Willow stares sullenly at the floor as Oz packs his belongings. She’d hoped that once Veruca was out of the way, she and Oz would make up and move on. Apparently not.

“How long are you going to be away?”

“As long as it takes,” Oz replies, not pausing a beat in his packing.

“What does that mean?” she asks, her anger flaring up again – just as much for his casual dismissal as his answer.

“I need – Veruca was right about one thing. I’m the wolf all the time. I can’t tell anymore where the wolf ends and I begin.”

“Does that really matter, Oz? I love you – I love all of you.”

“I know.” Oz finally puts down his clothes to steps over and hold her lightly. “I love you, too. That’s why I have to do this.”

“You won’t hurt me.” She shakes her head against his chest, inhaling deeply. He can’t leave. This warmth, this safety, this smell—

“I don’t know that.”

“Damn it, Oz—”

“I’m scared.”

The admission pulls her up short, and quenches much of her fire.

“I’m scared,” he continues, “I don’t … I thought I was in control, but I’m not. I did … things … that I didn’t want to do.”

“And you liked them.” The venom in her voice surprises her, but she feels the truth as the words leave her lips.

I’m not enough for you. Not adventurous enough, not reckless enough. You can’t let go with me, because I don’t want you to. I want safe. I want sappy, squishy, lovey-dovey things that you don’t.

Her thoughts derail as Oz flinches back with a pained look. “How can I like something that makes me feel awful?”

“I don’t know.”

Yes, I do.

“I don’t want to fight,” Oz offers, going back to his packing. “I need to do this.”

“Oz…” Willow swallows, her breath coming in short gasps as she summons the courage to speak the most painful words she’s ever spoken. Her thoughts carry on to their painful conclusion, something she hates and loves all at once:

I need someone else. We won’t be happy together.

The werewolf stops to look at her, a shirt still clutched in his hands.

I’m dumping you. Right now. But saying that out loud takes strength she doesn’t have:

“Oz… I can’t wait for you.” There. The safe answer. The cop out. Make it his fault, not your choice. That’s right, Rosenberg. Coward.

The shirt drops from his hands as the rest of the speech flies off her tongue.

“It’s not fair to make me wait. I can’t sit here and mope around while you – while you find yourself.”

There. It’s done. A tear trails down her face and falls, hitting her shoe with an audible smack.

Oz sits carefully on his bed, staring down at nothing.

“I know,” he whispers.

The silence broken, Willow rushes to him, kissing him desperately as he clutches at her with all his strength.

“Don’t go,” she begs. “Don’t do this. I love you. I love you. Please, I love you…”

“Willow…”

No further words are exchanged and Oz holds her as she sobs in his arms. Minutes pass as they both collect themselves. Then Oz goes back to his packing, while Willow gathers her own belongings and takes them back to her dorm.

She meets him back at his van as he throws in the last of the bags.

“Here,” she says, handing him a small cage. “Take Veruca with you. If you find someone to help you, they can help her, too.”

Oz frowns at the rat. “Don’t know if they can help her like that.”

“That’s what this is for.” Willow produces a small pouch. “A pinch of this dust sprinkled on her will change her back and forth. I’ve already tested it.”

“Okay…” Oz cocks his head.

“I tried it on Amy,” Willow says, answering the unspoken question. “It didn’t work. I talked with Giles and Faith, and we all agree that it’s because Amy cursed herself of her own free will. All the transmogrifications I know are Hecate’s invocations and it’s pretty obvious now that I can’t call on the same Goddess Amy did to undo the spell. I have to find something different. Until I do, she’s stuck.”

Oz gives a sideways nod, signalling his understanding and acceptance. “Alright. I’ll take her.”

“Good.”

“Okay.” Oz turns to leave, then turns quickly back. “Willow—”

No more.

“You should go, Oz.”

“I’ll be back.”

The words come easier now. “Don’t expect me to be single. I won’t – I’m not going to run out there and replace you, I can’t. But—”

“I know. I get it.”

