Archive of Our Own

A lot of screwy things have happened this summer, and those are the ones Faith was around for. The Big Screw has probably been going at least a few thousand years, but this feels like it started when the Scoobies showed up at the pen. Since then it's been one whammy after another, string of bodies like bread crumbs leading deeper into the woods, with no sign of daylight in sight, from dead Joyce to dead Buffy. Not to mention the baby sister she shouldn't remember this well, or at all.

It's all weird: Fighting side by side with robot Buffy, who creeps out the others even more than Faith herself; hearing Willow's voice in her head during nightly patrols. There's Spike, who might have brought up their encounter at the Bronze if he still had the heart, if he could stand to look at Faith with something other than a sneer or sob. Tara doesn't say much, and the stutter returns if Faith gets impatient, which explains why the witch is the only one who still hasn't gotten some kind of apology. Giles veers between extremes, one minute cracking jokes along with Spike, the next cold and silent. And to top it all off it's Xander goddamn Harris who convinced them to spring her, who fixed up Buffy's basement just so she'd have a less crap place to stay. Even if he flinches when she gets too close.

Not as though his demon girlfriend's got any reason to worry; everything's all too fucked for her to be fucked, about getting fucked. She'd bounced that one off Giles one night, just the two of them discussing the finer points of Britspeak over a bottle of single malt, and he'd laughed so hard he choked on his drink and she had to pound him on the back until tears ran down his face, stand with her arm around him wondering when things got so complicated. All things considered, it's been kind of fun.

Apart from the obvious.

But lately, the weird factor's been on the upswing. Something in the air, hint of fall to come; definitely more demon hijinks, just as Willow said, despite their efforts. And the others are getting hinky again, like when she first returned to Sunnydale, only worse. Like they can't decide if what they're hiding is good or bad, or how Faith will take it if she finds out.

She puts it aside. Forget about taking names.

Focus on kicking ass.

**

No wonder they waited for Giles to leave, sent her out of town on some fake-ass mission. Should have known she'd try to stop them, and considering the sad state of Sunnydale they're lucky to be in one piece; lucky she hasn't killed them, for what they've done. She's as glad as anyone to see Buffy and yet this isn't alive and well, it's pretty fuckin' far from okay and why can't they see? But their joy is overwhelming as they crowd around the sofa and their wayward Slayer, ragged, dirty and trembling. Faith has to leave when Spike cradles Buffy's hands in his, stares into those eyes with all the hope and fear she can't express.

Xander finds her in the kitchen, pulling on her trusty jean jacket.

"I wanted to tell you --"

"Well, you didn't." She opens the door, unable to avoid sounding bitter. "Just lemme know when you're gonna throw me back."

**

She returns well after sunrise, filthy, exhausted. The house is wonderfully empty, and Faith collapses on her cot in the basement, sleeps like a stone, dreams of Willow's eyes gone black. Everyone gets back from the Magic Box, and she wakes to find that she missed out on the real fun, like Dawn breathing fire. Will and Xander have smiles so wide you'd think their faces would split right open, while Faith hangs back feeling shoved aside, out on the fringes.

And Buffy still looks dead.

**

She keeps waiting for someone to say it: Time for her to head up the river now that the real Slayer's risen, hallelujah, hosannah, hooray. Like anyone sane wants to be in prison; and yet the world would be a safer place with her there, it's where she belongs, and how sane is that? But she fits in just fine. Nobody around here says what's on their mind.

Not anymore.

Today started with laughter, so she should have known it would turn to shit. Funny even in hindsight, even with her little walled-off room and the rest of the basement rendered unusable by a foot of water; remembering Dawn's shrieks as she turned tail and ran, the look on Buffy's face as Faith sat there on the stairs with a grin, feeling like a wet T-shirt contestant. But everyone sobered up when the repair bill came, and then the news that little Miss Perfect was broke. Then Xander and Anya had to get in some bullshit fight and run off, and Giles showed up again, which would be fine and dandy but he's only got eyes for Buffy, never mind all the fucking bonding they did over the summer, the countless times she saved his ass without a thought for her safety. Wouldn't even be quite so pissed, except she was all set to take the sofa.

"You could sleep with us. I mean --" Tara's face grows pink as Willow gives her an incredulous look. "In our room."

She doesn't have the energy for a snappy rejoinder. Dawn tries to provide an out, offers up her own floorspace, and Faith manages a tired smile. Not like she'll be around much longer.

Good thing she is, though. At least for the people -- house ain't so lucky. But her and B actually make a decent team, even with Spike helping. They get the demon into the basement, watch Buffy reduce its skull to mush, and Faith thinks there might be hope yet.

Then comes the fateful phone call from Angel, and Buffy's out the door without a backward glance.

Just like old times.

**

She switches to Dawn's room the following night -- weirdness remains high, especially around those two. Will seems glad to be rid of her, though Tara corners her after everyone else is gone and starts asking the really awkward questions. At least the answers would be awkward, if Faith answered them instead of mumbling, looking away in growing frustration as Tara's stammer worsens by the minute.

The awkward only increases at dinner; it should be exactly the other way round, but Tara acts like nothing happened, and the making of dinner is actually a fun group activity, everyone chipping in and giving Giles a hard time when he tries to contribute. Buffy comes home in the middle, surprises them in mid-bite and stands holding her bucket of chicken with a crestfallen air; Faith remembers feeling that way all her life, when she came to Sunnydale, just yesterday in fact and she wants to get up and give Buffy a hug, make her sit with her friends, force a smile onto that face.

