The Girl from Away

“Don’t,” Willow tries again, more desperately, “Amy—” 

It’s too late. With a little giggle, Amy tosses the statue into the flames. The flames turn blue around it, as the metal begins to melt. Trapped within it, Catherine Madison screams.

Chapter 9 

Buffy walks through the forest, looking for a glimpse of Spike’s blonde hair. She spots him several yards out, partially obscured by the trees, his black clothing blending in with the surroundings. He nods as he sees her, pulling himself up straight.

“Let me guess,” Buffy says, “you were in the neighborhood?” She stops in front of him, crossing her arms below her breasts. 

Spike smirks, not replying.

“Like you were the other night?” 

“Pulled your bacon from the fire, didn’t I?” He asks, defensive. “Yours and the other slayer.”

“Faith,” Buffy corrects. “Her name is Faith, and that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

Spike cocks an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

“You left her out here, when you went for help,” Buffy says, a thin edge of anger appearing in her tone. 

“She collapsed. I couldn’t carry you both,” he points out reasonably.

“You should have taken her,” Buffy argues. 

Frustrated, Spike throws up his hands. “I brought the witches to her, didn’t I? She’s fine.”

“That’s not the point—” 

“I’d never leave you out here,” Spike cuts her off, yellow flashing in his eyes.

Buffy studies him critically for a moment. It defies all common sense for a vampire to love humans, but she knows that, in his own way, Spike does. He loves Dawn, and he loved Buffy, so by extension, he loves her. Of course, if he ever truly had her, he would try to destroy her. He’s a demon; he can’t help that. That doesn’t diminish what an impressive creature he is. Spike’s loyalty and his friendship are valuable to her. But she’s got priorities, and she needs to make that clear. “I’m glad we have you looking out for us,” Buffy says, referring to herself and her sister, “but I need you to understand something. If we’re ever in a position like that again, I want you to take Faith and run like hell.” 

Spike shakes his head angrily.

“Spike,” Buffy says firmly, stepping closer and looking deeply into his eyes. “Her life means more to me than mine. Nobody else gets that. There is no one else I can trust to follow my wishes if it ever came down to that.” She looks at him in silence for a moment. “Can I trust you?” 

Spike’s clenching his jaw so tight that his muscles twitch. Finally, he nods.

“Thank you,” Buffy says sincerely.  She looks back over her shoulder, in the direction of Tara and Faith. “I should get back.” 

Spike nods. “Be careful.”

“I always am,” Buffy agrees. 

XXXXX

“Tara,” Faith tries to reason, as she and Marcie trot after the speeding witch, “we should wait for the others!” 

“You wait,” Tara says back, not angry, but also not in the mood to debate this. “She has Willow. I’m going in.”

Faith glances behind them again, desperate for a glimpse of Buffy. 

While walking, Tara brings her closed fist to her mouth and whispers an incantation. When she opens her hand, a bright light floats in the air, before rapidly whizzing past Faith’s ear and into the darkness. “Selima and Giles will be here soon,” Tara states. The three of them move along the outside of the fence, skirting the property until they can see the building ahead.

Seeing the cluster of trees that she knows contain burnbugs, Faith finally grabs Tara’s arm, dragging her to a halt. When Tara tries to protest, Faith jabs her finger at the trees. “You won’t make it anywhere near that building if we try to go this way. We’ll all be stung and out cold before we can get to her. We need to have a plan.” 

“Faith’s right,” Marcie’s disembodied voice agrees.

Tara’s mind is racing frantically at the thought of Willow alone with Amy, but she tries to get herself under control. She nods uncertainly, wrapping her hand around Faith’s forearm to ground herself. 

“Once we get inside, we’ll distract her,” Faith says, gesturing to herself and Tara. “Marcie, you go to Willow, see if you can get her untied.” She looks at Tara. “We need to get in without being swarmed. Is there anything you can do?”

Tara shakes her head desperately. “I-I don’t know!” She brings a hand to her head, pressing her fingers over her eyes. “Willow’s the one who’s good at this. I’m only good at defensive spells, healing—” 

“Tara,” Faith says sternly, cutting off the witch’s words. “You’ve got this. You just need to think.”