“I’ll always love you, Oz.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

Willow watches the van trail off until it’s out of sight. No more tears would come, no matter how much she wants them to. All that’s left is the pain.

~~~

“Fan out! Don’t let the Hostile focus its attention!”

“Sir!”

The soldiers spread apart as the lumbering demon approaches, its thick claws swiping clumsily at them. It misses, taking out a tree instead. He’d never seen it’s like before: Large, bipedal and ugly as sin. Despite its bulk, the creature had been lucky twice now – two dead soldiers; two letters to grieving families. The only good they’d done so far is to keep the monster away from a more populated area. With the number of trees felled and the horrific noise, it’s a wonder half of Cleveland wasn’t watching right now, along with every news station on the planet.

McNamara considers himself a hard man; you don’t make Colonel by hesitating or showing fear. But this… He steadies the prototype blaster against his shoulder, firing a stream of electricity straight into the beast. It staggers—

For a second.

Then it swivels and guts the nearest marine, a brave boy hoping to capitalize on the Colonel’s shot with a tranq.

Dammit. Three letters.

Why did he sign on to this ridiculous project? What could Walsh hope to accomplish by dealing with these Hostiles? They couldn’t even name the damned things! ‘Hostile Subterranean’ was such a crock of—

“Shit! Stevens! Not the leg! Flank, boy! Flank—!”

Four letters.

“Fall back!” he cries, a touch of desperation in his voice. They couldn’t deal with this monstrosity. It’s too big, too strong, too tough to injure…

“Holy shit!”

He turns instinctively to the soldier that cried out, and watches as he’s shoved clear of the monster’s grasp, flying a good ten feet through the air. In a blur of motion his savior, a young woman in dark clothing, rushes the beast and leaps atop of it.

The Jedi.

The beast swivels and thrashes to unseat her, and succeeds – but not before she’s buried a sword into its back at least three times. She barely hits the ground before she’s in-between the monster’s feet, hacking and slashing with uncanny speed and precision. The abomination dances comically around, trying to pin her down, but she’s too fast, always one step ahead, always behind or between the creature’s legs.

One thousand five; one thousand six…

He hears the snap as the monster’s Achilles tendon – or whatever the hell it has – gives way, sending the behemoth to the ground. The girl wastes no time leaping onto its back, her attacks now aimed at its neck.

One thousand ten; one thousand eleven…

She cartwheels away just in time to avoid the massive arms reaching for her, then she’s right back at that neck, hacking away until the beast lies still. She continues unabated until the head rolls away from the body.

One thousand fourteen; one thousand fifteen.

Fifteen seconds.

“Hold your fire,” he barks, though it’s more for show. He has three men still standing, and none of them are remotely brave enough to aim their blasters at the girl.

Neither is he.

The girl throws him a mock salute with her sword. “I think I’ll leave clean-up to you, Chief. Have fun!”

“Wait—!”

But she’s gone, running at a clip that would net her a speeding ticket.

What did she look like? Darker hair, sure, but what style? He couldn’t remember. What was she wearing? It was dark, but that’s all he could say. She certainly sounded like a young woman, but…

Dammit!

Damn it all to hell!

“Gather the bodies,” he orders, fatigue clouding his voice. “We’ll tend to our own first. I’ll get another crew out for this corpse.”

“Sir!”

The boys each grab a fallen friend, and he grabs the last. With heavy hearts, they load their comrades into their vehicles and move back to base.

Four letters he had to write. Four funerals for a stupid monster that Jedi Girl took out in fifteen seconds flat.

She wasn’t a vigilante, she was a professional; that much was very obvious. So why in God’s name would the President sign off on this venture when there were already trained professionals – unknown or not – containing the problem? Why not outsource to them; for training if nothing else?

Fuck it. Fuck it all. His men are the important thing right now. This entire mess is way too far above his pay grade.

~~~

First thing’s first: After a big, messy kill like that, it’s shower time. Cleanliness is godliness, and the pulse setting on the showerhead will help take care of the horniness. Vi’s asleep, so it’s just a quiet one-timer tonight. Not nearly enough to satisfy, though. Still, there’s business to deal with before bed. It’s 4am here, so it should be late enough in London that Quincy’s in his office. Running into military guys hunting a demon needs more than an email. The phone dials away while I plop my damp ass on the couch, adjusting the towel on my head and body just in case Vi wakes up.

“Council. Patricia Speaking.”

“Hey. This is Faith Lehane for Quentin Travers.”

“Certainly, Miss Lehane. One moment.”

Heh. ‘Certainly Miss Lehane.’ We’ve come a long way in a few months, I see.

It’s not long before the phone picks up again. “Faith, good to hear from you.”

“You might not think that in a sec, Quincy.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Found US military huntin’ a demon. They had cool toys, too – zappin’ it with lightning.”

“Indeed?”

“Yeah. Didn’t do much to the demon, though. Just pissed it off. It killed four of ‘em ‘fore I got there.”

“You dispatched it, then?”

“Yeah. Snapped a couple photos of the demon and the soldiers, but I had to be quick about it. I dunno if they’re any good. I’ll send ‘em anyways.”

“Very good. I’ll see what I can find out about this military group. Are you certain they’re not a private company?”

“Not sure, honestly. But if they’re rockin’ Humvees and fancy toys on US soil, I’m pretty sure they’re official, y’know?”

