Washington, DC

The first time Faith saw him, he was in the bright sunshine, or she wouldn't have believed it. She almost didn't believe it anyway. Pale skin and dark rooms were such a part of Angel that seeing him -- or his identical, possibly evil twin -- in broad daylight just didn't compute at first.

His skin was actually tan, and he seemed to shine in the sunlight, as though he belonged there. He was with a little boy: pale blond hair like only kids have, bright red t-shirt, and one of those enormous foam hands nearly the size of the kid's head. If Faith was a different type of girl she might've wanted to cry.

It couldn't really be him, she told herself. There was no way. Well, there was the prophecy. And they'd never found a body. But. Still.

Late that night, she was patrolling through the District's tiny Chinatown, checking out the dark alleys and abandoned buildings where bad things hid. It was dark, but she had good eyesight, and she was pretty sure it was him she saw duck into a restaurant. She tucked the stake into her back pocket and followed.

The restaurant was all shades of red -- crimson walls, burgundy upholstery, and red silk over the lampshades even colored the light. He was sitting at the bar, his back to the door. She walked in and sat down next to him.

"Do I know you?" she asked bluntly. She propped one foot on the bottom of his barstool and sat facing him, one arm on the bar.

He turned his head, but not his body, toward her. "No," he said guardedly. "No, I don't think so." Of course, that's what he would say, if this really was him, and stranger things had happened than Angel turning up alive in DC after two years.

"Cause you look exactly like an old friend of mine," she said, as if he hadn't answered her. "Only he's dead, so far as I know."

She'd spent a month in the wreckage of L.A. searching for ashes in back alleys and listening to demon gossip, just to find out that much. And she'd been pretty fuckin' sure of it, until she saw him in the sun that day, laughing and smiling with the kid.

He gave her a look. It wasn't just his bone structure or his hair, but there was something in his expression that was like Angel's too; like Faith's own. It was hardened, somehow. She saw that a lot, lately.

"So you think I'm your friend?" he asked steadily. "Last time I checked, I was very much alive, sorry."

The guy behind the counter plopped down a couple of bowls of soup and a plate of eggrolls in front of them, and Faith looked up in surprise. She hadn't ordered anything. The guy was already moving away, though, and she was starving, so she dug in anyway.

"You got friends playing dead often?" he asked.

She laughed a little at that. "Somethin' like that," she answered.

He handled his chopsticks easily, but not like Angel, who'd lived in Asia for years. He was wearing an expensive-looking suit, and where it hung open she could see a glimpse of leather and metal, a standard-issue handgun resting in a holster against his shoulder. Angel had never carried a gun, but a vampire had no need for one. A born-again ensouled human, though? Yeah, he just might.

"Fuckin' A," she said, taking another bite of the eggroll. "You look just like him."

----------

London, England

When she first saw them, a slim redhead unsteady on her feet and a tall guy in a long black coat helping her walk into a dark alley, she thought for sure she had her first kill of the night. Everything about this guy -- his unnatural grace, the coat, the damsel in distress -- said "vampire." Her slayer instincts weren't usually wrong, but tonight they were way off.

She rounded the corner of the alley and saw the couple frozen like a couple of deer in headlights, and two fully fanged-face vamps advancing on them from the other end of the alley.

"Wait, wait, whassat?" asked the girl in a proper English accent that was slurred by alcohol and just a little bit too loud. Then, in a much louder tone, she cried, "Constant vigilance!" and pulled a stake out of her dress. Faith hung back in the shadows and watched as the guy with her pulled out a stake of his sleeve. She didn't know of any red-haired slayers in this area, but it was possible.

The vamps advanced on the couple, who looked more lost and confused than anyone who really knew what to do with the business end of a stake ought to.

"I know this one!" said the girl, grabbing the guy's arm and bouncing a little. "I know this. Second year Defense. Lupin taught us this one. It's a vampire!" She seemed pleased with her announcement. "I knew I knew it."

"Two vampires," the guy corrected grimly, and Faith was encouraged a little.

"What do we do with them, then?" he asked. Faith frowned, and pulled her own stake out of her jacket pocket and held it tightly in one hand, prepared to spring forward if it was necessary. Still, she wanted to see how this played out.

"Wait, don't you know?" She peered drunkenly at him. "You don't know, do you? The chosen one, the boy who lived, and you don't remember this?"

The chosen one? Him? After this was over, she was definitely sticking around. There was a story to this, she could tell.

