After the dust has finished settling on the crater that once housed everything that most of them have ever known and loved, the bus rolls on. They drive north to Santa Barbara, to bring Robin and a few of the potentials to the emergency room. Giles spins a tale about them having been wounded in the earthquake that just swallowed the town of Sunnydale, finds a sympathetic nurse who gives them a private consult room with a phone, and starts making calls to the parents of dazed and newly powered girls crowded into the tiny room.

Buffy lets them disinfect and cover the entry and exit wounds in her abdomen and back. Then she declines further testing, walks right out the emergency room exit, makes a right and skirts the building, and stops at the side of a physician only parking lot, sitting down on a parking block. She sits there until the sun is high in the sky, well past noon, just watching the cars come and go. One day ago she had no idea if she’d live to see this. If any of them would. But here they are, mostly intact. They lost Spike. They might yet lose Robin. But against all odds, they’ve won. So Buffy sits, because for the first time in a long time, she can just sit.

After a while, she catches sight of someone in her peripheral vision, coming around the building the same way she did. Faith’s wearing the same dusty clothing she climbed out of the wreckage of Sunnydale High in, but she’s washed her face and pulled her hair back into a somewhat orderly ponytail. She makes her way toward Buffy, a tentative look on her face when she arrives. “This concrete taken?” She asks, gesturing with her toe toward the other half of the parking block.

Buffy shakes her head, and Faith takes a seat beside her. She stretches both legs out in front of her, rolling her ankles tiredly within her boots. They sit in companionable silence for a few moments. “Willow was looking for you,” Faith says neutrally. “Told her I’d go make sure you weren’t bleeding out in the parking lot.” She turns to squint at Buffy. “You’re not, are you?

Buffy shakes her head.

Faith nods like that satisfies her, turning so she’s facing back into the parking lot. “You okay?”

She is, Buffy realizes in surprise. She really is. “I think I’m in shock,” she admits. “Did we just close the Hellmouth?”

Faith chuckles. “I think we did.”

“Huh,” Buffy says with the ghost of a smile, and lapses back into silence.

Faith sits with her a while, before she starts to grow restless. “I’ll tell her you’re fine,” she says, and starts to climb to her feet.

Buffy’s hand on her forearm makes her stop. When Faith looks down, Buffy squeezes. “Thanks,” she says, “for checking on me.”

“Sure,” Faith says, like this is totally normal behavior between them. Buffy lets go, and Faith heads back toward the emergency room, a little smile on her face.

XXXXX

Giles books them long-term rentals at the Sandyland Reef Inn. In spite of the name, it is definitely not the best the city of Carpinteria has to offer. In fact, it reminds Faith uncomfortably of the Motor Inn back in Sunnydale, but it’s a roof over her head and ground not caving under her feet, so Faith accepts the room key she’s offered. She doesn’t know what her long-term plan is, but it doesn’t seem like anyone else does either. The city of Sunnydale has been declared a disaster area by the federal government, and scientists are currently crawling all over the crater, trying to figure out what exactly would make an entire town collapse in on itself. Everyone who actually lived in Sunnydale is filling out paperwork and starting the long process of trying to get federal funding to help pull the pieces of their lives back together. The rest of them are free to head back to wherever they came from, and one by one, they begin to.

Chao-Ahn gets the first available flight back to Shanghai. Vi promises to walk her to her gate before catching her flight home to Rhode Island. Rona lets her guard down long enough to hug them goodbye, then she boards a bus bound for Chicago. Colleen and Shannon leave two days later. Faith stops keeping track of their destinations. The group whittles down further until only a handful of newbies remain with them. Faith nods and exchanges pleasantries, but mostly she minds her own business. Or she tries to.

Robin appears at her door, a week and a half after Sunnydale fell, and raps his knuckles lightly on the wood.

“Hey,” Faith says guardedly, although she opens the door wider to allow him in.

He comes in, still holding himself stiffly, and takes the seat she gestures to.

“What’s up?” She asks.

Robin settles back into the chair, careful not to tug the stitches holding his chest together. “I was thinking about our conversation,” he says, “from before.”

Faith knows where this is going, and she’s not looking forward to it. He’d told her that there were decent men in the world—that she needed to give one a chance to surprise her. The thing is, Faith believes there are generally decent men. She’s known a couple. She even believes he’s one of them, but she wasn’t entirely honest with him before. The fact that men have generally shown themselves to be dogs isn’t the only reason for her one and done policy.

Robin lifts his eyebrow. “I guess I can read my answer right on your face,” he says. “When you said you’d give me a shot, was that just because you thought we would die?”