She settles for offering her seat, takes her plate to Dawn's room and finishes in silence, barely tasting what's left. Thinks of Angel, and whether he's told Wesley she's out.

Tara wants her along for audit day, and Faith reluctantly assents though she can't see the point. Campus brings back more uncomfortable memories, like when they walk past the bulletin board where she threw down with Buffy in front of God and everyone. She looks around, suddenly nervous about being recognized, but between the borrowed clothes and pinned-up hair the only looks she's getting are appreciative, though she can't relax and enjoy it. Sitting through art appreciation leaves her feeling ten kinds of stupid, and the only thing that makes it bearable is Tara beside her in the back row, explaining it all, smelling good.

Even Willow is slightly less prickly, but when it's time to collect Buffy, her sister Slayer is more distant than ever, off in a world of her own. She has to hear from Xander about the funky goings-on at the construction site; from Anya, of all people, about the neverending adventures of the Amazing Mummy Hand. And for the crowning touch B goes out with Spike, returns smelling like a distillery, staggers into the bathroom and comes out pale and shaken. The check from Giles can't put a dent in this ennui, and where the fuck she picked up that word she has no idea. Could be one of the Watcher's crosswords.

Faith's pretty sure if you look up twelve across, you'll see a cartoon drawing of a big old lollipop. Five letters, starts with an F and that stands for you.

As in: you are so fucked.

**

Dawn's floor is a damn sight better than a prison bed even without the inflatable mattress, souvenir of camping trips planned, never taken. Still, Faith's going out of her mind. She hates leaving the house during the day, for any reason; on constant edge, ready to run at the first sign of trouble in whatever direction. Plus the Niblet, as Spike calls her, snores louder than some of the Berthas she's bunked with over the last couple years. Got its ups and downs, and so far it's made things easier, quiet sighs and whispers from the next room drowned out by the din. The snoring more than proves Dawn is dead to the world -- no way a teenager would sound like that on purpose -- but between the racket and the weirdness, not having those quiet sighs and whispers to listen to, she still can't bring herself to bring herself off. As it were.

It's for all these reasons that Faith is very much looking forward to said Niblet being out on the Halloween town. Pipsqueak can talk all she wants about going to her friend Janice's, but that kind of thing? Wicked obvious. Buffy and the rest might have noticed if they weren't too busy oohing and aahing over Xander's big announcement, and Will and Tara would have to stop fighting about magic for two seconds before it occurred that the littlest Summers might possibly not want to stay in on a night like this. But Buffy insists on patrolling, in her own best tradition, and Faith decides that one Slayer can handle whatever comes up.

She's just settling into the rhythm, almost bites off her tongue when someone knocks at the door, a thousand curses blooming on her lips. Should have expected this. One thing you can say about evil: It doesn't follow the rules.

"Yeah?"

"Faith?" Yep -- Tara sounds worried, all right. "We think Dawn might be --"

"One sec."

The look on Tara's face is too much when she walks out in rumpled shirt, shorts unbuttoned, smelling to high heaven. Temptation -- and tradition -- demand that she blow a kiss as she heads for the bathroom, but Faith abruptly shoves it away, cold as the water she splashes on her face before staring herself down in the mirror. Some games are too dangerous, even for her.

Time to show she means business.

**

With his usual flair and deft turn of phrase, Xander's pegged it in one. Although she'd add complete and fucking to the nightmare that is now, and that's just the having to listen, before factoring in the fear that any moment she her own bad ass self might burst into song like everyone else. It's that hyperattentive focus that brings out all the little clues before the big reveal, when the walls fall down and the curtain pulls back and Faith realizes they're seeing each other like new, for the first time.

She wanders aimlessly back to Buffy's house, wondering when it started feeling like home, or a home she wanted; climbs the stairs in a daze with thoughts of Willow and Tara silent and worlds apart, Spike and Buffy kissing on the street in broad nightlight. Un-fucking-real, that this soap opera has taken over their lives. That she gives a damn about any of it.

She shuts the door to Dawn's room, slumps down to the floor, suddenly too tired to remove her boots. Leans against the wall. Just to rest her eyes...

I
Wanted only you
Why, because I love you
I
Thought you loved me too
But it never was true
You
And me, the Chosen Two
Nothing came between us
But
I turned my back on you
I could never learn trust

Why...'cause I love you
Why...can't you love me?

You
Scoobies have it rough
But you've got each other
Don't
Forget when times are tough
And nature is a mother
That I
Would cut out my good eye
For friends as good as these guys
Sell my soul to hear you say
You'd be mine...

I wish I could let you go
Why...because I hate you
No, I love you
I'll always love you so
Why...can't you love me
Yes, you, love me...

I
Won't get in the way
I just want to help you...
I love you and love you me
I love you and love you me
We'll love each other, dear
Forever...

The last notes die away as her head hits the wall. For that split second she's sobbing and chokes it back, wiping away the evidence, 'til she turns and sees Tara standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth. Who turns and runs before Faith can get mad or decide to crack a joke, leaving her to stare at the wall.

Dawn finally comes in, flops onto the bed with a disgruntled frown.

"I wish I could have recorded my song."

Faith doesn't look over as she removes her jacket. "Gonna be America's next idol?"

