Just Desserts
by nailbunny
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: No, I don't own any of these characters, I'm just taking
them for a joyride and mean no harm. Oh and if girlsmut is illegal
where you live, move! If it's not your cup of tea, then I suggest
stopping reading right now.
Author's Notes: This just kinda came pouring out of me. There's a lot
of excellent B/F stuff out there, and I thought maybe it was time I
tried my hand at it. This is starting out as more of a character
study than an action story. I don't know where it's taking me. Oh,
and I'm no lawyer, but I needed to make convenient little assumptions
here…sorry if it doesn't work that way in the real world. Oh and I
kinda muck with the timeline. It's my world, here, get over it.
I sat in my tiny little cell on the shitty little bunk, staring at the semi-crumbling little wall. Just like I'd done for a year. It's funny, in a not really funny kind of way, how much I was forced to think this past year. I had counted the weeks, the days, the hours, the minutes I stared at these plain walls.
You could say that I have a tortured soul. You could say the cards were always stacked against me. You could say that I have the worst luck in the world. You could say that, but somewhere deep inside me thinks you'd be wrong. See, I've come to the conclusion that I deserved this. Every single second of this miserable existence of mine.
I mean, even when I thought I had a surefire way outta this life, I fucked it all up. I had to pick the one person who could see through me. Angel. Even though I didn't have the words, even though I didn't have the understanding, he did. I tortured Wesley. Angel said to me once that he wasn't sure who I hurt worse; Wes or me. I tried not to listen to him, I tried to shut him out, but he was right. Like always. Quiet, brooding, observant and he saw right through it all to the suicidal little girl. Little Faith, huddled in a corner whimpering, cowering from all the pain in the big bad world.
Fuck Angel.
No, no, I can't hate Angel. Try as I might to deny it, maybe he did do the right thing. Obviously my suffering wasn't supposed to end. I had to help it along, so I turned myself in. Full confession. I could tell the cops didn't believe me, so I gave them details I knew wouldn't have been released to the press. I left Buffy out of it all. How could I explain it so they would understand? How could I explain it when I didn't understand? They asked me why it happened, how a little girl could kill a grown man with a wooden stake.
I couldn't tell them the truth. I saw it in their eyes, I knew they didn't really want to hear, that they weren't ready to listen. So I told them what they wanted to hear. I didn't give them an explanation, just the facts.
I didn't know the explanation myself, not the real answer. Sometimes I wonder about Buffy, I wonder what she's doing right at this moment. Is she happy? Does she ever think of me? But once it starts, I shut it all down. I can't go down that road again. There was something about the girl that brought my self-destructive tendencies to the forefront. She smiled at me and I rebelled. I hid. I ran. I lost myself in the sex and the violence, like always.
No one can love me.
Willow saw it. She called me on all my shit. I threatened to kill her and all I got in response was pity in her eyes and vitriolic, cruelly accurate words. I couldn't really go through with my threats and she knew it.
Would anyone risk the end of the world if I were held hostage? Would anyone make a trade with pure evil to ensure my safety? No, I don't suppose anyone ever would – not even me.
I still wonder if they thought I really killed that scientist. I bet they do, after all I didn't give them much reason to believe in my sanity. I guess I wanted to be their villain. At least it was some kind of passion.
During the initial stages of my incarceration, I idly wondered if maybe someday one of them would come visit me. They never did. A tiny part of me still holds out hope, though. A regret so painful, so vivid that I can barely breathe through it. That's what I've lived with for the past year.
I try not to think about the night outside these walls. I try not to think of all the vamps and demons and various bad guys that are begging for me to slay them. My hands itch, every muscle in my body screaming for release.
That was the only purity I'd ever known. The thrill of the fight. Truly something I was born to do. I threw myself into a fight with everything I was. I lost myself in the rhythm, in the moment. Everything else that was there every other second would just melt away. The fear, the hate, the old habits, the bravado, and yes, the love. It was something I couldn't fuck up. It was something almost holy in a way.
Some people have prayer. Some people have confession. Some people even use sex. But for me, that moment of absolution and clarity of being can only come through a rousing fight. I guess maybe I was good at it because I went into it all knowing I had nothing to lose.
I, after all, am nothing.
Shutting my eyes, I rub the palms of my hands over my eye sockets until I can see the starbursts on my eyelids. This has become my life, this introspection. There are some things, though, that I still can't bring myself to face.
I wonder if people ever notice that I despise mirrors. I always have. Looking into a piece of glass and seeing my eyes, the eyes that look so much like my mother's, brings back unspeakable things. Can I get away with blaming everything on my sordid childhood? No, I don't think so, but how convenient that would be.
The sunlight begins streaming through the barred window and the lights flicker on. I guess that means it's morning. As the door to my cell slides open, I roll off my bed and land solidly on my feet. Walking like a zombie, I make my way to the mess hall and obediently shovel the sludge they pass off as food into my mouth.
I'm not really there. No I'm in a different kind of prison, my own mind.
The guards come to get me, and I realize that I'd almost forgotten what today was. My parole hearing. The public aid lawyer the courts insisted on assigning me had explained the situation countless times. Something about me being a minor and coming from my background, the DA couldn't find it in herself to charge me with anything that would keep me longer than my eighteenth birthday. Well, as long as I behaved.
"Happy Birthday, Faith."
"Thanks, Esposito." I don't know why, but the guards like me. Quiet, docile, obedient little Faithy. I'd only ever gotten in one fight. My first week, the big bad Bertha of the ward cornered me in the shower. I almost laughed because it was all so trite, from the movies. The resident bulldyke come to claim the newbie with about fifteen of her harem. I had promised myself I would never harm another human being, but their humanity at that moment more closely resembled a pack of wild animals. I never lost sleep over breaking a couple of their bones.
The guards thought I'd stumbled into the middle of the latest gang war and I didn't see fit to disabuse them of the notion. But that one incident and big Bertha's obvious fear of me was enough to ward off any other attempts to own me. I was left completely alone and I liked it that way.
I didn't bother dressing up for my parole hearing. In the movies they're always in echo-y rooms with three bored looking people who always let out the bad guys and keep the truly innocent ones.
"Miss Spencer, do you know why you're here?" The lady in the middle has really bad glasses and even worse teeth. I thought maybe if I didn't look at her, I wouldn't gag.
"Yeah, due process and all, I've come up for release on good behavior."
"Do you think you deserve a second chance?"
That gives me pause. Long enough that they actually start to look interested in what I might say. I get the distinct feeling that these people don't see honesty very often. Well, maybe it was about time they got some.
"No, I don't really think that I do." The blonde guy on the right looks like he's about to frown big time, so I continue. "But then again, you've read my file, right? Well, I think maybe I never really had a good chance in the first place. I guess I'd like to think of this as my first real shot at making things right."
There's a huge pause. I could've dusted about twenty vamps without breaking a sweat in the time it takes them to look at each other and come to some decision. I'm sweating just sitting here under their microscope. I don't like the close scrutiny. My life cannot bear examination.
"Well, Miss Spencer, you'll get your chance. And I don't want to see you back here. Good luck."
And that's it. Isn't there supposed to be more? Just because I convinced three people in a cramped room that I meant it, I'm free. A convicted murderer. Free. I try not to shriek with joy.
Maybe joy isn't right. There's a ton of fear there. Stark terror. I meant my words, but I don't think I'm ready to act on them. Maybe I'll never be ready.
I can never face her.
The guards, looking both happy and sad to be rid of me, escort me to a little room where I changed my clothes. The last outfit I wore in the big bad world. I don't have much else. Travel light and maybe I won't be caught up in anything again. Not like before.
Emotions were never really my thing. They're tricky little fuckers, making you think that you love somebody and that maybe, just maybe, they love you back. Or twisting what was once a pure love into something darker, tainted by jealousy.
It's kind of funny to know that the gang referred to me as the dark slayer. I don't think it had anything to do with my hair and eyes. What's so funny is that to be a slayer, you've gotta be pretty dark in the first place. Yeah, B is surrounded by friends and family, people who support her, but there's always that little something she's gotta keep separate. That dark place inside that she tries so hard to pretend isn't there. The part of us that loves the fight, that's excited and rejuvenated with every punch and roundhouse kick.
I never understood why she fought it so hard. Or why she tried so damn hard to be normal. We were never supposed to be normal; that was the whole point of being a vampire slayer. One person to set aside from humanity in order to protect the rest of it.
Wasn't that how it worked?
Cordelia and Wes are waiting for me. I bet Angel would give anything to be here, but since the sun is shining happily down on the world, he's indisposed. Wes nods at me, which is more than I thought I would ever get from him. Maybe he understands. Maybe Angel explained it to him. Maybe he found demons of his own to battle and can now recognize a fellow in arms. Maybe I'll ask him to explain it to me sometime.
Cordy, on the other hand, is apparently not too happy with this development if her glares are any indication. I don't bother to glare back, I don't have the energy. It's weird enough to be outside, in the sun, with no walls or barbed wire or eyes constantly roaming my body. A girl could get used to this.
Author's Notes: I kinda muck with the timeline. It's my world, here, get over it. Usually I find songfics tedious and usually badly written, however in this little world, there are actual good reasons for it AND the perfect song. Forgive my lapse. The song belongs to Tegan and Sara and is called "Days and Days" I meant no harm in using it, I swear. And I'm terribly sorry if I've completely gotten Lorne wrong, but I only watched the episodes of Angel that Faith or Buffy were in…
We made it back to the Hyperion in no time. Well, maybe it lasted longer than that, per se, but I was far too busy staring out the window to notice. And people say Angel has the lock on this whole brooding thing.
Wes stopped the car, and I got out, looking around and whistling quietly.
"Nice digs, guys."
"Don't make yourself too comfortable here." Wow, Cordelia sure can hold a grudge. I guess I deserved that. After a particularly fine glare from Wes, she quieted down and followed us into the place, muttering quietly.
As soon as I walked into the huge entryway, I could smell fire. Some things are never going to change my slayer reactions, because I immediately assumed the worst. My heart started motoring and my hands clenched.
Then I saw the cake.
It was a pitiful little thing, sitting on the reception desk. It was white with inconsistent pink letters that probably spelled out my name and 'happy birthday,' and listed distinctly to the left like a little leaning tower of LA.
Tears started slipping down my cheek.
Angel slouched over to me and shrugged apologetically while saying, "Well, it's kind of been a while since I baked anything."
I dashed the tears off my cheek and scrounged up a smile, "No, Angel, it's great."
He saw my tears, and I think he understood. Considering he had an inside source in the police department, I figured he might have read my file. The stuff I keep bottled up inside.
I had never had a birthday cake before.
After some awkward moments of Angel watching the rest of us valiantly try to ingest his latest culinary masterpiece, I excused myself. Wes showed me to my room, and my slayer hearing vaguely picked up on Angel telling Cor that she'd better behave herself. That the hardest part was yet to come.
He had no idea, did he? The hardest part? I think he meant me not running away again. Maybe he forgot that I had nowhere to run to. Maybe he didn't realize that no matter what, my world started and ended with a tiny blonde a few suburbs away. Maybe she's what he meant.
I closed my eyes and laid on the bed, trying to block all the confusion out. I hate birthdays. Well, no, not all. Just mine. While I was in Sunnydale, I soaked up all the information I could on B and her gang. I could recite birthdays, favorite childhood cartoons, first vampire experiences, and even their flavor preference of ramen noodles. But they never got more than a couple pieces of information from me. And that was only because I got careless.
I let them in. Even if it was just a tiny crack, they could see a little bit of my shattered soul.
But that was the thing, I'd spent most of my life hiding from people. I never let anyone close. I'd tell myself all sorts of things. They'll eventually hurt me. They'll betray me and show their true colors eventually. But you see, I was tired of being alone. I was tired of keeping secrets. I was tired of shouldering my entire world.
There was a soft knock at my door, so I grunted. The grunt is an all-purpose conversation tool. There can be "okay, I'll grudgingly admit that's funny" grunts. There are "I'm really pissed at you so don't even come near me" grunts. There are "I don't know what to say because I'll start crying soon" grunts. There's one for every occasion. This particular one was "come in already if you're REALLY going to insist on bothering me."
The door creaked a little and Cordy's head peeked in from the hallway. "Uh, hey Faith."
"Hey C." I was tired and it showed.
She screwed up her courage and actually brought her entire body in the room. The backs of her heels were skirting the hall, but I bet she felt accomplished anyway. "Um, are you, well, are you okay?"
I pinned her with my best contemplative stare. Should I lie? Lying never got me anywhere before, just like all the hiding and running. Heaving a large sigh, I responded, "No."
I made my way over to the window, staring beyond the skyline with my arms hugging my chest. Cordy made herself comfortable on the edge of the bed, seemingly curious despite herself.
"Well, do you wanna talk about it?" I could literally hear her kicking herself, questioning her sanity at pestering a semi-insane rogue slayer. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, I'm just saying that if you so chose, that I could, you know, be the one to listen because I've been through some pretty bad stuff and…" she trailed off uncertainly, probably biting her lip and staring at my back. I could feel her eyes on me.
