Please note: Chapter Eight, split into four parts, contains a number of (largely non-explicit) references to sexual violence and other disturbing and/or potentially upsetting attitudes, acts and behaviors.
EIGHT: CAN'T YOU HEAR ME KNOCKING, Pt. 1
immortal aphrodite of the broidered throne
daughter of zeus weaver of wiles
i pray thee break not my spirit with anguish and distress o queen
but come hither if ever before thou didst hear my voice afar …
Saturday
"Are you for real, Rosenberg?"
"Excuse me?" Willow glanced up briefly from her laptop. Then looked again. Because the part of her brain that noticed things like dogs in high heels and fish riding bicycles suddenly realized that it was Faith. In the library. With a book.
The world righted itself when the Slayer approached the table and lay the volume on the desk beside Willow's elbow.
"B says this is for you. Arrived with a stack of files from Cleveland."
Willow examined the book's front cover – The Great Rite: New Paradigms. Giles had mentioned it a couple of emails back; she could practically see him cleaning his glasses while he'd typed the description.
"Thanks." She looked at the Slayer again. "Am I for real what?"
"Saturday afternoon ... sun's out ... hot, sweaty chicks playin' touch football in the backyard. And you're here. In the library."
Willow frowned. "Evil doesn't break for the weekends, I burn easily, and ... and I'm just gonna pretend you were referring to my non-participation with that third comment. Anyway, shouldn't you be out there ... touching the football too?"
"You know me, Willow – I touch, I score, I move on." The quick grin the Slayer flashed morphed just as swiftly into a frown as she prodded the beginnings of a purplish-brown bruise just above her right elbow. "'Sides, some of those newbies are vicious."
Willow smiled a little, sympathy and amusement both. "Well, sorry for your pain and thanks again for the book, but I'm sure you've got other things to do ..."
Faith didn't leave. Instead, she looked at the laptop, the grin returning. "You gone all Jews for Jesus on us?"
"Sorry?"
A questioning eyebrow rose as the Slayer tapped the screen. "JC?"
Willow glanced at the folder labeled with the initials under question. A relatively recent addition to the multitude of files and folders and subfolders she carried around with her like … well, like some people carried a bible, she supposed. A fount of accumulated knowledge and ancient wisdom manifest in 70GB of hard drive space responsible for hosting myriad virtual stacks of paperless documentation dedicated to the eternal battle against the forces of darkness. Plus some mp3s.
"Jenny Calendar."
"The teacher, right?" The Slayer's already diminished grin twisted into an apologetic wince. "You know, I've been lookin' into getting my mouth wired shut ..."
Willow smiled. "When I'm workin' on something and I get stuck, I put it in there."
A pattern of curious ridges formed on Faith's brow as she lifted herself to sit on the edge of the table. "Does it help?"
Not quite what Willow had meant, but now she thought about it ...
"Yeah, I guess it does."
Faith nodded, clompy boot-clad feet swinging gently back and forth, casting a shifting dark grey shadow on the floor beside the table. "So, what was she like?"
"Jenny? Um, smart ... a great teacher. Fun too. She was — I thought she was cool. She knew about magic and ..." Willow hesitated, a flush of self-consciousness already beginning to warm the skin behind her ears. But, Faith's interest seemed authentic enough and it was nice to have the chance to talk about Jenny. She braved herself for the inevitable smirk, or even snigger. "And I guess maybe I wanted to be like her."
The resulting smile was remarkably subdued. "Yeah?"
"A little, yeah."
Faith shifted, gripping the edge of the table lightly. "Was she pretty?"
"Yeah, she was."
The Slayer merely nodded, eyes drifting to the carpeted floor between her feet, offering no comment. But, she didn't have to; Willow could see the unasked question behind the otherwise neutral gesture. She supposed she could have taken offense, but there was nothing lewd in the Slayer's conjecture, or if there was, it didn't show. Simple curiosity more than anything.
"Since you didn't ask – no." Willow tried for levity, but she could feel the blush deepen nonetheless. "I mean, not like — She was a grown-up."
Faith chuckled; apparently budding lesbians who didn't have girl-crushes were funny. But, there was nothing mean in the response and Willow smiled back, glancing at the screen once again.
JC. She would have been amused at the irony: the Techno-Pagan who'd treated archaic notions of power and knowledge with disdain, who'd named herself rather than carry the brand of her vengeful forefathers, mistaken for the son of a patriarchal God.
Willow looked at Faith. "I wish you could have known her."
"How come?"
She wanted to choose her words carefully: I think she'd have seen right through you; maybe she could have helped. But, that was too harsh, not to mention self-righteous, and she could just imagine the shots being fired from either side:
You're the one needed help, moron!
No way! You were so much eviler than me!
Better to err on the side of cheesy:
"I think you'd have gotten along really well with her."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, I do." Willow felt her expression adjust; the smile remained, but she was aware of something else behind it now, something she wasn't quite able to pin down. "Giles loved her. I'm sure he still thinks about her."
Faith tapped her nails lightly against the surface of the table, eyes cast downward; Willow could see the wheels start to turn. Finally, the Slayer faced her once again, fixing her with a look at once decisive and oddly reserved. "You know, I woulda killed him before he could —"
"I don't blame Buffy ..."
The Slayer shook her head. "No, that's not what — I just ... it woulda been easier for me. Back then, I mean."
A silence dropped, not uncomfortable, but slightly ... scratchy? Like something needed to be said. But, the moment passed and Faith hopped to the floor and, with a smirk, gestured to the book once again.
"Nice pics, by the way. Guess the old paradigms weren't doin' the business, huh?"