Dawn doesn't react, with a huff or otherwise. "Anyway -- I think it's better like this. Everything out in the open. No secrets." Faith looks up to hope writ large on that teenage face. "Maybe things will start looking up."

She tucks the jacket under her head, rolls over with her back turned. "Wouldn't count on it."

**

She puts it together later, but at the time it goes like this.

They're sitting around Xander's apartment -- definitely a step up for him -- trying out the whole talking thing Dawn's so gung-ho about, where they actually say what's on their minds. Naturally that leads to uncomfortableness, except when Anya's talking, which would be a nice change of pace if the rest of them weren't being so -- well, at this point it's Willow who's the problem. Or at least the one keeping them from discussing their real problems.

Or so it seems, until the later. Because one minute they're at the Magic Box watching Giles spring his farewell, Buffy falling apart. And then it's funny

("What? All these hot chicks and no Pussy Wagon?")

surprising

("Looks like Barbie's not the only supergirl around here!")

scary

("Oh man, this bites -- wait, probably not the best --")

sexy

(damn dont blame red a bit, for two cents id be all over -- holy shit, are they -- now? aw fuck i dont believe this -- stupid alex get outta my way, wanna see ohshitgottadustthisthing --)

And then it's not.

**

Tara's moved out, taking all the joy with her. Willow seems to shrug off her malaise after conjuring Amy back into human form, but Faith feels increasingly invisible: B can talk a good game, make the right noises, but when Faith wants to patrol together, try to make a connection or discuss the recent robberies, it's all two Slayers can cover twice as much ground, blah blah, woof woof.

Later for that. She wants to see the sun.

Dawn tells the story of Amy -- a nice safe story, when Willow was good -- while the Slayer matches her for each milkshake, until the teenager's holding her belly with dramatic groans, and Tara's smile lights up the table and the entire countryside around. Faith can't remember a thing about the movie and it doesn't matter one bit, here and now.

The atmosphere is less comfy when they get back to the house, and not just for the lack of people. Faith watches from the doorway while Dawn engages in her best manipulations, but Tara doesn't take much sweet-talking. As for her --

"Move over." She props her feet on the coffee table, imagining Buffy's face if she sees marks. Dawn perks right up.

"You're staying?"

"Normal kid might get by with a witch or a Slayer," Faith shrugs. "Track record like yours --"

Tara flashes a quick, grateful smile. "You need both."

Dawn rolls her eyes, grabs back the remote. "Just for that? Care Bears movie."

**

May not be the most dignified position, but damned if it wasn't the soundest sleep Faith's had in years. Only the embarrassment fades as the others sit up, blinking sleep from their eyes; vanishes when they check the bedrooms, find the rest of the house still empty and silent. She tells herself it's nothing, stomach quietly tying itself into knots while Tara fusses over the stove and Dawn uses up all the hot water, finally emerging downstairs with a brave smile, ready to face the world.

Tara's in the middle of asking something about funny shapes Faith doesn't quite understand, but it sounds fun because, like, how can it not? Then the back door creeps open, they all turn as one and it's good old reliable Willow and her new pal, giggling away, reeking in a silent shout of power. Tara smells it too, runs off almost in tears just as Buffy shows up. Buffy and Willow stammer and evade, this fall's feature sporting event, and when Willow stares down at the burnt pancake Faith's itching to stand up and get in this Amy chick's face just a little. Maybe more than a little.

Lucky for her, the chick skedaddles when it's clear she's worn out her welcome. Faith sits in silence, finishes her coffee as Will and Buff do their little pas de avoidance, skulk off to their separate rooms to sleep off the night. Or sleep away the day, and maybe she should cut down on the caffeine.

She rinses her mug at the sink, ignoring the slumped shoulders and downcast eyes. "I gotta train 'til you're out anyway, so -- how's about another movie? If ya do all your homework."

"When did you turn into an old prune?" But Dawn's smiling as she grabs her books and heads out.

Faith carries that smile with her the rest of the morning, through her new amped-up regimen; on into the day, as Buffy loses more patience with Anya's lack of it. She's only half-listening to the bickerthon, brooding over what the hell these heists have in common, when the conversation comes back to Willow and her ears perk up. Something clicks and she excuses herself, heads back to the house on the double.

The shower is running when she comes in, carefully shuts the door behind her, crawls up the stairs like a great silent cat. No idea why the sudden need for spy games, and is that Willow, quietly crying her heart out?

She hugs the wall as the door opens, waits for footsteps to grow faint before she follows. What she sees is completely unexpected and nothing of the kind, so much hurt she nearly cries out. And later, after she fails to heed the warning signs, after she sends Dawn off with Willow, thinks it'll be good for them (bad Slayer), combs the streets with Spike and Buffy in frantic searching until they find Dawn twisted and bleeding; that memory is all that saves Willow, from Faith, beating the ever loving shit out of her.

Why not? It's all she's good for.

**

Faith won't deny there's a problem, but the more of this 'magic crack' deal she hears, the more she's convinced Willow's not the one smoking it. Maybe some tools are more purposeful than others, but Tara's been doing spells way longer to hear it, and you don't see her turning tricks on the corner for henbane. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure; kill someone as part of a ritual, it ain't the magic that's wrong -- it's the killing, stupid. Using it to hurt, or kill? Same deal.