I had to laugh at that, the idea that rich elitist little Cordelia Chase had ever been through tough times. By association with Buffy, she had faced down the odd apocalypse or two, but that didn't count when she was talking to a true blue slayer.
"I hate birthdays, you know. My birthday, actually."
I hesitated. I have never been good at talking. For God's sake, my vocal chords had been used all of maybe three times in the past year. Thankfully, Cordelia seemed to understand that I just needed silence, time to collect myself.
I couldn't help but speak at the window in a vaguely disbelieving, 'can you appreciate the irony, too?' kind of voice.
"I was ten, you know? God, maybe I was still in my teeny bopper phase where I was in love with New Kids on the Block." Pause while we both snort at the memory. "It was my birthday, yeah, my tenth birthday. All I wanted in all the world was a ten-speed BMX bike, black like all the boys at school had. I don't think I'd ever wanted anything so much in my life.
"My family, see, we never really had much in the way of money. Or food, or well, really, anything. We lived in a not so nice neighborhood in South Boston."
I paused, visualizing the tiny little apartment we lived in. The third floor, with the crazy cat lady who lived right below us and made really good gingerbread cookies. My room was more of a closet than an actual room, but I don't remember ever complaining about it. That's just how things were.
"I raced home from school that day, hoping against all hope that a bike would be waiting for me, you know? Well, surprise surprise, there wasn't any bike. My mom had found a couple old Barbies somehow and cleaned them up as best she could. She was so proud that she had something for me, since we'd been having a rough year with money."
The tears threatened to choke me, but I had to continue. This was like ripping off a band-aid, better just to plow through. I rested my forehead on the cool pane of glass with my eyes closed, and just poured it all out.
"I threw them back in her face. It wasn't the bike, it wasn't my dream so it was all shit to me. I was so fucking selfish, but I was just a kid, ya know? She looked so hurt but she tried to hide it.
"When my dad got home from work that day, I don't think he even knew it was my birthday. My mom had slipped me some grape juice she'd bought at the store for the special day, and I savored every sip. I was really careful not to let my dad know what she'd done because I desperately wanted to have a good birthday. God, I loved grape juice. She gave it to me and called me her little firecracker. She was so proud of me, even after the way I'd treated her gift.
"I don't know how he found out what she'd done, but he did. I don't know if that was the real reason he went off that day, but I guess it doesn't really make a difference anymore. He started yelling at her and went absolutely berserk. You know what my mom did? She made sure I was safe in my room, that I'd promise to cover my ears and dream dreams of the bike she'd get me someday.
"No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't block the sounds of him hitting her. Over and over again. She didn't scream once, no, she took it quietly. I heard him leave, and I made my way back out of my room, quiet as a mouse and ready to bolt if I'd been wrong. You never forget some lessons. She was laying on the floor. It was all red all over and her arms and legs looked funny.
"I sat with her and cried, knowing even as a ten-year-old that she was dying. I told her how sorry I was. I cried so hard I think I blacked out. She laid there and told me how much she loved me, her little firecracker. She made me promise to go downstairs and get the crazy cat lady to call for help since we didn't have a phone.
"She died that night, probably even before the ambulance got there. The police found my dad shot to death in a back alley. Evidently, he was gambling and drinking all our money away and didn't repay his debts. Two days later, I was placed in my first foster home. I bounced around in them until my first watcher came and adopted me about two years before I was called."
The silence stretched on. The tears kept running down my face. I turned to face the music, to see the disgusted look on Cordy's face as she ran from the room.
She got up and grabbed me in fierce hug, sobbing hysterically. I didn't know what to do, not being a people person and all, so I awkwardly patted her back and wondered what else I should do.
After a couple minutes, she pushed me away and wiped her tears ineffectively with the back of her hand. Looking me straight in the eye, she had evidently come to a decision. She dragged me by my hand into her room, where she immediately dove into her closet and clothes began flying out. A couple times a hand shot out with a specific item and a muffled order to try it on.
Emotionally drained, not up to fighting her and, I'll admit grudgingly, more than a little curious about what the hell she was doing, I obeyed.
After dressing both herself and me, she tracked down Wes and dragged him with us to some demon karaoke bar where a guy with green skin sang and flitted around chatting.
"Cordy, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but –"
"No! This is about celebrating your birthday AND your newfound freedom. Let's drink to second chances." With that she allowed no arguments, raised her glass and toasted by downing a double shot.
"Yes, Faith, I should say that a little celebration is in order." Even Wes was intent on cheering me up. It was all so cute and endearing.
The green-skinned guy fluttered over to our table, which was towards the back of the bar. "Well hello there my little brooding darlings! Who is this fair child?"
"Um Lorne, this is Faith. Faith, this is Lorne."
I raised my eyebrow a little when he kissed the back of my hand instead of shaking it. Some people are just so weird. Or demons. Whatever.
I'm still not sure how they managed it exactly, but eventually I was wheedled into going on stage. I guess I did it in some masochistic streak to see if it would be B who killed me or some pissed off demon. I figured I didn't have much of a future to look forward to.
I shuffled up towards the stage as slowly as possible, much in the same way that little kids do when they lose all the arguments against going to bed on time. I muttered at the guy my selection and settled onto the stool, trying not to look at anyone. Slayers don't blush, let's just get that straight right now.
The guitars started and I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and pictured the only other person in the world I could honestly say I loved other than my mom.
it must be something in the way you move it must be something in the way you look I'm not sure just yet must be something in the way you dream you just go home and the thirteen days in between you and I this is me before I come undone this is me before I fall apart I've been tired for days and days I've been tired for days and days it must be something in the way you move innocent like you gave in just like you always would it must be something in the way they say and the magic that you bring in between all you imply this is me before I come undone this is me before I fall apart I've been tired for days and days I've been tired for days and days it could have been a month or it could have been a year but I I gave up long before long before you cared her art inspired me to to do my best and to paint my music like like I saw it best and she says I grew up well well, well I grew up strong cause no one's got my back no one's gonna write me my songs it could have been a month or it could have been a year but I I gave up long before cause I've been tired for days and days
I let the guitars fade with my head still down-bent. There was a complete silence in the bar, which was weird because it was chock full of boisterously drunk demons and humans. Then I looked up to see the entire place staring at me with their mouths hanging open. I guess that means they liked it.
One person in the back, and although Cordelia claims it was Wes I don't believe her, started clapping and the place went nuts. Making my way through the tables, trying valiantly not to look anyone in the eyes.
"Like oh my God, Faith! That soooo…just…wow… And look, you're blushing!"
I glared at her with a force ten and muttered, "I do NOT blush."
Wes cleared his throat and studied his napkin very intensely, but I could see him biting the inside of his cheek. At least the little British bastard had the good sense not to let me know he was laughing.
Lorne looked at me with an expression that I couldn't decipher. I wanted to hear my future and he knew it, but it was like he didn't know what to tell me.
"Come on, man, it can't be that bad." Very long pause. "Can it?"
He downed Cordelia's shot, ignoring her protests. Clearing his throat, he looked me straight in the eyes. I don't think I'll ever forget his words. "You're a rare one, Faith. I don't know you, or much about you except that your aura is tortured, even for a Slayer. But I can tell you this; your future is split almost evenly between possibilities. One positive and one not so positive at all. Now here's the rare part, it all depends on you. Good luck, Little Slayer."
Watching him saunter off, my heart soared with hope. Hope is a tricky thing, kinda like feelings. It's so easy to believe in it, and it's also so damn easy to be let down. I tried to temper the almost painful flaring in my chest. I'm not a soul used to having any sort of positive future, even if I still have the power to fuck it all up.
Which, let's face it, I'll manage. I'll wrest defeat from the jaws of victory, just you wait.
"Is it just me or is that guy immensely weird?" I'd had too much emotional blood letting for one day, so it was back to defense mechanism number one – sarcasm.
Wes pinned me with his best Giles stare, letting me know just how childish I was being. I'll never understand how B could manage getting along with a guy who constantly did that to her. Then again, I'll never understand B.
He evidently decided to let it drop, possibly because Cordy kicked him really hard in the shin. Hard enough that I have it on good authority, Cordy's in addition to mine, that he squeaked a little. Wes tried to claim that it was a manly squeak of pain, and we only ribbed him a little. I knew what it was like to be dealt one of those pointy heels, after all, and it hurts like a bitch.
The rest of the night went by in a blur, full of stories and laughter and, I'll admit, celebration. It was the best birthday I've ever had. I almost forgot, for the span of four whole hours, everything else in my life. Even all that baggage I somehow managed to leave on the stage after I walked off it.
About midnight, I attempted to look at Wes' watch. This perhaps was not the wisest choice I've ever made, considering that I had to lean pretty far over the side of the table to do so. I got a vague glimpse of the watch face before everything started spinning horribly and I made a close acquaintance of the floor. And Wes' shoes. They were shiny, so I got a little distracted.
That was when Cordy decided it was time to go back to the hotel.
We had more than was, well, wise. Don't ever let anybody tell you that a slayer can't get plastered…it just may take more than your average gal to get one of us under the table. I won the drinking contest against Wes and Cordy combined. Or so I claim. I told them it wasn't a fair game, but I don't think they understood that it was stacked against them and not me.
They probably had good reason to disbelieve me, especially since we were all holding each other up on the walk back. We stumbled into the hotel, somehow managing to stay not only linked but upright. This extraordinary and monumental victory was celebrated, of course, by a round of raucous laughter.
All of a sudden, I heard a placating Angel say, "She's going to have very hard times ahead of her. It'll be hard enough without you holding grudges."
"Yeah, sure looks hard alright."
I, suddenly more sober than I've ever been in my life, was suddenly face to face with the person who, debatably, hated me the second most in the entire world. Second, of course, to her best friend.
"Uh, hiya Red."
I didn't know what to say to Willow. How could I explain to her that everything began and ended with Buffy? That, in all my fucked up life, I had never let myself be vulnerable to anyone until her? How that, for that one second before sleep would claim me from my misery, I would envision her in my arms and I would smile. How dancing with her that night didn't make me want her physically, it made me love her more.
But, considering the way she was shooting me an 'if looks could kill' glare, I had to say something.
"Willow, could we not do this tonight?" There was a bit of a pleading edge to my voice and I didn't like it one bit.
Cordy, bless her glamorous little heart, shoved her way between us, me moving more willingly back than Big Red. Waving an inebriated finger in the redhead's face, C couldn't seem to decide which Willow was real, so she kept wavering ever so slightly. "Go `way, Willow. Don' wan' you fuckin' this up for our Faithy here."
I really don't know who was more surprised, me or Willow. For my part, I silently mouthed 'my Faithy?' with a raised eyebrow at a distinctly amused Angel, who just shrugged amusedly.
Even though I knew I couldn't put off the talk of doom forever, I really wanted to just go to bed and ignore everything. Just once in my life, I had known what it was like to feel carefree.
Gently easing Cordelia over to Angel, I looked Willow directly in the eye and said, "No, it's okay, C, I can handle this."
I'll give it to Willow, she wasn't at all impressed that I'd already managed to win over friends from her let's-gut-Faith-again club. I led her upstairs to my room, not wanting the entire crowd to hear all my sins retold at a very high volume. I didn't want anything to jinx what I'd found here.
So, shutting the door quietly and not quite able to meet her in the eyes, I quietly said, "Okay, let's have it."
"Well…" she looked a little taken aback. Guess psycho slayers aren't supposed to just take their licks like everybody else. "I came here to warn you not to come back to Sunnydale."
That hurt. Even expecting it, it made me suck in a pained breath and look even further away from her accusing stare. I refused to cry in front of her.
"Please, Willow, can we not do this tonight?"
"You don't get to ask me that, you don't get to ask for anything from me. You almost destroyed my life twice and you damn near destroyed my best friend twice! That's not something you can just keep putting off! Don't you have a heart? Don't you get it?" Through her righteous anger, I heard tears. She didn't want to cry in front of me either, it would seem. But I heard what she wasn't saying. Between the lines, it was all there.
They trusted me. When I turned out to not fit snugly into their world, they turned on me. Willow felt both righteous and extraordinarily guilty. I was just a kid when all that went down, and I think she knew that no one ever really reached out a helping hand. That's okay, I would've just slapped it away anyway.
"I don't get to ask for anything? It's my birthday, Willow. Did you know that? This is the first happy, honestly and truly happy, one I have EVER had!" I could tell I'd shocked her. Yeah, that's right Red, I was human under all the bravado. I could crack with the worst of them. It was all too much, and for the second time in a day, I found it all pouring out of me. "Eight years ago today the man I called 'Daddy' beat my mom to death for giving me grape juice to celebrate. So excuse me if I want to savor ONE FUCKING HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
The tears wouldn't stop. I didn't want to cry in front of one of the people who hated me most. I didn't want to show her my vulnerability. I didn't want to show her that I was still just a scared little girl.
When I finally got myself under control again, I was alone. I guess she didn't want to see me as a human being any more than I wanted her to see me as one.
The next morning I wandered downstairs, hoping to avoid all signs of Willow's presence. I plopped down at the reception desk, looking blearily at the lobby and sighing loudly.
