The calendar on the wall says October 19th. What a fucking month. Let’s count it up: On the 4th, I hit Sunnydale and made my peace with Buffy. From the 5th to the 11th I lit up LA’s nightlife. On the 13th Mark and I were shot and Sara was possessed. On the 15th Willow came by, saved Mark’s life and helped me kick some major demon ass. Yesterday was the first day I felt one hundred percent since I was shot. Just tiny little divots on my back and boob. Sara says they’ll go away soon enough.

But seriously, if shit keeps up like this I’m going to get gray hairs.

That’s why I’m kicking it on the couch with Vi this morning, pigging on some delicious chocolate chip ice cream and watching a replay of UFC 22. Shamrock and Ortiz are putting on a damned good show, and both of us are on the edge of our seats, shouting at the TV while we spoon chocolaty goodness into our mouths.

This is the life.

Ring!

Ah, fuck.

I fumble around for the handset on the end table, still watching the fight. “Lehane,” I mumble, my mouth still half-full.

“Hi. It’s me.”

“B? S’up?”

“Um… do you have a minute?”

Sigh. Goodbye, UFC. I motion for Vi to keep watching and take my ice cream to my room.

“Sure. For you, B, anythin.’”

“Are you eating?”

“Yup. Chocolate chip ice cream.  Good fuckin’ stuff.”

“Oh! I thought you were all Health Girl now.”

“Yeah, I am. Today we were just gonna kick it in front of the set. It’s been a fuckin’ time here the last little bit, let me tell you.”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause, and then I hear a big breath. “Faith?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I ask you something? About guys?”

“Uh oh. Somethin’ happen, B?”

“Yeah. I met this guy, Parker. We – um, I really liked him, and we slept together.”

Ah, fuck. I can see where this is going.

“He kinda shooed me out of his room, said something about his mom coming to visit. He said he’d call, but I – I’m wigging, and you’ve been around more guys, and… How long…? Or…?”

“Shit, B. That fuckin’ sucks.” I blow out a breath, all sorts of memories running through my head. “Fuck, I’m so sorry you went through that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You got played, B. His excuse was fuckin’ retarded, and ‘I’ll call you’ is a classic line. Heard it more than a few times, not that I cared. Shit, used it myself a few times, too.”

“I … oh.”

“Sorry, B. I wanna tell you good things, but … You have just been subjected to ‘get some, get gone.’ Unfortunately, it wasn’t you doin’ the gettin’ and goin.’”

“No. Parker’s … he’s… no. I…”

I can hear the tears pooling already.

“Just let him go, B. If you see him again, just smile at him and keep walkin.’  Nothin’ you can do about it.”

All I hear is the sound of her crying, and my heart breaks.

What the fuck is my money good for, if not exactly this?

“I’m comin’ down, B.”

“What?” She sniffles loudly. “No, you have to do that.”

“Did I ask? I’m comin.’ I’ll call for a flight, be there by mid-afternoon. Don’t do nothin’ ‘bout that tool till I get there, dig?”

“Faith…”

“Promise me, B. Don’t fall for his shit. Wait till I get there.”

“Okay.”

I get off the call with B, and then call the airlines, hoping that there’s an opening that won’t make a liar out of me. Turns out money talks and I have exactly one hour to get to the airport. I throw some clothes into a backpack and get my shit together in five minutes flat.

“Vi, you be okay for a couple days?”

“Sure. You go be a friend, I promise I’ll keep workin’ out.”

“Cool. No heavy weights, A’ight? Don’t get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