Obviously, these thoughts are not going to comfort anyone else. At least Anya's still no holds-barred gal, gives as good as she gets; the only one besides Tara, who's been understandably scarce round these parts. No beating around the bush for this Southie Slayer, unless it's the right kind, the kind she hasn't had a chance for since and good god she needs to exercise again.

She's in the training room at the Magic Box, working up the less fun sort of sweat, when she hears Buffy, followed by Xander and Anya sounding borderline panicky. Peeks through the door, but Buffy's nowhere to be seen, and that's enough of that for one day. When the cat's away...

She sneaks out the rear door, hightails it back to La Casa Summers. Locks the door and heads to Dawn's room, surrounded by posters and pastel; summons her favorite fantasies, shags herself senseless 'til she loses all track of time, falls into a dreamy haze. Comes to after sunset, checks the driveway before ambling downstairs in just a T-shirt, enjoying the feel of conditioned air.

Opening the fridge, she surveys the shelves, finally spotting a lone cola on the bottom shelf. She's bending down to grab it, when there's this strangled cough from behind. Nobody there when she looks, and Faith shrugs, heads back upstairs to squeeze a few more in while she's still got the place to herself.

Not too much time passes, judging by the numbness, when she thinks she hears Buffy calling Dawn's name. She cautiously descends the stairs, hears Xander and Anya on the kitchen answering machine, but she's too busy untangling their message to think to pick up. It's only when she hears Buffy go wow Faith thinks huh?, and then the phone rings from the living room --

"Xander?"

She strains her ears, to no avail. Some things the vamps do better.

"Who is this? You sound familiar."

What the fuck, she's staring right at the phone and it's floating, is this what Xander meant --

"Where?"

She doesn't have to try to look serious when Buffy hangs up. "Sounds like kidnappers."

"Willownappers." Buffy's voice is equally stern. "Coming with?"

"You know I got your back, B." She allows herself a shadow of a grin. "Even if I can't see it."

**

This should be a lot more satisfying, but when the rubber hits the road it just plain hurts. Buffy Anne Summers is beautiful no matter what, and yet crammed into a garish, ill-fitting uniform, bovine hood ornament and all, she looks -- not helpless, precisely, though it's the closest Faith can come up with. Makes her feel all the more useless, knowing two Slayer metabolisms are helping eat them out of house and home, and what the hell is stopping her from working?

"Fugitive status?" Xander offers.

"No papers," Dawn concurs.

Anya brightens. "Would you mind being paid in cash?" She gives Xander a puzzled look. "What?"

To the surprise of noone, the Slayer's new job leads to suspected cannibalism, symbolic Bobbitism, and fraudulent vegetarianism. Faith doesn't look forward to more Corporate Zombie Buffy, and yet maybe things are starting to turn toward the better. The summer surge of demon violence has long since faded; the only real foes on their horizon a band of pimply losers even Xander was ashamed to hang with, back in the day. Still work to be found, if she looks hard enough.

Plenty of time.

**

Already of late, her mind's been on Tara. Not in a stalkery, obsessive way, though always there is that warm feeling, the certain knowledge that under different circumstances, yeah, she'd definitely tap that. Except she'd have to call it something else, at least to start.

Faith can tell it's not true obsession when these thoughts fly out the window at the first sign of trouble. She's stopping by the Doublemeat to get the nightly patrol scoop, sees Tara entering the restaurant. Goes in and Buffy isn't behind the counter, cools her heels for near fifteen minutes before the two of them emerge from the back, looking guilty as hell when they spot her, and Tara scurries away before Faith can say anything, like hi or even nice tits.

She swallows her pride, getting surprisingly easy with repetition; pays real attention to every word of Buffy's report. Which is pretty sketchy on the details, but whatever. Long as nobody's killing anyone, it's no skin off her ass.

She beats Buffy home long enough to get into the swing of things, literally; Anya's jealousy is palpable as Xander demonstrates his twirling skills, even with Faith doing her damndest not to flaunt her cleavage or rub up against him (too much), but that kind of fun can only go so far. Anya beams with approval when her fiancee is handed over to Dawn, and they're just finishing her twirl with a dip when Buffy finally arrives, looking worn down to a nub.

Naturally, Faith joins the crowd in encouraging B to join them. Frosty nectar relaxation.

She remembers that later when the others are dancing and Buffy wanders off. When she follows, still hoping for that talk, until she glances up to the balcony and freezes where she stands; watches the look on Buffy's face as Spike lifts her skirt, presses tight, whispering she can only guess what into one delicate seashell ear. Until the Slayer closes her eyes, and trembles.

Even later, Faith thinks that's as bad as it gets, sitting with a crying Dawn and wondering if Buffy really will turn herself in; when she tracks down a horribly disfigured Spike, has to threaten to remove what's left of his face before the words drip from his lips. Faith doesn't find her until she returns to the house, and the news that B didn't kill this girl fails to brighten anyone's spirits. She gets her hands on this Warren asshole, there's gonna be blood.

Buffy sends Dawn to bed, asks Faith to escort Anya back to Xander's apartment. She does it without hesitating, or wondering why until she's on her way back. Figures it out when her hand comes to rest on the front doorknob, hears faint sobs from within that are unmistakably Buffy, misery that tears at her soul 'til she wants to rip it out.

She mashes it down, stands under the big tree in the front yard; chain-smokes three cigarettes before the door opens to reveal Tara, nervously looking around. The witch makes it to the sidewalk without noticing her, and Faith sighs.

"Hey."

