The Girl from Away

A small, dark bird sits on the back fence. Across town, safely guarded by many protective spells, Amy Madison observes the Summers’ residence through the bird’s eyes. “This should be interesting,” she murmurs. Without a second thought, she snaps her fingers, breaking the connection with the bird. It tumbles off the fence, dead before it hits the grass. 

Chapter 6

Tara sits at the breakfast bar, her nose buried in a book. Actually, she finished the section several minutes ago, but she keeps up the pretense of reading so she can casually observe the scene in front of her. Faith is quickly making her way through her second bowl of cereal. She’s eating with great gusto, bites intermingled with an energetic story. Buffy’s glued to her every word, smiling indulgently at the parts Tara is sure have to be made up.

“Well, obviously your knife skills are unparalleled,” Buffy agrees, her eyes sparkling as she teases Faith.

“Right?” Faith says, choosing to take Buffy’s words at face value. “I tried to tell him that when he challenged me to a throwing contest. Can’t say I didn’t warn him.”

“I’m betting you didn’t warn him that strongly with $200 on the line,” Buffy points out.

Faith looks over both shoulders and then smirks at Buffy. “Nope, still haven’t sprouted wings.”

Buffy laughs. The simple sound of her unstrained, unforced laughter is so surprising that Tara blinks back sudden wetness in her eyes. She hasn’t seen Buffy this animated in, well, ever.

She’s been here almost two years, and Tara thinks she gets Buffy pretty well by now. The slayer’s really tried to fit in their dimension. She buys the right birthday presents. She’s strong and decisive when she has to be, when it’s a slaying thing, or a matter of Dawn’s well-being. She’s caring, even going out of her way to befriend Tara in the beginning. She’s mostly hidden the parts of herself that would point out her otherness to them, but to anyone really looking… they’re there. To Tara, she’s always seemed a little lost.

There were days, no, more than days—whole seasons of the year—when the smile just wouldn’t stay on Buffy’s face. Every one was fleeting, slipping free after seconds, as if it hurt her face to do it. There were almost voiced thoughts that quickly changed topic at the sign of a confused look from one of them. There were times when the undereye concealer seemed heavier than usual, and Tara knew it had been another hard night for her. Seeing her like this, it’s an interesting development.

Dawn stalks into the kitchen with the type of scowl on her face only teenagers are capable of. Faith immediately goes quiet, eyes averted to her bowl. Dawn takes a bowl from the cabinet and picks up the cereal box still open on the counter. She pauses, then shakes it, peering inside. “This was half full,” she complains, swinging her glare from the empty box to Faith. “Do they not have Cocoa Puffs in the big house?”

“Dawn,” Buffy hisses immediately, mortified by her sister’s rudeness.

Faith just keeps eating, not bothering to look over. “There’s another box in the pantry,” she says in between bites.

Dawn throws the empty box forcefully into the trash on her way to the pantry.

Buffy rolls her eyes in long-suffering fashion. She’s trying not to react to Dawn’s baiting. She knows there’s reason for the gang’s hard feelings toward Faith, but it’s hard to be objective when she can see the tension slowly forming in Faith’s shoulders. Buffy knows those shoulders, knows they hunch like that when she’s feeling defensive. She knows how Faith clenches her teeth when she’s upset. She knows those piano wire cords in her throat only reveal themselves when she’s on edge. She has to remind herself not to leap to Faith’s defense. They’ve gotta work the issues out themselves. Besides, Faith probably wouldn’t appreciate Buffy trying to butt in.

“Where’s Ayan?” Tara asks, finally giving up the pretense of reading, and setting her book down.

“Still sleeping,” Dawn answers, attitude infusing every word. “How come she doesn’t have to go to school and I do?”

“Because she has an amazingly cool sister and you have a horrible mean sister,” Buffy answers matter-of-factly.

Dawn grabs a banana from the counter, shooting a glare in her sister’s general direction. “I’ll eat on the way.”

“Okay,” Buffy agrees. As Dawn disappears through the doorway, she calls, “I love you too! Have a good day at school!”

The front door slams a few moments later.

