The sun had been set less than an hour, leaving the centre of London, England dark but still sweltering beneath the same thick sheet of clammy heat that had persisted throughout the day. As Angel and Faith stepped in through the back door of a long-unused warehouse off of Hammersmith Park, they were greeted by an intensified, nauseating burst that had built up within the metal confines throughout the day. Faith put the back of her hand over her mouth as she struggled not to gag.

“God, I miss Boston.” She tried in vein to peel her plain, black tank top away from her skin — it hadn’t been that tight-fitting when she’d picked it out that morning, but now it clung straight back to her skin the moment she released it. She rolled her bare shoulders back as if that would somehow help matters. “Sunbathing just ain’t the same when you can’t breathe.”

Angel had stopped dead as the heat rolled over him. He looked at Faith’s clothing with a hint of envy; he hadn’t quite managed to leave home without grabbing his trademark coat, and the only thing it was doing for him now was concealing the thick layer of sweat that had soaked the white vest underneath. “I swear back in my human days the heat was never this bad. It was nothing but rain and snow for eleven months of the year.”

“Guess someone was right about that whole global warming thing then. That or this is the twelfth.” Faith ambled forward, lazily scanning the warehouse interior. Large, wooden palettes were thickly stacked all along one of the walls, and a handful of broken crates and metal poles were liberally scattered across the rest of the room. Rolls of half-used cellophane, plastic wrap, and bubble wrap were leant against one corner. It didn’t look like people had left in a hurry, only that nobody had bothered to clean up after themselves when they were done moving out. “Well, guess they’re not here. We can try again in Winter. Pub?”

She turned for the exit, only to find herself stopped by Angel’s hand on the top of her arm. “Faith,” he said seriously.

“I’m kidding. Chill.”

Angel withdrew his arm and pointed toward a metal door on the far side of the room. Faith nodded and reluctantly followed him in that direction.

“I’m not sure that’s entirely possible at the moment,” he said.

Faith glanced to her side. “Hey, you didn’t have to come dressed like Count Von Count. Would it have killed you to throw on some shorts and a t-shirt for a change?”

“I’d look pasty,” Angel reasoned.

Faith smirked and shook her head, but her smile slowly receded as she asked, “You think we’re really gonna find them here? This place is a few notches past unbearable. Besides, why would anybody who’d taken off with a bank-load of cash be staying anywhere but The Ritz?”

“My source seemed pretty certain this is where they’d be.”

“And you’re sure he ain’t yanking your chain?”

“He’s a good guy. They’ll be here.”

“Thought he was a demon,” Faith said matter-of-factly.

Angel glanced to his side, but Faith was looking straight ahead. “So he’s a good demon then. What difference does it make?”

Faith didn’t reply. She reached the door first and had to rotate up a long, metal bar that was keeping it firmly locked. “Looks like they never made it out this far then.”

The next room was larger and also a lot cooler, almost to the point of being comfortable. That was thanks to the two huge, whirling fans hanging from the tall ceiling. The crates inside were still in one piece, with some stacked two to three units tall such that they created a miniature maze of corridors and blocked the view of the room as a whole. Faith eased a hand under the lid of one that stood alone and quietly pried it open. Inside was a mountain of small, polystyrene cylinders, and she didn’t fancy blindly fishing around to see if they were packaging anything of interest. She carefully dropped the lid, shrugged at Angel and kept walking, treading more lightly now.

It wasn’t long before they simultaneously came to a stop and looked up, their attention drawn by a low squeak that was nearly drowned out by the ambience from the overhead fans. High up on the wall to their right, one of the many short, long windows was being pressed open inch by inch, and it made the same noise of complaint they’d heard each time it moved. They couldn’t tell who the fingers belonged to, and Faith quickly pushed Angel back around the corner.  She tucked herself in tight, and the two of them remained crouched and quiet as they waited.

One minute and half a dozen squeaks later, they heard the unmistakable sound of feet landing on the floor. Faith turned to Angel and motioned with her fingers. Three. Angel nodded. Two. They both turned to face the corner, leaning slightly forward as they prepared to spring themselves around it. One.

Her third finger curled in at the exact moment someone beat them to it, bursting around the corner and raising their short, pointed weapon into the air. Faith’s body reacted a split-second slower than her brain, and she paused at an awkward moment as she’d started to rise, almost toppling over as a result. “B?” she blurted out once she’d successfully regained her balance and saved her dignity.

Buffy stood frozen, her stake still primed for attack, her brow furrowed. “Faith?” Her eyes wandered over Faith’s shoulder, and the confusion spread to the rest of her face. “Angel? What are…” she shook her head and turned around, finally lowering her arm as she stepped back around the corner. “Oh God,” she muttered to herself.

Faith and Angel shared questioning looks before standing straight and following her around. Buffy continued a short way before turning to face them. She crossed her arms but didn’t say anything. Faith wasn’t entirely sure what to say either, but Angel stepped forward and smiled anxiously. “I didn’t… what are you doing here?”

Buffy took a deep breath. Her surprise had faded, leaving behind an expressionless face that didn’t feel at all welcoming. “I’m looking for someone. A Slayer. Rumour has it she and her friends stay here sometimes.”

Angel looked over her shoulder, searching the room behind her, but more crates, a few metal poles tied together and resting against one corner, and some other assorted junk were the only things in sight. “Alone?”

Buffy’s response was slow to come, and the muscles in her biceps tensed up before it did. “Yeah, well it turns out I’m a little low on backup these days.” Her tone was cold, her shoulders still squared for a fight. “But you probably know all about that.”

Nobody could have missed the implicit accusation, but Angel acted like it wasn’t there. “You should have called. We could have looked into it for you.”

