Buffy slowly opens the door to the sound of Genie in a Bottle. Across the dorm she sees Willow dancing away with reckless abandon. Buffy immediately bites her lip to keep her from laughing at Willow as every sexy move Faith taught her fails to outshine her natural Willowy cuteness.

Feeling happy and sneaky, Buffy creeps up behind Willow and starts to dance, too. Willow gasps as they make contact, whipping her head around.

Buffy keeps dancing.

With a growing smile, Will takes up the dance again, adding cute to Buffy’s sexy, until the song ends. Then they both collapse on Willow’s bed, giggling like little girls. The giggles give way to silence as they grin stupidly at each other.

Faith did this, Buffy thinks.

Reading her perfectly, Willow murmurs “Tonight’s silliness was brought to you by the letter ‘F.’”

Yes, Buffy decides as they explode into giggles again. It really was.

“Hey Buff – let’s go to the Bronze! Oz’ll be there, and Veruca’s on tonight. She’s really good!”

“Sure,” Buffy said with a shrug. “Always a good night to avoid homework and hang with friends.”

As she decides on what to wear, she can’t help but sing:

“Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street…”

~~~

In the silent hours of the morning, Angel stares at the ring in front of him. The jade stone and crude brass design belie the seductive power it holds, power to make him virtually unstoppable. The Gem of Amarra. What a nightmare Angelus would be if he had access to the ring. What horrors he could wreak.

But what good Angel could accomplish by being active during the day. How many more people he could reach. How much more exposure he could gain for Angel Investigations.

So tempting. So utterly captivating.

Buffy.

He blinks, turning from the ring to the fridge, grabbing the large container of pig’s blood. With effort, he prevents his demonic visage from emerging as he drinks, keeping his fangs retracted. It took him years to develop that level of control. Even now, it wasn’t completely there, especially with human blood, the potent aroma rousing the demon beyond his ability to contain it.

Did he truly deserve to wear the Gem? Did he dare?

Buffy.

Everything led back to her. Would he seek her out, being able to see her during the day? Would he give in to his greatest temptation, and run back to her side?

No. No, he couldn’t.

The promise of the ring is an illusion – at the end of the day, he is still a vampire. He’s still dangerous. He’s still Angelus in Angel’s clothing. Faith was right. The ring is a time bomb – a time bomb he would disarm.

That evening Angel smashes the Gem under a brick while Doyle looks on sadly.

~~~

“’Kay, make way! “B’daydahs comin’ through!”

Everyone snickers at me – be it for laying it on thick with the Boston accent or my current housewifishness as I serve dinner; take your pick. I’m going all out for Joyce. Everyone’s over to visit: Mark, Sara, Vi, Dennis and, of course, Joyce herself.

Joyce easily finds herself the centre of attention. Nearly four years of dealing with Buffy’s Slayer life gives her plenty of stories to tell without any need for embellishment. In between glasses of wine we’re entertained with all manner of stories; from simple things like finding bone chips and purple mystery goo in Buffy’s laundry to heroic moments like Joyce planting an axe in Spike’s back.

Sara’s attached herself to Joyce, hanging on every word. She’s still shaken over recent events and desperate to find her balance. Joyce embodies everything she wants to be right now, and her stories of life in spite of the Hellmouth are a balm to Sara’s soul. I’m damn sure that those two will be calling each other a lot.

Mark and Dennis are talking shop, hammering out all the things they’d like to teach me and Vi. They have some disagreements, naturally. Dennis, like all Watchers, is a jack-of-all-trades – skilled at many things, but a master of nothing.  Mark, on the other hand, is a specialist with amazing knowledge and insight within his chosen martial styles.  They’re more or less on the same page when it comes to Vi, since she’s still learning. Me, on the other hand...

Vi fades in and out of that conversation, bending my ear whenever I’m near enough to the table. It’s a little harder on her, being a teenager at a table full of adults. I shouldn’t talk, being only seventeen myself, but I honestly feel like I’m forty some days. Then there’s the fact that I’m everyone’s friend, the reason that they’re all gathering in one place, and my age doesn’t really matter.

But Vi’s fourteen compared to Sara and Mark, who are mid-thirties, and Joyce and Dennis, who are even older. Other than the Slayer stories and shop talk, there isn’t a lot of common ground. Mostly she hangs in Dennis’ shadow. Mark and Dennis try to keep her engaged, but it’s a losing battle, especially once they move their conversation from training to philosophy.