"Oh!" Tara starts, eyes huge as she turns around. "Hey."

Faith stubs out her smoke and pockets the filter, envisioning a sarcastic halo. Give a hoot -- don't pollute.

"C'mon. I'll walk ya home."

**

Figures there's all sorts of irony, both the real and faux varieties. If she'd gone to the mall with Dawn yesterday, they might have been spared the locked-house mystery. As it is, she arrives way late for the party, well after dark, having agonized for days over what the fuck to get Buffy. She leans on the doorbell a little too hard, hoping she won't have to deal with strangers; hears Xander laugh, say something, and then the doorknob rattles. Doesn't turn.

It takes a good deal of yelling back and forth, muffled by the nice thick door, to verify that this is a two-way street. Faith tells them to sit tight, throws caution and suspicious neighbors to the wind, checks every possible entrance; tries throwing a rock through a window, only to have it bounce off with a noise that sounds nothing like glass. She paces around the house all night, wracking her brain to come up with a plan, even thinks of calling Giles before remembering he's back in bloody old England.

Something akin to panic kicks in when there's a yell from inside, and the faint clash of metal. She climbs the big tree out front, tries to see in, but the upstairs lights are all off, and noone comes when she pounds on the door.

Finally occurs to her to join the new American century, try a god damn telephone; figures when she gets to the coffee shop she's not carrying a red cent, ends up having to put the fear into the counter wench. And after all that it's busy, not the regular but the fast one that says this line is currently experiencing technical difficulties, fuck you very much. Night's coming on fast as she wears a path in the yard, everyone she can think to try and contact is trapped in that house and what if she grows old and dies here like some faithful hound dog, unable to break the spell and leave?

And just when she's ready to breathe her last despair, the front door opens.

Xander and Anya are bearing up some wounded strange guy she's glad she didn't have to meet; Willow and Tara behind, looking up at the stars, followed by a wrinkly floppy-eared demon Faith could swear she's seen around town. Buffy and Dawn hover in the doorway, uncomfortable space between them.

Faith watches the others disappear down the street; looks back at Buffy, about to shut the door.

"Hey."

"Hey." Can't tell if B's manic or depressive. Dawn hangs back and waves, vanishes before she can say boo.

Faith holds out her present. "It's crappy."

Buffy smiles.

"I like it already."

**

In case of impending apocalypse, this should be the first sign.

"What, you scare everyone else away?"

Anya glares. "I resent that you find me predictable."

"Just call 'em like I see 'em." She's on her second of the six-pack from Xander's fridge. Good stuff -- no Steel Reserve here. "S'what I like about you."

Anya is only somewhat mollified. "Well -- I'm glad that you acknowledge my positive qualities."

"You do know I'm like the last girl on earth you should be askin' this, right?"

"You're a very candid person." Anya opens the bridal catalog, a three-ring binder that could swallow a stack of phone books. "And you have good color sense."

All in all, it's far less pain than hearing Riley's back in town, torn between cowardly avoidance and futile apology. She dithers and delays, lets Buffy have her quality time with the beefstick; makes a last minute run for it, arrives just in time to see Mr. and Mrs. Finn lifted up, disappear into the night sky. Stands on the edge watching big sister stare after the fading lights of the chopper, and when B walks away, leaves her friends behind, Faith knows right where she's going, or thinks she does. What the hell.

If anyone's in need of cold comfort right now, it's Buffy.

**

As expected, Willow complains the loudest when Faith shows up in a tux. Like anyone could resist at that price, though Xander warned her to make sure the store owner wasn't British and queeny, and it's weird he didn't even crack a smile at her There's a difference?

At the time, she shrugged it off. Now she's wishing she'd paid attention to all the trivial emo crap she usually filters right out, hoping it won't be as bad as last time. That hope is sinking with each passing minute, as the guests grow rowdier and she waits for the inevitable first drink or punch to be thrown.

Thank god it doesn't take long. She's been itching for action, and in less than ten minutes she's got it wrapped up: Demons and in-laws alike all making nice except the senior member of clan Harris, quiet for the first time all day thanks to strong martinis and a double Slayer love tap. Somehow, she doesn't think he'll file charges.

She waves to Will and Tara, just emerging from the shelter of their overturned table, and smothers a grin. Almost a shame the lovebirds are taking flight again, or she might -- okay, would like a woodchuck -- haul one of these lovely bridesmaids into the back room for some harmless post-Slayage fun. Anya doesn't enter into it; while undeniably hot, the ex-demon doesn't really turn Faith's crank, plus then she just might have to kill herself for being the ultimate Xander heartbreak. If she doesn't have to kill him first, but she knows he'll show up.

Then a nastier demon shows up instead -- uninvited, no less -- which takes two to tango. Her and B keep it hopping until Xander arrives like the cavalry and smashes its face in with a pedestal, or something manly like that; Faith grins and claps him on the shoulder, turns to watch the crowd and make sure things don't get out of hand, and the worst of it is knowing she should never have taken her eyes off him. Should have grabbed him gently but oh so firmly, steered his ass over to that makeshift altar and held him down.

Right now, she almost hates herself more.

**

Feels like she's flying blind, like they all are; have been ever since Buffy came back wrong. Yeah, she heard -- finally got it out of Tara, in the small hours before dawn when everyone else was passed out from too much booze, the stressfest fiasco that should have been Xander's wedding. If ever there was a time since her first week in solitary Faith's needed to beat something to a pulp, this is definitely it. Instead she gets to watch the house while Buffy checks fresh rental properties for signs of nerd spoor, heads to work at break of day for eight hours of first shiftiness.

