Forgive Me
By LandminesLandslides
Chapter One: Reunion
(Faith's POV)
I've staked vampires, killed demons, and committed an incalculable number of horrendous deeds, all without a trace of fear, doubt, or anything else. So why does the thought of what I'm about to do fill me with dread? Because I know it's practically a suicide mission? Because the only thing to look forward to in that house is getting stabbed in the heart…literally? No, I don't think that's it. I expect that, so it's not really frightening. I think it's because I desperately want to be forgiven, but I know` there's very little chance of it. Three years is hardly enough time to forgive what I did. What am I saying? No amount of time would be enough time. I attacked her boyfriend, I came after her mother, and I even stole her body. Even worse than all that, she was my friend and I turned my back on her. How can I expect that she'll forgive me? Last chance to turn back Faith, I tell myself. But I know there really is no chance. I committed myself to this, so I have to do it. I walk calmly up the steps and knock on the door, bracing myself for the worst. I hear her voice before I see her.
"Look, I don't want to buy any…" she says before trailing off as she sees me. Her voice turns cold. "What are you doing here?" I look her in the eyes, refusing to turn away. I'd expected this reaction, but I won't back down.
"I came to apologize," I tell her. I've decided I'll stick to the truth today, no matter how bad the results are.
"Well, there's certainly enough for you to apologize for," she answers scathingly, "Where were you going to start?"
"Everywhere I guess," I answer, "I'm sorry for attacking Angel, for going after your mom, for everything."
"Sorry doesn't make the past go away Faith," she answers, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't grab a knife and stab you through your heart right now."
"I thought you'd want to do that," I tell her, "That's why I brought you this." I produce a knife that I brought with me and offer it to her, with the point facing me.
"What is this?" she asks, sounding surprised now.
"Take it," I tell her, "Go ahead and stab me as many times as you want, but I won't feel a thing. No amount of pain could ever feel worse than the guilt eating away at me right now."
"That's kind of clichéd," she comments, "How badly do you want me to forgive you? What would you do?"
"Anything," I say honestly, "That's a promise."
"I'm going to hold you to that, you know," she says, "What I'm going to make you do will be harder than anything anyone has ever asked you to do and uglier than any vampire or demon you've ever faced. If you want to turn back, now is your last chance." Turn back? No. I can't do that. It's like the old Foreigner song goes: "Can't stop now, I've travelled so far to change this lonely life." I shake my head vigorously.
"No," I tell her, "I'm not running away. I've done enough of that for one lifetime."
"Fine," she says, "Come inside. I have something to give you." She has something to give me? Why does the thought of that make my hair stand on end?
"I wasn't really expecting presents," I tell her
"It isn't a present," she says, "It's a test."
"Never liked those," I tell her, "So what kind of test is it?"
"You'll see," she answers reaching into her pocket and producing a ring, "Wear this."
"That's it B?" I ask her, "I thought you said this would be hard for me."
"Don't underestimate it," she tells me, "Willow enchanted that. It's special."
"So I just put it on?" I ask her, "Then what?" This seems more and more like a strange request than a test or something.
"Then you stay here tonight," she answers, "And every night until you pass the test."
"Speaking of that, how do know if I've passed the test?" I ask her.
"It's simple," she tells me, "The ring is enchanted and can't be taken off until you defeat the enchantment. You'll know you passed the test when the ring comes off again."
"I see," I answer her. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm sensing that this isn't going to be as simple as she says. Nothing in the life of a Slayer, or ex-Slayer in my case, is ever simple. "So I really can't turn back once I do this, can I?"
"That's right," she says.
"Fine," I tell her, taking the ring from her palm and slipping it on my right ring finger, "Okay, so is something supposed to happen now?"
"You'll see," she says, "In the meantime, there's a guest room upstairs at the end of the hall."
"Thanks," I say sincerely.
"Don't thank me yet," she answers, "I have reasons for letting you stay other than the kindness of my heart."
"It's an effective way of keeping an eye on me right?" I ask her.
"You know me too well," she says, cracking a smile for the first time since I got here.
"Don't worry," I tell her, "I won't be getting up to any evil deeds. That's not me anymore."
"I'd like to believe you," she says, "But you'll still have to pass my test."
"I know," I tell her. I feel like I should thank her or something. I honestly didn't even expect to get an opportunity. Part of me was hoping she would just kill me. But I should have known better. That would be too easy. I silently walk up to the room she mentioned. Today is a weird day, but I have this bad feeling like it's only going to get weirder.
"Do you like pasta?" she calls up to me.
"It's as good as anything else," I call down. That's not entirely true. I've been living on junk food for the last three years, so some actual decent cooking is going to be a welcome relief. In the meantime, I lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling, still anxious about this test that B came up with.
(Buffy's POV)
"Are you sure about this?" Willow asks me over the phone. I called her after I started cooking the pasta and filled her in on what happened.
"Well this kind of thing is what you made the ring for, right?" I ask her.
"Well yeah," she says, "But you do know what could happen if this doesn't work, right?"
"I know," I tell her, remembering what she told me about the ring, "If that happens, it'll be my responsibility. I'll deal with it."
"I hope you know what you're doing," Willow says.
"Yeah, so do I," I answer honestly.
"Where is she now?" she asks. There's a note of something I can't identify in her voice. Anger? Concern? Usually Willow is so easy to read.
"Guest room," I answer.
"I see," she says, "I have to go. Be careful okay?"
"Always," I tell Willow, "Later." I hang up the phone and go back to the pasta.