Totally unperturbed, Buffy stands up and begins collecting the breakfast dishes.

“Was that about me?” Faith asks, concerned. She knew coming in that it wouldn’t be a walk in the park being back to Sunnydale. She’s only been here one night and she’s already managed to wrong Dawn?

“No,” Buffy reassures her immediately, “Dawn’s just allergic to morning.”

Tara adds, “I heard her and Ayan whispering when I went to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I don’t think she’s getting enough sleep.”

As she washes the dishes, Buffy asks over her shoulder, “Is Selima still sleeping too?”

Tara’s eyes light up, and she barely manages to contain herself from bouncing in her chair. “She didn’t sleep here last night.”

Buffy wheels around, flinging water at Tara and Faith in her haste. “Oh, my God.”

“Yes,” Tara says, smiling so wide it looks like it hurts her face.

Faith can see she’s missing something here. “Where was she?”

“Giles’s,” Tara answers.

“No,” Buffy whispers, half scandalized, half thrilled by the gossip.

“Yes,” Tara repeats, nodding vigorously. To Faith, she says, “They’re old friends.”

Faith tries to picture this, and immediately grosses herself out. Giles is attractive enough, for an old dude, but macking in the middle of an apocalypse? That’s some serious game.

“I knew it,” Buffy declares, as the dishes go unwashed in the sink. “He was all clumsy around her. That’s Giles for ‘I’d very much like to have tea with you, privately.’”

“Followed by sex,” Tara adds waspishly.

“That’s where I was going with the private tea.” Buffy winces, closing her eyes. “Also, eww.”

“There’s tea?” A new voice asks.

Faith looks toward the source, and finds a girl around Dawn’s age. She has the same high cheekbones and flawless dark brown skin as Selima. This must be Ayan.

“Uh,” Buffy says, hoping Ayan hasn’t heard everything they’ve said, “no, but there’s coffee.”

Ayan grimaces comically. “Yuck.”

Tara smiles. “Faith, this is Ayan.”

Ayan, who seems only slightly more of a morning person than Dawn, manages to form a small smile. “Hello.”

Faith waves her acknowledgement.

Buffy wipes her damp hands on her pajama pants. “We’ll talk later,” she promises Tara quietly. “I gotta get ready for work.” She looks to Faith. “I was thinking you could come with me.”

“To work?” Faith asks, surprised.

“Yeah,” Buffy says. “I could use your help with something,” she adds mysteriously.

Faith agrees, cautiously. What does Buffy do anyway?

“Perfect,” Buffy smiles.

XXXXX

Faith ducks, Buffy’s fist flying over her head harmlessly. She grabs the blonde around the waist, tackling her back onto the padded mats on the floor.

Buffy rolls on impact, separating herself from Faith. Both slayers are back on their feet in seconds.

This time, Faith approaches first, feigning a left cross while kicking toward Buffy’s knee. Buffy catches on a second too late, and Faith’s foot glances off her knee, leaving her wincing in pain.

She goes down, pretending to be hurt. As she hits the mat, Buffy kicks one leg out, sweeping out Faith’s ankles.

Faith lands hard on her back, and she doesn’t roll fast enough to avoid Buffy’s pounce. The blonde yanks her shoulder, forcing Faith onto her back.

Buffy hovers over her, long hair tickling Faith’s bare arms. “Were you always this slow,” Buffy teases, “or did prison make you rusty?”

Faith shrugs. “Just getting started, B. I wouldn’t go getting too cocky yet.”

“It’s almost time for class, so you’ll have to—” Buffy pauses, almost being knocked over as Faith makes a sudden bid for freedom. The blonde grins, still firmly in control. “Really, Faith?”

Undaunted by her failure, Faith tries something new. She grasps a handful of Buffy’s long hair and yanks left.

Buffy goes with the motion, shrieking as she does so. Faith rolls on her side, propping her head in her hand, the picture of nonchalance.

“Ow!” Buffy whines, sprawled on the floor next to the brunette slayer. “Dirty fighter!”

Faith shrugs. “How’s the saying go? All’s fair in love and slaying?” She laughs when Buffy punches her in the shoulder, almost knocking her on her back again.