I’ll let her escape to her room once dinner’s out of the way. For now, Vi has to suffer at the table just like every other teenager on the continent.

~~~

“It was great meeting you!”

“You, too! I promise I’ll call.”

“Goodnight!”

“Night!”

With much waving and fanfare, Mark and Sara bid us goodnight. Dennis quietly excuses himself for the evening, and Vi retreats to her room and whatever video game has her attention at the moment.

“So?” I ask, looking to Joyce.

“You have some wonderful friends,” she says. “Mark and Sara are a lovely couple; I’m very impressed with the both of them. Dennis reminds me of Giles – for obvious reasons, I guess.”

“Yeah. They’re kinda the same, but G-man’s better at it.”

“Violet seems like a nice girl.”

I nod emphatically at that. “She’s great.”

“She really looks up to you, Faith.”

I scoff, trying to hide my blush at Joyce’s look of pride. “I’ll cure her of that notion, don’t you worry.”

“I don’t know; you seem very much the role model, I think.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

The phone interrupts our conversation, the ring tone making me smile. “Sunnydale calling,” I sing, grabbing the handset and hitting ‘speakerphone.’

“You’re on, B.”

“Hi, mom! Hi, Faith!”

“Hi, sweetie. How are you doing?”

“Not bad. Just typical Sunnydale Hellmouthyness. A barkeeper spiked his beer and turned a bunch of guys into cavemen. It was harder to keep them from killing themselves fighting a pair of vamps than it was to clean up the whole mess! Oh, and Faith?”

“Yeah?”

“I saw Parker again. He saw me – and literally spun around and ran away! It was great!”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Other than that freaky Halloween thing at the frat house, nothing much has been going on.”

“I’m happy to hear that. How’s your homework coming?”

“Mom! I’ll have you know I’m perfectly caught up.”

“B? Can I ask you somethin?’”

“Sure.”

“If catchin’ up means you were behind, how can it be in any way perfect?”

“Well – um, I … it’s … dammit, Faith!”

“What?”

“It’s … it’s the return to perfectness! The … perfecty-perfect goodness of no homework!”

“Give it up, B. You’re tryin’ too hard. Your mom’s gonna bust a gut.”

“Ha, ha. Thanks, you two.”

“Anytime, sweetie.”

“Mom!” Buffy huffs loudly over the line. “Fine, abuse me, see if I care!”

I walk away laughing, and quickly hit the washroom while mom and daughter chat. By the time I get back, they sound like they’re wrapping up. I grab the remains of a beer and drink it slowly.

“So I’ll call again in a couple days, okay?”

“Alright, sweetie. It’ll be good to hear from you.”

“’Kay! Love you, mom! Love you, Faith!”

What. The. Fuck?

OW! Beer up the nose fucking hurts!

“Love you too, sweetie.” Joyce prods me in the side.

I quickly blow my nose into a napkin, coughing. “Yeah. Love ya, B. See you soon.”

“Bye!”

The phone goes dead. Joyce and I look at each other.

She snorts.

I snigger.

Then we both lose it.

“You should have seen your face!” she stammers, holding her sides.

“Yeah, well I wasn’t expecting that!” I manage after I recover a bit. “Damn B and her surprise ‘love you’s.’ Scarier than a vamp. Who does she think I am; Willow?”

Joyce slaps me lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, stop grouching, Oscar. At least you know she cares.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Before Joyce can poke more fun at me, the phone rings yet again.

“Lehane.”

“Faith? Thank God! I have to talk to you. You have time, right?”

“Cordy? Uh—”

“Perfect! Listen – you won’t believe what just happened to me! I just found this perfect apartment and – guess what? It’s haunted! Of course it is! I mean, seriously, when does the sucking stop, you know? Anyways, Doyle and Angel…”

I wave Joyce over to the living room, and wander into the kitchen. Once Queen C starts talking, she’ll keep it up for ages. Definitely going to need a snack.

An hour later I make it to the living room, where I turn on my gas fireplace and switch the TV to a quiet music channel.  Joyce makes herself comfy while I get us each a glass of wine.

“Thank you,” she says, taking her glass. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask how a minor has wine and beer in her home…?”

“Fake ID. Been rockin’ one since ’94 in Boston. Why stop now?”

“That would make you what, thirteen?” Joyce looks somewhere between confused and horrified.

“Yup. My chest popped early, and I looked plenty old enough. I bat my eyes, flash the girls a little … you get the idea.”

“Will you tell me about it?” she asks quietly. “About Boston?”

I look away as my throat tightens a bit. “My life ain’t a picnic to talk about. I’m ashamed of a lot of it. Got used and abused, no real family, got put through the system…”

“It’s alright to only talk about a little bit at a time,” Joyce offers, “but I want to hear the stories. Not just the summary.”

“Okay… Okay.”

Deep breaths. This is Joyce. You can do this.

