As she strolled through barely lit streets on her way back to school, in no real hurry to get there, Buffy found herself with far too much time for reflection. She tried to make sense of everything that had happened, but only came to the conclusion that there was none to be found. Whatever the deal was between her and Faith, she didn't understand it. Why did Faith bother to help her if she was just going to split with the shard? Was it some sort of last ditch effort to keep their friendship alive, or did some remaining shred of humanity just get in the way? They were questions she had no way of answering, but that didn't mean she could stop herself from asking them.

“Buffy.”

She recognised the voice that interrupted her thoughts, and she barely managed to stop in time to avoid bumping straight into Angel. He was stealthy by nature, and blended easily into the dark night, but the truth was she was simply too preoccupied to pay her surroundings much attention.

“Hey.” She wasn't thrilled to see him. Things couldn't get a whole lot more awkward between the two of them. It had been bad since his return, but it had worsened once Buffy told him they couldn't be together, bringing an end to – well, whatever it was they had. She realized she hadn't even given him much thought over the last few days; her mind had been otherwise engaged. That would have been nice were her other problems not equally frustrating.

“How are you?” he asked.

She gave a lazy shrug. Did he want the short answer or the long one? “I'm OK.”

“What are you doing out here?” He looked around as if to demonstrate the need for his question. They weren't close to her usual haunts – there weren't any cemeteries for at least two blocks.

“You know, the usual. Stopping the big bad from destroying Sunnydale. Of course Faith messed up that plan.”

“Faith?” he asked.

“Oh yeah. She shows up completely out of the blue, and I tried the whole olive branch thing, but instead she takes off with some magical death gizmo. Whoever picks Slayers sure didn't do their research on that one. I should have let the cops shoot her.” It was a throwaway remark with no real menace or desire behind it. She was frustrated, and Angel had become the first opportunity to air her grievances.

Angel's brow furrowed. “She's had a rough time.”

“Right. Her plushy criminal life must be real hard on her.”

“You know what I mean. First Post, then Finch. She's been through a lot, even since Sunnydale.”

Buffy sighed loudly. “Yeah, I know. It's just – she's not making it any easier.” She allowed herself a small smile. “And I hope you realize you're ruining my venting here.”

Angel smiled back. “Sorry.”

Then the inevitable silence kicked in, and Buffy found her gaze back on the floor. What else did they have left to say to each other? After everything they'd been through, small talk seemed so insignificant. Anything else had the potential to lead to bad things. Bad, bad things. When the pavement couldn't hold her interest she looked back at Angel, and found him waiting expectantly. Knowing she was going to have to be the one to speak up, she found herself still on the same topic. “I wish I knew what to do.”

“I know this feels weird, but it's understandable. A lot has changed recently. In my life; in yours. We both need time to figure things out.”

Buffy gave him an apologetic smile. “I meant with Faith,” she said sheepishly.

“Oh.” His eyes roamed away from her. “Right.”

In an attempt to dig Angel out from his embarrassment, she carried on. “Problems are so much easier when you can stake them away. When was the last time we had one of the classics, like a good, old-fashioned vampire invasion?” she finished brightly.

“You'll get through to her.”

Her pep didn't hold, and the fleeting smile fell from her face. “I'm not so sure. I mean for all we know she's fine with being a part of the big evil, a-and I'm just throwing myself against a wall.”

“Does she really seem fine to you?”

Buffy thought about that for a moment. “No,” she admitted. “But she's not exactly atonement girl either.”

“Maybe she's waiting for you to make the first move.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. She wondered if he was even paying attention. “I've already made the first move. It didn't go spectacularly well.”

“Then maybe you need to try harder.”

“Excuse me?” she asked incredulously, her eyes narrowing. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Angel held up his hands. “I'm just saying that you're being a bit cavalier, don't you think?”

She continued to glare. “This is not me being cavalier,” she said sternly, taking offence at the accusation. “This is me trying to keep going. I won't be much use to anyone if I can't hold it together.”

“I don't think you get it, Buffy.” There was a rough edge to his voice. “Faith doesn't need to see how tough you are. She needs to see that you care. If you can't show her that then you'd better be ready to lose her forever.”

A small laugh escaped her throat. “If you think this is all so easy then why don't you help her? You've both killed people – maybe you can relate.” The words had come out more bitter than she intended, but she didn't care. Angel had absolutely no right to question her.