"Well, you don't have to act so happy about it," he said, pouting. Meanwhile, the two vamps were getting closer to them and Faith thought she saw movement deeper in the shadows. There was definitely a story to this, but now was not the time to discuss it.

"Sunlight works pretty well," she called out to them, stepping forward into the light. The guy turned around quickly, and she saw a shock of messy black hair over a pair of plain round glasses. He wobbled on his feet as though he was a little drunk, too.

"Erm, Gin," he said, turning back towards the girl next to him. "I think—"

The two vampires came running out of the alley towards them at that moment, followed by two more, and then two more after that.

"Shit," Faith said with feeling. Her and two drunk amateurs against six vamps. She could handle it if she was alone, but with these clowns standing around like the fuckin' dessert buffet at the Sizzler, the odds were not in their favor.

She ran past the couple toward the vamps. As she passed by, the girl shouted, "Fire! That's it! Fire kills them!"

Intent on his meal, the first vamp was distracted and defenseless, and she drove her stake home easily. As she did, the one next to her suddenly burst into flame. She wanted to look, but fuck that, there were still four vamps in the alley and she could look later. By the time she staked the second one and spun around for more, all she saw was six smoking piles of ashes.

"What the fuck was that?" she asked. He looked back at her like he had the same question.

"Harry," said the redhead in a small voice. He put his hand on her lower back, looking concerned, and she bent over and threw up on his shoes. He met Faith's eyes with a wry smile, then looked back down at the other girl.

"Why don't we talk about this inside?" Harry asked. Faith shrugged and pocketed her stake, following him down the street for a couple of blocks, then up the steps of a brownstone that looked just like every other one on the street.

"Sorry about your shoes," said the redhead quietly as they climbed the stairs, and Faith had to laugh.

In the back corner of the upstairs, they stopped in front of the door to one of the apartments. Harry rested his hand on the doorknob for a moment, then pushed it open. "C'mon in," he said, half-carrying the girl inside.

"Oughtta be more careful," Faith said gruffly. "Don't invite strange people in." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall, feeling a strange shiver across her skin. He turned to look at her, frowning in confusion.

"They can't come in unless they're invited," she said, not sure if it was much of an explanation. She stepped inside anyway and shut the door behind her.

He laid the girl down on the sofa and rested her on her side. She moaned a little. "Harry, I don't feel so good..." He looked over his shoulder at Faith, and back at the redhead. She shuddered, and Faith saw him pull out his funny-looking stake again. He waved it quickly and a trash can appeared next to her head, out of thin air.

Faith leaned against the wall for support. From his position on the floor next to the sofa, Harry looked up and gave her the same wry smile she'd seen before. "You've already seen enough," he said. "And I'd hate to clean this up."

Faith snorted back a little laughter.

"Look--" he said, running a hand through his hair and only making it messier. "I'm sure you have some questions. Can I get you some tea or something?"

"Yeah, sure," Faith said. Why the hell not?

----------

Soho, London, England

The store looked like nobody went into it. In fact, it looked distinctly as though the proprietor was actively trying to discourage customers. The small window display included four books with really long words in the title that Faith wasn't even going to try to read, all covered with dust. There was also a small sign that said BOOKS, which had fallen partially out of the window and so said only OOKS. But she was used to this sort of thing. The kind of bookstores where Dawn needed a slayer to pick up her order weren't usually the type that advertised. They weren't always the kind that thought highly of slayers, either.

She pushed open the door, which emitted a loud creak, and stepped inside. She could feel the comfortable weight of a knife at her back, warm from the heat of her body, and a big part of her hoped someone would cause trouble and she'd be forced to use it.

A man lounged behind the cash register. He had dark hair and good cheekbones, and his feet were propped up on the counter in the kind of expensive loafers that Trick would've worn, back in the day. He looked her up and down lecherously.

Faith consulted the card in her hand. "You Mr. Fell?" she asked the guy, and popped her gum.

"You have a customer," he called out in the direction of the back of the store, which she guessed was a no.

Pretty soon, another guy came reluctantly to the front of the store, looking clean and polished and a little apprehensive. He glanced at the letch behind the register and rolled his eyes a little. "Really," he said in exasperation.

"Just playing the part," the other guy grinned, and Faith started to get a bad vibe from him. The resemblance to Trick was just too strong. Maybe that knife would see some action today. But first, the book.

"Mr. Fell?" Faith asked again.

"Ah, yes," he said uncertainly.