Buffy briefly looked to one side as a smirk tugged at her lips. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but you are the last person I want anywhere near these girls. I’m here to talk to them. Nothing else.”

“So are we,” Angel quickly countered, hostility beginning to creep into his words now as well. He took a step forward.

Buffy matched it, inch for inch, her eyes hardening. “Really? What, you’ve already killed your quota for the week?”

Realising that things were quickly heading south, Faith hurried forward to break things up, but she was simultaneously shoved to the side by them both.

“Do you really want to do this?” Angel demanded, almost shouting now.

Buffy crossed her arms and shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere else to be, and I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re going to try and justify the things you did.”

“That wasn’t me,” he said through grit teeth, “but you already know that.”

“I do? Why? Because you were roleplaying as Hulk Hogan?” The sarcasm oozing out from Buffy’s throat made Faith feel uneasy. “That’s not an excuse, Angel. Not even close.”

Faith stood on the sidelines, rubbing at her temple, wondering exactly how stupid she’d have to be to really force her way between them.

“OK, well first of all, Hulk Hogan never wore a mask.” There was a bluntness to Angel’s words that should have warned Buffy it was probably time to back off. “And secondly, I was trying to do the right thing.”

Buffy let out a cold, incredulous laugh. “The right thing? Tell me, at what point did massacring a bunch of innocent girls seem like the right thing to do? God, were you born a monster, or is that something you picked up working for Wolfram and Hart?”

Angel tensed up at that last part, and Faith was sure there had been a flicker of yellow deep within his eyes. “You know what? Forget it,” he growled. “You want to go it alone? Be my guest. Come on, Faith. We’re done here.”

“Angel, wait,” Faith said, sighing heavily.

“No, I’m with him on this one,” Buffy said. “Keep going. Both of you.”

Faith looked back and forth between the two of them. “OK, so when did I become the level-headed one around here? We all want the same thing, so let’s just put whatever this is aside for five minutes and get this done.”

“Well of course that’s easy for you to say, isn’t it, Faith?” Buffy said, instantly turning her aggression Faith’s way. “I mean it’s not like you’re the one who’s been lied to by the people she thought she could trust. I’d sooner let a demon watch my back than you.”

Faith flinched at the accusation, and she instinctively took a shot back. “You’re one to talk, Blondie.”

“Excuse me?” Buffy asked angrily, looking like she’d just been slapped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Buffy’s look of genuine disbelief only spurred Faith on. “You heard me. When things got rough, how long did you wait before tossing me down the river? Is that your idea of trust, cause I’ve gotta be honest with you: I’m not feeling the love.”

Buffy’s eyes hardened and she stormed right up to Faith, jabbing a finger in her face. “Oh no, you are not going to turn this around on me. Whatever mistakes I might have made are nothing compared to what you put me through.”

Realising that she was only making the situation worse, Faith bit down on her tongue to keep herself quiet and held up her hands in surrender, but that only gave Angel an opportunity to jump back in to the fray.

“It’s always the same with you, isn’t it?” he accused. “When are you going to take responsibility for your part in anything that goes wrong? I’m sure it must be hard for you, looking down at us from high up on your pedestal. The great Buffy Summers, saviour of the world, adored by everyone.”

Buffy turned on him, her eyes seething. “How dare you? I’ve lost everything because of you.” Her voice began to shake, her anger wavering even as she tried to drag it onward. “Giles is gone. Willow blames me for losing her magic. Kennedy blames me for losing Willow. Every active Slayer left alive has walked away from me.” She let out a low, bitter laugh. “God, even Satsu won’t return my calls. I have nothing left, and all I ever tried to do was keep everyone safe.” The tirade made quick work of her own resolve, eating away all of her anger until she was left trying to blink back tears. Her shoulders sagged, and the half-hearted balling of her fists came far too late to help.

Angel’s features softened, his gaze dropping, and Faith looked away, finding something of interest on a bare, concrete wall.

“I… I had no idea,” Angel said softly. He glanced up, but Buffy had followed their lead and was busy staring a hole through the floor.

She sniffed and gave a tiny shrug. “Makes sense I guess,” she said quietly. “I slept with the enemy. Destroyed the seed. Ended the Slayer bloodline.” She looked up again. There was only the smallest sparkle of resolve in her tired eyes, but her voice firmed. “I know I haven’t gotten everything right, but do you know what the worst decision I’ve ever made is? Worse than everything that happened last year, worse than anything you did…” She paused and took a deep breath, and a single tear leaked from the corner of one eye. “I was the one who—“

“Talked far too much.” The new voice drew everyone’s attention. Stood on top of a crate off to one side was a girl with lagoon blue, chin-length strands of hair clumped into large, messy spikes. “Oh, sorry. I’m not interrupting, am I?” she added with a smile.

“Great,” Buffy muttered miserably, loud enough for only Angel and Faith to make out. “See what you’ve gone and done now?”

With a loaded crossbow in one hand, and a stake sticking up out the front of her pants, the blue-haired girl jumped off the crate to the floor and took a few steps their way. Remaining on the crates behind her stood a row of Slayers — four more in total, each of them also fully armed. “We don’t get a lot of visitors here. I guess these days people know better than to go snooping around secluded buildings. Or your smarter ones do.”

“You’re Casey, right?” Buffy asked, trying to push back her bubbling mess of emotions and sound as friendly as she could under the circumstances. “Casey Logan? I’ve been looking for you.”

Casey threw her hands high into the air. “Congratulations! You found me.” She tilted her head as she looked at Buffy, Angel, and then Buffy again. Her small grin blew up across her face. “Will you look at that, girls,” she called behind her. “If it isn’t the renowned Buffy Summers and her boy-toy Twilight.” Immediately there was some murmuring and exchanging of glances from behind her.