Fun city.

Will's back from campus this morning, glued to her laptop, working off the frustration of seeing Tara with some Wicca chippy. Faith stoops to bringing the redhead a cup of nerve calming tea, offers some to B when she comes back from the Doublemeat looking dazed and confused; keeps her mouth shut when Xander shuffles in hanging his head in shame and the others surround him, shower him with peace, love and understanding. It's Willow all over, wanting to punch and kick and hug someone all at once, and it drives Faith out of the room, out of the house. down to the Magic Box for another workout from hell. Gwen Post would be so proud, may her soul rest

(rot)

in peace. She's almost there after a substantial detour around the cop shop before remembering the building's locked, its owner off to Nobody-Knowsville; wanders round town all day, wishing she knew where Tara lives, finally trudging home sweet homeward.

The story when she returns is a doozy, with Buffy giving off appropriately creepifying vibes. Willow tells her a related one from the bad old days, about B and the telepathy demons, and it makes sense that from poisons come antidotes. Hair of the dog, and all that.

Faith jumps at the opportunity to kick ass, catches up with Spike and Xander before they can kill each other or be killed by their prey. Takes all night, but eventually the three of them drag the thing back in chains, shove it in the basement growling and thrashing. Willow snaps off its stinger, then Faith and Xander drive to the Magic Box -- beats running -- and she carefully breaks in through the back door so they can gather up supplies, write Anya a note with everything they take. Home again home again, jiggety jig, where Will mixes up a cure in two jiffies. And that's that.

She really ought to know better.

"-- so, no, I don't know what her problem is. I went through the poor-me stage, too. Yesterday's news."

Tara's fiddling with her mug more than drinking the tea inside, but at least she's making eye contact, hasn't stuttered once the whole time they've been at the cafe. Faith found her number in the Rolodex on the kitchen counter, killed off the butterflies fluttering around her tummy and made the call.

"I'm not saying you didn't have it rough. But Buffy died."

"And you pulled her outta heaven, back into the crappy real world. And that's what I don't get. How she can sit there and pretend there ain't a thing in her life worth a good god damn." She finishes the coffee in one gulp, setting the mug down hard, drawing a wince from a nearby waitress. "If this is her perfect dream, how come her worst enemy is livin' under her roof? Eatin' her food, usin' up the hot water --"

"Watching Dawn, helping patrol..." Tara reaches over to squeeze her hand. Faith marvels again at how easy she makes it look. "And I'd say you've got some competition in the villain department."

"Hey, arch fuckin' nemesis here. Yin to the yang." She digs in her pocket, but Tara stops her.

"It's okay. I've got it." The witch gathers her skirts, rises from the table with her own unique, peculiar grace. Faith almost feels like a skinny boy looking at those abundant curves. A horny, teenage boy.

"Comin' with?" Tara hesitates, and the Slayer offers her best smile. "Red's dyin' to see ya."

If she believed in fate? Destiny? She'd think it's poor choice of words. Or maybe it's just that she's stupid and shy, insists on waiting outside for Tara to see if Buffy's back from cloud-cuckooland.

Until she hears Dawn scream.

She practically breaks down the door, nearly slips on the stairs as she races toward sounds of terror. Buffy's in the bedroom crouched over her struggling sister; Faith pulls her off and gets a gut punch for her trouble, too surprised to do more than block a head shot when she realizes too late it's a fakeout move, what do you call it, like what those Victorian women did all the time, before she can think to try snapping B out of it, something about the high cost of home repair

(feint, that's the word)

B grabs her wrist, hurls her through the window. Smash, bounce and roll, catching herself on the edge of the roof and now she's scared and pissed off.

Faith claws her way back up and in, barely feeling the glass slice open her arms; follows snarls and yells down to the basement where the House of Wax reject is free, trying to throttle Xander as Dawn flails at it with a wrench. Tara's trying to crawl out from under the broken shelves, Willow struggling against her bonds, Buffy nowhere in sight.

A perfectly placed kick shatters the demon's knee; it roars, just misses her face with its remaining stinger, throws Xander at her and they tumble in a heap against the wall. Dawn screams again as Faith struggles to her feet, god does the kid have a pair on her --

-- suddenly Buffy's there, driving her fist into its stomach. The demon howls, forcing its way forward, horrid squelching sound --

-- ends in a crack when Faith comes up behind, snaps its thick neck in one twist.

She lifts up its limp arm, breaks off the other stinger. Hands it to Willow as everyone silently stares at Buffy; turns and climbs the stairs, suddenly weary to the bone.

Maybe later, she'll think of something to say.

**

Most of the gang is still aftermathy, whereas Faith has more than moved on. Sure, the only part you could honestly call funny was hearing about herself as a hospital orderly ("So, I got to tie ya up again?"). But it's over, nobody got killed, and speaking of which you'd think it's high time they got serious about tracking down the wannabe Lex Luthors before someone else gets caught in their reindeer games. As opposed to Xander sitting home alone, drowning in beer and country; Buffy continuing to shut her out, patrol solo.

Like the bitch is fooling anyone.

