Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's just the two of you tonight. The way that it should be every night.

The two of you are dancing in the Bronze, hand in hand – alone but for a crowd of faceless, nameless, interchangeable boys – still riding the high of your latest brush with death. Still feeling alive in a way you never really do except after a long day spent killing vamps; coasting on a mix of adrenaline and pride and the unshakeable conviction that you're invincible. The bone-deep certainty that the two of you together are stronger than any monster the world can throw at you.

You're not sure when the Bronze started playing decent music, but you're not about to complain.

The other Slayer looks incredible. But then, she always does. You don't know how anyone keeps their eyes off of her. And this time things are perfect. You tell yourself that tonight you won't chicken out of making your move. And sure, somehow you know you've fooled yourself about that before. But this time, you're sure – not now, but soon – it will be different.

You lift your arms up over your head as the music gets louder, and that's when you see it. A glint of steel. Handcuffs. Somebody's shackled you together. You panic, then, just for a moment, even though you couldn't say why. This was what you wanted, wasn't it? To be together, inseparable. The Chosen Two. So why are you suddenly so afraid?

The other Slayer leans in closer, closer enough that you can feel her breath against the skin of your throat. She whispers your name. Whispers something else too, words that you can't quite make out. Words that send a shiver down your spine.

Then — almost before you realize what's happening — the handcuffs shatter, the ties between you break. You stagger, off-rhythm, jostled by the crowd around you. She catches you in her arms. You relax, just for a moment — as if this means you're safe - then there's a sudden unbearable pain in your stomach. The smell of blood in the air. Your blood: red and terrible.

You can't move. All you can do is watch as she reaches inside you, pulls something precious out, something you'd never have admitted that was there. Something soft and irreplaceable. She locks eyes with you — superior, smug, contemptuous, just like you always knew she was, deep down — as it falls to the ground, where it lands with a wet and final crunching thud, then is trampled underfoot by the dancing crowd.

"Did you think this was over?" she asks you furiously. "Did you really think I'd just forget?"

The truth is Buffy's not expecting it. She just didn't see it coming.

There's no prophetic warning from the powers that be. No mystical Slayer vision sent to tell her to be ready. It's only after she's been handed the phone by Giles - had a split second to wonder who exactly would be calling his house, at this time of night, looking to speak to her — and heard the voice on the other end that she even has an inkling of what she's about to be told.

Back in the summer, before college had started, things had been simpler. Before finding out that her new roommate was a demon; and that Spike was dating Harmony; and that Oz was leaving town forever; and that Giles was dating and had been turned into a demon; and that Xander was dating a (different) demon. Before everything in her life had gotten so crazy, she'd used to sneak off in the afternoons sometimes to visit the hospital. To visit a girl she used to think she knew. To visit someone that everyone else seemed to be pretending didn't exist, and never had existed.

Summer afternoons spent visiting the girl who'd almost killed her boyfriend last year. The girl who'd told her she was just like her, and that it was just a matter of time before she got tired of holding it all in. The girl who'd held a knife to her throat, danced with her, kissed her, betrayed her. The girl she'd almost killed in revenge.

Sometimes. Not often. Just a few isolated days, really. A handful of stolen afternoons.

She wasn't sure why she did it. Why it had seemed quite as important as it did. She wasn't sure why she kept it a secret from her friends.

Maybe it was because, unlike the others, she couldn't forget her. No matter how much she wanted to. She still dreamed about her, after all. More nights than she'd have admitted to anyone.

She dreamed about things they'd done together: nights spent wandering the cemeteries of Sunnydale, or sneaking out of class to track down vampire nests, or trading blows and insults as they fought each other to a standstill. Evenly matched, the way nobody else was in all the world. She dreamed about things they'd definitely never done: making up the bed in her Mom's spare room for a visitor whose name she can't quite remember; standing up high on creaking scaffolding waiting for the sun to rise; and other things that make her blush now just thinking about them. She dreamed about the things she'd done to her. The way, at the very end, she'd slid a knife up between her ribs, like it was the easiest thing in the world ("just like butter", she remembers telling the Mayor brightly). The look on her face as they both realized just what line she'd crossed. The way she'd watched helplessly as she'd fallen away into the darkness.

Maybe a part of her thought that, if she only spent enough time with her now, the dreams might finally stop. That she'd be able to rest.

And maybe that was stupid. Maybe she was stupid. That certainly seemed to be the consensus among guys she'd tried dating recently.

(Maybe that was why she'd finally decided she was better off single. College was work enough without boys, anyway.)

And the dreams did stop, in the end.

Mostly stop, anyway. She's not sleeping as much as she used to, anyway. It's been a long time since she made it out to the hospital. Between the latest threats: Adam, on the one hand, and the mystery of the Initiative on the other, Buffy doesn't really have time for sleep. Dreams are something of a luxury these days, let alone whole afternoons to herself.

It would be easier, she sometimes thinks, if she'd listened to Riley. If the two of them were still together. At least then she'd have known what the Initiative was up to. Where they were from, who they were working for.

And she'd liked Riley. He'd been nice. Safe. He'd been good for her, for a while. But she'd realized pretty quickly that things between them weren't ever going to work out. Not the way he wanted them to.

After last year, she'd been looking for something different. Somebody reliable. Somebody normal. That was what she'd needed, wasn't it?  Somebody like the person she'd thought Riley was; like the person he'd presented himself to her as when they first met. Once she'd found out he'd been lying to her: that he was mixed up with those weird army commando guys who she'd been running into all semester, she'd realized she was just repeating her high school dating history. And she couldn't do all that again. She just couldn't. Maybe Riley was right, maybe she was stupid for seeing things that way, but stupid or not that was the only way she could see it.

Riley hadn't taken the rejection too well. He'd tried his best to persuade her that they could still make it work, but she just hadn't been ready to do all that again. Not after Angel, not after … Buffy catches herself. There wasn't anyone else after Angel. (Obviously that creep Parker didn't count.) That was the point. Maybe there never would be.

She hasn't even seen Riley for weeks now. Not in class, not on campus, not late night on patrol. She doesn't think he's avoiding her, either, he's just … not around. She hopes he's okay, wherever he is. That whatever he's busy with — with the Initiative, with grad school, or whatever else - isn't going to come back and haunt her later. That he isn't mixed up in anything he can't handle without her.

(At least she hasn't needed his help for class so much recently, now that Professor Walsh has disappeared. Fired, the rumor was, for some unknown but terrible offense, or maybe lured away by some more prestigious private school. Good riddance either way, she thinks.)

A part of Buffy misses Riley, but she hasn't got time to think about him now. The truth is she's exhausted. Overwhelmed. She's been trying to do too much, by herself, for far too long.

Maybe that's why she isn't ready.

But when she hears the voice on the other end of the phone — recognizes Kimberly, the duty nurse who'd used to sign her in every time she came to visit - she knows that everything's about to change.

Everyone at the hospital had been very kind, whenever she went to visit. The first time, not sure what else to say, she'd told them she was there to see her friend.

(Yes, she'd said, the late Mayor's foster daughter. Yes, it was terribly sad what had happened to him. Gang-related, she'd heard. PCP. No, she didn't know anything more about the subsequent police investigation than they did. No, she didn't know if the girl had any other surviving family. No, she wasn't sure where she'd been born. Sorry.)

Strictly speaking, they admitted to her later, they shouldn't have let her in at all. Since she wasn't family. But what family did the poor girl have now, after all, they'd asked themselves. What was going to happen to her, now that she was all alone? And Buffy was just a harmless eighteen year old girl, after all. It wasn't as if she was dangerous. It wasn't as if she was going to hurt her.

(What was going to happen to her?)

It was a miracle she was still alive at all, they'd told her. (A miracle that she'd made it this long, they meant. Said outright, sometimes, when they'd thought she couldn't hear them.) Between the head trauma, and the blood loss, it was incredible she hadn't already given up.

("She's a fighter, you know," one of the nurses had told her once. "She's trying so hard. We're all very proud of her.")

They didn't know she was a Slayer. Or that she had been a Slayer, maybe. Buffy wasn't quite sure what she was now. They didn't know how she'd ended up here. They just knew how the human body worked, and what its limitations were. They knew — even if they were too kind to tell her outright — that there was only one way this story was going to end.

Buffy knew it, too, deep down. Nobody knew her the way Buffy did, after all. Maybe she just hadn't wanted to admit it.

She runs through the conversation with Kimberly on autopilot. Not really sure if what she's saying quite makes sense. ("What sort of emergency?" when there could only ever be one that would have the hospital calling her like this. "No, I haven't," when of course she had. "Thank you, I'll let you know." She wouldn't.)

She hadn't seen it coming. She hadn't been expecting it. But maybe she should have been. Maybe it was inevitable.

When she puts the phone down, the others are all looking at her, equal parts puzzled and concerned, waiting for her to say something.

"It's Faith," she tells them now, amazed at how steady her own voice sounds. "She's awake."

Faith's awake, but she's gone. Vanished from her hospital bed overnight like a bad dream.

Nobody from the hospital knows how or why it happened. How could somebody in a coma for months suddenly wake up healthy and fit enough to just walk out? Why would she do that, instead of letting all the doctors and nurses help her, instead of waiting for her friends and family to arrive?

Buffy knows the answers to all those questions. She just doesn't know where Faith's ended up. Not yet. But she'll find out.

Faith's old apartment hasn't changed much since that night. Being here, now, is almost like stepping back in time.

In fact, Buffy's pretty sure nobody's been in here since the summer. She guesses that, after the Mayor died, there was nobody who cared enough to clear things up. There are still clothes in the wardrobes, comic books lying half-open on the bed, even a few weapons piled up on the floor by the punching bag and the Playstation.

This is the first time Buffy herself has been back since that night.