"I don't suppose it would make a difference if I used the words 'purely for research' and 'educational value'?"
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Willow smiled back slightly as the Slayer turned to leave the library, thankful she hadn't asked the question that had popped into her head only moments before. The can of worms wouldn't have opened so much as exploded and – even putting that icky image aside – she knew the answer already. Everyone did.
"Have you ever wanted to be like someone else?"
Some Girls # 1
She'd wanted to be like Wonder Woman.
("The guy who invented Wonder Woman helped develop the lie detector. Did you know that? The lasso – you know, make 'em tell the truth?")
Then it had happened. No warning – but, something had reached inside and ... and at first she thought it was God because who else could do something like that? But, it wasn't God because no such thing as an interventionist God; she knew that – it was every woman for himself.
(She'd read books and papers and articles, in the library and online:
How would you feel if it was your sister/your mother/your daughter/your friend?
But, for some of them it just didn't seem to matter.)
When he came to her room that night, he looked at her and he knew something was different.
And she'd dreamed about it while she waited:
Are you ready to be strong?
"What's that you're readin'?"
Dawn turned the magazine around on the countertop toward Faith, allowing herself a smirk at the slightly startled look on the Slayer's face.
"Thought that went out with the garbage. Big sis know you're readin' it?"
Dawn kept the magazine turned round. "I'm not reading it – I was curious." She glanced at one of the pictures then back at Faith. "You realize this stuff is for guys, don't you? It's not real. Lesbians don't do — I mean, have you seen some of the ads at the back?"
The Slayer shrugged. "Was all they had in the store."
With a short sigh, Dawn closed the magazine and looked at Faith, felt her nostrils start to flare and wished they wouldn't. She hoped a low and unruffled voice might make up for it:
"I know you do things you don't mean to sometimes. And say things. But, if you ever talk about Tara like that again, I'll ... I'll ..."
Dawn spluttered to a halt. She really should have planned this better. She wasn't afraid of Faith – not like she probably should be – but she wasn't an idiot either, and if she was going to start lobbing threats at convicted murderers, the least she could do was actually sound threatening. She was pretty good at threats, as a rule.
"Beat me to death while I'm sleeping?" The total lack of mirth or sarcasm in Faith's voice made Dawn's eyes widen.
"Um, yeah. I guess so."
"Fair enough."
The words were out before Dawn even realized she wanted to say them: "You know, I haven't forgotten what you did to my mom."
The Slayer's eyebrows lowered, as if contemplating something curious and strange.
"No, I guess you wouldn't forget that."
Dawn felt her face flush. Irritation, anger, a touch of embarrassment even. It happened. Of course it happened.
"You know it happened."
Another shrug. "'Course it did. Don't suppose your monks were lookin' to add criminal negligence to the mix. Think they might have worked their mojo a little wider, though. I coulda been one of the good guys."
Dawn felt a rush of undeserved compassion hit her, one of those traits the monks had apparently decided would be a nice thing to afflict her with.
She smiled, just sympathetic enough; no need to go overboard. "I think they were in a hurry? More than one major alteration might have been too time-consuming."
Willow came into the kitchen then. Dawn quickly slid the magazine from the counter top onto her lap, face burning; not helped by the smirk Faith was aiming right at her.
"Have you guys seen Buffy?"
Faith shrugged. "Blonde chick? Kinda short?"
Willow rolled her eyes.
"Think she was headed to the Bates Motel."
"Sorry?" said Willow.
"You know, like in that movie."
"Psycho," added Dawn.
Faith looked at her, eyebrow quirked. Dawn hastened on:
"The old stables out back?"
"Oh, yeah. I guess those rooms do sorta look like —" Willow started to smile, then paused. "Actually, that's kinda creepy. Maybe we should try and make them look less mother-fixated-scary-guy-friendly ..."
Dawn watched Willow head out the back door, remembered a couple of lines from a song she'd heard on an oldies station one time:
It's easy to be good, it's hard to be baaad, stay out of trouble and you'll be glaaad ...
Except there was a time when pilfering jewelry and lipstick and ornate toothbrushes had seemed like the easiest thing in the world to do and she'd been glad enough for the distraction. Maybe the song had it all turned around: being bad wasn't so hard – it was being good that took all the work. Only some people just made it look easy.
Another thought occurred to her then, how weird it was to have Willow sleep just down the hall again; weirder to find herself listening for other quiet footsteps headed that way; weirdest of all to fall asleep some nights, half-expecting a tap on the door and a kiss goodnight from the people she missed most; the best people she'd ever known in her life.
Real, not made up.
She looked across the kitchen where Faith was now pouring herself a glass of milk; healthy teeth and bones in another fabricated body, raped into existence thousands of years before, like her sister. And where did Faith pick up that habit anyway? Dawn couldn't remember her drinking milk much before she turned evil.
But, then, Dawn couldn't really remember a lot of things.
When Faith came home with Buffy that first night for dinner, Dawn had eyed the interloper with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. All she needed was another Slayer to get all the attention and, sure enough, their mom had fussed over her like she was a long-lost cousin or something.
Faith had responded to Dawn with a wariness of her own, putting just a little too much effort into her effortless greeting, regarding her with a small frown whenever Dawn asked her a question, like where did she came from and where did she live and why was she in Sunnydale and where did she go to school then why didn't she go to school?
Okay, while Dawn plied her with questions – partly because she just wanted to know, and partly because she was being a brat who wanted to test Buffy's new sidekick.
