"Have you ever wanted to, you know, die?" Faith's voice wafted through the smoke and lingered in the air between them. Willow turned her head slightly but couldn't find the energy to get up.

"Well, sure." She motioned for Faith to pass the joint. "Who hasn't?"

Faith nodded slowly. "That's why I thought. But then I was talkin' to Lisa, the new kid, and…" Her voice faded and Willow imagined it curling away like a tendril of smoke. Ha, tendril.

"Tennnndrrill." Willow tried out loud.

"What? What are you saying?" Faith's grin came so easy these days.

"Nothing." Willow began to sit up. "You were the one saying things. About Lisa?" Arms go behind, then the torso, and voila: sitting up.

"Oh. Yeah. Lisa." Faith absently inhaled the joint then put it out on her boot. "I was trying to…bond? Whatever, and asked her about the last time she wanted to die."

"Man." Willow giggled in spite of herself. "That's how you bond?"

"Shut up. Giles told me to get more involved. Didn't tell me how the fuck to do it." She examined her nails intently. " 'Sides, may have been slightly drunk."

Willow knew it wasn't the point of the story, but a drink was starting to sound really good. "What'd she tell you, a story of rock-bottom and redemption?" She scoffed but Faith wasn't listening.

"She said never, that she's never wanted to die." Faith turned toward Willow in incredulity. "Ever. In her entire life. In all her, what, seventeen years of life, not once."

Willow pushed through the fog and tried to see herself at seventeen. Yeah. At least three times. "Maybe she was lying? Or cursed." She frowned and looked past Faith. "With the strange ability to enjoy life."

Faith's laugh bubbled from somewhere deep. "I know, I know. What the fuck, right?"

Questions floated through Willow's mind, inappropriate and personal, but somehow she found one that was neither. "What'd you do? After Lisa said never."

"Heh. I said if she didn't want to talk about it she could just say so instead of lying."

"Give her two weeks in this place, I guarantee she'll want to die." That sounded funny in her head but out loud it deadened the air. The two sat in silence for a moment.

"When was your last time?" Faith asked softly, watching her own fingers trace patterns in the carpet.

Willow contemplated Faith instead of the question. "Only if you answer too." And because Willow was watching she saw fear flit across Faith's face before she nodded.

"Just nothin' leaves this place, k?" She brushed a curl behind her ear. "I would threaten to kill you but it's kinda losing its effect."

"You still terrify me." Whoa. Willow didn't plan on being that honest but it's out now so…

There's a familiar toss of the hair and a glint of a smile. "Oh gee, thanks Red. But you're not gettin' out of the question that easy."

"Right." Willow shut her eyes, remembering. "March 21st, every year since 2001." She opened her eyes to find Faith grimacing. "You know that date?"

"Yeah." Faith said, layering the syllable with more regret than Willow thought possible. "B always gets real fucked up around that time. Course I can't say shit 'cause…" Willow wondered if Faith was consciously flexing her hands. "Sorry. I know Mrs. Summers meant a lot to you."

Willow wanted to correct Faith, tell her to say Joyce, but maybe she was intentionally distancing herself. Or didn't think she deserved to be familiar. "That's not quite it." Then, seeing the confusion on Faith's face, "No, no, that was part of it, a huge part, but the day Joyce died we, I mean Tara and I…." Willow began to blush. "Goddess, you're going to think this is so messed up but it wasn't, I swear."

"Hey, chill out." Faith waved her hand, as if dissipating fear. "Remember who you're talking to here? I'm like the queen of messed up. 'Sides, I'm not telling anyone."

Willow sighed, tried to tell herself it was just the weed. "Good, because I've never told anyone about this." Deep breath. "The night after Joyce died, Tara and I…well, kissed for the first time. And it was gentle and heartbreaking and… " She couldn't look at Faith for some reason so she focused on Faith's fingers, playing with the carpet. "I know it's really stupid, but every year since she's been gone that day is a double whammy. And I can't tell anyone, not Buffy because hello, it was her mom that died, Dawn for the same reason, and Kennedy…doesn't like it when I talk about Tara."

