at the smell of fake banana.

A week later they had their first argument over who got to play with (boss around) which Huntington Twin.

Three days after that they had a joint temper-tantrum when moved to separate activity tables.

It's been the same way ever since.

Bliss would cry but Rosy just gets frosty. And you wonder if there'll be a new bruise tomorrow.

You raise your eyes to Henry and, after checking Rose has had enough of the scones, he makes your excuses. "School tomorrow and we need to add the finishing touches to Rosy's- but which I mean 'our'- farmyard project. Someone didn't think it was important enough to bother doing during the week."

"It's a papier-mâché pig, Daddy, it's not like I'm actually learning anything from it."

He finishes buttoning her coat and pulls her beret down over her eyes as she continues the complaints. "You are! Today it's just a papier-mâché pig but tomorrow it could be a papier-mâché world and then a papier-mâché scale model of the UN Constitution and if you refuse to make them then… then you'll go to University completely unable to papier-mâché, recite the laws of Europe, find Romania on a globe or correctly label all parts of a pig's anatomy!"

"Why" Rosy sighs, uncovering her eyes, "that would be just awful."

You jostle her side, "'Awful' is slang young lady."

"Sometimes mother, slang is appropriate."

Henry stares, "Did our daughter just use ironic sarcasm?"

"I blame this entire thing on you."

"I think you're right to. This is a terrible condition for which we must seek urgent medical attention!" He hauls her up and over his shoulder so her little white, tight-covered legs fly about in the air.

"No, Daddy!" She laughs, "Too high, too high, I don't have wings! Mummy, make him stop!"

You pat her bottom, "You got yourself into this, Ro-Ro, shouldn't be such a smart-alec! Is it very serious, Doctor?"

"I'm afraid so," Henry nods gravely then winks at Mary as she holds the door open. "There may even be call for a new brain…"

"But I like my brain!"

An old couple passing on the pavement give your little brunette family indulgent smiles. You smile back, proud in their look. "And I like my sanity but you're awfully trying for it." Maybe next year you'll be an even cuter family of four?

"Ro-Ro!" You turn as one to see Faith in the doorway, cheeks pink in the cold. "249 days 'til Christmas."

Rosy giggles, though it's now her backside that's turned to Faith, "I'll count down!"

Henry turns again so that Rose might blow kisses and wave goodbye.

As you turn to leave Faith throws a 'thank you' in your direction and you wave your own goodbye.

Chapter 26: A Canapé Reception

October 2011

What the fuck are you doing? No really- what the fuck?! Sassy is right- you have a complete inability to follow through.

On anything.

You turned round the other day and suddenly realised that you love him. You're in love with him.
But- but you can't marry the guy you're in love with! That's- it's… ok, that's what people normally do…

It was just all too much, too large a concept to even consider; actually being happy. You're really that much of an idiot.

So you ran out. Of your own wedding reception.

Because it was beautiful, it was everything you'd ever dreamed of- centrepieces and all. You're even in love, just like you imagined… but it's not right. It's not right because it's not 'her'. It was almost the wedding you imagined when Faith 'almost-sort-of-proposed' before Rose was almost born.

You'd be a perfect family; Henry loves Rose, his family love Rose, Henry loves you, his family… tolerate you. The three of you look very, very pretty together. He completely understands you. He's your best friend.
It's perfect.

But even thinking that isn't right! Because if you can't have a half-life with Faith then you shouldn't be delighting in a perfect one with someone else.

You're a bad person.

You don't deserve Henry and Rose and the pretty wedding and the lovely marriage and the… house that's too big and kind of cold.

Stupid complicated life!

Everyone you know is here, inside the hotel… well, everyone you know personally… well, everyone but Leah, who's slaying, Angel who's disappeared and the many, many dead… well, Cordelia's ghost is still annoyingly hanging around…

There are a lot of people. A lot.

And you dragged your way out of bed this morning, fake smiled so hard your cheeks ache and (actually rather happily) accepted far too many presents, because it was what you'd planned to do. This wedding took you a whole year to organise and everything ran perfectly; the timing was slick, the guests were gorgeous, you look… you look bloody fantastic!

Your dress is custom-made; gold and fluffy and crushes when you sit. Despite the huge skirt it barely shields you from the cold and you makes you wish for your old buttoned-up look. When you were a teenager fashion was one of the most important things in your life (along with saving the world and scraping through school) and now you have the money to go designer it is again. Yet… it seems so frivolous now. And you look a little like Rose's doll, Mimi.

This stupid, expensive, gorgeous dress!

You could probably live off the proceeds from this dress for two years. With Rosy!

It's the best dress you could have asked for; marrying Henry is the best thing that could ever happen to you, this life is what's best for you. But it's not right. It's not what you want.

And you can't even pretend you're doing what you think is best for everyone else because it's not and because… because even though you've got one hell of a martyr syndrome this life could never be called bad, could never be seen as 'awful'!

You're doing this for yourself. You're tearing your daughter away from the only man she's ever known as 'father'. You've ruined your future security.

There's barely any money in your account- the last of it was spent on this stupid dress! The one thing you insisted you pay for. Stupid, stupid dress!

Fifty bridal magazines, nine, day-long shopping trips and enough fabric samples to create your next year's wardrobe, mean you now have a greater understanding of the many, many shades of white. You took Mimtal shopping because Italian, effeminate men who've lived forever have probably seen quite a few wedding dresses… and his fashion sense is very 'Queer Eye' (i.e. brilliant). It seemed too important a task to complete with Lexie or Tavi and utterly inappropriate to invite Sassy or Faith. Of course, you could have asked Dawn but it seemed more likely she'd just have made derogatory comments about your tan-less skin tone and I-no-longer-work-out-every-minute-of-every-day muscles. And your stretch marks. Which, while you don't mind (because, let's face it, you got something brilliant out of them), you don't exactly like showing people under harsh shop lighting.

He flew over from Italy especially for the occasion, smelling sweetly of wisteria and musky cologne, which on him works so well.

The other reason you lured him over was to hold Faith's hand at the wedding. She's always had a thing for strong males to look up to and since you blew up her favourite father-figure and Angel has mysteriously disappeared (again), you knew she'd need one here. They talk often and you know he watches out for her, giving her money when she has none and a place to stay wherever in the world she needs one.

A fortnight ago you spoke to Kennedy properly for the first time in years (aside from a dismissive argument in April and some snide voicemails). She called from a field hospital in Bosnia of all places and your first thought had been the age-old 'what is it with Lehanes and hospitals?'

"Kakistos." She'd said in place of 'hello', your heart shooting up to your throat and your stomach dropping to your feet. "He beat her half to death and she didn't even try to fight back!" The satellite phone had crackled in your ear, crinkling whatever else she'd said into a mess of noise.

It had taken over three minutes for the sound to come back to normal. You'd escaped upstairs while listening to the few chopped words that managed to make it through. Rosy had followed, ignoring your attempts to send her back to Satsu and her flash cards.

"You- Ten- Axe-" The connection had suddenly became clear, "-have to fight for her!"

"I'm retired." You'd sat on the top step next to Rose and brushed your fingers through her pretty hair.
"Retired from being Faith's lover or from being her friend?"

"Retired from slaying." You're turning freaking thirty soon!

Rosy had shaken her head condescendingly, green hair-ribbon bobbing, "Retired from saving the world. That's like ignoring racism."

Kennedy had laughed, despite the tension, "Your daughter has issues."

"So does her mother."

"Which is why I need you to be here. It's a Korvesh Demon- they fix on one person and then take the form of whomever they're most afraid of!"

"How very Harry Potter." You'd sighed and then had to attempt to explain to someone who has neither a child inside nor an actual one. "Look, never mind, it doesn't matter- I'll be there. But… why can't you do anything?"

"Because she freezes up and I thought that maybe… maybe you could use your 'Chosen Two' thing?"
Stupid Andrew! Stupid pamphlet!

Though, to be fair, it is kind of cool to see your name in print… and his illustrations aren't all that inaccurate even if they are a little completely wrong. It isn't actually possible to read each other's minds (unless Willow gets involved), you don't 'sense' where she is in the world and you can't make her do anything, even with a reasoned argument. Though it would, of course, be helpful if you could… generally food helps- who cares about reason when food will do just as well?

"We don't actually have a… I'll be there."

Kennedy battled on anyway; "But it's so important that you-!"

"I'll be there." You reiterated, only slightly strained. The thought that maybe it wasn't a good idea to take a trip this close to your wedding had barely crossed your mind. Besides, it was a distraction and that was precisely what you were wanting at that moment in time.

"Thank you. I'll tell her if she wakes up."

"'IF'? What do you mean-?" But the line had cut out before you'd had the chance to finish. "Faith had better be alive when I get there…"

Rose's bottom lip had trembled, "Mummy, is Aunty Faith going to be ok?"

"I hope so Sweet Pea." Which, of course, hadn't consoled her, "But, if she isn't, I promise you can beat her up, ok?"

"That won't make her any better."

"No, no, you're right, been there, done that… don't think I've ever baked her cookies though."

Your daughter had simply sighed and, not bothering with the 'biscuits, mother, biscuits' talk again, pulled you from the stairs and towards your room. "Go right now, Mummy, go save the world!"

Faith/The World. Your World. Oh hell, you're tragic.

The bag had been packed in five minutes flat- everything and anything shoved into your designer, leather luggage (with cute hidden wheels) and then into a canvas sack when you realised it wasn't quite appropriate for travelling. Satsu trailed you like a lost, but persistent, puppy; "I understand what you're trying to do Buffy but you're not making Rose's life any easier. What she needs is stability."

It was hard not to snort in amusement. Saving Faith's life is not an indication of wanting to get back with her. But Faith is one of your oldest friends- you couldn't just let her die! "What she needs is a father figure. And for her 'aunt' not to die!"

Sassy groaned out her frustration, "You're doing the same thing with Henry as you did with me!"

"Oddly, I don't think you'd make a great father figure." Though she'd be better than either of yours so maybe you shouldn't judge.

"You're trying to get someone to fit into that 'Faith hole' but it's not going to happen! And I know that what happened last month has left a bigger hole inside of-" She cut off at your murderous glare. "Look, I don't agree with that you're doing here- tacking someone into your lives does not mean the pain of loosing… her will go away… but… you've committed now, to loving Henry and so you shouldn't randomly latch on to anyone else! Even if it is Faith! I know you're upset but-"

You'd yelled that she was just jealous and still in love with you (which she was and is but it being the truth doesn't make saying it right) until finally she'd just shaken her head and pulled a bag from the shelf to pack along with yours.

"I'm going." Your heart had stopped- Sassy is above and beyond the only way you pass as a good parent. "Just for the week, to see my family and Akira," She amended, "Just for…" She'd smiled then, a cruel smile and it was so unlike her you'd stopped your frenzied rush to listen, "I'm going away for a week so Rose and Henry can have some good Father/Daughter bonding and when you get back I hope they're so very close that even the idea of separating them curdles your stomach! You made your bed, now lie in it."

"What? Wha… why are you suddenly taking Dawn's position? I thought you were on Faith's side?"

Satsu stopped at the bedroom door and it replays in your memory, over and over, the way her hand rested lightly on the doorknob- not gripping, just resting, as if she wasn't really angry. "No! No. It's not about 'sides'- it has nothing to do with your stupid, stupid Buffy Verses Faith Love/Hate War. I'm… I'm mad at you for… being so thick sculled, for having a wall around your heart that means you never listen to it! You spent so long trying to love Faith as best as you could- trying to love her because of her flaws, not in spite of them- regardless of the violence and the craziness a- and then you just…" She'd kissed you then. Dropped her bag on the floor and pulled you to her. You'd stood there, stunned. "Thank you for not kissing me back."

"What?"

"I was… I was trying to prove a point." She'd blushed, "Probably not the best way… I was trying to say that you always run when it gets serious and you get scared- that you jump on any excuse to avoid… well, I don't really get what it is you're trying to avoid."

Your lips had stung, and not just from that damn cinnamon chapstick Kennedy hates so much (though the reasons for that hatred are still a little foggy). "You were proving a point… by kissing me?"

"I wanted to see if you'd take the easy way out and offer we run off to a different country again." She smiled once more when you shook your head, but this was her real smile, a soft and gentle one.

"No, I… I have to go and help Faith because- because no matter what, she's still my friend and the mother of my child and… and I know she can't stop this vampire." A sudden desire to tell her everything, to lay out exactly why Faith couldn't kill 'Kissing-Toast', had rushed upon you. Yet you'd refrained- not out of respect for the secrets you'd buried inside and promised to hide but because Satsu didn't need to know to understand. "But then I'm going to come home and I'm going to get married. To a man I love and want to spend the rest of my life with."

So yes, if someone had given you a choice, sat you down and said 'Faith or Henry; who do you want?' you'd have said 'Faith' but there would have been a hastily pinned 'as long as she's well' on the end.

"I'm going to Bosnia."

It took too long to get there- a shabby building pulled up in the middle of what had once been the front line against Yugoslavs but was now isolated above networks of caves burrowed by Korvesh demons.

Wind whipped in the empty spaces around the stocky, grey building and tore at your hair.

You've been lulled into a weird fast-forward idea of travel, thanks to Willow and her 'take you anywhere in the blink of an eye' ability- plus the Council's plane and endless monetary funds for when you 'just have to fly commercial (First Class of course)'- so it had seemed to take forever. The only airport you could fly in to was situated as far across the country as was possible- the rest of the journey had to be taken by train, car and, lastly, on horseback up a steep mountainside and rugged fields of frozen, clumped mud. Fortunately the weather held out for you and though the air was chilly it didn't once snow, or even rain.

Faith was barely conscious when you finally arrived- five days after Kennedy's call. She'd been beaten into yet another coma, making your heart ache with the guilt of reminiscence. Maybe… maybe if she hadn't been in that first coma her skull would be just that little bit thicker…?

Her first words on seeing you were her first words in a week; a croaky 'B?' followed by a whispered, and anguished, apology. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!"

"You don't have to be sorry, darling, you haven't done anything wrong. I'll fight Kakistos for you, just get better, ok?"

The tormented wail had surprised you, the subsequent rapid speech and wild gestures had not. She'd gripped your hands; grinding the bones together without noticing, and, near-screamed at you in hurried staccato that Kakistos would kill you too and she wouldn't let that happen. "Not you too, not you too! He killed them, B! He can't kill you too!" Her arms had wrapped tightly around you- a little too tightly, "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I tried to stop Rose! He got Rose! He killed my Rosebud! MY BABY!"

Even though you knew Rosy was wrapped up in bed at home, hearing the words had still shocked you. "It's alright," You'd tried to hold Faith steady, relax her back onto the bed as she sobbed, "He's not-" the 'real' died on your lips. How do you explain to someone they're living a delusion within an illusion? "He's not going to hurt me. He won't hurt me if you just stay here. Can you do that?"

"NO…! B!"

Her thrashing eventually sent a foot through the thin wall and Kennedy speeding into the room. "Help me hold her down for God sake! Don't just stand there!"

"Sorry," Kennedy shook herself out of her freeze and leapt to help, pinning Faith's legs to the bed, "Sorry!"

"How long has she been like this?!" Not that it would have mattered but it's always nice to know exactly which Faith you'll be dealing with at any particular time.

"About a month and a half- I followed her here, stupidly thinking it was actually Willow she'd been speaking to on the- ah!" She yelped as Faith kicked, "Phone!"

You'd held your hand over Faith's mouth while the two of you attempted to calm her down- which wasn't probably the smartest thing in the world, but you're horribly used to 'violent, scared Faith' and the only thing that can really be done is to contain her until she feels safe. And yes, recreating horrible childhood memories isn't exactly soothing but sometimes you have to look out for yourself too.

There was one bloodthirsty moment, after killing the Korvesh, that you considered chopping off it's head to take back to her, as if having something to hold- a physical representation that her fears were over- would make all the difference. But, two minutes after snapping Kakistos' spinal cord he shrivelled back into the creepy little demon he really was.

By the time you'd climbed out of the old sewer entrance, Kennedy was sporting a freshly bruised face and Faith was conversing sweetly with a small child who obviously spoke no English but was willing to nod along.

"Faith?"

"Hey B, Rosy and I were wondering when you'd get here."

"Rosy?" The little boy shrugged, perfectly at ease with his new name.

"We didn't want to eat without you."

On reflection, the calm hallucinations are always the best. "What are we eating?"

"Salmon Puffs."

"Uh-huh… And where are we eating?"

Faith's look had been sympathetic, sorry you didn't know. Her eyes floated around the room, seeing beauty you never could in rusty bed heads and flaking walls. "Heaven, Dumbass. Now he's killed you we can all be together."

You'd nodded and settled down beside her, to a meal of love and air.

Kennedy sent you a pamphlet once, completely out of the blue, about… about what to do with Faith when she's… at the times when she's not herself. You'd glanced at it and then taken it to your room, carefully removed every item from your underwear drawer, laid it at the bottom and then replaced everything, piece by piece, on top. It had lain there, for months, until Faith had drifted back into your life with a sunny smile.
There had been a certain reluctance towards even thinking of opening that drawer at the time- why mention it when she's happy? Why ruin the few times you actually have with her?

It's been… months and months since you saw her last- that afternoon with Henry's parents, when she looked like she'd just come from watching her blue blood brother play polo. Now she's at your wedding, in a dress- no, a gown, with a full skirt and slashed neck. Horizontally slashed, not vertically; no cleavage, barely any collarbones. Her hair is set in vintage-y waves and rests perfectly, just below her shoulders. It's all very 'Hope'.

Even knowing that going months without seeing her is the norm you still try to keep her a part of Rosy's life- putting Faith's picture in her room, telling funny stories about her, making a big deal of every postcard and parcel that arrives from different corners of the globe.

You like that in Rosy's mind Faith is this amazing, glamorous, semi-fictitious figure who never announces herself before a visit. It means you don't have to explain when she's not there.

Drops of rain begin to plop sporadically on the street in front of you. How nice of whomever owns this shop to put a metal awning up for runaway brides to cower under.

If you lean forward, around the adjoined, closed shop front, the entrance to the party is still visible.

It took weeks to find the pretty hotel with a grand ballroom for the reception. Henry suggested a myriad of options- including his father's Gentlemen's Club- but their opulence turned your stomach; you wanted to pretend, if only unconsciously, that this was the wedding you'd planned for years, that the diamond necklace around your neck was special because your husband (wife) had saved for those tiny stones interspersed with little pearls. Instead it's a huge mass of sparkles- tasteful sparkles, but too much all the same. There's the slightest chance it used to belong to Henry's mother… either way, it's more expensive than your car and he barely batted an eyelid at the thought of letting you touch such a beautiful thing- let alone wear it!

And now you're sheltering by a stranger's front door, watching material more expensive than you could reasonably afford by yourself cascade down seven steps to the pavement… where water soaks into it like dark brown trees growing against a golden sky. As if it's not enough you're ruining three people's lives, you now have to ruin a perfectly good skirt too?

Great.

Brilliant.

This day just literally could not get any better.

There's a larger step right in front of the door but there's some kind of macabre pleasure in standing further forward on the platform and letting the water seep up your dress. Maybe it'll find its way through the layers and layers of petticoats and material to the girl inside.

You scrape your palm against the rough wall until it bleeds- let her come out that way. For a second you're tempted to drip the blood down onto the silk and study if it moves faster than the water… but then you realise you're acting like a crazy person and just watch as your skin heals over instead.

This is stupid.

The whole thing. Is stupid.

You can't go back in- even if you wanted to, you can't stand the looks that will be on their faces. All those people. All those people you didn't really know a year ago but have now become so close to… Lexie and Tavi are two of your best friends in the whole wide world but they have no clue what on earth would make you leave Henry, why you'd run out on your wedding day. You don't even know yourself if you're running towards something or just 'away'.

Are you willing to start a new life? Do you have to?

Yes, of course you do, of course. The house is Henry's, the friends are either his or from Rosy's expensive school- which he pays for so you'll probably have to drag her out of it. You still don't really know the rest of the city all that well. Except for Islington- where the old London house was, but you were only there for a few months when Rose was a baby and she doesn't even remember.

If you go back inside now, if you say you're sorry, if you act like it was all some kind of temporary laps of judgement… that you didn't really mean it when you froze in the middle of your first dance, said 'I can't do this' loud enough for it to carry over the music, gave him back his ring and then ran. If you pretend that didn't really happen then maybe Rose can keep her storybook life at the best prep school in the country (which is also surprisingly arty and fun), her deep, deep on-again-off-again frenemyship with Bliss Benn and that cute crush she's been working on for Hector Spencer-Bluethal in the year above.

You can pretend, you can lie, and you can act like seeing Faith cry silently as she watched what should have, by all rights, been your dance didn't tear you up inside.

In a perfect world this is the moment you get back together with Faith. In a perfect world it also wouldn't be raining and freezing cold. In a perfect world you would have really thought through the implications of getting married in October- namely that if you felt like running away you'd also have to think of grabbing a coat on the way out. Or at least a shawl. Something more than a silk bolero.

Hypothermia's chic now, don't you know?

Much more popular than being able to feel your feet.

Stupid Jimmy Choos. Stupid wedding. Stupid desperately trying to look as posh and fashionable as everyone else.

Besides, you're not the kind of girl who's supposed to live this life- you weren't made to have lunch every Friday with Alexia Huntington (born 'Merton-Booth'), who grew up with three nannies and a title, or Octavia Benn, who in her 'wild' period once blew over six hundred thousand pounds on a yacht, burnt it to a crisp in a rage and got nothing more than a slap on the wrist! You were made to kill things with your bare hands and eat raw meat. Though, for argument sake, Lexie and Tavi do have quite a thing for sushi and the three of you love to indulge.

You're meant to have movie nights crushed on one sofa- not in a home cinema- eating cheap snack food from crinkly packets- not calling down to your personal chef for wheat-free pizza with caviar and a range of healthy, mini versions of traditional junk-food (no matter how cute mini burgers are!)

Still, you love those girls, really- they've never held anything against you. Never once have they looked at you funny because you didn't know that the Earl of Shrewsbury's real surname is actually Chetwynd-Talbot (because, hello, why call him 'Shrewy' then?!) or you let slip that you actually have no damn idea which fork is used for fish. They helped you when you got stuck, smoothed over your public gaffes and showed you that though the British Upper Class come off as cold and unfeeling they're really all just trying to hold on to a way of life they love but can see crumbling. And never, not once, has anyone ever questioned Rosy's heritage, never whispered a quiet word in the nanny's ear about keeping little Prunella or Charles away from the tiny girl with the cheap American mother.

It probably helps that she's so disarmingly charming. And fiercely intelligent enough for them to assume she's probably adopted.

She still doesn't look anything like you. Not even with the new hair.

If you had a Pound for every time someone told Henry his 'daughter' looks like him you could buy three more wedding dresses… and then sell them, obviously, for money to live on now you're going to be homeless, jobless and probably unable to pay Sassy (thus leading to a lot of takeout food).

Faith likes takeout.

You should-

No, you shouldn't.

Maybe-

No.

Ok, so perhaps it isn't the loss of Faith that makes this wrong and maybe having her back won't make it right- but it'll hurt less. She might often make things worse but just being around her, just knowing she's close, makes you feel a whole lot better.

Just sitting opposite her, watching her inhale food in a gross-and-yet-somehow-attractive manner… well, it makes you feel good. Feels like home.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

Henry's smart shoes tap against the stone steps. You're not exactly far from the hotel but you're still impressed he found you.

He stands close, backlit by the streetlight and frowns at the goosebumps covering your arms.

For one dreadful second you think he might take off his jacket and put it round your shaking shoulders.
You don't deserve to be warm.

Yes. "No." Everything.

"I'm not stupid Bethy-"

"Buffy! My name is Buffy for fuck sake! You can't marry me and not use the right goddamn name!" You snap without meaning to.

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry."

He sighs, in a calm and measured way- as if in front of a dangerous wild animal. It occurs to you that he's seen you break a vampire's neck before.

"Just tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing."

"Is it…? Is it too soon? God," He shakes his head in agitation, "my mother was right- we should have postponed… it's just that you put so much work into today and I thought it might help. I know… two months is probably-"

You put both hands up; 'stop'. "Nothing was 'wrong'. It just wasn't what I… it wasn't… perfect."

"You ran out because the reception wasn't 'perfect'?" Henry chuckles and it seems so much easier to lie and smile back, "You've spent the last year planning for today, what on earth have you forgotten? Wait, let me guess; you've finally come around to Rosy's way of thinking- your dress should have been purple after all? The cake really should have been nothing but chocolate and the other bridesmaids had no right to look so pretty?"

There weren't two aisles and two wedding dresses and two brides. And Rosy, in her purple dress (because any other colour would be sacrilege!), smiling so hugely to see her 'Mummy' and 'Daddy' getting married so she could be like every other little girl in her class… Everything was just so slightly off; Tavi and Lexie are never going to be Willow and Dawn- or Tara, in the original dream- and as much as you love Sassy… you just wish she hadn't spent the entire walk down the aisle watching you like a hawk in case the doctors were wrong and you shouldn't have been moving this soon.

You had a party. An actual party. It's only been two months since- since… her. And you had a party.

"Does that make me a bad person?"

He misses your train of thought and thinks you're just carrying on the conversation. "No, of course not. A finicky one perhaps but not a bad person."

"No, I… I just couldn't stop-" 'trying not to think about her'

"It's about Faith isn't it?"

You affect an innocent air, "Faith…?"

Henry doesn't buy it, "Faith; 'Hope'. She's not who she says she is, or- or you're not who you say you are. I've come to understand you, to understand you and the people in your life but there is still one mystery to me; Faith. Is she…" He trails off and attempts to measure the look in your eyes, "Is there… I can't help thinking that perhaps…" Finally he coughs and puts aside his near guesses, getting straight to the point; "Who- who is she Buffy?"

"My wife."

"Pardon?"

Your surprised face must match his because you really hadn't meant to say that- not consciously anyway, "This day- this dress, this… everything! She should be here, and not just here but she should be the one I'm marrying."

"Ah." He nods, "You're a lesbian? That certainly explains…" There's no end to that sentence, even when you wait for a few seconds.

"What? Explains what? And I'm not a lesbian- we have sex!"

The look is one of both amusement and reproach, "'Had'- I somehow doubt it'll be happening again." You share a self-conscious smile, "Do you even love me?"

"I…" Why lie now? "How can I love another person when I miss her every day? Sometimes it feels like my whole heart is being torn out. I do love you but I love her. And even though I know it'll never work with her… I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here." You wave between the two of you, "I… I'm an idiot."

He nods again, weighing things up in his mind (and agreeing). "I should have guessed. I saw you at the hospital with her that… and I knew. I just thought it was an over-active male imagination… And then at Rosy's fifth birthday, when Rose… but Dawn called her a 'sister' and I just assumed…"

"Dawn thinks of her as a sister. She's known Faith since she was twelve. They're close. Sometimes."

There's another embarrassed moment. He twists his wedding band around his ring finger. "So, is this a… forever type of love or a 'thirteen-years-but-hopefully-over-next-month' one?"

How can you get over someone when they're your every waking thought? You'd give your life for her.

"Unfortunately no. It's more of a 'made-for-each-other' type of love. Believe me if I could trade soul mates I… I…" Suddenly, being glib doesn't seem quite so funny, "I wouldn't. She's just misunderstood really- she's smart and pretty and sexy and intense and passionate and… wow, this is an… inappropriate… turn in conversation."
You smile and he doesn't return it.

"I tried to get over her but- it's a bummer too because I really did try and I even had the good sense to thank the world for my good sense that I didn't have her name tattooed anywhere on me so I could either have it painfully removed or secretly treasure it in a very, very creepy way." His withering 'is now really the time to be cute?' look makes your toes curl. "Sorry, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He says through his teeth, because of course he isn't, and of course it isn't ok to ask. "So this is it? You and Sweet Pea are… you're leaving me? You love Faith." Said as a fact you wish you weren't just as sure of.

"It's not about love- God, sometimes I don't even like Faith as a person!- I just want to do the right thing for Rose and… and lying to her isn't it."

He snorts but not, you're quite sure, out of amusement. "You're leaving me for a girl you don't like?"

"It's not that I want to get back together with her, it's just that I can't lie to myself forever and be with you."

"Ouch."

You tug on the tulle of your skirt, "Sorry. Again. If it makes you feel any better… that girl in there; 'Hope'- there isn't anything between us. Not anymore. The two of us don't have anything… there isn't- there's no relationship so don't worry."

"Oddly, I think I'd feel a little better if you were leaving me for her rather than just leaving me to… pine over her."

"Me too. Would make everything a little simpler, wouldn't it? If I could be with her."

He frowns, "Why can't you? I apologise for not fully understanding but I… I really don't see what's stopping you." His eyes widen, "She's not some kind of a con woman is she? This whole 'Hope' thing- it isn't her way of… scamming my mother, is it?"

Uh… the jury is still out on that one. "Faith has this… thing, this… part of her… that she can't control. One day she's fine but the next… sometimes she thinks she's… I've seen her… it's not her fault."

"I didn't say it was." Henry's hands have always fit perfectly around your elbows, he likes to cup them and pull you forward to wrap your arms around his neck and share a kiss. This time he just leaves you there, on the other side of the circle. A gap in between and rain in the middle. "Tell me. Explain."

"I can't." You hide the tears behind loose fists but leave your physical connection. "I've never wanted to know. Not really. I tried to take her to a doctor but I didn't really want to know."

"Bethy,- No, don't correct me. You're my wife, my Bethy. Whether or not you're Faith's 'Buffy' is a little immaterial. Apparently." There's a hint of a smile. "Just take a breath and try to explain."

So you do. You tell him that you once made fast friends with a fifteen-year-old who turned out to be both the best and the worst thing that ever happened to you. You list the worst things about her; murder, kidnapping, drug taking, hallucinations, violence, lies, betrayal, life-stealing, seduction and just generally being a crap parent.

"Parent?"

"Uh… you know how some children are planned and others are accidents?"

He frowns, not entirely sure where this is going, "Yes…?"

"Well, Rose was a split-second decision after a quick perusal of a magic book. Faith and I didn't have sex to create her, hell, Faith didn't even know she existed until I was eight months gone!"

"Faith is…?"

Half of you thinks it's the shock of finding out who Rosy's other parent is that makes his face go white- until the other half slaps it with the reminder that normal people believe in normal biology. "Oh! Uh, yeah. Magic doesn't really discriminate."

"Let me get this right; you saw a baby-making spell, thought 'hey, I'd love swollen ankles!' and just muttered the words?"

"I had to look up the Latin version of 'Faith' but yes, pretty much. I didn't even tell Giles."

And you list the best things about her; Her light- her energy, the way she pulls people in as she speaks- how thoughtful she can be, how serious but silly, the way she puts all of her effort into whatever she believes in, her loud laugh and her genuine concern, her love of language and the way her hair smells like apples in summer.

"Forget the last thing." You blush.

"You're not really explaining how the bad behaviour isn't her fault Bethy, or why you'd choose to be with her over me. To be honest you're making her sound abusive, unpredictable and psychopathic, if… redolent."

"Look, that- that girl in there- I don't love her like I love you." You try to explain- faultingly and without lengthy examples- that sometimes… something comes over Faith, making her not herself, and it isn't mystical or magical or her fault… and she can't stop it. And you can't live with it. "I can't love her because she isn't my Faith anymore. She isn't herself."

Henry mulls that over, "Okay. And what happens if she is? If she gets medical help; pills, therapy… whatever they do for- you are aware she has a recognised medical condition, aren't you?" Oh, is it still raining? How pretty… "Buffy?"

"Yes."

"Will you still love her when one day she comes back to herself?"

"You make it sound like you want that to happen." You scoff and avoid the question.

He steps back away from you, looks you over in your soggy dress and frizzy hair. Then smiles as you wipe ineffectively at your panda eyes. Stupid non-waterproof mascara! "I just want you to be happy."

Oh sweet heaven… "Please stop being such a good person, it's really making me rethink the whole 'running out on you' thing."

"Fine!" He bursts, throwing his hands up excitedly, "Good! Don't! Come back with me and we can smooth over everything, pretend it never happened, go on to be married for the next sixty years and never once mention it!" You raise a brow, "alright, perhaps not then."

"Sorry."

The two of you share a small smile at the awkwardness of it all. Which just sort of reminds you how good this might have been.

Although it seems easier to use the excuse that this is all- that you're doing this, that you've left him- because of Faith… it isn't exactly true.

Not that it's a lie!

You might just-

It's just that-

There might be…

"Emily."

Your eyes itch.

"I can always tell when you're thinking of her."

"Because I look like I'm going to cry?"

"Because you smile."

Oh.

It's funny whom you call in a crisis. How the people you depend on aren't the ones you would have expected.

You're not supposed to tell family and friends of a pregnancy before three months.

At the time it had seemed so annoying of Henry to enforce that. With Rose the only other person who'd known you were pregnant was Satsu and you wanted to show this baby off. You wanted your friends to coo over your baby-bump and buy you those cute, matching outfits.

But you ended wishing he'd kept it up longer. For the full six months.

You'd spent half your pregnancy dieing to tell the world and the other half doing just that. So, when you came home after the scan that had changed everything- the one where the doctors tried three different ways to find a heartbeat- to your friends' expectant faces… you'd wanted to eat your words, crush them down between your teeth and take it all back.

Henry had been left to explain after you'd run from the room. And he'd been left to pack your overnight bag while you cried in the bathroom. He'd been left to make all the calls; cancel the decorator, the pre-natal classes and the crib arriving in the morning. You'd even begged him- once your breath stopped tearing at your chest- to please make everyone go away.

Even seeing Rose was hard for a while- which was stupid because loosing one child shouldn't make you want to push the other away!

You didn't want her scribbled drawings and 'get well soon kisses', you didn't want Satsu's herbal tea or soothing tones, you didn't want the simple friendship from Willow and Xander and Tavi and Lexie and every other damn person who tried.

Emily.

Why did you have to give her a name?

You didn't want Henry. You wanted Giles. You wanted your daddy- actual or not. You wanted him to be the adult; to remind you that Leprechauns might still exist- that coincidences do happen, that people with cancer catch colds and you'd have lost this baby whether you were a slayer or not.

But he did the kind thing and didn't lie.

There was crying, yelling and the promise of a full medical work up by a Council doctor. It had seemed so perverse that everything with Rose had been fine after Faith's super strength punch to your stomach and yet this little girl, who you'd gone to such great lengths to protect, hadn't made it.

"I had a child." He'd said, surprising you, "I was young. Too young. It lived for three hours and I was never even allowed to know what sex it was."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

"Will you come for the wedding?"

For future reference- because, hey, you just thoughtlessly walked out of one marriage, what's to say you won't idiotically try again?- you really can't invite someone to a wedding two months away and pretend you haven't been studiously avoiding it being mentioned around them. And in this case 'studiously avoiding' really means threatening to rescind invites from the baby slayers.

But, very graciously and with a lot of British charm, he didn't mention the date and accepted. He didn't even mind when you suddenly had an attack of conscience and phoned him three weeks ago to ask for him to walk you down the aisle. Mimtal (also very graciously) was happy to step down, just as he was happy to spend four days searching for a new 'shitty slayer stomach has snapped back into pre-baby flatness within a day' wedding dress.

"So?" You snap out of your depressing thoughts (or should that just be 'thoughts' at this point?) "What do you think? If Faith manages to get herself together." He asks you, as if this is a somehow normal experience, as if your heart isn't breaking in two. "Will you… will the three of you…?"

You shrug, "I always find a way to mess these things up; I ruined my parents' relationship, I'm destroying ours- Dawn barely speaks to me anymore, my friends all think I'm insane-"

"Rose loves you," He smiles, "more than anything."

"Rose is an idiot. Child! I meant 'she's a child'! Faith is the idiot." To the n-th degree.

Regarding you with an affectionate smile he guides you further away from the stairs as it starts to drizzle harder. "For loving you? Well then I'm an idiot too. Satsu's an idiot. Xander's an idiot. My brother is certainly an idiot. That tall, dark haired chap with the nancy hair… actually, he might not be an idiot for you…"

"No," You chuckle, "Angel and I… he's straight. Ignore the hair. And the clothes. And the occasional sex with Spike. Come to think of it, they are pretty gay."

'As apparently are you' says his raised eyebrow. "Who is 'Spike'?

"Another idiot." Who you didn't actually invite to the wedding so he must be here as a 'plus one'… the plus one of someone you know. The plus one of an otherwise dateless person. Leaving only Xander, Angel and… Giles. Which is just disturbing on so many levels.

"I see." Really? "A lot of people love you, Buffy and you make… well, you make at least my world a little better for being in it."

"You're sweet but blinded by idiocy. I'm a pretty big failure in the love department- people tend to… leave." You pat his hand companionably.

He frowns, "Correct me if I'm wrong but aren't you the one who hightailed it out of our wedding reception? And then I followed you. I'd say that's a rather large indication of my not leaving."

"Believe me, you'll want to by the time you get back in there. Possibly coupled with the strong desire to hit me. You can totally go ahead and do that now, by the way- try not to hit a bone though, I don't want you to break your wrist."

"I'm not going to hit you, you sweet fool. Come here." He opens his arms for you and you settle against his chest, your head fitting snugly under his chin.

"Have you always been this tall?"

"Only for as long as you've been this short."

Your wet mascara stains his cream shirt but his hands don't pause in their soothing motions along your back.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… It's just that… everything's such a mess. In my head. I don't know what I'm doing. I… I thought… I wanted… it was supposed to be perfect. We were going to have the perfect wedding and the perfect children and grow old together, except- except, you're-" You stop and start a few more times but the tears clog you up and he gets the gist anyway; he isn't part of that 'we'. "And now- now- now everything with… with Emily, it's just… God! We were so stupid! We decorated that- that gorgeous nursery and bought her all those beautiful clothes and- and- and I spent so much time trying to teach Rosy to not be jealous of- of her- her little- little sister that- that- we…"

He makes shushing noises and warms your trembling shoulders with his big, manly arms. Sort-of like Riley. Who you actually haven't thought of in years. "You're laughing, is this a good thing or a bad thing?"

A question silently asked of Faith a thousand times.

Which just makes you laugh harder.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I- I think- think I'm a- a bit hys- hysterical! You- you can s- slap me if- if you want!"

The eyebrows raise again.

He has beautiful eyebrows.

Expressive.

"It's just that… I'm ruining everybody's lives; your life and my life and Faith's life and… and, worst of all, Rosy's and that's- that's just not right! I'm her mother and I'm meant to make her life easier! I just… I've messed everything up!"

"Breathe, Bethy, deep breaths."

You'll never love Henry as much as you love Faith, you'll probably never love him as much as you did Angel (as juvenile and melodramatic as that might have been) but maybe you should have tried?! Perhaps-?! Maybe-?! You should have-?! It's-?!

"Bethy, calm down."

Why is it always so annoying when people say that? It's like when you're trying to paint a picture and someone walks up to say 'that's wrong' but won't tell you what to do to make it right!

It needs to be right. You just don't- don't have any idea what the hell it is you're doing!

"Henry, you- you make me want to be a better person; all the college courses and cleaning up my grammar and being on the PTA and dying my hair back to brown and- and trying so hard to be a perfect parent an- and I just realised that I said my English has improved but I totally keep saying 'and'! And-"

"I believe I understand." He seems half-amused at your raging stupidity.

"Faith eats my cooking and says thank you. She doesn't care that it's shit."

Henry frowns in vague confusion, "I… don't think you've ever cooked a meal for me."

"Well, I didn't want you to leave me. Obviously. It really is shit."

"So you said."

"But that's the point. Around her I… I can have baby sick in my hair and wear tattered clothes and not dye my hair for weeks on end and still know that I'm the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. I can be useless and messy and forget the capital city of Iran because to her I'm still brilliant."

It takes a few seconds for him to digest that before he turns away. You watch his broad shoulders sag slightly, "Bethy, I might not say it often but you really are my perfect wife. I've never liked those stiff, society girls my mother was always trying to fix me up with. I like that you still have a lot to learn. I'm interested in your heart and your mind a-" He stops.

His face turns towards the door of the shop, Romanesque profile clearly defined by the streetlights behind him.

"I'm arguing against a decision you've already settled upon."

You say 'yes' even though you haven't and 'I'm sorry' because you are.

He nods. Once. Twice. Then turns to leave.

"Henry!" Your small hand looks almost comical against his broad shoulders, "Henry, I… I really do love you. You'll make a wonderful husband one day. And…" The ache starts again, "And you would have been… you'll be a brilliant father."

He walks away. There is no long goodbye, no attempt to win back your heart. He knows he has at least a part of it. You both know that had things been different- if you'd never met Faith, if perhaps the wedding had just been pushed back- you would have been a wonderful couple and you would have been in love.

Forever.

You can love two people. But you can't be in love with them both.

If you're ever going to move on from Faith, if you're ever going to be happy, you have to let her go.

You can't race around the world trying to save her and you can't hold her in so much of your heart that you sometimes fear the only reason you love Rosy so much is that she's a mini-Faith.

"Hey." Her head pops round the intricate railings.

You chuckle softly and bitterly, your left wrist throbs. "Get out of here Faith."

"Ok. Shit, blame Willow- she sent me with some food for you," She chucks a paper carton of canapés down at your feet and turns to leave, "I was just trying to do a good deed, check you were alright."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

The sarcasm makes her stop and snigger, "Aside from the shortest marriage ever?"

"Aside from that…"

"Ya sittin' in the cold in a dress that…" She leans forward, "annoyingly doesn't show it off?"

"Wha-?" You look down then roll your eyes, "Why would I be upset my nipples aren't pointing out?"

"Yo, you tell me- ya the one in the street not wearin' much…"

She winks and you chuckle. "You're a hideous person."

"Dude, that is so not what you were saying la-"

"Don't!" You kick her calf, "Stop with the smut, young lady, I'm a married woman now." Her eyebrow raises, "Yeah, until the whole annulment thing… goes… through… how long can I feasibly use that?"

Faith considers, head on one side, then sits at your feet, pulling open the carton and throwing veal pate on French bread, a smoked salmon bilini and a sweet cream puff in her mouth at once. "I'd say…" She starts, way, way, way before it's appropriate to start talking. Ugh, veal and cream even looks gross! "Two weeks for being checked out, three for innuendo and five for all out flirting."

"That's a comfo- Faith! Do not add a prawn mousse to that! Ewgh, you're so-"

"Attractive?"

"Disgusting! And please, stop talking." Though you have missed her real accent.

She shrugs, tosses in something that looks suspiciously like caviar d'aubergine then grins. It's hard to resist searching her eyes- her smile throws you off; is she abnormally happy, excited, high...? Until you realise she just saw the woman she loves running out of her wedding to another person.

That smile suddenly seems a lot brighter.

"So… whatcha gonna do now?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to do. Or how I feel. I… should probably be on some kind of daytime soap."

"You slept with his brother?"

"No!"

She giggles, "His mother?"

"Faith!"

"You killed someone and he was the only witness so you beat him until he had amnesia and then planned to marry him so he couldn't testify against you in court only he then hit his head again and remem-"

"Faith!" You reach down to smack her arm, "Stop it. Geez, you have such an overactive imagination!"

"Says the woman who's already picked the centrepieces for her six-year-old daughter's wedding!"

