Buffy arrived home to an empty house. Her mother was going to be away at some gallery exhibition for the following few nights, and a note tacked to the refrigerator indicated she had already left. Along with a phone number reminder, in case of an emergency of the non-supernatural variety, the message also spoke of pre-prepared dinner waiting within. Taking a quick look, Buffy found enough lasagne for two nights along with a bag of mixed salad. Go mom, she thought, hoping that would be enough to save her from any culinary catastrophes. Her mother had very likely hoped the same thing.
She headed to the bathroom where she used the full size mirror to check out the back of her top. It didn't look all that bad, she decided. There were plenty of holes, but they were small in size and she'd had clothes lost to worse states. Unfortunately it was still nowhere but the trash for another piece of apparel; nobody had ever warned her that slaying was going to be an expensive gig. She pulled the top over her head and checked her own damage in the mirror. Small scars – mostly healed – covered her back, along with spatters of dried blood that Giles had missed through the material. Her neck hadn't fared quite so well, though the red tinge looked more like a nasty case of sunburn than a near death experience. She turned the shower on and reached down to adjust the taps until the water ran hot.
Later on – washed, dried, and decked in fresh, intact clothes – Buffy found herself at a complete loss. There had been no word from her friends yet, though barely more than an hour had passed since she'd left them. She wished she had stayed put; she needed to know what was going on. Turning to the TV for distraction, she flicked through the never ending stream of channels but was unable to focus on any of them. Her eyes spent as much time on the clock propped atop of the TV as on the screen itself, and she found herself taking a strong dislike toward the second hand's slow ticking.
Unable to sit still any longer, she paced the house for other distractions. She flipped through college materials, never staying on a page long enough to read the words. She even resorted to micro-managing her already tidy room in an effort to pass the time. No activity held her attention for long, and she eventually found herself laid on top of her bed as she stared vacantly at the ceiling.
She realized she could be spending the time coming up with a game plan, but there didn't seem much point. She had no idea how Faith was going to react to anything, though violence and bad decisions seemed a shoo-in. Not that Faith could go much lower, short of deciding that the mayor wasn't evil enough and pledging her soul to Satan instead. She sighed, rolling onto her side. “What do you think, Mr Gordo?” she asked as her eyes met those of the stuffed pig. “Is Faith going to sacrifice me to the prince of darkness?” The small, black eyes stared back at her blankly. “Yeah, I hope not too.” She took the pig into her arms, hugging it tight to her chest as she closed her eyes.
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The sound of the phone drew Buffy from her sleep, and it took a short moment for the source of the noise to register. Once it had, she shot from the bed, moving with the speed and grace no ordinary human possessed. She flew down the stairs to the phone and grabbed it as the fourth ring came to an end. “Giles?” she guessed.
“It's me,” Willow corrected.
“What did you find?”
“Well, we looked through all the properties matching the criteria you gave us, but nothing had the mayor's name attached to it.”
“Oh,” Buffy managed, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.
“Then we found an apartment under the name Allan Finch.”
“So?”, she asked downbeat, not really seeing Willow's point. She knew Finch was the deputy mayor. He was bound to have lived somewhere nice when he was still, well, living. “Isn't that to be expected?”
“Normally, yeah, except the lease was only signed four days ago.”
The realization was instant, and a wide smile grew across Buffy's face. “And dead people don't sign leases.”
“Not as a rule.”
“Willow, I love you guys. Thank you so much,” she said. At the same time she was already scrambling to get her coat on with her one free hand.
“Sure thing. You need to head to apartment 118 at The Crestmont. It's on Shoreline Drive. But Buffy?”
Buffy predicted the request. “I will.”
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At five stories tall, and wider still, the apartment block had been easy enough to track down. Getting there had been somewhat of a trek though, in part because Buffy had kept away from main roads, darting through alleyways and side streets where possible to avoid any members of the Watchers' Council who may have been keeping tabs on her. By the time she reached the building she was sure nobody could have kept up with her without revealing themselves, but she still couldn't shake the nagging paranoia.
From the outside she could see the overhanging balconies on the uppermost level of the building along with the bold, glass double doors that marked the entrance. It definitely looked nice enough to be the right place. She looked over her shoulder one last time and, after finding nothing suspicious, made her way inside.
Four people dressed in suits left her feeling severely under dressed, her casual t-shirt and jeans not really looking the part. It occurred to her that if she didn't fit in then Faith must look even more out of place, and that made her feel a little better. One of the guests, a middle aged man on his cell phone, rudely turned his back after catching her eye.
She headed straight for the stairs, avoiding eye contact as she passed a smartly dressed woman stood behind the reception desk. A listing of apartment numbers was conveniently displayed on the wall, and it indicated that Faith's room was all the way up. She pulled open the door to the stairway and began the ascent. She took the steps two at a time and didn't slow down until she reached the top. From there it was only a matter of two hallways before she found herself stood in front of apartment 118.
She didn't stop to think. She allowed herself a single deep breath, braced herself for whatever was coming, and then pulled the door handle down.