("Okay, then," Faith had said, standing right in the spot that Buffy's standing now. "Give us a kiss.")

It feels strange, being here alone. Stranger in some ways that it had felt that night last summer when she'd arrived ready to finish things for good. Like she's intruding on something that should be private. She can hardly kid herself that Faith would have wanted her here, can she? If things had gone differently that night, if their fight had had a different ending, would she have wanted Faith prowling around her old room, sizing it up like she was a prospective new tenant?

("What's the matter, Faith?" she remembers asking her, handcuffed together, fighting for control of that knife. "All that killing and you're afraid to die?")

It's pretty obvious that Faith isn't here either. Just like she's not been in any of the other places in town Buffy had tried searching for her in.

She wasn't waiting for her at her old motel, or hanging around the ruin and rubble that's all that's left of Sunnydale High. She wasn't lurking in the shadows of Angel's old mansion on Crawford Street; or harassing the regulars at Willy's Place. She wasn't at the Mayor's office. The old Mayor's old offices, Buffy means: the new guy - who she's pretty sure isn't technically evil, whatever her mom thinks about his recent decision to raise property taxes - doesn't use them at all.

She wasn't at any of those places, and she isn't here.

So Buffy guesses that she doesn't really have a reason to stick around. Certainly she has no business picking up the comic books that must have fallen onto the floor months ago and carefully putting them back onto the bedside table; or picking up the other Slayer's red leather jacket and finding a spare hanger for it in the closet.

She couldn't have said, if anybody had asked her, why it was so important she do that.

Faith isn't here. She isn't coming back. She's probably already heading out of town, running away from all the consequences of her actions. Just like she tried to do before. There's a chance — a very real chance, growing more real all the time — that Buffy's never going to see the other Slayer again.

She couldn't have said, either, why that thought made her feel so sad.

("You did it, B," the other Slayer had told her at the end, sounding almost proud. "You killed me.")

But she hadn't, had she? Faith is alive. Alive and awake and out there somewhere: maybe angry and looking for revenge, maybe scared and alone and only thinking of escape. But she is alive. And wherever she is — however she's feeling, wherever she's planning to go next - she's Buffy's responsibility.

That's why she's going to find her.

Except that she still hasn't found Faith hours later, when she makes it back to the dorm room she shares with Willow.

"No sign of her," she says, in answer to her friend's unspoken question "But she's out there. I can feel it."

Buffy's never been sure, really, whether she's ever truly been able to feel the other Slayer's presence or not. There have been times when she's sure of it — in the middle of a joint patrol, for example, fighting side by side against the worst monsters this town could throw at them, or that horrible night last year when she'd tracked Faith down by the docks on her way out of town, somehow sure of where she'd be but never able to explain it — but there have been almost as many times that she's been completely blindsided, Faith appearing or vanishing without her having any clue at all.

Maybe it's psychological, she thinks. Maybe it's all in her head.

"Too bad," Willow says brightly, "That was the funnest coma ever."

Buffy frowns, slightly. Willow had never exactly been Faith's biggest fan. Even before … everything. Buffy supposes she can't blame her for that. But she'd forgotten — or maybe made herself forget — just how much Willow didn't like her.

"You know … I went to visit her, over the summer," Buffy admits. "In the hospital, I mean."

Willow offers her a puzzled look.

"How come?" she asks.

That's a question Buffy doesn't really have an answer for.

"To make sure they were treating her okay, I guess," she says.

"How come?" Willow repeats in the exact same tone as before.

Buffy sighs. She really doesn't want to fight over this. Willow's her friend, the best friend she's ever had, and Faith made it pretty clear she didn't want her friendship. And yet a part of her still can't help but defend her.

"Because she's a person, Will," she tries. "She's a real person, a human being, and I'm the one who stuck a knife in her and almost killed her."

"You didn't have a choice, Buff," Willow assures her, with a confidence that Buffy can only envy. "She made sure of that."

That was exactly what Buffy had told herself, all those months ago. Had been telling herself, off and on, ever since. She isn't sure she's ever really been convinced.

There was always a choice, wasn't there? And the choice here had seemed pretty clear. Angel's life or Faith's life. The vampire Buffy was still in love with, even after everything he'd done — even after he'd ended things between them and broken her heart all over again — or … Faith, and whatever she'd once meant to her. Or the third option, the one that she'd finally settled on. A way that didn't threaten anybody's life but her own.

Maybe she hadn't had a good choice, but she'd had a choice.

Buffy just doesn't think Willow is ready to listen to that. Or to anything else in Faith's defense that Buffy would like to say.

She'd like to tell her about Kendra. About how Buffy hadn't really warmed to her the moment they first met either. (Maybe that was just how things were, between two different Slayers. Or maybe her ex-roommate Kathy had been right: maybe the problem was just with Buffy. Maybe she'd never really learned to share some parts of her life with others.)

She'd like to tell her about how much she still blames herself for what had happened to Kendra. How the girl who'd been supposed to replace her had become her friend instead; how she'd traveled all the way back to Sunnydale just to help her, and how Buffy's weakness and stubbornness had gotten her killed for that mistake. How, when she'd seen Faith — not the confident mask Faith wore, but the real Faith, the frightened, friendless girl who'd seen her Watcher die in front of her and not known what to do but run — she'd felt as though she'd been given a second chance. A chance to do things right. To protect the latest Slayer this time. To keep her close. To keep her safe.

She'd like to talk about what it was like to lose her first Watcher. Merrick, the man she's never been able to talk to anyone about. The person who'd first told her the truth about who she was, and what her destiny had in store for her. Who'd opened her eyes to the hidden reality of the world around her: a world of vampires, and demons, and darkness, and terror. The first person — but far from the last — who'd died because of her. Because she hadn't been strong enough to do what she'd been born to do.

She'd like to talk about how that was something that had bound Faith and her together, in a way, even if neither of them had been ready to talk about it. She'd never mentioned Merrick to Faith. Never told her that that was something that they had in common. She doesn't even know Faith's Watcher's name. But she'd like to, if she had the chance. If somehow she could go back in time and do everything all over again.

Because this time, surely, she'd be able to do everything right.

But she can't say that. She can't say any of it. She definitely can't say the other part of it, the secret part, the part that she's not even ready to think about with another person in the room. Willow wouldn't get it. She wouldn't get any of it. Buffy knows that. The only person in the world who might understand it is … gone. Out there somewhere. Hiding, or running. Afraid, or scared, or murderously angry. She doesn't care about Buffy at all. Maybe she never did.

Willow's her best friend in the world, but she's not a Slayer. They don't have that connection. That means there are parts of her life Buffy can't share with her. However much she wishes that she could.

So Buffy shakes her head. Forces herself to change the subject. To accept that Willow will just never understand why a part of Buffy looks at Faith and sees … something. Something she doesn't even think she has the words to describe.

"How are you doing, anyway, Will?" she says. "I feel like we haven't gotten to talk much lately, just the two of us. I mean, it seems like half the time I come back from patrol it's so late that you're already asleep, and half the time I come back from patrol you're out. But you're looking better. Happier, I mean. Did you manage to find some real witches on campus after all?"

If Willow minds changing the subject away from Faith, she doesn't say anything. She brightens up — just like Buffy had expected - at the chance of talking about magic and witchcraft. Buffy still forgets, sometimes, just how into all that Willow has become over the last year and a half. And worries, sometimes, if her friend knows what she's getting herself into.

"I … uh. Yeah, actually," Willow says. "One witch, anyway. She's really nice. You'd like her. I mean, if you want to meet her."

It's good to see Willow smiling again, Buffy thinks. She hasn't been doing much of that lately. Not after Oz had left town. Maybe not much before that. And it's good that Willow's been making new friends. (Even if they're secret new friends that she's not been volunteering anything about.)

"I'd love to," she says. "Maybe—"

Neither of them are expecting the phone to ring at this time of night. With how late Buffy was out patrolling, it's got to be getting close to midnight. So Buffy picks up the phone gingerly, telling herself that it's probably just some prank call or wrong number.

"Buffy? Sorry to bother you this late."

It's not.

"Hi, Mom," she says, partly for Willow's benefit. "Everything okay?"

She normally calls her mother on the weekends, if she's not planning to go home for a visit. Not that there have been all that many trips home recently. And she realizes, a little guiltily, that she can't remember if she'd called last weekend or not.

"I'm fine, dear," her mother says, even though she sounds slightly tense. "How are you?"

"I'm great," she says, with only slightly forced cheer. It's not exactly a lie. Not really.

("You see?" Buffy hears her mom say, her voice muffled as she holds the phone away from her mouth. "She's fine.")

"No luck on patrol," Buffy adds, wondering for a moment who Mom might be speaking to. She hadn't said anything about having visitors over tonight. "But I haven't given up looking yet."

She's sure she's not imagining the slight pause before her mother speaks again.

"It's funny you should say that," her mother says, voice echoing a little oddly on the line. "You see, your friend Faith's here, and—"

Buffy doesn't wait to hear the rest. The phone's only just hit the floor by the time she's out of the door and running for the exit.

Buffy couldn't have said what she was expecting to find at home when she made it. Her mom being held hostage, maybe: tied up and menaced by a dark haired girl with a knife. The prisoner of an angry Slayer with superpowers and a grudge, someone who still blamed Buffy for ruining her life.

(A part of her still can't believe Faith would really hurt her mom. Threaten her, maybe. She can imagine that. But Faith had always liked her mom, hadn't she? She'd said so. She'd not really hurt her, the way she'd hurt people like Allan Finch or Professor Worth. A part of Buffy still can't believe that Faith would ever go that far. But maybe Willow's right. Maybe, when it comes to Faith, she's always just seen the person she wanted to see.)