"Centrepieces are important! Why does nobody get that? Plus, they were meant to match our dresses."
There's yet another uncomfortable silence- something you've apparently become very good at creating. But oddly, despite the fact she pretty much is the problem, everything seems so much better, just by her presence.

She's in jeans- not designer or posh or anything, just jeans- with a man's polo shirt, tied in a knot at her waist so not to drown her, and her hair scruffled up from the quick change. You rethink them being boyfriend-cut jeans and consider her mugging some poor chap instead. "Oh, God, 'chap'!"

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing." Stupid Englishness. "You're just not… in a dress anymore."

"Dude, that thing's a gown- and not great for chasing after fugitive brides in. Trust me," She smirks, "I'm pretty hot on correctional types."

"Well it's good to know you weren't bored in prison."

You shake your head at the offer of a devilled egg- caviar is tasty but you have a thing against eating food with the word 'evil' in. Wind change pushes the rain further under the rattling metal roof and she slides gracefully up to sit on the step beside you.

"And I was worried all you had to do was get fat and watch Glitter."

"Ouch!" She chuckles, patting her not-so-delicate heart, "You wound me!"

The English accent is back and your lips get thinner. "Mm… you'll live."

"No, oh," Faith sighs exaggeratedly, wiping at her face, "Tear! Wounded by a Bridezilla!"

You flip her a rude hand gesture, "I am not a Bridezilla- I took all my bridesmaids on holiday before the wedding!"

"Only so you could make them sunbathe topless and have your last look at girlie-flesh while making sure they didn't have the 'wrong' tan lines."

"Dawn told you!?" Traitor!

"No. Was that actually true?"

Her grin only broadens when you nudge her off the step, "I hate you. I had to make sure they didn't have those awful white lines coming out the top. And yes, I know the dresses aren't strapless- and 'ew', by the way, it's a church. You cover your shoulders in churches- but I wanted to make doubly sure no one wore a halter-neck because it took me three weeks to decide on the design for the tops and that beautiful scoop with the fold-over is there to look good."

"You know that, aside from that caplet-thing, your dress is actually strapless, right?"

You look up at her and stick out your tongue, "I didn't say it had to make sense. And it's a bolero."
Faith laughs sweetly and without a hint of awareness. There is nothing in her eyes to say this is even the slightest bit awkward for her.

It's not as if the two of you don't have an awful and complicated history with strings and baggage and all those other things people complain about… but when it's just the two of you, sharing jibes and tiny bits of soggy pastry… well, it just seems… it just seems better. No matter what part of you she breaks, no matter how many men you attempt to marry, no matter what anyone else thinks, when you're with each other it's the easiest thing in the world. At least, when it's the 'real' Faith. Maybe you should marry Faith?

Kennedy's words ring out in your mind again; 'just stop messing everyone the fuck around!'.

It's a fair point.

"Henry must think I hate him." You raise a brow. "Kinda just glared at him today. And mighta stuck my tongue out at one point." The dried tear tracks on her cheeks crinkle as she smiles to pretend they're not there. That makeup must be pretty expensive, it's barely budged.

"You sent him your 'best wishes' in that 'Happy Engagement' card- he appreciated it."

"Oh, no, no, no," She tuts in her Best British Accent, "You congratulate the groom- you give the bride your best wishes. Besides, Mimtal sent the card, I merely signed my name."

Ugh! "Please stop doing that accent."

"What accent?" Faith holds the seriousness for a few moments and then snorts in laughter.

"Seriously, do you wake up every morning and think of fun ways to ruin my life?" Because, if so, well done on a remarkably good job.

"Oh, you mean 'antagonise' you?"

"Stop it!"

She frowns ironically- as if such a thing were possible. "Stop antagonising you or stop using long words that you're supposed to understand now you're brunette?"

Ah, Bridal Hair. At the back of your head there's enough backcombing and hairspray to possibly loose a pencil. "It's for Henry- the brown- he loves natural hair." Which is a stupid thing to say apparently- joking about Henry is fine but mentioning things he loves seems to make her… well, she just stops. And looks at you.

"Oh."

"I should probably dye it red or something!" You blather to cover her silence but instead make it more obvious. "Red! Not 'Buffy Blonde' or 'Bethy Brown' but- but… ok, I can't think of a way to say 'Red' that begins with a 'B' or… or a way to say my name that- 'Bea'! I'll be 'Bea'! And my hair will be… B-… B… ok, I can't-" She snorts, "Can't think of… uh… never mind, I'd probably look dumb anyway. Single and Ginger."

You expect her to sit too close next to you, tell you you're pretty and that she's never stopped loving you- that, even when you stood at that alter and let him hold your hand in his, you were still hers.

Instead she leans against the railing, lights a cigarette and blows smoke-rings away from you.

"I thought you'd given up?"

"Gave up for Rose. Not much point if I never see her."

It's said without bitterness or the weary tone of someone so resigned. It's alright, this moment, it's ok. No need to fight.

No need to talk about your reluctance to allow her prolonged contact with Rose.

No need to mention you've given her daughter a new father.

"I don't blame you." She reaches over to smooth away your frown with the tips of her fingers- the way she used to. "Sometimes I wish she wasn't mine, that she belonged to the both of you- all I want is for her to be happy. And for your life to be perfect. Kinda ruined that little fantasy by running out of your wedding though."

You wince as she chuckles. You're so going to hell.

Faith apologises gruffly when she sees it and moves across the tiny space to sit on the doorstep. "I didn't mean it that way." The cigarette is offered over as a consolation prize- since when have you smoked in Faith's mind?

"No, no, you're right- I've ruined my daughter's life…" She pats the space next to her and you settle back down into it, "Wait, what do you mean 'fantasy'?" You ask in confusion, never before it having crossed your mind that Faith might have dreams as you do. "As in- 'happy home life' or 'weirdly Faith is imagining me naked with another person'?"

"I have lots of 'imagining you naked with other people's." She leers.

"Did you not hear me say 'weirdly'?"

"It's natural! Besides, I meant the other one- the 'happy family' one… 'cept normally it's not another person in that one." You gaze at her in mild confusion as she tries to explain, "I want the two of you to be happy. To have this great life where getting to school on time is your biggest problem and I know that's not going to be with me so I at least want it to be with him. With someone who you love."

It takes a minute for you to realise she's not waiting for you to protest that- to say you don't love him. She genuinely just wants both you and Rosy to be happy. And suddenly you can't see why having her in your life would hinder that. "Faith?"

"Yeah?"

"It's over. I really left him."

"Bummer." She sighs, "For him!" Correcting once you glare. "Obviously it's bad that his poor, American wife, who has no real job or money of her own and never fitted in with his family has left him."

"Thank you so much for parroting back the fears I told you while thinking you were unconscious- that doesn't make me feel weird at all!"

Faith chuckles and shoves your shoulder, "You're welcome, Fatty. Besides, you should know that people can actually hear when they're in a hypnagogic state- not in a deep coma but…" A blush spreads across her cheeks as you stare at her, "I spent some time working with a team of doctors."

"While you were in the coma?"

"Ok, fine, I Wikipedia-d."

Her eyes light up when you laugh, "You're as bad as Rose! Always desperate to know things."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"No, you're right, there isn't."

She smiles softly and you nod back. "You should eat something."

The vol-au-vont sneer up at you. "I think the food is trying to mock me."

Faith agrees with gravity, "It's the shellfish, it likes to deride anything with its bones on the inside."

"Who knew crustaceans had so much in common with Charlotte Darling?" You laugh a little unkindly. "Well, aside from being 'crusty'."

The Dowager's Darling rolls her eyes but otherwise doesn't deign to contradict. Another cigarette is pulled from the pack- which, you're assuming, actually belongs to the poor guy she stole the clothes from. Or Faith has found the time to graduate from Durham and pick up a commemorative silver lighter. "Hey," She pauses, once her hand is again swallowed by a huge pocket. "Want to see something stupidly corny?"

You nod, a little unsure- Faith's definition of things aren't always everyone else's. 'Decency' is a little contentious apparently. "You're not going to show me a disturbingly situated tattoo are you because I'm a married woman now and… it's just wrong?"

A beat. "You're so weird." Takes one to know one. "No, look." She pulls out of the pocket a necklace; chipped silver-plating and dull glass beads.

Are you supposed to be gracious with her or are exceptions made for people you've spent many hours documenting appropriate presents with? "You know, most people give toasters, espresso-makers, entire sets of Wedgwood china…" Thank you Henry's snooty parents, "A 'dozen double-damask dinner napkins'. You don't think I have to give those back now, do you?"

"Nah, it's cool… should probably point out that your wedding gift from me was a bunch of rotten bananas…"
Just when you think she can't get any stranger, "Uh, why? I hate bananas. And pretty much everyone hates rotten fruit."

"I know. I just figured you'd probably kill me if I ruined your 'special day' in an obvious way so I was sneaky and now all your gifts will smell like the thing you hate. Forever. I'm sneaky like that."

"I'm impressed. I didn't think you had it in you to be subtly evil."

"Well I do!" She passes the necklace over, pressing it into your palm. "Do you really not recognise it?"

Tiny silver links that catch the light, small clear beads with what looks like many faces on the inside, making the light catch and then bounce out like a delicate disco ball… and a small 'B' in the centre- about the only thing untouched by age. The exact place you picked it up escapes you but it quite possibly had something to do with your father's guilt and a trip to Florida. "I gave it to you for Christmas, in Sunnydale, 199…8. But then I worried it wasn't good enough so I gave you t-"

"Don't!" She glares, half laughing, half genuine fear. "I thought we agreed to never talk about… that again?"
"And we wouldn't if you didn't stop going on about your 'scarred' hand." She studies the three faint lines between her thumb and forefinger then sucks them like it'll help. "You've carried that necklace around all these years?"

She shrugs as if thirteen years isn't a long time. "It reminded me of good stuff."

"I get that. God, you have no idea how often I wish everything to go back to the way it was… the way it was before, when you weren't…" Crazy. "Real." Because she was always a little crazy.

Faith screws up her face, "Uh, B, you're not that much older than me and as nice as it is that you want to regress I doubt you'd have that much fun doing it- you remember how much Rosy hated diapers, right?"

"Shut up. I meant… you used to be this… this dream-girl." With chocolate eyes and swishing hair and a spirit that sparked against yours. "And yes, you were a little… insane and liked to beat people up for fun; both vamps and beefy guys in bars- but you just didn't seem real somehow." Like water she always flowed through your fingers- the pretty girl always just out of reach. But, you suppose, she still is a 'girl'- it's not just your 'constant desire to infantilise her' (thank you Giles). It seems silly to think it and stupid to voice it. "I guess I was just foolish and teenage. Never mind."

"Nah." She nods, "I kinda put you on a pedestal too. Makes it harder to fall."

"'Further'. You mean 'it's further to fall'."

"No, I mean it hurts harder when you hit the bottom."

You roll your eyes, "But you said 'harder to fall'- 'to', like you can't be knocked off."

"Well, obviously you can and when you are it hurts more when you hit the bottom." The box of canapés is snatched and a piece of choux pastry flies through the air to smack you in the face.

"Ew!" A small prawn trips down the side of your face. "And I'm not arguing with that!"

"So why are you yelling?!"

Prawn gunk sinks quickly into make up. You pause from attempting to rub it off to give her an 'are you kidding me?!' look. Which, of course, goes undetected. "Because you said the wrong thing!" 'And threw yet more food at me!'

She sucks her teeth because you hate it. "You're really annoying."

"You're kinda dumb."

"You're kinda a bitch."

"You're a little bit gay."

"Dude, you just left your amazing husband- you're a lot gay."

"Mm."

But how gay exactly?

Faith wrings her fingers together, "You know, I… I just… some how I think I could understand it better, accept it more, if it was Satsu you were marrying."

"Oh come on, I've slept with Satsu twice." Faith barely lowers herself to raise an eyebrow. "Ok, fine, three times and one I'm repressing but that doesn't mean anything!"

"You've been living with her for six years and raising our daughter together."

"I has not been…" Who does Rose call for when she's hurt? "like…" How many times have you come home to find a cooked meal and bubble bath waiting? "that. Wow, no wonder Rose is confused. I'm confused."

"Of that we are painfully aware." She smirks, in her perfect English accent.

"I'm really not above hitting you."

"But are you low enough to hit on me?"

You gape and turn from her faster than could be gracious.

Stupid love!

Stupid life!

Stupid mess!

Stupid always leading Faith on! "No- wait- I… Faith… this isn't… I'm not… I… I'm not trying to… I don't want…"

"Me."

"That's…" A thump begins behind your eyes to match the one in your wrist. "That's not what I'm saying."

"I just want to be happy, I just want…" You don't want her back as a lover. You want her back as a parent. "Everything seems so dark right now. Everything seems so…" Yet she won't understand, she has no idea about Emily.

She hasn't exactly been around to notice your growing stomach and, despite being proficient in a freakishly large amount of languages, Faith can't write for shit- thus ruling out being pen pals.

Not that you'd have any idea where to even send the damn letter.

The rain begins to batter down against the metal porch roof. It's the only sound and the dull thup, thup, thup reverberates between you. Faith frowns, obviously thinking deep thoughts.

"Hello awkward silence, how I have missed you in the last five minutes." You smirk and expect her to do the same. She doesn't.

"So… what happened? Are you… are you… I mean, it's not like he had a good reason to break it off. You are going back to him? Right?"

You study the jagged scar on the inside of your wrist, where the bone broke through the skin. Above it sits Henry's ring. "I told him I'd never love anyone as much as you."

"Oh. That probably is a good reason." The shell-shocked smile spreads across her face. "Wow." You smile back, "You know, technically, you're actually married to me."

"Explain. Please."

"Well," 'don't laugh' her eyes ask, "I once lived in your skin. And you lived in mine. So we're the same person. Technically."

Trust Faith to take two and two and make butter! "No, we were the same person. Then we got put back in our right bodies and divorced!"

She shakes her head, "Yeah, see, I didn't sign any papers- I'm not sure that divorce was fully legal."

"You didn't sign any to get married either! And I have no recollection of ever saying 'I do' to you- EVER."

"Hey, you're the one who held my hand- your funny blue soul touched my funny red soul." A soft shrug.

"Married."

"You remember the colours of our souls?"

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, "Uh… or you might have been the red one and I'm the blue one. You do look good in red."

"And you look amazing in blue," She really, really does- especially soft, powder blue. It makes her skin look creamy when she has a tan and delicately porcelain when she doesn't. "But it's a struggle getting you into anything that nice."

"You ruined my favourite blue bikini- now every time I look at other blue clothing it just feels like I'm cheating."

"You were cheating- that's why I ruined your bikini!" Ah, the months after Italy… such… excruciatingly unbearable memories… almost makes you want to…

"Oh yeah."

"Yeah."

She flicks away her cigarette- out into the wet and murky blackness- and stands too quickly, moving as far away from you as possible.

"Look, Faith, I can't… I can't promise that in a month's time this is all going to be sorted and there'll be some kind of quick annulment and I'll stop loving him and you can just slot back into our lives, but-"

"I get it." She ducks her head and watches the rain drip down onto the pavement from the awning above you.

"No. You don't." The dress makes another horrific crunching noise as you slide inelegantly off the step and over to her. "I want you Faith, I want you more than anything. But I don't… I don't want it like this. I don't want it to be like this. Does that make sense?"

You want the teenage dream, you want the illusion of perfection created in the hospital while giving birth- you want to feel safe and secure and loved. What you don't want it is a broken wrist and this constant back-and-forth; having to lie to Rose to the point where the poor kid truly believes that Henry is her father.

Faith is hovering slightly on a precipice right now, which is to be expected- normally these big traumatic events send her spiralling either up or down. Her self-restraint today is admirable. You can't stand to be around her when she's 'like that' because the things spewing from her mouth are so not her that it near-literally tears your heart in two to hear it from someone usually so strong. You know you love someone when you'll stick by them through anything, you know you're in love with someone when you can't bear to see them destroyed. 'Don't.' You want to tell her; 'don't get lost.'

You try to catch her eye but she looks away, frowning angrily at a lamppost as if she wants to burn a hole through it with her super powered glare. "You know, I do actually have a life. I'm not just the moon to your planet- I don't just 'slot' into your life. How do you know I don't have someone? How do you know I'm not busy? How do you know I still want to be a part of your little soap opera?"

"Excuse me?!"

"It's not always about you! What if I just want Rosy? What if I never want anything to do with you again?"
You try to think back, try to remember, every look, every word, every touch over the last four and a half years. The ones that lingered and suggested, the passionate ones that wanted so much to just do, just say, just be. She loves you. "But you do."

"You don't know that! You can't just assume!" She stands up and tries to pace, except the space is so small it's pretty much just one step there, one step back and she soon realises how stupid she looks.

There was a time when you did that, a time when you moved not just to move but with the hope that by walking out your aggression you could divert your anger away from punching in her face. Actually, there've been a lot of those times.

Faith went missing on your eighteenth birthday, coincidentally just as you'd had your powers taken away by your fucking-! So not the time.

So, your powers had been taken away and all you'd wanted was for Faith to be there; not just because another slayer would have been incredibly useful at that point but also because you really, really, needed a hug. It was late February by the time you finally got around to actually kissing so in mid-January a hug still seemed like the ultimate in naughty treats. They were the long kind (where you hold on for just a little too much time but it doesn't matter because she totally just sniffed your hair) and the two of you were taking practically any excuse to sneak them in.

Stupidly, you'd become so addicted to the damn things that you hadn't waited, like Giles told you to, for you powers to come back before you slipped out to find her. On the trip between her empty motel room and The Bronze you'd been jumped by a vamp- although in your semi-weakened condition it felt like three- who'd torn your cute top and messed up the hair you spent two hours teasing into huggable perfection. Once you'd tumbled into the club (after flirting excessively with the bouncer so he'd actually let you in looking like garbage) your eyes had shot to the middle of the dance floor, where she normally was, holding everyone's attention, but even though Stag, the Creepy But Hopefully Gay Bartender, assured you she was 'in tonight' there was no sign of her.

If you could go back in time you're not sure what you'd tell your younger self; would making her wait by the bar have changed anything? Would the Sliding Doors-ness of it all have meant you'd have calmed down enough to continue building the friendship regained at Christmas or would not seeing Faith coming out of the guy's bathroom zipping up her pants, closely followed by some random college boy doing the same, have made no difference? Stupid hindsight.

You'd already been so angry about the disappearing, the betrayal, the vampire-jumping and The Council being their usual shitty selves that seeing her… like that, had boiled your blood until you could do nothing but scream at her like the powerless, soppy teenage girl you suddenly found yourself to be. There was even a clichéd storm-off.

She followed you out the back door and stood calling after you in the dark alley- tellingly not apologising or even attempting to explain but instead warning to be careful in the dark night.

"Don't go on your own! Let me walk you back!"

"No!" You'd stopped though and turned (if only, you told yourself, to tell her off), "No! You can't play the concerned friend now and then disappear whenever something really big is happening!"

Faith gave you her patented 'you're a crazy girl' look, "How can I know something big is happening if you never tell me anything?!"

"I never tell you things?! I never tell you?! You tell me nothing about anything! I don't even-" The truth was, there were just too many things you didn't know about her to make a list. "Even…" Her red top had had a dark stain- blood, alcohol, something you didn't want to think about- in the exact place yours had been torn. "You don't even have an excuse, do you?"

She didn't.

It was only hours later, through the hazy memories of dried tears that you realized- you hadn't formalised your 'thing'- she didn't owe you one.

"I'm not yours ok? I don't belong to you- I do not have 'Property of Buffy Summers' tattooed on my forehead!" Faith hits the metal bars, making them clang awfully.

But unlike that time, she doesn't pull you close, apologise and swear to never so much as accidentally knock against another human being- she promised the next person she'd kiss would be you.

But it wasn't. It very publicly wasn't. Goddamn it. She made the promise again after Xander but it still wasn't…

"Yes you do!"

A murderous light ignites in her eyes, "Excuse me?"

"For fuck sake Faith! We keep going round and round when really… when really we're so obviously… I… We're…"

She smiles, waiting, "Say it. You know there's no reason why we're not together. Except your soon-to-be-annulled marriage."

You shake your head but let her rest her hands on your shoulders, "You're not stable enough for Rose, yet."

"Ouch."

"Faith, I-"

"Stop it! Don't act like you're the- the ultimate in perfect mothers when you're not! You're not in any sense of the word! You lie to our daughter and spoil her until my sweet girl, takes pleasure in- in belittling other people and making everyone around her feel inadequate!"

"Faith…"

"She asked me if I was a 'retard'!"

"What?" Again? Did she not get the point from the last talk you had with her about that!

"I told her she shouldn't eat too many grapes or her stomach would get acidy- the way it does- except I said she should eat 'less' grapes and not 'fewer' which was apparently cause to ridicule me in front of her friends."

"I'm so sorry. I'm so… oh God…" She chuckles as you drop your head down onto her shoulder. "My daughter's a bitch…"

"Yeah. I guess so. I think she gets it from your sister."

"Undoubtedly."

"Or just you."

You punch her shoulder and then wince as you unintentionally prove her point. "Damnit. You're good at this."

"Coning you into things? Yeah, it's a skill…" A red flush blooms across her face. "Not a great skill but… hey, I could probably make a career out of it!"

"Good for you." Snarky sarcasm is the best kind. "You go be a millionaire, globetrotting con woman and I'll stay unemployed, poor and homeless- don't you just love karma?"

"So stay a kept woman- marry Henry! We could sneak you back in! They'll never even notice you're gone!"

You try not to look too hopeful "It's not like you're me- a blind/deaf person with anosmia would notice when I left the room."

"And yet I'm the one being blamed for Rose's arrogance?"

She mock gasps, "I thought you said she never sees me?"

"Apparently some things are genetic."

"Like your silky hair?"

And dear lord is it shiny! "I know, right? Summers women are just naturally-" She smiles, you stop.

"How do you keep making me walk into your traps?"

"I'm a black widow, try not to mate with me."

"Don't worry, never going to happen again."

"Never." It's not a question but there is surprise in it. "So the two of us…?"

You curse yourself for being glib without thinking. It was just a saying. Right? Right? Damnit. "I don't mean… just…" Maybe you should just shut up? Forever. "Time."

"Time?"

You stand at the same time and move apart, her back to the railings and you to the stone wall, to count the tiny notches in the painted sandstone. "The thing is…" There's a throat clearing and some shuffling but you don't turn. "I think there's a point at which, a time when someone… when a person's actions might… might cause you to fall out of… loving them. Not- not completely, I… I- you would still 'love' them of course! But… There comes a point at which a person's actions make you fall out of love."

"You don't love me."

"I love you. I just… I…" Have completely lost the ability to explain yourself. "I need time to-" No. No, because you really don't. You're not the one who needs time.

This is too confusing. And stupid. Big stupid. Everything is stupid.

How about you just leave them all? You can leave Rose to be raised by Henry and Sassy, let Faith kill herself unmonitored, put the fate of the world in other people's hands (which, to be honest, you've sort of already done) and just live on a deserted island in the middle of-

Actually, sand is kind of icky.

"I think it's more that I need you to be a little… to be… I need you to…"

"To not be myself? You said you don't want our relationship to be 'like this' and I get that, I do, I'm sorry for the mess that's been 'us' in the last few years but if you want me to be someone different then that's just not… what I want."

"Faith-"

"No!" The two of you stand there. Two planets. At opposite ends of the solar system. "Just let me- Just… what about what I want? And please, stop acting like this is my fault or like I'm the only one who messed this up because I didn't just marry some random guy who I may possibly love but probably don't and lied to my kid and everyone around me just because I think in some fucked up alternate universe that it's the right thing to do!"

She takes a deep breath and her cheeks pink from the lack of oxygen. "I-"

Your words are brushed away as Faith hurriedly lights another cigarette, pausing once turned, "Look, I know I'm not exactly parent material-"

"Right now. You're not parent material right now." You itch to take her hand or touch her bare arm but instead just fidget, knowing it's not what she wants. "I think you can be. You said earlier that you dream about Rosy being happy no matter who plays her 'dad'- being selfless is pretty much what parenting's all about."

Her past accusations hang in the air. If you're so selfish how could you ever be called a good mother? "I still think you're a good person." She answers, without being asked, "I think what you've done here is amazing- this life that you've built out of… nothing really. You're not the same girl I fell in love with; yeah, she was innocent and funny and sweet but she was naïve, stupid and… kind of a bitch as well- you're not that any more."

"You think I'm not funny?"

She laughs- not her usual one, more of a distracted titter, amused that the only thing you'd pick up on would be the insult. "You have your moments."

"Want to know new me? She has funny bits too." You smile winningly, that cute little half-smile you keep just for her. "Oh! Like the other day! When Henry was picking out my wedding dress for me and the dress assistant asked for my measurements and I turned to Henry and said 'yes darling, what size are you?' and it was totally funny because I'm the gay one! Which…" You trail off, "You'd kinda know… but they didn't! And they laughed anyway! So it was ironic and funny!"

Faith laughs out loud at your gaping smile and huge eyes, like a neurotic puppy, desperate for her approval.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise- I think it's cute."

"My babbling?"

"No, just your general weirdness." She grins and dodges as you swat her, accidentally stepping out into the freezing rain. "Gah!"

You pull her back in and then down to the step with you. Half a ruined petticoat goes around her shoulders and the other half around yours. Weirdly, despite having just pulled up your dress you still can't actually see your legs, too much taffeta, and silk and lace and… "God, this is a stupid dress. It took me a full hour to put on this morning- with the help of professionals, who knows what the hell we were planning to do for the wedding night!" It occurs to you that you're talking about sex with a man you're probably never going to have sex with again to a girl you just might. "Pretend I didn't say that."

"Why? I like imagining him not having sex with you." You nudge her shoulder companionably and she smiles. "I really do want you back, you know."

"I know. But like you said- you don't know me anymore. And I don't know you. Everyone keeps telling me what a great person you are now and I guess I've been missing out while I was busy…" She raises an eyebrow "Avoiding you. Ok, so I'm a bad person."

"Nah," You watch as she eyes the corpse of her last cigarette, dropped when she stumbled into the rain, with a hungry look. Deep conversation always brings out the chain smoker in her. "We talked about this- you're not a bad person you're a…?"

"Self-centred one? Thanks."

She shrugs with the classic 'what you gonna do?' face.

"I'd like to get to know you. I'd like for you and Rosy to get to know each other as well- it'll probably help with the being ripped away from Henry bit too."

"Just 'cos you're not gonna marry the guy doesn't mean he's just gonna desert her. He seems like a pretty stand up guy, doubt he'd do that."

"I ran out on him on our very-expensive wedding day because I lied to him and am in love with a woman- I think not killing me is 'pretty stand-up' at this point." Which brings you to an even bigger issue; "Plus we're kinda homeless now- it's Henry's house."

"I figured."

"And it's Henry's money, but it's…" She waits as you try to think of anything in that house that actually belongs to you- other than the stuff in boxes in the attic, "It's my dress." You finish lamely.

"A dress? Your entire worldly possessions come down to a dress? That's so like you!" The petticoat slips off her shoulders as she laughs until she's clutching her sides.

"It's a very expensive dress! And it's custom made! And I'm pretty sure I'm sitting in a puddle!"

You pout until she takes pity upon you, "Aw, poor Bumble Bee, need a hug?"

"Please."

Faith throws one oddly warm arm over your chilly shoulders and pulls you in close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "When did you get so obsessed with money anyway?" She asks after a few minutes, when you're comfortably settled in the protective heat of her chest. "We got by just fine on Giles' meager offerings."

"Well… this is actually the second dress, Henry bought me the first one but that was way too big for me now. Obviously."

"Oh?" She looks you up and down, "Have you lost weight?"

A quick glance down and your hand is unconsciously rubbing the flat path between your hipbones. Stupid non-rounded stomach. Stupid-

Calm. Down.

"No. It was… just too big."

"Oh. You know, we could always head on up to Sherwood Forest and get some help from that 'robbin' from the rich' dude."

"That 'Robin from The Rich Dude' is actually more commonly known as 'Robin Hood'."

"Dude! I screwed Robin Hood!"

Shudder. "'Wood', Faith, 'Robin Wood'."

"Give me a break- I haven't slept in a week!"

There's a companionable silence for once, the type where it actually feels nice to not be talking.

Her voice when she breaks it is much softer and it's all said with a calm smile, "So. You really think I could be a good parent?"

Hey, like she said, she isn't the one who's been lying to Rose. She doesn't mess up fifty times a day. She didn't walk out on a possible family just because she can't take the uncertainty anymore. She doesn't then walk out on yet another family because she is such a good liar that having to do it all day every day wouldn't even phase her!

Oh God, you've become your father. Except, you're not walking away from responsibility you're trying too hard to find the perfect life. You want so badly for Rose to be happy- for her childhood to be the kind that people call 'idyllic', not the kind where you look back and realise the smiles are all faked, that they were lying to you all along. Rosy's favourite saying is 'did you know…?'- said always with the same brightening of the eyes and quivering hands of an educational high. She is too precious to destroy.

"You're not all selfish and stupid like me so how could you not be?"

She slips a hand around your elbow to smooth out your clenched fist, "You're the best mother I've ever seen."

Out of yours, hers and… well, your Mom was nice at least. "You're sweet to say that."

"It's the truth." Faith's thin fingers- how are they daintier than yours?- gently guide your face back away from watching the brick wall. "Any other mom who's told her daughter's gonna be tiny would be all 'why me?!'. But you said 'why her?'- that's the difference."

You did? "I did?"

"Yeah, you held my hand and tried to figure out what the hell the damn Scottish doctor was saying and you asked what you could do for her." April 2008. Worst night of your life.

"I'm… amazed you remember that."

She shrugs like it's natural, "I remember everything about you. And my baby. Even if I'm not… here, I'm still… watching. I promise."

"You're always in there?"

"I… I guess I'm wherever you are."

There's something about that- the image of pure 'Faith' floating above you while her body walks around, crazy and loud and angry- that makes you smile. "Aw, that's sweet… and corny. Will you hate me if I admit I like that corny much better than the cheap, chipped necklace which is, to be honest, making my hands smell really bad?"

It's slipped from your hands and put back in her pocket. "I'd be offended but the other day I wrapped it round my finger for about an hour and it turned green. Still kinda love it though."

"I'm sorry for the general crumminess of my gifting."

"I gave you rotten bananas. We're even."

She is turned more towards the street and you're facing the front door (which, you're pretty sure, is 'British Racing Green'), so when she frowns over your shoulder you make the conscious decision not to turn.

"Uh… B?" She motions behind you.

Henry stands in the rain, his arms crossed and a strange calm upon him. "I've changed my mind."

"What?" You ask as one.

"I've changed my mind, you can't have her."

Faith snorts, "Not really your decision."

"I don't belong to you." But Faith's hand is still in yours so you let it go and hope she doesn't notice.

"Actually, as of-" he checks his watch, "Five hours ago, you do."

Wow. "I…" The deceptive diamond sparkles on your finger, "Didn't realise you were such a chauvinist. It's unattractive."

He shakes his head, "No, I'm just looking after you. You're my wife and that's what I'm meant to do."
"You can't stop me loving her!"

Faith beams out a huge smile and fails to cover it with a cough when you glare at her. "What? Hearing that never gets old. Makes me feel all gooey inside."

You try to ignore how every time Belle kisses The Beast it also makes Faith feel 'gooey inside'. "You big girl."
"I'm not going to even try stopping your love for her- as apparently that's the real foundation my marriage is based upon- but I am going to refuse the termination of our marriage until she can prove she deserves you."
Faith shoots out to attack him but you grab the back of her top and haul her down to the step. "Don't you dare talk about her like-!"

"Satsu told me everything!" He roars at you and it's so very unlike him you shrink back to the step yourself. Finally, he steps out of the rain and glares at you both like a strict head teacher. "She spent the last half hour…"

His eyes sear into your wrist, even as you cover it with your right hand. "Oh."

"I didn't mean…" Faith whispers, almost to herself, "I'd never… not if I could…"

Your first instinct is to wrap your arms around her and tell her it's alright. So you do. She seems just as surprised as you. Henry only nods. "You told me she was 'difficult'- you didn't say she was 'dangerous'! Everything you said… you left out the important parts. Well, Satsu filled them in for me." You hide your face away from them both. "She told me how you've known each other for thirteen years now and how, despite life seeming destined to keep you apart, you always find your way back to each other."

"Yeah." Faith chuckles, a sweetly self-deprecating sound. "Even when we don't really want to."

"I want to." You run your fingers over the old scars on her wrists- the ones from prison, the steel rope that held her down as she screamed for you.

Her eyes study yours, as if she can't tell just from your voice what you mean. Though she knows you so well by now she can probably predict your thoughts before you have them. "Mm, me too."

Henry coughs, "Faith? I think… that is, I'm willing to let you have the girls back," You sigh out your displeasure- so not a commodity, "On one condition."

He passes her a card. A business card. A card for your private doctors' surgery.

"Oh." You try not to get your hopes up. "Oh?"

"I won't give my girls back until you can prove you deserve them." You should feel affronted but she doesn't seem to mind, "You don't have to take medication or shock therapy or- to be honest, I don't really know what they do for this kind of… You just have to prove you're trying."

"Right." Faith studies the card almost absently.

He waits for her to snap out of it and either punch him or (possibly) you. It's hard not to smirk as he widens his stance- like a better footing is actually going to protect him from a slayer's power!

"Um… I…" She frowns and half-smiles in an 'oh so ironic' kind of way, "Don't really know what to say."
"How about 'thank you'?" The mother in you automatically responds. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean…"

"S'ok, B."

She's still staring intensely through the card so you shrug at Henry and try to tell him your appreciation through your look. "Is there a time frame?"

"Oh." He blushes, seeming suddenly guilty- as if a plan thought up on the spot shouldn't really be vocalised until all the points have been worked out. "Uh, no. Sorry. I guess this isn't the type of thing that has a… time frame."

"That's alright."

Faith scratches away at her left arm compulsively and then looks sickeningly guilty as soon as Henry notices. "I'm not- I don't- I'm not always…"

You take her hand. "He knows." And at least you got her to stop biting her nails when upset.

"Just show me you're willing." Henry speaks to her profile while you hold her eyes and try to beg her to make you fall in love with her again.

"Faith?"

"Ok."

"What?" She seems so open to this, so utterly unconcerned, you frown. "I've been trying to get you to see a doctor for three years. Kennedy's been trying for longer."

"Yeah, but, I didn't have a proper reason before." 'How about not hitting me?'

"Really? It's that simple? All it took was Henry asking you?" Why not? It's not as if she doesn't have a pattern; when something goes wrong Faith looks for help with the closest available strong male and turns you into the Wicked Witch of the West.

"He has something I want. And…" She pauses to smile, "I can't promise that tomorrow I'm going to remember this- or if I do remember it, that I won't hate either of you for it… but I'll try."

The corners of Henry's mouth pull up slightly, "That's all I ask. I don't suppose you could take Be- Buffy, back to the house, could you? I… I think I have a lot of explaining to do. My mother is probably going to be quite pleased she was right."

"No," Faith shakes her head stubbornly, "She was secretly hoping the two of you would make it work."

You snort, "Good to know. A little late but still…" Henry gives you a look only a best friend would understand and the two of you giggle like children. Charlotte is so going to be pissed. "What about after your dismembering?"

He shrugs nobly, "A Hotel. My father probably has enough of them in the city to house me and my… 'members', separately."

Ha ha; 'member'!

"Dude, even I didn't laugh at that one."

Henry coughs politely and pretends to look away as you both prod and jostle each other. "I'll give you the keys to one of the cars, Faith. Just show the Car Chap your European Driving Licence and-"

"I don't have a driver's licence, Henry, I'm an escaped convict."

He laughs. Then realises she isn't. "Oh. Bugger. Well… well done, I suppose, on the… the breaking…" He casts a marginally desperate look your way, "out?"

"Thanks. Kinda easy. Prison security is for shit."

She smirks as he tries to work out that sentence. "I'm never going to truly understand American, am I?"
You stand to lay a soothing hand on his arm.

"It's alright darling, I don't understand you most of the time."

"It would have been a good marriage." He grins.

"The best."

There's a sigh, a smile and a shrug. In the manliest of ways. "Alright, I'll go… book you a taxi."

"Sure." That's- hey! "Wait, hold on! I do have a driving licence!"

"But I don't own the car. My father does and I've already had to face him to explain the three you've-"

"Lost." You prompt. Just because they ended up wrapped around lampposts doesn't mean they're still with you. And the car guys in the big truck took them away each time so really, 'lost' is a rather accurate description.

"Sure." He parrots back, sounding suspiciously like the aforementioned 'car guys'- in the bits they weren't laughing their asses off anyway.

"I hate you."

Henry winks at Faith, as if to be polite, as if to say; 'shucks, your wife is crazy'. Except, he wouldn't say 'shucks'. Aside from that it's quite accurate. "You love me."

"Like a fat kid loves cake."

"Ugh." Faith groans, "Please don't tell me you guys bond over 50cent songs, it really screws up my world view."

His eyes twinkle at her but in a slightly restrained way. "We wouldn't want that."

You stand, to say goodbye as he turns to leave, but the whole process becomes a little strange- kiss, hug, awkward handshake? In the end Faith settles it, with an obnoxiously loud; "Dude, you're not divorced yet- make the fuck out while you still can!"

You settle for a chaste peck on the cheek. He nods, looking a little like a Roman god who just realised he's naked, and makes a hasty retreat. "So handsome…" Your captive (but slightly more concerned with scraping out the inside of a mille feuille with a mini chocolate tart than listening to you) audience snorts. "On the plus side; I now don't have to get on the stupid plane to go on my honeymoon!"

"Still not over the plane thing?"

"I got over my fear of submarines! Give me a little credit here!" Though that was mainly because you've survived drowning- you've never lived through a huge metal box you're contained in falling from the sky into the side of a mountain!

She chuckles naughtily and, shoving the mix of pastry, cream and chocolate and strawberry jam into her mouth, pulls you down to sit on her lap, huge skirts spilling over either side.

"Faith!"

"What? I was cold."

Her unnaturally warm arms wrap around your corseted waist, hands sneaking under your silk bolero top to cover your chilly shoulder blades. "And the touching?"

A shrug, "I was cold."

Against your better judgement you ignore the drizzling rain, the dark night and the flickering streetlight above you. To the back of your mind are sent the 'why's the 'how's and the 'what the hell do you think you're doing's. You let her rest her forehead against yours.

Wind whips down the street, passers-by chatter and Faith's breath plays against your sensitive skin.
"H!" A random kid calls in the distance.

You lean in closer, so near to those lovely lips… "Yeah?!" Faith replies out to the night. Which is weird. How would you get 'H' out of 'Faith Leh-' oh, you just got it; 'Hope'.

"I'm on curfew!"

Ew. "Please don't tell me you brought a teenager as your date to my wedding?"

"Uh, actually, I'm the one setting that curfew."

Say what? "Because you're parenting someone else's children now?"

"Allegra is my Apprentice Slayer," You snort (because really where does she get this stuff from?), "Did you not get the memo? Well, Willow-length memo- someone really has to talk to her about the appropriate length for official documents…"

"Is it weird that out of the two of us you're the one who always reads the handbook?" And has a proper adult job?

"Dude, I bought you like… three new copies of the damn handbook- you're just a lazy ass."

You ignore that along with the hands tracing patterns on your back. "I know a girl called Allegra. She's six, red hair, picks her nose."

"Different girl; fifteen, black hair, hates the world."

"Aw, déjà vu."

"Fuck you."

The smile becomes infectious until you're grinning along with her.

"I almost forgot how sexy that little grin is… you should let it out more."

She leans in to complete the kiss but rationality unfortunately overcomes you. "Faith, no. No kissing." Her eyes flick pointedly down to where your hands are refamiliarising themselves with her chest. "What? I'm cold."

"Right…"

"I just… I need to be single, I need to… I need…" Faith. Your Faith. "It doesn't matter. I just need to be alone for a while."

She nods and, for once, understands. "So I'm still 'aunt'?"

"For the time being."

"I'm a hot aunt."

You chuckle and lay your head down against her shoulder, your breath being the tease this time. "Hottest ever."

The tiny hairs on her neck raise and you giggle as she shivers. "This feels like a moment where we should make out."

"Still legally married."

"Still legally hot."

"Shut up Faith."

You sit in a companionable hug for a few moments before she turns to look at you. "B?"

"Yeah?"

"Who the fuck gets married in the middle of a monsoon?"

Chapter 27: Christmas Wine

December 2012

Love is not love if it alters when it alteration finds.

How can you love her if she's always someone else?

Sometimes you look at Faith and you think about what might have been, you think about Rose and how much they love each other. But it's a different kind of love. And sometimes that makes you jealous; Rose will forgive Faith for showing up three days late to her Easter play, she doesn't expect presents and when she grows up and starts kissing boys Faith will be the one she'll tell. You're jealous.

The only thing that makes it better is knowing that Faith feels the same way. You can see the sadness in her eyes when Rose runs to you with a cut or a hug or a hurt over a playground taunt. You are 'Mummy' and Faith is nothing, or if not nothing then a cool friend of Mummy's at best. When she looks in the mirror Rose doesn't see Faith's mouth or Faith's eyes or even Faith's bouncy dark hair- she sees how she looks like her Mummy.

Faith lets her daughter call her 'aunt' because that's what love is- it's moulding yourself to someone else's perfect life.

You hope that one day Faith will be mature enough to care for Rosy like you do, that nightmares and tantrums and clinginess won't scare her. Until then you let her go, let her have a key and come round whenever (even if sometimes she forgets it's a school day or tennis practise) but you won't set her boundaries and you won't give her rules even though you know it's what she craves.

Faith wishes you would just make this easier for her, yell and scream at her until she comes home. She wants you to make her do the school run so she won't be so afraid of turning up at the school gates and all the other mothers looking down their noses at the white-trash, ex-con ('low class convict') with the tattoos, because she didn't ask to be there, she doesn't want to fit in.

Except she does. And she will, when she makes the choice herself. When it's not always a decision between 'Faith' and 'Hope'. When she'll just be herself.

"Faith?" She's lying on the couch with Rosy asleep in her arms and it takes a monumental effort for her to lift her face. Normally you wouldn't let them get in this position, you try to keep their relationship light so Rosy doesn't expect cuddles. Tonight Faith told you about a guy she's been 'seeing' (since when does she 'see' anyone anyway?) so you decided to be spiteful and give her a taste of what she's been missing.

"Yeah, B?" Her voice croaks and a mean part of you points out that it's more likely to be from late night partying than emotion. "Ya want me gone? I've… well, I- I've got somewhere to be anyway."

Of course. Him. "You mean that guy?" Bitch.

"Nah, there's no 'guy'- we're just screwin'."

"Oh." See now, this is why it's so hard to talk to Faith. If she lied all the time or told the truth all the time you'd actually have some kind of idea as to where you stood.

She shifts a little, uncomfortable under Rose's powerful grip. "I jus' wanted you to- I dunno, stop lookin' at me like that." Like what? "Or maybe I wanted to see if you'd get jealous."

"Good, great, fantastic." Faith winces a little at your sarcasm, "Is there any chance of you going any time soon? I have to put Rose to bed and then drown my sorrows in red wine while I mope."

