Mapquest had informed Faith that the distance from the airport to the hotel she and Buffy had decided to stay in for the evening was only about a ten minute drive, but after their conversation/confrontation, those ten minutes seemed uncomfortably quiet and unbearably long. Faith didn't allow her gaze to waver from the road, and she had to force herself to flex and relax her hands a few times on the steering wheel. She had noticed that the material around it had started to strain, threatening to tear if she tightened her grip any harder.

She tried to thrust everything that Buffy had said to her, asked of her, out of her mind and deep down in some hole of her memory beyond her access. She tried to cover the all too vivid images she still carried of the serious intensity of Buffy's eyes, the body memory of her touch, with thoughts of the mission she had set out to do, the mission she had already reminded Buffy they were setting out on. But it was useless. What was death, crime, or even slaying, compared to the overwhelming flood of emotions Buffy could give her with just a certain look or tone of voice?

And she knew. Buffy knew, to some extent, the power she wielded over Faith, the struggle Faith had to reign in and suppress the confusing mix of physical and emotional feelings that she gave Faith. The sense of admiration and respect, yes, but moreover, the blending of affection and resentment, anger and pride, hurt and excitement, hunger and approval-seeking, attraction and even love that had been present so powerfully, so confusingly, for so long, the tumble of confliction that Faith could never fully settle. Buffy could see it, some of it, anyway. She had said it herself, in so many words. How fucking embarrassing. How big of a fool had Faith made over herself, throughout the years, or even in the past hour? If Buffy knew, who else did? Were they all laughing at her behind her back, or worse, pitying her?

What the hell was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to talk to Buffy, work with Buffy, or even look her in the eye? And if Buffy knew…what did that mean? What was Buffy going to do, other than thrust her knowledge in Faith's face?

Then again, that was what Buffy had been asking, wasn't it? What was going on between them, with what Faith felt, what Faith wanted?

But what Buffy hadn't said- the necessary information that she hadn't volunteered, and that Faith had been too thrown off guard to ask- had been what she herself, what Buffy Summers, wanted, how Buffy Summers felt about the "thing" between them. It seemed a little too late to ask now, not to mention it would make it way too obvious that Faith had been unable to switch her mind to any other gears of thought. But that answer was pretty damn important. Didn't what Buffy want matter as much as what Faith wanted, if not a hell of a lot more?

When Faith pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, she was still locked into her own inner arguments. She didn't hear Buffy call her name, so when the other woman touched her shoulder to attract her attention, she twitched sharply, her head swiveling.

"Sorry," Buffy removed her hand quickly, holding up both as though to prove she intended no harm. "I said your name, you didn't hear, I guess."

"Yeah, no, it's five- I mean, it's fine," Faith corrected herself, licking her lips and forcing a slightly rough smile. "What did you say?"

"I was asking if you wanted to get single rooms for the night," Buffy said, the words quiet. "Or if you wanted to get one together." She added quickly, "With two beds, if they have them. Or whatever. I mean, I heard what you said, but it doesn't have to be…I thought I'd ask. About the rooms."

Faith studied her, but she could not quite read the blonde's expression. Buffy seemed to be working to keep herself looking neutral and casual, as much as Faith herself was. So what did that mean- that Faith's answer mattered because she wanted separate rooms, or because she didn't? Or did her answer truly not matter to Buffy? And if that was the case, what did THAT mean, and why had she been going on for so long to ask a non-mattering question?

Fuck, she was giving herself a migraine.

"What were you thinking, B?" she deflected, shrugging. "Were you wanting your own room, or were you wanting to share?"

Buffy's mouth curved slightly, but only on one side. If it was an attempt at a smile, it didn't quite hit the mark. She regarded Faith steadily, waiting until Faith couldn't help but look back at her, directly into her eyes. Only then did she answer.

"Faith, I'm pretty used to being alone," she said evenly. "I've been alone for a long time. That's the way of Slayers, I guess. People leave, people die, relationships fail, that's how it goes. Don't get me wrong, I have people I love, and I know they love me. It matters, but it isn't how it feels, in the end. The Slayer is alone, always, even in a room of people surrounding her. I've learned to accept it as a Slayer's calling, as her fate. But I don't think it has to be, Faith. Because the only time in my life that I don't feel alone is when I'm with you."