“Cool. Call me or Dennis if somethin’ comes up. Don’t patrol.”

~~~

I guess this is how rock stars do it? Grab one of the first class or business class seats that are for sure open, haul ass from city to city, sometimes more than once a day? Fuck, I’m going to have jet lag.

Clock strikes 1:00pm by the time I hit LA, and 2:45 by the time I drive my shitty rental to Sunnydale. The entire time I’m yacking on the phone with B. As things go, I’m apparently in time to go Spike-hunting, so my trip isn’t entirely for girly-girl reasons. This Gem of Amarra sounds pretty hardcore.

After a quick meet-and-greet, I spend the rest of the afternoon on campus with B as we try to track down Harmony, figuring that she’ll lead us to Spike. Our scavenger hunt is interrupted, however, as Buffy tugs at my arm.

“There,” she says, pointing. “That’s Parker. He’s … not alone.” Her voice falters.

I look over and sure as shit, there’s Mr. Congeniality chatting up another girl. Gotta say, his lines are pretty good. One look at B’s face tells me she’s heard them before, too.

“This fuckin’ guy…” I mutter as I take it in. “This tool’s who you’re mooning over, B? Seriously?”

“He’s … he’s a nice guy, Faith.” Nice guy. Yeah. Pray a little harder, B.

“See that? That’s game, girlfriend. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less. Now, stand right here.”

Buffy gives me a concerned glance. “What’re you going to do?”

“Defend your honor, and save that other girl some pain. Trust me.”

Buffy hesitates a couple of times, but she more or less stays put while I walk over. Damn, it’s been about a year since I broke this shit out for Scott Hope. The words are already on the tip of my tongue, dying for release.

I’m wicked sexy, and I wore my leathers for just this occasion. Suddenly, I have his undivided attention. But he ain’t getting the first word.

“Parker? There you are, honey!” I touch his shoulder all lovey-dovey – and the fucking sleaze bag doesn’t even jump a little like Scott did – no, he thinks he’s about to score, the prick.

“Hey, good news: The doctor says that the itching and the swelling and the burning should clear up, but we gotta keep using the ointment.” I give him a real sympathetic look. Then I pretend to just notice his girl. “Hi. Sorry, I’m interrupting. I’ll talk to you later, P.”

With a wave, I leave him gawking in horror. His new girl’s already walking away with a disgusted look on her face.

Buffy’s looking at me like I’m insane.

“Are you insane?”

See?

“Nah. Just vindictive.”

“Uh, yeah. You definitely win the award for Revenge Girl – well, actually Anya does, but that’s different. But that… Wow. Ouch.”

“Hey, it’s nothin.” I lean in and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “If you want the truth, I used that exact same line on Scott when he dumped you.”

“Scott…? Scott Hope? Really? When?”

“Homecomin,’ while you were off with Cordy.”

“You … for me? Really?”

Right now, I’m the happiest I could be. Buffy’s looking at me with surprise and gratitude, and I love every second I can make her smile.

Second’s up.

I’m grabbed roughly from behind and pulled away from B. Buffy gets punched in the face hard enough to send her to the ground.

Strong grip. Crypt smell. Vampire. A fucking vampire, in broad daylight, and I can’t feel him!

“Friend of yours?” he mocks, eyes still on Buffy. “Thanks for bringing a snack, luv.”

Without looking back at me, he grabs for my neck. I grab his arm and twist it into a joint lock, savouring the sweet, sweet shock on his face. Bleached blond hair, ratty old duster … must be Spike.

“Hi. Haven’t had the chance to meet you yet. I’m Faith.” I slam him with a straight punch, twisting nearly 180 for extra oomph. The lightweight fucker flies into the wall of the building, cracking the brickwork. He falls in a shower of stone and mortar before scrambling to his feet.

“You’re the other one, aren’t you? The mayor’s old lapdog.”

All I give him is a big, wide grin. “Slayer Two, at your service.”

That’s all he gets as Buffy brings the pain, slamming him hard in the face and gut before sweeping his legs out. Spike kips up, straight into B’s stake.

But he doesn’t dust.

Well, shit.

“Oh, do it again,” he mocks. “It tickles.”

“The gem,” Buffy says flatly.

Spike holds up his hand, displaying his ring for us. “The Gem of Amarra. My ticket to killing you.”

B’s distracted by the ring, and Spike knocks the stake form Buffy’s hand and then knocks B flying. I take up the fight, deflecting his lunge and shoving him back a good ten feet.

“Careful, Faith,” Buffy tells me from behind. “He can’t be killed with that ring on.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Do your worst, luv. You want to add to your list of failures? I’ve already notched two slayers, bint. I can notch two more.”

Ooh. I’m so scared. William-the-fucking-Bloody thinks he’s good at pushing buttons?

Watch me talk out my ass like a pro.

“Boss always wanted that ring, you know.” I walk calmly towards him. “He was always afraid that the Master woulda got his hands on it. Or Angel. Funny thing, though, he never gave a damn ‘bout you, Spike. You were always too small time for him to care about.”