Sometimes I wish slayers got hangovers. I don't know, maybe it isn't a slayer thing, but I've never gotten a headache or rocky stomach. That morning I could have used the melodrama, a real excuse to moan and mope for a good few hours.
Cordelia came bouncing, yes that's right she bounced, through the front door with her face almost bursting with glee. She was walking awkwardly and seemed to be trying to hide something behind her, so I tried my best not to act interested. Of course.
With what I'm sure she considered a grand flourish, she stepped aside and I got a full view of what she was so damn happy about.
A shiny new black bike with a fucking pink ribbon gaudily stuck on the handlebars.
I sat there, completely flat-footed. For the umpteenth time in about twenty-four hours, Cordelia had completely shocked me. I think she understood having to hide behind a mask, holding yourself up and away from everything just in case things got bad again. There's more to that girl than anyone, especially her, will ever admit.
Well, I admit it.
With eyes big and shiny as a pair of cds, I approached the bike as if in a dream. Tears burned my eyelids again, but for the first time it was tears of happiness. Of shock. Of someone who finally cared enough to listen, really listen.
It took a little convincing on her part, but Cordy got me on the bike in no time, holding the seat while I pedaled uncertainly and the handlebars bucked in my grasp. Slayer strength really could have taken a break because it made me edgy. And clumsy. Clumsy is not a nice feeling for a slayer.
Making circles on the first floor of the Hyperion, I laughed like a child. It must have been infectious, because even C was grinning like a schoolgirl. I came to a stop and held onto Cordy's arm, shaking with laughter and happiness.
I thought I was going to burst.
The hairs on the back of my neck letting me know someone was looking, I glanced around and caught Willow standing at the railing on the second floor. She was studying me with an almost strangled look, like she wanted to laugh with us but was holding herself back.
Fuck Willow, I thought.
Wes stumbled down the stairs blearily, cleaning his glasses in a fashion that always reminded me of Giles. That's a place I wanted to avoid, so instead I aimed the bike towards the younger Brit, pedaling furiously.
At the last second, he replaced his glasses only to see me coming at him like a bat out of hell. He made a sound that distinctly resembled the 'eep' noise that the Sesame Street character Beaker makes. So of course, it made me laugh so hard I almost fell off the bike, perching my hands on my knees and gasping for breath in between gales of laughter.
Who knew your face could hurt from laughing so much?
"Well, Faith," Wes said while clearing his throat, trying to clear out the squeak, "that was certainly amusing, I'm sure. Now, you'll simply have to let the master show you how it's done."
"Oh, really, book-boy? I'm dying for you to show me up!"
So I convinced Cordy to scrounge up another couple bikes and we held a series of wildly unorganized races, tires squealing on the marble floor. Shrieking, laughing and shouting, we almost didn't notice it when Angel cleared his throat. Very loudly.
I totally knew the big guy was touched, especially the way he was smirking and cocking an eyebrow at us. But he had to play the big brother and make us stop riding indoors.
I looked up at the railing, only to find empty air. I still wonder how long she stood there and what went through her mind.
Manhandling the bike upstairs, I thought of my mom. A brave woman made into the ultimate victim. I never wanted to be like her, too afraid to do what I know is right. To give in. To defer to someone else out of love. To be that weak.
I will never be weak.
I opened my door and immediately sensed a presence. It's very hard to surprise a slayer, but I guess a witch would be someone who could. She was sitting primly on my bed, looking at me. I tried to play it cool by standing uncertainly, clutching the forgotten bike in slightly trembling hands. It's not that I was afraid of her, but I was afraid of the realization I'd just had. I cared what she thought of me. Not because of Buffy, but because of just her.
"Willow," my voice came out a croak, no hopes of cool or collected there.
The only thing running through my mind was a lot of cursing. I didn't want to deal with Willow, not that night, not any night. But, it had to be done.
Ripping off a band-aid. Right then.
I sat the bike down just inside the door, propping it carefully against the wall in the best manner to avoid endangering the lustrous paint job in any way. Shut up, I'm allowed to be prissy about gifts. I crossed my arms, unconsciously facing Willow in a go-ahead-take-your-best-shot stance. The same one I use to let vamps hit me first, so I can size them up before figuring out exactly how to kick their undead ass.
"Why are you in LA, Willow?"
I don't like beating around the bush. That was NOT meant as a pun, quit snickering. Anyway, it looked like I sucker-punched the redhead in the gut. I don't think she knew why she came.
Faith 1, Red 0.
Her confused look slowly changed to what I'm sure is her approximation of righteous anger. Honestly, anyone that gentle by nature can't look really pissed off…but she somehow managed it anyway.
"I don't want you fucking things up again, Faith. Mrs. Summers is sick. We have finals coming up. Buffy's still got Riley. Despite your best efforts last year, life is going well."
Sound arguments, to be sure, but there was something more there. Floating just beneath the surface. Something I'd started to suspect about a hundred times and then dismissed offhand. But maybe I shouldn't have dismissed it outright.
"How's Tara doing?" Curveball? To be sure. Not fighting fair? Certainly.
"She's…she's fine." But the little smile that played around her lips before she reined it in told me everything I needed to know.
"Tell you what, Red, I think we both know that's not why you came up here. Takin' a shot in the dark here, you're scared of me. Hell, probably jealous, too." Willow's neck had to hurt after snapping her head towards me so quickly. "You're threatened by me, always have been. Because you're in love with Buffy."
Her face turned red at that and she got all sputtery. Funny as hell to make the person who made babble-mode infamous completely speechless. I simply took a seat on the bed, an acceptable distance away and waited for her to get back to earth.
She probably never even admitted it to herself. Willow was always the do-gooder type, and being in love with your best friend while in a committed relationship with someone else was definitely not in the do-gooder category of acceptable behavior. I felt kinda bad, really, making her face her demons, but if she was gonna lash out at me, I at least wanted us all to be on the same page.
Because, after all, I can relate to loving somebody you can never have.
And when her face crumpled with the horribly painful realization and the tears started pouring, I wasn't sure what to do. I'm not too good at the whole people thing, much less when I don't know where I stand. So I got the Kleenex box and tentatively pushed it towards her with one finger, not wanting to move too suddenly.
She bolted anyway. Not like I blame her – I know what it's like to run from your problems. But distance never helps. They always come back to bitch slap you upside the head when you least expect it and are the most vulnerable. I started to feel guilty about it. I lived with guilt for so long – hell, what's another piece to add to the baggage?
I slipped out of the hotel, pausing to grab my oh-so-lovely bike and a couple good stakes. Some people need to cry to find their center. I needed to lose myself in a good fight.
But instead of heading towards the closest cemetery in hopes of getting lucky – because LA isn't like the Hellmouth, meaning it's not crawling with demons and their ilk and a girl's likely to get bored trying to find the odd baddie here or there – I just rode for a while, clearing my head. Pumping my legs, finding the most challenging hills, closing my eyes and leaning back to feel the wind in my hair, I started to feel almost sane again.
Never let them get you down.
Of course, I knew I was being followed the whole time and by whom. But sometimes it was nice to ignore everything, and this was definitely one of those times.
"Come out, come out wherever you are!" I sang into the darkness behind me where I heard furtive pedaling.
A panting Cordelia emerged into the streetlight, practically hanging on to the bike just to stay upright. Guess I wasn't really aware of just how far I'd gone.
"God, Faith, I have to work out, but I don't need to lose THIS many calories!"
Laughing good naturedly at her half-hearted grumbling, I waited for her to catch up to me and slung my arm over her slumped shoulders when she caught up. "And here I thought you were Queen C, master of her realm and all its subjects!"
The glare she sent me would have been a force 10 if she'd had any energy to put behind it, and let me tell you a force 10 Cordy glare is not something to be spoken of lightly. No, it's to be distinctly avoided with shy eyes and soft words. I tried to stifle my laughter, I swear I did.
Instead of laughing in her face even more, I looked around while she was attempting to slow her heart rate and/or move legs made of rubber and I happened to notice that we were conveniently next to a cemetery.
Even at my worst, I'm still a slayer. I guess that counts for something, right?
Especially since my spidey-sense, to borrow B's phrase, was tingling. Not jangling, just tingling. Most likely a newly risen vamp just begging to be dusted.
I think Cordy noticed where I was looking, because she got real quiet all of a sudden and nodded her head at the cemetery. As if she was giving me permission. Permission. Before…well, just before I would've – and had – maimed someone who implied they had any right to grant me permission. Is it weird that I wanted to hug her for it right then?
Tough my ass.
I eyed my bike, the curb, the graveyard and my stake speculatively. I think Cordy sensed something brewing because she got that oh-shit-now-what look on her face and was doing her best to keep from asking.
With a yell, I pedaled furiously towards the curb, at the last minute tugging slightly (remember, slayer here, everything's gotta be gentle when I'm trying not to break shit) on the handlebars and navigating my way over the cement. Getting a stake situated in my right hand, I steered with the other hand.
I swear to you I heard Cordy groan and smack her forehead.
Come on, I know you'd try it too.
So, hurtling at the newbie, he just barely had time to turn around and stupidly wonder at the brunette flying at him on a bike with a crazed glint in her eyes before I jammed my stake into him.
I must've missed because, when I untangled my legs from the bike, he was staring at me like I was nuts. Hell maybe I was. My landing was distinctly ungraceful, and that made me a little grumpy, so I didn't waste any time wasting him.
I was still disgustedly brushing myself off and muttering about my dismount when Cordy lightly smacked the back of my head.
Just to set things straight, I'd have killed anyone else.
"What?" I peevishly demanded.
"Are you nuts? Wait, duh, who am I talking to? Let me rephrase, what were you thinking?"
Peering at her in the dark, I mildly shrugged and replied, "I wasn't, really."
"Like that's supposed to be news?"
"Hey come on, not you too!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I was already accosted by Red this evening, not you too, okay?"
"Wait, what???" It's fun to catch C off guard because she squeaks a little.
"Yea," I tried to shrug nonchalantly, but Cordy was either nice enough or distracted enough not to call me on it. "She tried to attack me and I gave her some food for thought."
"Oh really?" Queen C's eyebrows shot up, looking energized now. Who knew she liked making people a little uncomfortable.
"I asked Willow why she came to LA, and when she didn't answer honestly I reminded her. Or informed her, depends on how you look at it." I stopped thoughtfully, mulling it over. Does it technically count as 'reminding' to shed light on a revelation for someone else? A revelation they hadn't quite gotten around to yet? Still pondering, I started pushing my bike towards the exit, with Cordy trailing alongside me.
"And…?"
"I reminded her that she hates me because she's in love with Buffy, too."
"WHAT?" Wow, she's got some lungs on her. I decided not to explain the situation, after all she'd been around the groupies longer than I had. I let her figure it out on her own.
About ten minutes later, she indicated her agreement.
"I'll be damned."
"Careful what you wish for."
"Har har, slayer. I wonder why I didn't notice it sooner. Or at all."
Looking sideways at her, I had wondered that myself. "It's pretty damn obvious, I think."
Back in space, she spoke to a lamppost down the street, "I wonder if Buffy knows." In response, I merely raised my eyebrow. She caught my drift and said, "Yea, good point, she's never been much for emotional insight."
"Which 'she' are we talking about here?"
Cordy shrugged and simply asked, "Does it make a difference?"
Guess not.
About ten minutes of pleasant silence passed. Silent only because Cordy was still doing a blow-by-blow of Willow's behavior around/towards B and I was content to just walk. LA is so beautiful at night, when you can't see the smog and it's peacefully quiet.
"Wait a minute." I looked at her questioningly but didn't stop walking. "You said you told her you know she's in love with Buffy TOO."
There went the beautiful silence and peace. I cringed and said, "You, uh, noticed that, huh?"
"No way!" Cordelia crowed with a little too much glee for my taste. In fact, if I weren't terribly mistaken, she got away with a lot of that kind of shit. But the evil cheerleader had somehow wormed her way through my defenses, slinking past all my walls.
All of that was why, instead of pounding her, I rolled my eyes and tried to hold in a sigh. It didn't work too well, but in my defense I wasn't really trying anyway.
She stared at me, jumping up and down like a tiny child in a warehouse-sized candy store, obviously expecting me to dignify her outburst with a reply.
"Way," I said simply, hoping beyond all hope that she'd drop it. You can't blame a girl for trying, right?
We walked in silence for a while, but it was the kind of silence where you're just listening for the sounds of incoming mortars, whistling your doom. I stole glances at her, wincing slightly every time at the gears grinding in her head.
Feeling snarky, I grumbled at her, "Geez, don't hurt yourself thinking that much."
After a while, things having been far too quiet and eerie for my tastes, she quietly asked the one question I never wanted her to.
"That explains everything, doesn't it?" I could just see the puzzle pieces clicking together for her. The reason I poisoned Angel. The reason I went after Buffy upon waking from my coma, only to notice that the love of her life wasn't even in town anymore. The reason I turned myself in, because her words cut me to the bone and I had to get away from the righteous indignation.
I just looked at C in response, not trusting myself to speak. I figured my past actions were yelling loudly enough already. A little part of me was relieved that nobody'd figured it out, the way I'd seen right through Willow. I guess no one wanted to look.