Even as the door crept open she heard Faith's nonchalant voice. “Hey, nobody asked for room--”
Their eyes met as the door opened fully, and the magazine in Faith's hands dropped to the bed on which she was laid. She rolled quickly to her feet from her sprawled out position.
“What the hell?” she asked, her raised voice depicting shock more than anything else. Her arms and legs had taken to a fighting stance even as she spoke.
Buffy raised her own arms, but to her sides with palms showing, indicating that her sudden arrival wasn't meant to be a surprise attack. Faith studied her face, and Buffy waited under the cautious gaze.
Faith's shoulders loosened, and her surprised expression faded away, though her arms stayed in place ready for a quick defence. “No one ever teach you to knock?” she asked.
“I didn't want you to bolt,” Buffy answered without thought.
Faith's eyebrow rose almost off the top of her head, and a small smirk tugged at her mouth. “Look around, B. We're on the fifth floor. Not a whole lot of places to go.”
“Right,” Buffy agreed, frowning at her oversight. For some reason that fact had completely failed to cross her mind.
She did take a moment to look over the room though, and she was impressed by what she saw. It wasn't huge, but it was definitely spacious enough for one person. A pair of single seater fabric chairs took up one corner of the open plan room, and a smart dining table with chairs took up another. The punching bag in the third looked ridiculously out of place against the rest of the décor, and she was pretty sure it didn't come as standard. An indentation in one wall gave way to a large TV and a flash looking sound system, and large semi-circular windows let in plenty of light.
“Pretty neat, huh?” Faith said, drawing Buffy's attention back to her. Faith had dropped the fighting stance completely, though her crossed arms looked equally uninviting. Despite the conversational question, she didn't appear overly thrilled at the intrusion. Only the smallest of smiles could be seen on her face, and Buffy suspected that was nothing more than the result of pride in the new apartment.
Buffy bit back the urge to air her first thought – to ask if it was worth it. She knew that would lead nowhere good. “Definitely a step up from your old place,” she said instead, trying to keep the tone light as if trivial compliments could somehow make it all better. Reasonably convinced that they weren't going to come to blows just yet, Buffy slowly closed the door behind her to give them some privacy while they spoke. Or shouted. Or knocked each other across the room.
When she turned back, even the faint glimmer of Faith's smile had been withdrawn. She was faced with piercing eyes, and it did little to help calm her fluttering nerves.
“What do you want?” Faith asked flatly. There wasn't the hint of playfulness that Buffy had found when they met at the museum, and she wondered if it was a mistake to confront Faith on her own turf.
Buffy's train of thought had gone off the rails the moment she entered the apartment, and the stony reception didn't make it any easier to think. She stuck to business, deciding she couldn't make things any worse with facts. “The Watchers' Council are here in Sunnydale, and they're here in force. I don't know how many, but they're out looking for you right now.”
There was not so much as a flicker of worry evident on Faith's face. “Gee, then I guess I'm lucky you found me first,” she replied with a scornful sarcasm.
Buffy was determined not to be perturbed that easily. “Faith, this is deadly serious. They want to take you back to England, and trust me – your health? Not at the top of their priority list. If you're not careful it's only a matter of time before they find you.”
Faith smirked. “And I bet good old Giles will be leading the way.”
“You're wrong. Giles wants to help. We all do. Even Wesley is looking out for you.”
“Is that right?” She didn't sound convinced. “Well you know what? I don't need any of you looking out for me. I've taken care of myself my whole life just f--”
“Fine?” Buffy guessed, getting used to Faith's deflections. “Look at yourself,” she tried to reason. “Look at where you are. What you're doing. Do you honestly believe this is you being fine? Because I don't. Not for a second.”
“And let me guess, you're here to make it all better, am I right?”
The snarky tone made it obvious that any answer Buffy gave wasn't going to go down well, but she tried none the less. “I can help you, Faith.”
“I don't want your help!” Faith's voice had risen several levels. “I don't need you coming here playing super-Buffy, protector of all. So how about you take your smug little speeches, get the hell out of my room, and go do your job somewhere else.”
Faith spat the words out, and the raw anger in her voice left Buffy fighting the urge to shrink back. Buffy tried to force a reassuring smile to her face, unsure if she'd managed a convincing cover-up to the intense uncertainty that beat against her chest. “I'm not here because it's my job. I'm here because I don't want to see you hurt.”
Faith's eyes narrowed and her mouth opened, but Buffy didn't give her the opportunity to bat away her efforts. “I care about you, Faith, and I think you're worth fighting for.” She threw her arms out to her sides, leaving her body wide open. “Is that really so hard to believe?”
Faith looked ready to argue otherwise, but whatever words she had planned seemed lost. Her arms dropped to her sides, remaining there for barely a second before they recrossed. She turned her back to Buffy, moving away from the bed toward the large apartment windows. Buffy took a few more steps into the room, but kept far enough away to give Faith breathing space.
“I'm sorry, Faith. I was supposed to be your friend, and I should have been there for you. Especially when-” she couldn't bring herself to mention Allan Finch by name, and she was sure that Faith would understand her meaning. “I panicked, and I made a bad call. But I'm here now, and I really hope it's not too late to make it right.”
