The dark-haired woman stalked in a circular pattern, cautiously eyeballing her enemy and potential prey. Her heavy boots sounded hollow against the solid parched earth. The red-skinned demon crept equally careful, fully aware of the woman's power and unpredictability. Most of the mystical creatures now trapped in the Hellmouth avoided the Slayer, but this specific monster had sought her out.
"Just think about it, Slayer," the demonic figure growled lowly. Its deep voice reverberated in its throat as though purring. "No one down here is on your side. You need allies, or you'll soon be outnumbered and brutally slain." The creature paused long enough to smile cruelly, its yellow teeth like shards of glass in the wide mouth. "And believe me when I tell you that my brethren will not be as judicial as I am when it comes to hunting you down."
"Hate to burst your bubble," the brunette snarled, "but I never did learn to play well with others." The dangerous woman clenched her fist more tightly around the wooden handle of the Slayer scythe – the one object from her former life that had somehow managed to find its way to her in this cursed dimension.
Without warning, using one broad swipe like a farmer harvesting wheat, the Boston girl decapitated the offensive demon. She pursed her thick lips together as she watched the evil creature's head roll a few yards from her feet. Smiling sardonically, she cocked her right leg back slightly and kicked the detached globe as though it was a soccer ball. The head catapulted through the air before obscenely ricocheting off a series of jagged boulders and then disappearing from sight.
Faith looked back down at the recently deceased demon and unconsciously wet her lips. Grunting slightly from the weight, the dark slayer hefted the headless form over her shoulder and began to walk in the direction of the cave she had made into her semi-permanent shelter. Knowing that her movements could be monitored, she doubled-back to assure that she wasn't followed back to the hole she called Home.
Faith struggled to get a small fire sparked in the dark, dry cave. Normally she headed back to the rocky shelter at an earlier hour when the two suns were still bright in the sky, but tonight she struggled to find her fire-starter in the darkness of her hole. Having never been a Boy Scout – or a Girl Scout, for that matter – it had taken the Boston girl a few days to become somewhat consistent in her ability to build herself a campfire. With a mirthless grin, she inwardly chuckled at the irony of struggling to create a fire in Hell.
After stoking the flames to a slight blaze, the rogue woman, aided by the Slayer scythe, meticulously sliced away at the meatiest portions of the slain demon's legs, arms, and torso. She pulled the tough skin back, revealing the fleshiest portion of the creature. The campfire pierced through the ominous darkness of the cave and cast an eerie glow on her makeshift meal. As she held the dripping meat over the crackling fire, Faith wistfully dreamed of corn on the cob and watermelon. What she wouldn't do for a vegetable or piece of fruit.
Satisfied with the temperature of the cooked flesh, the Boston girl tore into the tough, gamey meat with her canines, shredding through the demon's body. She gingerly tossed what had formerly been the demon's arm back and forth between her fingers like a giant turkey leg, the hot juices threatening to burn the tips of her fingers. Faith hungrily sank her teeth into the smoky flesh and wiped the back of her hand across her face, smearing grease across her cheeks.
Even without inspecting herself in a mirror or even a reflective pool of water, Faith knew she was a sight – her hair matted from weeks of neglect, her clothing torn and soiled, her exposed flesh covered in demon blood and dust. But there was no one to impress in Hell. There was only survival.
With a stomach full of seared demon meat, the Boston girl laid down on the solid floor of her sheltering cave. She flipped onto her side in a useless attempt to find comfort. With the scythe still clenched firmly in one hand, a kind of safety blanket, Faith finally allowed herself to close her dark chocolate eyes, hoping to find rest; but the cries and screams of demons beyond the protective covering of her hidden cave caused her body to tense even more rigidly than it had been before.
Faith shut her eyes tightly and focused on the fading image of the woman she had loved for so long. While in her coma back in Sunnydale, she had thought of nothing but Buffy. When Faith had switched bodies with the blonde, she had stared at the familiar pert face in the bathroom mirror for hours. In prison she had centered her mind on the memory of the California slayer. And now in Hell, she sought solace through her memories of her former lover. Faith kept her eyes closed and held a hand over her exposed ear, hoping to shut out the Hell that waited beyond the walls of her sanctuary – willing that the night might soon be over.
The Scottish surgeon stood in the doorway of the Californian's hospital room holding onto a metal clipboard and looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Although the doctor was accustomed to doting and concerned patient-families, Buffy Summers' room always seemed excessively packed with anxious bodies. He coughed nervously and stepped into the room finally, acutely aware of the numerous pairs of eyes intensely scrutinizing his every move.