A knot worthy of a scouts' badge forms itself in your stomach as she chuckles, "Moping, huh? Sounds fun, room for one more?"

Momentarily the desire to slap her streaks through your mind- doesn't she know she's the one causing your troubles? Yet Rose sleeping peacefully on her chest and an ache in your bones makes you hold back. You've given her the evening to pretend, might as well give yourself the night. "Sure. Go put her in bed and then come back down- her room and right next to the fire are probably the warmest places in the house."

You wait for the scared look you know should pass over her face, wait for the idea of 'responsibility' to catch up with her. Instead she smiles, surprising you, and shifts Rose in her arms as she stands. Your little girl stirs as she's moved and starts to wake. Faith gives you a pacifying nod to stop you moving forward, turns to the stairs and walks off, mumbling lullabies into Rosy's hair.

This 'caring Faith' is just one of a number of 'normal' you've been seeing more of recently. You want to believe more than anything that it's all calming down, that she's growing out of 'it'. But you've been fooled before.

November before last, just a few weeks after the wedding, before all the fuss had even died down, before you'd had the chance to just sit and think, Henry (with a little help from Giles) booked Faith into a specialist clinic. She was there two weeks before disappearing off into the ether. Well- 'disappearing' doesn't quite cover the mess she left behind. Not that you expected any different or even noticed all that much.

There were so many different things to sort out, so many problems, so many… so much of everything that Christmas was suddenly upon you before you even had a chance to prepare. Satsu had, like a thousand times before, taken charge and kept Rosy's routine, remembered that the last day of school before the holiday was Mufti Day, remembered to look up what the hell the definition of 'Mufti' actually was (plain clothes, instead of uniform and not exactly a good excuse for excessive giggling it turned out) and just generally took charge of the house while you and Henry dodged around the subject of who was to stay and who was to go. Like the fantastic father he wished he could have had the chance to be, Henry wanted you to have the house. He was steadfast that in a divorce (annulment) it was the mother- providing she was a capable caregiver- who kept the children and the house. Every effort should be made to keep the child's life as stable as possible.

But the house was his, the life was his, the money was his and the funny thing about an annulment is that you don't actually get alimony… or half his worldly wealth. So you were poor. And really should have just said 'yes' immediately when he offered to sign it over to you rather than carrying on for months, looking for a new place to live, asking around for a place to stay temporarily, generally making a big fuss. Being a universal pain.

No one really called you on it or told you off for messing things around- not even Sassy, working so damn hard to keep Rose happy, complained when you made her help pack all your shoes for the fifth time.

The only person who eventually yelled at you for being an idiot was Faith. She phoned on Christmas Day that year, from 'somewhere in Texas- or maybe more north…', to talk in code to Rosy and freak you out with the efficiency of the slayer grapevine; "You're moving?!"

"Yeah, which would be a problem, if you lived in one fixed place and had to commute! You live everywhere- and nowhere when it comes time to pay fake-child-support or for your daughter to send you a letter! You don't even know what state you're in so don't give me grief about this!"

"Where the hell are you gonna go, B? You told me you don't have any money."

"We'll find a place!"

"Henry offered you the house, Rose loves the house, take the damn house!" Which smarted slightly- bringing Rose into it was just unnecessary. In a way that was totally necessary.

"And what about you?! You're the unstable parent here!"

"I'll find a place."

You'd scoffed right into the mouthpiece, in that really annoying way that crackles and hurts eardrums. "Oh, wow, really? Because I've never heard you make a promise you couldn't keep before."

She ignored your sarcasm, "I will. I'll do it. I'll getta place to stay, near you guys, and I'll… I'll do the program- treatment… whatever. It… it just might take me a little time though. But please, please, take the damn house."

You'd passed the phone over to Rose for a conversation of what sounded weirdly like munching on ball bearings but was apparently some odd language the two of them had managed to create… which then made you wonder… exactly how much time had the two of them spent talking together and just how out of it were you to not notice?

Suitably chastised, you'd agreed to sign the papers.

And Faith took her sweet time. Almost a year.

But, she bought a house in town a month ago, all on her own, no money taken from Giles or Mimtal. You'd hidden a proud smile behind a book when Kennedy told you- just 'mm'd instead.

Seeing her so often, almost every day now, has made you realise things you'd forgotten. That laugh and those twinkling eyes- they belong to her. It's so easy, knowing that something else lives in her, to think that everything that made you fall in love with her is just a symptom. It's the disease that made you give up but it's still Faith who made you happy in the first place.

She's still your girl, no matter how far down she may occasionally be buried.

All those funny little things that made you smile still do and you don't have to panic every time she laughs. You don't have to worry every time you laugh either. So you invited her to the house for Christmas Day and to stay (in one of the guest rooms) for breakfast this morning… which then turned into lunch… and supper…

The first thing she said on arriving yesterday, other than a wolf whistle directed at your pencil skirt, was a rather scandalised; "you gave my daughter a fringe?"

"Just because you can't pull one off doesn't mean she can't."

Those pretty brown eyes had lit with a scandalised humour, "You've never seen me with a fringe!"

"Remember the first time we broke up after Rose was born and you cut off all your hair? In bits."

"Dude, those were random chunks of hair- they didn't count!"

"Still looked stupid…"

When she laughed you felt as if a dam had broken in your chest- you'd mentioned something painful in your past, even made fun of it and she'd laughed! The two of you, without any punching or crying, actually talked about something difficult. And ok, so it wasn't the deepest of- it's progress! Progress should never be questioned!

And these few days have most definitely been progress. The time has been wonderful. Even if Dawn can be the most awful brat sometimes and Rosy likes to bait her until they're rolling on the floor, pulling each other's hair and whining in identical voices for you to 'do something!' And that damn headache has been following you like a bad smell.

It's just the Summers women this Christmas- there will never truly be a man in your little group of four. Unless someone wipes your father's personality and hands him back as a lovely and caring parent who actually wants something to do with your life.

You're desperate to not end up like him but it seems in many ways incomprehensible; how could a parent ever stop caring about their child to the point that they wouldn't even attend the kid's funeral?

Maybe you weren't exactly a 'kid' when you were buried and maybe you sort-of kept the whole death thing a secret so Dawn wouldn't get taken away but you know the others called, wrote and tried their hardest to send word to him. It's not even that he didn't try once you were dead- you get that, you were dead, it's ok he wasn't attempting to make up for lost time but what hurts the most, what really cuts to the bone, is that he left Dawn.

Your bitchy, difficult, and often entirely 'up her own arse' sister is still in the top two of 'people you would kill for' (hey, it's not like you share blood with Faith and being third isn't that bad!), you can't stand that your father left her. It's no wonder she's such a pain really.

Angel mentioned some time ago that, as her childhood memories were actually fake, he only really encountered Dawn for the first time after Sunnydale had become a big crater. Hank Summers has never met his youngest daughter.

Every day in December Rose picks a box from the tiny decorated ones hanging in a mobile above the table (you make them yourself from matchstick boxes and the liberal use of expensive wrapping paper), in each of the boxes is an activity for the two of you to do to together, generally places Rose has been begging to go; the Children's Ballet, that cool museum with all the interactive exhibits, the ice cream shop where they let you create your own flavour, Legoland and, of course, a trip somewhere with Faith. The boxes also hold activities; fun craft ideas, practical jokes, dares and recipes.

Each box is identical so, despite having made them, you have no idea what the day's adventure will be until she carefully unfolds the paper inside. It can mean grabbing her as soon as school finishes and driving as fast as is legally possible to a theme park or spending all Saturday painting a mural on the kitchen wall- there are only two rules; that whatever the challenge is it must be completed by the end of the day and secondly, that it must be done together.

It's not that the rest of the year is dull- at Easter you join the egg hunt in London's largest park, in summer you travel the world and she soaks up as many languages as she can, for her birthday you have a grand purple party; with everyone dressing in Rose's favourite colour and eating all her favourite foods. Plus there are all the younger slayers, who fawn over her and insist on taking her to the latest kid's film or helping with her homework or buying her naughty presents that any sensible parent would ban- SuperStickyDough being the top of your mind, seeing as it is still ingrained in a large portion of the hall carpet.

Bliss and The Twins (knowing them for three years apparently doesn't make telling them apart any easier) think you're the best mother in the whole wide world.

Faith thinks its overkill. She hops down the stairs completely silently, dodging the debris of daily life with a small chuckle. Her feet only make a noise once she hits the hall floorboards- the Turkish carpet having gone with Henry. A lot of the furniture has gone now but oddly nothing that you miss. The living room could almost be called 'cosy' with the couch now cutting the room in half, closer to the blazing, warm fire and the silent, flickering television screen.

Halfway through pulling up her hair into a messy bun she pauses with a funny look, "I jus' said goodnight to our daughter and in return she told me that bird shit is white because it's actually bird piss."

"She cussed?!" You gasp, not quite as surprised as you sound.

"Oh." Faith scratches her head as if it's a deep question, "No. That was me. Still, she's a weird kid sometimes."

"She's the best kid."

"Why does that sound like an insult?"

'Because you're an over-sensitive child'. "Whatever. It's just a lot of work- that's all." A lot of work on your own (kind of). A lot of work without Faith. "I should have…" You've left it too long, it's too late for you to really be a family now.

Faith frowns as if reading your mind, "Stop thinking like that."

"Oh so sorry, should I be thinking with my 'cerebral cortex' instead?" You snark.

"I have no idea what that is." She grins, "But neither do you. So stop being a bitch and stop over-thinking everything, sometimes it's ok for things to just… organically grow. Ya don't have to be in control of everything all the time."

"Well who else is going to be?"

She shrugs, "God?"

"Ha! I knew prison was going to catch up with you!"

You bounce as she drops down onto the couch beside you like a dead stone… not that stones are generally ever alive… "Back off, Jehovah. I was joking. Look, there doesn't have to be someone busy manufacturing the perfect little family- ya don't have to spend so much time makin' 'special days' for different things. The best things are just kinda natural and… simple." You sigh as the headache creeps back. Faith frowns, watching you rub your temples. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just… so tired. There's so much to do."

She kisses your aching temple, picks up the bottle of wine from the floor and presses it to you. "Here, start on this, I'm going to make us something to eat and then you're going to take the night off- let me take care of you for once, 'k?"

Which is a sweet sentiment but you're still going to follow her down to the kitchen. Just to supervise.

Bouncy dark curls spring as she flicks her gaze around the kitchen- what the hell is there left to eat? Faith pushes the minimal clutter on the kitchen counter back and finds a new dishcloth to wipe the space with; horizontal, vertical, diagonal. A freshly washed and folded dishcloth is pulled from the cupboard and brushed towards the edge in clean and even strokes. Then a bowl is taken from the already-run dishwasher and washed again, by hand, dried with another new dishcloth and placed in the exact centre of the 'clean' space.

You barely notice.

It's not that your kitchen is dirty or Faith is some kind of clean freak (well, when it comes to Rosy she is)- it's just a habit born of necessity. She's been cooking her own food since she was three, in what you can only imagine was a grimy flat with chipped bowls and salmonella.

She bends to rifle through the cupboards and you dodge around her on the way to sit down. Unfortunately, on your way there, accidentally knocking against the old table (that Xander spent a full two weeks repairing after Rosy's birthday over a year ago) and a pile of five bowls containing various nibbles from the Christmas Eve party clatter to the ground. "Woops…"

Faith smiles crookedly, "Huh. Pretty sure that was the only food left in the house." Ok, so maybe some parts of the kitchen are a mess.

But this whole parenting/housekeeping/working/studying/juggling-several-other-balls-at-once thing is hard!

Satsu hasn't spoken to you in three weeks on the grounds that 'she was too blonde' is not a valid reason for dumping someone in her book. But she was too blonde. In that very obviously 'bottle' way. And besides, lesbian couples shouldn't have the same hair colour- it's confusing. Even if you're actually brunette now and Faith- well… there can be exceptions!

You're expecting Sassy any day now; standing on your doorstep with a thousand complaints about living with Dawn. As much as you love your sister she's become even more of a bitch since loosing her best friend (her boyfriend is nice though- one of Henry's cousins and you think that was probably the way it was meant to be, you were accidentally caught up in a life not meant for you).

Sassy still takes Rosy after school for two days a week; Tuesdays and Wednesdays. It fits in with her University schedule (Second Year of the undergraduate medicine programme- which makes you laugh because she has another hundred to go) and lets you have time to help out at the London Headquarters.

The online course neither takes up enough time to stop you thinking nor pays the bills so you agreed, without any sort of begging on his part (but perhaps a little on yours), to go back and work for Giles.

But not as an active slayer! God no.

No more late nights and dangerous fights. It's just that no matter how many times you try to retire… slaying always drags you back. Even now, when the world almost universally hates Slayers.

It's only an office job now and teaching some of the more advanced classes. There's an opening for a new Leader that you think would be just perfect for Faith- she doesn't always have to be around the 'bad' slayers, these girls are just the ones who need to feel like they've got friends in high places, they need someone to watch out for them. Funny how in the heat of the moment you never considered what giving sight back to a blind girl would do to her psyche. The fight with The First didn't just result in super-powers for the girls- it left their lives forever changed.

For seven months you've counselled the girls brought back from the front line and felt the joys you missed before. Every girl who's name you hadn't learnt, every back-story you'd dismissed, suddenly takes on a different feeling when you're faced with their overwhelmed tears and hopeful smiles- often both at the same time.

It's a wonderful, meaningful job but you can't help still keeping a professional barrier between yourself and them. Faith still watches over Allegra but you've refused your own Personal Apprentice. You don't need another death to tear your heart out- you have your own missing little girl for that.

Most of your friends have encouraged you to get further involved with the girls (as if listening to their problems isn't enough!) but you're resolutely not taking their advice. You're aware it's plain obstinacy but when it comes to the Academy you're as bad as Rose in a clothes shop; yes, you know she's seven but no, she's not going to fit clothes for a three-year-old.

Loosing Leah hurt but loosing Emily… loosing Emily felt like something had torn its way into your heart and died. Like a huge empty space inside your body filled with gut twisting, burning smoke that boiled your flesh with every brush against it.

Even after your mother died you still didn't… understand. You didn't get the pain these girls have so much of. Maybe you do now, maybe you don't. Oddly it makes you feel a little better, to know you're not alone. The girls feel the same way. When put together in groups, housed close to each other and allowed to express their emotions in a 'safe place' the girls respond beautifully.

Which is exactly why you want Faith to take the job helping the younger girls. If it helps them, it'll help her. Right?

Maybe if she just talks about things…?

Still, you approve of her current job, even if it kind of hurts that Giles headhunted her to be the Council's Weapons Expert- you know loads about weapons! It isn't surprising however as she can name twenty different types of short daggers and your knowledge pretty much extends to 'the one with the swirls' and 'that one that cuts bone really well'.

But, you handed the Slayer Academy over to Giles back in April '05… you don't really get to be jealous.

You take another swig of the wine bottle- in a totally lady-like way, of course.

"How's the food coming?"

Faith flips you off from over the top of a cupboard door. "What the hell happened to all the food I bought las' time?"

"Well… half of it was junk that Sass threw away as soon as she saw it and the other half we ate. Duh."

"Yeah, but then ya meant to go buy new stuff. Duh. Besides, there was, like, a tonne o' dried pasta and shit."

"And your daughter, though undersized, has the stomach of someone twice her age."

A proud gleam lights in her eyes, "She had three helpings of Christmas Pudding last night."

"And seconds of Boxing Day Pie tonight, I saw."

Yet nothing seems to help Rosy grow- you can't even fatten her up with ice cream and cake! The strawberry ice cream disappeared within days of Faith's buying it (regardless of there being three tubs) yet her appetite wasn't spoiled and she managed to loose a pound that week due to The Twins' excessively energetic birthday party.

"Maybe I should hook her up to some kind of feeding drip while she sleeps." You mean to laugh but the realisation hits you instead and you wince- talk about a little close to the bone! "That's really not funny. I don't know why I said that. I must be drunker than I think."

"B…" Faith's eyes grin, "You know I love you but ya chow down on ya goddamn feet way more than is healthy."

"I don't know what's wrong with me. I just spit things out. It's like… like a disease…"

England is moist. Really, really moist.

No, not 'moist'… humid!

England is humid. It makes Faith's hair curl.

"A disease of the mouth."

The cupboard door snorts, "Dude, that's herpes."

"No…" You frown in all seriousness, "that's foot in mouth disease, though I guess that makes you crusty too."

It takes a second for her to stare, stand and realise you're joking. Her face lights up, "I forgot how much fun you are drunk."

"I'm always fun!" She raises a sardonic eyebrow. "Ok, sometimes I'm dull."

"Especially…" Faith pulls you close, exciting you even through three layers of sweater, "When ya bein' General Buffy."

You let her smooth hands caress your face and comb through your messy, end-of-the-day hair before you playfully push her away. "You promised not to bring that up!"

"When? When the hell did I say that? Doesn't really sound like something I'd say…"

Uh… "I think I'm a little sozzled."

She sniggers, "Now who has a 'funny British accent'?"

"Shut up and feed me." Meany.

A glance is cast around the (slightly messy) kitchen. "Pretty sure we don't have anything left…" Her shoe scuffs at the fallen finger food. "Unless you want to eat from the floor."

"Shop?"

"Shop." She agrees, then does a double-take, "wait, you have a shop around here? Like an honest to God corner shop?"

You trample a few Chinese peanut crackers and giggle as they pop. "Yeah, just at the corner of the road."

"Wha-! So why did Zoo send me all the way into town for milk that time?"

Poor, sweet fool. "Because she hates you."

She slips the wine bottle from your grasp and frowns on finding it empty. "Fair enough. Shop?"

"Shop."

The stairs clatter under your fumbling feet, Faith smacks alternate buttocks for every step. A woolly Kosak hat is snatched from the top of the skiing box you dragged down from the attic last week. It looks cute rather than stupid on her. The world swims slightly in front of your eyes as you step out to the street.

"Whoa… I think I'm drunk."

Faith laughs, jumps and almost gets hit by a car.

You don't even pretend to look surprised.

Life would probably be a whole lot easier if you could attach a lead to her. Or have her microchipped for that matter.

"Car." You point out a little futilely. And then push her through the shop door before yet another one has the chance to slam into her. "Oh God, you're like a working death zone!"

The truculent shop girl tosses her expensively high-and-low lighted hair (why do the posh teenagers here have such a thing for messy hair?) but doesn't bother to say anything when your tipsy non-girlfriend scoops up a handful of penny-sweets. "Don't worry," Faith tears off a piece of liquorish with her teeth. "I'll be fine- all th'women in my family die on their birthday." How comforting.

You stop scanning the shelves to gawk at her. "Oh good, rather than being mildly concerned every time you do something dumb I can now have one day a year where I freak out."

"Two. Ya got Rosy."

She was, undoubtedly, put on this earth to kill you. "Don't tell me that!" You snatch the speedily disappearing liquorish from her hand, "And, please, pay for things before you eat them."

"Why?"

"Because… because… because this is my local shop and if I get banned from here than I really will need to go into town every time I want milk."

Shop Girl gives you a funny look. Might have something to do with the furry slippers. Stupid, snobby, expensive-shabby-chic-shoe-wearing girl!

"Maybe I should do that anyway…"

"Fine." Faith rolls her eyes (as if asking someone not to steal is an unreasonable demand) and drops the handful of mixed candy down into the wire basket.

They fall through to the floor.

"Huh. Shoulda thought that through."

"Latest in a long line of many." You mumble, skimming over the many, many varieties of 'organic, naturally flavoured crisps' and going for the Tyrrell's Mixed Root Chips because they're the only ones with 'chips' on.

She yanks the basket out of your reach as soon as you come near with the bag. "B, if fried carrots tasted good then all chips would help your eyesight."

Wrinkles crease her nose as she screws her mouth up in slight disgust suddenly, smacking her lips together.

"Ok, whoa, after-kick. What the fuck did I just put in my mouth?"

You snort. "It's an organic shop, F. You didn't think those 'sweets' were made with actual 'sweet', did you?" Did that make sense? "Sugar. Not made with 'sugar'." Sugar, sugar, du-du-du-du du-du, oh honey, honey, ba-

"You really can't hum."

"I can too!"

"Nah…" She wanders off down the isle, twisting insults about a lack of 'pitch' drifting back to you. "I'm gunna get the food- you just read the magazines and look pretty!"

Shop Girl snorts. "Hey! I'm pretty! And don't snort. It's unladylike…" You add when she just looks witheringly at you. And then think hard about how often you do it… "Man, that's a bad habit."

Organic Wholefood Shops don't sell glossy magazines. Of any kind.

No really- literally none of the paper is shiny; just dry newspapers and those odd British magazines, full of odd British humour and printed on dull paper. "You should sell unsub- un- uh… un… sub… stan… un… gossip. You should sell gossip mags. With lots of lies. And those pictures which make it look like they're totally kissing when really they're just good friends. Or gay. Sometimes he's-"

"B! Leave the poor girl alone!"

Traitorous Shop Girl (who, to be honest, wasn't all that dependable to begin with) sighs with relief as you go back to pouting and reading the front pages. "Don't even think about giving her flirty eyes- I'm a lot stronger than I look." You don't look up to check she heard your muttering but she steps back a little and there's something quite satisfying about that.

If only you could put off all the people who fancy Faith but she is the wind and you are a rock. A really tiny rock. Possibly in a stream.

Xander's eye has started twitching when he hears Faith's name again. You don't ask.

You're too afraid.

The wire shopping-basket hits the counter, bottles clanking. "Wine is not a food Faith."

"Is it tasty?"

"Yes…"

"Do you no longer want to eat?"

"Yes, but only because I feel sick."

"And why do you feel sick?"

"Because I've had too much."

"Exactly." She grins, "See; food."

Sick, twisted logic it may be… but hey, alcohol is your friend! And you don't even have to carry any of it back over the only-busy-when-Faith-tries-to-run-across-it road. The bottles clank as she weaves in and out of traffic, leaving you laughing in her dust. It's not as if she's actually going to get hurt.

"Oh I totally could!" She earnestly corrects once you're back snuggled under the sheepskin rug in front of the fire. "By something big and fierce like a lion or a demon made of stone!"

You chuckle, "Right… because being attacked by a lion in London is way more likely than being hit by a car."

"Hey, you c'n be as sarcastic as ya like- you'd cry until ya turned into a raisin if the zoo left it's doors open and a big ol' lion came for me."

Ok, so maybe no more trips to the zoo for Faith and her imagination.

"You'd cry."

"I'd probably be too busy getting out of the way- I always get hit by the backswing… remember the whole coma/bloodsucking incident?"

She frowns, looking up from scratching off the wine bottle's label. "Uh… that would only make sense if you stabbed me and then, when pulling the knife out, accidentally sliced ya own wrists." A pause. "And let a vamp suck at them." A naughty spark plays through her eyes, "'Course… if you wanted something sucked-" You smack her shoulder. Hard enough that she rolls and takes the blanket with her. It's beautiful- swirls of green and blue- picked out by Mimtal because it matches your eyes. Oh… pretty…

You might just be a little drunk… "Can we please change the subject before we end up naked on the couch?"

"Why do you think I'll say 'yes' to that?" She snorts.

"I'm eternally hopeful. It's a problem."

A beat. "But you're easy."

To spite her you dash a suck-y kiss against her cheek with the excuse of making her squeal and shut up. "If I'm easy then why aren't you getting any right now?"

"This isn't just because you miss Gay!Sex is it?"

You snort as she actually draws an exclamation mark in the air. "Still finding it hard to grow-up, huh?"

"Dude, Eighteen/Twenty-Eight, it's all the same."

"Thirty-Eight…"

"Don't lump me in there with you! You're the one who's actually passed the big three-oh."

She baked you pancakes that morning- the thick kind you never get in England- and helped Rosy decorate the kitchen in puffs of sparkly tissue paper.

The one thing you hadn't really thought through on giving Faith a key to the house was that natural reaction every time you woke or came home to find things moved and signs of another person. So that morning you'd had to hide the broad sword behind the welsh-dresser before Rosy noticed.

By your birthday it had been a month since Faith had literally torn her way out of the 'facility' Henry steered her towards and there hadn't been a word from her other than one hurried transatlantic phone call.

She's spent the last year in and out of therapy, 'trying different things' according to Dawn. Faith still won't talk to you about 'it'. You like to believe it's because being here is something of a respite, a welcome break.

You glimpse her life from time to time, just as she occasionally glides into yours- turning even the most mundane tasks into delights with just her fascination. A traffic jam with Faith is never boring. Breaks and damages are never a cause for despair. Every happenstance is a chance for something. There is always more to learn.

This last month- seeing her so often… it makes your heart sing.

Nothing has actually happened between the two of you- not really. Just a few kisses here and there. Kisses that are more familiar and automatic than passionate. When she leaves the house you kiss her and… sometimes forget that it's her cheek you're meant to be aiming for.

It seems rude to Henry almost- as if you're cheating even though you're not technically even together anymore. Actually, that's much weirder as you did cheat on him with her but it now seems worse than then.

"Faith?"

She looks up from pouring more wine. "Mm…?"

"Do you ever… do you ever hear my voice?"

Not finding it in the slightest strange to swap to such a subject she nods, "Sometimes it's the only voice I hear." You let her leave it there.

Instead you talk about safe topics; Rose, alcohol, how fat Elsa is getting, Christmas in general and the possible demonic influences of Saint Nick in particular. She lays back to stare at the ceiling, entangling her long legs with yours.

"Ya know," Faith coughs uncomfortably, "Rosy… said she's been having some trouble at the new school."

"What?" Uh, no she hasn't. If she had she would have told you, right?

"She said a couple of boys in the year above have been saying stuff about how small she is."

Oh God... You're not worried for Rose, she's pretty tough and you're going to go raise hell at the school when term starts again, but it's just so… inevitable. Children reject what's different. Your seven year old being the size of a three year old is different.

"And she doesn't have Bliss and Heck to kick their asses."

You stop and stare. "You… you actually know who Bliss and Heck are?"

"Sure," She shrugs as if it's the most natural thing in the world, "Felicity Benn- Tavi's kid and Hector… uh… Long-Surname, Rosy's 'non-boyfriend'."

"Wow."

Faith gives you that look- the one that says 'I know something you don't', "And I can tell the Huntington Twins apart."

"You cannot!"

"I can too! Ava has the rounder face and Constance has a mole above her left eyebrow."

You stare, numb, in shock and awe. "Wow… you do realise you're like a God to me right now?"

Rosy's own little Scooby Gang are adorable; they'd defend her to the death (even though she doesn't need it) and claim they never get embarrassed when people stare (even though they do). As annoyingly superior and posh as they may be the four of them love Rose- Bliss, Heck and the Twins still invite her to their houses and make time to call round, despite the new school. Variation comes only in that Bliss has (finally) changed from 'won't' to 'shalln't'.

The new school isn't quite so advanced; they don't learn Latin or Computer Programming, the teacher doesn't have a fancy degree from Cambridge or get paid enough to own a sports car and Rose is no longer daily sprouting new words you've never heard before. But, she isn't so different or alone. The other day she came home covered in mud and didn't even insist on immediately reading the backs of a variety of washing powders until she found the right one. Now when you take her to the playground she talks to other children, rather than being bored by their 'inane chat' or hating them for being too loud.

Granted, she's not quite at the stage where she'll delight in 'Biff and Chip Go to the Park' over 'The Complete and Unabridged Works of the Brothers Grimm' but she can no longer list the names of the British Ministerial Cabinet and for that you are unashamedly grateful.

"Why-" You take another sip, "why didn't you ever yell at me?"

She frowns, "What?"

"When you found out I was having Rose, why didn't you yell at me?"

It's not exactly a trick question but Faith chews it over, waiting for the catch to emerge. "Why should I have?"

"I basically forced you to have a child you didn't want, when you were only just out of your teens, yet you've never… said anything about it. No one mentions it." Well… "Except for Dawn." One hell of a lot.

She sinks further down into the couch, lifting your legs to drape over her lap. "Dunno, guess I just kinda saw her as a present. Never figured I'd have kids- not exactly a stable parent, ya know?"

Her hands are soft and warm and still fit yours perfectly. "Believe me, I know."

"Right." A satisfied hum emanates as you trace patterns on her palm. "Well, I thought it was a nice idea I just wouldn't have chosen it by myself. I didn't know you were pregnant until I saw you so…" She yawns into the hand holding her wineglass rather than move the empty one radiating heat into your leg. "I don't know, when you told me she was mine it was like this weight off my shoulders- I could have this great kid and she'd always have someone amazing watching out for her. I knew you could cope all on your own."

Sure, with Satsu and Henry and Mimtal and Giles and Xander and Kennedy and Leah and Tavi and Lexi and the Fortescue-Darlings and the amazing school and Rose being amazing enough to bring herself up in some respects and… and… a huge amount of help. From everyone but Dawn. Who still has 'sibling issues'.

"Kinda selfish, huh?"

"No!"

But, when it comes down to it, you are the only person who's really looked after Rose since she was born. And dear God do you try hard!

"If it makes you feel any better; I created her intending to be a single parent. Obviously, I would have liked you to be there but I guess I knew I could do it my myself if I had to." Neither of you mention that Faith couldn't do it on her own but it hangs in the air between you as if the words have been spat out. "Sorry."

"That's ok."

"You're so much better now though! Think about September- you had her for a whole week!"

She laughs, "You wrote me a list of fifty thousand things to do."

"Yeah, but I had trust in you to do them. You're her favourite aunt." She smiles bitterly before your eyes widen. "Sorry. Again. I didn't mean to say 'aunt'."

Whatever you're calling her, Rose is devoted to Faith.

You worry slightly that it's become too much- you've created the Cult of Faith. To the younger slayers she is a cross between a god and the perfect big sister. They adore her and Rose puffs her chest every time Faith picks her up from the Slayer School and gives her all of her attention.

It's silly to be jealous, completely stupid; you're her mother for Godsake! But… you can't help it. You see the two of them, hiding in caves made of bed sheets, wearing taffeta ball gowns, doing their little catchphrases and sharing secrets… and your heart aches. You want to be in there! You want to be part of their little gang!

Being the bad cop sucks.

And why has Faith taken to fancy dresses so quickly?!

Mimtal sent Rosy five matching velvet dresses in Red, Green, Navy, Cream and Purple with delicate gold embroidery and huge puffy skirts for Christmas.

She stood guard in the upstairs window yesterday afternoon, dressed only in her underwear and vest, refusing all attempts at clothing her. Goosebumps covered her and even her teeth started chattering. Half an hour later than expected, Faith arrived with a red top on. There was what sounded like a frantic rush from upstairs and then Rose charged down the stairs, red dress hastily buttoned up and red ribbons flying everywhere.

You didn't comment.

You didn't even say anything when she suddenly decided boiled potatoes were the worst things in the world just because Faith went back for seconds of the roasted ones. There may have been a knowing smile but you held your tongue as she grilled Faith on her favourite foods, games, colours, people and mentally filed the answers away for future use.

But you're no slacker on the mothering front. You're a good mother- a great one around Christmas. Every 31st November Rose wakes to a book in place of her breakfast, the type with beautiful covers and a hundred empty pages for her to fill with memories of the past year; photos, drawings, ticket stubs, letters and too much glitter to ever be considered aesthetically pleasing. It generally takes a month for her to diligently note down everything.

Overflowing and purple they sit on her bookshelf, for her to flick through or add things to. Like interactive photo albums you hope they can give her some kind of stability, that she can look back and see how in the first one (admittedly made by you), detailing the first fifty six days of her life- 5th November to 31st December 2005- Faith features heavily, on every page, in almost every photo. You hope that she can see from her fourth one that Henry really loved her- that he spent a week with her, helping her glue and willingly being covered in paint to leave his handprint beside hers.

A lot of people go in and out of your daughter's life, you want her to know that it's not her fault, that the reason Aunty Leah stopped the day trips to the zoo wasn't because she wanted to but because sometimes people go to sleep for a really long time and don't wake up again. The only thing you can do for Rose is to be there, always ready to spring into action as soon as you're needed, always honest and always loving.

There is, however, someone else who wishes he could be that involved in Rosy's life. You didn't realise it at first but Henry lost both his daughters that year.

"That's sweet…" You mumble, only half listening to Faith's rambling about the days she spent with Rose in September.

You want to tell her that two months ago she missed a poetry recital and Rose held her hand to the stove until her skin turned black. Slayer Healing took care of the outer scars but you want Faith to cleanse her insides.

Falling in and out of parenting just isn't… It isn't…

Even now it still seems like there's something magical about your relationship with Faith. You might not always want to feel it but really… where it counts, you'd forgive her anything. Anything she does to you.

Not to Rose.

She never means to hurt her daughter but she does. She really, really does.

Sure, there's always a good reason why she can't be there- and not being able to make it to the Easter play (or the Huntington's Easter Ball) because she was helping Angel become human again is a pretty good excuse… Rosy certainly loved getting to know him for the few days he stayed- but it isn't good enough.

Of course, when anyone else brings up Faith's inadequacies you defend her fiercely. You lied to Willow, just to hurt her. She'd gotten mad again, Faith hadn't shown up when promised to her engagement party in August and that was, apparently, reason enough to give you grief. "Just let her go, Buffy! I know you're waiting for her or whatever but it's not going to happen! I don't have an unhealthy attachment to my ex."

"She's not just my ex… she's my best friend and I can't let that go."

Of course, Faith isn't your best friend but Willow lied too so it was fair. If she had been over Kennedy then the brunette wouldn't have been forced to come to said engagement party and watch Willow flirt mercilessly with a woman who might just be the (self confessed) quietest Jamaican in all history. You wouldn't really know but you've never heard the poor girl say more than just that explanation so it may indeed be true. (Grace tends to just smile when you talk to her)

What does it take to make them accept her? Faith, not Grace- everyone loved Grace within just minutes of meeting her. Everyone except Kennedy.

And Faith is calmer now- the hospitals she's been in and out of, the treatments she's tried… they seem to be helping, they seem to be working.

So why can't you support her? Why can't you stand up for her the rest of the time? Why does it feel wrong?

Kennedy had, of course, had something to say on the matter after cornering you at Headquarters one day; "It's a cop-out! You letting Henry jump in and 'save' her when you left Angel and Giles to do it before-"

"When has Giles ever 'saved' her?!" You and Angel had to drag Faith out of his country cottage to get her some help!

But nothing had stopped her stupid mouth. "The point is it should have been you! If you really loved her you should have fought for her, no matter what!"

"Get off your freaking high-horse! Actually no, get out of my office altogether, come back when you have someone you have to look after and worry about and- and watch die slowly knowing that there is nothing you can do to make it any easier on her! There's no way you can make her life better! She's scared and heartbroken and it tears you up inside to watch her but it hurts more to- to watch it… to watch it get worse. I… I can't put her through more pain just because I want her to change."

"It's not 'changing' her Buffy- it's saving her!"

'Saving' means preserving. 'Saving her' means keeping that special part of her that you love.

This is not saving her. She might be ok right now- sitting with you on the couch, tipsy and happy, laughing over the amusing idiosyncrasies of tiny children- but that's just because you're here.

You've heard the stories. You know the truth. Willow says she's 'dangerous', Giles calls her 'uncontrollable', even Angel, her once biggest supporter, confesses that at times he can't restrain her. They say she is inappropriate, unrealistic and impulsive. She refuses to sleep for days at a time, laughs when others cry and blames herself for everyone's inadvertent mistakes.

It's nothing new, this is not news. You only recognise now, with slightly more gratitude than you've ever felt before, that the reason you do not see it now… is that she keeps herself away. She doesn't show up at the house on days she feels she will be low, or high or susceptible to change.

And just her ability to recognise that within herself… gives you hope.

Sanitizing her personality isn't what you want but you are nothing if not incredibly stubborn. Kennedy has not been allowed in your office since the argument. It makes things a little complicated but you really couldn't care less.

The truths of Kennedy's argument are only halves- Henry hasn't always been so willing to support Faith. Sure, he paid the first three times for her care but after that he refused.

You fear that he may have been waiting- that he still is- for you to come to your senses. It's true that you could never not love him. He showed you who you could be. Henry took 'Buffy', a selfish, pig-headed and bitchy girl masquerading as a woman, and made her 'Bethy'… who was all of those things but at least aware of it. You'd like to be able to point out that you're more mature than Faith. But it's really not that hard.

You tug on the old necklace she's wearing for Christmas. "God, were we really once that young?"

She chuckles, "B, you were like… three year older than-"

"Two! For the month between our birthdays we're only two years apart."

"Y'ok, you hold on to that." Her hand stretches out to vaguely grab at your arm for a bit of leverage to pull herself up to sitting. "Oldest slayer in the world but whatever."

"I think we should take off the 147 days I was dead for- it's only fair."

Joking doesn't seem to go that far. "Don't do that." She frowns unhappily, unconsciously itching her left arm and then catching sight of the scars around her wrist.

"Sorry." Of all the head slayers at the academy, Faith is the most affected by the pains of the younger girls. You lift your arm so she can snuggle into your side, "I miss Leah… the way I'd think she was swearing every time she'd say 'can't'."

"And 'knee' instead of 'no'?"

Rowena hates you, Sassy won't talk to you and Leah died because you had a party and sent her out alone. You're a great leader. Really.

Even having an office job and refusing an Apprentice has stopped Giles from putting you in charge of another group of slayers. As slaying jobs go it isn't the hardest- they're not the elite and they probably never will be. It's more about organising their schedules and making sure they're coping with the pressure. Once a week you take them out around the quieter graveyards and try not to groan. "One of the girls on my team apologises to every grave she walks over. Almost had a fit when a vamp put her through a tombstone."

Faith rumbles a chuckle into your shoulder, "Don't worry about it- last week one of Ken's girls left to join Simone. Poppa Bear said not to tell anyone."

"But I don't count?"

"Want me to go through the 'one person, blue/red souls' thing again?"

"No, the collage you made me was… informative." And also rude. With a side plate of 'oh God, she really did keep those photos'. "What…? What about Simone?"

"Last I heard she was busy murdering in Chicago."

"Oh. Nice of her to give Las Vegas a rest."

Faith smirks and clinks her glass against yours.

Children without protectors, seek power because they have none. And sometimes, when a girl is given that power, becomes drunk on it, then finds that still there is someone better; still there is a girl others will choose over her, still there is a person more powerful… well, that might just be enough to tip her over that point. She may just become a victim to her own power. "It's my fault, isn't it?"

"Little bit."

That- that didn't sound as jokey as you expected. "And you?"

"What?"

You slide out from under her and down to the other end of the couch. "Are you my fault? Was what happened in Sunnydale my fault?"

She studies her wrists again, "Well… you pulled me in and then cut me loose just when I needed you. So yeah. Little bit."

Right, right, because the murdering and whoring… well you pushed her knife wielding hand into that poor scientist and stripped her down to hand her over to nearly every guy in Sunnydale. You're a Bond villain crossed with a pimp. "Of course"

Faith crosses her arms extra tightly when she's angry and it has the unfortunate effect of making her breasts protrude. Unfortunate for the person attempting to argue with her anyway. "What does that mean?"

"It means that things always just 'happen' to you, don't they Faith? It's never your fault."

A grunt of pure offence hits you, "You cut me out of everything."

"Do you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I cut you out because you're difficult?" Sorrowful blushes rush her cheeks. "You can't blame my wanting to have a normal life for you being screwed up- I don't have a duty to you, Faith. Yeah, you might be more 'owed than owing' but that doesn't mean I'm the one who has to do it." You stand up to rant better and the room spins slightly. "The only thing I owe you is contact with your daughter- which, by the way, I have given you every opportunity for this year- everything else is my choice." Elsa whines at the tone in your voice.

She sighs conciliatorily, picking the bottle back up, "I don't think you…"

"Yes you do. You do, Kennedy does, Giles does, even Henry does! Everyone thinks I should be willing to give up everything, put my life on hold, drop everything as soon as you call and make every damn effort to include you in the tinniest aspects of my life…" Her cheeks flush, "But I don't. Have to. I don't have to. I choose to." Touch her hand? Shoulder? Smile? Attempt to be sweet? Just explain? "And if sometimes I'm a little busy or- or I just don't want to then that isn't a reason to go on some kind of witch hunt! I don't hurt you on purpose, I don't 'play' with your emotions and I don't ignore you all the time- sometimes I just forget!"

"I didn't say you-"

"No, everyone else does! And I'm sick of it!" It's not always your fault, it isn't, it really, really isn't. "I'm just sick of doing the wrong thing."

At this point there may not be such a thing as the 'right' path to follow.

It doesn't seem weird to drop everything and change all the plans just because she needs you. It's your duty, right? That's what everyone thinks. Sure, for a while you tried to stop it- for a while you were just trying to work out the single parenting thing and having another 'child' to care for was pretty much hell.

You told her as much when, barely eight weeks after your birthday, she turned up on your doorstep at two in the morning with wild eyes and clumps of hair missing from behind her ears.

"I just don't want to keep doing this Faith, I can't. I left two weeks before my wedding to find you in Bosnia in a hospital so old the lights blinked out every time a plane flew over."

"Planes didn't fly over B, I remember that from you taking me out of there- on horseback."

"Oh. What was the noise?"

"Thunder, Dumbo, thunder."

What you should have noticed was that she stood there and argued the finer points of Disney-related-nicknames and selective deafness wearing nothing but a khaki jacket and hospital scrubs. In an early English March, surrounded by sleeting rain.

It took the heavy door almost closing on you for the glinting light, reflecting off the blood slowly rolling down behind her ear, to finally catch your attention.

"Faith! What-?"

"Can we stay with you?" She'd jumped out and you'd answered 'of course' before registering the 'we'.

"Wait, who-?"

The 'who' was lanky, blonde and addicted to Faith. Or, at least, it seemed that way.

They stood in your hallway, matching bleeding ears and dark bags under their eyes. Slutty (who you met three times and who's name you never learnt) refused to release her grip on Faith's hand and glared at you like a rabid dog from beneath a canopy of greasy bangs.

"We broke out."

Her hands shook harder as you enveloped them in yours- brushing the sweaty little limpet off in the process. "Where were you?"

A routine is a 'typical pattern of behaviour that a person adopts in certain circumstances'. You test how long she can keep eye contact while estimating how long it's been since she slept and whether she'll get upset if attempts are made to calm her. You hold her right hand in your left and squeeze twice, a few seconds apart to measure reactions and check for clamminess. With your right hand you feel her wrist- how thin it is and how fast her pulse races. If she doesn't notice (which she generally doesn't- you've got it down to a fine art) you feel up her arm, wait until you can interject to move across and feel down her other arm then hold both her hands and swing her arms gently to check for central injuries.

In the ten years you've been doing it she's only noticed twice.

"Hospital. A little one. In the country." She rambled on about how they broke out, how they had no idea where they were but tested the theory 'all roads lead to London' anyway and wound up crossing into Wales before they thought of hitchhiking.

They stayed two hours (during which you managed to get them warm, fed and bandaged) until you went up to check on Rose and heard them, quietly and considerately, slip out the front door.

Three days later she phoned and asked you to bring a bag of things to a bus station just outside the city. When you arrived The Blonde was still hanging on- her spindly, track marked arms wrapped around your girl who, you were glad to notice, had eyes purely for the road. But she looked happy.

