XIII.
"Is she... she's healing him isn't she?" Buffy whispered to Willow, though she doubted Faith was in any shape to hear her.
Willow shook her head and answered in the same soft tones. "She can't, his body fights it too much. She's taking the poison from the wound, the evil from the Turok-han, and taking it into her. You know, slayer healing, she's keeping him from getting worse. But every time she's a little weaker and the pain, I can't even imagine it."
"How long has she been doing this?" Buffy was moving closer, eyes fixed on Faith. Willow followed a few steps behind.
"Three days, since just after Xander called. Robin had some sort of crisis and this was all they could do to hold on to him. We have to hurry, Buffy. I don't think anyone an take that for much longer." Willow was going over in her mind what would be needed for the spell she was going to attempt.
Faith's eyes opened, and her head lolled a bit as she looked at Buffy.
"That you, B?" her voice was harsh, like whiskey and cigarettes and cheering for the big game. She grinned, and her face had lines it should not have had for such a young woman. "Better be you. This is another freakin dream, I might say screw it and stake you."
Buffy put her hand on Faith's cheek. "Hey there. I'm here. You hold on, we're going to get started, ok? You just hang on." Faith's eyes closed, and Buffy wasn't sure Faith had even heard her.
She turned, getting her resolve face on, all the softer aspects of her persona falling away. What remained was Buffy the protector, the leader, the hero. This was Buffy, the vampire slayer. This was the woman who had been to heaven, to hell, even to Cleveland. "No more soldiers down, Will. We're going to stop this, right?"
She stopped, looking to where Willow stood, one hand on the shoulder of the old Chinese man, Master Chen. The redhead had a silver bowl in the other hand, and the old man slowly drew his hands from inside his long sleeves. As he passed them over the bowl, placing something inside, it glowed and smoldered briefly, then Willow let go and it hung in the air, not even a quiver.
"Let's go." Willow's voice was strong and shockingly loud after the quiet earlier. She got that faraway look, and her eyes went dark. Darker. Black. Her hair flew out behind her in a breeze that affected her, and Master Chen, but nothing else in the physical world. With one hand still on the old man's shoulder, she began to chant.
"Minuo, curatio. Blood to blood, hero to hero… Regina diem, nox noctem mirabile…" There was more like that, growing indistinct as a roaring began in Buffy's ears.
Buffy went, and reached into the silver bowl, taking out a long, slim knife, made of some very bright, almost white metal. It felt warm and alive in her hand. Without hesitating, she ran it across her palm. The pain didn't come for a moment, and she wondered if the knife was sharp enough.
There was a hissing, and she saw drops of bright blood from her hand skittering around on the bowl like water in a frying pan. More blood flowed, and she felt the pain now, deep and sudden. She braced her feet and watched the blood begin to pool and churn in the bowl.
Behind her, Robin moaned and groaned, once, then lay still. Faith was panting like it was labor and they forgot the epidural. Willow frowned around her incantation, and nodded meaningfully towards Buffy's hand.
Buffy realized with a start that her body's rapid healing had already started in on the slash across her hand. With a grimace, she raised the knife again, and looked at it. Tossing it, she caught it on the half turn, blade down, and pushed it though her hand till the point broke through the other side and twin streams of blood fell into the silver bowl.
It is probably worth noting that it wasn't the most painful thing that had happened to Buffy Summers. She thought about it, and realized it wasn't even in the top five. Maybe not even the top five of self-inflicted pains. Still, it hurt, and she was beginning to wonder if there was going to be anything left when they were done.
Willow's hair flashed from red to white, flying behind for one more long moment, and then just as suddenly, it was over. Willow staggered forward in the absence of the mystical winds that had buffeted her. Her hair hung in red damp tendrils around her sweating face. The silver bowl, now empty, wobbled a moment then fell.
Master Chen's hand moved with a deliberation that belied its speed, and the bowl fell onto his open palm. He carefully set it down, then slowly raised himself and extended a hand to Buffy. Without thinking she reach out to take his.
She gasped as he took the knife, clean and cool, and put it back into his sleeve from wherever he had originally produced it. He turned her hand palm up in his, and she noted there was a small scar, already closed. Just a line across the palm and a somewhat paler crescent moon where she had run the point in. There was no blood, and only the memory of pain.
"Damn, B. You get all the easy jobs." Faith's voice behind her was still tired and worn, but stronger.
Buffy and Willow went to her side, as she slid off the low platform and went to where Robin lay breathing slowly. Faith put her palm on his forehead, then curved her hand around to caress his cheek. He moved to follow her hand slightly, still deeply sleeping. His scars remained, cruel and cold, but they did not seem fresh and angry as they had before.
Master Chen spoke from behind the three women, his voice weary and satisfied. "His spirit is strong. It rest now, in the body. The body does not war with the world- it is easy here. I am tired, and I will rest." He left, moving with the solemn dignity of a luxury liner leaving port.
Faith laid her head on her husband's chest, and said to him, "Knew you was gonna make it old man. You gotta get better, gotta be here. We're gonna be together, we're gonna be great. And you, gonna be a husband, and you're gonna be a daddy…" Her voice trailed off, and she sat up, to look where Buffy and Willow were looking at her with identical expressions of slack-jawed amazement.
"Well, like some day. I mean, not like 'right now' or nothing. Jesus." She shook her head at them, and laid her head back down on his chest, one hand reaching out to let loose the restraints which held him.
Buffy and Willow both swallowed and gulped a bit, and then backed away, heading out to leave the dark-haired slayer and her sleeping husband. As Willow closed the door behind her, sliding it gently closed, she could hear Faith's rough but surprisingly gentle voice.
"Just a few more weary days and then, I'll fly away."
"To the place where joys shall never end, I'll fly away…"