Faith's heart stuttered. Mouth going dry, she stared back at Buffy, confused, tense, irrationally angry…and vulnerable. To have Buffy say something like this to her made her feel so damn open to being hurt. Hadn't Buffy proven, in all senses of the word, that she knew just how deep to cut Faith, with so little extended effort?

How was it that Buffy saying something so flattering, so soft and personal and intimate, could somehow still hurt? And how could Buffy not know that, no matter what she said about not wanting to hurt Faith, this was one of the fastest ways to do it?

"Buffy," she managed, the word somewhat strangled in her mouth. She didn't know what else to say, wasn't even sure if the word was a warning or a plea. Buffy must have seen this, for she began speaking again in a gentler tone.

"I want what you want, Faith. I mean that, both ways. I want to do what you want us to do. If you want me to give you your space, I want to give it to you. But…I think you want more. I think you want us to be more, and I want you to know…" she took a breath, released it, and continued to meet Faith's eyes squarely. "I want it too."

"Buffy," Faith said again, slightly louder this time, but Buffy cut her off, seeming to focused on making her point to quite hear.

"I think you're scared, and I get it, I really do. We've…you've been through a lot, and it feels easier to edge away from people. Believe me, I know. And us…well, we've got a pretty screwy history between us. No, I'm gonna say it, our us-history is pretty fucked up. And our not-us history. Like, our history separately, and our history together, it's all very, very fucked up, and we're trying not to fuck up more and, and fuck other people up more too-"

"Whoa," Faith interrupted, her eyebrows lifting nearly to her hairline in genuine incredulity. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone say "fuck" so many times in less than 45 seconds, and I spent three years in prison. Definitely I didn't think you would be the one to break that record."

Buffy's smile was somewhat sheepish as she shrugged. "I'll blame it on your influence. No, actually, I won't, I own it. Surpassing expectations is kind of my thing, right?"

"Sure, B, you keep that Curse Queen Crown, all yours."

Faith's lips twitched in spite of herself as her muscles relaxed just a tad. She had almost managed to steer Buffy off track in her determined monologue, and maybe, just maybe, she might manage to guide them back into something far more comfortable and familiar for her. Something she could do by instinct, rather than feeling as though she were falling blind into somewhere with an unknown distance to the ground.

But Buffy regrouped herself.

"The point is," she summarized after a moment, "if you are comfortable sharing a room, Faith, then I would be too. In fact, I'd like to do it. Share a room, I mean, not it…ugh, this conversation went better in my head," she shook her head, muttering to herself more than to Faith. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, or push you, or…anything. I know you said…I heard you. Earlier. I just…I'm tired of being careful, Faith. I'm tired of protecting myself."

She paused, her eyes slipping downward briefly. When they met Faith's again, Faith's throat constricted from the feeling she saw directed from Buffy's hazel gaze…feelings directed at her.

"I'm tired of being alone. It's not about using you to stop myself from being lonely. It's not about using you at all. It's about…connecting. I want…I want to connect with you. If you want it."

Faith had heard a lot of speeches from Buffy over the years, each of them equally long, somewhat twisty in getting to her point, and most of them full of self-righteousness, confidence, or commands. But this was different. This was softer, more open, and asking for feedback rather than giving opinions or instructions. Although Buffy was certain of her own feelings and desires, she was not putting them forth as facts or rules for Faith to follow. She was letting Faith make a choice. She was putting out her feelings to Faith, making herself an open target for any sort of retaliating response, and allowing Faith the decision of whether Faith too would open herself enough to do the same.

And Faith was tempted. It would feel so good to let go of everything she held onto, to simply reach out for Buffy and pull her in. What a relief, to give in to everything she had fought against for so long, to let one person in all the world inside. To let Buffy be that person, as she could have never hoped or dared to dream.

She opened her mouth, the words of acceptance on the tip of her tongue. But they were not the ones that emerged.

"Buffy….I…yeah. Um, yeah, we can share a room. Whatever. Whatever you want. One bed, two beds, it's a place to sleep."

Anger at herself flooded her chest, sharp, irritated, and indignant even as the casual, careless tone of her own words settled between them. What the hell was she doing, blowing Buffy off, acting like she didn't hear or comprehend the full weight behind what the other woman had just said to her? What was she doing, pushing her away, when all she had ever wanted was for Buffy to finally decide that she wanted, that Faith was good enough, to be let in?