“Really, it’s just Angel these days,” Angel countered. “Too many unwanted connotations.”

“And he is so not my boy-toy,” Buffy added, her forehead wrinkling in disapproval.

“You two are real funny,” Casey said, pointing a finger at one then the other before homing in on Buffy. “I like that. Hey, I can be funny too. Do you want to hear one of my jokes?”

Buffy watched silently, trying to weigh up the situation. She wasn’t looking for violence, though she hadn’t discounted the possibility of it either. The first time she’d heard the name Casey Logan had been over six months ago when somebody was targeting the more neutral demonic population. With everything that had been going on, there hadn’t been an awful lot of time to fly out to England to discuss slaying priorities. Recently she’d run across a description that pretty clearly fit the same girl, only this time three people at a London bank had been left for dead. In other words, she hadn’t been expecting a red-carpet welcome with a peace treaty signed by lunch.

Casey took a step forward, holding a menacing look in her eyes. “So let me get this straight: the three of you break into my place, saying you’re here to talk — that you don’t want any trouble. But how’s a girl supposed to believe any of that when you won’t even hear my joke?”

“I’m listening,” Buffy said, her tone flattening in response to the slither of malice in Casey’s. She pulled her eyes away from the crossbow to meet Casey’s, whose dark brown pupils looked out of place beneath her brightly coloured hair. Slowly and discretely, Buffy let one hand begin to roam around to her back, wanting to be ready to pull out her stake if she found herself needing a weapon.

“OK, good,” Casey said brightly, as if there was no longer any tension between them. “It’s pretty straight forward, but I think there’s a certain…. authenticity about it. So here goes.” She took a huge breath and then blew it out, shrugging her shoulders and arms a couple of times. She seemed too busy with her own dramatics to notice Buffy’s careful, concealed movements. “What did one vampire slayer—“ She poked a finger in Buffy’s direction before rotating it around to herself. “—Say to the other?”

While her fingers began to curl around her stake, Buffy opened her mouth to ask, ‘What?’, but instead she cried out in a mixture of shock and blinding pain as a crossbow bolt skewered her side. She immediately dropped to one knee, her widened eyes locked on the ground in front of her and her mouth gaping open as waves of pain pushed out until they’d stung every nerve ending in reach. Her fingers hovered close to the four inches of metal still protruding from her side. It felt like it was burning a hole from one side of her body straight through to the other simply by being there, but still she couldn’t bring herself to take hold of it.

The second the bolt had left the bow, Angel had vamped out, but there were four more crossbows trained on him in an instant. He looked from Buffy to Casey before his lips curled back to bare the full length of his fangs.

Casey didn’t seem worried by his silent threat. “Damn, that’s right. You guessed it in one.” She held an arm out in Buffy’s direction as she eyed Angel. “Come on, be honest; she’s heard that one before, hasn’t she?”

Faith had fought hard against her instincts and managed to keep her feet rooted in place. She stayed quiet, forced her fists to unclench, and was careful to keep her face neutral.

Buffy’s breathing was raspy, but as the shock faded, it at least began to return to a healthier rate as she glared up at Casey. “You know what? I really did come here to talk to you. But if I’d realised you were utterly out of your mind, I’d have saved myself the airfare.”

“Hah. Again with the funny.” She stepped up to Buffy, putting one hand under her chin and offering her a mock pout. “If I wasn’t going to kill you in about thirty seconds, I think we could have been real close friends. Don’t you?”

“Bite me,” Buffy snarled. There was fire in her eyes, and her head barely budged as Casey’s knuckles smacked against her cheek.

“I guess the question now is: which of you goes first?” Casey looked from Buffy to Angel before seemingly noticing Faith for the first time. She patronisingly patted Buffy on the same cheek — which was already turning a dark shade of red — before slowly heading over to Faith and looking her up and down. “You’re awfully quiet there. Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

“The name’s Faith.”

“Faith,” Casey repeated to herself. Her fingers played at the opening of Faith’s leather jacket. “That’s a pretty nice jacket, Faith. How much would one of those set me back?” Faith tried to answer but was instantly cut off. “Wait, why does that name sound so familiar? Hold on… no way. Aren’t you the chick that tried to kill her a bunch of times?”

“What can I say?” Faith asked evenly. “She had it coming.”

Casey eyed her curiously. “And when that didn’t work you joined forces instead? Aaw, that’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?”

Faith’s nose wrinkled. Her lips twisted in revulsion. “Hardly. I came here looking for you. Ran into these two assholes instead.”

“Yeah?” Casey looked unsure of herself, and she paced a few feet each way while the tip of her tongue waggled back and forth behind her lips. “Would you be offended if I told you that sounds awfully convenient to me?”

Faith shrugged absently, and her voice portrayed her indifference. “Ask around. Plenty of Slayers around these parts know me well enough to know I fly solo.“

“So you were just… passing through then?”

“Found a vamp nest about a half hour north from here; St. Mary’s cemetery. Too many of them for any one Slayer though, and word was you might be interested.”

Casey took her time to digest that before asking, “Have they been breaking the rules?”

“Who cares?” Faith scoffed. “A vamp’s a vamp. I see fangs, I start slaying. Simple as that.”

Casey clapped her hands together. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. Aren’t you sick to death of being told what you can and can’t kill by a bunch of tightwads who’d wet themselves if they ever actually met a real vampire?“ She waggled a finger between herself and Faith. “We both know they’re all as bad as each other. They all deserve to die.”