“Fair enough. I’ll get back to you.”

“Bye.”

And that’s my relationship with Quincy in a heartbeat. Now, for a few hours of sleep before my morning workout. I think I’ll visit Mark today and see how he’s doing. It’s been awhile.

~~~

Mark seems completely normal if you take him from the shoulders up. He’s happy, healthy and full of smiles. He spouts philosophy with the same kindness that he always has. It’s only when you look down that you see the difference. He’s lost a lot of muscle tone, and he’s skinny to the point of bony. His gi bulges with the colostomy bag, and he still has to walk fairly slowly. We’re supposed to be meditating, but I can’t make myself look away or close my eyes.

“Are you ogling me again?” Mark jokes, cracking an eye open.

“Caught me,” I say. I dial for my trademark saucy grin, but the look on his face tells me I came up short.

“I’m okay, Faith. Really.”

“No, you ain’t.” I shake my head, jumping to my feet and walking over. “I wish you were, but you really ain’t, and I feel like shit for it.”

“And I wish I had the right words to take away your pain,” he says as he scoots over so we can share his floor mat. “We’ve had this discussion a million times now. You aren’t to blame.”

“It might not be my fault, but it’s my responsibility.” I pull him into a one-armed hug. “I just want you better, dude. I want to see you up and active again without the gut sack.”

“Me too,” he chuckles. “Sara’s starting to hover around me again.”

“Yeah. She’ll do that.” A moment passes, and I address the elephant in the room. “So, any updates from the docs?”

“Not really,” he mutters, his smile slipping. I raise an eyebrow, and he blows out a sigh before continuing. “I was in a couple days ago because of some odd pains around the injury. The doctors are concerned that my bowels might rupture again, so I’m on a liquid diet for the moment, which absolutely sucks.”

No food? Hell no! “Uh, yeah. That’s evil.”

“It’s also got Sara paranoid that the whole magic thing might not be enough to put it right.”

“You think maybe you need another shot?” I ask, ready to go back and brew one up. “I’ve still got hair and shit.”

Mark gives me his best rueful grin and points to his gut. “If I drink that, will it leave the holes for the bag?”

Fuck.

“No.” Shit. Goddammit. “It won’t.” Motherfucking son of a motherfucking bitch! “They’d have to put a whole new one in and ask a bunch of questions.”

“Right, that’s what I thought.”

More uncomfortable silence. No fucking way I’m meditating now.

“So? What now, then?”

“For me?” Mark taps his chin. “Sara and I have wills made out already. I should see that they’re updated, just in case. I’d also like to get my sperm on ice so that if Sara wants a child, she can have one.”

“Hey, wait a sec—!”

“I might die, Faith.”

Those words kill me. They tear at my heart and make my eyes sting. I want to scream at him that he can’t die; that he can’t leave Sara. That he can’t leave me. But my lungs aren’t taking orders right now.

“I might die,” he repeats, and it hurts just as much the second time. “I’d be stupid not to plan for it. I might recover, but reading in between the lines, the doctors are expecting me to get worse. At best, I think I’ll be like this forever.”

“You’re set for life,” I rasp, finally able to speak through the lump in my chest. “I don’t care if we just meet for coffee, or if I have to come visit you at home. Even if you’ve only got five minutes for me. Even if you can’t do that, I’ll never stop payin’ you. I’ll never – you’re my friend, Mark. You’re my – my older brother or some shit. I – I love you.” Somewhere in the middle of the tears, my head ends up against his shoulder, and he puts an arm around me.

And it’s so weak. His embrace is so fucking weak, and it hurts. It just hurts.

“You can’t leave me,” I whisper through the pain. “Don’t even say it. Don’t scare me with these fuckin’ plans and this shit talk that you’re doin.’ You ain’t goin’ nowhere. You ain’t.”

I wait for the soothing words, but they don’t come. Just his steady breath and his arm squeezing me as much as he can.

~~~

I head straight home from Mark’s gym, my mood for doing anything but sleeping completely ruined. I know I should visit Sara, but just can’t right now. I need to be more centred for that, because she’ll be off her rocker for sure.

Fuck.

How do I tell Red that her mojo might be wearing off? Or that it just wasn’t enough to begin with?

Fuck.

I need – something. Something to hurt. Something to kill. That’s what I do, right? I’m a Slayer. I kill shit and make people’s lives better. Except that I made Mark’s life worse.

Fuck!

I fumble my keys trying to get the door open, and end up using the code instead. Maybe a couple rounds on the bag will calm me down, exhaust me enough that my mind will shut up. Hopefully Vi’s out. Hell, there’s another one, right? What if I fuck her up, too? Potential killed before her time because Faith Fucking Lehane is too stupid—

“Faith? What’re you doin’ home so early?”