She couldn't have said what she was expecting, but she'd been bracing herself for the worst. Fighting down visions of finding Faith gone, and her mother … hurt. Or worse.

What she hadn't expected at all – but what she finds, the minute she opens the back door, still out of breath after running all this way – is the other Slayer sitting at the kitchen table. Chatting to her mom while her mom makes her dinner. Listening to her mom, anyway.

"… got into Northwestern, and of course we were all very proud of her, but you know she felt she had to stay in Sunnydale, because … oh, hi Buffy!"

"Mom?" she says.

But it's not her mother who answers. The other Slayer wasn't even looking in her direction, but at the sound of her voice she turns around. Raises an eyebrow quizzically, almost as if Buffy's the intruder here.

"Hey, B," she says, as if nothing bad had ever happened between them. "Mind telling me what the hell's going on?"

Buffy's lost for words, for a moment. She'd dreamed of this moment for months, had let it play out in her head so many times. She should know what to say, shouldn't she? She should be able to tell her—

"You're hurt," she says stupidly.

There are new bruises on Faith's cheek and jaw, dark and purple, and fresh blood on her lip.

Who did this to you? She manages not to ask. She's done worse herself, hasn't she? It's not like Faith's going to forget that.

"This isn't a big deal," the other Slayer shrugs, looking a little awkward. "Couple of guys tried to jump me on my way over here. British guys, too, so you know that they fought dirty. Said something about the Watcher's Council, but I really wasn't paying much attention."

Faith brightens, suddenly.

"Hey, did that dork Wesley turn out to be evil after all?" she asks. "Because I totally called that, right?"

Buffy shakes her head. (Both because it wasn't true, at least not technically, and because she's pretty sure Faith had suggested no such thing.)

"I … um, I sort of quit the Council a while back," she admits. "I think they're still kind of mad about it."

The other Slayer grins, and for a second — before she catches herself, before she remembers who she's talking to - Buffy almost grins back.

"Way to go, B," Faith says. "Knew you had it in you."

She pauses, looks a little worried. Shoots a glance in her mom's direction, as she brings her a plate of food. Pizza, fresh out of the oven. Faith tears a slice off and starts eating, even as she continues talking.

"And don't worry," Faith says, "I made sure I lost them before I came over here. Don't want to cause you or Joyce any more trouble."

Buffy can't believe the way Faith is trying to play this. She's acting like everything between them is still the way it used to be. Like they're still friends; like Faith had never turned on her, never tied her up and threatened to torture her, never let her know just how angry she was about all the lucky breaks Buffy had had that she'd simply taken for granted.

Only … she's not faking it, is she? She's not putting it on. Faith just isn't this good an actor. Buffy knows that. She knows it. And yet…

"Do you … what's the last thing you remember?" Buffy asks her carefully. "Before you woke up, I mean."

"Kind of a blur," Faith admits reluctantly. "One minute, we're out on patrol, getting ready to take on some big ugly demon that's not quite as dead as your new pal Wesley thinks."

(Buffy doesn't bother telling her that Wesley's not been around for almost as long as Faith herself. He must be back in England now, she supposes. It's not important though.)

"I think I was telling you about that new bow I got," Faith says. The one she'd stolen, she means. "Don't suppose you … eh, never mind. Anyway, we're walking down a dark alley, looking for trouble, and then … bam. I guess trouble found us. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in a hospital bed in a dark room, somebody's stuck me full of all these little tubes. Plus, I've got a wicked new scar I know I didn't have before. Guess something must have hit me pretty bad."

Faith pauses for a second, a slightly horrified look on her face.

"Shit. I didn't let some random vamp get the jump on me, did I?" she asks. "I don't know how I'm going to be able to live that down."

"No," Buffy says. "There were some vamps, but … no."

"Then what was it?" Faith asks her. "Demons? Cultists? Those freaky Jhe girls who were trying to open the Hellmouth up again?"

Buffy looks at Faith, thinking desperately. Wishes she could be sure what to do.

"You really don't remember?" she asks.

"I really don't," Faith says, frowning. "And am I getting that you ain't exactly pleased to see me? I mean, I know I wasn't blown away by all the love when I woke up."

She shakes her head.

"Hell, you could at least have gotten me flowers, B,"

"I did," Buffy protests weakly, shooting a guilty look in her Mom's direction. She hadn't told her mother about those summer hospital visits either.

But she had brought flowers. Months ago, the second or third time she'd visited. When the idea of Faith waking up had still seemed like something that it might be okay to hope for. She'd wanted her to have somewhere nice to wake up.

"Yeah, well, I didn't see them," Faith shrugs. "Didn't see any of you gathered around the bed waiting for me to come to my senses either."

"Faith, honey, we-" her Mom starts, but Buffy doesn't let her finish.

"Why did you run off?" she asks. "Where were you planning to go?"

Faith hesitates, for a second. Glances back down at the half-eaten food on her plate. Almost like she's embarrassed about something.

"Maybe I thought you were in trouble," she mutters. "I thought maybe you needed me."

For a moment, she looks just like she did last Christmas. Back in that little motel room she'd lived in, strung up with a handful of lights that Buffy had never thought to wonder where she'd found. Lost and alone and trying her best not to show it.

"We heard you were awake," Buffy says. "I've been looking for you."

"I've been sitting still for twelve months," Faith says, a sharp edge to her voice that wasn't there a minute ago. "How hard did you look?"

Buffy can't help it. She's on the defensive, suddenly. Just like old times. Replies without thinking.

"Eight months. You were only-" It's only when she sees the way that Faith's eyes widen slightly that she realizes that she messed up.

"I mean. You were only asleep for eight months," she finishes weakly. "Not twelve."

Buffy sees Faith's hands tighten into fists, just for a second. Takes a step or two to the side, trying to put herself between the other Slayer and her mom.

"So why can't I remember anything since last February?" Faith demands. "What the hell happened?"

When Buffy meets her gaze, she sees Faith's brown eyes are narrowed and angry.

"And what did I do to piss you off so badly you won't even look at me?"

Buffy doesn't know what to say. All of the speeches she'd rehearsed, daydreaming over the summer about what would happen when Faith woke up, had kind of assumed that Faith would know why Buffy was upset. But if she tells her now … she knows how that ends, right? Denial, deflection, a failure to deal. All sorts of bad decisions. The last thing she needs is Faith deciding to go and sign up for the Initiative.

"It's a long story," she tries. "And I'll explain everything, I promise. But I need you to—"

There's a loud banging on the front door.

"Ms. Summers?" Buffy doesn't recognize the voice, but she does recognize the accent. British. Watchers. "We know you're in there. We just want to talk."

Buffy's never been the world's greatest liar. She knows that. Guesses it's something of a flaw if you're supposed to have a whole secret identity thing going on. She gets that it's something she has to do to keep herself and other people safe, and some days it already feels like far too many people know who she really is for comfort. But the truth is she just hates lying. Always has done.

She does her best though with the team from the Council. Tries to look suitably shocked when they tell her that Faith is awake. Tries not to stare at the basement door that Faith is hiding behind. To hide just how angry she is that these people have presumed to come here, to her town, to her home, after everything the Council did to her last year. That they've dared.

And she thinks she does enough. Enough, at least, that their leader — Weatherby is the name he gave when he introduced himself earlier, she didn't get the others' names — seems convinced that she doesn't know anything. Maybe that's what he was always going to assume. She's just the Slayer, after all. Just the reason his entire organization exists. What reason would she have for knowing a thing?

It helps, too, that the Council goons don't get it. The way things were between her and Faith. They expect her to hate her, she realizes. To want to be rid of her, to want to give her up. She doesn't hate her though, even if it's convenient that they think she does. She can't. It's just like she told Willow months ago. In a different world, she could have been her.

Finally, after what feels like hours of stalling but was probably only about ten minutes, Weatherby has had enough.

"You'll let us know if you run into her, of course." He doesn't quite bother to make it sound like a question.

"Oh, yes, of course," Buffy lies through her smile, as politely as she can manage.

She's done things that made her feel dirtier than shaking his hand when he leaves — a few especially bad trips through Sunnydale's sewers come to mind, as does a late night encounter with a particularly gross chaos demon — but not that many. Not many at all.

"You aren't really going to let them take her, are you?" her mother asks her, when it's over.

She hadn't said anything while the men from the Council were here. But Buffy guesses she had much the same reaction to them as she'd had.

"No," Buffy says firmly. "I'm not."

"That's good," her mother says. "I don't think those men were very nice people."

Well, that's definitely an understatement, Buffy thinks. Her mom frowns.

"You know I don't like to meddle in the Slaying, as long as you're safe," she says. "And I know you've probably not told me everything that Faith did. What you did tell me sounded bad enough."

She'd told her just enough that she'd be safe. That Faith was working for the Mayor, that she was dangerous, that she should call for help if she ever saw her. That she'd hurt people, and might try to hurt people again. But she'd skipped over some of the details. Of course she had. It was safer for them both that way.

"It's just so hard to imagine the girl who came to visit us at Christmas working for that horrible man," her Mom says. "I just can't wrap my head around it."

She seems more upset than Buffy was expecting.

"I didn't realize you and Faith ever got on so well," Buffy admits.

Her Mom had pushed her to talk to Faith more, she remembers. Had been happy to have her over for dinner, wanted Buffy to invite her over for Christmas. But she'd always thought — unfairly, maybe — that that was just because she'd seen in Faith a way for Buffy to stop being the Slayer. Somebody else who could take over for her.

"Well, we talked, a little bit, when you were out looking for Angel," her mother says. "About you, mostly. She really seemed to look up to you a lot. She tried not to show it, but I could tell she was so pleased to have been invited over. I think she must have been horribly unhappy for a long time."

