Despite the drama of the evening – and her blatant distrust of Faith, Buffy's breathing evened out within seconds. Her face lost some (but certainly not all) of its tension as she slept. Her own mind grappling with all of the changes, Faith couldn't follow suit. She sat, afraid to move or wake Buffy, and stared at the gleaming row of weapons.
What had she done when she made that wish?
Getting even with Buffy and her friends wasn't worth this. Faith had wanted Buffy to understand what her life had been like. Had hoped, in some way, Buffy might get a taste of what being alone and afraid could do to a person. She had never wanted to create a situation where her fantasies of revenge became a reality.
Or had she?
Faith switched her gaze to Buffy. Examining the other Slayer and her jagged facial scar closely, she acknowledged the facts. She'd created this world in some way out of nothing more than jealousy and spite. Jealousy. Buffy's name had become synonymous with everything Faith lacked. Buffy had Joyce and Giles, a mother and father regardless of their actual titles. She had the Scoobies, unshakably loyal and supportive, even with the world on the verge of destruction. Most of all, Buffy had a home, a place she belonged.
Tears threatened and Faith blinked them away. As she did, she fell back on old habits. Her spine straightened and her chin rose in pure defiance of the evidence. She hadn't been jealous. She hadn't been sitting in the park bemoaning her lot in life. There was nothing Buffy had that Faith wanted. Not in her Sunnydale, and not here. Faith was fine on her own. Always had been. Always would be.
None of this was her fault. It was probably one of Willow's stupid – and epic – failures at spellcasting or another Big Bad trying to take over the Hellmouth. Comforted by the inner assurances, Faith closed her eyes and stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets. She'd stay with Buffy tonight and then take off in the morning. Buffy had never wanted her help before; there was no reason to think the new version would be any different. Faith would hit the road and see if there were other – better – opportunities.
Sleep eluded her, though. The room was too quiet. The motel was filled with the sounds of hookers and their johns or shouting between the manager and his wife. Faith shifted again, vainly trying to make the floor softer and the wall more pliable. Nothing worked. Cursing, she opened her eyes and glared fiercely at Buffy.
How could Buffy sleep like that? Faith wanted to jump up and scream the question. Giving in to that primal urge, she planted her hands against the wall and started to stand. Then Buffy whimpered, the tiny, helpless sound cutting through Faith's building rage.
"No…No. Mom…" Curled in on herself, Buffy was no longer Faith's enemy. Or even a strong, confident superhero. She looked small and afraid. Her head shook back and forth as if in denial of whatever nightmares chased her.
Buffy's posture mocked Faith's attempts to ignore the facts. It was one Faith remembered from her many nights on the streets, huddled in dark doorways and nursing bruises. And the broken sounds emanating from Buffy's throat…
Faith let her bravado slip away. Lying to herself was pointless. She wasn't fine. Hadn't been fine in her entire life. In fact, she had been sitting in that park whining about how alone she was. And now, thanks to a wish and that strange woman, Buffy had become a shorter, blonder version of Faith. Faith listened to Buffy plead with her inner demons and let the unaccustomed and heavy weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders. She'd caused this, and she had to fix it.
Giles was the best place to start looking for a solution; although, it was unlikely even this new Sunnydale had a Giles who would do more than disapprove of a Slayer like Faith. Still, he was a better choice than a sanctimonious Willow. Settling back onto the floor, Faith thought about tomorrow's visit. How could she explain what had happened? She didn't fully understand it herself. And it wasn't like the woman in the park had introduced herself or given fair warning of the power of a wish. Faith frowned, trying to remember every detail of their meeting. Every word.
Why hadn't she paid more attention? The whole thing was a blur. Then Faith paused. That wasn't completely true. At first, she'd thought it had been Buffy behind her before all of the woman's differences had registered. Too tall. Not athletic enough. And she'd lacked Buffy's sense of style. Her dress had been pure Walmart, with not a hint of pastel in sight.
This was better. Faith relaxed and closed her eyes as she continued her mental note taking. The woman had brown hair and eyes. Skinny arms. A big, ugly necklace. Nothing like Buffy's expensive-looking cross.
Now, how did she explain it all to Giles and not sound crazy?