I don’t even feel myself as I about face and grab the girl into a hug. Guess I’m needy today.

“Uh, Faith?”

“Sorry,” I mumble. Funny thing is that I can’t let go yet.

“You alright?”

“No.” I squeeze a bit tighter. “Mark’s gettin’ worse.”

Vi’s arms tighten into a proper hug, and she buries her head into my shoulder.

“I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” Why the fuck I’m saying this to her, I don’t really get right now. Maybe she does?

“Okay…?” Didn’t think so.

“You’re mine,” I whisper, squeezing just a bit harder. “You can’t go nowhere, you hear me?” Still not what I’m feeling, but I guess my brain’s not in high gear right now.

“It’s okay, Faith,” she murmurs from my shoulder. It’s not okay, but she’s cool for trying. “I won’t leave you. Never.”

There. That’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear. That makes my heart ache less, and like steam vents, my tension begins to ease.

“Good.” I force myself to let go after a moment, finally back in control of myself. Damn, I got to call Joyce. I need to vent this before I hurt myself. First though, exercise.

Ring!

Or not. The area code’s Sunnydale, so I slap my face a couple of times and clear my throat. Here’s hoping I sound normal.

“Lehane.”

“Hi, Faith.”

“Red? Hey, s’up?”

“Um… stuff. Bad stuff.”

Join the fucking club, Red.

“Oh. Well, can I help?”

“I don’t know… I think… maybe…”

“Just ask, Red. Anythin.’”

“Um… Oz cheated on me.”

What the fuck? But also: Perfect distraction for Faith! Thanks, Red!

“Fuck! No way!”

“Way. With another werewolf, way.”

“Goddamned son of a bitch!”

“He … he’s leaving. Says he has to figure out where the wolf ends and he begins.”

“He better leave, or I’ll break his fuckin’ arms and legs! Shit, Red…”

“I … when Buffy had problems a couple weeks ago, you came. Will you … will you come…?”

Even better. I can talk to Joyce in person.

“Don’t even gotta ask. I’ll be there quick as I can.”

“You don’t have to rush. I mean, catch a flight to Sunnydale this time, okay? Or maybe even drive? You like driving, right?”

“Sure. Got a new rig I’d love to put some miles on, too. I’ll see you in a couple days, then.”

“Okay.”

“Willow?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you loved him. But you deserve better. Remember that.”

“I … thanks, Faith.”

“Welcome. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

I set the phone down with a smile on my lips. Sunnydale is a great reason to ignore Cleveland for a bit.

“Gotta go save the day again?” Vi asks from the couch.

“Ya huh. Least I don’t have to splurge for a plane this time. City’s yours, kiddo – don’t die.”

Less than two hours later, I’m packed and good to go with my favorite weapons in the back seat of my new beastie. Time to see if I got my money’s worth for this thing.

~~~

At just a touch over the speed limit, it’s a thirty-five hour trip from Cleveland to Sunnydale. That’s basically three twelve-hour stints with two hotel stops before the end. I love the endless road with the wind roaring in my face; it gives me time to reflect, with just enough focus to keep me from losing my shit.

It’s kind of nuts, how massively things have changed for me in just six months. I suppose in retrospect –a big Joyce-word – my life hasn’t stopped changing massively since I got called as a Slayer. Hell, even before that, there was never a period of peace. I’ve never known peace longer than a week or so at a time.

Like Mark: His condition threw me. I guess I still believe in fairy tales and miracles, because I figured that Red’s fix would be the end of things. He’d just get stronger and stronger and they’d take away the bag, and that would be it. But it doesn’t look that way, and moping around about it takes away from what I should be, which is grateful. Grateful for having met Mark and having him as a friend. Grateful for Mark introducing me to Sara. Most importantly, I should be grateful for being a Slayer, which allowed me to pretty much shrug off a sniper shot that, if I were human, would have killed me – either quickly or slowly.

Looking back, there are a lot of things I should have been grateful for. Hindsight is perfect, right?

I’m pretty sure Mark gets this all. I’ll have to have a better talk with him when I get back. I still hope that everything works out, but I’ll take the time I have left with him and be as happy as I can.

~~~

Buffy rushes her goodbyes to classmates as she tears off campus towards her home as fast as she can; a pink and white blur barely keeping to the shadows. Faith should be at her mom’s any minute now, and she definitely wants in on the bonding time.

As she rounds the corner onto Revello Drive, she stops short at the sight of the big black monster truck in front of her house. That is most definitely not Faith’s Mustang. Walking around to the rear, she discovers that it’s a Ford Excursion; with the suspension raised and six doors instead of four, it seems more like a tank than a SUV. The Ohio licence plate, however – ‘CHOSEN2’ – gives it away as Faith’s immediately.