Buttons pushed.

“I’ll show you small time!”

He rushes me, snarling, and I’ll give him credit – he’s fast. But I’ve been training and fighting non-stop for months, and he’s more than a bit rusty. Worse, he’s cocky. He expects another Buffy.

I’m Faith.

The horrified look growing on his face as I slap away his attacks makes me grin even harder. I slam a low roundhouse into his knee, driving him down, then punt his sorry ass back into the wall. He doesn’t stay down, though, so I gotta give him props.

Time for some real Wilkins-inspired intimidation.

“You know, the Boss knew some shit ‘bout dealin’ the more powerful vamps out there. Left me a whole buncha notes on how to kill ’em. Nothin’ worse than an immortal fucker too stubborn to be staked.” I pull a knife out. “Easiest solution? Cut the body into itty, bitty little pieces and burn ‘em all separately. Tell me, Billy boy: If I rip your head off and light it up, you think that ring’ll grow you a new one?”

Now the fucker’s worried, but that wasn’t my real goal. Spike’s focused on me and my shiny knife and B’s making use of it, moving to flank him. I can see him figuring out an escape plan – smart little shit – so I give him one. I rush him slightly to one side and kick high, leaving him an opening to roll out and run –

Straight into B.

Her boot meets his balls, staggering him. Spike throws a few wild punches to keep Buffy away, but B minds her distance. Quick as lightning she grabs his ring hand, twisting it into a lock and driving Spike to his knees. She exerts more and more pressure until the fucker’s fingers unclench, then she rips the ring off.

Spike’s no pushover, though – he drops, twisting, and arcs a leg up to nail B right in the face. He yanks his arm free from the lock, howling as his wrist snaps. I lunge in to stake him, but he whips his coat up like a cape, catching the stake and throwing me wide. Fast as hell, he rolls clear and runs top speed for the sewer grate, smoking all the way. I’m right behind him—

“Faith! Let him go!”

I hold up. “What gives? I can take his ass.”

“He’s not important. We have this.” She holds up the ring. “Getting it safe is the big thing. Spike’s … Spike. He’ll lay low for a while.”

I take one last look at the open grate. Fuck, he’s long gone now. I can feel him now, but he’s fading off fast.

Fuck. Whatever. It’s B’s town, she’s in charge.

“A’ight, then. Let’s motor.”

We’re sitting in G-man’s apartment, staring at the ring. It’s cool to see Red again, and Oz has always been a mellow dude. Xander, though – he’s doing his best to ignore the fact that I’m here. Giles is polite and British.

I’m not really following the conversation, zoned out in my own little happy place. Today’s been a good day. I dealt with B’s loser boy toy, B and I kicked Spike’s sorry ass, and now we’re plus one cool magical toy.

“… and we’re destroying it.”

That gets my attention. “Hey!”

Everyone stares at me.

“Don’t break cool magic toys,” I say, shaking my head. “You never know when it might be useful.”

“Going to add it to your treasure hoard?” Willow jokes, smirking at me.

“I always knew Faith was a dragon,” Xander quips from his spot on the floor.

“Roar, bitch.”

Xander chuckles, giving me a half-grin.

Fuck me – Xander smiled at me. An actual smile. Holy shit!

“We don’t destroy it,” Buffy says quietly form across the table. She catches my eyes, and I get right away what she wants done. I give her a small nod, and she smiles a bit.

Giles starts in on why it’s a bad idea, but a couple of seconds in he gets it, too. Then Willow. Then Oz, who volunteers to be a courier.

Willow has to explain it to Xander, though. “She’s giving the ring to Angel; don’t make a fuss.”

I can see that Xander and G-man have serious issues with it, so I offer a tidbit.

“If it makes any difference, what I told Spike was true. There’s nothin’ that survives bein’ chopped up and burnt. ‘Sides, we saw the ring’s greatest weakness – take it off and it’s done. So, Angel has a bad day? Chop his hand off, or his head. He ain’t un-killable, G. Just a bit more of a challenge. Nothin’ that B or I couldn’t handle, and especially the both of us together.”

“If you’re sure,” he says, his head still hung low. “I don’t like it, but I’ll abide by Buffy’s choice.”

“Thanks,” Buffy says, standing.

“Tell you what,” I say, turning to Oz. “Let me take it. I had to fly to LA to make it here on time, so I gotta return my rental and I wanna check up on Cordy anyways.”

Wolf-boy shrugs. “Sure.”

Pocketing the ring, I walk over to Buffy. “Got plans?”

“Well, not really. I guess … Bronze?”

“Sure. Red? Oz?”

“Practice,” Oz replies with a shake of his head.

“I’ll come,” Willow says, smiling.

“Cool. Xan?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “Nah. Not tonight.” I just nod at him. Didn’t really expect him to be up to hanging out with me yet. Already surprised at how well he took my being here.

“Alright,” Buffy says, grabbing her jacket. “Let’s go.”

