It always feels like it's going to take forever.

Waking up in a dream is a shitty feeling. Especially when it's the same damn dream you've had almost every night for the last month. If she could shoot the messanger, Faith would. But one of the problems with the Powers-That-Be is their stupid incorporeality. And, besides, a slayer doesn't use guns. Even if that slayer's a fucking cop. Even if it would feel really good.

"Well," Faith said, picking herself off the very hard yet kinda wavy floor, "fuck you."

She's met with silence. Just the same old room, with what feels like a million doors stretching out into darkness, surrounding her.

"Seriously. Fuck. You."

Just the flickering of a fire hidden behind a doorway.

"I used to like The Order of the Phoenix!"

Just the whispering through wooden cracks.

"But this is just fucked up."

Just the face in the shadows.

"I'm going to--"

"Death," the one whisper, louder, more dangerous, than the others, "is your gift."

"I'm going to wake up, and then I'm going to kick your ass."

"You," the same voice, from a different direction, a different era, "are the Slayer."

Faith rolls her eyes. "I really miss Lorne."

"Death," voices, from all over, "is yours." And the doors, looming larger and larger, shadows grasping for her, to caress, to engulf, and--

Cough.

Not just a typical cough. The type of cough that keeps going until there's no more lung left to take in air. The type that makes you want to hurl until your stomach meets the outside world.

But, for Faith, the type of cough that means she's still alive. Still in bed. Still there to squint at the fresh rays of dawnlight piercing through her curtain.

And the silence that greets that coughing fit means the same thing it always has: Faith is alone.

"Buffy?"

*****

The Sun is higher in the sky, enough to make the horizon bright, to shine off the glass skyscrapers of San Francisco.

Enough to make Faith worried sick, as she paces back and forth in front of their house, going through pack after pack of chocolate. Not that she'd admit to that fear. She has her masks to wear. To keep her safe. To keep her smiling.

"Buffy."

It's far too late for her to be coming back from patrol, but, fuck it, she's still alive.

"You look like shit."

Alive, but covered in demon goo.

"Thank you, Faith," she replies, weary, her voice teetering, "you look like..."

Faith catches her just before she hits the concrete.

Just in time to notice the blood beneath the goo. The very human blood.

*****

Buffy groans when she stirs. It's kinda cute, Faith thinks, even if it's not the type of groaning she wants to be hearing.

"Huh?"

"What?" Shit. She did not say that out loud. She's absolutely certain. Probably. Hopefully.

"Where..." Buffy pushes herself up a little on their couch. Tries to focus. Her eyes end up on Faith. "Faith."

"One and only." Faith hands her a mug of water. Buffy takes it and sinks back a little with another groan. "Rough night?"

"Stupid Hukj demons. Did you know, when they're in heat, they can produce up to twelve litres of... goo ick."

"Wow, B," Faith raises an eyebrow, "you've been doing your research."

"It was a really boring patrol until..."

"Goo ick?" Faith asks. Buffy nods. "Sounds fun."

Buffy snorts, sending a lump of goo flying. A lump Faith missed. "I left you some for tonight."

They don't patrol together anymore. Budget cuts. Or, rather, budget being transferred to the parts of the police that would rather go after the Governor's newest scapegoats instead of, you know, literal demons. It's ironic, that the two of them managed to escape the Council only to end up under the same old type of people.

Et plus ça change, et plus c'est la même chose.

*****

"Hey, B?"

"Hmm?" Buffy, answers, lost in the instructions on the box of instant noodles.

"Destiny's real, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

"But do you think it's really real? Like the stars and the planets telling us what to do? Or fate set in stone like the sword in the movie?"

"Uh-huh."

"We're slayers, right? So does that mean..." Faith trails off. Frowns. "B?"

"Yeah. Slayers," Buffy answers, attention totally on the yet-to-be-prepared food.

Faith sighs. "Do you want me to...?"

"No!" Buffy practically hides the noodles from her. "I can do it! I'm not going to burn them. Again."

"No offense," Faith says, "But I'm also not a fan of hard-boiled noodles."

"That was one time!" Buffy squeaks, indignant. "One time! And it wasn't my fault! It was the kitchen demon. The evil kitchen demon. The big, nasty, evil..."

Faith raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

"Fine." Buffy gives up. Hands Faith the noodles. "Stupid kitchen demon."

Trying, but failing, not to laugh.

*****

It was late that night, when Buffy's TV show was interrupted by a knock on the door. By a police officer standing on her doorstep. A solemn officer.

"Buffy Anne Summers?"

Silence.

"Faith?"

The officer cracks that stupid grin. "San Fran's finest," and adds a little bow, "at your service."

"You're supposed to be on patrol."

"That's what the boss said," Faith smirks, "before I told him how much human bones are worth in the black market. You know, in case he wanted to give us the night off."

"Faith!" Buffy squeals.

"Come on," Faith grabs her wrist. "Let's have some fun."

"Fun doesn't pay bills." Not that Buffy tries too hard to resist. "We need--"

"You're starting to sound like Giles."

Silence.

Buffy's eyes go wide. "Oh my god."

*****

The pounding music and flashing lights echo down the street, away from the club doors, through the rain, and over to the tiny, hipstery nocturnal café.

"What did I tell you?"

Buffy takes another slurp of her drink. Moans happily. "Milkshake demon good."

"Not just the best place in the city," Faith says, her drink long since empty, "the best place for them in the world." She pauses. "No, the best place across multiple worlds."

"I can't believe there's a dimension where milkshakes are torture. How can this be hell?"

"Well, you should've seem my mother's..." Faith shuts up very quickly.

"Hey." Buffy reaches out for Faith's hand. "It's okay."

"Ehh." Faith shrugs. "I don't want to tempt fate."

"You've redeemed yourself, Faith. A long time ago."

"Redemption's not over till I'm over, B," Faith says, pulling her hand out of Buffy's.

Buffy tries to grab it right back. "You've redeemed yourself to me."

"Is that enough?"

"I don't think I would want to go to heaven without you."

"Buffy..."

"I mean it."

Silence.

Faith searches Buffy's face. For even the slightest hint. Decides instead to point at her badge. "How long have we been partners, B?"

"Four years. And three months."

"Best four years of my shitty life."

"Of our shitty lives."

Silence.

Faith fidget with her empty cup. Crunches it up. "Screw fate." Tosses it perfectly into the bin across the room. She takes Buffy's hand. Drops it again. "Buffy?"

"Faith?"

"I think I'm in love with you."

Silence.

A long silence.

A very long silence.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry." Faith jumps up. Grabs her jacket. "I should--"

But Buffy's always been the faster one. She blocks Faith's exit. "You should shut up." Kisses Faith. So softly, so gently, so lovingly, Faith thinks she's going to cry.

"Buffy..." Faith can't help the tear from coming.

"Always."