“Does that logic extend to people as well?” Buffy asked, still crouched on the ground. The skin on her face was warm in colour, and beads of sweat were dripping from her crown. Her shoulders rose and sagged in time with each laboured breath.

Fangs withdrawn, Angel anxiously glanced between Buffy and Faith as Casey strolled past him. A beckoned Faith trailed behind her.

“If we’re going to work together, I want you to feel like part of the family,” Casey said. “And that’s what we are here, Faith. We look out for each other. But every now and then there’s a bad seed — pardon the pun. So anyway, I’m going to let you do what every girl here would gladly give their left arm for.” She sneered down at Buffy. “To put down this traitorous, sorry excuse for a Slayer.”

Faith didn’t even blink; she only held out her hand. “Mind if I borrow that then? It’ll make this go a hell of a lot faster.”

Casey looked first at her crossbow and then at Faith before hiding the crossbow behind her back. “I’m in no hurry, and she’s already got a big hunk of metal sticking out of her. Give it a twist.”

There was only the slightest of hesitations before Faith took several steps forward until she was towering directly over Buffy. A pair of green, concerned eyes slowly looked up at her, and Faith swallowed hard. She wanted to tear her eyes away from Buffy’s, to make things easier, but they were trapped in place, held firm by Buffy’s pained, worried expression.

“What are you waiting for, Faith?” Casey asked impatiently from over her shoulder. “Don’t disappoint me now.”

Faith held her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly nodded.

“Faith, please,” Buffy begged, violently shaking her head. Her plain, cream-coloured top had already been stained by the messy, dark circle that sagged around the long, protruding piece of metal embedded through her flesh, and the stain was gradually creeping downward with each passing second. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, B,” Faith whispered. Leaving no time for those words to properly sink in, her hand shot forward and took a firm hold around the bolt. As Buffy’s hands moved much too late to try and stop her, she wrenched it all the way out with a single, harsh tug.

A piercing cry fought its way out through Buffy’s grit teeth as she doubled over. Her hand pressed futilely over the gaping wound and her head dipped, coming into contact with the cool, concrete floor. Her breathing immediately spiked, sounding as loud as it did feral.

It didn’t manage to mask a pair of, soft, strained sobs though, and as they reached Faith’s ears she had to close her eyes tight to concentrate on not throwing up. Her fingertips turned stark white as they pressed violently into her own palm.

“Ooh, nice,” Casey commented with genuine enthusiasm, stepping in line with Faith and patting her on the shoulder. “I think I like you already.”

Faith’s eye cracked open, and if Casey had been in the right place to see their fiery, penetrating glare then she’d have been quick to back off. She wasn’t though, and the first glimpse she caught of Faith’s anger was when Faith spun and kicked the crossbow right out of her hand. Before Casey had even registered what was going on, she had the tip of a blood-covered bolt pressed flush against her jugular.

“Yeah? And what do you think now?” Faith growled into her ear, and she pinched the back of Casey’s neck hard between the thumb and forefinger of her free hand for good measure.

Casey’s spine bucked forward and her shoulders tightened, but she couldn’t squirm free from Faith’s tight grip without risking losing an awful lot of blood. It took a few seconds for her to regain her calm, but then she casually called out, “She won’t do it; good girls don’t know how to bite. Dust the vamp and finish off the other one.”

Angel turned to face one of the Slayers as they raised their crossbow his way. His knees bent, ready to spring into action, but Buffy was in no shape to defend herself; her eyes were dim and unfocused, and she was struggling to keep them open.

Before anything more could happen, Faith tightened her grip on Casey’s neck, her fingernails coming punishingly close to breaking through skin. “If you knew me, you’d never even think that,” she said loudly, redrawing everybody’s attention. “Just give me one reason. That’s all I need.”

“Shoot her!” Casey barked, her nose, cheeks and forehead all flinching in obvious discomfort.

“Careful,” Faith warned, staring out the only girl who did raise her weapon their way. “You shoot me, my arm spasms, and this ends up so far through her throat that Casey here is gonna have herself a nice new tongue piercing.” Casey looked unsure, as did everyone else in the room bar Faith, who simply glanced to her side. “Angel, let’s get gone already!” she prodded.

Angel sprang to life, paying no attention to any of the other Slayers as he ran to Buffy and carefully lifted her to her feet. She was hyperventilating. Her teeth were pressed tightly together and her body was constantly shivering despite the heat. “Come on, I’ve got you,” he told her quietly. He shrugged off his jacket, folded it up, and pulled away her red-stained hand long enough to press the jacket in place. He waited until her hand held it down tight, and then she groaned in pain as he ducked under her shoulder and started urging her toward the exit. “You’ll be OK,” he reassured her again and again, but the creases on his forehead looked far less certain. “Just hang on. It’s going to be OK.”

With them both hunched over, and Angel trying to avoid inflicting any additional pain, it seemed to take the pair forever to get across the room. Once they’d finally made it, Angel twisted his neck back. “Faith?”

“Go,” Faith ordered. “I’m right behind you.” Her eyes ran across the other girls as she slowly stepped backward, careful to keep Casey as much in the firing line as possible.

“You’re backing the wrong club, Faithy,” Casey warned. “Siding with those two makes you as good as dead.”

“Trust me, I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Way I see it, that pretty much makes me an expert on the subject. And this? This ain’t one of them.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I count three of you — actually, looking more like two-point-five now. And how many Slayers are left in London alone? Twenty? Thirty? Think you can take us all?”

“I guess it’s lucky we only have to worry about the crazy ones.”

As they neared the door, the two closest Slayers jumped off their respective crates to keep eyes on them, and the pair inched forward side by side, cautiously but still fast enough to gain a little ground.

“Well watch your back, baby, because craziness can be infectious. If I let you live long enough, you might even find that out the fun way.”