Faith winces and shrugs apologetically. “Kind of,” she admits. She takes the seat across from him, leaning her elbows on the small table. “Look, you’re a good guy. One of the best I’ve met in a while.”

“But?”

Faith smiles, trying to be gentle about letting him down. “But I tried the love thing a long time ago, and when it didn’t work out, I got a little stabby. I think I’ve had my fill for the next decade or so.” She rubs her hands together nervously, never having admitted this out loud before. “Think I’m just gonna, you know, ‘date myself’ or whatever.”

Robin takes this in calmly, not looking entirely surprised. “Does she know?”

Faith’s surprised by how quickly he picked up on what she didn’t say, but there’s no sense in denying it. She just shakes her head.

She can tell he’s disappointed, but he nods all the same. “Well,” he says, “I came here to tell you Giles asked me to go to Cleveland, start organizing girls there.”

“Ah,” Faith says, not understanding.

“Just wanted to see if there was any reason to turn him down.”

“Oh,” she says, getting it now. She reaches out, touching the back of his hand where it rests on the table. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, sliding his hand free and getting to his feet as quickly as his injuries allow.

She follows him to the door, and Wood pauses, his hand on the knob. “Take care of yourself, Faith.”

“You too,” she says, meaning it.

Robin opens the door and steps out. He waves goodbye and starts toward his room. She smiles when she hears him mutter, “Still prettier than you,” over his shoulder.

XXXXX

Buffy pats the stake tucked in her pocket reassuringly, and walks down the dimly lit outdoor hallway with practiced light steps. She pauses a moment when she reaches her destination, then lifts her hand and knocks softly on the door. A cool breeze tickles the hair draped over the still healing cut on her forehead, and she adjusts it self-consciously.

The door swings open, and Faith stands on the other side, wearing baggy pajamas pants and a tank top. “Buffy?” She asks, confused. She looks out past Buffy, as if expecting to see an emergency that drove her to the door.

“Hey,” Buffy says awkwardly, shifting her weight between her feet. “I was going to ask,” she pauses. “Sorry, were you sleeping?”

Faith shakes her head.

Buffy looks down, taking in Faith’s bare feet. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Uh,” she says, “never mind. Sorry I came by so late.” She turns to go.

“Wait,” Faith says, reaching across the threshold to snag her sleeve. She drops it the moment Buffy looks back. “Are you going on patrol?” She asks, noticing the sensible footwear and smooth end of the stake poking from Buffy’s jacket pocket.

“Yeah,” Buffy says.

Faith leans against the doorway, crossing her arms over her stomach as the breeze picks up. “There’s girls like us all over the world now. You can take some time off, you know?”

“I know,” Buffy agrees. This feels like the point in the conversation where she’d traditionally just leave and go off on her own. She’s trying to work on that, so she says, “It just doesn’t feel right.”

Faith studies her for a minute, then she nods. “Come in,” she offers, pulling the door back further. “Let me get changed.”

“You don’t have to come with,” Buffy begins to say, but Faith’s already rummaging through the small duffel that holds all her spare clothing. She’s changed and pulling the door closed behind them in under three minutes. She looks at the road in front of the motel.

“Which way?”

Buffy points right. “There’s a cemetery not too far away.”

Faith motions for her to lead the way, the corner of her mouth curling into a smile. “You scoped out the local cemeteries?”

Buffy quirks an eyebrow back, leading the way out of the motel parking lot. “Faith, remember, the three key words for a slayer are preparation, preparation, preparation,” she says in an overwrought English accent.

Faith whistles appreciatively. “Wait til I tell Wesley his catchphrases weren’t wasted on you. It’ll make his day.”

“Don’t tell him then,” Buffy says with more vitriol than Faith’s expecting. She takes a right at the street, leaving room on the sidewalk for Faith to fall into step next to her.

The street isn’t any more charming at night than it is during the day. To their left, a precarious fence separates them from a frontage road. To the right, drooping plants try their best to soften the walls lining apartment complexes and outer edges of neighborhoods. A car cruises by, the driver slowing to check them out. Faith gives him a hard look, and the driver eases off the brakes. “What’d Wes do to get on your bad side?” She asks distractedly, making sure the car keeps putting distance between them.

She’s startled when Buffy’s index finger gently parts her hair to tap the side of her neck. “Willow told me how you got that,” Buffy says, dropping her hand back to her side.

Faith brings a hand to the fading scar on her neck. “It needed to be done,” she says.

Buffy gives her a sidelong glance. “I’m not saying it didn’t,” she says. “I just think Wesley should consider pumping himself full of drugs and letting Angelus bite him next time.”