They were too high up to hear any traffic from the nearby road, and there was no sound of ticking clocks or bustling neighbours to help dilute the heavy silence. Buffy found herself unable to drag her gaze from Faith's hand as its fingers fidgeted against the window. After what seemed like forever, she had to listen carefully to make out Faith's hushed reply.
“What's the point? Everything I touch falls apart. How long until I screw something else up and you realize I'm not worth it?”
Buffy felt her heart sink as she took in the rueful words, and she wondered just how much guilt Faith shouldered. She knew so little of Faith's past; she'd never taken the time to ask. She didn't know how much of it Faith deserved, and she didn't care.
“This isn't your fault. Sometimes bad stuff happens, and there's nothing you can do about it. But turning everything off won't make it go away. You have to pick yourself up, and try to keep going, because that's all you can do.” Her tone was gentle, the words backed with the strength of belief. She paused briefly, allowing herself time to keep her calm. “I won't tell you it's going to be easy because it probably won't be. But you don't have to fight alone, Faith. Not anymore.”
Faith continued to stare out through the window pane, and Buffy was again prepared to wait. When Faith's hand moved from the window up to her face, the thought that Faith was wiping away tears drove Buffy forward. Faith spun as she closed in, her hands raising defensively, and Buffy stopped as she registered dampness in the girl's eyes.
“It's going to be OK,” Buffy said quietly, doing her best to paint an optimistic look on her face. There had been no real confirmation that Faith was on board, but Buffy had taken the lack of violence as a positive sign.
Faith avoided her gaze, and put more distance between the two of them as she moved across the room. Her hands grasped either side of the punching bag as she slowly leaned her weight into it.
The prolonged silence was starting to leave Buffy feeling uneasy, and now she too found herself unable to stand still, shifting from foot to foot. “Say something, Faith.”
Another long, painful moment of waiting passed as Buffy stared at the back of Faith's bowed head.
“Get out.”
Two short, simple words, spoken with such little strength, and yet powerful enough to suck the resolve from Buffy's spirit. Her brow furrowed. Confusion cut off her mouth from her brain. “What?” was the only weak word she managed to get out.
Faith released a short, ragged breath. “You need to go.”
“I-I don't understand.” Buffy was completely taken aback. She thought things had being going well – at least relatively speaking. But suddenly she was being kicked out. It didn't make sense, and she wasn't willing to go anywhere without an explanation. Faith added nothing else, and Buffy felt the silence finally tug away at her composure. The thought of failure surged adrenaline through her veins. “Damn it, look at me!” she shouted through gritted teeth as she approached Faith from behind.
Faith showed no intention of complying, and Buffy found herself past the point of patience. She reached out and grabbed Faith by the wrist. Pulling hard, she forced Faith around to face her. The look on her face brought Buffy to a halt, and she swallowed hard. There was no anger to be found. No hatred. Wide, wet eyes and quivering lips were the only thing facing Buffy, and it frightened her more than any demon she had ever encountered.
Faith's head slowly shook from side to side, the lacklustre movement showing how little fight she had left. She made no effort to free herself, her arm hanging limp in Buffy's grip.
“Just give me something to work with,” Buffy prompted.
There was still no response, and she released her hold on Faith's arm, letting it drop down to the side. Buffy stared for several more seconds as her emotions boiled up. “You know what? I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, and God knows you've pissed me off in the past, but this is the first time you've disappointed me.” Her voice was stern, with anger, frustration and desperation battling to conduct her words. “Because you're not even willing to try. You've been let down, I get it, I do. But if you're too afraid to put yourself out there, to take a chance, then you're going to spend the rest of your life alone.”
She wound up the tirade, but not in time to prepare for Faith's strike. The attack caught her hard on the face. Her head snapped to the side, and she dropped down to one knee to avoid falling over completely. She recovered quickly, bouncing straight back up. Running her tongue across her top lip, she recognised the all too familiar taste of blood.
Faith dredged up a final burst of energy, shouting angrily before Buffy could consider retaliation. “I took a chance.” There was passion in her voice, the fiery determination completely at odds to her helpless expression. “And you threw it right back in my face.”
Buffy tried to keep her voice firm and level, but there was no hope of that. She spoke in short, rushed sentences, the words running into one another as they spilled from her mouth. “I never meant to hurt you, Faith. I screwed up, and I'm sorry. I'll make it right, I swear. Just give me another chance.”
She kept her eyes locked to Faith's, unable to look away even when her own eyes began to dampen, worried that if she did then she'd lose sight of Faith forever. Her senses had risen off the charts. She could feel every drop of blood flow through her body. Every quickened breath, the tension in every muscle. It felt like a dream – or a nightmare – like she had no control over anything. And maybe she didn't. Only Faith could give Buffy the chance she needed, but uncertainty flickered throughout the girl's pained eyes. Every passing moment of indecision threatened to push Buffy over the edge.
In the end Faith didn't say a single word, and she didn't have to. A small nod through tearful eyes was enough to release a stream of relief that flushed away the worst of Buffy's fears.
Thank you. She wasn't sure if she had even managed to speak the words out loud, or only been able to think them. She was just glad she had a reason to use them.