"Dawn Summers asked me to pick up a book for her," she said. "She talked to you about it?" She checked the back of the card, then glanced at the guy behind the counter. "A book about, um, myths." Actually, the back of the card said Compendium of Prophecie and Demon Lore, by Antonio Rappozo, but Faith didn't want to advertise that fact if the guy didn't want it to get out.

"Ah, yes," the guy said, sounding distinctly nervous. "Well, that's quite an old volume, and you see, it's not..."

"You don't have it?" Faith said suspiciously. She'd give him a chance to waffle a little more before pulling out the knife. For once, this wasn't an end-of-the-world prophecy book, just a 'nice to know' kind of thing.

"Miss Summers was quite insistent, but it's not actually..." said the man, running one hand over the back of his neck and looking decidedly shifty. "Well, you see," he tried again, and then seemed to give up. "It's quite expensive, you see," he finished lamely.

"Oh, I have plenty of money," Faith said, popping her gum again. "Why don't you go grab it, and I'll wait here with your friend." She put just a little bit of a threat into her voice. Damn, she loved these errand runs. They never stopped being fun.

The guy behind the counter laughed, and there was an odd little hiss in it. Faith looked quickly at him, but he was looking at the other guy.

"Better get it, then," he said, sounding amused.

"One of yours?" Fell asked wryly, before disappearing into the back room.

Faith watched the guy behind the counter closely while Fell was gone, but he seemed supremely unconcerned, leaving his feet on the counter and flipping through an old Sandman comic.

When he emerged from the back of the store, Fell was clutching a large leather-bound book to his chest like he didn't want to let it go. "Miss Summers sent you?" he asked doubtfully. "How can I be sure that..." he trailed off, clearly not wanting to actually accuse her of stealing. She didn't mind the implication.

Faith pulled a wad of bills from her back pocket, secured with a hair elastic. From the top, she pulled off a cream-colored business card that said in neat letters, Dawn Summers, Research Librarian, Council of Watchers, and tossed it on the counter.

"Huh," he said, seeing the title underneath Dawn's name.

Italian-Loafers stared at the card for a second, too, then grinned at Fell. "One of yours, actually," he said.

Faith ignored them, and peeled a few bills off the wad in her hand. "This enough?" she asked.

Fell sighed heavily and held out the book, as though it hurt him to part with it. "Keep your money," he said. "Just tell Rupert I said hello."

----------

Cleveland, Ohio

The street was dark, lit only by a tiny sliver of a moon. Faith ran flat-out, her feet pounding against the pavement. Down the street, she could just see the vamp she was chasing take an abrupt left turn and leap over a high wall.

All her experience told her it was probably a trap, but she followed him anyway, leaping up and grabbing the top of the stone wall with one hand, then vaulting over.

She was right; it was a trap. Inside the cemetery were four vampires, foreheads ridged and yellow eyes gleaming with hunger. They were big beefy guys, in clothes that would've looked perfectly in place in one of the city's diners: dirty jeans and old flannel shirts. They were no beginners, either: they charged her at once, forcing her to spin and duck and fight them all at the same time.

Even four to one, the odds were stacked in her favor, and after only a few minutes she'd done in the first three. The fourth, a barrel-chested vamp in a Browns jersey, looked around nervously as if he was about to flee. Faith hit him in the sternum with a flying kick and he stumbled backward one step, then another. Without pause, she followed up her advantage and drove her stake deep into his chest, pulling it back as his body crumbled into dust.

Dust and something shiny.

She should have known better. She did know better. But in seven years of slaying, she'd learned that anything that doesn't turn into dust with the vamp is something worth looking into. And so she leaned forward and picked up the medallion.

As soon as she wrapped her hand around it she recognized her mistake, but by then it was too late. By then she was falling, racing through space as though she were being pulled by a giant magnet. It seemed to take forever, but it was over in a second. She only had time to wonder why there was no wind before she tumbled out the other end onto a hard, smooth floor.

"Freeze," said a crisp voice, and Faith looked up. She was surrounded by guys in body armor, and they were all pointing guns at her. Somewhere, a loud alarm was sounding.

"Fuckin' A," she said. "Not this again." Whatever dimension she'd landed in, it wasn't a happy one. At least there weren't any crazy fire demons this time.

"Where'd you come from?" the closest guy asked. He was wearing some sort of crazy uniform and Faith's first thought was of Buffy's military ex, but this guy's hair was sticking up and kinda ruining the effect. He had an enormous gun pointed at her, though, and that easily made up for the hairstyle.