A few minutes later, the both of us just pushing our bikes along side by side, Cordelia broke the silence again. "That's why you have to go back there, isn't it? That's why you always had to be there, even after you woke up and we all thought you'd run."
Pretty fucking smart for a former Homecoming Queen.
I think she saw that I'd been pushed much too far already that night, that week, hell that year.
Poking my right arm, she asked, "So is that tattoo real?"
"Of course it's real, do you honestly think I'd get up every morning and ink the damn thing on myself?"
"Well, you could be deathly afraid of needles or something." She was looking at me slyly out of the corners of her eyes. Shit.
"I'm the Slayer, I've battled demons and group showers. Needles ain't gonna faze me."
"That's not what I hear."
"Who told you?!" Waking up in the hospital with that IV in my arm was almost worse than the never-ending nightmares where Buffy chased me around and gutted me. Over and over again.
"Aha! So the big bad Slayer is terrified of a little, itty bitty poke!"
"Shut up before I rearrange your face." I was grumbling good-naturedly, mostly because it wasn't like Cordy was gonna choose right then to actually be scared of me. I had to keep up appearances, see.
"So, for real now, is the tattoo authentic?"
"Yes," I grated through clenched teeth, not wanting to go any further into detail.
"That had to have involved needles pretty intensely."
"Guess so." Nonchalance is my middle name, yessiree.
"This is gonna be a hell of a good story, isn't it?"
"Depends on who you ask."
"Well, I'm asking you."
"Well, I'm not gonna answer."
"Yes you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes you are."
"No. I'm. Not."
"Yah huh!" She was delightedly skipping at that point, knowing she'd stumbled upon something terribly juicy.
We were still going back and forth like that when we made it back to the Hyperion.
"You are SO gonna tell me."
"I'm so NOT gonna tell you."
And it went on, until finally Angel, with his eyes vaguely crossed, put a stop to it. "Girls! Would you please give it a rest? I'm getting a migraine!"
"Well then you shouldn't talk so loud," C quipped back while inspecting her cuticles. I gaped at her, astonished that she could irritate so many people so effortlessly. It's gotta be an art form.
"Just give in, Faith, she'll never give up." Angel's voice is weary, and if I didn't know him better, I'd have missed the glint in his eyes.
"Yea!" Rolling my eyes, I had to admit that I really didn't expect C to restrain herself from chiming in there.
With another long-suffering sigh and much eye rolling, I bit out the story. "Well, I was dating this guy, and he was a little older than me." By the raised eyebrows in the room, they obviously thought I was covering up exactly how much older he was. Eh, so they were right, big deal. "Anyway, he was a tattoo artist, and I thought that was so sexy and dangerous, ya know? So he drew this neat little design for me and I couldn't see a way out of it and keep my reputation for being tough."
Cordy was trying to suppress her giggles, like we were in middle school and I'd just told her a boy held my hand. Rolling my eyes, I continued, "So I got really drunk, figuring the alcohol would make me braver. Liquid courage, or something. Anyway, once I saw the needle and he turned it on and it made that awful buzzing sound, I passed out cold. Next thing I know, I've got this little baby." Appreciatively, I pulled up my shirt sleeve and flexed my arm to show off my little body art.
I could tell Angel was trying not to laugh at me, but Cordelia's giggles had long since gotten the best of her. So he thumped me on the shoulder and said gruffly, "See? That wasn't so bad."
I glared at him and stomped off.
The next day was a blur, filled with banter between Wes, Cordy and I. They filled me in on all the latest and greatest movies, pop icons, and something about an incident with Janet Jackson's tits that I wasn't too sure I wanted to hear about.
I went up to the roof, having it on good authority that it was a wonderful spot to brood away hours at a time. I sat Indian-style on the ledge, just staring at the setting sun and waxing poetic.
Sometimes I'd stop and think about something I'd done in the past. Just one thing, probably not even that terrible when compared to everything I'd ever done, but something I regretted terribly nonetheless. Sit and obsess and bang it around in my head, cutting myself down until there was nothing more than a pile of skin and bones.
At that particular moment I was beating myself up over how absolutely, downright rude I'd been to Tara. I could tell right away that the poor girl was nervous about meeting Buffy and I bet the last thing she had anticipated was having a conversation with me. Or deserved. She seemed like such a nice person.
Sometimes I can be a world-class asshole. And no matter how much Queen C and Wes might claim, I haven't really changed all that much. I'm still the same old me, full of rough edges and gruffness. But maybe there was still a chance for me, despite everything I'd done.
Or maybe because of everything I'd done.
I suppose you could say it was fitting, then, that the person to finally seek out my less-than-stellar company was Willow. I hadn't seen her since the, by now, infamous first meeting of the We-Love-Buffy Club. I wondered who'd get to be the president. Treasurer always sounded like a fun job to have.
She didn't say anything, just sat next to me, close enough that her warmth crept through my jeans. We simply watched the sun go down, lost in our own maudlin thoughts. Let's face it, no one in the history of the world has watched the sunset without some private drama in their minds.
I really did feel sorry for Willow. She was a good person at heart, and having your own suppressed feelings exposed to you really isn't the most fun of times. On some level, she knew all along. What I had said to her wasn't a revelation, but putting it out there in words made it somehow more real. She couldn't deny it anymore.
And you know what they say about denial.
But, at least for her sake, she already had the love of a good woman. Now that the wound was in plain sight, maybe she'd be able to heal. Move on and really devote herself to Tara. Both girls deserved it.
I wished it were that easy for me.
Finally, long after the sun had set, Red broke the silence between us. She didn't need words, didn't need a whole conversation to understand me. To understand what I needed to do, and that there never was a choice for me.
"We're going home tomorrow."
I was sitting in the passenger's seat, somewhat curled in on myself and staring out the window. My heart felt like it was racing a train and my stomach was all tingly.
I was fucking nervous.
The entire LA gang had said goodbye and seen us off that morning, with Cordy pushing a bottle of grape juice into my hand. I didn't know what I had ever done to deserve such a good friend. A second chance, even if it wasn't with the person I really wanted. Her phone number was securely lodged in my pocket, and I absentmindedly patted it every few minutes.
Willow, showing her first strains of common sense, left me pretty much alone for awhile. She popped in a cd and, singing quietly along, picked her way through the nightmare that is a California freeway.
I didn't have a driver's license and I wasn't sure that, even if I'd had one, that I'd be allowed to drive. I wondered whose car this was, because I didn't remember any of them possessing one before my untimely incarceration.
Untimely incarceration. Ha.
With my knee bouncing up and down, I'd say Red knew I was…anxious. She kept her eyes on the road, calmly driving. I wanted to know how the hell she could do that. Wasn't she scared of seeing the two women who stole her heart? I was a fucking basket case and I only had one tiny little slayer to thank for that.
So I caved, eventually, and asked, "Aren't you nervous?"
"Well," she started, with her nose scrunched up a little and that vague look of deep thought. "I…I don't think so. I mean, maybe I should be?"
"What the hell kind of answer was that?"
She flicked her eyes over at me and I just stared back at her. No, this silent communication shit never really worked with me. You gotta spell that shit out.
"Well, I feel calmer than I have in years. Since I met Buffy, actually," she ended the sentence with a little laughter, like she realized how obvious that was already. "It's just like I found clarity. Like I finally get it."
I just nodded thoughtfully. It did make sense, after all. So I let it drop, figuring she was dealing with aplomb. I silently wondered if she'd be willing to share some of her confidence with me.
I don't think anyone would ever describe me as handling anything with aplomb. Except maybe slaying, but that was a duh.
"I want to apologize for being such a poopyhead to you." She said it while showing that newfound confidence and poise. Shit, Red seemed to have grown up in all of a day. I wished I could ask for some pointers on that.
Wait, she just said she's sorry? To me? I gaped at her, although my mouth wasn't hanging open…okay, well, it was parted slightly. The words I'd never, ever heard in my life from someone like Willow. Someone I wanted to be friends with.
There are some people who are just good souls. That no matter what you do to them, they hang on to a shred of their innocence and love of life. No matter what, there will always be a bigger part of them that isn't jaded by experience. Willow was one of those people, and I guess I wanted a little bit of that to rub off on me. I wanted to feel wonder at the simplest of things. I wanted to know what it was like to laugh and smile every day.
And this person, this clean soul, wanted to apologize to me? All those words she'd said, the anger and rage directed at me for so long, none of it mattered to me in that instant. Yea, she had hurt me deeply, but I wasn't about to say I didn't deserve it.
Damn.
"I…uh…okay?" I finished weakly. I had no clue what to say. I could see that she was the kind of person who didn't want any blemishes on her conscience. No matter how much the asshole had deserved it, she was gonna regret it.
I wanted a heart like hers.
She just looked at me with understanding, like she knew exactly what I was thinking – which she probably did – and smiled at me. Nodding at my grape juice, she said, "You haven't touch that yet. Aren't you gonna drink it?"
Maybe Cordelia had had some words with Red, because I think she knew what it was all about. The bike, the grape juice, everything. And suddenly, I felt guilty for sharing my sordid, pain-filled life with her. Forcing the kind of knowledge on her that she should never have possessed.
Suddenly I understood why Buffy insisted on playing the martyr so often. How could you not with friends like Willow around?
That thought was immediately followed by a realization that left me completely floored, much more so than Red's apology. Buffy was at least a little bit in love with Willow. Glancing at her from the corner of my eye, I had to admit that there was no way the hacker's feelings were completely one-sided. But, knowing some of the way B's mind worked, I understood that the feelings could never be really returned. She didn't want to drag the redhead into the life of a slayer any more than she already had.
Gotta love B: the self-sacrifice existing for all those years hand-in-hand with the selfishness. Having tasted a friendship like Willow's, she couldn't let it go. A little bit of light in a life of darkness.
Another piece of Buffy clicked into place for me, and I fell a little bit more in love with her. But how could I expect Buffy to share in my darkness?
Biting my cheek, I stared out my window and let the tears fall unchecked, trying not to sob out loud.
But I couldn't hide my sudden emotional turn for long. "Hey, this isn't supposed to be a sadness moment."
I looked her in the eyes and knew I could never tell her. If B never could, I wasn't gonna do it either. So I cracked a half-grin at her and replied, "I was just thinking you stole my line."
She just smiled at me and, evidently satisfied with my explanation, looked back out the windshield.
I kept looking at her, and finally said, "I am, you know. Sorry, that is."
Red kept smiling and said to the windshield, "I know. I've always known."
Damn. What could I say to that? So I returned to perusing the occupants of different cars, watching amusedly all the things people do when they think no one's watching. There was the obligatory guy picking his nose – isn't there always one of those – and the couple obviously arguing. I wondered what the big crisis was, maybe he wanted to go out to dinner and she didn't. My cynicism surprised even me.
I found myself needing to speak, needing to be understood. Maybe even helped, so I asked the only question that had ever truly mattered. "So, uh, do you think B'll give me a second chance?"
I couldn't look at her. I couldn't bear to see the laughter, the derision, or whatever other awful emotion was marching its way across her face. I glared at my cuticles as if they were the sole cause for my current situation.
"She has to." There was no hesitation in her voice, no uncertainty. Just a simple truth. I wanted to be in her world, where there was black and white and nothing in between. Everything had its place and nothing was so terribly bleak and gray. In that moment, I envied her.
I scrunched up my forehead, my throat feeling tight and my nose tingling. I fucking hate crying. For not being a person to let myself indulge in these sorts of emotions in front of other people, I'd sure let a hell of a lot of people see me cry those past few days.
"I wish I could be so sure, Red," I mumbled shakily a minute later, having fought down the urge to cry. I felt hollow, despondent. Dry.
"It won't be easy, Faith. And, I don't think it should be." I sharply looked at her. Ouch. There went my throat again, closing itself off. Who told it to do that? She continued, knowing my reaction from the way my hands pushed at my jeans, "If it were easy, we wouldn't need it so badly."
Fucking hell. I sniffled, attacking the knees of my pants some more, not willing to cry anymore.
"You scarred us all, you know. Left your mark whether we wanted you to or not." She finally noticed my futile attempt at holding in my emotions and – her voice not really softening – said, "If you think this is hard, wait till you talk to Buffy."
I sobbed loudly, only once, and held everything else in with the force of my hands. Pressing them to my mouth, the rest of my body shuddered. In an amusing display of intelligence, she pushed a little plastic travel pack of tissues at me with one finger.
"I…I think I still want you to hurt." This was said slowly, with her forehead scrunched up, pulling her hairline down slightly.
Looking out the window, I just nodded once and jerkily bit out, "Fair enough."
We drove on for a while, neither of us speaking. I questioned my sanity, I mean if a harmless little hacker could make me sob like a teeny girl…well thinking about the penance Buffy would probably make me pay simply was unbearable.
Red was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel and kind of dancing in her seat. But what made me explode into laughter was that whenever the song got to an unintelligible lyric, she'd scrunch up her nose and make a noise similar to what the singer was belting out. In other words, it was terribly adorable.