“Alright, here we go. Picture this: You’re in South Boston, the shitty part of town. Your house ain’t the worst on the block, but you don’t have to go far to find better. Your dad works a decent job that keeps food on the table, and your mom’s unemployed. Both mom and dad drink a lot, and dad hangs with a bad crowd, but you still get barbeques on the 4th of July, clean clothes, and money for the bus.”

That was the easy part. My throat’s closing up again.

“Dad used to hit me when I did somethin’ bad – not spankin’ or nothin,’ but flat-out, full-tilt slaps and punches. Never to the face, or arms, though, ‘cause those show up and tip off the teachers. Mom was actually worse about it, but she couldn’t hurt me as much. Potential Slayers are pretty tough I guess, even as kids.

“Now, let’s fast-forward to ’89. Dad gets arrested for murder. Turns out the people he hangs with? Irish Mob. He did a hit for them. Open and shut case. Thirty years, parole in fifteen. I won’t see him again till 2004 sometime, if he’s been good. Don’t really know if I wanna.”

I take a glance at Joyce and quickly look away. The tears in her eyes ain’t going to make my telling this story any easier.

“So… there goes the family breadwinner. My mom couldn’t hold a job, and drank away what money we had left. Somewhere in there, the drugs and the pimps and the ‘boyfriends’ started comin’ ’round. When she was sober, mom did the best she could for me, and tried to keep me outta the house while she ‘entertained.’ When she was drunk or stoned… Well, I could run fast. Learned to stay out of the house as much as possible.

“Fast forward to ’93 or so: I was twelve and startin’ to look like a woman. My chest and hips popped out, and suddenly my mom was gettin’ offers for me. Good money compared to what she normally got. She held out for a while, but … well, I turned my share of tricks as a teen. Can we leave it at that?”

“Oh my God, Faith…” I start talking right away, scooting away from her. If she holds me now, I’ll lose it.

“K, in ’95 my mom was finally busted for drugs and prostitution. That threw me into the system. First foster house I had, they kept their vampire son up in the attic and fed him children like me. I got lucky and pulled the drapes on him during the day. My first slay and I didn’t even know it. Ran away, lived on the streets. Learned a few things.”

Whoa, Lehane. Rewind. She asked for details, and you’re giving them, right?

“I ran with a gang; jacked cars; stole stuff for cash; stole food to eat; whored myself out if I had to… You kind of get numb to it all, y’know? Ever since I was twelve, I learned that if you took charge and controlled who got to fuck you, you didn’t get fucked over as much. Guys are pretty easy like that; long as they know they’re gettin’ some action, they’re nice as can be. Always remembered to carry condoms with me.

“So, early ’97 mom got out and I went to her. She was back whorin’ herself around and doin’ drugs. Her pimp was a real dick and hurt her. I ambushed the fucker and beat the shit outta him. He actually died in the hospital. Testicular shock. Heat attack. Turns out you actually can kill a guy if you kick ‘em in the nuts hard enough.”

Right. So not looking at Joyce right now.

“Got arrested for that, but was found not criminally responsible. Lawyers and psych’s got me diagnosed with PTSD and some other psycho-babble bullshit. I got to spend some time in the loony bin. Learned not to talk about the kid vamp, but otherwise they treated me fine. The way I see it, they wanted to keep my record clean. No one ever gave me shit for killin’ that guy. Guess the cops hated him. In my defense, though, I didn’t think hoofin’ him in the nuts a few times would get him dead.

“Diana … My first Watcher, Diana Dormer – she was a professor at Harvard, and she … she was the best. I loved her. She took me from the loony bin, trained me, taught me… I loved her so much. I had her for two, three months. Then she died. I – I can’t talk about that.”

Deep breaths. Almost there.

“From there, I just ran. I went from place to place, always moving towards Sunnydale and B. I was way too scared to try and fight Kakistos by myself. I killed a lotta vamps on the way, but never him. Then I got to Sunnydale, and I assume you know the rest. ‘Cept for the Mayor, but I ain’t ready to talk about him, either.”

I’m curled into a tight ball on the couch now, staring at the floor. I can’t look at Joyce. She’ll hate me, or she’ll pity me. Maybe she’ll laugh at me and tell me to quit being such a loser. Maybe she’ll just walk to her room without saying anything and ignore me. Maybe she’ll just leave…

I cringe as I hear her moving to sit next to me. I flinch as her arm reaches around my shoulders. She pulls me to her, wrapping me in her warmth and my breath catches. She can’t still care…

“It’s okay, Faith,” she whispers. “You aren’t there anymore. Everything’s okay…”

Over and over she says these words, she kisses the top of my head. I lean into her shoulder, my tears and snot running down my face. My guts slowly uncoil as I finally allow myself to accept that Joyce is still here, and not going anywhere. Even though I’m crying, I can’t help but smile at that and snuggle a little closer, wanting just a little more of this TLC before I suck it all up again. Just a few more minutes…