Think, Tara orders herself. She feels Marcie’s hand touch her arm. Think. Tara fumbles for Marcie’s hand, drawing strength from the two of them. Think. She sees her own fingers curled around what seems like empty air, but Marcie’s warm and solid hand is there. She looks at Faith. She can feel the raw strength concealed in her thin frame. Tara’s magic is gliding under the surface of her skin, ready to be directed wherever she needs it. Tara closes her eyes. Think. If only she could combine the three of them. With strength, magic, and invisibility, they’d stand a chance at getting Willow and getting back out without any casualties. It’s possible of course, but she doesn’t have the time or the ingredients. If the cloaking worked, they’d at least have the cover of invisibility, but Amy had been able to detect that last time they tried. Think, Tara! Her eyes snap open. “I have an idea.” 

Faith nods encouragingly.

“She’s obviously looking for cloaking spells, but a glamour would have a much smaller signature. I can’t think of any reason she’d be looking for that specifically.” 

Confused, Faith asks, “How does making us look different help? They’ll still see us coming.”

“No, they won’t,” Tara reassures her, “because I’m going to make us look like Marcie.” 

XXXXX

Buffy steps free from the trees, looking for her friends where she left them several minutes prior. The fence is deserted, the field beyond it as still as it was when she left. Crap! She starts off at a slow jog, moving away from the fence. She knows she can’t get past the trees up ahead without some serious bug problems, but there may be a better way in if she can get far enough around them. She peels away from the property, moving further to her right, skirting the woods again. She’s debating whether she’s moved far enough past the trees to chance going in closer when two figures step out of the woods and into her path. 

A small twinkling light hovers over Selima’s shoulder, between her and Giles. The pair looks puzzled to see Buffy. “What’s happened?” Giles asks.

“I don’t know,” Buffy admits. “I left them for a few minutes and when I got back, they weren’t there.” 

“Nevermind,” Selima says. “Look.”

The light begins drifting away from them, toward the vineyard. “We can follow this straight to Tara,” Selima says, starting to walk after it, and right toward the trees Buffy was hoping to avoid. It seems the guiding light isn’t interested in the safest route, just the most direct. 

“We’re gonna go through the field,” Buffy points out nervously. “Amy’s little friends aren’t gonna like that. Do we have a plan?”

Selima reaches in her pocket, fingers briefly touching the grounding crystal she carries. Her lips move in silent prayer, asking the goddess Kali for safe passage. When she speaks aloud again, she says, “Let them come. I’ll make them move.” 

“She’ll know we’re here,” Giles says uncertainly. The light keeps moving and they draw near the trees.

“If Faith and Tara went in, we’re already lacking in stealth,” Buffy says reasonably. “I say we do it.” 

Giles tips his head in agreement, and they begin walking again, following Tara’s light closer to the field.

XXXXX 

Tara leads the way through the stone passageways, using purely intuition to guide them. More of the creatures line the main hall, their forms still and unnatural in their magical sleep. The trio slinks by silently, their presence going unnoticed. So far, the glamour is working as planned. They pass a long mirror, and Faith watches it incredulously. The spell allows them to still see each other, but they don’t cast any reflection. “You get used to it,” Marcie says, under her breath.

Faith feels a pang of sympathy for their invisible companion. Sure, she’s a bit mouthy and her sense of humor tends toward the annoying, but she got a raw deal. She makes the best of it now, but what kind of life can she really have? She’s still musing on it as she follows Tara through another doorway, leading into a large empty room. 

Instantly, the hair on the back of Faith’s neck rises. She stops, putting out an arm to stop Marcie as well. Tara takes another faltering step, and then she goes still as well. “Oh,” she breathes.

The room is unnaturally draped in shadow. No light burns overhead, but the large windows let in the light from outside. A few feet from the window, the light seems to stop abruptly, leaving the rest of the room consumed in varying shades of black. The shadows begin to move. As Tara takes a shaky step backward, one shade peels away from the others, floating toward them slowly. 

“Tara,” it greets. Slowly, the shade moves, taking the shape of a human woman. Her features rise from the shade as if from water. She doesn’t become fully opaque, and they can see the other shadows taking shape behind her.

“They can see us?” Faith asks frantically. 

“They’re dead,” Marcie mutters, recognizing the shades for what they are. “Glamours don’t work on spirits.”

Tara is still focused on the form in front of them. “Oh, Vaughne, what has she done to you?” She looks at her former friend. Vaughne was one of few real witches in UC Sunnydale’s Wicca group, and Tara knew her to be a kind and brave soul. She’d been one of the first killed by Amy, her death not recognized as part of a pattern until much later. 

