"Jesus, B. Of course I know Giles. It ain't like there's a lot of English guys talking about vampires in Sunnydale." Faith wiggled against Buffy's grip, testing. Damn it. There was no way she was breaking free. In fact, it was a good bet she was going to lose consciousness if Buffy didn't let go soon. It was time to put pride aside. "Put me down, B." So she hadn't been as conciliatory as planned. Begging wasn't easy. "Please," Faith mumbled after a long pause.

Buffy's glare lessened only slightly, but the hand at Faith's collar loosened enough for her to breathe normally. "I'm sorry." The phrase sounded grudging.

"No problem," Faith lied. Now that death wasn't imminent, it was hard not to lash out. She didn't, though. Something was still very wrong with Buffy. "Who's this Master guy that vamp was talkin' about? I didn't see the Bat Signal sayin' we had a new player in town." Not that it was unusual for Buffy and her crew to leave Faith out of the loop. "You need a hand cleanin' house?"

Son of a bitch.

Faith fought back a whimper as Buffy slammed her against the wall again. "Guess not," she gasped. "Look, you let me down and I'll head back to the hotel." Even the roaches and the hands-y night clerk were better than being manhandled by Buffy.

"No." As usual, Buffy thought she was in charge. Faith scowled and her fists clenched when Buffy went on. "The Master runs that part of town. I don't know who you are or where you came from…"

"What?" What the hell? Faith's anger faltered. Had Buffy gotten whacked in the head? Concussions could cause memory loss. Giles had gone on and on about it after his last head injury.

"No way am I letting you go." Suiting actions to words, Buffy stepped back, dragging Faith with her. "You know too much, and you don't act like you belong in this town. That's two strikes. You don't get another swing until I get answers."

Buffy's pace – and the "helping" hand wrapped around the back of Faith's neck – didn't give Faith time to worry about how Buffy planned to get those answers. That didn't mean her mind wasn't racing. Something was wrong. Faith had wondered before; now she knew. The scar on Buffy's face. The weird (even for Buffy) behavior. The Master.

They cleared the alley with Faith at a trot. Buffy was in a hurry.

Maybe she had reason to be. Downtown Sunnydale was a wreck. An empty wreck. The only things moving besides Faith and Buffy were rats and blowing trash. There were no other people. The shop windows Faith managed to glimpse were busted.

It was a ghost town.

Suddenly, Faith didn't need Buffy's help in running. She picked up her pace until they were in stride. Buffy wasn't the only one wanting answers now. Her vow of silence faltered, however, when they didn't head toward Giles' townhouse or Buffy's house. "The Scoobs remodeling the clubhouse?" The words popped out when Buffy ducked into the Sun Theater. "Can't we go back to your place? I'm starved and Mrs. S makes kickin' meatloaf."

Buffy stopped so fast that Faith ran right past.

When Faith finally realized she was moving on her own, she slowed and turned. And then she wished she hadn't. Faith had seen the look in Buffy's eyes before, in her own eyes as she peered in the mirror. "B?"

"Shut up." All the fire from the alley was gone. Buffy's voice was a mere whisper. It sounded as if the words were torn from her throat.

Faith couldn't do that. Dread created a frozen fist around her heart. "What happened to your mom, B?" Please, let her say nothing. Please.

Remaining silent, Buffy stalked forward until she was nose to nose with Faith. "I said, shut up." Violence simmered beneath the reminder. "The next time I have to tell you will be the last." One hand rose. A knife Faith hadn't noticed Buffy unsheathe gleamed even in the near pitch blackness in the theater. "Understand?"

"Yeah," Faith mumbled, telling only part of the truth. She got Buffy's threat, but everything else was still a mystery. Hands held carefully out from her sides, she backed up. Step by slow step, Faith made her way past the empty ticket counter and concession stand. She wanted to ask where they were going.

She didn't.

"In there. In the office," Buffy clarified finally. The knife tip waved at a closed door to Faith's left. "It's unlocked."

Faith reached out and pushed the door open. Unlike the rest of the building, this room was clean. Almost fanatically clean, and a single, low-watt bulb provided enough light for Faith to see a couch resting against the far wall. Stakes and weapons lay in military precision on a table, and a very un-sophomoric tower of canned goods decorated a corner.

It got very hard to breathe. Faith had lived on the streets in Boston; had hidden in abandoned warehouses. This wasn't just some place Buffy came to hang out. She was living here. And that could mean only one thing: Joyce was gone. Probably dead, from Buffy's earlier reaction.

Self preservation was the only thing that kept Faith from throwing up.

This was the worst nightmare ever. Only Faith knew it wasn't. She wasn't living in a dream. She was living a fantasy. Hers. One she'd recently shared. Living on the Hellmouth had taught her many things. The first and most important had been: there were no coincidences. The woman in the park. Faith's wish. Somehow, they had done this. "I need to sit down."

