Please see chapter 1 for disclaimer

Chapter warning: Coarse language, sexual references, references to sexual abuse

"I think I should talk to Tara."

Olivia woke up quickly, but not without a fair amount of confusion. She was used to being on call 24 hours and could get up, get dressed and out to a scene before she was really actually alert. So when she opened her eyes quickly with her face half buried in a pillow and could only see leather clad thighs passing to and fro next to her bed her mind seemed to stall completely.

"She's the kind who talks about shit, right?"

"Ungh?"

"Yeah, maybe not. I mean, she doesn't seem like the kind to spread stuff round, but then she might get the wrong idea."

"Mmm."

Faith dropped down onto the bed and shifted herself up so she was sitting next to the detective's prone rolled over and shifted up slightly, rubbing a hand over her face.

"Now you want to talk? At four in the morning?" She gave the younger woman an amused look. Faith grinned unapologetically, before becoming serious.

"I dunno. I dunno how to do this shit. You do it all the time, but I just...keep moving, you know? I guess I trust Angel, but..."

"Faith." Olivia propped her head up slightly with a pillow. "Tara told me it was Angel who talked you into turning yourself in."

Faith was silent for a couple of minutes. "I guess she is the type to spread shit round."

"She was actually quite concerned for your privacy. Cordelia was the one who first mentioned you did a nickel in LA. Tara filled me in because she said you'd never seemed shy about telling people." Olivia didn't bother to make it sound as if she were excusing the other woman – Tara made her own decisions and seemed more than capable of defending her own actions. But she did want to give Faith what information she could.

"I begged him to kill me. I was so goddamned sick of people using me, but then the Mayor – he had his plans, like everyone else, but he was straight about it, you know? He liked me. I offered to fuck him and he just went on some rant about society's morals or some shit. I liked him."

Olivia didn't really have enough context even from what Tara had told her to understand, but she just listened. More than anyone, she knew what talking about something could do to relieve a person.

"And then B wanted to use my blood to cure her honey. Pretty fucking ironic that the only thing that could save him was me dying, right? But I had decided I wasn't gonna let anyone use me anymore. So she gutted me, but I didn't let her take my blood."

By this point Olivia was seriously concerned. She really hoped that Faith was speaking metaphorically. But it had been hard enough over the last few days to get the brunette to talk to her at all, and she knew if she interrupted now she'd lose her chance.

"Eight months later, I wake up from a coma and decide to get pro-active about it. No more being used, I was gonna set up for myself. I ended up in LA partying – a guy got ideas and wanted to use me as his sex toy? That was fine, I knocked him the fuck out and used him for his money instead. But then I realised, underneath it all, when I had no-one using me for anything, when I was free – I was nobody. I've been doing everybody elses shit for so long there was no me left. So I begged Angel to kill me. Shoulda been easy – I already shot him once, tortured one of his friends. But the stupid bastard wouldn't do it. So, yeah. Actually, Tara was wrong. Prison was B's idea. But facing up to the shit I did was Angel's. Just cos it was his idea, though, didn't mean he was using me for anything. He still believes that I'm worth having around, just for myself, even if I didn't work for him." Faith shook her head, no longer looking at Olivia, but playing with a zippo lighter she had dug out of a pocket.

"He's right about that. Don't know that I trust him quite as much as you do, but he's definitely right about that." The detective finally spoke up. Faith just shook her head again.

"Denning..." Faith's voice broke a little and she coughed to clear it. "I'm not that much better than Denning now, Liv. I don't really deserve to be pissed off at him still, yknow?"

"Faith, if Denning tried it on with you now, sounds like you'd give him a run for his money. Maybe you could fight him off. Maybe you'd torture him, maybe you'd make him scream more than he ever made you. But you were a kid. Just a little kid, and you have every right to be pissed off about what he did to you – it wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could do to stop it, and nothing you did to deserve it."

"So why does it make me feel so goddamn dirty to think about it?" Faith ground out. The tension was radiating from her body now, she was clenching her fists so tight it looked like her knuckles may explode under the power of her own sinews. "I've done it with a lot of guys, you know? Some girls, even. All kinds of ways and for all kinds of reasons. So how come doing the same thing with him makes me feel so fuckin' dirty?"

"Because it isn't the same thing, Faith. He forced you when you were too young to understand, too young to cope physically with what he was putting you through, too young to cope emotionally with the secrets and lies. You get taught to trust adults, and he told you it was your fault. Of course you believed him. You might know now that he was a sick bastard who used you, but it can take a lot of time and work to really accept that." Olivia had put a hand on one of Faith's knees while she was talking, and by the time she had finished, she was fairly sure Faith was crying behind the curtain of hair that swept in front of her dipped face.

Olivia sat up properly and gently attempted a hug, ready to be rejected. She wasn't quite ready for the violence that was Faith hugging her back, but she held on, glad that she had made the trip to tell Faith in person.