“Looking forward to it,” Faith muttered. The moment they were through the doorway, she shoved Casey forward and then planted the base of her boot into Casey’s butt, sending her stumbling further forward and straight into the two approaching Slayers. Neither one of them had been expecting it, and instead of managing to hold her up, the three of them went down in a muddle. That gave Faith plenty of time to slam the metal door shut and pull down the lever over the latch, securing it back in place.

Seconds later, the door started to bulge outward, and the clanging made from boots meeting steel reverberated throughout the entire building. Faith didn’t stick around to see how long it managed to hold out for, but she, Buffy and Angel were long gone before Casey and her friends made it out into the empty car park.

Soon after fleeing the warehouse, Buffy was bandaged up and being herded toward the couch by Faith and Angel. “Guys, I’m fine. Really.” She’d shrugged off every hand that tried to help her along the way, but she stalled when she turned too quickly to sit down, and a jolt of pain kept her from telling herself that same lie.

“You don’t look fine,” Angel countered.

“Yeah, you look like you’re about to hurl,” Faith added. “And if you are, keep it off the rug. Angel here tells me it’s Persian or something.”

“Gee, thanks,” Buffy muttered miserably. “Now I feel a whole lot better.”

“Maybe we should get you to a hospital,” Angel said.

“No!” Buffy yelped. “No, no hospitals. I just need to lie down for a while.”

Angel watched as she gingerly lay back, and she winced but kept quiet as her stomach muscles straightened out. She breathed out in relief when she was finally flat, and Angel turned away. “Faith?” He nodded to the next room, and after a short hesitation Faith followed him out, stealing a quick glance back at Buffy along the way.

Faith closed the door behind her, leaving her and Angel stood alone in the hallway of her recently acquired home. For reasons she’d never fully understand, Giles had left it to her in his will, and it was the main reason she’d ended up in England in the first place. After seeing Angel out in the cold and looking like a lost, lonely puppy post-Twilight, she’d dragged him — almost literally — along for the ride.

“I know this isn’t the best time, but I should be meeting someone soon,” Angel said quietly. “They wouldn’t send me over there for something if it wasn’t important. It won’t take more than a few hours.”

“So go,” Faith said. She kept her voice low as well, though she wasn’t sure whether they were trying to avoid disturbing Buffy or only keeping her in the dark. “Do what you gotta do. It’s not like Casey and her motley crew are gonna come crashing through the window; they didn’t even know we were in town.”

Angel nodded his agreement but stood in place. “Right… it’s just…”

“What?”

He winced. “I don’t know if leaving the two of you alone is the best idea.”

Faith smirked. She knew how someone could come to that conclusion, but even if her and Buffy had never been on the same page for long, they’d at least been on the same team for the last few years. Which was kind of like progress, she figured. “We're all grown up now, Angel. I think we can co-exist for an hour."

“OK, good." He still didn’t look thrilled about it, but she could count the number of times he’d had a genuine smile on his face recently on one hand — and she didn’t need any fingers.

She’d gotten used to Angel’s brand of doom and gloom a while back though, and it was a turnaround from her needing his support. Sure, life was weird, and it was likely to stay that way for a while. Even with the army off everyone’s backs, the world was still a royally messed up place: vampires were trendy; the lack of magic had left demons skittish and laying low; and she missed Giles in a way she’d never expected. Despite all of that, she felt like she was in a good, stable place, not only emotionally but literally — she really was fond of her new place, even if the still-untouched furnishings were a little stuffy for her own tastes.

Angel grabbed his backup coat — which looked almost identical to his usual one, minus the newly acquired bloodstains — from the stand by the door, and Faith had to lean back to avoid getting clipped as he swung it around his back. "Just don't take any longer, because after that I'm making no promises,” she joked.

The door was wide open and Angel was half way out, but he paused mid-step and looked back in concern.

Faith sighed, shook her head, and pointed outside. "I'm kidding. Go on, get out of here." She neglected to add that if the two of them really got going then there wouldn’t be much anyone could do to stop them. Getting in the middle of them — whether you wanted to or not — wasn’t great for your health, and Angel should have been one to know; he’d barely made it out of Sunnydale to be the living proof.

He frowned. “Right. Sorry.” Then he was gone.

Two seconds alone and Faith’s certainty had already plummeted, and she cautiously eyed the door that stood between the hallway and living room. It was innocuous enough, but she couldn’t say the same thing about the person behind it. “Well here goes nothing,” she muttered under her breath before grudgingly making her way through.

She stuck by the doorway in the next room, trying to decide whether Buffy — who was laid in the exact same position she’d been left in and now had her eyes shut — was even still awake. A large part of her hoped not; she’d already witnessed Buffy’s mood, and she was less likely to come to verbal blows with a peacefully sleeping Buffy than with a pissed-off and awake one.

There wasn’t any movement and Faith risked quietly calling out, “Hey.”

Buffy's eyes slowly crept open, and she tilted her head enough to see Faith out the corner of her eye. "Hey,” she echoed plainly.

No such luck, Faith thought as she took a few cautious steps into the room before motioning vaguely in the direction of Buffy and the couch. “So how’s the, uhh…”

“It’s comfortable enough. Smells like one of my grandma’s old bed throws though… which I guess is also kind of comforting.”

Initially confused, Faith needed a moment to understand what that was even supposed to mean. Once it clicked, she said, “Umm, yeah, I sorta meant the hole in your chest.” It had been disinfected and tightly bandaged up, and was now hidden beneath one of Faith’s tops,  leaving the unnaturally pale skin of Buffy’s face as the only clue that something had even happened.

