Buffy asks her if they can talk, and Faith looks up from the meager supply of clothing she’s stuffing in her rucksack. “Sure,” she says neutrally. Buffy’s always been more prone to punching than talking, at least in Faith’s case, but she follows her down the cement stairs anyway. They slip in the door to the breakfast room, currently barren of its continental spread. The coffee pot’s three hours away from fresh, but Buffy pours them both a cup of hot slop, plunking them down on a Formica tabletop.

She sits down, the slow way her butt meets the chair illustrating how exhausted and sore she is. She thrusts the other chair free with her foot, waiting for Faith to take it.

Faith sits, wrapping her fingers around the warm mug. She doesn’t say anything. Patience is a virtue one cultivates in prison.

“So…” Buffy says, tapping one chipped thumbnail against her mug handle, “Boston, huh?”

Faith nods. “That’s the plan.”

Buffy’s teeth unconsciously gnaw on her lower lip, plucking at loose chapped skin. “You know you don’t have to go,” she says, trying to meet Faith’s eyes. “You could stay.”

Faith shrugs, studying the unswept crumbs on the tabletop. “You got enough slayers now. No reason to outstay my welcome.” She lifts the cup as though she might drink, gets a whiff of the contents, and puts it down.

It’s past one AM. They’re taking up half of the La Quinta Inn outside Memphis, and Dawn’s sleeping like the dead in Buffy’s room. She could be doing the same. She could let Faith do what Faith does—slip out in the morning without so much as a goodbye—but something in her bones is telling her this time is different. “You’re family,” she says, her voice light. “You’re always welcome.”

“Family,” Faith snorts back. “Right.”

“Hey,” Buffy says defensively, “I mean it. I mean, sure, you’re like the scary cousin with the criminal record who we fret over, but we still invite you to parties.”

“Hell of a party you threw this year,” Faith smirks. “Might want to tone it down next time.”

“She who doesn’t help plan the party can’t complain about it,” Buffy counters.

Faith squints at her, watching as Buffy manages to choke down a full gulp of the stuff masquerading as coffee. “Drop the metaphors, B. What’s up?”

Buffy sets her mug down and pushes it away, leaning forward to look at Faith intently. “I think you should stay,” she answers. “Enough of this lone wolf stuff, Faith.”

She’s never been content to let a scab heal when it could be picked and prodded further. “Why?” Faith insists. “Why do you care where I go?”

“You came when we needed you,” Buffy says softly. Her tired eyes don’t have a hint of deception in them. “Let us return the favor.”

Faith bristles. “Appreciate the concern,” she says with obvious insincerity, “but I’ll be fine.”

Buffy mirrors Faith’s suddenly straight back, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin defiantly. “When are you gonna let people care about you, Faith?”

“Probably when somebody does,” Faith snaps, shoving her chair back and getting to her feet. “We done here? I have packing to do.”

Buffy’s strong fingers grip her arm as Faith attempts to stomp past her. “Somebody does,” Buffy says. “A whole lot of somebody’s do. The girls look up to you,” she points out. “And I…”

Faith pulls her arm free, but she doesn’t move to walk away. She stands over Buffy, waiting for her to finish the sentence. “You…?”

The predator in Buffy wants her to stand up, to not allow the other slayer to tower over her. Sitting leaves her vulnerable to attack. She knows exactly how standing would come across to Faith’s senses, so she consciously doesn’t move. “I want you to stay,” she says, looking up to Faith’s downturned gaze. “It’s not a pity offer; nobody put me up to it. Wherever we end up, I want you there.”

Faith’s breath comes out in a whoosh, and she takes a step back, freeing up space between them.

Now Buffy stands up, following Faith’s footsteps. “You’re really just gonna leave again—we’ll go back to being strangers?”

“Isn’t that how you like it?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not.”

Faith’s tongue darts out to wet her lips. “This never works.”

“What?” Buffy asks.

“Me and you in the same place.”

“Maybe the third time’s the charm,” Buffy suggests dryly. When Faith doesn’t smile, she throws out her hands, exasperated. “Okay, Faith, you do what you want.” She starts off through the breakfast room, shaking her head.

She’s made it to the bottom of the stairs when the door behind her opens, and Faith says, “Buffy, wait.”

Buffy stops, turning to watch Faith’s approach.

“You really mean it?” Faith asks, her face uncharacteristically uncertain. “You want me to go with you?”

“I really mean it,” Buffy says. She studies Faith’s face in the few moments of silence following her words. She can see the mixed emotions there. Honestly, she gets it. She knows why Faith has a hard time believing her, but Buffy’s on her third life now, and all of them have been too short for regrets. This could very well be her last one, and she intends to make it count.

“Okay,” Faith says slowly, as if the very word is foreign in her mouth, “but you gotta do something for me.”

“What’s that?” Buffy asks skeptically, sensing the pieces of a trap closing around her.

Faith’s trademark smirk is back in place. “Convince G to schedule a stop in Graceland. I’ll be damned if I’m shipping off to another hellmouth without seeing the King.”

Buffy’s surprised laugh echoes through the dark parking lot. “You know Elvis is actually dead, and those are just impersonators, right?”

“Oh, B,” Faith says with a disappointed sigh, “that’s what they want you to think.” Just like that, they’re back to their usual banter. Off Buffy’s eye roll, Faith gives her a little grin and asks, “So, deal?”

“Deal,” Buffy says. She grabs the sleeve of Faith’s jacket and pulls her toward the stairs. “Come on, 'Hard Headed Woman,' I’ll walk you to your room.”

Faith allows herself to be led upstairs, cocking an eyebrow at Buffy. “I’m impressed. Thought for sure you’d go for the 'Jailhouse Rock' reference.”

“Give me a little more credit than that,” Buffy scoffs as they clear the landing. Faith’s room is at the end of the level, a few rooms from the one she’s sharing with Dawn. They stop outside, feet shuffling like teenagers on a date. “You’ll still be here in the morning?” Buffy asks.

“Said I would,” Faith affirms.

“Good,” Buffy says, turning to walk toward her room.

Faith catches her hand, giving it a fleeting squeeze that draws Buffy’s attention back to her. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

“Welcome,” Buffy says, squeezing Faith’s fingers before she lets go. At her door, she looks back and sees Faith watching her.

Faith raises her hand, waving a goodnight before she ducks through her doorway. She closes her door and walks to the bed. Picking up her half packed bag, she smiles and sets it aside. For the first time in a long time, she’s looking forward to tomorrow.