“You’re just lucky class is about to start, and I don’t want to embarrass you in public,” Buffy says, getting easily to her feet. She offers Faith her hand, pulling the other slayer up. “Rematch later?”

“You bet,” Faith agrees, brushing off her pants. “So you do primarily self defenses classes?”

Buffy moves to the small cabinet in the room, pulling out her gym bag, and retrieving two bottles of water. She tosses one to Faith. “I do self defense, mixed martial arts, kickboxing, and some aerobic stuff, depending on what they need me to do.”

“Sweet gig,” Faith says approvingly, between sips of her water.

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees. It’s a great job for her. The Y is really flexible, allowing her to work around her class schedule, and they’ve been pretty cool about the few times that ‘family emergencies’ have kept her from making it in. Plus, she and Dawn get to use the facilities for free. Not that Dawn is big on pumping iron, but Buffy appreciates it. “So, I figured you could play the role of my attacker today. Then I don’t have to worry about throwing one of the trainers too hard.” Bob hadn’t talked to her for three days after the last incident…

“No problem,” Faith says. “I’ll let you toss me around. I’ll get my payback later.”

Buffy rolls her eyes. “I’m terrified, really.”

“Must be nice,” Faith says quietly, looking around the room, “having something you’re good at.”

Buffy swallows the assurances that want to come pouring from her mouth about how many things Faith is good at—how good she is in general—and nods, trying to look unconcerned. “Yeah, I like it.”

“Good,” Faith says in that same quiet voice. “It’s good that you’re happy,” she adds, looking up to meet Buffy’s eyes. “I mean, I’m glad you’re doing okay here.”

Buffy stares at Faith, trying to see where the new melancholy in her tone has come from.

The brunette drops her gaze again, pushing a mat back into proper formation with her toe. “I wondered about that sometimes,” she says. “Whether you were okay, I mean.”

“I wondered about you, too,” Buffy responds. She wondered a lot, actually. It never sat quite right that she hadn’t gone back to see Faith, even though she knew she had to deal with her own issues. “Angel said you were doing okay.”

“He said the same about you,” Faith says. Her stare meets Buffy’s. “He also said he didn’t send me any care packages.” When Buffy doesn’t say anything, Faith steps closer, her fingers reaching for Buffy’s arm. “Buffy…”

The door to the training room opens, letting in the first few students. Buffy steps back, and Faith’s hand drops to her side. She gestures for Faith to take a seat on the mats, putting on a smile. “Sit down. Let the master work.”

XXXXX

Faith strolls through UC Sunnydale’s common grounds, mingling with the students rushing to and from classes. She walked around town for a while, getting the lay of the land again, mostly just to avoid going back to the Summers’ house. Buffy’s supposed to be done soon, so Faith figures she’ll try to meet up with her here. She steps into the coffee shop, falling in line behind some other girls. It feels strange not to be looked at. The only large crowds she’s been in for quite some time were in the prison’s cafeteria. Someone bumps into her arm and she immediately tenses, her hands tightening to fists. “Oops,” the guy says apologetically, “my bad.” He keeps walking, and Faith forces herself to relax. This isn’t prison, and no one here knows her. They aren’t looking at her. They aren’t thinking about her. She’s totally anonymous.

“Hello, Faith.”

Faith freezes, recognizing the voice. Forcing her shoulders to relax, she turns around to greet Willow. “Hi.”

Willow’s hair is shorter, cut into a choppy bob, but otherwise she looks pretty similar to Faith’s memory. She clutches a backpack strap with one hand, her wallet in the other. She doesn’t smile.

Feeling the weight of Willow’s stare acutely, Faith feels like she needs to explain herself. “I was just getting some coffee.”

“I see that,” Willow says flatly. “Are you meeting Buffy?”

“Uh, I was gonna, yeah,” Faith replies, as they shuffle forward in the line. “I’m not really sure where her class is.” It’s Faith’s turn to step up to the counter. She orders a plain coffee, which seems to mystify the barista. She pays, and steps to the other end of the counter to wait for her drink.