Buffy can't help but feel a twinge of guilt at that, even though she doesn't think that's what her mom wanted. Accidental guilt trips are something of a mom speciality, after all. Still, looking back, she'd treated Faith pretty badly that night, hadn't she? Faith had only been over for a few minutes, her presents still unwrapped, when Buffy had made her excuses. And despite her promise to explain things later, somehow she'd never gotten around to doing it. Faith had left for the motel before Buffy had even made it back.

Maybe that was when things had really soured between them, Buffy thinks. Not when Faith had killed Allan Finch. But weeks earlier, on Christmas Day. When Buffy had left her standing guard over her mother, headed out into the darkness to look for Angel, and then been too wrapped up in her feelings to come back before the night was over. Maybe that was why Faith hadn't ever seemed to believe Buffy was trying to protect her.

("Oh, I see," she remembers Faith snarking at her, when she'd urged her to tell Giles — or somebody, anybody — what they'd unwittingly done. When she'd admitted that she didn't know if she was able to lie about it for much longer. "But you can pretend Angel's still dead when you need to protect him?")

"Do you trust her?" she asks her mother now. "On the phone, I thought you sounded … worried."

(Worried is a bit of an understatement too.)

Her mother frowns.

"When I saw her outside, I was shocked, of course, but I don't think she ever thought of hurting me. She just asked where you were and whether you were in trouble. I think she's telling the truth. She doesn't remember the two of you falling out. She doesn't remember anything. I didn't tell her anything, either: not that I know the full story. I just told what day it was, and that you were in college now, and that you weren't in any danger. I'm not sure she believed me. She insisted that I call you."

Buffy thinks about what it must have been like, waking up in a strange hospital room with a year of your life missing. Not knowing where you are, or what happened. Not having anybody there to tell you that you were okay.

(It's not quite true she's not in any danger, of course. But then she hasn't exactly been in a rush to tell her mom about Adam. Faith's not the only part of the Slaying slide of her life that she doesn't really talk about.)

"Well, I should probably check in on her," Buffy says.

Her mom nods, already turning to go back to the kitchen.

"Let me know if she wants any tea," she says.

Faith isn't going to want any tea. Not for a while.

Maybe her body still needs time to recover — maybe she'd pushed herself too hard, climbing out of bed and heading over here. Maybe it was the stress of running into the Council thugs, of having to hide down here in the dark after they showed up again.

Either way, it seems that Faith has had quite enough excitement for one day. She's fallen asleep, curled up in the corner of the basement.

Buffy guesses it's best not to try to move her. She gets a blanket instead, from the spare room. A couple of pillows. Drapes the blanket over Faith carefully, moves her as gently as she can until her head is resting on the pillows instead of the bare basement floor.

She isn't sure how long she spends watching the other Slayer, afterwards. She looks different than she did back in the hospital: her sleep more natural, somehow. She looks younger, too. More like the scared girl Buffy remembers from the first few days after meeting her than the leather-clad killer following behind the Mayor like a shadow.

She thinks about Faith's visit last Christmas, and of all the things they didn't tell each other then. Of the presents Faith had shown up with, of the way she'd smiled when Buffy told her she was glad she'd come.

("They're crappy," Faith had apologized, more than once. Buffy wishes she'd had a chance to open them. A chance to tell Faith that she was wrong.)

Buffy takes a deep breath. Tries to convince herself she'll deal with this all tomorrow. Then she turns the basement lights out and heads back upstairs.

You're lying in a strange bed in a room you don't recognize. You're not back in the motel the way you should be. That's where you belong, isn't it? Waiting alone, in the dark, for her. Waiting until something ugly has to be killed; waiting until she's finished enjoying her other life in the light and the warmth. Waiting to be needed.

This place … it's huge. Bigger than anywhere you've ever lived before. But it's yours. Somehow you know that. Somebody gave it to you, somebody wanted you to have it. The thought should make you smile, but it doesn't. You don't remember who it was, but a part of you is screaming that they can't be trusted. Guys like him can't be trusted. (Nobody can be trusted.) And girls like you don't get to live in places like this. Not without paying a price.

There's a sick feeling in your stomach telling you you must have had to do something terrible to get here. Something awful, something you'll never be able to take back. You just can't remember what it was. You're not sure you want to, either. Maybe it's better to be in the dark.

You're not safe here, either. This is no sanctuary. You can sense someone coming — hear the measured tread of her boots coming from the hallway outside. Slow and steady and inexorable. Somebody's coming, and the thought terrifies you. You know you have to get up, to get out, to get away. But you can't. You can't move.

This bed — you're not just lying on it, you're strapped to it. Weighed down. Somebody's stuffed you full of tubes and wires, drawing your blood out of your veins and pumping you full of something else. Something that makes you weak. Powerless. Something dark and poisonous.

And now the door's swinging open, and a shadow's falling on your face. She's here. And you still can't move. You can't speak. You can't even scream for help. Not that anybody would come. Not that you deserve it.

The other Slayer smiles down at you, a cold expression devoid of any human warmth. The way a lioness might smile down at a wounded animal. Merciless. Hungry. In her hands she's holding something dangerous. Something bright and sharp and true. Something you can't bear to look at.

She leans down, closer, until her lips are almost touching your ears.

"Did you really think that I'd just forgive you?" she whispers, as everything goes black.

Whatever's going on with Faith, Buffy's not exactly thrilled by the thought of leaving her alone at her mother's house all night. Faith doesn't seem dangerous right now, but … who knows?

Her own room isn't exactly habitable at the moment — Mom's still got it full of boxes that are going to be unpackaged in the gallery — but that's okay. If Faith's sleeping in the basement, she can sleep on the couch. Just in case Faith wakes up in the night and … well. Just in case.

She makes a couple of calls first though.

To Giles, first, if only a brief one. She wanted to let him know that she'd found Faith, and that his old friends from the Council were in town, but as it turns out he already knew the second part. He manages to make it pretty clear that it's not safe to talk on the phone either, before she accidentally blurts out anything she wouldn't want them to hear. Who knows who might be listening in?

So she keeps the news about Faith to herself, in the end. She just tells him that her mom had a bit of a health scare earlier, and that she's decided to stay in and keep an eye on her for a while. (Those guys from the Council already know she's here herself after all.) She manages to suggest that, maybe, when the Council has finished looking for Faith, he might want to come over to say hello.

She makes a similar call to Willow next, to apologize that they won't be able to have that chat tonight after all. She almost tells her about Faith, but at the last minute thinks better of it and gives her the cover story about her mom too. She can't be sure those Council guys aren't listening in to this line either, can she?. Besides, she doesn't know how well Willow will take the news of Faith's condition. Easier perhaps to wait until she can explain that part in person.

That done, Buffy settles down for the night. She isn't really expecting to get much sleep, between the sofa itself and the potentially homicidal Slayer next door. But in the event — maybe because she's still just so tired — she ends up having the best night's sleep she can remember in a long while.

She's only been up again for about half an hour — time enough to have breakfast, but not to beat Faith to the shower — when the doorbell rings. She opens it a little warily, worried about who it might be.

"Hi, Buffy!"

The good news is that it's not anyone from the Council. Or Adam, or Spike, or anyone from the Initiative. It's just Willow.

"Hi Will," she says.

Not just Willow, technically. Willow and somebody else, somebody Buffy doesn't think she's met before. A pretty girl with long blonde hair, wearing a gray cardigan and an embarrassed, awkward smile.

"I thought we could hang out today," Willow says, sounding a little bit nervous. "While you're taking care of your mom, I mean. You and me and .. Um."

She turns to the other girl.

"This is my …. friend," she says. "The witch I was telling you about last night?"

"Hi," Willow's friend says shyly, not quite making eye contact.

Willow draws a breath.

"Buffy, I'd like you to meet … Faith?"

All things considered, Buffy thinks the other Slayer picked a pretty bad time to come walking down the stairs. Especially since she's all but fresh out of the shower, wearing a fresh change of clothes she must have borrowed from Buffy's old room — a red hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants Buffy doesn't remember buying - and absently toweling her hair dry.

"Pretty sure she's met me already, Red," Faith drawls. "Thanks for the invitation though."

Faith doesn't seem to find any of this as weird as Buffy does. But then, she wouldn't, would she? She doesn't know any better. That's sort of the point.

"Oh, you're out of shampoo by the way, B," she adds. "Might want to pick up some more."

Willow's glare doesn't soften much when she turns to Buffy.

"What is she doing here?" her friend asks her.

Maybe not mentioning anything on the phone wasn't such a smart play after all, Buffy thinks.

"She's been hurt," she says weakly.

Not that there's much evidence of Faith's bruises from the night before now, Buffy thinks. One of the downsides of the whole Slayer healing thing, perhaps. Faith looks ,,, well, good. Surprisingly good, Buffy thinks, for a girl who spent more than half a year in a coma. But then, Faith had always looked–

"Obviously not hurt enough if she's still walking around," Willow interjects.

Buffy shakes her head. Tries not to let herself be distracted again.

"Not just physically," she says. "We need … I mean, I need you to work out what's wrong with her."

"What's wrong with her?" Willow echoes. "How long have you got?"

Willow's friend doesn't seem like the confrontational type. She's hanging back, still by the door, not looking thrilled. Faith though … she's not exactly shy about confrontations. Buffy doubts that that's changed. She steps in between them before anything can get out of hand.

"She doesn't remember anything, Will," Buffy says. "She has … amnesia, or something. From the coma, maybe. When she woke up, she thought we were still looking for Balthazar. She doesn't remember anything that happened after that."

"Is that what she says?" Willow scoffs. "Well, in that case how silly of me to be upset! Why not invite her round to your mom's for a secret sleepover, just the two of you?"

She pauses.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she adds. "You already did that."

Buffy's all ready to apologize for not telling Willow what was going on, but this time Faith beats her to it.