She looked over at me, smiling sheepishly and blushing pink. Turning back to the road, she mumbled, "Meanie," at me. Of course, that only served to make me laugh even harder.
All too soon, we were getting off the freeway and merging into Sunnydale traffic. I could barely breathe. Instead of shutting my eyes and closing out reality like I wanted to, my gaze was inexorably drawn to the streets I remembered so vividly. Shaky hands pushed the hair behind my ears and scrubbed my face.
When we turned into the parking lot on campus, I audibly gulped and shivered. I think Willow was torn between laughing at me and feeling sorry for me. I didn't want to find out which was going to win, so I pushed open the door.
I followed almost slightly behind Red, dragging my feet dramatically the closer we got to Stevenson.
When Willow unlocked and pushed open the door, I almost fainted. Shrinking behind the redhead, I waved feebly and said, "Hiya, B."
I stood there, just staring at her, and it was like I'd suddenly developed tunnel vision. I didn't notice Willow looking nervously between us, trying to decide if she should stay or go. I didn't notice the posters on the wall or the tiny little tv by the door.
For that moment in time, nothing existed except Buffy. And she looked good, despite the fact that being a slayer attending university couldn't have been easy. I was suddenly struck by the realization that she's terribly short, even with those scary heels she always insists on wearing – like she's really fooling anybody.
She sat there staring right back, and said simply, "Faith."
I couldn't tell if there was any emotion behind that one word. It was said so flatly, without any inflection at all, that I vaguely wondered if she was a robot. I'd seen weirder things in Sunnydale.
Without any hints to her emotional state, I stayed standing on the line that divided hallway from room. I tried not to fidget, but it was hard not to under that steely gaze.
"Back to kill more people?" That was said without any emotion too. I winced and almost shrank into myself, wishing I was anywhere but in the way of that laser-like glare. I didn't know what to say to that, so I just stayed silent. B turned to Willow, the venom dripping from her voice, "I don't suppose you letting her in was an accident."
I felt bad for Willow, taking shit on my account. I brought my head back up, ready to inform the Buffster where blame should really lay but Red beat me to it. "Nope," she chirped. You gotta admit, the hacker had developed a spine somewhere in the past two years.
"Get out," the blonde grated. So I picked up my feet and turned to leave…that is, until Buffy interrupted me and – boring holes into Willow's head – said, "Not you, Faith."
Well, that was unexpected. I watched Willow's face for a reaction, not knowing what the hell I should do. Her face kind of crumpled for a minute, and she looked at Buffy like she'd just been sucker punched by her best friend. Which, I guess, she had. Shaking her head, and not once looking at me, she walked out. I made myself as much a part of the door frame as I could, completely floored.
I thought that I knew what Red was thinking – that I sure as hell wasn't worth fighting with B. I wasn't too sure I'd disagree with her.
"If I told you to leave Sunnydale and never come back, would you?"
The question caught me completely off-guard. I was feeling off-kilter and like this was a dream, and I didn't have the slightest clue how to proceed. Could I leave SunnyD? Probably. Could I stay away? As much as I tried to convince myself that I could obey B's wishes, I knew there was absolutely no way.
I could imagine my future if I did leave. I'd only be able to go as far as LA. I'd never known anywhere else except Boston, and that just wasn't gonna happen.
Angel would probably take pity on me and take me in, having seen a fellow soul in me. I'd work with Wes, Cordy and the big guy, fighting the sleek corporate evil they'd come across. And maybe, just maybe, after a while I could be happy. The playful mood I'd found with Queen C had already healed me more than I had ever thought possible. My mind touched on the bottle of grape juice in the car and the bike that C had promised to somehow get to me once I settled in. Parting with that gift was hard, really hard, considering it was just a damn bike.
But there would always be a part of me that needed this absolution. That needed nothing more than to make this right. The sadness in my eyes would never really go away, no matter how many nights C and I tortured Wes with our sinister plans for bike races. They'd never mention Buffy's name in my presence, tiptoeing around the subject because none of them knew how to help.
I almost whispered my answer. "No."
B sighed, like I knew she would. She looked down at her feet, encased in some insanely expensive boots with heels higher than I could ever manage, and crossed her arms.
Looking up at me and tilting her head slightly to one side, she said, "At least you didn't try to lie to me."
Ahh, we've moved on to giving in to resignation, the inevitability of this moment. Inevitable. That word always makes me think of that scene in The Matrix where the agent has Neo on the floor of the subway, and he's all like 'My name…is…Neo!' and then smashes the bad guy into the ceiling. I felt kind of like that, I guess.
"Faith," she said. "Faith, look at me." So I did, I brought my eyes, full of trepidation and remorse, up to meet hers. "You made me a victim once. I'm not going to let you have another chance."
All my breath left me a silent whoosh. Well, there goes that. I wondered how much the bus to LA cost, and if Willow would be willing to lend it to me.
"I have to go to class." B not-so-gently pushed me back into the hall, locked the door, and walked away without a second glance.
My shoulders slumped in defeat, I made my way to the stairwell. I think I was in shock or something, because I couldn't cry or think or feel. I was just numb. My feet moved, but I wasn't paying any attention at all.
When I finally noticed that I'd stopped moving, I wasn't surprised to be looking at one of the many cemeteries in the town. I perched myself on the stairs of an old family crypt, and just sat. The world might as well have stopped existing, because nothing registered.
Why didn't she yell at me? I could take anger. I could deal with rage. I could handle fighting. But the complete lack of emotion? The last time I saw her, she could barely restrain herself from pounding my face in. At least that was some kind of passion.
And then we'd found ourselves in that fucking church. I saw her there, in my body, and I lost all control. I saw what everyone else hated about me, what I hated about me, what I had become, what I had let myself be. The disgust, the terror, the anger, the regret…it was all so overwhelming and it boiled out of me harsher than I'd ever known. When I'd saved that girl's life at the Bronze and she said thank you…she'd looked at me, really looked at me, with gratitude. Before that I had thought that I'd been beyond redemption. That I'd gone so far down that there was no seeking the surface ever again.
I was drowning and I'd mistaken my soul for lost. But when I saw that girl's eyes, something changed. It wasn't big, it wasn't earth-shattering. I paused, felt the truth of the emotion in her words, and the seed was planted.
Hope.
Sometimes it was so easy to forget the human aspect of my calling, my job. That the reason I did it was because of people like her, who deserved to have a normal life and not get bogged down by all that darkness and evil. I had a purpose, a good goddamn reason to live, to slay, to be. I owed it to her and everyone like her to at least continue. There had to be a reason I'd been chosen, a wretch like me. I needed some saving grace.
Maybe I couldn't really save myself, but maybe I could save someone else. And that was worth it, right? That was something to live for, right? That was something to hope for, right?
I couldn't even consider the notion that I was wrong, that maybe my time should have been up. That maybe B should've stuck that knife in so deep that I could never wake up again. I had to believe she pulled my knife because she couldn't finish it. Not because Angel preferred his blood fresh – a dead body could still be bled dry, after all – but because Buffy simply couldn't do it.
You've gotta admit that there was a certain poetic irony about being stabbed with the very knife that had been one of the first true gifts I'd ever been given. Double-edged found a new meaning there – a thing of wicked beauty obviously meant to taste blood, to slice flesh, to render someone or something's last breath as the first gift from the only father-figure I'd ever known love from. Shit like that's gonna fuck anybody up.
You'd have issues too, dammit.
I didn't notice my hunger. I didn't notice the sun lazily setting. I didn't notice the ring of vamps that surrounded me, figuring I was some grieving family member and therefore easy pickings.
Vampires always manage to smell really, really bad. I don't know why, because you don't often see one that looks really dirty. But there's a stench that is vamp and vamp alone.
I finally noticed the smell. One was about six inches from my face, saying something and stinking up my personal space.
I may have said something witty like, "Need a fuckin' mint much?" but I wasn't really functioning very well. I thought about all the pain I'd endured, all the pain I'd caused people. And, let's face it, I would continue to cause. I pounded on them, not letting them run away when they tried, forcing out all my anger and pain and sorrow in a blur of fists. It never occurred to me to dust them.
From somewhere to my left someone yelled my name and tossed a stake to me. Mechanically, I left the three as nothing more than floating dust. I dropped the stake and stared at my hands, the already swollen, bloody knuckles. It wasn't all my blood. That was all I could think about or see, the blood on my hands that wasn't mine. It didn't matter it was vampire blood, the lowest of the low. It was blood that I'd taken.
Slender hands covered mine, and I shakily brought my gaze up to Willow's face.
"I…I…there's just…blood…" I stammered out, tears leaking from my eyes. I felt broken from the burden of revisiting my past sins. I had been out of control and lost ever since getting out of prison – and it had worn me down.
"Shh, it's okay, Faith. Come with me, we'll get you all cleaned up." Red's words were soft and cooing, like I was some kind of frightened animal backed into a corner. Appropriate, no?
I was in some sort of trance and let Willow tug me along without any resistance. Finally, she led me stumbling to Giles' door. I resisted then, backing away nervously, my stomach tied in knots. I couldn't handle more rejection.
But she took my hand and nodded at me, so I nodded back, not really having any other choice, and she knocked on the door – which was odd, because I always remembered just barging into his place. Didn't he ever lock the door?
It swung open, to better allow Giles to stare disbelieving at me. Willow tilted her head in my direction, her eyes widening in silent reprimand at the Brit until he cleared his throat and stood aside to let us in. So once the door was closed, of course, he took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt. Ah, the G-man was nervous. That made two of us.
Willow guided me to the couch and sat me down. Turning slightly, she glared a hint at Giles. He perked up, put his glasses on, raised a finger and pointed it at the bathroom. Only a moment later he reappeared with a first-aid kit that was just this side of belonging in a hockey rink.
While Red daubed at my knuckles with antiseptic, Giles must've rubbed a hole in his lenses. I stayed silent, trying not to flinch at the alcohol. Why is it that I can take a beating like a pro but then whine when someone puts a little antiseptic on my cuts?
I wondered what would have happened if he'd been my watcher. Or, hell, if Kakistos hadn't killed my first one. He was, after all, Buffy's equivalent of the Mayor. It just figures that she'd get the benevolent father figure and I'd get the pleasantly evil one.
He finally gave up the cleaning frenzy and perched them back on his face. "So, Faith, Angel called me." I rolled my eyes, wondering why I hadn't thought of that. Of course the big guy'd call Giles with a heads up. "And then Cordelia called me," and judging by the grimace on his face, she'd given him a piece of her mind. I smirked slightly, knowing what that had to have been like.
So I gave him the exquisitely witty response of, "Oh."
"They informed me that you've come to Sunnydale to make amends, as it were." He paused, looking at me, so I figured that was my cue to nod at him. Upon seeing the honesty in my eyes, he seemed satisfied. And it couldn't have hurt to have my number two opponent currently tending my booboos. He got all misty-eyed, cleaned his glasses for another stretch, and cleared his throat. I guess that meant that we were five by five, because then he simply said, "Right then. Would you care for some tea?" And smiled his patented my-face-doesn't-really-move-but-brightens-anyway smile at me.
You know how they always equate sleeping good with being dead and/or a baby? And there's that cute saying about no rest for the wicked – or weary, depending on who it is you're talking to. Well, for some reason, tucked safely into Giles' spare bedroom – both he and Willow used their resolve faces on me, what was I to do? – I slept like a goddamn rock.
I was having the most exquisite dream, steamy enough that if I wore glasses, I'd probably have to take them off right now just thinking about it. You know the type, full of smooth, suave moves and all the right words and never-ending flesh. Well, considering how short Buffy is, never-ending might be a bad descriptor.
So, upon waking, when the first thing I saw was B sitting at the end of the bed boring holes into my skull…well, you could say it triggered my 'fight or flight' response. Being a slayer, I'm sure it won't take too much on my account to convince you which of those I reacted with.
What I wanted to do was squeal and back up against the headboard, holding the covers up to shield my flimsy tanktop from the accusing glare.
What I did was the exact opposite – I reacted like I'd had to a couple times when I was behind bars. I had her on the floor, my shaking hand clenched around her throat. It was eerily similar to another pose I'd just been dreaming about, so I released her like I'd been scalded and sat on my haunches.
She didn't say a word, just looked at me disappointed but satisfied like violence was exactly what she was expecting and walked out.
Fucking hell.
I stayed perched there, paralyzed from the suddenness of reality. If I'd let myself slip like that in jail…well, that didn't bear too much thinking about. It was amazing just how much could change in just a matter of days. I had been sitting in my cell, like I had for a year, contemplating how much Buffy must've hated my guts. Fast forward to me sitting there, having irrefutable proof of said sentiment.
I've said it a million times, and I'll say it a million more. To actually hear something, feel it punching all the air out of your lungs and irritating your tear ducts is vastly worse than knowing it's probably coming.
Willow came in, walking stiffly and looking like she was trying not to rub her neck. She'd insisted on sleeping on the couch – moral support, she called it, but we both knew that there was no way B'd let her back in the dorm room. At least she tried the act for my sake.