Buffy didn't see a reaction, and Angel spoke with a renewed calmness. “I never said it was going to be easy, and she didn't travel three thousand miles to find me.”

“So basically, what you're saying is that once again it's all on me? Well that's just great. Explain to me exactly what part of that is fair.” She was sick of having to be the responsible one – the chosen one. She needed a break. Just for once.

Angel didn't give her one. “Life isn't fair; that's the point. You've had it rough, Buffy, but you're not the only one who's suffered. You think because you've been through hell and bounced back that everyone can just do the same. The way I see it, Faith's still trapped there, and unless you give her one she doesn't have a reason to fight her way back.”

The words weren't spoken with any real harshness, but that didn't stop Buffy from feeling every one of them. She looked away – a futile attempt to distance herself from the situation. She closed her eyes tight when tears began to brim, trying to cut off their advance to the surface.

Angel wasn't finished though. “If you don't want to deal then that's fine: you can't save everyone, right? Who knows, perhaps Faith will make it on her own. Either way, she won't be your problem any--”

“I'm trying,” she yelled, having heard more than enough. “I get that I'm handling this badly,” she added weakly as she opened her eyes.

She found Angel still watching her, and she looked him straight in the eye. “I want everything to be OK again.” She took a ragged breath. “But I don't know what I'm supposed to do to make it better.”

“Be there for her,” was Angel's slowly spoken response. “That's all you can do.”

Buffy watched him silently, even as he turned and began to walk away. She reluctantly let him go, watching and waiting until she was alone. Only then did she allow herself to blink, and the action was enough to allow a single tear to escape and run down her face. She continued to stare absently into the distance, content to let the soft breeze blow over her as she became lost in her thoughts.

----------

Sunnydale High was as deserted as Buffy had expected, with students and teachers alike long gone. Most of them would be in their beds, and Buffy had seriously considered giving in to that very impulse. At a little after eleven it was still early, for her at least, but it had been an emotionally draining week so far, and her stomach threatened to bring up its contents. Giles would worry if she didn't show though, and while she could phone in the bad news, they really needed to start work on a plan B. It didn't help that she also envisioned a small army of police officers waiting outside her home.

She chastised herself as she headed down the corridor to the library. She wondered just how much she should tell Giles. That the mayor had the shard. That come tomorrow she could be a wanted felon. That Faith had opened up to her, left herself vulnerable, and she had stood there gawking like some kind of heartless fiend. She had wanted to talk to Faith, and that night she had gotten her chance. And she had blown it. God, she thought, she could be so emotionally challenged sometimes.

She found it ironic that Angel was the one to tell her what she needed to hear. He had been the centre of her concerns since his return; the thing that had kept her from even noticing Faith slipping away. She'd been so worried about keeping him a secret, and so confused about having him back, that everyone else had fallen by the wayside, including Faith.

She pushed through the library's double doors. Giles sat at a table in the middle of the room, surrounded by books. He looked up, and then rose quickly, knocking a small stack of texts to the floor in the process.

“Buffy! My God, are you alright?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Her eyebrow rose. She knew the back of her top would be in tatters, and she wasn't looking forward to plying out the remaining shards of glass she felt embedded in her skin like splinters. From his angle he couldn't have seen that though. Unlike Faith, she had managed to avoid any other scrapes from the demon's claws, and she figured she should be looking pretty much in one piece.

Her confusion must have shown, and he clarified as he moved closer. “Your neck. It looks like you've been hung.” His eyes were wide behind his glasses, and colour drained from his face as he studied her.

Somehow she had forgotten about that. Raising a hand to her neck, she gingerly ran it over the skin. It was painful to the touch and felt rough and swollen. She dreaded to imagine how bad it looked, but took some small comfort that there was no pain when it was left alone. “I'm OK,” she answered quietly.

“What happened?”

“Demons. Keepers, I think. Their extinction may have been a tad exaggerated.”

“Oh God, Buffy. I'm sorry. I didn't realize--”

“Hey, don't sweat it.” She cut him off before he had time to beat himself up. “You couldn't have known.” She didn't blame him, and she offered a small smile to reinforce that point.

“So you retrieved the shard I assume?” Wesley asked as he appeared at the top of the stairs from the stacks. Buffy noted his voice didn't share Giles' concern. Not that it surprised her.