~~~

Joyce smiles as she sips her wine, watching a movie with the volume on low. Faith snores quietly beside her, the brunette’s head still resting lightly against Joyce’s shoulder.

She seems so young, so fragile. Yet she is a Slayer – if Joyce moved more than an inch, Faith’s eyes would pop open just like a cat. She knows from her experience with Buffy that there is no transition between sleeping and waking for a Slayer.

A pleasant sensation thrums in her heart and head as she lowers the volume yet another notch. Faith must trust her immensely to sleep like this. Oh, how she aches that she didn’t reach out more to the girl last year. All the pain and misunderstanding could have been avoided.

When she gets back to Sunnydale, Rupert is so getting a piece of her mind.

“Wha—?” Faith’s eyes pop open and her head rises. Dammit, she must have moved. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sleep on you.”

“That’s fine, honey,” Joyce soothes, “I was quite comfortable.”

“Still,” Faith protests. “I should get to bed. Workout happens tomorrow whether I’m tired or not. May as well be not.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Faith.”

The girl stands into a full body stretch, and shuffles off toward her room. “Night, Joyce. Thanks for listenin.’ Was a good day.”

“It was; and you’re welcome.”

~~~

The noise draws Joyce quickly from her slumber. The girls’ chatter wafts down the hall along with some rather crude rock music. Joyce dresses herself as the clank of the weights begins, and pads her way to the kitchen. She has a good two hours to prepare breakfast, and Faith’s decidedly healthy food options take no more than fifteen minutes.

She takes in the morning news and the weather channel while the coffee brews, and gazes out the large windows at the bustling city. Despite the nature of Faith’s work, a certain peace exists in this place. Joyce feels none of the stress that normally accompanies her day. Part of that is her imminent exit from the workforce to a life of leisure and taking care of Buffy; another part is this time, spent with the prodigal daughter she’d never invested enough time with.

Damn Rupert for not paying her enough attention. It was their job, after all – the adults, not the children – to ensure that no one fell through the cracks. Yet Rupert’s constant avoidance of the girl all but shoved her into the abyss. Well, it’s high time that someone offered her a hand out. Offered her the love that she craved. Faith saw Richard Wilkins as a distorted father-figure of sorts.

But the position of mother was open, and Joyce wanted to claim it.

The coffee maker announces its completion, and Joyce quickly makes herself a cup. Smiling as the first sip sends a flood of warmth throughout her body, she walks towards the workout room to say her good mornings and sit for a minute, watching.

Violet is in good shape, every bit a star athlete. Faith lifts immense weights with superhuman ease, demonstrating to Joyce more thoroughly and completely than ever that Faith – and Buffy – are much more than meets the eye.

Her curiosity overcomes her distaste for the music and the noise of the equipment. She watches as Faith runs so fast on the treadmill that her legs are a blur. The smell of burning rubber accompanies the feat, signalling the dying gasps of the machine. The girl finally breaks a sweat around fifteen minutes in. When Faith moves to the heavy bag and begins her drills, the room shakes, forcing Joyce to keep her coffee in hand. The ear-splitting rattle of the chains and the lingering stench of the overworked treadmill finally force her out of the room, exchanging good mornings and reminders for breakfast as she goes.

She settles back into the kitchen with an ease only a mother could possess, whipping up fruit bowls with nuts, cottage cheese and yogurt in quantities fit for a Slayer and growing teen. If only she could keep Buffy eating this healthy all the time.

“See, vamps wanna feed,” Faith lectures as she and Vi walk into the kitchen. “Everythin’ they do to you’ll be in the name of gettin’ their bite on. Vamps only fight for real if they feel threatened – which, let’s face it, ain’t all that often.”

“So, what does that all mean t’me?” Vi asks, her head cocked as she pays rapt attention.

“Means that nine times outta ten, you’ll get the first shot in. Maybe even some small talk. S’why you gotta have your stake-thrust perfected – ‘cause most of the time, you can one-shot ‘em right off the bat, and save yourself a fight.”

The shop talk fades off as Joyce joins them at the small kitchen table, food in hand. Interspersed between the girls noisily sating their appetites are Faith’s ideas of day trips and Vi grouching about whatever lesson Dennis has planned for her.

It sounds like the bickering of a normal family.

It sounds like a home.