A Slayermobile. Faith bought a Slayermobile!

Satisfied and excited all at once, Buffy fumbles with her keys before throwing the front door open.

“Mom? Faith?”

“In the kitchen, B!”

Buffy jogs through the house, pouncing on Faith as soon as she can.

“Hi!” she chirps as Faith grunts, taking her weight.

“Hey, B. Good to see you.”

“You, too.”

The world pauses a moment as Buffy settles into Faith’s strong embrace. For just a moment, everything in her life is perfect.

 “Dinner will be ready in about a half-hour,” her mom says from near the stove. “I’m sure you girls have some catching up to do!”

Buffy leads Faith up to her room, where she drops unceremoniously across her bed. Buffy sits on the edge near Faith’s head, so she can see her.

“How long are you staying?”

Faith shrugs, her eyes flicking up to Buffy’s. “Joyce wants me here for Thanksgiving, and that’s only a few days off. Figure I’d just hang around, if it’s alright with you.”

“Yes! That’s great!” Buffy kicks against the side of the bed excitedly.

“So what’s the deal, B? Red was in a hell of a snit when she called.”

Oh. Buzz-kill topic. “Snit’s a good word. We’ll see a lot of Snitty-Will, I think. Did she tell you about Oz?”

“Only that the asshole cheated on her,” Faith growls. “Found another furry and went at it, then gave her some sob story.”

“Yeah, that’s not the whole story.” Boy, is it not the whole story.

“Well?” Faith’s eyebrow arches up.

“Um… Will beat the other werewolf up. A lot. With her mind.”

“Sweet shit! Good for her!” Faith’s wide smile slowly shrinks as Buffy turns to look at her. “What happened, B? C’mon, spill.”

“Will wanted some revenge, I guess… and I suppose to keep a killer off the streets. So she turned the girl into a rat.”

The satisfied smirk starts to grow again. “I’m likin’ what I’m hearin’ so far…”

Buffy sighs, dropping her gaze to the ground. “Maybe you had to be there, but… it was scary, watching Will do that. Her eyes, Faith… they were dark and … kinda evil.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that.” Faith sits up, swivelling around to end up beside the blonde. “She was like that when she came to Cleveland. Guess that happens when she gets into the groove.”

Another sigh fights its way out, and Buffy wills her mouth to close. It was a given that Faith would support Willow’s actions. She knew that already. Didn’t she? There’s no real point in arguing, right?

“What’s buggin’ you about it, B?” Faith scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her. “I mean, Red used to be kinda mousy and weak. Now she ain’t. That’s a good thing, right?”

“She also played Goddess with someone’s life.”

“Nah.”

“Um, yeah? What else would you call life as a rat?”

“B, look at me.” Faith’s fingers reach her chin and gently turn her so that their gazes lock. “What would you or I have done with her?”

“We’d have…” She trails off, her eyes suddenly finding the brighter highlights of her blond hair fascinating.

“Say it, B.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Say it.”

“Faith—”

“C’mon, B. This ain’t hard. Remember Pete? No one cried over him.”

“He was a monster. He did that to himself.”

“Pretty much the same thing here.”

“No! She’s human almost all the time!”

“Big deal. Some humans are the worst monsters out there.”

“We can’t deal with them!”

“Sure we can.” A spark of anger flares to life in Faith’s eyes, but dims immediately. “That’s a conversation for another day. This girl wasn’t normal. She was a werewolf.”

“Still.”

“No. We would have killed her, Buffy.”

“I’m not you.”

Faith’s arm falls away, and she pulls back as if struck – and suddenly Buffy knows exactly what her foot tastes like.

“You would have killed her,” Faith says, her voice harsher. “We kill monsters all the time, B. The only exceptions so far are Oz and Angel. And you know why? ‘Cause a Scooby fell in love with ‘em, that’s why!”

“I’m sorry—”

“Shut up! Tell me the truth, B. Tell me that if it had been me with the monster boyfriend last year, tell me that you wouldn’t have killed him and told me off for bein’ stupid!”

“I wouldn’t—!”

“Stop lyin’ to me!” Faith roars, and Buffy shrinks back, worried for the first time that a real fight might break out. “You, Willow, Xander, Giles, even fuckin’ Cordelia would’ve shit all over me while I cried over his fuckin’ corpse! ‘Cause I was an outsider!”

The moment stretches endlessly as the Slayers stare at each other, Faith’s rapid breathing the only noise. Buffy wants desperately to end this, but how?