“No,” she muttered abjectly.

“What? So the Keepers escaped with it then?” he inquired, but he didn't bother to wait for an answer. “Hmm, still, at least it's safe from the mayor.”

“And with any luck they'll disappear for a few more centuries,” Giles joined in, offering Buffy a warm smile as their eyes met. It was a smile she couldn't return, prompting a furrowing look to form on his face.

She let out a disheartened sigh. “I'm pretty sure the mayor has it. All three of them now.”

“What?” came Wesley's high-pitched shriek of disbelief, catching Buffy by surprise. “How could you let that happen?” he asked accusingly.

“Oh do shut up,” Giles directed at Wesley before Buffy could reply herself. He looked back to Buffy. “The mayor sent someone to the museum?”

“Faith.” Buffy spoke the name quietly. She hadn't planned to mention Faith's involvement, especially in front of Wesley, but she didn't have the energy to think up a convincing alternative.

“Faith?” Wesley asked incredulously. “That girl has gone too far. And you!” Anger had crept into his voice. “How could you let her take it?”

“I didn't let her take anything,” Buffy defended herself, but she had trouble believing her own words. She knew she had all but gift wrapped the shard for Faith, and then helped with her getaway to top it off.

“You should have done everything you could to stop her.” Wesley said as he made his way down the stairs. “Do you realize your failure has put countless innocent lives at--”

“That's enough!” Giles barked, directing a warning glare at Wesley. The sudden outburst made Buffy jump. She watched as he removed his glasses. His eyes didn't leave the other watcher. “I think we're done here for tonight.” There was no mistaking his words for a suggestion.

“So do I,” Wesley said, his head lifting as he struck a defiant pose. “I have somewhere I need to be.” Without another word, and avoiding eye contact with both of them, he moved briskly to the exit, grabbing his jacket from the coat stand along the way.

Once they were alone, Buffy broke the silence. “Giles, I'm sorry. I tried to stop her. Everything just happened so fast. I didn't know--”

“It's OK.” Giles said. “You couldn't have anticipated that Faith would be there. We all assumed we were a step ahead of the mayor.” He paused, his eyes focusing on her neck. “She didn't have anything to do with...” His voice trailed away as he gestured his glasses toward her wound.

Buffy's hand moved to her neck as she found herself subconsciously trying to cover up the injury, though she resisted the temptation to touch it again, “No,” she said softly. “She saved me.”

Giles' eyes questioned her, and she elaborated. “One of the demons, I couldn't get it off me – I couldn't breathe. She could have just left me to die.. but she didn't.” She felt her emotions intensify, and she spoke quickly, the words rambling out before she could even think them through. “I know she's way out of line, Giles, but she's scared, or lonely, or-or something. God, I don't know, but this isn't where she wants to be.”

Her voice was quivering, but she kept going. “She needs my help. I can't just give up on her; I have to do something. I have to try.” She finally forced herself to stop talking, to stop thinking, before she lost control completely.

“Then we will.” There was no doubt to be heard in Giles' voice, and Buffy was moved by the ease with which his much needed support came. She had half expected to be told she was being foolish. That Faith was too dangerous or too far gone. She looked up at him, speechless, and she found herself comforted by his compassionate eyes. “I trust your judgement, Buffy; I always will. If you think there is hope for Faith then I will do everything I can to help.”

Her emotions were already working in overdrive, and, with the show of unconditional trust, tears threatened to brim from her eyes. She forced out a small laugh as she looked away, feeling ridiculous at her emotional outpouring. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, taking away the thin layer of dampness.

“Come on,” Giles said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

He guided her to a table, and she took a seat in the chair he pulled out. Giles moved away as she focused on keeping her heavy eyelids raised. A minute later she sensed him back behind her. She felt his eyes on her as she realized he could now see the full extent of the earlier fight. She fought the urge to cover up her back while she sat in silence.

She felt him slowly, delicately, begin to ease the shards out from her back one by one. A soft material dabbed at her injuries through the tears in her shirt. She flinched occasionally as he tended to her wounds, but repressed any sounds of pain from escaping. When she no longer felt Giles' touch, she lay her head down on the table and closed her eyes. She heard soft footsteps move away as she rested, and she told herself she just needed to take a few minutes to steady herself. Then they could discuss strategy.