Vaughne does not reply immediately. Tara begins to recognize others in the room, although they don’t form as fully as Vaughne. The gnarled hands of Madame Magdalena, reaching from the shadows. The glinting, devious eyes of Rack, peering at them over Vaughne’s shoulder. Dawn’s friend Cassie, whom they thought had died of heart failure, is also here in this hall of victims.

“I’m sorry, Tara,” Vaughne says, her shadow twisting, elongating, and becoming less recognizable. 

“Vaughne?” Tara asks softly, as she feels Faith put her hand on her shoulder and start pulling her backward.

“Run,” Vaughne manages to say. Then the shadow is towering over them. Before they can move, it dives downward at them. 

Faith shoves Tara to the side, the two of them narrowly avoiding the shadow’s path. It hits the floor with a crash, leaving a broken indent in the stone.

Faith shouts for her companions, over the sound of the shadows’ screaming. She has to duck, resisting the urge to scream as one collides with her face, trying to force its way inside her mouth. She has no idea what happens if it gets in, but she doesn’t intend to find out. Faith shrinks back, dropping to the floor and rolling away. “Tara!” She yells. 

Tara is a few feet away, her hand out in front of her, chanting. A shade is slowly coiling around her ankles, making its way up her body.

Faith doesn’t know how to fight these things, but she has to try something. She leaps back to her feet, eyes and mouth closed as she darts through the shadows blindly. Faith jumps feet first into the shadow behind Tara, and it lets out an inhuman cry, quickly dispersing. 

It regroups fast, faster than Faith wants, and rears back like a snake. She takes Tara’s arm, intending to throw them both to the ground and out of its strike zone, when a brilliant ball of light surges through her. It extends outward, the shades bouncing off it, screaming in indignation as they’re thrown back. 

Tara stands with her hands out, light flowing from them and circling the two women in an ever moving sphere. “So much for the element of surprise,” she says bitterly. “I can’t keep this up for long. We’ve gotta move.”

“Where’s Marcie?” Faith asks, looking around as though there might be a clue to her whereabouts. 

“I don’t know,” Tara says, “but we have to leave this room.” Already the hue of the sphere is dimming, the strain of keeping all the shades at bay getting to Tara.

“Go,” Faith says, with a last desperate look around the room. Outside of the bubble, all she can see are the twisting black shades. It’s like the worst kaleidoscope ever. “I’m right behind you.” 

Tara charges forward with a cry, her hands pushing the protective energy in front of her. The shades are forced away, a path opening into the next doorway. The witch runs straight for it, with Faith fast at her heels. She’s not about to be left out of the bubble and trapped here with these things. They run down the hall, Tara’s footsteps beginning to falter. Faith looks behind them. The shades aren’t following, but rather cloaking the abandoned room once more. “They’re not coming,” Faith says.

Tara drops the shield, almost collapsing back against the wall as she lowers her arms. “Oh, thank God.” 

“Marcie?” Faith calls lowly, hoping for a response.

When none comes, Tara looks at her. “Maybe they couldn’t see her. Maybe she ran right through.” 

Faith is less than hopeful, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she helps Tara stand on her own two feet again. “She’d wanna keep the big artillery close,” Faith points out, gesturing toward the curve ahead of them in the hall. Amy is certain to be right around the corner. “Are you ready for this?”

Tara’s energy is slowly returning, but with Willow alone with Amy, she’s not going to take the time to fully recharge. She nods, steadying herself on Faith’s arm for a moment before releasing her. “I’m gonna drop the glamour,” she says, knowing it will save her a little strength. 

“I don’t think it matters now,” Faith says agreeably. Surely Amy heard the commotion. She’s going to be ready for them.

A shimmer of light flickers over them, and then all is still again. 

“It’s done,” Tara says grimly.

“You ready?” Faith steps into point, ahead of Tara. 

“Ready,” the witch confirms.

XXXXX 

Willow stares above the fireplace, willing herself not to look at the pool of distorted metal that used to contain Amy’s mother.

Behind her, Amy is mixing spell ingredients and muttering to herself. Suddenly, she stands upright and beams. “This is going to be easier than I thought,” she declares. “She’s coming right to me!” 

“What’s going to be easier?” Willow asks, afraid to find out the answer. She’s craning to look over her shoulder, still facing the fireplace.

“Killing your little girlfriend, of course,” Amy answers matter-of-factly. 

Willow immediately begins thrashing violently in her chair. “No!”

