Sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed in her college dorm room, Buffy hummed quietly to herself as she methodically ran a file across her fingernail. With only one more day to go before she'd reached the end of her first week at college, she felt buoyed by how pleasantly uneventful it had been. There had been no dead bodies popping up on campus, no frat boys had tried to feed her to an overgrown reptile, and she hadn't heard anything about the Dean being eaten by wild animals. All in all, she couldn't have asked for a better start.

Three hard raps on the door sounded out over the quiet background music that drifted from the CD player at the other side of the room. “Come in,” she yelled, giving her nails a quick once over before her eyes lifted to the door.

The door pushed open and Faith wandered in casually, stake in hand. She took a quick glance around the room before her eyes focused on Buffy. “Hey, B. You ready for patrol?”

Buffy shot her a warning look and gave a quick shake of her head, but she couldn't do anything more before her room mate appeared from the bathroom. “Patrol?” the short-haired girl asked.

Faith moved her arms behind her back, quickly concealing the stake. “For guys,” she offered, earning herself an equally disapproving look from Buffy.

“Err, right,” Buffy agreed, for the lack of a better excuse. “Nadine, this is Faith. She's a... friend from school. Faith, this is Nadine, my room mate.”

“Hi,” Nadine said, giving Faith a small wave as she sat down on her own bed.

“What's up?” Faith asked.

“So do you two patrol together often?”

Faith failed miserably at trying to conceal a loud snort of laughter, and she turned her head to wiggle her eyebrows at Buffy.

“Not for me,” Buffy quickly interjected when she saw Faith's mouth open, and she violently shook her head. She could already feel her face beginning to flush; she was so going to kill Faith. “For her. She really loves guys.” Realizing what it might look like, Buffy discretely tossed her file down by the side of the bed.

“But you don't?” Nadine asked, her gaze switching from Faith to Buffy.

“I do,” she answered, a little too quickly for her own liking. “Just... not... patrolling for them,” she added awkwardly. “You know, we should probably get going.” She hopped to her feet, quickly slipping on the nearest pair of shoes before heading straight for Faith, determined to get them both out of there before Faith could do any more damage.

“To patrol?”

“Mm-hmm,” Buffy clarified through clenched teeth. She took Faith by the arm and dragged her to the door, giving her an intense glare along the way.

“Nice meeting you,” Faith called back over her shoulder, her words barely making it out through her mouth before Buffy pulled the door closed behind them.

----------

“That was horrible,” Buffy complained, for only the third time since they'd left her dorm room.

“Oh come on, even you have to admit it was a little funny,” Faith replied. She hadn't stopped smiling the whole way to the cemetery, her amused grin seemingly frozen in place.

“For you maybe. I have to look her in the eye every day for the next year, and she already thinks I'm a hussy.”

“But on the bright side, when you want some alone time you know she'll always knock before she enters the room.”

Buffy had to think about that for a few seconds. “Eww,” she said, once her mind had reached the same gutter she was sure Faith's constantly lived in, and she wrinkled her face in disapproval.

“Hey, you'll grow to appreciate the privacy. After a good hard slay, do you know how hard it is for me to really get myself into it when I know your mom might hear me from down the hall?”

“Oh. My. God.” Buffy stopped in her tracks and used her hands to cover her ears. She suddenly found herself questioning the decision to convince her mom to take Faith up as a tenant – and not even a paying one at that. “Please stop talking.”

She looked over to find Faith stood casually with one hand on her hip, the amused smirk plastered across her face seeming that much larger.

“There is something very, very wrong with you,” she stressed, drawing a laugh from Faith.

Buffy started moving again, and Faith followed suit, heading in the same direction only a few feet away, each of them idly scanning the distance. “Yeah, but that's why like you me, right?”

“Who says I like you?” Buffy asked slyly. “Who's to say I don't just put up with you because there's safety in numbers?” She spotted the smallest of movements over by a patch of bushes, and the gentle swaying of the branches there, despite the lack of wind, was all the confirmation she needed. “And speaking of which, we've got company. Six o'clock.”