You gave them money for a ticket because it was easier than dealing with her and the frustration was, by that point, getting out of control. For two months you kidded yourself into being happy she wasn't phoning, wasn't showing up, wasn't needing you.

Except she was in need of you. She just wasn't asking for help.

Henry drew you back into the spiral of Faith, which was strange for all the obvious reasons. You met him in the lobby in one of his father's smaller hotels, this time in Brighton- a seaside city, to the south of London and a two hour drive on a clear day. That same damn blonde girl was the first thing you saw as he opened the suite door. She was curled up on the couch, surrounded by glossy magazines and engrossed in the blaring television.

Faith lay on the floor in front of her, too weak to raise her head and groaning slightly. Slutty's inattention rapidly turned into a scowl as soon as she realised you weren't Room Service. "What are you doing here?!"

"This is my ex-husband's hotel." You'd sniffed, dropping to your knees to check Faith over. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm with Faith. She needs me. We have something." The next bit is sort of a haze in your memory. A red and angry haze.

"Look," The skank lifted easily and hit the wall with a satisfying 'thunk'. For a small woman you can hold someone up pretty well. "You can choose to believe you're special to Faith, but you're not. You can pretend that tomorrow, when she wakes up, that it'll be your name she remembers- but it won't. It's always going to be me. You aren't anything to her. And you definitely aren't capable of looking after her!" It took Henry and three security guards to loosen your hand from around her neck.

The bone in Faith's left upper-arm had broken through the skin and as the wound couldn't heal around it (and no one had made her go to hospital) an infection had spread through her body.

A truce was reached then- you agreed to the calls for help never stopping and pretended to mind. The truth is you like that you're 'that girl'- the one no one else will ever measure up to.

As if the bar you set is really that high.

"I'm sick of doing the wrong thing but I don't know what to do to make you feel better, Fay- I can't just… I…"

She rolls her eyes and doesn't bother to raise from the couch. "I just want you to need me."

"Well I learnt not to need you, Faith… I made myself be able to cope if I didn't hear from you for a few weeks because you have no idea, ok, no idea how hard it is for me to have to- to function knowing you're…" You pause, needing more alcohol for this discussion, "Well, not knowing where you are. Or how you're doing. Or even if you're broken and bleeding in some ditch somewhere!"

"Great. Good for you. How fucking nice that you no longer need me." She spits. "So sorry I still need a bit of help- so sorry you're the only person in my entire fucking life that I feel like I can lean on!"

"But I'm not, I'm not the only person you have. And, hey! This wasn't meant to be an argument! I was going to say; I wanted to have my life sorted out." Except for one area… "This… It's just that… by 30 I was supposed to be married with an amazing career and a first-rate degree and two fantastic children…" And a Faith who you love and look forward to seeing. "But instead I'm a divorced, single parent, struggling to hand in my online essays in time."

Her angry reply in swallowed down. "Wait, I thought you guys got that annulled?"

Elsa sighs in relief as you slump down onto the couch. "We did but 'divorcee' sounds a lot better than 'annullee'."

She chuckles, "Where does 'lesbian' rank on that scale?"

The monster of all shrugs does nothing but jostle her slightly. "I loved him, you know. Actual, real, love."

Faith snorts, "I gathered."

"I'm just telling the truth."

"Well fine," She sneers, "If we're being truly honest- I hate that thing you do with the front of your hair."

"What 'thing'?" What hair thing? You don't have a fringe! You don't suit fringes! There is no fringe!

"When you plait just the front but then tie the back down really harshly. It looks stupid."

Gasp! "It does not!"

"It really, really does."

You humph and stroke the offended hair. Yeah, that's right; 'offended'- it knows! And it hates Faith too!

"Sorry, Ellie."

"What?"

Of course. Of course Faith would have named your hair.

An unhappy air settles over her as she catches sight of the hand currently flattening your ultra-shiny brunette locks. The sweater you're wearing has huge cuffs and has slipped down to expose your left arm to the elbow.

"Does your wrist still hurt?"

You check it, even though it obviously doesn't hurt right now. The scar is still pretty ugly though- you smother it in concealer for special occasions. "Only when I bend it a certain way. Yours?"

She smiles thinly and wiggles both hands, "Only when I bend them a certain way."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I'm sorry I put you through that."

Elsa rolls over on the rug towards the fire, making satisfied grumbles in her quickly regained sleep. Her fur has turned from apricot fuzz to glossy chestnut curls and she no longer cares for Faith. But she doesn't seem to mind all that much when the woman in question slides down to the floor beside her and scratches the sweet spot behind her right ear.

"B, I…" Faith raises her knees and sinks her face down into the circle of her arms. Blocking out the light from the flickering fire to make herself feel better.

"I don't want Rosy to have scars." You assert, when it doesn't seem as if she's going to continue.

"Why would…?" She frowns- or, at least, you assume she does.

"I don't want Rose to ever be hurt- inside or out. I don't want her to start thinking this is normal. That every- that everything being messed around is normal." You don't want her to see your scars and think that's the way she's supposed to be. What if, when she gets older, the finds herself in a relationship that… that isn't quite right? How can you look her in the eyes and tell her to save herself? "Its… its emotional abuse or whatever."

Heat from the fire seeps into your bones and crackling logs fill a velvety silence. It feels, for the long moments as she raises her head and turns to study you with deep eyes, almost as if she fills the room, as if you could open your mouth, slide out your tongue and taste her on the heavy air. "You could never do that."

But she could. Unintentionally yet… it would still hurt Rose. Right?

"The…" Faith turns her body to sit at your feet and rest both palms on your lap. "The thing about child abuse is that it doesn't ever become normal, it doesn't ever start to feel… normal. No matter if you've never had an adult be nice to you or spent some time at a friend's or even seen a happy family on TV- you still know that it's wrong, you still know that what's happening to you isn't right."

When she was younger Faith had at once a rabid desire to tell everyone her pain and prideful shame that swallowed it back down. She'd use her past as a weapon; either refusing to share or using nuggets of excruciating information like bullets- to hurt or shock. In the years that have passed, through the sheen of recent hurts and highs, the past doesn't seem quite so raw. Now, on the rare occasion she actually talks about it, memories of her childhood are spoken softly, sensibly and with just a hint of detachment. She's angry over the fact the abuse happened, not the memories themselves. Still, it doesn't hurt to comfort and so you lay a hand against the side of her face, caress her cheek until she shuffles a little closer to lean her head on your thighs.

"I guess it's instinctive. It has to be. Nature over nurture. Just like they say that parenting doesn't come with a handbook yet it obviously does- we know not to leave our babies in the wild when they cry a little too loud, the baby knows, we know." You don't mention that people obviously do leave their children in the wild- or the bathrooms of scuzzy motels. She can be contradictory if she wants to be. "It's all nature." Her fingertips skate over your free palm. "Doesn't matter what's done to screw up kids, you can always do something else to put it right. Rosy's got good genes, B- she might look like me but inside, where it matters, she's all you."

You turn her head so she'll face you. "Don't say that. There are so many good things you've given her."

"Good-" She pauses, and smiles. Little feet patter down the stairs. It's an awful indignity (and you get that) but really, Rosy should be coming down the stairs on her bottom if there's no one with her- the stair risers almost reach her knees. "We hear you out there Ro-Ro, no point in trying to be quiet!" Faith calls, moving up to her feet in one swift and easy transfer to hide the alcohol.

A little raggedy head of curls peeks through the banisters a little further up, in the eye line of the open living room door. "I don't want to sleep."

"You need to."

Rose ignores your 'parent voice'. "No, on average, a child of my age only needs-"

"Baby," chuckling, Faith cuts in, "Give ya ma a break- we'll let you stay up just a little longer, 'k?"

"How much longer?"

You raise your eyebrows as Faith goes to answer and she gracefully shuts up. "Long enough for you to get sleepy." And bored of hanging around with drunk adults.

"I'm never gonna be sleepy ever again!" Rosy boasts, scampering back upstairs to grab Mimi.

You turn around to see Faith with a look of both awe and pride. "Did our daughter just say 'gonna'?"

"I know, I'm so proud!"

Aside from a new fondness for slang there really are other things Rose has inherited from Faith. Her sensitivity for the feelings of those she cares about and pinpoint perception are the two you probably notice most often (along with her blind loyalty and the negative lashing out physically). You swear sometimes that child knows everything you're thinking. "Mummy," Rose turned the other day, pen poised over her English homework, "What rhymes with Lehane other than 'insane'?"

"Uh…" Blame? Shame? "Fame? Tame? Same?"

"Got stuck on 'blame' and 'shame' didn't you?"

"Shut up and act your age."

Which, of course, is easier said than done. To a lot of people Rosy comes off as cold and snobbish but she isn't. She loves things- too many things and too deeply, which seems strange, as if there could be such a thing as 'too much love'. But there is when it hurts her. They don't always love her back.

One person, at least, is just as devoted to your daughter as she is to them (even if Rosy doesn't quite know why). Faith positively glows when both Mimi and Blanket are chucked in her lap before her little 'Rosebud' plonks herself down. She still loves skin-to-skin contact with Faith.

"Tell me a story." She demands, "No, wait, don't. A story will make me sleepy… tell me a truth."

"A truth?"

You shift uncomfortably as Faith considers- she's never been known for age-appropriateness. The people who took her childhood took that as well.

"What kind of truth?"

"A truth about…" Miniature versions of Faith's eyes scope the room, taking in every object, every corner, every play of light, before settling on you, your curled form relaxing on the sofa. "Mummy! Tell me a story about Mummy."

They share a look and giggle naughtily. "Alright, want to know about the first time we met?"

"No." Rosy groans, "I've heard that story far too often and from too many people- the reports are quite contradictory. I prefer your version. You're much more honest."

"Oh?"

"And politer about yourself."

"Oh."

Wow, someone really needs to clean the carpet… and show you where the vacuum cleaner is. So you can break it. And make Henry pay to have the house cleaned. He bought the damn huge thing!

"I see you looking embarrassed Buffy Anne Summers."

"Oh hush it Faith Nothing Lehane."

"You don't have a middle name?" Rosy questions, showing remarkably higher levels of intellect than you did upon first hearing that. "You can borrow mine- we already share a surname, after all." A spark of something uncomfortably like insight glitters back at you when you frown at Rose- she knows better than to move away from light conversation.

Which strikes off telling the tale of flying to Peru to put down the demon accidentally hell-bent on hurting your daughter. "Tell her about where you found Elsa."

Rosy shakes her head, "No that's dull." Though she seems happy enough to warm her feet by burying them in Elsa's thick fur. "Tell me a story about when you were my age."

"Oh I was never a child." Faith shoots back, before you have time to worry. "I just appeared one day."

"Hmm… now see, normally, as a seven-year-old, my first response would be; 'but I'm not a child!', however…" Your daughter is odd, very, very odd. She pushes imaginary glasses down her nose and pretends to peer over them, "my classmates are what could only be described as 'juvenile'. Perhaps I've really never been a child either."

There is the distinct possibility you messed up the pregnancy spell.

Faith plus Giles perhaps?

Oh God that's a scary thought!

Ugh! And now you can't stop thinking about naked Giles! Oh this is so much worse than your mother and Giles and he hasn't actually even been near Faith… or, at least, you hope he hasn't.

"I think I'm mentally scarred now."

Faith pauses in whatever she was saying to frown, "At least you're not really scarred."

Not the Christmas story again! You roll your eyes and drink more wine. "There's a reason I haven't told her that story, darling."

"Wh-" Rosy hides a huge yawn in the shoulder she's currently snuggling into, "Why not? I mean… I mean… why?"

Sitting on the floor must not be very comfortable but Faith doesn't seem to feel it- or if she has, she hasn't noticed. On the other hand, Rose obviously has, if her drowsy shifting is anything to go by.

"Tell me the story more."

"Come up onto the couch first, Sweet Pea." You motion her up and she folds herself into the circle of your arms, slender limbs and tiny bones fitting where an average child of her age could not. Rosy's small hand fits in the centre of your palm. And you are not a big woman.

Two months ago, at just over seven, Rose passed the height of a fully-grown primordial dwarf. You celebrated with a new dress for Mimi, courtesy of Toys'R'Us and your handy sewing alterations- rather than the expensive 'silk and lace' toy shop Henry used to take her to.

As soon as you passed on the good news to Dawn and Sassy they dragged you both out to the zoo and spent all day helping Rose point out animals she's taller than now. You'd stumbled upon Tavi and Bliss by the penguins who, when they heard the cause for celebration, were very eager to get involved.

You want so much for the doctor to call her 'normal'.

"It is an awfully cheap necklace to give someone you love, Mummy."

'Love'? Uh… You share a scared look with Faith and then over-analyse why exactly it's 'scary' for your daughter to think her parents love each other.

Oh right, because she doesn't know you're her parents.

Faith, without standing, joins you under the blanket. "Cheap it may be but the necklace wasn't what scarred me."

"So what was it?"

"Well. That was her second present…"

"I like second presents…" Rosy yawns again, stretching out under the fluffy cloth until she's happily snuggled into both of you. "I like when you give me presents, Fay-Fay… I like…" You chuckle as she nestles further, reaching up and behind to twirl your hair around her fingers. "I like presents."

You wrap a chocolate ringlet around your finger. Sometimes it almost feels as if you forget how very real Rose is. You catch yourself as you're about to hand her a bowl of cereal or tuck her in at night or buy mangoes out of season just because you know she loves them- and you realise… you're a mother. This little girl is yours.

But not just yours. "You're my favourite person in the whole world, Aunty Faith."

"You're my favourite person in the galaxy, Rosebud."

Truthfully you love Faith more for the most important thing to her still being that Rose has everything she never had. She'll never know what it means to not be loved. She'll never even have an inkling what it feels like. "Baby?" No response, "Baby, I think it's time for bed."

"Con." Rosy gripes but can't quite seem to keep her eyes open.

You gasp and whisper in shocked but not entirely surprised tones, "Oh, you'd better hope my French really is that bad, Faith Lehane."

She pouts drunkenly, "I'm a failure as a parent."

"No," Not in that respect anyway- teaching a child new languages is supposed to raise their IQ. Which probably means you should be blaming Faith. "You're just addicted to swearing. But that's ok- I got you off drugs, I can fix this."

"I think you're over-simplifying things." She whispers back.

They say the chimney is blocked up but the whooshing wind plays chimes upon the roof's slates. When a storm howls above you put a tin bowl down to catch the drips and smile as the tinkling sound rings through the room. It's not like you paid for the carpet anyway.

Faith smiles at the sound and twines your fingers with hers. The line of her neck calls enticingly to you as she stretches, ready to move. "Geez this house is cold…"

"And this is the warmest room in the house." The pleasant weight on your chest shifts herself, turning to cuddle into you without waking up. "Do you want to take her up again? I'm too relaxed to move."

"I think the word is 'drunk'."

Mm… quite probably.

"Alright, come on." She slides out from under Rosy's legs, leans down to kiss your forehead and lifts her daughter as if she's both the lightest of clouds and the world's largest diamond. Rose protests all the same.

Christmas, for once, has made your house a home. It's vaguely toasty and smells delicious. Stupid bits of ancient furniture are no longer stupidly angled in stupidly perfect ways. Now everything is messy and lived-in with Rosy's huge collection of new toys strewn about the place- and oranges, individually wrapped like little presents so you can pretend to children that gifts can be fruit.

No matter how many presents there were waiting for her under the Christmas tree, the most important one in Rosy's eyes was always going to be the large wicker hamper with the purple bow on top. Faith carefully, and painstakingly, has collected tiny things from all over the world; trinkets, exotic candy, a million different hair clips, soaps, ethnic wooden toys and puzzles, mini books of brain teasers and word games and an Italian to English dictionary with seemingly random highlighted words to make a coded message.

Every small gift is either decorated in purple or with a Rose. Some Faith has drawn by hand and others she's obviously worked hard to find.

This is the woman you've strived to at once pull closer and push away.

You don't have the right to decide for Rose anymore. It might seem the kinder thing to keep Faith away from her, to keep her from the disappointment that comes with no longer being in that light and the fear when it's not so much 'light' as burning, blazing heat…

But she's older now. Also, quite possibly, smarter than you were at eighteen. Which is weird.

God… you just wish your mother was here so you could ask her what to do. Weirdly you wish your father was around too- you want to know him, how he is now, so you can know what sort of a parent you'll be. You smirk at the heavy footfalls so unlike the less-tired and slightly more sober woman who jumped down the stairs a few hours ago.

"I think she's really out of it this time." Faith throws herself some what gracefully over the back of the couch, rolling on top of you.

"We'll be fine, we'll end up like the Gilmore Girls- talking really fast and looking after each other."

Quite used to your odd jumps in conversation Faith doesn't seem to mind. "The who?"

"Do you not watch television?"

She scrunches up her face cutely. "Is that show still on the air?"

"Well… no, but I hunt out repeats."

"Weirdo."

"Watching TV isn't weird. Leaving me here to get lessdrunker is."

You kick her until she moves back to her earlier spot to grab the only full bottle. "If you're still mashing together words then you're not that 'lesdrunker'."

"Ha! 'Lesdrunker' sounds like one of Henry's nephews. You know Magda's calling the new one 'Toby'- with a silent 'h'! 'Tho-by'! But you say it like 'Toby' anyway so why bother? It's so… fucking pretentious."

Swearing is fun. Drinking is fun. Faith is fun.

"And I think his cousin is called 'Impotence'…"

She laughs so hard you give up attempting to shush her and put a pillow up against the closed door instead. "Hortense! She's called 'Hortense'!"

Oh. "Well, it's still stupid."

"Not as stupid as being horrible to the people you love and devoted to those you hate." Devoted? "Ok, 'slightly nicer'; "Henry is a complete buffoon- his shabby little American only less so"!"

You make the appropriate offended noises. "You said Charlotte Darling-Whatever likes me really!"

"Uh… no. I said she loves Rose and you're, like, an off-shoot." She catches the bottle back from you. "Not the same thing."

"Here's one, here's one- Henry's father will only pay by cheque and never buys anything costing an amount with 'forty' in it because he refused to learn the 'correct' way to spell it at boarding school. When they were renovating the house he added on a billiard room just so it would cost more!" Now the way you know that is an odd story.

Faith pauses to consider, "Should we feel bad for making fun of people who've been nothing but nice to us?"

"Probably. But they're English and rich which makes it the acceptable kind of inverse snobbery."

"Here-here!"

She toasts you with the bottle so you grab it back. "Mine."

As her hand makes it halfway to taking it back she pauses, "Are you…?" Her fingers glide through the moisture on your cheeks. "Are you crying? Why?"

"Because…" The sigh is, of course, intentional, the profundity isn't. "Love isn't enough." If it was you would have just married Henry and been happy, if it was you wouldn't have even met Henry. If love was really enough you would have just stayed with Faith when you were teenagers and things started to go wrong. You wouldn't have listened to Angel's demand that you keep away from her, you wouldn't have been freaked out by her, you wouldn't have…

She grunts in irritation, "Well maybe sometimes it is! Jesus, you make everything so fucking hard!"

"I do not!" Bitch!

"You do too!" Sofa jiggling she throws her arms around you. "Do you ever listen to yourself? 'Love isn't enough'! You over-analyse everything! Can't we just try, try living together, being a family, and see what happens?" You gulp a little but stare straight into her eyes. "If you're waiting for me to reach this magical point where I'm suddenly who you want me to be and can fit into your dream life and help you live it then I'm sorry- but that's not going to happen!" She smiles and takes your face in her hands. "I will always be myself, I will always be this way."

"But I don't want- that is, I do want…"

When you agree to have a child with someone it's not just about the product- it's not just about the child- it's agreeing to be tied to them forever. You're family. Always.

You still know so little about her- did Faith ever have a nickname? What subject was she best at in school? Has she ever met her father?

Mainly you make things up, you guess and you assume and you go along with whatever other people say about her because… because it sounds kind of right.

"I… you're family. And I love you being in my life but…" But…? But what exactly?

"What do you want, B? Just straight out, no complications, no ramifications."

'To be a family' is the first thing that pops into your mind, followed closely by 'for you to get better.'

"I want a happy ending."

She rolls her eyes, "Who doesn't?"

Uh…

"Ya so weird sometimes. I wanna be happy, you wanna be happy, if our happiness overlaps then hey great- let's let other things overlap!"

Your lip curls, "Beautifully put Faith. And also; 'ramifications'? Have you been using that 'word of the day' toilet paper I've heard so much about?"

"No, Baby Brat sends me books. Huge books. I read 'em so Rosy'll pick up on stuff. Though I guess I should be tellin' her to start skippin' me and just send 'em to Roo."

Her accent always gets so funny when she's drunk. You chuck her chin affectionately. She's right, you were forcing her to take time apart from the family until she could be perfect but she's never going to be.

There's no point in waiting for a part of her to leave. You just have to love the whole.

She smiles, eyes twinkling, dimples deepening, and you know that… you do. Without the hard part she's not your girl. But your loving her doesn't mean she's a capable parent. "If we ever… it would have to be for sure Faith. No going back. You'd really have to be Rosy's Mom."

"Well, let's just… let's just agree that no matter what… no matter what I do, or you do or- or who we do. No matter what happens we stick it out?"

You pause. And sit. And consider. "Why did it all get so complex?"

Why couldn't it just be you, Faith, Rosy and a desert island. Just the three of you- just the three, not the unnamed fourth that shadows your family like a malicious cloud.

"How did we manage to mess it up? I remember when it felt like… we were somehow the same person-" She opens her mouth to jump in with a smart-aleck comment about body-swaps so you clamp a hand over it. "I want to go back to when seeing you made my life easier, made everything just that little bit… happier."

"You don't feel happy when you see me?"

"No, I do, I just… I do and then I feel guilty and then I over-analyse and then I…"

Faith rolls her eyes, grabs your shoulders and plants her lips firmly to yours. She tastes like apples and lipstick. You breathe through your nose so there's no reason for it to end.

Her lips slide over and between yours- spreading your expensive lip-gloss, but you don't care. She smiles and you can feel her lips pulling against yours as she does.

You smile back.

She's almost here, almost home.

Or maybe that should be; you're almost there, almost home.

"Wait!"

"You're kidding me right?"

"No."

"B!"

"Just wait." You were considering her trying to be Rosy's mom not her mother's girlfriend.

She yells into the blanket in frustration and pushes away from you to fall on the floor. Elsa jumps and, after seeing there's nothing to worry about, ambles closer to the fire. It's funny enough to make you giggle uncontrollably despite her pout-y face, "Just tell me what to do to make it right."

It seems as if you both ask that far too often. You flop off the couch to lie next to her. Wine sloshes around your stomach and from the bottle gripped in your hand to the floor. There's a rather feeble attempt on your part to wipe the seeping red stain from the once-cream carpet.

"Let me try." She says after a few moments, making no attempt to aid in halting the mess.

"What?"

"Let me try to do it."

Again, she just lies there. Weird idea of 'helping'. "Huh? Wine messy." Eminently better at handling her alcohol, your girl snorts out a chuckle.

"And 'Faith pretty'?"

"Pretty much."

In all honesty, you know exactly what she's trying to ask. You just don't know how to gently say no.

"Faith… I… you're not…" The floor spins slightly as you roll onto your side to watch her reaction. "You're not stable enough yet…" Because, ok, yes, she's got the house now and the job and she spends way more time with Rosy than she ever has before but… it's not the same as being a fulltime parent. She has ups and downs; she's perfect half the time but then the extremes… Can you trust it'll all go ok? Can you trust her?

"But maybe this is what I need-" She replies, perfectly calmly with just a hint of 'please', "maybe being with you two is what makes me stable."

You flex your left hand and feel the burn around your throat. "Ok." What?

"What?" She looks just as shocked as you feel.

"I really should think through what I say more."

"You said 'ok'- ha! And now it's out there and you can't take it back!"

Oh God… "Believe me, I'm about to try…"

"Well don't." She clambers up to her knees without a hint of a boozed wooze. "Don't." You giggle in delight as she makes a grab for your hands, misses and ends up barely holding herself above you, her elbows on the floor. "Just…" Her breath blows across your face, "give me a chance. Another chance. My fifty millionth chance."

"In terms of trying to be Rosy's mother this will be your third. In terms of being my-"

"Don't!" She stops your mouth with sloppy, drunken fingers. "Don't. Again. Don't… put a name on it or whatever… I'm going to try to be Rosy's mom and if… if something happens between us then… just…"

"Let's not jinx it?"

"Right."

As she kisses you again your conscience nudges you to point out that this is Henry's floor. It took him slightly longer to come around to the idea of giving Faith another chance last time. He took you aside the day he checked Faith in to the last 'definitely going to work' clinic, to assert, again, his exact motivations; "I'm doing this for Rose. Excuse me if I sound a little petulant but I don't exactly want the two of you to… I want Rose to be happy and if you believe that having Faith in her life is the thing to do it, then- then I'll stand by whatever you think."

You smack your conscience back by pointing out that at least this time you're not still engaged to him.

Around Faith, life seems to contract and expand, become at once more real and yet more dream-like. You suddenly see things in startling clarity and realise nothing is actually as big a deal as you think, in fact, it almost seems humorous to think you were so busy freaking out over something so silly. And then… everything becomes slightly blurred, because it's Faith. She is like a dream that you can never quite fully believe exists in real life. Because how could somebody love you that much and it be real?

How did you get so lucky?

You push her hair back to see her face but it slips through your fingers like silk. "Stay with me."

"I'm here."

"No, I mean… I mean really; really stay with me. Live here. With us. Be Rosy's mom."

For a while there you'd forgotten the way her smile starts at one side and then rushes across her face, the way her skin glows when she laughs. "And what am I to you, B?"

"Anything. Everything. Mine."

"And Satsu?"

"Is not going to be living here ever again. Trust me. There was an argument, a big one, one that seemed to centre around different lip-glosses and Kennedy always being right." You know it was you she was talking about, that she's still in love with you. And you don't know what to do about it. "Never mind."

Faith always kisses back, even in her sleep. She giggles in that gorgeous way no one else knows she has and doesn't mind when you get her drunker and make fun of her.

"Say it."

"No."

You find a cork on the floor and chuck it at her, "Say it."

"No."

"Say-"

"Duty!"

"Ha!" You giggle, " 'Dudy' like 'Judy'…"

"You need a life. And a good screw."

"Fuck off Faith."

She grins cheekily at you, pissing you off more by downing the last of the wine.

Your blood boils and you think you just might like it- like that even after all these years she still pisses you off, still gets you, still makes you fall even more hopelessly in love every day. She's an infuriating hell-demon with a sexy smile.

"You know what, Bumble Bee?" Her fingers reach and hook around yours, leaving your hands clasped and hanging between you. "I think it's all gonna be ok."

Chapter 28: Prima Colazione Famosa Di Fede

August 2015

At the time you didn't really get it; it wasn't easy, it wasn't fun and it certainly wasn't 'ok'. Trying to mesh Faith back into your lives was the hardest thing you've ever had to do (including killing your first love and sticking a knife in Faith's gut- something you spent most of that first year wishing you could do again). To start with Rosy loved it- an extended visit from her favourite aunt- until she realised that all she was gaining was just another mommy. On the rare occasion you could actually talk Faith into disciplining your daughter Rose would yell that she already had a mum and that only her Mummy was allowed to tell her off.

Faith freaked out every time Rose whined and her first reaction was to hit her. Of course, she didn't tell you that, she just ran away and got drunk (trying so hard not to be her mother she fell head-first into some of her habits anyway). They fought and screamed and hated each other. Faith was too strict then too soft then completely negligent and the inconsistency upset the two of you. Occasionally they'd go for days without talking or Faith would give a punishment that hideously outdid the crime and you'd be terrified that you'd done the wrong thing. It was the loss of their fun and carefree relationship that scared even you.

Reminding you it needs to either be fixed, replaced or just burnt for the firewood it so obviously is, the front door judders open with stilted groans. "Is this thing still not fixed?"

"It's an antique!" You yell back.

Henry's laugh echoes through to the kitchen, "An antique is worth money- this you should be paying someone to take away!"

Rosy's 'Favourite Pseudo-Dads' 1, 2 and 3 heave heavy bags through the rackety door. You wipe your dirt-smattered hands on your apron and lift the- suddenly feather light- bags away to leave space for a huge hug.

"Buff! At least leave me a little bit of my manhood- I can carry a bag!" Xander chuckles, ignoring Angel's snort and dwarfing you with his big arms.

"Sure you can. The flight was ok? Angel found you easily? You have something else to say about my crumbling house?" You pull Henry in on the other side to join the hug; he presses a kiss to the top of your head and murmurs that the house really does look good. "It better- I've been cleaning all freaking morning!"

"Mummy! Twenty Cents in the jar!"

Angel points and laughs. "Oh shut up." He's entirely too happy now he can sunbathe and fix his stupid hair in a mirror. Which, by the way, is pretty much all he's done since he arrived a month ago. "That wasn't swearing! I said 'freaking'…"

The men offer no back up so you leave them to their bags (except for Henry- who slips you the money for the Swear Jar and who you can't help but forgive for everything).

"Your hair…" He exclaims as you walk back to Rosy in the kitchen.

You tug a little self-consciously on it. "Is it awful? I haven't been blonde in so long… maybe they got my shade wrong? I couldn't understand a word the lady was saying- Rosy had to translate."

"No," He chuckles, "It's beautiful. Just a surprise."

"I was going for a natural, dark blonde but the sun made it lighter."

"You look great, Bethy, really. I wasn't even aware someone so naturally pale could become so tanned."

Xander laughs, "Yeah, check out Mr Straight Tooth- he's been here a month and he's got blazing white bits." Bla-what-now?

As one, you turn to stare at him. "Uh… pardon?"

"Xan?" You crush down your giggles, "Exactly how do you know that?"

He looks with minor horror between you and Henry, his eyes widening to humourous proportions.

"Ah- Ah- Ah!"

Okay… you were joking.

Rosy saves him, scrambling up from the table. "Uncle Xander!" (Her favourite person of the summer)

A smile unfolds across him as he sees her glowing cheeks and happy grin. He'd teamed up with Satsu back at the start of 2013, when Faith had moved in and everything had gone wrong. They'd given you the usual lectures and stern looks, told you to take it slowly and, from her miserable demeanour, that it probably wasn't the best thing for Rosy.

But now it's different.

"Hello there, Doctor Summers." He bows, his head still higher than hers.

"Doctor Summers-Lehane." Rosy corrects, "Soon to be 'professor'."

"Ah," Xander nods, "Of course."

Henry stretches out his arms and she cuddles into him with an easy familiarity. "Hello, Papa."

"Hello, my darling."

You pick up the bags he left and motion Angel and Xander to come upstairs and leave them to father-daughter bonding time.

The door is wonderfully close but Xander stops you from leaving, blocking the door with his big, hulking man-frame. "Buff, what's that on your back?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing, turn around."

You glare up at him to keep his voice down. "I'm holding suitcases here, if you don't let me past I may become very weak suddenly and drop them."

"Did she hurt you?"

Fortunately for Xander's man-bits Rosy babbles on without noticing. "No, Faith didn't hurt me." You sigh, because it's the truth. Partly.

"Buff, if she's hurting you then you need to get help."

"I just told you she didn't." The cases wiggle menacingly above his sandaled feet. "I'm not a beaten wife, I'm a slayer- accidents happen."

He shakes his head sadly but has the class to move the contra ton out of Rose's eye line, "You don't have to stay with her just because you feel bad."

"I'm not with her because I feel bad- I'm with her because I love her!" Behind you Angel smiles warmly. You have the distinct impression he would have patted your head if common sense hadn't saved his limb.

Xander throws up his arms in defeat and trudges off. "You know, you could just have put on a shirt and saved all that." Angel chuckles. Or you could tell him the truth about Faith's illness… but it's her choice and if she's only comfortable with each of your best friends, your ex-husband and… Angel knowing, then that's her choice. "It looks like a cat attacked your shoulder."

You roll your eyes, "Yes, that's exactly what happened, a cat was sleeping in my bed and I rolled on top of it accidentally. Most embarrassing injury ever." There's a shared smile and you shrug though it hurts slightly, "I can't put a shirt on it- the damn thing won't heal, it stings like hell every time I try to wear something over it."

"I have a great potion with me, Willow sent it over as a joke when I had my first human paper cut- I'd forgotten how much those things hurt! Anyway, it actually works really well so just say the-"

"Word!"

Is it weird that you lied to Faith the next morning about how your shoulder got torn up? She woke up feeling groggy and flu-y so you made her pancakes and said you didn't mind risking Slayer Flu just to kiss her. Some times you think she's crazy and sometimes it's hard not to believe that she's the only sane one here.

After she moved into the London house it had been eleven months of the same thing; the same problems, day after day, until you felt like running away yourself; leaving them both behind. Rose's grades had dropped to a worrying low, she refused to speak except to yell when you tried to force her to eat or sleep, her hair lost it's shine and her weight plummeted. The change unsettled her. She was picking up on your own doubts about Faith and the erratic behaviour she couldn't understand but you knew all too well.

You'd been crouched at the bottom of the garden, wrapped up in your guilt and despair; your daughter was wilting like the damn wisteria bush that refused to climb the house. When Faith had slid the door open and joined you down in the dirt you'd almost cried, unable to take more of her, or- more of the 'not her' that seemed to be everywhere.

But, instead, her sitting there had turned into the best thing that could have happened.

"Lets go home."

"Huh?" It took a monumental effort to turn, to look in her unfocused and manic eyes.

Except that wasn't what you saw.

It was just Faith who smiled back at you, eyes lit with the excitement of a plan and the November waning moon.

"Let's go home. Our real home. Italy."

At first you'd wanted to refuse, except then you realised you didn't actually have a reason for it (other than a general hatred of flying). Nothing was keeping you there, in London, in that house you'd never grown to love.

She'd started packing before you even had time to call and cancel the milk, making it into a game to tempt Rosy away from her room. The poor child was so sleep-deprived she worked like a drone, putting things in boxes, a pile of books on top of a packet of grapes. On discovery of this and other mishaps (open shampoo bottles in with light bulbs) she'd been downgraded to 'wrapper' and merely had to package various non-breakables in old newspaper, sweetly delivered by StJohn, free of charge.

It only took thirty hours of work with the occasional falling-asleep-on-the-job to have your whole lives packed into a pile of boxes that barely filled half the living room. You didn't need the rest, didn't want it, too much of your past when all you wanted was to get a head start on this new and shiny future.

The keys were left with a neighbour, Dawn was to pick them up the next day, arrange a sale and then send the money on. At first the intention was to fly to Rome, hire a car and drive as far down the coast as you could before finding a place to rent. You hadn't counted on the Demon Network actually doing its job for once. So were surprised upon arrival at the International Airport (with an unconscious (medicated) child thrown over one shoulder and Faith buried somewhere under a mound of suitcases) to see a smartly dressed man holding an embossed sign; Famore.

'Family I Love'

Home.

Xander is nowhere to be seen once you make it downstairs but Henry points non-too-subtly towards the garden and you know they've been doing that odd Man Language thing again, where they don't actually have to use words to know what the other is saying. Just grunts. And the occasional upwards-nod. Men are so much less complicated sometimes.

Willow's lotion is sticky and there's the distinct possibility it may dry your hair to your back so you let Rose sweep it up with a scrunchie made of tissue paper and five colours of elastic band. Good luck getting that out tonight.

Once you're looking strange enough to suit your daughter's weird clothes taste (if it's colourful and helps you find her in the dark she loves it) she ignores you completely, making the short hop up- or the long clamber from her reduced height- onto Henry's lap. Once settled her head tucks in perfectly beneath his chin. "Papa, I can't use these scissors properly- can you do it?"

"Sure thing, Sweet Pea, what am I cutting?"

She replies in Italian before realising he has no idea what she's talking about, "Sorry. I'm making pretty decorations for later."

Faith's party. Her semi-annual (in the sense it happens whenever she feels like a reunion) extravaganza of everyone the two of you have pulled together to make an extended family.

For two weeks beforehand she whirls the house into a wonderful disorder, creating beautiful food, decorations and party games for no reason other than you'll let her.

It's… not in any way worrying.

Rose winks (with both eyes), 'it's ok.'

You smile back guiltily. 'She's been gone too long.'

Her eyes flick to the clock and then back to you, 'She was fine when she left.'

'Dawn will be here any minute and I can't stand her smug little look whenever your mother messes up' you try to message back- but just get a very confused raised eyebrow in return. "Never mind. It'll be fine."

She nods, slowly, the way she's picked up from Sassy- whose motions are calm and deliberate with you whenever she's being comforting (or thinks you're an idiot).

In the difficult months before you moved to Italy there were plenty of times you were more than willing to just give it all up and send Faith away. Satsu talked you down- with harsh words and the occasional 'throwing you out of her kitchen at one in the morning, no matter how much wine you've sneaked'.

"You know," She groaned after yet another of your annoying whinges, "You're always so busy complaining you don't even see how lucky you are."

Your silly little brain had taken her attempted advice as pure insult; "Oh I know you just translated that wrong!"

"I really, really didn't. Faith might not be perfect but she's yours. Do you know how rare that is? To have someone so devoted to you that they'd do anything for you? Most people never meet their 'one' and you have- you've got her and you don't- you don't… you don't see."

"You're still in love with me."

Always. Painfully always. "It's not about that. It's about Faith. Just give the girl some credit."

So you have. You let her have this party and go a little crazy and try not to worry because that's who she is; just a little crazy. There isn't a stage you can note in her life where everything changed- sure, the whole 'turning evil and trying to take over the world' thing was pretty big but it's not like she didn't have loose-canon tendencies before that! Point being, as a person, her personality, the bit that makes her 'Faith'… it likes big parties, loud music and lots and lots of people!

You were supposed to be happy without her. But you're delirious with her.

The first person you called after booking the plane tickets was Tavi. You wanted someone who wasn't going to yell at you for being an idiot who trusts too much or say you're brave for wanting to make it work. She doesn't really get the whole 'slayer history' aspect but she understands that it isn't a choice. You don't stop loving somebody just because they're… different.

It's probably a product of living together in a country where you barely speak the language but you've become so incredibly close to Faith it's crazy. When she's away from you for more than an hour you begin to pine- depressingly like a dog, but it's kind of sweet too.

Having a tentative grasp of French isn't that much of a help. And they tend to glare at you when you speak Spanish, for some reason you've yet to discover.

Faith's Italian was only mildly rusty and Rosy picked it up almost as soon as she came round from the plane ride. As Mimtal's driver took you back 'home' to the old apartment she managed to learn her first fifty words; seven of which were swear words and the rest car related… but you have to start somewhere.

The rooms of the old apartment were almost untouched, not a speck of dust in a place it shouldn't have been. The staff smiled politely and fetched your favourite drinks, as if you had stepped out to the local market a few hours before and not 12 years ago. Even the fridge was stocked. Only one marked change; a room, somewhere deep in your mind you recalled it being a study or similar, was now lilac with white rosebushes delicately painted to curl around the frames. A bed- not as long as to make her feel bad about the parts of it she didn't fill, but not so short as to be seen to be a 'first' bed- took Rosy's immediate attention and she had flopped down on it. Bathed in the light from the grand window above the bed she'd seemed almost angelic, despite the dark circles and greasy hair.

Later, while filling the cupboards with whatever you'd managed to grab of hers, you uncovered peeling wallpaper and pulled back to reveal 7 layers of children's prints- one for every year of Rose's life.

You cried then, for what should have been, for the life you should have been leading, in the warm sun and not in the grey drizzle of London and Scotland. But it is only possible to lie to oneself for so long and so you cried harder, because it wouldn't have changed Faith and you still weren't sure if it would be possible to.

Back then it seemed impossible that anything could help, no matter how much expectant optimism weighed upon you… but the warm air soothed like a balm over Faith and, while you huddled in a too-warm, sticky ball of slight jet-lag, she swam in the pool, made friends with the neighbours and introduced Rosy to the local market. They charmed free gelato from the parlour at the end of the street and found fifty thousand things in common. For no real reason… it worked.

The only- not 'problem', because you're awfully sick of that word… the only slight difficulty was that the old apartment felt… too much like the past when all you wanted was to move on. So, during a visit to Mimtal's Palaszoo (his Summer Palace; 'Palaszoo'- a bastardisation of the Italian 'palazzo', meaning 'palace'. Because you're dumb. And can't learn Italian. Also, Mimtal does have a strange amount of wild animals as pets so in many ways it's very appropriate), you broke the news to him. Of course, you hadn't really thought through a plan so when he suggested staying nearby- at least temporarily- the three of you grabbed your bags and headed into the small town on the other side of the bay.

You trundled down the bumpy streets, dirt with cobbles between, everything in oranges and reds, looking as if people had built it straight from the clay-dirt and let it set in the sun. An old couple by the roadside had suggested a house that they knew was for rent, nothing spectacular but good just for now. When the road began to narrow your heart sank. Even as a 'just for now' house, lugging the cases by hand was going to be a pain- even with Mini-Slayer helping out.

The sight that greeted your eyes as you turned the corner, four bags on your arms, three in your hands and another two strapped across your back, was worth it.

A tall, thin townhouse; four floors high, two windows across with a connecting balcony on every upper level. It was stone coloured but the balconies were white and though intricate not too fancy, awnings covered the tops and plants spilled down from every level. It made you long for a wisteria sapling to train up against the wall.

Yet, you had to remind yourself, this was just a temporary place.

At least Faith and Rose seemed to be having the same problem. They were the ones who discovered the garden; a few metal stairs down to a grassy area that slowly sloped down and became sandier until a more extreme, but short, drop down to a little beach with white sand and a view across the bay.

Giles had choked around his tea, when you'd asked him for the money to buy it, the very next morning. But had, at least, sent it as long as Faith agreed to look after a new slayer, Lily (now 13) seeing as she'd left Allegra back in London.

You're in Faith's garden, tying bright ribbons around the trees when Henry calls from the kitchen window that your sister is arriving. A swift warning to Rosy not to jump down from the top of the tree goes unheeded as she merely shrugs and ponders aloud why on earth she'd want to.

"Because she's your aunt!"

"I find that under some contention- she's not actually a real person." … is what you imagine she mutters under her breath, in Italian; 'conflitto' is the word of the week.

Dawn bustles in with a thousand matching luggage cases and designer sunglasses, casually flashing a rock the size of Gibraltar under your nose before you notice which finger it's attached to and squeak in excitement.

"He did it right in the middle of The Huntingtons' Easter Ball- I was so embarrassed!"

"You were not!"

"No," She grins, "I wasn't. The look on his mother's face was totally worth it!"

You give off another long squeal and try to crush down the pain you feel for having missed so much. Even the brief mention of Lexie makes you sad- but, you try to remind yourself, just another few hours until she arrives en mass with Tavi and all the girls. "Tavi didn't tell me!"

"Oh, I made her swear not to- just like she made me promise not to tell you some… exciting news."

"How excit-?"

"Dawn!" Henry stands in the doorway to the garden, glaring in shock and reproach. "That doesn't sound much like 'keeping your mouth shut'."

They attempt to stare each other out before you finally get too antsy and pinch Dawn in the hope some light torture will make her tell. "Dawn Marie Summers-soon-to-be-Fortescue, you'd better tell me right now!"

"Dawn…" Henry warns again.