Buffy looked down at her stomach. “Oh, right… it’s wound-like.” There was a long pause and then her eyes flicked up to meet Faith’s. “But it’s not the fatal variety if that’s what you were hoping.”

Faith straightened up harshly and opened her mouth ready to fling something equally hurtful back, but she caught herself at the last second and clamped it shut again. Buffy watched her like a hawk, challenging her to fall back into their same old routine. Faith refused to do anything more than shake her head though; Buffy may not have changed one single bit, but Faith was really trying to. England, Angel, all of it: it was her chance to start over. To get things right. She wasn’t about to blow it all the second Buffy Summers showed up.

She turned away and put her hand on the door handle, pausing only because Buffy quietly called out, “Wait.”

Keep going, Faith willed herself. Angel could deal with Buffy when he got back and then everything would run so much more smoothly for all of them.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Except Faith had seen first-hand that Buffy was equally angry at him — maybe even more so. Six long years ago that might even have made her smile, but not anymore. Her grip tightened around the handle. Leave. Leave. Leave. She chanted the word in her head over and over, trying to will her hand to stop resisting and pull down the handle.

“It’s just… it’s been a really bad day.”

Buffy’s quiet, nervous laugh hit Faith hard, and she averted her eyes to the ceiling, already knowing that common sense was going to end up coming in second place. Don’t do anything stupid, she thought to herself. The problem was that a few weeks back she’d met a friend of Angel’s. A green-skinned, red-horned, suit-clad friend who’d told her things. Things she still wasn’t sure she’d wanted to hear. Things she’d managed to brush to one side until a few hours ago. Things that were now bringing up questions she thought she’d answered long ago.

“Make that a bad year,” Buffy added.

With a quiet sigh under her breath, Faith dragged her hand away from the handle and back to her side. She steeled herself, forced a carefree smile to her face, and turned back toward Buffy. “So I’ve heard,” she said, talking lightly as if they were the best of friends.

‘Faith Lehane: glutton for punishment’; one day she’d get that on a badge. Smart decisions had never really been her thing though, so it didn’t matter how much she hated Buffy’s constant reminders of what she was capable of. Or the way Buffy could wind her up with her holier-than-thou attitude. Or even the way Buffy could get her hopes up with nothing more than a simple look. Despite it all, she’d never be able to walk away. Especially not when Buffy was on her couch, physically hurt and looking like she’d had a whole litter of kittens put down at the vets.

Instead Faith cautiously approached, circling around the couch to the far end from Buffy’s head, never veering close enough to risk getting bit. “I wasn’t looking to make it any worse. If I’d seen another way out…”

Buffy’s head barely moved, but her eyes stayed set on Faith as she crossed the room, and they were working with only two settings — ready-for-fisticuffs rage and somebody-shoot-me sorrow. They were currently on option two, which if nothing else was at least a little less scary than the first.

“It’s no biggie. It had to come out sooner or later, right? I mean it’s not like it went with any of my outfits.”

Her fleeting half smile was as disconcerting as it was promising, and Faith was starting to remember why they resorted to violence so often: it was a lot easier than trying to talk. Angel wasn’t exactly the most outgoing guy she’d ever met, but at least he said what was on his mind, even if she didn’t always appreciate it at the time. Trying to work out Buffy felt a lot like playing twenty questions with someone who didn’t understand the rules or even speak the same language.

It wasn’t as if they had a lot left to say to one another either, and Faith stood mute in the awkward silence that took over, hoping that Buffy would speak up first. Maybe they had the same idea because Buffy busied herself with rigorously combing over every square inch of the room without making a sound.

Faith and Angel had hit the road pretty fast after Twilight’s plan had failed, and there was one thing Faith hadn’t gotten the chance to say, so eventually she braced herself and bit the bullet. “I’m sorry about Giles.”

“Yeah,” Buffy replied, her voice so faint that Faith instinctively leant forward to try and hear her better.

Faith had hoped for a slightly more conversational response, but when that’s all she got back, she added without thinking, “I know Angel is, too.”

If Buffy had been looking the right way, she couldn’t have missed the horrified look on Faith’s face. Faith tensed and even closed her eyes, waiting for the backlash she knew was coming.

“His place seems nice,” Buffy said in that same hushed, tired tone. “It’s a lot more Giles-like than his place in Sunnydale was.”

Faith was too surprised to feel any relief from being let off the hook so easily. A passive Buffy was weird in a whole new way, and while Faith had a good idea about what was on her mind, she didn’t know what she could do about it. Her experience with comforting others was limited at best simply because for a long time it had been her against the world. Maybe that’s why she got on so well with Angel — he was used to the quiet too. The pair of them could make it through an entire night with little more than a, ‘Watch out! Behind you,’ and that was perfectly fine with them both.

With Buffy, everything was different. Harder. The silences had always been draining. Suffocating. Maybe because there was always something that needed saying, yet neither one of them were ever willing to speak up. It was as much her own fault as Buffy’s, but again, this was her second chance — or more like her fiftieth when it came to Buffy, give or take. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Can’t say I ever pictured myself living somewhere with three different teapots, but I guess it’s got some British charm or whatever.” She paused for a moment, unsure how far she could safely go. “There’s some, umm, personal stuff in the drawers upstairs. Photos and whatever. You know, if you want it.”

“No, it’s fine. He left it to you.”

Faith was genuinely grateful for what Giles had left her, but now, in the same room as Buffy, none of it really felt right, and again she found herself at a loss for words.

“I wouldn’t mind a look sometime though,” Buffy added. “I-if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, sure, of course. Whenever you want.” Faith scratched the back of her head and then stepped closer. “Look, Buffy—“

A loud, impatient series of knocks from the next room cut her off, and she found herself rolling her eyes.