Faith looked back over her shoulder, and Buffy realised her mistake as the vampire ahead of them charged out of the shadows and straight into Faith, sending her awkwardly flailing to the floor.

“Twelve o'clock,” Buffy corrected, far too late, and she grimaced at the heap of limbs that made up Faith's contorted body. “Sorry,” she added, her apologetic smile going unnoticed.

The vampire moved her way, and she raised her arms as she prepared to meet it.

“Gee, B, how did you ever make it to college?” Faith asked as she gingerly made her way back to her feet, giving her shoulder blade a couple of full rotations along the way.

“You had me distracted,” Buffy said in her defence, and at the same time she ducked a swing from the vampire. As she came back up she nailed it in the face with the back of her hand. Following up quickly, she spun on her front leg, the other swinging around to connect with the vampire's chest.

“Too busy thinking about me getting jiggy with my hot self?” Faith asked. The vampire stumbled toward her, and she brought its head down to meet her rising knee.

“Too busy convincing myself it would be wrong to hit you,” Buffy quipped back. “Trust me, it is not as easy as it sounds.”

Faith jabbed the vampire in the nose, and when its hands moved up to its face she drove her stake through its unprotected heart. It turned to dust in an instant, leaving behind an unimpressed looking brunette. “Well at least we found one this time,” she said, none of the implied optimism showing on her face. “What's with all the slow nights? I'm beginning to think you made this whole Hellmouth thing up to try and impress me.”

That was only the second vampire they'd come across in four nights, but it was hardly something Buffy was going to lose any sleep over. She was used to the Summer slump – putting it down to the somewhat unrealistic idea that maybe even vampires went on vacation – and even though Summer was technically over she expected it wouldn't be long before things picked up once again. “Don't complain. It's nice that it's been quiet for a change.”

“Speak for yourself. I'm warning you, if I don't get some serious action soon then our training sessions are going to get wicked intense.”

“Well, I'll tell you what – the next minion from hell that shows up? All yours.”

“Thanks, B. I always knew you cared.”

----------

A large figure leant against the bloodstained altar down in the sewers beneath Sunnydale. At close to seven feet tall he towered above the rest of the room, and his broad shoulders and bulging arms left him looking like an unmovable rock. The light from the candles danced across the front of his bald scalp. His face was plain but for the faded, ragged scar that ran down across his right cheek.

He lifted the torn remains of a disembodied arm to his mouth, his teeth tearing through the skin as he took a large chunk into his mouth. He chewed several times before his face scrunched up, a loud snort forcing its way down his nose. “Gristle and bone,” he spat, the chewed remains ejecting from his mouth. “Is that all you animals are?” The remaining twelve cultists stood close by, each of them careful to avoid the creature's eyes as he scanned the room. “You there,” he said, pointing a stubby finger at one of the larger cultists, “you look like you have some meat on you.”

“Stop.” The cultist who had performed the ritual stepped forward from the pack, the slight quivering in his voice giving away his otherwise confident demeanour. “We are here to help you.”

“Hah!” The demon snorted out a hearty laugh, his olive-green shoulders bouncing up and down beneath the brown, leather pads that formed part of his attire. “You, help me? You can't even help yourselves.”

“It's not us that you need to be worried about.”

“I am Tarroth,” he bellowed, “the greatest warrior of my people. I worry about no one.” He threw the mangled arm off to his side before taking a bold step forward, his large stride putting his broad chest in the cultist's face.

In turn the cultist took a shaky step back, though his eyes remained locked to the demon's. “There are people here who will try to stop you. The Slayers. They're strong. Fast. More than--”

“Silence,” Tarroth roared. His fingers clenched around the neck of the cultist, and he pulled him up from the floor with ease. “Enough talk.”

“Wait,” said an older, female demon. The ends of her wispy, white hair gently blew about her shoulders as she glided forward. She was far shorter than Tarroth, and void of any real muscle, the colour of her skin the only obvious resemblance they shared. She could almost be taken for frail were it not for her eyes, bold and inquisitive. “Let him go.” She spoke softly, her hypnotizing words floating suggestively through the air.

Tarroth grunted his disapproval, but dropped the young man back to his feet.