Her eyes flick between the two of you before it finally gets too much and she blurts out, "Tavi and Henry are getting married!"

"Dawn!" He gasps

"Henry!" You gasp in return, "You didn't even tell me the two of you were…! Oh. My. God."

Refusing to cower under Henry's glare, Dawn continues to giggle naughtily. "They want you to be a bridesmaid!"

"Dawn! I'm pretty sure that was something Tavi wanted to ask me herself!"

"Yah, but I'm not having grown up bridesmaids because it's tacky so I had to ask you for her." She flicks her long, stupidly expensive hair (and yes, so your ends are a little sun-frazzled…) and flounces off, cackling all the way.

"What happened to the 'learning and growing' Reuben was supposed to be helping her with?"

She's never been the same since Leah… and she was pretty bad to begin with. You think there might be some awful poetry in Leah dying as you married Henry. Except that's horribly selfish; thinking of someone else's life purely in the ways they relate to you.

The wedding was a stupid idea but at least you've gained a friend for life from it.

Henry shrugs, "Just be happy she's marrying my cousin and not Xander." You give him a dead arm for making you shudder. "Ow! Unnecessary!" He grins.

"Totally necessary- now go and hide your head in shame for keeping secrets from me."

"That means 'carry Dawn's cases upstairs' doesn't it?"

"Clever boy." You smack his arse to make him mush and check the street one more time as Angel is leaving to pick up yet more guests from the Airport. It's getting hot already and Faith… really should be back by now.

Some things you can't take back, some things you can't untangle once you've messed them up. Bruiser will never again respond to 'Bruiser'- it's Elsa now (Elsa Benn to be exact since you left her to Bliss and Tavi).

You're just relieved your life turned out this way.

The plan was to stay a year, maybe less, until everything stopped spinning and you could finally work out where the hell you were going. But once you were here it seemed as if there was no place else you could possibly belong. Italy is home.

Faith is stronger in Italy- happier too. It's as if here, she knows how to fight it. Or- or not 'fight' as such, more… she can deal, she can cope. The bathroom here doesn't scare her. Since you moved to Italy two years ago she's only slipped away four times and only one of those was a 'down'. It's just a shame she missed her birthday- 'the big three-oh'.

She wears socks that don't match and gets overexcited when her favourite soap-stars have big story lines. You have to drag her away from the fish stall in the market else she'll spend hours debating with Louis over 'which twin Paulo was sleeping with when Sandy walked in and whether or not one of them is actually evil'. When you watch soppy movies together she's the one who cries but then every Saturday night when you drag her to the town square to watch the family film of the week, projected onto the largest white wall you've ever seen, she stands at the back with the men and talks about football.

Sometimes she's all… butch, and gets amped up over motorbikes, sometimes she wears your pink fluffy robe and paints your toes for you. The contradiction thing- it's part of being human, it's just a little more obvious in Faith.

"Cristo, cristo, Mama, step away from the door! Ai, she'll come back when she's done." Rose pinches your side as she passes, searching for yet more ribbons- the girl is obsessed with colour.

It took a long time for Rose to get Faith (and, indeed the other way around but Faith likes to deny that) and to understand her odd ways… which aren't really that much weirder than her weird ways but they both like to deny things. They fought like cat and dog, for months, until Rose fell off her bike one day and Faith let her eat an entire tub of ice cream to make up for it. After that they found a common enemy in you- the 'no fun mum'. They went wild painting the kitchen with pasta sauce and disappearing for hours on end with no clue as to where they'd gone or if they were ok. They came home one night after five hours of late-night Christmas present shopping to find you in near-hysterics on the sofa. You'd gone to pick Rosy up from school but she wasn't there and no one could say who'd taken her… at least, not in English. The '9' button on the phone was starting to wear off from where you'd almost called the police a thousand times before slamming the handset back down because god damn it you couldn't remember the Italian number!

Seeing you hurt like that had finally jolted something in Faith's brain.

She settled down. You learnt to share discipline equally and, sure, Faith was always the parent who bought the expensive and totally insane toys home and, yes, she never actually made any final decisions (relying heavily on the classic 'ask your mother') but she was steady for once in her life. The two of you even made the landmark move of telling the school that Faith was also Rose's mother. And sure, they all basically gave you the same 'this is new information, how?' look but you like to think that being the first out, lesbian couple (who kind of aren't a couple) in a tiny, catholic town is special. Mimtal laughed weirdly, in an oddly knowing way, when you told him that so you just… kind of let it go…

"Do you know where the ginger ribbon is?"

Still in the bin? Hopefully. "You mean that disgusting orange with the shiny silver bits? The stuff I said I'd rather die than see attached to my beautiful fig trees?"

"Eh." Rosy shrugs, "You've died twice, you can handle it. Besides, I solemnly swear to tie it in conspicuously large bows on every tree in the garden with the exception of yours."

"Excuse me for having been too specific- tie it to any tree in my garden and lose your allowance."

"That threat would have a much firmer grounding if my money wasn't drawn directly from the pockets of my grandparents." Bitch. She turns her back before you can voice the thought- which is probably in the best interests of everybody, you really don't have any change in your pocket. Thank god for Charlotte and Edward.

Light twinkles off her sparkly sandals as she upends herself in a box, searching for the damn ribbon (which is, most likely, in the town's rubbish processing bank).

There are brown boxes littered everywhere. You didn't bring anything from England- except in suitcases you could carry. The boxes are from Mimtal; as many pieces of beautiful furniture as could fit in a mint green bedroom.

Rose opened one the other day and screamed loudly enough to bring you both to arms. She'd laughed at your impromptu weapons- a table leg and jagged ribbon-cutter. The box was full of just a single gown.

"The Countess' Anniversary Dress!"

There are very few clothes that make Faith excited without an over-use of leather, this dress was one of them. It was the first banquet Mimtal held for you, the first time you were in Italy. Officially it was in honour of the local Countess (although it was never quite explained what kind of 'anniversary' it was), who took one look at Faith and saw 'possibilities'. That night her hair had been swept up with a delicate, antique comb, leaving half of it in curls to drape over one shoulder. You sat in the back of a carriage across the city and couldn't take your eyes off her. When the butler slipped her coat off she'd become a hundred times more beautiful; the velvet silk wrapped classically around her upper body to flow down over a huge petticoat and then along the floor for at least a foot behind her. Despite the skirt she'd gamely danced with every ancient Italian noble who asked (though not any who were young and handsome). You didn't notice the way everyone stared at you, the way they called you 'charming' and adored everything you did, because you were busy watching the girl who laughed too loud and ate with the wrong fork and forgot to say thank you.

"Remember what we did in this dress?"

You'd flushed, trust Faith to think of the fun you had after the party. "You two are very disturbing for my young mind."

Faith had merely raised an eyebrow, "Hush, Rosy. Your mother and I are going upstairs…"

"See? Disturbing."

The boxes are full of designer clothes, over-elaborate dresses and the tiniest scraps of bikini they can legally charge over two hundred euros for. But nothing useful, which is really why they are still, years after you actually moved in, stacked against the long wall running from the hallway down one side of the kitchen.

"I should have made your mother move the boxes… Why didn't I make her move the boxes? I should have made her tidy up… why didn't I…?"

Rose flattens your hands to stop the drumming. "You only gave her enough for juice and a bit of food- she can't have got very far."

"Oh, you'd be surprised how far she can get on even one euro."

"Mother, I'm not above drugging you so take a seat and calm the hell down." Oh so she can cuss now? "The 'hell' was entirely appropriate."

She steers you back out into the garden to sit beneath one of the larger trees with Dawn (wearing the world's largest sunhat to protect her milky white skin) and cut stars out of shiny paper. You talk quietly of unimportant things and breeze along next to the shore. A slight, cooling wave rolls up to catch at your toes from time to time.

The house is cupped by the bay and from the garden you can see between the two large cliffs at the mouth and out to the wide Mediterranean Sea. On days off you sometimes swim out and across to the wide aperture, just to prove you still can.

But swimming back is a different matter.

Rose can make it there and back three times before getting tired. You reach the other side and drag yourself out, gasping for breath and happy because now you're winding down you're just 'amazing'.

You're not a freak.

Mimtal claims he built the grand, sprawling house, that stands guard atop the left cliff, with his own hands. You believe it was the rocks. That they saw the threat of the outside world (consumerism, progress, general future type stuff) and heaved to push from the stone a fist. But the danger had abated, the people fought the battle with words and custom and choice- and so the fist lay flat, ready to clench at any time. The villagers cut themselves off so that they might live forever- so that their generations would live on in the shadow of a man who'd seen it all and decided that home was best.

There are two TVs in the village; the one with no reception in Town Hall, used only on movie nights and hooked up to the projector, and the other in Pepe's Bar- because no matter how disconnected from the outside world they may choose to be, the Italians cannot give up their football.

You've never read so much in your life. And books are strangely good.

And… uh… your laptop plays DVDs but you keep that one a little quiet as Rosy more than disapproves.

Rose reads voraciously, anything she can get her hands on- Regency literature for fun but anything with facts and figures is gobbled up as soon as she sees it.

Every day she grows and changes and gets better. When Rose was born you thought you'd never love anyone as much as her- but then she smiled for the first time, sat up, said her first word and you realised that your heart could expand, could develop. It's true that with every new thing she does, every way she grows, you love her more.

"So you're… what? 'Just weirdly living together'?"

Huh? "Uh… ok, that's kind of an odd question."

"It's not odd." Dawn sighs, "It's just random. Why would it be strange to ask my sister if she's any closer to being married to the woman she's being sleeping with for… how old are you now?"

"33! You refused to come to my birthday party because you were skiing with Reuben's parents!"

"Well, when you actually have future-in-laws it's generally a good idea to be friendly with them."

But it's apparently not that important to be nice to the people who share your DNA. At least she's found one nice way of getting along with Rose- they're now joint founders of the 'Buffy and Faith must get married!' club.

Henry still doesn't quite approve- and you get that. He's seen the damage that can occur from Faith's occasional insanity, even if he didn't know it at the time. You love him for not voicing those opinions, just as he sat with you all night one late September, years ago, bandaging up what was left of your bloody and mangled left wrist and didn't ask why.

For a while after Faith moved in you took to wrapping things around that wrist. But you'd made a pact with her to always be open and honest with each other- she had agreed not to hide her scars so you shouldn't have needed to hide yours. If she couldn't cope with seeing what she had done to you then she wasn't ready. If she couldn't admit that something else controlled her sometimes then it wasn't safe for her to be in the house yet.

The first step is admitting you have a problem, the second is being willing to ask for help.

You tried the drugs, last year, and you'd been right all along- they destroyed not only the unhinged Faith but the normal one too. She didn't go up, she didn't go down, but neither did she smile or have interests or want to be involved in the town any more. A shrug became her favourite means of communication and you missed Real Faith- the chatty, lively woman who captivated people at the first meeting.

She also didn't have any opinion about being taken off the drugs so, along with Rosy, you made an executive decision and agreed to clear it with her once she was back. It might not have been the safest or smartest option but you reasoned that you'd much rather have a whole-Faith some of the time than a half-Faith all of the time. She agreed, once she remembered how to and the three of you drew up coping plans instead.

The worst part was that she stopped reading, tutoring and… sculpting bits of wood into crazily beautiful things. Sometimes you feel sorry for having kept her world so small- you feel it's your fault she hasn't become a world-renowned sculptor or a critically acclaimed translator of obscure Russian literature.

But, you know that this way she can cope. In this tiny town- where the only expectation of her is to be at home between three and six every Monday, Wednesday and Friday to run tutoring sessions, and her only responsibility concerns a girl who can pretty much parent herself- she is settled. Sure, in the big wide world she'd probably live a fast and exciting life but there would always be the temptation of not just narcotics but of pushing herself just that little bit further, being just a little wilder and living without boundaries until she'd be over the edge of that cliff again.

It's scary to think how easy it would be for her to fall.

"Everything is so great right now, I don't want to ruin it."

"Buff, come on, it's not as if the-"

"Hey!" An indignant little voice calls down from a branch hanging over the porch. "I can see that heart Dawn Summers! If I wanted your mushy love hearts all over my trees I would have asked you to cut them out!"

You don't even bother to attempt holding Dawn down. "There's nothing wrong with hearts Rose! They're pretty!"

She lets out a flow of rapid, angry Italian and Dawn answers in… stilted Italian. You understand 'stella' and a few swear words but none are from Rosy so you let it go.

And it's back to worrying about Faith's whereabouts.

You know she isn't entirely sane, know that sometimes she gets lost in her mind when she's fighting and can't stop. Sometimes you have to hold her back when she's high on nothing- desperately wanting to dive off a cliff just to show you she can and you have to stop her because that roaring sound isn't a river it's a road. Those times you have to hold her down and say, 'no'; no, it's not ok, no, you can't do that and no, there isn't anyone else here but us.

Fighting demons is your job but you can't kill the monsters in her head. She won't ever be fixed and you can't ever tell. Your friends see Faith as irresponsible and childish but pretty OK all the same, to joint friends Faith appears loving and fun if a little scatter-brained and those who know just Faith are never kept around long enough to think of her as anything other than wonderful. You won't- can't take that away from her. Faith's… secret is kept inside. So few people will ever know the enormous amount of effort you put in to keeping this little family together or how bad the bad days really get.

But they don't get to see all the good bits either. It's only ten percent of the time now that she has that glazed look in her eye and only half of that time is she completely unmanageable. The rest of the time you can indulge her whims. Like two weeks ago when the three of you spent all day on the kitchen floor eating a chocolate cake because Faith was convinced something awful would happen if any of you stood up. It sounds strange but it was a good day, you joked around and laughed until your stomachs ached.

Rose is the thing that keeps you sane. Not because you have to 'for her' anymore but because she's genuinely the greatest help. She's even better than you at judging Faith's moods, knowing within a split second if they're going to change. Having another slayer in the house is, of course, always helpful. Especially when you're stressing about where the hell Faith's run off to… Perhaps not so weirdly, sitting on the front step in a bright white dress, like a beacon, doesn't seem to be tempting her home.

You've learnt that it's a sliding scale and not always doom and gloom- there's even humour in the fringes of her madness. When some days she's reckless enough to urge you into being a little braver, letting your hair down, or she realises what's going on and makes fun of her own sulking. In January she booked, on the spur of the moment, a romantic vacation to Paris and you spent the whole hour until your left feeling guilty for feeling happy.

It was one of the best weeks of your life.

Faith has more energy than you can ever catch up with, she's constantly on the go, constantly thinking of the next big idea and running off to wherever. You can't keep up with her. But you don't have to.

There was a time when you tried, when you thought it was completely imperative that you followed the two of them on every adventure. Yet… it seems that sometimes it's ok to be still when everything around you is swirling, it's alright to be calm when they're jumping off the ceilings. Faith won't leave you for being too still because that's exactly what she needs- someone she can curl up to when it all gets too much, someone to watch from the sidelines as she commands a room, making them all fall in love with her and knowing you're the one person who's love she can never loose. She needs a rock.

And maybe she keeps you on the straight and narrow too- you are the glue and she makes you hold fast. "Oh… where the he-!" A beaming face pops around the corner of the street.

"Hey, baby-baby." Faith bounds inside with overflowing shopping bags and a smile, "They were out of orange so I got apple, that ok?"

You pull her close with a tug and a kiss. "That's fine." Her grey sweatpants are slipping off her hips so you tug them up slightly but they still don't cover the top of her girl-boxers. "Did you cut the top off your pants?"

"The elastic dug in."

"The elastic is what stops you committing public indecency in a catholic country." She yelps when you give a tiny slap to her bare hip and bites your ear lobe playfully.

Despite the still-falling-down pants she looks cute today- tiny white tank top and huge patterned scarf, haphazardly thrown around her shoulders. She likes to wear cuffs around her wrists when she's in town, to hide the mass of scars.

It makes her look sexy and tough.

Oh…

So pretty…

"Ew, lesbians kissing in the hallway." Dawn grins, coating one side of her dark dress in white powder by leaning against the wall you've been meaning to ask Xander to look at.

"Don't make them stop!" The man in question chuckles, draping one huge arm around your little sister and sufficiently raising your hackles for Faith to discreetly steer you towards the kitchen.

"S'up, X-Man? Sunshine?"

A rather horrified "'Sunshine'!?" follows you. Faith remains attached to your back as you go but takes care to flip her hair out of the way of your scratches. Tickly kisses rain down your neck and Dawn groans. "Can you two not be separated for a second when you're in the same room?"

Faith hugs harder, "Nope! Could you keep your hands off a gorgeous girl like this?"

"Uh… seeing as she's my sister? An emphatic 'yes'." Dawn scowls but tries to hide a tiny smile as soon as Faith gives her a hug (one armed- the other is wrapped around your waist).

"Love ya, D."

"Love you too, F."

Xander coughs pointedly and gets both a fist bump and a hug, giving you just enough time to take the shopping from Faith and dump it on the side before she pulls you back for a kiss. Which you return with perhaps more fervour than is strictly polite in company.

"Seriously guys, Dawn has a point. Do you gross Rosy out like this or is it just for guests?"

You pull apart and agree to try and keep the PDAs to a minimum… which is stupid because have they seen how hot Faith is?! Dawn and Xander split up to bring the others down for lunch and so begins a smooth dance to put away the food while keeping at least one point of contact with Faith at all times. As you arabesque to keep your toes touching a sudden thought hits you.

"Promise me something?"

She throws her hands up and says 'anything' because, in that moment, she means it.

"Promise me… promise me just for today, this week- this holiday! Say that just for this holiday you'll try to stay here?"

The first time it rained you lost Faith for two nights then woke to a note on your pillow; 'Five-thirty, I stole you a present'.

You'd left Rose with a neighbour (Rosa, who your daughter loves for her house full of children and having the good sense to have 'the best name in the world') and walked across town to the old aqueduct, a huge, towering, yet somehow homely thing. Faith had been huddled, just where you knew she would be, on a ledge about six meters off the ground. "You know, eventually, you will have to come down." 'and return whatever it is you've stolen'.

"But it's so pretty…"

"The view or…?"

A bracelet, green and sparkly, had dropped directly onto your forehead.

"OW! Faith! That stung like a b-i-t-c-h!"

Her head popped over the side, long hair dangling down. You considered jumping and pulling on it in retaliation for what was, quite probably, a crater just above your nose. "Rosy's here?"

"No, I just can't stop spelling out cuss words!"

"Oh." A brooch almost took out your eye.

"Faith! Stop throwing jewellery! This is not the way to make me forgive you for missing supper!"

It was, possibly (but only 'possibly') your fault. You looked up. You got hit. A diamond earring was practically swallowed.

After a lengthy coughing fit you made your own way up the near sheer side of the aqueduct's column. "So glad I didn't wear my good boots for this… that had better not have been a real diamond- you know they can chip tee..oh no."

A leather bag- the type you take to the gym, or a weekend retreat, or a handover with mafia bosses- lay on its side next to her, dazzling jewels spilling out. Faith sat on crossed legs and patted her thighs excitedly. "They're for the baby."

"Baby? I think big Rose will be much more appreciative." You shook your head, "By which I mean; 'no Faith, we have to give them back'. Give all the pretty things back. But if one or two pieces happen to fall out along the way- that lovely opal and sapphire brooch you just threw at my head for instance- then we can't really be held accountable now can we?" So your morals have got a little grey recently…

"Not Rose's." She'd laughed, "The new baby."

"New baby?"

"My baby."

You did a quick metal dates check, "Sweetie, I think I'd remember you giving birth and if this is your way of telling me you're pregnant it's highly… well, improbable yet appropriate considering who you are."

"I'm Faith." Occasionally, she gets a little more than confused and you know she doesn't really understand what the hell you're talking about but it makes you feel better to prattle on.

"Not the current problem, but good to know there's at least one point we agree on."

"I have a baby."

"Is this one of those times I can distract you with something shiny," You'd handed her back the earring, "Or do I need to play along? If so, I think Rosa just had a new one she'll probably let you hold."

The bag had been shoved your way, "No, I have a baby."

And, sure enough, because life never works the way you want it to, there'd been a baby, badly cut umbilical cord and all, wiggling away inside. "Faith! You can't just steal children away from their-!" It took a few seconds for you to realise the child was actually purple- not in the 'I'm dead' way, more in the 'I'm a demon with tiny horns' sense. "Ah. Did you bust the Demon Mafia or something?"

"Bang, bang." She'd agreed cheerfully.

"Oh hell…"

Faith carried the tiny demon around, literally without putting him down, for two weeks (much to the chagrin of poor Rosy) before she woke up one morning, acutely embarrassed at having let a little purple thing replace you in your bed. But, much like a very quickly aging duck, the little demon- who, by this time, was taller than Rosy and a lot furrier- had attached itself to her. So another five weeks had to be spent separating the two of them.

A task not exactly easy when you're dealing not with a duck but instead with a rather toothy and angry demon…

Rose was happy to create a diversion and, by begging Rosa (the nicest neighbour ever) to come over multiple times, you successfully attached it/him/the thing to her instead. He's actually quite a sweet little thing- as long as you don't touch Faith around him. In any way. Including passing things to her. Then he tries to bite your hand off.

Ok, so not that sweet.

He likes to follow her around in the daytime when Rose is at school but never says a word. Ever. Creepy little thing.

"Mammia-Mammia!" Rosy hurtles down the stairs at a heart-stopping, breakneck speed, hair half-brushed with curls bouncing and waves flowing.

Faith throws you the rest of the shopping in the split second before she catches Rose. "Baby-Baby! What have you been up to?"

"This and that…" They wink conspiratorially (and painfully obviously) at each other.

"Smooth guys, smooth." You chuckle as they both stick their tongues out.

Unlike whenever you pick her up (having the legs of a girl half her age does unfortunately mean she gets tired jumping up to see things) Rose cuddles into her mother's side and rests her head against her shoulder. Her eyes are calm and childlike around Faith. She is uncomplicated and unsophisticated.

They sing a cheery Italian song about different types of bread until Dawn swans in, modelling a new dress- this one yellow with white flowers and a huge skirt. It's beautiful and vintage and in about an hour she'll be sweating buckets.

"Geez, Dawnie, that ring looks like it's ready to pull your finger off!"

"Eh." Rosy grunts, "Mine'll be bigger." A quick glare and Faith quiets her chuckles, smacking your behind with silent stealth.

"Reuben was going to give me his mother's ring, but, obviously, due to h-"

"Owing." Rosy buts in.

"What?"

"The train is due to arrive late owing to leaves on the track."

Unfortunately, Faith's calming affect on Rose is cancelled out by Dawn's more bile-raising presence. "I hate you, pustule."

"Says the oh-so-mysterious carbuncle- shiny on the outside, pussy on the in. My abhorrence of which increases exponentially with each new stopover."

Dawn snorts, "You know, using big words doesn't actually make you sound smarter, viaka."

"Ti les re malaka!?"

"Ai gamisou!"

"Girls…" You chide, motioning to Faith to put Rosy down- no positive reinforcement of bad behaviour, "Please play nicely. Rose, help your aunt set the table."

Rose is perfect eye-height to see Faith's stomach and she runs her finger across the raised edges of her mother's winged tattoo/scar. She once asked if that was her- if that was where she came from.

That scar saved Faith's life; it tied you to her- the guilt kept you visiting first the hospital, then the prison and (eventually) led to Rosy being born.

"I'm not a child, Buffy, I'm getting married next year."

You raise a perfectly sculpted eyebrow (just because your life is like a permanent holiday doesn't mean you have to let yourself go!), "Well maybe I'll think of you as an adult when you stop arguing with a nine-year-old."

"She started it!"

"Go!" Once they've sloped off you share a small laugh with Faith. "What was that?"

"Greek. And sibling hatred." Her laugh bubbles in your chest. The girl who "has never and will never learn to smile through the pain"- as Giles calls her- now grins absentmindedly at all times.

There's a smack, and then a cry and then the sound of cutlery whistling through the air at the exact moment Satsu enters with Angel, carrying a battered old leather bag and narrowly missing having her eye taken out by a fork. "WHOA! Daiban!"

"Sorry!" The girls chime in unison before Rosy does the most comical double take you've ever seen. "ZOO!" You all jump in for a hug.

You burrow in between the others to make sure you get the best hug. "I've been missing you so much, Sass!"

"I've missed you too! And this place… I swear, once I graduate, I'm going to come and just live here."

"You won't have much to do- our tiny little town already has three doctors!" Not that you want to put off your best friend from coming to stay! It really does hurt your heart not seeing her often anymore.

"Oh I don't mind… A bit of calm would be good." She promises to stick by your side the entire time she's around.

Before that is, Faith drags Sassy off to a dark corner… to whisper. "What are you two up to?"

"Nothing!"

Faith chuckles at the other girl's answering too fast. "I was just admiring Zoo's bracelet."

"But you wouldn't get it!"

You both frown at the girl who apparently can't lie to save her life. "I think I understand the appreciation of jewellery. I might not be smart but I get that at least."

It's sort of a friendship bracelet with three beads, each with a '5' stamped on. Blue, Green and Brown threads but not especially funny, or pretty.

"Ok, I don't get it."

"My sister sent it to me, it means 'don't miss me'."

You hang your head on the side and try to see if that way they're Japanese characters.

"No, B, look- three 5s. In Chinese the number five makes a 'wu' noise, right? So in Chinese internet slang they put three fives together to make 'wu wu wu'; crying. But in Thailand five is a 'ha' so it's laughter- 'ha ha ha'."

Satsu smiles when you just look more confused. "But we're Japanese, when we see five-five-five we neither cry nor laugh. So… she sent it to me to say 'don't cry or laugh over being separated, I'll see you soon'. It's kind of a threat between siblings."

"Aw, that's sweet." You pause, "Now will you tell me what's really going on?"

"No." They giggle.

Faith grins and tugs Sassy away from you, winking.

Angel stands by the counter, staring bemusedly at the still half unpacked shopping. "Uh… is any of this going to turn into lunch?"

"Rude much?"

He starts in horror, "Uh! Uh! I-!"

"Relax, it's a joke. And yes, I am at some point intending to feed the hungry hordes. Did you tell Kennedy she's in the study with Rose?"

"Kennedy?" His eyes widen farcically. "I knew there was something I forgot!"

Lame. "You're not funny, don't try to be." You kiss his cheek and pull away the bag of rice he's emptying into the pasta jar. "Now, please, try and get everyone sitting 'round the table- Giles is coming soon and Will and Grace- oh hey! 'Will and Grace'! I only just got that! Ha! That's funny… do you think they know?"

"Do I think Willow knows her fiancé's name?"

"Shut up and take that knife away from Rose."

"On it."

You roll your eyes as a child outsmarts a three hundred-year-old man. "Don't let her stab anyone with anything!"

The commotion spills out into the garden and hopefully to find Xander and Henry while you… uh… try to make lunch. There's an attempt to slice a mushroom- in which you almost loose a finger- before a warm, familiar body melts into yours and Faith's deep chuckle rumbles through you from behind. "Point first, then bring it down." She wraps your hand around the knife correctly and shows you. "Didn't I teach you this the other day?" Her voice rolls across your skin.

"I'm more of a stabber, less of a slicer."

You giggle into the kisses on your bare shoulder. "Don't I know it… Now, what the hell are you trying to cook?"

"Something with mushrooms, evidently."

"Is that it?"

In this house there are two chefs- and neither of them are you. You're the girl who took Pop Tarts to a prison without either a toaster or a microwave. "Hey! There are plenty of things I'm good at; cakes, pies, fruit… salads."

"Yeah," Her hand moves yours to scrape the mushrooms to one side, "If we need a dessert you're the girl to call. In the mean time…" She spins you out from her arms and towards the fridge, "Grab some onions and butter, I'll get the balsamic vinegar and crusty bread."

The local paper is running a feature on 'Dolci Provenienti da Tutto il Mondo'- basically, 'puddings from around the world'. So far you've worked your way through over thirty of them!

Faith can't really read Italian all that well… but then she had a habit of sounding out English words too so you probably shouldn't think too much on that. Your problem with the language barrier is that things have to be visual for you to truly comprehend them. The newspaper doesn't talk too fast, slur words or jump from subject to subject. Right now it's the only way you really know what's going on.

Your little family works well together. A loud and angry grumble rumbles up from your stomach. You're actually pretty hungry- the only food that's been eaten so far this morning is a bowl of cereal by Rose. Faith pulls random ingredients down, guides your hand and, somehow, what started as your pathetic stab at cooking ("Oh the unintentional kitchen humour…" Rosy smirks when it's related) turns into a Prima Colazione Famosa Di Fede; Faith's Famous Breakfast. And ok, so maybe it's not very imaginatively named, but it sounds so damn good in Italian.

The typical Italian breakfast is made up of a hot drink- cappuccino for you, espresso for Faith and frothy milk for Rose- with something sweet and carb-y. But Faith glares at you when you put cake and cookies on the table so they're substituted for the more acceptable pastries and brioche with jam and savoury custard. Rosy's morning cereal is culturally seen as a bit strange by her friends, they eat theirs as an afternoon snack.

Kennedy stomps her way into the kitchen, looking both hung-over and miserably drunk but being probably neither- travelling really doesn't agree with her. "You got chap?" She grunts in Sassy's direction.

"Oh, I've moved on from Chap-Stick… It's lip-gloss now."

They smile at each other, one of those weird, secret smiles and you suddenly understand how alienating it is for other people to be around you and Faith. "Do we look like that?"

She pulls you closer and presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, "Nah, I've never looked that love-struck."

You let her live her lie and just smile instead, "Sure."

Faith bumps your hip affectionately as she leans over to pull the hazelnut and cinnamon rolls out of the oven and replace them with a tray of mini frittatas- Faith's addition as eggs, ham and bacon are seemingly only eaten in the evenings. You make a jug of iced cappuccino as it's really too hot for anything warm.

When she kisses you now it's no longer a case of 'letting her'- it's no longer because Rosy will form better adult relationships if her parents are happy together in front of her- it's because she bought that expensive cheese you like, even though it wasn't on offer.

You tried so hard to learn to live without her but what you denied in real life came out in your dreams. Every night, before you let her back in, your sleep was ruled by Faith- the younger one, fuller-faced and smiling. Sometimes you dressed her in white in your mind, just to see how it would look.

There's a ring on your finger. It doesn't mean anything in the strictest sense… it isn't an engagement ring or even a promise ring. It's just Faith's way of saying that she'll take care of you now- that yes, some times you have to look after her, but she'll happily do the same back. If there's no couple then there's no break-up, if there's no wedding there's no divorce.

You fetch the others from outside and on the way 'accidentally' tear out the ugly mass of colourful… stuff Rose tried into your hair earlier. Hair flowing and skirt swishing you race Rosy back into the kitchen from the very end of the sandy beach. Faith turns and freezes when she sees you then melts into a smile.

A tiny prick of apprehension sticks in you but she doesn't react strangely when you pull her close. "You ok?"

"Don't you just love it," She breathes, "When your girl walks in the room and she's so beautiful you loose every emotion but hers?"

Oh hell, oh hell…

But she pulls back once you stiffen and reads your face. "B," She rolls her eyes, "me wanting to have sex with you is a symptom, me not wanting to have sex with you is a symptom, me breathing is a symptom- just relax and accept you're incredibly sexy."

"Faith…?"

"I'm still me, I promise."

You nod- she wouldn't have the peace of mind to even assert that if it wasn't true. "Ok. Let me take something to the table for you?"

The tray of custard pastries almost hits the floor when Dawn crashes into you. "Sorry! Just trying to-" She snatches Rosy's arm as she runs past and you're about five seconds away from picking up the closest kitchen knife and stabbing it through that hand when Dawn's hurried advice not to go upstairs to 'look for Aunty Zoo' catches up to you; "I think she's a bit busy with 'Kenbuddy' right now- doing boring grown up things."

"You mean having sex?"

Her Papa gapes.

You daughter rolls her eyes. "Just because I'm the size of someone half my age, that doesn't mean I don't know what sex is. Have you met my parents?"

There is something so uniquely strange about a tiny, worldly child. She's still small enough for Dawn to carry (and that girl can barely lift a heavy bag!) but a few weeks ago she came to you for advice about her first 'semi-serious' crush. You're just grateful she didn't go to Faith. That is a conversation you're going to work hard to deter.

At least until you've read up on how to properly hide a body.

Faith tries to make you all hush, just in case embarrassing noises are coming from the bedrooms, but you turn the radio on and glare playfully at her over a plate of steaming mushroom toast. Xander looks slightly dubious when Faith passes him a plate and then blushes guiltily. The men joke that they're relieved Faith came home before they had to chance your cooking and Dawn picks annoyingly at a bowl of fruit salad. Faith and Rosy eat half the food on the over-flowing table between them. "Alice?" Rose beams- her mother only calls her that when she's herself and chooses to. "Please put your aunt down. If you promise not the inflict some kind of bodily damage on her for at least until the end of the day I'll… give you some sort of prize."

"But mental and emotional tortures are ok?" Rose asks, at exactly the same time Dawn squeaks 'what about tomorrow?!'

"How about you just try to be nice to each other?"

Rosy snorts indignantly, "I am nice. She's the problem!"

"Dude," Faith sighs, "I offered a prize."

"A 'prize' such as…?"

"I dunno, helping me pick a colour for the new car?"

"Purple!"

Ha!

As. If. "We're not getting a car."

"Why?!" Faith moans, like an over-grown toddler.

"Because you drive like you're in a roller derby and everything we need is within walking distance."

Xander moves to back her up, "Isn't a 'roller derby' on roller-skates?

"Exactly."

"Oh."

Faith shrugs semi-guiltily under his raised eyebrows.

"What? It's not like anyone ever taught me to drive…" Another reason you're not getting a car.

"Really instilling confidence in me there, F."

"Oh… look at you using big words!" You kick her sharply and she knocks her just-buttered brioche into her coffee as she jolts, "Ow. Don't be all jealous just because you had lessons and shit and still manage to hit every damn bollard. Some of us don't need a licence."

Henry laughs, "I'm pretty sure you still technically need a licence to drive, Faith- whether or not you drive well with it is a different matter."

"Have you seen my-?"

"Licence? Photograph? Yeah, Fang, we've seen them. And your social security and your birth certificate and your library card and your passport… we get it, you're proud to be a full-fledged, card-carrying American. Now don't wet your pants."

Xander giggles slightly louder than Rosy and then blushes as you all turn, once again, to stare at him. "What? That was a manly giggle!"

"No, Uncle Xander," Rosy lays a hand on his arm with all the gravity of one conveying news from the recently deceased. "It really, really wasn't."

"I can be manly!"

Faith opens her mouth to reply but sends an 'over to you' look your way instead.

"Xand, you probably couldn't even impregnate a Escella demon if you tried- and all you have to do is look them in the eye!"

They all laugh, including Xander- though he makes a show of being wounded.

"Zoom!"

"She got you Uncle Xander!"

Even Dawn laughs, for a second not caring that she snorts. "Ouch, hit him where it hurts!"

What the hell is with all the winking?! First Faith and Henry, then Faith and Angel, share a look. They both motion towards the clock and she grins.

You're about to kick her again when the phone rings and so you flick pastry crumbs her way and go to pick it up. "Hello?" Faith coughs and frowns. You roll your eyes and read the sheet above the phone, "Ciao, casa di Summers-Lehane, cui desiderate parlare con?"

She snorts at your awful accent.

"Buffy? Is that you?"

Oh God…

"Daddy? Is that really you?"

"Yes, yes it's me. Sweetheart, it's so good to hear your voice."

"You too, I-" 'don't care about the past anymore, I forgive you'. Tears slip down the sides of your smile. Faith kisses them away. "How did you…?"

His chuckle buzzes in your ear and makes you laugh, your heart jumping for joy. "A lovely young woman rang me last night to tell me that you're settled and have a little girl."

"You?"

Faith grins wider and nods like a little bobbing doll. "Hey, Mr Summers!"

"Hello, Faith!"

Dawn stands up from the table. "Buffy?"

"It's Dad! It's actually…!" Not a single one of them looks surprised, even Rose. "You all knew?"

"We all knew, Mummy!"

You know why she's done this, your eyes scan the family sitting around your table and for a brief second your heart makes you imagine that the little girl who should be there is. The little girl you lost on this day four years ago. Your Emily. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She presses another kiss to your temple and then steers everyone back to the table, leaving only Dawn.

"Do you want to…?"

"No! I mean… you know, I've never actually met him? He's your dad, Buffy."

She gives you her own sweet kiss and then joins the others, accepting Rose up onto her lap 'just because you looked sad'.

"Was that Dawn?"

"Uh… yeah, Dad, that was… she's…"

"It's alright." You can feel his resigned smile through the phone. "I understand her not wanting to talk to me. What I did was awful and I'm very sorry for it."

"I get it." It's not like you've never walked away. Even from Rose- all those times when she was lying there in a hospital bed and it felt as if you'd just die if she didn't make it, that it would all be so much easier if you could just cut all ties. "She's just got engaged."

"Oh, wow! Is he nice? Do you know him well?"

You look at Henry and wince. "Yeah… his family are friends of ours. We know his aunt and uncle really well. They're British, kind of stiff upper lip and all that but really warm underneath." When you're no longer marrying their son. "They come and stay with us quite a lot. Rosy loves them."

"Ah, little Rose- I hear she's quite the bookworm."

"Oh yeah, anything that can be read, she'll read it. Sometimes the backs of cereal packets." The girl in question sticks her tongue out at you over her aunt's shoulder.

"Tell me more about her?"

"Okay…" It's a big task because you're one of those parents who's a little bit in love with their kids but you give him as much information as possible; her favourite colour, her favourite music, how, in some lights, she looks just like you (but not particularly often). You fill him in on all her reports from school, brag a little bit about her being moved up a grade ahead of her age group (which, yes, doesn't help the small thing very much) and vaguely explain the way she's been brought up… skirting over the huge 'actually, biologically, has two mothers' bit and the 'fighting the forces of evil' part. So you've lived a jet-setting lifestyle, travelling the world to handle PR for one of the most exclusive girls' boarding schools in the world. And now you've semi-retired to a pretty little town in Italy with your… 'wife' and daughter.

You wait for him to say something when you mention living with Faith but in the end he's the one who casually calls her your wife while asking about something else entirely.

Her deceptively delicate hands flutter around as she tells some big story and it suddenly hits you that a ring should be on her finger too. "Yeah, the linguist thing is all Faith. She's… amazing with words, and people and cooking and… art stuff."

He chuckles, "Sounds like you've got a good one there."

"She really, really is."

"So you're happy?"

"I am," you grab the back of Dawn's dress as she makes to lunge for Rose, "We all are."

"Do you-" He pauses, "Do you think I could possibly come to visit some time?"

"Of course. That would be nice."

"It would be lovely to meet Faith, and little Rose, of course."

Rosy wraps her arms around your waist, grinning up hugely with her eyes not quite hiding the fact she's just done something naughty. "I'm sure they'll love to meet you too."

"I'm so glad we got to talk, Buffy."

"Me too, Dad."

You hang up and pause, leaving your hand on the receiver where it's held against the wall. Faith grins and nods as you mouth a thank you.

Sometimes she really does just blow your mind. Happiness bubbles in your chest.

Occasionally you wonder how you found her but then remember that you've saved the world dozens of times- you deserve to be in love.

She takes one of your hands and spins you like a ballroom dancer. "Faith! You damn fruitcake!" That old feeling still holds true- everything seems a little less real with Faith around, you keep expecting music to swell and odd montages of things to flash by. For once you are not just watching. For once she does not just bring polish and sparkle to your dull life- for once you are the beauty. And there is no beast.

Life with Faith is hard. But always interesting.

You almost can't wait to see what happens.

Love is not about expectations. It's not about what she can do for you- or what she can't. It's about accepting who she is; loving the parts you can't change and maybe, just maybe, sensitively adjusting the things you can. She's not perfect.

But neither are you.

"So?" Angel slides silently up behind you, "Are you cookies yet?"

"Biscotti." You grin, "The extra-toasted, crunchy kind."

Chapter 29: Cheesecake Christmas

December 2020

"No!" GiGi snatches away the t-shirt, "Rose likes purple! Not pink. She hates pink."

"And strawberries." Bliss adds. Purely to be difficult.

Tavi, perennially unflustered, simply shrugs, "Ok, we'll get her another one."

From inside a pile of wrapping paper Gigi starts up a whine, "We can't! We can't! It's almost Christmas!"

Huh. Perhaps you shouldn't be so smug about your already-wrapped pile if Gigi is going through the hideous picky phase. Still, you put a huge bow on top- that might win you a few points!

Jack wriggles out of the pile, yelping slightly as Gigi attaches herself to his tail. "No, puppy! Stay! Stay!"

He spots you on the bed and makes a break for it, a look of desperation in his eyes. "George, babe," Bliss drawls in her mother's voice, "I don't think Jacky wants to play with you anymore, let him go back to Buffy."

"Oh puppy…!"

Joy tiptoes off your lap and towards the edge of the bed to investigate what's making her brother bark (in that cute, quiet way of his).

With all the gravitas of her 4 long years Georgina Guinevere Fortescue-Darling-Benn pulls herself up on to her tiny feet and over to the puppies. "My puppies!"

Tavi gives you the look of every parent who knows they're about to be persistently pestered for months until they give in.

"Sorry."

"Not your fault, B."

No, technically it's Faith's for buying you such adorable little matching fluff-balls with pretty bows around their necks for Christmas. She gave them to you, surprisingly, on her own birthday a couple of weeks ago so they'd have time to settle in before everyone arrived for the Holidays.

They dash over to the door as the lock rattles, yipping happily. "Hello!" Rose calls, "It's me! Holding lots of presents! Need to come in and dump- uh… place them delicately in your cupboard."

"Just a second!" You throw a blanket to Tavi so she can hide the unwrapped gifts that may, through some smart swapping, find their way into Rosy's stocking.

Gigi fiddles with the latch, happily squealing as her chubby, toddler legs are licked by an over-enthusiastic Jack. Rosy grins at the little trio, once the door is finally opened. The not-so-huge pile of boxes not exactly seeming like that much hard work for a Slayer. "Hey Gig, are you having fun with the pups?"

"Rose, are those all the gifts you're giving? You are giving your cousins separate gifts, right?"

Her eyes flick guiltily to you as she drops her armful down on top of your neat little stack. There go the floozy ribbons you managed to tease into beautiful, 3D works of art. "Of course." She toes them gently and yet still manages to make you cringe, "That one's Little Rueben's, and that one is for Rosemont."

Bliss snorts and Tavi smiles at your righteously aghast face. "You can't not give Heck a Christmas present just because you resent his height!"

"Watch me."

"Rosy…!"

"What?" Her eyes twinkle like her mother's, "He's four- almost twelve years younger than me- and only half a foot shorter. I think I'm entitled to be a little jealous."

"To be jealous, yes, to be vindictive, no." You frown.

Bliss high-fives her as she passes. "Good show!"

They call themselves sisters- regardless of never having been further from it legally. You think it's Bliss' rarely seen kind streak that lets Rosy call GiGi her little sister too. "Thank you, darling. GiGi?" Rose bends to offer a piggyback ride. "Onwards!" The two of them bounce off with an entourage of over-excited pups.

"Why don't we give Rosy a tortoise?"

Right…

Obviously…

No.

