One Day More
by Elaine Martin
Rating: R

Disclaimer: Nay, not mine. Still. Santa, you bastard!
Spoilers: Through S6 I spose... Also, the whole fic idea is based on 'The Wish' (Btvs), and 'I Will Remember You' (Ats)
Notes: The presence of whiskey is an ode to my Crimbo hols (oh the BURNING!) That, coupled with copious bottles of blue Wicked has rendered me in violent need of a new liver. And Kidneys. And while we're at it, if anyone has a lung to spare it would be much appreciated.
- To all non-Irish readers (and possibly British) the term 'spirits' refers to hard liqour, and not the floaty presences that I see at 4am after a run in with the whiskey and Wicked (see above.) Just had to clarify as it is the Buffyverse and all.
Dedications: Sttttt, as always! And of course Kat! As for the return of Nikita, still grinning inanely!
Feedback: As always, I plead!

The pub's pretty full when I arrive, and I weave my way through the already merry crowd ignoring the whistles and catcalls. They're already well gone at this hour. I'm just getting started.

Mary spots me from behind the bar and gestures to an empty stool.

"The usual?" She enquires, already grabbing for a bottle of whiskey.

"Make it a double." I hop onto the stool and perch my elbows on the bar.

"Bad day?"

"Aren't they always." Mary slides the short across the bar top and I grab it, downing it in one. I reach into the pocket of my leathers withdrawing a smoke, and signal that I'm ready for another.

With practised ease, Mary re-fills the glass. "So kid, you gonna fill me in?"

I swirl the glass gently. The ice is melting, diluting the liquid to an orange brown. I watch with a preoccupied interest, lost in my reverie.

"Faith hon, you Ok?" I snap out of my daze and look up. Mary wears a worried frown, the very one I've known for over a year now. I shake my head and smile. Nothing's wrong. Nah. I'm cool.

She continues to stare at me as I knock my whiskey back, relishing the jolt as it streams down my throat. I slam the empty glass onto the table, shuddering involuntarily as the spirits wreak havoc with my insides. Sliding am zippo against my pants, I ignite my smoke and drag from it. Mary's off serving another customer, and I exhale in relief. When it comes to sharing and embracing, I'm not your girl.

I've been out for 18 months now. Six years as a resident under the California judicial system, and I'm at last a free woman. Admittance of guilt and good behaviour led to an early release. I've been floating around L.A since then, grabbing a few cash-in-handers where I can, and dealing with the vamps post sunset.

Angel's dead. Staked a few years back. I'm not big on the details since he was my only contact to friends of old, and I'm pretty much persona non grata among them. Angel Investigations is still up and running though, headed by a young black guy and a skinny white girl. As far as I can tell, Cordelia and Wes have moved on. As I said, my contact was introduced to the pointy end of a stake.

B died while I was in prison. Angel told me a few days later, but I knew she was gone the very moment it happened. It was like a connection was severed that day, one that never returned even after she was brought back.

So I'm out. Doing my think after dark, dusting the big bads and ugly slimies before heading here to get shit faced when my staking arm starts to feel the burn.

'Here' is 'The Closet', a fairly nondescript lesbian bar run by Mary and her partner, Gemma. I'm pretty much left alone, which suits me, and there's enough passing trade to satisfy that post-slayage itch, mutter a thanks and get gone before the sun makes an appearance.

Not exactly the life of riley, but I'm keeping busy. Doing my bit for humanity and avoiding all those big thoughts. The thoughts that would kill me if I let them...

"What's that you're drinking?"

I look up. Hot and blonde; just my type. I rattle the glass gently, showing her the contents before draining them.

"A whiskey for my friend here, and I'll have a bottle of Miller lite." My new "friend" hands Mary a twenty, and I receive a raised eyebrow and congratulatory grin from the barmaid.

"Can I?" Blondie gestures to the empty barstool beside me and I nod.

"I could never refuse a pretty girl like you. Especially one who buys me a drink." I grin widely, offering her the full on dimple effect.