“Hold that thought,” Buffy said, watching her with still, vacant eyes that verged on eerie.

“Yeah, two secs.”

Faith headed into the hallway, closing the living room door again behind her. The interruption should have been a relief, but the banging was relentless and getting louder with each knock, and Faith’s irritation was growing right along with it. She pulled open the door, ready to yell at whoever was there to knock it off, only to find herself shoved back out the way as a girl charged past her instead.

“Sure, why don’t you come in, Nadira,” Faith muttered sarcastically, more to herself than anyone else, but she kept to the side with the door held open, and the two remaining girls took that as their queue to enter in a much calmer fashion.

As Faith turned around, Nadira was stood waiting for her, hands on her hips. “Is she here?” she demanded, like she was running the place and Faith was her butler.

Annoyed at the rude arrival, Faith was in no hurry to answer, and she took plenty of time to look at the other two guests first. Jan was about the same age as Nadira — both of them around eighteen — and she smiled politely before avoiding Faith by looking around the small room. Maisie was barely fifteen, making her the youngest of the London-based group, and she was shuffling her feet, slowly digging herself a hole in the carpet. It was obvious neither one was comfortable being there, and that only irked Faith more — Nadira might have been dealing with a lot, but that didn’t give her the right to drag any of the other girls into her ongoing crusade of anger.

“Well?” Nadira asked impatiently, crossing her arms.

“Who?” Faith finally asked, matching the challenging stare aimed her way with one of her own.

That was all Nadira needed to draw her own conclusions. “Where is she?”

“Look, Nadi, you need to calm down,” Faith said gently. She stepped forward and reached out to put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, only to have it slapped away.

“What about the vampire? Are you hiding him too?”

Faith groaned inwardly. She’d known this day would come eventually, and she’d been dreading it for weeks on end, but she’d hoped for a little more time for the dust to settle before she came clean. There was still a lot of anger floating around about the past year, and of the main pair on the blame list, Angel had drawn the short straw of not being human. “Buffy is here, Angel’s not. That’s the truth.”

“I want to see her,” Nadira replied instantly.

“Well that ain’t gonna happen.” Faith knew — or at least hoped — that Nadira wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything with Buffy, but at the same time it was obvious nothing good could come from the two of them meeting.

Nadira’s voice hardened as she stressed, “I want to talk.”

Faith shook her head in disbelief. “So you can say what? How it’s all her fault that your friends are dead? Trust me, I know her; you’ve got nothing to say that she’s not already feeling.”

Without another word, Nadira turned and marched straight toward the door separating them from Buffy. Faith lunged forward and grabbed her arm, and Nadira threw her elbow back, trying to knock Faith off. When that didn’t work, she spun and aimed a fist at Faith’s head that was easily caught. “I won’t tell you again,” Faith warned, her hand still closed around Nadira’s fist.

“Then I won’t ask.” Nadira kicked out, catching Faith’s hip and sending her back a step, but she recovered in time to bat away the follow-up kick. She grabbed Nadira by the scruff of her neck, turned, and threw her against the front door, sending the other two Slayers scattering out of the way.

There was a soft thud, and the bump wasn’t even close to being enough to slow down a Slayer. Before Nadira managed anything else though, Faith was inches away in a flash, forcing her flat against the wood. With a forearm pressed lightly against her throat and a hand keeping her wrist pinned against the wall, Nadira didn’t have much leeway left to move. “You wanna listen now?” Faith asked, her eyes commanding Nadira’s full attention as she leant in.

Nadira held up her chin defiantly and glared.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Faith said lightly, trying to slow things down a notch. “Now we can have a nice long chat about this later, OK, but for now all you need to know is that Buffy is a guest here. That means until she’s gone, you stay clear. Nobody else knows where I live or that she’s here, and it stays that way. You got me?”

“And what if somebody finds out?”

Faith’s eyes narrowed, but she managed to keep her voice firm and level. “Look, you’re pissed, I get it. I’ve been there. But we’ve got enough shit happening around here already. The last thing we need is to turn on each other, OK?”

“Turn on each other? I know what they did. We all do. They’re the traitors here.”

“If it wasn’t for B, you wouldn’t be alive right now. Maybe none of us would. She did what she had to do.”

“And the vampire? He started all of it!”

“It ain’t that simple, but yeah, maybe he screwed up. Well guess what — it happens. And there’s nobody who feels worse about it than he does.”

“That doesn’t make it OK.”

“And nothing will. That’s just how life goes. But he’s part of the team. Buffy too. End of story. Now, is that gonna be a problem?”

Nadira struggled half-heartedly, but Faith kept her pinned in place and she eventually relented. “Fine. Whatever you say. Do you want to let me go now?”

Very slowly, Faith released her grip, held her hands up to her sides, and took a long step back. “Are we cool?”

A noncommittal grunt was all she got in return, and then Nadira turned, swung back the door hard enough for it to thump against the telephone stand, and stormed out. Faith sighed but quickly held her arm across the doorway as the other two Slayers tried to leave. “Hey, that goes for you two as well. Not a word of this to anyone. Not even the other girls. Not yet.”

A pair of nervous smiles and nodding heads were all Faith needed. She didn’t really think either of them would say anything. She’d spent enough time with the local, non-psychotic Slayers to know they were good kids — and that included Nadira. “And make sure she stays out of trouble, yeah?” Faith added, nodding down the street.

“We will,” Maisie offered brightly, drawing a genuine smile from Faith.

She put her hand on Maisie’s shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. “I appreciate it.” She withdrew her arm and the two Slayers quickly headed off down the street. Faith closed the door behind them and leaned into it, softly knocking the back of her head against the wood a few times before pushing off with her hand. “And now back to the other fun,” she muttered as she headed back toward Buffy.