"Why does he have that look?" Willow blurted out anxiously. She twisted her hands in front of her body. "That doesn't look like a puppies and bunny-rabbits face," she worried out loud. "That looks like a 'we discovered you have an extra spleen' kind of face."
"Doctor?" Giles asked expectantly as he stood up from the uncomfortable chair near the broken slayer's bed.
Dr. Hansen took a deep breath. "I'm afraid it's cancer," the physician stated somberly, casting his eyes around the room.
The doctor paused momentarily, allowing his words to set in – news of this kind was what made his job so difficult. The English Watcher's face fell. Willow covered her mouth with both hands, holding back a small gasp. Xander closed his one good eye and set his mouth in a hard line. Dawn felt her chin begin to quiver out of control. And Buffy only felt numb.
Walking toward the walled light box, the doctor placed the film from the slayer's test results on the small screen and flipped on the lamp. "The MRI shows a sizable tumor here," he said, pointing to a spot on the x-ray. "It's a wonder that you didn't notice anything was wrong before the seizure, Miss Summers," he added, looking over at the bed-ridden girl. "The growth is pressing on your cerebrum and probably causing you to hallucinate, or at least cause you to question what's real and what's not."
"You mean like all of this right now is just a bad dream?" the blonde slayer tried lightly. She smiled through parched, cracked lips.
The doctor smiled kindly at his patient in return. "No, Miss Summers. I can assure you that this is not a hallucination. This is very real. The good news is, however," he continued brightly, "that the tumor is completely operable; since we caught it before it had the opportunity to spread, there's a very good chance that I'll be able to remove all of the mass without causing injury to your frontal lobe."
Buffy's friends exploded in a brief chattering of relief at the doctor's words. Faith sat guiltily in one corner, however, her eyes never leaving the blonde. She had remained close to the golden-haired girl ever since her brain scan; but she remained invisible to them all, save the California slayer.
"This tumor," Buffy began hesitantly, flitting her eyes to the corner of the hospital room where the dark slayer remained stationary. "You mean it's making me see things that aren't really there?" she squeaked meekly. "Like…like maybe people?"
The doctor hesitated briefly before nodding. "As I've mentioned before, Miss Summers, the brain is a mysterious organ. There is a good chance that your tumor has been causing recent hallucinations – maybe seeing people from your past, for example. Or replaying memories, rather than experiencing the present." He glanced back down at his chart, momentarily dismissing his patient's question, before droning on about the details of the proposed brain surgery.
"Are we on Melrose Place?" Faith appeared next to the small blonde's bedside and held her hand tightly.
Buffy gave her sister-Slayer a lopsided grin, despite her current situation and company. "Now's not the time for vague pop culture references, Fai," she mumbled under her breath.
"Aw, c'mon, B," the dark-haired woman breezed. "I bet you fuckin' loved that show. Or maybe 90210 was more your style?"
"Saved by the Bell was more my style," the small blonde admitted with a slight blush.
Faith sat down at the edge of the other girl's hospital bed. "Oh yea," she laughed, squiggling on the stiff mattress to get more comfortable. "That would be your kinda show. Bet your panties got all wet thinkin' about Zach Morris or A.C. Slater," she cooed.
Buffy playfully slapped the other girl's arm. "Whatever," she giggled. "You must've been quite the fan yourself if you know their names," she pointed out.
Faith's grin spread wider across her beautiful face and swung her heavy-booted feet back and forth as they dangled over the edge of the hospital bed. "Busted," she chuckled.
While Willow, Xander, and Giles continued to listen intently to Dr. Hansen's speech concerning Buffy's brain surgery, the youngest Summers girl had turned her attention back to her bed-ridden sister. The teen's thin lips scrunched together when she noted the blonde woman talking to herself again like Dawn had witnessed her do immediately before her seizure in the castle's library.
Buffy sat up straighter in bed, ignoring everyone in the room besides her hallucination of Faith. "Oh!" she squealed brightly. "Do you remember the episode where Jessie was addicted to caffeine pills!"
The two gave each other knowing grins. "I'm so excited! I'm so….scared!" they sing-songed in unison before bursting into laughter.
Everyone in the room became suddenly quiet at Buffy's outburst.