Waving her hand, Amy mutes Willow’s section of the room, leaving the redhead screaming in impotent fury. “I know you’ll be a little mad at first,” Amy admits, “but just think about it. She holds you back, Will. If it weren’t for her, you’d be practicing. You brought an ifrit through to our dimension,” Amy adds, sounding awed. “That kind of power… it’s not meant to be wasted.” 

As Amy continues her speech, Willow feels soft fingers stealing around the ropes binding her arms to her sides. “Marcie?” She tries to ask, but no sound comes out. Still, Marcie must have seen her lips move, because she squeezes Willow’s hand quickly. Then she’s back to work. Willow can’t hear anything. This side of the room is still completely silent, but the cool metal that occasionally touches her skin lets her know Marcie’s using a tool to cut through the ropes.

“And if I can’t convince you to join me,” Amy says, now turning back to look at Willow with her black eyes, “there’s always option #2.” She strides forward, placing her palm on the top of Willow’s head. Marcie scurries backward before Amy can accidentally touch her, trying to keep her presence a secret. 

“Ta'ala,” Amy mutters.

There is a terrible sucking sensation from within Willow’s skin, as if something is pulling her apart from the inside out. She screams, but no words fall from her lips. She can’t move. She’s utterly paralyzed and incapable of escaping Amy’s clutches. Her lungs feel as though they’ll explode in her chest. 

“How about we go with Option #3: I kick your ass until you beg for mercy?”

Amy lifts her hand, leaving Willow drooping in her chair, and looks up at the new arrivals. 

Faith smirks. “Personally I like that one best.”

Amy seems to disagree, as she conjures a ball of something scary looking and flings it at them. Faith and Tara dive in separate directions, forcing Amy to split her attention between them. 

As they get to their feet, Faith can see the ropes holding Willow are moving of their own volition. Marcie is here. She got through the room of shadows after all. With Marcie helping Willow, she and Tara might be able to keep Amy under control long enough to make an escape. Or so she thinks, until the room begins to shake around them, jolting her off her feet. Only Amy remains standing, and she begins to make her way to Tara.

XXXXX 

“Ahhhhhh!” Giles yells in a positively undignified manner, as he runs through a narrow space between the foamy mouthed beasts.

“Right there with you, ahhhhhhhh!” Buffy shouts, following in his footsteps. 

Selima brings up the rear, her voice a constant stream of chanting. Her hands are held to either side, parting the awake, and very angry, creatures for them to pass.

The creatures are sly, and the winged things—the skinbats—take to the air, swooping down toward Giles from above. 

Selima’s on it, one furious hand flying out and pushing them back and away. They flap uselessly against her force, throwing themselves into it again and again, looking for weak spots.

“We’re almost there!” Buffy calls over her shoulder, beginning to see the outline of the doorway through the hordes. “Keep it up!” 

XXXXX

“Did you think you’d just walk in here and take me out?” Amy asks, amused. She stands over Tara, and the floor stops shaking. A clench of Amy’s hand and Tara is yanked to her feet, her toes barely touching the ground, as her hair is yanked upward painfully. “Glenda the good witch and her little sidekick?” Without turning, she freezes Faith in mid-air, trapping the slayer on her way to deliver a perfectly executed kick to the neck. Then the witch throws her backward, slamming her into the wall and immobilizing her there. “It’s almost kind of sweet, isn’t it, Will?” 

Having regained most of her mental faculties now, Willow mouths a profanity back.

Amy tut-tuts, turning her attention back to Tara. The blonde witch is red-faced, her hands desperately reaching at the invisible force holding her up by her hair.

“It’s almost a shame to have to kill you,” Amy says faux-sadly, studying Tara’s predicament with obvious glee. “But there’s only room for two queens in this castle.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Tara asks through gritted teeth. “What do you want from her?”

Amy’s mouth forms an ‘o’ of surprise. “I almost forgot! This is the part where I spill all my big plans to you right before I kill you!” 

“I’m tired of listening to you talk actually,” Faith puts in helpfully, from her position against the wall. “Maybe you should just kill us now and get it over with.”

“In due time,” Amy promises, attempting to turn her attention back to Tara. 

Faith rolls her eyes. “Oh great, so we got what, another 2, 3 hours of listening to Rat Girl drone on?”

Sneering, Amy walks closer to Faith. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you.” 

“So I’ve heard.” Faith says.

“Buffy must like that,” Amy says thoughtfully. “Maybe when we’re done here, I’ll give your lips to her. You know, just to show her there’s no hard feelings.” 