~~~

“No.”

“Yes.”

“So no.”

“So yes.”

“Faith…”

“B. Get the fuck up.”

“No.”

“Dammit. Red, help me.”

“Look, I don’t want to—”

“Buffy, maybe you should…”

“Just get up, fuck!”

“Fine!”

With a growl, Buffy finally gets her ass out of that seat and follows me onto the dance floor. Willow’s minding the table, though she really should let loose a bit, too.

One fight at a time though, and this fight’s more important.

I fall into my groove with the bass line, and get my sexy on about ten seconds in. B’s rigid as all hell, but I’m nothing if not persuasive. Little by little, her moves get smoother, riskier.

The crowd of guys around us gets a bit thicker.

By the time the DJ fades into the next track, B’s lost in the dancing just like me. It’s a healthy, powerful dance we’re doing. Dancing for ourselves, not opening to the guys around us at all. The months peel back, back before all the shit happened, back to when we were having fun, just the two of us.

The Chosen Two.

Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles. I’m smiling back before I even know it, and something hits me – something that, if I wasn’t deep in the groove, would probably plant me right on my ass.

Buffy’s dancing for me.

She’s dancing for me, and I’m dancing for her.

Our body language, our closeness, the way we let ourselves bump into each other, the little touches…

Fuck, she’s sexy.

Right. Need to turn this down a notch, before I do something stupid. Wrong place, very wrong time.

When Buffy turns a bit, I glance back at Willow, who’s staring at us with undisguised lust. I give her a wink and a smile, and motion for her to join us. Takes her all of about five seconds to do just that. Buffy smiles at her, and the two of us instinctively tone down our dancing. Now there’s three of us, all friends, and the dance is less sexual.

Though I do move up on Red just a bit. The blush and smiles I get are so worth it.

All too soon, we’re back in my piece of shit rental driving back to their dorm.

“So, you feelin’ better, B?”

“Are you kidding?” she laughs. “Of course I am! You came all this way for me! We got to kick Spike around, and we danced – and you two are all friendly! My best friends are friends! I couldn’t be happier!”

Willow smiles at me. “Yeah, we are.”

I just grin like the village idiot.

“Did you hear what Faith did to Parker for me?”

“Only about five times now,” Red sighs, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry,” B chirps, not sorry at all. “I’m just happy about it. You know, payback.”

“Yup,” I nod. “I’m all about the payback.” I give B a questioning look. “So tell me: Was the sex good, at least?”

“Faith!”

“C’mon, B; it’s worth it if you at least got somethin’ decent outta the whole thing.”

“I …” she purses her lips, considering. “I think so…? I mean, that was, like, the second time I’ve done anything.”

“Did he ring your bell?”

Buffy blushes like mad, but nods.

“There you go,” I say, nodding with her. “That’s what matters. You had a good night, we put the loser in his place, and on you go. Just like that.”

Eager to move on to other things, I switch topics. “So, did Red here tell you just how badass she was in Cleveland?”

