Beating me down. Beating me, beating me. Down, down. Into the ground. Screaming so sad. Beating me, beating me. Down, down. Into the ground.
-- Korn
Faith's world was lurching – teetering between any one of so many emotions and the absolute, stale murkiness of numb. Every time she closed her eyes – or thought any deeper than simple things like `live', `breathe' and `where the fuck am I?' she would see it. Some part of her life. So many fucked up things she'd buried far away from her instant recollection, and yet were being brought out of her now as if they had all happened yesterday.
She drew her knees closer to her chest, her fingers clutching tightly at the pillow she was sitting on. She could feel the damp in the pillowcase under her right palm – a reminder of the tears that she had only just been able to control.
It scared her as much as it had angered her. It had been so long since she had cried like that.
"Want me to turn on the light?" She heard Buffy ask softly.
Faith knew the remnants of tears would still be in her eyes - Buffy would have seen them already. It wouldn't matter if she lifted a hand to wipe them away, she still felt. She still ached. She still hated it all.
"Suit yourself."
Buffy turned, her fingers automatically reaching for the light switch. Then, she paused, closed her eyes and let her hand fall away. With seemingly so little in the world right now for Faith, the shadows were the only things truly protecting her.
"I came up to-" She stopped herself from saying `check on you', and diverted her own thoughts straight away. "-catch a few hours sleep."
She saw Faith tilt her head. "Standing up?"
"No," Buffy answered with a small smile, stepping further into the room. "I'd only just walked in when you woke up." She closed the door behind her, plunging the room, and her lie, further into darkness. "Must have been noisier than I thought."
Amidst the same shadows, Buffy could let herself believe there were no eyes narrowing in suspicion, no uncomfortable shift on the cot – nothing indicating the scenario she had just made up was received with anything less than utmost acceptance. She shuffled carefully to her own bed, arm outstretched, stopping when her fingertips met the mattress. They brushed over her pajamas, remembering the haphazardly- arranged pile she had dumped them in when she had left her room that day.
Funny, the things your mind holds on to, when the rest is racing so fast and hard in the opposite direction.
She had run so hard… so hard and so fast away from that apartment, believing Doug would be right on her heels…that if she stopped for even a moment his big hand would clamp down on her shoulder, dragging her back the smoke and alcohol and sex and drugs and hate. She believed it so fiercely that for the final ten minutes, before her legs lost the last of their strength, she could hear his footfalls behind her…his breath hot against her neck.
So she ran, still stained with blood and dirt and tears, ears echoing with the sounds of Cheerio dying…echoing with Doug's words…
There was no home for her any more…
A creak to her left jolted Buffy to reality, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow sweep past her, heading towards the door.
"Faith?"
"This is stupid B. I'm going to hit the couch." Faith's hand reached the doorhandle and she turned it without hesitation, flooding the room again with light from the corridor.
"Don't be stubborn Faith." Buffy half-snapped.
And again, the moment – the connection – was shut out.
"I'm not being stubborn. Just realistic." Faith shrugged lightly. "Sorry B, but let's face facts – you don't want me to stay in your room any more than I want to be sleeping here."
Buffy glanced at the thin blanket draped over her other arm. For an instant, she contemplated fighting it. Regardless of whether Faith felt comfortable in her room, she firmly believed it was the safest place for her to be, and as strange as it felt having here there, Buffy had to admit there was something oddly…comforting…in knowing the dark slayer wasn't far away.
But it was useless. Faith had switched off and Buffy knew it.
"Giles and the others are down there." She offered, rather weakly.
Faith smiled a wicked smile, but even the wink that followed didn't hide the emptiness in her eyes. "Yeah, well, they need a break." She wiggled the blanket as if making a point. "They'll clear out when I get down there – you watch."
Buffy watched the door close, and the room darken yet again. In the minutes before her eyes adjusted to the change, she could see nothing at all, and imagined herself standing in the Ether waiting for Ammitus, not knowing when it was coming, from where, but most importantly… not having a clue how to fight him.
She didn't bother turning on the light, or putting on her pajamas. She just sunk down onto the edge of the bed, sighing and pressing two fingers against her eyelids.
For the thousandth time that night, Buffy felt frighteningly out of her league.
It was only a matter of time. Rule number one of stealing was avoid striking the same place too quickly. Faith had been taking bits and pieces from the corner store on and off for several months – it was a wonder Beno – the fat, stupid shopkeeper hadn't noticed earlier.
"Hey!" She heard from behind her. She stuffed the chocolate bar further up her sleeve and pretended he wasn't shouting at her. For an instant, she thought she'd got away with it too, until a fat stupid but incredibly heavy hand landed squarely on her shoulder. "Finally got you, you little fucking sneak." He growled triumphantly. Faith tried to struggle out of his grip but he grabbed her arm on the way past. She winced as fresh fingers dug hard into older bruises.
"Let go `a me!" She shouted. "I ain't done nothin'"
"Ha!" Beno yanked her around to face him. Instantly a memory surfaced an instinctive stab of fear, and she recoiled away. "I'm not letting you go *anywhere*."
"She said she hasn't done anything."
The voice was smooth, deep, even and more than a little familiar. Faith closed her eyes and could see his shadow…the rain…his gun.
~~Nobody'll miss him~~
Beno jerked her arm, holding it up and away from her body.
"This brat's been stealing from me for months!" He snarled. "There's no way I'm letting her go. I'm calling the police and they're arresting her."
"On suspicion of?"
"Theft! Shoplifting!" He jiggled the arm and heard a distinct crackle of a chocolate wrapper. With an icy smile he reached down her sleeve with his free hand and pulled the item out. "See?"
"It's a three musketeers bar." The dark voice said, tone indicative of the trivial nature of the accusation.
"I don't *care* what the hell it is!" His voice increased in volume. "She's a *thief*!"
The shadow moved past him, and all Faith could see were the tails of his long coat, heard the scrunching of a chocolate wrapper and the infuriated grunt of Beno.
"Not today she's not." He said simply. Still with her head down she heard the sounds of coins being tossed onto the counter. "Eighty cents?"
"Eighty dollars! For all the rest she's taken."
The coat swirled around suddenly. "You're lucky you're even getting this." He snapped. "Rough handling of a child in public earns you a jail sentence."
"You can't be serious!" He sounded truly cheated…robbed of his chance.
"Oh I'm serious. Take the money, lose the girl, and walk away from this one."
As if feeling his prize slipping away from him, Beno's grip on her wrist tightened to agonizing levels – to the point she believed her hand was going to pop off with the build-up of pressure. Then, his fingers opened outward, leaving Faith's arm to fall back to her side with a soft `thud'.
"Smart man." He murmured. She felt the stranger's palm rest against the top of her head, and gently nudge her forward. "Come on." He said gently, leading her out of the shop and onto the street.
Her instinct has been to run. But she hadn't. He had come out of nowhere; at a time when she had nothing, and no-one.
A three musketeers wrapper flitted across the road, dancing in and out of the gutters with the breeze.
She had left with him that day.
She would never go back.
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