After a moment, Willow joins her. “I can show you where her class is,” she offers.

“Oh,” Faith mutters, surprised, “sure, thanks.”

Willow nods.

They stand in silence. The coffee shop buzzes around them with the sounds of clinking glasses and silverware, and people conversing. Faith’s discomfort is growing with every silent moment. To break the silence, she says, “Didn’t see you this morning. Do you have an early class?”

“No,” Willow answers. After a beat, she realizes what Faith means. “I don’t live at Buffy’s.”

“Oh,” Faith says awkwardly, “I didn’t realize, since Tara was there…”

Willow doesn’t volunteer any explanation, and they descend back into silence. There are a million things Faith wants to say to Willow. She wants to say that, even in the moment when she held her shiny new blade to Willow’s throat, she wouldn’t have done it. But they both know that’s not true. She wants to say she’d take back every moment of pain she caused Buffy. That part is true, and it’s what they both really care about anyway. Willow would forgive a knife to her throat—it’s betraying Buffy that she’s holding on to. Buffy’s gone; there’s no way to make amends; and Faith doesn’t know where that leaves her. She’s here. That’s all she has right now.

By the time Buffy comes walking out of the social sciences building, chatting animatedly with another girl, Faith couldn’t be happier to see her, if only to get away from Willow.

Buffy spots them, her face lighting up in a grin. She bids her friend goodbye, walking over to join Willow and Faith. “Hey, guys!” She says brightly. Her voice is enthusiastic, but she’s assessing their moods quickly. Willow and Faith together unsupervised is not of the good. Okay, no obvious signs of injury. The relief on Faith’s face is plain to see, but Willow looks unmoved. “What are you doing here?”

Willow cracks the barest hint of a smile. “I ran into Faith in The Grotto. She was looking for you.”

Puzzled, Buffy looks to Faith. “Were we supposed to meet?”

“No,” Faith answers, “umm, I just thought… I mean, I was in the neighborhood, so…”

Buffy gets it then. Faith didn’t want to go back to her house without her.

“Buff,” Willow says quietly, pointing at something in the distance.

Buffy and Faith both look. Fifty yards away, a student sits at an outdoor table, books spread in front of him. Crouched under the chair closest to the bushes is a small creature. It’s the size of a chipmunk, but it’s like nothing Faith’s ever seen. It’s dark brown, with blood red stripes running down its back. Its tail is a gnarled stump. Its legs are too long and bending in all the wrong places. “What is it?” She asks quickly.

“I’m not sure,” Willow says. “Buffy?”

Buffy’s staring at it through narrowed eyes. “I don’t know either, but I don’t want to find out.” She starts moving across the patio at a quick pace.

Faith is hot on her heels, with Willow close behind. The thing is clearly aware of them, and it watches their movements. It skitters closer to the legs of the unsuspected guy seated in the chair.

Buffy stops several feet away, waving her arms to get the attention of the man at the table. He looks up. “You need to get up and walk over here,” she says calmly.

“Why?” The guy asks, looking alarmed but also suspicious.

“There’s an animal under your chair,” Buffy says. “It looks like it’s sick.”

He stands up, bending like he’s going to look under the chair.

“Don’t!” Buffy urges. “Just move!”

He hesitates a moment too long, and the creature lunges at his leg, sinking what Faith can now see are jagged multi-rowed teeth into his ankle. He screams, and Buffy charges forward. Faith dodges a few passersby, who are scrambling back. Everyone is shouting, loudest of all being the guy with the bleeding leg.

Buffy runs past him, following the now loose creature, as it darts into the brush and disappears around the building. Faith is moving to follow her when Willow barks her name.

She turns, seeing Willow struggling under the man’s weight, as he wavers on his feet. “Buffy can handle it!” Willow calls. “I need you!”

Faith glances after Buffy, then curses under her breath, and turns back. She runs back to Willow, helping her settle the man on the ground. Willow yanks her cell phone from her pocket, tossing it to Faith. “Call Tara, tell her to get here.”