Xander shuffled his feet against the scuffled linoleum floor. "When did this turn into an episode from Saved by the Bell?" he mumbled, looking uncomfortably at the blonde slayer.
Faith snorted and rolled his eyes at the former carpenter's reaction. "I betcha Xander had a massive hard-on for Slater, too."
"That's disgusting, Faith," the small blonde squeaked, wrinkling her nose.
"Buffy?" Willow said the name hesitantly, unsure why her best friend was talking to ghosts.
"She's not here, Buffy," Dawn stated quietly, suddenly understanding what was going on. She reached out to touch her sister's pale, thin wrist. "It's the tumor that's making you see things."
Xander's jaw dropped slightly. "You…you're think you're talking to Faith, don't you?" he inquired. "You think you can see her?"
Buffy's eyes snapped up from her wrist to stare into Dawn's tearful eyes. "She's here!" the blonde girl stated wildly. "I can touch her," she insisted, her hazel-green eyes flashing. "And she can touch me."
Giles shook his head hard and removed his glasses. He looked at his former slayer, the pity clearly written across his time-wizened features. "Buffy. Faith is gone," he stated somberly. "Your brain tumor's making you believe you can see her."
Buffy's eyes went wide with realization. "So that means…if-if I have the tumor removed…" she stammered, trailing off, "I'll lose her again."
Dawn clenched her fists around the hospital bed's railing and gave the furniture a shake, causing a small tremor to waver down the metal frame. "Buffy!" she yelled. "You can't be suggesting what I think you are!" the girl exclaimed loudly, horrified by the thought.
Buffy gave her friends a manic look and began clawing at the tubes and wires that connected her to the hospital machines as if attempting to escape from the bed. "No!" she cried. "I won't lose her again," she sobbed. Heavy tears flowed freely down her slightly bronzed features.
Giles crossed his arms across his chest. His facial features were set in a look of determination. "This isn't up for debate, Buffy," the English man stated seriously. "You're having the operation."
A handful of attendants wheeled Buffy's bed down the long, sterile hallway and towards the large service elevator that would take her to surgery. Buffy squinted up at the white ceiling, wincing as the halogen lights flashed by. Her eyes felt assaulted by the harsh overhead lighting.
"It's for the best, B," the dark slayer mumbled unemotionally. Faith walked alongside the squeaking bed, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
"I can't lose you, Fai," the heavily sedated blonde muttered into the air.
Buffy attempted to reached out, hoping to touch her lover one last time. But her attempt proved useless as she discovered her wrists had been bound to the portable bed. A single tear escaped down her bronzed cheek as the elevator doors closed and Faith disappeared from her line of sight.
"Well this looks cozy," the dark-haired woman mumbled, dropping a small backpack onto the well-worn wooden floor.
Faith found herself in a small, one room log cabin located in the center of a dense forest. Although the dark-haired girl assumed she was making another Buffy-dream appearance, the blonde was nowhere in sight. Generally the two slayers simultaneously arrived at these shared locations, but lately the dreams had become increasingly unpredictable.
Walking into the center of the small space, the Boston woman took stock of her surroundings. In the far corner sat a well-loved wooden futon frame covered with a thin black mattress. Miss-matched throw pillows covered the paltry cushioning and a crocheted blanket lay across the back of the seating. Along the opposite wall was a small wood-burning fireplace, surrounded by a rocky hearth. A tiny set of pine cupboards adorned another wall, flanked by a foldable table and chair set, large enough for two. A thin, thread-barren space rug struggled to cover the center of the room, barely covering the smooth, wooden planks beneath.
Knowing that her lover was currently in brain surgery, the dark brunette girl frowned. Perhaps this was her own brand of hallucination. Faith's chocolate irises clouded over with disappointment, her dilapidated surroundings beginning to make more sense. While Buffy's dream-state earned them the right to lounge on exotic beaches, the Boston girl had to settle for unimpressive isolated cabins instead.
Feeling slightly chilled and noting the sun dipping lower in the horizon as she glanced through the single-paned glass window, Faith made her way over to the natural fireplace and dutifully assembled what she needed to build a fire. Luckily this dream-state was detail-oriented enough to provide her with kindling and dry firewood.
Faith focused on the habitual task of constructing a fire when a small gasp alerted the Boston girl that she was no longer alone in the barren cabin.