Halfway through dinner, Buffy and their mom went into the kitchen and Faith reached over and took a couple of fries from Buffy's plate. She looked at Dawn, grinned, and put her finger over her lips. Dawn giggled and decided then and there that maybe Faith would make a pretty good ally when it came to Dawn's battle against the annoyance known as Having Buffy for a Big Sister.
It turned out she hadn't seen Faith that much, though, especially after what happened with Mrs Post. But, when she did see her, the other Slayer was always ready with a new joke or another tall(ish) tale or a sympathetic eye-roll when Buffy was being particularly annoying.
Then Christmas Eve came and Faith turned up at the house with small, scrappily-wrapped presents for all of them and, while Buffy was tending to the latest Angel crisis, the other Slayer had watched movies with Dawn and her mom and told them funny stories, every so often going to the window and peering outside and checking that everything was okay, watching over them, just like Buffy had asked her to.
When it snowed, Dawn had almost peed herself with excitement. The three of them went outside, her mom standing by the door – smiling, contented, like the snow had soothed away the jitters, for a while at least. Faith showed Dawn how to make the best snowballs, and when Dawn said wouldn't it be great if they could pack tiny stakes in the snow and then, you know, throw them at vamps, instead of saying it was a dumb idea, Faith said that, yeah, it would be cool. Then Dawn said they should make snow angels, like she'd seen people do in movies. Faith had glanced down at the short skirt she was wearing, then smiled and shrugged and they lay down in the snow and flapped their arms up and down while her mom had laughed and didn't say one word about Dawn getting her clothes in a mess. Later, while they dried themselves off with towels and drank nog, Dawn thought perhaps it was the best Christmas ever, at least since their dad left. And she thought that Faith could still be an ally of sorts, even if, by then, she could tell that Faith wanting to be Buffy's new best friend was just the tip of the iceberg. She might have been only twelve – and maybe she wasn't totally sure what the rest of the iceberg might mean – but she wasn't completely stupid.
Then Faith went evil.
When Angel went bad, Buffy had told Dawn it was because he lost his soul, but when Dawn asked if Faith had lost hers, Buffy said no.
A few weeks later, just before she and her mom left town before Graduation Day, Dawn took the present Faith had brought over on Christmas Eve and dropped it in the trash and wondered if people in comas could be remorseful about the things they did; wondered if maybe, somewhere in the dreams she was having about the types of things evil people dream about, Faith was sorry she broke Dawn's heart.
Sunday
No one had ever asked her for that kind of advice before. Homework, yes. Classwork, of course. Computers or any other kind of electronic equipment they couldn't figure out themselves, no problem.
This was different. She had a girlfriend. The kind she'd read about in magazines, seen on silly TV shows her ma didn't like her to watch. The kind where, if she'd had anywhere else to go that night, she could say: "Sorry, can't come out, I'm helping my girlfriend get ready for her date."
And Xander was there too. Life just didn't get better than that, did it?
Whether we're standin' on your doorstep, or sittin' in a park
Or strollin' down a shady lane, or dancin' in the dark
Where I can hold you in my arms, look into your pretty eyes
Anyplace is paradise when I'm with —
"This is nice."
Willow glanced quickly at Buffy before turning her attention back to the highway stretched out before them. "Yep, hittin' the road, wind in our hair – metaphorically – and nothin' to stop us hightailing it to Mexico. You know, if we wanted to hightail it."
"I'm sensing a Thelma and Louise vibe." Buffy shimmied a little in her seat. "Hey, does that mean Brad Pitt can come too? And … who's the hot chick equivalent of Brad Pitt?"
"In the movie?"
"No, real life."
"Um … no idea. Anyway, didn't he steal from them?"
Buffy grinned. "Yeah, but, I think it was worth it."
Willow watched from the corner of her eye as Buffy lifted her sunglasses, pushed them back so they rested atop her head. Green-brown eyes sparkled with the kind of open energy that had been missing for so long. Still pain, there was always pain – the burden of responsibility was like a second skin by now – but, these days her best friend was allowed to dream, at least.
"Buffy?"
"Uh-huh?" The Slayer reached for the Starbucks cup wedged in the holder, yanked it free. A little mocha-colored liquid seeped out from under the lid and sloshed onto her hand. "Oh, damn, stupid plastic thingy." Buffy grabbed a napkin. "This is the twenty-first century, right? You'd think by now they'd at least manage to affix — that's a word, isn't it? You'd think they'd manage to —"
"I love you."
Buffy looked at her as she mopped up the spill, the accident-induced frown transforming into a full-blown smile. "Me too, Will. I love —"
"Hey, keep it down, willya?" A disgruntled snort rose from the back. "Tryin' to get some shut-eye here."
Buffy twisted round in her seat. "Lemme amend that to Thelma and Louise and Grumpy."
"Nah, just Sleepy."
"Or Dopey."
"Okay … Bitchy."
"Funny ..."
Willow smiled. She'd actually intended to ask Buffy to look at the map, just to check the distance again, but she was glad she'd changed her mind.
Less glad at the stop Faith insisted on only two minutes later.
("What? I just wanna get a burger.")
Willow stood near the back while Buffy commented on Dairy Queen versus Doublemeat product/hygiene/service and Faith ordered some food at the counter, after promising not to say one word outside of anything immediately concerned with Can I have ...
When they returned to the car, Buffy said:
"Was that her? The chick with the pierced nose?"
Faith nodded, waited until she swallowed her mouthful of Ultimate-whatever. "Some people like that kinda thing, right, Willow?"
"Um, well, it's not necessarily the same … "
"Okay, so the girl just has to move a little lower before she can —"
"Faith!" Buffy barked.