As Faith begins to scroll through the phonebook, Willow shoves her backpack under the guy’s leg, elevating it. Faith winces at the site of the wound. It’s weeping blood and pus, which doesn’t seem normal since it just happened a moment ago. Red lines are beginning to spread up his leg, leading from the bite.

Tara answers on the second ring. “Hey, baby, what’s up?”

“It’s not baby,” Faith says quickly. “Red’s here. We got a guy with a bite, one of those creatures.”

“Do you know what it was?” Tara asks.

“No, they haven’t seen it before.”

“I’m coming now. Where are you?”

“Where are we?” Faith asks Willow.

“The patio at Post,” Willow answers, pulling off the wounded guy’s shoe and sock, and pressing the sock to the wound. “Tell her to hurry.”

“You got that, T?”

“Got it,” Tara answers. “I’m coming.”

They hang up.

On the ground, the man starts to scream. “Oh, God, no!” Grasping frantically, he snags Willow’s wrist and drags her toward his terrified face. “Help me!”

Willow winces at the strength of his grip. “I’m helping you. It’s okay.”

He looks down at his legs with growing horror. “They’re everywhere.”

“What is?” Willow asks, trying to withdraw her hand.

“Them,” he moans, tears beginning to leak from his eyes.

The crowd around them looks uneasy, looking around for this horrible ‘them’ he’s referring to.

“No!” He screams. “No!” He flails, and when Willow tries to restrain him, he slaps her away, violently shoving her in his hysteria.

He’s on his feet again, still screaming, and Faith stands up, trying to calm him down.

“Hey, man,” she says, grabbing his arms, trying to keep him still, “it’s okay. There’s nothing there.”

He shakes his head.

Where the hell is Tara?

Without warning, he breaks away from Faith, and begins running. He plows headlong into the side of the building, tumbling away bloody.

“Jesus,” Faith whispers.

He stumbles to his feet, and runs again, again smashing with full force into the brick.

This time Faith bear hugs him when he stands up, swaying on his feet.

“No!” He yells, clearly disoriented. “Gotta get them off!” His words are garbled, difficult to decipher through the blood and broken teeth.

“Jesus Christ,” Faith repeats under her breath.

Willow stands helplessly to the side, scanning the courtyard for Tara. Finally, the blonde comes charging through the throng of people gathered.  

“Oh, my God!” She cries, running to Faith’s side. She throws her pack on the ground and she and Willow begin rifling through it, assembling various herbs and ingredients into a plastic bag.

The poor wretch struggles futilely in Faith’s arms. The smell of his blood is so strong in her nose she can practically taste it. He moans, crying and shaking, as he struggles to fight the invisible things crawling over him.

After what feels like an eternity, Tara dumps half the contents of the bag into her palm and stands before them. She leans as close as she can and then blows the mixture off her palm. It disappears before Faith’s eyes, seemingly evaporating into thin air. She’s about to ask what happened, but the guy goes limp. He’s unconscious.

As Faith’s laying him flat on his back, Buffy finally comes back around the corner of the building. Their eyes meet across the courtyard, and the blonde shakes her head. It got away.

XXXXX

“What exactly are we looking for?” Faith asks quietly, as the two slayers creep through the woods.

Buffy shakes her head. “I’m not totally sure. Will’s been plotting each attack on the map, and she and Tara seem to think a lot of the activity is coming from around this area.”

Faith looks around skeptically as they come to a break in the trees. There’s an old wooden fence stretching in both directions. Beyond the fence are the tangled rows of overgrown plants. They were obviously well tended at some point, but have been allowed to fall into disarray. The shadows of fruit trees flank the field, their branches lush with new leaves. They grow together, neglected. A stone building looms over it all. “What is this place?”

Buffy points to a faded sign hanging from one of the trees. “Shadow Valley Vineyards,” she reads. “I’ve never heard of this place. It looks abandoned.”

“Then what’s with that light?” Faith points to the low illumination shining through the upper story’s windows.

Buffy’s eyebrows rise. “Looks like they were right. Somebody’s definitely set up shop here.” 