Tavi echoes your feelings out loud, with the added sentiment of 'where exactly are we going to find a tortoise in a tiny Italian town, four days before Christmas, with snow forecast?' Her daughter stews in silence until she leaves the room then flops down on the bed, arms over her head. "She hates me!"

"She said it was a bad idea." You correct, smirking because the immaturely-mature, teenage confusion between criticism and dislike is something you've been dealing with for years from both your girls.

"This is your fault for living in the middle of nowhere!" Life with Faith can be very fast-paced, which is why it's important to live in an environment where everything else is slow. She has to do things as soon as she thinks of them- just in case her mind changes. You can't plan very far ahead as you don't know how she'll be. Holidays are the "quick, we've got three days free from school and Faith is currently ok, lets jump in the car" kind of affair. Every day is an adventure.

"If it has the affect of you not giving me a tortoise to tread on then I'll happily take the blame." You pat her back and try to tidy up around her. Bliss just grunts in an boldly ladylike and amused way- even when offered a tipple out of her mother's eyeshot.

The adolescent mass growls, "She's a shitty parent who won't care anyway!" Except not minding her 15-year-old daughter drinking alcohol in moderation is probably one of those things any other teenager would think is 'amazing' about their parent. "Ever since Gigi was born she doesn't give a shit about me! I'm so alone!"

And now she's just saying things she thinks she should be feeling. "Would a bowl of homemade ice cream make this any better?"

"It's not homemade by you, is it?"

"No."

"Then yes."

Bitch.

Still, she bounces out of the room with a happy grin and a childish swoosh to her long, extra-conditioned hair. You love that girl. You love her and her sister as if they are truly blood relations. Bliss is elegant and stroppy, Gigi is delightful and spoiled while their parents are two of the most laidback people you've ever met.

Housing Rosy's London friends for the week in the summer (and having the Fortescue-Darling-Benns for Christmas) reminds you just how much adults and teenagers can suck. Ava and Constance Huntington- who, if anything, have grown even more alike- aren't exactly the brightest bulbs but they are steadfastly loyal and one, or perhaps both, of these things mean that they are constantly surprised when reminded of Rosy's height. 'You're not that short though, are you?' Ava (possibly?) asked when they were all about 12- rather wonderful considering the twins' early growth spurt forced her to bend until her back was almost horizontal just to whisper in Rosy's ear.

While shopping for new school shoes in Kensington, you'd turned away for a split second to gossip (bitch) about a woman's ill-judged stilettos with Lexie... and, once she'd gasped, swung back around to see your daughter had been hoisted onto the counter and was being smothered against the large mink-covered breasts of a well-meaning busy-body. "Oh you poor darling, you fickle, wickle sweetie-pops! Don't you worry, we'll find your mummy. I've got it from here girls, you can go." Proving just how dim 'good breeding' can make you, the twins, recognising they'd been dismissed, robotically walked to the waiting seats and sat, awaiting further instruction.

There is something about children that means they see straight through to the heart of things. The only people who don't mistake Rose for being a child are actual children. Fortunately she'd found it funny and hadn't verbally lashed out the way Faith would have.

Lily skirts around you with a tray of drinks, "Big meeting in ten minutes! Giles said to bring the red files he left here last time!" The what? The where? The why?

"Giles hasn't visited in three years- how am I supposed to find the files?"

She shrugs, "I'm your slayer, not your housekeeper. Actually-" She pauses, "I'm Faith's slayer."

"And Faith still wants the drinks taken round."

"I'm pretty sure Faith wants the entire drinks tray to herself." Sadly true…

"So you're also doing the entire room a favour."

The sullen gum chewing takes on a more aggressive note. "You know, you have your own Apprentice now- get her to do stuff."

"Why has becoming a legal adult turned you into a pain in my ass?"

"Because I realised I no longer have to be your slave. I'm an adult." With pink streaks in her hair and a nose ring.

"And not going to graduate from SlaySchool unless Faith writes you a glowing letter of recommendation." Ha! Snap!

A light seems to ping on behind her eyes. "Which she won't do unless you remind her to?"

"Got it in one."

Like a freaky sad/happy doll she turns to Edward with a smile, "Wine?"

"What-what?" He frowns, refusing to believe for even a second that he might just be a little deaf.

"Drink!" The poor man jumps.

You pass him his favourite scotch, "Ignore her Pa. Lily, please don't yell at the over-50s… or the children… or anyone."

"Cow." She grumbles after you.

"Love you too!" You call, skirting around a hyper Gigi and taking a small jump over tail-chasing Joy, on your way to the kitchen. Which, hopefully, does not contain a semi-inebriated Faith (but hopefully a frisky one- there's a reason you squeezed into this dress!).

Tavi and Laura stand either side of the kitchen table, one filling glasses and the other trying to divide the various deserts fairly. "This is impossible!" Laura smacks down the cake knife, "What the hell is this thing?"

"Cantuccini. Uncut biscotti basically." You pass over the huge bread knife. "It needs a serrated blade. And a lot of 'oomph'."

She hands the knife back. "Have fun with that." And picks up the cake knife again to move on to softer puddings. Laura has been hiding pretty much exclusively in the kitchen since she arrived and while it's been nice getting to know her better you also feel slightly guilty. You're the hostess! You should be hostess…ing! And making her feel comfortable in your home.

But having slave labour to get the buffet sorted was great!

"Thank God for cheesecake." She grins, happily slicing through a blueberry one. "Who made all these?"

"There aren't that-" Huh. The cantuccini sawing stops as you notice for the first time exactly how many different varieties of cheesecake there actually are. "Well… everyone likes different things." Plus cheesecake is pretty much the only thing you can cook and be complimented on.

"B," Tavi grins cheekily, "You've made one for every person here!"

"A slayer can eat two of those in one sitting. Trust me."

Three for Faith. And that time you hadn't actually cooked a fourth.

"Yah, well, make sure you don't wave any of them under Hen's nose- he's not taking the new lactose intolerance thing too well…" You should have made a cow free version! Ooh… the possibilities! "B, don't bother." One slender hand waves across the current selection, "He's got other options. Plus, you really shouldn't spoil him or else he'll start expecting the same at home."

Not many things can shake your confidence in your physical appearance. You're hot. You're thirty-ahem and a mother but that doesn't stop the local young men being respectfully interested.

There is, however, the problem of Tavi. Faith is gorgeous and sexy but it doesn't exactly make you feel… bad or anything, because she wants to have sex with you! But, as much as you love Octavia Fortescue-Darling-Benn (who triple-barrels their surname anyway?), she is stunningly handsome in an old-fashioned, Katherine Hepburn kind of way.

"I'm sure you're a wonderful wife." You mumble, slightly sourly. You sort of hate that Faith doesn't hate being reminded of when you belonged to someone else. You sort of hate that you never really did belong to someone else- it was always Faith. You sort of hate-… to be honest; flying. Still. Not really relevant to what a crappy actor you are but it irks you just as much.

Tavi elegantly slinks around your kitchen, glimpsing into all the hidden nooks. "Aw, that's adorable!" She fingers two of the photos on the fridge; one a crumpled and much loved picture of you and toddler Rose, in matching Rudolf jumpers. It lived for a long time in Faith's front pocket and then next to whichever temporary bed she'd fallen into. The second is the same picture but with a rather blatantly (i.e., 'badly') photoshopped Faith, wearing the obligatory jumper and looking very reluctant to have her picture taken.

"Andrew gave it to me as a Christmas present a couple of years ago."

"He's the gay guy with the blonde hair? Or the one with brown hair?"

Laura snorts, "Ah, no, the brunette is actually my husband."

Tavi looks caught between 'sorry' and 'really?'

"Yah, I know." She pats her still-not-showing stomach, "I was pretty surprised myself."

You'd like to say that the reason there is such a split between your friends- the reason Tavi knows the names of all the shopkeepers and Xander has to ask the way to the bathroom- is that there just aren't enough bedrooms to house them all at once… or something. But in reality you've all just grown up. Xander isn't so fun and Willow isn't so innocent.

It's weird but… even though you've been through more, even though you're the one with all the drama it's still… your life is still fun. Yes, Faith is aggravating and hard work and occasionally so frustrating you want to batter her about the head but she makes it… she makes life enjoyable.

Xander and Willow are your family and will always be but you're not… friends.

They don't find waking up in the middle of the night to go skinny-dipping in the moonlight a fun idea. Tavi and Bliss have been joining you on midnight adventures for years.

They don't enjoy spending days doing absolutely nothing or- or dressing up for Mimtal's fancy dinners and shocking everyone with your informality! When you go to Lexi's illustrious London balls everyone amazes at the beautiful, jet-setting Americans and their precocious daughter- Rosy likes to say that she is as old as her clothing size (7 to 8 years) to seem even smarter. It's funny and wonderful and you love your life in the sun.

But Willow freckles and Xander burns.

The same conversations always rear their ugly heads; 'leave Faith' and 'find a job'. Which is just unfair! You have a job! Sort of. You train slayers at the house and accompany Faith around the world to pick up newbies.

Plus Mimtal seems to gift you everything you could ever need- including groceries- so why buy things?

They don't understand why, when Mimtal invites you to yet more parties, you both wear gloves up to your elbows and pretend to be somebody else. It's not that you want to hide, it's just that you're stripping away the layers, taking off the experiences and the friendships and the battles, until you're just 'Buffy' and 'Faith'.

In those moments- fancy balls and relaxed afternoons at the Palazzo- you get to be fresh and clean and yourselves. Faith doesn't panic, as she holds court among the cream of Italian society, that her mother may burst in at any moment. Because when her scars are covered- when the psychological torment is soothed by a balm of gossip and clothes and laughter- she doesn't think, doesn't remember. When you watch her in the Palaszoo's pool, literally frolicking with Rosy and the baby slayers, you cover your left wrist with concealer and invent reasons not to get wet.

And yes, maybe it isn't the smartest idea, maybe it would be better to talk about it often, always keep it there in the open, prod at your scabs until they leave bigger scars because that's what you're supposed to do. But what's the harm in being happy? If you have a bruise you don't press your thumb against it until a yell arises- you treat it gently and kindly, try not to lean against it and get on with other things.

Bringing up the past won't make it disappear. Faith won't magically get better.

You do know your time is limited. So why not enjoy it? Why not have fun?

"Whoa!" You grab the knife back from Laura just seconds before she slices her thumb off, "Careful! Just because it's a rounded blade doesn't mean it isn't sharp!"

She stares at you, "Want to try that again, I think you were only about ninety percent condescending there?"

You like Laura. She's not afraid to answer you back and she never dances around a topic. Meaning she's very self-assured. "I was reserving the ten percent to hit you with later."

"Much appreciated." She grins.

It isn't until much later that you finally see Faith, once the other adults have let their hair down and gotten a little drunker. Laura laughs as your wife bounces around with a huge smile.

"Hey girlfriend." Faith jumps up on the counter next to you, Joy tucked under one arm, "This party blows- wanna go make out?" But, 22 years after you first met and Faith isn't any politer.

"Love to!" Then again, no one said you had to be either… "I'm not wearing panties."

A grin the size of the Grand Canyon shoots across her face "I know."

"My room or yours?"

So you don't technically share a bed yet- still in separate rooms- but you always wake up together (mainly in your room, as it's closest to the stairs, but when you're feeling especially horny, Faith's room, as it's furthest away from Rosy's and Willow refuses to soundproof your rooms for such a trivial reason as your daughter's slayer hearing). The official 'coupledom' might still be a little way off but to everyone else you never stopped being. Xander especially continued to refer to Faith as 'your wife' even when you were separated- which makes the fact he slept with her during that time even worse. You still don't fully trust him again.

She looks like she's actually thinking hard about it and you're slightly afraid she's going to go with 'hall cupboard' or 'garden'.

Joy squirrels away from Faith to paw at your top, sending a handful of sequins glittering down to the floor. "Whoa Joy-Joy, let's not ruin Mummy's nice dress, huh?"

You turn her around so she can slobber all over Faith's exposed chest. "Ew! B!"

"Hey, you're the fool wearing a tummy button-grazing top to a Christmas party…"

Faith gasps in mock offence, "First, its low cut but nowhere near my bra even so don't give me that Little Miss Backless. And secondly- I'm pretty sure this isn't a party."

"That's what I've been saying." Dawn snarks as she attempts to squeeze herself into the room. Normally, you'd feel a bit guilty about watching a heavily pregnant woman struggle but for some odd reason (largely because she's a hormonal bitch) you don't. Besides, Rosy rather helpfully shoves her through from behind. "And I can't even drink any Champagne!"

"Well, yeah, duh, we don't have any." Your wife shrugs, seemingly deciding the 'evil eye' isn't worth it. Dawn isn't really looking anyway- too busy standing in awe of the pudding table.

Rosy snuggles into Faith's arms. She sneaks her hand up behind herself to curl her fingers through the hair at the nape of Faith's neck. The way she used to when she was little. "Are we sure it's just twins in there?"

"Be nice to your aunt." You drone along with Faith, on autopilot. "Or, y'know, don't bother." Your wife adds.

You give her a friendly thump. Mm…

Then, reminded just how toned and soft her arm is, stroke up and down her skin.

Like any teenager confronted with an aide memoire of their parents' sex life, Rosy retreats into her phone, pulling it out to check her texts and then make expeditious Italian phone calls.

Faith winds her fingers through yours to kiss the back of your hand. The late afternoon sunlight caresses her as you do.

"Hi."

"Hello."

She watches you slowly push hot hair away from your shoulders, a happy glint in her eye.

"Have you ever thought of dying your hair blue?"

"Honestly? No."

"You should, it would bring out the green in your cheeks." A thoughtful pause as she wades though her brain fog. "I mean pink."

"For my hair or my cheeks?"

"Either." Her thankful beam makes you grin back.

You distract her with another thoughtfully provided slice of cheesecake from Laura before she starts to question what exactly it was she said a moment ago. Often now, when she's going, the anger that was there before is missing. It's… it's not that there's more awareness of what's going on… but there seems to be a greater acceptance in the dissolving. Those specks of her smile at you because she's knows, with you, she's safe.

She is more than her illness, so much more. Faith is a beautiful and caring person, she never uses being ill as an excuse but at the same time she knows it's something she cannot possibly fix. She might be a fruitcake but she's your fruitcake.

"Ok, so I'll have pink hair-"

Cheesecake hovers temptingly nowhere near your mouth. Her smirk dances, "With blue highlights."

"Oh, of course- pink hair with blue highlights, and you'll have…?"

"Mm…" Faith considers as you wind her gentle ringlets around your fingers. She's grown her hair for you so now it matches Rosy's- all the way down their backs and you're neither jealous nor envious because, on them, it belongs to you too. It's bouncy the way you can never get yours to really be and curled the way you wish yours was. "I like apple, it's new."

Is that even a colour? "So… red?"

"And tasty."

Tasty hair? "Oh! You mean the cheesecake!" That Kennedy had, oh so sweetly, passed you her family recipe for- after you'd raved to everyone about inventing a new flavour. "So you think it works with the red apples rather than the cooking ones?"

Faith laughs and rubs her forehead into the crook of your neck until you squirm. "Baby! Not the time for colour quizzes!"

She awakens, sometimes, as if from a dream; coming suddenly into clarity. Last year you woke in the middle of the night to flickering lights across the bedroom ceiling. Faith had spent the previous three weeks planning a trip around the Sahara in excruciating detail and refusing to sleep until you agreed to it. That night she'd finally fallen asleep and then woken to realise wallpapering the den in maps wasn't smart (neither was painting her preferred route on the carpet, but you let her off that one on account of wanting a new floor anyway).

Rose came down once she heard the commotion and helped drag the scrumpled papers of her mother's insanity out to the garden. You made cocoa and watched them stoke the flames.

"Right, sorry." The now-clean plate is passed back to you, "So… we don't share anymore?"

"Oh, we share. Just not apple cheesecake."

"Noted." You hop down to grab a slice of bay-leaf cheesecake (an oddly addictive recipe from one of your neighbours) and then have to leap out of the way before a very angry Rose tramples you. Your daughter slams her phone shut and curses glibly in Italian.

"Hey!" Faith reprimands her but you only understand 'don't' and 'house'.

Ok, so you still have issues with languages. Fortunately Rosy inherited Faith's multi-nationalism and the language skills that go with it. So she speaks American fluently too (though only to you in normal life). "Who's on the phone?"

"Flower Dim Arco. Bitch." You swap a look but decide it's not swearing if it's true so let it slide.

"What's the little 'ho want now?" Faith asks, reaching for yet another beer. "Slayer Metab and it's only my fourth." She doesn't need to see you to know you're looking disapproving just as you don't need to see her to know she's rolling her eyes.

Flower DiMarco is your daughter's nemesis and has been ever since you moved to the town and her cop father said she couldn't play at your house. The two girls were best friends for the first few months but blood is thicker than water… or… some other metaphor… and soon Flower was spreading stories around the playground that Rose's second-mommy was a 'Psycho Serial Killer who eats children.' You'd found it hilarious, Faith hadn't. You'd agreed that it was pretty rich coming from someone who'd actually named their child 'Flower' rather than just after a flower (the name thing had been the bed-rock of the girl's friendship) but telling your seven-year-old daughter reputation-destroying gossip to spread around the playground in revenge was NOT the way to fix things. Even if some of it was quite clever.

As punishment you made Faith finally take the Principal up on his offer of giving a speech to the older kids about gangs and how hanging with the wrong crowd can mean you end up in prison. You hadn't known she could act before you saw her up on that stage managing to keep a straight face as she told them all about "The Slayers" and how their 'thing' had been to beat their victims up and then stab them with a bit of wood "So everyone'd know it was them."

"She says she wants me at the party Lucio is throwing her next week. Uck! I get that she stole my boyfriend- she doesn't have to gloat about it!" Rosy cuddles up to her Mama and steals a sip of your beer while you're not looking. Faith just grins. And cranes over to kiss the top of Rose's head.

"You were going to dump him anyway."

"Yeah, but only because he was so embarrassed kissing me in public- not because I was done with him!"

Poor Lucio, it's not that you don't understand his position- it must be hard for a teenage boy to make out with a girl who, at first glance, looks like a nine-year old- but oh does it make you happy. You'll be happy if no boy ever goes near your little girl again until she's over twenty-five. Oh! And then she'll loose her virginity on her wedding night to a man you've personally pre-checked for vampirism. Then you can die happy.

Giles and Reuben move at a snail's pace into the kitchen, involved in some kind of deep discussion. Dawn makes motions at them to sit down and then orders them to do so when they don't. Almost an entire cheesecake disappears into Dawn's stomach in the time it takes them both to shuffle to the table and do the obligatory 'after you/ no, after you'. You put a soothing hand on Faith's arm and find Rosy's already there as Dawn reaches for another. "We'll make some more tomorrow."

"But peach is my favourite!" Since when? An hour ago she told you she'd have to murder someone if they ate the blueberry… just for that you're not telling her you hid it above the cupboards!

"Right," Dawn puffs up her recently very ample chest, "Now you're all here- we have something to tell you."

Laura reaches around Dawn, while she's busy arranging everyone so they'll give her their full attention, and steals the half-eaten peach cheesecake. She offers you three spoons but you know Faith well enough to let her feed you rather than risk 'ruining' the cake by not cutting it properly.

"We've finally decided," 'I've decided', "After a long, hard deliberation," 'Reuben is just going along with whatever I say', "On the girls' names."

Ok, so that actually is kind of interesting. Unless she calls them both something beginning with 'R' just to match mini-Reuben and Rosamund. That's just harsh. Oh! Or if their names rhyme! Or go together in any way. Like- like…. Uh… 'Chalk' and 'Cheese' or… 'Bread' and 'Butter'. That would be weird.

"Think she'll name them 'Chalk' and 'Cheese'?" Faith whispers, disturbingly seriously.

"I think we've been spending too much time together." You whisper back.

Your overly dramatic little sister takes a deep, shuddery breath as if preparing to impart the decision of life and death. "Elizabeth Joyce and Tara Rose."

Huh.

Um…

You slide back up onto the counter. "Wow. Ok. Good."

She glares at you, fire behind her eyes. "'Good'? 'Good'? That's all I'm getting!"

"Uh-oh." Rose and Faith chime in unison.

"I tell you I'm naming my child after you and all you can say is; 'GOOD'?"

Reuben slips the strawberry cheesecake in front of the demon's nose. "Blood pressure darling." Gestational Diabetes is apparently not a problem however.

"I hope you die…" She sneers, but grabs the cheesecake anyway.

"Welcome." Even Faith gives you a look as you jibe. "Sorry."

The uncomfortable silence is made worse by the rather disgusting noises of a heavily pregnant woman inhaling a cheesecake. Tavi and Laura make a point of examining the intricacies of your kitchen while the men just look scared.

Rose braves the dangerous waters; "Thank you for using my name."

She digs an elbow into your side until you echo the compliment. "Uh… yeah." Or something. Faith snorts and takes one arm from around Rosy to wrap round your waist. She seems extra-specially pleased you're the one causing yet another awkward silence.

"Yes, they are nice names." Reuben finally pipes up. "And I have a sister called Gertrude- they should be thankful!" Which may just be his attempt at a joke.

"You don't have a sister." Faith corrects. 'Hope'- as the British part of your family still likes to call her- has an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the Fortescue-Darlings

"Would have been awful if I did though." He smiles. It looks weird.

You all stand around again.

Gigi and Heck charge into the room, yelling at the top of their voices about nothing in particular. You all breathe a sign of relief and surge back into animation. "George! Careful around hot ovens please!" Reuben chastises when Tavi doesn't.

Faith groans and scoops up one of the frying pans from the stove, calling Andrew in from the other room, "Andy! Use the back hobs when we have little kids in the house! Geez…" You're irrationally proud she sounds so grown-up.

"You said 'we'!"

"Uh, yeah… I live here with other people."

"I live here!"

Her look is somewhere between 'sucking on lemons' and all out panic. "No! No, you were not included in the 'we'! You're staying here, Andrew, there's like, a world of difference." She swears a few times- In English, possibly, but her Bostonian accent (which she's never lost) gets thicker with the application of alcohol.

He pouts, "Shouldn't they be in bed anyway?"

Its dark out but the winter sunset happens in the afternoon and the children, since they're on holiday and it's the continental way, have been allowed to stay up late. You miss when Rosy was that- young! The next word was definitely going to be 'young'. No 'small' jokes today, no sir! Rosy raises an eyebrow, reading your mind again.

"Sorry."

"You'd better be." But she stands up on her toes to give you a kiss. "So, now everyone is here… are we getting on with the meeting?"

"Rosebud, do you mind watching the little ones?" Faith throws over her shoulder.

"Or, in other words; 'honey, you're still too young to join in Slayer Meetings'?" Her daughter snarks back.

"No." Rose snorts. "That would be would be; 'Rosebud, you're still too young to join in Slayer Meetings'."

You give her a consolatory hug. "Bliss doesn't get to play either."

"Bliss doesn't have two slayers for parents!"

The girl in question shrugs, "She does have a drug baron though. Biologically anyway."

Disturbingly, Faith looks mildly impressed. "Dude, he's moved up from 'lord'?"

"I know. We're so proud." Tavi sniffs. Bliss glares at her mother for even daring to speak. "Christ Bean! I'll work on finding a… thing, for you, ok?"

Oh hell no! No way are you going to let them give Rosy an actual-! "Relax, B." Tavi soothes, "It's almost Christmas, I doubt we're going to-"

"Gah!" Bliss yells and storms out. Rose joins her tantrum (but makes sure she grins at the children).

"Really can't get that one right, huh?"

"Yeah…" But you don't feel anything other than lucky. In your eyes at least Rosy is close to perfect. She loves to wear bright, jewel colours, to match her sunny self. You like that especially about her. She has a wardrobe full of different coloured sheath-dresses and boxes upon boxes of long, colourful beads. Today her dress is a burnt yellow and the beads are multicoloured with a sparkly gold one every third bead. She glitters in the glow of dying light and stops for a second in the hallway to untangle a long curl that's been caught.

Your colouring would never be able to pull off Rose's clothes and Faith has never been… unconsciously confident enough- too concerned with everyone knowing from her clothes not to mess with her.

When she's happy, Faith wears muted colours, mainly blue.

Andrew gives off another distressed squeal, sounding amusingly like a stuck pig, and you reluctantly pull Faith away from inflicting terror. "Meeting, Darling, meeting."

She narrows her eyes at your ironic use of soubriquet; "One day I'm going to marry a man called 'And' for all of three hours and ruin that word for you."

"I can live without the word 'and'- besides, I don't think that's a real surname."

Her heels plant against the floor (impressive as she isn't actually wearing shoes) "It is too; 'Anderson'!"

"Well then you'd be ruining 'Anderson' for me and I could definitely live without that."

"No, you couldn't, look-" You grab her arm as she heads for the dictionary.

"Meeting, Faith, big meeting, end of the world type stuff."

A raised eyebrow, "And that's more important than your being upset that I've married someone? Actually, you don't really seem that upset." Could she be any more aggravating?

"It's a hypothetical marriage! And you said it only lasted a few hours!"

Worryingly, her bottom lip trembles, "Might still be nice if you showed a little-"

"Fine!" You swing round to face her, still blocking the doorway but everyone else has already squeezed past- other than Andrew, that is, who hovers annoyingly. "Faith, if you leave me now to go and marry a man named Anderson, not only will I be so distraught that I will, most probably, hunt you down and lock you up in an adamantium cage at the bottom of the garden but I will also make him pay. Possibly be removing his testicles through his nose. With a pair of tweezers."

Ugh. Ok, that's kind of gross… maybe not. Still, the threat produces one of the largest smiles you've ever seen so that's good.

"Is that good enough for you?"

"You'd really keep me in a cage?" Her smile drops, "Wait, in the garden? Wouldn't you want it more…?" The next part is in Italian and involves heavy wiggling of expressive eyebrows. That you don't get so much- the kissing… you definitely do! Her soft lips glide against your gloss, heady apple scent engulfing you.

"Meeting." Andrew buts in. His funny-looking face popping up over Faith's shoulder.

She shoves backwards without looking. Another barnyard squeal.

"He's right. We can argue the specifics later."

"We're not arguing."

Technically, she's probably right but you're a very thin line away from just throwing her over your shoulder and marching her into the meeting room-slash-formal dining room you never actually use. "Just do it; move."

"I can't, you're in the way."

Contradicting herself she slides past you and towards the front of the house. "How do these things keep happening to me?"

"Mm, probably cosmic fates." Andrew does his sage-nodding thing. "Actually, you're in my way too."

You stand on his toe.

The largest portion of the ground floor is towards the back, the big, open plan kitchen with the comfy sofas and dinning-table-it-doesn't-really-matter-if-you-put-something-hot-on. Light floods in from the garden but, even with the doors shut and A/C on, in the height of summer it's horribly hot. The front of the house has the smaller, cooler rooms but, due to the narrow street, little natural light.

Everyone has split between the two largest of these rooms; the afore-mentioned dinning room for those at the top of the slayer pile and the 'Christmas Room' for the others. Not that you have a year-round room dedicated to Christmas it's just… a room… that you don't really ever do much with other than watch the occasional DVD on the widescreen and dress up for various occasions. Wow, life changes when you don't have cable.

You pop your head in to check on the oldies and the littlies. The children have spread themselves out on the floor, a game of 'who can excite a puppy into what looks disturbingly like an epileptic fit' is in full swing and the others are seated around them, toasting randomly and enjoying Andrew's warm canapés.

There's a disturbing amount of switching between sweet and savoury going on. Dawn puts down the tray of still-steaming, crispy pork wontons and grabs the last remaining whole cheesecake (a South African rose petal experiment), as soon as she sees you. "I'm coming! Just give me a sec!" She attempts to raise herself up on just the one spindly chicken-arm and growls like a rabid dog when Rosy offers to help by taking the plate away.

"You really don't need to come to the meeting, Dawn." Her role in the Council is mainly just an honoury title to appease her.

Charlotte and Henry, in perfect mother-son unison, give you a pointed look at your tone and lack of jumping to help. Weirdly, being parented by your ex-husband doesn't even feel that strange anymore.

Yes, yes, be a good person and all that… You proffer a single, solitary finger for Dawn to grip on to as she hefts the mini-planet around. It's all she'd probably accept in way of help anyway.

Ok, the stumbling over an over-excited puppy does make you feel a little guilty… but she's been pretty much a bitch for the past… ever. "Thanks." She grins, tugging at your heartstrings.

"S'alright." You swing her up into your arms and over Gigi's head, keeping the plate stable and amazing them both. "May I help you, m'lady?"

"Ah, my good sir, you already are." Her little childish giggle rings out, effectively easing the tension in the room. Seriously, not a single person has been immune from her vitriol.

"Everyone ok in here, for the moment, then?"

Tavi toasts you from Henry's arms, turning from gaping in bemused amazement at the Christmas tree that… doesn't, to be honest, really fit in the room. The children chirp, Laura attempts to convince Reuben to try Andrew's creations and Rose cuddles up with Edward and Charlotte, comfortable in a way she'll never really be with your biological father (which makes you just a little sad when you pause to think about it). Bliss half-sneers, half-smirks in what you're starting to fear may just be her neutral face.

Right, ok, everyone's fine. And, hey, you made the effort to invite your dad- it's not your fault if Dawn then rang him to insist he didn't come!

You wouldn't argue with That, even over the phone. Even in her current good mood.

"Enjoying your cake?"

It's surprisingly good." She mumbles around a mouthful, dropping bits of the cracker base down the front of your top.

"Welcome, welcome."

There's a slight worry that Faith is going to get a little… out of sorts… to see Dawn eating yet another cheesecake but she's happily perched on the back of the large chair at the head of the dinning table, in full swing; "… and yeah, a double headed axe mighta been useful but sometimes you just gotta work with what ya got! So I swing the pipe back around and I'm just; 'whack', 'whack', 'whack'! And his creepy, pussy face is all spittin' blood…" You tune out the more gruesome details of Faith's last work trip- the entire story is pretty much burnt into your brain now anyway.

Kennedy whistles ironically to see you carrying Dawn, "Aw, and here we thought those strain-lines on your face were just age- if we'd known you were actually working out…"

Willow giggles involuntarily and attempts to cover it by picking up the over-excited puppy following you.

"Thanks for the support there, Will."

"Sorry." She blushes.

You leave Dawn to join the worshipers and squirrel yourself away with your oldest friends at the other end of the table. Willow cuddles Jack like a baby, tickling his fluffy white tummy, while you pretend to not notice… just like you're pretending to ignore how she hasn't said one word to Grace since they arrived. It's pretty surprising that you managed to take that in actually… you're not the most observant of people.

"I just realised something."

"Hmm? What?"

She frowns, "I have no idea what 'Mimtal''s real name is. You've never told me."

"I don't know it. Other than 'The Immortal', we just call him Mimtal."

Xander snorts, "That's a little weird."

You grin, "It's a lot weird, try not to think about it."

Angel and Spike, newly arrived and basking in the evening sun, barely acknowledge your presence, still feeling a little hurt.

It's an odd kind of meeting- everyone rubbing against each other and pretending not to. You're supposed to be brainstorming how to save the world but no one other than Faith can come up with anything. She bounces on her toes, spinning snippets into fables, and water into wine. You watch your own personal revelation with a heart so full of love it forgets how to beat.

"I just figured I'd get my kicks into the bargain."

You giggle and point.

"Seriously? Still? B, we've known each other for twenty years and you still squee like a little girl when I say an 'r' after an 'a'?"

"Mainly just in my head but I think I'm a little drunk."

"Yes, de-ah."

Sitting next to you, Willow scratches the side of her neck- she still gets an unattractive rash when around Faith. With the exception of your ex.s, the others don't seem anything but admiring.

Andrew sighs in complete awe, "She's so a Maureen."

"A what?" You whisper back. Faith's an old lady?

"You know; 'Rent'- take me baby or leave me? She's all rough around the edges but with a heart of gold?"

"Shut up before I have to break the 'no killing humans' rule."

He fiddles with the pile of maps, mumbling under his breath, "You threaten me with that a lot."

"You deserve it."

His blush dissolves into a charming smile, "You love me really."

And you kind of do- he's… Andrew. He plays tic-tack-toe with you while the others argue. There's the threat of a drop-down fight over Faith's idea to use an expanding silicone block- which has got to be one of the most boring things to argue about ever. You attempt to voice an opinion (it's actually a pretty good idea, even if it is a little 'out there') but just end up getting shouted-down.

"You'd pick her side over mine?"

The utter stupidity of that statement makes near everyone in the room gape. "Her? Love of my life? You? Vampire who tried to rape me? Uh… not seeing the confusion."

Besides, you're near bored to death with how goddamn boring this whole thing is. Everyone else seems to agree as the suggestions become more outlandish and less feasible with every passing second. Willow is the next to be yelled at by the ex-vampire and, despite being fully capable of protecting herself, at least half the room shouts back on her behalf.

You're not entirely sure Kennedy actually knows what the hell the argument's about- she's just randomly yelling- but she'll protect her super-powered ex-girlfriend beyond the bounds of reason and you sort of love her for it. Not proper 'love' obviously… although there was that unfortunate thing on the couch that Faith walked in on back in London… You'd been pissed about Kennedy's complete and rather unflattering refusal that she'd even touched you (the phase 'flat-chested midget' was used along with something about stretch marks) but livid about the way Faith continued to burst out laughing randomly for days afterwards as if the thought of you ever having sex was hilarious. Fortunately you'd got your revenge with a well placed "So where do babies come from?" in ear-shot of a young Rose- who's curious nature means she won't let anything go until she's completely satisfied with the answer.

You get a bit drunker and snort at the hilarity of Dawn trying to get through a doorframe, and being miserably stuck. Until you pull yourself together long enough to help.

The room erupts at Giles' simple suggestion and you turn, wanting more than anything to not be there. No, that's not right; wanting more than anything for Faith to not be there. This party is manageable, this argument is too much. You're not stupid- a fifteen year old who knows the five basic torture groups? It's uncomfortably familiar, but Faith is willing to be the one who tries to find out who taught her.

Tonight you'll be mopping up the pieces. For the rest of this week you'll be mopping up the pieces. For who-knows-how-long you'll be bloody mopping up the pieces.

And it sucks.

Hindsight is a strange thing, to make things clearer and at once make them so indistinct. It even lets you predict a person's actions had a different course been taken. You know now that when Faith 'freaks' she doesn't do it in a way that could be called 'normal'. She runs (which you suppose is a little normal) or she gets annoyingly cocky. Plus she's scared of chains- really scared. It has something to do with a cupboard and a radiator but you've never really had the stomach to ask. Sure, she'll get into a little bondage… so long as she's the one with the key and she's checked fifty-thousand times you can break out if you really need to.

So, with hindsight, you know that chaining her up at Angel's mansion the night after she killed the deputy mayor wasn't the best idea. You probably could have lured her there with freshly baked cookies it you really had to.

"Let's napalm it!"

"No, Famore, no." Mimtal motions Faith towards the table.

She shrugs truculently and flops into the chair next to you, "Just a suggestion!"

Enough of obfuscating the past; you make things obscure by the unnecessary musings. You need to look after Faith for this evening. And stop Spike from calling her 'Faithy' before he finds a stake through his very much beating heart. Crowds make it so much worse. "Sweetheart," You rest your hand on her thigh and shift slightly so half the table is blocked from her view, "Calm down."

It's on the edge of her lips to say 'I am calm!' but she takes a breath and reasons with herself that you're not cutting off her fun for no reason. You're Buffy. You care. "Ok."

The pride bubbles in your stomach when she gently announces that she's going to get a drink and some air. She listened to you, now, even when getting manic.

"Would you…?"

You nod. "I'm going to go get some more drinks for everyone." Faith takes your hand and you wince. "Ow, sharp! Have you started biting your nails again?"

"Maybe…"

"Faith…!"

She giggles as you nudge her into the kitchen, "Ok fine, I tried to trim them with a knife, it didn't go very well."

"Please tell me it wasn't a kitchen knife?"

"Maybe…"

"Faith!"

"I'm kidding!" Thank God. "It was my hunting knife."

You bite your tongue to stop from sounding like a mother.

"Oh thank God you're done!" Rosy dumps Rozzy into your arms and has to use a hand and a foot to keep squabbling Heck and Rueben apart due to a greatly reduced arm-span. Fortunately she's also weirdly strong. Bliss flicks crumbs at them from the plates she's picking at with distain (and yet still eating) while Gigi just seems to find everything fascinating.

"Are you ok?"

She scoffs, "I would be if one of you would-" Her eyes don't catch her mother's so she nods in understanding, "I've got it covered."

You mouth a 'thank you' and steer Faith towards a chair. "Right, lets get you an orange juice." She docilely accepts and even smiles when Gigi crawls onto her lap.

"Hello Big Hope."

"Hello Little Gwen." Oh hell…

"Georgina." Rose corrects, not even minding when she's entirely ignored.

Faith stares back at the equally absorbed small creature, "Why are you here?"

"Because it's Christmas."

You hold the juice glass between them and encourage Faith to drink it. A quick hug and you move on to tidying up the kitchen, finding solace in small actions. Rosy leaves you, recognising your need for comfort, and sweetly engages Laura in meaningless conversation as soon as she walks in the room.

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, let it go. Calm, calm, ca- "Bliss!" She jumps about a foot in the air, "It's not that I mind you not eating my food, it's just that you look so disgusted while you're not doing it!"

She sniffs at you, "Why are you whispering?"

Take a hint, Bliss!

Faith turns, "We're whispering?"

"No, honey, we're not. Just drink your juice."

Which starts off a while terrible blether about juice and juicing and the fruits that should and should not be juiced- a banana features heavily.

Laura and Rose's conversation floats over Faith's rambling; "It was meant to be a 'thank you' to your parents, for welcoming me into the family… I have Buffy sorted but… what's Faith's favourite colour?"

"My mother doesn't have favourites." Rose deadpans, following the younger children out into the pathetic-attempt at a blizzard. "She loves everything. Truly everything."

Faith stands to stroke a piece of raspberry cheesecake, oblivious to the small child still sitting on her. A small 'thump' accompanies the tumble to the floor. Enamoured with the force of nature that is your wife, Gigi doesn't seem to mind and prances to sit on her sister's lap instead, messing her perfectly bobbed hair on Bliss' shoulder.

You cut a slice of cheesecake for Faith before she starts clawing hunks off. She's denied a fork however, due to possible growing resentment- despite that doped-up smile. "Spoon!" She tastes the word and decides she likes it. "Spoon… cool." And tucks in, winking at Gigi.

"Wow…" The little girl whispers, as if Faith's spoon-aided-eating is the most innovative thing she's ever seen.

The look on her face is one of the deepest and most complete awe possible. Georgina is utterly in love with both of her big sisters- Rose especially as seeing her is only bimonthly and the best kind of treat. She adores Heck as well (her second-cousin one way and… ex-step… uh… something, the other)- they're only three months apart in age.

You smile at her and she waves sweetly back. "Your little sister looks like a Suri Cruise clone. It's cute."

Bliss stares, aghast.

"By which I mean… a three-year-old Suri Cruise. Relax."

"Burn…!" Faith chuckles. She's calmed down almost immediately with the application of some food. "The children?"

"They've gone to watch the snow."

She smiles hazily, "Snow?"

Which may or may not be a request for information as to what snow actually is. Considering her track record of introductions to forgotten things you're more than a little concerned with educating her; she once attempted to patent 'exclamation'. "Uh, snow is-"

Bliss and Faith laugh at you, Laura just looks confused. "No B, I meant; 'When did it start to snow?'"

"Oh." Duh. "I knew that."

The stove is dirty. You should really clean the stove. A few sequins flutter down to shrivel on the still-warm hobs- there's a tear in your dress from carrying Dawn! Typical! Faith sticks her finger in it at the precise moment Mimtal walks in the room to complain about… well, something. He starts to tease you in Italian instead but he had his complain face on (for someone who quite literally has everything he finds a surprising amount to complain about).

"Ow!" Rose squeals from the garden as a well-aimed fist from a toddler smacks her directly in the nose. "Stupid Slayer Babies!"

Rozzy starts to grouse, tears brewing. You hop down the few short steps outside- risking pneumonia! When the hell did it get so cold? How is the house so stiflingly hot? Mm… does mean you get to snuggle extra close with your human radiator tonight… that is, if she's still into snuggling and hasn't decided to take apart the bed for wood to whittle into a chess set. You scoop up the toddler into the kitchen, making kissy faces.

The tiny hand reaches up to grasp yours, "I like you."

'Oh God', you think, just as Rose says it out loud (though the intonation is entirely different). "Don't even think about it, Bee-Bee."

"But she's so cute!"

Mimtal carefully inserts himself, "Your wife purchased two very-sweet puppies to get you over your brooding, yes?" Ok, ouch! You truly had no idea that was why… huh, well, maybe you did- but they were so damn fluffy and cute in their little box with bows around their necks that you didn't want to complain!

"Well…" Rozzy gurgles a few times and Gigi claps her hands together at the cuteness of it all, "Obviously that didn't work."

Faith smacks her forehead with a beer bottle and then goes back to attempting to dissect it, "Rosebud likes being an only child, don't you kid?"

"I'm not an only child! I have Bliss and Gigi!" The girls in question beam happily, "Though, I shalln't deny, it is nice once they've returned home and the attentions of my parents are focused solely on me."

She pauses, to mull.

Right…

You try to shake off the weirdness of your very weird child. "But Rosy is going to be gone soon!"

The beer bottle crashes to the floor, "She is?"

Damn.

Faith is apparently not yet at that stage where she absorbs without emotion.

"I am? You're not going to… what was that word Mammia?"

Glittering shards of glass litter the floor. Mimtal smacks Faith's hand as she leans down to collect them. "'Ice'? Oh…" He smoothly propels her out of the kitchen before she decides to make Superman's Ice Palace out of actual glass again.

"-'ice' me, are you?"

"Nine months of carting you round inside my body, going to all that effort to hide it from the world, giving birth, raising you for fifteen years and you really think I'd throw all that away just because your cuteness is rapidly decreasing?"

"Thanks Mum." A teenage glare and a trudge off to the very un-teenage job of sweeping up the glass smashed by her unhinged mother. Wow, that sounds bad…

"I meant; you're going to be going to University in three years time. I'll need a project."

Mimtal, steering Gigi's bare feet around the shards, chuckles in that wonderfully hearty way he shares with Faith. "Ah, yes, the puppies."

"If you're suggesting I go into dog shows I will attack you."

They shrug, "Hey, he has a point… it's the sort of thing you like; pink ribbons and everything."

"Rosy! That is so… uh…" that newspaper thing, "You know, the word they use when people say stuff that isn't true and isn't libel? Because 'libel' is a doing word?"

"Transitive verb."

"And this other thing is…" Have you really been carrying around this bottle of wine the whole time? "How much have I had to drink?" Mimtal has to tug a few times to get the bottle out from under the baby. Surely as a slayer you should be able to juggle a sleeping baby and a bottle of wine? "That's really not a good parenting advert."

"You mean 'an advert for good parenting'?"

"Shut up, Rose."

She giggles, jumping up onto Bliss' knee, and starts on a long, complicated response to addle your drunken mind that is fortunately (in the loosest sense of the term!) drowned out by the stabs of a no-longer polite argument bursting through from the meeting room.