Willow didn't miss the little smirk from the back seat reflected in the rearview mirror, not exactly sure what to think. Faith thought she was into piercings now? Or maybe Faith was just being ... Faith.
Who, just a few miles later, was still grouching about not being able to sleep.
"Is the music bothering you?" Willow asked.
Faith sat up, leaning forward slightly between the seats. "Wow, really twistin' the knife, aren'tcha?"
"What? Oh, crap, I didn't mean —" Willow lunged for the 'skip' button on the stereo, almost strangling herself with the seatbelt in the process.
"Shit, I'm joking. Leave it on, it's okay."
Buffy was peering at the titles on the CD sleeve. "Jailhouse ... oh." The tiny grin that appeared on her face might have led to an outright laugh, but she managed to keep the mirth at a discrete level.
The other Slayer sat back again. "Guess you gotta respect a dude still gets around so much when he's been out of action so long – and I'm talkin' stone-cold and fangless."
"Though he did wear those capes," Buffy pointed out.
"True." Faith leaned forward again, looking at the picture on the sleeve in Buffy's hand. She tapped Willow's seat just behind her shoulder. "And the whole lesbo thing notwithstanding, hafta admit the guy was kinda hot, right?"
Willow cleared her throat. "I'm gay, Faith – not blind."
A quiet chuckle reverberated in Willow's ear. "So, would you do him?"
Buffy made a face. "Ew. He's dead, Faith."
"Pot calling kettle, come in kettle ..."
Buffy started to turn round again – not amused.
"He's got a daughter," Willow said quickly. "Sure, the whole freaky marriages thing — you know, kinda disturbing ... but, she looks just like him."
"Lucky for you then," Faith said with a grin. "Too bad she can't sing for shit, but, I guess that's not a deal-breaker."
Willow glanced at Buffy, who gave her a tentatively delivered smile in return.
"No," Willow said, "I guess not."
While she tried on a few things that weren't dead or sleeveless, Faith thought about the robe that hung behind the bathroom door in her room at home. Not the kind of thing she'd normally wear, but B had at least made an effort to avoid fluffy and pastel. She'd called it a 'housewarming prezzie!' but, Faith had been pretty sure it was a hint not to wander around the house half-undressed with impressionable young women – and Xander – around. She'd also wondered at the time if the Chosen One was thinking about the resident dykes too, but she'd quickly dismissed the idea. Kennedy was too busy trying to keep her wagon hitched to Willow's star, and Willow too preoccupied with finding Slayers, focusing on her new and improved witchy prowess, and trying not to look guilty about Kennedy's wagon hitting every damn rock and pothole on the road.
She pulled back the curtain on the changing room cubicle and stepped outside.
"You look great," said Buffy. "I mean, really."
Faith looked at Willow, who beamed back at her, head bobbing up and down in approval like one of those nodding dogs that, come to think of it, Faith was kind of surprised the redhead hadn't stuck in the rear window of her new wheels yet.
With a little help from Willow's bulging Council-issued Amex, they also helped themselves to a couple of pairs of jeans and tee-shirts apiece, plus a few coats. Then they hit the undies department. Faith suspected the Scoobies were looking for some kind of commentary from her, but she was getting hungry and didn't want to hold things up by seeing how many times she could make them squirm; instead, she wandered through the aisles on her own, hanging back for a bit while the other two got on with it. Didn't stop her wondering if this was the first time Buffy had gone lingerie shopping with her best buddy since Tara tapped shyly on the closet door. But, B seemed okay with it, while Willow ('now with 75% more superbad Wiccan confidence') only cringed in embarrassment once, when a salesgirl asked them if they needed help.
When she asked Faith, the Slayer tilted her head across the racks.
"Just waitin'."
The woman fixed her with a happy little salesgirl smile. "Oh, yes, your friends."
Faith ignored the warm flush that spread across the back of her neck as the salesgirl walked away. She grabbed a few things for herself and waited by the checkout desk.
When Buffy and Willow got there, Faith eyeballed their purchases. Craftily, Buffy had both sets in her basket, so Faith couldn't tell who was buying what without asking, which she didn't do. Nothing too exciting anyhow. No one was looking to get laid on this trip and so the scales were tipped more toward 'functional' than 'fuck me'. Although she couldn't help noticing the redhead's eyes dart around anywhere-but-there when that same salesgirl showed up again. Maybe it hadn't been embarrassment after all. Not that kind anyhow.
"There," said Buffy, all pleased with herself, as they left the mall and headed back to the car. "Don't you feel like a new woman, Faith?"
"I dunno, B." Faith turned to the redhead; some things were just too obvious to pass up. "How about you, Willow? You feel like a new woman yet?"
This was too good. Willow Rosenberg batting for the team that slid head-first to base. Girl wasn't bad either, if you liked the wouldn't-say-boo type. Probably meant she was a tiger in the sack, or else boring as fuck – pun intended.
What would Buffy do? Spaz a bit probably, now she had to worry about her other best bud using her for jerk-off material too.
What she wouldn't do was be a fucking bitch about it, stir things up, make cute, mousy Tara from the Wicca group feel like crap.
The woman who was now Buffy Summers smiled.
Things change.
They'd arrived one and a half hours later than scheduled at the first stopover, Willow's estimated arrival time worthless in the face of having to stop the car every ten minutes so Faith could smoke, not to mention Buffy having insisted on a 'quick visit' to a mall fourteen miles off the interstate so they could buy Faith some 'more appropriate' clothes for the visit ("You know, just the kind of thing that says: Sometimes I like to wear pants that don't squeak, and, yes, sleeves are good also.") which, to her credit, Faith had taken in relative good humor once the initial wave of hostility passed. Plus, a break for lunch that had lasted far longer than the allotted time, once bickering over where to eat and what to eat and how to eat had been worked in. Now Willow could hear them through the bathroom door:
"Don't mess up Willow's bed."