Maybe old wounds never really do heal. Maybe the scars can never be truly erased. Maybe a part of the redhead would always be watching me from the corner of her eye. Maybe, but I was sure as hell gonna try to mend fences with her. I wasn't expecting Nobel-prize-winning friendship, just more of an I-promise-I-won't-bash-in-your-front-teeth one.
Red sat down next to me and shifted until she found a position that didn't further curve her spinal cord out of alignment.
I looked at her guiltily, knowing the fight she was in was my fault. I gestured to where I could still feel B pacing in Giles' living room, and quietly said, "Will, you gotta know, I'm sorry for all this. I didn't mean-"
"I know you didn't," she interrupted me softly, not quite looking me in the eyes. Which only made me feel worse. Sensing my mood, she responded, "No, but I kind of figured this was gonna happen. I made my choice, Faith. Just like you made yours to be here and like she made to be out there. She's wrong and she knows it."
The alloy of steel that twined through her words impressed me more than I can express. I always grudgingly liked that about her, that spunk I could sense lurking beneath the surface – even when she let everyone else make the calls. The resolve face alone was fucking legend.
So I nodded my understanding, and we just sat in the bedroom like lepers getting used to our colony. I could feel B's boots stomping the fuck out of the carpet in the other room, and winced with every step.
"Uh, do you think you could loan me bus money?" I hesitantly said, watching the wall that separated me from my sister in arms.
I think I heard a faint growl – no, in all seriousness, there was definitely rumbling there – and she pinned me with a fine look. "Oh no you don't. You're not gonna run away like this." It went unspoken that that was exactly what Buffy'd done when the shit hit the fan with Angelus or Angel or whatever the fuck you wanted to call him. I didn't say it but we both thought it. "You need this. I need this. The rest of the gang needs this. But, mostly, Buffy needs this." She nodded firmly to further drive home her point.
Rubbing my eyes, I admitted to myself that she was probably right. Which was exactly when I heard Giles trying to talk to Buffy.
"You let her stay here, Giles? Are you crazy?! You and I both know what she did the last time she was in town! She's a convicted felon!"
"Buffy-"
"No! No, there will be no meeting about this. There will be no serious talk about how 'Faith's been a good little prisoner, maybe we should give her a shot.' There is no turning back from the things she did, Giles." I could just imagine that self-righteously pissed off face that she uses when she's convinced she's right and she doesn't give a damn what anybody else thinks. I hate that face.
"You know, the last time we had this conversation, you were the one advocating not jumping to conclusions." Giles' words rocked my world. I fixed big eyes on Willow, and she solemnly nodded at me.
Things really didn't have to turn out the way they did back then after all. The thought hit me broad across the shoulders, adding another layer to my all-too-deep guilt.
Fucking hell.
B interrupted my personal Armageddon, not swayed at all from we-need-to-lynch-Faith-NOW speech. "Last time I tried to give her a chance but then it was all with the fists and the kicking and the running and the holding my mom hostage and – oh yea! Did I forget? – the switching our bodies!" Oh, she could pack her lectures with sarcasm like nobody's business.
I could just hear Giles' lenses squeaking from all the cleaning. "Everyone deserves a chance to make amends, Buffy."
"No, not Faith." I swallowed hard, taking the emotional lashing with as much strength as I could muster. Red put her hand on my shoulder and I didn't punch her, so I guess that was a good thing for her to do.
"But you gave Spike one." The logic of his argument made me smirk just a little.
"Spike's a vampire, he can't help his evilness. Faith's human, she made every one of her choices." I think I stopped breathing.
"No, I rather think the difference is that you don't care about Spike."
The words hung in the air like a huge pink fucking elephant, waiting for her reaction. I wished I could've seen her face, then. And from the strangled noise Willow made, she did too.
Therefore that was exactly the moment that Beefstick burst onto the scene. As if the day couldn't get any worse. Willow and I groaned in unison, and we probably would have laughed had we been able to find any humor in it.
We didn't.
But it wasn't like we had the time, what with Riley rushing in and trying to grab me. I roughly shoved aside his hand – hey, just because I thought B deserved to give me shit didn't mean anybody had a right to lay a finger on me – and growled at him to back the fuck off.
He advanced on me threateningly, which was amusing because I knew for a fact that Buffy'd kicked his ass before – not even on purpose – and she was the shorter of the two of us. Beefstick cocked his fist, and I just looked at him disbelievingly. But then I shook myself loose, and said, "If that's how this is gonna play out, bring it."
And he'd have brought it, too, until I saw a tiny hand on his oh-so-manly shoulders – pause while I gag – and spun him around. I'd have laughed at the oddity of the action, but I figured B'd lay into me enough as it was. Hell, she'd probably blame me for his little temper tantrum.
I didn't really catch the beginning of the conversation, but I'm pretty sure I got all the really juicy parts.
Like when Riley accused B of not telling him I was back in town. Which was really quite reminiscent of the happenings of the last time I'd met him.
I wasn't really surprised, then, when Buffy refused to look him in the eye and quietly told him, "You wouldn't understand."
"How can I when you don't give me a chance?" I wanted to punch him in the face.
"It's a slayer thing, Riley. This is between me and her and I just can't explain it to you." I think she couldn't explain it to him because she couldn't understand it herself. But she was right, no one who wasn't a slayer could ever possibly understand. The connection, the rhythm, the bond. Sharing a destiny where you know for sure that you're gonna die an early, gruesome death tends to make things seem more special.
Sacred almost.
The Scoobies thought that they understood, having tagged along for at least a handful of apocalypses – but the truth was they didn't. Knowing that your friend's gonna meet an early demise is definitely different from knowing that path lay in your immediate future. You know that anonymous poem that tells you to live like you'll die tomorrow? I've always had this sneaking suspicion that a slayer wrote it.
All the same, I couldn't blame Riley for his frustration. He caved at her words, knowing that this was a battle he was never going to be able to win, and pinned me with a glare. I'm sure the average girl would have found it intimidating, but I just thought it was sad.
"This isn't finished, Faith."
I didn't respond. I had a million witty comebacks on the tip of my tongue – believe me, I've even practiced a couple and they'd have been wicked cool. But it all came down to the fact that I pitied the guy too much to rub it in his face. He never had a chance with B and he knew it. He had to have known it.
After the earth-shattering, legend-inspiring, breaking-all-boundaries love affair Buffy'd shared with Angel…the boy simply didn't have a snowball's chance down under. I'm not sure if anyone did – even Angel himself.
Willow stood next to me. Not Buffy. Me. We watched him walk out the door while Buffy watched her shoes. The guy was so vanilla he couldn't even muster the indignation to slam the door.
Maybe that was why B was with him. He was safe. He was comfort food. He'd never hurt her, but he'd never inspire any other kind of passion either. She'd already had enough passion in her life.
Shit, did I ever feel sorry for him.
The whole situation made me think of a movie I'd seen once. I don't know if it was before or during my extended stay with the corrections staff of LA County, but that's not what matters. The flick was about this crazy future society that was so desperate after a near-miss of nuclear Armageddon that they'd created this wonder drug – which was oh-so-subtly named something similar to Prozac. Prozium, I think it was. The drug neutralized all anger and rage and jealousy; but in so doing, it also eradicated joy and happiness and all the other emotions too. They'd convinced themselves that in order to survive, they'd had to kill the very reason for human existence. But in the end, the people had realized that there was no point to life if they shut off that crucial part of who they were, so there was a huge revolt and a lot of crying. Coming back to humanity after a long period as automatons, they'd cried because they were so overcome by the beauty of everyday things – the rain, a rainbow, the sun.
I wondered if I'd had anything to do with Buffy's nuclear Armageddon. I wanted to be part of her revolt. Hell, I wanted to be her rainbow.
I just watched her, trying to gauge if I should ready myself for another fight. The blows she would inevitably manage to land wouldn't be physical, and therefore that much more painful.
But the words never came. Instead, shoulders slumped, Buffy turned around and made her way towards Giles' front door. She paused, her back to us, and stopped like she wanted to say something. I'll never know if she was actually gonna speak because the next thing I knew, the door was swinging shut.
Willow offered me tissues to blot away the tears I didn't know I was shedding.
I was running, running hard, my feet flying more than clattering. Up and down, up and down. My heart pacing my feet, thumping like I was running for my life.
Which, I suddenly realized, I was.
I took the turn a little wide, and had to pick up my pace just to keep ahead. The crazy thought that I should invest in some sports bras flitted through my mind. Sprinting flat-out like this for extended periods tended to make my bra strain a little.
The footsteps were getting closer and closer, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't enjoying the chase. The one thing I always loved about being a slayer was the comfortable knowledge that if I couldn't handle it, it was very bad shit indeed. There had only ever been a handful of times – if that many – that the shit had been that bad.
I getting a little tired of irony in my life. For instance, the irony that I was going to meet my early demise thanks to the only thing that had ever set me free – slaying. No matter how jaded I'd ever become, I knew the danger. It was always there, lurking in the shadows, slinking around behind me. And maybe I'd only ever been good at slaying because I threw myself into the fray with abandon. They always say the most ferocious fighters are the ones who have absolutely no intention of ever making it home again.
Some people say that bravery isn't not feeling fear, it's feeling the fear but doing what needs to be done anyway. If that were really the case, then I guess I was one brave soul.
I tripped. Too much thinking, I guess, but one second my feet were flying across the streets of Sunnydale; the next I was flying towards the pavement.
Turning over, I crab-walked backwards in fear, watching Buffy round the corner and see me lying there. Her eyes lit up, and her hand tightened on the blade of my knife as she plunged it into my heart.
I sat up in the bed, breath ripping in and out of my throat, screaming incoherently. Willow was there, on the bed with me, presumably the one who'd succeeded in waking me from my nightmare.
One thing you can say about my subconscious – or any other part of me – is that it doesn't do anything half-assed. If there's something kicking around my head that the rest of me needs to be made aware of, there's gonna be no subtlety about it. Sometimes I wish it weren't so obvious. The word chagrin came to mind.
I scrubbed at my face with my hands, trying to hold in a burst of bitter laughter. I think I'd been crying out in my sleep, because it looked like Red knew exactly what the dream had been about. I wondered what, or who, was in her nightmares that could make her watch me with such understanding.
After the marathon fun-session with Riley and Buffy, I'd cried myself to sleep. Willow had sat with me the whole time, even if she'd had a vaguely uncomfortable look on her face. Giles had disappeared, knowing somehow that I wouldn't want him to see me like that.
Crooking a hollow smile at Willow, I asked, "Feel like getting some breakfast?"
She readily agreed, betrayed initially by her stomach rumbling. We laughed like old friends.
"You mind if Tara comes, too?" Red quietly asked. Of course, she'd want to see her main squeeze. I nodded and maybe even half-meant my smile. From the way her face brightened, I figured that was the right move.
Never having been much of one to enjoy third-wheeldom, I briefly considered bowing out gracefully to allow the couple some time together – that was until I remembered that Buffy was gonna be back sooner or later. Plus I was quite interested to meet the girl who'd won Red's heart, if not completely then at least mostly, away from the little blonde slayer.
I remembered the dirty blonde as quiet, soft-spoken and painfully shy. But there had to be something more there, something that Willow had glimpsed.
When we met Tara at the homey little diner, she seemed different somehow. Maybe I was the one who was different.
I ordered the biggest breakfast they had, remembering the extra money Angel had shoved into my hand. He shrugged his shoulders and gruffly informed me that it was for the brief bouts of slaying I'd caught up on – helping out the gang, he'd said. I couldn't remember why I'd hated him so much before, even at the time he'd been in a hopeless, dead-end of a relationship with the girl I loved so much it hurt. Details, right?
Both Tara and Red looked suitably impressed at my culinary daring. They, of course, ordered some sort of pansy-assed-egg-whites-only-omelette-environmentally-friendly meal. I had to severely bite down on my lower lip to avoid joking about filling certain stereotypes. I'd promised myself I was going to be good.
Of course, that meant that I had no idea what to talk to either of them about.
"So, uh," my eyes darted quickly around, trying to figure out some blithe, witty question to ask, "how are your classes going, Tara?"
She smiled softly at me. At least she was planning on being nice to me after what a royal bitch I was to her when we first met. "Good, yea, you know…good. Very, um, classy." Seems I wasn't the only one at a loss.
The food showed up, and we being one hungry slayer and two broke college kids, made short work of our respective meals. Mine had taken three waitresses to bring out, all of them eyeing me silently. I just smirked and started shoveling. In all honesty, I had to eat that much just to avoid losing weight.
I finished before they did. This was one of those fun uses for irony. I sat there, pointedly shredding my napkin into progressively smaller pieces, until I just couldn't take it anymore. "I'm sorry, Tara. About, you know…before." I looked off to the side and winced. I hated apologizing, even if I had been a total shit to the poor girl. My father had once told me that saying you're sorry is a weakness people won't hesitate to exploit. He'd spent hours lecturing me on all the different ways people would screw you over. Remembering the exact effect he'd had on my life, well, that wasn't a pleasant sort of irony.
"Thank you, Faith." She looked me in the eyes then, none of her earlier hesitations and stuttering apparent. It was almost as if she were studying me, looking into my soul and seeing all the blackness. I couldn't look away even though I tried.