“Angel lived ‘cause you wouldn’t kill him,” Faith continued, her voice quieter but no less hostile. “Oz lived ‘cause you’d never hurt Willow. That’s it.”

Why is she going on about this? Buffy belts out the apology that’s burning her throat. “Faith, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

And now Faith’s looking at her like she’s retarded. “I fuckin’ know that, B. I ain’t stupid.” Then what’s with the anger? Huge Air Faith planes are soaring over Buffy’s head. Faith talks slower, adopting a childish tone. “How many werewolves do you think I’ve killed, B? Hmm?”

“I don’t know…?” But Faith simply motioned upwards with her hand. “Three?” Upwards. “Four?” Much upwards. “Seven? Eight?”

“Eleven, B. From the days of Boston to Cleveland, I’ve killed eleven werewolves.” Buffy blinks, not comprehending. Faith nods. “Exactly: So what, right? I mean, I’m a Slayer. Job done, right?”

“Yeah. Okay…”

“So those eleven people I killed, that are only ‘dangerous once a month,’ even though they’re assholes twenty-four seven – that’s okay, right?”

Buffy winces as the mental anvil strikes home. “I get it.”

“Good. But we ain’t done.”

Really? This sucks! “Why not?”

“’Cause you managed to deflect our conversation from Red to me. Good job on that, by the way.”

“I… Okay. You’ve lost me. I’m lost.”

“I’ll spell it out for you: If it’s cool for Slayers to off a werewolf, why isn’t it okay for Red?”

And there it was.

Buffy sways, dizzy as the situation strikes home: Above and beyond any thoughts of who was right or wrong, Faith – Faith, of all people – had caught her fully and completely in a logic trap. Veruca was an uncontrolled werewolf, so Veruca had to die, so it didn’t really matter what Willow did to her. Never mind that Oz taking her along was actually a mercy. So what was her problem?

“Are we there, yet?” A look of impatience marred Faith’s features.

Buffy shakes her head. “I get it. Veruca needed to die. No more argument here. Whatever Willow did is – but … but it’s not the same, Faith!”

“Why not?”

“Because—!” Because why? What the hell was Faith looking for?

“’Cause Red’s not a Slayer?” Faith prods, and Buffy shakes her head. “Maybe ‘cause she didn’t make it a clean kill?”

“That’s not it. In a way, she did way more because Veruca’s travelling with Oz now – as a rat, that is. I think she gave him a way to change her back, too. If Oz gets help, she will too. We hope.”

“See? Even better. So what’s buggin’ you, B?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, looking down. She didn’t need to look at Faith to feel the shit-eating grin on the other Slayer’s face. But Buffy really didn’t know, so why…?

“Maybe…” Faith leans forward, whispering like she’s telling a dirty secret, “…it’s ‘cause she went ahead and did it without your say-so, B.”

Buffy’s gaze snaps back to Faith, emotions warring: Indignation, anger, and … and…

Once, twice, three times Buffy opens her mouth, ready to deny, only to stop herself. Once, twice, three times Faith’s shark-like smile widens.

“See, B? See how different the problem really is?”

All Buffy can do is shake her head.

“Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m on your side in this.” There’s a side? “See, this is your town. You’re the Slayer. Notice how I didn’t second-guess you about Spike or Angel with that Gem of Amarra shit? You and G-man have the low-down on what needs to live and die, and how ass-kickin’ and second chances are handed out. You. Not Red. Not Xander. Not even Giles, when it comes down to it. You. Angel lived ‘cause of you. Oz lived ‘cause of you. All the other baddies died ‘cause of you. Anythin’ that escaped had a hell of a fight to do it. And now Red comes along and steals your kill, givin’ out her own brand of justice. In your town.”

All sorts of arguments form in Buffy’s head, but none of them make it to her lips, which stay sealed. All the while she sees the Slayer across from her on the bed. Not Faith, but the Slayer: Her peer, Ruler of the Cleveland Hellmouth, just as she is Ruler of the Sunnydale Hellmouth. And though she would never badmouth her best friend, the Slayer that is Buffy growls in agreement.

“See, B? Your problem with Red is the same problem you had with me last year: It ain’t power or morals or choices or whatever other shit; it’s insubordination. What you got is a wicked powerful witch that might not always do what you tell her to do. That’s bad.”

After a moment, Buffy nods her acceptance to Faith. Maybe her issue with Willow really is that simple. In the end, Buffy never did like surprises, and an independent, powerful Willow is more than a little surprising. Still, that leaves the other stuff that was said; stuff Buffy really, really wants to take back.

So she does: “Can I apologize now for saying stupid things?”

Faith waves her off. “We’re good, B. We both have thicker skin than that.”

Tentatively, Buffy reaches out and gathers Faith into a hug. “I mean it, though. I want us to be okay. Always.”