Now Willow’s the bashful one, and the remainder of the car ride is filled with my graphic description of murderous trees and fireballs.

I turn down the offer to bunk with them. Sharing a bed with B or Red would be wicked weird. I think they’re both hot, especially B, but B’s still straight and recovering from being played, and while snuggling with Red might be fun for both of us, she’s taken.

Besides, I’ve made alternative arrangements. Strangely, it doesn’t involve motels and sex, but there’s one more person I want to visit.

~~~

I knock politely on the door. About four seconds later, it opens to a smiling Joyce.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s fine. I know you girls and your night life pretty well by now. “Well –” you can tell she’s biting her tongue, trying not to say the words ‘come in,’ “—let’s get you some coffee, shall we?”

We’re quiet while the coffee brews. I’m still kind of nervous around Joyce – I mean, she’s not my mother, but in the last couple of weeks she’s tried to be. Phone calls aren’t the same thing as face-to-face, though.

“Here you go.” She slides the mug to me across the table, and I murmur my thanks through my first mouthful of coffee. Pretty good.

“So,” she says as she sits down, “Tell me what insanity my daughter’s been up to.”

“Well, this little adventure started before I got here. You see…”

~~~

My eyes blink open. I frown for a sec at the familiar but unfamiliar room – right. B’s old room. I stayed the night at Joyce’s. That’s cool. As my senses come to life, I can hear her puttering around the kitchen, making more coffee and cooking.

I make Buffy’s bed, then I hit the shower and change clothes. The smell of food beckons me, and my tummy’s rumbling like an old Chevy.

“Mornin,” I say as I take the coffee she’s holding out to me. “Mm, thanks.”

“Good morning, Faith; and you’re welcome. Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead.” We share a smirk, and she goes back to cooking.

Soon enough a huge plate of eggs, bacon, hash browns and sausages is in front of me, and life couldn’t be sweeter. Mark would probably smack me with his colostomy bag for pigging out like this, but fuck it – I’ll eat my rabbit food once I get back to Cleveland.

“So I’ve arranged for a week off,” Joyce says in between bites. “November 1st work for you?”

“You serious?” I’m bouncing in my seat. “That’s wicked awesome! We’re gonna have so much fun!”

I spend the rest of the meal babbling like an idiot about Cleveland, while Joyce smiles gently at me the way that only a mother can. I’m actually kind of bummed when I hug her goodbye; I could spend weeks just hanging out with her, doing nothing but talking.