"Look, I don't know what I ever did to piss you off Red, but—"

"No, you don't, do you?" Willow says, too brightly. "You've got a whole clean slate! How very convenient for you!"

She turns back to Buffy, deliberately ignoring the other Slayer. Turning her back on her, almost like she's daring her to do something.

"Buffy, how do you even know she's not faking this? It'd be pretty easy to just lie and say that—"

"Uh. She's not. Um. Lying. I m-mean, I don't think she is."

The girl with Willow has been quiet so far — is still standing close to the door, like she's ready to run off at any moment - but she speaks up now. She's got a bit of a stutter (Buffy wonders if that's why she seems so shy) and she doesn't exactly seem thrilled by the sudden attention, but she seems pretty confident about what she's saying.

"Have we met?" Faith asks her.

The other girl shakes her head mutely.

"Then what makes you so sure?" she asks. "Not that I don't appreciate the vote of confidence and all."

"You're aura, it's … " The girl's hands make a slightly uncertain pattern in the air, like she's trying to explain something that ordinary language doesn't have the words for.

"Faded," she manages. "Cloudy, maybe? Like there's a part of you that's been … suppressed."

"My aura, huh?" Faith says skeptically. "Is that right?"

Buffy's a little doubtful about that too. Until she remembers. That's right, she thinks. She's-

"Tara's a witch," Willow says proudly. "A very powerful one."

"I'm nothing special," the new girl — Tara, Buffy thinks - protests.

"Don't be modest," Willow chides her gently. "You are."

She puts an arm around Tara's shoulders, reassuringly. Beams at her. Whispers something in her ear.

Buffy isn't sure why that makes Faith frown, just for a second. Stare at the two witches slightly closer, like she's trying to figure something out. She catches Buffy's eye for a second as she turns away, and Buffy can't help but look away a little guiltily, as if she'd just been caught staring. Which she supposes she was, in a way.

"Well, at least Red's girl's got my back," Faith says brightly. "Glad my aura checks out, I suppose."

She leans in towards Willow's friend, puts a hand to her mouth like she's about to impart a secret.

"You're way cuter than Oz, by the way," she adds, in a whisper loud enough to carry across the room. "Don't let anybody tell you different."

Buffy doesn't get it, at first. What Faith is talking about. Does she think … no, that's … Willow isn't … oh.

Oh.

It makes sense, suddenly. Willow's nervousness, her newfound happiness after losing Oz. The way she'd been trying to find the right time for Buffy to meet Tara. Which, in hindsight, obviously wasn't today.

Because now Willow's glaring at Faith, furious all over again, whatever progress Tara's vouching for her might have made instantly undone. And why would she be doing that, unless…

"I see this was a bad time," she tells Buffy stiffly. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of … well, whatever this is. You two have fun catching up. Tara and I are leaving. Let me know when you want to hang out with someone who's never—"

Buffy shakes her head at Willow, a little desperately. She doesn't want Faith to find out this way. Faith deserves not to find out this way. And maybe Willow has a change of heart, maybe she sees how much this means to Buffy. Or maybe she was never going to mention Finch or Lester Worth at all.

"— wrassled alligators," she finishes, her scornful tone making it clear exactly what she thinks of that old story.

"It was … um. It was nice to meet you both." Willow's not-exactly-friend says, before she hurries after Willow.

Her girlfriend, Buffy thinks. Willow has a girlfriend.

She wants to run after Willow right now and try to make things right between them. To apologize for not being upfront about what was going on with Faith, and try to work out some other time to properly be introduced to Tara, and maybe to tell her … but something tells her she has some damage control to do closer to home first. When she turns from the front door, from where she's been watching Willow leave, it's to see Faith, arms folded, staring right at her.

"Okay, B," she says. "Last chance. If you don't tell me what's going on right now, I swear I'm going to find those Council guys and get them to explain it to me. Hell, I'll beat it out of them if I have to."

Buffy pauses. Her throat feels unpleasantly dry. She didn't want Faith to find out this way either. But she doesn't think the other Slayer is bluffing.

"We, uh …"

She wishes she could be sure she was doing the right thing. She wishes she'd had a chance to talk to Giles first.

"Something happened, when we were getting ready to make a move on Balthazar," she admits reluctantly.

Faith watches her impassively, arms still folded, waiting.

"You… we… He came out of nowhere, it was an accident, but … you hurt somebody. A human. You thought … we both thought he was a vampire, but … but he wasn't. He was a person. You killed him."

She risks a glance in Faith's direction.

She's not sure what reaction she's expecting. Denial, maybe. Mocking laughter. A repeat of what had happened last year in Faith's motel room, the other Slayer smiling back at her and insisting that she didn't care. She's not expecting Faith to visibly flinch. To deflate.

"Oh," she says quietly.

Giles comes to visit them that evening, after dark.

The last few hours haven't exactly flown by. Faith hasn't seemed to want to talk. Hasn't really done anything except eat lunch and sit quietly alone, staring at nothing. She hasn't asked Buffy any more questions. By the time Giles arrives, Mom's just started cooking dinner. Buffy meets him at the front door, urging Faith to stay back. Ushers him inside as quickly as she can.

"Is it okay for you to be here?" she asks worriedly. "Did anybody follow you?"

She isn't sure what she'll do if the Council shows up again. She'll fight them, she supposes, if she has to: even if they're human, she's not letting them take Faith. But she hopes they can avoid that. She doesn't want to make things worse. Not again.

Giles does his best to reassure her that everything's okay.

"Willow was able to, ah, 'hack' into the Sunnydale police department databases," he says. "Make it seem as if a young woman matching Faith's description was seen boarding a train to Los Angeles earlier this afternoon. I'm pleased to say that Weatherby and his associates headed off after her an hour or so ago. They should find enough breadcrumbs and false trails to keep them chasing shadows for a good while, I'd say."

They're in the living room now, the three of them. If Buffy didn't know better, it could almost be a year ago: her and Faith, reporting back after a patrol.

"Well," Faith says. "Guess I'd better be getting out of your hair, B."

It's said so simply and matter-of-factly that it takes Buffy a second to process it. What?

"Where are you going?" she asks.

Faith shrugs, like it's no big deal.

"Anywhere but LA, I guess," she says. "I hear Canada's nice, in a boring kind of way."

Buffy can't believe what she's hearing.

"Faith, you can't just leave!" she says. "Tell her, Giles."

"Yeah, tell me, Giles," Faith mimics. "Tell me how I need to stay in Sunnyhell where everyone I know hates me for things I don't even remember doing. I bet you're dying to let me know how much I screwed things up."

(I don't hate you, Buffy wants to protest. I— but she doesn't know how to finish that sentence.)

Giles' expression softens.

"On the contrary, I believe I owe you an apology," he says. "Several, perhaps. When you first arrived in Sunnydale, I made a promise — to the Council, and to you — that I would look after you during your time here. I fear I've made rather a poor showing of that."

He sits down at the table, looking almost as tired as Buffy feels, and accepts a cup of tea gratefully. After a moment — a long, reluctant pause — Faith sits down at the table with him. She looks at Giles warily.

"When I was a young man, not much older than you, I made a number of rash and foolhardy decisions," he says. "I found the world's expectations of me … restricting. Exhausting. So I resolved that I would not be the person they wanted me to be. I made friends with people that perhaps I should not have. Did things with them that my parents would have been appalled by. It was … liberating. At first."

Buffy's heard all this before — Ethan, Ripper, summoning Eyghon — but, she realizes, Faith hasn't. Just like she never really told Faith (or anyone else) about Giles' role in the Cruciamentum, it was a bit of his past that they'd both just quietly agreed not to talk about. Maybe that was a mistake as well.

"There was an accident. We all did something very foolish. And kept on doing it, until it was too late. One of us, Randall … he died. We–" Giles corrects himself. "I killed him. It was an accident — nobody wanted him to be hurt - but nonetheless, what happened was my fault. My responsibility. Randall would still be alive today if it were not for me."

The other Slayer fidgets in her chair, slightly. Doesn't look at either of them.

"Yeah, well, sucks to be Randall, I guess," Faith says. "You going somewhere with this?"

Giles nods. Takes a sip of tea.

"As I told Buffy at the time — but, to my regret, did not tell you — you would not be the first Slayer to have had a tragic accident like this. As your Watcher in all but name I believe I have a duty to tell you that this does not make you a monster, or a bad person. Only, perhaps, a careless one."

Buffy's watching Faith closely, so she sees exactly how the other girl reacts to that. The brief frown, the fleeting moment of vulnerability before she squashes everything down. Before she shrugs, impatiently, and looks away again.

"When Randall died … my father was a senior figure in the Council. He was able to pull the right strings to have me re-admitted into Oxford, in order to resume my studies, and to have any question of an investigation into my time away quietly dropped. I am no longer with the Council, but I believe I can offer you something similar."

Buffy doesn't see how Faith reacts to that. She's too focused on Giles now. They hadn't really discussed this. She doesn't know what he's going to say.

"The police are not currently looking for Mr Finch's killer, for reasons that we needn't go into today. Nor are they interested in your for … for any other reason. That leaves only the Council, and as we have already seen there are ways in which I believe we can nullify their efforts. I have some old friends who owe me a few favors we might call in."

Buffy wants to say something now — ask for details, to know how sure Giles is they can keep Faith out of jail and away from his former employer - but before she can speak Faith interrupts.

"Okay, G-man," she says. "Let's say I buy it. What's in it for you?"

Giles frowns.

"Hope, I suppose," he says. "You see, I believe there is a great deal of good you can still do, if you wish to do it. That Buffy would appreciate your support. Or, if you wish to do something else with your life …"

He trails off. Buffy isn't sure what he was planning to say next, but he looks at her first, pauses as if reconsidering.