~~~

Joyce feels the near-permanent smile on her face as she walks along the sidewalk. Faith practically dances around her, extolling the wonders of Cleveland while the season’s first snowfall creates wispy white trails along the street. The girl certainly knew her well enough: Their first day trip took them to the Cleveland Museum of Art, which was magnificent. The Museum of Contemporary Art and the Great Lakes Science Center are tomorrow’s attractions.

Now they walk along in the brisk weather looking for a reasonably healthy pit stop for lunch. As they walk Faith quietly inserts stories that have nothing to do with tourism.

“See that building over there?” she asks, pointing to a skyscraper. “First month I was here, the thirty-ninth floor was one big vamp nest. Security wouldn’t let me in, so I wanted to break in – stealth spell, right? But I was lucky – window washers were set up. So I waited ‘till night, pulled myself up there and smashed in through the window. Scared the hell outta them. Netted seventeen that night. I think one or two got away.”

“Well done, honey.” Joyce does her best to offer a genuine smile. The thought of one girl taking on so many monsters alone, no matter how strong that girl be, turned her stomach. Faith was proud of her accomplishments – and so she should be – but Joyce knows that for every story Faith boasts about, there is a story Buffy hides from her.

That thought opens up a wound that steals Joyce’s smile. Her eyes drop to the sidewalk. As a mother, she bases her success largely on the health and happiness of her daughter. How is a mother supposed to take the fact that her daughter will die before her? How can she protect and nurture Buffy when every night sees her risk her life?

She raises her head again, staring at the lively brunette in front of her nattering away, happier than Joyce could ever remember seeing her.

How can she protect and nurture Faith?

“Joyce?” Faith stops, peering back at her in worry. “You okay? Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

“No, honey. Everything’s okay.” Taking two strides forward, Joyce pulls the surprised girl into a fierce embrace, squeezing tightly. Faith’s powerful arms wrap around her, offering comfort and reminding Joyce that this is no ordinary girl. She’s special – a gift to this world, used horribly by people who deserved to go to Hell.

“I love you,” she whispers. Faith tenses, but Joyce holds her even tighter. “You’re mine, just as much as Buffy is. I want you to remember that.”

Silence stretches for long breaths as Faith burrows her face into Joyce’s neck.

“I love you, Mama,” the girl whispers quietly. “I wish I’d spent more time with you last year. That would’ve been enough.”

“You were always welcome, you know.”

“I know. I was too proud to ask, though. I should have.”

The pair break apart, and quickly wipe their eyes.

“C’mon,” Faith calls, bounding in front once more. “It’s time for food! And stop makin’ me cry in public!”