"Sorry, B, thought this was yours."
"Why would you think that?"
"Just figured you'd want the one near the bathroom."
"How come?"
"'Cause … hell, I dunno. So's you can fix your face in the morning before anyone sees you?"
"People in glass houses, Faith – that pillow you're lying on already looks like the Turin Shroud."
"There's a couple spares in the closet space, B – Willow won't mind."
"That's not the point."
"What is the point?"
"Um … I forget. But, I had a point. Something about respecting other people's —"
"Pillows? Yeah, think there was something about that on Oprah the other day … And, speaking of respect, remind me again who booked all this shit without even consulting me."
"If it was up to you, we'd be spending the night in some place with hourly rates. Willow booked it ... and we did consult you. We asked you if you wanted to share with us and you made that stupid joke —"
"What-the-fuck-ever."
A moment of relative silence followed, broken only by the All in the Family theme tune coming from the TV.
"So, in the interests of consulting you about everything, Faith, do you mind if I take a shower once Willow's done?"
Another pause, then:
"Feelin' dirty, B?"
"You never give up, do you …"
Willow dressed quickly. She was beginning to wish she'd simply magicked them to Tucson.
("'Cause, you know, a road trip – fun.")
Idiot.
Willow had never heard anyone talk to Giles the way Faith was talking to him. Except maybe herself.
"… too much to ask you don't just — Aw, don't gimme that crap, man. Guy was a fuckin' asshole …"
But, even when she'd been trying to kill him, Willow hadn't used those kinds of words.
Faith was stalking the motel balcony, cell phone in one hand, cigarette in the other, shaking her head at whatever was being said at the other end of the conversation. As she leaned back against the railing, she shot Willow a quick look of incredulity through the open doorway.
Willow sat on the end of her bed, hands twisting nervously at the cuffs of her sweater as Faith continued her diatribe. She turned as she heard the bolt snap back on the bathroom door and Buffy emerged.
The Slayer glanced through the doorway at the front of the room. "What's going on? Is that still Giles?"
Willow nodded. "She's still pretty mad about it."
"How come?" Buffy asked. "I mean, Faith pissed off – yeah. Creepy Wiccan guy – check. But, isn't she overreacting slightly?"
Willow started to shrug, just as Faith came back inside. The Slayer pushed the now-silent phone into Willow's hand and shook her head.
"Asshole."
Buffy frowned. "I'm so hoping for your sake you don't mean Giles."
"What? No, the Wicca guy. Fuckin' jerk." Faith picked up a Little Debbie from the pack on the night table and turned to Willow, waggling the snack at her for emphasis. "Here on in, anything the Coven's got to say to you, you get it direct from them."
Before Willow could respond, Buffy cut in:
"You told Giles that?"
Faith shrugged. "Yeah. No point goin' through him first. Wasn't the Coven forgot to mention how uptight Lord fuckin' Voldemort was."
"But, the Coven's a part of the Council and Giles is —"
"Isn't Willow supposed to be in charge of the Wicca deal?"
"So, what, you're taking Giles out of the loop?"
"No." Faux-patience through a grimace. "The Coven can tell Giles whatever the hell they want, but they want Willow to do something, they talk to her themselves, that's all. What's the problem, B?"
"It's ... you're treating him like an idiot."
Faith's lip curled. "I'm treating him like someone who doesn't need to hear everything first." She waved the Little Debbie in Willow's direction again. "He's not her Watcher. He's never been her Watcher. Christ, he's not even your Watcher anymore."
Buffy's chin took on a defiant tilt. "Am I missing some big point here?"
"Point is, he doesn't need to be acting like it."
"He's acting all Watchery 'cause he passes on a couple of suggestions from the Coven?"
"Right. We're talkin' about a couple lousy phone calls or a fuckin' email. What's the big? She's not a fuckin' moron. All's I know is, when we don't even get a heads-up about some Wicca prick we wanna take on who might just start mouthin' off about 'potential loose cannons' like he fuckin' knows her, maybe a change is what's needed, that's all."
Buffy folded her arms across her chest. "And you made the decision to talk to Giles about this without discussing it with Willow first?"
"Don't turn this around, B."
"Turn what around? How is what you just did any different from —"
Faith stabbed a finger at Buffy, dark eyes flashing. "Difference is, I didn't fuckin' ignore her then get on her case and be all Mr Concerned-Guy when the shit hit the fan."
"What are you talking about?" Buffy snapped. "You weren't even here when Willow ... when all that stuff happen—"
"Guys?" Willow stood up. "Can everyone stop yelling?"
The two Slayers looked at her.
Willow cleared her throat; fortune favored a clean windpipe. "Buffy, I think Faith's right."
Buffy's eyes blinked rapidly. "He didn't ignore —"
("How would you know? You weren't even here.")
"No, I just mean, it's not a big deal if they contact me directly. I talk to them regularly anyway." Willow smiled. "I love Giles, you know that and, and he's still gonna be the Big Boss – you know, not in a mafia kind of way, in a Giles way. But, we're big girls now, Buffy."
Buffy's eyes darted from Willow to Faith and back to Willow again. Concern, certainly, but Willow thought she saw a flicker of guilt too – perhaps remembering the man she'd rejected once herself when she outgrew fatherly concernwisdomknowledge.