“I have heard of this Slayer,” she continued, closing in on the cultist. “Many worlds have spoken of her power. She commands fear from her enemies. Respect. That is a thing of beauty.” She placed her hand on the side of his face, her fingers tracing across his cheek. “Tell me, child, do you know who she is?”

He nodded against her hand. “There are two of them. I've seen them both. I can take you to them.”

A whisper of a smile crossed her face. “That is intriguing. Perhaps you shall be of use to us yet.”

Tarroth harrumphed. “I don't care what these Slayers are, or how many of them there are. They'll all be dead by nightfall.”

“It's already nightfall,” the cultist pointed out, shrinking back when Tarroth's nostrils flared angrily. “Though that's probably not the point,” he conceded quietly.

“As tactical as ever, I see,” said the final demon, her voice rife with amusement. “Crush, kill, destroy. It wouldn't hurt to show an ounce of strategy every once in a while.” She stepped out from her place against the wall, the dark veins that covered her body and face lighting up as she moved into range of the candles. They writhed beneath the surface of her skin, each of them moving with a life of its own.

“I'm so glad the lord chose you to come with us, Slarrine. You can amuse me with your magic tricks while I wait to feast on my enemies.” Tarroth retorted.

“Well now's as good a time as any, wouldn't you say, and my latest spell is truly one to die for.” A thin smile spread over Slarrine's face as she moved closer. “Would you like me to show it to you?” she asked idly.

“Save your energy, both of you,” the older demon interrupted. “You know why we're here. We don't have time for your petulance.” She turned her attention back to the cultist. “Come, child, we have much to discuss.” She placed her hand on his back, guiding him away from the candles and into the shadows that danced up ahead.

Once they had moved away, Tarroth loomed over the black haired demon, but she stood her ground, her gaze unblinking as she met his eyes. “You had better watch your step,” he said quietly. “Get in my way and even Nassnia won't be able to keep my sword from your chest.”

Her dark lips skewed upward, the crooked grin showing her lack of concern. “Get in my way and there won't be enough of you left to swing it.”

----------

It was a fair distance from the last cemetery to Buffy's house, and that had given Faith's mood plenty of time to deteriorate as she traipsed her way back alone, her slow pace putting off the inevitable. She slunk into her room, not bothering to turn on the light as she bee lined for the bed.

Sinking down on top of it, her head dropped down into her hands, and she slowly ran them back through her hair. Without further hesitation she reached for the top bedside drawer, and it didn't take much fumbling around in the dark before she found the handle. She pulled out the one litre bottle stored inside, and she was surprised at how light it already felt, knowing it had only been a couple of days since she'd bought it.

The highlight of her day had come and gone, and she hoped her short time spent with Buffy would be enough to anchor her through another twenty four hours. She knew all too well what came next though, the very thought of it lifting the bottle to her mouth. She took a long glug, her face scrunching up as the foul tasting liquid ran down her throat, burning a path down toward her stomach. It wasn't exactly her drink of choice, but even if it tasted like drain cleaner she reminded herself that cheap and strong was at least lax on her budget. It was a thought she knew she shouldn't have made; one that led straight to the mayor, the sole benefactor of the few funds she had left. She wondered what he would say if he found out she was pissing it all away on alcohol, and the thought brought a thin smile to her face. It couldn't stay long though, instead falling away almost immediately.

He was one of the reasons she needed to drink. One from a list that had grown far too long. Sometimes the alcohol was enough to keep them away, the faces that lived in her dreams. So many of them, each one as vivid as the last, each of them wanting nothing more than the answer to a single question: why? Why did she hurt them? Why did she kill them? Why did she let them down? Somehow her mind managed to painstakingly craft each of their features, creating mirror images of the people she'd brought suffering to.

It was something she hadn't even been able to tell Buffy about, instead keeping up the pretence that all was well. It wasn't Buffy's problem; Faith was the one who had made the choices, taken the actions, and so it was her secret to take to the grave and one that would just as likely be the thing to send her there.

She took another large mouthful of vodka before screwing the lid back on, leaving the bottle on top of the drawer for easy access. After stripping down to her underwear, leaving her clothes wherever they landed on the floor, she curled up in the centre of the bed, gripping her covers tight to her chest. Knowing that there was no other choice, she reluctantly closed her eyes, and she silently prayed that tonight her demons wouldn't come.