She wanted to take it back, to rewind the moment in time and answer in a different way, in the right way. But it was too late, and any words she tried to come up with to apologize or revise her response only seemed more insulting.

Faith averted her eyes quickly, but not quickly enough to miss the disappointment standing brightly in Buffy's eyes, briefly weighing her features. She sensed rather than witnessed her nod, her effort at a smile.

"Okay. Great, Faith. I guess we'll room together. Um, and I guess for the beds, we'll just…we'll go with two."

She shifted in the passenger's seat, clearing her throat, and her voice was far too bright when she spoke again.

"Well, I guess we better check in and get started on things, then."

As Faith nodded, not trusting herself to answer aloud, they both exited the rental car and crossed behind it to retrieve their bags from the trunk. They were careful not to touch, and the resumed silence between them felt so thick Faith felt it was possible to suffocate in. It didn't occur to her to wonder until they were entering the hotel's doors if Buffy's confession was the true reason that Buffy had wanted to come back with her, the true reason she was helping her now. And if it was…how would Faith's refusal change things now?

88

"Are you sure? I mean…can we…it's so late…"

Verity resisted her urge to roll her eyes, as she had for the past several hours she had spent in Giabella's company. It wouldn't do, after all, for a prophet of the Lord to show impatience or sarcasm. Instead, she gave the younger child a soft smile, nodding her head. Again.

"You know the word of God, Giabella. He's spoken to me, and as his body, we must listen. We must obey."

"But it's cold out," Giabella whined, hugging her arms over her torso and giving a shiver that Verity knew to be more drama than genuine. "And what if your parents wake up and realize we left? We'll be in trouble, Verity, and then I won't be able to come over anymore. They'll tell my parents, and they'll be mad-"

"Giabella, the path is not always easy for God's people," Verity cut her off, before the little girl could get too into her own anxiety-driven suppositions. "If we are punished, then we will accept it, as the martyrs accepted their unjust punishments. We are doing God's will, and sometimes that means going against what others have said. Have faith, and God will provide. Now come on. Stay close."

She began to stride with sure, steady steps, sidling away from the side of her house and into the back area of the row of houses of the block. Giabella hurried after her, almost colliding into her elbow as she whispered loudly, grasping for Verity's wrist to keep her near.

"But Verity, it's dark out! How will we even see where to go? What if we get lost?"

"I know where to go," Verity said, a hint of impatience creeping unbidden into her voice. "The light of God will lead us."

The truth, of course, was that she didn't dare carry flashlights to draw attention to two young girls, out on foot well past midnight in a neighborhood where this was not the norm. She had made Giabella change into a black sweater and pants, as Verity herself was wearing, for the same reason. It was important that they blend in. If Giabella was not already naturally brunette, like Verity herself, she would have made her wear a hat as well.

It was never difficulty for Verity to sneak out at night, normally. Her mother never checked on her in the night, perhaps because she trusted her enough to see no reason to, perhaps because she didn't want to know otherwise. It could also have to do with the fact that she normally had a few glasses of wine, mixed with sleeping pills, about two hours before Verity was ready to make her departure.

Tonight, Giabella's debute, was not so easy. Getting her to stay the night wasn't the hard part. Convincing her of the need to leave the house in the middle of the night, keeping her awake and quiet long enough to get to the correct time to do so, and then half shoving her out the window and onto the side lawn was somewhat more tricky. But now was coming the real test of the evening, and it remained to be seen if Verity would be successful in her hoped for outcome.

She walked quickly, occasionally shushing the other girl with fingers to her lips or murmured warnings. Giabella clung to her with thin spidery fingers, tripping and gasping with her anxiety. Verity lead her several blocks from her home, sticking to the backsides of the roads, away from traffic and streetlights. She knew she was in the right direction when she reached the first church cemetery, three blocks away. Only a few over and they would reach her favorite site, the small, private cemetery, no longer well kept or maintained, just at the outskirt of a small patch of woods. This area was considered by most to be the "wrong side of the tracks," although Verity had yet to find actual trails or railroad anywhere near.