A smile twitches across Faith’s lips. She’s pleasantly surprised by Buffy’s anger on her behalf. “Didn’t know you cared so much who bit me.”

Buffy rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Shut up,” she huffs, stepping into the space between them so she can dig her elbow into Faith’s side.

Faith dances out of the way easily. She smiles all the way to the cemetery.

XXXXX

“I’ve been thinking,” Buffy says, watching as Faith effortlessly finishes a butterfly kick that sends the vampire in front of her tumbling onto Buffy’s waiting stake.

Faith shakes the dust out of her hair and her jacket, looking speculatively up to the sky. They’re out earlier tonight than usual, squeezing in a patrol before the rain that’s supposed to roll in. She’s not in the mood to get her leather jacket wet tonight. “B, if this is about whether you should get bangs again, I told you, you’ll look hot either way.”

Buffy rolls her eyes, but she smiles. “Not what I was gonna say, but thank you.” She looks up at the sky too. “Should we head back?”

Faith nods, tucking her stake up her sleeve. “Let’s motor.”

They step together, starting quickly for the cemetery’s exit. “What were you thinking?” Faith asks after a minute.

Buffy glances at her. “I was thinking about that woman I met the night I killed Caleb, what she said about this group of Guardians who were watching over us.”  They turn right out of the cemetery, back in the direction of their motel. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Faith frowns in confusion. “I thought you said she was the last one.”

“She was,” Buffy agrees, “but she doesn’t have to be.”

Faith waits for her to continue. This is one of those new Faith things that Buffy’s noticed since she’s been back. She still runs her mouth when the situation calls for it, but Faith’s more apt to wait for all the information these days. She gathers facts, listens to everyone’s opinions, mulls things over. She’s patient. Buffy’s still working on developing that skill. “We changed the way the slayer line works, forever,” Buffy says.

Faith nods.

“So why go back to the way it was before? Why restart the Council and give them control over the slayers again?” Buffy asks. “Look what they did to us when they had it. You were a kid, and they let you live in a motel by yourself. They didn’t even send you a real new Watcher. They put me through the cruciamentum,” Buffy adds, surprised to find that that still smarts.

“Well, the old Council is gone anyway,” Faith says agreeably. “We can build a new one, a better one.”

“Sure,” Buffy agrees.

The humid air feels heavy around them. Faith glances at Buffy, hearing the hesitation in her voice. “But…?”

“But,” Buffy says, “what if we don’t need the Council? Who’s better to train new slayers than us? We could be the Guardians, Faith, only we won’t wait in the shadows until the end of the world comes.” Buffy’s voice gets dreamier as she reveals more of her plan. “We could start a school for slayers. We train them. We teach them. We can still assign Watchers, so they get one on one mentoring, but they don’t have to work alone anymore. We could change the whole model.” Buffy puts more speed in her step as the first few raindrops dust across them. “She said they were a group of women who wanted to protect us. We could be that for the new slayers. No more shadow men; no more guys in suits telling us what to do. Women—slayers—protecting other slayers, teaching them.” Buffy looks at Faith, trying to gauge her reaction. “What do you think?”

Faith’s doing that mulling thing again. Buffy doesn’t rush her. Finally, Faith gives her a searching look. “Do we have to burn all our bras, or like, just one, symbolically?”

Buffy punches her lightly in the thigh. “Come on,” she says, flushing. “I’m serious.”

“Ow,” Faith says automatically, rubbing the spot where Buffy just hit. Buffy looks nervous waiting for her response, so Faith relents. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Faith says, “I heard you back at the house. You were made for this kind of thing. You’ll be great at it. Headmistress Buffy or whatever.”

Buffy frowns, but before she can say anything else, the sky over them opens up and begins dumping sheets of rain on their heads.

“Damn it,” Faith hisses. “Come on!”

They break into a run, closing the distance between them and the motel faster than any mere mortal could hope to do. The slayer speed helps, but they’re still soaked to the skin by the time they dart under the overhang shielding the first floor’s walkway and doors.

Faith shucks off her jacket, shaking the water off of it with a frown.

“It’ll be fine,” Buffy reassures her.

“We’ll see,” Faith says, still frowning. She glances at her room, a few doors down from where they stand. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Buffy’s room is the opposite way. She nods. “Sure,” she says.

Faith gets a few feet away before Buffy says, “Faith, wait.” She walks after Faith, keeping her voice low so she doesn’t disturb anyone in the darkened rooms behind them. “You said I’d be great at this slayer school thing.”

“You would,” Faith confirms.

Buffy looks down at her hands, then back up at Faith. “You would too,” she says.