Faith woke with a start, eyes flying open. Heart pounding, she stared in confusion at the chipped olive green paint on the wall across from her. Whipping her head around, she realized nothing looked familiar. This wasn't…
"Son of a bitch!" The wall of cans and the weapons snapped Faith out of her near panic. She was at the Sun Theatre with Buffy. Only she wasn't. The room was empty. "B?" Faith scrambled to her feet and strode to the door. "Buffy?" Despite the need to locate the other Slayer, she kept her voice down. If Buffy was in the building, she would be able to hear. There was no need to let anyone else know they'd been hiding out.
No one answered, though. Not Buffy, and not anyone (or anything) more sinister.
Hesitating, Faith stared into the still-dark interior of the movie theater. Should she look for Buffy? Wait for her to come back? The tenderness around her neck and her wrists from Buffy's vicious grip the night before indicated a clear "no." She wasn't risking another round with Buffy. If Buffy had wanted to spend the day with Faith, she would have stayed or woken Faith up.
Faith was on her own. Like that was anything new. Uneasiness goose pimpled her skin, though. This wasn't her Sunnydale. It was far more dangerous here, especially if it was still nighttime.
Buffy's absence made that unlikely, given her forceful declaration that it wasn't safe to go out at night. Just in case, Faith took a pair of razor-sharp daggers from the table and retrieved the stake she'd hurled last night from the wall. If Buffy wasn't going to play tour guide, she'd have to make the trip to Giles' alone. Tucking the weapons out of sight in her jacket pockets, she crept through the theater and paused at the emergency exit near the concession counter.
Did she really have to do this? Go to Giles? Faith stared at the push-bar door handle and the glowing red light of the emergency sign. If she went outside, if she talked to Giles, then this whole thing was real. The woman and the wish and all of the changes to Sunnydale and Buffy. In slow motion, Faith reached out and put her hand on the cool metal. It was already real. The pain in Buffy's eyes and her nightmares told the truth of the situation. Faith may have wished all of this to happen, but she was sure wishing a second time wouldn't make it all go away.
Only Giles could do that.
Faith pushed the door open a crack. No alarm sounded, and there was no one in the sunlit alley next to the theater. Free of prying eyes, she slipped outside and forced herself to stroll casually out to the street. The act was a waste of time. Only a handful of people littered the sidewalks, and they scurried for their destinations. No one browsed or stood chatting. Following suit, Faith lengthened her stride and stayed alert for trouble.
The streets of Boston had taught Faith the art of always being aware of her surroundings. Nights in Sunnydale's cemeteries had honed her skill. In both of lose locales, though, the danger had been obvious: street gangs, pimps, or vampires. New Sunnydale was a mystery, and Faith felt a headache build from the strain. She pushed her awareness of the pain aside. Better the little men with mallets than a knife in the back.
Twice during the trip, Faith felt Buffy nearby. Not even shameless peering located the other Slayer. Buffy was deliberately hiding. "Don't trust me, Buffy?" Faith said out loud. "Big fucking deal. You never trusted me, Princess, even if you can't remember." There was no verbal answer; the tingle in Faith's Slayer senses simply faded slightly. Bravado aside, Buffy's retreat stung, and Faith contemplated – again – the unfairness of her life. By the time she stalked up the steps to Giles' front door, Faith was ready to add a few twists to her original wish.
She stayed ready until the door slid open a few inches.
"Yes, can I help you?" The voice held the same smooth British accent. It was the only thing Faith recognized in the man staring at her from inside the townhouse.
"Giles?" Faith had to ask. Between the bloodshot eyes and the unkempt hair and beard, she wasn't sure.
The man's eyes narrowed. Some of the alcohol glaze disappeared, replaced by cold calculation. "And you are?" he asked without responding to Faith's query. The door also closed a fraction, and Faith saw Giles' (it had to be him) foot move to block the bottom of the opening.
Very carefully and slowly, Faith lifted the flap of her jacket to reveal her small cache of weapons. "I'm Faith." Belatedly remembering the changes in Sunnydale, she hesitated. Giles' doorstep wasn't the best place to share her story. "Buffy said I should visit. Tell you about some new Big Bad in town." It wasn't too much of a lie. Faith didn't know if the woman in the park had an agenda, and Buffy hadn't said she shouldn't talk to Giles. "We need to talk. Now," she tacked on when Giles didn't move back to let her in.
Without a word, Giles stepped back, leaving the door open.
Faith seized the opportunity and pushed her way inside. "Thanks." The word felt awkward on her lips; she hadn't said it in a long time. That feeling grew once she closed the door and faced the man who was her one hope. A man who looked ragged and hung over, an image which matched the piles of dirty dishes and empty bottles of Scotch cluttering the tiny living space. What the hell had happened to Giles? Faith had wanted to hurt Buffy in her fantasies. The Scoobies had played only small roles in those wicked dreams.