Buffy wasn't very sympathetic. "Use the floor. Over there where I can see you." The knife was still the directional indicator of choice, and it pointed to the only bare corner in the room. It was also the farthest spot from the weapons table. "Take off your jacket, too. Throw it on the couch." Buffy apparently wasn't taking any chances with the stakes stashed in Faith's pockets.

Shaking from inner cold, Faith complied. There was no fight left inside. She was numb. By the time she reached her "seat", her knees gave out. With absolutely no grace, Faith dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so fucking sorry, B." She might have continued, might have taken the blame, if she hadn't looked up.

Sorry didn't have a place here. The feral light in Buffy's eyes was still there. A reminder and a promise, a promise that Faith understood. Feelings were bad. So very bad. They hurt. They made you vulnerable. Vulnerability made you weak, and Buffy couldn't afford that. For whatever reason, she was still operating as the Slayer.

A Slayer like the Council had always intended. Completely alone, with no support structure.

If she stopped to think or feel, she'd be dead. And Faith had no doubt she'd take the person who pulled those emotions to the surface with her. It was what Faith would have done, had done, every time the Scoobies had gotten too close. Hit first. Push buttons. Stay aloof.

Faith pressed her lips together and stared at her hands where they rested on her knees. She had to get out of here. What else had changed in Sunnydale? The power structure here was obviously different. This Master had things locked down. Buffy might kill a few of those soldiers the vampire had mentioned, but the state of Main Street said it was barely a dent in the overall Army.

"Tell me how you know about Slayers," Buffy demanded tightly, interrupting Faith's frantic thoughts.

Not "tell me how you are a Slayer," Faith realized. Either Buffy hadn't heard her announcement, or she hadn't believed Faith's claim. Lie or be honest? "Didn't hear about 'em, B. Buffy." The normal nickname sounded wrong, and Faith was quick to correct herself. "I am one. Have been since…" She broke off. The only reason she was a Slayer was because Buffy died. Her Buffy. What about this one?

"Since what?" Faith was already tired of the new Buffy's need for violence. Before she finished asking her question, one of her hands was tangled in Faith's shirt and the other was closed and cocked and ready for action.

"Since you died, Buffy," Faith spit out, responding with automatic anger to Buffy's continued threats. Regret for maybe causing this entire situation didn't mean Faith was going to willing let Buffy beat answers out of her. "It's the only way to make a new Slayer, right? You died. Some chick named Kendra showed up and she didn't last long. Now you have me. Faith. Only you didn't fuckin' stay dead, and now there's two of us. The Chosen Two."

For the first time, Buffy appeared unsure. Her hand dropped away from Faith's collar and she stepped back. "Two Slayers," she repeated softly. "Two. That's not possible."

"Yeah, that's what the Tweeds keep sayin', but they're wrong. I'm here. You're here." Faith pointed to Buffy. "One." She pointed to herself. "Two. I told you that back at the Bronze after I dusted some of them vamps. Would have dusted the rest if you hadn't 'saved' me."

Instead of responding, Buffy walked away, turning her back on Faith for the first time.

Faith seized the opportunity. Standing, she grabbed her jacket and yanked a stake out. "Who else you know carries one of these? Or can do this?" Without looking, Faith threw the sharpened wood toward the tower of cans. It easily pierced the top-most can before punching into the wall behind.

All Faith saw was Buffy's back. She couldn't tell if Buffy was surprised or impressed by the throw. "Is that how you know Giles?" Faith had to strain to hear the question.

"Uh, yeah." What else was Faith supposed to say? If she admitted what she thought had happened with the chick in the park, Buffy would forget about killing her and just lock her up in the loony bin. "He ain't bad for a Tweed. Better than my last one."

Buffy hadn't turned around. She stood stiffly in the middle of the room, hands restlessly rubbing the seams of her jeans.

In other circumstances, Faith might have given Buffy a chance to absorb all the information. This was different. Faith wanted to go home. As bad as she'd believed Sunnydale to be that morning, this was worse. Giles was her best shot. If he couldn't do it then she'd break down and scout out Willow. Between the two of them, they represented the biggest brains in town. "I need to talk to him. He still livin' in them apartments on Oak Park?"

"Yes, but you can't go tonight. It isn't safe." Buffy finally moved, making her way to the weapons table and dropping into a chair. Her expression was blank, all the anger gone. "Not even for a Slayer. You can go first thing in the morning."

You can go. Not we can go. "Ain't you goin', too?" Faith figured even in her personal Nightmare in Sunnydale that Giles and Buffy were still a demon fighting pair.

She figured wrong. "No." That was it. Buffy didn't explain further. Tipping the chair back until her head rested against the wall, she ordered, "Get some sleep. If you're going to be here long, you'll learn we have to stay mobile. I only stop here every few weeks in case the Master's minions are following me. It'll be harder to hide now that there are two of us."

Faith didn't find that reassuring. Buffy was hiding, not out kicking the Master's ass. She had completely discounted the Chosen Two and their ability to defeat anything the Hellmouth sent their way. The Master must be bad news.

And this Buffy didn't look like she could handle any more bad news.