Now I can’t wait for November. Hurry up and get here!

~~~

Finding Angel’s place is much easier this time around. 

“Yo, Cordy!”

“Faith? FAITH!” Cordy shoots up from the desk and fucking glomps me, giggling like a school girl. Doyle just waves at me from near the desk.

“Gotta say, I didn’t really expect you to still be slummin’ around here with Soul Boy.”

“Well, you know …” Cordy glances at Doyle. “Good people and all that. Besides, we’re fighting the good fight! Right?”

“Cool.”

“Good to see ya again, Faith.” Doyle’s Irish accent automatically makes me grin.

“Doyle, what’s the what?”

“Oh, you know – blindin’ headaches, mind-splittin’ visions. Just another day.”

“So?” Cordy prods me in the side. “Tell me about all things Cleveland.”

“Lotsa time to catch up. First things first, though. Got a prezzie for the big guy, courtesy of B.”

“Oh.” Cordy steps back. “Is it a bomb?”

“Nah, she’s cool. Sorta. Been tryin’ to teach her proper revenge on boyfriends.”

I entertain Cordy with my shaming of Scott and Parker as we make our way down to Angel’s apartment. Cor’s laughing up a storm by the time we get down – mostly at a couple jokes about B’s complete cluelessness about guys.

“Faith!” Angel says as he walks up, clearly surprised to see me.

“Hey, big guy. I’m here to fuck up your town again.”

“Great.” He rolls his eyes. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“So, I got somethin’ for you from B. Prolly the best gift ever.”

His eyes never leave the ring as I pull it out.

“The Gem of Amarra,” he whispers.

“Yeah. Remember that old Hercules cartoon from the 60’s? Here’s your ring, Herc.”

He stares at the ring, then me, but he doesn’t take it. Eventually, I lower my arm. Doyle’s busy explaining the ring to Cordy behind us while Angel and I confirm that deep, soulful staring does not, in fact, lead to mind-reading.

“So, how’re you dealing?” he asks, once the silence gets awkward.

“Me? I’m good, big guy. Got friends; hell, almost got a family. Gettin’ on good with B an’ Red. Got somethin’ like a mom in Joyce. Trainin’ a Potential Slayer, and I even tolerate her Watcher. Saved a city. Kinda still savin’ it, I guess.” I shrug. “I’m feelin’ good, Angel. You know that.”

There’s that little half-smile he’s famous for. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I bet, somewhere in there, you’re wonderin’ if you’ll ever feel that way.”

“Well … yeah.” He swallows once, then twice. “I’m wondering, actually, if I’ll be allowed to.”

Suddenly, I get where Angel’s going. “Right. Y’know, I forgot about that. That your soul’s on loan.” I look down at the ring. “And here I am, handin’ you a time bomb.”

He gives me a pained smile. Doyle and Cordy kind of shuffle their feet and look down.

“Tell you what.” I pull his hand up and place the ring there, closing his fingers. “You take it. You think on it. You do what you wanna do. I don’t really wanna destroy it, but at the same time, there ain’t a vamp I trust more with this thing. It’s you or nobody.”

With that, I make my way upstairs. Cordy mentioned a drink, and I’m so down with that. Might even snag a couple beers, if I can get away with it.

Turns out Doyle’s wicked fun when he’s drunk. I’d have taken advantage, but I get the feeling it would have pissed Cordy off. It’s also a wicked pisser making fun of Doyle when he’s hung over the next morning. Cordy and I are at it so hardcore that I don’t even notice the extra vamp feeling until we hear the fighting outside.

As we get near the door, I start feeling the vamp more clearly, and hold back a bit. I stay inside while Cordy and Doyle head out to help Angel. I have a funny feeling I know exactly who that vampire is.

~~~

“This is the second time I’ve been roped into Spike huntin' in two days. It’s kinda gettin’ old, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Angel says tiredly. “I’ve had decades and decades of experience doing it.”

“This the place?”

“Underground poker game for criminals? Looks like it.”

“Cool. Let’s go.”

We bust in the door; Angel goes directly for the boss, while I knock out the help.

The last guy pulls a revolver on me, thinking he’s all tough shit. It’s out of his hands about the same time he goes flying into the wall.

“Thanks for the piece, dipshit.” I turn to Angel. “So?”

“He says Spike’s outside.”

“A’ight, careful. There’s more than one vamp out there. I’m goin’ up.”

Angel moves towards the back entrance, while I find the stairs to the roof. If we’re lucky, Spike hasn’t caught on that I’m here. Might work to our advantage. If not… Whatever.

From the talking I hear once I’m on the roof, Angel obviously got to him first. Problem is, Spike’s got help. I get to the edge just in time to see another vamp wrap a thick chain around Angel’s neck, yanking him to the ground and pinning him while Spike gloats from the chain link fence where he was cornered.

“… but eventually I catch on.” Look at that fucker, so damned pleased with himself. Also so damned obvious he wanted Angel alone. Still, a note to make – Spike is a good actor, and a good planner.

So … Great. Angel’s down, which means I’ve got fuckin’ round two with Spike. Intentionally. At night. Without my bow, swords and anything besides a stake and the gun I took. And he’s just fed. Damn, I feel stupid and unprepared. Like, Sunnydale-level unprepared.

Oh, well. Too bad. This is your life, Faithy.

I drop down and rush in. Spike goes game face the second he sees me.

“Bloody hell. Slayer.” He rushes me, his first moves putting him between me an Angel.

Spike’s vicious this time, trying his level best to kill me. I can tell he’s right in the game – he takes a punch to get close, and throws me as hard as he can into the wall. This time the bricks rain down on me.