(Daddy's home. But, not her daddy. Never her daddy. Friend, mentor, another high school crush. Xander was her boy band; Giles was someone to be. Buckle up, Rupert, 'cause I've turned —)
Buffy shrugged. "Okay, fine. You're right. I guess it makes sense."
When Faith went back to her own room to freshen up before dinner, Buffy turned to Willow and said:
"I'm not the only one who got flashbacks to Projection 101, am I?"
Some Girls # 2
Willow scared her. Not 'fraidy cat scared, but the kind of scared that made her not want to look too closely, except she couldn't help looking, couldn't help trying to see behind those eyes that she could swear changed color the longer she looked – green/brown/black/blue/an occasional hint of yellow. With a gaze so intense, she was sure it could melt steel at a hundred paces. And the way Willow smiled sometimes was ... kind of hard to explain, but it was the kind of smile she could easily imagine turn into something that the average person, or even a recently ordained superhero, really wouldn't want to come across in a dark alley anytime soon. Anytime later, for that matter.
In fact, sometimes when Willow stood near her, she was convinced she could feel waves of something thick and dark and hot emanate from her. Like standing next to an open furnace that might flare up any second and take your skin off, although – whispered, late-night history lessons aside – she was willing to concede that was just her imagination going into overdrive.
But, it had made her wonder about the girl who'd died, about what kind of person she'd been. About what kind of person could provoke that kind of a reaction in someone. She'd imagined someone like Buffy except not like Buffy. Willow was Buffy's right hand, which, considering the balance of power, had to count for something; but, then, Buffy had no need to inspire that kind of protectiveness – Buffy was a warrior.
But, she liked Willow. Willow was super-nice and, for sure, she was one of the good guys. She was Buffy's best friend and Xander's best friend and she'd dated Kennedy and if she wasn't as big and loud and outwardly fierce as the Wiccan from Sunnydale, California who'd done this to her could have (should have?) been, then that was just one of those unexpected things that was no big deal. Like when she first found out that Kennedy wasn't the name of Willow's boyfriend.
Monday
Faith picked up the book from the ledge, turning over a couple of pages. Greek poetry, according to the cover, but the words were in English. She let her eyes travel over a few lines, smiling wryly to herself as she shut the small paperback over again. English or not, still didn't make a whole lot of sense.
Returning the book to the ledge, she looked out the second floor window to the courtyard below where, at that moment, Caridad's partner-in-slayage was showing Willow some magic herbs or weeds or whatever in the plant beds alongside the apartment building's pale stucco walls.
With a knack for picking out the bad guys' weak spots, the girl was probably one of the best fighters they had; one of the first newbies they'd picked up after Willow's big spell too, when the redhead was still magically groping her way through half the world's population for the ones who'd chosen themselves. Big Brother had hugged his sister tight, offered Faith a hard-won smile as he let the girl go. "You'll take care of her? She's the only one I've got." Faith heard the anxiety behind the joke, but she could swear there was something else there too: trust, confidence in her. The words in her head had tripped over themselves, desperate to get out, clear a few things up: murdererliaridiotloserpieceofshitkillerworthlessdu mbfuckinguserwhoreslut. Easier to fall back on than to accept a whole new burden, a whole new set of names. Better the devil everyone despised. But, she'd summoned an easy smile – the no worries look – enough to keep the quiet terror at bay.
And, when she wasn't kicking ass, turned out the blonde was a big nerd too, with a shy smile for everyone and her nose stuck in a book more often than not, something Faith had discovered on the steps of a Super-8 one afternoon when she'd told her the story about the Missouri vamp and the gators.
("A story? Lemme see ... you like alligator stories?"
The eighteen year old looked skeptical. "You mean like Wally Gator?")
When she finished, the girl had gone to her room and returned with a dog-eared paperback she was reading: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (not The Adventures apparently – there was always more shit to deal with). Faith flipped through a few pages, scanned a couple of lines.
She raised an eyebrow. "Some nice words here."
"I think ... I mean, he was making a point. You know, despite the notice at the front."
Faith turned back to the start of the book, read the little paragraph out loud. She looked at the girl. "Funny guy."
As she handed the book back, Robin turned up. He glanced at the cover and started talking to the girl about all kinds of stuff – 'satire' and 'romanticism', myths and hypocrisy – some things Faith had been able to follow better than others. Mr Principal Guy back in action, the days-old bulge around his midsection no barrier that time.
But, they'd fucked that night too. Not quite boy-girl fucking, given his condition, but, despite her offer to let him just watch – ease him in – he'd wanted her close, wanted her near him, wanted her. And while they'd been not quite boy-girl fucking, she'd thought about the words she'd seen in the book, almost couldn't finish the deed for thinking about it, dark eyes gleaming back at her in the light coming from above the sink in a pissy little motel room in the middle of Christ-Knows-Where. She'd sneered to herself once about the guy who grew up in Beverly Hills who thought she was sheltered; forgot he'd probably taken his share of crap over the years – always someone else's petty little size tens hovering above, itching to stomp any upstarts back where they belonged.
Now, Faith watched Willow and the girl lean over a flower bed, mouths set in tiny ooh shapes, like they'd just discovered one of the plants had 'cure for cancer' tagged on it. Willow said something and the girl laughed, pale blue eyes flashing in the afternoon sun, covering her mouth with her hand while her shoulders shook spastically. If Faith didn't know better, she'd have bet a dime to a dollar Willow was working on bagging herself a cuddly little fuck-toy for bedtime. Another dime the girl would go for it, even if she didn't realize it yet; couldn't beat that 'smart and shy' routine. Either that or Willow's 'Wickedest Witch in the West' rep would win her over. Don't you wanna feel even more special, baby ...
