She's tracking a nest of vamps outside of Stockton when the news comes across the Scooby line, that's what she calls it when news travels from Willow to Xander to Buffy to Dawn and so on and so forth. Fred's dead, or dying, or turned-honestly by the time it gets to her it's all a little jumbled but she gets the jest and ends up on the front steps of Wolfram and Heart despite her better judgment.
He's sitting alone in the dark and she gets it, she does, a loss like this can fuck with a person's head. She's been there, hanging precariously on the proverbial edge by her fingertips and the choices she made still haunt her.
"It doesn't have to be dark for your demons to find you, Wes," she suggets, flipping on the light and leaning against the doorframe.
He looks like shit-worse than when she held him hostage and tortured him in order to draw out Buffy. His eyes are rimmed red and there are dark circles that sallow out his skin. He hasn't shaved either and the entire room reeks of bourbon.
"What are you doing here, Faith?" He asks voice scratchy from harnessed emotions and the burn of alcohol.
She doesn't state the obvious, doesn't want to reminisce about a woman she barely knows with a man who has every reason to hate her. Instead she lies because they're a lot a like, she and Wes, and she thinks the only way to help him right now is to get him out of the office and back on some familiar ground.
"I need your help (she doesn't). There's a nest of Vamps that I'm having trouble tracking down (she knows exactly where they are) and I could use some back up incase things get sticky (they won't, she's perfectly capable of taking them all on by herself). You up for it?"
She tosses a stake in his direction and he catches it, already poised to plunge it in the heart of anything that gets in his way.