One on one, I’d say I’ve got this – just takes a little longer to set up the stake shot. On his own, Spike ain’t nothing special. But Chain Dude’s got Angel pretty wrapped up now. It’s about three seconds till I’m two-on-one, and I ain’t stupid enough to give Spike those odds.

So fuck it.

Coming back from my wall trip, I shove Spike away with a front thrust kick, then move in. Soon as he throws a punch, I yank his arm down and pull the gun, emptying all six shots into his head point-blank.

Guns suck against vamps. None of the bullets will penetrate very far, or do much more than fugly him up for a while, but a fucked up face is a hell of a disadvantage when you’re fighting a Slayer.

Also tends to bring cops.

Spike roars in pain, and I get a glance – tattered skin hanging everywhere, glimpses of metal gray and the bone white, and one of his eyes is pouring blood. He twists into a sweep that takes me off my feet and stomps down hard, forcing me to roll. As I kip to my feet he's running, easily vaulting the fence. I turn my attention to the guy with the chain – who, by the way, can’t fight nearly as well as Spike can.

One thousand-one, one thousand-two, one thousand-dust. Even saved the stake.

I brush the ashes off, then get the chain off Angel. “C’mon, big guy. Let’s get outta here before the boys show up.”

While we’re walking, he keeps shooting me this amused grin.

“What?”

“You shot Spike.”

“Yeah. What about it?”

He shrugs. “It’s just funny, that’s all.”

“How so?”

“Well…” He frowns. “No offense, right?”

“Sure.”

“I was just thinking about Buffy, and how much she hates guns. If there’s one thing that proves that you’re very different from her, this was it.”

I give him a baby pout. “Aww. And here I thought it was my distinct lack of necrophilia.”

“God, Faith!” he roars, laughing. “Did you have to put it that way?”

“For a two hundred – wait, how old are you now?”

“Two hundred seventy-two.”

“Holy fuck.”

Another shrug. “Yeah, time flies.”

“Well, for someone nearly three hundred fuckin’ years old, you sure embarrass easily.”

“Hey, come on now – necrophilia? You make it sound like I was stiff as a corpse when Buffy I made love.”

“You’d better have been.”

“Faith!” he groaned. “That wasn’t what I meant!”

I chuckle at his expense, but Angel loses his smile quickly. Guess the memories aren’t the greatest.

“Sorry, big guy.”

“No. No, it’s fine. I just … just wish it could have all gone better.”

“Hey – what’s done is done, right?”

“Yeah.”

I keep my mouth firmly shut from here on. Angel doesn’t need more shit to brood over. I also happen to be rather attracted to Buffy, and the less I have to hear Angel angst over her, the happier I’ll be. Besides, should the planets align and I get my shot, Soul Boy ain’t going to sing my praises.

With Spike tucking tail, I spend the night at Cordy’s before I fly out. I’d love to actually hang with her a bit, but now that I’ve done my girly duties with Buffy and beat the shit out of Spike twice, it’s high time I get my ass back to Vi.

Besides, I have Joyce’s visit to plan for.

~~~

I get in to my place to see Dennis and VI chatting as they eat. Dennis seems timid, and Vi looks apologetic.

“Sorry,” she starts. “I – um, I wanted some company, and Dennis said—”

“Don’t care,” I interrupt. “D-man, you’re welcome to stay for a bit. I’ve told Vi she can stay with me for good. If you like, we’ll work on setting you up in this buildin.’ Might as well have you on hand.”

Vi hoots excitedly, while Dennis stares at me in confusion.

“I thought you were very much against my being here.”

“I was. But you’re important to Vi, and Vi’s important to me. Dig?” I wander over to the table, stealing some fries from his plate. “

“Err … I suppose…”

“No sweat. Buildin’ a condo takes serious time. You get your shit in order, and we’ll talk timelines.”

“Very well.” Dennis tugs and his collar a bit, before looking back at me. “Faith… how will this work for us? You’re a Slayer as well…”

“I’m sure Travers is just dyin’ to have a Watcher in charge, ain’t he?”

“Not as such, no… but he would be relieved to know that you were under advisement, at the very least.”

“Sure. Whatever. You know your shit. I do the field tactics. When we’re actually out doin’ shit, unless we’re about to die, you follow my lead.”

“Of course. Will you allow me access for your training sessions?”

“Well that’s the thing, D. With Mark outta commission for now, I’m in need of a damn good combat instructor. If we’re lucky, Mark’ll let us use his place.”

“I see.” A smile grows on his face. “So I might actually get to perform my Watcher’s duties after all?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off, still munching on fries as I make my way to my room. It’s time for a nice long bath, then I’ll make myself something green to force myself back into healthier habits. After that, I have an appointment with the internet, planning stuff for me and Joyce to do.