Stuff like this will easily drive a person beyond distraction, when you're as impatient as her. The extra training helps, now she's taking the time to wind down after, nobody making her selfconscious about her clumsy attempts to recapture Angel's grace. Would help more if she stuck to some kind of schedule; easier just to save it for when she needs to be alone, which of course is once a day minimum. This morning it was out the door before anyone else was even up, get her workout in early. Hope it jinxes the rest of the day. In a good way.

So far, so good. It's what makes her bold enough to come onto campus grounds, saunter into the gym and grab a shower like she owns the place, which gives her the confidence to find Barnheardt Hall, sit outside half-past the hour. And when Tara spots her, that sunlight smile makes Faith's impatience seem like a thing of the past.

Her eyebrows get an equal lift when the witch orders mocha instead of tea.

"Careful. Might lead to dancin'."

"Sometimes the caffeine demands a tastier vehicle." Tara almost-blushes at the look on her face. "Are you flirting with me?"

"When have I ever?" Faith catches herself adding sugar. Apparently, ultimate sweetness is catching. "Don't take it wrong --"

"No, it's...nice." That blush is still there, just underneath. "I never had anyone do that before."

"Gotta keep in practice." The Slayer shrugs, plays it cool. "Look, I just wanna see someone happy around here. Red's fuckin' miserable without ya. And I know she ain't gonna make the same mistake twice."

A dab of whipped cream finds Tara's nose, as she ducks her head. "Not trying to swoop in and claim me for your own? I'm hurt."

Faith returns the crooked smile. "Let's just say, if that was all I was after..."

"I'd already be in your bed?"

"You said it. I didn't." She reaches over for the dab, licks it from her finger with a grin. "So I gotta lock you guys in a closet, or what?"

Tara rolls her eyes as the blush worsens.

"Actually, I just saw her. We're supposed to...have coffee. Tomorrow."

"Waitin' right outside the door?" Faith stands and stretches, tosses down a crumpled tip while the other woman picks up the tab.

Nice to have a system.

She almost forgets the next day, ready to head to campus before she remembers; disappointed at not seeing Tara, hopeful things will work out. A lawn chair from the basement, one of Dawn's bikinis and a pair of B's sunglasses later, she's kicking back with an instant lemonade. Figure just enough tan to take the edge off that prison pallor.

At one point she hears voices, and she wouldn't bother getting up but both sides are pretty well toasted. When she wanders round front, it's to find Anya back from whereever, arguing vehemently with Buffy over whatever. The ex-demon sputters to a halt; looks over at Faith, speechless, before shaking her head and stalking away.

Faith watches, idly appreciating the angry sway of her hips. "Do I wanna know?"

Buffy sighs. "Probably not."

**

Of course it all comes out in the end, and now everyone knows. Including her, though that was more confirmation, and Tara doesn't seem surprised either. Which is the only upside of the whole sordid mess, as the squees of Dawn more than attest. It's like some insane romantic calculus, or an octopus-shaped seesaw; one goes up, another goes down. What comes up, must go...

Hell, she was never the expert. Right now she's adrift as the rest of them.

The happy vibes, not to mention occasional noises from the bedroom, eventually drive her from the house, dragging along a protesting Dawn. Working out at the Magic Box doesn't strike her as such a great idea, today, with Anya still cleaning up the damages. Dawn's full of questions as usual, and for once Faith doesn't shy away from the painful stuff. What Buffy might have found in Spike; what makes him different from Angel. How much Faith still loves her, after everything.

Dawn dumps the last bit of shake into her mocha, frowning at the impromptu experiment. "She should have come to you."

Faith snorts. "Yeah. 'Cause that wouldn'ta gone over like a turd in a punchbowl." The teen's lip crinkles in a silent ew. "Then we'd have Xander and Spike wantin' to kick my ass, an' she still wouldn't --"

"You're wrong," Dawn insists. Pushes her hair aside, looking simultaneously childlike and all growed up. "She cares about you."

It's a beautiful lie, one that keeps her going when Warren's got them on the ropes, shrugging off everything they throw at him; fuels her rage, refusing to give up until the short one jumps on her, whispers the secret before Faith can squash him like a bug. She yanks the pouch from that fucker's belt with a savage grin, tosses one orb to B as he stares back and forth between them, panic in his eyes, and as one they kneel and smash his pretty toys to pieces.

Sort of spoils it when Rocket Man's flown the coop, but two out of three is nothing to sneeze at. She lets Buffy cart their sorry asses down to the station, for once sleeps soundly until Dawn's up and left for school. The sun is shining, the birds are singing; and isn't that Xander, in the back yard?

A shot tears the air.

The sky darkens.

The earth trembles.

**

B.

come on, baby. gotta wake up

(so much blood)

have to stay back, let us

They lift her up pale and still, a broken ice princess in their arms; transfer the body to their stretcher, waving Faith back. Xander's answering their

(pointless)

questions, the son of a bitch who did this run off like the coward he is, he's getting away and what is this thick, throbbing tension like electric molasses in the air --

"Faith!" Xander gestures from the ambulance. "We have to move --"

She climbs in without thinking, squeezes into the corner as they slam the doors and take off with a slight squeal of tires. Stares at Buffy's wide open eyes all the way to the hospital, sending Slayer power by sheer force of will

now now, dont poop out on me dammit

watches them wheel her away, into the theater

(why do they call it that)

lets go Xander's hand when he gasps in pain, almost puts hers through a wall

FUCK

hunched over, gasping, trying to hold onto rage. Anything to stop the tears.