"… well, the choice is yours," he says. "I am no longer your Watcher, if I ever truly was, but I would advise you to wait before making any rash decision. You will be safe here, and nobody will force you to stay. If you wish it, I have funds with which you may support yourself. But you need time to heal, time to recover your strength and, with luck, your memories."

Faith doesn't seem that impressed with any of that.

"I don't need your money, Giles," she says. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

She doesn't try to leave though. She backs off into the kitchen instead, eyes still locked on Buffy as the door swings shut behind her.

"Joyce, do you want a hand making dinner?" Buffy hears her ask. "I can't really cook, but I can follow orders and I know how to use a knife."

Buffy supposes that all could have gone worse. At least it sounds like Faith will be spending another night here. (She's not sure, exactly, why that suddenly seems like such a good thing. Why getting Faith to stay was so important.)

Giles opens his mouth to ask her something, but Buffy shakes her head. If she can hear Faith in the kitchen, that means that Faith can still hear them. She puts a finger to her lips, gestures silently at the front door. Outside the house, they should be far enough away that Faith won't be able to eavesdrop.

And close enough that — if Faith has been playing them, not that Buffy thinks she has been now — she should still have time to rush back in and protect her mother.

"What's going on, Giles?" she asks him, once they're both safely outside.

Giles looks at her seriously."

"From what you've told me, I doubt this is anything supernatural," he admits. "I think we're dealing with something well outside my expertise. Something purely physical or, perhaps, psychosomatic."

"You think she's faking it?" Buffy asks.

Giles shakes his head.

"Not on a conscious level," he tells her. "I think Faith's confusion is very genuine."

"But?" she asks.

"I told you, last year, that Faith was in denial," he reminds her. "That she was unable to accept responsibility for what she had done. I suspect this may be the cause for her current predicament, together with her physical injuries. Part of her is still unable to accept what she has done, and so her mind has sealed it away. Her subconscious simply refuses to accept that it happened."

Buffy frowns.

"But she's going to get better, right?" she asks him. "She's going to remember?"

Although, even as she asks the question, she can't help but wonder. Does she even want Faith to remember? Wouldn't it be easier for her – easier for everyone – if she never did? What will happen if Faith ever does remember – not just what she did, but what Buffy did to her?

Giles sighs. Pauses a minute before answering; absently cleaning his glasses without seeming to focus on it.

"I … honestly couldn't say. Perhaps. She is a Slayer, after all, with far more capacity to heal than most."

She is. Buffy knows that. The doctors at the hospital, over the summer, the nurses who'd looked after her: none of them thought Faith could make it this far. Only Buffy had believed she could. But they were right about one thing. Faith was a fighter.

"Did you mean what you told her inside?" she asks. "About helping her? "

(He hadn't thought they could help Faith, last year. Had all but urged Buffy not to waste time trying.)

"I did, yes," he says now. "You argued quite persuasively last year that Faith wanted our help."

She did want her help. Buffy was sure of that. Not on the surface, maybe, but some part of her, deep down, had been desperate for it. She's still sure of it. She just has to find the right way to convince Faith that it's safe for her to ask.

"But that was before …" Buffy trails off. "She did some awful things, Giles. Can we keep pretending that she didn't?"

Before the betrayal, she means. Before she knew that Faith was working with her enemies. Before she knew just how angry and bitter Faith had been, all this time. That even when they'd been hanging out, before Finch, some part of Faith had been watching Buffy's life and telling herself that all of that should have been hers.

"I'm no longer your Watcher either, Buffy," Giles says, sounding older than she remembers him sounding before. "If you think Faith beyond our help, I will follow your lead. The legal authorities might-"

It's not even a question, is it?

"No … I don't want the cops involved," Buffy says. "She's my responsibility. I'll take care of her."

One way or another. Either Faith wants to be helped, or she doesn't. Either she can be helped, or she can't. Either Buffy's right about her, or … but she just doesn't see how she'll ever know. How can she ever trust her again?

Some part of her inner monologue must be obvious to Giles. He offers her a reassuring smile. Puts a hand on her shoulder.

"Perhaps it would be best to spend another night at your mother's," he says. "Just in case Faith … ah, needs anything."

If she's going to stay at her mom's house for a second night running, Buffy knows she'll need a few things from her dorm. Giles offers to stay and keep on Faith while she's away, an offer which Buffy accepts even though — if she's wrong about Faith — there really isn't anything Giles or anyone else will be able to do about it. She resolves not to spend too long away.

Willow's waiting for her in the dorm room though, and Buffy can't not talk to her. Not after things ended earlier today.

"Thanks for your help, getting rid of the Council earlier," she says. "I mean … I know you're not Faith's biggest fan, but …"

Willow shrugs, a little defensively.

"Oh, you noticed that?" she says.

Maybe it's best to change the subject.

"So … you and Tara, huh?" Buffy says brightly. "She seems like a … a really great girl."

"She is," Willow says. "And there's something between us. Something … good. Powerful."

"That's great," Buffy says. "She seems … great."

"You said that already," Willow points out, not unreasonably.

"Right," Buffy agrees. "So, uh. How long have you two been seeing each other?"

"A few weeks," Willow says. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but … I just didn't know when it would be the right time. You've been kind of distracted recently, you know?"

Buffy nods. Doesn't say anything. Lets the silence get a little uncomfortable.

"You're not freaked, are you?" Willow asks her.

"No, I'm … it's not that."

She is freaking out, in a way. But not because of Willow. Buffy guesses it's time to address that too.

"Remember last year, when I was talking about the connection I had with Faith?" she asks. "Back in Mrs Taggart's chemistry test? Remember how I said that I didn't think you could understand it?"

Willow nods, looking slightly confused by the change of subject.

"Well," Buffy says, trying not to sound nervous. "Now that I've met Tara, I think … maybe you might?"

"Oh." Willow blinks. "Oh! You and Faith?"

She doesn't sound quite as horrified as she did months ago when Buffy had told her she was engaged to marry Spike, but it's a close-run thing. Well, Buffy supposes that she gets that.

"We haven't exactly … you know. Talked about it. Or … But I think she feels the same way. I think … no, I'm sure of it."

It feels … real, suddenly. Now that she's said it out loud. Now that she's letting herself think about it. That ache in her chest she'd felt when she heard that Faith was awake; or when she'd seen her bruised face later, or when she'd seen Faith walk down the stairs that morning. She knows that feeling. Knows it all too well.

"I've only ever felt this way about one person before," she says. "And it's … it's not the same as Angel. But it's … I think it's something real."

Maybe she'd never have had the words for it before, but a part of her has always known that the way she feels about Faith isn't quite the same way she felt about Kendra, or Willow, or any of her other friends. That there was a reason it had hurt to find out about Faith and Xander, or to see Angel pretending to be with Faith in particular. Why she'd been able to talk to Faith about things she'd never have been able to speak about with anybody else; why she'd felt comfortable in her own skin around her in a way she never had been with anyone else.

(Almost unprompted, she thinks about Faith last year, before everything had gone wrong. The slightly disappointed scowl, quickly suppressed, when Buffy had jokingly teased her friends that she might be going out with somebody but that she and Faith were "just good friends". Breathing on a classroom window and drawing a heart in the condensation. The suggestive tone in her voice when she'd asked if Buffy had ever been tempted to sleep with the people she went on patrol with. "I mean, what are friends for?", she's asked. The disappointed way she'd reacted when Buffy demurred. "You think too much", she'd said. Maybe Buffy had been thinking too much then. Maybe she still was.)

"But she…" Willow starts.

Buffy tries to explain.

"Do you remember how I was acting at the start of junior year?" she says. "After I fought the Master?"

After she'd been killed by the Master, she means. Just for a few minutes, but it had been enough that another Slayer had been called. Enough that she'd been able to meet somebody that was like her, when everybody had always told her that she never would. Enough to change the course of her life — and Kendra's life, and Faith's life — forever.

"I know I treated you guys really badly, at first," she admits. "Because something terrible had happened to me, and because I was scared and hurt. And I thought I had to be hard and push you all away or maybe it would happen again."

"I remember," Willow says, not exactly sounding mollified. Buffy guesses it wasn't a great move to remind her of the last time she'd been a pretty lousy friend. Only:

"You and Xander, you helped me get past that," Buffy tells her. "Made me see that what I was doing wasn't healthy. That it wasn't right."

Having the chance to smash the Master's old dead bones into pieces had certainly helped, too. It's hard to still be terrified of somebody you've personally ground into a fine powder.

"Well, that old vamp who killed Faith's old Watcher and chased her across the country was a lot like the Master. He didn't kill her, but he came pretty close. And I think she reacted the same way I did, at first. She freaked. Only … her Watcher was dead, and she didn't have anyone else to help pull her back."

(She has another sudden memory of Faith as she says that, standing outside her front door just before Christmas, shy and soft and awkward in a way Buffy doesn't think she's seen her before or since. Was that more like the girl Faith had been, before she was called?)

"She doesn't … she's never had anybody to take care of her." she says. Anyone but me, she doesn't add.

("You get the Watcher," the other Slayer had told her once, furious, with a knife held to her throat. "You get the Mom. You get the little Scooby Gang. And what do I get?"

It was only later — several months later, when Faith was lying unmoving in a hospital bed, with no visitors except for one — that Buffy had realized what she wished she'd said in answer.

"Me," she hadn't said. "You get me.")

She'd always known that Slaying was a rough gig. She'd had a Watcher die; she'd had to live by herself far away from everyone she knew. She knew how much all that sucked. She should have done more. She should have tried harder. Shouldn't she?

"She wasn't just being mean," Willow objects. "She was way worse than you ever could be. You weren't ever evil."

"She's not—" Buffy tries.