“We are.” Faith tightens her arms around her, and the feeling of contentment slowly returns. 

~~~

Spike wheezes and pants as he dashes across the campus towards the dorms. Those bloody soldiers are far too good at tracking him, and he really, really needs some blood. With any luck, maybe he’ll catch a girl out alone, or …

Or that.

Willow’s silhouette stands out starkly against the lit window, and Spike feels his mouth water. Nothing quite as appetizing as a Scooby, after all. Especially after those Slayer cunts cost him the Gem of Amarra.

And shot him in the face.

And got him captured by a sodding military Frankenstein project!

But they’d learn respect, oh yes. One dead friend at a time, the Slayers would both learn why you did not fuck with William the Bloody.

Getting to the dorm room is child’s play. He knocks lightly, and sure enough he hears a muffled ‘come in!’

So naïve. So predictable. The door opens—

The witch locks eyes with him, a spark of shock quickly turning to burning anger.

Her eyes go black as night.

“You!” she snarls, fire erupting in her hands and around her shoulders.

So great bloody balls of fire!

“Right, never mind!” he shouts, scrambling out of the way as flames burst through the doorway. “Wrong room! Leaving now! Like, right now!”

He ducks two more shots, his duster well on fire as he drops out a window and rolls heavily on the ground. He’s borderline starving now, but he forces himself to superhuman speed, worried much more about losing the witch than losing the soldiers.

~~~

Halle-fucking-llujah, Buffy sees the light! Thank you, God!

We keep the rest of our chatting light and pointless while we get ready. Buffy’s figuring to take Red to the Bronze, then do some sort of sleepover at the dorms. I’m cool with that, I guess. Willow ain’t a Slayer, and she’s going to need a different sort of TLC than we will. Joyce stuffs us full of pasta, chicken and veggies before we leave, and we thank her with kisses and hugs.

“Bye, Mom!”

“See ya, Mama!”

B gives me a look, but Joyce is beaming nice and wide, so it’s all worth it.

“Mama, huh?” B asks, poking my shoulder.

I shrug. “Hey, she told me I was ‘hers as much as you were.’ Her words. I’m cool with that. She’s awesome.”

B’s mouth does this little ‘O’ thing, then she gives me this small, weird smile. “Yeah. She is.”

On anyone else, that smile would have been creepy. But Buffy… I just want her to smile at me all the time, so I’ll take it as a win. Especially after that shitty conversation.

“So…” B gestures to my ride. “Slayermobile?”

“Damn straight. Hop in.” And hop is definitely the right word; the beastie’s a little bit tall for us. Buffy ogles the leather interior and stereo while I rev her up. “Before you ask, I didn’t order this or nothin.’ Found a guy sellin’ it and picked it up right away. Awesome winter vehicle, and great for road trips.”

“Yeah. I bet.” Buffy’s still distracted in that ‘new car’ way, so I let her poke around and play with the radio while I drive to the campus. I can just imagine what a road trip with B might be like. Heh, one day…

“Hey, Faith?”

“Yo.”

“Have you had any weird army guys around Cleveland? I ran into a couple here, and they were kinda wiggy.”

Well, shit. Point to the soldier boys.

“Hell yeah. Got an entire fuckin’ platoon or some shit. Guess the government’s not as blind as we thought, huh?”

“I guess.” Buffy doesn’t seem concerned, so I don’t press for details.

“I sent my info to the Council. We’ll see what Quincy has for me.”

“Quincy?” B giggles. “He lets you call him ‘Quincy?’”

“You ‘let’ me call you B?”

“Good point.”

Just like that, we’re at UC Sunnydale. I don’t take one step out of the truck before Willow glomps me.

“Hey, Red.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She mumbles. “I mean, I used to have Xander, but he’s in a relationship, and it’s different now – I mean, after last year and all. I have Buffy, but she’s kind of this big plush toy, you know? I needed a different opinion, too. Something more, I don’t know … Practical, I guess.”

Babble away, Red. Babble away. “I’m here, Willow. Don’t have to justify it, okay? You called; I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

I smirk over at B. “Hey, Plush-toy. How’s things?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Buffy joins the hug-fest, and Willow sighs in relief. “I’m glad we’re doing this. Will’s losing it a bit.”

“Well, we’ll just have to find it, then!”

They both look at me funny. “What are we finding?”

“The fun, of course!”

As we pile into the newly-dubbed Slayermobile, Willow gives us a smirk. “Did you know that Spike dropped by tonight?”