"Faith?"
She turned away from the window and saw Buffy gesturing to a photograph on the wall.
"Check this out."
Faith stood next to her, felt the other Slayer's shoulder touch her own, blonde hair sliding against her cheek as Buffy tilted her head to the side. The picture was one Caridad had taken not long before the big dispatch: the Chosen Two standing together in an awkward show of camaraderie outside a 7-Eleven in Arizona.
"Look, Faith, you're smiling. Sort of smiling."
"Think that's called 'squinting', B."
Buffy pressed against her shoulder again. "Don't ruin it for me."
A sudden clenching in her chest made Faith take a step back, losing contact. Concern flickered behind Buffy's eyes and, for a moment, Faith worried that the other Slayer was going to try and wriggle her way out of it, digging them both deeper in the process, but Buffy smiled quickly instead and turned to Caridad.
"It's nice that you have all these here."
The younger Slayer nodded in agreement. "Yeah, makes it kind of homey."
Faith cast a glance over the other pictures on the wall. Slayer comrades mostly, plus, a few frames away, Willow and Kennedy grinning goofily into the camera, looking for all the world like love's young dream. No, didn't see that one comin' at all.
Caridad was eyeing the same picture, chewing her lip. "Do you think I should take that down?"
"Oh, I don't know ... I don't think you have to do that." Buffy looked at Faith, like, somehow, Faith was suddenly an expert on proper 'what to do when your lesbo friends break up' etiquette.
Faith stared back for a moment, finally giving in with a shrug. "I guess it's okay. They're still buddies, right?"
Buffy smiled brightly – look, ma, no trauma! – infectious enough to prompt a less spazzy smile in return.
The sound of breathless chatter spilled into the apartment as the front door opened:
"... so pretty, you wouldn't imagine it could do all that."
"I know, I know – isn't it amazing?"
Willow shut the door behind them, pale skin reddened slightly from a combination of afternoon sunshine and the flush of shared geekery. Faith studied the slick sheen of perspiration on her forehead and along her nose. Below her neck too, where a tiny bead of sweat was trickling slowly down inside the front of her shirt. Long hair spilled over her shoulders – Christ, when did it get so long? – eyes sparkling warm and bright, with the kind of fierce intelligence that could have had the world on its knees anyway if she hadn't been so stoked about trying to destroy it first. And that smile that managed to be sly and sweet in a single instance ...
Willow put her hand on the other girl's arm, started to talk some more about pretty, magic things, and suddenly Faith wondered if maybe she didn't know better, after all.
She cleared her throat. "You guys ready to motor? I'll drive. Willow, you sit up front with me, rest of you squeeze in back, okay?"
Buffy blinked. "Yes, sir."
Faith didn't miss the curious looks from the other two Slayers. And not the one Willow was giving her either.
Some Girls # 3
Once, when one of the other girls asked Willow if lesbians hated men, Willow looked kind of startled and, after a couple of umms and looking at Giles – who'd rolled his eyes and muttered something that might have been Dear Lord – she said, no, they just didn't need them and that seemed to upset some guys. Faith sniggered from behind her menu and said that, yeah, it was mostly straight chicks hated them, 'cause they were the ones had to deal with them. Xander said, hey – but in a jokey kind of way – and Robin chuckled and Buffy laughed, then looked kind of guilty about it.
And she laughed as well, along with some of the other girls, and then there were more jokes about all kinds of dumb, silly stuff and more laughing and something about Britney in a stray copy of the Enquirer made them laugh even more and a couple of girls got into a Jellie Bellie fight and someone else snorted 7-Up out her nose she was laughing so hard.
She'd looked at Willow and Faith and Buffy, sat around the small group of tables they'd commandeered in the corner of a diner off of Highway 60 – the three of them powerful and brave and funny and different kinds of smart; and silly and strong and beautiful. They looked like her, like all the heroes she'd never read about. And she thought about what he might have said:
Teach the dyke a lesson – who the fuck does she think she is?
Make the dark one take it on her knees – shut her the fuck up.
Blondie, man, she's just begging to get fu—
"Are you okay?" Buffy was looking at her across the table, wiping at the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand.
"What? Yeah, just ... I'm fine. Everything's fine."
She sat back and sipped her milkshake.
Willow and Faith and Buffy.
Three cunts waiting to get fucked, that was all.
Navigating the fence that sectioned off the temporarily abandoned site had been easy enough. Trickier was making their way through the relentless torrent toward the blurry outline of the partially installed guard rail that protected the eastern side of the former Sunnydale.
The sudden heavy downpour had turned the sky several shades of streaky charcoal and the earth to a shallow swamp. The result: visibility poor, footing unsteady. Experience accumulated from countless hours of nighttime Scooby activity probably helped a little, but not enough to prevent Willow's foot slipping on a particularly slimy patch of waterlogged terrain.
A hand grabbed hold of her upper arm, sparing her from an impromptu mudbath. She turned, intending to deliver a smile of thanks, but found herself grimacing instead. Yet another thing to be pissed off at Hollywood for: wet hair plastered to a rain-streaked face while that same rain trickled off the end of a scrunched up nose really wasn't as hot a look as the movies made out.
Buffy grimaced back. "Drowned rat?"
"I wouldn't say rat ... kitten maybe?"
"A drowned kitten? Willow, I'm shocked."
"I've just given myself nightmares, haven't I?"
