Disclaimer: I don't own any of the BtVS Characters, credit to that goes to the wonderful (sometimes not as much) Joss Whedon.
Notes: Sorry if the beginning is a little all over the place, I changed the spot in the timeline that I wanted the story to take place in, from before Faith's coma to after it, so if things seem a bit hairy, that's why. Hopefully it will get better now that I've decided that. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter One: Mirrors
Faith stared into the cracked mirror in her dingy apartment room. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.
That made sense—she hadn't. Not more than an hour at a time. Then she would be pulled back to consciousness—gasping, sometimes sobbing.
She had killed a man.
She could still feel the blood as it dried on her hands. Too thick, clumping underneath her fingernails and drying until it could have been sticky red paint. It had been so long ago—more than eight months. And he hadn't even been the last. And yet, he still haunted her.
Buffy thought she knew how Faith felt. But she hadn't been the one holding the stake, she hadn't seen the way the deputy mayor's face looked when the wood entered his chest. He'd never seen it coming, and that made Faith sick to think about. Buffy hadn't stopped on the way back home to puke until she thought her guts would come up with the bile. And she hadn't been the one who had to slip off the edge of sanity, unable to deal with what she had done.
No, Buffy didn't understand. She could parade around all high-and-mighty as usual, but she did not understand. Which left Faith alone in everything.
She pressed her fingers to the dark hollows forming under her eyes as if that could make them go away. Maybe if they would just go away, and if she could get one night of uninterrupted sleep, then maybe things could get better, and Faith could forget the entire event. Everything could go back to how it was.
She was happy in Sunnydale, she kept on repeating that over and over in her head. She liked Sunnydale. Here, she had friends and a job, and she could almost feel like she fit in. Sunnydale had given her a place, and it was all slipping away from her. It wasn't fair. That had all been ripped away a long time ago. So why did she feel as though it were just yesterday?
But then, that was life, wasn't it? Life gave you something, and then it spat in your face. It made you fuck up badly enough to make you realize things can't go back to normal, and you won't ever forget your failures. Neither will anybody else.
Maybe they shouldn't. Maybe this is what she deserved. Running from one death, even though she'd killed so many.
Why did it matter so much? He looked just like them, he was evil for god's sake, he worked for the mayor. Why was his death such a big deal?
Because he was human. Buffy's voice echoed in Faith's head. "You killed a man, Faith."
"No. Not you too." Faith muttered, pushing the voice away. She didn't want any more guilt, not from herself, not from her inner Buffy monologue, not from anyone. She searched the mirror's surface for an excuse. Any excuse that could pull her away from everything. But there was none. She had known there wouldn't be, but it was worth a shot.
If she had been feeling better, more angry and less guilty, then she might have lashed out and shattered the mirror. Mostly, Faith was just tired. Being in a coma had sapped her energy. It was the opposite of what she would have expected. But she could feel how weak she had become from the months of disuse. Even a slayer didn't just stay naturally fit.
She turned the TV on and sat down on the twin bed that dominated most of the small room. The screen flickered temperamentally before pixellating into a mess of uninterpretable squares of image. Only the sound came through, and even that was garbled.
Faith cursed and got up to bang on the top. Sometimes that helped. Ever since a vamp had snuck in and ended up getting thrown into the television, it hadn't worked well.
She could've called someone, although Faith had no idea who. Not Buffy, although part of her wanted to talk to her. But Buffy wouldn't make things better. She'd lecture Faith some more on right and wrong, and that wasn't something Faith needed to hear any more. She'd tell her that she needed to make up for what she'd done. Or worse yet, she just wouldn't pick up.
Plus, she couldn't remember if she'd paid the phone bill for the month or not.
Nevertheless, Faith picked up the phone, and found herself dialing an old number. One she could remember from back in Boston, one she'd told herself she wouldn't use again.
It probably wouldn't work. What were the odds that it would have stayed the same?
The phone rang, and Faith flopped back into bed and leaned against the wall, frowning at the TV as it omitted another burst of noise.
Finally, someone picked up.
"'lo?" The voice was groggy, but Faith recognized it just the same. She almost hung up. The memories of being back in Boston were flooding back with unfortunate clarity, and Faith didn't want any of them. She'd headed to Sunnydale for many reasons.
"Bobby. Hey."