"She killed people, Buffy." Willow points out. "She tried to hurt Xander, and me, and Angel. She tried to hurt you!"

"I know that, Will", Buffy says sadly.

She knows she's going to have to talk to Xander about this soon, if Faith ends up staying in town for long. The way that Buffy hopes she will. And she knows, too, that she doesn't really have a right to just assume Xander will be okay with that. Not after what Faith almost did to him.

(But then, a selfish part of her whispers, how many people has Faith hurt compared to Anya? Xander doesn't seem to have a problem with any of that.)

"But she doesn't remember any of it," she repeats. "I really believe that. She doesn't remember."

Willow nods, dubiously.

"And what happens when she does remember?" she asks. "What'll you do then?"

Buffy doesn't have an answer ready for that.

He comes out of nowhere. Out of nowhere, every time. Out of nothing.

Sometimes you're hanging out in the Bronze, having fun while all the other kids are wasting their lives away in school. Sometimes you're out for a late night stroll, cutting through a dark alley because you know there's nothing more dangerous in town than you. Maybe nothing more dangerous in the world. Sometimes you're in the library after midnight, keeping an eye on Red's pet werewolf for the night since you haven't got anything better to do.

You bend down over the pool table to line up your shot, and when you look up, there he is, staring right at you. A fire escape swings open, and he stumbles out in his ill-fitting suit, one hand clutched over the bloody mess spreading out from the center of his chest. The music you're listening to fades away, the wolf starts growling in his cage, and the library doors swing open behind you. You don't want to turn around, but you haven't got a choice.

And it doesn't matter that you don't recognize him, it doesn't matter that you don't know his name. He recognizes you. He sees you: the real you, the face you hide from the rest of the world. He knows exactly what you are. What you'll always be, bone-deep. You're disgusting. Worthless. Pathetic.

It doesn't matter what you do next. It will never matter what you do next. Run, hide, fight … it always ends the same way. He always catches you. Always finds you. Always gets up, no matter how many times you knock him down.

And you get tired — a little more tired every moment - but he never does. Each time he's a little closer, it's a little harder to get free. Too hard, in the end. His fingers tighten around your ankle, pulling you back, down into the dark. Down into the dirt and the mud and the rot with the other worthless things.

You're a killer, and that's all you'll ever be.

It's still dark when Buffy wakes up. Dark and quiet and eerily still.

She's in her old bedroom, this time, rather than the couch downstairs. Mom had insisted. Maybe that had been a mistake.

Because she knows, now, that something's wrong. Something is different than it was when she fell asleep.

She creeps out of bed as quietly as she can.

She checks on her mother first. Putting an ear to the door then letting it creak very gently open. Just like she used to do back in LA, when she was just a little kid. When she'd had a bad dream and wanted her parents to reassure her that everything was going to be okay; that whatever monster she'd just had a nightmare about wasn't really real.

Things have changed now, though. She's grown up. She knows that the nightmares are real, she knows that they're out there. But she's not afraid of them now. She knows that she's the one who needs to protect her mom from them. Not just her mom, but everyone. The whole world. Because the world doesn't have anybody else.

At least this time Mom's fast asleep in bed. Safe. Buffy pulls the door shut gently behind her, making sure not to wake her. She has a feeling, now — some sixth sense or Slayer intuition — that she knows exactly what the problem is.

She makes sure of it, anyway. Still heads downstairs to check, creeping carefully

She should be surprised.

She should be surprised to learn that the kitchen door is ajar, that the basement door is open. That Faith's shoes aren't where she left them, and one of Buffy's old jackets is missing.

She should be surprised, but she already knew.

Faith is gone.

Buffy waits just long enough to pull on some clothes and shoes, to scribble her mom a hurried note in case she wakes up early. Then she heads to the docks. She has a feeling that she knows what Faith is doing. And sure enough, there the other Slayer is, heading for a cargo ship. Just like a year earlier.

"How did you know I'd be here?" the other Slayer asks her suspiciously when Buffy calls out to her.

She could still run, if she wanted to. She must know that. Hide somewhere on the ship, or just ignore Buffy and wait for it to disembark. But she doesn't. Just like last year, she turns back around. Jumps down to the pier, where Buffy's waiting, ready to talk.

Buffy just has to hope that this time, she won't mess everything up.

"This is where you came last time," Buffy admits.

Maybe that's all it was. A memory. Or maybe it was something more. Maybe she sensed what the other Slayer was thinking. Maybe this is more like … destiny.. In any case, it seems fitting that they should be back here, in a way. Like everything's come full circle.

"Well, thanks for coming to wave me off," Faith shrugs. "I guess I'll send you a postcard. If I remember your address."

Buffy shakes her head.

"I'm not giving up on you, Faith," she says firmly. "Not again."

"Is that right?" Faith asks softly.

Buffy has a bad feeling about that. About the edge to Faith's smile. Maybe she's read this all wrong. Maybe Faith is more interested in revenge than she thought.

"You know, on my way here, I ran into someone," Faith says. "A demon. Real evil-looking type. An old friend, I guess. He gave me this."

She reaches for something hidden in her borrowed jacket. A weapon, Buffy thinks at first, tensing, but it's not that. It's a video tape. She's not sure that a weapon wouldn't have been simpler.

The other Slayer's smile is bright and brittle.

"You think I should watch it?" she asks.

There's only one person who might have left Faith a tape like this. Him. The Mayor. The guy who'd turned her against Buffy (if Buffy hadn't managed to already do that himself). The man who'd seen how desperate Faith was for support and guidance, and given it to her when nobody else in life would. Who'd turned her into a weapon. A killer.

"I can't stop you," Buffy says. "But I don't think you should. I don't think you should trust the man who gave you that."

"But I can trust you?" Faith sneers. "You won't even tell me what I did to make you hate me."

Maybe the Mayor had cared about Faith, in some twisted way. The whole human weakness thing Faith had told her about in her dreams suggested that much. But if so it had been a poisonous kind of love. It hadn't stopped him from using her. It hadn't stopped him from turning her against all her old friends. It hadn't stopped him from having her kill people. It hadn't stopped him from trying to turn her into a monster, just like he was

But he hadn't done it, in the end. He hadn't turned her. Faith wasn't beyond saving. Buffy's sure of that. She hadn't let the Mayor win last year, and she's not going to let him win this time either. Faith isn't his. She's hers.

"I don't hate you, Faith," she says. "I wish I could make you believe that."

"Just tell me what I did!" Faith snarls. "You say I didn't mean to kill that guy, so why is everyone acting like I'm some kind of psycho?"

"You didn't mean to kill him," Buffy says slowly. "You didn't. It was an accident. But afterwards …"

She bites her lip. This isn't how she wanted Faith to find any of this out. It really, really isn't. But what other choice does she have?

"You were freaking out. We both were. We all were. We tried to help you but it all went wrong. That new Watcher tried to have the Council grab you and take you back to England. That's why they were at my house the other day, why they were looking for you. I don't know what they were going to do to you, exactly, but I don't trust them. Not after they almost got me killed."

She shivers, slightly, just thinking about it. The Cruciamentum, they'd called it. That screwed-up test that that asshole Quentin Travers had almost gotten Giles to put her through. The reason he'd been fired as her Watcher.

"You .. you got away from them, that first time," she says. "You came here. I came to find you. There was a fight – vampires – and you saved my life. I thought that meant … I thought we were making it work. But."

But. They hadn't been, had they? She'd not realized — not let herself see — just how hurt and angry Faith was. How far she'd be willing to go.

"The man you killed … he worked for the Mayor. Mayor Wilkinson, I mean. So did Trick. The Mayor … I don't think he was human. Not anymore. He was planning something. Something bad. The Ascension, he called it. We found out because … because you changed sides. You started working for him. You killed other people. At least one more, maybe only one. You chained me up. Threatened to torture me. Tried to hurt Xander. You almost killed Angel. Poisoned him. The only cure …"

Buffy swallows, nervously. Aware that Faith hasn't said anything since she started talking. That she's just looking at her, silently, judging.

"The only cure was blood. A Slayer's blood. I didn't … I didn't want to choose between you, but you didn't give me a choice. We fought. I thought I'd killed you. And it was all for nothing. It didn't help Angel. I let him drink from me instead."

She still has the scar, even almost a year later. Pulls her collar down now to show the evidence to the other Slayer. It's faded, just like the Faith she'd dreamed about had told her it would. But it never really goes away. She'd told her that, too. Buffy can't bring herself to make eye contact.

"And then he left me," she says. "We stopped the Mayor — you actually helped, but that part gets a little weird — but then it was over. Angel was gone, and you were gone, and I didn't have anyone I could …"

She can't carry on. She forces herself to look up. To meet the other Slayer's eyes, to see her stricken expression. To watch her drop the video tape, kick it somewhere away into the dark.

"… fuck, Buffy." Faith breathes. "No wonder you all hate me."

Buffy shakes her head.

"I don't hate you," she says. She feels a lot of things about Faith — and angry, sure, that's part of it; hurt and scared and confused and heartbroken — but she doesn't hate her. She can't.

"Sounds like you should," Faith says quietly.

She puts a hand to her stomach, to the place where Buffy had forced a knife inside her. A reminder that Buffy's not the only one who still carries scars.

"Guess I've got you to thank for this, too?" she asks.

Buffy nods, wordlessly. Not trusting herself to speak.

"Well," Faith says. "Guess I did always wonder if you could take me. Didn't think you had it in you, Buffy."

"We've both done things we regret," Buffy says. "Things we wish we could take back. But–"

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Faith asks her.

Buffy half raises her hand, like she wants to touch Faith, to reassure her. But she doesn't. She isn't sure it would even help. She lets her arm fall back to her side.