With a quick smile, Buffy let go of Willow's arm and wiped her wet hands on the thighs of her equally wet jeans. "Weird to be back, huh?"
Willow glanced over toward the still-distant crater's edge. "Tell me about it."
A low rumble passed overhead, followed closely by a stuttering slash of lightning that, for three short instances, turned everything a lighter shade of grey. The figures a few steps in front of them came to a halt and turned round.
"You sure this isn't some kinda mystical rain of crap?" asked Faith.
"Positive," Willow said. "If it was mystical, it'd be prettier."
Four pairs of Slayer eyes exchanged skeptical glances. Slipping and sliding through two inches of mud on a dark and stormy late Monday afternoon apparently didn't provide the most cordial atmosphere for magic humor.
Willow dropped the funny: "No, it's not mystical."
With a short shrug, Faith turned away again and the five of them resumed their trek. Willow glanced at the Slayer's boots, more practical than anyone else's under the circumstance, but fortuitously so, rather than with any great thought as to possible poor weather conditions. These days, Faith dressed principally for action of the demon-fighting persuasion, whether demon-fighting or not; and, with a few minor adjustments, her daily attire would cover her from rumbles in the jungle to adventures on a Himalayan mountain-top. Or muddy excursions to old Hellmouths, although not even Faith – fortuitously or otherwise – had remembered to bring her new waterproof jacket.
When they reached the rail, they fanned out; Buffy and Willow took one side, Caridad and her colleague the other, while Faith had already started for the several large piles of rubble dumped about fifty or so yards away from the crater's edge, all looking for clues for whatever was responsible for the weirdness the younger Slayers had mentioned on the phone two days before during their weekly check-in.
According to Caridad, a couple of incidents of cattle having their throats ripped out and blood drained had been reported in the local press and, from the Slayers' investigations, it looked like it might be the work of a vampire. Strange, but the old Hellmouth attracted quite a few vamps – Willow supposed it was sort of like Graceland for the undead – and creatures of the night who seemed to prefer animals to humans probably wasn't anything to panic about.
But, since there was other nearby-ish business to attend to anyway and it was sort of weird, they'd offered to swing by. Plus, Willow supposed, it was possible enough time had passed so she might finally be able to look at the remains of her hometown and not want to cry, not want to claw her way through the dirt and rubble until her fingers bled.
Searching for her.
"Willow?"
A hand on her back. Gentle. Not pushing. Never pushing. Comforting. Mostly.
"You should try to eat something, sweetie."
She raised her head from the pillow, twisted round. "I wasn't — I should have been her Big Gun."
"You were there for her, baby. She wouldn't want —"
"Stupid fucking useless …"
"Willow, no."
She let herself be gathered up and held against flesh soft and warm, fingers combing through her hair. Tiny kisses. Tender words that made sense again.
A crushed mind and a lost love. A crushed body with a lost soul. She'd fixed one, why not the other?
Rubble and dirt and mud ... and, hey, some more rubble ... and, ooh, more dirt too. Willow released an impatient sigh. She was glad ... more than glad the Hellmouth didn't appear to be in any danger of coming to life again. Apart from the lack of visible evidence, she could feel it. Had done even as they'd approached the signs a mile along the highway warning them to turn back. The Sunnydale Hellmouth was shut for good. But looking for clues for a maybe-stray-vampire or some other kind of demon was boring to say the least. Although at least the rain had let up enough so they weren't being drenched.
She glanced over at Faith, now a good deal further away from them. The Slayer looked less bored, her head tilted forward, brow furrowed in concentration as she moved around the piles of rubble. Every now and then she'd pause, cocking her head to the side to check something out, before shrugging to herself and continuing her investigation.
Faith might be the wicked-ass 'bad girl', always ready with a smart comment or dumb joke too, but Willow had noticed the quiet, solemn diligence with which she approached other, less violent tasks. Back in high school, her serious, pensive countenance when they were researching, or discussing some kind of imminent danger had struck Willow as kind of comical, almost as though you could actually see her thinking things through. Then, for a while, Willow had told herself it was a put-on, that Faith was simply trying to present a picture of depth and intelligence where there was none. These days, she was inclined more toward her initial impression. Faith was neither stupid nor shallow – well, no more than the rest of them could be at times. She also found herself less amused when she saw the creases on the Slayer's brow and the frown on her lips and the way her eyes got just a fraction darker as she turned something over in her mind. Well, maybe still a little amused, but in a less smug-and-ever-so-slightly-bitchy way. She kind of enjoyed watching Faith in deep-and-thoughtful mode. It was almost kinda —
Suddenly Faith turned toward them, waving. Willow raised her hand to give a polite wave back, then paused – no, signaling to get their attention. Rolling her eyes at her own obtuseness, she turned to the Slayer beside her.
"I think Faith's found something."
Buffy looked up from her own investigation. "Thank God. If I had to look at one more piece of crushed brick ..."
They headed toward the other Slayer, Caridad and her colleague approaching from the other side.
"Something important?" Buffy asked as they neared.
"Kinda think maybe yeah." Faith gestured to the dirt behind the section of rubble in front of them.
As they moved round, Willow looked down, squinting so she could see properly. She studied the pattern on the ground, her eyes widening the further along they moved. Glancing back at the four Slayers, she blinked – just to be sure, although their own expressions told her she probably wasn't imagining it – then turned her attention back to the display before them.
About a yard in front of the small mountain of stone, sand and mud, a collection of smaller stones had been arranged in a distinct pattern in order to spell out a number of words, relatively neatly, in letters about one foot high. The message – and there was no doubt that it was a message – read:
WILLOW - LOOKING FOR YOU