Faith's hand started the pattern over, widening. "Xander?"

"Psh." Did that sound really just come out of her mouth? "He would just get all droolly."

"Yeah." Faith chortled then seemed to catch herself. "So what, like two and a half months ago?" Willow nodded. "Shit, you got me beat."

What? "Wait, what kind of competition is this? Do I want to beat you? I mean, does the most recent bout of suicidal ideation prevail, 'cause that's not a game I want to play. Or at least win—" But Faith's hand covered her mouth before she could finish.

"Listen." And suddenly Faith was inches from Willow's face. "In all seriousness, you think too damn much. That's why I brought you up here. You got to turn yourself off and just figure out how to be." She seemed to become aware of her position and sat back. "Guarantee you would lose half your problems if you just shut the brain down."

Willow couldn't stop herself, though goddess knows she tried. "So where do your problems come from?" She smirked and cocked her head, an imperfect replica of Faith.

Fortunately Faith laughed. "I blame it on my childhood. It's convenient." She looked around in slow motion. "Where the hell did I put that joint?"

Willow gestured ambiguously. "It's gone, you put it out."

"Right." Faith frowned, and Willow tried to label each wrinkle. That one is when Kakistos killed her watcher, that one is when Post called her an idiot, that one is when Buffy—"Wanna get a drink?"

Why would…oh. "Come on, I answered fair and square. It's your turn."

"No, I just," Faith ran her hand through her hair, "didn't think it would be this hard to fess up."

"It's not that bad." Willow tried. "Employ the rambling technique, it's done in a jiffy."

Faith smiled but her face wasn't in it. "Dude, not even B knows this."

"Oooh." Willow leaned forward. "I'm one of the elite few."

"The only member of the elite few." Faith's fingers abruptly began picking at her jeans. "It's not that big a deal anyway, not like yours."

Willow wondered if it was a slayer thing or just Faith. "This isn't a competition. Nobody wins the 'I want to die' prize. This is…" Disclosure? Reciprocity? "Bonding."

"Shit, so that's why I don't like it." But self-deprecation wasn't Faith's style. "You sure you wanna hear this? It's about sex."Teasing, on the other hand, definitely was.

Willow threw the lighter at her, disappointed. "Take this seriously." She paused, reconsidered. "Fine, just don't get too detailed."

"Okay." One last reassuring glance at Willow. "Here goes. This was about a year ago. B and I were," a shrug and a wink, "fucking and suddenly, right in the middle of it, I realized this was it. Life couldn't get any better. I could live centuries and never be as happy as I was in that moment." Faith scratched her shoulder and chuckled dismissively. "Corny, I know. But I knew right there, in Buffy's bed, that I'd spend the rest of my life waiting for that kind of happiness again and never get it. So what was the point?"

For once Willow's mind paused. How does one begin to…Could she herself find the apex of her life, the moment that surpassed all the rest, pinpoint when exactly every next second took her further from the best it would ever be? And, with the pinnacle of her happiness in her past, was there any point in prolonging a token existence? "What keeps you here?" she asked, hoping for a reason on which she could pin her life.

Faith shrugged. "This isn't the best, but it sure as hell ain't the worst."

"Maybe…" Willow's voice faltered, "the best is yet to come?"

But she didn't need to look at Faith to know neither of them believed it.

I know Faith and Willow getting stoned together may seem like a stretch, but I think there's precedence for it (though the scenario was difficult to write believably). I tried to get across the "high" ambiance by not describing where they are in any detail (which hopefully gave it more of a dreamlike quality; did it work?) and by continually focusing on Faith's hands/fingers (did I go overboard?). Also, I couldn't recall when Joyce died so hopefully if the date was wrong it wasn't an impediment to enjoying the story. As always, thanks for reading.