~~~

“That’s right, Faith! Keep your back straight! Extend completely!”

I almost have to bite my tongue as Dennis urges me on. I so want to tell him to fuck off, but I have a fucking big mouth and told him he could be my Watcher, didn’t I?

Ah, fuck. I knew this shit would happen eventually. At least he’s decent. He’s actually joined us in working out the last few days, and he’s willing to tutor me in magic, so I guess I get something out of it.

Maybe we’ll end up getting along.

“Faith, why do you persist with that roundhouse? The opening is horrifically telegraphed, and spinning kicks leave you so open and vulnerable…”

Maybe not. Mark, hurry the fuck up and get better.

~~~

The week flies like nothing. I’m standing here at the airport again. Waiting on a visitor from Sunnydale … again. But this ain’t Willow, who I was only a little nervous about.

It’s Joyce.

No matter how much I assure myself that she cares, I can’t make sense in my mind why she’d go so far out of her way to visit me. What the hell do I have to offer? I can’t help but think that whatever illusion of me she has, it’ll shatter the second she sees my place; the second I have to slay something. Something will remind her that this is the girl who just recently took a man’s head off. This is the girl training another teenager to fight and die for the cause, one she could rightly walk away from, at least for now.

Something will remind her that this is the girl who hurt her daughter. It doesn’t matter how much money I threw at her. One look at the real me, the weapons in my trunk, the magic books and insane exercise room at my place and she’ll leave. She’ll leave and take my heart with her.

If she even comes.

How can I tell her how sorry I am? How can I tell her that I love her? How am I worthy to even—

Oh God. She’s here.

~~~

Doris Greenwich fancies herself a happy woman. At ninety two years of age and relatively good health, she enjoys watching the people around her mingle. No matter what age, it’s heartwarming to see friends and family reconnect at the airport. She would know, waiting for her own daughter to arrive. Her son-in-law sits patiently beside her, keeping her company while they wait for the plane to land.

The dark-haired girl in front of her paces to and fro nervously, her eyebrows bent into a perpetual frown. Her anxiety written all over her body. Perhaps an estranged loved one? A soldier returning from overseas? Those were always the loveliest reunions.

Suddenly, the girl looks up. Doris follows her gaze to an older woman with curly blond hair; perhaps an aunt?

The girl is rigid; she makes no move forward, though her arms shake with exertion. The blonde slowly walks over, a careful smile on her face. The younger girl turns her face a little as they meet, and Doris can make out the thick trail of tears on her face.

“Faith, honey…?”

“You came.”

“Honey, of course I did.”

“You came.”

“Honey…”

Finally the girl moves forward, gathering the woman into a tight hug. She whispers “you came” over and over while the woman rocks them gently.

A painful sob erupts from the girl. Then a second, and a third. Like a damn bursting, she howls her pain and joy into the woman’s shoulder, her knees giving out. The woman carefully guides them to the floor, and holds the girl tightly as she cries unabashedly; like a baby in her mother’s arms.

Doris smiles and wipes her own tear away. Sights like this are why she pesters her boy to bring her early so she can sit. Nothing could be sweeter than watching a broken heart heal. She remains captivated by the tearful embrace until finally the girl pulls away with a sniffle and directs the blonde to the luggage claim. Some minutes later, the two walk towards the exit, the girl talking a mile an hour with an enormous smile on her face.

Uplifted by the emotional reunion, Doris turns her attention to the doors, waiting now for her own daughter to come back to her. She couldn’t wait to take her home, and share stories over pie.