Faith is spying on Buffy and her super-dork friends from her hiding place in the bushes by Sunnydale High. She can hear the blear of the cheesy Prince song and she just knows how lame this prom is.
She's thinking about this whole town will be rubble and dust after the ascension – that's all she really thinks about lately, when there's an unexpected small gush from her crotch and she thinks she's peed herself. She's absolutely mortified, but then this God-awful spasm rips through her and she knows she's gotta to get out of here.
She staggers all the way downtown to her old motel room, wheezing and gasping. She hasn't stayed in that rat trap in weeks, but tonight she urgently needs somewhere to go, somewhere other than her apartment.
She fumbles for the key and gets the door open, having to support herself on the doorjamb for a moment before getting in and flopping down to the bed. She's never imagined anything could hurt this much.
Something tells her there isn't much time, so she kicks off her boots, peels off her jacket and struggles out of her jeans and lets her knees fall apart, propping herself up on her elbows.
She'd hated feeling this thing squirming around inside her for the last few months, but this was so much worse.
It's like something impossibly large and very heavy is trying to claw its way out of her. She lets out a low groan and grits her teeth, clenching her fists so tightly that her nails bite into her palms and her knuckles turn white. She desperately wants this to be over – it hurts so badly that she thinks she might actually prefer being punched repeatedly in the head and she has to stop herself from crying out.
Faith's instincts tell her she needs to steel herself as the worst cramp she's ever felt surges through her, and she bears down like her body tells her to, giving her all until it's finally over in a hot slippery rush, leaving her heart still pounding in her chest whilst she tries to catch her breath. The pain is gone almost instantly.
She can hear the sound of her own panting over the feeble kitten-like cries that fill the dank motel room. She runs a hand through her damp hair, blowing out a haggard breath of relief. She can't believe it's finally all over. Exhausted, she rests her head back on the headboard, and when she goes to wipe the sweat from her brow, she realises she's smeared a little blood on her forehead.
She looks down at the thing that's just come out of her. It's flailing its arms and legs erratically, bawling its head off. It's a him. But she doesn't want to think about that, or anything that will make this any harder. She really wasn't expecting to feel anything for it when it was born, but here she is; looking into his little screwed up face, thinking about how much he looks like her. He's wailing, balling up his tiny fists and showing off the inside of his gummy little mouth.
He is nothing like the powdery pink newborns she's seen on TV. He's slimy, and bloody, and blotchy and purple. He looks a lot like the demons she was chosen to kill.
She doesn't quite know how to feel.
She's still in shock, but she manages to steady her shaky hands just enough to tear the umbilical cord, detaching them, separating them both for life.
She looks at him one last time.
He isn't crying anymore, just looking back at her with those deep espresso eyes. He has no choice in the matter. He doesn't know any better; he was born trusting her and he's unaware of the fact that she never had any intention of being his mother.
She wraps him in a threadbare towel, and then a sheet for good measure, sets him down on the bed, slips back into her jeans, boots and jacket, and just leaves.
When she closes the door, she's closing a chapter in her life that should never have been there in the first place.