After what seemed like eternity – okay, maybe it was a little over a minute – she turned to Willow and said, "You're right about her."
I blurted out the only thing I could. "Right about what? The squirrels taking over the world?"
Red pointed her finger at me solemnly, replying, "You jest, but when the squirrel generals mobilize the troops and they take over the world with their tiny little acorn-bombs, well, missy, you'll be eating those words." I simply watched them both with a raised eyebrow, silently impressed by her repartee. "Or bunny rabbits if you ask Anya. Really, you should ask her about that sometime."
I didn't move a single muscle. Tara, though, didn't have the experience with me to call my bullshit like Willow did, and she broke the standoff. I was gonna win too, dammit. "She said that you're in love with Buffy."
I banged my head on the table. It was the only semi-violent thing I could do that didn't involve throttling Red. Instead of laughing in my face, Willow ran off to the bathroom while trying to hold in her snickering. I glared at her back.
Tara put her hand on mine, where it was resting on the table. I stared at it. Instead of removing it, like most people would have, she waited until I looked back up at her.
"Your aura is bright blue and clean," and she sat there, waiting for her words to sink in. I wasn't ever too clear on that whole mysticism/witchcraft thing, so I just looked back at her blankly. "That means you're a born survivor. A good person."
I scoffed at that, but my chest tightened painfully anyway. She was so wrong, and she didn't even know it. Despite that, my heart felt like it was soaring just a little bit.
"Yeah? What's yours?" Hey, I was curious.
"Mine's green, or at least that's what people tell me. It means I'm a healer." I thought that was fitting just from this one conversation. "Willow's is turquoise, which means that she influences people and is full of energy."
"Angel?"
"Definitely blue."
"Cordelia?"
"Orange. She's inspiring and can control people." We both laughed a little at that.
"Riley?"
"Mustard. He's uneasy and angry."
I wanted to ask what Buffy's was, but I wasn't ready for that conversation.
Clenching my jaw and withdrawing my hand, I sought to build up my defenses again. People will only let you down, my father softly admonished me.
"Willow also told me about your family. I understand, you know." The disbelief fucking shone out of my eyes. "Mine told me I was part demon so I'd come home and play the Stepford Wife." Okay, even I had to admit that was fucked up. She smirked a little then, and continued, "And I believed them right up until Spike punched me and it hurt him. It's different when it's family, isn't it?"
The girl seemed clearly intent on making me cry, she really did. I was grinding my teeth and swallowing hard, but I couldn't look away from her. I think I knew what Red saw in this girl with a heart of green.
She kept talking, though, and her words have haunted me ever since. "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, right? Blood may be binding, but sometimes it just isn't enough. People like us…we have to deal with what's given to us, making our own family along the way."
I was stunned into silence. The eloquence, the simple beauty of the words, and the person sitting in front of me – it was overwhelming. I felt my heart stop bleeding. Maybe it hadn't started to heal yet…but it was only a matter of time. Looking in Tara's eyes, I finally believed it.
I wondered if I could ever live with myself, my past.
I smiled at Tara and she smiled back at me. It felt like soaking up the sun's rays.
Willow came back to the table and seemed a little conflicted about how well her girl and I were getting along. But I rolled my eyes at her and raised my eyebrow – she got the hint and blushed a little. I'd never seen two people more perfect for each other than the couple sitting across from me.
No matter how evil people thought I'd been…well, it was never about anyone but Buffy. Despite my best efforts, it might always be that way.
"So I've been hearing these awful rumors that we have our very own psycho slayer back in town. Oh hey, look, there she is!" Willow and Tara immediately got big guilty eyes and whipped their heads to where Xander stood just behind to the left of where I was sitting. I didn't really have anything to feel guilty about. This time, anyway.
I turned and greeted him, trying not to remember why exactly he was so angry at me. "Hi there, Xander."
He tried to do his best impression of B's laser vision, but it didn't cut through me like hers. I wasn't even the tiniest bit uncomfortable and allowed the slightest hint of a grin to pull up a corner of my mouth. Maybe I'd vowed to make amends, but I couldn't always tamp down on my more…playful side.
Xander turned his vision on the two girls, and I could only cringe for them. Red had made it perfectly clear just a couple hours before that she was her own woman. I was glad that I wasn't gonna be hung out to dry alone here.
What do you say to a guy who gave you his virginity? For the record, as stupid as it may sound, I didn't know that's what I was doing that night. But I knew that if I wanted a way to get under B's skin, that'd work. Just another stop on my glorious downward spiral. I felt like I was still circling the damn drain.
Willow, however, was glaring right back at him. After a couple weird head movements caught my attention, I noticed that Tara was not-so-subtly trying to get us to leave the diner. That was more than alright with me, so I dug out a few bills and tossed them on the table while nodding a goodbye at Red.
The blonde and I made tracks, but I couldn't resist taking a last look back at the lifelong best friends. He'd sat down on my side, squirming uncomfortably where he could feel my body heat. Good, let him squirm a little. Willow had her best resolve face on, solemnly talking to him and gesturing mildly.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned to look at the blonde. "She'll get through to him, you'll see," she reassured me. I didn't want to admit that I was a touch worried about just that, but I knew Tara'd see through my shit anyway so I just nodded at her.
We walked for a while. I scuffed my boots along the pavement and Tara didn't seem to mind the meandering pace. She was peeking at me out of the corner of her eyes when she didn't think I'd notice.
"Go ahead and ask." I thought I had a pretty good idea what exactly she was thinking, what she wanted to know. How I could do it. Any of it. The betrayal, the lies, the pain. But I didn't know how I could answer her.
"No, I wasn't going to ask you anything. I…I was just wondering how they could have thought that you were evil."
That stopped me cold. "Well," I said, scowling at my confusion, "I kinda was."
She shook her head, not deterred at all by my words. "If you really had been then, you would still be now."
"You weren't here then. You wouldn't be saying that if you had."
"No, Faith, if I had been here then, I would have seen the real you. Just like I'm seeing you now. Like Willow is beginning to see you."
I stood there with my mouth hanging open. Every fiber in me was screaming, screaming for her to stop, to be quiet, to let me be. If she kept going, maybe I'd believe her. And if that happened, then everything would be wrong, everything that I'd believed and lived would be false. Just another lie.
If I didn't deserve everything that happened, if I really didn't, then I'd go crazy.
She put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed it a little. "But none of it matters if you can't see yourself."
I was going to go stark raving mad if this rollercoaster didn't fucking stop soon.
We sat on a bench on campus, just shooting the breeze.
"No way, those two are totally hot for each other." I leaned back after making my proclamation, crossing my arms with confidence.
"I don't think we're watching the same show at all, Faith, they're always yelling at each other."
"Uh huh, and me thinks they protest too much."
"Shakespeare probably wouldn't agree with your assessment. Not to mention he'd probably object to you misquoting Macbeth."
"Don't squabble, you know they're boinking each other."
"Okay Faith, if you say so."
"Now you're just humoring me, and that's not fair."
"I'm not humoring you, I saw the light. Really." She nodded at me with her patented 'I believe in you' face. That girl's too sweet for her own damn good.
"Now, come on, I'd think you'd be first in line to shout that they're fuck buddies."
"Just because I'm a lesbian doesn't mean I think every attractive woman on tv is too."
I didn't even bother to respond to that, I just left my arms crossed and stared at her. Tara gave in way too easily, blushing hard, and muttered, "Okay, well, maybe in a perfect world, there'd be lots of fun girly loving…"
"Ha! I knew it!" I crowed with glee.
"You knew what?" Willow questioned, glaring at me slightly. She probably thought this was a repeat of that night at the Bronze. I wondered if I could use the excuse that while most of the time I'm not in my right mind, that night I wasn't in my right body. I bet nobody'd laugh.
I grinned, replying, "Well, see, Tara just admitted that she thinks that any show where there's two hot women…she'd like to see some – what was it? – hot girly action."
Tara raised her head. "That's not what I said!"
Xander, who had been standing slightly behind Red, rolled his eyes. "Come on, Tara, I'm a hot-blooded male; you two are lesbians; and you?" he said, looking at me, "Well, I'm sure you could appreciate it." From the lascivious grin on my face, everyone assumed correctly that I certainly would.
Instead of continuing the conversation, Willow watched Xander and pushed her head in my direction. He kicked the ground for a little while, looking up to see Red with her hands on her hips and tapping her foot on the ground.
"So, um, Faith, you, uh, back for good? I mean, er, you know, ha!, good purposes? Good as in no more helping out the crazy evil but somehow eerily polite mayor's intent on killing loads of people?"
"Yea, Xander, I promised Red here that I'd be good. I hear she's first-rate with shovels." And from the big eyes the hacker was sending my way, she didn't know that Cordy'd passed the enjoyable tidbit onto me. I'd have paid to see her say that to Beefstick. "I'm…I'm sorry for everything that went down before."
I didn't want to get into specifics with Tara and Willow watching intently. The last thing a guy ever needs is to be emasculated like that in front of his best friend and her girlfriend. He got what I meant.
"Eh, it's okay, you know, because when Dracula came to town I ate bugs and wheedled. You're nothing by comparison." Confused silence on my part, Willow and Tara trying not to laugh. "No offense, I meant in the evil-that-will-scar-me-for-life kind of way. You know, like I still get the jones for beetles sometimes…and that was an overshare."
That was an understatement.
He continued anyway. "So are we, um, square?"
I laughed so hard I could barely wheeze out, "Yeah, we're five by five."
Author's Notes: This is cathartic. ;)
I was sitting very chastely on Willow's bed while she tried to do some homework. Very quickly, I was beginning to realize that I needed to get a job, a place to live, something, anything to alleviate this endless boredom. I was never the type to easily sit around somewhere.
I fiddled with the occult book Red had given me, promising that it contained some naughty woodcarvings in it. It was a little weird that she could tell what I was thinking before I formed the words. Most of the stories of the various exploits of demons were, quite frankly, fascinating and impressive.
People thought that I'd dropped out of school because I wasn't good at it. From the rough way I speak, the comics I read, and the generally carefree attitude – well, people often assume that I'm the type who is only blessed by street smarts. That wasn't really true. I dropped out of school because of Kakistos. I could never admit the weakness he had caused in me. I'd let myself get attached to my first watcher. I'd loved her like she was my own mother - even though deep down it felt like a betrayal to my dead mom.
But she got killed. I got her killed because I was too weak and too young to know any better. So I fell back onto the one thing that had kept me alive and kicking through the tougher foster and group homes. I pretended like I didn't really care. I pretended that I was strong and hard-headed and independent. And I was, to a certain degree. But I was also a terrified little girl who didn't know how to ask for help. Who didn't know how to accept any offers of it either.
I'd lived so long behind the hardass mask that it was difficult to remember who I was exactly. If there was any difference. In jail, the mask was a necessity. Not because I thought it was, but because if I hadn't kept it plastered on every minute of every day, somebody would've figured me out. Somebody would've caused me unimaginable pain for no better reason than it was something to do. Destroying me would have passed the time.
But I'd managed to keep it on the whole time. Except for when I was in my bed late at night, staring at the ceiling and thinking. Just thinking. After a while, I let it slip a little. Just long enough to get my GED. It's what both mother figures in my life would have wanted from me and it was what I wanted from me.
I'd toyed with a dream of going to college and studying mythology. Ancient history maybe. That was a dream I only allowed myself when the nights got the darkest, when I could hear the call of the evil, when the walls seemed to close in on me. It was a dream I'd never share because I couldn't handle the laughter that would ensue. The best dreams are funny that way, they need to be hoarded, protected, nurtured in the silence of midnight.
So I sat on Willow's bed wordlessly, staring at the book and willing myself to not look at Buffy's side of the room. To not bounce on B's bed and smell her pillows, breathing in her scent and holding it deep down inside. I couldn't go through her things, imagining how she'd look in every one of them.
In spite of the rough rejection she'd offered, my heart couldn't conceive of letting her go. I decided then that a part of myself would always be watching for her, seeing her constantly. In a stranger's laugh. In hair the color of the sun. In the fight. In the victory.
Red was adament that I couldn't leave Sunnydale. She was holding out hope that Buffy would come to her senses, that she'd accept my olive branch and we'd all be one happy family. I couldn't tell Willow that I didn't think that could ever happen.
Because if it did, B'd have to admit exactly how much she cared about me. The rage I felt in her eyes, in her voice, in her body right before I turned myself in - it all translated into something I couldn't bear to hope for. That was a dream I couldn't let myself think about.
I went through the volumes of ancient lore at lightning speed. Red was watching me, quietly observing. She didn't say anything about it and I didn't give her the chance. Reading about all the monsters I might someday have to fight - it wasn't ever actually about that for me. There was something comforting in the history that was behind those words. Something anchoring. Something so deeply rooted that it would never change, leaving you standing there holding your coat while everything fades away. I rarely let myself indulge like this, because it always seemed so feeble to just sit and read and think.
I had always been terrified of being weak. Of not being able to fight back when the tide inevitably turned against me.
There was a loud, exuberant knock on the door. Maybe I hadn't attached the idea of youthful excitement to the gesture until after everything had gone down, until it was past tense and I knew who'd been knocking. Red and I shrugged at each other, knowing instinctively that Tara would never knock on a door that way.