“If you thought you could take Buffy, you wouldn’t have your evil bunny rabbits doing your bidding while you hide out here in your little lair,” Faith mocks.

Beginning to feel annoyed, Amy comes a little closer. “I don’t even need to waste my time with her.” She adds in a mournful tone, “Poor sad little Buffy, ripped away from her home and her soul mate. How does it feel to know you’re just a two-bit replacement?” 

“Probably better than this is gonna feel,” Faith answers, with a wince, as the window next to her shatters and Buffy comes through feet first. She kicks Amy solidly in the chest, sending the witch sliding across the floor on her butt.

Tara drops to the floor, as does Faith, released from Amy’s hold. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Buffy says cheerfully. “What’d I miss? Let me guess… evil? Running on one of those little wheels?” She cocks her head playfully. “I guess your interests aren’t too varied.”

With a look of annoyance, Amy reaches in her boot. She plucks a small packet free and flings it at Buffy. The blonde moves away easily, and the packet hits the ground. It begins to smoke. By the time Buffy looks back for Amy, she’s got one arm around Tara’s throat. 

“Most magic is smoke and mirrors,” Amy says smugly, while placing her free hand atop Tara’s head.

“Oh, I know yours is real,” Buffy replies. “It’s stolen though. You weren’t powerful enough on your own, so you had to kill to get more.” She’s shorter than Amy but still manages to look down her nose at her. “Even with all that power in you, you still can’t take me on, can you? You’ve gotta have Tara’s.” Buffy shakes her head as if with pity. 

Buffy has been watching the slow progression of a particularly heavy looking candelabra as it makes its way across the room, guided by an unseen hand. She knows if she can keep Amy talking a few more minutes, Marcie will make her see stars.

“I don’t have to have it,” Amy counters. To illustrate she points at Faith. “Exuro.” 

Faith is immediately engulfed in flames, letting out a bone-chilling scream.

Horrified, Buffy leaps at her, throwing her to the floor. She beats at the fire, burning her own hands, but it doesn’t seem to help. 

“Exstinguo!” Amy says gleefully, leaving Buffy on top of the wounded, but thankfully not on fire, Faith. “You see how easy it is?” Amy asks. “I don’t need to kill Tara. I just think it’ll be fun.”

Faith groans under Buffy’s weight, but the blonde won’t move from her position on top of her, eyes trained on Amy. 

Still clutching Tara’s throat, Amy squeezes her fingers a little tighter. “Want to see what I can do?” She asks, her black eyes shining like marbles. Her hand moves lightening fast to Tara’s head.

Tara’s face twists in pain as Amy begins to rip her magic free. Buffy looks desperately for the candelabra. Marcie’s almost there, any moment now Amy will be knocked out. 

A wave of energy crashes through the room, pushing Buffy further down. When it hits the standing witches, Tara crumples from Amy’s arms, falling slowly to the ground as if lowered by unseen hands. Amy has no such luck. The wave hits her hard. She leaves her feet, blasting backward against the stone wall. She falls to the ground, unconscious.

Willow stands with the ropes loose around her feet, hands clenched into fists. She’s breathing hard, shoulders stooped. 

“Will?” Buffy asks cautiously.

Willow’s head whips toward her, black eyes narrowed. She looks at Buffy for a moment, her chest heaving. Then she blinks, shaking her head, and when her eyes open, they’re blue again. “Tara,” She cries, rushing over to her girlfriend. 

Buffy rolls off Faith, just as Giles and Selima finally make it to the doorway. They look around at the chaos, mouths agape. Everyone is on the floor. The furniture has been destroyed by the pulse Willow threw out. Buffy waves Selima over frantically. Faith’s skin is bright red, and blistering in some places. She hasn’t opened her eyes since Amy casually set her aflame a few moments before. “Faith,” Buffy asks softly, concerned.

Faith whimpers. The edges of her hair are singed. 

Selima drops to her knees beside the injured slayer, immediately starting to chant.

Standing over them, Giles says, “We ran into some unfortunate spirits down the hall, or we would have been here sooner.” He looks around the room, concerned. “Where’s Marcie?” 

Marcie! Buffy wheels, eyes searching for the candelabra that had been in the invisible woman’s hand. She sees it lying on its side a short distance from Amy. Buffy gets to her feet, choosing her steps cautiously as she nears the unconscious Amy. She practically trips as she passes Amy’s legs. Kneeling, she reaches for the invisible obstruction, and finds Marcie’s face. Buffy’s fingers explore backward, touching warm wetness. Her nose tells her it’s blood.