Buffy dropped her own backpack onto the floor next to the dark slayer's seemingly forgotten bag. She rushed toward the crouched slayer, throwing her arms around her neck. The blonde immediately buried her face into the dark woman's chocolate tresses and breathed in deeply. "You're here," she breathed. "I thought I'd never see you again."
Faith stood up from her crouched position by the fireplace, still holding tight to the smaller blonde. "I told ya, baby," she mumbled roughly into the other girl's soft skin. "I'll hold on as long as I can."
Buffy pulled back from her lover's soft embrace. "I'm in surgery now, aren't I?" she stated, her voice flat and unaffected.
Her younger counterpart nodded darkly. "They're just doing what they think is best, baby. Don't be angry at them."
The small blonde retreated from her lover to sit down haltingly on the futon. The makeshift couch creaked under her slight weight. "I told them I didn't want the surgery," she whispered roughly, looking down at the floor. "I won't lose you again. I won't."
Faith strode across the room, quickly closing the distance between herself and the elder woman. She sat down heavily next to the other woman and grasped her small hands in her own. "Do you hear yourself, Buffy?" she stated, her voice sounding almost angry. "Refusing cancer treatment just so you can hallucinate that I'm still there?"
Without warning, Buffy crashed her lips against the Boston girl's open mouth. Faith released a moan of surprise, the sound muffled by the elder slayer's sudden embrace. The blonde haired girl ran the palms of her hands down the younger woman's sides, relishing in the gentle curves of her lover's female flesh. Buffy flicked the tip of her tongue against the raven-haired beauty's thick bottom lip, pausing long enough to run her tongue across the deep divot in her plush lips. The Californian pushed her tongue past the perfectly pliable mouth and brushed along the white teeth, requesting deeper access.
Faith abruptly pulled away, still holding tightly onto the elder woman's hands. "Buffy," she breathed heavily, the desperation and frustration dripping from the one word. "This isn't how it's supposed to be."
The blonde woman cocked an eyebrow at her lover. Her own skin looked pink and flushed. "How it's supposed to be?" she repeated questioningly. "Did The Lesbians change how we do this since I've been hospitalized?"
The Boston girl ignored the other woman's attempt at humor and instead looked away as her eyes clouded over with darkness. "I'm in Hell, B," she stated thickly. "I don't deserve to be here with you."
Buffy brought her sister-Slayer's hands to her pursed lips and lightly brushed her mouth against the soft, perfumed skin. She hushed the other woman. "Stop it," she mumbled. "This is supposed to be a happy dream for us both."
The raven-haired beauty closed her eyes at the gentle touch. Nothing was soft in her world anymore. "There's a reason why I'm trapped in the Hellmouth and not in Scotland with you," Faith frowned.
The smaller slayer's eyes narrowed slightly. "Because you sacrificed it all to save the world, Fai," she insisted intensely. "You're not in Hell because you deserve to be there."
Faith squeezed her eyes shut tightly in an attempt to hold back the liquid sorrow she felt beginning to seep from her tear ducts. Sensing her lover's pain, Buffy brought a hand to the younger woman's face. She ran the back of her fingers across her partner's chiseled cheekbones, causing the other girl's tensed face to visibly relax. Buffy wrapped her free arm around the Boston girl's midsection and began a slow, rhythmic rock to sooth the girl.
"You're not in Hell," Buffy murmured again, placing a soft kiss near the brunette's temple. "You're right here with me."
The sound of a slow, steady beeping of a heart-monitor filled the quiet of the hospital evening.
"The next few hours will be crucial," Dr. Hansen rasped to the others. His eyes looked tired and his voice sounded worn and drained. Since the California girl's hospitalization, he had taken little time to sleep.
Dawn stood by her sister's bedside and gazed down at the peacefully sleeping girl. Buffy's chest rose and fell with each even, shallow breath beneath the thin hospital blankets. "She looks so small," she stated in a low, hushed voice. "So…fragile."
The English Watcher nodded in agreement. "So…human," Giles sighed deeply, removing his glasses from his face to wipe at the lenses with the bottom of his argyle sweater.
Faith carefully shoveled the hot embers out onto the stone hearth. Arranging the glowing coals into a tidy lump, she sprinkled a thin layer of ash over the tops of the smoldering wood chunks to keep the food from cooking too quickly and burning. Upon waking, the Boston girl had rummaged through the sparse cabin cupboards and found a box of unopened pancake mix. Although the previous evening had sated one kind of 'H' , the rumbling of her stomach indicated a new "H" word that needed to be addressed.