The moon’s high in the sky overhead, bathing the plants in dim light. The air is sickly sweet, a mix of rotting fruit and damp earth. It’s eerie, the way nature growing in the wake of humans often is. “Creepy,” Faith says decisively.

Beside her, Buffy looks almost wistful. “I don’t know; I think it’s kind of romantic.”

Faith glances at her to see if she’s joking, but Buffy’s looking away, studying the landscape ahead of them. Faith takes a step back, mentally framing Buffy at the center of her view. Her hand lies on the fence, the moonlight filtering through the clouds and dancing over her. The fields beyond don’t seem so strange anymore. They’re not abandoned; they’re wild, growing freely where they please. Cicadas hum gently in the trees behind them, and Faith knows those suckers are ugly as sin, but damned if they don’t sound beautiful right now.

“Yeah,” she says softly, “I guess it is.”

Buffy looks over, as if just realizing she’s spoken aloud. She ducks her head quickly, back to business. “So, how should we do this?”

“Stealthily,” Faith suggests, having no real plan to offer.

Buffy rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Well, I was going to just knock on the door and ask if Amy could come out to play, but that works too.” She puts a foot up on the fence, and then pauses. “What’s the chance that she already knows we’re here, and these plants are going to eat our faces off?”

“Tara said we’re totally cloaked,” Faith points out. Buffy doesn’t look any less skeptical. “Okay, no more than 70%,” Faith assures her, putting her hands around Buffy’s waist and lifting her over the fence as if she weighs nothing. “That’s why you’re going first.”

“Cute,” Buffy says, as Faith hops over the fence to join her.

“Aww, come on, B,” Faith says with a grin, “if it was 71% or more, I totally would have gone first.”

“I’m sure,” Buffy says, elbowing her gently in the ribs. She starts walking alongside the fence, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Faith is close behind, watching the field for any sign of danger. They creep silently through the vineyard, their bodies instinctively falling into the graceful movements of highly skilled predators. They’ve only gone a few hundred feet when Buffy stops.

“Are you seeing this?” She whispers, even though Tara’s cloaking spell should keep their voices from being heard.

Faith looks over her shoulder. The section of field between them and the building is blanketed in an unnatural mist. Hovering over the mist are hundreds of creatures. A few are familiar, looking like the thing they saw earlier in the day. The others are unique in size and deformity. There are winged things with stretched, leathery skin that looks startlingly human. A cluster of emaciated catlike creatures lay on one another, which would almost be cute, except that she can see they’ve torn the bottommost creature to shreds and are lying in a bed of its mutilated body. The field of horrors runs the gamut from these to the boulder like creatures without faces. Where their features should be, there are only runny lumps, as if they’re literally melted off. “I see them,” Faith says, disgusted.

“Stay clear,” Buffy advises. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

Faith’s not about to go charging into the mist, so that’s fine by her. They press themselves to the fence, turning their backs to the trees as they manage to squeeze by without touching the mist or anything in it.

They’ve almost made it to the building when something strange happens. There’s a popping in her ears, and it feels as though all the air has been sucked from her lungs. The rotting air forcefully shoves back in a moment later, and Faith doubles over, gagging. Buffy’s hand is on her sleeve, either to pull Faith up, or to keep herself from falling, it’s unclear. They straighten up simultaneously, on high alert.

“Shit,” Faith says softly. Every creature in the field is now awake. Those with eyes have them trained on the two interlopers.

“Time to go,” Buffy says nervously, feeling behind her for the wood of the fence.

“Right behind you,” Faith replies, keeping eyes on their new audience, as Buffy turns to climb the fence. “Uh, B,” she mutters a moment later, when Buffy hasn’t finished the climb. “No time like the present.”

Buffy grasps blindly for her sleeve, finding it and tugging. Faith is loath to turn her back to the creatures in the field, but she glances quickly over her shoulder. “What—oh, shit.”

In the trees behind them hang several giant pulsing masses. Burnbugs, thousands of them, layered over one another, crawling and fluttering, congregate in the trees. As one, they take flight, their black wings cutting off the light from the moon.

“Go!” Buffy screams, shoving Faith ahead of her.

Faith doesn’t need to be told twice. She runs.