"I'm Anya." Blondie offers a manicured hand, and I accept it in my own. I can't help but feel that there's something familiar about her, but I shake the thought: Tonight's not for thinking, tonight's for getting lucky.

"So Anya, what brings you to a place like this?" Cheesy I know, but I usually let my cleavage do the talking. And right now I'm thanking the Gods that I wore the skimpiest tank known to man.

"You actually." Anya nips daintily from her beer bottle, her gaze never leaving mine.

"Me, huh?" So my rep precedes me then. "Hope it's all good." I swallow a mouthful of whiskey and allow my ever-increasing Dutch courage to lead the way. Hooking my boots under her stool, I drag her towards me until my lips are mere inches from hers.

"What's say we get out of here, and you can learn a lot more about me?" My breath is hot and ragged against her skin as I slide my fingers over the length of her bare arms. She tilts her head and frowns.

"I know what it's like to be unhappy, Faith."

There's an unexpected response. I pull back, my fingers still grazing her arm. "Yeah? Well give me ten minutes and I'll make you the happiest girl in the world." I trace a gentle pattern to her neck, licking my lips hungrily.

"What's your biggest regret, Faith?" She grabs my wrist in her hand and returns my arm to my lap. What the fuck is this? Not knowing what the hell to make of it, I lean back and drink.

"I heard you crying out Faith. I offer you a chance. One day to see how it could have been."

"Listen babe, I'm as open minded as they come and I applaud the cryptic thing you have working for you, but I'm more of a 'get-some, get-gone' kind of girl. So if you want a few hours of meaningless fun, well then scoot that tight little ass of yours on over here. Otherwise, there's a bar full of scouting chicks who'd be more than happy for you to do a Freud on them. And thanks for the drink." I turn towards the bar and gesture to Mary for a re-fill. She quirks her eyebrows questioningly and I roll my eyes.

"You loved her, didn't you. Buffy."

K, that's got my attention. "How...?"

"And that's your biggest regret, isn't it? Not telling her. Don't you wish that you could?"

Anya's staring me down, her eyes unflinching. "Who are you?"

She sighs, taking another sip of her barely touched beer. "We met before. Of course, I thought you were Buffy at the time. You looked a lot like her."

Shit, she was one of those new scooby's...

"Me and Xander had recently progressed from orgasm friends to orgasm friends in love. You insulted his sexual longevity."

Damn, gotta learn to trust that intuition! I knew I recognised her...

"So, what are you doing in a gay bar with me?" Mary must have sensed the necessity for a double coz she plants a triple in front of me before going to serve another customer.

"To give you a day."

I finish the drink in three gulps, welcoming the cloudiness that follows.

"Listen, why don't you mosey back to the get-along-gang, and I'll continue in my plight to get rat-arsed. Agreed?"

"I'm here to help you Faith. I do that now." She beams with pride at the latter before placing a hand on my shoulder.

"So, what, you got a time machine parked round back? And where'd you come up with the idea that I'm in love with B?" I have so many questions for her. Like, how is she? Does she ever talk about me...?

"Well don't you?" She's staring me down again, and fuck, maybe it's the whiskey that makes my say it. Shit, I know it's the whiskey. So I admit it, aloud, and for the first time: To her. To myself.

"More than anything." There it is.

But Anya won't leave it at that. Won't leave me to wallow now that the dam's been broken. She squeezes my shoulder and I look up from my glass with tear filled eyes.

"And don't you wish..."

"Yeah, I wish. All my life. Still haven't got that puppy though." My laugh is humourless.

"Say it Faith. I can give you that day. Say it!"

What the hell, might as well humour the crazy bitch. I raise my glass and toast the air before emptying it of its contents. "I wish I had told Buffy Summers that I'm completely head over fucking heels in love with her!"

And damn if Anya hasn't gone all wicked ugly chick. With a grin she raises her beer bottle.

"Done."

...to be continued...