Rosamund snuggles further into your arms, making cute little baby noises. Aw… broody… "I'm not the one yelling, Faith!" It's just a shame her mother is a bitch.

Or perhaps expecting two women with raging hormones to get along is just dumb.

"And where exactly did we leave Faith?"

Mimtal looks guilty, which makes you feel guilty which… you're determined is never going to make Faith feel guilty. "I may have…" He waves towards the argument.

"You don't know what you're fucking talking about!" Dawn yells.

The lack of a raised voice on Faith's part isn't necessarily a good thing. You worry your lip. She's most likely confused and thinks what she's saying is perfectly rational. It takes too long to get them.

"Oh shut up, Psycho!"

Faith turns and you become horribly aware that you can't catch her hand in time. Kennedy grabs both her wrists and pulls her backwards only seconds before her fist reaches Dawn's face. "Whoa, come on you little drunk!"

The others nod in a 'we've all been there' way and you smile gratefully at Kennedy for continuing on a lie you're pretty sure no one believes in anymore.

In a move more ludicrous than any you've seen in a while, Dawn snaps back, taking hold of Faith's swinging hair and tugging with all her might. "NO!"

The room freezes.

Dawn gasps, realises what she's done, and protects her front.

Faith stares at her curls.

Kennedy instinctively lets go, reconsiders and over-rides her intuition. "Faith?" She slowly wraps her hands around Faith's upper-arms, restraining but not too ferociously, "Faith?"

With her forearms free she softly holds her own still-swaying curls, stroking them straight and then letting them spring back. Her mother used to hack off sections of her hair. She would never let it grow longer than Faith's chin. Once it did she would be dragged to the bathroom of whatever 'shitty motel' they were in. And there be reminded that she had no voice, no say, no power.

You've always known to be careful with her hair. It means more to Faith than

just her physical freedom. "F?"

"Mm?" She looks up with open eyes and a little smile, as if you'd wandered into the kitchen to ask whether she'd seen your silk scarf.

"Gigi was asking for you."

Dawn, Willow and Xander jump as if you've shot a bullet into them (your mouth quirks into a smile at thinking 'Willow' and 'Bullet' because you can't help but feel good things when reminded of Tara). They stare at you as if you are some kind of madwoman coaxing rabid big cats into the children's ward of the local hospital in some kind of misguided attempt to 'make them better'.

You're not an idiot and Kennedy melts away in understanding. Faith follows you into the living room, "I think she-"

"What the hell, Buffy?" Dawn demands, "My kids are-"

"-'fine'. They're fine Dawn. Can we please just settle down?"

Faith's eyebrow quirks, as if she realises, for the first time, that something strange is going on. Your efforts to avoid big crowds seem in vain as everyone in the house packs into the one room- in equal parts to stare; confused and concerned. "B?"

"Go check the Christmas tree, Sweetheart. The children can help you."

"Wait!" Dawn grabs your arm, "I'm not going to just let her loose on my children! For God sake, I love you Buffy but… but I hate that you put me in this position!" 'You'? You?

And what kind of 'pos- "You're a liar!"

"What?" Huh?

Faith turns to you both earnestly, "She's lying! The opposite of love is not hate it's anagapesis."

Dawn rolls her eyes, "No. 'Anagapesis' means 'to fall out of love'."

"Fuck off!"

For Christ sake Dawn! Being pregnant does not make you invincible! And an angry, snarling Faith is good for no one!

The children barely flinch at the swearing- too used to adults in pain. You panic slightly that one of the parents will say something and make 'it' worse. Yet Dawn realises her mistake and how stupid she's being.

Her smile is apologetic but basically worthless; "No, you're right."

"Faith?" Henry makes to go to her but Edward holds him back with a knowing, yet almost off-hand, shake of the head.

"Hope?" Charlotte tries.

You shake your head at all three of them as Faith storms past and up the stairs. There's a pile of yet-to-be-allocated bedding on the landing, ostensibly committing some kind of crime against humanity (or maybe just Faith) as it soon comes tumbling down the stairs in a flurry of feathers.

Rose laughs, the only relaxed person in the house over the age of five. It's a pretty laugh, an honest laugh and she's only doing it because she's unguarded- she's not afraid. "SHUT UP!" But it makes you so angry.

She gasps and her lip trembles.

It makes her look less like you, and less like Faith, and more like your little girl. "Rosy, I didn't-" But she's already gone.

You follow Rose out to the garden, ignoring everyone else.

You want to explain to her that if some days you can't look at her or find it hard to meet her eyes, it's not because she isn't beautiful, it's not because you don't love her, it's because she reminds you of what Faith could never have. Of what she could never be. And that hurts. That hurts a lot.

It's not like they're the same person in your mind because they really are two very separate and distinct personalities and Rose doesn't even look that much like a young Faith- no heavy make-up or leather armour. It just… sometimes, gets to be a little too much.

She's the same age now as Faith was when you first met and yes, ok, she doesn't actually look like a teenager so there's no real comparison there but… those twinkling eyes belong to Faith and those dimples and that hair. Except she's never guarded, she's never scared and she's never had to fight to survive. She has all the things that if you could go back in time you'd make sure Faith had.

There is no guarantee that Faith would be different had her life been better, that her illness would be gone or less or easier to handle, but it makes it easier somehow, to think that it might. It means that every time you make Rosy smile, you could be saving her from pain too harsh for a mother to contemplate.

"Fuck off!" Tavi's voice floats up from the garden below- except in her very English accent it sounds more like 'fack', "If we're paying the blaggard by the bloody word we can cut down on his facking script! Half of everything he says is bunkum anyway!"

She points towards the shore before you can even raise your eyebrows in question. "Thanks."

"She looks rather upset- what happened?"

"I…" Her mobile squaks in her ear but Tavi ignores whoever it is, concerned for her 'almost-step-daughter', "Just… Faith stuff."

Of all the people you know Tavi may be the only one who really gets that. She grew up on an estate in the middle of nowhere with a hundred servants and one psychotic, alcoholic mother. Her nanny was the only person to either touch her or speak to her before the age of four but they formed such a tight bond that even though Tavi's mother fired the poor woman every night she still returned every morning. Weirdly, Tavi (aside from that brief 'rebellious phase' everyone seems to talk about but no one gives the details on) is one of the most normal and well adjusted of people. She puts it down to boarding school and that nanny. "Cripes."

"How can I stop her blaming herself?"

"You can't. Kids either hate their parents or, if they're told it's true enough, believe it's their fault. It shows what a good person Rose is if she reached the second conclusion all by herself- as wrong as it may be."

Which is exactly what you didn't want her to ever feel, to ever think. You just want her to be free. "This is my fault. Or Faith's. Or…"

"'No one's'?"

"I just want to avoid Rose feeling the same way about Faith as you do about your mother."

"It's different, Bethy, my mother let herself be insane- Faith uses everything she's got to fight against it."

If you weren't so drunk you'd find some kind of incredibly deep meaning in that which could make your life so much better. Maybe it'll come to you in the morning. You stare past her to the little huddled figure, dipping her feet into the rolling waves, and overlook whatever's in that bottle she's swigging from. Just as you try not to notice how, in the low light of lamps, Faith's ribs can be counted from her front. You're ignoring a lot tonight.

You vow not to let your girls slip away. And start with the one in front of you. "Righty-ho," Tavi squeezes your shoulder, "I have to go fire an entire office of incompetents." She pauses, "Oh hell, I sound disturbingly like my mother-in-law." Her mobile makes another agitated squeak and she grins, "Yes, you heard me right you tosser! Now, either rewrite the entire shitting book or else fill your time finding a way to express-deliver me a tortoise!"

Tavi's fluently inventive flow of curse words (half of them, you're pretty sure, in Olde English or Shakespearean) makes your little huddle chuckle. Snowflakes stick prettily to her eyelashes, her cheeks are pink and in the milky blackness of night her hair shines from the light of the kitchen. "Rosy?"

There's just a grunt in reply.

"You were supposed to be blonde."

"I apologise for being a let-down in the daughter department." She deadpans back. The bottle of strong whiskey is passed over to you. Against the better judgement of the only sober part of your brain left you take a swig. "She's not going to be here tomorrow, is she?"

"Oh, I don't know, if we find some rope strong enough…"

"Don't joke."

"Sorry."

Rose fiddles with her expensively highlighted hair (just one of the huge amount of gifts Mimtal has showered on her). She looks slightly more like you now, though it might just be the lightened locks.

"You know, if you ever want to talk about your mother- about the things that she does- you can."

"I never feel like I can talk to you though. You're so in love with her…"

"I am. And I always have been. But there was a… remember when we lived with Henry?"

She nods, 'of course', "You made me call him 'Daddy'."

"I so wish your memory wasn't this good. Yes, we lived with Henry and I made you call him Daddy… because I was stupid and… Look." You roll the sleeve back from your left wrist. Rosy's seen the scar before- it's not like you've ever tried to hide it- but she's never properly looked at it before and now she does, running a finger over skin that still tingles.

"That must have been pretty bad to scar a slayer."

"It was. The bone was ground down by a boot. It fractured and tore through the skin."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"Faith did that."

It's not a question but you still nod. "She thought… ok, I don't really know what she thought," you lie, "but it must have been something awful. I left her and went to live with Henry. Probably not the smartest thing to do but he seemed… safe. So she…" You wave the wrist, "The time before that I left her because she…" Wait, when did this become about…? You trail off. "Never mind."

"So…" She smiles encouragingly (and not without a slightly patronising edge), "The point?"

"Just… know that I have doubts about her and worries, like everyone else. But I'll always… stick around." No more Summers running out on their families.

Rosy chuckles, "I wasn't worried about that." Aw, in a move too sweet for words she brushes a kiss across your cheek. "But I'm awfully glad you're staying." She snuggles closer, "You know, Mammia is my responsibility too."

Ugh, the 'R' word! "She shouldn't have to be."

"I don't mind. Yes, we're having a bad evening right now but it's not like she's always ill- she's pretty high up in the running for 'best mother in the world' the rest of the time- no offence."

"Oh, none taken, I know I can't compete. Sometimes I wish I was a man so you could buy me a 'best dad in the world' mug but then I think, hey, the whole field of parenting has got so competitive recently- what's with that? I'm comfortable being an 'averagely ok' mom."

"I… don't think they make a mug for that… but if I see one I'll buy it." She laughs.

"That's all I ask."

Light dances along the gentle waves that seek to lap at your feet. The water is so clear that the little fish swishing backwards and forwards in the shallows are picked out in exquisite detail. As they cavort so close to the surface specks of pale-yellowed glow brush against Rose's front.

Every parent wishes things for their child, some things are neither possible nor acceptable to waste a wish upon. Yet it's hard not to. It's hard not to dream of a lanky teenager in pretty, colourful dresses who's strong enough to go clubbing all night and then off to breakfast with her friends in the morning. Rose is neither weak nor ill, but her small body cannot always stand the things a regular teenager can.

You wish she had siblings too but she claims not to mind- her three cousins (and counting) are enough of a deterrent. As freakishly well behaved as they might be.

Her little forehead wrinkles as she's deep in thought, you wait for her to ask whatever it is.

Finally she turns with a look that you know says she hopes you'll disagree; "Do you ever wish your life was different?"

"No."

"Really? You wouldn't want Aunt Dawn's life; amazing husband, three, great, normal-sized kids, no need to ever work?" Dawn has spent a large portion of the last few months complaining- loudly- about her 'shitting husband' having got her 'up the shitting duff, a-shitting-gain!' only eight months after giving birth.

"No."

"Really? But Uncle Reuben is so lovely and would dote on you… Rosamund and Little Reuben are adorable and Hector is… tall." As if you care how short she is!

"Please don't transfer your irrational hatred of his mother onto Heck."

"'Transference' would suggest not only an unconscious redirection of my hatred but also that I would henceforth feel a lack of extreme dislike towards his mother."

"Mm. Still no. I'm keeping my life."

"Why?"

"Because, my darling," You squish her with a hug and kiss, "love is always enough."

Chapter 30: Crepes in the Garden

July 2024

It was a full two years after the Christmas party before She was willing to come back to Italy again.

"Dawn?" You'd found her by the front door, a wide-awake Roo swinging his little legs from on top of a suitcase.

"Yah… We're going to drive over to Mimtal's before the snow really starts to come down."

"You can still stay here, Dawn."

The scoff had been pure teenager, "Right."

Hector's sleepy protests as his father pulled him up from the sofa stick firmly in your mind, even now. He'd been happily snuggled up next to GiGi and looked the very image of domestic perfection. It had been such a shame to pull them apart.

That familiar sigh of resignation tinged with annoyance rolled behind her tightly pursed lips, "Buff, if she's Anti-Dawn for tonight we both know me being here isn't a good idea."

You'd reluctantly passed over little Rosamund, "Fine, ok, go then."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for."

Roo and Heck were strapped into the child seats of their rented car and Dawn cradled Rosamund as she walked around to the passenger seat. It had started snowing; the soft, fluttering kind that comes after a snowstorm and makes words hover in the air. "We'll see you tomorrow, Buffy. Would it be alright if we came just before lunch?"

"Of course it's alright." You kissed them both goodbye and promised to pass their love on to Faith.

And that was it.

For two years.

It had hurt- horribly- but you'd understood.

The morning after the night before you'd woken to Faith's gaze, eyes unfocusing slightly even as she smiled. "Have you ever been on a boat? I'm gonna take you on a boat." You watched her bounce out of bed, grabbing for clothes and passports. Either disregarding or blissfully unaware of the house full of seasonal guests, she merely smiled vacuously.

You used to lock important things away so she couldn't get to them but it's hard explaining to a rational adult why they're not allowed to touch their own passport. Besides, you know almost every security guard in the province by now, they won't let her on a plane if she's acting crazy and you're not there.

An attempt at parental guilt had no effect; "What about Rose? She still has to study for that big test."

Instead she'd simply stopped momentarily to wrinkle her nose at you cutely. "Who?"

But this is your life- the daily wonderings of 'is she/isn't she? Will she be lucid enough for parent's evening?'- and as such you don't much mind. Just so long as you're together.

So you'd called that you love her, as she bounded off to make breakfast out of marshmallow (ignoring the many leftovers). Actually, where the hell did those come from? You don't even know where to buy marshmallows here… weird, tiny town…

Letting go like that- just accepting whatever happened- turned it into by far the best Christmas you've ever had.

It's your disease too. You will ride her every wave and you will always hang on. Always. No matter that you may sometimes become exasperated.

And that 'sometimes', recently, is 'every time'. You're angry because… because it feels as if Faith is not only constantly leaving you but then… but then burdening you with the care of someone else.

That Christmas party was… it was also the last time you really had a chance to speak with your… with your 'Sunnydale Family' (it still seems right to call them that). They could be anywhere, they might be dead- and you have no idea!

They'd taken Faith's suggestion, the one that, once she was clear-headed, even she stood against. You can't Napalm an underground cave system and assume you'll get away with it. The government called them terrorists and even Willow encouraged it when you cut all ties.

Not exactly the way you expected your life to go.

Rosy doesn't miss them and why would she? She sees herself as part of the Fortescue-Darlings; Charlotte and Edward are her grandparents, she has many sets of aunts, uncles and cousins- including Henry and Tavi, who are the rational-yet-cool parents, with the stable life, she occasionally craves.

"Where's Mammia?" Rosy rubs the sleep from her eyes, stretching like a cat against the doorframe.

"Hey, how about crepes for bre- Oh! You passed the mark!" She straightens excitedly, attempting to catch a glimpse of her fingers elapsing the scribbled line that promises she's done it, she's just that little bit taller. The happy smile is not, however, directed your way.

There is a new transgression to be added to your long list; Rose thinks you're… she thinks you're not trying. She seems to think that you just woke up a few days ago and decided that was it; time to give up. But the truth is… you just can't cope with Faith this time. It's been a week since the latest mania started and only a month since the last one. She's writing… something, papers spread about her on the living room floor; incoherent scribbles that you're not entirely sure are even in English. Or use a recognised alphabet.

It's exasperating and irritating to no end. Impossible to find the fun you occasionally can.

Sometimes you get a flash of the girl you think you're losing and that seems so much worse. So horribly cruel.

You want her back. You want her back so badly… there's really no one else to divulge all secrets to!

Can't she just stop it?

Ok, ok; irrational. You know it's just because Rose is going away to University and she hates change. As soon as things have settled down she'll go back to her version of normal.

But for now it's damned annoying!

Faith is disgustingly, achingly, happy in this 'upswing' and it's enough to make you want to hit her. She's convinced she's found the meaning of life or some such and has thus encountered euphoria; perfect 'well-being'.

Except it's just a chemical imbalance.

You've given up on getting her to eat or sleep. Instead you just leave her to her drawings and muttered mathematical equations she's never come into contact with in her life before.

She's given up on clothes.

And the reality she's completely lost touch with.

"I don't want crepes."

"You love crepes!"

Her response is a long-suffering sigh, "I don't want crepes with you."

"Rose!" That's a lot of anger in one little girl. She's furious with you. Despite swearing last time that you weren't going to force-feed Faith, she never actually expected you to go through with it. You found her yesterday, listening patiently as Faith explained her 'big idea' in return for letting herself be fed. It struck you that as Rose is now older than you were when you met her mother… you've known Faith for over half your life. A huge chunk of her own life. "Don't think that just because you're eighteen now I'm not going to tell you off!"

"You've never told me off. It's your obsessive desire for us to get along." It's said with a flash of reluctant dimple. "But… I would like crepes. I'm still angry with you though."

"I get that, ok- I do. It's just…" That ache that's been working it's way across your brow throbs again. "She's leaving me holding the baby- except it's not even like a baby because children you can over-rule! There are books on what to do when your children are difficult- there's no book for how to talk a 39-year-old into not being paranoid that the trees are plotting against her!"

"To be fair," Rosy considers, "that one tree really was hitting the window rather hard…"

"I'm tired." You just need a break, you'll be strong next time.

Rose shrugs, "I get that. She doesn't. Don't take it out on her."

"Oh, right, so I should take it out on you?"

Sometimes the world can throw things at you that are so completely, unexpectedly wonderful that no matter how far you try to integrate them into your life you never will. Rose is that thing.

It's not that she's a perfect human being- she has her faults, she's as stroppy as the next teenager and still has to sneakily add up on her fingers- but she is something you wish you could be; selfless.

"Yes. Please."

"How did I create such a lovely person? I'm not too sure you weren't switched at birth." Except she's visually almost an exact clone of her mother. She's Faith but with a tan and your jaw line. If you really had to think, if someone asked you flat out, you'd say she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

But then you're biased. She's your baby. "In that case, you're very lucky!"

You kiss the top of her head. "I am. Now have you seen the… what the hell…?" The pancake pan winks at you from far beyond the reach of your fingertips. "How the hell did you get it up here?"

"Bliss put it there. Freak."

"Huh." That thing is really not coming down. "Can I-?"

Rosy reads your mind; "You're not jumping at the cupboards, that's just stupid."

"We could wake someone up?" Anyone but Lily. That girl is an evil cow. Who you are still bloody housing because Giles sent her to you and now the American government says it's wrong to send her back. But, hey- she might benefit from a stay in federal prison! Even though Faith is officially her 'Mentor' she listens to no one.

Giles never officially gave you an Apprentice Slayer but one turned up unannounced about a year ago and you'll happily claim she's yours!

"You go. They don't yell at you."

Rosy gives a wonderful 'you're an idiot, aren't you?' look; "That's because I don't yell at them."

True. But you have to be tough; it makes you feel good and boosts your not-insignificant ego! "Well yell now. Just try to keep your voice out of 'Faith' range." I.E. Pretend everything is really dull.

"Can't I just-" She steps to one side as Faith wanders into the kitchen, her face hidden by an upside-down book, "-wake up Bliss?"

How much can a person gain from studying an upturned diagram of a duck's intestines? Also; why? You nudge Faith towards a chair and start to re-plait the long braid saving her neglected hair. "And let her stepfather catch on that I accidentally sanctioned you both getting drunk last night?" On a single bottle of wine.

Flipping folded napkins onto the top of the cupboard in an attempt to bring down the pancake pan, Rose giggles devilishly, "Got to love that 'Slayer Metal'." And the low body mass that gets her drunk from a single glass of wine… "Just hide the Vodka bottle."

The WHAT now? "Whoa, whoa, whoa- back up, 'Perfect Child'!" Faith giggles, though perhaps for reasons other than your scandalised face. She's so…cute. When she isn't being a pain.

"I didn't drink any. You're still a good parent."

Huh… that is true… so really Bliss getting drunk on your watch is Tavi's fault… "I can live with that." Score one for involved parenting! "Faith, honey, do you have a moment to break from writing the next Pulitzer Prize Winner-"

"General Non-Fiction."

"Right… that." It may possibly be a study on ant migration. Or else she really is educating herself on the finer points of a duck's insides. "Could you please reach down the pancake pan?"

She glances up. "I'm not that tall."

But she is surprisingly lucid. "Never mind, do you have a moment to talk about the papers we have to sign fo…" The look is outraged. "I'll take that as a 'no'?"

"Do you have any idea how important this is right now, Elizabeth?"

Rosy blinks at you; "Your real name is 'Elizabeth'?"

"She just spent three days calling you 'Josh', don't get too excited."

"Hmm…" Scrutiny washes over you.

In an attempt to distract her you yell for "Mo… Mol- Molbi- Moo…" Uh, 'Molehill'- sweet girl, completely unpronounceable name. She is your new slayer; fourteen and eager, coming from Botswana she rolls every 'r' except for the one in Rose's name, which she never pronounces. Like all teenagers she pretends to be fearless and confident, yet changed her name to something local upon realising no one could pronounce 'lie' as 'dee-yeh'. "Anna-Lisa!"

Is that racist? Is that colonial? When exactly did you become British?

Rosy, with an impeccable grasp of language that has recently begun to slightly irk you, pronounces 'Mo-dee-yeh-hee' perfectly. And then smirks. "God, you've gotten smug recently. I knew there were some of my genes in there."

Her head has been expanding ever since she got her place in 'The Most Prestigious Medical School In Italy Like Ever' (Mimtal's addiction to American Teen Shows continues!) Flicking you away from the only-marginally-messy plait, your daughter sticks out her tongue. "Whatever, crazy lady, no me interesso un cazzo."

"Shut up."

"Non, stai zitto!"

Anna-Lisa stops stock-still in the doorway, arms stuck into a hooded sweater and head twisting uncomfortably to stare, wide-eyed, at you both. "Oh. You are fighting?"

Ha! Rosy is mean sometimes! Except, then she winks and blows you a kiss instead of continuing. "I'm just cheering Mama up. It's banter. Don't worry."

"Ah… Ea." She nods. "It is all ok." Yet she shivers even in the warm kitchen and wears sweaters when you're wishing there was an appropriate clothing level below bikini… which isn't actually all that appropriate for a training session…

Ugh, just looking at her thick cardigan going on over that sweater makes your light, cotton dress feel sticky and hot. "Are you still cold?"

"No, no, no, no… I am here."

Right… She continues her reassurances in broken Italian, testing the unfamiliar words in an English accent. Rose subtly steers her towards the problem, pointing discreetly towards the pan.

"I will see to it right away!" She calls.

"Thank you, Anna-Lisa."

"Dumela, Mme." She nods. "I fix the problem-o."

"'Problem'." You correct, automatically. Utterly unaware if it's right. Faith slaps your hand. Hard. And digs in her nails "Ow! Hey!" That's not so fair! "What the hell…?" There are actual grooves in your skin. "I know I'm not good at languages but there's no need to punish me for it!"

You toss her other, sympathetic, hand away and Rosy frowns reproachfully.

What the hell are you supposed to do? Not mind? "Leave it Rosy," You sigh, "I'm not up to it…"

Good mood hastily evaporating you wave Anna-Lisa away from stretching towards your least-used-but-most-beloved pan.

Faith yaps.

Actually yaps. Jack and Joy sit up in their basket.

"Oh, you want food now?"

She stands, staring at you like you're stupid- no, not 'stupid', that's too… too small a word… she looks at you as if you are worse than stupid; dense, disgusting and repulsive, yet at the same time… 'nothing'. You are nothing.

It chills you. It kills you. It burns at your heart. You think she might attack you now and never care.

"Leave her, Mammia." Rosy easily presses Faith to turn and holds her, watching you around her shoulder. You watch her back, Anna-Lisa hovering, unnoticed, next to the sink. The pan in hand. "I'll make you crepes, just the way you like. And then we'll leave you to work, ok? I'm going to take my Mommy out for a bit of retail therapy…"

As expected, though it really isn't a chore, you play along. Play-pretend, that everything is normal. "How about a trip to Carlo's?"

Rosy's eyes light up and you almost expect her to start clapping her hands together, squealing 'love, love, love!"

The tiny, ancient shop on a hidden corner is one of her favourite places. The walls drip with twinkling Venetian beads in every colour and style. She can spend hours closely examining the minute flowers and pictures enclosed.

'Carlo' is not the name of the owner but rather of the obese cat; who sits in the window, languidly surveying all that he owns. And most likely he will inherit, in the creepy, old-lady-cares-more-for-cat-than-children con he is currently running.

Faith hates cats.

Because they are not dogs.

That is your wife being rational. And you love the natural absurdities of human beings. You like to tease her about it; there's a freedom in mentioning, even in part, that which troubles you the most. So you smile, and tell her you're just going to get dressed… and pet your wounded heart.

"I'll…" Rosy motions to Faith. Who is now resting her book on the top of her daughter's head. You snort. "Please try to keep the short jokes to yourself."

"Hush!" Faith chastises, lifting the book to swat Rosy's head. "Was it this talkative when we bought it?" Always.

"Whatever mother, I'm just looking forward to the day when I can lean my head on your shoulder rather than against it."

With a puzzled frown, Faith turns to smile at you- utterly loving, utterly sweet- "Was the old table extra quiet or is this one extra loud?"

Uhuh…

Unsure as to whether she's still 'in on the joke' or being literal you simply shrug and fake a smile back. "You'll be back later?" She asks as if the 'back' part is in question.

"Uhuh…" You love her, every part of her, even the crazy bits. It's just that sometimes you need a break.

A long break.

Possibly on another continent.

It's embarrassing and you're ashamed to admit that's what it makes you feel.

"I guess… I'll… I'll see you… We'll…"

Rose snorts at your ineffective falters. "She'll come home, promise." Faith swears the same, "Except you're not going anywhere, right?" Tying her up in a room you've been longing for her to vacate? Not above you. "Mammia? Ow! Ok, ok, I'll keep my head still!"

You skirt out of the room to avoid getting involved. Anna-Lisa obviously doesn't get the hint and her panicked calls for calm follow you up the stairs.

You're going to fix Faith. You're going to- once Rosy is safely away- spend as much time as needed working through each and every scar on her heart and you're going to fix them.

It might take years, it might not work, it may make her worse… but you have to try. Because you're damn sick of this thing hurting Faith- your Faith.

Besides, what's the harm in trying?

You got her over her fear of closed bathroom doors. Which is a really hard thing to explain to houseguests.

Dawn sent you a postcard on her last trip to America and ordered that you stick it to your mirror; 'So you can stare at this instead'. It makes you laugh every time you see it; purely from the cringingly soppy sentimentality.

"Huh, 'do you promise to still love me tomorrow even though I can't be who you want me to be today'? Yeah, right…"

The answer is still 'yes' though- as disgustingly corny as that seems.

"Do you regret not having a father?"

It's sunny, a little too humidly warm, even as your light, cotton dress waves in the breeze. Your sticky flesh presses against Rosy's slightly cooler skin as she wraps her arm around yours. Pausing in her merry jaunt to reach up and kiss your cheek she skirts the late-morning shoppers. "No," She says, because it's true, "It's not like you two raised me in a normal household anyway… you're more like really cool big sisters than parents- except when I was really little, then you sincerely got your parent on."

With Henry- encouraged by Henry. Faith's parenting style is more… uh… 'unique'? 'Free'? 'Conceptual'? 'Spiritual'? Ok, the last one definitely not. She's just a little kind of… relaxed. And she helps you be. The world is not going to end if you don't keep to a schedule. Dawn is not the greatest thing to ever happen to parenting and you can loosen up. "Yeah… I guess, as parents go, we're not too awful…"

As you enter the little bits-and-bobs shop on the corner she grows suddenly pensive, "I-" She stops, "I miss my Mummy. She's still here but she's not."

"I know, baby." And you do. Your heart still aches for your own mother.

Rose shifts awkwardly, aware she's changed the light tone of conversation and seeming to regret it.

You dither between the blue card and the green one. "Do you think posting the card on Heck's actual birthday counts as being on time or should I send… something, to win auntie points?"

"Do you have to send him something?" She grins.

"Rose!"

"I'm just joshing…" Yet serious at the core. "It doesn't mean anything, I swear." Ha! If she expects you to bel- "Except that I really do think the Monks made Dawn from all of your worst parts and then she spawned with the Devil." The child is entirely serious. "Poor Uncle Rueben."

Yes, poor cuckold, Uncle Rueben… never mind that every single one of their (still growing) brood has his, slightly receded, chin. Faith assures you it's a sign of their pedigree. "Dawn was almost a child bride once- kinda cool, Jazz-singing demon." You think it was jazz anyway… could have been 'Big Band'… which you've never really got, because surely that's all about the music playing and not the singer or what it is they're actually- …

Huh.

The hairs on your arms, just a moment ago heavy in the damp, stand on end almost painfully. A low churn works its way across your abdomen, as if there were a vampire standing right next to you… but the sunlight streams in through the open shutters…

How can you feel at once as if the sun might frazzle the flesh from your very bones while the blood pumping through it fills with an icy chill that slows your heart?

Demon. Bad, bad demon.

"Mom? Mom, are you…?"

"We need to get home. We need to call the girls, have a meeting."

"O-okay…" She slides the blue card from your petrified grasp and watches closely as you turn to stone. It's quiet, awfully quiet; no birds, no insects, no chattering children, though you watch them each in turn.

The silence stretches onwards.

It isn't… it's weird. You should be feeling awful- but you don't. A good vibes demon? Hold on…

"I jinxed us!"

The shop jumps! The sound snaps back! "Mom! Inside voice."

"Sorry, sorry, I just… I think we're about to start singing." Disturbance eats away at you. A bitter caramel smothers your lips.

It's bright. Through the open shutters the sky is a light pastel blue.

"Can you feel that?" The goose bumps refuse to smooth.

"No, I- I…"

The shopkeeper distracts her with rolling Italian, kindly taking his time to wrap the fancy beads she's buying with the birthday card. Rosy joins in the gossip and you vaguely understand that they're talking about Ariadne's new baby- her first. You took her freshly baked American muffins (your best talent). She looked content, but oh so young. Being over forty is strange, you expect to feel so old but instead feel… like yourself. A different self to the one you began with, or- or perhaps… you were there all along and just covered by the fake blonde hair and 'carry on regardless' attitude. Brave to the imprudent.

"Si signore, ringrazia" Rose trills out. She takes the lemon lollypop Carlo's offered her every time she's visited since she was seven and pops it into her bag. She's always preferred your lemon to Faith's orange

It warms your heart to hear her speak; both such beautiful Italian… and English, with that accent you so envy. Your daughter has the poise and grace her parents lack. She has the patience you wish you had and a peace that you know Faith will never find.

At her worst times Faith speaks so hurriedly and with such staccato that it is near impossible to understand her.

"He still thinks you're ten, huh?"

She pulls you from your grasping plinth and out into the sun, "Actually, he commented on my growth spurt. That whole inch."

"Hey, don't knock that inch! It's the difference between 'four and a half feet' and 'just over four and a half feet'."

"Sorry, it's just that I didn't think 'growth therapy' would be this slow." An inch in a year is, the hospital assures you, better than expected- particularly considering it's an unknown condition.

"Aw, Baby." You pull her close, "I'm pretty sure you could pass for a small twelve-year-old now- that's almost a teenager."

"Well, oddly, most teenagers don't date 'almost teenagers', not unless they want to go to prison."

"Just the way we like it." Faith can be wonderfully hypocritical.

"You wished me short didn't you? You broke the only rule we have and wished out loud that your daughter would never, ever get a date."

If so then it must have been one of those evil spells that backfire. "You've had three boyfriends-!"

"-this year." She rolls her eyes, "I could have done so much better."

Disturbing. "It's July."

"Still…" Rosy hops up onto the raised walkway and you bite back a warning to take the lolly stick out of her mouth.

"You take after your mother a disturbing amount."

"Mammia's had boyfriends?" She asks, genuinely confused.

Lying to your children is wrong, right?

"Uh… no. Not really." It's not as if she ever stuck around! If she'd had a 'relationship', an important one, then, of course, you'd… alright, you can't lie to yourself; you'd kill, bury and then obliterate all mention of that person.

"But you have…" She taunts, jumping away from your swat.

The front doors here are never locked; it's the kind of friendly place where the thought to do so rarely crosses one's mind. You all breeze through each other's houses. Yet, today, as you open the door, a rush of sea air blows full into your chest. Pricking against your skin, it pulls at every hair.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to… Mommy?" Rose pauses on the doorstep, "It's that thing again, isn't it?" You barely nod. "I'll get the girls!"

And so she charges upstairs, sloppy summer shoes clomping against the uneven stairs; an authorised violation of the rule to never spook her mother (once spooked). "Don't worry, darling, it's only Rosy being noisy!" Then, in case she's in the same mood as the one you left her in, "I'll ask the table to be quiet!"

The whole thing is said with annoyance and just the slightest bit of bitterness… you awfully don't want to have to explain. There are possibly much larger things right now for you to have to deal with.

'Saving the world, etc.'

Should be on your business card.

"We bought a birthday card for Heck! Rosy complained of course!" There is a large stack of unwashed laundry on the stairs. 'Stack' because, despite the fabric being covered in mud, blood and teenage sweat, every single piece is folded neatly- artfully in fact. Almost like origami. "Fay? If I buy you some pretty paper can I please stick the…" 'Modern Art'? "uh… things on the stairs, in the wash?"

Of course, there is no response. No noise other than your shuffling and half-hearted attempts to tidy up the hallway. Rose clunks down the stairs again, her footsteps speeding up as she hurtles down, throwing herself down steps a touch too tall for comfort. "è andato!"

"What?"

"Mammia, she's not upstairs, she's gone," Rosy repeats in English, trying hard not to panic, "The kitchen window-" How could she even see that from upstairs?

"She can't be gone," You push past her into the kitchen- the cucina, "The windows don't brea… oh my god…!" The window isn't broken, it's missing, completely, from the wall. Both the countertops and the floor are caked in dirt, bricks crumble from the hole and down to the garden below. "What the hell…?"

Faith knows where the key to the back door is and she can use it fine. Unfortunately, when she's in one of her 'moods' she forgets and doesn't know how to get out. Generally it works in your favour as she can only create trouble within the house and not out on the streets. The windows are made up of super-strength metal latticework, supposed to keep the house safe from angry demons…

Apparently not so effective if you can just take the window right out.

It's lying in the garden below, which, as the ground slopes steeply away from the road and the kitchen is at the back of the house, is actually on a different level.

"Rosy?"

She moves to stand beside you, eyes scanning the tiny beach and then the sea beyond it, all the way to the other side of the bay. Closer to the house, you rake your eyes through the beautiful garden Faith has dedicated so many hours to. "I don't see anything either."

"Maybe she's still in the house?"

"And just knocked out the window for fun?" You pause, "Actually, yeah, that sounds like her."

The front door was open. It plays in your mind. 'The front door was open'.

"Faith?" Not in the study, though you wake Lily and disturb Anna-Lisa.

Darling?

"Faith?" Not on the next floor, though you search through every room.

Sweetheart?

"FAITH? Not in the attic, though there are about a hundred places to hide.

Where are you?

By the time you make it back downstairs a sleepy crowd has gathered. The girls stare in bland confusion at the hole in the wall. You haven't told them to be slayers. These days, these girls, you have to. "Where's Faith? Have you seen Faith?"

Like a ray of the most beautiful sunlight ever seen, Satsu comes to the kitchen, fully dressed in battle gear and ready for anything. "Where is it? Stake or bullets?" Kennedy joins her, in full armour, swinging the battle-axe normally mounted above the stairs.

Lily rolls her eyes, shifting from one hip to the other, "Dude, it's not a demon… she's just going loco because Faith has…" She rolls her hand, "tripped off the face of the earth."

"That's probably a good description of it." Sassy replies. And then immediately seems to regret it. "Sorry."

It registers vaguely on the periphery. Anna-Lisa stares out of the empty space- one, slightly shaking, pointed finger, seeing whatever you couldn't.

"Uh…?"

"What? What is it? Can you see her?"

And then suddenly you can… suddenly you so, so horribly get the feeling that the coloured blob you'd dismissed as being just a blown-down piece of Rosy's garden decorations… really shouldn't be that darkly red.

"Oh shit."

Sassy tears the back of your dress as she grabs for it but you're already gone, already hurtling down away. Not away; towards.

"Faith! Faith!"

Your utterly impractical shoes catch on every blade of grass until it's dragging you back yet still you skid, overshoot the lip and land painfully on the side of your foot. Scrabbling to your knees you haul the lead of your bones; speeding and heavy, desperate and denying- you don't want to get to her… you don't want to see… you can't let this be true.

There's blood everywhere; on the ground, on her clothes, in her hair. Her eyes when she looks at you let you know that she's back. That she understands what's happening.

They're unfocused but aware.

"Oh God… Oh God…"

"Mama?" Rose is rushing out of the house, her eyes wide.

"Get back inside!" You scream, "Get back, don't look!"

Faith's shaking hand reaches out to wherever she imagines Rose's voice to have come from.

"No! Rose, don't!" Kennedy snatches Rosy up just as she's almost in view of her mother.

She struggles, glaring at you as if she can pierce your soul. "Mammia! Mammia! Let me go!"

The others are now streaming out of the house but you can't bring yourself to care. Not even slightly. Not even to be relieved that Anna-Lisa and Bliss are shielding Rose.

The wet, red sand sticks to your palms.

"Baby please, please, stop bleeding, please, be alright."

Her distress is writ painfully across her face.

You cup her gaze and breathe slowly, evenly, in the hope she will do the same. "Come on baby… hey… Hold on baby, please hold on, you promised me a happy ending, remember?"

Sticky hair moulds to your fingertips.

"You promised. I'm your Bumble Bee and you have to give me a Happily Ever After. Remember?"

Her eyes smile as her mouth gasps, again, again, again.

The sound is awful- racking… please, dear God, that it can continue.

You hold her hands, thumbs stroking across the mangled mass of scars on her wrists. Goddamn prison- it stole so much time!

It's not fair! It isn't fair! IT ISN'T FUCKING FAIR!

It seems like hours but it's really only seconds before Satsu is crouched next to you with her medical bag and blankets. "Here, take this, put pressure right here." She guides your hands and, although you know time is of the essence, takes a moment to stroke your palm calmingly. "It's going to be ok."

Your sobs subside as the Slayer takes over. Tears and snot continue to stream and your chest jerks. "Please, please… help her…"

"I am, I am. I just need you to calm down."

So you breathe, and you take a moment, and you remember that you're the woman who's faced down fears bigger than most people are fortunate enough to never have in their lifetimes. You're the slayer.

But you still cry like a little girl when Faith stops breathing.

And then cry harder when she starts again.

"Fuck! Don't you dare do that to me again, Faith, I'm a damn good doctor and you are not going down as my first loss!"

"Yeah, Sass, that's the right attitude- it's not as if you've been in love with Faith for decades or anything…"

Those beautiful eyes smile up at you. It almost makes you scream when she finally squeezes back.

You're married. You have a daughter. You have a Masters Degree and beautiful home and a worldwide family of friends. There's a great job, private beach and neighbours who drop in with huge amounts of food for no apparent reason. But none of it would mean anything without Faith. Italy wouldn't mean anything without Faith.

"It's going to be ok, Buffy."

And she doesn't even scratch her left arm anymore. Or, at least, not often.

"Just keep holding her hand."

Your skin prickles wherever it's in contact. Blood coats your clasped hands until they seem indistinguishable. Except for those scars. You are covered in signs of your love for Faith; the wrist she crushed under a boot, the scratch marks on your shoulder that never seem to fade, the slice along your thigh made with a carving knife.

The scars on your heart and soul.

It's not the willingness to take these blemishes and accept them that shows your love- it's that you went back.

When she found out you had moved in with Henry she drank for five days straight and then turned up on your doorstep, convinced that you had somehow morphed into her mother and were using your little girl as bait for his attention. You'd tried to calm her down but she was so past rationality you grabbed a knife to defend yourself. It had been a stupid thing to do- you, knife, Faith- considering it was always history that made her paranoia worse. She put you through a wall and then stamped on your wrist until you let it go. Once she came back to herself, stopped referring to you as her mother and was huddled in the corner… you forgave her.

You don't like to ask whom it was that she saw when one night you were woken in bed to the feeling of the flesh being torn from your skin but the nightlight wasn't on so you can guess. The old house has odd plug sockets, dotted all over the place, and you hadn't yet worked out where to buy an extension cable from so the light could be left on next to the bed. She froze once you'd scrambled away from her and managed to turn on the overhead light. The damage wasn't as bad as it felt, just the shoulder and no skin was actually missing, but the criss-cross nature of the scratches and how deep they are mean it's never properly healed. Now, every night before you go to sleep, she kisses the area just above it and makes sure to lie with her face towards the light. The heartbroken look she gave you that night, the fact you know it could have been much worse were it anything other than a little girl trying to break free and the way she tenderly cleaned it, with tears of penitence, means… you forgave her.

Faith's 'ups' can hurt you too. Once she drove a knife into your hip and then down, laughing sweetly all the while. She had no understanding of what was happening, no awareness. The blood on the floor was 'strawberry juice' and she pouted like a little girl when you yelled in pain, thinking you'd be mad at her for spilling it. Thirteen-year-old Rose handled that one while you sat in shock and stared blindly at your hipbone. She replaced the knife in her mother's hand with a wooden spoon and let her swing that around instead. The pyjama bottoms were peeled away from your blood-soaked body before you were helped up onto the kitchen table (a plastic sheet had already been laid on top). Rose sang as she cleaned and then sewed you up expertly- partly to keep you conscious and partly to not clue Faith in that this was anything more than a game. By the next night Faith was herself again and went around the house securing everything that could possibly be harmful away. The knives are now kept in a padlocked kitchen cupboard with a combination only you and Rosy know. It was the first time Faith had really faced up to her illness (and her face flushes even now when she has to ask her young daughter for permission to use a knife) so… you forgave her.

Marriage is about collaboration and compassion. You can forgive her crimes against you because you love her and because you know no matter how much she may hurt you just doing so hurts her more.

Faith has her own scars.

The sand is red but you still can't see where it's coming from. When the tide changes and sweeps up the sand her blood will be gone, she will be gone. You want to scoop up the grains and stuff them back in her limp form like a ragdoll that can be kept and carried and bumped rather than the china doll she's been discovered to be.

Your tears mix with her blood.

Rosy joins you, having screamed herself to serenity. Her hand slips over your free one as Sassy continues working to stem the blood… but it comes from everywhere.

You're loud, inconsolable, yelling.

It hurts- hurts- …hurts! Just hurts.