Faith looks surprised, but she doesn’t immediately protest, which Buffy takes as a good sign.

“When I said ‘we’ should teach them,” Buffy clarifies, “I meant you and me.”

“Oh,” Faith says. She lets her jacket dangle at the end of her fingertips, her concern about the leather temporarily on the back burner. “I guess I thought you meant you and the gang.”

“Doesn’t that include you?”

“Traditionally?” Faith asks, shrugging. “Not really.”

“Okay,” Buffy agrees, “but it does now. After everything we’ve just been through…”

Faith tucks wet hair behind her ear. “I appreciate that, B,” she says. “You want me to help you guys out, I’ll be there.”

Starting to feel a little frustrated, Buffy shakes her head. “I don’t want you to ‘help me out,’” she says. “I wanna do this together, me and you. I want everyone there, but I need you.”

It takes a beat, but Faith’s face flickers from surprise to a kind of shy pleasure. “Okay,” she says.

“Okay?” Buffy confirms. Thunder rumbles nearby, and they both back up so they’re touching the motel wall.

Faith laughs. “Yeah,” she says, sounding happy, “okay. I don’t know a single thing about starting a school, but I’m in.” Water is dripping freely from the ends of her curling hair, and the rain has smudged her mascara.

Buffy grins.

“What?” Faith asks.

It’s not that she thinks closing the Hellmouth is a bad thing. They beat back the First Evil. They took destiny by the horns, or tentacles, or whatever appendages destiny has, and they slayed it. Slayers are all over the world now, and that’s great. It’s just that Buffy’s used to being The Slayer, singular. She’s felt a bit at odds, like she’s suddenly been laid off from her non-paying, likely to be fatal job, but this thing that they’re talking about, it feels big. She feels like she has a purpose again. She doesn’t want to admit to all that though, so she smiles bigger and says, “You look like a raccoon. ” She brings a thumb up to capture some of the wayward mascara below Faith’s eye.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Faith retorts. She reaches for the end of Buffy’s dripping ponytail and gives it a sharp tug.

Buffy steps into it, not letting Faith pull her off balance. The toe of her boot bumps Faith’s.  “Harsh,” she says, mock hurt, pulling her hair free from Faith’s hand.

“Hey,” Faith says, “you made the animal comparison first.”

“Yeah, but raccoons are cute,” Buffy protests.

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m cute?” Faith raises both eyebrows in interest. She tilts her head, waiting for Buffy to get flustered.

Buffy rolls her eyes. “You know you are,” she says, intentionally not stepping back even though Faith’s very close to invading her space now.

“Trying to make me blush?” Faith asks, definitely not blushing. Her dimples come out as she smirks.

“I don’t see you blushing,” Buffy points out.

“Gotta look closer,” Faith advises.

Buffy looks at her, damp hair curling lazily around her face, brown eyes twinkling. This isn’t the first opening Faith’s given her, but it’s the first time she feels brave enough to take it. Buffy puts her hands on Faith’s shoulders, pushing her slowly but firmly back against the concrete wall. “Close enough?” She asks, leaning in. Her jacket brushes Faith’s belt buckle.

“Little closer,” Faith says softly.

Buffy’s knee bumps its way between Faith’s. She’s close enough that she can see Faith’s pulse thrumming in her throat. Faith’s hands find her waist and squeeze tightly. Buffy’s thumb brushes past the collar of her t-shirt, finding warm skin. A soft pink flush spreads up Faith’s neck. “Huh,” Buffy murmurs, “think you might be blushing after all.”

“Told you,” Faith has time to retort, before Buffy comes all the way in and presses soft lips to that spot on her neck.

Faith’s breath is a strangled whimper in her throat. She’s played this game with Buffy countless times before, but it’s never gone this far. She has to admit that she’s the one who’s always trying to push Buffy’s buttons. She never leaves an innuendo unsaid, never misses an opportunity to make Buffy blush. Sure, when they were younger, she hoped Buffy would see through the charade and that there was a chance she was interested in Faith. These days she knows that’s not going to happen, but she keeps up the act with Buffy because it’s what she does.

This is not what Buffy does. This is so far out of the realm of what Buffy does that Faith almost wants to check her for signs of body snatching. Buffy smiles against her neck, brushing her lips across the same spot, and Faith’s hands convulse on her waist.

She wants to shove Buffy away. She wants to tangle her fist in her hair and kiss her until she can’t breathe. Faith can’t see how to extricate herself from this situation she created without admitting to all of this. Buffy’s blunt teeth scrape the side of her neck, and Faith squeezes her eyes shut. “Don’t play with me,” she finally says, trying to keep her voice from sounding like she’s pleading. I can’t take it, she doesn’t say.