“Oh, God,” Willow moans behind her. “Is she dead?” 

Tara pushes by her girlfriend, still looking drained and a little dazed.

“She’s alive,” Buffy says, having found Marcie’s pulse. 

Tara nods, laying her hands carefully beside Buffy’s. The slayer backs up, letting her do her work. She glances down to ensure that Amy hasn’t moved, only to find the space where the witch had been lying is now vacant. She looks around quickly. Amy is gone.

“Willow,” Buffy asks, “where did she go?” She gestures to the empty space. 

Willow doesn’t answer. She’s physically shaking and unable to look away from Tara’s moving hands.

Buffy looks around nervously, as if Amy may pop up at any moment, but all she sees are the members of their battered team. 

Walking back to Giles, Buffy quietly points out the absence of Amy.

He nods. “She’s injured, but she’ll be back. We’ve all made it. That’s the important thing.” 

Looking for at Faith’s pinched, obviously hurt face, Buffy can’t help but agree.

XXXXX 

“B,” Faith says, as Buffy fusses around her, “I told you I’m okay. Come sit down.”

Buffy ignores her, racing back to the bathroom to get some pain medication. She places it on the bedside table, and then looks around to see what else should be done. Already she’s got Faith piled on a mound of pillows, water and creams crowding the bedside table. Selima healed most of the damage, but remedying a magical burn isn’t quite the same as a natural occurrence. Faith’s skin is tight and pink, and she’s very, very tired. She needs sleep and time for her body to recover. 

“Buffy,” Faith says more forcefully, seizing her wrist as Buffy turns to retrieve something else. She looks up at the other slayer, giving her a small smile. “Will you stop? Please just come and sit down.”

Buffy acquiesces, walking to the other side of the bed and getting in. “I’m sorry,” she says, “it’s just… seeing what she did to you… it was awful.” She can’t get the image out of her mind, of Faith on fire, screaming, and Buffy’s hands burning, unable to put it out. 

Faith nods. Awful would be a good way to describe it.

Buffy moves closer, tentatively reaching out to touch Faith. “Is this okay?” She asks, not wanting to hurt Faith. 

Faith nods. It doesn’t hurt to be touched, even though she looks like she’s got bad sunburn.

Buffy nuzzles in closer, so they’re lying face to face. She reaches up, brushing some of Faith’s singed hair away from her shoulder. 

“Guess I’m gonna need a haircut,” Faith jokes. She’s not too broken up about it. Her hair grew pretty long in prison. She could use the trim.

Instead of cracking a smile as she expects, Buffy’s face crumples inward, anguish clear in her eyes. 

“What?” Faith asks, alarmed.

“I should have been with you,” Buffy says bitterly. “I should have been with you the whole time, and maybe you wouldn’t have been hurt.” 

“Or maybe she would have hurt you instead,” Faith points out, “you can’t think about it like that.” Her thumb sweeps across Buffy’s cheek gently.

“I wish it had been me,” Buffy answers honestly. 

Her words hang in the stillness between them for several long moments. Faith sighs. “Well, I don’t.” She looks at Buffy earnestly, her fingers dropped from her cheek. “I’m a big girl, Buffy, and I’m gonna get hurt sometimes. I get that you care about me, and that means a lot.”

“But?” Buffy asks sourly. Why is wanting Faith not to be hurt a bad thing? 

“But,” Faith says, “if you want me here, if you want this to be… whatever, you can’t always protect me. We’re a team, or we’re not.”

“What’s whatever?” Buffy asks, but she nods to show she understands. 

Faith widens her eyes. “Slaying partners who made out like once, but lead other people to believe they’re sleeping together, and also one looks like the ghost of the other one’s ex?” She smirks. “I don’t know, I think we’re kind of too cool for labels though.”

“If that’s our label, I agree.” Buffy raises one eyebrow. “Lovers might be simpler,” she suggests, letting her hand wander under the back of Faith’s t-shirt. 

Faith blinks hard. “Why don’t you ask me about it tomorrow, when I can feel all my limbs?”

Buffy laughs. “Okay, in that case, can I offer you half of a frozen pizza I can have ready in like… 10 minutes?” 

“You read my mind,” Faith says with a grin.

Buffy gives her a quick kiss, then stands up. “Coming right up.” 

“Hurry back,” Faith says.