“Coming, dear,” Joyce laughs, resuming her walk. Her permanent smile reappears as they bicker over lunch. Faith called her ‘Mama.’ It really doesn’t get much better than that.

~~~

Senses wide, I cruise along the streets for vamps. The Mustang just isn’t a winter vehicle. As the snow starts up, I’m going to need something with more teeth to it. Not to mention more cargo room, and a little more durability just in case. Meh – one thing at a time.

I’m trying to keep my patrols short and sweet to maximize my time with Joyce, but I can’t leave off completely. Cleveland’s too big to leave unattended for a week solid. Still, I haven’t even got a single slay in tonight, and that sucks.

I haven’t gotten laid in a month. That sucks.

Not that I’m looking. Having Vi living with me has curbed my desire a bit. I mean, how sleazy would it be to come back home to a teen that idolizes you at 3am smelling of booze and sex? Yeah, even I have my limits. So it’s carpal tunnel for now, until Vi stays a night with Dennis.

Ping.

There we go. I turn off onto a side street, making my way into a fairly quiet neighborhood. My radar heats up as I get closer, going red hot as I drive past a young couple walking. They’re pressed so closely together that it’s hard to make out which one’s setting me off. Money’s on the guy being the vamp, though that isn’t always the case. I park the car at the side of the street with the 4-ways on. This shouldn’t take more than a moment.

“’Scuse me,” I say as I walk up. “You guys know where I can score some weed? Lookin’ to stock up for a party.”

The dude gives me a disgusted face, but the girl rattles off directions to the nearest 7-Eleven and a guy named ‘Freddie.’ Muttering something about druggies, the guy shoves the girl playfully – which gets them far enough away that I’m completely sure it’s the guy. I give him the old one-two:  A snap kick to the nuts followed by a stake through the back while he keels over.

The girl screams as his ashes fall to the ground.

“Gotta choose your boyfriends better,” I say as I pocket the stake.

“You bitch!” she shrieks at me. “I loved him! He was gonna make me like him!”

Now it’s my turn to have a disgusted face. “Seriously, girlfriend? Be glad you ain’t gonna end up on the other side of the stake, a’ight?”

“I’m so calling the cops on you!”

“For what? Killin’ a demon?”

“He wasn’t a demon! His name was Carl!”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night, babe. No body, no crime.”

Her legs bend a bit and I read the charge way before it comes. Time to nip this in the bud.

“Hold.” The power flows.

The girl’s eyes bug out as she tries to move and can’t. Try as she might, she’s frozen in place.

“You listen to me, girl. You don’t ever, ever want to find yourself in my world, dig? You put one foot in front of the other, go home to mommy and daddy and give ‘em a nice, big hug. Then you eat some fuckin’ cheesecake and get over your deadhead boyfriend and stay the fuck inside at night! You hear me?!”

Tears and the faint smell of urine are my only answer.

I release her and she take off top speed, sobbing all the way. I get back into the car and drive by that Sev just in case, but everyone’s human, so I take off for home. I saved one ungrateful bitch tonight, and that’s enough for me.

~~~

Across the street from the lingering pile of ash, two men in military fatigues sit in an unmarked sedan, checking a video camera.

“Did you get that?”

“Yes sir. All on video, sir. Playback looks good.”

“Good. Girl’s back in her home, too. We missed the Hostile, but we netted ourselves a mystery. Fair exchange, I’m thinking. Alright, that’s it: Back to base, Corporal. Step on it.”

“Yes sir.”

The engine of the sedan growls to life, and disappears quickly towards downtown.

~~~

Willow follows Buffy to their dorm, images of Oz and Veruca assaulting her. Them lying together in the cage, naked; post coitus. Veruca’s superior stare dismissing her as unworthy.

Veruca was a werewolf. Oz knew about it. Oz took Veruca into his cage. Oz and Veruca had sex.

Betrayal.

Buffy settled her in their dorm, promising to catcher Veruca, whispering her love before she left and urging her to put the blame where it should me, not on herself.

What a wonderful idea.

~~~

Buffy runs fast as the wind away from the downed soldier – what was he doing there? Why did he fight her? What would any soldier want in Sunnydale?

Willow! Think about Willow! She’s in danger!

Buffy sprints faster, praying that Oz makes it to her before Veruca does.

~~~

Willow drops Oz’s picture, unable to complete her curse. Unable to harm the man she loves, even after his painful betrayal. There had to be a way to make this better. To keep him, rather than—

“Wow. For a minute there, I thought you were going to play rough.”

Willow spins around to see Veruca at the doorway, smirking at her. Staring at her with a predator’s gaze she closes and locks the door to the chemistry lab, sealing them in.

Once upon a time, Willow would have frozen. Willow would have felt fear. Willow would have cowered or ran. Willow would have waited for Buffy. Or Oz. Or Xander. Or Giles.

But this is not once upon a time. Willow had caused a dying man to thrive, she had immolated a crowd of vampires all at once. She had kept up with a Slayer in pitched battle – kept up with Faith. Willow remembers standing up to Faith. Dancing with Faith. Kissing Faith.

Willow remembers the high five; the thrill of battle – the taste of power.

Willow would never be ‘once upon a time’ ever again.

Her eyes darken as the power flows.

“Ooh!” Veruca mocks as she walks closer. “I guess the little witch does have teeth after all.”

“Leave,” Willow growls, gathering her energy to strike.

“Make me.”

And Willow grins. Wide and sinister as the Cheshire Cat.