"I didn't want you to find out yet," she admits. "But I'd rather you hear it from me than from some recording. From him. I owe you that much. Because you're more than the killer that he tried to make you. You're like me. We're the same. I get that now."

She takes a deep breath.

"And I want you to know that, if you want to come back, I forgive you. For all of it. I know that you were angry and scared and you didn't think you had a choice. I've felt that way before myself. But you have a choice now. A real choice."

Faith shakes her head. Looks at Buffy disbelievingly. Like she thinks she's crazy. Well, maybe she is a little crazy.

"You just don't give up, do you?" Faith asks.

Buffy shakes her head.

"Not on the people I care about," she says.

Faith sneers at that.

"Yeah, 'cause you and me, we're such good buds," she says. "You tried to gut me, B."

Now there's a familiar line. Buffy's about to object when she pauses. Reconsiders. What she'd told Faith last time … it hadn't worked, had it? Hadn't got through to her the way she'd wanted. And, maybe, it hadn't been totally true either. Maybe this is the time to be honest.

"We're not friends," she admits. "Not any more. Maybe we never really were. But I care about you. I always will. Because we're two of a kind, you and me. The Chosen Two, just like you told me once."

She hopes Faith remembers that, even if she's forgotten so much else.

"The others — Willow and Xander, Giles and my mom — I love them, and they try, but they don't get it. What it means to be like us. They can't."

She pauses. Wills herself to say it. To try, at least.

"And sometimes I just think … we're so lucky, the two of us. Every other Slayer had to face all this alone. But we don't. We've got each other. And I think, maybe, we need each other. I know that I need you."

Faith blinks, and Buffy takes the chance to move a step or two close to her.

"You told me something once," she says. "I don't know if you remember. You said life for a Slayer is pretty simple. Want."- she reaches forward, carefully brushes a strand of Faith's dark hair back from her cheek, where the bruises have almost faded – "Take…" – she lets her hand linger on Faith's skin, just for a second, feeling how warm she is, how alive – "Have."

Buffy lets her hand drop back to her side as she edges a little closer. Faith is staring at her, brown eyes wide open, still not saying a word. Buffy can only hope that that's a good sign.

"It took me a while but … I know what I want, Faith," she says. "Do you?"

A second passes. No more than that. But it feels impossibly longer. Buffy holds her breath. Then Faith nods, almost imperceptibly. And before either of them can reconsider, Buffy leans in again and kisses her.

She means it to be gentle. And it is, at first. Then Faith puts her arms around her, pulls her close with all the strength of a Slayer, with the desperation of a drowning woman clutching for support, and it becomes something else. Something fierce and primal. Something that feels more like the way they used to spar together than anything else: like a fight for control, a way to assert that they were somehow more than their reflection.

They'd never actually kissed back then though. Certainly not like this: all teeth and tongue and heat and hunger. Not in the waking world, anyway. But there had been something there, lurking below the surface. Something that neither of them had ever talked about; something she hadn't really had a name for. She gets that now. And for a while, that's all that matters.

When she opens her eyes again she's somehow ended up with her back pressed up against a wall, behind an old abandoned shipping container, the other Slayer's hands wrapped around her waist. She thinks Faith moans softly as they pull apart, a low involuntary sound from deep in her throat. Or maybe that was her. Maybe it was both of them.

Neither of them speaks for a moment. They just look at each other, almost warily. Like neither of them knows quite what will happen next.

"Damn, B," Faith manages. "First Red, now you … did they start putting something in the water?"

Buffy shakes her head. Takes a moment to regain her breath.

"No," she says, "I … I've wanted to do that for a long time, I think. Deep down. I just wouldn't let myself admit it."

Faith doesn't say anything more for a few seconds. Just looks at Buffy with a strange, almost inscrutable expression on her face.

"Me too," she finally admits. "Except I … well, I kinda figured you hadn't noticed."

Buffy can't help but smile at that.

"I noticed," she says dryly. "Eventually."

In hindsight, now, it seems ridiculous that it took her this long. That she'd managed not to read between the lines of what Faith had been trying to tell her for so long. ("I mean, what are friends for?" she'd asked her once, just days before everything fell apart.) A part of her wants to ask Faith just when she'd realized what it was she felt between them. Had it been that spring, when she'd come to tempt Buffy out of class , trading chemistry tests and the pretense of normal life for vampire nests and wild dances at the Bronze? Or had it been before then? Last Christmas, nervously waiting outside the house with her hastily wrapped gifts? Or earlier still: before Mrs Post, before the Homecoming Dance, before Angel came back, before everything had become so complicated?

But before she can ask, Faith takes a step back. Shake her head. Glances away, like she's trying to hide something. Like she's already afraid she's been too honest. Like she's making plans to cut and run.

And Buffy's not going to let that happen again.

"Hey," she says, reaching out, gently but firmly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Faith lies, badly. Then: "I just … the other day, I thought you were dead, and I never .."

Buffy takes the other Slayer's hands in her own. Squeezes them gently, fingers entwined.

"I've already died once, remember?" she says. "Not planning to make a habit of it."

She tries to make a joke of it, like she always does. Better that than remember how it had felt: the cold, and the water, and the darkness.

"I thought you were gone," Faith continues, like she didn't even hear her, "And I don't have anyone else who ... you know."

Buffy holds Faith close. Kisses her softly on the forehead.

"I've got you, Faith," she says. "It's going to be okay."

But now it's like that admission of weakness has let a whole dam of pent up emotions pour force. Like Faith just can't keep up her pretense of cool indifference any more. She can feel the other Slayer shaking in her arms. Trembling.

"I killed him, B," she says, voice hoarse. "I remember it now. He came out of nowhere, just like you said, and I swear I didn't mean to, but I did. I remember … I woke up earlier and I could see him staring at me. Judging me."

Her voice shakes a little bit.

"He knew what I did, even if I'd forgotten," she says. "He wanted to show me. And it hurts. I don't know when it's going to stop hurting."

Buffy strokes Faith's hair back. Doesn't let go. She isn't sure whether she'll ever be able to let go now.

"It's hard," she tells her. "I get that. I think it's always hard. Being a Slayer. Being a person. Living in this world, having to keep fighting every day. I'm sorry if I made it seem easy for me. Believe me, it's not. I just …"

She clears her throat. Tries to will herself to be a little braver.

"I just want you to know that, however bad it gets, I'm not giving up on you. Whatever you remember doing, remember that it ends here, tonight. Whatever you were going through, you beat it. You get past it. You win."

We win, she thinks. If you want us to.

Faith looks up at Buffy. Wipes something away from her face with one hand. Visibly makes an effort to pull that protective mask back up.

"Well, good to know I end up on top, anyway" she says, smirking slightly.

Last year, Buffy wouldn't have known what to say to that. Would have just ignored it, or maybe stammered out an awkward attempt to change the subject.

Now, though, things are different. She meets Faith's eyes, feels her lips curl up to match the other Slayer's grin. Runs her hand, possessively, along the other girl's shoulder and down her arm, feeling how tense her muscles are under the dark leather of her borrowed jacket.

"I don't know where you got that impression," she says sweetly, and is rewarded by the rare sight of Faith actually blushing, cheeks dimpling as she smiles back.

And this is new, she thinks. It's not the way they did things last year. Maybe it's better this way. Sometimes, anyway. Because whatever Faith can do, she can do too. Whatever either of them has done the other must be capable of. That's the whole point, isn't it? They're the same, the two of them. They've always been the same.

It's still the middle of the night. Apart from the two Slayers, the docks are deserted: it seems as though there's not another soul around for miles. And for a while, it's been as if nothing else existed in the world but them.

But they're not alone. That's suddenly obvious to them both, when they hear the sound of footsteps, marching in unison. When they both feel the familiar skin-prickling and the subtle wrongness in the air that tells them who — or what — has come to join them. Vampires.

Buffy peers carefully around the edge of the container they're both hidden behind. There are a lot of them. They look different than most vamps she's fought recently, she thinks. Determined. Organized.

"We know you're here, Slayer!" their leader says, raising his voice in a challenge. "And we are not afraid. Come and face us. Adam has opened our eyes to the truth."

(Buffy feels Faith tug at her arm, turns to see her raise an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Who's Adam?" the other Slayer mouths silently.)

Buffy shakes her head. It doesn't matter. None of them matter. Adam, the Initiative and the Council; Parker and Riley … none of them matter now. All that matters is that she's been given a second chance. A chance to do things right.

If they can get away from these vampires in one piece, anyway.

There are eight of them, she sees now. Eight against two, not unlike four against one. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to slip away, Buffy thinks. Discretion is the better part of … something, right? Except that she likes those odds. Doesn't think that she's the only one who will. And it's been a while since she let herself cut loose.

Faith still hasn't let go of her hand. Buffy squeezes hers now, gently.

"Ready to be a hero again?" she asks her. "Want to go kick some undead ass?"

The vamps don't see them coming.

In every generation there is a chosen one. One girl in all the world. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer. Alone.

There were never meant to be two of you. That sure wasn't part of the plan, unless someone in the Council really missed a memo somewhere. Maybe that's why you can never get along, even though there's something that keeps drawing you close. Maybe the same strange force that binds you together will sooner or later end up destroying you both.

Maybe you'll never be friends. Maybe you never can be. Maybe a year or a month or a week from now you'll be at each other's throats again, neither of you able to bend enough to give the other space to grow. Maybe the truth is that you're just too different, or maybe the problem is that you're just too much alike. Both of you so sure you know each other better than you know yourselves. Maybe this is only ever going to end in blood and bruises and bitter tears.

Maybe.

But for now, – as the two of you head home, still slightly giddy from the thrill of a good slay, the taste of the other Slayer's mouth still lingering on your lips – you allow yourself to hope.

Maybe, this time, things will be different.