From her position on the foldout bed, the small blonde uncurled her svelte form and stretched from her head to her toes. The futon groaned beneath her body and small squeaking noises escaped from between her two lips.
Faith grinned at the small noises the other slayer emitted in her stretch. "Is that a baby pterodactyl over there, B?" she teased, not looking up from the heavy cast-iron skillet in front of her. She poured a generous amount of the pancake batter into the pan and grinned when she heard the telltale sizzling.
The small blonde swung her feet over the edge of the worn futon and landed her bare feet soundly on the ancient wooden flooring. She hopped out of bed with a solid thud and creaked her way across the small cabin towards her lover. Although she had wanted to remain in bed for a few hours longer with her Boston lover, pancakes and a half-dressed beautiful girl were enough to pull the elder slayer from the lumpy futon mattress.
Buffy played with the bottom hem of her small t-shirt and looked admiringly down at her crouched partner. Faith hovered over the cooking pan, wearing only a white tank top and panties. "Pancakes, huh?" the blonde smiled. "That's a pretty impressive trick," she nodded toward the cast-iron pot and hot coals configuration.
Faith shrugged nonchalantly. "Guess I lived in the 1700s in a past life or something."
Distracted by a thought other than breakfast foods and half-naked women, Buffy bit down on her bottom lip and worried the flesh. "Not that I'm complaining," she started, clearing her throat slightly before continuing, "but…" she trailed off, hesitatingly, "why am I still here? Isn't this normally the time you or I go back to the real world?"
Faith looked up from the perfectly round pancakes sizzling on the open hearth. She chuckled under her breath. "I know, right? We get all the pussy we can handle and then we disappear. Ya gotta admit, B. The PTB or whoever keep yankin' us around certainly are fans of letting us 'get some and get gone.'" She stood up from her crouched position and stretched out her long, naked legs. "You thinkin' this is a more permanent situation or somethin'?" she asked.
Buffy's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you think I'm dead?"
The two men stared through the window and into the Intensive Care Unit. Neither man looked particularly optimistic as they each gazed upon the form of the blonde slayer. Various tubes, IVs, and wires sprouted from the Californian's body, connecting her to a variety of hospital life-support machines.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Giles," the doctor began. "I just can't explain it. Buffy seems like a perfectly healthy young woman – barring the cancer, of course," Dr. Hansen clarified. "She should be bouncing back from her operation much better."
The balding Scottish man shook his head in frustration and continued. "I've never seen an immune system as weak as hers appears to be. Actually," he corrected himself, "I have, but in patients who have HIV whose immune system has been ravaged by the disease." He furrowed his high forehead in thought. "Clearly that's not what's going on here," he noted, "but it's as if her body never had to fight infection or a virus for the past decade."
Giles continued to stare at his former slayer, who now seemed asleep in the hospital bed. "What do we do now?" he asked, never taking his eyes off of the broken woman.
"We wait," the doctor stated, looking down at his metal clipboard. "It's all you can do at this point. I'll be in touch if there are any sizeable changes you need to be made aware of." He paused before leaving the former Watcher's side. "Mr. Giles," he hesitated. "If you believe in…a Higher Power…you may want to consider praying for Miss Summer's recovery."
Giles finally looked away from his former charge and nodded curtly in the direction of the doctor. He understood what the surgeon was trying to tell him. His Slayer might be too far-gone to save. Giles sighed deeply and placed his palm against the windowpane that separated him from the sleeping blonde woman.
A bitter female voice startled the English man: "So what – she sacrifices everything to save the world time and again, and this is how we thank her? By letting her die?"
Giles turned on his heels. "Dawn," he sighed, readjusted the glasses on his nose. "Nothing says she won't recover from this. We just have to be patient and wait it out."
"No!" the young woman protested animatedly. "I refuse to accept that, Giles. There's no time to just wait around and see if she's going to get better. She won't recover from this," Dawn insisted, her voice raising a few octaves in her desperation. "She needs her Slaying-strength back. If she was a Slayer," the former Key pointed out, "she would have been out of this hospital by now!"
The English Watcher pressed his lips together, forming a hard line as he stared at the young woman, but he remained silent.
"Giles," the slender teen continued to rant, her body shaking from the intensity of feelings rushing through her tall form. "You know what we have to do." The youngest Summers girl's eyes looked dark and frantic. "We have to open the Hellmouth, Giles.It's the only way she'll survive."
TBC