~~~

Oz tears down the hallway, reaching for the door—

Which explodes outward, Veruca flying from the room to smash a crater into the opposite wall of the hall.

Oz takes in the door, lying in pieces around him. He takes in Veruca’s unconscious form, bleeding and covered in splinters. He takes in Willow, standing in the door frame, enraged and crackling with energy. The stench of ozone permeates the air.

He stares into her darkened eyes for a small eternity, coming to a realization that he does not know Willow as completely as he thought.

Buffy runs up behind him and gasps lightly as she surveys the devastation.

“Leave,” Willow says coldly to Oz. “Get to the crypt and stay there. Buffy, follow him. You might have to tranq him.”

“Right.” Buffy nudges Oz into motion before looking back to Willow. “I’ll take—”

Veruca’s body floats up off the ground.

“I’ve got her,” Willow says with a smirk. “And I know just what to do with her.”

~~~

Veruca blinks, coming awake slowly. She stands on shaky legs listening to the sound of Oz leaving the cage. Outside the cage Oz, Buffy and Willow stand staring at her angrily.

“You’re a monster,” Willow says with false calmness, “but Buffy says we can’t kill you because you’re still human.”

“So where does that leave us?” Veruca asks, her wild, mocking eyes dancing with malice. “Going to leave me in here forever?”

“No.” The smile on Willow’s face sends shocks of fear down her spine. “I’ve got a much better idea.”

The witch raises her hands, and her eyes darken again.

“Today’s lesson in girlfriend revenge is inspired by the letter ‘F’ and brought to you by the letters ‘A’ and ‘W.’”

Veruca backs away as Willow begins her chant. Her eyes dart left and right, searching for an escape, but there is done. She meets the gaze of Oz and Buffy, neither of whom show compassion or remorse.

“Goddess Hecate, work thy will; before you let the unclean thing crawl!”

And then they’re all bigger. Much, much bigger, and she feels herself fading into darkness…

Buffy picks up the rat, puckering her lips in distaste. “Well, that’s as good as a cage, I think. At least for now. So, I guess Amy’s getting a new roommate?”

“Or we could just give her away,” Willow offers unapologetically. “Hey, maybe Faith would like a rat-wolf for Christmas!”

Buffy chuckles, more at Oz’s discomfort than Willow’s joke. Because as much as she applauds Willow for her newfound confidence, she feels more than a bit uneasy about this newfound vindictiveness. She knows the source, too; the same source as their earlier carefree happiness.

Faith did this.

~~~

So here I am, back at the airport. I can’t believe how fast this week has gone. I hate to see Joyce go, and I hope she forgives me for being a bit clingy as we say goodbye.

“I really enjoyed myself,” she says into my shoulder as we hug – again.

“I’m glad. You’ll come back?”

“Of course! I’ll see you for Thanksgiving though, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anythin,’” I promise her.

“Good. I love you, Faith.”

“Love you too, Mama. Have a good flight!”

“I’ll call when I get in.”

“I’ll be waiting!”

I sniffle a little as I watch her line up for security. After a final wave, I head out to the car and try not to think too much about heading back to Sunnydale. I have friends here, but I’m starting to feel like my family is back in Cali.

Ah, fuck it. Distraction time! I’ll give Mark a call and see how he’s doing. Maybe pay him a visit. Thanksgiving will come soon enough.

~~~

“What is this?!” The officer shouts. The soldier across the desk from him flinches, sweating as he watches the images on the TV.

“The video was taken across the street from a handheld camera, sir. There could have been a reduction in quality–”

“Do you see the victim’s face, Sergeant? Do you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Nice and defined, isn’t it. Perfectly admissible in court for identification.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yet on our mystery Jedi’s face, we have distortion and blurring. All across her body, we have discoloration. I can’t tell if she’s blonde or brunette. I can’t see if that’s leather, denim or a goddamned sports jacket! Her voice raises and lowers in pitch, for god’s sake!”

“Yes sir.”

“Get a team together, Sergeant. Get looking. I need more info on this woman.”

“Yes sir!”

“Dismissed.”

As the soldier leaves the office, the officer grabs the phone, punching in a short number. “Finn? This is McNamara. Get me Walsh. I have something she might be interested in.”