Verity knew many of the city's homeless tended to stay for the night in this particular cemetery, away from the police headlights and the public eye. Some took to the woods as well. She was fairly certain that she and Giabella would find an appropriate target here.

"Here," she whispered to the other child, nodding towards the cemetery's faded sign, reading Rice Memorial in faded letters. "This is where we are to go."

Giabella gasped, her pupils large and shiny with her fear as she stared at the rusted gates before them, her long fingernails leaving indentations in Verity's arm.

"It's…the gates are locked, Verity," she said shakily, "that means we can't go in. That's trespassing, we aren't supposed to-"

"I'll lift you over," Verity informed her easily, eyeing the distance and determining it to be an uncomplicated feat for her strength. "And then I'll climb up. It's perfectly safe."

"But…Verity, it's a cemetery!" Giabella moaned, her normally pale face even more ashen than usual as she looked at the older girl in beseeching. "And not a church cemetery, we don't know who was buried here or what kind of people they are! What if…what if there are ghosts? Or…oh no, Verity, what if bad people are inside there? What if it's grave robbers, or, or…what if it's devil worshippers?! Don't those kind of people like to dessert-cate graves? Oh, Verity, we can't!"

Verity had to bite down hard on the inside of her cheeks to keep from snorting laughter at Giabella's mispronunciation of the word "desecrate." Her concern was truly unnecessary. Little did the girl know that the most dangerous person in the area was her own "best friend," standing directly beside her with her arm in her own hands.

"God will protect us," she said when she was certain her voice was serious and steady again. "Don't you remember, fear no evil when you walk through the valley of the shadow and death? Here's your valley, Giabella. Walk the talk."

Shifting her small backpack more securely onto her shoulders, she dragged Verity forward, cupping her hands in front of her for Giabella to step onto. When Giabella hesitated, Verity made an impatient noise in her throat.

"You step onto them, and I'll push you up enough to pull yourself up. Then you drop down to the other side of the fence."

"But-"

When Giabella didn't follow through, Verity huffed aloud, thoroughly annoyed with the girl. Taking a step back, she squatted and jumped, easily grasping hold of the top of the ten-foot fence post and pulling herself to straddle it. As Giabella gaped up at her, Verity reached a hand down.

"If you won't step, then I'll pull. Just be quick about it."

With far more effort from Verity than she thought was necessary, both she and Giabella eventually ended up on the inside of the cemetery gates, their feet firmly planted once more on the ground. Giabella latched onto the older girl again immediately, her shoulder bumping into her backpack as she pressed closed against her side.

"What…what are we supposed to do in here, Verity?"

She had so damn many questions, for a girl who claimed to live a life of faith. Why were they sneaking out, what if they got caught, what was in the backpack, why didn't she get a backpack, why the cemetery, why, why, why. It was enough for Verity to start having questions of her own- such as why she went to so much trouble with this girl, when it would be so much easier just to kill her and be done with it.

But no, she had made a commitment to this long-range, more complicated plan. Verity was not a quitter, and she was not one to take the easy route, simply for faster gratification. Not when she had worked so hard and come so far.

Tonight was the first and most important chapter of Giabella Higgins's downfall, of the little girl's corruption and ultimate ruin. Tonight, Giabella Higgins would become a murderer.

She ignored the child's queries when possible, stilling and silencing her when she could no longer stand her voice. Leading her slowly, carefully through the cemetery grounds, she scanned the perimeter, especially over the surface of the graves.

And then she saw it. A man, appearing in his sixties or so, but possibly younger; it was difficult to tell, with people clearly used to living in the rough. He was dressed in several layers of clothing, although it was not cold enough outside for this to be comfortable, and the outer layer was stained and likely smelly from what Verity could guess. He was hunched over, half propped against a tree towards the eastern corner of the grounds, his stubbled chin drooping down towards his chest. A ripped laundry bag and a dirty pillow, sans pillow case, was clutched in his hands, as though to prevent any would be thieves from making off with them in his sleep. Eyes closed, he remained so motionless that Verity had to watch for several moments before she saw his chest rise and fall, signaling his living status.

This was what she had been waiting and watching for. Here was their victim, presenting himself as a clear and easy target. But he was not hers, not tonight. Tonight, he was all Giabella's.