----------

“This isn't good,” Giles said, worry lining his voice. He chewed nervously at the frame of his glasses. “This isn't good at all.”

Buffy sat in the middle of his three seater sofa as she watched him with caution. “I'm sure it'll be OK,” she said hesitantly. Silence was the only response she received, and she licked her lips before trying again. “Maybe--”

“Blast it!” Giles said, his sudden outburst making her jump. “I should have seen it coming.”

He stood in front of the heaving bookcase that spread across much of the living room wall, one more volume still clutched in his hand. Stacks of large cardboard boxes sat off to his side, each of them filled with yet more books. His eyes scanned each row as he searched desperately for overlooked space.

“Well maybe you could sell some of them?” Buffy suggested brightly.

He turned to look at her with wide eyes as a high pitched laugh left his throat. “Sell them? Of course, why didn't I think of that? And what happens when a kettle of Lyriani demons show up on the shores?” he said, lifting his current book up so she could get a good look at it.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't one she recognised. “Demons come in kettles?” she asked, frowning.

“Sorry citizens of Sunnydale, we can't save your lives right now, I'm afraid Mrs Johnson down at the grocers purchased that particular volume, and she's off in bloody France for the week.”

Buffy sunk back into the sofa, her arms wrapping around her body defensively. “Sorry,” she muttered sulkily.

“No, this just won't do,” Giles continued, shaking his head as he continued to pay her little attention. He took a deep breath before putting his glasses back in place. “I'm simply going to have to buy a place to store the rest of them.”

Buffy perked back up at that. “Ooh, hey, maybe we could share. The wardrobe in my dorm room just does not have the necessary shoe space a girl requires.”

Giles finally gave up on his unpacking, dropping the book back on top of one of the full boxes before moving over to join her. “What are you even doing here this early in the morning? Is there something the matter?”

“Hmm? No. Just thought I'd stop by and see how you were coping without the library. Turns out, coping is probably not the word I'd use.”

“Very droll,” he said as he took a seat opposite her, his dressing gown bunching up as he did so. “And thank you. I'm sure I'll be fine, just a-as soon as the transitional period is over.”

“It's already been three months, Giles. It is definitely time to move on. I mean there are hundreds of careers out there just waiting for you. Like...” She mulled the possibilities over, trying to find one that was a fit for Giles' unique credentials, and he crossed his arms as he stared at her with an empty expression on his face. “Well the college has a library,” she finished enthusiastically.

He continued to stare at her in silence before getting to his feet. “You can let yourself out,” he said dryly before starting to make his way upstairs.

“So you'll think about it?” she called out after him.

----------

“Hello?” the young cultist leader asked loudly as he stepped into the derelict room of a barely lit building, the blinds of the single window keeping out most of the sun's rays. He took a few more steps forward before a sudden movement caught his eye, and he turned to face the shadowy figure stood in the doorway to the next room.

“Is it taken care of?” the man asked.

“It worked, just like you said it would,” the cultist replied. “But they weren't what we expected. They killed one of the guys. They tore him apart, a-and...” He looked like he was going to throw up, more than just a touch of green colouring his face. “And they ate him. They're barbaric.”

“Yes, so I'd heard.” Frown lines formed on the cultist's forehead. “Still, I didn't want to worry you with speculation,” the man added absently, his disinterest clear. “I assume you found time to mention the Slayers?”

The cultist took a moment to recover before he nodded. “They'd heard of them before. They said that they can take care of them.”

“Good.” The man smiled to himself. “I do so love it when a plan comes to fruition.”

“So when do we get paid?” the cultist asked eagerly.

“Oh, but surely the arrival of your Gods is payment enough?” the man replied, making no attempt to hide his dry sarcasm.

“You said--”

“You'll get your money when the job is done,” he interrupted. “For now, I need you to keep a close watch on Buffy Summers. That girl has a penchant for ruining my fun, but not this time. No, this time the games are over. Now she's going to find out the true meaning of chaos.”