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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

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

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

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

“Make that a bad year,” Buffy added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s fine. He left it to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, two secs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nadira held up her chin defiantly and glared.

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

“And what if somebody finds out?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That doesn’t make it OK.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes she missed the quiet.

----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”They talked.”

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

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

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

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

“The balance?” Angel interrupted.

“The Slayers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You need to stop the Slayers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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