Her skin tingles, and the lights flicker. Panic rises as Willow strides in, orders the surgeons away; turns to wonder as a tiny piece of metal rises from the Slayer's chest. Buffy slowly sits up, like a fucking miracle, and Faith wants to cry from joy.

But it gets worse.

**

This is why they should have sent her back, long ago. Because she is the last one to argue either side of the equation, without a leg to stand on. She is not objective, is as glad as Dawn that Warren is dead, for what he did to Buffy alone, and for Tara he deserves what Willow did, and more. She'll be damned if she lies and denies it, no matter how much B fights her. And she doesn't, and how crazy is it that Faith wants that clash, some spark of spirit to shine out?

Except there's no spark, because some random bastard tore a star from the sky. Left a hole in their lives that goes all the way through.

She beats Buffy to the police station by precious minutes, running on pure adrenaline; smashes in the back door, without a thought to cameras or observers. She's seen one horse jails in classic Westerns that were bigger, though the cells are cleaner than she's used to. Shrill, urgent tones carry down the hallway as Faith draws near; the vengeance demon's eyes widening before the Slayer drops the guard like a hot potato, one hit to the neck.

"He'll live."

"I'm a bit more concerned with our welfare at the moment?" Anya turns to the quivering geeks. "This is Faith, the other Slayer. She probably wants to kill you herself, but it's possible you could sway her mercy if you were to quit acting stupid and try to be brave. Well, not that bravery is always the smart thing to --"

"I couldn't give two shits if you die." Faith strides up to the cell, bends the bars wide and hauls the geeks out. Andrew swallows, dredging up courage from somewhere.

"Then why are you helping us?"

"It's this new thing I'm tryin'." Shouts and smashing glass outside, and Faith gives them an ungentle shove. "Move."

She's already regretting it, and the next hours crawl by pretty much like she expected, irrepressible geekspeak included. Right up 'til the world twists almost to the breaking point, the space around them folds like a pretzel and Willow's standing there with dead eyes, Dawn slumps to the ground and Buffy staggers, nearly falls.

Thunder and lightning, should be rain to go with, but Faith waits for her moment and does the right thing that feels so wrong; urges Xander, Dawn and the geeks toward the door as the witch meets Buffy's blows head on. They run for their lives and Faith watches them go, hurls herself into the fight even as she wonders how far they'll get.

Won't be far. She knows that look, in Willow's eyes.

All over but the shouting.

**

She shakes off dizziness, picks up the pace. Her hair is singed from the fireball as it launched; left leg can barely hold her weight, clothes heavy with sweat and blood. Slamming into a wall enough will do that.

And they haven't even slowed Willow down.

She's limping along the winding trail that leads to the top of Kingman's Bluff, memory of Giles' bruised and bleeding features lending fresh urgency to her steps; hoping Buffy caught up with Xander and Dawn, not too broken up at the thought of well done nerds, extra crispy. The town below still stands but for how long, invisible demons howl through the air, blot out the sun as Faith crests the hill, sees Willow

(so small)

at the center of the maelstrom.

The ground cracks, ancient temple rising toward the darkening sky. Willow is intent on her task, look of pencil-bity focus that changes to a snarl or smile.

"Back for seconds?"

Faith sways on her feet. Never been much with words; right now, she can't even think.

Willow rolls her eyes dismissively, turns back to her project. The Slayer takes a step forward and Willow lashes out, grabs her jacket, lifts her up like a rag doll.

"You just don't get it, do you, Faithy?" Black hair waves in the wind. "Now I'm the one with the power."

Faith grips the other woman's wrist, with all her fading strength. "I ain't afraid of you."

"That's okay." Dead pools shimmer as fingers caress her cheek. The witch sounds gentle, even amused. "You never were very bright."

"Yeah?" She coughs, feels something shift inside. "Fuckin' Mensa...next to some people..."

"I could unmake you with a thought, you know...suck the Slayer right out." Fingers trail down, wrap round her neck. "Just an ordinary girl..."

"I loved her too --"

The words are cut off, along with air.

"You bitch." Redblack eyes flare, that sweet voice a harsh, guttural whisper. "All your life, you never loved anyone but yourself! Buffy was just some trophy, and you --" Faith watches, as the witch's face crumbles. "Oh, god..."

She falls choking to the ground. Willow's shaking her head, hands twisting aimlessly together.

"It's better this way." Faith lies forgotten at her feet. Atop the temple the statue leers, mouth lolling open in an obscene grin. "We'll be with her soon. We'll all be with her..."

The windstorm rises once more; sting of dust in her throat, taste of ashes: You think this is what she wants? Doesn't realize she hasn't spoken 'til the voice resounds, silent inside her head.

If things had been different?

She gazes back, unafraid.

Maybe.

Willow's eyes harden.

They're not.

Fire consumes her from inside, and Faith thinks this is how the world will end: Everything they've fought for reduced to tatters; bloody, unbowed to the last, strangling the throat of the beast as she slides down its gullet.

But it doesn't.

She comes to in a haze of pain; unable to think, somehow finds the strength to lift her head. Sees red-haired Willow sobbing in Xander's arms like a lost child, feels she will surely break. Stumbles forward, silent plea on her face, and when they merge in a single hug, she's the only one who isn't crying. On the outside.

Faith gazes out over the city, feeling the press of humanity, the beating of hearts. Living for the moment; planning for the future, with all its hopes and fears.

Bring it on.