She frowned and crossed her arms. These people must have kidnapped her -- there was no way her picking up that amulet was random chance. Coincidence did not happen to slayers.

He ignored her. "C'mon, where?" he asked again, his voice brusque but only a little threatening.

Faith shrugged. They must know, anyway, if they'd kidnapped her. "Cleveland," she answered.

"Cleveland?" he repeated. "Cleveland, Ohio?"

"You know any other Clevelands?"

Two minutes later, she was in a small conference room, with a gleaming table and glass walls, and spiky-hair was talking into a headset. Faith sat on the table and looked around curiously. Everything was sleek and shiny, and very clean. It didn't look like any kidnappers' lair she'd ever seen before. Usually they went for the abandoned warehouse look.

"Nice place you got here."

He nodded briefly with a tight smile, and then stood back as the door opened. Two people entered the room: a big guy with dreadlocks and bulging muscles, and a woman who looked small next to him but was clearly in charge. The big guy stood near the door and the other two stepped forward.

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard," Spiky-Hair introduced himself. "And this is Doctor Elizabeth Weir."

Faith nodded, but said nothing.

"Well," Dr. Weir said, after a moment of strained silence. "Why don't you tell us why you're here?"

Faith swallowed and crossed her arms protectively across her chest. She didn't want to think about what kind of doctor this woman was. "You tell me," she said. "You're the kidnappers."

"Kidnappers?" Colonel Spiky Hair raised one eyebrow. "That's a new one."

"Look," Faith said, losing patience. "Just let me go and we can forget all about this. Nobody has to get hurt."

The big guy in the corner smiled and took a step forward.

"Where do you want to go?" Spiky Hair asked, leaning back in his chair like this happened all the time.

"I got tickets to tonight's game," she said easily. "Why don't you drop me off at Jacob's Field?"

He snorted in disbelief, but the rest of his response was cut off by a faint crackling sound. Faith could hear the faint sound of a human voice, trembling with a tone that she was all-too-familiar with: the apocalypse voice. She couldn't make out the words exactly, but the gist was clear enough from the half of the conversation she could hear.

"Rodney," the Colonel said into the tiny mic that extended from his ear, "I'm a little busy right now." A pause, while the hysterical voice talked in the background. "I'm sure you can handle it." Shorter pause. "Well, can the life-sucking aliens hold on for five minutes?" "All right, I'll be right there."

He turned toward the Doctor and said in a rush, "Sorry, it's some kind of emergency, McKay--"

"Hold on," Faith interrupted. "Life-sucking aliens?" Three faces swiveled towards her. She grinned. "Just point the way."

----------

Rome, Italy

Buffy was standing on the balcony with her back to the apartment, her golden-tanned arms resting on the wrought iron railing. Faith stepped through the door and shut it behind her. She pulled one cigarette from the pack in her hand and lit it.

Buffy turned to look at her and smiled, her green eyes crinkling a little at the corners. Faith smiled back, leaning against the railing next to her so that their elbows were touching.

On the street below, cars went speeding by and people hurried from place to place. The sky was fading from bright blue into lavender above them. Spread out across the horizon, Rome reached as far as the eye could see, white stucco and red tile roofs, ancient temples and slightly less-ancient churches, tourists and locals and demons and slayers mingling together as night fell.

Faith sucked on her cigarette, trying to erase the taste of stale airport air. She wondered if Buffy would say anything, ask why she'd showed up unannounced on a Tuesday afternoon with no apocalypse in sight, but she didn't.

The evening was warm, but Faith could still feel the heat from Buffy's body where they stood close together. The silence between them stretched, but not uncomfortably, as Faith smoked and Buffy watched the sky grow darker.

Finally Faith spoke. "Lotta weird shit goin' on out there lately."

"Weirder than usual?" Buffy asked.

Faith flicked ash off her cigarette and thought about aliens and identical twins, magic wands and guys who hissed when they laughed. "Maybe not so different," she said. Huh.

"We can handle it," Buffy said, leaning in and resting her cheek on Faith's shoulder. Faith wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her close, feeling the iron strength in Buffy's small frame, and her softness as well.

"I'm glad you're here," Buffy said simply. Not what or why or any of those things, and Faith felt something inside her relax a little.

"Glad to be here, B." Then, tentatively, she pressed a kiss into the soft yellow hair at the crown of Buffy's head. "Nowhere I'd rather be."