Sometimes she missed the quiet.

----------

A short drive later, Angel pulled into a deserted alleyway on the outskirts of a small, out-the-way village. The roads along the way had been equally quiet, a side effect of it being a very early Monday morning, but this one gave off the sort of vibe that suggested it stayed quiet no matter the time. Terraced houses ran down the adjoining street on either side, the lot of them past their prime and showing it. The closest on the left had a fading ‘For Sale’ sign laid on its back amongst the overgrown weeds in the tiny area that passed for a front garden.

He wasn’t interested in anything above ground though, and he walked to the edge of the dead-end alleyway, lifted away a heavy grating from the floor, and dropped into the sewers below. He’d already memorised the series of turns he needed to take, but even if he hadn’t, the demons he was looking for smelt almost like geranium, and their scent was faintly etched into the tunnel walls.

Half-way along a tunnel that looked no different than any other, he stopped and rapped his knuckles against a solid brick wall. The action barely made an audible sound, but after a few seconds the bricks peeled back until there an opening big enough for him to squeeze through. The hole quickly closed up behind him — something he’d found extremely disconcerting on his first visit.

“Angel,” a low, raspy voice greeted him. “I’m pleased you could make it on such short notice.”

“Well our mutual friend made it sound important.” Angel stepped forward and shook the hand — or technically claw — of a demon with slightly sagging, beetroot coloured skin. The demon was an elder of the Ukk-Jorm clan, a small group of Poleti demons that had lived in secret beneath London for centuries. Its voice was the only thing that made it seem old — otherwise it could have passed for the same age as the rest of the adults in its clan. They had long been a peaceful tribe, but they also had a gift for linguistics and a hunger for knowledge that kept them in the loop with the goings on in and around the region. They’d even known exactly who Angel was, and they’d sought him out the same day he and Faith had arrived in the city.

“That it may be.” The demon motioned for Angel to pass, and he ducked under a low rounded ceiling and into a large, dimly lit and barely furnished room.

Angel wasn’t exactly high maintenance, but even he found it odd how these demons could live in what was basically a giant, empty cave. “Listen, Theis, I’ll help if I can, but I have to be honest with you: this really isn’t the best time.”

“No, no it is not,” Theis said gravely. “It is not the best of times for any of us.”

Angel frowned and turned to face the demon. “What do you mean?”

Theis motioned toward a small make-shift chair that had been cobbled together from leftover chunks of brick. “Sit.” Once Angel had, it lowered itself into the seat opposite him. “Last night there was a meeting between representatives of the Sebana and Cabacu clans.”

Angel didn’t recognise either name. “And what happened?”

”They talked.”

Angel furrowed his brow. “They… talked? Well that’s definitely not the worst news I’ve had all day.” His small, optimistic smile wavered when it wasn’t returned.

“You do not understand. The Sebana and Cabacu clans have been enemies since the annals of time, long before humans or vampires walked within this dimension. The reason for their hatred toward one another has long been lost. I suspect even they no longer know of that for which they fight.”

Angel rubbed at his forehead. He’d been awake for a handful of hours and already it had been a long day, and now all he wanted to do was go home and curl up with a mug of warm pig's blood and a book. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“They are afraid. The world is no longer as it once was. First the balance was thrown into disarray—”

“The balance?” Angel interrupted.

“The Slayers.”

Angel nodded slowly, beginning to realise where the discussion was headed. “They’ve gone from one to hundreds, and now these demons are worried they’re outnumbered?”

“The clans were more interested in each other than anything else. A few unfortunate incidents aside, they have always left humans well enough alone. However, now it has become evident that is no longer enough to guarantee them the safety of their kind.”

“That’s not true,” Angel said. “If they don’t start anything, no one else will. Nobody is looking for any trouble here.”

“I wish that was the case, but it has already begun.”

“No,” Angel argued, getting to his feet and raising his voice. “No, you’re wrong.”

Theis remained seated and spoke calmly. “Am I? There have been casualties within the clans over the past week, elders and children both. Those lucky enough to escape with their lives speak to the contrary. Now trepidation runs throughout the city like a river of blood. We can hear it in every brick of every street, and worse still, so can the other demons.”

Angel was trying to process and think at the same time. “OK, if what you say is true then I think I know who’s behind these attacks, but that’s not how things work. The Slayers, they’re… a few of them are crossing lines. And we’re not just talking demons here either; they’re hurting other humans as well. But most of them aren’t like that. You have to explain that to these clans. Make them understand.”

“We cannot speak, Angel, only listen. You know that. They are no more likely to heed our advice than they would a human’s.” It gave Angel a pointed look. “Or a vampire’s.”

Angel frowned. “Well if they won’t listen to me then what do you expect me to do?”

“You need to stop the Slayers.”

Angel paced to one side, shook his head, and let out a short, wry laugh. “They’ve already made it pretty clear they’re not about to listen to me either.”

“I didn’t bring you here to convince you to talk, Angel. I brought you here to ask you to do that which your kind does best. I need you to kill the Slayers before it is too late.”

Angel’s stomach lurched. “No,” he replied immediately. “That’s not going to happen. I’ve already caused enough damage to them. I can’t — I won’t do anymore.”

“Very well. Then I suggest you prepare for the alternative.”

Angel hesitated; he had a pretty good idea what the answer would be. “And what’s the alternative?”

Theis slowly pushed itself to its feet, groaning quietly as its legs straightened. At full stretch it was almost a foot taller than Angel, and it looked down at him with sorrowful eyes. “A war that will burn this world and everyone in it to ashes.”