"Mimtal's coming, Mimtal's coming…" Rose prays, her voice scratchy and raw.

You can't care, you can't, you can't slip your arms around your little girl and make her feel better because you feel awful, you feel… You just can't give a shit.

But you're still thankful when Bliss hugs Rosy, holding her up. "He's sending a helicopter, Buffy. They'll take her to the hospital." She knows better than to touch you- no matter how reassuringly.

Helicopter. Hospital. Safe.

And you're begging, begging, chanting that they just have to hurry, they just have to move a little better, slice cleaner through the air, hurry, goddamn, hurry!

They'll come, they'll get here, they'll arrive- they can save her! You'll clamber in the back with Sassy and Faith and have to push people out of the way because they love her. Rosy will cry but you'll turn around and shake her and tell her that it will all be okay, that you'll call from the hospital, that it isn't re ally that bad, that her mother has lived through worse. And she'll believe you because it's the truth, because anything you say right now is the truth and it'll happen, it'll be okay, it always is. Sassy will keep her going, Faith's slayer healing will kick in, you'll get there in time, the doctors will be confused, they'll look at the wound, see the already-forming, pink scar tissue around it and throw their hands up in amazement- because they're Italian and it's what they do every time. They always look confused, no matter what you say, no matter the story no matter, the-! The…

But.

But the choppers won't make it.

They can't.

They can't scoop her up from the sand. There is no way to put her back together.

Her hands are warm in the sun and you know they'll stay that way.

She isn't going to be ok. Sassy realises at exactly the same time. She moves to make Faith just comfortable instead.

You stroke her face gently, "You're melting snowflake."

"Mm…"

Rosy understands what's going on and her scream cuts through the sudden calm. Bliss rocks her closely.

The helicopters reach halfway. Kennedy yells that they're almost here.

You've imagined this happening, of course you have. It would be stupid to not;

Three years ago, that Christmas party… Once Faith had run out into the snow… You'd been afraid. Rose stood beside you on the doorstep and her tiny, cold hands had shaken just as they do now. "You look stressed"

"Oh, I wonder why…! I can't remember the last time I sat down. Or ate something. Or had a conversation lasting longer than five mili-seconds. Plus I may be slightly drunk. Which isn't really as soothing as it normally is." Single-mindedly you'd become fixated on the myriad of ways your life would have been much easier had you married another woman; "I'd have treated her so much better than stupid Chuck Bass…!"

Frighteningly, Rosy can, quite often see into your soul yet not even your creepy, mind-reading baby-slayer could understand the complete machinations of your drunken mind. Which was a long and pretty word that had fascinated you for another five minutes.

"Where's Faith- she's pretty?"

"Why was only the latter part a question?" Rose has your cute nose-scrunching thing but without the weird nose, it always looks good on her.

You had stepped out, part fear and part… anticipation? It plays in your memory as wanting to be sure Faith was alright, wanting to be certain she was safe. But you know that wasn't entirely it. Guiltily, you were looking forward to the chase. You wanted to run off into the dark night, under twinkling snowflakes and get lost forever. With Faith. You should love other people just as much as her. Or perhaps… you just shouldn't love her. "I'm sorry about… Me."

The snow crunched satisfyingly underneath your feet even after such a short fall. You'd brushed fat specks off your nose and attempted to calm down. Rosy hung out of the doorway, "You're not a bad mother- just a little fuzzy!"

''Fuzzy'?' You'd thought, "As in; 'hairy'? Or, like, drunk… wait, did she even say 'fuzzy'?'

By the time you'd turned to ask, Rose had gone, leaving just the warm glow and pleasant buzz of conversation to join your heavy breaths in filling the echoing street.

Running away, you'd trekked cobbled paths and thought deep thoughts- attempted to remember why exactly you wanted friends. All they ever seemed to do was create problems. Which had created the most awful of downward spirals in your thoughts… what if something really had happened to Faith? What if she was hurt, what if she was…?

Because- because as romantic as it might have been to think of slipping away into the starry darkness with Faith… you know it isn't really possible. You can't follow.

So everything had suddenly become very realistic.

Faith had found you even in the snow; miserable and damp and in pain from a twisted ankle. Running out in your party shoes wasn't the smartest of non-thoughts.

The snow drifted down in thick clumps that by rights should be heavy and hard but were instead soft and fluttering. It settled on her wild hair and the old, over-sized blazer she must have blindly grabbed.

"Isn't tasting snow supposed to be bad for you?" Only yellow snow.

"I figured it might be my only form of sustenance until the rescue party found me." You explained the 'strappy shoe, lots of cobbles, pretty, diverting snow' incident whilst Faith chuckled. She wiped away the tears you'd like to say were from the pain but were instead just products of your over-active imagination.

You remember the look she gave you then because it… because her eyes glowed just looking at you. Crying like a baby didn't seem to matter suddenly. "You're pretty in the snow!" She hoisted you onto her back so you could be tall for once.

"I'm always pretty!" A flake slid down your nose and onto hers. Your kiss melted it. So you tried to free her upturned face of snow using just your lips.

She had almost dropped you and it only made her laugh all the harder. "I told you not to eat that! It'll give you snowman disease and then you'll be all fat and I'll drop you!"

"You'll love me anyway because I'm kooky like that!"

"You're right," Faith hoped up onto the side of the town square's fountain, comically wiggling to make you hold on harder. "There's not another girl like you in the world!"

"I'm your snowflake!"

"And I'm yours!"

"Buffy?"

"Mama?"

Satsu holds onto your arm, squeezing so hard you wince and bat her away. Lily leans in, like an idiot; "Buffy? Try and stay calm, ok? The last thing we need is you going into shock right now, ok? Be brave for Faith."

Bliss is staring at you too; with the kind of expectant, trusting, believing look of an orphaned puppy- the kind of look that right now would have made you hit her. Except you just can't give a crap.

"Fuck off."

Rosy laughs through her sobs and Faith's half-lidded eyes are approving. "You're my Knightess in Shining Armour," you hear her thinking sarcastically. It strikes you that perhaps you will always be able to do that.

"I…"

Faith is brave in the face of danger- she once let herself get run through with a metal pipe rather than see a weaker girl be hurt in prison.

"I've used up my bravery."

Instead you hold her hand and squeeze as the bleeding starts to slow. Her smile is faint but it's there. It's still there.

"Do you remember, sweetheart, I… I…" No, "Do you remember our first kiss? I was so afraid but then…"

Her eyes squint against the misty sun and it seems as if looking up at you is a monumental effort. You rest your head in the red sand beside hers. She moves to kiss your cheek. And her breath passes against your neck.

"Then I was very brave."

You've spent your life imagining.

So now you tell the truth. You lie next to your wife and remind her of every important moment in your past, every monumental kiss and all the little ones in between. Rosy soaks her dress in fresh blood to lie across from you, shushing Faith's gasps and smoothing down her juddering chest.

The three of you huddle, surrounded by silent people shouting frantically, a pretty beach and a beautiful garden.

This isn't a movie, there is no prolonged goodbye, no sudden rousing; she doesn't let out that final shuddering breath, leaving you to cry and then- gasp!- takes a second.

Epilogue: Roses Left Behind

July 2029

Five years later and it still hurts that she's gone from your life. Thirty years later and you're still grateful she came into it.

You think 'I should have saved her', because it's true- you should have- and 'I could have saved her' because it's a lie.

It came to you the other night that you live in a country where you barely speak the language and, just as Scotland had been all those years ago (and London has always felt), nowhere is really home without Faith.

Every day that she is gone chafes like sandpaper on your soul. You're just starting to have good days- just starting to have days when you don't think about her every second. For a time you wished you could dream forever, because it was there that you saw her. Nevertheless, you're getting there. It's a slow process but learning to live shouldn't be easy.

You still see her face sometimes, though it's getting less and less. And it's not just when Rose smiles a certain way or a trick of the light catches your eye in the bedroom you once shared. To start with it was every day, every face, the back of every brunette girl. Now it's only monthly, weekly in summer; the time she died. And winter; the three of you have winter birthdays- had. Rose in November, you in January and Faith in December between.

It's not your fault. Apparently. The doctors seemed so amazed at the time. That you had kept something like this under wraps, hidden away, was a feat of great strength and determination. You don't think so. What's the point if you failed anyway?

They say there's no way you could have known, no way you could have stopped her from doing something like that. But there is, of course there is, so much so that in the end it doesn't matter how she died just that she did and you should have been there. Should have stopped her. You ran through that house with such a fine toothcomb, risk assessing, childproofing, locking up anything and everything that could do her harm. You even kept buying her puppies just so there'd be an excuse as to why, for when your friends visited.

Silly to keep a secret when everyone knew. But they let you go on, let you… maybe it was all for you? Maybe Faith really didn't care, maybe she wouldn't have cared. Everything seems to be about Faith, to do with Faith, concerning Faith.

In truth, you'd forgotten how to be just the one, singular person.

At first, after the funeral, you'd thought it would be easy- Rosy didn't really need much more parenting and even if she did you'd done it by yourself before, what could go wrong?

It was a pretty stupid thing to think and you'd forgotten to factor in the help you had last time from family, friends and later Henry. Yet here you found yourself, stranded in a foreign country with an angry child who considered herself more English than American and more Italian than both. When you did something to piss her off- which was anything from breathing to asking if she was ok- she'd swear at you in three different languages, none of which you understood, and run away for days on end.

To be a good parent to a grieving child, you have to not be grieving yourself.

University came as a relief; she was in Rome and you were no longer trapped, you didn't have to stay in a tense house with a person who hated you… yet the desire to leave was no longer there. This home houses not just the bad memories but also the good ones- though it took you a long time to realize it. You'd avoided every room Faith loved and hadn't noticed how big the damn place was until it was just you and the dogs.

Life became all about the three back rooms on the ground floor- even the basement was out of bounds. There you slept, ate and bathed in the kitchen, previously-unused formal dinning room and the tiny bathroom someone had tacked on in the fifties. You didn't leave the house- what was the point, without a translator you barely understood every other word spoken to you- and ate just the vegetables that were left over from Faith's overgrown garden.

Your neighbours knocked at the door and you ignored them. Willow and Xander tried to call and you unplugged the phone. Giles wrote letters and you tossed them on the steadily increasing pile in the hall. Dawn even once threatened to visit- writing it on the back of a postcard in big, red letters- but when you didn't respond she lost interest in the idea.

It wasn't that you wanted to stay in the house, or that you even wanted to be alone… it seemed like you didn't want anything in particular. Except for Faith to come back. You were existing and as long as you concentrated on that, as long as your thoughts were purely about remembering to feed the dogs and fix the boiler, tap three times on the old window pane else it wouldn't open… as long as that was all you thought of, you didn't have to consider how terrible and gut wrenchingly awful the visions in your head were.

That Goddamn corpse.

Christmas break came too soon it seemed, you were faced with the prospect of your little world being shattered yet again by yelling and blame and far too much guilt. Just because you knew it was your fault didn't mean you wanted to be reminded of it at every available occasion.

But the woman who stepped through that door and accidentally tumbled into the pile of post wasn't what you were expecting. Instead of accusations and harsh glares she took one look at your rumpled appearance, the piles of plates in the sink, the dirt covering every surface, and dragged you upstairs to the bathroom. Ignoring your weak protests she stripped you of your ragged clothes and forced you into a warm bath, washing your hair as you'd done so many times before for Faith, talking in that same soothing tone until you were sobbing and scrubbed down, clinging to her lifeline.

She moved like a fastidious hurricane, throwing open the windows to let the rancid air out and enlisting the help of her local friends to scour the house of dirt and grime. It took a full two weeks until she deemed the house 'liveable', during which time more people had come and gone than you were sure actually lived in the village. They left gifts of food and the promise of free trade to mend what could be fixed and replace that which couldn't… everything but the most important thing missing.

Each of them clasped one of your shrunken hands in theirs and in broken English spoke about how sad they were for your loss. Rose facilitated your mental state, making sure no one talked for too long, brought you down too far, caring and taking charge until you began to wonder what the hell Rome put in the water to turn an enraged little girl into a capable young woman.

"I understand it all now." She explained when you asked, "I know that Mama was just special and we were lucky to have her but it was hard on you. There was nothing anyone could have done to stop what happened."

You argued at first, cited every time you'd left Faith, every time you'd run away or snapped back or hit her because you'd just finished painting that wall and now it was a pile of bricks or because it wasn't Monday and turning back all the clocks didn't actually make it so.

Rose had shaken her head, "It doesn't matter. I felt that way too but it doesn't mean anything- we still loved her and she knew it."

"But what if she didn't?"

Does it really matter how you feel if there's no way to ever express it enough?

You still have that nagging doubt sometimes. That little taunting feeling that says you didn't do enough; if you'd loved her just a little better, just a little more, she wouldn't have done it, she wouldn't have slipped, she'd have been sane.

'Sane'… as if she never was!

So many times you'd watch her eyes as she slipped away, as they glazed over with either depression or mania and you'd beg in your heart for her to come back, come home safely.

When she was well you'd clutch her to you, quiz her with a million questions so that you might feel as if you knew her just that little bit better, as if she was yours, as if just by knowing everything she'd stay with you even when she was gone.

And now she really is gone.

Yet you still have Rose- even though she spends most of her time somewhere deep in Africa, saving other people's lives. The rest of the time she's studying hard to be the only Lehane to ever finish med school… or any kind of 'school' actually.

That's an assumption. Worse; a story. Who is to say that Faith doesn't have three siblings who are currently a doctor, a lawyer and a banker?

'Didn't'. 'Doesn't'? What do people say when speaking of a living person in relation to someone who isn't? It really is a marvel you're allowed to teach English.

So why haven't the three of them- Dr. Lehane and co.- come to find the truth?

You want to tell everyone, there's this aching, burning need to talk about it. If Rosy even twists an ankle you have to know- you have to be sure your baby is all right!

So who else is there?

Who else to tell?

Why wasn't she given a mummy to cry over her?

For a while it hurt that the last thing you told her was a lie.

You said she'd be ok.

The phone rings from the pocket of your apron, just as you're tying the last ribbon. You take the flowers out into the garden and sit on the porch steps before pressing 'answer', knowing she'll wait.

"Perfect psychic timing."

Her chuckle is rich and warm, like hot chocolate. She must have stayed up late last night. "I am the Master of the Psychic Arts."

"Oh always."

For a moment you just sit, both delighting in each other's presence.

"How's your father?"

"Freaking out. Officially. He can't cope with his 'little girl' being twenty-three and having to walk her down the isle."

"His 'little girl'? If there's one thing the two of you always had in common it's being disturbingly precocious."

She laughs again. "At least he still has GiGi- the pink obsession continues."

"As does her fixation with one Miss Rose Alice Fortescue-Darling Summers Lehane, I'm sure." It's your turn to laugh at her over-played groan. "Hey, at least Dawn didn't name you."

"Don't. Don't even mention her name. Do you know she's left me eight messages so far about Rosamund not allowed wheat and Elizabeth not eating dairy and Reuben being allergic to any bloody napkin that isn't one hundred percent pure Egyptian cotton? Oh, and of course: her own 'Macro' diet. I may just give them all bowls of rice and be- oh." There are scuffles and bangs in the background. "Hold on, Bee-Bee, either we're being burgled or the Stags have finally sobered up enough to drag themselves home…"

You listen to the clattering of her oh-so-fashionable clogs as she thumps her way down the stairs. Never, despite her diminutive stature, has Rose learnt to descend a staircase gracefully.

"Hey drunkards, how wa…? Oh my…"

There's a long, appalled silence.

"Rose? Rose, what's happening? Rose?"

"They did it," She whispers, "they actually did it…"

Does she not understand parental concern? Don't toy with slayer parents! "Did what? Are you alright?"

"They- the- the boys… they tattooed Artie's face."

You let out a rather unladylike snort. "Oh my God…"

Brides are known to be difficult. They're known to be obstinate, demanding perfectionists who can emotionally turn in a split second. When you take a girl who portrays all of these qualities normally and then put a ring on her finger…

"Bliss is going to kill them."

"I know. We mug- SIMMONS, IF YOU LET THAT BOY VOMIT IN THE DRAWING ROOM I WILL make you eat your own scalp, fekwit!"

Is it weird to be proud? Also, that cute little accent of hers makes 'uc' sound like 'e'.

"Sorry, Mama, what were we saying? I'm going to lock them in and be done with it, Uncle Ardy can deal with the berks- he's the one who encouraged them to get so drunk in the first place."

Rose takes control the way she did when she was little, the way she saw you do as she grew up. Drunken people aren't always that different from ill people. At least, not in the way you handle them.

The trick is, probably, not to let them know you're 'handling' them. You try not to think of the hours you spent nagging Faith or avoiding her or attempting to put her out of your thoughts because missed opportunities then somehow seem so much worse than being generally without her now.

Rose sat up with her mother in the week before she died, spending all night cooking food to mush and then attempting to slip past Faith's lips- not minding when the bowls were pushed to the floor.

She's such a beautiful young woman it makes your heart both ache and bloom to think of all the young men who will one day fall at her feet. They probably already do but she just doesn't notice… or, at least, doesn't tell you about them.

Over and over she asks you to move closer to the city, or to her, or 'the family'. But you don't want to leave the house, and Faith. This house will be perfect for grandchildren and you can just imagine their little brunette heads bobbing as they run about, squealing in joy. Long and wavy, with little curls at the ends- like their mother, like their grandmother.

Of course, that's not the only thing they might inherit. You watch Rosy like a hawk (and so, in her subtle way, does Bliss); every time she cries, every time she's just a little irrational, every time she's happy. You've heard the stories and you've lived the truth; like mother, like daughter, like granddaughter?

You hate that woman- whose name you don't even know. Something tells you, at the very back of your mind, that even had she loved her daughter, given Faith everything her heart desired, she would still have been the same. So you love her too, for bringing into the world your magnetic other-half.

When Rosy asks about her family you tell her everything you know, even the things that contradict. She tried, last year, to find her possible aunts and uncles, but there were too many Lehanes in Boston and not one of them remembered loosing a dark haired girl with twinkling eyes called Faith.

But then again, who's to say that's even her real name?

You wish you could go back in time, take that tiny Faith in your arms and tell her that though she may cry and though she may have been born into a family that never loved her she will one day be loved and happy and smile. You're not sure what you'd say about her moods- she lived in fear of her mother's depressions… it might almost be worse to warn her.

"How is Ardy?"

"I think after the fourth divorce one stops caring. Wife number two is going to be at the wedding, though- just ghastly! She's Artie's fifth cousin four times removed. Seating her on the plan was quite the barrel of laughs. Speaking of; you are going to be 'plus one', aren't you? I mean, I know he's slightly offended he didn't get his own invitation but we sort of assumed…"

"He's over it, don't worry. I'm sure, in his long life, many other things have affronted him just as much."

"Well now you're just being cruel!"

Most likely she's pouting. Your pout. "I'm sorry, what else would you like to talk about?"

"Oh… anything other than 'Wimp of the Year' Artie apparently knowing half the Rigger-Buggers in the Home Counties."

Huh? "Okay, I have no idea what that means."

"Which is exactly why I need you here! The other day I actually said 'righty-ho old bean' and I'm not entirely sure it was ironic…"

"Crikey!"

Your sarcasm doesn't amuse her, "Stop it…"

"Sorry."

"What are you doing this evening?" Crying? Hiding in a bunker? Making another thirty flower arrangements?

On the second anniversary of Faith's death you sunk to a new low. Somehow, it was worse than the first- when you'd built up your reserves, so sure that just one look into the garden would break you. It had been stupid but you couldn't help it- Rose went out to fetch the milk and when she came back you were crying. Inconsolably. Stupid Milk.

You cried for two weeks, until you'd been so thoroughly dehydrated that the tears just didn't come anymore.

Rosy hadn't wanted to leave you alone but you knew, even through the haze of grief, that her schooling was more important. So you made that call. And he came, just like you knew he would.

Mimtal smiles up at you from the vegetable garden and waves away your insistence that he come inside from the sun for a rest. He doesn't feel the heat, he doesn't age, he won't ever die, but he's chosen to live, from now until you go, with you. He says it makes him happy, to do the things he once did as a human over again.

You're not even fifty yet but already it feels as if you'll be forever happy with life at a slow pace.

At the weekend and on weekdays after school you help tutor the town's children- in English and martial arts, which is an odd mix but the parents don't seem to mind. You have chores every day and errands to run, people to see. Maybe it's because you've already lived so much in such a short space of time but you can feel your whole being beginning to wind down, slowing beyond your years. You think there are perhaps ten left, yes, ten seems like a good number.

Sometimes you wonder what the town's people must think of this house and the people living in it- they saw you arrive ten years ago as a young woman with a child who always looked younger than she was and a woman who moved like a chameleon through cultures and made them all fall in love. And now, you're the old lady who is as much a part of their community as their own grandparents, who looks, acts and seems much older than they know her to be and who lives with the strange Duke from the castled hill, who doesn't feel the heat in summer or the cold in winter. You imagine what they must think of the other people who stay from time to time; the Japanese woman every summer, the smartly dressed English lady and her family of well-mannered children, the teenage girls who show up from time to time with backpacks full of nothing and heads full of confusion.

Every Christmas Rose returns and invites almost everybody you know so that they might fill the house with laughter and talk and hide that just for a second- just for one second out of every minute- your heart falters in it's beat. Because there's nothing to return it.

Near every week there's a letter in the post from your extended, worldwide family begging you to visit, to stay for an extended period.

They forget you're a slayer, they forget that even without supernatural powers you have a tough shell.

Perhaps they all see beneath to the half-girl who yearns.

Satsu thinks you're awfully lonely and that it's her fault. She counts being unable to save Faith as her biggest failure but Sassy gave you three extra hours with your wife and for that you are eternally grateful.

"Mm… I might call Sass tonight. She's been sending me 'random' letters again."

"She's…" Worried? Overprotective? "She loves you. I think Kennedy has been panicking her- overactive imagination and all that."

The soft petals smooth against your fingertips, tipping at the edges. Roses.

From time-to-time you receive phone calls that aren't so pleasant. You are… the stopgap for Rosy's anger and distress. If she yells and cries with you then she won't with other people.

When Faith first started living with you full-time Rosy fell to pieces. You thought it was because she couldn't stand the inconsistency, the way her mother would disappear, reappear and slip through the threads of her life. Yet, she tells you now, it was that she was exposed to so much more of Faith that was the hardship- she had experienced a true family and found it unravelling between her fingers every time she hold on; the weave too weak.

At La Sapienza she is a bright, medical star, rising quickly up the ranks, acing tests she shouldn't even be able to comprehend. In those late-night phone calls with you she is incensed and distressed.

She cries, these great, big, wracking sobs that make her tiny frame chatter. She plays happy music, and she cries.

It's the type they use for those montages in films where the characters have finally prevailed over all obstacles- where the little girl looses her mother but it's all ok in the end.

Rose cries because… because, sometimes, 'ok' doesn't feel right. And even though her mother would probably swear like a sailor if she knew… the two of you don't really want a 'happily ever after'- not one that doesn't contain Faith, not one with this awful, awful hole.

To be happy you have to let go of the past, admit that… that chapter is closed and it can't ever be opened… admit that every breath you take is one step further away from her. You have to start again.

"Are you're ever angry? For everything you lost? That normal childhood I always dreamed you'd have?"

She pauses and considers, ever mindful of your feelings, "That was always your dream for me- your plans that were scuppered. What did I loose? I must have been the most loved child on the planet…"

See… but now it's hard to know whether she actually means that or because it's… today.

"I had two 'fierce' female role models who I knew would always fight for me. I'm happy, Mama, really." She pauses to let you glow, "I miss her though and I thought I did before… but she always came back."

'She always came back'

You've seen a lot of corpses in your time; the peaceful, the broken and the hideous monstrosities. But it wrenched your gut to see Faith.

She died in your arms, letting out her last breath just minutes after you found her on the shore and way before any kind of help could get there. It's not those moments you hate- in a weird way you cherish them, your last moments together.

The corpse in the morgue is the thing you drank to forget, the reason you couldn't look at Rose for months… because you were so sure, standing there in a freezing, sterile room with the doctor speaking in Italian and expecting you to remember how to understand at a time like that… you were so sure it wasn't her.

"I miss her too." You whisper, so quietly only a slayer would hear. Why is it all so doom and gloom? Shouldn't death be about positive things as well?

That sounds stupid; 'death' is obviously negative.

But Faith… when you look back at her now, all you can remember about her- no, not 'all', obviously you can remember the bad things about her, the bad things she did, the awful things that happened… And the ache that now there won't be any more 'awful moments'. It wouldn't matter anymore what the encounters were like if only-

Ugh, it just seems so stupid now, so silly to consider it. Intellectually, you want to do just that- forget- but it isn't really possible.

Still, your heart sings to recollect the best of her, on her own merits and… also the daughter you could never have created by yourself (although, of course, you sort of did… well, you found the spell…)

"I'm still here for you, Mummy." She's not Faith. She's Rose. But she's bubbly and optimistic and… grounded, which Faith never really was.

Bunched threads of memory and thoughts, of dreams that will never be realised, crowd together in the crush of your skull.

Rose reads the tangled ball and smoothes your rumbling upset with trivial tales of 'cack-handed codgers' and 'Hooray Henrys'. She makes you laugh and relax until you're troubled by nothing more than the flowers in your hands.

"I can't believe that Charlotte would… no, wait, actually that sounds like just the sort of cutting, cruel- while oddly helpful- thing your grandmother would say."

"Honestly, I think Bliss was relieved. The hems were beastly and truly, Ava did look a little like a misshapen goose stuffed into a bright green, plastic bag!"

You share a guilty giggle. Poor, dear Ava Huntington- she can't even blame her sudden weight gain on genetics with a previously identical twin sister swanking around on slender poles. Lexie is in conniptions of panic, concerned more with avoiding her mother-in-law's scorn over her parenting abilities than her daughter's possible droop in self-esteem…

After all, why would a girl who has her entire life pre-mapped out care about going up two dress sizes? Ostensibly, Upper-Class wives are picked for brains and breeding with their facial beauty more important than a little bit of extra weight. That's your view anyway; the weird, American outsider.

"Have the dresses been changed?"

"That's quite the worst of it- it's far too late! Ava can't slim in time to fit back into her dress and I can't have new ones made, or… maybe if I found a sweatshop full of Eastern Europeans willing to work through the nights… I suppose they wouldn't be so put off by Bliss changing her mind every bloody minute!"

The poor bridesmaids have been running backwards and forwards all over London, catering to their bride's every whim. Even Rosy has set the normal bonds of their decade-and-a-half friendship to one side and isn't correcting her sister but rather agreeing just to placate her.

Faith has always been the only person to actually tell Bliss off. Not even Henry's rather formidable parents have any control over their step-granddaughter. "Don't give me that look. I'll stop being rude to her when you can make it through the opening sequence of the Gilmore Girls without crying."

"Hey! Chance made them family, love made them friends!"

"What are you chuckling about?" Rosy pauses from her rant to ask warmly.

Mimtal stands and shades his eyes from the sun, smiling to watch you hug your flowers with joy. When he takes his forearm away a smudge of brown mud colours his tanned skin. Working in your garden has given his complexion a ruddy, weathered edge. His hair waves in the salty air but is soft against your fingers. Occasionally you think it might not be the worst thing were he to kiss you.

"The oleanders are coming in nicely." He nods. In Italy the garden is reserved for vegetable-planting while flowers are grown in window boxes and on balconies. Faith always grew flowers between the 'useful' plants to surround you with beautiful things. You nod back.

"Nothing, RoRo, just something your mother once said. The flowers are beautiful here, Mimtal is looking after them- he's trying to teach me not to kill everything."

After Faith died, the flowers bloomed in late December, even through the snow.

You see marks of her everywhere, even after all this time. She used her hands to raise a home around her capsule family, in the hope it would help her stay. She built the kitchen table and the cabinets; this rustic Old Italian charm. Rose likes to believe her mother is part Italian because it gives Faith a heritage, a place to belong.

"I'm sure he's a good teacher. I trust him to…" She giggles, "I trust him to look after you. That's awful of me to say, isn't it? Sorry, I don't mean to be patronising."

"You're my daughter, at a certain point you're supposed to be more concerned with looking after me than I am with you… concerned. I was concerned. You are. Concerned."

Rosy hums affectionately, "I think I can twig what it is you're talking about. You're not tha-" Calls of 'Sweet Pea?' echo through the phone line. "One sec, Mama. Da-Henry, don't open the door to the drawing room!" He does it anyway. There's a crash as Rosy tumbles over one of the many piles of expensive, antique books, littering the floor. "Never mind then."

"Do you regret not having a father?"

"No," She says, sounding not that startled, "It's not like you two raised me in a normal household anyway, you're more like really cool big sisters than parents- except when I was really little, then you sincerely got your parent on."

"Ok then," Still you're not placated, "Do you regret not having siblings?"

"And miss out on being spoilt? No thanks." Henry's deep rumblings quieten childish screams in the background. Either the children have arrived or the drunks are becoming spirited. "Believe me, I have quite enough 'family'. They're all dying to see you, of course- Bliss has even let Tav have the afternoon off so she can pick you up from the airport!" She snorts, displaying an inherited love of literary idiosyncrasies, "that's funny; 'Tav-Have'."

Ugh; 'airport', so not funny.

"You know… if you lived here you wouldn't have to fly."

It's so easy to picture Tavi's kitchen, warmed by her green Aga, Bliss, Rosy and GiGi in their summer dresses and cardigans, huddled together to gossip. But they're not your three, beautiful brunettes. They belong to Tavi and Henry.

You know you'll never be part of their little gang but, oddly, just can't seem to care. You're still 'family'. It's difficult to explain; the way you fit but at the same time don't.

"I like it here, Rose, it's… so beautiful right now… the sea is the colour of Lexie's eyes- that bright, brilliant blue." As you wander down to the shore you describe the different plants that are blooming, detail the latest gossip from the town, depict the feeling of welcome from a community that can barely understand you.

You lay the bunch of flowers down in front of the grave; yellow and red and summer. No boring flowers.

"Your mother is here."

Almost audibly, she bites her tongue, "I know that Mama, I know you don't want to leave her but… I just wish there was someone else there- and don't say Mimtal! You're not old, you should be around young people- Slayers. Maybe you shouldn't have sent the others away. Perhaps you need Lily there, so you can enjoy hating each other up close and not just send horrible letters."

But the letters are so much fun…

"They might be fun but I'm the one who has to catalogue them!"

"Oh you love it; being the crypt-keeper of all Slayer-secrets." She does- working at the Rome Office is quite possibly the best job for The Girl Who Could Have Been A Slayer. If she hadn't been cursed, if she hadn't been ill, if she hadn't grown up without the 'growing' part… Who knows how much of the world she could have taken over?

Rosy yawns, "Believe me, I am in no way paid enough to shift through pages and pages of abuse. It's awfully blush-making to read your own parent's hastily-scribbled swearwords!"

"I'm sorry; 'blush-making'? Exactly which century are you living in over there?"

"Oh, quiet!" She grouses.

"No, no, it's nice to hear your obsession with Jane Austen continues… what time did you get to sleep last night? I can hear you yawning."

Making mention of it begins another round of infectious yawns. "Late… and that wasn't Austen."

"Am I keeping you from your bed?"

"Of course not, it's alright, I have to pick up GiGi from the Pony Club and douse her in enough perfume to cover the 'horse' smell before she steps in Tav's car. Possibly let the cretins out of the drawing room. And then sort out the dresses. And the last-minute seating re-jig. And…" She groans, her head audibly hitting the wall. "I don't really want to sit down."

You didn't sleep that well last night either.

Faith's headstone is brown, unpolished sandstone. One of her local friends insisted on paying for the carving anonymously. It was delivered on a Sunday, ridiculously early, before mass. You were a puddle, lying on the beach. Rosa, normally the kindest of neighbours, let the stonemason in and then berated you like a trainer to a spoilt puppy until you thought you might not be able to live without her. The first- and only- time you've ever been to the local church. It didn't take your mind off of Faith though…

After she died it seemed almost as if you thought more about her in those first few months than you ever did while she was alive.

In her life she was so much bigger than this, so much more, you'd fooled yourself into believing she was literally bigger than life. So many times she'd burst into your life and then slid out of it you can't- just can't- stop waiting for her to pop around a corner.

Even in the years you were apart, even while you were with Henry, she was such a large part of your life that it felt strange not to see her daily. Your attempts to explain that to her- your desire to see her but wish she'd just fuck off- were garbled at best.

"No, I mean, I get it, I do." She'd warmed her back against the oven as your latest attempt at chocolate cake sank. You'd been trying so very, very hard to be the perfect British housewife… "You're all grown up and happy and… and normal. Which is what you've always wanted, right? And I'm just this girl, from your past. And I'm only supposed to live in yellow photos and hazy memories and sometimes you'll tell stories about our adventures and you'll leave out all the important parts and it won't really matter…"

You'd wanted to kiss her. You always wanted to kiss her. She clutched a hot mug of coffee, sipping from Rosy's newest artistic fixation. The misshapen ceramic beaker- decorated, of course, in purple- reminded you that Faith hadn't been there to congratulate her daughter as it was pulled from the kiln. You didn't kiss her. Just one of a thousand times.

"So, so I just want to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that out of all the people who's lives I wander in and out of, you're the one I kept coming back to. I'm sorry that I… that I don't know my place. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."

You leave for England, thinking not of summer weddings and floaty dresses but dark evenings in warm kitchens, always just a second away from a kiss.

Bliss sits you on the 'singles' table, despite your 'plus one', and makes no delicacy of it. Rosy apologises profusely as soon as she realises but everyone else has already sat down and it's too late to change.

The gourmet meal is spent pushing food around your plate and avoiding attempts at conversation from well-meaning gentlemen. One, a rather rotund banker, finishes the meat course you've ignored and offers intentionally awful chat-up lines in return.

You wish you had a wedding ring. Or were hideously deformed. Except then people would still, most likely, attempt conversation with that same pitying look in their eyes.

Perhaps bereavement is a deformity? It feels as if the other guests can read it in your face. They must know.

Rosy looks charming, she sparkles in the sunlight and hits it off with a groomsman. Somehow it's easy to avoid her and her beauty.

No one other than Mimtal questions your monosyllabic responses. You remind him of his own, normally stoic, nature and leave him to the open bar.

It all feels empty.

Two days in to the 'Wedding Weekend' and you realise that, other than sips of white wine, nothing has passed your lips in twenty-four hours. You haven't said a word.

Henry calls in a ghostly Giles rather than talk to you himself. It's his daughter's wedding, you understand. He calls in the troops.

You fly back with Kennedy and Satsu after the wedding, Giles's almost-promise of 'a new lease of life' ringing in your ears.

"It'll be ok." Sassy whispers, wrapping her hand around yours as the plane takes off.

When did you become the woman who needs to be scraped up off the floor?

Why can't you cope?

They come in dribs and drabs at first; a little girl who walks through walls, a teenager who speaks in blue and twins with curling horns. Then suddenly six arrive at once and the house is alive again with noise.

The town's people pretend they're not superstitious but call the children 'cursed'. It takes a week for them to stop hiding their faces every time they walk past the house. Eventually, after you've attempted the proper introductions, Kennedy just rolls her eyes and sends your new brood off to play with the local children. When no one looses an eye or comes home with a curious rash the adults start to come around.

They want to learn how to survive- they need it so badly you forget you don't know how to do it yourself.

You teach them from your own life experiences and, naturally, Faith's.

There are some things you keep for yourself- the way her hair smelt like apples in summer, how her true smile started at one side of her mouth and spread across… her ability to name ten different types of duck.

"An amazing teacher", Sassy calls you. Kennedy shrugs and says you're doing 'ok'.

It's well into winter by Giles' first visit, by the time she arrives. The child at his side is scrawny and soaked- your first impression is that she looks not unlike a rat. Her features are sharp and her nose perhaps a little too large. Small, piercing eyes dart around your kitchen, never stopping for more than a moment. In contrast the rest of her is artificially still as she holds her body rigidly, almost daring someone to lay a hand on her.

She doesn't speak or even acknowledge your presence and, for a moment- while Giles babbles on- you forget yourself. You forget to ask if she wants something to eat, if she'll be alright sharing a room… you just stare at her neck, the angry, dark marks from thick fingers on thin skin.

Eventually nature overrides her own resolve as the cold in her bones makes them judder, an odd stop-start motion. Nonetheless she shirks away from Giles' offer of hot tea or to sit next to the stove, freshly stoked an hour ago.

It's hard not to watch her, standing like crumbling concrete in a puddle, as water seeps from her hip-length dull-brown hair. Giles looks flustered at your interest in her, embarrassed that you might think he has been unchivalrous, and explains that he offered her both a coat and a blanket but she refused both. The damp seat of his rented car must be playing on his mind because he darts out to 'check on the parking'- in a street where no one else needs to own a car.

"I'm Signe." She whispers, once you're alone, "And I'd like a cup of tea."

You pour two cups and perch on the rail of the stove. She nestles her pre-teen body against your side and tries to look disinterested. By the time Giles walks back in you've learnt that she's Danish and hates cheese, she had a dog when she was younger but thinks global warming would be solved if humans stopped trying to rule over animals. You ask if she's vegetarian but the words choke her lips as a distinctly 'male' presence unnerves her.

He claims sleep-deprivation and finds his own way to the guest room.

"I wish my hair would grow that long. It always seems to just stop at a certain point."

"I don't like scissors?" You both ignore the lines along her arms and then stifle smiles of joint acknowledgment. There is barely a pause before she launches into braiding tips.

The next morning you wake to a breakfast tray outside your room and a full-blown fight destroying your staircase. Five steps from the lower section are already missing and as Minnie soars back out her wings catch another three.

You jump over the railings in time to wrestle the bread knife out of Claire's hands before it goes much more than a centimetre into Signe's neck. Still blood pours from her wound and she doesn't help the clean up by jumping up to punch a retaliation.

"STOP!"

The two boys freeze instantly; one with a crossbow aimed at the new girl; the other, his own distended, metallic fist. Minnie flattens herself to the ceiling and cries in the protective bubble of her shuddering wings.

Kennedy yells as her shoulder is pierced by a horn and it's enough to shame Clara into giving up the struggle for freedom. Claire drops to the floor the instant her sister does. "She started it!"

"It's true!" The younger girls chorus, three of them attempting to heft a large flail (how they intend to swing it is another matter!)

"I don't care. What's the rule about fighting?"

A tiny, purple hand waves from the breadbin, "As foon afs you get infolfed you're in the wrong! Thaf's why I didn't get infolfed…"

The others groan. "Fuck off!" Signe bites, not settling under your hands, "You bit me!"

"It was more of a nibble so you'd let go of my wing." Minnie sniffles in protest.

Signe swears in Danish (you assume) and leaps for the ceiling. Her sinewy frame stretches surprisingly far once she isn't curled in on herself.

"Hold it!" A split-second later Minnie is pinned to the ceiling with the broom handle.

"Kennedy!"

She gives you a sheepish look, "Sorry, got carried away."

"Minnie, come down, Signe, stop trying to attack her, the rest of you… just shut up."

Beth bumbles out of the breadbin, bottom first and rolls off the counter like a mauve basketball, bouncing a few times. "Forry, Fuffy." She clambers up Clara's back to sit on her shoulder. Signe shudders watching her long, pointy tongue poke past her sharp teeth to lick away remaining crumbs.

"What the hell is that? Mr. Giles didn't say anything about…" She waves across the room of oddballs. "Weirdoes."

Almost as one you snort in laughter. Kennedy chortles so hard she nearly chokes.

Deviating from all expectations, Signe doesn't freak out. Instead she giggles. It's… odd. Very, very odd.

You're so used to treading on eggshells in your own home that having it full of children, who fight on minute and make best friends the next, is such a relief you forget the hard work.

All of them are 'difficult'; the adult that should be caring for them has unceremoniously dumped each. Yet they delight in simple things- spending an afternoon in the garden and the sea is their greatest pleasure. Despite the fights, the squabbles, the mass destruction of property, they're even easier to look after than Rosy was- your own daughter having been so intellectually demanding you felt it necessary to answer every probing question.

Only Signe hangs back.

She stays by your side, occasionally hovering outside a room to wait for you. She refuses to be left alone with other adults. Kennedy's theorises that you must look very similar to her mother. Giles puts it down to trauma. Either way it's… refreshing.

Not the clinginess- that you've dealt with- but the need to live in the 'now'. She keeps you busy; clowns for your entertainment and questions nothing until you realise suddenly that it's time for bed and you haven't cried yet.

You didn't think help would come in the form of a person… but here she is.

Suddenly you're no longer living in your head.

By Bliss' fourth anniversary the house has become a safe haven for the parentless children Slayers uncover within their working lives. Signe is long gone, having graduated to a Slayer Training Academy in Switzerland, but you still receive cards from time-to-time.

The older girls teach the younger children how to make garlands of roses and, despite not understanding the significance, decorate Faith's headstone with them.

You never stop missing her, the pain never goes away, but over time- a long, long period of time- the daily 'I should tell Faith that- oh wait' becomes a source of fond memory. Now you smile when the bright coloured awnings of the market fly like flecks of paint against the dusky, brown hillside opposite. You remember her enthusiasm, how she'd pull and persuade until you'd join her adventures. You go and see things she'd love, imagine her dancing in the tainted, coloured light under a million bright fabrics, and your heart is warmed.

She is with you in everything. Not just in her letters, hidden about the house- you kept all of them, even the one she sent while you were dead. As nasty as some of them may be.

Occasionally you imagine her fights and her arguments- catch yourself quarrelling a point to the air as you read a newspaper, just in case she thinks badly of you. But then you remember that if she can read your thoughts she probably knows their justifications and talking to no one is probably a sign of old age anyway.

You want her to talk back to you, just to let you know that she's ok.

But you know that she is.

You've been there before.

Faith was rude, and obsessive, and difficult, and adored by… most people she met. But people don't fall in love with perfection, they fall in love with flaws, with humanity, because we're all egotistical enough to believe that we'll be the one to make them change.

Did she change? Perhaps.

Or perhaps you just adjusted around her; that charming, immovable force.

You've changed.

She came back to you once, after an argument on a street corner in some god-forsaken small town you'd been sent to. It was raining and you'd earlier tried to help her stay dry while she hadn't even noticed the rain. Later, of course, she didn't take kindly to being reminded of her earlier weakness.

But she'd sprinted back and stopped abruptly, as if coming to the realisation that what she had wanted to say was completely stupid. "Sorry, I- I just meant… that I really did appreciate it. I might not have at the time but I really did."

Is that a silly thing to remember?

Her presence dances among the roses- not the way she was but the way she should have been.

You leave her in the olive grove, unblemished, unscarred, whole- a happy sixteen-year-old.

Happy endings can be drastically different- who's to say what makes 'happiness'? This is a happy ending, as different and unconventional as it may be.

Faith fought while she was alive; against demons, against you, against herself.

Now she lies at rest, content. She might no longer be with you but it's selfish to think of that as bad. There's no more struggle. And though your heart aches and your eyes are all cried out, it'll be ok. There was no map, no plan of your lives together- it had never been your intention to love her. You just do. Yet even without the map you still found ways back to each other. No matter how far she slipped she always came home.

One day you will follow her, find your way back home.