Her distraction cost Faith. As she stared at the mess, Giles moved. In a heartbeat, he wrapped an arm around her neck and held a knife to Faith's throat. "Tell me again who you are, and this time, include more pertinent details!"
The threat was too much. Guilt (and Buffy's greater strength and skill) had kept Faith's usual anger in check the night before. Now, faced with Giles' humanity, not even the sharpness of the blade against her skin was a deterrent. Her right hand shot up, gripping Giles' knife hand at the wrist. At the same time, Slayer speed making the movement a blur, her left hand delivered a brutal blow to Giles' unprotected groin.
His pained, disbelieving gasp brushed Faith's ear. It didn't stop her continued retaliation for his threat. While he struggled for breath, she ducked and brought his knife arm over her head. One step, a twist, and Faith pressed her left hand just above Giles' right elbow. Just the slightest pressure and his arm would break. "Drop the knife, G-man."
The knife clattered to the floor before she finished speaking.
"I told you who I am," Faith said tightly. "Faith." Giles wanted details so she added one. "I'm a Slayer." To emphasize that point, she pressed lightly on Giles' arm until he bent farther forward to alleviate some of the strain. "The other Slayer."
"Yes." Giles' voice was choked. "Yes, I do remember your name now. How forgetful of me. Perhaps, if I were not in this uncomfortable pose, I might be able to think more clearly."
Trust was hard for Faith at the best of times. Today, with Giles' knife only inches away on the floor and the bruises from Buffy's attack last night visible on her wrists, it was close to impossible. But Giles was her only hope. With a stern mental reminder of her mission, returning to "her" Sunnydale, Faith throttled her rage and slowly released Giles' arm. "Think hard," she warned him. "'Cause if you get another Old Timer moment, things ain't gonna go well."
He straightened, eyes appearing a little more alert. "I am not that old, I assure you."
The wry comment was so normal that Faith relaxed without meaning to. With a smirk, she eyed Giles. "Don't look old, either. Always told B you'd be hot without the Tweed."
There was no blush for her blatant tease. This wasn't the stammering, prudish Giles from Faith's first day in Sunnydale. He met her eyes, expression aloof. "B? Another Slayer? How many others are there? The Council records…"
Cutting him off, Faith said bitterly, "The Council don't know anything." She wanted to say more. The words filled her mind and mouth, ready to spill out. Faith needed Giles' help, though. She needed him on her side, not on the defensive about his precious Council. "There's just the two of us. Me and B. Buffy. The Chosen Two." The nickname slipped out before Faith could censor it. She hadn't wanted to imply a connection she certainly didn't share with the edgy, violent Buffy she'd met last night.
Giles' reaction to Buffy's name scared Faith more than facing Kakistos. He went shockingly pale and mumbled, "Dear Lord. If you're a Slayer then Buffy must be…" One hand rose to partially cover his mouth. "No, you said you know her. That there are two of you. How is she?"
How is she? Why didn't Giles know? He was her Watcher. There were so many questions – and Faith didn't have time to ask them. Hell, if Giles could help her get home then hopefully none of this would be real, anyway. "Buffy's still kickin' undead ass," she finally said. "Look, I didn't come here to play Twenty Questions. I need…" Faith grimaced. Who knew two words would be so hard to say? "I need your help," she said stiffly and waited for him to laugh and walk away.
There was no laughter. There also wasn't any offer of assistance. Instead, Giles stroked his beard and peered over Faith's head. It was completely quiet in the room except for the tick of an unseen clock.
Faith waited with as much patience and grace as she could muster. This Giles seemed more like the normal Giles: too much thinking and not enough doing. She'd been at enough Scooby meetings to understand she couldn't force him to move faster than he wanted. Only Buffy had that skill. After a few minutes, though, the tick of the clock grew to a roar in her head. The dagger on the floor beckoned. Maybe if it was pressed to Giles' neck, he'd stop playing with his facial hair.
"What type of assistance do you require?" Faith jumped visibly when Giles finally spoke. "You seem to be aware of who and what I am; I, however…" His shrug clearly indicated that he did not believe Faith's claim of being a Slayer.
This was going to be even harder than Faith had imagined. "Sit down, Giles." She avoided using any nicknames. This man hadn't earned them. "I got a story for ya'."