Buffy leans back to look at her, intending to tease her, to ask what happened to the game Faith was playing a few seconds ago. Faith’s face stops her short.  The hands around her waist dig a little too hard into her lower back. Both their heartbeats pound louder than the falling rain.

Faith doesn’t let herself be vulnerable in front of almost anyone, but she’s never had much of a poker face. Now is no exception. The truth that Buffy always suspected but never felt ready to admit to herself is written as plain as day on Faith’s face. She looks wrecked. She’s not smiling. This is real. This isn’t a game for her and it never has been. Faith’s dark eyes search Buffy’s face.

Don’t play with me, Faith said. If Buffy kisses her now, this won’t be something she can take back. She knows that. This can’t be like she left it with Spike, unnamed and unexamined, something to be put off until later. Faith’s offered her a cracked open door. Buffy can choose to leave it or to kick it open.

Buffy cups Faith’s face with both hands, sliding her fingers into the soft damp hair plastered to her neck. The muscles under her fingers are tense, unyielding. She leans closer, lets her lips ghost over Faith’s jaw.

“Buffy,” Faith whispers her name like a plea, but she makes no move to push her back.

Buffy doesn’t know if it’s a plea for her to stay or go, so she answers it the way she sees fit. She touches her mouth to Faith’s, softly at first, then firmer, to show she isn’t playing either.

Faith’s arms move without her permission, sliding up Buffy’s back, gathering her in and holding her there like she can’t bear to let go. And she can’t. How many different ways has she imagined this? How many times did she watch that little tube of vanilla lip-gloss glide over Buffy’s lips and fervently wish she could taste it, just for a second? She’s sandwiched between Buffy and the crumbling wall of this motel that doesn’t look like it’s ever even seen better days, and nothing she ever imagined compared to this. Her fingertips brush the back of Buffy’s neck, and goosebumps crop up in their wake. Faith’s hands are shaking—from nervousness, from unrestrained joy, from the effort of not sliding under Buffy’s ass, picking her up, and carrying her across the threshold into Faith’s room.

She tries to rein in her body, slow down the greedy, borderline teenage, sweep of her mouth against Buffy’s. Tell her lungs to stop breathing like they’ve just finished a transatlantic swim. Then Buffy’s lips are parting, her tongue lapping softly against Faith’s bottom lip.

Faith quivers, caged against the wall, as their tongues meet hesitantly. Buffy’s hands come back to her shoulders, thumbs tracing slow, delicate circles on the skin of her collarbones. Faith loses track of time, of the rain around them, of everything except Buffy’s hands and her mouth.

She probably wouldn’t have heard the door to the room directly above them opening, were it not for Buffy suddenly freezing in her arms. They both loosen their holds and look up. Someone begins shuffling down the hall, slow measured steps that make them both relax. It’s not an emergency. No one will be looking for them. Buffy drops her eyes from the ceiling and cracks a shy smile. She notices suddenly that Faith’s jacket is crumpled on the ground at their feet. “Your jacket,” she says.

“Not my top priority,” Faith says with a crooked smile. Buffy’s seen this smile before, but it’s been a long time. She feels butterflies stir in her stomach.

The footsteps are shuffling back toward the room they originated from. The minuscule noise of ice cubes sliding on plastic is easily audible to them.

“I should let you get to bed,” Faith says reluctantly, as if she’s the one holding Buffy against the wall and not the other way around.

Buffy nods her agreement, but rather than stepping back, she melts against Faith. Buffy presses into her arms like it’s the only place she wants to be in the world, her face in Faith’s neck, breathing hard, arms around her neck.

Faith’s not sure she’s ever let anyone hold on to her like this, but it doesn’t feel wrong. She rests her nose in strawberry scented blonde hair.  

She misses the warmth of Buffy against her as soon as they step apart.

Buffy’s fingers linger on her wrist, cold metal rings soothing against Faith’s skin. “Walk me to my door?”

“Sure,” Faith says. She stoops to pick up her forgotten jacket. They walk close together on the shielded pavement. Buffy’s in a single room at the east end of the first floor. She pulls the ancient room key from her pocket, bright orange key fob flashing in the dark. She unlocks the door and reaches in to flick the light on. She turns on the threshold, and Faith waits, unsure if Buffy’s going to invite her in, unsure if she wants to be invited in.

Buffy doesn’t ask her to come in, but she does kiss her again, quick this time. Faith feels the tips of her ears go warm all the same. She wishes Buffy a good night and waits until the door is closed safely behind her. Then she walks on air all the way back to her room.