As Red regales us on fire and fleeing vamps, B catches my eye and nods grimly. Boy, do I hope I’m back in Cleveland before she sits Red down for that talk.

~~~

An intense night of dancing and drinking follows as I put my fake ID to good use. Willow’s too chicken to get more than buzzed, but Buffy’s somewhere between buzzed and hammered. I’m not really feeling it yet, which is probably a good thing since I’m driving. But holy shit, the dancing! Red’s off in her own world, bouncing away to the beat. A couple guys are dancing with her, and I know that’s making her night right there. There’s nothing like attention to make you feel awesome about yourself. I’d put good money down that she’s not thinking about Oz at all.

But Buffy… I swear I’m going to cream my fucking leathers the way she’s dancing up on me. Hell, screw that, we ain’t really ‘dancing’ anymore. She’s up against me so hard that we’re basically riding each other’s thighs. I have a hand squeezing her ass as much to keep her skirt from riding up and mooning everyone as to cop a feel. She’s looking up at me through her lashes, giving me that ‘fuck me’ stare, biting her lip… Every thought besides ‘dance’ and ‘fuck’ is gone. Just gone.

Stop. Stop, Faith. Stop. Fucking stop. You need to stop.

It’s hard as hell pulling myself back from the edge. It’s even harder to stop dancing when B gives me that pout of hers. But it can’t go down this way. A drunk Buffy might love me tonight, but the sober Buffy will hate me tomorrow.

I herd us out of the club maybe twenty minutes later, both girls protesting the whole way. The drink gives them temporary ADHD, though, and they’re talking all about boys and sleepovers and god knows what else as I concentrate hard on the road.

“Na-na na-na na-na na-na, na-na na-na na-na na-na, Slay-man! Na-na na-na na-na na, Slay-man!”

B pulls her head back inside the window to stare at me while a slightly inebriated Red sings in the back seat. “Slay-man?” she mouths incredulously. “When did we grow dicks?”

All I can do is shrug.

“Slay-man! Slay-man! Slay-man!”

I demand a shower when we finally get to their dorm. By the time I’m both clean and satisfied, the water’s ice cold. I have never, ever shared a bed with anyone that I wasn’t going to fuck, so this whole ‘sleepover’ thing is brand-new territory for me. Add to that B’s little standing lap-dance, and I’m actually nervous about this. By the time I get back to the room, everything’s been rearranged, and the girls are working on the bed.

“How do we do this?”

“Push the beds together, turn the mattresses sideways?”

“That should work.”

I listen to them chatter as they get everything ready. I shouldn’t be this awkward, but let’s face facts: I didn’t get to do girly things as a kid. While Red and B spent nights with their friends talking about boys and doing each other’s hair, I spent those nights with my legs spread for whoever paid Mom, or hanging out on the streets.

Part of me wonders if I even know how to do anything else.

“Faith?” B’s voice brings me back to the present. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah – yeah, it is. You guys finished settin’ up?”

“More or less. You ready?”

I take a look at their full-body PJ’s and scoff. “If you’re expectin’ me to sleep in somethin’ other than a thong and a tank top, you’re nuts.”  The girls shrug, and I jump onto the bed, claiming the right side. “C’mon, B – it’s Slayer Sandwich time! Slayers-and-witch.”

They both groan at me. “That was horrible, Faith!”

“Yeah, yeah; budge over!” We all pile onto the now kinda-queen size bed, rolling and squirming to get comfy. Willow moves to the middle, while Buffy takes the left.

“Um, where do I put my arm?” Willow asks, probably because her right arm’s wedged between my girls right now.

“I can suggest a few places…” I wink at her. “But where you’ve got it’s good for me.”

Naturally, Red turns about the same colour as her hair. “Faith! Where can I put my arm so it isn’t buried in your boobs?!”

“What? They not good enough for you?”

“That’s not what I meant! I – uurgh!”

“Be nice, Faith.” Buffy reaches over Willow to swat my shoulder.

“I’m all about the nice, B. See? I’m bein’ all cuddly and shit.”

We trail off as everyone goes through one last squirm to get comfy. Willow ends up with both her arms around our shoulders, which is really the only comfy choice there is.

“Thanks, guys.”

“S’no problem, Red.”

“You never have to ask, Will. I know things suck right now, but they’ll get better. I’m sure of it.”

“We’ll take care of you.”

“I know.” Willow pulls us both closer, wriggling contentedly. “I feel safe.”

I listen as her breathing evens out and she drifts off. Glancing up, I lock eyes with Buffy, who smiles at me from over top Willow’s head. Our arms are linked across Willow, and behind her head. I can’t say that I’ve ever been quite as comfortable as this. The freakiest thing is that after all the buildup and this fucked-up idea of sleeping on top of each other, I’m not really horny right now. I’m just … happy.

Damn.