I sat with the book resting on my extended legs, unwilling to veil my curiosity. The door opened to reveal Dawn in the midst her normal mile-a-minute mode of speaking.
"Hi Willow! You remember our algebra study date, don't you? We're dividing quadratic equations and Janice says it's easy but I don't think that I'll ever understand it but you always have a way of making it so easy and I was hoping that you'd still help me out because we all know that, ha! Buffy couldn't understand it when she had to do it and Mom was busy at the gallery and this is due tomorrow so I couldn't wait..." And she trailed off, having finally noticed me. I was busy breathing deeply, unconsciously trying to suck in enough air for Dawn too.
Train of thought completely derailed, she just stared at me. Not knowing what else to do, I calmly looked back at her. Secretly, I'd hoped to somehow see the squirt because I knew there was no way that B'd let me around her little sis after everything that went down. I'd always had a soft spot for the annoying brat. We'd do stupid stuff together, reminding me bitter sweetly of the childhood I'd never had. It didn't matter that I myself was still a child at the time - I'd never been innocent. I'd never been naive. I'd never known a family. I'd never laughed out of pure joy. But when I was around Dawn, it was like it didn't matter, my history didn't matter. I could laugh with her and gossip about boys and gripe about how unfair curfews were. Dawn didn't treat me like an outsider and I didn't treat her like a child.
Lost in thought, I didn't realize what was happening until her fist was bouncing off my nose. Shit, that girl could hit. I wondered if she was a potential slayer.
"I thought they'd locked you away for good." Her voice was shaky with emotion. I wiped at the blood slowly leaking from my nose with the back of my hand.
"They let me out for good behavior, Dawn." I calmly told her. I didn't know what else to do. In a way, her reaction to my presence hurt even more than Buffy's.
"Are you going to hurt everyone like you did before?" She sounded shrill, like she usually did when something seemed unfair or especially hurtful.
I accepted the tissues Red offered me, wiping the blood off my hand and from under my nose. Slayer or not, if you're knocked good in the nose it's gonna bleed. Dawn was holding her hand like it hurt pretty bad, which it had to. My head's pretty hard and she's not used to clocking people. Willow silently watched, knowing that this was something I was gonna have to fix on my own. She didn't leave, though, and I was immensely grateful for that. I wondered if it was for my sake or Buffy's – if something happened, she'd report back to the big sis.
I shooked my head. "No, Dawn, but that is why I'm here now." Her eyes accused me and tears leaked out of her eyes. I don't think she knew she was crying. "I want to make things right. I want to say I'm sorry."
Her jaw clenched and her hands curled into angry fists at her sides. "I hate you. You hurt everyone I love and you didn't even seem to care. You hurt me. Didn't our friendship mean anything to you?" Her voice cracked and she paused to gather herself to continue. "Buffy cried herself to sleep for weeks after you guys fought and she stabbed you. And we all thought, okay, now Faith's in a coma and maybe things will be okay and we'll deal with it when she wakes up. But then you woke up and switched bodies with her and she ended up at home almost every night crying. She doesn't think I know that. You messed up things between her and Riley. And now you're back and no one even told me. I HATE you, why can't you just die?"
She stomped out, slamming the door dramatically in her wake. I swallowed hard, just looking forlornly at the spot where she'd been standing with the blood quietly dripping onto the tissue.
Willow watched me with trepidation. I don't think either of us could have handled me crying again. I hardened my face and I steeled myself for the words that I'd hoped to avoid saying.
"I'm going back to LA." Willow opened her mouth to argue with me, and I cut her off. "No, can't you see? It's too little too late now. This is just making a bad situation worse. I'm fucking outta here." I carefully set the book down, an action that I'm sure wasn't lost on the silent green eyes watching me, and grabbed my little duffel – mostly filled with Cordy's hand-me-downs. When I opened the door, I paused and looked back at Red. "Thank you, Willow."
And then I was gone.
I sat in the shitty little waiting room at the bus terminal, unwilling to go through the pretense of reading one of the ages-old magazines sitting around. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. It had all gone so badly so quickly that I didn't know how to handle it.
Maybe Willow and Tara really wanted me to stay in Sunnyhell, maybe not. I imagined that after a couple days, they'd just file it away under the we-really-tried-aren't-we-good-people category. I'd existed for so long as a fuck up that it didn't really bother me.
Tara and Willow weren't the ones who really counted anyway. Maybe I shouldn't have meant that, but it was true. The Summers women had always held a special place in my heart. The Scooby gang…they were awesome people and I was more than relieved to know that they'd forgiven me, but the sun rose and set with Buffy. It was as simple as breathing, it just was.
So I wasn't at all prepared when B sat down next to me. My entire body froze, unwilling to move to make sure it really was her.
"Faith." My eyes drifted shut, the exquisite pain flaring in my chest. She said my name and I was in heaven and hell at the same time. "Faith, please listen to me."
I think I surprised the hell out of both of us when I said, "No." I looked over at her, finally seeing her as a person.
A flawed person. For all those years, I'd built her up in my mind as some unattainable goal. That I'd make my way back and beg for forgiveness, and she'd give it to me. Maybe we'd get together, maybe we'd just have a bond that ran deeper than blood. But no matter what, in the end we slayed side by side, fulfilling our destinies together.
Together.
Sitting at the bus station, I'd been ready to make myself walk away from everything that I'd ever dreamed of. And, disillusioned with myself and my dreams, I looked at her and for the first time I saw her. When she sat down, my heart hadn't soared – it had broken more.
Maybe I'd have never fixed myself if I hadn't. If I'd given in and listened to her heartfelt speech. It would probably be about how everyone deserved second chances, and that our destiny was too important to fuck it up with our past. The whole time she'd be implying that I was the one at fault. That everything that had happened – the poisoning, the murders, the ascension, the kidnapping of both Willow and her mom, the coma she'd put me in with my own knife, the body switching and the lies, the endless lies – that it was all solely on my shoulders.
Something inside me snapped, because I couldn't believe that anymore. Yeah, I'd be the first to admit that a lot of it was my fault. But a lot of it was her fault. And a lot of it was her friends' fault.
Things weren't nearly so cut and dry as we'd all like to believe.
"No, Buffy, I'm done listening to you. To your speeches, your rants. You listen to me now. When I came here, I was just a little girl. I'd been through a lot of really awful shit before I was even chosen, you know. I was younger than all of you and newer to this whole destiny shit. Yeah, I fucked up; yeah, I fucked up badly. But you fucked up too, B. You were so self-righteous that you left me out to dry rather than admit to any guilt yourself. I'm not going to be the bad guy anymore like you want me to be.
"You want to be the savior, the one true slayer, the one who's better than everybody else. Fuck you, Buffy. Fuck you. I'm not second best. I'm neither better nor worse than you, we're too different for any of that.
"The thing that gets me the most, the kicker, is that it could have been you just as easily as it was me. If your cards had been mine, you wouldn't have been able to avoid the shit any better than I did. And I think that's what terrifies you so much, B. You're more like me than you'll ever admit.
"I'm done playing your games, B."
I was breathing hard and close to tears but I'd gotten it all out. Not the most eloquent speech ever, but it was effective. It felt right. The words that had come pouring out of my mouth surprised even me, but that didn't make them any less true. I felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Buffy sat there, in that shitty looking terminal, skin looking washed out in the harsh lighting and looking even smaller than ever. She even looked a little scared.
I loved her, even then, even after the truth in my speech rang in my mind. I would never stop loving her. No, I never would, but it was time to figure out how to try and love myself.
She opened her mouth to say something, but I walked away from her and got on the bus.
I didn't look back.
When I got off the bus in LA, I wandered aimlessly. Not cardinally aimless, mind you, because I knew exactly where I was. But I was still completely lost in another way - I'd lost my true north.
Cordelia was sleeping on the round couch in the lobby when I finally made my way to the Hyperion. I gently roused her and we sat there in silence, shoulder to shoulder. There was absolutely no way I could put it into words, the pain, the truth, the hint of light peeking into my life that I'd blotted out all on my own. I was such a mess that I even briefly considered going back to Boston.
No one ever asked me what happened in Sunnydale. I settled into a routine, helping the guys fight the big bad of the week. It was exactly like I'd imagined when Buffy had asked me if I could leave Sunnydale permanently. My heart wasn't in it, not really, and they knew it. I was like a ghost - you knew I was there but mostly I really wasn't. That if you looked too hard, you'd see right through me.
I picked up the phone at least ten times a day. Cordelia caught me doing it the very first time, and from then on she'd slap my hand if I reached out again. But we never spoke about it. It was like one of those things that everyone's simply too polite to point out or bring up in conversation. After a while, she didn't need to slap me so often and the gaping hole in my heart didn't seem so big. Didn't seem so overwhelming.
Cordy, Wes and I made regular visits to Lorne's bar. We'd sit and reminisce and drink. One night, C'd had more than her fill. She leaned over and confided in me something I never thought I'd hear her say. "You were always too good for Buffy Summers. That girl was always too self-righteous for her own sanity."
Despite myself, I wanted to argue with her. I wanted to defend the girl I'd spent so many years dreaming about. I didn't want to admit that I'd said almost exactly that to Buffy myself.
That was the only time anyone touched the subject. I emailed both Tara and Willow regularly, having gotten an extremely annoyed phone call during which Red had informed me that she had her best resolve face on and there was no arguing – I simply had to keep in touch. So I did. She said that she'd put her neck out to support me, so the least I could do was to touch base ocassionally. Instead of talking about anything actually important, I regaled Tara and her with stories of the different ways Cordy and I had found to test Angel's patience. I relayed tales of the marathon shopping trips that I was dragged on, but didn't end up minding – even though I complained nonstop when Cordy was in earshot. It was like a habit I couldn't break. In a way, I think C appreciated the way we bickered on those excursions. Everyone knew I liked having a friend that didn't have any expectations, just that I'd be me.
After a while, it didn't hurt to breathe. I'd wake up in the morning and Buffy wouldn't be my first thought. I'd look in the mirror and not immediately shy away. Somehow Cordelia had figured out exactly what my dislike of mirrors meant, because she insisted on trying to get me in front of one as often as possible. I had hoped to heal myself on my own. To become self-sufficient. I wanted to be my own island.
Angel, in one of his rare heart-to-heart moments, cornered me. He'd stared into my eyes, speaking from the depths of his tortured soul. Knowing that I wouldn't be able to avoid reacting to him, to his words, to his understanding. He told me that I needed to rely on others. I needed to let people in. That I'd continue on a self-destructive cycle until it killed me. Until I succeeded in killing myself.
So I made the decision to open myself up to the one person I was truly, honestly terrified of. I knew that Willow had spoken to Mrs. Summers about my trip to Sunnydale. I knew that instead of being relieved, she'd expressed disappointment that I hadn't seen her. I didn't know who was more surprised, me or Red.
I found myself near a park one day, and stopped to watch the children on the playground. Being pushed on the swings, skidding down the slide, hanging on the monkey bars, shrieking with laughter and happiness. The moms clustered on the benches, listening with one ear for the inevitable demand to 'watch this, Mommy, watch this!' I called Mrs. Summers that night, at her request, and we set up a time to meet for lunch during her next buying trip to LA. Her voice was warm and welcoming and I felt a little something inside me melt.
Two nights later, I dreamed that Buffy was crying in her house. In her living room - isn't that what they call those rooms nobody ever really uses? She was sitting in the armchair across from the couch, staring at her mom's unmoving form. I knew immediately that I'd never see Mrs. Summers again. My legs gave out from beneath me; I sank to the floor staring at her body.
Even though there was no blood, it reminded me eerily of my mom's death. Especially since B was crying like a lost little girl. Her mom and my mom blended into something awfully symbolic while I sat and held the blonde, riding out all her sobbing. I stared at the unmoving form of what had become both of our mothers. After a while, she pushed me away, stood up and disappeared. We hadn't spoken, but I knew it was a slayer dream.
I wondered why she had summoned me. I wondered if she even realized that she had - that it was really me and not some figment of her imagination.
The last dream we shared was vivid in my mind. Somehow, I'd reached out to B and drawn her into my mind. Speaking in riddles - probably because of the coma - I talked about the Mayor's ascension. I couldn't let him win, in the end. No matter how much I loved him, the slayer in me overruled all emotions. It knew right from wrong and wouldn't let me forget it. I did the only thing I could, and spoke to B while she and I made her bed.
There had been a few times in prison when I'd wake with her name on my lips after a particularly vivid dream, but I didn't think she was real in them. They felt different, like a washed-out version. I have a feeling that a couple times I'd almost drawn her into my dreams again but she resisted. Each time, I'd wake shivering uncontrollably. The rejection was too much. The connection we'd always felt was barely holding on by a thread. Maybe I was holding onto something that Buffy had already let go of.
After dreaming of our dead mothers, I woke immediately and wasted no time in gathering the gang - except Gunn, who said somebody had to protect the town - to rush to Sunnydale. Maybe B wouldn't want me there, but for only the second time in my life, her opin